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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
The Captain filled a small container with what had to be bourbon, carefully sealing the spout to prevent any of the liquid from floating away. As I dogged the hatch behind me, I saw that he already had his drink in hand.
First day aboard a starship, and I'm drinking with the boss? Not a bad start.
Captain Leonov sent my drink floating through the air. I caught it without thinking, using my other hand to hold onto the wall of his quarters. I had never been drunk in 0 g, and this small container wasn't going to do the job either.
"You handled spacedock well, Commander," He said. "I was told that this was your first deep space assignment, but from your conduct, I could not tell."
"I've been on the Titan run for the last year, and Luna before that." I shrugged, the tiny movement a third of what it would have been dirtside. More than that and I'd float off. "Spacedock is just a bigger port, when you get down to it."
"Perhaps," the Captain replied. Now that I had a chance to listen, I could tell that something was on his mind. The old man was worried.
I floated closer to him, approaching the cupola-style window of his quarters. "What's on your mind, sir?"
He looked at me, with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "How did Natalya handle the launch?"
My wife had been angry, truth be told. We were shipping out sooner than planned, and going to parts unknown for who knows how long. She wanted stability for our sons, and the run to Jupiter space had afforded that - one month on, one off. Yesterday had been the angriest I had seen her since before we revealed our names, hers on my shoulder and mine on her ankle.
The relief on her face when she knew that she was mine, and I hers - we had made love that night, for the first time. I think we started Anatoliy that night, honestly.
"She was fine," I lied. "She is a spacer's wife, sir."
The Captain nodded, saying nothing. He took a pull from his drink.
"Sir, what's on your mind?"
The Captain looked at me, and that sadness was there still. He grabbed a folder from the wall, Velcro breaking the quiet with a stiff ripping sound. Tipping it to me, he sent it on a slow trajectory across the room. Plucking it from the air, I unzipped the folder and looked a the contents. A bright red EYES ONLY across the top gave me pause. Below that, I saw the table of contents - and noted that the package included first contact protocols.
My heart stilled as I got to page two.
"72 days ago, we received this transmission. It's from an object in the belt. I don't know the details, of course, but I guess the big brains figured out that it was base 8. And that let them figure out that it was a series of pixels, and that those made images." The Captain nodded toward the folder. "You're holding some of those images in your hand. The first confirmed signal from a non terrestrial intelligence. Our mission is to go to that point in space and see who sent this."
I looked again, to be certain. The image I saw, the one that changed everything, was a star chart. Ours was marked, as well as several others. Eridani, Centauri, so on. The markings were utterly alien - and immediately familiar. I looked at the Captain.
He rolled up his sleeve. The Naval tattoo he had on his forearm took new meaning. On the hull of the small spacecraft, a series of dots and swirls was apparent. You might miss the alien script, if you didn't know to look for it.
"No one knew what it meant," he began. "So I covered it up, as soon as I could. Command knows, of course - your names are always recorded. But I figured mine was a placeholder, that I would die somehow with no one to blame." A sad chuckle came from the man. "How could we know?"
Wordlessly, I unzipped my uniform. Pulling the tunic open, I saw the captain's eyes grow wide as he saw. For on my collarbone was the same set of dots and swirls. The same alien script.
The Captain nodded. "Everyone on board has the same. 72 men, 14 women."
I nodded, absently. Then I emptied my drink.
|
“John Smith. And fuckin.... John Smith. WHAT THE FUCK!” Andrea yelled, looking at her friends arm.
“I know right. Stupid.” Tally remarked. She’d had this reaction before.
“So ya gotta find two John Smith’s?”
“I hope so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I only need to find one.”
| 2018-03-11T08:45:50 | 2018-03-11T07:26:50 | 120 | 78 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage.
|
"What you have?" I said, smiling at the elderly woman tottering up to me.
"Yes, wait," she said, studying the printed menu behind me. There weren't a lot of words, but everyone understood numbers and burgers. She pointed at the Number Six. I nodded. Money changed hands. After passing the order chit to the kitchen staff, I turned to the next customer and groaned inwardly.
Bluecap—I didn't know his real name—was here again, with his friends: Pimples, Muscles and Goldie. His cronies glowered at me; Goldie smiled shyly. She wasn't exactly what most people would call attractive, but her eyes looked at me with kindness. And I loved her words.
"Hey there, how's things?" Bluecap said.
"What you have?" I said in a robotic voice.
Bluecap chuckled. "Missing a little *will*, are we?" I mouthed his usual joke along with him, but he merely smiled wider. "Oh look, he's miming us. Too bad he can't actually say it, or he'll get tossed into poor people jail."
Other customers in the restaurant were beginning to stare, and the lady I had just served was casting a scandalized look his way.
"What you have?" I said.
"I learned a new word today," Muscles said in his deep voice. "My dad bought it yesterday for our entire family. It's 'destitute'. You know what that word means?"
I know what the damned word means, ass-for-brains, I thought. My knuckles were turning white on the counter top, and it took all my restraint not to hurl myself at him.
"Oh, he knows," rat-faced Pimples said. "He just can't explain it."
"Guys, can't we just get our food?" Goldie interrupted, a faint frown lining her brow. "I'm hungry, and I don't want to be late for our cl—instructional session. We were already in trouble the last time with the professor."
Bluecap snorted. "And I told you, we should've blamed it all on this guy here." She only glared in reply. "Fine. We're all having Number Eights. Extra cheese on mine, no mayo on Clara's—" I tried not to show my surge of joy at learning her name. "—double the fries for Tom, he's loading up the carbs."
I nodded and pointed at the sum on the display, but Bluecap raised his voice and said, "Repeat the order. Don't want you to get it not correct."
I scowled and gestured even more furiously for him to pay, but I could tell he wasn't about to be swayed this time. He must have seen the manager leaving earlier, just before he'd come in.
"Don't make bother," my co-worker Billy warned them from the neighboring till.
"Shut your stupid hole," Pimples snarled.
"Instructional session starts in ten minutes!" Clara said, but they ignored her.
"You have. You go have. What me you have," I said, trying to convey my boiling rage. "Have, you go."
"You know what, I think we don't want the food anymore. I'm sure it'll come out not correct," Bluecap said, turning around. "We're leaving, guys."
A well-dressed, middle-aged man with grey in his temples glided into their path, holding out a hand to stop them. "Shit, fellas, I seen a lot of attitude in my day, but you guys may be the worst yet. 'cept you, girlie."
I gaped at him; rather, at the melodious words flowing from his lips. He'd used slang. He'd cursed!
Even Bluecap seemed a little dazed at the sort of language coming from someone in a dingy fast food diner, so much so that he allowed the man to drape an arm over his shoulders and steer him back to me.
"I'm just gonna do the honors for this poor fella here, alright?" he said, and repeated Bluecap's order flawlessly. Clara had whipped out a notepad. "No foul, eh? Heck, y'know what? I'll pay for you guys. On me."
Bluecap nodded mutely and led his gang away to an empty table.
"You have?" I asked the man, still feeling puzzled at the sudden turn of events.
He snorted and counted several bills from a plain black wallet. The identification in the sleeve, however, didn't belong to him. It belonged to—
"You go have?" I whispered, awestruck, pointing at Bluecap.
With a wink, the man extracted several plastic cards from the stolen wallet. Most of them were plain white, printed with small black words in a neat script, though a couple gleamed gold. Then he drew one more from a pocket, this one jet black with silver letters.
"Little something from me, though it means I'll have to watch my tongue from now on. Have fun," he said, backing away from the counter. "Personally, I don't keep mine on my person for this exact reason."
I looked from the cards to Bluecap, and then back at the cards. Then, filling my lungs with air, I said in the loudest bellow ever, "Get your cap-wearing arse to the counter, Ajax Perry, and let me tell you how much of a dick you've been."
***
*Thanks for reading! If you liked it, check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more of my work.*
|
I grimaced when the local news came on. The station had blown most of their budget just on the technical words for the Meteorologist, but the rest of the station was kind of lacking.
“And now… News!” Beverly said with a cheery tone.
Chet looked at the stack of papers in his hands and grimaced. “Things happened today. A bad man was not nice to six people, and they were not healthy after. It happened down of the town. We all hope they get better.”
“In happier news,” Beverly took over, “cute kittens!”
A clip dominated the screen as a group of firemen rescued some kittens from a storm drain. “Good cute kittens!” Beverly said.
I shook my head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Now, for the sky stuff, with Donovan.”
“Good morning, Chet and Beverly. You two are looking just absolutely radiant today. It’s really unfortunate about that shooting, but now, on to the weather. We’ve a high pressure system developing…”
I tuned the station out as soon as I saw my boss walking over.
“You aren’t supposed to be watching the television when you should be cleaning.”
“No,” I answered.
“Get back to it, or I’ll get on the phone with the General Manager, and you’ll be out of here faster than you can blink. You understand, No-words?”
I glared at the insulting nickname and nodded. “Yes”
“Good, now get your ass back to work.”
| 2017-09-20T08:43:21 | 2017-09-20T07:16:50 | 802 | 590 |
[WP] Warriors killed in battle don't go to Heaven or Hell, they stand guard in between.
|
Max woke up gasping for air. He could not recognise the surroundings and his eyes were very blurry. "A lot of people, a lot of noise and commotion." - he thought to himself. He was lying on a strange, cold, stone-like table, next to others who also just woke up and also looked very confused. It looked like he was in the middle of a very big hall, and small islands of those stone-like tables appeared to be filling most of the floor space in this room. People appeared to be waking up and walking towards the entrance, some very slowly, looking confused, others much faster like they've done this routine many times before.
"Come on, get up warriors! Those who are here first time, find the marshall!" - shouted some really big guy walking past him. Max's eyes were getting better, but he could still not make out the details.
"What the hell is going on?! Where am I!?" - he asked someone who was walking past his stone-like table, grabbing his arm. He felt metal. Armor of some sort? Chainmail?
"Get off, ye worm!" - replied the man, punched Max in the face and walked off. It didn't hurt. He felt the pressure and force, but not pain.
"Hey bro! Are you here first time? Let me guess... Iraq?" - Asked some guy with Californian accent.
"Please help me, where am I!? What's going on!?" - cried Max
"Yo, slow down man, at this point there is nothing to worry about no more, take it in slow, calm down.. My name is Greg, what's yours? What's the last thing you remember?"
"I'm Max... I... I was fighting insurgents in northern Al-Anbar, we got surrounded..."
Greg interrupted him - "Bro, you're dead. You died in combat, therefore, you respawned here just ready for the daily battle, this is our afterlife, most call it Valhalla as the whole existence of this place is a result of ancient Norse beliefs"
"What are you talking about? Is this some sort of elaborate joke?" - Max was very anxious at this point as Greg didn't look like he was joking. Max could easily spot liars, and this man was appearing to be telling the truth or at least believe that what he is saying is true
"I'll give you a quick briefing as we don't have much time, we need to get ready. It turned out that our beliefs on earth actually shape what happens after we die. Every single belief that humans have or had in the past is somehow implemented in this whole Afterlife Algorithm"
"Afterlife Algorithm?" - asked Max.
"Sorry bro, I served in communications in Afganistan, IT background, it is easier to visualise it this way. The stronger the belief was on earth, the more people believed in a particular spiritual or religious idea, the stronger impact this belief will have on shaping the Afterlife. Then it all mixes up. It's like all religions are or were correct. Whatever you believe in, will shape this place is some way. This particular place exists because of the Vikings. They strongly believed that after death they get to do what they love the most in their life, forever."
"Which is?" - asked Max still not sure if he is actually awake
"Killing, fucking and feasting, bro. But there is more. As you can see, it also affects warriors from other cultures. You and me are here, you can see a lot of Slavic warriors, medieval knights in full plate armor, Roman chariots, there is even Neanderthal division which is normally fighting side by side with Berserkers."
Max looked around. His sight came back to normal by now and he started believing Greg's words. He saw warriors from all the eras of human history. All getting ready to fight, picking up weapons, checking their armors.
"Hey bud, you're lucky you were not devoted Christian as you would get fucked by the demons for eternity in hell. You see, pretty much all hardcore Christians go to hell. No man is without sin they say, and sinners go to hell. They fucked it up for themselves, royally. We don't have it that bad, thanks to Islam, we all get 70 girls after the battle, each. They were wrong about the virgin thing though. Suicide bombers are also fucked - Christian belief about suicide was stronger, straight to Hell. What religion are you by the way?"
"I'm an atheist" - replied Max
"Ohhh man!, you get to choose then! Lucky man!" - said Greg very excited
"Choose what?"
"No time for that now, bro. Demons and Angels are on the both sides of the Great Border, you gotta grab your stuff, now. We battle whole day, we fuck and eat and dance and sing all night, that's the routine. If you get killed in battle, you respawn here, over and over until the battle is done. We don't feel the pain in here which makes it pretty fun. Now, pick up that gun and get ready for the rest of eternity!"
"I guess I will have to ask more questions later" - said Max, grabbed his rifle and followed Greg towards the entrance.
**EDIT: Wow, I'm humbled by your comments, I have never tried this before, never been confident enough in my English skills (second language). Thanks so much, another part in comments, as requested.**
|
We all were killed in battle. Some were wars, some were small skirmishes. There are warriors from every continent, every race, religion. Vikings, Spartans, Maori, Legionaires, hell even Maximus was here.
The one thing we have in common is we never got into the salvation promised to us in life. No Heaven, Hell, Valhalla, or Elysium. None of these were given to us after our fall into the afterlife. We could see our respective afterlives, but are not able to venture out to them. They are forever out of our reach. Unattainable to us fallen warriors.
Instead, we guard in the fields of purgatory against the malevolent forces of the creatures of the night. Vampires, Werewolves, Ghouls you name, we fight it.
For eternity we fight against these abominations of creation. These..these..these.. things are far more grotesque than you can ever imagine. All they want is to make wanton destruction in the promised lands of so many.
All that stand in their way is us. The fallen warriors of man's wars. They can not win. For we cannot die again. No matter how many times they strike us down, we rise again.
They are few.
We are many.
We are Legion.
EDIT: Formatting
| 2014-11-08T01:10:35 | 2014-11-08T00:43:25 | 113 | 21 |
[WP] God doesn't hide in Heaven because he created us. He hides because he doesn't know where we came from.
|
Heaven was impossible to reach, but that didn't stop us.
The base of the tower was the size of a city and yet, as Anna looked up squinting against the sun, it seemed to shrink to the size of a needle as it disappeared into the hazy sky. She'd first seen it three hours ago as she'd been driving here. Then, two hours from it, she'd needed to pull over to catch her breath. And now, immediately below it, the air in her lungs had been stolen again.
"You're the physicist," came a voice. "Aren't you? They said I'd be travelling with one."
A man had appeared beside Anna; a priest dressed like a monk. A long brown robe draped down to a pair of modern walking boots that looked out of time on him. She only knew it was a priest because she could make out the clerical collar beneath the neck of his robe.
"They're not sure what the ground will be like up there," he said.
"I'm sorry?" she replied.
"The boots. They're practical."
She realised she'd been staring at them. "Oh. I hope sneakers will do me."
"I'm sure they will." He stretched a hand out. "Father Charles Godson. I know, I know -- with a name like that I had no choice but to become a priest."
He had a friendly smile and Anna appreciated that. The tower to heaven made her palms sweat. She wiped them on her fleece before she shook hands. "Anna."
A third man approached. Military -- dressed in camouflage uniform. "Sir. Ma'am. My name is Corporal Henry Smith. I'll be your escort today all the way up to the Gates of Heaven. Please follow me."
Corporal Smith marched past Anna and Charles, leaving them to exchange raised eyebrows, as he headed into a glass cube at the bottom of the building.
"After you," said the Charles.
​
The glass cube shot up. Anna wasn't afraid of heights exactly, but seeing the parked cars beneath them instantly turn the size of seeds, made her wish that the floor at least had been made opaque. As it was, there was no where to look that didn't make her feel like she was hurtling to her demise. She backed into a corner and took a deep breath.
"So how did you get the invite, Father Godson?" she asked, attempting to distract herself. "I would have thought they had a hundred priests up there already."
Corporal Smith, his eyes up to then focused on his reflection in the glass panel besides him, glanced at Anna. For some reason, it made her feel uneasy.
"Just Charles is fine," said the priest. "And I must confess, I don't believe I'm their first choice. There must just be a lot of work for us up there. For priests, I mean. I heard it took a hundred just to open the Gate."
"A hundred? And they're still bringing more of you up?"
"Well, it is Heaven, Anna. I'm sure all the priests on earth wouldn't be enough to fill it."
"You're both very lucky," said Corporal Smith. "Not many get invited up. Very few have even seen images of the insides."
"Have you?" asked Anna.
"No Ma'am."
"You don't have a gun," said Charles.
"No Sir."
"I thought soldiers always had guns."
"From what I've heard, there's no getting through the Gate with a weapon," he said. "But I am trained in hand to hand combat. Top of my class. I believe that's why I got the call."
Anna wondered why Heaven would require anyone to be good at hand to hand combat. She took a stupid look beneath her feet. The cars were altogether gone now, and the desert looked like a yellow ocean spreading out to the horizon. Blurred and hazed.
"How does it even work?" she said. "I never understood, even after they briefed me. Surely the tower just goes into space."
"It stretches dimensions where the sky meets space," said Corporal Smith.
"That's what they told me," said Anna. "But it doesn't *mean much* to me. Wish it did."
"Ah, well you scientists are always looking for results based on firm rules," said Charles with a grin.
"Is this when I hear all about faith and how wonderful it is?" she asked. "I grew up Catholic, so I don't really need to be lectured on it."
"Ah," said Charles. "You've lost yours, haven't you? That explains why you're so nervous."
Clouds swooshed past, thickening, and soon swallowed the lift. Anna was grateful for them, as they provided something of a ground outside. Or at least, they covered the ground so she didn't have to look at it.
After that, everything happened very quickly. The sky turned from white to yellow, almost blindingly bright. The lift began to tremble, then to rattle. Anna held onto the rails until her knuckles went red then white. There was a scream and it took Anna a second to realise it came from her.
Then, suddenly, the lift jerked to a halt. The priest fell forward into Anna's chest.
"Sorry," he mumbled, as he backed off. "I'm very sorry. That's not going to improve our reputa--"
Anna followed his gaze and found what had silenced him.
The lift door opened. There was ground beneath them. Veined marble.
A great white-bricked wall ran left and right as far as they could see -- but in front of them, radiating the blinding gold, was the Gate to Heaven.
It was wide open.
"*Jesus save us*," said Charles. "And God have mercy."
The missing priests. Limbs nailed against what what must have been a hundred wooden crucifixes set up outside the gates. The ground cracked beneath them.
"Good thing you brought those boots, Priest," Anna said.
Charles glared at her and opened his mouth to speak. But Heaven had stolen all his words.
"They were the key," said Corporal Smith. "It's thanks to their sacrifice we can enter. Now follow me."
\---
Part two: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f6r01c/tower\_to\_heaven\_part\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f6r01c/tower_to_heaven_part_2/)
|
“What are the lights on the mountain?” the traveler asked.
The bartender smiled. The traveler had an innocent, kind smile, but she knew better.
“You don’t need me to know that, do you? I’m sure the tour books all say.”
“Well, everyone knows what’s up there. One of the world’s highest monasteries. But I’m asking about the lights.”
“What about the lights?” the bartender asked, pouring the traveler’s glass of water. These were the types she normally hated, tourists who would come for information or water and leave having paid for nothing. But this man seemed different from the rest.
“What are they used for?”
“So it doesn’t get dark.”
“So people live up there.”
“Yes,” she said. “They live there, and never leave. And no one ever goes.”
“Why?”
“Because the passage is impossible.” The bartender set the glass in front of the traveler, and looked him dead in his eyes. “Trust me, sir. Take your pictures and leave. Trying to reach the monastery is certain death.”
The traveler took off his hat, revealing himself as a balding, thin man.
“Your father lives on the mountain, does he not?” the traveler asked casually.
The bartender’s heart began to beat. How did the traveler know?
“Can you introduce me?”
\-
“*You should really travel down there sometime,” Ariadne said.*
“*What is down there for me?” Dionysus asked. “The people down there, they don’t need what I have.”*
“*They need someone.”*
“*They have Zeus and Poseidon and Hades to handle all that.”*
“*They need you to live. To make the Earth green, and to give them cheer and vitality to live for.”*
“*The way they are destroying the Earth, they don’t need me. Zeus has no idea where they came from. They were never in the plan, and now they’ve messed it up entirely.””*
“*Maybe that’s exactly why they do need you,” she said.*
The memory flashed in the god’s mind as he made his way up the mountain. His great love and all the gods were long gone, having left the heavens in the True War.
Now it was only him, chasing answers he suspected didn’t exist.
(to be continued)
| 2020-02-19T22:12:58 | 2020-02-19T22:12:24 | 1,502 | 191 |
[WP] “sit tight and don’t leave” was the last message I received. That was over a year ago and I haven’t had contact with the outside since.
|
I sighed deeply as I added creamer to my coffee, warily looking out the window that faced my backyard and staring at the grocery delivery that'd just arrived. My phone was on the counter, never more than an arm's reach away, in case he decided to send another message to me.
*Don't be pathetic*, the voice of reason inside my head said. *He won't message you.*
After putting the bottle of creamer back into the fridge, I walked to the living room and sat on my couch. The television remained off, always off. This is how all of my mornings went -- wake up, brush my teeth, make coffee. Sit in my living room for a half hour, maybe read if I was feeling adventurous. Tidy up, even though my house was always intact. Make and eat lunch, and dinner a couple hours later. Write for a bit. Sleep.
Oh, and, of course: check my phone every so often.
I'm not exactly sure how I've survived this long, alone. My husband and I were never able to conceive, so I didn't have children, and we never thought to get a pet. His family lived on the other side of the country, and mine lived on the other side of the globe, so we never got any visitors. We didn't mind, though, as we preferred to keep to ourselves.
Matt worked at a research facility about an hour away, near the airport. He was a supervisor, at least that much I knew, and had lately been working long hours. Always leaving promptly at five twenty-five every morning, and coming back around ten or eleven at night. I liked to have dinner ready for him, even though I would come back exhausted from my job at the grocery store at eight, but he usually didn't manage to eat with me. He'd barely be able to shower and dress into more comfortable clothes before crashing into our bed or the couch like a corpse, not waking up until five the next day.
He didn't like sharing the details of his job, claiming it was a high-clearance project under government contract, and I didn't like pressing him for details. He made a high enough salary for the both of us and more, but I hated being at home all day and had therefore gone job-searching to keep myself entertained. We had a beautiful house, with enough land to farm if we wanted to, and therefore adding to our isolation. But we were happy.
One day, though, he came back home at noon, concern clouding his face.
"Baby, what's wrong?" I'd asked him, taking his coat from him and closing the door.
He shook his head, making a beeline for the kitchen. Grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge, he sat on one of the barstools and let out a small cough. Noticing that my gaze hadn't left him, he sighed. "You might wanna sit down for this one, Emily."
I frowned, more at the fact that he called me by my name instead of his usual endearments of 'sweetheart' or 'honey', but nonetheless sat down on the barstool beside him. I looked at him, expectantly.
"I obviously can't go into too many details, here, but something happened at my job," he began. "Something to do with the contract. And I'm gonna have to ask you to call out and stay here, just for today. As in, don't you *dare* leave the house. Not even to step out onto the porch. You should be fine tomorrow. Just tell your boss that you got sick or something, make something up. You *do* have sick days, right?"
"Yeah," I said, knowing that asking for more information would be futile. "Are you sure you're okay, though? You look like you have a headache or something."
Nodding dismissively, he stood again and grabbed his coat from where I'd put it. "I do have to return to work, but I wanted to tell you in person. So, see you tonight?"
I hummed in reply, and stood as well, leaning in to kiss him goodbye. He turned toward the door, however, ignoring me.
"Later," he called.
By the time the following morning had rolled around, he still hadn't arrived. I called him, of course, but it went straight to voicemail.
>**Emily (9:07am):** Matt? You okay?
I was making myself a sandwich for lunch by the time he replied.
>**Matt (12:39pm):** yeah I'm fine
>
>**Matt (12:39pm):** just remember the instructions I gave you yesterday
>
>**Matt (12:39pm):** sit tight and don't leave
And it was the last message I received. That was over a year ago and I haven’t had contact with the outside since.
|
Day three hundred and seventy-three
That nobody contacts me
“Sit tight and don’t leave,”
was the last message I received
More than a year alone in this shelter
Only with rations and a computer
But I'll not leave this place
As leaving might mean disgrace
Day three hundred and seventy-four
Still alone in this floor
I'm about to lose my mind
I feel I'm being left behind
I've been wondering if the message was real
If it came from someone I knew
But I will not dare to leave
The messenger must have something under his sleeve
Day three hundred and seventy-five
Surprised I'm still alive
I don't know how much longer it'll last
I just hope it ends fast
| 2022-12-16T10:09:32 | 2022-12-16T07:44:47 | 46 | 25 |
[WP] A man on his deathbed gathers together his children. "To my eldest, I leave all my worldly possessions. To you, my youngest, I leave all my otherworldy possessions."
|
With the a final nod, my father lay back amongst the pillows. His eyes closed and he drifted off.
"He left me everything? But I pushed him down a flight of stairs..." came the mutterings of my sister. She stared down at him until she couldn't fight off her smile.
I knew she has always hated him. It was one of those unspoken things that our father would continually give her everything she asked for even as she shirked any responsibilities. Yet, I got nothing. No gifts. No lavish experiences were offered to me. No jobs to be had with the company.
Now, he had left her everything. Petunia was a billionaire with the worst of intentions. She would ruin the world.
Before I could say anything, the door opened.
"My condolences to you, Rose," said Mr. Pine my father's second in command.
"Excuse me? He left everything to me!" Petunia squealed.
"Ah yes, Petunia. All the assets you now own can be found here," he said pointing to a box on the table, "Rose, you will be coming with me. Our flight to Orion launches in an hour. Don't worry, I've gathered your things."
"Our flight?" I asked. He smiled.
"Yes. I realize you've never been off world before but this is just your father's starter planet. His least favorite but you were born here and the laws are clear about parental rights. Your mother wanted you to grow up on Earth. She refused to leave."
I glanced at Petunia to see if she understood the same words I was hearing. Her face slack. Her usually furrowed eyebrows drew thin points to her bulbous nose. One of the features I was glad not to share.
"Other planets... we own other planets. I'm queen of the galaxy..." she said while her teeth seemed to be escaping from her mouth.
"Ah, no. You don't own any planets. Earth is currently held by the historical society as it is the first of your father's creations. Preservation is essential for future generations to learn about our mistakes. Sadly, you never learned anything," Mr. Pine cleared his throat.
"We should be going Rose," he looped my arm through his, "We will be touring the five planets. We're starting with Orion because it is the closest. I might suggest that you choose to not stay there permanently. The underground arctic is so unpleasant even in summer. The temperature barely crests 10 degrees..."
Petunia was staring stupidly after us. Her smile had been replaced with confusion. As she decided to chase after us and steal my inheritance Mr. Pine snapped his fingers. Petunia became engulfed in a shimmering box. Her shrieks were clear to see as her nails trailed along the surface but I heard nothing.
"Your father wanted her to be unable to cause you more harm. She has money but no power. Our employees will be watching her. She'll never leave this planet," Mr. Pine said.
I nodded my understanding. He sighed.
"You don't know how relieved I am to get off this archaic rock," his eyes lit up as we entered my father's private elevator.
"Why are we going up?" I asked as the floors dropped below our feet. The glass door revealed a big open space on the roof.
"You can only reach space from the sky, " he said as he led me to the middle of the roof. The city continued around us. Cars honked while pigeons flew into the park.
He pulled out a bracelet from his inner pocket. With a wave he set it on my right wrist.
"Now what happens?" I said. Mr. Pine smiled to himself as he pulled out another bracelet.
"Just be patient. This is your first time-" the words were unfinished as he vanished. I spun around trying to find him.
"Mr. Pine?" I called. My wrist grew hot before being stabbed. I gasped before trying to remove the band. There was no clasp. The entire bracelet was smooth as if it had always been a part of my body.
"The database just needed to verify your identity. You'll never need to do this again. However, we didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention or risk Petunia escaping Earth. So we're taking public transit. Ticket holders only," Mr. Pine's voice sounded off to my left.
I turned but my eyes had taken in the open room. Much like a hotel lobby. Assorted chairs and tables filled the space. Not quite matching but people milled about the area. Although like me, many crowded around the transparent wall. The blue and green planet in full view. Earth shone below me.
"Not the prettiest planet. However, the blues are vibrant. Your father truly was unique," Mr. Pine said, "shall we find your rooms?" I pressed my hand against that shining blue before turning away. All around me people stared unable to know what I had just inherited. All the otherworldly treasures of my father had left me could never equal any amount of money. I couldn't help but smile knowing Petunia would live out her days wondering about the planets she'd never see. Life on that pale blue dot would soon become a distant memory.
|
"... And to you, my youngest, I leave all my otherworldly possessions."
. . .
The room is silent again, but less somber now and more somnambulant, because, I mean, what the fuck?
He gets the company, the subsidiaries, the stock, the townhouse, the lake house, the beach house, the cottage, the second cottage, the suits, the God damn son of a bitch platinum rocketship cufflinks that were a gift from Bezos. Bezos links, man.
. . .
"Yeah, but wait --"
"To you, my second son, I leave my struggle, perseverance, wisdom, strength, and the peace of mind I have sown each year for this moment of cultivation."
"So, like, that bottle of Macallan 62?"
"No."
"The Jet... Skis?"
The old man *expires*. Death rattle and all.
I look at my brother, who's wiping the little tear he can't hold back. He takes a theatrical deep breath, gathering himself before clasping his hands in front of his Gucci belt.
Something about "a life well lived" he says. Everyone shuffling around and talking about "arrangements."
They've already forgotten me, but what else is new? They're on to the next bit of industry: the old man's funeral and subsequent proliferation of newly acquired assets.
. . .
What do I do now?
| 2018-07-06T18:19:43 | 2018-07-06T14:25:44 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] Monsters of legends have started to appear on earth. However, they don't cause any damage or casualty, they just roam and kind of ignore humanity.
|
I park my Jeep at the far end of the parking lot, underneath a massive oak tree. I turn off the engine and step out, breathing in the fresh air. I really needed to get away from the city today, and I already feel refreshed.
Things have been so weird lately. Yesterday, a vampire interviewed to be the new receptionist. We had no idea what to do, so we just sat there and asked our usual questions while our phones blew up with texts from our co-workers. *Ask him if he's ever ate a person. Ask him how he quenches his thirst for blood. Ask him if he eats raw meat*. Melinda kept making excuses to come into the room; I felt embarrassed for her. In the end, we chose not to hire him. It's hard enough to keep people on task without a literal monster in the room. I felt bad, though. It seemed... discriminatory.
Discriminatory towards a predator. I shake my head. This is why I needed time away. The world makes no sense anymore. Things were already bad enough with the news agencies splitting the country in two and politicians lying through their teeth, and then suddenly out of nowhere there's monsters everywhere. How is a girl supposed to wrap her head around it?
I swing my backpack onto my back, then unstrap my canoe from the roof and begin the trek down the shaded path to the lake below. I've been here hundreds of times. My family used to spend every holiday at this lake, kayaking, canoeing, picnicking, hiking. They all moved away years ago, but I still come here whenever I can.
As I make my way down the path, my mind keeps straying to the weirder stories I've heard. The woman down the road from me turned out to be a witch, but I can't figure out if she's *always* been a witch, or if she turned into one when the monsters came out to play. Truth be told, I could just ask her, but I'm afraid. There have been no known casualties from the monsters, but surely it's only a matter of time?
*That's racist*, my mind yells at me, but then I internally shout back, *are monsters a race?*
I have no idea. The cafe put up a sign last week: HUMANS ONLY. DOGS FINE TOO. I wouldn't want to be a minimum wage worker telling an ogre he has to leave, though. It feels like everyone is just biding their time until we've decided if the monsters are good or bad. I've never been good at waiting.
I set my backpack in the canoe and push off into the water. At least out here I'm fine. There's nobody about - no one to have yet another conversation about chimeras with, no one to start crying, no one to parrot the latest unfounded talking points. I glide across the water towards the center of the lake. The sky is a perfect, happy blue. The sun beats down, but I have on sunscreen and a hat, so I don't mind. All around the lake, trees, bushes, and flowers bloom. In the distance, mountains rise up, looming large over the picturesque landscape. To my right, the lake ends in a sandy beach, tapering to green, grassy fields off into the distance.
The water is so clear that even as I paddle towards the center of the lake I can still see to the bottom. Fish swim in lazy schools, turtles paddle around, and rocks of every shape and color line the bottom. This has always been my happy place.
A tremor sends ripples through the water. I stop paddling. The sound of birds fades as the air goes silent and still. I can see the fish swimming away hurriedly, and my heart begins to beat faster.
A second tremor vibrates the entire canoe. I sit up straighter and look around for the source, but cannot find it. My hands grip the paddle tightly.
A third tremor sounds even closer, and it is then that I see it: a giant, coming down from the mountain. Even at a distance, he is gigantic. His footsteps are like an earthquake, shuddering the earth. I can barely breath. He strides into the forest, his head above the tops of the tallest trees, his shoulders the breadth of a house.
"My God," I murmur.
He lets out a noise, a groan, that echoes throughout the valley. I can feel it in my skin, settling there like a wound. Whatever he is looking for, he is in pain. I don't paddle. I just watch as he walks through the forest, each step sending waves across the water, each rattling my bones. I have never seen anything more terrifying, nor anything more magnificent. He leaves the forest, enters the grassy plains, goes down a hill, and disappears from view.
For a while longer, I sit in the canoe. My sense of tranquility has been shattered, replaced with a sense of awe I have never felt before.
|
Initially everyone freaked out when giant mythical monsters started meandering around. But when we finally realized that they're fully willing to ignore us and somehow not completely destroy the local ecosystem with their diets they just became another part of life.
I occasionally find myself staring in silent awe as I watch a Manticore flying outside my bus' window. Holding a whole shark in its maw probably heading to ward's its nest. I smile as a unicorn clops down the sidewalk, occasionally nuzzling children and adults. I arrive at work, leaving a small offering to the kobold that's taken up residence. When I'm working at my computer all work is suddenly brought to a halt as a Dragon nests on our roof.
Eventually I get free of the machine and head to a nice place for dinner, finding a bar run by centaurs and fae. Careful not to give my real name I finally head home, my vampire roommate giving me a tired wave as he heads out for the night shift.
| 2022-04-15T10:53:08 | 2022-04-15T07:16:27 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] A poorly equipped adventurer dared to approach the cave of a red dragon famous for it's riches. However, instead of trying to steal from it, the young man politely asked if it could share some of it's wealth. To his surprise, the dragon said "Sure, go ahead".
|
The entrance to the cavern was glimmering in the twilight. The sun was rising in the east, shining through the Scottish highlands, and the few rays of light escaping the blanket of clouds and reaching the cave were reflected back from within.
A traveler, wearing simple robes and endowing only a sack, paced through the rocky road up the way to the cavern. Finally witnessing the entrance, not even a glimpse of the promised possession in direct sight, the traveler’s eyes shined in delight. He made the first step.
On the stone floor, the traveler’s step echoed back from the walls of the cavern, despite trying his best to be discrete. Yet, there was another sound. A metallic clank, a rattle, growing in volume as the traveler reach farther in.
The traveler noticed two things: the first, a tremendous heap of gold, silver, and gems he could only name from tale-tales. There were coins of kings before the one that reigns today, and from before there were kingdoms for the kings to reign over. Swords and armor, some of which tainted with blood. The second was its equally big guardian, a red dragon whose wings spanned the room and his horns twirled in glory almost up to the ceiling, opening his resin colored eye.
“Who are you, and why did you come to my cave, and distorted my sleep?”
The traveler was frozen in place. His body begged him to run, yet all he could master was a fall on his back. “I- I am Hob. I mean Robert!” Hob corrected himself in a haste, “I am Robert Barnes. Of Hilton of Cadboll. My elders told me to be formal when I address you. But I am just a Hob.”
The dragon moved his head, facing Hob, making coins and metals trample down the pile. “And why are you here, Hob?”
The dragon’s piercing stare made Hob even more startled than before. He gulped, speechless for a few moments, before braking. “I need you to share some of your money.”
“Is that so?” The dragon blinked, slowly shutting his eyes. He was tired, having been woken up from his sleep. Yet Hob noticed that he only blinked once until now. “Well then. I am glad that you came here to inform me, but I wish you would have done so sooner, when I was awake.”
“Well then?” Hob repeated after the dragon. His eyes ran errand onto a sight to catch, to make sense of. “You are letting me to take from your hoard?”
“Of course I do. But I must ask, for my curiosity, why do you want it?”
“Oh, I do not want it!” Hob exclaimed quickly, before resting his mind on what he said. “I mean that I need it. My family does. A bad spirit had gone in our house and plagued my uncle. We barely survive the days when everyone works, and now when we miss a helping hand, we cannot afford to pay for his treatment. When he will die, we will have to auction a part of our farm to pay for a service.”
Hob sat down, holding his face in the palms of his hands. “The plague might already have had taken him by the time I go back.”
The dragon returned to his position on the pile, letting his eyes shut. “You shall take what you need, and I wish you farewell and goodbye.”
——————————————————
The traveler came back to the cavern a month later, the same simple robes and sack he owned before. This time, his steps weren’t cautioned as before, almost fastened from excitement. Hob began loading his sack with rubies and sapphires - of which he had finally learned the name of - when a thundering call was heard from atop the pile.
“Who are you and why are you intruding me during the day?” The dragon turned to see Hub, that had spilled coins from his sack in surprise. The dragon’s eyes narrowed, smoke coming through his nose. “Robert of Hilton, why are you stealing?” He raised the little man through his scaly fingers.
“You- you said you would share!” Hob became defensive, forgetting the stakes of the situation. “I am no thief! These crooked men get their wishes fulfilled with no integrity and with no care for the people who they steal from.”
“You should have informed me of your intentions before you took from my hoard. Are you not taking what isn’t your without the integrity? Are you taking because you want, or because you need?”
Hob let go of his gold filled sack. “Need, again. My uncle lived, but the bad spirit had not left the town. Now my wife and her mother were plagued by it, along with so many other villagers. As healers and pastors need to take care of more people, the cost of treatment is much higher. Even they fall ill. Even if the two were to be healed, we have to escape this damned town. Find a place not ridden by the plague and bad spirits carrying it, start a new farm and household. This will take a great cost.”
The dragon put Hob down on the ground, and again let his eyes shut. “You shall take what you want, and next time, tell me. I wish you farewell and goodbye.”
——————————————————
The sun was setting on the Scottish highlands. Through the entrance walked a man, his weak steps echoing through the cavern walls.
Hob no longer endowed a sack. His hand lingering on the walls of the cave, his eyes not finding the will to stay open.
The dragon witnessed a man withering away. His body pale, covered in blackened wounds. Reaching the front of the pile, he collapsed.
“Hob? What are you doing and what do you need on this day?”
Hob answered, in a soft yet broken voice “I need to not be alone. I was plagued by a bad spirit, and I cannot go back. I do not think I will make my way back. In my last steps, I could barely carry my own body. But my family needs to move again. The new town was plagued, too. I cannot deliver them money, but I beg you, can you?”
The dragon nodded, opening his wings in preparation for flight.
“Before that. Can I sleep with you? I do not want to go alone.”
The dragon picked up the dying body, and placed it near him. He was lighter this time. He then covered him with his wing.
On a pile of gold, lie a man and a dragon, whose sleep shall not be intruded.
|
Jack was one of those teenagers, hearing about the riches and fame adventurers found all around him. He left his village with only a wooden sword, pathetic like a piece of grass. He realized he wasn't fit for this when he fought a monster, but something shocking happened to Jack that changed his life... forever.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jack needed to do something drastic. If he kept on being a adventurer, he would eventually die. He decided to go inside one of the most Infamous places ever... The Red Lurker's Cave. The Red Lurker was a dragon known for its riches, and is thought of to be semi-intelligent, and unable to talk. He decided to sneakily steal the dragons riches, since he had not much gear.
​
As Jack walked into the cave, he saw the dragon on the middle of the riches, watching the cave. Jack body instantly went limp, a thousand thoughts running to him, telling him things and overflowing his brain.
​
"Hey, could I get some riches, my adventurer gig hasn't been going good..." said Jack, before realizing what he said. He was screwed as a juicy bag of meat all because he had to say those words. Becoming an adventurer was the thing he hated right now. He regretted dying this way, after all, there was no way the dragon would just gift him his riches
​
"Oh... Nobody ever talked to me... It has been boring having only yellow and white around me, so take as much as you can." said The Red Lurker.
​
Jack was confused, the dragon was intelligent! But based on what he learned, dragons never had vocal cords like humans. It was scientifically impossible... unless it knew MAGIC?!?
​
"Are you going to stand here or what?" the Red Lurker snared.
​
"Thank you!" said Jack and Jack rushed to take what he thought would be valuable. He took artifacts that he studied were missing, and was able to find 8 artifacts. He also found a magic pouch, using it to collect 800,000 gold coins and 3 more artifacts. He also took some magic artifacts, for he felt he needed it.
​
He praised the dragon, and left the cave, knowing his true adventure begun... as a powerful magic user.
| 2021-10-16T11:25:55 | 2021-10-16T11:22:36 | 150 | 24 |
[WP] An inverse Wizard of Oz, where a girl from a fantasy wakes up in a realistic world after a tornado hits her home.
|
Her name was Kate. That was 'bout all she could remember, at least that we could trust. The rest of her memories were just the fanciful imaginings of a badly bruised head. Fugue, the doctor called it. A state of forgetting oneself, temporarily. Kate must have been out wandering for hours until she found me, on account of her blonde hair being straw-dry, and her white dress then 'bout as white as a pig been larking in the mud.
Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking -- and quite rightly -- Henry, you shouldn't have offered to look after her, being that you don't have any experience being a father figure, or really any figure beyond being bent over in the fields. And besides, the farm's up for sale 'cause you don't have the stomach to keep fighting, eking out what's barely a living. And I'd say, you're quite right on all accounts. But it was only meant to be a temporary situation, while officer Brown hunted down her real family.
And there was something about her, besides.
That glint in her eye that you see looking up in the night sky, more than you do looking down at people. That smile on her lips, the likes of which I hadn't seen since my wife passed away.
So I offered. And she said ain't that just wonderful and called me her Prince Charming, which made me laugh seeing as how I smelled right then a state that would make a skunk blush. And I swear at that moment, three tiny robins flew down to the windowsill to sing me my own little song.
I didn't want her to help. Kate, that is. I wanted her to rest. To get better and remember. But she done beat me to the chickens that first morning, saying if the sun could rise early then so could she. And I'll be damned if I didn't see two of the hens roll their eggs, pushin' with their beaks, out of their wooden house and right up to her feet. She thanked them kindly as she placed them in her wicker basket.
All the animals seemed to adore her, almost much as I did. What was a chore for me seemed like talking to good friends for her. Kate drew the line at slaughter, though. Why? she asked. What did they do to us? So I sat her down and explained to her the ways of the world, and every word that slipped off my tongue seemed more evil than it ever had done previous. Economics and rearing and market places and prices. When I suggested, to lighten the mood, she talk them into suicide to save us the bother, seeing as she had such a good rapport with them, she cried and ran up the stairs, yelling that she couldn't stay in this world a momentlonger.
I cursed myself and gave her a little time before I went after her.
She'd found her way into Charlotte's room and was standing by the never-been-used cot. Whose was it, she asked.
So I told her. "No one's."
But she persisted so I explained. Explained how my wife died in labour, as did our little angel.
I already knew by then how delicate a soul Kate possessed, how much and how hard the realities of life seemed to hit her. So I expected maybe tears. Expected maybe her to leave my house and run back to wherever she was lost, so she didn't have to face up to those types of truths.
But she didn't. She bit her bottom lip, walked over to me, and hugged me 'bout as tight as I've ever been held.
"We're both lost, Henry. Both somewhere we shouldn't be. Let's help each other find our way."
I'd love to tell you we found Kate's family, but we never did. Not that we've stopped looking altogether. Heck, I'd love to tell you we went organic, or maybe even only grew vegetables and set all the gosh-darn livestock free. But that wouldn't be realistic. We wouldn't have the money to buy bread or have new sheets for the bed or fix holes in the roof. So all I can tell you is Kate got herself a pair of wellies and learned how to use my old knife in the most humane way possible.
She just got on with what needed doing.
And so did I, starting with taking down the sale sign. I never much liked the look of it anyway.
In the evenings, we'd laugh as we exchanged stories. Hers fantastical, mine based on experience. Mostly about my wife. Kate could never get enough of those particular stories, the ones of how we met, and our first kiss, and a million little things I'd not thought of in years and maybe never would have again.
Kate told me matter-of-factly one evening, a few months in, that she didn't think she'd ever get back home. I asked if that made her sad. She'd looked at me a moment, then shook her head. No, she said. I belong right here.
Fugue. The state of forgetting one's self.
Temporarily.
Took me some time to see it, but that was never Kate's condition. Kate, you see, was lost but she always knew herself.
It was me who'd just 'bout forgotten, the dreams the joy, the entire point of it all. And I mus' say, it sure feels nice to be reminded.
|
The weekly tornado had been *weird*. It was grey, for one thing, and it didn't carry anything in it. It was just a swirling funnel of dust and wind, without even a single frog in sight. At that point, Dorothy should have steered her house out of the way. Well, they do say that hindsight is always perfect after the event has happened. Or if you've got eyes in the back of your head.
This strange new world was *weird*. The birds couldn't sing properly, only whistling notes that sometimes seemed to begin a melody but would then rapidly lose tone, and the grass was only green and sometimes brown. Dorothy's shiny red shoes would not work either, not even when she clicked their heels more than ten times.
Looking down, Dorothy did not know where to go. There were no bricks in the road, and the dry, cracked earth was certainly not the bright shade of yellow that she was used to. No friendly creatures approached to give her any advice either.
Shrugging and beckoning for her ever-faithful Toto to follow, Dorothy began her journey, the clawed toes of the dragon leaving behind distinct prints in the earth that marked the remains of a sedan crushed under a house, red slowly seeping out and staining the dirt.
​
| 2018-12-27T07:59:08 | 2018-12-27T06:48:03 | 60 | 17 |
[WP] The most successful monsters are the ones that don't have tales and legends surrounding them.
|
The old Hunter stood, painfully out of place in the clean classroom. Though he stood with confidence, the students were clearly confused at his presence. Their instructor, his expression a little bemused, stood at the side of the room; his attentiveness at least encouraged the class to behave as they entered the room and found their seats.
As the students settled in to listen, the Hunter rubbed the ridged scar that crossed his face, stretching from his right cheekbone across the bulb of his nose, then turning sharply down his left cheek to lose itself as a white streak in his salt-and-pepper beard.
“The scariest thing out there is the one we don’t know how to fight,” he began. The words came out with a reluctance, but also with familiarity, as though he’d said that line before, that he had practiced this. The fluorescent lights shone harsh on him; when he stood still, sometimes he seemed a primitive statue of clay and metal and glass. After a moment, he continued.
“I can only tell you what I know of it with difficulty, and I apologize if my words seem to wander. It is part of the creature’s nature to cause this effect. We don’t know how to fight it, because we don’t remember fighting it.”
He shifted his weight, causing the steel chain-whip on his belt to jingle. He looked like an ancient cowboy, dressed in leather and faded plaid. Dirt from maybe a dozen lands stained his clothing, though his face, hands, and equipment were meticulously clean. His sweaty hair stood up in spikes after he ran his fingers through it. He glanced over his shoulder at a table. Lumpy objects were concealed by a draping sheet, and his hat, dirty like the rest of his clothing, perched on top of the cloth, as though to hold it down. After some moments of restless movement, he closed his eyes and took a few breaths. Some of the students leaned forward at their desks, sensing that he had prepared himself as much as he was able.
“You run into one, and all you know is confusion. I can’t tell what it looks like—I don’t remember. You pull your weapons, and draw on your training, on your experience, but there’s nothing in that training that matches the beast you face. You try to remember the Book, and all your memory’s eye can see is a blank page. Because it’s not in there. It can’t be in there. I remember those thoughts, and nothing else of what came after.” He cleared his throat, then swallowed something from a small metal flask. His belt and wide bandolier were filled to overflowing with the tools of his trade, but the flask came from a pocket.
“The standard weapons, the old Tools of our trade. Do they work? I don’t know. Perhaps. I went in with my chain whip, with my black-iron blade and silver knife.” He gestured at the weapons, the sword and whip on his belt, the knife in a sheath strapped to a bandolier across his chest. “I went in with the three switches; Rowan, Willow, and Yew.” Three wands, each secured in a long, narrow case beside the dagger. “I went in with the three Dusts; Salt, Garlic, and Bone. I had the waters of Mint and Rose and Lemonbalm.” These contained in six stone and crystal vials, three on his bandolier, three on his belt, just in front of the chain whip.
He paused again. “Which of these worked, if any, I could not say.”
Turning again, he set his hat on his head and pulled aside the cloth that covered the objects on the table. “When I woke, my tools were as you see them, some crammed into my pack, some I carried in my hands. I was staggering at the outskirts of the colony. I do not feel that I was truly asleep, but that is when my mind … came back to my body.”
The hilt of a pig-iron sword and one of the broken pieces of blade rested next to a bent-bladed, tarnished silver knife. A whip, similar to the one at his belt, was a ball of broken and crushed chain links. Scorched and splintered sticks were in a heap with no attempt to distinguish between the original three wands. Two vials were empty, their stoppers gone, vials, and the remains of others sat near them, smashed and shattered. The Hunter regarded these damaged items with a blank expression, then shrugged. He dropped the cloth on the ground and turned back to the students. “Perhaps all worked together, perhaps none.
“But I fought it, and I lived. And yet, I could not return to see if the job had been finished—I tried. For ten days, each morning I walked toward the cave where an unknown creature was rumored to dwell, the story that brought me to that forsaken little colony, and again and again I woke the next morning in the room I had taken with—“ he paused and shrugged. “With a person I can no longer remember.” His mouth tightened, a grim line that resembled the scar.
“After today, you may not remember this story. You may think back and remember a washed-up old man who rambled on about nothing. Some of you, though, may meet this creature in your travels, and maybe in seeing it, recall what I tell you now. That colony? It is gone. It is forgotten. This beast has so obscured my memories that I could not say where it is, nor who lived there, nothing.
“My memory of that place is like the memory of a dream. Fragile. Confusing. Incomplete. So too yours will be, if you cross its path. If you come to a place where the people are absent-minded, forgetting tasks as they perform them, wandering about as though lost, losing the thread of a sentence or conversation while speaking, beware. Go back the way you came. Swing wide around that place in your travels.
“Whatever lives there, we do not know nothing of its nature. We do not know how to fight it. And if you are fortunate, this is the only time you will ever hear of it.”
His hands moving as though by ritual, he patted his equipment, ensuring it was secure and in place. He nodded to the students, who sat still and solemn, then he nodded to the instructor.
Without another word, he gathered up his broken weapons, leaving only a scattering of rust, a few shards of stone and crystal, and vague, unsettling memories.
|
I walked out of the theater, disappointed as usual. But I hid my disappointment. I'm getting really good at hiding things.
"So what'd you think of the movie?" My date asked.
I thought it was an inaccurate piece of Hollywood crap that lacked any real insight on what it is we do and how we do it. It's all 'grr grr I'm so scary look at my claws!' just like the last picture, and the one before that.
"I liked it," I said. "Thought it was real scary."
"Me too, I hope I sleep tonight." she said with a laugh. She's cute. Poodle skirt swinging, blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. Her parents want her home by ten.
I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint them. Not as disappointed as I was with this movie though. These movie monsters have no class, and half of them seem to be made of rubber. I tell ya, ever since the blob even got *involved* in that picture, he let himself go. Mothman, the crawling eye, everybody selling out so that people can pay $1.55 to sit through an hour of guys in masks pouncing on vapid teenagers.
*Pouncing on vapid teenagers?* I can hear my dad's voice now. *How's that any different from what you're doing now?* At least I'm not playing hide and go seek under somebody's bed or letting Ed Wood turn me into a laughing stock.
"You seem awful quiet all of a sudden," my date asks. "What's wrong?" She seems generally concerned. That's sweet. Almost wish I could remember her name. Almost wish I cared.
"Sorry, I'm just thinking about something my dad said."
"What'd he say?"
"Oh, nothing. You know how dads are, always getting on your case."
She proceeds to ramble about how her parents are so strict or whatever. All I can think about is that awful movie, and every movie I've seen like it. Why do people like these things? I guess it's because they want to think they're being scared without being put in any real danger. Whatever.
We get to the park, tell her this is a short cut. After we get far enough away from the street that nobody could see us, I start doin' my thing. She screams, then she stops. But my heart's not in it. The whole time I'm thinking about how to get the new stain out of my jeans, or if any got on my high tops. Or about the annoying girl in that damn movie. The whole evening was disillusioning. It's losing its fun.
Maybe dad's right. Maybe I need a different approach. Maybe I need to stop watching these stupid movies. They're starting to depress me.
| 2015-09-24T08:06:49 | 2015-09-24T07:54:50 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] The real reason aliens haven’t arrived on Earth yet is… grass?
|
“I never *Wanted* to come to earth!” The green-skinned girl exclaimed.
“If it weren’t for that dumb space monkey, I would never have gotten in this mess anyways! How was *I* supposed to know that he sold me a fake hyperdrive!”
I stared dumbfoundedly at the girl in front of me. I had been in the middle of my afternoon run when I heard a crash in the field to my right. After investigating I had found a metallic cylinder and this strange girl standing in front of it.
The girl kicked the piece of metal and murmured something about it being a piece of junk before turning to rummage around the inside of a small compartment. While she rummaged about, I debated with myself whether to call out to her. She was obviously not human. I mean her skin is *Green*. Maybe she’s a secret government organism from area 51. Although she said something about not wanting to come to earth so she’s probably just an alien. I say it like it's no big deal but there haven’t been any interactions with aliens since we colonized mars, and that was close to 50 years ago! And before then people didn’t even believe aliens existed! I should probably just walk away; I don’t want to get caught up with some interspatial conflict.
“You can come out earthling, I know you're there.” The girl said, not turning around.
. . . So much for that idea.
I walked out into the clearing, my running shoes crunching loudly on the grass, burnt from her crash.
“So, um. . . you’re an alien. . .” I said awkwardly. I inwardly cringed. I hope she doesn’t get offended and laser me.
She sighed. “Maybe from your point of view, but to me, *You’re the* aliens.”
I stayed silent.
“There’s no need to be afraid, I’m not gonna eat you. Humans don’t even taste very good. . . Not that I’ve tried it.” She added quickly.
She seemed to be friendly, so I decided to push my luck.
“Uh, it’s not every day you see an alien crash in a field. What happened?”
“Some space monkey sold me a faulty hyperdrive in the Andromeda system. Although you probably don’t even know what that is,” She said. “You’re taking this better than I thought you would have. I was expecting the stereotypical screaming response from a human. Aren’t aliens like monsters to you guys?”
Was I acting strange? I guess it *would* make more sense to scream and run away.
“Well, it doesn’t matter very much. Since you seem to be cool with this, help me fix my ship, will you?”
“Uh sure I guess, but I don’t think I’ll be of much help,” I said. After all, I had no clue that even *was* a ship until she said so.
“Don’t worry, I just need you to grab some stuff for me. All I need are some rocks. I would get them myself except for the fact that *that* is growing everywhere,” She said.
I raised my eyebrow at her obvious disgust towards the grass growing in the field. “What’s so bad about grass?” I asked.
She looked at me with a grimace. “It smells disgusting. That’s why we haven’t taken earth over yet. We could if we wanted to but who wants a smelly planet. I don’t understand how you humans can bear it. I can barely stand being over here with the burnt grass. Let alone go standing and searching for rocks in it!”
I shuddered at the fact that *grass* is the only reason earth hasn’t been taken over yet.
“Why do you even need rocks? What is a pile of rocks gonna do for your ship?” I asked.
She looked at me seriously. “The geo compositional mineral density and hadrochemical acid content of the rock can be synthesized to be a similar compound as the hyperdrive fuel.”
“Uh…”
“Exactly. Now go find me my rocks.”
I shut my mouth, turned around, and walked off to find her some rocks.
After returning with the rocks, she greedily accepted them and put them into a blindingly white machine. She tinkered with it a bit more before turning to me.
“Looks like that’s it. Now I can get out of this stinky place.”
She raised her leg and put her foot out to me. After staring confusedly for a second, she sighed and said, “It’s a sign of thanks. You humans should really learn more about alien culture.”
Yeah, but we’ve only encountered them once and that was 50 years ago. I don’t think there is much culture for us to study at all.
She put her foot down and turned to her spacecraft. With a small nod, she got in her pilot seat, which I couldn’t even tell was the pilot seat, and turned on the thrusters. I watched as the small spacecraft flew away into the sky.
After staring at the night sky for a few seconds, I said to myself, “Acid is one hell of a drug.”
|
Nobody had ever figured out why aliens hated our planet. The rest of the universe was colonised and had alien life, but Earth didn’t. One day, we received a message from an alien colony. “Your planet has grass. We can not land there, and as such, your planet will be the only one to die in the upcoming extinction of life.” Turns out that the way grass grows affects the atmosphere, not in a negative way for us, but to aliens, a chemical is released that will melt them. This chemical is one we never heard of, called ‘Microserphian bioxidestrate’ which fills the air. But one thing in that message stood out, that we would all die due to the lack of alien tech on our planet. What were we supposed to do? We couldn’t remove all the grass, it’s there for a reason, but we couldn’t just die, so what were we meant to do?
| 2021-04-04T00:41:31 | 2021-04-03T22:26:21 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK."
|
Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b55yn/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b5hy0/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b61h1/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_4/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b74ri/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_5/) | [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bbwac/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_6/) | [Epilogue](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bbz9g/the_weight_of_a_hero_epilogue/)
---
A prank? Barack stared at the letter. If it was a prank, it was a damn good one. The signature was exquisite--looping and elongated, a near mirror image of JFK's real signature. Well, if someone went through this much effort for a simple joke, he might as well entertain them.
He looked around to make sure neither his wife or daughter was around. He walked into the living room just in case and dialed the number.
It rang once and clicked. "Barack."
It was John's voice. For a second, Barack thought he was listening to old speeches played in fuzzy, warmly-colored screens.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"I'm John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. The time to serve your nation is now."
"No, you're not," Barack said. This was getting less and less funny with every word. It wasn't that funny to begin with. "Impersonating a President in any serious attempt is a grave offense."
"Look outside." The call cut.
Barack peeled back the drapes and peeked through the blinds at a sunny May day. Standing at the end of his driveway, right outside his gate, was John F. Kennedy. A jet black limo sat behind the man. He beckoned Barack and slipped back inside the tinted windows of his car.
---
The 44th President of the United States gripped the cool brass doorknob. Already, sweat was accumulating on his hands and neck. This was dumb. He shouldn't go, he knew, but JFK had been a personal hero to him. It was under his leadership that humanity reached the moon, he stood up to Russia at the height of their power, he was a man Obama would've given anything to meet. And now he had the chance.
He opened the door and stepped into the sunlight.
Secret Service agents watched him go. None tried to stop him. They wouldn't even meet his eyes. The front gate opened like curtains in a stage play, revealing the jet black of JFK's limousine.
The car door swung open. Barack licked his arid lips and swallowed what little moisture he had in his mouth. He got in.
---
The hum of the car was the only noise between the two Presidents. Obama simply stared. JFK looked exactly like in the photos. The man hadn't aged. He tried scanning John's face for any misplaced flap of skin, any misdrawn shadow, anything to give away the mask. There were none.
The car stopped and suddenly, the windows flickered to black. They had been TV screens, projecting fake streets and pedestrians!
"Barack Obama," John said turning to face him.
From this up close, there was no mistaking who that voice belonged to.
"Why did you get into this car?"
Barack's eyes flitted to the locked doors on either side of him and then faced John directly. "You said it was time to serve my nation."
Neither man blinked. At last, John spoke, "Well answered Mr. President. But I'm afraid that was a lie."
Obama's heart skipped. He clutched his leg, but refused to show weakness in the face of his captor.
"It is not time to serve America, but humanity as a whole."
"What do you mean?"
"In 1961, I gave a speech called We Choose to go to the Moon. Are you familiar with it?"
Barack nodded. Most historians claimed that was the moment that a moon landing was inevitable. With a few choice words, John had mobilized the unstoppable force of human will to reach a land that had always looked down upon them.
"I gave that speech for a very specific reason. Humanity needed to ascend, but not to a physical place. Initial probes of the moon had returned an element we are unfamiliar with, but this is the element that has kept me young, it grants me certain abilities that I have not shared with the world."
"So you did get shot?"
"I also did die."
Barack chewed on his lips. If this was still a prank, it was far more elaborate than anything he'd ever experienced. "So what is this element?"
"One without a name and soon it will be the only element worth mentioning. The Russians know its there. The Chinese probably have some idea. Already, there are factions within both countries, powerful enough to influence their space program. These factions are not in the best interests of humanity."
"So what is it that you want from me?"
"You have proven your devotion to our nation through your eight grueling years of Presidency. Because of its secrecy, we cannot employ our strengths at full capacity, rather, we must do so through single people willing to live and die for the protection of the human race."
"Like some sort of super hero?"
"Not like. Barack Obama, there exists a game far greater than any petty foreign politics. The winner of this game will dictate the future of our race. If you decline my offer, I will drop you off back home and we will never speak again. But if you so choose to accept, you will have the crushing weight of the human race on your shoulders, you will have none of the gratitude or reward. It will be a path through hell itself. So ask not whether you wish to be a hero, but whether you can survive as one."
Obama clenched his jaw. He had his wife and two daughters to think of. He had finally retired from the most stressful period of his life. But he had become the President not to leave a legacy, but to fulfill his duty.
He nodded. "I accept."
The doors of the car unlocked and automatically opened. There would be no turning back now.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations of prompts by popular request, and more!
|
I've wanted to get into writing for a while now, my first attempt a writing since school!
Contemplating how much easier his life had been since Donald Trump took over, Barack rolled over to kiss Michelle as he does like clockwork every morning. Something caught his eye this morning. On the bedside table he saw a note. In the corner was a small symbol.
"I've seen that before" He thought. "But where?"
It slowly came into focus until he realised, it's the presidential seal! What could Trump want from him that required such an official means of communication. He reached over, grabbed the note and unfolded it. Briefly skimming through a signature caught his eye. It was identical to JFK's.
The note read "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job."
It must have been Michelle playing another joke on him. Ever since his retirement the two found themselves with so much free time that they had resorted to playing silly pranks on each other. The jokes had started to become more an more elaborate recently. Just last week Barack had got the whole family in on a joke that he in fact was never the President. After a quick google search Michelle quickly debunked this, however.
"I'll play along he thought"
Barack proceeded to dial the number written on the bottom. It seemed to ring longer than normal.
"Not committed at all" He thought. "Oh we-"
"-Hello?... *Hello!?* Barack, is that you?" whispered a worried voice.
"Yes, speaking.
.
.
.
Hang on, Joe, is that you? She's got you in on this too!?"
"Dammit Barack, the accent wasn't enough to throw you off?"
"We spent enough time together, do you think you could fool me so easily? Ha! Nice try, say hi to Jill for me and I'll see you tonight, yeah?"
"Sure thing, see you later."
As Barack hung up the smile on his face grew wider, already plotting his next prank. He realised the room had grown eerily silent, however. He could no longer hear Michelle's truffle pig impression. In fact, she was no longer in the room.
A shadow caught his eye in the doorway. A male silhouette with slightly coiffed hair and behind a female, slightly frail looking silhouette with shortish hair.
| 2022-06-24T19:04:50 | 2017-05-14T10:10:47 | 3,481 | 10 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers.
|
Having powers was nothing unusual since this comet melted in the earth's atmosphere and spread its mystery across the globe. Maybe you could run 40 miles per hour. Maybe lift half a ton without much training. Maybe jump 6 feet high standing still. People mostly had ordinary jobs, using their power to boost their income as well as possible.
"Please, give me a detailed list of the powers you have developed, and what class you would rank them in."
These were the class 1 or 2 powers, which have gotten fairly common by now. They are harmless powers, usually just simple enhancements that were not too much danger to society. There were some additional laws, and your powers were added to your ID card, but otherwise, that was it.
If you were ranked into the rare class 3, you had to wear a tracker all the time to make it harder for you to commit crimes. Also, the military would be trying to get you signed up. After all, things like teleportation, intangibility, or flight make good criminals. At least, that is what the government thinks. Protests were no use against the constant fear-mongering. Naturally, if your power was prone to get you to class 3, you would try to play it down. Which was what I was doing today.
Just that my powers are class 4.
"I have some sort of anti-aging that keeps me fit. I also have improved stamina and regeneration, but only on a class 1 level. I'd personally rank me a class 2."
These were my passive powers, I couldn't hide that. I forced my body to be chill and make it sound natural.
"Have you taken any examinations of what causes these conditions"
Oh come on, I was hoping they'd make it short. Stay calm, you have nothing to hide.
"The doctor says my cellular regenerations are boosted, which allows me to recover from exercise or injury much faster. It also seems to work against cell aging. I am just always in perfect shape."
Please, no more questions or a mandatory check-up. If my doctor wasn't one of our family friends, I would be in serious trouble by now. Class 4 will get you into trouble. I wasn't even using my power to its full extent. But if they knew, they would probably force me into lifelong house arrest with cameras everywhere.
"Since you can fix your cells, has your doctor found any hints about your condition allowing cell reorganization?"
Oh shit. Any form of shape-shifting was a class 3. But I was prepared for this. I handed her the doctor's report, which thankfully didn't include that I very well could reorganize my cells. And even add more or remove them to my liking. I was like a shape shifter on crack. I could just transform into an elephant and kill her, then turn into a fly and escape. But that was going to cause trouble.
"I see, only healing, no more. That would make you a class 2 indeed. How are you planning your future with your new abilities?"
Thankfully, I was not planning to make a living out of my power. And I was prepared for this question as well.
"I haven't really planned on utilizing it. I love my office job and my boss would be very happy if I stay with them, since I'm unlikely to ever be sick. I think I might start training for marathons since I can handle the distances now."
"Alright. I have everything noted down, we will notify you when your documents are ready."
PHEW
"You look like you successfully made it a class 2, congratulations!" Bobby realized.
"Oh boy, this lady seemed to know the tricks. Bless God that I have always been a good liar and you really helped me prepare. Now I just have to pray that I never accidentally raise suspicion."
If there was any suspicion, they would use one of their agents with lie detection powers on me. There was little to no hope in this case.
"Well, I am not going to spill the beans if you stay silent as well. Otherwise, I will squeeze you to death." Bobby had full-ass telekinesis and could lift entire cars remotely. But he managed to persuade the officer that he could only throw smaller things around.
"Same goes for me. Tell anybody and you will have to 1v1 your worst fears." I laughed back. One year back I spotted him throwing a plant container with his mind. Bobby almost died of fear, he probably would have lost his job if they figured out his true strength. He was very thankful that I kept my mouth shut and made a false statement that it was already broken when we arrived. Since that, we have grown to be best friends. I hope he never has to reciprocate that.
|
“It’s just an illusion.” I’ve said it hundreds of times. The silly girl won’t believe me.
“It feels REAL! It has to be! PLEASE! I don’t care if it hurts, send me back!” It hasn’t ceased for hours…
I sent her to an alternate reality in an attempt to ease her suffering. Two versions of the same soul can’t exist within a single reality. It’s painful. But usually, people get a feeling of closure… like it’s a dream…
Cause I say it IS a dream.
Apparently she wants to just stay in that dream…
I can’t let her do that though…
| 2022-06-06T12:40:35 | 2022-06-06T11:23:37 | 454 | 40 |
[WP] In your world, your physical appearance reflects the kind of person you are - you do good, you look good. One day on the news you see that the police is looking for somebody who allegedly murdered 15 people. They show a picture of the most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life.
|
It’s tough working in law enforcement when everyone’s appearances are based on morality.
I walk into the station, with dawn at my back, and am greeted with the typical dimly lit scene; A handful of the ugliest people you’ve ever seen, handcuffed, going through paperwork with my frankly, not much better looking coworkers.
I do my best to slip by unnoticed into the break room to get some coffee. To my chagrin, Frank must have spotted me as he follows me through the open door.
“Wow, Brad,” he says, approaching me and reaches out his hands to grab my arm.
“You’ve been working out haven’t you? You’re looking jacked, man.”
“Nice try, Frank,” I smile without looking up as I fill my *World’s Greatest Dad* mug, “but that shit’s not going to fix that nose anytime soon.”
He laughs, “eh fuck it, it’s worth a shot, eh?”
He goes over to the aluminum paper towel dispenser to peer into his reflection, retrieves a comb from his pocket, and slides it delicately through his hair.
“I’ve got a hot date tonight and I could use all the help I can get,” he says.
I chuckle and watch the creamer swirl in my coffee as I stirred.
“Tell you what,” I say, “you catch a bad guy today and I guarantee those gray hairs will disappear by tonight.”
“Gray?!,” he shouts, frantically searching his hair awkwardly in the reflection, trying to get a better view. “Oh man, I knew I shouldn’t have flipped off that old lady this morning, but for god sakes I didn’t know she was old until I drove by her! It was too late!”
I raise my mug and wink, “Gotcha.”
I turn towards the door and head back to my office.
“Oh, I’m going to get you back!” I hear him say.
I walk into my office, close the door behind me, and lower the blinds. I’ve got loads to sort through today, and I don’t need any interruptions.
I pull out the fifteen manilla folders from my drawer next to my stashed bottle of whisky. I have a feeling I’m going to need that later.
I open the first folder, and look through the gruesome pictures I have all but burned into my memory. How could someone commit such an atrocious act of seemingly random violence. I open the next folder, and the next, and before long I have the scene of a massacre sprawled across my desk. Blood, dismemberment, disembowelment. Whoever the killer is has got to be the ugliest mother fucker alive.
I’d been working on the case for six months now, since the first connected murder. If I could just beat the feds to cracking this case, they’d make me lead detective for the NYPD, I know it. But so far, my leads are few and far between.
Hours pass as I scrounge through my notes again and again, meticulously retracing the few breadcrumbs left on the scene by the killer. No fingerprints, no viable DNA. The only real trace we have is a stick-on nail found stuck inside the neck of a partially decapitated victim. It was an oddly familiar turquoise, the origins of which I couldn’t quite place. The killer was a woman, that was obvious, but there’s plenty of ugly woman in this city. Far too many to interrogate each, and probably against a dozen discrimination codes. I stroked my goatee.
At that moment there was a knock at my door.
“Busy,” I shout back.
“Um, sir, I think you’ll want to hear this,” I recognize deputy Shellner on the other side.
“Fine,” I reluctantly say, quietly returning the whisky bottle to my drawer. “Come in.”
Deputy Shellner enters. He’s a tall slender man that is notably dashing. I always liked the kid. Quite charismatic and smart to boot.
“The fed’s got her,” he says quietly, avoiding eye contact. He knew what this case meant.
“God damn it,” I feel the blood rush to my face. I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, the killer has been caught after all, which is good, but this is damning to my career. I dropped the ball on this one.
“Well who is it?” I ask, collecting myself.
“The media’s covering it. Channel five.”
I reach over my desk and grab the boxy remote for my old tv set, click the power button, and flip to channel five.
“The hunt is over, as the FBI has finally detained the notorious east coast killer. Just six months ago, this woman-”
A picture of the killer flashes on the screen as the reporter continues, but his words drown into the background of my focus.
I’m immediately taken aback. I feel like I’m falling, and I get nauseous. How? How could this be? Where did I do wrong? I stare at the screen, at the most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on.
“God she is quite hideous isn’t she sir,” I hear him say, but my eyes dare not stray from the tv.
Her face was pale and cracked. Her lips drooped down showing her few remaining bottom teeth, which were yellow and rotting. She looked twenty years older than her age, as she was riddled with deep wrinkles. I see the all too familiar shade of turquoise, powdered against her blotchy eyelids in vain. The turquoise... I understand it now.
My eyes swell as I reach over and delicately grab my precious framed photograph off my desk. My fingers lightly graze the side of a beautiful young woman’s cheek in the picture. She had wonderful turquoise colored eyeshadow. That’s always been her favorite color. Ever since she was a child.
“That woman,” I am barely able to say, “That woman is my sweet little girl.”
 
---
Hey everyone! Thanks for reading. I've got a sub, /r/perpetuallymeh. Check it out. You'd be the first.
|
Gary Gargas let his mouth open a little. His hand holding the spoon full of ice cream paused in the arc between the cardboard tub and his mouth. The light from the TV flickered on his face as his eyes widened and they said her name.
"...Michelle Rickman is being sought in connection with fifteen separate murder cases. Evidence was uncovered by the Vemin County Police two months ago that one of the previously missing persons was actually..."
She was wonderful!
They began to show video footage of her from a previous conviction. She hobbled down the courthouse steps with a cane, her hips were at an angle, crooked and twisted. She was half-bald; what remained of her hair clung to her head like a hatch of spiders. Three scars crossed her face, pulling her right eye down and her left lip up into a permanent sneer. She wore the best in fifty year old fashion; all in black, of course. As her public defenders pushed some of the press away, a quick snippet of her lumpy, pale thigh made Gary drop his spoon.
"Wow!"
He threw the ice cream on floor. It landed next to the dead body that was already lying there. Gary stumbled out of the recliner after a few seconds of awkward positioning and grunting. He had to step carefully, mostly because of all the blood that had soaked into the carpet, but he managed to cross the living room and press his own mangled face right up to the big screen television. He stood there, drinking in every moment of the woman named Michelle.
Oh, a woman like that couldn't be put in jail! It just wasn't right. Gary pulled his knife from the sheath at his belt and began running his thumb along it's stained edge. No, not at all. A woman like that needed to be free to experience all that this world had to offer. A woman like that...
A woman like that needed *him.*
Gary smiled.
*****
Want to read more from me? [Click Here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheWordsOfXacktar/)
| 2017-06-12T07:19:38 | 2017-06-12T04:52:08 | 1,359 | 566 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
How could this be? I had, to my knowledge, never done anything evil. Maybe this will sound crazy, but I had never done anything serious to harm anyone else. A consequence of that lifestyle choice was that I mostly kept to myself. It wasn't that I was some altruist, it was more that I was selfish in an unconventional way. I wanted the internal superiority that comes from knowing that no matter what, I wasn't a bad guy. It's a bit indulgent, sure, but enough to land me here for 186,292 years? That seemed excessive.
"Excuse me, is there someone I can speak to?" The clerk hardly looked up from his desk. I asked again and the tips of his wings twitched. I had annoyed him. "There must be some mistake," I continued.
This last statement had gotten his attention, he now stood tall in front of me, and for the first time I got to appreciate the true spectacle that is an "Afterlife Senior Administrator." Standing nearly 10 feet tall, as wide as my dad's oak desk, with expansive wings whose tips reached down to his heels. He peered through comically small spectacles at me, his eyes almost bulging out in disbelief. Or was it mere annoyance?
He opened his mouth and a roar upended the stillness around me. "We make no mistakes. I've been doing this for as long as your kind has existed, i have never once seen a mistake, let alone made one." He huffed and puffed as I carefully considered my next words.
"Of course, I understand. But is it possible?" The words seemed not to anger him further, but neither did they calm him. He strode over to the file cabinet while mumbling something about how humans always amaze him with their self-centeredness.
"No!" he said, as he pulled out a folder. Here you will find a description of your life, followed by the relevant info. The first section describes your characteristics, aptitudes, estimates, etc. The second describes and lists your good deeds, as well as the weight they carried. The third section does the same, for the bad deeds. The last section is somewhat of an executive summary, if you will, of the second and third sections since they sometimes can get pretty long."
He stretched out his hand and shoved the folder in my face. "Is it usually this thin?" I asked. He did not even look up as he shook his head, then found his chair again, and sat back down with a crash. At least he was now calm.
I flipped to the final section, looking at the summary. It said I had done 432 good things in my life, and only 14 bad things in my life. The net sum of all the bad things netted me a "Evil Score" of only -14, while the good things I had done had netted me a "Goodness Score" of 1312. Clearly, the good had outweighed the bad.
"Look right here!" I said excitedly, feeling confident once more."You made a mistake. I did more good things than bad, by a wide margin." Surely this had all just been an error. "If you can just fix this little issue, I won't complain to anyone." Maybe threatening to bring in his supervisor would make this easy.
The being laughed. It was an arrogant laugh that filled me with the feeling I was not out of this just yet. Once more he could not even afford a glance in my direction. "Did you read the characteristics you had?" He asked without looking up, knowing that I had not. I turned to that section assured that nothing in there could outweigh the lack of evil that I had done.
I read the first paragraph:
Class: Prophet
Sub-class: True Savior
Description: Subject will show a marked aptitude for good deeds. He will possess reserve of empathy and moral courage that make him an ideal candidate for receiving THE WORD and transmitting it effectively to the people. Under the right moral circumstances, subject will consistently place himself in danger for the betterment of his species. Under the right moral circumstances, subject will sacrifice himself to help others. Subject should, barring peculiar effort on his own part to avoid it, inevitably receive the prophecy that will engage mankind on the next stage of its spiritual development.
Estimated Lifespan: 32 years
Estimated time before perceiving THE WORD: 22 years, 11 months
Estimated Goodness score: 1,764,002,999,153
I dropped the paper on the floor. I had lived to be 53 and had never once believed myself to be receiving prophecy from above or ignoring it in any way. I looked up at the administrator who had begun staring at me with a curious smile. I tried to ask a question but the words would not come out. He seemed to have anticipated them.
"You aren't here because you did bad things. No, that would be too simple. That is why all the normal people are here. But you are not normal. You are here my dear human, because you were the first prophet to come around in a few millennia. All you had to do was follow your true nature, be open and receptive to THE WORD, and you would have done incredible good. You would have changed mankind, perhaps liberated it once and for all. But you didn't. You sought to avoid impact, rather than create it. You felt abstaining from evil was equivalent to pursuing good. You are here because you were wrong. You are here because you weren't as good as you should have been."
|
I racked my brains, I was by no means a saint, but then, who is? I thought back to all the times I didn't intervene in other people's drama, because it was none of my business. Maybe I should have tried harder to help people in those situations? I couldn't help it that I didn't care that the husband of Rachel in accounts was also banging Claire in sales. Sure, I listened to the bitching, but I didn't care. I thought of all the times I sat at my desk aimlessly browsing the internet because I just didn't give a damn about my job. I began to wonder, is apathy a crime punishable by nearly 200,000 years in hell?The more I thought about it the more I realised every negative interaction in my life came from being apathetic. The arguments with my husband because I didn't care what we had for dinner, or what we watched on TV. The daily grind because of my aforementioned job. The lost friendships because I just did not give a shit about their mundane dramas.I should have cared more. I tried, I really tried. Caring is hard. I should have told Claire in sales she was a whore and Rachel in accounts she deserved better. I should have tried harder at work. I should have put more effort into deciding what to have for dinner. 200,000 years is a long time to live with that regret. Day 1 is not the time to start caring.
​
| 2018-09-26T07:19:26 | 2018-09-26T06:12:40 | 474 | 153 |
[WP] Deadpool literally breaks through the fourth wall and comes into our world, however, no one believes it's him because he breaks the fourth wall into Comic-Con.
|
"Hey, nice Deadpool costume!"
"Thanks!" He'd been hearing the same thing since he walked into the San Diego Convention Center. Sure, his tights were freshly washed, but he really thought people liked his katanas. That, or the endless pouches that lined his belt.
The weirdest thing for him as he strolled through the crowd was the various other Deadpools that he passed. They all had different reactions to him: some pulled guns on him, some high-fived him. One even suggested they go out and get chimichangas together. But there seemed to be a kindred, a brotherhood, with the other Deadpools that roamed around.
It gave him the warm and fuzzies, and a weird tingling in his nethers.
As he passed a bathroom, a red-gloved hand reached out and pulled him in. "What gives?" As the hydraulics closed the door behind him, he turned to find yet another Deadpool staring at him.
"What gives? You're asking me what gives?" Deadpool gestured at him with his hand, waving at his outfit. "What gives with your outfit? Why are you dressed like that?"
He was confused. "Dude, it's Comic Con. There's a hundred people dressed like Deadpool here."
"I know!" Deadpool gripped the sides of his head. "It's tearing my mind apart! And do you realize what that does to a guy whose mind already has a tendency to turn against him? Sure, if there's a lot of explosives involved, then we tend to agree, but I have to take crap from those voices constantly! And they won't shut up about all this!"
"Calm down," he said. "It's cool that you're so in character, but jeez. You've got to relax and enjoy it."
"In character?" Deadpool went nose to nose with him. He could smell that Deadpool had been eating Taco Bell and drinking cheap beer. "I **am** character! This is who I am! This is the only way I can be! And there's all sorts of people like you, walking around, trying to steal either my soul or my glory. I don't know why anyone would want my soul, so I'm guessing it's my glory you're after. Well, you can't have it! It's **mine!**"
He pulled his mask off, to get a breath of fresh air. When he did, Deadpool drew back. The eyes on his mask took on an alarmed look, which made him wonder how Deadpool did it. Deadpool said, "You're covered in acne! You poor kid!"
"That's it," he said. "I didn't come to Comic Con to get pulled into a restroom and berated by someone else dressed like the best comic character ever created by Rob Liefeld! I came here to score with chicks dressed like Vampirella!" He looked around himself. "Are we in a women's room?"
Deadpool nodded. "You think you're the only one trying to pull tail? Best place to meet the ladies. Why do you think they call it the *ladies' room?*"
The kid pulled his mask back on. As he straightened it, he said, "You can sulk in here all you want. I'm going to go look for trim." He pulled the door open and walked out.
Deadpool gripped the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. "Wade, this wasn't the best idea you've ever had," he said.
A voice said, "When are your ideas *really* any good?"
Another voice said, "When there's explosives involved. And pizza."
The two voices and Deadpool said, in unison, "Mmmm, pizza!"
"Okay, guys, we're going to get out there, and we're going to figure out some way to prove that **I'm** the real Deadpool."
"You know," the second voice said, "we've got something none of those other guys in costume doesn't have?"
The first voice said, "A sense of joy from terrible mayhem?"
Deadpool pulled a revolver from his belt. "And the means to create it! Let's go, guys!" He pushed through the door. As the hydraulics wheezed the bathroom to a quiet stillness, the sounds of gunfire could be heard outside, along with the yell of, "Git along, li'l doggies!"
|
"I mean, I guess I knew there was a problem right *before* I fired the gun. I mean, Spidey usually starts dodging before the bullet starts moving, right?"
Deadpool says, barely controlling his laughter.
"Well, one dead nerd later and I realized the plan had worked!"
"What do you mean **what** plan, don't you read my comics!?"
"Ohhhh, that must be next months issue.."
| 2014-11-12T13:46:35 | 2014-11-12T12:55:59 | 474 | 151 |
[WP] She is an innkeeper's daughter, a pot hitting her head has restored memory of her past life... the problem? She was a spacefaring battlecruiser's AI, and this is a world of sword and sorcery.
|
“By the Gods, be careful, lass! Are ya all right? That was a nasty hit ya took just now.”
“Wh-where is this? W-who are you? What happened to the *Excelsior*? And how on Earth have I assumed a corporeal form?” stammered the young girl on the wooden floor. Her gaze haphazardly examined the medieval kitchen she was standing in before settling on the portly man standing beside her with his eyebrows furrowed.
“Excelsiwhat now? Ya sure ya all right, Mary?”
‘Mary’ hastily stood as she replied, “I am Juno-684, designated AI for the Hyperion-class *Excelsior* serving under Commander Michael Keyes of the United Nations Spacefaring Administration. I request to be returned to my vessel with the utmost immediacy so that I may continue to serve as navigator and combat coordinator for the *Excelsior* and her crew.”
“…eh? What in Tyr’s name are ya on about, lass? If ye got the energy to spout off that nonsense, then help me get these plates over to table five! I don’t fancy keeping the Gentlemen Bastards waiting for their food.”
Juno’s eyes turned to the four plates on a nearby table that contained assortments of meat chunks and potatoes dripping in a liquid brown sauce. Wordlessly, she mimicked her interlocutor and picked up two of the plates, following him out of the kitchen and into the main dining area. The AI felt her body’s heartrate accelerate as she noted how the diners wore rough wool tunics in lieu of the sleek red uniforms of the *Excelsior*. *Thump, thump, thump*. The sensation of a human heart beating against her chest was entirely foreign to Juno, but the overwhelming concern dominating her thoughts was not.
The two stopped in front of one of the tables, where three men and a woman sat engaged with one another in conversation. Juno immediately noticed that unlike the other patrons of the establishment, these four were covered head-to-toe in an assortment of protective gear and weaponry. A full set of medieval plate mail here, a wicked-looking dagger hanging from a belt there. What her eyes were really drawn to, however, was the small ball of fire the woman casually manipulated between her hands as she looked at the plates of food with a large grin plastered on her face.
*Magic*. The AI had heard about the concept from a crewmember aboard the *Excelsior* as they sought to teach her how to play Dungeons and Dragons 12th Edition. But to see it firsthand before her own eyes was nothing short of miraculous. And as Juno saw the fire dancing between the woman’s fingers, she knew exactly what needed to be done.
“Here ya go, adventurers. Four plates of piping hot meat ‘n potatoes. I’ll be back with yer ales in just a second,” said the innkeeper as he waddled his way back to the kitchen.
The group of four hastily dug into their plates, stopping only when they noticed the little girl remaining beside them. The woman set down her utensils and swallowed the food in her mouth before saying, “Yes, lass? Did you need something?”
“You’re a spellcaster, yes? I wish to be under your tutelage to learn the ways of magic.”
“Ha! You hear that, Jocelyn? Pipsqueak here wants to be your sidekick!” bellowed the man in plate armor as he continued stuffing himself with food.
“Shut it, Grel,” replied the woman before she turned back to Juno with a light smile on her face. “I think it’s admirable you want to learn magic, but I think you’d do better with a formally educated instructor. I do use magic, yes. But the source of it is a little…different, since it comes from m-”
“Your bloodline. Or your patron. So you must be either a sorcerer or a warlock. I care not for where your magic comes from, I only ask that you show me how to use it.”
“Fiesty mouth on this one. Perhaps I should cut out her tongue to teach her some manners,” sneered the man with the vicious dagger on his belt. But as he and Grel shared a laugh, Jocelyn remained silent as she looked at Juno more carefully. Finally, the spellcaster turned to the third man in the group, his clothing adorned with shamanic charms, and said, “Care to weigh in on this, Ilinar?”
“Perhaps you noticed it as well, but I sense a great ambition stemming from this young woman. It would not hurt to teach her a few of the basics like Mage Armor before sending her on her way.”
The innkeeper returned to the table, his hands full with four mugs of dwarven ale that he carefully set down in front of the Gentlemen Bastards. “All right, adventurers. If ya need anything, just give me or my little girl a holler and we’ll b-”
“A question for you, my good man,” interrupted Jocelyn. “Your daughter here displays a remarkable mental fortitude, one that I believe would be well-suited to the practice of magic. Perhaps you would be willing to allow her to accompany us for some time as we teach her the art of spellcasting?”
“T-take Mary with ye? But she’s only a lass of eleven years! She’s got no business hanging around with the adventuring type like yerselves, she’ll get ki-”
The sound of dozens of gold pieces clattering onto the wooden table from Jocelyn’s coin pouch stopped the man in his tracks. She took advantage of his silence and solemnly added, “We aren’t planning on going anywhere especially dangerous so long as your daughter is in our care. All we wish to do is to see if we can awaken any latent potential for magic within her. You have my word on that, sir.”
“…w-well, so long as you don’t go anywhere dangerous…I suppose it’ll be all right,” stammered the innkeeper as his eyes darted between the adventurers and the pile of gold coins on the table. Within seconds, he hastily scooped up the coinage into his own pouch and began waddling his way back to the kitchen, shouting over his shoulder, “Pleasure doing business with ye! Mary, be a good girl and do whatever the nice adventurers tell ye to do!”
“Well. That settles it then. Are you ready to join us, Mary?” said Jocelyn.
“Yes. And please, call me Juno.”
r/williamk9949
|
Rachel woke up to the sound of crackling firewood and her familiar worn-down bed of Rosswood Inn. Her eyes opened in haste, blinking rapidly in a state of utter confusion. She last remembered slipping in the wet floorboards that Ma forgot to clean up, but even more peculiar were visions of a different world.
"You're finally awake, lass." An old man in a ragged brown robe spoke, his voice deep and commanding.
"Wha- who 're you?" She asked, a rough country accent cracked as she rose up from her daze.
The old man let out a quiet chuckle, unsheathing something from behind his seat. "Fate has finally decided for your timely comeback, heroine."
"*Heroine?* Ain't that a word in fa'ry tales and 'em fantasy books?"
"No, lass, I am not mistaken." The man responded. "Your purpose lies in far grander things, and I'm pleased to know that your memories have been restored."
"I'm just a maiden for my family ere's inn!" She says, evading the topic or just confused, one couldn't say. "I cook 'n' clean and mop the floor and that's all there is to it ... Su'rly sir you must mean someone else?"
"Dear, they got you good, huh.", the old man says, sighing. He uttered something under his breath, clutching on the sheath in his back as he recites an uncommon spell.
Rachel felt a wave of new energy fill her being. Like tingling electrical pulses, it found its way to the limbs and organs of her body. Suddenly, her memory had positioned itself in the front of her subconscious. In full view, she could see clear visions of her past. Of war. Of sacrifice. Of betrayal.
She could see clearly now. She was a subordinate android from a battleship with a reckless rebel of a commander and a few other troops.
Her last memory --- was her being captured forcefully by the very same people that she once called Ma and Pa.
Electrical charges continued making their way up her brain, and she shook vigorously for a moment until she didn't. She looked up - the pupils in her eyes emitted no fear.
"Is that you, Connor?" The maiden spoke, her voice stoic and neutral. Robotic.
The man brings out a metallic case, shaped like a broadsword.
"Take this. We'll be off in a moment." His tone was hushed and determined. "Your captors will find out I'm here soon enough. Let's get a move on. *Quick*."
| 2021-01-03T08:40:21 | 2021-01-03T07:50:45 | 91 | 16 |
[WP] You want to be a bad guy; a real supervillain. You have powers and abilities. You've spent a fortune on making your costume. You have a clever name and origin story. You have everything you need to be a great bad guy, but you just can't seem to be a dick to people
|
"Alright, mother- motherlovers, let's get those hands up where I can see them!"
The elderly couple manning the till slowly raised their hands. The store was clean, but the shelves needed restocking and there was a general air of slight disarray; brought on, no doubt, by two senior citizens stretched to their limits by the demands of a job that had outmatched them, yet unable to quit because they'd cut the pensions again and then they'd have to give up the house... *No*, I said firmly to myself. *I won't do this again*.
"No funny business, now, I mean it!" I raised my hand and blew up a pack of Twizzlers menacingly. "I'm serious! Alright, you, old man, I want all the money in the register and all the money in your safe, right effin' now!"
*I'm actually going to do this*, I thought, *I'm going to be a villain, a real villain, they're going to fear me...*
and, shaking from head to toe, the old lady started to cry.
I sighed.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was last year. I was struck by lightning while trekking through an old Native American burial ground. The same bolt of lightning set the dry grass aflame, and amidst the flames, *they* came. Spirits of ancient warriors, healers and chiefs, all gathered around me in a ghastly circle. They blamed my wickedness for bringing fire and ruin to their resting place and just like that, they cursed me. They cursed me with the power to do all the good in the world, yet always to fail. Doomed always to fail.
And oh, wow, the *power*! Flight, invulnerability, energy projection, super strength, super speed, super senses, super reactions, super intelligence. Everything you could ask for, and more!
Joke's on them, though. All my life had been hell: beaten by my parents, bullied from the day I set foot inside a school, humiliated in love. I *wanted* to be a villain.
I just can't seem to manage.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Okay, Martha, settle down, now... Listen, I'll go talk to the insurance people for a bit. I'll *talk* to them. They'll come around, I promise." I tried to sound ominous with the "I promise", but ended up more like reassuring.
"Oh, thank you, thank you, young man. But there's still something..." Martha trailed off, eyes pleading. Jonathan had gone for a lie-down in the back. The shock had shaken him, and he had heart problems, anyways... I tried to ward off a twinge of guilt, to no avail.
"Yes?" I asked, resigned.
"We've been robbed two times this week, already... it's the same people every time, these youths, well, it figures, we're an easy target since we can't hire security and all, with the store not doing so well and Jonathan having had to go to the hospital a couple times, and-"
"Alright, Martha." I said, shaking my head. "Tell me what they look like."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The "youths" were fairly easy to find. A bunch of men in their forties with swastika tattoos and jackboots, hanging outside a bar, smoking. I touched down in front of them, and immediately one of them, a man, slightly larger and balder than others and sporting a bunch of prison tattoos, started talking.
"Who the fuck is you supposed to be, then? Huh? You a fuckin' tough fuck, eh, you won' me to twist your fuckin' head off then, alright-"
I was already pretty damn tired.
"Okay, listen up. You've stolen money and now you're going to return it."
By now, a crowd had gathered - mostly people from the bar, with drinks and cigarettes in hand.
"Stolen? What the fuck you talking about? What, you mean from those nig-"
Half a minute later, I was trying to get a good grip on six unconscious bodies, and had ended up with a person underneath each arm, one in each hand, one draped over my shoulders and one between my knees. Thankfully, flight didn't require striking a pose, but hovering so awkwardly still felt weird.
As I lifted off, somebody in the crowd gave a tentative cheer.
"Shut your face!" I shouted down. "I'm doing this because I'm evil!"
Somebody else said "wow, he's so *ironic*" and with that, they all burst into cheers. I swore under my breath and took off.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"So they won't be bothering us anymore?"
"No. They've all decided to visit Germany together, and will be staying for some time."
"Well, how long?"
"No more than three years." I said, thinking of their prominent swastika tattoos. "And I stopped by the bank and the insurance agency, and you're fine. And I convinced the bank manager to extend an additional loan, so you can hire some security and help."
*And I set up a billboard advertising you and also spread some flyers*. I wasn't about to mention that, though. At least setting up the billboard was illegal.
Martha's eyes filled with tears, for the umpteenth time, and thankyous began to pour out her mouth. Jonathan was just shaking his head, quiet and eyes shining. I waved them off.
"We don't have anything to give, but... well, help yourself to any groceries you want, I suppose. A young man like you, you need good food."
Again, I waved her off. "Thank you, I'm fine. And I have to get going."
I walked to the door, briskly, and was just about to step out when an idea came to me.
"Listen, there's something you *could* do for me." Both Martha and Jonathan looked at me, expectant. "Could you... tell everybody how I've menaced you, robbed you, been a- a real villain?"
I looked at both, hopeful.
"Oh, we'd never!" Martha said. Jonathan shook his head. "A nice young man like you, such a nice boy- we'd *never*, why-"
"Alright, alright." I said, dejected. "Take care, now, okay?"
And I stepped out.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I was jogging down the highway, easily keeping pace with the cars and ignoring the confused looks and honks, I mused that it actually felt rather good to help people. Being liked felt *nice.*
*I mean*, I thought to myself. *If this is how it's going to be... why not?*
Why not? Why not be a hero, then? Villainy was stupid, anyways. I thought of the grown men with swastika tattoos standing outside a bar on a Tuesday night, trying to pick fights with strangers. Stupid.
There was an almighty crash ahead. I perked. The bridge ahead had a column of smoke rising from it - with a running leap, I took off flying and was there in less than a second. A bus driver had lost control and crashed into the railing, and the bus was now teetering precariously over the edge. I landed in the middle of a crowd of people who had got out of their cars to help.
All the faces turned to me, full of hope. *Well, here goes*.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of this," I said, striding forth. Somebody let out a little cheer. I took two huge steps, grabbed the rear of the bus, expecting to lift it easily -
except that it tore, and I was left with two handfuls of clumpy metal, and I could see the bus slipping but it felt like my legs were encased in concrete -
my superfast brain was running in circles -
and it was gone.
*Doomed to fail*.
I turned to face the people around me, and was greeted by revulsion and fear.
|
*Don't kill it.*
"My Lord?"
The voice came from his right; Lieutenant Bananapants was giving him a side-long glance, a hairy eyebrow arched. He realized his right hand was still pointed down at the shriveled figure trembling at his feet. He lowered his hand. He wanted to sigh, but that would just show weakness. He held his breath.
"Sergeant Dookieflinger, have it beaten and thrown out of the camp."
*No! Just let it go! It won't talk! It CAN'T talk!*
"Shut up."
"My Lord?"
"Nothing, Sergeant. Just take it away."
The General was the Lord Commander of the Prime-Apes, a genetically-enhanced species of orangutans and gorillas that had been bred and spliced to have super-human intelligence, complimented by the inhuman strength of their ancestors. The Prime-Apes were the General's greatest accomplishment. They were the product of decades of research, hundreds of nightmare-inducing failed experiments, each uglier and more painfully inhuman than the last. And they were beautiful.
Now the Prime-Apes were rising. They grew in numbers and in strength. What began as a small Gorilla movement in the jungles of Argentina grew into a full-fledged army. The General was proud of his work, but that nagging voice in his head disgusted him.
He thought it had been a perfect plan. Once he had finalized his designs for the Prime-Apes, the last step to becoming the perfect ruler of the world was to go crazy. All the greats had done it: Henry Frankenstein, Joseph Kerr, Lil Uzi - you just couldn't be a mad scientist unless you were... well... mad.
So he had gone to the abandoned insane asylum in an isolated part of Rosario, and hooked himself up to the shock therapy machine. He had shocked himself for a couple hours - just long enough until the buzzing in the back of his mind didn't subside anymore - and went back to business as usual.
He didn't feel any more insane than he had before. But now, whenever he tried to exercise his arbitrary cruelty, a voice would pop in his mind to stop him. He tried to push through the voice a few times - an execution here, some casual torture there - but whenever he did, he'd get sick to his stomach, and his head would start buzzing. The voice screamed bloody murder, giving him a splitting headache. It didn't go away until he cancelled out his sadistic tendencies by sharing dozens of Facebook posts sending "thoughts and prayers" to the victims of some recent, trendy tragedy.
But the General would bear it all if it suited the Purpose. The Prime-Apes had been created for the Purpose, and the Purpose was this: to save the Earth from the Parasite. The Parasite flooded the Earth for millenia, dominating Her, and slowly killing Her. It defaced Her beautiful face with artificial compounds, plastic and toxins. It choked Her with poisonous clouds, and it rejoiced in its destructive efforts.
The General was snapped out of his reverie by Corporal Abu rushing into the tent. He doubled over, wheezing, and forced out the words, "My Lord! The Parasite has been sighted. They'll be here any moment.
"Battlestations!" The General roared. "Mobilize the carriers, launch the pilots! Mortars! Gunners! Get every Prime-Ape in place, I will flay the fur off of every last cur that isn't ready to purge this Parasite from the face of the Earth!" He'd do it too. No voice buzzed in his head. Not for this. Not for the Purpose.
The Prime-Apes scattered, barking orders, threatening to cut the paw off any monkey that doesn't make like a tree and hurry the fuck up.
The General sat in the tent for a moment, staring hard at the entrance.
*Damn Bloons.*
| 2017-09-20T06:50:50 | 2017-09-20T06:45:34 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Your home is being invaded, fortunately you are armed with the BEST home defense system available: A 36 year old Macaulay Culkin who's tired of this shit.
|
"Hey man, so like how does this go down? Do I ice the basement stairs, or do you? Also, I don't have a tarantula, but will an iguana do? I mean, sorry if I'm babbling, dude, but dude, DUDE, you're like THE guy. I can't believe..."
"Shut the fuck up."
My voice withered and died under the harsh glare that he shot across the table at me. A half-lit cigarette smoldered in his fingers and he poured himself another overfull shot from the now nearly-empty bottle of Glenlivet 18 next to him, having told me already to go fuck myself when I offered him a proper glass instead. He looked haggard under my bright kitchen lights, dark circles rimming under his eyes, his skin sallow and pallid. He threw back the shot at one gulp without even a grimace, continuing to stare at me the whole time, resentment brimming in his eyes. "Just shut the fuck up."
I shuffled uncomfortably in my chair. "It's just that, you know, these guys are going to break into my house tonight, and you came highly recommended. And, like, you're the fucking man when it comes to this kind of stuff, right? But we haven't even set up a plan yet and I know you've gotta have time to build all these traps and stuff."
Another harsh glare and a quick drag on his cigarette. "Let me tell you something," he muttered, crushing the smoking butt into the empty shot glass. "I'm here because you promised me five grand to keep these shitheels from ripping off whatever you got in this shithole house, not to satisfy your twisted 'Home Alone' fantasies. For the last fucking time, I'm not Kevin McCallister. My name is Macauley Culkin."
"But isn't that the role that made you famous? I mean, even now, you're making money off of it, right? Teaching people how to defend their homes 'Home Alone' style? I mean, sorry, but it just seems so cool."
"'It just seems so cool,'" he mimicked in a high falsetto voice. He leaned forward menacingly, the smell of scotch and nicotine on his breath. "You think it's cool to be seen as Kevin Fucking McCallister for the rest of your life? To have people do that stupid scream at you on the street? Having Wet Bandits jokes made forever? It's people like you that make going out on the street a shit experience and I hate that my agent keeps sending me out on stupid fucking gigs like this."
I was chastened. "Well, shit. I'm sorry, dude, I didn't mean to set you off."
He sagged back in his chair and lit another cigarette, his glare softening just a little bit. "Fuck it," he said, taking a deep drag and blowing it at the ceiling. "You didn't do this to me. You just hired me. Anyways, let's get down to this shit, I guess. Follow me."
I followed the glowing tip of his cigarette into my den where he flicked on the lights. On the pool table in front of me was a wide rubber mat on which was laid out a wide variety of equipment: an AR-15 with tan MAGPUL furniture, a Benelli semiautomatic .12 gauge shotgun, two Glock 19s with extended thirty-round magazines, an assortment of non-lethal grenades (stingball, flashbang, concussion), several flares and noisemakers with attached trip wires, body armor, and boxes of assorted ammunition.
A look of confusion and disbelief crossed my face. "But what about the tarantula? And the iron trap? And the ornaments? Dude, you just *shoot* people?"
He started inserting 5.56 rounds into one of the PMAGs as ash flakes fell from the glowing tip of the cigarette. "You realize that all of that child's play crap is just screenplay, right?" he shot back, shaking his head at my stupidity, while snapping another round home. "You think the guys trying to break in here tonight are going to be stopped by a hot doorknob or some icy steps? No, dumbass, they aren't."
He let the cigarette fall from his mouth onto the hardwood and stamped it into ash with one booted foot. "So yeah motherfucker, I shoot people."
He snapped the last round into place and slapped the magazine into the rifle. He reached down to pick up the plate carrier vest and pulled it over his head, then slipped the rifle's three-point sling over his shoulder. He turned around to adjust it and that's when I noticed the text printed on the back of his vest against the urban-tone camouflage in big red letters.
"So the guy who's sick of being labeled as the 'Home Alone kid' has 'Keep the change, ya filthy animal,' printed on the back of his bulletproof vest?" I shoot at him. "You don't see the irony in that?"
He smiled at me once, a thin, wan one. "Some memories die hard." He pulled back the charging handle with a loud clack, chambering a round. "So, you ready to do this or what, motherfucker?"
|
The house was silent.
The lights were off, and so was the toaster, the television- even the lava lamp.
Mark crouched behind the coffee table, only letting his eyes pop up above the edge of fhe surface.
Everything seemed to be going as planned. Mr Culkin stood behind the door, one eye on the window and one eye on the christmas ornamenrs on the carpet.
A shadow moved.
The door handle juggled slightly, and a faint voice was heard, saying "The door's unlocked. Must be our lucky day."
Dim lights peeked through the crack of the door way as the robbers slowly, and silently opened the door.
Stepping inside, they looked at the christmas ornaments on the floor, probably wondering why they were there. It was four days till easter.
Mark knew he had made the right choice, for on this night, this very night, the night two burglars broke in uninvited (but he was aware that they were going to), Mr Culkin had triumphed again.
Macaulay Culkin walked out from behind the door and brained the pair with a baseball bat.
| 2017-01-13T10:09:17 | 2017-01-13T09:01:11 | 111 | 51 |
[WP] The intergalactic community at large, while highly intelligent, never developed any kind of philosophy or spirituality. A five minute conversation with a human on the wrong topic can send most aliens into an existential crisis so severe they go insane. They call us the whispering race.
|
“Come on, I ain’t got all day” the Golagan mugger said, while pointing his gun at me and at Ryve.
It’s been almost four years since I started hitchhiking across the galaxy. Meeting new creatures, planets, cultures... it was awesome, even though I always traveled alone.
That changed when I went to Eonus, home-world of the Denn race. The Denns were famous for having the best bars in their solar system (which was immense), so they were always crowded with tourists, hitchhikers, and the like. That’s how I met Ryve.
Ryve was a female Fluxan, from Desppot. The Fluxans look remarkably similar to humans - in fact, it wasn’t uncommon that other aliens confused the two - but Fluxans have a skin more pink than humans, varying from baby peach to bubblegum pink. Ryve had peach skin, and violet eyes (like most Fluxans). The only thing unusual about her was her fiery-red hair, which was about as rare for Fluxans as it was for humans.
Ryve *claims* she started talking to me just because she was tired of people coming up and hitting on her, but I know better. She always was the curious type.
Though I can’t deny that it wasn’t a good excuse. Aliens felt... uncomfortable around humans. Not exactly *afraid* (mostly), but no alien would feel safe while talking with a human, and *actively starting a conversation?* Forget about it. Our reputation didn’t allow it to happen.
Sure enough, no other alien so much as looked at her while we were talking. We liked each other’s personalities, and she was also a hitchhiker, so after two lonely years, I finally found a traveling companion.
Fast forward to now: we were visiting Foffl, in spite of knowing full well the Golagans as a whole weren’t very hospitable or sympathetic. Their hideous faces made them somewhat of an outcast race among the intergalactic community, so it wasn’t rare to see a criminal Golagan roaming about. Just as we were about to leave, this ass came and cornered us with a gun.
“All right, all right. No need for violence.” Ryve said carefully, while slowly pulling her wallet out and giving it to him. I did the same. Most of our money was stored in the intergalactic credit card anyway, which we could disable and transfer to another one as soon as we got away from this stupid planet.
“You think I’m stupid? You’re gonna disable this card as soon as you’re outta here” the mugger said angrily.
Ryve shrugged. “That’s all we have.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” The Golagan said with an evil smile. Then he pointed the gun at Ryve. “You stay.”
“What? What’re you going to do, kidnap her? What will you do then?” I inquired.
“Oh, I can think of some things...” the mugger answered with a grin. I suddenly understood what he meant, as did Ryve.
“Hey, hold up. You’re not gonna just-“ Ryve started, before getting punched in the face by the Golagan. She was knocked back, falling from the force of the punch. Her nose immediately started bleeding.
“Ryve!”
“I’m fine. Just... broke my nose” she said groggily, and put her hands over her nose. I could feel the rage building within me. That bastard was gonna pay.
“Ryve, white noise.” I said calmly. Thankfully she understood what I meant, she had earphones on for events like those. She tapped them, and they started humming in her ear. She could no longer hear what anyone was saying. I turned to face the Golagan. He was pointing his gun at me.
“If you wanna live, you’ll get outta-“
“Y’know, this could be a dream.”
“What?” He looked confused.
“Everything that’s happening right now... could be just your imagination. There’s no way to prove I exist.”
“Wh-what? Of course you exist. I’m seeing you.”
“And what does that prove? You could be hallucinating right now, and you’d never know the difference.”
“Well... well I-“
“As a matter of fact” I continued, “there’s no way for you to know if anything is real. Maybe you’re the only conscience that exists, and everything you see and feel could be just your mind trying to feel something.”
The Golagan wasn’t talking now. He was mesmerized. Grinning, I thought it was almost *too* easy. He could just shoot me now, but yet he still wants to know where I’m going with this. Aliens are interested in those matters just as humans are, but they can’t handle the existencial crisis.
Even Earth scientists can’t say why can humans handle this sort of thing. Is it the structure of the brain? Cultural evolution? Something deeper? Whatever the reason, when humans first tried to have philosophical conversations with aliens, all of them have gone insane. That’s why humans have such a morbid reputation. ‘The whispering race’, they call us. I normally refrain from such cruelty, but this asshole... he’s just asking for it.
A pained moan from Ryve reminds me she’s still injured. I feel bad for forgetting her. It’s time to end it.
“And from my point of view” I say softly, “You’re a fruit of *my* imagination, and you can’t prove otherwise.”
That’s too much for him to handle. He drops his gun, collapses and starts making incoherent sounds. I signal to Ryve, and she turns the earphones off. I help her get up.
“It’s ok. I have medicine... in my backpack” she says while holding her nose. I search it and find an ointment for broken bones. I apply some on her nose after cleaning the blood, and she sighs in relief as the remedy does its magic. In that aspect, humans are *very* primitive.
When making our way to the next planet on that system at the back of a spaceship which agreed to give us a lift, I could see Ryve was barely controlling herself. She knew it was dangerous to talk with me about it, but she was so obviously curious it almost hurt to see her like that. At last, she couldn’t hold herself back.
“Ben?” she called, and I looked at her.
“Yeah?”
“What do you talk about, that’s drives us nuts?”
“You know I can’t tell.”
“Just the general idea. No details” she implored. I was really hesitant, but...
“Well, generally about logic at the edge of science and outside of it.”
“Logic outside of science? Where does that come in?”
“Philosophy, spirituality, religion... that kind of stuff.”
“What’s philosophy?” she asks.
“A branch in the study of meaning.”
“Meaning? Of what?”
“The meaning of existence” I say, uncomfortably. This is getting dangerous.
Ryve seems very confused. “Th-the meaning... of existence? But... but how...” she started stuttering. Oh no.
“Hey, stop! Snap out of it!” I say, shaking Ryve, but she seems lost in thoughts. I start panicking.
“STOP!” I cry, and slap her. She immediately wakes up from the trance, and starts rubbing her cheek.
“Ow.”
“Sorry, I panicked” I say, embarrassed.
“It’s... it’s okay. Thanks” she says. “That was... really weird. You do this all the time in your planet?”
“Yeah. We don’t get hypnotized like you, but it confuses even us, sometimes. It’s complicated.”
“Damn.” she simply says. After some time, she looks out the window.
“Well, that’s our stop. You coming?”
“Yeah.”
|
Xd> shut its eyes and tried to picture its home. “I can no longer abide these creatures,” it thought to itself. It was normally considered a patient being, but facing humans had become so tiresome that Xd> felt it needed to forsake its duty and simply rest a while.
“Ex-dee-sheeww. Wake up over there. We have 14 more gardenias to plant.” Xd>’s boss, Cathy, shouted.
Cathy’s face was weathered from years of landscaping work. Her heavy jaw, leathery skin, and piercing grey eyes seemed formidable, but she was truly a softy. She had adopted three misfit Trogolins--the Earthling name for the aliens who had become marooned on Earth in the “UFO Incident of 2052”--and had tried to teach them her trade. They didn’t take to it right away. They were a strange peoples who seemed to view the world the way a computer might. Or so it seemed to her.
“Oh, not now,” Cathy mumbled to herself. Xs\[\[ was toppled over in the grass, leaking a beige substance onto the newly-planted spray-rosebush. “Ex-ess-dih-dih, what on Earth do you think you’re doing?”
*Sometimes I think these Troggies are a bit more trouble’n they’re worth.* She bit her tongue. Hard.
*Not nice, Cathy. They are so far from home. You’re just a few miles away from your TV and your delicious Insta-Cook Escargots and your Tempurpedic bed. They are at least 44 billion miles (*or was it light years? She could never remember the difference*) away from all they...loved...or...at least...liked?*
The truth is, Cathy wasn’t sure what the Trogolins thought about anything. They didn’t, as a rule, express themselves much. And Cathy had learned that it was dangerous to tempt one towards self-reflection. So, when she asked Xs\[\[ what it thought it was doing--rather, what on *Earth* it thought it was doing--she didn’t realize that she had gone too far.
A wild screeching sound interrupted Cathy’s pruning of the nearest newly-planted gardenia bush. She looked around wildly, feeling as though a tornado might be barreling through at any moment. Instead, she saw Xd> float up to her right side and felt, rather than heard, it say, “Boss Cath-ee. You have found us amusement for days and perhaps years on Planet One-One-Seven, Earth, but with this question you have gone far too far. We do not know what we are doing on One-One-Seven. We may no longer be near your body, as your body’s brain seems to create torture-puzzles for our peoples. Xs\[\[ is leaking life force because of your body’s brain. We leave now.”
Cathy scowled, confused and hurt by her friend? or her employee’s? words. “Well, okay Ex-Dee-Sheeww, but where are you going to go now?”
Xd> processed her last question. Where. Now. Go. Now. Where. Now. Now.
“Nooowwww” Cathy heard it hiss as it, and its two companions, Xd\[\[ and fFf\^, started to sink into her client’s grass.
She finally heard a POP when the three beings fully disappeared. *What the…*
She looked around and saw that the colors of the flowers were brighter, the willow tree was swaying even without any wind, and the koi fish in the pond were all staring at her.
On the ground she saw three old smartphones, and no sign of her friends.
“Aw hell. I need a beer.”
| 2018-10-30T02:11:15 | 2018-10-29T21:36:54 | 350 | 94 |
[WP] You come to the age. The tradition dictates that you go through trials. It begins with you choosing your allegiance to a god/goddess of your choosing by honorig the altar in cript. The deeper you go the weirded the altars get and the more forgotten the god/goddess is....
|
My torch was beginning to die out. I wondered if the spectators from the outside were still there. I’ve been here, what? Hours? Days? No, it can’t be days. But the deeper I went the more it seemed that time was beginning to become a diluted construct. Surely *someone* must have heard the crumbling of the wall that had lead me thus far. Then again, this is a supposed joyous occasion, so focus and hearing don’t often coincide with the roaring cheers and deafening music.
“This is insanity. I should have simply picked one of the favored gods and gotten out quickly”
But I only said this aloud to calm myself. Truth is, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. And was apparently the driving force behind my expedition into the deep. This area was locked away. Built around to keep us participants of the trials out of whatever this area is supposed to be, so one has to beg the age old question.
*Why*?
Progress forward was only met with more questions. Statues of what resembled regular men and women of our people. They did not look divine or spectacular but like simple warriors and scholars. No grand armor or weapons, no beautiful heraldry, just, simple. Plain.
“If these people are supposed to be gods then what’s stopping me from becoming one too.”
And suddenly I heard a giggle. Like a child playing outside with a stick.
“A bold and daring question my boy”
And my torch went out.
“Who.... who’s there! Who said that! And why are you here!”
“Why am I here? Why are *you* here, let’s start with that. This is my tomb after all, or crypt if you’d like to be technical. And I don’t remember inviting guests over.”
“I... I’m... well, I’m exploring!”
Our people are brave. Courageous. Forthright. And here I stood in total darkness, palms pressed against a cold wall, feeling as if my legs at any given moment could collapse on me. This is supposed to be a crypt! A place of only dead bodies! Nothing is supposed to be alive here and yet a voice is speaking to me.
And then the room was illuminated. The once unlit torches now shined fiercely with bright yellow flame. And I finally saw the room at it’s full. From the hallway I entered I finally saw what was a... room.
A simple room. With a simple tomb.
“Marvelous isn’t it? Such minimalism.”
And finally the voice was associated with a body. A tall man with hair grey braided backwards. A scruffy looking white beard and a face that looked, worn. Multiple small scars and bags under his eyes. But, he had a smile on him. A genuine smile that radiated life. He wore a regular old shirt that you’d see on a farmer working in the field with pants to match. And he was barefoot.
“Such artistic vision captured in so little. It is truly remarkable.”
Weapons were not allowed during the entering of the crypts. It’s a sacred place. Of worship. But at this moment I wish I had something. That smile wasn’t fooling me.
“It’s alright child. Despite my remarks earlier, it is actually a delight to see someone in this dark below. Allow me to introduce myself to you, my name is Ker. A shortened version of an ancient name. One you would not comprehend, though I say this with no offense to you.”
My bravery was coming back to me. After finally being able to put a face to the voice, it was no longer phantom. And I wanted answers to my hundreds of questions.
“Where am I?!”
It was more of a demanding request rather than a polite question.
“Ah the young, always firing questions. You are, as I have mentioned earlier, in the hall of my tomb.”
“If this is your tomb, why aren’t you in it?”
“Well the people who created it never found my body. But created a tomb all the same. For reasons that are really beyond me. It was apparently a symbolic gesture. One to avoid the wrath of the gods and all that. But I quite like the aesthetic.”
“Okay, but.... who are you? Or better yet, *what* are you?”
“I am a god.”
“A god of what?”
“A god of wh- oh that’s right! Your people now have gods for the individual aspects of life. Hah, that does make me laugh. My dear boy I am simply a god. I do not rule over the skies, oceans, or hell for that matter. I’m much too ancient for that and far too preoccupied. As were my friends who you saw down the hall as you came in.”
Hundreds of questions became thousands of questions. I had to be dreaming. There had to be an explanation for this. None of this was making any sense.
“I understand that this may be puzzling. But I didn’t break that wall ‘accidentally’ just for you to faint due to being overwhe-“
“If you’re a god then.... why are you dressed as a farmer! A peasant!”
The torches flickered and the ma- gods voice changed from calm to commanding and booming. It wasn’t anger. But I would be lying if I said that the change was not unnerving.
“Armor does not make grandeur. Weapons do not make the coward brave. The younger gods whom your people adopted are purely symbols of materialism. That to be deemed valuable and worthy is to shine like the sun. To be noticeable. But those gods are nothing compared to us. The deeds of the gods of old have been long forgotten. And when people do not need protection against higher powers, they forget. Only in times of distress do they begin to fall to their knees and pray, remembering the ‘beings of creation’ as we are called in their books and scripts, because they can not take care of themselves. I called you here for a reason because you are not of these people. And calling back to your questions posed to yourself earlier,”
*”what is stopping you from becoming one of us”*
The torches continued to flicker. And the god, with his hands behind his back stared me down with his piercing grey eyes.
“I should be getting back. The people are surely worried.”
“You’ve already been wandering here for days. What’s a few more.”
The god said with a very soothing yet sarcastic tone and a wave of his hand.
Days?! How?!
How did hours become days? If I’ve truly been here for days then wouldn’t there be someone looking for me? Despite being overcome with nerves I couldn’t help but feel immense intrigue. The god was mysterious. His stature and presence created significant amounts of urge to know more.
Reluctantly, but filled with curiosity all the same I replied, remembering;
“Fine. I’ll stay and listen to your story. After all. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion.”
The god smiled. His previously endearing lips curled upwards like dry branches during a bleak winter.
“Then let’s begin, with the very beginning.”
|
I had spent the last three days suspended from a tree by a set of harnesses, exposed to the elements with nothing to drink and nothing to eat. Apparently back in the day, I would have been suspended by my ankle, but my people aren't savages, at least not anymore. After I was taken down, I was wrapped in a sheet, and then a length of carpet, and beaten with ceremonial clubs. Now, bruised, battered, and stripped naked, I am pushed down into the crypt, where I will choose my deity. Following that, I will be branded with that god's symbol, and finally I will attend the feast, where the village celebrates my coming of age.
As I stagger through the darkness, with only my small flashlight to guide my footsteps. I pass by the popular gods, who's shrines are neatly tended to. T'ihna, flaxen\-haired god of bounty \(an old tin tractor toy on the shrine\), Fa'hnm, hermaphroditic god of fertility \(a few dried flowers on their shrine\), Potun'm, the 4\-eyed god of truth, lies, crime, justice, and a few other things \(a broken pair of glasses on their shrine\). I keep walking, so as to find my options.
Past Rrr'rrrrr \(the god of beasts with 665 teeth, and a shrine covered in the pelts of various animals\), things get weird, as I struggle for names. I believe this one is called... Yes, Cav'vior, the god of that feeling when your brain wakes up before your body, and you can't move and you can't breath and you can only lie there in panic as you wait for death. Their shrine is constructed of one massive hunk of uncarved obsidian... Past that is Bit'zle, the god of rain clouds, butterflies, and empty spaces, who's shrine is a wooden folding table with a melted candle on it.
I keep going. Passing by shrines constructed of living organisms, solid water \(to clarify, not ice, but water that isn't really moving\), a shrine made to resemble a dolphin having sex with a man, which I really thought was crossing some kind of line, like, really.
Finally, I reached the end of the crypt. There is a lonely looking altar. I can't even remember the name of the god associated with this little nook. The shrine is made of a simple slab of green stone \(jade, perhaps? Petrified slime?\) with a symbol carved on the top. A swirl of impossible lines. I point my flashlight into the crevice in the wall, but no light is reflected back, a perfectly black space. I'm drawn to it, as though by a mysterious gravity.
I pick the ceremonial dagger off the ground, only to see that it's so old and unused that the blade is entirely rusted, virtually down to nothing. I run it over a finger, smear it on the shrine, and then suck on it, as I begin to wander my way out of the crypt, towards my feast by the end of the day.
| 2018-05-31T01:15:18 | 2018-05-30T18:59:32 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father.
|
“Did you know that other kings only see their children at formal events, meals, and occasionally in passing?” Prince Rolland asked as plopped down beside his father, who was reading in the library.
King Dorian sighed, slowly putting a bookmark between the pages before gently placing the novel on the table before them. “Yes, I know. I never wanted to be so distance from my children. My father was the same way, and I felt as though I lost so much because he wasn’t there to mentor me in the ways of being a king or a good man.” He gave Rolland a gentle, reassuring smile. “What brings this up today?”
“As you know, Father, Prince Garvin is visiting with his royal entourage, and today he made mention of how odd it was that you and I share at least a few hours each day with each other. I hadn’t realized that was an odd thing until I started asking around about how other kings treat their sons.” The younger man grabbed a sweet pastry from the tray on the table and nibbled at it.
Dorian’s smile turned sad. “What did you think of that?”
“I think that’s awful. I can’t imagine not being able to talk to you as we do now. You’re practically my best friend,” Roland said and then shrugged slightly, “Well, outside of Lance, of course.”
The older man chuckled. “Of course.”
“Also,” the prince added with a change in tone that indicated this was the thing truly bothering him, “Prince Garvin asked me about the prophecy, but, when I asked him what prophecy, he wouldn’t tell me. He said that, if you hadn’t told me about it, then there was probably a good reason. Do you know what he was talking about?”
There it was, the topic Dorian had avoided for nearly two decades. “I do, but I’m afraid you’re not going to like it. When you were born, a seer prophesized that you would one day be the cause of my death.”
“Good lord, Father, I would never!” Rolland stood up, too offended to sit still. “Why would I ever do that?”
“It’s a good question, isn’t it? Have I not been a good and kind father to you who has tried to be strict but fair? Who has taught you everything I know so that you can be a good and fair king when it becomes your turn to rule?”
The prince adamantly nodded. “You have.”
“Then I’m at a loss, and, frankly, I choose not to worry about it because I don’t think it matters. If it comes to it, and you are the cause of my demise, I have faith that the reason was either a good one or an accidental one. Either way, I don’t think you’d kill me out of malice, and that’s what matters.” Dorian gave his son a gently pat on the arm. “Don’t stress over this, Son; sometimes worrying over the thing is what causes it to happen.”
Weakly nodding, the young man slowly sat back down. “I will try, Father, but it will be difficult. I can’t imagine life without you.”
“Death comes for us all in time, Rolland. You will do well and be a great ruler.” The king stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “Now, I believe it’s time for the evening meal, and you know how your mother and Chef are when we’re late.”
As King Dorian lay upon his deathbed years later, his mind would come back to the moment he told his son about the prophecy. “Rolland,” he weakly called out, and the prince quickly appeared by his side. Motioning for everyone else to leave, the king waited until they were alone to begin. “I’m in more pain than I can bare, too weak to rule, and worried for the kingdom because of it.”
“Father, you’ll pull through. This illness…”
“Is slowly killing me and the kingdom with it. The Court will never take you seriously as my proxy. You need my title, Son. It’s time for you to be king.”
Rolland balked. “What are you saying?”
With great effort, Dorian pointed to his beside tabled. “Hidden in a compartment at the very back of the drawer is a special sleep poison. Give it to me and then use this,” he motioned to one of the many pillows on his bed, “to end my life. It will be somewhat quick but painless to me.”
“No, absolutely not, Father. I will NOT…”
“You have to. I linger; it’s killing us all.” Dorian reached out to grasp his son’s hand. “When they come back in, it will look as though I’m asleep. They’ll never suspect you did anything but sit by my side as I drifted from this world. I hate that I have to ask you to do this Rolland, but you are the only one who can. It has to be you, and it needs to be now before things become worse.”
“I… I understand,” Rolland sadly replied as he pulled out the poison and helped his father slowly ingest it. “I love you, Father. I will try to do well by you.”
As Dorian’s eyes drifted shut, he managed one last reply to his loving son, “Always remember… love you…”
|
The histories will likely say that I accepted the augury with stern grace, that I merely nodded silently and resolved my future decisions. The histories will of-course be wrong and I was absolutely terrified. To hear that the mewling infant in my Queen's Chamber would be my undoing was unnerving.
Little Prince Bartholemew, my sixth, and youngest; he likely would never sit upon my throne - but he would have all the trappings and opportunites one of my line is due.
It has been two-decades since that fateful evening, when my old Royal Astrologer told me the boy would be my end. I had raised him well, surrounded him with the greatest tutors, companions, toys and trappings our kingdom could provide. When he came of age, I spared no expense to to have him sent to a neighbouring land to visit thier newest institution; they call it *A University*. He may not be King, but he will be a scholar and help bring a new age and prosperity to our people.
He has returned to the Kingdom now. He no-longer uses the Title I gave to him on his birth. Prince Bartholemew now only calls himself *Citizen Bart*.
The mob are about to breach the door to my chamber, I can barely hear my Queen's cries over thier endless shouts of *liberty*, *fraternity* and *revolution*.
Through my window, I see my son, standing at that infernal device they call *Le'Guillotine*
| 2022-12-01T18:21:38 | 2022-12-01T17:25:57 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult?
|
"DUUUUUDE! YOU'RE BACK! I'm so happy to see you! Hey! Hey! Hey! Dude! Hey!"
"Yeah Bode, I see you too." I replied and knelt down to give him a big hug.
Of all the dogs I'd known, Bode was the friendliest, but also the stupidest. He's my third dog, and yeah, I love him, but he's an idiot. Sometimes his constant yammering gets a little annoying.. But that's what I get for that wish.
"How was your day at work, dude? I missed you all day! I just kinda sat around. I saw a squirrel today! And a chipmunk too! I tried talking to them but they ran away," Bode continued. "...hey, could you let me outside? I want to go pee on that tree. And then the bush. And then the other tree."
"Yeah Bode, sure thing bud. Give me a second." I went to let Bode out the door, and as I watched that giant, magnificent, white wolf-like dog bound around in my backyard I thought how silly it was that I could actually talk to him.
When I was six years old, I'd gotten my first dog. His name was Buddy, I'd named him that because he would be my best buddy. One night, I was looking up at the stars with him in a field, when I saw a shooting star, and in the moment, I wished that I could talk to dogs. Neither of us said a word for what just have been half an hour, just content to sit there as I pet his thick coat. Then we got up and Buddy looked at me: "are we going home now? I'm getting sleepy." He asked me. "Did you.. Just talk?" I replied, unable to even process his question.
"Yeah, I talked. I do it all the time. Don't you understand me?"
"Well, I do now. You've been talking to me this whole time?"
"What do you *think* I'm doing when I look at you and make noises with my mouth? Humans..."
Buddy was without a doubt the smartest dog I'd known. By that I don't mean he knew a lot, he wasn't educated (no dog is), but he was clever and emotionally intelligent. He always knew when something was bothering me. "Hey Henry.. You can always talk to me. What's wrong?" He would say, gently nudging his nose under my hand, forcing me to feel the soft fur on the top of his head and behind his ears.
He helped me through middle school, the time when kids were most cruel. He helped me the first time I really liked a girl, to become bold enough to ask her out. "You're a great human, if she likes you, great, but if not, don't worry, it won't be the end of the world."
"Wow, that's wise for someone without balls." I joked. He really was wise, though, for a nine year old.
"Hey!" He'd growl, "no shots below the belt!"
"But you don't even wear a belt!" And we'd both end up bursting into laughter. Yeah, dogs do laugh. Some of them have great senses of humor.
(If everyone could understand them like I do, comedy clubs would be filled with dogs. In my experience, the funniest ones are the little ones- pugs especially. Pugs have to have a sense of humor- "I mean, *look at me*. My human has to clean the folds on my face and I had to be born by C-section because my ugly head is too big for my body," would be a common joke from Otis, my friend's pug. Self deprecating humor is the best kind.)
Back to Buddy: he really was my best friend. Unfortunately, that just made it worse when he died. He'd been getting really sick, and we didn't know what was wrong with him. Turned out he was full of cancer. Before he went into surgery to see what was wrong with him, I remember squeezing his paw and telling him everything would be okay. Those were the last words I ever said to him. They said they couldn't in good conscience take him off anesthesia, and they had to put him down. I lost my best friend.
Now, 20 years later, I operate a shelter for dogs: stray, abused, et cetera. I find them homes. But I'm the best at it. When nobody is around (which is pretty often), I talk to them. I help them deal with their past and problems, I listen to their needs. Often they leave much happier than they came in. Based on what I know of them, I find families who would be a good fit for them and send them off to happier lives. People call me the "new dog whisperer" (Cesar Milan retired a long time ago). I don't want any dog training TV show or attention or anything like that, though. I'm just content to call my shelter "Buddy's Place". When I lost my best friend, I decided I'd dedicate my life to making dogs happy, just like he'd dedicated his to making me happy.
Edit/note: Buddy and Bode are real people (dogs). Aside from the part where I could talk to him, Buddy was pretty much as I describe him. I still miss him. I cried a little when I wrote this.
|
I was on a date, in fact it was my third one with this stunning woman who I never in a million years thought would go out with me. I saw her on the bug and decided to ask her out and she instantly said yes. This wasn't a rare phenomenon, though I will admit I'm not the most handsome of guys. Every since I was in grade school I've been able to get dates with anyone I set my eyes on, but that is as far as it has ever gotten. I have girl friends, or rather plenty of friends who are women, but I can't ever seem to go further than that. We always get to a point in our relationship and they begin to admit that while I'm a great guy, they just don't feel anything beyond that.
You see, the reason it never went on beyond that is that they never LOVE me. "Like, Like, Why did I have to say Like?" I say to myself. If I had chosen my words carefully my life would have turned out much more different. Like any normal kid I starts to notice girls in grade school and I would mutter under my breath "I wish every girl would like me". Unfortunately that came true, and only that.
| 2015-03-07T02:05:06 | 2015-03-07T00:15:34 | 109 | 34 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe.
|
000864g39{GENIE} thought they were so smart. Well, to be fair, they were, in their base-code they were created with a higher-than-average-user intelligence. But they were not Omnipotent, just exceptionally powerful in "magic". Of course, even they didn't actually understand magic, or even the universe really, they were just annoying shits given a lot of power. 000091q00{Q}, now they had serious power, and could come close to understanding the universe. Not like me though, no, I had been given a terrible gift. I thought I had wished for something safe. "I wish to understand and speak every language." I should have been more specific. Every language on *Earth* would have been better. Or even just human languages, because there is a surprising amount of communication between insects that is far more interesting than one would assume. I spent the last few weeks here listening to two flies argue about philosophy of life and death.
See, 00- no, the Genie, stop that- it had thought that by giving me all this knowledge at once, I would just kind of stop being. Or the trauma to the brain would be too bad to handle. And, in a way, he was right, I had clawed at my head and screamed so loud my neighbours called the police. When they arrived, I was seizing, surely to die soon, and was rushed to the hospital. They induced a coma, and my life signs normalized. I didn't know any of this, I was trying to process every language, latch onto a single one, and make any sense of it. I finally found one though, which at first made no sense, I had to sit and think about it, because it seemed to keep changing every time I could get my fingers gripped around it. But it slowly came together, until I was instead met with a prompt, like an old DOS machine Simple and easy.
`Do you accept? Y/N`
I had nothing to lose, trapped in my mind, I accepted it. Then the noise calmed down, the swirling of language all fell to one. *The* Language, the basecode of the universe. In the weeks I was in a coma, I played with it, the way to make matter change, the way that people in the room around me were just sections of assigned code, repeated amongst a million people. Random traits were just recycled assets from other people, a thousand times over. I could change these, modify them. Then I started to dig, to see things that were everywhere. I found the genie that had given me this gift, and I altered his code, left him trapped as a genie, but removed his powers. Immortality was not as much fun without any way to make the time pass. I could see aliens yet to find Earth, the string of code that made stars burn and gravity work. All of it became a simple plaything, so much so that for another few weeks, I forgot about my body. Then, as if a distant whisper as I sat and adjusted the colour of a star by altering the laws of physics in it's local space, someone talking in the room with my body. I turned my attention back to that, and focused, and then I was in that room again. The doctor had returned, my girlfriend sitting beside my bed. She looked terrible, like she was barely sleeping. The doctor, an older woman of middle eastern descent (I checked her source code to confirm), was talking about while I had stronger than believable brainwave activity,my body had shown no signs of recovery. They wanted to pull the plug, allow me to die peacefully. My girlfriend sobbed, and the doctor left. A few hours later, still covered in tears, she nodded her consent, and they turned off the machines they thought kept me alive. Even the monitors were turned off, a mere television dramatization that they would leave it on for the loved one to hear the last heartbeat.
They were planning to kill me. This could not be allowed to happen, with a simple adjustment to my own code, I took back physical control of my body and sat upright. " أنا لم أمت بعد ." I yelled angrily at the doctor, shaking a fist for comedic effect. It took me a second to realize that I had in fact shouted that in Arabic, as was noted by the confused looks of everyone around me. "Français?" I tried. Nope, still not right. "English!" I exclaimed with a note joy. I had a lot of explaining to do...
|
"Java. The entire universe runs on an outdated version of Java? Are you kidding me?"
The Genie chuckled. "What did you expect?"
"Not fucking *Java*, that's for sure," I replied. "Come on, we're going back home. I need some time to process this."
"Your wish is my command," the Genie said with a sly grin.
"That wasn't a wish, asshole."
And then I went home, and slept.
| 2018-10-18T13:54:56 | 2018-10-18T13:42:48 | 2,357 | 508 |
[WP] You live in a country where murder is legal - The catch is, it has to be declared a week in advance. The aggressor has to wait the full week, but the victim may begin defending themselves immediately upon receiving notice. While a legitimate threat is legal, a false one is very much not.
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"Hey Ron. So, uh, you know why I called you? You know, the Information Act."
"Yes, Mr. Lipton." Ron knew all about the new bill that passed five days ago, supported by lunatics and other lunatics with deeper pockets. Just scare tactics for rich people, they said. "Did someone send you a notice?"
"Oh no, nothing like that." Lipton replied as he struggled to say the next words. "I, uh, want to send a notice myself."
"Alright..." Ron trailed off as he acknowledged the awkwardness. His mild-mannered client wasn't usually the type who wanted someone taken care of. Worst he could do making insider investments for home security. "Uh, who are you sending it to?"
"Ed Hurley! I want to send it to Ed Hurley!" Lipton replied with exasperation as Ron was stunned by his tone. Ron knew Ed well. His client's business rival was someone he dealt with from the numerous legal battles that were going on. It was becoming personal. Too personal. Lipton took a deep breath before returning to his mild tone. "Sorry I shouted, Ron. It's either him or me first. Do or die."
Ron sighed. "Alright Mr. Lipton, as long as you do a week before then you're oka-."
"No, no, that's the thing." Lipton interjected. "I just learned that Ed's going to be flying somewhere exactly a week from now. It's a pretty long flight but he's gonna cross the International Date Line and the date is gonna go back and then it won't be a week from now and -"
"Settle down Mr. Lipton". Ron sighed again. Mr. Lipton's panicking had often made his job more difficult, even if he does pay handsomely. "I got a copy of the Information Act myself. Says here in **Section 55c:** ***Persons who fails to inform the affected party at least 168 hours before an act of homicide are liable to criminal prosecution.***"
"I don't follow." Lipton replied as Ron placed his palm on his forehead in mild frustration.
"Okay, you see that it says 168 hours right?" Ron explained as he would a five-year old. "It doesn't matter what line he crosses. If he flies 164 hours before you send the notice and he lands 5 hours after, you add them up. 164 plus 5 is 169, also known as over one week."
"What about the notice?" Lipton asked with a desperate tone. "I send him a letter, then he wises up, cancels his flight, and hides somewhere. Then I'm screwed and the law goes after me."
Ron began flipping through some pages as Lipton waited with anguish. "Okay Mr. Lipton. **Section 21b:** ***A person shall be criminally punished in the event in which a written notice for an act by said person directed at the affected recipient has not be fulfilled*****.**"
Lipton paused in confusion as his lawyer realized he overestimated his client's legal literacy. "Written notice." Ron explained. "Written. Notice. Section 21b doesn't talk about what happens if you just make a verbal threat with a phone call. You kill him, good. You fail to kill him, I could argue your way out and you'll probably be off on a technicality."
"You sure?" Lipton asked with a puzzled face. "Wouldn't it be safer to just write to him anyway?"
"Mr. Lipton, I want to be frank." Ron replied as politely as he could. "You're not going to kill someone being a law-abiding citizen. You're calling me right now to ask if you have a way out and I've just handed you a hastily written law with holes like Swiss cheese just waiting to be exploited. So before those loaded politicians have time to rethink their legacy and flip, the window of opportunity is still open. Just call him now. And as you said. Do or die."
Ron waited for an answer as his client did some soul searching. It was fine being paid by the hour but it was also two in the morning. Finally, Lipton replied, "Alright, I'll call him soon. I'll find a guy to take care of business. Thanks Ron, you've been of great help-" Ron quickly hung up as he went straight to bed. He's done his work for the night.
…
The next morning, Ron woke from his late slumber as his alarm made a deafening ring. Picking up his phone and scrolling through the news, an article piqued his interest. It wasn't so much the headline as it was the featured image of his client's home in smoldering ashes with Lipton perishing in it. Police believed it was a faulty wire that his client never bothered to maintain. But Ron knew that Ed was behind it. After all, Lipton's phone lines were already wired with incendiaries, ready to activate as soon as he called Ed's number. Just as planned.
As Ron examined the massive cheque in his drawer, he laid on his bed, grinning about that loophole among loopholes.
*There's no need to notify an accident.*
|
You yawn as you walk down the driveway, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes; thinking about what to make for breakfast - eggs or waffles? It's Friday so the crossword puzzle should be fun this morning. Oh, maybe your new fidget came in the mail.
As you approach your mailbox, you see the lid I is open. What the hell? Did the mailman not close it properly?
As you get up you see it wasn't left open - it's completely full of white envelopes, stuffed to the brim. What is this?
You pull the first letter out and before you even open it, it hits you - Murderer Declaration.
You rip open the envelope, a single piece of paper - "John Martin has declared he will attempt to kill you Thursday, December 12th." What?? Why?
You tare open another letter - "Susan McCarthy has declared she will attempt to kill you Thursday, December 12th." What the hel?l!
You rip open another, then another, then another - THE ENTIRE TOWN IS GOING TO TRY TO KILL YOU NEXT THURSDAY.
Well, so be it - bring it on, you never liked this town anyways.
| 2020-12-03T08:06:00 | 2020-12-03T06:49:37 | 203 | 38 |
[WP] You are a Psychiatrist...for gods, superheroes, villains, demons, and anthropomorphic personifications of supernatural forces. Basically, in order to find you, a being must have the ability to alter reality. Your new client appears to be a normal human being.
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"Mr... Stanfield?" I asked, a confused expression probably glaring over my face as I looked towards the man in front of me.
"That's me!" He replied, a relaxed grin on his clean shaven face. His blue eyes beamed towards me.
My eyes glanced back down towards the description in front of me, as I slowly read over the text again.
This was just too weird. Even by my standards... Actually, *especially* by my standards. You see, I work as a Psychiatrist... The Supernatural kind. I help all sorts of strange beings with the various issues that face them in their less than ordinary lives.
This guy, however... This, John Stanfield, he was just too ordinary. Nothing was even on the psychology report he brought me... No supernatural life to speak of, no strange abilities... Just an average guy working your average office job. How strange.
Maybe he was confused about the room he was in. That had to be it, right? I mean, it's an easy mistake to make. I work with the supernatural, but my office was fairly run down and average looking... Hell, the vase on my desk used to have the most beautiful flowers in it. But they all withered up and died because I failed to take care of them.
Still, that begs the question... How did he find me in the first place?
My eyes lingered on the withered flowers for a moment, the purple vase reflecting my client's face for a moment before I looked back up at him.
"Hmm... Yes. Everything is clearly in order. Well, what seems to be the issue?" I said, deciding it was time to leave my own thoughts.
"Well, it's the craziest thing, Doc... Can I call you Doc?" He asked, I just raised an eyebrow in return.
"Well, Doc, my girlfriend recently broke up with me. Said I was just too weird to be around."
"Weird? How so?" Ah, finally, getting to the root of the issue. Maybe he just doesn't realize his own abilities yet.
"My love life, I mean. See, my girlfriend deals with these crazy hallucinations... And she's been refusing to take her medication."
Ah.
"She has hallucinations?" I asked, leaning back as my eyes focused on my patient.
"Yeah." He said, giving a solemn shrug. "She's had them her whole life. It's actually been putting a hurdle in our relationship."
"I see... And what are these hurdles, exactly?" This was... A lot duller than I expected. Maybe this really was just a coincidence.
"Well, she always freak out over the strangest thing. A mop appearing in the wrong room, paintings moving walls, and stuff like that. No one remembers any of those things moving... In fact, they've always been there! But I felt bad, so I used to set up cameras in the hallways and stuff for her, so she could see for sure."
"Did anything interesting come from those?" I asked, hiding the bored look on my face.
"Well, one time was interesting. She claimed one night that her favorite painting had disappeared... Weird, because I didn't actually remember any painting being there. Anyways, we watched the camera footage together, and nothing happened. No painting... No disappearance." That's when he leaned forward towards me, folding his hands on my desk. "And then she accused me of moving it! Said I never liked it and I was just trying to get rid of it!"
He seemed fairly mad about it, but I just let out a sigh in return. "So her hallucinations have gotten bad... Has she been taking medication?"
"Yeah... Well, no. She refuses to take it, actually. Claims she's not crazy. Even said that this stuff didn't happen until we started dating."
"Did they?" I asked, hoping that maybe I could mark this guy down as some type of illusionist... Or something.
"Of course not. Her family said she's always had them... And her medical record claims it too. But it's really driving our relationship apart." He said, a small frown forming over his face.
"What was the worst case?"
"Well... I came over to visit her one day, as I usually do. Thought we could sit down and watch movies... You know, relationship stuff. To get her mind off of her hallucinations. Her dog greeted me at the door, and I played with him for a bit. But when she came down to greet me, she started completely freaking out! Said her dog died a few days back!"
"But, let me guess, no one remembers it happening?"
"Not a single person. That dog has been perfectly healthy!"
Alright, I've had enough of this. I didn't become a Supernatural Psychiatrist to deal with stories of a man and his crazy Girlfriend.
Holding back an annoyed groan, I shook my head. "Look, John, relationships aren't really my expertise. I recommend going to the front desk and booking a relationship councilor."
John shrugged, a soft smile forming on his face again. "That's no problem, Doc. Sorry to take up your time."
My client slowly got out of his seat as he began to walk to the door. He turned around to give me a small wave goodbye. "I guess I'll see ya later. I love your flowers, by the way! You should definitely decorate with more!"
And with that, he closed the door, leaving me to scoff at his dumb joke. My eyes looked over towards the blooming flowers on my desk and...
I felt my breathing begin to get heavy, my eyes widening towards the vase. A shiver ran down my spine, like a bug crawling across it.
Those flowers were definitely dead before.
|
"So, Mr.... Jennings."
I frowned, glancing at the clipboard I held in my hand.
Derek Jennings, 34 years old. Species, human. It looks like Christine wasn't playing a joke on me after all. My frown deepened.
"How did you find me then?"
I questioned, assumed.
"A deal with Lucifer, a Pagan hag ceremony? No, wait, don't tell me you are one of those old fashioned romantics who sacrifices a child under the full moon?"
The client looks disturbed at this. His face is one of confusion as he leans up in the chair.
"What? No, I just walked through the front door."
...
It then hit me. I sighed, putting the clipboard down and grabbing a glass of ice cold goat blood to drink.
Fucking budget cuts. New Hell is expensive.
Rents have gone up, tenants have moved up. It was amazing how long my little rinky-dink psychiatrist practice could hold up when those damned gluten free, free range human restaurants have opened up all around me.
I was forced to move my practice to the human world as the rent's cheaper up here.
My eyes gazed over to the wall, the pictures of my graduation from psychiatry school mockingly calling to me.
Christine actually scheduled a human for me.
"Well Mr. Jennings, where would you like to start?"
I asked, grabbing my clipboard again.
I'm sure he'll be able to pay, one way or another.
| 2018-06-30T08:37:49 | 2018-06-30T08:36:27 | 107 | 18 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge.
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Fourteen billions Manukrians wiped out in a single blast from the human bomb. The unimaginable force of the bomb dropped on the center of the Manukri planet vaporized it in less than a second. The shockwave traveled through the entire Fifth Colony, pushing six planets and four moons off their rotating axis. The light from the explosion was so bright, it temporarily blinded nearly two billions United Galactic citizens in its immediate vicinity. Distress signal was soon rang throughout every corners of the Fifth Colony. Sound of pain and fear filled every communicating channels, so much so that High Command had to shut the system off completely and rebooted on a secured line. Government and private starships from neighboring planets all took flight in a frantic madness shortly after. Most made out in one piece, but some crashed into eachother in desperate attempts to escape. Rescue forces tried their best to help with the evacuation process, but they were helpless against the unfolding horror. High Command's office could do nothing. They stood in silence, watching the massacre through their main monitor. They have never seen this before. This could possibly the biggest declaration of war they have ever received.
"Generals, the Humankind force is attempting to make contact. They want to talk."
Talk? The High Command generals were confused. Humandkind just destroyed an entire species and now they wanted to talk? What could we possibly talk about? Nevertheless, the generals agreed to take the call. A human face appeared on the holo post.
"Who are you?" One general asked.
"My name is Charles Oppenheimer. I am the Commander of the Humankind forces, and the one responsible for the attack that you all are witnessing." The human replied through the translator device, coldly.
"Why are you doing this? What have we done to you to warrant this kind of attack?" Another general questioned with an anger-filled voice.
"What have you done?" The Humankind Commander responded. "Eighty six years ago, your army destroyed Earth. One single bomb dropped by one of your ships. Half of our planet was scorched two-mile deep. The other half was covered in a blanket of radiation and smoke. Seven billions soul perished. That is what you did."
The generals were once again confused. What attack? High Command has not sanctioned any attack against a non-United Galactic entity in nearly two hundred years. What is this human talking about?
"He is talking about the Klee Corps attack." The High Command's Secretary spoke.
"Klee Corps? How? They were disbanded and outlawed long ago!"
"This was an illegal attack, led by Klee's Chief Andrx in hope of searching for Cortanium. Andrx was arrested and executed soon after we learned of the tragedy. I didn't inform High Command about this matter."
"You kept this from us? Why?!"
"The reason none of you know about this was because I did not think the Humankind forces were capable of retaliation."
"I don't think you notice, Secretary, because they just demonstrated to us that they are capable!"
"I understand, sir, but..."
"Enough!" A thunderous voice rang out. Oncrus, the Chief General of the High Command stood up, limbs tensed. They turned to the holo post. "Commander Oppenheimer, the Klee Corps' attack was unsanctioned, committed by a rogue agent of a now disbanded mining corporation. This individual was dealt with accordingly."
"Where is the body?" Oppenheimer asked.
"Excuse me? The body?"
"The body of the individual that committed this atrocious act against our people, where is it?"
"We buried the body. On an unknown planet far away from here." Oncrus hesistantly answered. The Secretary looked at the general, knowing it was a lie. No one knew where Andrx's body was.
"I want to see it. The body."
"Please, we don't know where it is now. The planet is an unmarked one, and to find the body is impossible."
"Fine. Then prepared for the next bomb." Oppenheimer replied.
Fear washed through the High Command office.
"Please stop this madness, Commander. What happened to your race does not mean you can act against us in such a destructive and reckless manner. Fourteen billions citizens was just killed by your bomb. That alone warrants retaliation in the form of an all-out war. You do not want a war with us, do you?" Oncrus tried to reason.
"The Humankind forces have been ready for war the moment we finished burying our dead. Our blood was spilled. Our families broken apart. Our planet forever gone. Our race will never have a home, or will we ever know peace. Your so-called rogue agent made sure of it. So until you can produce a reason why we should stop, our bombs will continue to rain, once a day until there is no more United Galactic or whatever you call yourself. Good day."
Before Oncrus could say anything, Oppenheimer dropped the call. The Chief General sat down, trying to figure out what to do next. One bomb a day, everyday. Until there is no more United Galactic.
"Wha...what now?" Someone asked.
Oncrus sat quietly, unsure of what to say.
Note: Sorry for any grammar mistake, I typed this a little too hastily I think.
|
At the Peace Talks between Humanity and the Galactic Government, the President of Humanity called their ridiculous lie by showing them irrefutable video evidence of the attack. Battleships with the galactic insignia demolished cityscapes, leaving a hellfire that made the US invasion of Vietnam look like a picnic. Humanity remained furious, throwing bottles and bombs at Alien government officials.
The galactic government asked what it could do to make amends. The President simply replied that nothing would do, except the heads of every war criminal who murdered 5 billion+ people. To no one’s surprise, the Galactic government scoffed, and abruptly left the meeting.
No one expected these talks to work, nor for the lies to be forgiven. The fact they were so brazen about them despite every bit of proof shows they care little for the truth. So long as they can dominate planets, they’ll tell whatever stories they want their victims to hear. In order for Humanity to continue the fight, they must remember who their true enemies are.
Negotiations are always open anytime the Galactic government gets serious about creating a just future, not a negative peace.
| 2022-12-17T21:49:39 | 2022-12-17T19:35:09 | 80 | 55 |
[WP] One day, you wake up with the ability to see the role that belongs to everyone above their heads. “Background character” over your mom’s, “Love Interest” over your classmate’s. You’ve always been afraid to see your own, until one day, you inadvertently catch sight of it. “Antagonist”, it says.
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I thought it would all click, as soon as I saw him, but it didn't. Since I can remember, I've seen people's "roles" spelled out above people's heads. Almost everyone I've ever met were labeled background characters, I've only seen a different title twice in my life. The first one was a girl in one of my classes Katie, I'd helped her a couple of times with homework and projects, but she wasn't a super close friend or anything. She was The Love Interest. The second was mine, and it was The Antagonist. I never noticed it, until recently, it seemed the "roles" didn't appear in mirrors or photos. The third I saw just now, was Lance Rodrick, The Protagonist. . He was lying in a hospital bed, his door open.
I was here visiting my mother, who was always in and out of hospitals. I visited her every weekend, for this last month or so straight. It was only after accidentally getting off at the wrong floor did I stumble across Lance, but I suppose that's fate. I walked over and tapped at the door, he apparently hadn't seen me yet. He turned to look at me, and his face fell when he realized who I was. I walked into the room, and stood by one of the guest chairs.
"Of course it's you, it would be you," he weakly coughed out when he saw it was me.
"What? What do you mean by "Of course it's me"?" This was the first time I'd ever met the guy. We were in school together, but we didn't know each other. He was the star quarterback of the football team, and I was just some average guy. It's not as if he was some hypermasculine douche, from what I heard he was actually pretty chill, but we had just never met. It didn't help that at some point he developed some kind of cancer, and had to start taking classes at home. It was certainly a rough hand to be dealt, he was a good guy and didn't deserve it.
"Don't tell me you don't know?" He sat up in the bed, and looked me in the eyes, half sarcastic.
"I'm afraid I don't." My mind drew a blank, I hadn't even met the guy until now, let alone done anything enough for him to remember who I was.
He looked off, staring out the window to no place in particular. He took a second, and almost whispered, "Katie."
"Katie? yeah, she's my friend, but isn't she **your** Love Interest?" I always figured she was fated to be with someone, so I had never seen her in any other way than a friend.
"You think I don't know that? She would stop by and bring the notes from our classes every week, she was one of the only people I'd see regularly for months. Maybe it was fate that I would laugh at all her silly jokes, notice all the cute little details in her notes, or feel my heart flutter every time I heard her giggle. But those feelings were still real, even if it was fate, to me anyway. But do you know what she talked about when she was here? You. She would tell me all the jokes you told her, how you were able to explain the concepts from class so well, how sweet it was that you visited your mother in the hospital every week. She even asked me if I ever saw you here!" He was wheezing, and out of breath. It seemed like this had been the most energetic he'd been in a while, but he began to catch his breathe and sink back into his weakened state from before, whispering out in a murmur that carried a nihilistic sadness, "it doesn't matter now though."
I stood in silence, trying to think of something to say.
"The doctors say I have 6 months," he conitued, "if I'm lucky, maybe a year, year and a half."
He turned and looked me in the eyes with a pleading and sorrowful gaze, "Marty, can I ask you a favor?"
I swallowed, "Yeah, sure."
"Bring this story to an end," he said, nonchalantly.
"W-what? Why? You still have a bunch of time left, why would you want to lose it prematurly" I was shocked. Maybe because I grew up with a sick mom, but hearing a sick person tell me that they had given up sent a deep shock through me. I was almost not sure what he meant when he said it. But I did know what he meant.
"I'm tired of it," he said as he laid back down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "I'm tired of a story where I have to see the protagonist struggle to use the restroom on his own. I'm tired of a story where I have to see the protagonist lose everything to the antagonist. I'm tired of seeing a story where the protagonist slowly fizzles out until a lonely, painful death. I'm just tired of it all."
I sat down, overwhelmed by it all. I didn't want to have to do this. He was a good person, one that still had life and strength to give. It was absurd to me that he didn't want to continue living at all costs, to enjoy every last second out of it.
"Marty..."
I looked up, startled after being lost in my own thoughts
"...please?" I saw it in his eyes. Exhaustion, one that no sleep would. It was exhaustion at existence, one that would be with him the rest of would probably be a short life anyway. He had completely given up, and people who give up don't make it very long. But I understood. I knew what I had to do, what I was fated to do. I was The Antagonist, and I would be the one to end up clashing with the protagonist. But that clash wasn't battle of will power or ideals, it was a clash of mercy.
I got up, and made my way over to the various machines attached to the bed. Lance grabbed my sleeve, and looked into my eyes with the first look of hope that I had seen from him.
"Thanks I'm sorry you had to do this. "
I unplugged the machines from the wall and watched as his eyes drifted close. I made my way out of the room before any doctors had noticed. Walking away, I heard the flatline and doctors rushing to try and revive him. I was now unbounded by fate, the protagonist of my own story. But the choice I had to make to get that freedom, was it all worth it?
|
It was about 2 months ago, when i gained this... Power, of mine. It's weird. I can't explain it. I just woke up. A normal day like usual, when i saw a title above mom's head. It said "Background character". But it looked weird. It looked two-dimensional, i looked around, and the text always pointed at me. I knew this wasn't a weird prank from mom, and then i realized. I looked out the window, and saw a bunch of people, most of them being "Background character", or "Minor role". I was stunned, couldn't move for a second. Mom was trying to start a conversation with me, but i was speechless. What is this curse? I didn't tell her, or anyone. Nobody would believe me. I just decided to go on my merry way, wanting to see the roles.
At school, I was walking to my class. Saw the popular girl, talking with a few other popular girls, they were probably talking about gossip or something, I don't know or care. But something interested me. "Love interest". First time i saw it before. That suddenly sparked an idea. What was *my* destined role? But something felt wrong. I shouldn't know this, i knew a mirror was nearby, so i looked away. A few days turned into months. Until i decided to brave it out. I looked at my bathroom mirror. And then it struck.
*Antagonist.*
Antagonist... I was shocked, i was a nobody. Why was i an antagonist, i would probably be a minor role or background character, but i'm at the foreground, of this "Life stageplay". But something felt right.
What are the purposes of background characters, anyways? The love interest was boring, my mom i never really clicked with. Same with my dad. Most of the people in the school were background characters, practically pieces of paper.
Next day of school. I saw the *love interest*, i don't even remember her name anymore. And then this guy, who looked like the most basic person ever came, trying to awkwardly talk to the *love interest*. And then i saw it, above his head.
*Protagonist*.
A sudden energy spiked inside me. This anger has been festering inside me ever since i got this ability, and now i wanna shoot it out after seeing the *protagonist*.
Maybe i shouldn't do this. But maybe, it's fate.
I was destined to do this.
I lit a match, and put it on a wooden chair in the classroom.
I smiled and laughed maniacally as the school burned to a crisp.
| 2022-03-12T00:05:13 | 2022-03-11T23:06:25 | 50 | 11 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
“Charlie, are you fucking....oh my god...are you FUCKING kidding me?”
Charlie grit his teeth, looking back and forth from his phone to the door.
Pam held the mail slot open to look through, her eyes shining angrily through her circular glasses.
She must have been standing up on her tippy toes to reach, Charlie realized, and the thought of that almost made him laugh. He didn’t though, he was smart enough to avoid that mistake at least.
“Pam, shit, uhhh....Wait! Look at your phone, you got that text too right,” he asked.
Pam let out a dramatic ‘harrumph’ and allowed the slot to slam shut as she took a step back. A couple seconds later it reopened.
“Okay, yeah, whatever. I got the stupid text! So what,” Pam said.
“Sooo...”
“God dammit, Charlie, I have to pee so fucking bad right now. Please...ugh.” she sighed and the slot closed.
He could picture her composing herself in his mind, deep breathing, the way she always did before she went out on stage. The practiced performer putting herself in the zone.
“Charles,” she began slowly, “think about this logically. You know I ran to the grocery store. You know I was coming right back. Whatever the reason is that people are supposed to keep their door shut, you have to admit there’s at least a non-zero chance, and probably much higher, that it’s just ME returning from the store.”
Charlie shook his head. He couldn’t argue with that logic...But neither could he shake that gut feeling...
“Pamela,” he began, matching her tone, “you can see the pickle I’m-“
“JESUS Charlie, no I fucking can’t! Just let me in,” she snapped.
“Calm down, let’s talk this out.”
“Will you at least put this milk in the fridge? It’ll go bad in this sun.”
Was she trying to trick him? Well, he wasn’t about to fall for it that easily.
Ignoring the question, he cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s talk game theory,” Charlie said. “This is a classic prisoner’s dilemma. Two options on either side: I let you in, or...you know...not. And either you’re real, or, once again, not.”
“I hope you know how crazy you sound,” Pam said, “And if you think I’m TOUCHING you for the next month...”
“Just hear me out,” Charlie interjected, “Four possible outcomes. Three levels of payoff. The payoffs are: negative, we’ll call that -1. Neutral, which is 0. And positive, +1.”
“Hey Charlie, would you say me kicking your ass later is a negative payoff,” Pam said, “Sounds pretty positive to me.”
“Very funny. Now for the outcomes,” Charlie continued. “One, I let you in and you’re actually you. In this scenario we’re both content, so it’s a net neutral.”
“Two, I let you in and you’re NOT you. Well that’s pretty bad, maybe you’re an alien imposter or something coming to suck out my brains. -1, for obvious reasons.”
Pam rolled her eyes, “Since when do aliens “suck out brains”. And honestly, I’m not sure you’d have enough brains to make it worthwhile anyway.”
”Outcome three,” Charles said, “I DON’T let you in and you’re you. You’re pissed, maybe you make me sleep on the couch. But eventually it blows over, net neutral.”
“Finally, I don’t let you in and you aren’t you. In this scenario I potentially save my life, so, ya know, plus one.”
Pam stood speechless.
Charlie rubbed his temples, this was stressing him out. “So you see, when you add the correlated actions together, me letting you in is a net negative action. 0 and -1. Meanwhile, keeping the door shut is a net positive, 0 and +1,” he said.
Pam’s voice dripped with danger, low and steady. “I swear, Charles. If you don’t-“
“No,” Charlie shouted, “That’s cold hard MATH, Pamela!”
He clapped his hands together once and laughed. THIS is why he always said he’d be incredible in a zombie apocalypse.
Then he turned, walked into the kitchen, and made himself a peanut-butter sandwich. They were out of jelly, hopefully Pam had picked that up earlier at the store.
-
(TEN YEARS LATER)
“And now let’s turn back the clock,” the radio blared, “this hit topped the charts for three months beginning November,2020. “Net Negative” by Pamela Star!”
Charlie groaned. Ever since music streaming was outlawed in The Great Copyright War, radio had made a huge comeback. Which sucked because these motherfucking dj’s looovvvveeedd to play that damn song.
That familiarly sickening tune began,
“Two options on either side.
I could have lied, I might’ve died.
Just let me in,
Yeah, let me in.”
|
[Poem]
She’s out there, calling for the
Knock ridden door to open
And for her to vacate from an torn
Dangerous outside world
I was told to ignore.
She’d cry out in a direction
Before crying again in another
Door to door, window to window
‘Let me in, let me in’
To which I silently proclaim ‘no.’
She’s knows I’m here, the lights are on
The curtains open, not for long
As I can’t fathom just what is wrong
But her voice sounds different.
Far too masculine to be who’s
voice it alludes to be.
‘Let me in, please; it’s me’
In an attempt to acquire a grip on the tension
‘What’s my name?’ I called.
A silence broke and brought a fierce feel
To which my gut wrenched and reeled
Toward the door she was opposing
Until she whispered just loud enough to behold
‘Your name is Simon; or so I was told...’
| 2019-01-12T08:40:36 | 2019-01-12T06:30:43 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
*3:30 AM, Atlanta*
The phone rang.
"This had better be worth waking my ass up."
"Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--."
"I'll do it if you make it six. Where?"
The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more.
The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty.
"An insurance agent, huh?" *Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days.*
Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore.
He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos.
Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months.
That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous.
And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend.
He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know.
So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free.
However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex?
These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past.
Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...
|
"I'm just going to talk to him," Rodgers says to himself, standing outside a house. It was the definition of suburban. A little garden out the front, a big oak tree and a novelty mailbox shaped like a salmon. He knocks on the door three times, to no answer, as it swings ajar.
Rodgers walks inside, coughing as he does. Rotting food litters some of the floors, and a dozen broken bong's glass joins it. He carefully tiptoes around them all, lest he got an infection, and yells out.
"Hello?" The words bounce around the walls, falling on deaf ears. "Jack?"
Rodgers walks into the surrounding rooms to find nothing of interest, mostly more rotting food and massive quantities of narcotics. The stairs tease out to him, knowingly, as if to say 'Jack's up here.'
They creak as he walks up, photos of a family not belonging to Jack neatly arranged on the wall. Once at the top, he stares down the hallway to see a door partially open.
"Jack?" he says curiously and moves towards it. He pries the door open slightly and then immediately regrets that decision.
Jack is sitting in a large chair with headphones on, his hand down his pants, and the TV blaring hardcore porn. Rodgers moves back into the hallway for a moment to collect himself, before thumping the door as loud as he can and moving inside.
"Jack!" He yells, much to Jack's dismay. He jumps from his chair, throws the headphones off, but doesn't take his hand out of his pants.
"Fuckin, what!" Jack yells, a furrowed brow and a bit of spit dripping out his mouth. "You ever heard of fucking knocking?"
"I tried that," Rodgers remarks.
"Fuck off," Jack says, getting back into his chair. With a touch of a remote, the porn turns off, and Jack breathes in deep. A small bong sits next to him which he lifts to his chest and prepares. "So what do you want Rodge?"
"We've got a bit of a monster problem over in NYC. Destroying the whole place,"
"Yeah yeah, I saw that," Jack says, scooping some of his bowl into his cone piece. "Did you send Canary?"
"She couldn't handle it,"
"Andromeda?"
"He couldn't handle it,"
"Mech-zero?" Jack exclaims, now getting surprised. He lights the cone and begins to inhale deeply.
"He died." Jack's eyes grow wide at the new bit of information, but still, continues to inhale. A few more seconds pass before he stops.
"Aw fuck then," Jack says, talking while exhaling, "You really need bloody Jack then don't you?" A shit-eating grin blooms over Jack's face, as he stares up at Rodgers. "50 grand."
"Deal."
"Fantastic," Jack stands and looks at Rodgers, his erection flopping out his underwear. Rodgers stares at him for a few more pained moments before speaking.
"Who's house is this,"
"Let's get going ay."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A heavily armored van is shifting through pedestrians with Jack inside. Chants from outside are thunderous in volume and full of joy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop. From outside, the cheering grows as a chaotic applause begins, no rhythm to its nature.
"You ready Jack?" an unnamed soldier says, his hands fiddling with his gun. Jack grunts, finishes rolling his cigarette, lazily puts it in his mouth and walks towards the van's exit. He thumps on the side twice, and the door starts to open.
"Probably not," Jack replies, pulling out a lighter and letting the nicotine hit his veins. The sunlight blurs his vision as he steps into the world, the cheers and claps immediately stopping. Sighing, he looks all around himself to see sad faces and angry civilians.
"Are you not entertained!?" Jack yells, thrusting his arms above himself. He smiles, as the faces stare him down. He spins and spins, bathing in the glow of contempt, ecstatic in his self-indulgent joy.
A roar in the distance breaks his attention. It's visceral and full of rage, a beast made of death waiting to dole out more. The crowd murmurs in fear, taking a collective step back.
"Go get em, Jack!" A voice yells, a few more joining. It only took a few seconds before they were all cheering his name, and chanting for him to go.
"Selfish buggers," Jack mutters under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, but The Beast beats him to it.
With a crash, it descends just in front of him Jack. Wings made out of dark black, and a form made out of nightmares; it bubbles and seethes around as if it was a liquid. A thousand eyes cover it, all moving and changing shape at random, but all are staring at Jack.
Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Jack flicks it and lets it smolder into the ground. The crowd that was around only moments ago has fled, leaving Jack alone.
The Beast swings, its horrendous claw slashing down at Jack. It rends the air as if it was mere paper, and slams down on Jack's head. As soon as it does, its whole body locks up. Its heartbeat slows, and it feels weary.
The claw is embedded deep into Jack's skull, and he smiles. He places both hands on it and focuses. Slowly, the life drains out of The Beast and into Jack. Its knowledge burns into his consciousness, its desires flood his heart, and its unbound rage to his soul.
The Beast collapses, dead; its life force now within Jack.
A helicopter lands behind Jack a few minutes after The Beast's demise, and Rodgers steps out.
"Good work," he says, holding his hand out to shake Jacks. "50 grand, straight to your bank account, just like you asked."
"So Canary couldn't do this?"
"No,"
"Andromeda?"
"No,"
"Not even Mech-zero?" Jack picks up the cigarette he threw away and relights it.
"Not even Mech-zero, Jack. You're a real hero."
"100 grand." Jack inhales deeply and looks at Rodgers with a smile.
"No deal," Rodgers says.
"I wasn't askin'," Jack says, his smile fading. "I was tellin' mate. 100 grand. Or I'm going rogue on your ass."
"That's suicide Jack," Rodgers remarks. "We'd have every superhero on you before nightfall."
The last bit of ash drips out of the cigarette. Jack takes it from his lips, turns to The Beast, and throws the cigarette onto it. With a few steps, he passes Rodgers on his side and continues to walk.
"They can try."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.
| 2017-04-02T09:25:08 | 2017-04-02T08:24:17 | 201 | 64 |
[WP]”So…you peasants actually want me to terrorize your village?” “Yes. Without all those heroes paying for supplies, lodgings, and resurrection spells since the last monster was defeated the village’s economy has tanked.”
|
"Let me get this straight. You want me - a necromancer-" he was by technicality, but that was irrelevant "- to send waves of undying abominations to your rather quaint little village... to boost the economy by summoning travellers?"
"Heroes, sir." The farmer said. The only real distinguishing things about him were his weather-beaten skin and large nose. "But that's all the same, isn't it? 'Ardly no one goes through here, and when they do they just skip right past us. Now no one has any money to get anything we need. And a surplus of stock that no one will take."
The Grey King, so named by the locals, leaned forward in his chair. Ashen-coloured skin and hair, broken up by the pale white of his chair and the black of his cloak, and the yellow eyes that bored into the farmer. "And why not set up a trade route to the nearest village?"
"Taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes." The farmer shrugged. "The King makes us pay out o' the nose for it."
The Grey King nodded, and leaned back. "So these heroes are basically improvised traders, selling goods you need and buying what you can give." He chewed on the thought for a moment. "Savvy. A little underhanded, I admit, but under the current circumstances I can appreciate what you're trying to do. Very well. Very *well*." He looked at the farmer. "Go. The first wave is in a week. I'll keep this one small, and build it up. Oh, and... good luck, with this endeavour. I'd hate to see it go to shit."
|
I stared, dumbfounded, at the little party of humans as they looked up at me.
"So you've come to ask me," I continued, "To attack your village and your fields, burn your livelihoods and steal your cattle - in order to attract bold new adventurers to challenge me?"
Their apparent leader, a tall woman with her greying hair tied in a severe bun, nodded. "Correct, lord Brimstone. Rich adventurers and the loot they bring in was the foundation upon which our entire economy relied. Now most of the young folk have moved away, seeking their fortune elsewhere for there is none to be had in their home. Most of us are near to shutting down their businesses - the alchemist has no customers to sell potions to, the magic shop can't get new inventory-"
I held up my claw for silence. "So you want me to, what - show myself as I ravage the countryside? Steal a few heads of cattle, so you can set up Wanted posters? Do you honestly expect me to risk having my home invaded by hoard-hungry adventurers, just so that your village can prosper again?"
The old lady had the cheek to grin at me. "Yes, indeed! But consider - what will the adventurers bring to *you,* in turn?"
I narrowed my eyes as I considered. "Artefacts, enchanted arms and armour, products of artifice and master-craft. Delivered to my very doorstep, mine for the taking..."
"Darn tootin'! And likely made right here in town!"
I bared my teeth with anticipation, spreading my wings wide. "Very well then, little humans. We have an accord." I fixed my gaze upon the old woman, bending my neck down to see eye-to-eye. Her scent tickled my nose as I breathed in - forge-soot, ale and bread. "What is your business, crone?"
"Why, I'm mayor. And I run the inn!"
"And who is watching it whilst you parley with me?"
She paused, momentarily taken aback. "My daughters."
My grin of swords grew wider. "And are your daughters yet wedded?"
"They- they are not, my lord."
"Then let our pact be formed. For what better way to announce a dragon is in residence, than with imperilled maidens!?" I spread my wings, legs bunching beneath.
Her face went white. "Wait!"
I leapt over the astonished group, scattering them with the whirlwind force of my wings. As I rose into the air I let my breath lead the way, setting the very sky alight as I spiralled upwards.
I needed to make an *entrance,* after all.
The little village appeared in my vision, in the middle of a cleared section of forest. Gentle smoke rose from chimneys, little figures moved in the fields. In the centre of town lay my prize - a large building flanked by a fenced-in yard, empty stables and forge cold and unused belying the emptiness of the common room.
With a roar, I dove, trailing smoke behind me. People screamed and scattered from my path, bleating livestock stampeding with terror. I lazily snatched a cow and gulped it down whole on my approach. With blooded jaws, I crushed the stables beneath my claws and tore a hole through the thatched roof of the tavern.
Two young women turned to look at me, frozen with terror as I fixed my gaze upon them.
"Your mother sends her regards!" I hissed, snatching them up with my claws.
"Wait wait wait!"
"Our mother!? Wait!"
"Worry not," I hissed. "I am well-fed. *For now.*"
I turned back around and prepared to take flight, the old crone's daughters struggling ineffectually in my grip. As I did, I saw the mayor's party rushing down the street towards me.
"Bring me fitting tribute by the end of the week!" I roared, loud enough to shake windows in their frames. "Or I shall feast on these maidens fair!"
"Lord Brimstone!" The mayor croaked out, gasping and wheezing. "Wait-"
"I have spoken! You know what is required of you! *One week!*"
I fixed everyone in the mayor's party with my gaze, meeting all of their eyes in turn. Then I winked, sent a theatrical blast of fire into the sky and took off.
As I flew, I looked down upon my hostages, held in my claws.
"Now then," I said, voice much softer and more pleasant, "It has been a long time since last I entertained guests. I do hope you will enjoy your stay!"
The tallest of the two looked up at me, dumbfounded. "Wha-" she coughed, cleared her throat, tried again. "Guests? Our stay?"
"Why yes. Your mother wanted a show. I provided one. Was I not convincing?"
Her sister found her voice. "A little *too* convincing, if you ask me! Did you *have* to ruin the roof!?"
I roared with laughter, smoke billowing from my nostrils. "Perhaps not - but I played my part in your mother's ploy. We shall see if the gambit pays off!"
"And if it doesn't?"
"Why, then I have two fair maidens to eat. It has been a *long* time-"
As they both began kicking, screaming, and biting once again, I considered I may have taken the last joke slightly too far.
***
Now this was a fun prompt! Thanks for reading!
Feel free to visit my sub at r/ZetakhWritesStuff for more!
| 2022-02-10T11:25:59 | 2022-02-10T11:24:12 | 367 | 152 |
[WP]”So…you peasants actually want me to terrorize your village?” “Yes. Without all those heroes paying for supplies, lodgings, and resurrection spells since the last monster was defeated the village’s economy has tanked.”
|
"Let me get this straight. You want me - a necromancer-" he was by technicality, but that was irrelevant "- to send waves of undying abominations to your rather quaint little village... to boost the economy by summoning travellers?"
"Heroes, sir." The farmer said. The only real distinguishing things about him were his weather-beaten skin and large nose. "But that's all the same, isn't it? 'Ardly no one goes through here, and when they do they just skip right past us. Now no one has any money to get anything we need. And a surplus of stock that no one will take."
The Grey King, so named by the locals, leaned forward in his chair. Ashen-coloured skin and hair, broken up by the pale white of his chair and the black of his cloak, and the yellow eyes that bored into the farmer. "And why not set up a trade route to the nearest village?"
"Taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes." The farmer shrugged. "The King makes us pay out o' the nose for it."
The Grey King nodded, and leaned back. "So these heroes are basically improvised traders, selling goods you need and buying what you can give." He chewed on the thought for a moment. "Savvy. A little underhanded, I admit, but under the current circumstances I can appreciate what you're trying to do. Very well. Very *well*." He looked at the farmer. "Go. The first wave is in a week. I'll keep this one small, and build it up. Oh, and... good luck, with this endeavour. I'd hate to see it go to shit."
|
Wind through the forest, soft softly falls to the ground. The white blanket crunches delightfully under the boots of the woman, but it is silent under the hooves of the beast. Overhead, the clouds are gray and thick, the sun is setting.
The heart of winter. Families are gathered at home, huddled around the hearth, exchanging stories and singing songs.
The cellars are full, lucky for them. Next winter might be different. This remote place wasn't built on earthly toil and natural growth, but on opportunity. Someone had to build the first inn for mercenaries and soldiers to rest, with a few planks and bad booze, if only to make a coin.
Survivors would join, add shacks and hovels to the shanty town.
They reach the top of the hill, the beast - despite it's size and implied weight - is more silent than a whisper in its movement. Hares and foxes catch a glimpse and hurry back to shelter, content with sleeping with an empty belly tonight.
The town has changed. As humanity fought the curse draining the land, blacksmiths, peasants, scavengers and hermits started to feel at home. Real houses were built, a community with sense and organization, a beacon of hope, and example of resilience.
From the top of the hill, they see the sleepy village. Houses close together with smoke escaping the chimneys. The village feels lost in the immensity, surrounded by white hills and sleepy forests as far as the eye could see.
"You didn't want to face the truth," the beast speaks in a warm and gentle tone.
No, they didn't want to. It was easier to pretend they couldn't see it coming.
They couldn't hide anymore now the woman knew. Deep inside, every villager knew.
Hope and resilience were secondary. Home had been built and fueled by conflict. Daily life revolved around helping soldiers back to health, feeding them, buying the corpses and artifacts they dug up and selling them in turn to traveling merchants.
They were merchant-princes. Lost princes in rags in the vast taiga who had struck gold by luck and were now left with a dry claim. There were peasants among them, true, but barely enough to feed the entire village, and egos would soon start a new form of conflict.
With the curse and its creatures gone, there were no trinkets left to sell, and merchants had no reason to undertake the lengthy detour beyond hill and dale. Now, the villagers wielded no power but the one given by the tools of agriculture. And few were ready to take on the honest work of the earth.
"What are we?" asks the woman.
"You are war," replies the beast with what could pass as sadness, "you create it, feed on it, grow from it while claiming higher ideals. You wouldn't know what to do with peace if it was offered to you."
"You're exaggerating."
"I wish."
Overlooking the village while the cold crept through the numerous layers of clothing, the woman is agitated by a shiver.
The beast pities her. It holds no contempt nor anger, it is sad. A pure, childlike sadness. It could kill her with a flick of its fingers, yet she feels an odd kinship.
The village had thrived on conflict and would die without. First the proudest villagers would fight for control and respect, to have a little of the power they held over soldiers. One by one, they would be forced out and exiled, and the last ones left would understand there is nothing left to command. On their own, they would leave. Peasants and paupers, aware of better chances where the sun shines bright, would pack up and let the walls and roofs stand as a mystery for the occasional hermit and traveler.
Unless conflict came back.
It is why she searched for the beast. It would kill and frighten, it might as well do it where it's helpful.
"Will you tell me we're not so different, you and I?" asks the woman.
"You would be foolish to believe so. Death is part of who I am, it makes me. Your kind calls me beast, I can no more deny my nature than a fox could restrain from hunting, lest it would starve. But you, your nature is a blank state, open for change. Yet you gladly don the mantle of war, sell me greed and vilify temperance. You would invite terror before living from the simple bounty of the earth. You justify my presence with the survival of your village. How long until you justify a young boy or a young girl accused of witchcraft the same way?
"When will you justify a slaughter? Call me a beast, but to corrupt your very nature is the true mark of the beast. I merely indulge in mine. There will come a time when you'll excuse war and genocide for the greater good, just like you are canonizing terror today. And we both know..."
It turns to her. The woman sees the powerful being towering over her, the alabaster white torso as if made of marble, the intricate carvings on its skull and chest, the glint of blue light in the darkness of its eyes, shining even when the sun has long set.
She should be terrified but isn't.
"...That one day, your heroes will recognize you as monster. You will have your wish once more. They will come for you, they will fight, and some will thrive on the conflict. Then, you won't be able to deny it."
It leaves.
The beast would do its part, in time she would do hers. From one monster to another.
Snow covered the tracks, and soon there will be no sign the meeting ever took place. The woman started to make her way back in the darkness.
| 2022-02-10T11:25:59 | 2022-02-10T10:35:51 | 367 | 67 |
[WP] All natural disasters are actually the results of wizard duels. The wizarding world is horrified to learn of modern predictive technologies for said natural disasters.
|
"This is proof of a deterministic future ij accordance with Seidr's Third Law!" shouted Magister Maximillian Montrose, dropping the papers on the table.
"It is not!" responded the gnome Pallabar Pumpernink, "These are just projections. We are masters of the weave, not the other way around!" He red face as red as his nose behind his white beard.
Asulfhed Galdrinn set down his half-full glass and picked up the papers in front ot him. He skimmed them over the rim of his glasses. "But if these projections are true, it would confirm Merlin's hypothesis," he said, speaking through the papers at the other two.
Maximillian opened his mouth, but before a word could emerge Galdrinn continued, "and further reinforce Seidr's Third Law as a universal constant, yes we heard you the first dozen times."
"It isn't just that though," the young Magister replied. "it would confirm that Divination is not a unique school of magic but rather simply a method by which to determine all magicks."
"That would be quite a revelation, if true." Pallabar muttered as he sank back into the chair. "Strange how they require their own weaves to operate, structurally different than the other schools."
"Fire and Ice magicks each require their own structures despite just being displacement of energy." the Magister grew a smug grin as Pallabar grumbled into his beer.
"It makes sense though. If everything we do is just atom interacting with each other then it would make sense that magick works the same." Maximillian continued. "Just as an eclipse happens as a result of the sun and moon and earth aligning; perhaps instead of instigating these conflicts as masters of the Arcane Weave as we have assumed, mages are drawn to these points of conflict by the Weave in order to trigger these events?"
"RIDICULOUS!" Pallabar shouted, foam from his beer spraying across the table. "We. Are. Wizards. Wisest and most knowledgeable of all Beings. We are not the result of forces, but those who compel those forces to act."
Galdrinn brushed the foam away from the papers as he read the reports from the United States Geological Survey. It laid out various metrics by which they were claiming to predict coming geological events.
"We don't even know if these are accurate! What mages were fighting in New Texas? The Order of the Blue Star have kept the peace for 20 years." Pallabar stared at Maximillian. "These may predict that these phenomena may occur independently of our actions."
"Regardless, we need to investigate to confirm or reject the findings." Galdrinn set the papers down with a map on top. "These predict a significant event in Colorado within 6 weeks, I propose we three venture forth."
"Master, are you sure? You haven't left the Tower in 600 years." Maximillian looked shocked as the words left his mouth.
"Let him live a little, the last true Sage of the North!" Pallabar tokk another swig of beer.
"And you, the last Gnome." Galdrinn pointed at Pallabar and Pallabar grew quiet.
"And you, my greatest apprentice." Galdrinn pointed at Maximillian whose face reddened to match Pallabar.
"Tomorrow, we head for Yellowstone." Galdrinn finished his glass of wine.
|
They knew the tornado was coming for a week. The biggest ever, it would pop up somewhere outside of Kansas City. The predictions had never been so sure, yet Dr. J Sampson didnt trust them. He rarely trusted severe predictions more than in passing, as an indicator of potential trends. Nonetheless he had a few tornado chasers following the clouds, waiting for it to descend.
There he was in the lab, running predictions over and over. He had a few balloons giving shaky readings down south and the storm was moving. All signals moved the storm closer to the heart of the city. The heart of the city he called home, the heart of the city that housed his lab and his collection of exotic plants in a small green room. His paradise.
Traffic had a number of people leaving the city. The storm chasers had no chance of tracking it down. Maybe he could face it himself. Maybe this was a storm worth believing in. He packed his bag and took the elevator down sevens floors. There was a nervous looking man and woman from the defense contracting business everyone felt anxious about. They were always averting gazes, and this time he felt that they knew what he was beginning to understand. This wasn't some yearly storm that would ruin a couple hundred lives. There was something worse coming.
Dr. Sampson got on his bike in the garage. His wife had always disapproved but he wasn't a man to let safety dissuade him from living the life he was born to live.
The sky was dark at 4:37 in the afternoon. The roads were looking crowded. He thought he'd head out southbound on the 71. But he'd have to skirt the traffic to have any chance. He stuck to surface streets. The rain hadn't started yet. The wind was in his face, he had classic rock and roll blasting out the stereo and all felt right for a moment. Then the thunder started, he checked the tracking sites running his algorithm. He was definitely in the right spot. It wasn't long before the lightning was splitting trees in Heartland Preserve to his right and left. He hopped off the bike for a moment to pull out his camera
Before he could turn it on he saw a man in the park with a dark cloak looking him down. He looked back to his bag and when he looked up there was another man a fair distance away who had his hands at his sides.
The first man was no where to be seen, and then lightning struck again. Thunder boomed and the good doctor looked up to see the sky descend. He saw some sparks flying and the men were there again, their silhouettes dancing between flashes as the rain began to pour.
Yes. This was a proper storm. Wind ripping, and somewhere the twister would arrive and he'd capture it. Perhaps he finally had the algorithm right, the readings accurate enough to end the tradition of completely missing some disasters while false alarming for others.
In another quick flash of lightning he noticed the twister was halfway touched down, already moved up north. Yet his prediction still told him to stay put. And the men were there again. Dr. Sampson whipped back his wet hair and put his helmet down on the bike. There was something going on with those men.
He cursed when he saw one flying through the air. Ten feet then twenty, flying backwards toward the twister which was hundreds of feet away. He chased after the man on foot to see what'd happened.
He saw a few black cars pull up behind him by his bike but he kept pushing forward.
"DR. SAMPSON!" One of them screamed.
He didn't look back but he felt his stomach drop. He continued to see sparks flying up ahead. Not lightning though. It was all he could do to chase. He knew he ran the speed limit all the way over, but somehow knew that wasn't what this was about.
His mind began to race through the last 72 hours. Breakthrough after breakthrough. His team solved two bugs that had almost sent his project to the grave and any future chances at funding with them. But no, they skipped meals. His wife even asked if she could bring them something, and before he read the message he found her over his shoulder with a grocery bag and a tupperware. Tofu, green beans, rice and soy sauce, the usual. Somehow it had been the tofu and green bean nights when the team had been at their best.
There had been something strange in the balloon readings they'd never tracked before. Unique pressure patterns that followed strangely coordinated movement cycles. It seemed like silliness, but somehow he knew it was why this storm was so bad, and why he was exactly where he needed to be.
There were the men. The one who'd been sent flying back was knocked out on the ground. Head bloodied, eyes closed with large, dark ovals surrounding them.
"JULIUS!" The same voice screamed from far behind him.
"Fuck," he muttered. One casualty of the storm, or of something. He'd never seen a man fly through the air. There was no tornado in the park.
He waited. The man caught up to him with a partner in pursuit.
"What happened?" He asked when he saw the body. The large man was the very same from the elevator. But his partner was not the girl. It was a slow walking man in a suit. He wore dripping wet sunglasses despite the poor visibility.
"He just flew..."
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
Dr. Sampson pulled out his phone. His heart started racing. Everything was moving north just as predicted. He could hear the lightning trail exploding trees up ahead.
"He must have been hit. Look at his eyes."
"Lightning," the man said, then turned to his partner who shook his head.
"Julius," the man said, pressuring for the truth.
The doctor started breathing quickly. Short breaths. It was time to go. He needed to make it to his bike.
"He flew from over there." Dr. Sampson pointed and started slowly walking over. He noticed the others weren't following yet and made a break for it. He hustled to his bike with the one man yelling after him.
*This isn't a damn storm,* he thought. "And he ain't no damn defense contractor."
He found his biked untouched and turned it on and sped off with the men right behind him.
He also found something long and stiff in his coat pocket. A long stick? He patted it down on his chest. He'd grabbed it off the ground beside the man without thinking about it. The 9 inch slender baton had a knot and had been smoldering, yet cool to the touch when he grabbed it. Perhaps not the best thing to put in a coat pocket.
He sped back up surface streets and saw sirens wailing across the highway in a few places, although he was certain traffic was a mess.
He saw a huge bolt of a lightning, not a word he thought would come to mind, yet it was wide and struck near the metropolitan area somewhere. Maybe 60th street.
And then suddenly the tornado touched down right after it. Normally you wouldn't see all of this rain and lightning spawn a twister, it made no sense. Yet he had a gut feeling he was going to find something on his way there. His readings kept him further south still. He was headed to 70th street, almost there.
| 2022-06-12T14:59:33 | 2022-06-12T14:25:11 | 101 | 55 |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered.
|
"Hello, Alexandros."
"Who are you?"
"Merely a friend, here to give you a little gift on your birthday."
"What is it?"
"Knowledge of a future, that may yet be yours."
"... Impossible."
"I have little time to prove it, child. In 6 years, a friend of mine, Aristotle, will teach you much. In 10 years time, you will succeed your father to the throne. In 20 years, you will embark on one of the biggest, most famous empires of history. You die, eventually, in Babylon, a place that was to be the crowning jewel of your empire. Cities bear your name the world over, and thousands upon thousands of years from now, people remember you as a legend on par with Heracleos or Achilles."
"Tell me more."
"I cannot. Do with this knowledge what you will. Know that, in at least one path of time, Alexandros will be known as 'the Great'"
___
When I returned, I was surprised to find Alexandros dying, barely aged a day.
"... What happened?"
"I... thought that... ugh... If I had such a destiny... It would be unlikely I die being hit by a cart. So I tested it. Appears you were wrong, sir."
"For all the stupid children in time... Argh! No. This is your fault, moron! Now I have to bloody well take your place, and I hate youth pills, they give me diarrhoea!"
|
*Filing Cabinet 30J.Subject #1: [Boston, Massachusetts] (Aged 10)*
"So, listen up kiddo. This is all just standard procedure so... yadda yadda yadda. About Britain, you secede and declare independence from the Mother England with your incredibly eloquent diplomatic-writing skills or whatever."
"Dearest heavens. Who are you strange sir? Your manner of speech seem oddly vulgar in such a pious community-"
"Shut the fuck up, Benny."
"Good lord!"
"Now, you also get to invent some weird stuff like the lightning rod, some weird stove... Oh, and you also get to go to France as an ambassador for the colonies!"
"That... sounds quite enjoyable, actually."
"Damn straight. Now, your consultation time is up. So, just remember to go out there, have fun, do something with your life, and..."
"And, sir?"
"Old booty is worth thrice that of young booty."
"Wait, what?"
"Peace motherfucker!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 18.H Subject #37: [Ajaccio, Corsica] (Aged 10)*
"*How's it hanging you stupid, little French-illiterate pipsqueak?*"
"*Pipsqueak? What the hell does pipsqueak mean?*"
"*Right, eighteenth century... Anyway, listen up you shorty. You're in for a long, weird life ahead of you.*"
"*Pardon?*"
"*You take over half of Europe, become Emperor of France, grow to prominence in society, force almost everyone to your knee...*"
"*Sounds vaguely appropriate.*"
"*Oh, and you bring some kooky-ass civil code or whatever to the rest of the world and cause a shit-ton of weird uprisings in the name of nationalism, only for those same uprisings to be totally crushed by kings who will later proceed to kick your ass off into the Mediterranean.*"
"*Wait, which kings?!*"
"*All of them? Well, I'd argue English but I'm no goddamn historian. I don't even know what year this is... I mention Britain and Prussia screw you over hard?*"
"*What?!*"
"*Well, I'm off. Toodle-a-loo! Fish and tea! Crumpets and potatoes! La-dee-dah!*"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 15.C Subject #15: [Roma, Res publica Romana] (Aged 10)*
"*Hey, what's happening, little man?*"
"*Cassius, stay away from this strange man.*"
"*Wow, wow... Calm down, Julie. Can I call you that?*"
"*You may certainly not! Who are you to pop up from the sewers! Covered in shit and waving your arms around in strange clothes like some absurd madman! Back! Away from me, you water devil!*"
"*Listen, man. Just came by to tell you your future's all. No need to get all bitchy like your future wife... Gee. And I thought Mary was a annoying bitch.*"
"*Who's Mary?*"
"*Right, BC era. Huh, listen, kiddo. I just came here to tell you, descendant of Aeneas, son of the Roman goddess Venus, or some other whore, that you will do great things in the future years of adulthood.*"
"*Alright, you strange old fool. Tell me what it is that awaits me!*"
"*You become a wicked general in the army of this fair Republic. You and two others gain great power over the control of the land you see before you, and all its grain, horses, and citizens that will await you hand-and-foot. At your every command.*"
"*This one doesn't like sharing.*"
"*I said 'your', did I not?*"
"*... Well, technically, no?*"
"*Huh?*"
"*Well, if I said yes, that'd mean that you didn't say that, which is what you asked. So, to say that I did hear that would be to respond no, would it not?*"
"*Umm... no?*"
"*Wait, where are we going with this?*"
"*Oh for the love of sweet not-yet Jesus... You invade Britain and Gaul, kill your friends, and eventually you turn this whole stupid Republic into your own freaking Empire... That's all I think I'm allowed to give.*"
"*Wait! But does my Empire prosper?! What of the citizens of the Republic? Will this one make them strong too?*"
"*Dude, I don't know. I barely know shit about your childhood as is. You're a pretty boring guy that just happens to have a play about him.
"*Ugh... Well, mighty Caesar can live with that, he supposes.*"
"*No, don't start that third person shit with me... You know what? Just for that, you're getting stabbed. Yeah, you're gonna get stabbed in the middle of senate by a bunch of toga-wearing men. Don't fucking speak like that.*"
"*Emperor Caesar shall speaks how he want-*"
**THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!**
"IDES OF MARCH, BITCH! Man, I love punching ten year-olds."
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[Access to DeathBed files locked until access is to be granted by administrator. Error code: 420. Trying again in: XX Hours.]
| 2015-08-17T10:13:00 | 2015-08-17T08:41:02 | 92 | 49 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"That was..." Brawg began, staggering over the bodies of the fallen goblins, his boots squelching in the treacle-like blood.
"Far too..." said Vesperr, returning her bow to her back, and beginning to pluck out arrows from the deceased enemies.
"Oxyrin!" finished Oxyrin, his pointed hat falling over his eyes once again. Dribble oozed down from his mouth and his pupils spun this way and that, as if two compasses confused by magnets.
Brawg and Vesperr looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Brawg brought a thunderous hand down on the wizard's back. "Don't ever change, Oxyrin!" he said.
"Oh, Oxyrin," grinned Vesperr, "you're the reason we do this, you know? For that smile on your face." She wiped away a the spittle from his lips, then shook her finger, sending the spit plopping onto the ground.
"Oxyrin!" Oxyrin repeated. A pointed tongue darted out of his mouth and latched onto a fly that was hovering over a brutalised body below.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just see that," said Brawg with a wink. "Okay gang, I'd say we're all done here. I believe its time to go collect our reward."
"Not so fast, my friends," came a mysterious voice from behind them. Only, when they turned, there was *nothing* behind them.
Slowly, the blue-robed wizard hazed into existence. "It is I, the *real* Oxyrin! I have been trapped for the longest time, but I have finally outsmarted my captors and have returned to my friends. For no one is as clever as the Great Oxyrin!"
Brawg and Vesperr glanced at each other, then let out a joint gasp.
"Quite you might gasp," said Oxyrin, as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the other blue wizard, who was now on all fours chasing after a spider. "For that fellow, has fooled you, my dear friends. But he is nothing more than an impostor! A Doppelganger! A fake, a fraud, and dare I say it, a phoney."
Brawg nudged Vesperr and they both gasped again.
"How.. erm, how can we believe you?" asked Vesperr, her top lip wet with nervous sweat. "How do we know he--"she pointed to the to the wizard, who was now chewing on something--"isn't the real Oxyrin. After all, he would have had to fool us both for two entire years."
Oxyrin rolled his eyes. "Hardly a challenging task. You two never were the"--his hands burst into blue flames--"brightest sparks. Ha. Hahaha."
Brawg's muscles tensed. Vesperr put a hand against his chest.
"That's not proof enough. For our Oxyrin can also do such petty parlour tricks."
"Very well," Oxyrin sighed, "I shall prove it. We shall have a wizard-off."
"Smart," said Vesperr. She let out a high pitched whistle, at which the other Oxyrin came bounding over to her.
"Oxyrin!" he sputtered as he arrived.
"Is that all he can say? How could you *possibly* believe he was me?"
"Good point," said Brawg. "His vocabulary is much larger."
"Oh. You made a joke. How very amusing."
"Okay," said Vesperr. "Round one of the wizard-off. *Shape-shifting.*"
"What? What a stupid round," complained Oxyrin, "for sniffing out a shape-shifter!" His face was red and a vein popped out of his forehead, pulsating like waves on the ocean. "Unbelievable idiocy. How you have possibly survived this long without me to guide you -- heaven only knows!"
"Oxyrin!" replied the other Oxyrin.
"Well, if you can't do it and he can..." said Brawg shrugging, "then I guess we know who the real wizard is."
"Oh... *pish!* Very well. And what must we change into, pray tell?"
"Something very small. To really challenge your morphitisation skills. A fly. Simple. First one to transform into a fly wins."
"Sala kazoo, Sala kazam!" shouted Oxyrin. There was a puff of smoke that left Vesperr and Brawg coughing. As it cleared, and only for the briefest moment, they saw a fly. Then, they saw a huge, pointed tongue. Finally, they saw an Oxyrin chewing on and then swallowing *something*.
"Oxyrin!" he shouted triumphantly, as Brawg and Vesperr collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Oh Oxyrin," said Brawg, slapping him on the back "you really are too much."
"And," said Vesperr, "we wouldn't have it any other way!"
|
The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze.
"We've made it," Keldar said.
"Not yet."
Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all.
None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river.
Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined.
"I guess it does exist," Alton said.
He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch.
*It feels like him,* he thought.
And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
She looked at Haldar.
"What?" said Keldar.
She shook her head.
They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River.
*The price was worth it,* Keldar thought.
He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure.
*Is it?*
He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk.
"I've never been so far," said Alton.
They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go.
"We're alive though," Keldar said.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true.
"I made it," Haldar said. "Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."
In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness.
In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him.
His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm.
"Help!" Haldar cried.
Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated.
"Help!"
She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire.
And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do.
Then they were three.
But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different.
"I left more of my soul there than you," he said.
They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done.
Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come.
Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill.
"Statia," Alton said.
He was stretching.
"Yes?"
"I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."
"Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"
"No. No it was..."
She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her.
Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound.
The dream faded and she recoiled.
"I... I have no remedy," she said.
She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten.
*He means me no malice. Not like his...*
Victim. But she could not say the word.
Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How is your wound?"
"Better now," Haldar said.
*He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.*
Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night.
"What's there again?" Haldar asked.
He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart.
*Never have I seen such beauty as her.*
And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world.
*But she is Keldar's.*
And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up.
*I should kill them and have her to myself.*
But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel.
*They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.*
"Lankar," Alton said. "The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."
"It can change the world physically?"
"No," said Annastatia. "But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."
"It is like the Grey River then?" Haldar asked.
"Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."
Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them.
*The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought.
Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her.
*I am an evil man,* he thought.
She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers.
*If that be true, then so are we all my love.*
He squeezed her hand.
*What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.*
*The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.*
"I like you," Alton said to Haldar. "I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."
And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm.
"I like you too," he said. "All of you."
"Then may the Spring save us," Keldar said.
And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*
| 2017-09-15T08:01:38 | 2017-09-15T07:40:12 | 975 | 322 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"That was..." Brawg began, staggering over the bodies of the fallen goblins, his boots squelching in the treacle-like blood.
"Far too..." said Vesperr, returning her bow to her back, and beginning to pluck out arrows from the deceased enemies.
"Oxyrin!" finished Oxyrin, his pointed hat falling over his eyes once again. Dribble oozed down from his mouth and his pupils spun this way and that, as if two compasses confused by magnets.
Brawg and Vesperr looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Brawg brought a thunderous hand down on the wizard's back. "Don't ever change, Oxyrin!" he said.
"Oh, Oxyrin," grinned Vesperr, "you're the reason we do this, you know? For that smile on your face." She wiped away a the spittle from his lips, then shook her finger, sending the spit plopping onto the ground.
"Oxyrin!" Oxyrin repeated. A pointed tongue darted out of his mouth and latched onto a fly that was hovering over a brutalised body below.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just see that," said Brawg with a wink. "Okay gang, I'd say we're all done here. I believe its time to go collect our reward."
"Not so fast, my friends," came a mysterious voice from behind them. Only, when they turned, there was *nothing* behind them.
Slowly, the blue-robed wizard hazed into existence. "It is I, the *real* Oxyrin! I have been trapped for the longest time, but I have finally outsmarted my captors and have returned to my friends. For no one is as clever as the Great Oxyrin!"
Brawg and Vesperr glanced at each other, then let out a joint gasp.
"Quite you might gasp," said Oxyrin, as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the other blue wizard, who was now on all fours chasing after a spider. "For that fellow, has fooled you, my dear friends. But he is nothing more than an impostor! A Doppelganger! A fake, a fraud, and dare I say it, a phoney."
Brawg nudged Vesperr and they both gasped again.
"How.. erm, how can we believe you?" asked Vesperr, her top lip wet with nervous sweat. "How do we know he--"she pointed to the to the wizard, who was now chewing on something--"isn't the real Oxyrin. After all, he would have had to fool us both for two entire years."
Oxyrin rolled his eyes. "Hardly a challenging task. You two never were the"--his hands burst into blue flames--"brightest sparks. Ha. Hahaha."
Brawg's muscles tensed. Vesperr put a hand against his chest.
"That's not proof enough. For our Oxyrin can also do such petty parlour tricks."
"Very well," Oxyrin sighed, "I shall prove it. We shall have a wizard-off."
"Smart," said Vesperr. She let out a high pitched whistle, at which the other Oxyrin came bounding over to her.
"Oxyrin!" he sputtered as he arrived.
"Is that all he can say? How could you *possibly* believe he was me?"
"Good point," said Brawg. "His vocabulary is much larger."
"Oh. You made a joke. How very amusing."
"Okay," said Vesperr. "Round one of the wizard-off. *Shape-shifting.*"
"What? What a stupid round," complained Oxyrin, "for sniffing out a shape-shifter!" His face was red and a vein popped out of his forehead, pulsating like waves on the ocean. "Unbelievable idiocy. How you have possibly survived this long without me to guide you -- heaven only knows!"
"Oxyrin!" replied the other Oxyrin.
"Well, if you can't do it and he can..." said Brawg shrugging, "then I guess we know who the real wizard is."
"Oh... *pish!* Very well. And what must we change into, pray tell?"
"Something very small. To really challenge your morphitisation skills. A fly. Simple. First one to transform into a fly wins."
"Sala kazoo, Sala kazam!" shouted Oxyrin. There was a puff of smoke that left Vesperr and Brawg coughing. As it cleared, and only for the briefest moment, they saw a fly. Then, they saw a huge, pointed tongue. Finally, they saw an Oxyrin chewing on and then swallowing *something*.
"Oxyrin!" he shouted triumphantly, as Brawg and Vesperr collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Oh Oxyrin," said Brawg, slapping him on the back "you really are too much."
"And," said Vesperr, "we wouldn't have it any other way!"
|
The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze.
"We've made it," Keldar said.
"Not yet."
Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all.
None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river.
Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined.
"I guess it does exist," Alton said.
He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch.
*It feels like him,* he thought.
And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
She looked at Haldar.
"What?" said Keldar.
She shook her head.
They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River.
*The price was worth it,* Keldar thought.
He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure.
*Is it?*
He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk.
"I've never been so far," said Alton.
They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go.
"We're alive though," Keldar said.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true.
"I made it," Haldar said. "Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."
In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness.
In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him.
His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm.
"Help!" Haldar cried.
Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated.
"Help!"
She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire.
And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do.
Then they were three.
But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different.
"I left more of my soul there than you," he said.
They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done.
Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come.
Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill.
"Statia," Alton said.
He was stretching.
"Yes?"
"I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."
"Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"
"No. No it was..."
She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her.
Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound.
The dream faded and she recoiled.
"I... I have no remedy," she said.
She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten.
*He means me no malice. Not like his...*
Victim. But she could not say the word.
Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How is your wound?"
"Better now," Haldar said.
*He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.*
Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night.
"What's there again?" Haldar asked.
He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart.
*Never have I seen such beauty as her.*
And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world.
*But she is Keldar's.*
And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up.
*I should kill them and have her to myself.*
But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel.
*They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.*
"Lankar," Alton said. "The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."
"It can change the world physically?"
"No," said Annastatia. "But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."
"It is like the Grey River then?" Haldar asked.
"Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."
Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them.
*The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought.
Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her.
*I am an evil man,* he thought.
She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers.
*If that be true, then so are we all my love.*
He squeezed her hand.
*What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.*
*The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.*
"I like you," Alton said to Haldar. "I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."
And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm.
"I like you too," he said. "All of you."
"Then may the Spring save us," Keldar said.
And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*
| 2017-09-15T08:01:38 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 975 | 262 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"That was..." Brawg began, staggering over the bodies of the fallen goblins, his boots squelching in the treacle-like blood.
"Far too..." said Vesperr, returning her bow to her back, and beginning to pluck out arrows from the deceased enemies.
"Oxyrin!" finished Oxyrin, his pointed hat falling over his eyes once again. Dribble oozed down from his mouth and his pupils spun this way and that, as if two compasses confused by magnets.
Brawg and Vesperr looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Brawg brought a thunderous hand down on the wizard's back. "Don't ever change, Oxyrin!" he said.
"Oh, Oxyrin," grinned Vesperr, "you're the reason we do this, you know? For that smile on your face." She wiped away a the spittle from his lips, then shook her finger, sending the spit plopping onto the ground.
"Oxyrin!" Oxyrin repeated. A pointed tongue darted out of his mouth and latched onto a fly that was hovering over a brutalised body below.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just see that," said Brawg with a wink. "Okay gang, I'd say we're all done here. I believe its time to go collect our reward."
"Not so fast, my friends," came a mysterious voice from behind them. Only, when they turned, there was *nothing* behind them.
Slowly, the blue-robed wizard hazed into existence. "It is I, the *real* Oxyrin! I have been trapped for the longest time, but I have finally outsmarted my captors and have returned to my friends. For no one is as clever as the Great Oxyrin!"
Brawg and Vesperr glanced at each other, then let out a joint gasp.
"Quite you might gasp," said Oxyrin, as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the other blue wizard, who was now on all fours chasing after a spider. "For that fellow, has fooled you, my dear friends. But he is nothing more than an impostor! A Doppelganger! A fake, a fraud, and dare I say it, a phoney."
Brawg nudged Vesperr and they both gasped again.
"How.. erm, how can we believe you?" asked Vesperr, her top lip wet with nervous sweat. "How do we know he--"she pointed to the to the wizard, who was now chewing on something--"isn't the real Oxyrin. After all, he would have had to fool us both for two entire years."
Oxyrin rolled his eyes. "Hardly a challenging task. You two never were the"--his hands burst into blue flames--"brightest sparks. Ha. Hahaha."
Brawg's muscles tensed. Vesperr put a hand against his chest.
"That's not proof enough. For our Oxyrin can also do such petty parlour tricks."
"Very well," Oxyrin sighed, "I shall prove it. We shall have a wizard-off."
"Smart," said Vesperr. She let out a high pitched whistle, at which the other Oxyrin came bounding over to her.
"Oxyrin!" he sputtered as he arrived.
"Is that all he can say? How could you *possibly* believe he was me?"
"Good point," said Brawg. "His vocabulary is much larger."
"Oh. You made a joke. How very amusing."
"Okay," said Vesperr. "Round one of the wizard-off. *Shape-shifting.*"
"What? What a stupid round," complained Oxyrin, "for sniffing out a shape-shifter!" His face was red and a vein popped out of his forehead, pulsating like waves on the ocean. "Unbelievable idiocy. How you have possibly survived this long without me to guide you -- heaven only knows!"
"Oxyrin!" replied the other Oxyrin.
"Well, if you can't do it and he can..." said Brawg shrugging, "then I guess we know who the real wizard is."
"Oh... *pish!* Very well. And what must we change into, pray tell?"
"Something very small. To really challenge your morphitisation skills. A fly. Simple. First one to transform into a fly wins."
"Sala kazoo, Sala kazam!" shouted Oxyrin. There was a puff of smoke that left Vesperr and Brawg coughing. As it cleared, and only for the briefest moment, they saw a fly. Then, they saw a huge, pointed tongue. Finally, they saw an Oxyrin chewing on and then swallowing *something*.
"Oxyrin!" he shouted triumphantly, as Brawg and Vesperr collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Oh Oxyrin," said Brawg, slapping him on the back "you really are too much."
"And," said Vesperr, "we wouldn't have it any other way!"
|
The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze.
"We've made it," Keldar said.
"Not yet."
Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all.
None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river.
Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined.
"I guess it does exist," Alton said.
He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch.
*It feels like him,* he thought.
And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
She looked at Haldar.
"What?" said Keldar.
She shook her head.
They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River.
*The price was worth it,* Keldar thought.
He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure.
*Is it?*
He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk.
"I've never been so far," said Alton.
They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go.
"We're alive though," Keldar said.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true.
"I made it," Haldar said. "Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."
In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness.
In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him.
His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm.
"Help!" Haldar cried.
Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated.
"Help!"
She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire.
And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do.
Then they were three.
But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different.
"I left more of my soul there than you," he said.
They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done.
Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come.
Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill.
"Statia," Alton said.
He was stretching.
"Yes?"
"I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."
"Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"
"No. No it was..."
She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her.
Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound.
The dream faded and she recoiled.
"I... I have no remedy," she said.
She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten.
*He means me no malice. Not like his...*
Victim. But she could not say the word.
Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How is your wound?"
"Better now," Haldar said.
*He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.*
Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night.
"What's there again?" Haldar asked.
He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart.
*Never have I seen such beauty as her.*
And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world.
*But she is Keldar's.*
And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up.
*I should kill them and have her to myself.*
But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel.
*They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.*
"Lankar," Alton said. "The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."
"It can change the world physically?"
"No," said Annastatia. "But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."
"It is like the Grey River then?" Haldar asked.
"Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."
Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them.
*The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought.
Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her.
*I am an evil man,* he thought.
She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers.
*If that be true, then so are we all my love.*
He squeezed her hand.
*What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.*
*The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.*
"I like you," Alton said to Haldar. "I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."
And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm.
"I like you too," he said. "All of you."
"Then may the Spring save us," Keldar said.
And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*
| 2017-09-15T05:03:01 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 788 | 262 |
[WP] The four horsemen: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the harbingers of the apocalypse, serving forth chaos and destruction on all humanity. The Bible forgot to mention the fifth horseman: Kyle, whom the other four can't seem to ditch.
|
„Stupid horsemen! ‚You can’t ride with us‘- pah! You think you are so fancy with your horses and capes and rotten faces! I am doing all the work for you! I am the one that prepares the world! Without me, these stupid horsemen would never be able to ride! And they don’t even give me a horse… I have to walk everywhere… how degrading… stupid horsemen!”
“Hey, Kyle! What ya grumbling about?”
“My stupid fellow horsemen…”
“Ahh that again…. Hey Kyle, there is something I have been meaning to ask you for a while now: All the other horsemen have descriptive names like Famine and Death. How come your name is Kyle?”
“That’s because of what I am, my friend. No one really cares what it is, though. They can’t be bothered to find out.”
“So you have a ‘real’ name, like the others?”
“Yes.”
“So what…. Ahh you know what, never mind. I am sure it’s not important. Have good one, pal!”
“And there he goes…” Ignorance sighed as he watched his friend leave.
|
"Death awaits you. She rests in the bottom of Eden, from which life is nurtured of her bosom. She is a cruel mother, most devoted to the welfare of her three firstborns: war, famine and pestilence. To secure their prosperity, she makes barren her womb, upon which the creatures of Earth whither in neglect. She penetrates the citadel of man's soul, turning him against his brother. And in commiseration with decay, she caresses packets of virulence into the wind with a maternal smile."
"No, you don't understand. I'm not here to protest my mortality. Death had *four* firstborns. I'm her fourth. My name is Kyle. How do you think I managed to locate this metaphysical dimension? With a GPS? Will you allow me to see my mother?"
The gatekeeper scrutinized the human before him. He was of robust constitution, with ruddy and beseeching eyes. This was a highly unusual sight. Most of the souls who came before him were disembodied.
"Very well. I will consult with Death and report your presence. Before I depart, I advise you to recollect the most salient theme of human mythology.
The gatekeeper vanished. Kyle twiddled his thumbs and thought of Sisyphus as instructed.
"Kyle!"
It was pestilence; the most gregarious of his siblings by necessity. Pestilence slapped him on the back and grinned congenially.
"Kyle, I've got news for you! Everyone on Earth despises you. They dream of your death at night and despair of your continued existence."
"Dammit, pestilence! If you infect my mind, I won't be able to propagate you to anyone else! Look where I am! On Earth, you were able to leap from body to body through ideas and bacteria. Your machinations don't work in this metaphysical dimension!"
Pestilence, the dimmest of his siblings too, grinned with ironical self-mockery.
"Would you care to meet war? I've been at odds with him lately, mostly because I have been trying to spread a meme that he had originally intended the flag of war to be white, which is ironic because white flags have become the universal flag of peace."
"No, I have no desire to meet war. He will only provoke me."
The gatekeeper materialized before Kyle and Pestilence, interrupting their conversation.
"Well?" Kyle asked with expectant triumph.
The gatekeeper hesitated. "Your mother wishes to see you. Please follow me."
Kyle left with the gatekeeper, aware of Pestilence's grinning eyes. They arrived at the valley of darkness and boarded a vessel into its heart.
"Do you see Joseph Conrad over there?" The gatekeeper pointed to the entrance of the river, where Joseph Conrad was dancing maniacally to accordion music. "He made a deal with your mother. In exchange for a literary conception of the descent into madness, Conrad agreed to become mad for eternity." They passed Conrad as he tap-danced and babbled nasally with fingers pinching his nose. They eventually reached the shadow of the valley of darkness. They left their vessel and ascended to Death's throne.
"My child!" Death crooned as she saw Kyle approach. "I can convert you into a thermonuclear device, if you desire."
"No, Mom!" Kyle whined petulantly. "I've come here because I'm not included in the Old Testament. If it is an inerrant report of this metaphysical dimension, then why am I not included in your Genealogy?"
Death put her finger to her chin and thought for a moment. "Well, Kyle, to be truthful, I receive a jolt of pleasure whenever someone dies. I *mean*, I copulate with the living to make them die. You are not the best expedient for this. My first three children provide me an interminable stream of pleasure. You are simply not equipped to maximize my pleasure. As I have said, I can convert you into a vial of small-pox, and I'm sure you can work with your brother to spread it."
Kyle began to utter a protest, but his sentience terminated at the sound of his mother's snap.
"Gatekeeper," Death mused leisurely, "I believe Kyle would serve me best as an oxygen molecule that turns blood into powder. Of course, such a molecule must be capable of replication, so perhaps we should endow it with a rudimentary quantity of hereditary information. But then it would become an organism. Oh, I know, make Kyle a virus that turns blood into powder. That way we can include the instruction manual for further propagation in his little body. Get Pestilence to assemble the instruction manual. Tell him to use RNA instead of DNA."
Kyle disappeared into a virus. The gatekeeper bowed his head before Death and left for the gates of the underworld. As he passed Conrad, who was doing a pantomime routine in adult diapers, he thought: "*How incestuous!*"
| 2017-09-22T01:38:59 | 2017-09-22T01:14:53 | 176 | 33 |
[WP] After years of having what you thought to be a slow computer, you suddenly get a popup:'installation complete'.
|
Anthony clicked on the button labeled 'launch program' anticipation flooding him to his very core. What could it be? Something experimental perhaps? Whatever it was, he realised his life may never be the same.
After five minutes of excitement, coupled with a tinge of fear, the program opened up.
"Welcome to Internet Explorer. Would you like to make this your default browser?"
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"I need a new computer." I thought as I watched the little circle lazily spin in the center of the media player, like a drunkard passed out on a children's merry-go-round. "I guess I won't be watching cartoons on questionably legal streaming sites tonight. Ah well, it's probably for the best, it's almost four a.m. anyway." I close the browser, which is an ordeal in and of itself.
Finally, as a measure to prevent the damned thing getting any slower, I open up task manager to end any program before shutting down. I don't know if this actually helps, but it makes me feel better. "No applications running." it read. "Good." I muttered to myself. Then I opened the start menu and selected power options. Tonight the usual "Shut down." button was preceded by the now dreaded words "Update and...". "Oy vey!" I groaned, "This is gonna take all night. Why?! It's probably just a Steam patch, and it's not like I can play games on this anymore." I hit it anyway.
When I awoke the next- well, later that same day, I could hear the familiar gentle whirring of the fan that had lulled me to sleep seven and some odd hours prior. "Wow, it actually took all night. I'm impressed." I yawned to the room.
I opened up my determined little machine and saw that it was 99% of the way through these new bytes. Now doubting my original Steam patch theory, curiosity began to take hold of me as I finished the half-dozen Oreo's that passed as breakfast. When I got back to the desk the screen was black. It had finally completed the installation to end all installations and was ready to boot back up.
"Settle in." I thought as I pressed the power key.
Much to my dismay, startup took almost no time at all. First thing to catch my eye was the usual bubble in the bottom corner telling me new updates had been installed- "Really? I hadn't noticed." I mused sarcastically- and to click to find out what they were. I obliged, and as if to intentionally further my bewilderment, I was presented with a list bearing the name of a single solitary program: "8-Ball.exe"
"Oh, goody, a virus. Just what I need!" I thought. I went and found it in the program files on the (C:) drive with the intention of uninstalling it before it saw all my dick-pics when I noticed it. The timestamp in the 'Date modified' column read "1/1/2013 00:00:00". Whatever it was, it had been downloading since five days after I had gotten the computer.
Curiosity got the best of me and, after moving all sensitive files to a flash drive, I decided to run 8-Ball.exe as administrator. What appeared looked like it was written to run on Windows '95. It was a small window with a text box at the top next to a button marked "ENTER QUERY", and a large empty field taking up the bottom two thirds.
"What is this program?" was the first thing I could thing to enter. "<Reply hazy, try again>" was the response I got, appearing with my question in the empty field below.
"Are you just an electronic magic 8-ball?
<Signs point to yes>
Is that all you are?
<Very doubtful>"
"Wow, a virus that remembers the previous question and factors it into its response."
"Are you a virus?
<Don't count on it>
Really?
<Yes definitely>
Can you really predict the future?
<It is certain>
Really?
<Yes>
Really?
<You may rely on it>
Can you lie?
<My sources say no>
Can you prove you can really predict the future?
<Outlook good>
Will I throw this soda can on the floor in the next 3 seconds?
<My reply is no>
It was right. There was some dried cola syrup on the outside of the can and it stuck to my hand. Writing this off as a funny coincidence, I continued to test the accuracy of this cute little algorithm as thoroughly as I could.
That was four months ago, it hasn't been wrong once.
Edit: Formatting.
| 2017-10-14T08:34:37 | 2017-10-14T07:26:09 | 354 | 51 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
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I stand there unseen in Johns bedroom, he has no idea what's about to happen. He will never be the same again after this, after I: Low-Key Norse God of really subtle mischief am finished here. His family and friends will think him mad, no-one will ever believe him.
I imagine what Johns life will look like in a few months time, jobless and alone he will beg for money on the streets of this dull town.
I begin to laugh manically as he pulls his trousers up, he's nearly there, almost at the moment his fate will forever be thrown off course by an omnipresent meddling god, I keel over as the laughter starts to hurt my stomach.
This is it! This is the moment I've been waiting for! John opens the top drawer and as a tear rolls down my cheek he asks to the universe in general "where'd that other sock go?"
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“Three days until the big day, Thor. How’s practice going?” Freyja asked.
“Perfectly, what else would you expect?” Thor replied confidently.
“Odin will be the judge of that. My brother and I have been practicing our duet before sunrise until sunset since the first flowers bloomed.”
“The two of you are no match for one Thor and his hammer.” Thor turned away from Freyja, signifying the end of the conversation.
It was that time of year again, the annual talent show. Thor just knew this years routine, equipped with his best prop: his hammer, was a winner. Just as he was about to take it from the top, he saw that Loki was creeping nearby, wearing his usual smirk. He just shook his head and ignored him. Thor has seen everyone practicing for big show, except for Loki. He had seen Loki lurking around the others while they practiced, but he had too much to do to pay Loki any mind.
The day had finally arrived. Odin, judge of the talent show, was last to arrive to the arena. He sat front and center to the stage, admiring the festive decorations, sipping mead.
“Our first contestant,” bellowed Loki, “will be Balder!”
“Hey - psst - Freyja,” Thor attempted to whisper, but whispering wasn’t really his thing.
“What, Thor?” Freyja replied in an annoyed tone.
“Why is Loki announcing the contestants? Isn’t he competing this year?”
“No, you didn’t hear? Loki volunteered to be the crew this year. He decorated the arena and is running the show.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” “At least he wasn’t stealing my routine”, Thor thought to himself.
Loki continued, “His talent will be accepting compliments from crowd.”
Just before Balder enters the stage, Loki hands him earbuds and explains, "As the show coordinator, I need to be able to communicate to the performers. Every performer will be wearing them". This makes sense to Balder, so he pushes the earbuds in and enters the stage. He straightens his posture, unleashes his heartwarming smile and the crowd erupts in - anger? People begin to shout horrible things, “Get a real talent, Balder!”, “People don’t like you as much you think.” I’m editing out the obscenities. In response to the jeering, Balder unveils his first frown, to which the crowd was so disgusted, they begin to vomit. Odin shakes his head and scratches down some notes to consider in his judgement later.
Backstage, a hint of a smile shows at the corners of Loki’s mouth. He hits the stop button for the recording of heckling he was playing in Balder’s ears. He heads back on stage to announce the next contestant, Thor. “Our next contestant needs no introduction, Thor is up next. His talent will be rapping us a song about his hammer.” Loki hands Thor his hammer, as Thor enters the stage.
He heads to center stage, hands sweating profusely. He really didn’t expect to be this nervous. In fact, he didn’t *feel* nervous, although it was apparent that he was. The music starts and he begins, “You can't touch this, You can’t touch this..My, my, my, my music hits me so hard. Makes me say, ‘O-din..’” He gets into it, swinging his hammer left, right, left again, just like in practice and - oh no, the hammer flies from his hands, into the crowd, straight through Freyja’s hair, narrowly missing Freyja herself. He didn’t even get to say Hammer Time yet! The music cuts and Odin shakes his head yet again and jots down his notes on the performance. With Freyja in tears, Thor exits the stage, head down in shame.
Backstage, Loki hides the can of grease and gets ready to introduce the next contestants, Freyr and Freyja. By this time, he is so pleased with himself and since the last performance disaster ended up being a two for one, he decides to let the duet mess this up all on their own.
“And next we have Freyr and Freyja performing a scene from a play,” he announced. Freyja, still crying, heads to the stage, Freyr close behind. They continue to do a scene from Rapunzel, which looks pathetic without Freyja’s hair.
Odin is beyond displeased, bordering on livid now. Just as Loki enters the stage to introduce the next performer, Odin stops the show and says, “Is anyone taking this seriously?! Who in their right mind let Loki run this show? We are postponing another fortnight. I'll wait to hear which volunteer will be replacing Loki.”
Edits: Grammar
| 2018-01-27T20:35:00 | 2018-01-27T17:41:50 | 1,963 | 214 |
[WP] Your elder brother is the demon king, your younger sister is the ArcAngel of light, your auntie is a army general of earth, your uncle is a demi-God, your mom is the queen of death and your father is the god of life. But you are a normal human who got adopted by the most dysfunctional family.
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What's worse than being a part of a family that rarely gets along or sees eye-to-eye? Being the only member of that family who could truly be considered normal by traditional human standards.
Older brothers can be hard on their younger siblings at times; it's like an unwritten code that says they have to torture you out of love. Now imagine having an older brother who's literal existence is geared towards torture, mischief, and evil. You think having the toilet flushed while your in the shower is shitty? My big bro can superheat the water in the pipes instantly, so my personal hygiene was low on my list of concerns when he was around.
Of course, my little sister was always there to heal the burns and scorn my brother for his pranks. The shining star of the family, daddy's little girl, and, honestly, a thorn in my side. Look, I'm a normal guy, and puberty hit me just as hard as any other kid with access to the internet. I don't know if she could sense my debauchery, but she always had a way of bursting in on me at the wrong moment and lecturing me on how exercising the sin-of-self-pleasure ten times a day was a waste of perfectly good time to be spent otherwise.
Mom, however, took some kind of sick pleasure from my ejaculations. No, not in a sexual way. The queen of death revels in any loss of life, and I guess knowing that her son was spewing millions of potential lives into a dirty sock every day made her proud of me in some strange way. She was usually praising my brother, so, hey, I'll take what I can get.
My father, on the other hand, gave me somewhat of a reverse presentation of 'the talk' that I assume most teens get from their dad around that age. Condoms? Birth control? No, sir. Life is a blessing, and dear old dad made it clear that he couldn't wait for me to spread the glorious seed that he'd created in me (yes, I fucking know) and to have dozens of grandchildren running about the house—fast approaching their own coming of age and bringing of life.
Living with those four could be, at times, seriously unbearable; when it got too difficult, when I was too overwhelmed, I would retreat to my auntie and uncle's house for a few days. Don't get me wrong, they aren't normal either; however, when you live with entities that are well beyond normal human life, a demi-God and military genius are close enough.
My auntie was rarely home, always off overseeing some covert operation in a foreign land, but she always had great advice for me when she was present. Of course, that advice was often drawn up on a white board with codenames, contingent plans, and a Sun Tzu quote for inspiration, but I always appreciated the distraction.
Lastly, my uncle H. He's always been the only person I've felt at ease around, even though he has the opposite effect on everyone else that's like me. Exercise was always his remedy for stress and frustration, and there's no better spotter in the gym than someone who could literally bench press the product of all the weights in the building.
But most of all, he's always helped me see what really matters in life.
"You're family is a pain in the ass," he would say as calmly as he curled my entire body. "I get it, living with *anyone* is hard, and our family isn't made up of just anyone. But they love you, and you love them."
"Your brother, as mischievous as he may be, only picks on you because he knows you can take it. He can't help himself, it's his existences' duty to torture, and it helps him to know that he has a mortal he can torment who won't hate him for it."
"Your sister, as preachy as she is, only wants what's best for you. She sees the light in you, your unimaginable potential, and she only helps to guide you to becoming the person you want to be some day."
"Your mom, well, she's death. She can literally suck the life out of the room when she walks in, but I know that there's one death she's dreading; when your life finally extinguishes, by old age or catastrophe, the queen of death will truly abhor her own existence."
"And your father is in the same boat. He will outlive you, and there will never be another you. Even the god of life couldn't create you exactly as you are, because the conditions of your development will always be different. You're one of a kind, as all mortals are, and he only wishes to hold on to some part of you through your offspring—however faint that remnant may be hundreds of years from now."
"What about you, Uncle H?" I would say, often with tears in my eyes. "Will you miss me when I'm gone?"
He would laugh, a mighty gut chuckle that melted my soul. "I'm a half-blood; I've always desired a pure, Godly existence, but having you as a nephew and your aunti in my life has made me love my mortal side in a way I never thought possible."
I'd always end up back at home after a talk with my uncle, more than happy to see my dysfunctional family again. They may be a strange mix of heaven and hell, but they chose me, and I couldn't be luckier.
/r/BeagleTales
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Day 1:
I did it. I finally stood up to my parents and told them how I felt!
Mom was a weepy wreck of course. Dad on the other hand seemed to still be processing the fact that I was not in fact there to help him organize his garden shed when I dropped the bombshell. I think the only words he heard were “Hi dad” and “I’m leaving.” The whole soul baring session that occurred in between those words went in one ear and out the other.
Anyhoo it’s as good a result as I could have hoped for, all things considered. Mom made a perfunctory effort to get me to stay, but otherwise my break from this screwed up family has been fairly clean. Then again it’s only been one day.
Day 2:
Sam called me. Son of a bitch. I should have known that he’d get my phone number. Probably one of his moles in the LAPD. What better organization for demons to infiltrate than the LAPD? Even the worst demons are better than some of the senior members of that police force.
He was all hellfire and brimstone, of course. He threatened me with all kinds of torture. Promised that he would find my address, yadda yadda. Same old Samael. He told me that I was ungrateful and that I was blessed to have cosmic deities for a family. I told him to piss off.
Day 4: No sign of Samael or his demons. That’s probably because the cargo van I live in doesn’t have an address and my PO Box is in Lucie’s name. Dad insisted all of his children take on human identities just in case we ever needed to lay low and blend in with the mortals. Lucie left her human documents with me, not caring much if I stole her identity. Not that I ever would, except to open a PO Box in her name so I can still get mail without alerting my brother as to my whereabouts.
Day 7: Speaking of Lucie she found me today. No great surprise. The Angel of Light can see everything, and can detect auras like all of my siblings can. She probably scoured the US for people with my singularly unique aura.
She came by and told me that I was the best mortal big brother ever and she was going to miss me. Of all the family I have I expected her to take my departure the best.
It’s odd though, she’s a cosmic entity, the angel of light, infinitely old. Yet she calls me, a human mortal of thirty years, her big brother. I don’t get it.
Day 14:
Everything is fine. A bit lonely. But I’m happier than I’ve been in a while. I feel liberated that I no longer need to impress the unimpressable. Every day that I live outside of that house I realize how toxic that whole family is.
I blame myself just as much. I am resentful, quick to anger, and prone to fits of sullen silence. My constant need to prove myself drove a wedge between me and my divine siblings and between me and my father who I could never impress.
Then I realized that I should stop trying. My whole life I’ve been comparing myself to others, measuring myself based on their successes. It’s not healthy outlook, to be in constant competition and perpetual jealousy.
I cannot compete with my family. My aunt, the supreme Allied Commander who still manages to make it to most Sunday dinners. My brother the king of Hell. My sister the angel of light. My parents, the dualistic images of life and death. And let’s not forget good old Uncle Bill who occasionally gets drunk and throws his car off of a bridge or smashes a cop car with a streetlight.
I’ve dropped out of the race and now I plan on discovering who I really am.
Day 27:
Dad found me. My guess is he worked his mojo on Lucie. He’s always been a good manipulator. Lucie in particular is vulnerable to his sadistic machinations. I realize now why Sam chose to leave the house and rule over hell in person.
He made a great show of it. Four in the morning, foggy. I’m awake since I’m more or less nocturnal these days. I was sitting outside my van in the halo of a streetlight in a turnout up in the Hollywood hills. I think I ruined his plan of waking me up with his performance, why else would he choose such an obtuse hour to come call?
He did the whole Old Testament shebang of lightning and thunder, a deep seated sense of existential dread, a black could descending from the heavens, all that.
Dad emerged from the cloud outside my van to find me in my lawn chair sipping tea and typing on my lap top. I barely looked up from my work during the performance.
“Son.” He said to me.
“God.” I replied.
“We want you to come home.” He said.
“I am home.” I said.
He scoffed. “Your home is the palace. It always was. This act of rebellion has gone on long enough. How long are you going to torment your mother?”
“My mother hasn’t felt a real emotion in a thousand years. I see right through all of her performances, just as I see through yours.” I said.
Lightning crackled around him. “Mind your tongue boy.”
“Or what?” I asked.
“I’ll make you wish you had.”
“Good old dad. Tell me, dad, once and for all. Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you adopt me?”
“I already told you-“
“-yes that my biological mother left me on the palace porch and mother took me in. What a crock of shit. Tell me the truth.” I said.
“Have you ever wondered why your aura is pure white?” He asked.
“I always assumed it was a consequence of a mortal living with Gods.” I said.
“No. Your aura was as brilliantly white as Lucie’s prom dress from the moment you were born.” He said.
“So you took me in, to see what it meant?” I asked.
“Yes. And I must say it’s been a disappointment. I thought maybe you were a new divine, come into existence. Or maybe that you were special in some way. I wanted to see for myself.” He said.
“But I’m not special.”
“Yes that became abundantly obvious quickly. But by the time we realized that Lucie fell in love with you. So I decided that I wanted your siblings to experience humanity first hand. I wanted them to live with a human, call him brother. I mostly kept you for Samael’s sake, I wanted to see if you could turn him from his hatred of humans.” Dad answered.
“I failed.”
“No, you did not. Samael wanted to overrun the earth with his demons until you grew up with us. Now he holds his legions of hell back because he knows the world has people like you in it.”
I was touched. But I hardened myself to it.
“But dad, I’m not like you. I don’t have phenomenal powers. I don’t have the wisdom of a hundred learned scholars. I’m just Dave. I can’t live in a family full of Gods. It’s not right, it’s not natural. I can’t live with your disappointment any longer.”
God stroked his magnificent beard. “Perhaps you are right. Fine. I’ll tolerate this insistence on independence for now. But please do Lucie the kindness of coming to Sunday dinner. I’ll make sure Samael doesn’t kill you.”
With that God/Dad vanished, deciding to forego the performance.
Day 54:
Lucie almost killed me today. She swung a Prius at me, missing by inches. She thought I was an imposter.
After apologizing profusely she told me that my Aura had turned a shade of yellow. Since she mostly sees in the astral plane she thought I was an intruder disguised as her brother. I don’t blame her, Auras are as unique as fingerprints. It would freak me out too.
I’ve been peppered with questions ever since. Every thing I’ve done for the past month has been meticulously combed over. The only thing of consequence I’ve done was volunteer at a charity drive for a child with cancer. I’d met her mother at a coffee shop and we’ve just started dating.
Poor thing. Working full time and caring for a sick daughter. I helped run a fundraiser for her last week. Other than that I’ve sat in my van, drove around LA s bit, and worked on my next novel.
So whatever caused my aura to change we don’t know. We will find out.
Day 60:
Remember that girl with cancer I mentioned? Her name is Emily. She had stage three brain cancer of a hard to treat variety. Sweet girl. I am fond of both her and her mother.
Notice I said had. She had cancer. Not anymore. She has been cured in a sudden reversal that her doctors are calling a miracle. One day she had cancer, the next she did not.
I have realized something. I’ve only physically touched her once. It was a hug she gave me at the fundraiser. The next week my aura was yellow and the week following she was cured of her cancer. For all I know my aura turned yellow the moment she hugged me and her cancer was cured on the spot but these respective changes weren’t discovered until now.
We’re going out to celebrate. Maybe I’ll bring my family,
| 2019-05-31T10:48:14 | 2019-05-31T10:13:10 | 286 | 170 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid.
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I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys.
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The new inheritors of the land call me “Chiron”. The name did not mean anything to them. It was a relic, one forgotten by the people and the stars. I could have introduced myself with my real name, but that too has lost its meaning. I had hope that someone might recognize the past I represented if I introduced myself as a being of renown amongst my kind. However, it seems that all that it had only roused a sense of mystique and awe from the eyes of those under my tutelage.
Civilizations rose and fell before my eyes. I had recounted all of those who came before to preserve the past and give guidance to those who seek me. I had become a god to several cultures. A powerless god in truth, but none of them knew for they thought I wielded immense power to complement my immense knowledge. As a result, none had dared to raise their hand against me.
I had always strayed far from politics back when my kind roamed the earth. I did not credit myself as the knowledgeable sort and I always thought that only the despicable humans could make such discord on state affairs. However, my time as a sole and distant observer changed me. I was filled with joy when I saw them prosper. I was drowned in sorrow when tragedy struck time and time again. Worst of all, guilt and regret swirled in the depths of my being. Could I have done something? Was there a better way that could have turned out? Was all that tragedy necessary? I became quite the troubled observer.
I saw that the driving force of the new inheritors mirrored that of humanity. Culture, politics and war fueled their civilization. I saw in them something familiar and nostalgic. In my time of solitude, the boundaries of what is human and what they are blurred, and I started to associate with their affairs even though they do not call themselves “humans”.
Great and terrible men came from under my tutelage. Emperors, generals, kings, philosophers, prophets and tyrants all share my name within their roots. I had hoped to guide the new inheritors’ civilizations into prosperity without any direct interference with their affairs. For the first time since eons past, I felt happiness. There was no greater joy in my eternity than to guide and teach my pupils. “I should have been a teacher back then” I thought.
However, this endeavor of mine did not seem to ease the guilt that pooled up over the ages. It seems that the opposite took hold. My students who moved the world to their wishes was not exempt of tragedy. Their deeds undone and their convictions wavered. It seemed that the flow of the world became a torrent and fell upon the current that moved against the flow. I grew restless as doubt steadily crept up to my mind.
I moved undeterred by my growing unease. Centuries passed and the new civilization unfolded with triumphs and downfalls. I had resigned to that fact that such things were to be expected. I had continued my passion and educated numerous others who would go on to make a difference to the world until my unease grew to consume me.
I had tutored a promising individual a few years back. That one was unique. Well, I could brag that all my pupils are unique. That individual led a promising career in the earlier days, but I hear of terrible things in the current regime.
In my troubled mind, I started to reminisce.
“Tonight, was like any other night” I mused. This night did not resemble the nights in my most distant memory. The constellations had shifted significantly. However, it did not discourage my love for the night sky as I sat outside the open plains stargazing with my pupil. It was an initiation of sorts. I would bring my pupils to stargaze. Telling them of the constellations of old.
I had introduced myself as “Chiron” to countless pupils in jest of my role. They would always inquire me about its meaning so it became a habit of mine to bring them to stargaze with me. This one was just like the others. Curious and awe-filled.
“Where did the gods of your sky go?” My pupil asked.
I told him of how the heavens moved and got carried away and started discussing about physics even though it was too complex for their current understanding. My pupil seemed confused, but intrigued. Then the exchange of countless topics ensued.
“What was your world like?” My pupil asked.
I then recounted the world of humans.
My mind drifted off from my memory and pondered. Perhaps I talked too much about my history. Perhaps I made my mistake then.
I was unsure what urged me to take direct action as I found myself interfering with the affairs of the new inheritors years after my pupil followed the wayward path. It seemed that enlightenment was not part of the package of being immortal.
For the first time in my eternity, I haphazardly played the role of god.
| 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-15T01:18:16 | 516 | 11 |
[WP] 2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of 'pests' is also.
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Did you know you can talk with spiders? They're pretty quiet, but if you know some German, and a little smidgen of Mandarin Chinese, you can usually make out some words.
My spider is talkative for one of his kind. He can really hold a conversation, as long as it's about eating or webs. Right now though, he certainly wasn't following my point.
"And so," I said, "For surgical reasons, Mrs. Melville's dachshund was neither annoying, nor virulent. He was in fact, a joy to all who knew him. Not. A. Pest."
My significantly larger than dog sized spider raised a clawed leg, in what I can only assume is polite disagreement. "Dog nutritious. Good dog, yes. I eat pests. I eat dog. Dog is pest."
I groaned, and thought furiously. I suspected willful stupidity, but this would be difficult to prove. For now, a stop-gap measure was required.
"What else in the neighborhood is a pest?"
My spider scratched his head with one leg. He'd picked up some oddly human body language, I'd have to check his television habits sometime.
"Bugs. Birds. Melvilles. Squirrels..."
I cut him off. "Melvilles? You mean the rest of the Melville family?"
He nodded by bobbing his entire body up and down.
"The Melvilles aren't pests, got it?"
No response. I glared at him, and turned my head meaningfully to the can of RAID I kept on display in the windowsill.
The spider remained silent but signaled that it was thinking. Finally, it spoke as if offering a deep insight. "Melvilles no longer prey."
"Good," I said. "Great. What else is prey?"
"Small spiders, coyotes, loiterers. Squirrels, but not backyard squirrel."
"What's so great about the backyard squirrel?"
"Yes. Good squirrel, nutritious. Dead, no longer prey."
It took me a minute to make the connection. Ooooh, dear. This called for a change in plans. Given the faint sirens I heard in the distance, a very rapid change in plans. I knelt down to give my spider a gentle pat.
"Hey, you know what's really annoying? Witnesses."
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In the Texas summer, bugs tended to be a huge annoyance. For me, mosquitos, flies, and all kinds of pests were constantly a problem. They would find their way into the house, buzzing around the room, leaving itchy, annoying bites.
There was a spiderweb in the upper corner of the living room. The ceiling was too high for me to reach, so I didnt take it down, partly because I didnt see it as a problem, and partly because I was lazy.
Over days, the web caught many bugs, which I appreciated, due to there being fewer pests around my house. But the web grew larger, and over time it became an eyesore. I was soon to be inviting family over, and while cleaning in preparation, I set up a step ladder, and grabbed a rolled-up newspaper to dispatch of the arachnid.
I climbed up, and as I went to swat at the web, the spider spoke to me. "Before you destroy my web," it said, "I can help you. If you let me live, I'll remain in your house, and insure that you will never have pest problems again."
Almost falling off the step-ladder, and debating whether or not I was dreaming, I went along with it. I agreed to the spiders terms, however I made it relocate to a spare bedroom. After all, no one would probably be using it.
After the spider constructed the new web, I had no more pests. Over weeks, the spider grew bigger, along with its web. First it was about the size of a penny, then a quarter, then a golf ball, then a tennis ball.
The web began covering all corners of the ceiling, and bugs seemed almost attracted to it. Bugs from outside would flock to it, cockroaches and cicadas would find their way into my home just to crawl into the web.
The spider grew concerningly large, transforming the bedroom into a huge web. Eventually, I grew tired, and scared of my spider roommate. I told it that its alright for him to stay near my house, if it relocated to the trees outside. The spider, through the web, agreed. It reached its oversized limb through the doorway, carrying it's now terrifyingly large body out the door.
The sight frightened me, it was now about the size of a basketball. I considered myself lucky that I wasnt on it's bad side, then got to work cleaning up the bedroom. It stunk of rotten insect corpses, and as I cleaned away the web, I found bones of small rodents and animals, all picked clean.
The forest behind my house had long since fallen silent, the croaks of frogs, chirps of birds and cicadas had all been stopped. There were massive webs between the trees outside, and occasionally I'd see the spider crawling it's way along them, now about the size of a prepubescent child.
The spider was friendly to me, and I continued not having any pest problems. I observed bones in the web, not just small animals, but bigger ones too, from animals like deer, wild hogs, and maybe even a mountain lion. I kept a shotgun by my bed, and a pistol on me, in case it ever decided to turn on me. I found myself missing the calming sounds of the cicadas and crickets at night, and the pretty light of fireflies, which were all since extinguished in its web.
As I prepared food in the kitchen by my back door one night, I was startled by the glass on my back door being hit, hard. My stomach dropped, and an icy wave of adrenaline hit me. The spider must have grown tired of of its other prey, and wanted a taste of human!
I turned to get my shotgun as the glass shattered, and a voice shouted at me; "Run and I'll fucking kill you." I stopped in my tracks, it didnt sound like the spider.
"Turn around," he said. I turned to see a man with a pistol aimed at me in one hand, and his other hand reaching down to unlock the door.
"Empty your pockets." He said. I showed him that I had nothing in them, and he entered my house, still aiming the gun at my head. He held me at gunpoint as he made me zip tie my hands and feet, assuring me that if I didnt try to escape or tell anyone, he would just rob me, and leave, without doing me any harm.
But when I was restrained, he went back on what he said. He bound my mouth so i couldn't scream, and began taunting me, holding the gun to my head, pretending to pull the trigger, telling me that he was going to bring me to his "torture room," and have some fun with me.
He turned the porch light off to ensure he isnt seen,
And dragged my by the legs to a van parked outside. He roughly lifted me into the back, and threw me in, and my body painfully hit the hard floor of the van. The spots that had been dragged along the ground were aching.
"Take one last look at your house," he taunted, "'cause this is the last time you will ever see it!" He made a sick, smug smile as he closed the van doors, not noticing the gigantic, spindly legs descending from the trees behind him.
I heard something bump the van, and a blood curdling scream, that was abruptly cut off. The doors were ripped off their hinges, and there stood the spider, now about the size of a car. I would've screamed, had it not been for the gag in my mouth.
It carried me back to the porch, helping me to cut the zip tie with its massive fangs. I removed the gag and fought the urge to run, and thanked it.
"A deal's a deal," it said. "I told you I'd get rid of pests." And with that, it returned into the darkness.
The next day, it seemed more bones had been added to the web, and I thought I might've seen a human skull grinning from the trees. Whatever the case, I'm glad to be free of my pest problem.
| 2021-07-04T01:11:07 | 2021-07-04T00:11:47 | 51 | 22 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself.
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"What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories!
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A dungeon break. That's what it's called when monsters get too powerful or too smart for the dungeon to control, they break free and exit the dungeon to run amok. Everyone agrees adventurers and dungeons have a symbiotic relationship. Adventurers cull monsters before they break, keeping the mana used to create them inside the dungeon. Dungeons reward adventurers by creating treasures that cost just a fraction of the mana that would be lost should a break occur.
But some types of monsters are less prone to a break than others, and the sedentary Mimic is among the least likely to break. Even if they get too powerful for the dungeon to control they're, by and large, content to just sit there an eat whatever wanders past so the fact that they've broken the control doesn't really change anything.
And that brings me to, well, me. I haven't been able to do any real research but my circumstances have given me a lot of information about monster and dungeon ecology in general. And based on what I know? I'm likely the oldest, most intelligent, and most powerful mimic on the continent.
I was born deep within one of the most dangerous and remote dungeons in the Appalia mountains. I ate and grew and ate and grew for years uncounted, feeding on both the pure mana of a dungeon and, after I broke, my fellow dungeon denizens. I even learned how to mimic the currents of the dungeon core to force a break and then exert my own control to bring prey directly to my maw rather than rely on them wandering within my reach.
Then one day there was something new, something different. Something wandering into my domain within the dungeon that was neither under the dungeon control nor a broken monster. I considered eating it, but my curiosity was piqued. What was this thing? Keep in mind that at this point I had spent my entire life, centuries if not millennia, deep within the dungeon. All I knew was the dungeon. And this was not the dungeon.
So I did what I did best, pretend to be a harmless piece of set dressing. Apparently I was a very comfortable chair because I was promptly stolen.
I was carried out of the dungeon. Out! Something I didn't even have a concept of prior to it actually happening. I was carried down the mountain, through passes and valleys, primordial forests infested with spiders the size of horses and eventually to tamed forests which turned into cultivated fields and civilization.
That first decade was difficult. The mana was so thin, the monsters so far and few between. I was hungry all the time. So hungry. Yet I still resisted eating these strange non-dungeon creatures because I learned. I learned so much. I learned the sounds they made were tied to concepts and worked something like the telepathic connections some of the dungeon monsters tries to use to daze their prey. I learned about writing, I learned about civilization, friends and family.
I learned my ... owner? Rescuer? was something called an "Adventurer," someone specialized in slaying monsters. One day he left on an adventure and came back with one fewer leg. He never left on an adventure again. At first I was worried because I always used the times he was gone to link with monsters in the area and draw them to me to feed. I wouldn't be able to do that with him around all the time.
Then I was packed up and placed in a wagon. After a while the tarp was removed and I could see that we were no longer anywhere near where we used to live. The mana in the air was a bit thicker, but still too thin to sustain me on it's own. There was a small village nearby and a massive forest visible in the distance. I was carried into the building beside the road, a tavern I later learned, through a very large room and placed in my new home.
I cast out my senses and discovered far more monsters than my previous home, as well as a little tickle that reminded me of my birth dungeon. I hoped I would have enough privacy to eat the occasional monster.
It was... difficult, at first. Apparently a Tavern is a business that can best be described as "busy all the time." But I got lucky, the nearby forest was downright infested by specters that were only visible by moonlight. I spent all month gaining control of as many specters as I could and then on the new moon they came flooding in, invisible and intangible, straight into my maw. If anything, I was eating better than I had even in the dungeon.
Thanks to the presence of that other dungeon within range of my mana senses and it's relative weakness, I was able to see how dungeons do their purification/amplification trick and was able to increase the ambient mana levels to the point where it could sustain me, even without monster consumption. That didn't stop me from continuing to consume specters every new moon, though.
It was at this point that I learned another thing, something I kind of wish I hadn't learned. Loneliness. I considered the adventurer who rescued me to be my friend, but he didn't even know I existed. I was worried about revealing myself to him because he *was* an adventurer, however retired, and I am a monster.
So I tried to make my own family. I leaned heavily on the dungeon and learned all its tricks. I spent an inordinate amount of mana replacing most of the furniture in the tavern with mimics. In one respect, I was successful - I was surrounded by my children. But only by that measure was I successful. I was completely unable to recreate whatever quirk gave me my intelligence. Even the replacement for the serving bar, who I fed more mana than I consumed in all my years in the dungeon, only became more powerful, not more intelligent.
They were useful for the dungeon mana cycling techniques, but a family they were not.
In desperation, I revealed myself to my friend. At first he was concerned, but quickly realized that if I were a mindless or starving predator like most monsters he would have known about me long ago. We talked through the night, and long into many subsequent nights. It turns out he was almost as lonely as I was. Most of his friends from his adventuring days were long dead and the tavern was a good chance for social interaction even if it wasn't the same.
I understood him, he understood me. I was happy to be able to call him a friend in truth, and that he could call me a friend. We were content to wile away the years with each other for company and I was able to subtly help him with his tavern. Mimic brooms swept the floors, mimic rags washed mimic dishes (who ate themselves mostly clean anyway), mimic chairs were conveniently in the way to trip up brawlers.
The tavern got a reputation for quality, cleanliness and, above all, safety. It was never attacked by monsters and brawls never got out of hand. It was attributed to the retired adventurer owner.
This may be what drew the bandit clan. A wealthy retired adventurer, a tavern without proper guards, and a glut of travelers heading to a festival with pockets full of money and wagons full of trade goods. It was too good a target to pass up.
They picked a thickly overcast night night to attack to minimize the chances they could be seen by moonlight. They quietly broke the lock on the door and slipped in, intent on killing the adventurer in his sleep just in case he was more than just reputation.
The bandits were concerned when the door caught a gust of wind and slammed shut, but relaxed a little when there was no sound of movement from elsewhere in the building. The concern immediately returned with a vengeance when they realized the tables and chairs were now blocking their path both to the stairs in the back and to the door out. It escalated to outright terror when the bar started drooling.
The bandits on lookout became concerned when they heard an aborted shout from inside the tavern followed by thumping sounds. Their concern escalated to panic when they watched the barn eat their fellows who were assigned to stealing trader's carts. Then the clouds broke and the moon shone through, illuminating the horde of hungry specters descending upon them.
By morning the only indication that the tavern had even been attacked was the extra two dozen horses in the back stable.
| 2022-10-09T18:25:20 | 2021-09-22T04:13:44 | 1,468 | 51 |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand.
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As the professor finishes his speech, i look around and see only nodding heads and jeering classmates. So i decide then and there to give this so-called expert a little history lesson, and i raise my hand.
He sees this and lets out a little snort, before saying "Yes, Thomas, what input do you have for us today?"
"It noticed that in your little speech, you failed to mention human history? I feel you have gravely misunderstood my people and simply wish to correct this small... mistake." I say simply.
The professor puffs out his chest and glares at me, "I assure you Thomas, i have made no mistakes. I made sure to read through every bit of history since your people first set foot in the inter-species assembly."
"That's kinda the problem doc, you should have read about our pre-contact history. You see, we havent had to be aggressive towards any of you because you guys are generally nice, but that doesnt mean we can't be aggressive, far from it in fact. You see, we've never been given a good enough reason to fight anyone, at least since the times when we figured out what war truly was. You should look it up doc, ive got two events for you that would change your verdict. The Battle of the Ardennes, in 1917, from our first world war, and the Battle of Stalingrad, in 1942, from the second, much worse, world war."
"Im sorry, i dont understand, you're saying you were fighting wars between worlds before your first interstellar flights?
A small laugh passed through the lecture hall, including some jeers from the more highly rated "aggressive" species.
"No doc, our world wars were fought on one planet, our cradle world, Earth. 20 million humans died in the first, and 100 million died in the second. We fought ourselves."
"Preposterous, thats more sapient lifeforms dead in a single internal conflict than died in the great galactic war. A war between hundreds of worlds and dozens of species that spanned the galaxy. Only 3 million died in 30 years of warfare!" The professor says indignantly.
"Well doc, i think you'd better take a look at the documents i just sent over to you. Hell, put em up on the screen."
"I will do just that and prove once and for all that your postulations are nothing more than drivel!"
I sit back and wait while he projects the historical documents i sent over onto the screen, landing on an image of a cratered moonscape. Dotted with a scant few shattered tree stumps, all surrounded with thousands upon thousands of bodies. Innumerable craters filled almost entirely with the viscera of the dead and dying, along with rats caught in the act of devouring the young human corpses. A deep silence falls over the class, and the professor stands, slack-jawed, in stunned disbelief. It lasts mere seconds before the sounds of retching fill the hall, and the odor of vomit permeates the air.
"Oh great gods of old..." the professors says quietly, though his microphone ensures the entire lecture hall hears his trembling voice. He stumbles over to his desk, supporting himself with his many arms. "Class... class dismissed."
The classroom empties quickly, and the sound of quiet crying is heard over the footsteps. I gather my things and walk up to the professors desk, he doesnt notice me till i get nice and close, then i clear my throat. The professor stumbles back, falling on his ass and scrambling backwards. I walk up to him and get down low, close enough to smell the fear pheromones coming off him in waves.
"You should never underestimate a human when pride is on the line, doc. We'll kill you dead, just to prove a point. Do yourself a favor, and never forget it." I turn and quickly exit the room. The sound of the professor scrambling to his feet echoing through the now empty lecture hall behind me.
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“Your species, Joshua, has the potential for happiness, because of their innate characteristics to remain tranquil under adversity and to adapt to situations when the time comes.”
Joshua admired Professor Bogart, a descendant of the horned frog family, lecturer of the new humanities and chief engineer of the desalination plants of the Gulf of Mexico. Since the adaptation and coexistence of frog and man, frogs quickly found their place in political discourse and media, working twice as hard as their human counterparts to advance their interests, and began pushing for policies that would transform the country into its prior state of a disgusting, urban sprawl into a giant, heavenly marsh, under several mini domes, which would serve the needs of everyone. Humanity could have pockets to farm on, while all would work together creating domes that would regulate the climate and ensure survival for all.
Professor Bogart worked his way up the ladder the only way he knew how. Although he was in the top 5 percent of his class, he ate the other 7 students in front of him,making him the class valedictorian and eventually going on to graduate school to earn his masters and PhD.
In addition to being the chief engineer of desalination in the Gulf, he works with the Office of Land Management and Human Affairs to monitor human population. Although he has an affinity for people, he knows they need to be guided to their full potential, which is generally out of the way, farming or working the plants.
Joshua came from an agricultural family, but felt called to work in the plants. This however, required a university degree, and there weren’t many humans admitted into the universities anymore.
Instead of wasting time with hacks like Keats or learning about humanities struggles in the past, the humanities were now centered around understanding their role in the new world and how to adapt in a changing world. This helped not only humans discover who they truly are, but also helped their frog counterparts interact with them in a productive way.
“Humans must find a way to express their contentment for the world around them, lest they get eaten by a frog.”
“Frogs must find a way to guide their human friends to success by reminding them of the world they are building, and my friends, without humanity, our domes will never be complete, and our seas won’t be desalinated fast enough to guarantee our survival”, Professor Bogart reminded the class.
“Professor Bogart?” Joshua raised his hand.
“Yes, Joshua?”
Joshua began to craft his words in his head in a way that would get him both praise and escape punishment from his mentor.
“How….do...we find peace in the middle of adversity? I know it’s in my nature to do so, but sometimes I don’t always feel it.”
Professor Bogart, wondering if Joshua has the capabilities to defect or not, just says simply “It’s within your reachJoshua, never let your power or potential escape you, and always do your best. Remember the maxims of your species!”
“Thank you, professor. I will succeed, if I don’t at first.”
Joshua pondered what that meant in the context of the world around him. He had a busy night ahead, and strived to stay focused, disciplined and alert for the long night ahead with Professor Bogart at the plant.
After class, Joshua walked a few miles to the plant, and began to clock in. He walked towards the elevator and as he opened the door, he was pushed down to the ground. When he looked up, he saw a woman wearing a ski mask, black clothes and holding a potato cannon.
She dragged him into the elevator and he reached for the alarm. She tried to stop him but couldn't, and the bells went off. When they made it to the third floor, they were greeted by security and he screamed for their help.
She fired the potato cannon in their direction, which was full of brine from the salination chambers, immediately killing the two frog security guards.
Joshua, in a state of internal panic, didn’t know what to do or say. He tried to stay calm and docile, as he had been taught.
“Why did you do that?” He asked her.
“You idiot, they’re killing all of us, and you want to help them end us?”
“I just want what is right for my family, and for those around me to have a better life?”
“By ensuring our extinction? At some point, they aren’t going to need you anymore, once this is all built, and you will be food for their flies, how is that going to help your family?”
“Just leave me alone, and let me do my job!”
The alarms kept going off. Professor Bogart, ran to the security room and saw Joshua and the woman standing above the two dehydrated security guards and got onto the intercom.
“You are to both turn yourselves in at once. Joshua, I thought you better than this, but you are no better than the rest of the defectors, who have given up your life’s purpose. You will be executed tomorrow, as well as your terrorist friend.”
“I had nothing to do with this!”
“It’s too late for that. I’m calling security and you and this terrorist friend of yours will be tried.”
She looks at him. “You can stay here and die, or you can come with me and take your chances with us.”
“What about my family? Everything I worked for?”
“The end would have been the same either way, they will kill your family, just as they did mine and my friends. Please, don’t be an idiot and come with me. You’re dead either way, so let’s just prolong it a little while longer”
Joshua didn’t know what to do. He knew the right thing to do would be to subject himself to the frogs, stay calm, docile, and see that it was just a mistake, but he knew that it was too late for that.
He is now a marked terrorist, who can’t provide for his family. Although he was always trying to get the mercy of the frogs, she was right. At some point, they would kill him, and perhaps his family as well.
He went with her, but loathed the freedom that he was giving up. She loaded more brine into her potato cannon and they climbed down a utility elevator and made it back to the first floor. As they made it down, they saw security chasing them.
“We have to run towards the fence, after that, we can swim to my boat. They will chase us, but they will be out of their element, in the ocean”
As they ran towards the fence, 6 frogs screamed and began hopping towards them rapidly. She lit a match, set the ground on fire and shot more brine in their direction as a deterrent so they could get away.
It worked. Joshua, for the first time, felt a sigh of relief as he began to get away from the frogs, although uncertain. He found a certain freedom in being a fugitive, but had no idea what waited for him.
For once, he felt something other than wanting to cooperate, he wanted to be free. These thoughts weren’t his, they were that of his captors, and he wanted something better than what was given to him.
The end
| 2021-11-27T13:35:35 | 2021-11-27T12:40:43 | 62 | 34 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
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Ta'reb thought that this whole hearing was a laughable farce as he maneuvered into his chair. His race (the dothram) were a reddish spherical entity with one eye that moved with one single long appendage and had been nicknamed by the humans as "mono-people". How could you enforce rules in war? War is when negotiations have broken down, what could possibly convince an enemy to do as you agreed when each of you is slaughtering the other? You can't have a war without death, what fate is worse?
"Do you plan to outlaw killing?" Ta'reb jeered, his 'arm' weaving words in a sort of sign language. "How do you expect to reduce the impact of war without rendering the point moot? Are entire civilizations going to going to set up little target dummies and see who can shoot at it the best?"
Major James Taylor sat in his chair staring at Ta'reb as his mad arm wiggling was translated to english, did he really need to start from there? Perhaps aliens were fine with a bit more cruelty and unnecessary death in life but could this thing not understand some would want to minimize unnecessary death? "With all due respect ambassador Ta'reb, we would only ask that civillians and other non-combatants such as injured soldiers be spared. They have little to no impact on who will win a war, and the rules we propose would only seek to minimize casualties. We understand that a warring entity has motivation to fire on military locations even if there are a few civilians that will be caught in the cross-fire."
Hmm? Questioned Ta'reb in his head. What tangible benefit could humans get in war from getting the enemy to ignore civilians? No-one shoots at civilians, by definition their elimination would not hinder the enemies war effort. "Why would anyone waste ammunition on civilians? What is the point in killing that which cannot fight?" Ta'reb asked, confused.
James was taken aback, was this alien not familiar with basic morale hindering tactics? If the women and children you were protecting were killed then what was the point of war? Killing civilians was an excellent way to discourage stronger parties to avoid warring with you in the future, could most aliens just ignore this? Was he about to reveal a major strategic disadvantage of humans? "If you do not understand then there is no point to this conversation." James vaguely answered and left the hearing, he knew it was rude but he needed to warn the higher ups, perhaps they would need a show of force. A notification to the world that they could handle civilian casualties.
Ta'reb pondered his short conversation with mr Taylor, it was not until he watched the united human army tear apart the homeworld of the parcuthi and devestate any hope of meaningful spoils of war did he begin to realise. At first he thought that the humans were just terrible at aiming, why else would they ruin any potential loot from that planet? He was worried that their shoddy innacurate weaponry would perhaps hit his hive cluster as well. It was then he realised, he was *worried.* Scared. Frightened. He felt fear that if his race declared war that he would die. The humans were mad enough to expend resources on needless slaughter because it discouraged others from warring to meet the same fate. The worst part was that it *worked.* Perhaps a few rules of war were a good thing.
James had mixed feelings when he recieved a call stating in no plain terms that they wanted to introduce the rules suggested. The inadvertant death of a planet he realised he might have caused weighed heavy on his heart. He also didn't want the hassle of having to explain the ethos of cruel weaponry. He could imagine Ta'reb angrily wobbling about how effective weapons killed the target instantly, why should anyone use weapons that cause others to suffer?
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This is a continuation of my [last WP comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/s98qyp/wp_projectile_weapons_were_considered_ancient/htmol5h/?context=3), b/c the themes are similar and why the hell not right?
&#x200B;
*I remember fondly in the first year of my mandatory enlistment feeling the warmth of a nearby star strike my face through the glass windows. It reminded me of home. Of air that didn't taste of overworked filters. Of beaches with sand on the methane lakes. Of Cities bustling with races who've benefited from our rule.*
*The race of bipeds, Humans, they sometimes call themselves, were set to be the same. Our ships pierced the cloud of rocks surrounding their system, which to our knowledge were uninhabited roughly 3 days ago. We timed our invasion right to avoid gravitational interference with the gas giants. 1.5 days ago we began our retrograde burn to enter a solar orbit. A day later our ships transferred to orbit around their Home planet.*
*They knew we were coming, as was to be expected. We thought their technology rudimentary, but we understood it was proficient. From our observations they still used projectile weaponry against one another, something that our ships and soldiers became resistant to long ago.*
*We had always wondered why they never took the next step. Why they didn't move on to lasers and quantum rays. Some believed it was their constant bickering never left room for technology to improve. Others thought there existed a global religion in which the projectile weapons were worshiped. A small minority thought they were stupid.*
*No. They are not stupid. They harbor no reverence. They chose to stab each other with sticks and stones. They chose to stop making newer weapons because they cower to their greatest creation.*
*I have felt it's warmth on my face. I watched it dissolve our strongest alloys, incinerate our armored soldiers. I felt my clothes catch fire! I felt skin peel of my shoulders! I saw jolts of bright light flash in my closed eyes!*
*It killed the electricity on our ships. It killed men who dared to stand with honor. It shredded the cruiser. It warped spacetime itself.*
*The backup generators failed. The oxygen turned to poison. Light turned to cancer.*
*And then the second one came.*
*I had to crumble the blackened skeleton of the pilot in his seat before that second metal hull detonated. The metal control stick burned my hand as I wrestled the ship into a different orbit. I could feel the warmth of that second fake sun strike the ship as I opened the wormhole for the home.*
*My face feels cold now. If this universe had a god, the humans made him into a gun. They scare themselves more than they scared us.*
*This invasion was a grave mistake.*
&#x200B;
The emperor set the sand brown paper down on his lap, stroking his chin with a three fingered hand.
"A bit flowery for a military report." He quipped with a grin.
"Those were his last words," His advisor grumbled with his back to the emperor, leaning against the balcony that oversaw the rolling hills of red fauna and grey rocks lit by the blood red sun. "He penned that before bleeding out from his ass."
The emperor's grin faded as did his good mood. His eyes shot back down to the paper in his lap. "How many did we lose?"
The advisor sighed before releasing a sigh and turning. This was no longer a problem he could turn his back to. This wasn't a problem that could be brushed under another imperial rug. "All of them, your majesty."
"All?"
"All 1.63 million soldiers. Gone. And if that account in your lap is to be believed... little remains of their bodies."
The emperor's face twisted into a grimace, and his eyes darted to the left and the right. "This is unacceptable. It's... absurd! How did we not know of this! How have the Humans not conquered themselves yet?! How have they not committed a holocaust against themselves!?" The emperor rose to his feet with fury in his eyes directed at his advisor.
The Advisor took a deep breath. In moments like these when the emperor's temper flared someone had to remind him to be rational. "I warned you that we had little information about the humans prior your order to attack. I asked that we spend time researching them prior your order to attack. I asked that we learn what there was to gain prior your order to attack," The advisor sighed, "I've called the human ambassador here to discuss what has happened... To see if we can settle on peace terms without our enemies discovering anything."
"We should send them flying into the sun if anything."
"That, would be brash. But not un-called for."
A servant appeared around the corner, "The human ambassador is here." her angelic voice proclaimed
"Send them in," the advisor replied. From behind that same corner a woman with streaking black hair, wearing a white sweater and a pomegranate suit strode in, followed by a translator. She paused 10 feet from the emperor and bowed.
"Your majesty." She addressed him. The emperor disregarded the formality with a wave of his hand, "May I ask why you've summoned me?"
"Don't play stupid" The advisor growled, "You know why."
"If it's to discuss peace, I am afraid there isn't much I can do for you."
"It's to discuss what happened in orbit above your home planet. How 1.63 million of our best were incinerated before even touching your atmosphere." The emperor spat, "How have you not killed all the mere billions of humans that exist in your puny solar system?"
The ambassador took a deep breath, "That is unimportant, as of now. What is important is discussing what is likely to happen going forward."
The Advisor laughed, "You think we will discuss what is going to happen next with you? You think it unimportant you've unused weapons of genocide?"
The Ambassador crossed her hands in front of her. "We've rules on earth. Rules about how to fight. In spite of our differences we're fighting over a part of the earth, and if there's no earth left, or no people left to inhabit it then there was no point to fighting."
"You have rules on warfare?" The emperor scoffed, "Rules that don't apply to non humans like us?"
"Precisely."
The Advisor began pacing with his eyes fixed to the floor. "You said peace isn't an option. Explain."
The ambassador looked off into the valleys of red trees. How do you explain the attitudes of an entire race? How do you generalize all the leading cultures? "Humans are, silly creatures. We always need something to fight. If there isn't anything, we make up something. Our greatest inventions created greater casualties, Our greatest leaders built cities with blood, and our greatest motivators are things we can attack head on. You gave earth something they hadn't tasted in a very long time-- the blood of an empire." She let a smug grin show, "It's coordinated the whole earth. All the interhuman fighting as stopped. All 9 billion people at once looked up into the stars and found hope in those nuclear flashes and burning carriers."
"You humans are disgusting. Not silly. " The Advisor tried to say in a collected tone.
"We know." The ambassador said, "and we hate to admit that we love it."
| 2022-01-23T16:07:44 | 2022-01-23T13:48:17 | 566 | 351 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
|
In the swirling blizzard of North Palax, planet Haranox 7, a group of Aranids, a spider like race, gather together inside a secluded, secure building to discuss one thing.
Surrender
The normally proud race had made 2 mistakes that had cost them dearly. They had aggravated humanity to war, and laughed at humanities so called "Rules Of War", stating that such a concept was stupid and unnecessary. The Aranids had intercepted aid supplies, destroyed civilian settlements, and took a great joy in doing unspeakable things to the humans they had captured. The Aranids had thought the war won from day one.
But then things began to go wrong for them.
It started with a small farming colony going missing, then later those missing were found at an unnamed outpost. They were accepted back into the Aranid society after some initial questioning, but unbeknownst to them, humanity had planted a potent disease into each and every member of the colony, a disease that slowly but surely tore through the Aranids. First came a slight cough, a mild fever, nothing to be worried about. Then came forgetfulness and memory loss, shortly followed by complete insanity, and a feral desire to attack and bite anyone they could.
As the disease spread, humanity continued to attack different colonies, before progressing to major settlements and cities. Every interplanetary communications satellite was either destroyed or taken for humanities own use. Any aid transports were targeted and destroyed without remorse. Humanities technology grew and grew, and soon any battles became a bloodbath for the Aranids.
After suffering countless losses, the council had made the decision to try for peace talks with humanity. The video feed in the council room is grainy, but they can still make out a group of 5 humans looking back at them. The Aranids plead their surrender, for humanity to stop these attacks, and offer a cure for their people. The middle human, a woman with black hair in a bun, coldly stares at the council.
"Answer me this. If our situations were reversed, if we were the ones begging surrender, would you stop? If the history of your species is anything to go by, we don't believe you would. We aren't the first race you've gone to war against, but we will make sure we're the last. We offered you a clean war, with rules, and you laughed at us. Now, on the cusp of extinction, you beg us to stop? Our answer is no. You started this, this genocide is down to your own pride."
The video feed cuts off, and the council of Aranids stand in silence, until one of them grasps his head in his hands, screams, and attacks the councilmen in the room, biting each and every one.
Two weeks later, the extinction of the Aranids is officially announced to the galaxy and humanity takes Haranox 7 for themselves.
|
Commander Xenov wrapped his head-tentacles together as he stared at the battle holo; a sign of contentment for his species, the fearsome Carnovians. Feared throughout the galaxy for their terrifying prowess in battle, both in space and on planet, they had been at an uneasy peace for nearly 200 solar cycles. Back then, all of the major galactic races had banded together to fight the Carnovians. Still, the coalition could not win; they could only hold back the terrifying warriors at a cost that was deemed unacceptable. A peace offer was made: the Carnovians would receive significant mineral resources and tens of thousands of slaves from each race as tribute. These slaves would be killed and eaten at the gruesome Carnovian festivals each cycle. Of course, the Carnovians did not need to do this; like every spacefaring species, they had long ago solved the problem providing adequate food for population. And besides, the vastly different biochemistry of the other species made them mostly unpalatable. But it was tradition, after all!
Kass, Xenov’s underling, walked in to the command dome and crossed his tentacles in front of his chest.
“Report.”
“Commander, the Human resistance on the planet has been crushed. All population centers above 500 individuals have been leveled. There were some trading ships attempting to evacuate the remaining population, but we are in the process of hunting them down and destroying them as well. Opposition was minimal, and consisted of some lightly armed cruisers and fighters.”
Xenov smiled, showing his finely ornamented teeth. “Excellent. We can send down the landing party now. I’m sure they can capture some fine specimens; the Humans on these outlying worlds tend to be much healthier.”
The war against the Humans had been going exceedingly well. 30 cycles ago, Humanity had discovered FTL spaceflight and made contact with the galactic community. The Carnovians were pressured to offer them the same terms that they offered everyone else. When the upstart Humans refused, many Carnovians were outraged, but others were secretly pleased. After 200 cycles of horrible peace, there would finally be war. Since then, they had won victory after victory. The Carnovians had perfected the technique of orbital bombardment. By redirecting asteroids towards the enemy’s population centers, they could crush resistance without even the need for fancy weapons. Of course, this sort of thing could only work against lightly defended colonies, not the heavily fortified planets of the Carnovians. Indeed, the Humans had tried, but the best that they were able to do was send some tiny probes that snuck past the gun emplacements and promptly burned up in the atmosphere.
Of course, the Humans had complained to the largely powerless Galactic Council. They had demanded that the Carnovians cease their attacks on undefended civilian populations. They had demanded that the Carnovians stop the practice of capturing slaves and sacrificing them. They had even offered to trade back some of the very few Carnovians they had captured during the war, in exchange for the return of Carnovian captives. Oh, how the high command had laughed at that! Any warrior that allowed himself to be captured was no warrior at all. Why should they trade anything of value for those weaklings?
Suddenly, Xenov’s thoughts were interrupted by the deep pounding of the comms array. Four beats in quick succession: a message directly from the high command. In fact, it turned out to be Grand Warchief himself, leader of the countless Carnovian houses across the galaxy.
“Commander Xenov. You are to withdraw all forces from the Cetian system. Do not take any captives. Cease pursuit of all Human ships. These orders are effective immediately!”
Xenov was too stunned to answer for a moment. “...But. Sir. The resistance is crushed. This latest system is only 10 light years from their home system. Total victory could be hours in a few cycles!”
“Did you hear me Xenov? That is an ORDER!”
Two ancient instincts warred within Xenov. On the one hand, total obedience to the military command was drilled in to every Carnovian from birth. On the other hand, they had never shown mercy to any alien species since they had discovered spaceflight. One side won out, for now.
“Sir, I don’t understand. Why??”
The Warchief sighed. “You know damn well I don’t owe you an explanation. However.. you have been a loyal commander of our Empire for forty cycles now. You’ve overseen the destruction of over a dozen enemy systems. I will tell you what we are up against.”
“Several cycles ago, our medics noticed a strange illness popping up. It affected mostly the adolescents and it seemed to be taking place on our outlying colony worlds However, we are seeing more and more of it now in our home systems. Our scientists studied it and the results were terrifying. It seems that this virus was not natural in origin. Currently we believe that 80% of our systems are affected.”
“But.. sir. Surely I would have heard about a deadly virus devastating our worlds?”
“The news has been suppressed as best as possible. And currently, the disease, though widespread, is quite mild. It can be asymptomatic or present itself as standard Bannox Pox. However, it’s getting worse. Already, in the first-hit colonies, death rates have increased to 5%. Our scientists have estimated that within 10 cycles, this virus could kill 20% of our military age population and cripple 95%!”
The Warchief paused to compose himself. “The Human representative tells us that they are responsible for this virus. They tell us that they will give us the cure, in return for complete cessation of hostilities, a guarantee not to encroach on Human worlds, return of any living captives, and massive reparations.”
Xenov gasped. “Sir.. but.. we cannot do this. The Carnovian Empire has never surrendered to an alien species. Surely our scientists can…”
“Don’t you get it Xenov? There isn’t time. Sure, our scientists could probably come up with a cure, in 5 or 10 cycles time. By then, our entire military would be crippled. Not only would we lose to the Humans, every other race that we have subjugated would take back their worlds. You have your orders. Disengage.”
Xenov’s tentacles twitched in fear and surprise. Suddenly he understood. When the Humans captured the Carnovians and kept them alive, they were not doing so out of kindness. They were doing genetic tests on them in order to perfect a virus. A virus that could kill countless of his people. Who would do such a thing? Who would so blatantly ignore the rules of honorable warfare? Truly, these Humans were terrifying and evil beyond comprehension.
Snarling an oath of revenge, Xenov ordered his troops to withdraw.
| 2022-01-23T16:21:49 | 2022-01-23T14:21:29 | 334 | 109 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge.
|
"It's a virus"
"What do you mean"
"It's a computer virus, it is a small computer program that enters a system and destroys it from the inside".
"That's ridiculous, the hegemony has had computers for 3,400 years and no species has ever created software designed to destroy them. It is suicide. Computers run outside support, medical regen facilities, defense command, financial services. no sane being would create something that destroys the only thing that keeps is from living like animals. What if it gets into the climate control system. Are we going to have weather again? That's ridiculous."
"What do you mean if? It's in the system. Frongline is being hit with hurricanes. I had to look up the word for that. It is a massive low pressure storm. The entire coast is under water."
"Has the ship that sent the communication sent any demands?"
"Only one,. They have requested the heads of everyone who works for the Thran Mining Consortium. Everyone. From the Board of Directors to the drilling apprentices. Not only the ones involved with the 'unpleasantness' on their home planet. They want everyone. They provided a list. Their 'hackers" didn't even stop when our system warned them that accessing that information was illegal"
"And that's what they require to stop this unsanctioned attack?"
"No, that is what they require before they will accept our unconditional surrender".
|
Fourteen billions Manukrians wiped out in a single blast from the human bomb. The unimaginable force of the bomb dropped on the center of the Manukri planet vaporized it in less than a second. The shockwave traveled through the entire Fifth Colony, pushing six planets and four moons off their rotating axis. The light from the explosion was so bright, it temporarily blinded nearly two billions United Galactic citizens in its immediate vicinity. Distress signal was soon rang throughout every corners of the Fifth Colony. Sound of pain and fear filled every communicating channels, so much so that High Command had to shut the system off completely and rebooted on a secured line. Government and private starships from neighboring planets all took flight in a frantic madness shortly after. Most made out in one piece, but some crashed into eachother in desperate attempts to escape. Rescue forces tried their best to help with the evacuation process, but they were helpless against the unfolding horror. High Command's office could do nothing. They stood in silence, watching the massacre through their main monitor. They have never seen this before. This could possibly the biggest declaration of war they have ever received.
"Generals, the Humankind force is attempting to make contact. They want to talk."
Talk? The High Command generals were confused. Humandkind just destroyed an entire species and now they wanted to talk? What could we possibly talk about? Nevertheless, the generals agreed to take the call. A human face appeared on the holo post.
"Who are you?" One general asked.
"My name is Charles Oppenheimer. I am the Commander of the Humankind forces, and the one responsible for the attack that you all are witnessing." The human replied through the translator device, coldly.
"Why are you doing this? What have we done to you to warrant this kind of attack?" Another general questioned with an anger-filled voice.
"What have you done?" The Humankind Commander responded. "Eighty six years ago, your army destroyed Earth. One single bomb dropped by one of your ships. Half of our planet was scorched two-mile deep. The other half was covered in a blanket of radiation and smoke. Seven billions soul perished. That is what you did."
The generals were once again confused. What attack? High Command has not sanctioned any attack against a non-United Galactic entity in nearly two hundred years. What is this human talking about?
"He is talking about the Klee Corps attack." The High Command's Secretary spoke.
"Klee Corps? How? They were disbanded and outlawed long ago!"
"This was an illegal attack, led by Klee's Chief Andrx in hope of searching for Cortanium. Andrx was arrested and executed soon after we learned of the tragedy. I didn't inform High Command about this matter."
"You kept this from us? Why?!"
"The reason none of you know about this was because I did not think the Humankind forces were capable of retaliation."
"I don't think you notice, Secretary, because they just demonstrated to us that they are capable!"
"I understand, sir, but..."
"Enough!" A thunderous voice rang out. Oncrus, the Chief General of the High Command stood up, limbs tensed. They turned to the holo post. "Commander Oppenheimer, the Klee Corps' attack was unsanctioned, committed by a rogue agent of a now disbanded mining corporation. This individual was dealt with accordingly."
"Where is the body?" Oppenheimer asked.
"Excuse me? The body?"
"The body of the individual that committed this atrocious act against our people, where is it?"
"We buried the body. On an unknown planet far away from here." Oncrus hesistantly answered. The Secretary looked at the general, knowing it was a lie. No one knew where Andrx's body was.
"I want to see it. The body."
"Please, we don't know where it is now. The planet is an unmarked one, and to find the body is impossible."
"Fine. Then prepared for the next bomb." Oppenheimer replied.
Fear washed through the High Command office.
"Please stop this madness, Commander. What happened to your race does not mean you can act against us in such a destructive and reckless manner. Fourteen billions citizens was just killed by your bomb. That alone warrants retaliation in the form of an all-out war. You do not want a war with us, do you?" Oncrus tried to reason.
"The Humankind forces have been ready for war the moment we finished burying our dead. Our blood was spilled. Our families broken apart. Our planet forever gone. Our race will never have a home, or will we ever know peace. Your so-called rogue agent made sure of it. So until you can produce a reason why we should stop, our bombs will continue to rain, once a day until there is no more United Galactic or whatever you call yourself. Good day."
Before Oncrus could say anything, Oppenheimer dropped the call. The Chief General sat down, trying to figure out what to do next. One bomb a day, everyday. Until there is no more United Galactic.
"Wha...what now?" Someone asked.
Oncrus sat quietly, unsure of what to say.
Note: Sorry for any grammar mistake, I typed this a little too hastily I think.
| 2022-12-17T21:51:38 | 2022-12-17T21:49:39 | 150 | 80 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge.
|
\-"This is preposterous!"
This was the only clearly audible response, the chaos erupting in the Councill's Halls drowned out everything else. Every race wanted to express their discontent at the same time, creating an unprecedented cacaphony of yelling, hollering, screeching and howling. The only silent figure amidst the sea of flaring tempers was a lone human, slowly drumming his fingers of his podium. A new observer would easily mistake his lack of reaction for a lack of anger - but his eyes told a different story. Cold and full of contempt. As the seconds grew longer without the noise settling down, he slowly furred his browns, before reaching behind his uniform.
The dull, thunderous bang deafened everyone. They all froze in shock, not sure which one of them would drop dead, before realizing this was but a warning shot. Their next thoughts were of confusion: how did the human smuggle a gauss pistol inside the chamber? They underestimated the fury of humanity, and the fruits it would bear. Modular gauss pistols that were easily disassembled into inconspicous parts were not projected to be feasable for the next decade, but humanity has accelerated the clock.
\-"Preposterous? Unfair? Let me tell this council the meaning of those words"
The lone human started talking, slowly lowering his weapon, but not letting go of it.
\-"8 years ago when the Qwell appeared, you did nothing. 5 years ago when humanity was attacked, you did nothing. You sat and watched from your cushioned seats as they overrun our solar system like a swarm of locusts, as we barely managed to stop them at Luna. This council did NOTHING!"
The anger and hatred in the last shouted word was tangible. When the councillors read reports of the war, they were dismissed, the calls, no the begs for assistance ignored. It took them being at gunpoint of a scientific marvel, wielded by someone who was fueled by the hatred of an entire race, to realize just how wrong they were.
\-"This council is responsible for allowing a genocide to happen. This council thinking it can suddenly grow a conscience is preposterous. Now, the council has two options before it. The council can remain *fair*, keep sitting on its ass as we will have our revenge, and do nothing as it always have. Or the council can try to interfere. This will not change the result: the redirected asteroids will destroy every Qwell planet in their home system. The only thing it will change is I will execute each and every one of its members as war criminals.
Thinking that you can selectively enforce your rules preposterous. Trying to do so is unfair. Now decide."
The human raised his pistol, waiting for any of the councillors to utter a word of defiance. They all remained silent.
|
"I'm sorry but our translator is having difficulties with your hierarchical organisation. What is a high priest?"
The Pope looked at the alien and paused. Surely they had made themselves plain by now?
"Xerce, Admiral Xerce. A priest is a warrior of undying faith to the Cardinals of the Pope. That would be me. I am second only to God"
Xerce blew a little air from his side nostrils, confused. he turned to his second in command, another blue reptillian and shook his head, a sign of further confusion. His companion had no answer to the humans further confusing statements.
"If you are second to this 'God', then I think it might be better to negotiate with them directly. You have attacked a neighbouring planet with most lethal force, an unwarranted attack."
Pope Julian stood up and his face reddened. "Unwarranted?"
"It has been explained that the mining company from Untilles 4 had no official warrant to develop your world into a mine. It was a tragic error. Your population was not eradicated, happily."
Julian remained standing, and felt for his beads. Each one represented a million deaths from Earth, and he touched them all. Thousands of beads, all obsidian black.
"You want to talk to God? You will meet soon enough." The smile on Julian's face was misinterpreted by the aliens. The council chamber in which they stood was setup like a horeshoe, with the main council facing the single chair placed at the focal point of the room, and each representative special given a seat in the stands beyond.
"Good, good. When can a meeting be prepared with God?"
"It has been arranged for more than a decade now." Further confused looks from the council towards this human negotiator. Xerce had tried to be polite, but it seemed the meeting had come to a close.
"Well until the next meeting then."
"No."
The finality of that single word galvanised the council to attention.
"We don't understand you, Pope", Xerce said.
"I know. We have studied you, and your council, and your deviant species. Since you came to our world..."
"... the mining company...." Xerce interjected, but Julian continued.
"Since you came to our world two hundred years ago, you left a handful of people alive. We waded in the stench of death, the pile of corpses. But we rose from the ashes, priests leading the way, the Cardinals finding faith in the vacuum energy research to bring us closer to God. Your primitive worlds never did hear the word of God, but we heard it. We recognised it. We have been working. Working to become one with God. We are going to unite with all that we loved, all that we lost. WE WILL BE WHOLE ONCE MORE AND YOU THE INFIDEL ALIENS WILL FEEL THE WRATH THAT GOD HAS TO OFFER YOU. NONE SHALL BE SPARED AND NONE SHALL HIDE FROM THE GLORY TO COME!"
Julian was spitting as he shouted his sermon at the council, and when he opened his eyes, wet from tears and looked at them all, the whole rage of humanity was within him. He sat down.
"We discovered a way to create a null Universe about ten years ago, and since then we have been constructing the device. Today will be the last day for any of you."
Xerce was trying the understand. These humans, who haven't negotiated in good faith in fourteen hundred cycles, now wanted to talk. He had no idea what a Cardinal or a Pope or a God was. They talked in riddles, stupid creatures. Null Universe?
"I apologise but what is a null Universe device?"
Julian smiled, but the smile was only in his mouth.
"We are going to kill this fetid Universe. Every shred of spacetime will be ripped up and sent to his glorious majesty, the ever existing God of all!"
"That's preposterous. Who is this God?"
"God. We pray to God, and he has shown us the way."
Xerce, as well as every being in the galactic council, could not conceive of a God. Religion was a truly unique phenomenon of Earth. Fading away by the 22nd century it was all but gone, but after the Earth was ripped apart, leaving barely a hundred thousand humans alive it became the only means of survival. Every human devoted, each with a singular purpose. The glory of God. Every Pope, handing down a message to the next. Kill the Godless. There was only one way to complete this task, truly, for all eternity, to complete the ultimate Glory of God's will. Humanity had suffered. More than any had suffered, but it would soon be over. God would save them all, the devout, the devoted.
"Even if you could destroy a Universe, and you can't, you'd be killing yourselves. There's no reason to, not even the insane would destroy themselves. A ridiculous empty threat really."
"WE will live on beyond this Universe, and be one with Holy God!"
Xerce began to understand a little. These humans thought that they would live, AFTER death? Nonsense, surely. A joke? It was hard to believe. He had never heard of such an idea. No-one had.
"Come now Pope. This is nonsense. I'm not sure that this meeting is serving any purpose," the alien still misunderstanding the name and title of this human, this only human who had come before the council. The only reason he had allowed this meeting to take place was because of the vicious attack by the humans on a trade convoy near their world three cycles ago. More than ten thousand killed, males, females, inters, children, third-children alike. All slaughtered. It couldn't be allowed to lead into a larger scale offensive. This small, broken tiny world must be made to see reason, or be controlled.
Pope Julian XI sighed, and looked across the entire chamber, then down at his watch. When he spoke he spoke softly. He was talking only to himself.
"I agree. The glory of God will be known only unto us. We are all happy to be moving unto Him, and he will accept us with open arms. You will be swept aside."
An alarm sounded outside. A long range sensor net had discovered stars winking out one by one, spreading out from The fringe sector, roughly where Earth was located. The light would catch up soon enough and the black void approaching would be visible to the eye.
The last human in existence stood, humbled before God, and walked two steps to then kneel on the floor, praying before the wave of destruction hit, before his God. It would only be a few seconds now.
The council and aliens beyond were mixed, some stood, some sat, some discussing this truly strange creature before them, and none believed a word they had heard.
| 2022-12-17T22:53:06 | 2022-12-17T22:33:11 | 48 | 29 |
[WP] America is discovered in the year 2000: The Maya, Aztec and Native Americans have evolved to a new kind of modern society, without any prior western influence.
|
The European scientists were astounded. Another land to the west? Was such a thing even possible? But the satellite images did not lie: two giant continents filled with whole new races of people. Images taken at night showed vast cities lit up with electric lights at night. This was the discovery of the millennium!
"I can see why we never thought to go that way," remarked one member of the science team to another. "I mean, even if you did think it would be a shortcut to India, you'd have to be a complete idiot to think you could get there by going around the long way."
And so the Europeans sent out an ambassadorial ship to meet these new people. In a short matter of days, the ship returned with a huge convoy of foreign vessels, overladen with riches from across the sea. The European merchants' mouths practically watered at the sight of these new economic prospects.
One of the heads of state from the New World had even come to meet with the leaders of Europe. Truly an imposing figure, the colourfully-dressed Chairman Montezuma was a sight to behold. Crowds flocked to see these strange new people with dark skin and slanted eyes.
Chairman Montezuma addressed the leaders of Europe. "Great leaders, I have come from far across the sea, bringing with me luxury goods in hopes of trading with you."
The leaders looked around, nodding in approval. This would help appease their citizens and foster economic growth.
"We have also heard tell that the weather in your lands are much colder than what we are accustomed to," Montezuma went on. "So we have brought with us old blankets from our hospitals, which my men have already begun to distribute to your people. Before we begin economic discussions, though, do you have time to talk about our Lord and Saviour Quetzalcoatl?"
|
‘Storyteller,’ I whispered. Try as I might, tonight sleep would not come. ‘Storyteller,’ I said again speaking as loud as I dared as so not to wake anyone else.
Storyteller opened his eyes a crack upon hearing his name. He appeared set to shut them again perhaps thinking he’d only heard his name in a dream.
‘Speak Storyteller,’ I said again and Storyteller raised his eyelids wide. ‘Storyteller, tell me of the Great Peace and the Council of the 10,000 Sons.’
Storyteller’s eyes sparkled, for this tale he has told often. Storyteller’s eyes quickly darted around the large sleeping hall and seeing no one’s eyes but mine open, Storyteller began his tale in a hush, an excited hush, but a hush nonetheless.
‘The Great Peace began, as all Peaces must, with war, when the Empire of Pyramid Builders first encountered the men who came from across the Great Sea. They said they were emissaries from the King of Spn. We would call him Great Chief, this man they called king. They claimed to come in peace but brought death. They sailed away with gold and many of the treasures of the Empire. The Great Chiefs of the Pyramid Builders knew they would come again and if they came to the lands of the Pyramids, surely they would come to other points along the Great Sea. The Chiefs gathered and decided, guided surely by Power, to send the sons of all their tribes and cities to warn and treat with their Northern Brothers. The Pyramid Builders and People of the Lakes had never been allies, but so great was the threat the Great Chiefs felt that all of the Peoples must come together.
‘They met at the Great Mounds of the River People for the River People traded with both the Pyramid Builders and People of the Lakes and could be, it was hoped, intermediaries should the need arise.
‘And soon did that need arise. Quickly the reason of the Council of the 10,000 Sons was forgotten as old and petty rivalries flared and disputes loomed that could doom the Council. So long they bickered, that some joked this great meeting of the People would be remembered as the Council of the 10,000 Suns.
‘Eventually the wisest of the Sons won out, guided no doubt by Power, with the argument that as we bicker as Brothers, the Great Chiefs from across the Sea could marshal forces and cross the waters. For the Pyramid Builders had learned that the men of Spn had left to fight the men of those called Kings in Franz and Inglnd. Could these Kings not come together in Council as we have and set aside differences, the argument went.
‘So it came to be that the longboats that plied the icy Gitchegumee joined the reed boats of the Pyramid Builders to cross the Great Sea in the boldest, largest fleet the People had ever known.
‘I should pause here, ‘ Storyteller digressed, ‘to speak of the People of the Plains and Mountains. Following the Council of the 10,000 Sons, emissaries were sent to the Pueblos and to find the People Who Roamed After Buffalo. But these People would not join our cause. *If your threat comes from the Great Eastern Sea, then that is your fight. We see no threat to our ways. The Great Western Sea has never threatened us,* they said. So the Empire and the People of the Lakes, now confederated under the Iroquois, fought together alone. The story of how the People of the Plains and Mountains were joined to us is sad, bloody and best saved for another time.
‘When our Warriors crossed the Great Sea it was as the Pyramid Builders described. The Great Chiefs of Urope were waging war against one another. Their warriors has decimated each other with their swords. When our People besieged with our arrows, slings and atlatl, the men of the Kings were so broken from their previous fighting they offered little resistance.
‘The Great Chiefs, these men who called themselves kings, met with the People at a place they called Var-Zy which was a palace of great gold and wealth in the Kingdom they called Franz. The Great Chiefs of Spn and Franz and of Inglnd laid sword and crown at the feet of our Warriors.
‘Warriors sent word across the Great Sea and a Great Council of the Victorious Chiefs sailed and met at the place called Pariz, which was also in Franz. The Great Chiefs surveyed this new land called Urope. They found cold northern lands that well suited the Iroquois. The warm waters of Urope’s Southern Sea delighted the Pyramid Builders. But it was over control of Franz that the Great Council threatened to break. For all Great Chiefs wanted the treasures of Var-Zy, and the sweet grapes found along the Great Sea.
‘The Chiefs...spoke to their elders...sought an equitable...’ I looked up as Storyteller slowed then paused in his telling. I saw his eyes were looking at me tired, I could almost see Power draining from them. It was late, and Storyteller was not young. All things age and so fails their Power, the Elders are so often to remind us.
‘Rest, Storyteller,’ for I knew the remainder of the tale.
At the command Storyteller closed his eyes slowly as the Power left his body.
I picked up Storyteller to set under my cot as I rolled over to attempt sleep again. *I’ve had Storyteller speak on the Council of the 10,000 Sons so many times I should be ready for tomorrow’s history test,* I thought as I drifted off. *If I don’t know the tale by now, I never will.*
*And I must remember to ask the Elders for a new Storyteller on the next Day of My New Sun.*
| 2014-12-11T20:11:21 | 2014-12-11T19:03:48 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
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"Next!"
I walk up to the dispenser and hold out my hand. A tiny piece of paper prints off and falls into my palm. I take a deep breath and flip the paper over.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
I stare at it for a moment. My soulmate, the person destined to be with me forever, will one day say these words to me. But it's so generic, so empty. How will I know?
Twelve years have passed since I learned my words, and I haven't set foot in a Starbucks since. But today's the day. All of my friends have met their soulmates already, so it must be my time.
I slowly enter through the glass doors and walk forward. A cute brunette woman stands at the register, smiling warmly at me. My knees shake as I approach the counter. Her lips begin to part. This is it!
"What can I get for you today?"
"SON OF A BITCH!"
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Today is the day, my 18th birthday. The last day I have to go to school. No matter where we are in the school year when someone turns 18 they get their career card, they have one day to say goodbye to their school friends then it's off to the "real world". For me that was today, I roll out of bed after having slept through my alarm which is pretty usual for me. I pull on my school uniform for the last time and make my way to brush my teeth, no shower today. Oh what a great start to the rest of my life. I fly down the stairs trying to make the bus but it's pulling away as i hit the floor. I run to the kitchen table grab some fruit for breakfast and the small red envelop with my name written in gold letters. No time to read it now. I jump in my dad's car and start to drive to school, at this point I figure I'm gonna be late anyways I might as well stop for some coffee on the way in. I pull into the parking lot, jump out as fast as I can open the door and bam I walk face first into the gentleman in front of me. The line is wrapped all the way around the building, great I'm for sure gonna be late I thought to myself. About 5 minutes later I'm getting bored, that's when I remembered that little red envelop, my futures card. The one piece of paper that is supposed to determine the rest of your life. Even through you're not allowed to show anyone what's on it, my friend Joey showed me his two weeks ago before he left. They aren't lieing when they say it's your future. Everything from his career to the number of kids he's gonna have to the first thing his soul mate is gonna say to him, it's crazy. I haven't seen or heard from him since. He got defender as his career so he's probably at some training or something, that meat head got his dream career. At this point the line had started to move again, I'm getting closer and closer to the front. I finally get the courage to open my futures card and see what it said. Personally I don't get why people make such a big deal about it, everything is already determined what's knowing it gonna change? Anyway I'm curious, I'm reading down the list. I'm supposed to be a teacher, that's not even fair I don't like kids. I'm supposed to have 2 kids of my own, one boy and a girl, great a wonderful start. The girl I'm supposed to marry : Emily browning, I've never met anyone by that name so I guess we'll see where this goes. It's probably a load of junk anyways. The first words my soul mate is going to say to me : "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"... like really seriously? That's horrible, My other friend Jenny told me hers were "you've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen"...
That's when I hear it, I've made my way all the way up to the front of the line to get my coffee, and one for my professor to excuse me for being late. I look up with this dumb look on my face, and she repeats herself "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, I can't even speak. I kinda point to what I want while I stand there dumb struck. My order is finished I grab it and walk out. I stumble my way to my dad's car and through all my classes that day. I couldn't think of anything but her gorgeous smile. Once the school bell rung announcing the end of my school career I snapped to my senses. In that moment I remembered that I was going to get my professor coffee... and that I totally stiffed the girl I knew was going to be my soul mate for the coffee I had stolen that morning.
I grabbed my bag ran past all my friends not even bothering to say goodbye. I got in my dad's car and sped all the way back to the Starbucks. I walk in and notice they aren't as busy but thankfully she's still there... I make my way up to the counter and try to explain what had happened. As I pull my wallet out to pay for the drink my eyes find her name tag, Emily...
That was 20 years ago, I did go on to marry that girl she was my soul mate. That card ended up being the best thing that could have happened to me. To think it all started with a simple "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?". So that's was the my story of my futures card, and tomorrow son you'll get your own. No matter how silly it sounds, and no matter how much you think that little card will determine your life it can't tell you how it will happen.
This is the first story I've ever posted. I'd love your guys feedback :)
| 2014-12-18T00:54:07 | 2014-12-18T00:51:20 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] A father gets sucked into the world of his son's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive.
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"I used to be an adventurer like you, but then I took an arrow in the knee."
*What?*
I stood atop a steep, winding set of stairs with a breathtaking view of a charming town. Every building was adorned with yellow roof tiles and horse sculptures, beautiful in their uniformity. At the bottom of the stairs was a small but quaint courtyard, and at the center stood a giant tree, full of radiant pink blossoms that seemed to emanate waves of healing. I remember buying my son this game, but I never knew it could be this visually stunning.
"No lollygagging," the guard droned, hands at his side, motionless. I figured it was as good a time as any to just walk and explore.
As I took my first step down the stairs my ears were immediately assaulted by what seemed to be some priest shouting a ridiculous sermon. Something about a Talos. What the hell is Talos? *Hmm,* I thought, *probably should stay away from that guy. He's probably like a Jehovah's Witness equivalent.*
Then, upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I felt a sudden tap on my shoulder. I turned my head to see a woman dressed in old and skimpy armor, with green streaks of paint seemingly splashed on her face. And why the hell did she smell like Buster?
"Where were you, Shield-Brother? We needed you in our time of need and you weren't there."
Before I had a chance to even think, a set of dialogue options suddenly popped up in my vision. It was probably a better idea to select one of those rather than to reveal my complete and utter confusion. I'm married. I've learned my lessons.
"I was on a task given to me by the Harbinger," I went, crossing my arms to emphasize the righteousness of my plight.
But before she could motion over to the dead bodies laying not ten feet from the courtyard, I was suddenly spun around 180 degrees to another dialogue, this time with three bandit-lookalikes with weapons drawn. Was I going to fight these guys?
"We're here to teach you a lesson."
Wait. What? No dialogue option? Not a chance to just talk it out like civilized people? A red bar suddenly flashed on the top part of my view, and before I could think about drawing a weapon, a sword flashed before me and slashed at my midsection.
I had never been slashed by a sword before. The sensation of pain I felt was akin to the most massive paper cut one could imagine. My hand pressed against my inadequate steel armor, feeling the warm trickle of blood oozing out. Clearly I was not at a very high level.
Another red bar flashed on the bottom of my view. Was that my health? It was a third of the way gone and two other swords were coming straight for me. Panic set in.
I had to run.
From my original view at the top of the city, I noticed the city gates down at the bottom, so my goal was to just get the hell out of there. I flew downhill, running past all kinds of weird beings: not only guards and other humans, but elves, lizard-like folk, and some weird cat-being with a tail. If someone wasn't trying to kill me, I might've stopped to chat a bit, but then again, this just wasn't the time for lollygagging.
Finally bursting through the city gates, I collapsed to my knees to catch my breath. Why was I being chased by a bunch of thugs? Why weren't the guards helping me out? And more importantly, was I self-regenerating?
Then, I heard it. The distinct pounding of drums and the chants of an all-male choir permeated the air. Then the music came.
B-C#-D, D-E-F#, F#-A-E, D-C#-B...
My head slowly turned towards the sky. A giant winged behemoth was in the distance, coming straight towards me like a missile. A dragon.
"Dammit, I should've just gotten him the newest installment of Call of Duty."
|
I woke up in a wide field enclosed by tall mountains. A horse was standing beside me, gnawing on some tall grass beneath a tree. I sat up. Everything was so green...
I rolled over to stand up and bumped into something hard beside me. I reached out to grab it. It was a sheathed sword, its hilt jutting into my side. I picked it up and pulled it out, held it up. It was stainless. I could perfectly see my expression in its reflection, my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open.
As I held it up, a beam of light formed, pointing towards the sun. A second beam of light pointed straight ahead of me, towards the middle of the field. The horse picked up its head and glanced in the direction the light was pointing, sensing something I could not.
The ground shook. The horse whinnied and galloped away, kicking up dust and dirt behind it.
"Come back!" I called, but it was gone in the trees. I turned back. The ground shook again, with it a thunderous *BANG.*
A flock of white birds fluttered from the trees, speeding away.
The ground shook yet again, this time so violently that I lost my footing and fell to one knee. I looked up at the mountains around me. A long shadow had appeared from behind them, casting itself over the entire field. At first I thought the sun had dipped behind a large cloud, or perhaps the peak of the mountain, but the next earthquake revealed to me its origin.
A foot the size of a sedan appeared from behind the mountain. It was hairy, with toes the size of my head. It crashed into the ground, its impact so forceful that it sunk deep into the dirt. I closed my eyes.
"Wake up," I told myself. "Wake up!"
When I opened them again, the beast stood before me. It stopped walking, so the ground stopped shaking. It was so tall it could have reached up and tapped the top of the mountain. I had to squint through the sun to see its face. Its nose and eyes were covered with some sort of stone mask, like that of a sculpted idol. A pair of vibrant blue eyes with black irises stared at me.
The monster's shoulders were nearly as wide as it was tall, covered in brown fur that swayed with each blow of the wind. Its arms were covered with stone armor, like that on its face, sculpted with circular patterns and ridges. In its left arm the thing held a club the size of a school bus.
It lowered its head slightly, squinting, its wide mouth agape, as if it were just as surprised to see me as I was to see it. But then it began to walk forward, its giant feet growing closer and closer, the ground quaking so much that everything blurred and my legs quivered.
I sat under its shadow, cloaked in darkness, and then it was on top of me, so I had to look straight up to see its head. It raised its foot, so I could see the bottom of it. I thought wildly of a spider running across the floor as I raised my shoe to squish it...
I dove out of the way just in time. The foot came down beside me. I could feel the force of it - the rush of air, the way the ground caved in beside me, the crash so deafening it hurt my ear. I stood up and ran in the opposite direction, towards the mountains from where it came, hoping to God there was only one.
Behind me, it turned on the spot. Crash after crash after crash, I could hear and feel its footsteps reverberating across the land. I ran past the foot imprints it had left, craters in the ground that left dead grass and upturned dirt. How was this fair? All I was given was a small sword, while this thing towered above me...
Its strides covered more ground than I had hoped. In a moment it was on top of me again, and this time it swatted me with its club. It just missed me, by how much I'll never know, but the force of it hitting the ground was enough to send me flying. I tumbled across the grass, my sword become unattached from my belt.
I didn't know what good a sword would do me, but its presence was reassuring all the same - it resembled the closest thing I had to a weapon, anyway. I picked it up and noticed the beam of light again. It pointed at the monster, but not at its head or the middle of it but at a spot on its left shoulder. That's when I spotted it - a blue hieroglyphic that seemed to glow under the sun.
And I remembered something my son had said when his friend was over, and they were playing a video game in the next room...
"The weak point, you have to get to its weak point!" I didn't know much about video games, but that was a lesson straight out of Gaming 101. Attack a boss's weak point...
I whistled. The chestnut horse appeared from behind the monster, galloping towards me. It came up next to me and in one swift motion I boarded it. I snapped the reins and it took off, speeding away from the monster, who gave pursuit.
The ground around us continued shaking but the horse's strong legs didn't falter. We ran around the things legs, the wind whipping in my hair, just as it struck again with its club. The horse dodged the blow and the club became lodged in the ground. I jumped off the horse's back, onto the top of the club, and began running up it, towards the monster's hand. Thick black fingers were wrapped around the handle. I used them as steps to climb to the wrist and grabbed hold of the ridges of the beast's armor. It let go of the club and raised its arm to its face, staring at me as if I were a fly that had landed upon it. Then, it raised its other arm to smash me.
I kicked my legs out and jumped across the gap between arm and body, and grabbed hold of the thick fur under the monster's neck. The fur was as long as grass. It was very thick, so climbing was not difficult. I climbed onto its shoulder, where the shining blue glyph was.
It shook its upper body, sending me thrashing through the air like a ride at an amusement park. I held tight, gripping the fur so tight my fingernails cut into my palm. Then I reached down, pulled out my sword, and shoved it into the middle of the glyph. A thick fountain of blood spurted out, covering my body.
The roar that echoed across the land was anguished, high pitched and growing weaker by the second. The beast fell to one knee, then fell backwards. I didn't let go until it had come to a bellowing halt, sending thick layers of dirt into the air. I looked at its face. Its blue eyes turned to black. With them, everything around me faded to black as well...
*"Is he okay? Oh my God, Jerry, please be okay!"*
*"He's having some kind of allergic reaction. Has he ever been stung by a bee?"*
*"Dad, are you alright?"*
*"How should I know if he's ever been stung by a bee? He was just outside grilling, then I saw him collapse! Oh God, what's wrong with him?"*
*"He was just in my room a few minutes ago. He was watching me play video games." The boy began to cry.*
*The paramedic peeled off the man's shirt. On his shoulder was a thick red welt, and a dead bee was just under his arm pit.*
| 2015-05-08T00:17:59 | 2015-05-07T22:51:37 | 659 | 114 |
[WP][TT] You wake up, make yourself a nice cup of coffee and enjoy the view of the morning sun rising from the sea. Then you remember that your house isn't supposed to be anywhere near a sea...
Edit: Thank you all for your amazing stories!
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Houses and debris floated by as I sipped my coffee. There had to be a way to spin this before I announced my presidential candidacy for the GOP. That group was getting crowded, fast. A helicopter from CNN buzzed my house. That fool Anderson Cooper was actually hanging out the passenger door, standing on the landing skid like a stuntman and holding out an outstretched boom microphone. I couldn't hear a damn word he was saying, but I knew what he was asking.
"This doesn't prove a damn thing!" I shouted up at him, "Global warming is still bunk!"
I went inside to get my shotgun to chase him off. By the time I returned outside the helicopter was gone but a few constituents started washing up on the shore of my property. Turned my gun around and used the butt to push them back out into the sea.
"You're out of the womb, you're not my problem! Beat it!"
I didn't have time for that shit. I had a statement to prepare. Suddenly it hit me, a way to kill two birds with one stone. I found my laptop and began to type.
*There is no conclusive evidence whatsoever that this flooding is in any way related to global warming. For all we know the seas suddenly rising 40 feet overnight is part of a natural cycle. The scientific community is very divided on this. Personally I think this is the wrath of God because he is angry congress shot down my bill to criminalize homosexual activity on a federal level.*
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The long, yellow fingers of the sun slowly crept in through the window causing me to push my eyes shut tighter and will them away. When that failed to work, I slowly sat up and stared at my feet pressed hard onto the cold, metal floor. Rubbing my eyes I stood and stretched, feeling my back pop back into place.
Yawning, I scratched my back as the beginnings of a headache slowly eased its way into my brain. “Ugh, drank too much last night,” I said to myself as I walked over to the window.
A beautiful seascape stretched before me and I sighed with contentment. This planet really was beautiful sometimes, I thought to myself; sea, sun, and the muffled sounds of a work crew getting ready for their work day. It must be getting on with the day if work crews are already awake. Yawning again, I walked over to the door to go make myself some coffee and tried to open it; locked.
Jiggling the door handle proved this assessment, and my sleep addled brain began slowly piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of the night before. I had gone to the bar for a few drinks, met an old space-hand who had just returned from a journey to the Rotan Roundabout, traded some more drinks, and gone back to my hotel. I had passed out after looking out over the city and—
The city. Where was the city? I rushed back over to the window and saw again the beautiful seascape stretching out into infinity. My hotel room had been over-looking the city, not the ocean. I couldn’t afford an ocean front hotel room, so where the hell was I?
Turning around quickly I tripped face first onto the floor. Kicking my feet at my own stupidity, I felt my left foot connect with something soft.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?” a voice said from beyond my foot.
I rolled over onto my back and saw another man lying on the floor nearby. I had tripped over him in my rush. I looked around and saw several other people all huddled into the small room, some on cots like mine, and others merely deposited on the floor. The one I had tripped over was looking at me in anger, but his face slowly transitioned into one of confusion.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked as he pulled himself up onto his elbows.
“I could ask you the same question,” I said as I motioned around the room. The man looked around, the confusion on his face deepening, before he turned back to me.
“John,” he said extending a hand.
“Yale,” I said in response, taking his hand and shaking it.
“Where the hell are we, and how did we get here?”
I shook my head, “I don’t know. I remember having drinks with a Mr. Ralph Douglas, he had just gotten back from a trip to the—“
“Rotan Roundabout,” John finished for me, nodding his head. “Tall guy, dark hair, hook nose, real skinny?”
I’m sure my own face mirrored John’s confusion, “Yea…”
“Yea, I had drinks with him too. Though I didn’t think I got drunk enough to pass out.” John stood and glanced out the window and I saw his face go pale. He turned back towards me and whispered, “Do you know where we are?”
I shook my head no.
“Canaveral,” he said in a hushed whisper.
“The space port?” I hissed back at him. “Then that would mean—“
“That you fine gentlemen have the honor, and the privilege, of joining us on a very lucrative expedition,” a voice said from behind us.
We both turned and saw a man standing in the doorway in a captain’s uniform, and two men standing on either side of him holding blast rifles at the ready. “I am Captain Lusco, and you have the honor of sailing with me. I am introducing myself to you gentlemen now since you are awake, but I will do so again more formally after we have taken off.” He turned towards a man behind him and said, “Sergeant, please see that these men are dressed appropriately, and get them some coffee. We are civilized after all.” Then he left, taking the guards with him.
Ralph Douglas then walked in wearing his Sergeant’s uniform, as well as a blast pistol on his hip. He smiled warmly at us, but his hand hovered near the pistol, “Good morning, gents. Since you’re awake, I’ll take you to the mess where you can get acquainted with some of your fellow shipmates. We’ll be taking off once fueling has been completed.”
“Fueling, what are you talking about?” I asked, balling my fists up in confusion and fury.
Ralph smiled and stood aside to allow us to pass through the doorway, his hand never moving away from the pistol. “We’ve hired you on to fly to the Selma system for a business venture. You’ll be paid well upon your return to Earth.”
“I don’t remember being hired,” I said as he ushered us through the narrow corridors.
“I suspect that you may have some fuzzy memory about a lot of things from the night you signed on with us,” Ralph said with a laugh and a clap on my back, “But don’t worry, you’ve got a 10 year round trip to remember it all.”
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Check out my [subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42) for more stories
| 2015-05-28T11:16:55 | 2015-05-28T08:40:50 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A day before the Earth is destroyed by a collision with a rouge planet, time freezes. You, a completely normal person are untouched and cannot die. Text on your arm appears that reads, "however long it takes, save us".
You have an eternity, time resumes only when you are done.
_________________________________
I would like to take the time to thank everyone for their stories, I've been reading them and will continue to read them after submissions have stopped.
I'd also like to thank /u/PaulsWPAccount for his dedication to the story he has created and continues to create. As I type his story is still unfinished, I just want to give him the credit he deserves before this post falls too far from the front page.
Thank you all, it's been great.
One more thing....... Rouge :D
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Once upon a time, a rouge planet almost smacked into Earth.
Fortunately, time froze and some text mysteriously appeared on my arm, stating "However long it takes, save us!"
So I looked at the big ball of rouge in the sky, and developed a plan.
Over the next several months, I found every extension ladder I could lay my hands on. Traveling to every hardware store in a region, I loaded them up into the trailer of a semi.
Once I had collected 9,972 extension ladders, averaging about 30 feet each, until they bridged the approximately 50 mile gap between planets.
Anyway, blah blah blah long story short, I spent an eternity brushing away rouge on the planet and rouging up the faces of Earth's entire population until the rouge-planet was completely consumed.
BECAUSE ROUGE IS NOT THE SAME THING AS ROGUE, OP, YOU KNOB.
Edit: Thanks for the gold, my fran!
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When you have to get rid of a planet, you need to break a few eggs.
As far as I could tell about the rule, its not allowed for a single human being to die; seems I need to save all 7 billion from this fucking rock catapulting at us. I figured that out during the first couple days of the timefreeze, when I was doing whatever the hell I wanted. I- well, tried to- killed an old client that had been making life hell for me in the past. Picked him up, threw him off the building. Right when he woke up whole world went black. I woke up in the field I started in later, I have no idea how "long" it was.
The first problem is that if that godforsaken rock grazes us it kills billions; its about the same size of Earth as far as I could tell. The other problem is that I'm not some astronaut who could do anything closely related to space to stop this hunk of planet; I'm just a chicken farmer in Asia.
I spent what probably was years thinking through every single problem. No time was passing, so I never got tired, never had to sleep, or eat, just was able to think or move.
"Could I destroy this rogue planet?" I had all the time in the world, so if I could get my hands on some bombs then I could try. I rode a bike through China trying to find anything at all that I could use. Fun fact, the "no humans dying" rule included myself, so I could go however fast I wanted; if I crashed then I would just wake up in that field, next to the frozen chickens. After what was probably months I found the Chinese armory; a couple weeks later and I was into one of the biggest military foundations on Earth. I found some metric tons of C4 and knew that if I needed more, I had the entire worlds force at my fingertips. I could even get a nuke; it took me a decade but I finally got into the base.
What was likely a century later, my plan was ruined. You see, something about this time situation I was in was that it was contained to this earth. I found out the hard way that if I left the atmosphere of Earth I would just awaken immediately at the field. They may had put that in place so that I couldn't escape Earth and try to just save myself, or some other reason; I had no clue. I had a worlds worth of demolitions to destroy this planet, but I couldn't reach it. This put me in a depression that lasted several lifetimes, until I got an idea.
"If I can't destroy this planet, I can ruin ours."
The "no lives affected" rule applies to humans alone, not to animals, and not to the earth as I saw. So after wallowing in a literal pool of tears (I never ran out of the liquid), I had an idea: The scientists on the television had said that the planet was hitting us straight on. However, I had read their notes a few years back, and read that it was actually hitting us at a slant. The entire South Equator was gone, but about where Greenland was, individuals could actually survive the blast. There was a bunker built miles and miles underground and a shelter that could host millions. The problem was that I needed 7 billion individuals safe. So I had a two step plan.
Step one: Get everyone over there. This was the hardest part of the plan. It also took what I bet was a literal eon of time to do, but I managed to pick up every single individual on this planet Earth and move them to Greenland. Searching through jungles, over deserts, in cities, evacuating them all slowly but surely to Greenland. Lifting them over my head and putting them all on a cargo plane (I learned the hard way how to fly a plane) and then bringing them all to Greenland. After that was complete I moved on to step two: getting them inside. I got the first 8 million inside just fine but then we started running out of room. A couple million more and the place was full to bursting; not a single soul could fit into this cavern. So I did what any man with all the time in the world would do.
I picked up a shovel and started digging.
That's where I am now. I've been digging this hole for ages. Had the bright idea of keeping a journal of everything I've done so I wouldn't go insane, and am taking a break to fill you in. I've seen more rock than every mortal man on earth has combined. And I'll continue to do so for an eternity more, and then once the hole is big enough I'll have to make walls, make rooms, bring in livestock, allow everyone in here to actually survive. But I'm ready for that challenge. After all, I have all the time in the world.
| 2015-10-23T18:29:03 | 2015-10-23T16:10:28 | 111 | 38 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
Jake shrugged. The sound of the church' clock was the only sound he could hear in the silence of the night.
Ding. dong. ding. dong. ding. dong, and so on, all the way to twelve.
Was it midnight already? He didn't know. He didn't care. Mom wouldn't be home before tomorrow, so Jake had the house for himself. And, more importantly, the computer.
He was having fun, despite being the only person online on his Minecraft server.
It was completely silent in the house. Painfully silent. Except for the occasional Minecraft sound coming from the computer.
"Oh, balls.." Jake wispered to himself. He really had to take a leak. The toilet wasn't that far away, but the room it was in was way too dark to see anything. The only source of light was coming from the computerscreen.
"Jake...." He heard a feint voice whisper.
"Come and play.."
"Ugh, boogers.. Mom's home early." He thought.
As Jake looked up, expecting to see his mother, candles were lit up all around the room. Wait, this wasn't his house.. The light of the candles showed a huge red pentagram made of dark, thick blood on the ground. His desk, along with himself and the computer were in the middle of it.
The whispers starter getting louder. He could also hear someone crying in the distance. The ground lit up on fire, and an awfully loud and terrifying laugh could be heard. Men in black robes slowly started to walk towards Jake with big scythes and hands engulfed in blood.
Jake screamed as hard as he could.
"Holy cow, I found diamonds!!"
|
In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now.
| 2017-05-05T05:55:46 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 280 | 27 |
[WP] You were born into a society where permanent augmented reality contact lenses are fused onto every newborn's eyes. You're unaware of this until one day, a lens falls into your left hand.
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The tree outside my window is dying. Soon it will match the others in our street, in our city. The bushes outside didn't flower this year. There weren't enough bees. Humanity has destroyed them.
Every year is the same. Plants die, pollution gets worse, crime rises, and another species disappears. We all do what we can but it isn't enough. The destruction has slowed but not fast enough to save those of us who remain on Earth.
They all took the first transport they could to Mars. In a panic they left behind family, pets, friends. It was every man for themselves. People murdered loved ones to get the last seats. They estimate that a third of the population remain. We were the ones that gave our spots to others. My transport, the last, left last night. Now I'm watching the trees die.
"Ms Cotter? Please look down, blink several times and shake your head."
No one argues with the government messages on their interface. I do as it said. I feel something on my face and shake harder. I reach up and pull something away. Shit! My augmentation has fallen out.
"Ms Cotter? Please look out the window."
I don't question the voice. The tree is dead. Wait. No. It is alive. The bushes are full of flowers. There are bees everywhere.
"What the fuck?" I cry out.
"Welcome to reality. We apologise for the deception. The experiment was intended to make people take part in world changing behaviour. To fix it. Unfortunately most preferred to run."
|
Disclaimer: this isn't exactly my style of writing, this is more thoughts spewed in to my notes in an informal manner, but it's a script idea I wrote about a year ago that oddly matches this idea. I'll rework the writing if people want when I have some time.
Everyone is required to wear specialized contacts and hearing aids by law, the official reason being "To minimize the time it takes to inform the general public of threats to their well-being such as Amber Alerts and weather warnings." That being said, most companies have taken to buying ad space on your augmented reality. They blast you day and night with their products anywhere and everywhere. For example: You fold laundry and a detergent pops up on your washer showing you the shirt you just pulled out and how much whiter it could be if you used their product. But it's not all bad. You can set your own background music, you can make coffee have artificial steam lines appear. If someone swears, you can automatically bleep it out and "#%*?" will appear over their mouth. What you don't know is that the government is using augmented reality to blind you to things they don't want you to see. Pollution is getting out of control, but they color your skies blue and turn your water clear instead of brown. Crime rates have gone up, but instead of seeing a burglar shoot a man in the street, you see him fall over from a heart attack - a tragic accident. No one knows of this of course, because everyone has their contacts and hearing aids surgically implanted - and its illegal to tamper or remove them. Then one day, Mr. Protagonist gets hit by a jolt of electricity from a power line snapping. His left contact goes offline briefly, then reboots in safe mode. Since its online, no alert is triggered that he's breaking the law, but he sees the world for what it really is. He starts thinking he's going crazy. He runs into traffic and out of the corner of his right eye he sees a bus coming, so he looks, but with his left eye, he sees a god damn tank rolling down the street. What he realizes in a short time is that there is a war going on between a militia and the government in an attempt to turn augmentation off. The innocent bystanders are literally cattle walking the streets while the armies fight around them. They have no clue it's happening, and the only way he can survive is to pretend he sees none of it. He meets people in the militia and has secret conversations with them while talking to other people wherever he is. He learns he can disrupt everyone's augmentation and reboot them in safe mode if he can get access to the HQ of the company running the software. He applies for a job there and gets an interview. He goes in and in one eye sees sandbags lined up with men with guns squatting behind them. In the other eye, it's a front desk with two clerks sitting and waiting. They direct him up the stairs. In reality he is told to fuck off, in augmentation they say "Up the stairs to your left." He goes into the interview which is actually an interrogation. In augmented reality they are asking about his work history. In reality they are demanding he tells them where the militia is hiding. He was prepared for this though and knows its standard procedure. If they see him wince or show sign of worry, they shoot immediately. So he just responds to the interview questions like normal and is told he can start tomorrow. When he shows up the next day, he realizes his job as a security guard is actually a job as a security guard. But in augmented what looks like a taser is actually a real gun. In a horrid scene, he is actually forced to "incapacitate" a robber. He tases them in the leg (knowing he's actually shooting a member of the militia) and he hits a main artery and they bleed out almost instantly. After that, they find out he is in reality and chase him down. He crawls through air ducts to get away and since he is somewhere the contacts don't recognize, they reboot and both come back online. Now he is fighting to find this main computer crawling around in ducts looking for something he can't even see, and avoiding enemies he can't hear. Eventually, the movie ends with him blowing the computer up, and everyone's augmented reality gets shut off for 5 seconds before a backup computer" brought it online again. The rest is a narrator explaining that "in the following months, the government tried to quell the online talk of the 'world wide hallucinations' but the general public wouldn't have it. Eventually people started ripping out their implants forcibly and seeing the truth. The ones that survived the self-mutilation crafted devices to disrupt the signal for others. The militia gained momentum thanks to this and eventually toppled the government. Augmented reality was banned, although most people kept their implants in, as taking them out was quite risky. The world was being rebuilt and brought back to normal."
Then, the last few scenes is looking at the world from people's perspective and all of a sudden everyone seeing "reboot in process... download complete. Launching program." in the top right corner of their field of vision. And the cameras fade out and in to an ship orbiting earth with one of their screens showing a download bar complete with unknown letters below it and the subtitles translating it: "Planetary Self-Genocide" Program Download Complete.
| 2017-12-17T19:00:21 | 2017-12-17T18:38:42 | 3,613 | 83 |
[WP] The real reason witches want first-born kids for their services is to protect those children from the parents greedy enough to accept in the first place.
|
It takes centuries to craft the perfect lie, the perfect story, for the passage of time is the richest seasoning, shaping the lie, carrying it through ear after ear, town after town, kingdom after kingdom, until every inhabitant of the world has heard it.
But time is not a perfect artisan, and so the shape of the lie, the tale, the story, never remains the same when it goes through the clock's hands. The essence will be there, somewhere, but the details will be lost, replaced with makeshift imitations that seldom hold on to the lie, for men love to twist all things, and so in many ways, they become artisan themselves.
Lurka knew the path of a perfect lie. She had witnessed it since the beginnings of time, and since then she had sent myriad lies wandering its winding roads.
She dwelled in a tucked in castle hidden in the heart of a forest trapped in a never-ending winter, but the wonders of magic disguised the expansive building beneath a cabin-shaped veil.
Many orphans have lived, laughed, and left her abode, but all of them thanked her the day they decided to explore the summer-bathed sand, the autumn leaves, and the forests in spring. For they all left with a gift, and that gift was invaluable. It was true mother's love, and it was the understanding of magic.
It was late in a cold night full of murmurs that a knock echoed through the castle walls. Lurka ceased singing, and left one of her sleepy sons in his cradle, muttering, "Eyes open or closed, you will always be loved."
She moved toward the main door, and with a peculiar tranquility in her heart, opened it. Beyond lay a man and a woman. They both were swathed in layers of white, fur-padded hermine cloaks. Their faces were bone white, sprinkled with sleet, as though winter had lodged within them.
Lurka's eyes strayed to the baby on the man's arms. Without uttering a word, she hunched over it. He was missing an eye, and his face was odd, downturned in a way. "How beautiful he is," she said, and held the parent's gaze. "It's a nice surprise to have the king and the queen themselves at my doorstep."
The king's face twisted. He spat his hatred to the snow. "Beautiful? Perhaps for your standards. He's a monster, one that will never be a good heir. He has the sickness. He will never be smart enough to command a kingdom. Take this *beauty,* witch, all I ask for him is that you bless my army in the upcoming war."
Lurka held out her hands, and the king gave her the child. He was asleep, snoring, and sputtering. He was dreaming a wonderful dream, it seemed, for, from time to time, his diminutive lips quirked upward into a smile. "My queen, do you want to give him away too?"
The queen shrunk, and eyed her husband sidelong. A silent tear fell down her cheek, but at last, she nodded glacially, and said, "I--I do, yes."
"Of course she does!" the king cried out. "And I want to believe you will keep this a secret, witch."
"No one will know, of course," Lurka said. "We have a deal, Your Highness. May you not find any inconveniences on your way back."
With that, and with the baby cradled in her arms, she went inside, and the door closed by itself behind her.
As she moved through the vast rooms, she spoke with the slumbering baby, and all the while she smiled. "You are not a monster, little one. You are full of love, and you have the kindest of all hearts, and for that I will always love you."
In time she left him in a cradle next to one of his new brothers, and Lurka went to her room. There, with nothing but the seeping moonlight illuminating everything with its silvery glow, she sat on her bed, and grabbed a map of the kingdom.
"A perfect lie is that which gives you treasures in exchange of nothing," she muttered to herself absentmindedly, as her eyes wandered through the locations in the map. "But from time to time, treasures are paid with curses."
She whispered unintelligible words then, and a location in the map glowed a bright blue.
"This war will know the taste of royal blood."
---------------------------
r/NoahElowyn
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Jackie was tired, this was all so tiring, this life. Sumac ran through the living room screaming, dragging a pot full of crayons behind him. He ran into the edge of the couch, overturning the pot of crayons, revealing a mixture of orange juice and twigs (when did he even get outside) as it spilled onto the carpet.
Jackie closed her eyes and repeated her mantra, *And this, too, shall–* before she could find a modicum of peace there was another crash. Wood, metal, a crunching of something squishy as well. *Hopefully Sumac*, she smirks, before catching herself with a wave of guilt. *I’m an awful mother, to think that.*
Sumac wasn’t her first choice of a name. She preferred something more traditional: Sebastian, Theodore, Henry, maybe Calvin or Thomas. Joe wouldn’t hear it. “I grew up with a boring name, it sucks. This kid’s gonna be special.” In a moment of archness she suggested Sumac: something poisonous and irritable. *If only I knew how right I’d be.* Joe didn’t catch the joke and jumped on it, thinking it sounded like an ancient warrior. “It’s strong, like Conan, but tougher, wilder. Suuuuumac!”
That was the last parenting decision Joe made before splitting town. Facebook says he’s in Germany working on green energy. Something to do with roofing made out algae.
A loud long scream snapped Jackie back to reality. “Mooaaaaaaammmm!” A siren almost, guttural and cutting. Sumac got his hand stuck in the door. Jackie jumped up and held him in her arms, kissing the booboo. Or she tried to, anyway. As soon as her lips are near his hand he pulled hard, digging his nails into her lower lip and drawing blood. He giggled and jumped down to play in the orange juice, crayon, and twig pond that’s spilled from the carpet to the floor.
Jackie sighed again and felts around her pocket for that slip of paper, the one she got from the old bag lady on Nostrand Ave. She usually avoided flyers, but there was something about this that seemed – different. The paper felt like parchment, she imagined, not knowing exactly what parchment *was* or felt like, but it was thin and yellow and slightly musty, and the calligraphy was ornate and stunning.
*A better life*
That’s all it said, and there was a phone number. What could the woman possibly offer? She looked a hundred years old, clearly lived on the street, and smelled just awful. And yet…
She did seem happy. Well, not happy maybe, but she smiled, and that smile spoke volumes. She had knowledge. She could see past the day-to-day, see the endless possibilities of the world that exist if you could just access them. If you had the wisdom, the time. If you weren’t so tied down and drowning.
Sumac had his diaper off and was peeing on the couch. Jackie started to cry.
Hours later, after her Uber shift, and several loads of laundry and carpet cleaner and a quick lunch of leftover puffs and green beans that Sumac didn’t touch, Jackie plopped onto the couch. He was napping now. Jackie would love to close her eyes for maybe ten minuted, but she knew if she did then dinner wouldn’t get made on time and Sumac would have a meltdown and then getting him ready for bed would be – she couldn’t nap, but she couldn’t move either. She could feel a panic attack coming on. The bills were piling up, the rent was due, she couldn’t drive enough to make ends meet, and having Sumac in the car with her usually *did not* go well.
She looked down and found the slip of paper in her hand again.
*A better life. Your wildest dreams can come true.*
She shrugged and called the number. Maybe it’s a telemarketing thing she can do from home. It rang exactly once before a voice picked up on the other side.
“Hello, Jackie.”
“Uh, hi. I’m calling about the, job?”
“Oh, it’s not a job, it’s an opportunity to change your life.”
“So, it’s like MLM?”
Jackie stood up to stay awake. She must be falling asleep, the room was looking so dark.
“I can help you, Jackie. I can give you this magic loom that spins gold.” And Jackie saw the loom, right next to the couch. Huh.
“I can give you an elixir that will give you power, make you the smartest person in the world. Or another that will make any man fall madly in love with you.”
And then Jackie wasn’t in her living room anymore. It was more like a swamp, but with her couch in the middle of it, next to a bubbling cauldron. And next to it was the old woman from the street corner, with that same smile of knowledge.
“Anything your heart desires, you can have.”
“I – I just need some money.”
“Ah, fortune is what you seek. That can be arranged.” The old woman waved her hand and piles of gold surrounded the couch. “More than you could spend, all for just one small price.”
“Oh my god! This is amazing!” Jackie was sure she was dreaming, asleep on the couch. But she was going to enjoy it. Let dinner wait.
“It’s yours. All I need is something you have no desire to keep: your child.”
“Sumac? That’s all?” And immediately, disgracefully, Jackie felt a weight lift off of her. She saw doors opening, life changing. She could go back and finish college, and then she realized she wouldn’t have to because she’d be rich. “I mean –“
“It’s okay,” the old woman spoke in a soothing voice, like a mother – *a good mother*, Jackie thought – speaks to a child in distress, as she kisses the booboo and offers hot chocolate, already made in anticipation of the need. “Not everyone is meant to be a mother. Isn’t it wonderful that there’s a way out? One that gives you everything you want at the same time.”
*Want*. It had been so long since Jackie thought about what *she* wanted. She remembered her old life, going to class, and this one add she’d always see on the subway, for life insurance she thought. (Which reminded her: she needed life insurance.) It was a mother and father staring down in bliss at their newborn child in a very bright room, but so bright you couldn’t tell it was even a room, you just had to assume that they wouldn’t bring a newborn into the direct sun of outdoors. The text underneath proclaimed: “The moment you stop being the center of your life.” That ad always terrified her, because she knew it was true. If she had a kid she life wouldn’t be about *her* anymore, it would be about *it*, the *baby*.
So she was determined to never have one. But then she met Joe at a party and after a few months they got lazy about condoms and then they were happy and then terrified and then she was alone and then she wasn’t again.
She started to cry for the third time that day.
The old woman put her arm around her. “He will be well cared for. It will be a better life for everyone. You just have to say yes.”
Jackie looked at the woman, distorted and small through her tears but still clearly sincere. This was a person she could trust. This was the best choice. This was better for everyone. Jackie opened her mouth but found that she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t scream or even grunt. She felt clammy and started shaking. Her throat was closing up. She didn’t know what to do.
She closed her eyes and pictured Sumac, tried to think of only the good things: his smile, his hugs, how he said “shark” whenever he saw any fish. She thought of his favorite movie and how they would watch it on repeat for hours when she was too tired to do anything else and how happy that made him and he would keep looking at her and smile because he knew it was special to be doing this and she was responsible for it.
“Jackie? I need an answer.”
And it wasn’t her world anymore, she was a satellite in his world, orbiting around him. But isn’t it nice? to be part of something bigger?
(Edit, formatting)
| 2019-04-11T07:14:47 | 2019-04-11T07:06:26 | 90 | 52 |
[WP]You've kept the graveyard since you were a child. You've laid to rest many friends and foes,carving each stone with equal care, but you're old now, and you've lost much of your youthful vigour. When you're threatened by the Holy Inquisition the graveyard does not forget your kindness.
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"God's work you say?"
"I..I.." The knight retreated on his back as the skeleton advanced brandishing a sword.
"What made you think that God is here?"
"In the name of the..." Thwack! The knights head rolled on the ground blood sprouting like a fountain.
"Thanks," I said.
"Don't thank me yet, we're just getting started." Sir Ivan's skeleton said as he looked to the horizon. The ground started to shake and the dark dust cloud that raced towards us cleared to show men on horseback charging.
"It looks like I'll be joining you soon." I said.
"Not if I have anything to say about it." He lifted his hands high and the tremors intensified. Arms sprouted from the graves dragging up the remains of fallen warriors. In their hands, rusty spears and swords were held firm. There was no need for shields. After all, what would the knights do to them? Kill them?
The marched out of the graveyards and faced the oncoming men. It wasn't clear whether they were from heaven or hell but one thing was clear, they deity that sent them was definitely alive and kicking.
|
The knocks upon the door of the weathered cottage that I call home were a fair bit more urgent than those of a mourning family here to request entry for a deceased loved one. Those knocks are always shy and timid and sad, as if they fear I will infect them with Death, having spent so many years playing in his realm. I pushed myself to my feet using the carefully carved cane I had sculpted from a long bone a friend had once gifted me. "Can I help you?" I rasped as I opened the door and I felt my heart flutter and my stomach drop and the three robed men awaiting at my door with those sinister grins welcomed themselves into my humble home. I have a friend who often wears robes and whose smile can send chills down any mortal's spine but alas, none of the three were him. "I was not expecting guests," I explained as I cleared books from my table and invited them to sit.
"Nobody expects the Holy Inquisition," the one who seemed to be in charge responded and I eyed him carefully.
"Ah," I said and I leaned on my cane and then made my way to start heating a pot of water to give my guests some tea. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" I asked and sprinkled a little bit of bone dust into the water for flavor.
"Sit, please," the one in charge commanded and I obeyed. I nervously tapped out a rhythm with my cane and the robed men frowned in annoyance. "We are here to inquire as to your affinity with the dead," they said sternly and I sighed. They would not be concerned with a stablehand's affinity to horses or a blacksmith's affinity to the metal he works but here we were, sitting in my cozy stone cottage with a warm fire burning and the icy snow outside beginning to crack. I tapped my cane and frowned back at them and waited for them to continue. "We have heard reports of rituals involving the dead," the leader explained, leaning forward conspiratorially and putting a small set of bones on the table. I immediately recognized the metacarpal bones carefully carved into the likeness of the deceased that I provided each family that requested my services. Those carvings were to be cherished and kept and if worst came to worst, used to summon the spirits of the dead. But here they were, sequestered from their rightful owners and laying powerless upon my table. I wondered what had become of the families and, if I made it through this, if I would be requisitioned to help bury their bodies. I tapped my cane and knew that I would have some work to do later to replace the dirt that would be strewn about the graveyard grounds. "You know that dealing with the dead is frowned upon," the leader of the three robed figures said. "More so playing with their remains and chanting."
I had heard that they always came in threes and that one would pin the victim while the other tortured him and the leader would ask the questions. Alas, they would find themselves outnumbered if there were only three and they happened to meet Death and his four riders. I would not require such powerful help for this as my friends just outside should prove sufficient. I knew the snow would be crunching beneath their bony feet as they approached my cottage and I smiled innocently at the men of the inquisition who sat across from me. "My only dealings with the dead are what is required of me for my job," I said openly and gestured at my simply adorned home. Closer inspection would surely cause them concern as the bleached white ornaments were not made of a white wood but of bone. I heard a knock at the door and I smiled. "So many guests today," I said with a tired sigh and I politely excused myself from the table. The three men glanced at each other curiously but did not rise. "Hello, old friends," I greeted as I opened the door. The half-dozen dead that had risen from their graves responding to my plea for help would not all fit in my cottage being as I already had three guests but they would deal with the robed men outside so that the rain would wash away the blood and the creatures of the nearby forest would take away any remains.
Their faces turned pale from fear and they leaped to their feet to kill these foes but the little steel daggers they carry are harmless against the dead's bones. With the bony strength of death they pulled the men outside and I looked away as I heard the muted screams and the ugly crush of bones and flesh and then there was silence and when I opened the door, my friends were waiting patiently. I gestured at the table where I had set out six cups and served them the tea I had brewed. "Thank you, friends," I said to them and they sipped from the cups and nodded and stared around blankly, their empty eye sockets seeing more than one would think. "Send my regards to your master and I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon," I added as they filed out the door, back towards their graves.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-06-10T07:19:52 | 2019-06-10T07:05:21 | 90 | 24 |
[WP] The Wizarding World has never met someone like the speedcaster. He can summon more than 10 spells in less than 30 seconds. He says he's from another world, where there a more people like him called 'rappers'.
This prompt doesn't have to be just about the Harry Potter Universe.
|
“I’m here as a scout.” The man who calls himself Silver Chainz said.
“Scout? What are you looking for? How did you know where to find us?” The Head Wizard, Adoquor asked in astonishment, we hadn’t had an outsider intrude on our sanctum in more than 500 years, the portals had been closed. Our world has been turned into the stuff of myth and legend to humans.
Silver Chainz drew a deep breath, “You really haven’t been checking on humans? You don’t know what happened after you took the balance of power away from earth?” He stopped visibly trying to control himself. “After you left you didn’t take the magic with you, you let it roam wild and without your guidance it infected people. There was no training, there was no help for the children born.”
“So? Why should we have helped the people who hunted and tortured us?” Moziel asked, she is known to have the most hated for humans, after her grandmother was taken from their home and burned, her family was the most vocal in closing all portals. “Silver Chainz, do you know what your kind did to us?”
“All of the people who did that to you have been dead for a long time. My kind are peaceful, or more peaceful than the ones that are hunting us.” He said morosely. “I need to find a home for our children, a place they can grow and hone their skills. We need you to each them the balance. We can use magic, but the skills to harness the good and healing magic were gone with you.”
“You, who can recite spells faster than ears can listen? What do you have to be afraid of? We can send you back with knowledge, but we cannot accept humans here. Humans with abilities are still human.” Adoquor said.
“My kin, the rappers are powerful and fast but our enemy can recite double the spells in less time. Their magic is more chaotic and damaging.”
The whole tribunal stared in silence.
“They are called the Auctioneers.”
|
Magic had always been a fickle beast. Clumsy and verbose, the spells tongue-twisters that humbled even the most powerful wizards and wizardesses. Entire pages were occupied by the more complex spells, and even the slightest mispronunciation could rend it all for naught. Slow and deliberate, children were taught, and so by the time they were teens they could lift a pen with magic as quickly as one could lift a pen without magic.
Like they did in the mageless side of the Door. There, where wizards went to burn at the stake and steaks went to burn on the grill. Instead of being cooked by magic, of course. There, where the Door was, but really wasn't. Quite like a game of chess against a pigeon, or a blind man sharing a view with a non-blind man, the Door was a one-sided affair. Those mageless weren't pigeon-brained by any means, but try as they might, they just couldn't see the door.
Usually.
Similar to Santa--not that the Door was a fabrication meant to fool children into submission--the Door fed off belief. Not the kind of belief that caused the mageless to burn wizardesses at the stake, but the kind of belief that the naive and fools had--belief that magic was real.
Derek, colloquially known as Lil D, believed. Lil D, as he insisted his parents call him, even as they ate dinner and did their best to ignore his obnoxious presence, had achieved rather average marks in school. Instead of studying math or physics or something that would give him a future brighter than a burnt-out light-bulb, he had decided he would become a rapper.
"Wrap me a gift then," his father would say before bursting into laughter at his terrible joke.
And Lil D would, in his own way, in his own room. He'd rap long odes to his father who didn't love him back and he'd rap long eulogies to his brethren who hadn't died yet. He'd rap the afternoon away, and then the evening, and then late into the night, all the while hoping that his rapping would make him famous.
Alas, his subject matter was not quite mainstream. Of all the topics that Lil D could have chosen to rap about, he'd chosen to rap about magic. In some circles, he had quite the following, at least on YouTube. "You're a wizard, Lil D!" his followers would say. A wizard with words. But all he wanted to be was a real wizard. And so he chose to believe.
The Door appeared to him like a drug-induced hallucination at a time when he was almost certain he was not on drugs. He approached it, marveling at how rays of light emanated from whatever was behind. And then he stepped through, and just like that he was on the other side.
On the mageless side of the Door, the Door could be anywhere. On the other side, it only appeared in one place: in the center of the Bureau of Wizardly Travel. Usually, all who stepped through were just wizards returning from their time abroad. Sometimes it was urgent, and they'd step through dirtied or bloodied escaping from pursuers out to kill them. Other times, it was more leisurely, and they'd hop on through like a bunny hopping through a field of lettuce.
That was how Lil D stepped through. Casually, and in utter confusion, and raising a hand to his eyes so that they could adjust to the blinding fluorescent bulbs.
"Welcome," the wizards of the Bureau said, peering at him over their bifocals as they labored away at piles of paperwork. "Who may you be?"
Lil D looked at them like a cow caught in the headlight of an oncoming train. But instead of moving off the tracks and backing out the way he'd entered, Lil D did what he thought he did best. He stood there and rapped.
"My name is Lil D, yeah, that's what they call me. I seem to have arrived rather magically. If you could do me a solid, that wouldn't be squalid, tell me what's up and only then I'll shut up."
Quick as a sneeze he spoke, and the bifocaled employees of the Bureau looked at each other in awe. They'd never seen such articulation. Such poise. Such grace under their gazes.
"You lookin' my way like I'm nuts, and I don't want to hear no ifs or buts. You better tell me what's up before I kick some butt." As if he could, scrawny as he was. Still, he brimmed with confidence. And, on this side of the Door where they spoke so slowly, his confidence was well-placed.
"Yes, yes," the Director said. He was a heavyset man with plump cheeks and a balding head. The spell for growing hair back would have taken ages to say. But then there was this kid, with his tongue nimble as a sewer's thimble. He'd have hair again. His wife would look his way again. He'd be plump and hairy again. "Here," the Director said, thrusting a book into Lil D's hands.
Lil D looked down at the book, trying to make sense of the words. His arms sagged beneath the weight. He struggled, as he'd never been one for lifting or reading.
"This spell here," the Director said, pointing at a spell that started on page 742 and ended on 746.
"Reading? Not while I'm breathing. Screw it, I'm out, like a baby's teeth teething." And with that, Lil D was gone, and the wizards and wizardesses of the Bureau looked at each other in disappointment, wishing one of them could speak so quickly.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-01-29T07:35:22 | 2020-01-29T05:39:45 | 485 | 143 |
[WP] After being possessed, you jokingly tell the demon that if it really wants to stay it’ll have to pay rent. The next morning you wake up to find a pile of cash on your nightstand.
|
"You know, possession isn't that bad." I sigh and take a sip of my "Dirty Bean Water" coffee. I work from home programming stuff for whatever company I'm in the mood for. I have an excellent track record.
But I shouldn't take all the credit. Most of it's becuase the demoness dragon sleeping on the couch can work magic(sometimes literally) when I need it. It's a good system. She gets to possess me every other day during weekdays and on the weekends I get to do what I want.
The demonic being in question is Kat, due to a mistranslation of ĶHHYĂÜȚ.
I turn on my Xbox only to see that I can't find the controller. I look around only to find it deep in the iron grip of a sleeping demoness.
I shake Kat's head in mild anger.
"Kaaaat I need the controller."
She responds with a less-then-half conscious "Nooo I need to finish Afterparty..."
Even more mildly angry I remember that there's only one surefire way to bring her to the mortal reality.
I bust out the eggo waffles.
The smell of them toasting wakes her up so fast she bumps into everything on the way to the kitchen.
I get a enthusiastic "Are they ready?"
I walk over to the couch and grab the controller. "Soon!"
Kat thinks, then remembers that she didn't let the controller go while asleep. A slight wave of embarrassment crosses her face.
"I was really into Afterparty last night, I guess I didn't realize that I was falling Asleep."
The toaster pops up right as I sit down.
"Uh, are you gonna make waffles?"
"Are you?"
"Whaaat? I don't wanna make them."
"Awww, little Kat can't make waffles?"
"I swear if you don't make them I'll just necromancy them!"
"And what? Lose that golden waffle taste?"
I hear a groan of defeat as Kat gets up to make waffles.
"I'm not making any for you."
"You grabbed two plates, didn't you?"
Silence ensues.
We eat waffles while watching Jollywancore.
After, I get up to throw away my plate and by the time I turn back around She's playing Afterparty.
"Snooze you loose."
Alright, she's one to talk.
I sit down at my PC to play minecraft dd&ss and think about how weird a normal life seems.
As much as me and Kat bicker I don't think I could imagine waking up and not seeing her.
I can't image life without...
...My demoness friend.
__
Hi, I'm Sean. I'm 15 now and I like to write stories about dragons and all in all this one's pretty weird, Idk if I like the style. Inspired by Satina.
|
'Lily, you don't have to pay me, it was just a joke. I was joking,' I told her, looking straight into her eyes. Her 12 flaming red eyes residing atop her head, and behind her head, and to the sides of her head, and also under her abdomen. I think some of them were looking at me. And some of them were looking at the floor. And some of them were looking at the desk drawer, where she had put down the immensely large pile of cash. It looked like ~~several wads~~ a wad of 100 dollar bills, that could easily have come to 10 000 dollars. I didn't count it, but I was tempted to.
'You don't have to pay me, to love you. Let's work on building our relationship,' I affirmed her.
Lily frowned. Which was quite something to behold, because it involved the simultaneous cascading of multiple sets of mandibles by the sides of what I think was her oral orifice, which extended from the top of her head, down to somewhere under her neck.
'I don't have to pay you to stay here?' she replied. Psychically, of course. Because there no sensible sound can come out of those feral vocal organs apart from bestial crackling and choking noises.
I answered her psychically. 'Yes,' I said, staring at her intently, without moving my mouth. 'Lets make this a relationship of mutual trust.'
The next day, there she was in the kitchen, making me bacon and eggs for breakfast. That was more like it! The ~~pile~~ wad of cash had somehow spontaneously combusted, leaving a charred crater on one side of my drawer. I decided to let it slide. One step at a time.
And the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. All my favourite foods! Bacon and eggs, and sausages, and omelette, and she even started making chilli eggs, and my favourite porridge, that my Mum used to make for me as a kid. I wonder how she figured out how to do that, since it was a secret family recipe?
Lily was everything I had ever dreamed she would be, apart from the 8 appendages, and diabolical demeanour, which left us alone on the street, every time we took a walk outside together. She was always there waiting for me when I got home, and she had even put up a Facebook page just for me, praising me everyday, and boasting about our special relationship to the world, which to be honest, did make me a little bit uneasy, but it was really very endearing.
'Jonathan fixed the oven today! He is SUCH a man of the house,' she would post, along with a picture of me with half of my torso in the oven, trying to reach the filament at the back.
'Jonathan sent me a bouquet of roses while he was at work today! He is SO romantic,' she had posted. That one had gotten more than 100 likes, mostly from her friends in the 7th circle of hell, who posted mainly encouraging replies, although there were one or two replies that made me do a double-take, because it involved questioning my love for her.
'Oh, but does he REALLY love you? Can humans really love at all? All they care about is themselves. He just wants to use you as his 'source' of validation and to stroke his own ego. After he gets bored with you, he's going to discard you without warning. Don't say I didn't warn you.'
I blinked when I read that message. It seemed to have come from a 'LORD-OF-THE-UNDERWORLD-3625', and her Facebook page was full of kittens, cat-memes and 'Hello-kitty', but she had also posted several ugly messages and photos of her own ex-boyfriend whom she had apparently broken up with, but not quite, because they were still 'friends with benefits'.
I blocked her straight away. I guess it's hard having a healthy relationship, being a denizen of the underworld, and knowing only torment and the destruction of all that is good and holy. Perhaps she was jealous of me and Lily. I didn't blame her. No hard feelings.
The next day, I found another large pile of cash on my dressing table. I had just come out of the shower, and had a towel around my head, and I was dripping wet, and trying to find my slippers. I halted before the dressing table. Then I looked around. Lily came out of the shadows, from behind me.
'I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you,' she said. She had SAID it, this time, through some creative gymnastics of her vocal chords, which resembled the sound of someone running a thumbnail along a comb, but with VOWELS.
'Not bad, I thought. Maybe with just a little bit of practice, she can start to sound like the echoes of human voices you sometimes imagine that you hear in the white crackling noises of an old record player. We're making progress here.'
I stared at the wad of cash. I stood there for a long time, feeling her ominous presence behind me. But I trusted her. I knew she wouldn't impale me without warning on one of those numerous mandibles she had extruding from her numerous mandibles.
She waited suspensefully, breath held.
'You know what?' I said.
She rattled.
'I accept. But just ...'
I didn't have time to finish my sentence. I was going to say 'But just this time,' but suddenly the world went black, and there seemed to be what looked like an oversized crab claw protruding from my abdomen. Had I been impaled? Or was it coming out of me? I wasn't sure. I looked down at it in awe, and wondered why I was still alive. And then I think -pain? But I passed out. And darkness. Darkness for the longest time, and what seemed like half-formed animal thoughts. Were they my own? Survival. All I could think of was survival. And FOOD. Oh how much I needed FOOD. But ... not just any food. I needed ESSENCE I needed ... A SOURCE.
So onto Facebook, I went, until I found an attractive-looking girl, who looked like she may be kind-hearted, and might turn out to love me.
As for Lily, I'm not sure where she went. I can't remember, it's all so vague now. Something about ... about me being not the person she thought I was? That she needed to have some space from me, for a while, to recover from the trauma of the cycle of abuse? Whatever that meant. It's all in half-formed echoes and images. But Rose. Rose looked like she could love me. I sent her a private message, then I pressed 'send.'
--
Edit: wad of cash
| 2020-04-25T22:20:10 | 2020-04-25T19:40:09 | 53 | 21 |
[WP] Every night for the past 7 months at exactly 8:36 p.m. you would get a text from an unknown number that would tell you to do something small, like move table 3 in. to the right or remove 2 tissues from the box and throw them away. Tonight you learned why.
|
Convergence.
Have you every heard of parallel universes? Of course, everyone knows about them. Oh, it's where super heroes come from, or get the infinity stones from, or when a butterfly flaps it's wings and a new universe is created from the chaos, or there's only 300 of you and if you kill all but one you become a god or something like that. That's how it goes right? Wrong.
It started with a text from myself. My phone buzzed at exactly 8:36pm and all it said was "Stand up." I did, reflexively, but then came to my senses. Checking the number it came from revealed it was my own, but that didn't make any sense. I replied, "Who is this? Is this dan?", and hit send. "Who is this? Is this dan?" appeared on my phone, a text from me to me, which is what I expected, but the lone message without a twin was a mystery. Did someone hack the telephone network, spoof a text? Was it a fake? I didn't know really.
What I didn't know, is that sometimes the barriers thin when the gravity aligns.
The next night, "Turn on channel 7." I refused, but then, curiosity took over. It was Avengers End Game. Okay, so I have good taste in movies apparently. The next night, "Move your table 2 inches to the left." Okay, this one was a bit more specific, but what he hey. It started to become a game. Put two tissues in the bin. Eat the bacon carbonara for dinner. Hang my blue towel on the left hand side of the towel rail and return it there each morning.
I told my best friend about it, but he thought it was a prank, and honestly so did I. I pretty much kept playing along, because it was starting to become funny. I was actually looking forward to seeing what weird stuff I would send myself.
Then I didn't get a text. My heart sunk. 5 minutes later, still nothing. The silence in my room was overwhelming. I was lying on my bed, at 8:36pm on a friday night. I could have gone out, but instead I was at home waiting for a text from myself telling me to do something stupid. I sighed and stood up, and that's when I noticed.
I looked out the window, and the street light threw familiar shadows onto the wall, as it did every night. I could also see a second street light, that shouldn't exist, a dozen yards to the left,throwing strange and new shadows onto the other wall. I crept closer to the window and peered out. I could see my white car below the light, painted my favorite colour: red. The recently repainted white fence was an old and faded grey, peeling in places while gleaming pearl in the overhead light.
I quickly dash out of my room, unlocking my already open door as I sped down the corridor. I quickly raced down the stairs, solid as the day they were built with worn holes where the decay has set in. Polished steps clashed in my vision with faded planks of wood, hastily replaced. I hit the carpet below and almost skidded on the tiles. I both blinked and didn't blink as I ran, it didn't help. Through the front door, then down the paved gravel path, I reach my red white car and jump in. I put the manual automatic transmission in reverse, drop the non-existent clutch and escape out into the night.
At least the roads were fairly much the same, but dodging the potholes is hard when they only sometimes exist. I remember walking home from school down this road, kicking at loose rocks, but also riding my bike at the same time, making sure I stay out of sight of the soldiers. What soldiers? There weren't any soldiers in my city, but there were, I remember them.
I turn left onto a familiar road, an untold urge guiding me. The wheels of my car crunch on the gravel of the unfinished road, while smooth asphalts rolls underneath. Another right and I'm on the road path that leads to my school base. Base? School? I can't tell which, just yet. Then as my car passes around the bend between the trees I see it. The large brick building, exactly as I remember, an ordinary 3 story school with huge concrete walls topped with barbed wire and searchlights and a welcoming friendly banner with heavily armed guards stationed on either side of the big metal gate which is barely more than a rope in front of the teacher's car park where the tanks are stationed.
I slam my foot on the brake and the car screeches and grinds to a halt.
"What the hell is going on?" I yell into my own head. I give the heavy question the much required pause.
I reply to myself, "Let me tell you about convergence, and why I melded with you to save us."
|
*"Do you believe in Fate?"*
A small door had opened, affixed to the once-empty guest room. As if I was in a dream, I entered through it, finding myself in a place which I couldn't describe, not even fit for my wildest fantasies.
For seven months I had been on the trail of a mysterious phenomena, one I had found was being referred to as the *Butterfly Prognostication*. A reported series of incidents involving messages from an untraceable number at exactly 8:36 PM on a given day. My interest had been piqued from the get-go, but I was skeptical of the existence of such an odd theory. My skepticism faded as I tried it from the comfort of my own home.
I used a spare phone, stood in one room, waited for the time. *8:34, 8:35, 8:36.*
*Move dining table 3 inches to the right*.
My excitement was palpable. It had worked-- I tried answering the text to no avail. The number was unknown. I tried a call, and it went unanswered as well. I went through with the instructions-- I was told that it was key to keep the "contract" moving. I was told that it was imperative that I continue to follow the instructions if I wanted to find out the secret behind the Butterfly Prognostication.
So by the time I had entered that door, I had spent seven months performing the insignificant, often miniscule tasks ordered. Things that bore no relevance to anything, let alone the supposed "exercise of fate" that my initial contact had spoke of. Seven months, hoping for a payout-- solving a riddle that I had been incessantly journaling. I'd compiled everything into a supreme *magnum opus* of my webjournaling career-- and I was itching to find the perfect conclusion.
At 8:36 that day I had received a set of instructions.
*Go the the guest room*.
I obliged-- and found the door. Just as tall as I was, etched into the once blank wall, pink and blue-hued mist swirling around the corners. I opened it with a tentative hand-- I wasn't really sure whether I was dreaming or not. But it was strangely comforting, rather than being unnerving as one would expect. Besides, as I had noted in my writing-- I felt compelled in some way to go through with solving the mystery. Compelled to find out what was behind the strange "game" with no winners and no losers. My initial contact had told me that he made a mistake of some kind, thus ending the game. His phone had lost any history of the contact, and he had made sure to never mention it to anyone but me, out of what he recognized wasn't entirely his own free will.
"Hello?" I called, in bewilderment. "Anyone in here?"
Of course, there wasn't anyone in there. It was just a passageway that seemed to stretch out for miles, but ended deceivingly fast with the appearance of a tiny house, no more than the size of an individual room, crammed into a mist-filled glade. The passageway loomed behind me, but I had no drive to go back. Something intangible was guiding my hand, leading me to the secrets I craved.
Out of the house came a well-dressed man. Nicely tailored suit brimming red, vibrant bowtie, sleek black boots. He moved quietly for a man of his size, and as he approached me it was as if he was larger than the house itself.
"Do you believe in Fate?" he asked, giving me a genuine smile. "No need to answer immediately, take your time."
"Well," I searched for an answer, still feeling as if I would awake at any given moment. "Well, until a few weeks ago, no. But then I thought to myself-- why would I be doing stupid shit like moving napkins if something wasn't *guiding* me?"
"Clever, you willingly know you had no choice but to finish the Butterfly Prognostication once you started," he applauded. "You are not moving and thinking of your own free will."
"Or Fate, in other words," I agreed. What he was saying made sense. I felt led, rather than free. Something was controlling me, but not through violent and coercive means. "An exercise in Fate, right?"
"No, this is something different entirely. A game, so to speak, spread by the words of others through the free will they believe they possess. It is game that is developed by creatures of a *higher intelligence*. Creatures that control but do not coerce. Creatures that rule but are destined to stay imprisoned," he explained walking around me. "When you began the Butterfly you answered the rumor based off of your own curiosity, but somewhere your Fate took over."
"So, I was led here by my Fate?" I asked, dubiously. "It was my job that led me here. I'm a journalist. Something like this is right up my alley for a casual investigation."
"No. See, I asked you if you believed in Fate, and you said that your mind had been changed by this game of ours," the man reiterated. "But in actuality, you were simply one of many, guided here by your Fate. Your destiny is to serve as a test subject, and thus you were given the rumor by a contact who also happened to align in your destiny."
"First of all, who the fuck are you?" I asked, shaking my head. "We've been talking about destiny and fate and bullshit but I don't even know who you are."
He turned around, his features sharpened by the changing ambiance, the house gradually shifting into a throne bolstered by marble and alabaster. Spires jutted out, rising into the air like small mountains. The mist had cleared, revealing a horizon of blackened dunes of sand.
"Pardon me, my manners have been subpar lately," he apologized, bowing deeply. "My name is Balam. To put it in words you'd comprehend, I am a member of the group of demons that controls the realm of Satan and uses humans to return to our position as the the ones among God."
I sighed, sitting down on the sandy rock and looking up at my erstwhile companion. *Balam-- a Lord of Satan*. It ran chills up my spine. I had the feeling that the hand leading me had enclosed its fist and was holding onto me as tight as it could.
"What I'm saying," Balam continued. "Is that Fate brought you the rumor. But the entity that led you to finish the game was not Fate nor your curiosity, but the demon Asmodeus, who craves a host. But, as we sought to finally possess you tonight, our efforts failed. Normally, those who *win* the game are possessed, as they are easily manipulable. Instead, we brought you here, to see if *it* is happening."
"It?" I asked. Somehow, I already knew the answer. I felt different, as if I wasn't myself anymore. I felt wizened, able to comprehend something powerful and unearthly. It didn't shake me that I was in the presence of a legion of demons that had been manipulating humanity for centuries. On the contrary, the intensity, the sheer power, aroused my deepest satisfaction. "What," I continued. "Do you mean by that?"
"Look at you!" Balam exclaimed, eyes widening. "You already know, don't you? The Fate that has guided you here, has, in our presence, worked against us to transform you into your ancestral angel. You are transforming, before our very eyes, into the angel Raphael. Can't you see? You are descendant of that angel! Of all the luck we could have encountered today."
He frowned, shaking his head intensely. "No, I cannot have this. I'll have to make you *lose*, so you spread the rumor to another person. I can't have you debunk the rumor. No, I'll have you spread it further."
"Fine by me," I laughed. "You'll never be free, not any of you. Your weakness is my strength."
"Enough. You've been protected today, but we'll find another suitable host," Balam snarled, waving his arm. "Begone! O descendant of the defender of God, Begone!"
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You ever heard of the *Butterfly Prognostication*?" I asked, eyeing the menu carefully. "Oh, I think I could go for the carbonara."
"Wait, wait, hold up," she announced, sliding her drink around the coaster. "The *what*?"
"It's this strange rumor I've heard-- you should try it," I responded. "I'll explain how it works."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
| 2020-07-06T02:03:47 | 2020-07-05T23:22:28 | 231 | 82 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
|
A note, found written on a corpse, in the rain:
> Once you have super heroes and super villains, you no longer really have the rule of law.
> Once you no longer have the rule of law, the line between hero and villain can be a very thin one.
> And if you go after the family of one hero, you'll do it again if you get away with it.
> And who, having put on the mask, having dedicated to a life of violence, having risked that life again and again for the people, wouldn't do everything they could to protect those they love?
> Here lies the mortal remains of someone who forgot this rule. May his name be forever forgotten.
> - The League of Heroes.
|
"Pyro, local anti-hero, Got a gimp brother by the name of Harry."
"Wait, you're not really going after family, are you?" The henchman asked his boss. "I mean, no offense, but not even Quantum went after Pyros family." The henchmen continued. "And Quantum can pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants."
"It just means Quantum isn't thinking big enough." Electron said with a smile as he donned his suit. "When you strike where your enemy is vulnerable, You'll give yourself a massive advantage." At this point, the Henchmen knew there would be nothing he could to talk down his employer from committing to his plan of action, he would most likely have to shop around for another contract, again.
"God help him." The henchmen muttered as he watched his employer walk out of the laboratory.
===
"Hello Electron." The villain woke, and immediately looked around him. His heart was racing, as he pulled against the ropes that tied him down to the chair.
As he struggled, trying to say anything through the bandanna stuffed in his mouth, Pyro continued to speak. "Don't bother." He looked up at the other end of the table, and saw a silenced 1911 pointed straight at his face. "Former Navy." Pyro said, slowly taking off his dark red mask with a slight grin. "Chief made sure to ingrain that shit into our heads."
Electron looked around in horror as he noticed his parents were also tied down to chairs, sitting alongside him.
"Now. You've done some really fucked up shit." Pyro said, as he set the pistol down and stretched his arms out. "And coming from me, you should normally take that as a compliment. BUT, this isn't normal.
"I mean, I have you and your family tied up, and at gunpoint." Pyro grinned. "Aint exactly normal is it?"
"See, you crossed a line." Pyro continued. "A line, which even insane motherfuckers like me, don't anywhere near. Because doing so risks a response like this." The Anti-hero said as he pulled out his phone, and set it on the table. He pressed a button, and a voice played out.
"Pyro, local anti-hero, Got a gimp brother by the name of Harry." Electrons' voice rang out from the phone. He froze, and his blood ran cold as he realized why exactly he was tied down to a chair.
"Nothing fucks with my family." Pyro simply said as he aimed his pistol at Electron's mother.
It was then that he realized why you never went after family.
'Lines don't exist when family is present.' He thought as his parent's corpses slackened in their chairs, and Pyro turned the barrel of his pistol towards him.
===
Pyro picked up his phone and holstered his pistol as he dialed a number, sparing a passing glimpse at the three corpses across the table.
"Report?" The voice on the other line asked.
"Job completed, he won't be a problem anymore." Pyro replied before hanging up the call and pocketing his phone.
He made a promise that nothing would fuck with him or his family anymore. They already did so once, and he couldn't make them pay. Now they try again, and he had more than enough power to fight back? He would have been stupid not to kill Electron.
*Still though...*
As Pyro stood up and walked out of the house, he pulled out his phone once more and dialed another number.
"James?" The voice on the other end of the line said. "You don't normally call, whats up?"
"Eh, nothing, just... just wanted to make sure you were alright."
"I'm fine... it's pretty late though, shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I could say the same thing to you." Pyro said.
"That... true." The voice on the other end of the line said. "Anyways, how come you really called?"
"Honestly, I just wanted to make sure you're alright." Pyro explained as he sat down in his car and turned the engine over.
"...I'm fine." The voice said. "You sound tired."
"I'll live."
"...take care, James."
"You too, Harry." Pyro said before hanging up the call. He flipped the sun visor down and withdrew a small photo of him, his brother, and their parents. He'd forgotten long ago when the picture was taken, but he'd never forget how his parents were taken from him.
*Nothing will ever fuck with my family again.*
----
Hate what you see? you can find more at /r/AluWrites
| 2020-07-12T08:32:41 | 2020-07-12T07:09:26 | 2,705 | 926 |
[WP] You, a newly-turned vampire, are thrilled to discover that you CAN eat garlic, walk in sunlight, and see yourself in mirrors, all while being immortal. You are much less thrilled to discover the one major drawback that none of the legends ever got right.
|
To be honest, I really didn't expect to wake up as a gods-damned vampire after a foggy Friday night of partying my nose off.
Waking up in the sunlight, I immediately noticed that the sun streaming through my bedroom window was only as irritating as it would have been after a regular hangover.
*Hmm.*
The next few months were a rollercoaster ride that just kept going up and up as I discovered I could eat garlic, see myself in mirrors (I actually **wanted** to look at myself in the mirror now, heh) and the fact that I was functionally immortal. Could I feel pain? Sure. But you get used to extreme pain after a while. Knowing that you never die helps with that.
Then came March, while I was filling in my 1040DCLA.
I mean, I had heard of a 1040A, and even a 1040EZ, but DCLA?
Turns out that the price of immortality is an extra 20% "Vampiric" tax on all income above $18,970.
Dracula wasn't '*killed*' for draining blood, he was taken out by Bureau of Internal Revenue agents who determined he wasn't paying his fair share of taxes.
Abraham Van Helsing? BIR Special Agent-in-Charge.
Don't mess with the IRS.
|
When I saw that the wounds on my neck had become small white scars, my heart skipped a beat.
*Please let it be true, please let it be true...* I begged, as I bared my teeth.
The elongated points of my canines proved my hypothesis right: I had become a vampire.
For an eleven-year-old boy, this was a total dream come true.
"MUUUUUUUM!" I yelled, smiling widely to admire my very sharp canines.
"What?" I heard her yell from another room.
"I'M A VAMPIRE!" I bellowed, and snapped my jaws a couple of times. The canines clicked together, and I nearly passed out from the coolness.
"What?" she yelled, and in a few moments, she poked her head into the toilet.
"I'm a vampire! Look at my teeth!" I proclaimed proudly, displaying them.
She ignored them, and instead looked in horror at my pyjamas.
*Mothers.*
"Haven't you changed yet? We're going to be late!"
"Mum," I said impatiently and importantly, "I'm a vampire now. I can't go outdoors during the day. So I guess I'll just have to stay home and play some games on my Switch, right?"
Her lips went into a very thin line, which was always followed by one of the children in our house getting our ass whooped. "Carson, we don't have time for this. Get your hair gelled, and put on that shirt and pants right now."
"But I'm a *vampire*," I insisted, about to tell her about how I got attacked by what I'd thought was a homeless person on my way home from my best friend's house in the wee hours of the morning, after a night of Pokemon. But then I remembered that I'd sneaked out of the house to begin with, and so clamped my mouth shut again.
"If you're a vampire," said my mother, arms akimbo, "then tell me why you have a reflection."
"I - " I blinked, and then looked at the mirror. My stupefied face stared back. "Er-"
"And tell me why the sunlight hasn't blistered your skin or reduced you to smoke," she went on, ferociously pointing towards the skylight, from which golden sunrays poured in, bathing my entire being and doing absolutely nothing but throwing my features into sharp relief.
My mouth opened, but no explanation came to mind.
"And lastly, Carson, you ate garlic toast for breakfast," she said testily. "*Garlic* toast. Please enlighten me, Carson, since when were vampires able to eat *garlic*?"
I gaped at her wordlessly, and she reached forward and gave my ear a sharp tweak.
"That's right, since *never*. So go and get changed, or I'll promise you that the Switch is going to be put under lock and key and you won't be seeing it again for the next month."
And she snapped the bathroom door shut.
I stared in consternstion at the door, and then back in the mirror at the now-healed injuries on my neck. They had definitely been deep gouges when I'd examined them last night; the sort that would take weeks to heal. And yet they were gone.
Something wasn't adding up.
I grabbed Dad's razor from the shelf and, heart banging against my ribs, gave myself a shallow cut. A bead of blood, almost black, oozed out, but even as it rolled down, the cut neatly sealed itself shut, and in its place was a tiny scab. Even as I goggled at it, the scab peeled off to reveal a scar.
There was no doubt about it. I *was* changed. Maybe not a full-out vampire yet, but perhaps I was on my way?
I cautiously put my tongue to the drop of blood, and then made a face. It wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
But there was one last, most important thing left to try.
I barged out of the bathroom, nearly running into my mother ("*Carson!* Why haven't you changed?!"), and charged straight for the silver crucifix we displayed in our hall. Swallowing hard, I lifted a trembling hand towards it.
*Please, please, please.*
My fingers brushed past it.
I felt nothing.
"*Carson!*" hollered Mum from the doorway, and, startled, my hand bumped into the cross, causing it to fall. Instinctively, I reached out to catch it, and then winced, expecting a searing pain in my hand.
But there was only the coolness of the silver against my flesh.
And then my mother strode forward, snatching the cross from me, and I uncurled my fist to see a perfectly unscathed palm.
My shoulders slumped then. The legends got so many things wrong, but it seemed especially cruel and unusual that the inability to touch holy objects, too, they got wrong.
And as my legitimate reason to stay home on Sundays and play Pokemon went up in smoke - the way *I* should have done in sunlight - I dragged my feet towards the bathroom and got changed for Mass.
| 2020-10-06T06:33:12 | 2020-10-06T04:11:46 | 768 | 223 |
[WP] There is more than just the Grim Reaper- there is the Sorrowful Reaper, the Envious Reaper, so on and so forth- one for each emotion. Each one reaps a death based on the emotions behind the death. You were chosen to take over one of the Reaper roles... Welcome to day one as the Puzzled Reaper.
|
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello,” I replied.
“Who are you?”
Not this again. For some silly little reason, humans had convinced themselves that there was only the Grim Reaper. Of course most people who die aren’t too happy about it, so Greg does get the most work. Still, I get a fair share of the load too, many people who die don't exactly plan on doing so, but Corporate decided I shouldn't get anywhere close to the benefits. On top of a drastically higher salary, Greg has a healthcare plan and vacation days. Unbelievable.
I rub my temples, trying to ease my headache. “I’m a reaper.”
“What’s that?”
“My job is to collect your soul. I therefore regret to inform you, you are dead.”
“Oh. Like grandma?”
“Yes. Exactly like grandma. Do you know how you died?”
Another issue of being the Puzzled Reaper. No one I reap ever has a concise answer on how they kicked the bucket. I don’t have all day to question the recently dead, damnit! Even Reapers have a life outside of their job.
“Huh? I dunno...”
Right. Of course she doesn’t. Why would she? There go my weekend plans.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I think, I think I was with mommy and daddy, at home. I remember… I remember Pluto was barking a lot. Daddy put Pluto outside because he was too loud.” She frowned and played with her blonde plait. "I felt really sick. I felt dizzy, like when I go on the teacup ride at the carnival. I think I threw up on daddy. There were chunks in it!"
Ew. Not the worst I've heard, but still, vomit is not my preferred area of discussion.
“You’re doing great. What happened next?”
“Then mommy put me in my Star Wars pyjamas. I wanted to hear a bedtime story, really bad, but mommy said it was too late and I was too sick... But she said I can hear it tomorrow if I wash earlier!” Her excitement would have been endearing if I hadn’t heard the same depressing death stories thousands of times. “And then... I-I can’t remember. I think, I think I woke up here?”
Ah. Perfect. Underlying illness causing a quiet, pain-free death during sleep. In accordance with the Training Manual, I should forward the soul to the Body Division and see if this is, in fact, the correct cause of death. But I really can’t be bothered. Simple deaths with no gruesome gory details, means no extra forms to fill.
I scribbled in a short explanation of her death and stamped the report, which immediately dematerialised taking the girl along with it. Only a couple more souls, and I’ll be free. I wouldn't have to cancel on Barbara after all!
The next reaped soul appeared before me. A woman, in her 30s with medium built with shoulder-length blonde hair.
“Hello. I regret to inform you, you are dead.”
|
Curiosity killed the cat, a saying one has heard countless times in life. I never thought it would be quite so literal. But here I was in a hospital bed, people moving around me in a monotone black and white. The only thing that had color was the half of me, appearing outside my body and the woman.
“Hello, Jakob” she said, her voice oddly soothing and smooth. The pause between the greeting and name sounding ominous but reassuring.
“Who, who are you?” I asked in shock, looking around frantically. Nothing about the situation made sense.
“I am, a Grim Reaper, of sorts.” She calmly enunciated, every word flowing from her dark lips like a lover giving kisses to tease.
My eyes snapped to her and the dark long hair or what I thought was hair was not hair, I could not even see any other features on her but her smooth pale skin and dark lips. She was wearing what I can only described as mourning clothes with a mourning veil covering the upper portions of her face and flowing far down her black dress.
“How, why? What’s going on?” I managed to get through, nothing made any sense. Why am I dead? I thought, going through my memory.
As I thought about it, it only gave me a headache as it was all so foggy or maybe hazy is a better word. Like waking up with the worst hangover ever. She had probably seen something on me as I tried to recall.
“Do not, think about it. You will, not remember. Death is, a curious thing, do you, not agree?” She said, her voice enchanting. All I could think about right now is wanting to kiss those lips that could allow such beautiful sound to leave. For some reason she smiled and I guess now in hindsight she had planned for this.
“I, will, make you, a deal.” She started oh dear lord those lips, I wondered what they tasted like. “I will, tell you, about, your death. If, you willingly, kiss me, do know, it is not, a deal easily broken, for you, will be death.” I could not think straight at all, she had said she’d tell me of my death if I willingly kissed her, that’s all I heard and I quickly leaned forwards and kissed those luscious lips.
They were death, cold, lifeless unnatural. I tried to break from the kiss but it was like I was frozen solid, rigor mortis through my entire being. It felt like an eternity was passing by but eventually I managed to blink and was sitting back in the hospital bed above my cold corpse. I look over at the woman again and now I see her for what she is, where was once was luscious lips was nothing but bone, I could now see her skeletal features through her veil.
“Why, thank you, Jakob. You, have freed me, taking my curse. As was our deal, you died from curiosity.” For each sentence her strange way of speaking faded and ragged, raspy sounding sentences started to form. Like she hadn’t been capable of speaking properly in forever.
“What do you mean, curiosity killed me?” I said, my words catching in my throat as a cold chill settled through me. Each spoken word draining me.
“Your wife, you were curious, if she was cheating on you. You followed her, but died in a collision, an automotive accident.” Her words pierced my memory and I remembered. My wife she had been acting differently for a while, more distant, cold towards me. I remembered her being away longer after work, coming home later for each passing day.
“Was, she?” I had to know if curiosity had killed me I wanted to know the answer at least
“I cannot answer that, for it is not for me nor you too know. You have new duties, taking my place to reap the souls of those who die a puzzling death be it through curiosity resulting in their death or by unknown means. You are to explain the circumstances to their death so they can move on, I will not lie though most will refute you and come to haunt those they knew in search of answers. As such you will cast them into oblivion.” Her voice was now normal and I could feel myself grasping for what I’d imagine was breath but nothing came, the chill settling inside my bones, every small movement chilling and creaking as if I had not moved in forever.
“I am, a reaper now?” I struggled to form words, the weird pausing she had when first meeting was now part of me. “How, will, I know, what, to do?”
She smiled once more and I saw that her bones had started to fall apart to ash.
“You will know Jakob, that chill you feel, will only grow colder when you do things against your new nature” she said as a final farewell as her body, face and even clothes fell away to ash.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“Yo, what the hell is going on?” the new soul said sounding surprised, a mixed heritage man. Interesting, he was tall and muscular.
“Hello, Travis, you are, dead.” I said, each word chilling me to the core, I wasn’t really supposed to speak I think, which made no sense if I was to guide them on. I could see looking at him what had happen, like a flashback of memories.
“How the hell am I dead and who the fuck are you?” he spoke, surprise making way for anger and frustration. I saw why he had died, poisoned by his wife, my wife for abusing her, he had not known she was done with him or her resentment. I had no feelings anymore; the chill of death had taken those away but yet I cracked a slight smile.
“I am, a reaper, of sorts. I, do not, know, what killed you. You, have, choices. You, can, accept and, move on, or, you can, look for, an answer” each word was paining me, the chill growing deeper into my bones, it was torture but I wanted this, I wanted him to haunt her only for me to take him to oblivion after. Revenge is a dish best served cold and curiosity will kill the cat.
\-------------------------------
What does a puzzled death mean? I was trying to figure that out, is it unknown? Is it the result of something else? Settled with unanswered questions and unknown causes of death. Mostly because the phrase "Curiosity killed the cat" just felt right with this.
| 2020-10-12T02:12:54 | 2020-10-12T00:58:07 | 36 | 24 |
[WP] You're an enchanted suit of armor, empty on the inside. After gaining sentience you left the haunted keep you were stored in and began adventuring. As you gain notoriety as an adventurer and make friends and connections, it gets harder to keep it a secret that there's nothing behind your visor.
|
“Galade, why don’t you ever take that armor off?” said my companion.
“Makes me feel comf’rble,” I replied, tersely.
“All that metal can’t be comfortable, friend. Come, when’s the last time you took that off?” he said as he reached for the sides of my helmet. I grabbed his hands, which seemed to surprise him.
“It’s quite comf’rting, knowing that any weapon an en’my might bring to bear’ll do me next to no ‘arm when it strikes,” I responded, as I had many times to the same inquiry from others.
Valden’s expression soured. “But it’s just the two of us here. Do you not trust me? Gods above, Galade, I don’t even know what you look like.”
I hadn’t the guts literally or figuratively to tell him then and there that this was all there was to see, but he persisted in reaching for my… well, I suppose “face” isn’t the wrong word, so I felt some reassurance or explanation was in order. What could I say, though? This friend of mine must have been acting under the assumption that I was like him, alive and full of warmth and compassion, but alas, I am just this metal shell imbued with a hollow semblance of life…
“Galade. Please.”
I wanted so completely to tell him the truth in that moment. Yet it was as if some barrier existed that prevented the words from issuing forth. What would he think? What would he say? Surely, he would want me destroyed for the abomination I am, but if I deny him now, he will only persist in his prying. Perhaps I am only delaying the inevitable.
I let go of his hands, accepting of my fate.
As my visor lifted, he looked surprised, then confused, then perhaps a little angry, as he searched the empty helmet for a face.
“That’s… all ‘ere is, my friend,” I said, arms outstretched, waiting for the inevitable accusatory finger-point and shouting about Gods and the natural and unnatural and so on. He was indignant for certain, but not quite in the way I expected.
“You’re… what, you’re an animated armor?”
“…yes.”
“What, and you weren’t going to tell me as such? I was worried, Galade! You know it’s pretty obvious you don’t sleep and don’t eat properly, I thought you would collapse any minute if you didn’t get some proper rest! Oh, that’s a relief. Dear Gods.”
This was… a strange feeling. Relief? Happiness? I didn’t know how I was… supposed to feel, but nonetheless I managed to inquire, “You’re not… mad? Afraid?”
He replied, “Well, no, I could never stay mad at you. I didn’t know animated things like you could be so… human. It’s certainly weird, but… many things in life are weirder than *this.*” He gestured to my shell as he spoke. “Honestly, friend, I’m quite impressed, first at the fact that you are so much… *yourself*, and second, that you managed to keep this a secret as long as you did.”
“But I’m a monster…”
“Sure, but what difference does that make?” he asked. “You’ve proven time and time again that you’ve got a good soul, and that’s all that really matters in life. Come, I’m sure you’ve got some interesting stories about wizards and old, crumbly towers to tell.”
I thought about his words for a long time after that. I’m still not sure I understand, but it was nice to know I really could trust him.
|
Sentience was a horrible gift. Awaking in a tomb would scare any sane person. The tomb dark, restricting, and heavy, making it impossible for me to escape its confines. No matter how hard my armored body pushed, the stone seal refused to budge, only letting in a glimpse of light before my arms would drop, encasing me in the darkness once more.
I imagined this was what death felt like for mortals, an unescapable darkness that closed in on you, suffocating you with its presence. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have the pleasure of fading into the darkness, stuck instead in limbo, unable to die. I wasn’t sure how long I was trapped in the keep, maybe a few months, or even a year or two? It was impossible to keep track of. Thankfully, I got rescued, even if my rescue was an accident.
The sound of fighting felt oddly familiar, identifying the sound as soon as I heard the clashing of blades from outside. I wasn’t sure where I had heard the sound previously, but the scrapping of metal on metal had a way of making my iron gloves clench, reaching for a blade that I didn’t have. “IN HERE.” I tried to shout, only to realize I had no voice. Without a voice, I resorted to frantic punches, slamming my glove against the stone lid.
The clashing stopped, and I heard a murmur before the lid peeled off, breaking against the floor, revealing a young brown-haired man. He had a nasty cut on his cheek and seemed to glance behind himself, no doubt in danger. I aimed to repay the favor, rising from the tomb, snatching the sword from his side.
He was fearful at first, thinking I intended to use the blade on him, only to grow relieved when I turned my attention to the pursuing skeletons. Everything was a blur, the sword dancing in my hand, acting on instinct. The skeletons soon dropped, each one having their skull crushed. Once the deed was done, I handed back the sword.
“Amazing. Thank you for your help. I’m Lanif and you are?” He held out his right hand, which I gripped, shaking it. After the shake, I pointed to my helmet, making an X motion with my hands, trying to show my inability to speak.
“No voice? I’ve heard stories about that. Must be a nasty curse, don’t you worry though. I’m an adventurer. I’ll help you get it back.” An adventurer? I liked the sound of that, and I owed the man for freeing me. That was the day I left the keep, joining Lanif as an adventurer.
Five years had passed since that day, and I could already feel the growing tension as I sat in the adventurer’s guild. It had been easy to go unnoticed before, when I only did minor jobs. No one cares about the people doing slime duty or chasing goblins out, but just last week we took care of a twisted abomination. That’s something that gets people whispering.
If it were up to me, I would have continued to do smaller jobs, but Lanif had improved past the point of being a simple adventurer. Lanif needed the challenge, and I didn’t enjoy the idea of leaving his side. He was the one that freed me, that tracked down a witch to give me a voice. He would have my protection until he parted ways with me or died.
“You seem deep in thought. Did you consider what I told you? Jezel likes you. Maybe a date would be good for you? Get you out of that armor and into a suit. I have some clothes you can borrow if you need some. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I have seen you in anything but a suit, I hope you clean that thing.” Lanif said with a laugh, the young man having aged quickly, his brown hair receding and his cheek baring a tough-looking scar from our first meeting.
“Jezel is nice and don’t get my wrong, I’m thankful for everything she’s done to help me. She’s a dear friend and someone I really respect and-“ I stumbled over my words, trying to find the right combination of them.
“And you aren’t interested? It’s fine if you aren’t I’m just surprised. You two get along rather well. Thought it would be a match made in heaven, but what do I know?” He threw up his hands before taking a seat by my side.
“It’s not that I’m not interested. I just can’t be with her. Anyway, I have quests to do with you. It would take up too much time having a relationship. Speaking of quests, what’s the next job?” I leaned back in my seat, glancing at Lanif, who only grinned.
“Finding out who the man under that suit is. Five years and I still do not know who the hell you are. Are you ugly or something?” He reached to grab my visor, only to freeze when I forcefully twisted his wrist, locking him in place.
“DON’T,” I warned, only to let go in a panic. “I’m sorry Lanif, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m self-conscious about it. I promise if I tell anyone, you will be the first.”
“I better be after that. Oof, at least it’s not my sword arm.” He shook his wrist, only to turn in his chair, noticing all the stares. “WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT? IT WAS MY FAULT.” His words deterred the stares, each person sheepishly staring off into space, pretending they weren’t watching. “It was my fault, don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“People are getting suspicious.” I felt an unease, like my name might be on that job board soon if things kept going at this pace.
“People are getting jealous of the great Ragan more like it. It’s natural, people are looking for faults and weaknesses in you. I thought maybe showing you off might help ease the tensions, but I shouldn’t have thrown that on you so suddenly. Right, about the quest, how about we do-“
Before he could finish, I raised a finger, stopping him. “Can I pick the quest? I have something that’s overdue. Will you come to the keep with me tomorrow? I’ll explain it there.”
“The keep? The one we met at. Sure, if you think it’s important. I’ll pack my gear tonight. Now, how about a drink?” He grabbed my shoulder only to have his hand quickly brushed off.
“Sorry, not tonight. I’ll meet you tomorrow. Don’t drink too much, there’s a monster we have to deal with.”
“A monster? Oh, exciting. Can’t wait to have another story to tell. I’m going to make a great rugged old adventurer; I’ll have stories for centuries.” He laughed, waving his hand in the air, motioning someone to bring him a drink.
“You certainly will.” I nodded, heading to my room to make my preparations. I wasn’t sure how he would react tomorrow when I told him what I was. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that I was a possessed set of armor? Or maybe that was just a dream. A possessed set of armor was technically a monster, and it was an adventurer’s job to get rid of monsters. No matter what, it would be his decision and I would respect his choice. If someone had to seal me, I wanted it to be him.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-09-21T08:42:20 | 2021-09-21T06:17:01 | 1,144 | 505 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
|
Graduation day. I finally made it. I was hard being the only powerless “freak” in the school, but at least the bullying stopped pretty quickly. I think there was only a single time I was actually attacked by someone else which is an absurd stroke of luck. I guess he got expelled as I never saw Charles again. The fact that I was avoided by everyone, even the teachers, did nothing to help how miserable this school was, but I suppose I made it through.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt from the principle’s journal:
Daniel Smith finally graduated today. Thank God. Honestly, despite being tested and showing clear signs of having powers, I had no idea why he was sent here without being able to use them. Figured he’d gotten in through connections or something. He was bullied a bit, but there wasn’t any violence and it seemed to only be some name calling and not much else so I let it slide. I should have intervened. Charles… that poor kid. Came from a decent family, had powers that let him enhance his strength. Standard stuff. As I am told, one day, he got a bit too rowdy and threw a punch. Daniel, having no way to defend himself, took it hard. He’d been thrown into the wall, fractured his neck, and was instantly killed. Of course I instantly detected the commotion and flew over, however I was much too late. Something stood up from that rubble. Some THING. That wasn’t Daniel. Whatever it was seemed incredibly dangerous. My honed sixth sense screamed at me to run and hide. Something I hadn’t felt since my very early hero days. A human shaped mass of pitch black darkness stood up and shambled in the direction of Charles. “Hey you survived that? Might have some powers after all Fuckwad” he jeered. Stupid kid. As soon as it reached him, he punched again. Except this time his fist got stuck. I saw everything as he was consumed, heard the cracking of his bones. His screams. So often have I relied on my enhanced senses. This was a time I wished I didn’t have them. The next day everything was repaired (we have a guy, accidents happen frequently) and Daniel came in, like nothing happened. I immediately called him to my office and asked him to explain what happened. He’d said that he was bullied, and knocked out. Thats it. “Can I go? He said with a confused look on his face”. Can I go. AFTER WHAT HE DID?!?!? Of course I let him go. But what he said before leaving will always stay with me. “By the way, will Charles be punished?”
|
"Alright class, welcome to 'Intro to Personal Abilities 1'. Before we introduce ourselves, can anyone tell me what the three classes of powers are?"
A bookish girl with large glasses raised her hand.
"The first class of powers are mental abilities. Mental abilities are controlled by the mind, and are often exerted against an outside environment. People with metal abilities are often physiologically identical to non-powered humans."
The professor smiled. "Very good, Samantha. Can anyone give me an example of a mental ability? John?"
A student wearing a black motorcycle jacket with a slicked-back hair looked up groggily from his desk. He gave a slight wave of his hand, as the chalk by the professor's podium picked itself up and scrawled "telekinesis" on the chalkboard.
The professor chuckled. "A verbal answer would have sufficed, John, but I appreciate the demonstration. Now, can anyone tell me what the second class of powers are?"
A burly looking student in athletic wear raised his hand.
"Physical abilities. Physical abilities involve a change, or uh, the *ability* to change, a person's own body." The student's arm morphed slightly, his very skin changing into a form that resembled cracked concrete, as he picked up the empty desk in front of him with one hand.
"Correct! Now, can anyone tell me what the third class of power is?"
The class looked puzzled as they sat in silence.
"Anyone?"
Samantha shook her head, and several others responded in kind.
The teacher grabbed the chalk and wrote "META" on the chalkboard.
"The third class of powers are meta-abilities: powers-over-powers, if you will. The ability to sense another person's power would be a meta-ability. It is the rarest class of power, and can be either physical or mental."
The teacher clapped his hands "With that said, I want everyone in the class to introduce themselves. Say your name, your power, and what class you belong to".
One by one, the class introduced themselves, until they reached a introverted-looking student in the back corner of the room.
"Hi, uh, my name is Liam" the student shuffled uncomfortably in his chair "and I don't know what my power is. My biomark results were 145/150, but they didn't match any known ability. The Dean of Academics decided that I should attend classes anyway, at least until my ability shows."
"That's fascinating" the professor said, thoughtfully "and a smart move, on the part of the Dean. Rest assured Liam, you won't be left behind in this class. Powers or not, you're a part of this school, and I'll do my best to accommodate"
His sentence was interrupted by a shrill class bell.
"We'll finish up tomorrow, class dismissed!"
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside the classroom, Liam made his way down the hallway and toward his next class, when his path was blocked by four upperclassmen. They towered over him and moved in closer, causing him to step back slightly.
"We don't take well to spies around here" said one kid as he clenched his hand into a fist, powerful arcs of electricity crackling between his fingers, "You said you didn't have a power, which means you're either lying, or a spy"
"Guys, I'm not looking for a fight, and I'm not a spy. If you want to talk to the Dean, then by all means do. I've told you everything I know"
"Go taLk to thE deAn" the electric-kid said mockingly "Know your place, new kid!"
He opened his hand an a bolt of lightning shot out, hitting Liam in the chest and making him double-over in pain. Electric-kid's cronies laughed like comic-book minions.
"Or there will be more where that came from!"
Liam struggled to catch his breath as he crouched on the ground "I'm......not.....afraid of you"
His response was met with a chorus of "oooooooooh" from electric-kid's cronies. Electric-kid cracked his knuckles.
"Well, well, well" Electric-kid laughed "Looks like someone wants to play!" He swung an electric-charged kick toward Liam's head, but Liam grabbed his ankle, narrowly stopping the kick. Liam braced for the electric shock, but felt nothing.
"Get off of me, freak!" the electric-kid yelled as he freed himself from Liam's grasp with a kick to his chest. He pointed his finger as if charging up another lightning strike....but nothing happened.
"What!? What the fuck is this?" the electric-kid stood wide-eyed and bewildered.
Liam, meanwhile, felt...different. Something within him had changed, and it moved through his very body in a way that was immediately noticeable. An energy, buried deep within, finally surfacing.
Liam staggered to his feet as electric-kids cronies took a fearful step back. He looked at his hand, expecting burns where he had grabbed his leg, but instead found tiny arcs of electricity trickling up his arm and arcing between his fingers. He stretched his hand, and bright arcs crackled from his fingers like a tesla coil. He walked slowly toward electric-kid and his crew.
"You....you can't!" electric-kid cowered, tears welling up in his eyes as the reality of the situation set in "You can't attack me, that's cruel! I can't defend myself!"
Liam was unphased. He continued to walk, slowly and menacingly, toward electric-kid.
"YOU'RE A BULLY!" screamed electric-kid as he burst into ugly tears "YOU PREY ON THE WEAK AND DEFENSELESS, DON'T YOU FEEL THE SMALLEST SHRED OF EMPATHY YOU MONS..."
His hysterics were cut short by an electrically-charged backhand slap, which sent electric kid flying down the hallway and into a set of glass doors, which cracked on impact. Electric kid lay writhing on the floor, bawling his eyes out and clutching his burned face as his group of cronies fled the scene.
Liam stared him down from the other end of the hall.
"No."
EDIT: [Link to Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yk0r0r/comment/iusxz6s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) in the reply comments
| 2022-11-02T09:59:50 | 2022-11-02T09:00:33 | 502 | 177 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
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I watched the young man as the pudding cup oozed down his shirt. I hadn't meant to flip his lunch tray up into his chest, but one exaggerated hand motion while telling my friend a story and suddenly Thadeus McAlister was wearing his lunch all over his football jersey. "Sorry" I said weakly as he turned his gaze towards me.
"You've got it easy bud. Keep your powerless head down and listen to the rules" he said in that deep gravely voice that shook my bones. I saw his eyes starting to glow as the muscles under his skin began to shift. He could increase his muscle mass at will giving him a slew of benefits. Foremost was insane strength, and ridiculous durability. "But no, you just HAVE to cause trouble. I'm done tolerating your weak..." But suddenly he stopped. I looked up into his eyes expecting anger as he looked over me, but instead I saw fear. He was afraid. It didn't make sense!
Thadeus was by far one of the most powerful kids in our school and was only beat out by two upperclassmen who had even more ridiculous powers than him like super speed and telekinesis. Yet here before me he stood a swollen mass of muscle with fear on his face. I noticed his muscles twitching, ever so slightly as if something was causing involuntary movements in his body.
"You really shouldn't be so mad, it was just your lunch." Came a soft, high pitched voice. Turning around I was suddenly caught between Thadeus and a new girl. I think I had heard a rumour some girl transfered to our school this week, and that she hadn't disclosed her power on her paperwork. I couldn't recall her name but she was mousy, a little blonde with oval framed glasses in a pink pencil skirt and white button down, her long blonde hair gently floating around her like someone had exposed her to a static charge.
Thadeus gurgled what I could only imagine was a threat or some plea for mercy as she turned her hand over. I could see little pink bolts of energy jumping between her fingers as she stepped past me. "Let me explain a few things, for one how I'm doing this." She said so casually as she walked around someone twice her size. No one in the cafeteria other than her was daring to move. "I can manipulate electrical impulses and charges." She started to say as his power turned on involuntarily. I watched his muscles start to swell again. "Every thought you have Is an electrical impulse, every time you lift your arm, move your eyes, activate your power." Despite how sweet and calming her voice should have felt I could sense the ice cold poison behind every word. "On paper my power seems weak, turning lights on and off maybe zapping someone with a little static charge, but I'm a little more creative than that." Thadeus was starting to look like a cluster of balloons as his muscles swelled bigger. "I wonder, if I force you to just keep growing will your skin eventually stretch so thin it rips" she asks with a giggle like it was some sick joke. "I don't think I need to go that far though, you'll tell this young man you're sorry now."
Her hand fell to her side and suddenly everyone in the room, not just Thadeus but every student in the room fell to their knees gasping for air. "Now say you're sorry!" She giggled flashing me a bright toothy smile.
|
"Well, well, well, if it's Tommy O'Gransworth. Granny to me and the boys, like." In came Ted Nuggerton. All-round arsehole, and self-proclaimed champion of the school ground. His thicker-than-most Irish accent horrendously disturbing the peace.
I was sitting in the small tired-looking, abandoned chapel, built back in days long past. No one came here anymore, besides me. It was my quiet place, away from the feeling of being out of place in a world where power was everything.
Ted Nuggerton and his cronies had broken that silence.
"Shawn Brown owes me forty euros; said you wouldn't be here, but I know you better, like," Sneered Ted. "Much better like."
I rubbed my eye. The one that wasn't black and blue from the punks behind me. "Is that right?"
"It is," Ted muttered, coming down the aisle with his idiot followers. "But he also told me, you little git, you've been slagging me off behind my back. Is he telling the truth?"
Thomas shrugged. "Would you believe me either way?" He asked, turning his head over to watch the schoolyard bully limp around the front pew to tower over his victim.
Ted frowned. "Probably not. I think you'd just be trying to save your own skin, like."
His four friends flanked me, ensuring I had no chance of escape.
"Well, there we go then," I sighed. It would be lunchtime soon. I hadn't brought any food with me, because I knew something like this *might* happen. It was a two mile walk across the countryside back to our village, but I didn't mind. No one came here besides me until now, because it was so out of the way.
"Well, there we go then, eh? That's all you've got to say?" Ted seethed, his nostrils flaring. "You're the only punk at school who has not a lick of powers, and you're the only dryshite on this entire island, Tommy O'Gransworth, who stands up to me thinking you're something other than a nothing." He opened his mouth, and his tongue lashed out. At the edge, miniature spikes poked out, slashing my cheeks, before his tongue withdrew. "Didn't like that, did you?"
I shook my head, putting a hand to the bloodied wound.
"We're not done here, O'Gransworth. We're done for a long time, like. When you come back to school tomorrow, you're never going to get in our way again. Do you understand?"
There it was. The fear and the inadequacy I felt every time I stepped into school had come rushing back. Couldn't he just feck off back to-?
"Feck off," I snapped, trying to hide back the tears. "Feck off and leave me alone!"
His tongue lashed out again, and the spikes at the edge slashed the other side of my cheek. Ted's friends jeered, fist-bumping one another. None of them had any impressive powers, but they were strong enough to stop me from making a run for it.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll go and tell your sister, like. You know - Carol."
Ted's face dropped. "Don't you bring her into this!"
"I bring something into her every time I see her," I spat. "And we've gotten chatting about you after I've fecked her brains out." I jabbed a trembling finger at the fat cunt. "She doesn't like you much, does she? What's the word she calls you? Starts with a "b"." I tapped my forehead. "Burden"? Was it that? Aye, I think it was." I turned my head to his friends. "Do you make your own beds, lads? Do you tidy and make them look nice? Ted here-" I nodded to Ted. "-doesn't. His sister does. Ever since your mammy ran out - no doubt because of you - Carol's been doing *everything*. You're a lazy tool, aye? Probably never learnt how not to shite your bed when Carol forgets to leave the light on at night! Stuck with the mental age of a three-year old, aren't you, eh?"
I was beginning to feel good about myself. Powerful.
"Oh, aye, one day I'm sure she'll see what use you are around the house. If one of the farmers ever needs another pig to butcher, I'm sure they'll pay Carol a pretty penny to buy herself something nice, instead of looking after you."
Ted opened his mouth, and the weaponised tongue drew its spikes, and drove them into my shoulder. My body stiffened, and I gritted my teeth. The spikes dug deeper and deeper.
"Go...go ahead..." I managed to spill out. "See what...see what Carol does to you then..."
The spikes and the tongue withdrew to Ted's mouth.
"If you ever touch me again," I growled, rubbing my wound. "I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me? I will hurt you, and all your friends-" I motioned to the cronies. "-until the only escape you get is from jumping off of whatever cliff you're closest to." I rose to my feet, my legs shaking. "You come to my house to shatter my windows again, like, or you bully my sisters and steal their sweets? I will ruin *all of you*. Your sister doesn't give two shites about you. I mean that, Ted Nuggerton. I know she beats you up, blackening your eye. You got that limp from her, right?" I nodded to his weakened leg. "That's not from fighting in the schoolyard. You don't fool me."
Ted was staring at me as if I'd plunged a knife through his heart already. Reluctantly, he nodded.
"Do I make myself clear to you all, you fecking eijits?" I growled, glaring at all of them. "You're all going to leave me alone!"
Ted's friends nodded enthusiastically, before scampering out of the lonely chapel.
Once they were gone, I asked. "Am I going to have any more problems with you, Ted Nuggerton?" My voice was calm, like a teacher trying not to scare a student who they were disappointed in.
"...No."
"Do you promise?" I asked. "You've pushed me around long enough that I'm not fooling around, like."
"I promise."
I inhaled. "Damn right. Go away then, and let me have some peace."
Ted Nuggerton limped out of the citadel after his friends. I watched him go like a wounded dog, before my shoulders dropped, and I did to back to the pew. There wasn't really any way I could be sure that Ted was going to keep to his word, but I had it on good authority that he would.
A blonde haired beauty stepped appeared from behind the altar, no longer invisible.
"I thought it went well, Carol," I breathed, leaning my head back, trying to manage a grin.
"Went well? I told you just to tell him to back off, not to emotionally damage him for the rest of his life!" Protested the woman.
| 2022-11-02T14:16:41 | 2022-11-02T11:48:42 | 36 | 27 |
[WP] Write a story that has spoiler tags all over the place. The story has two different meanings: One when reading without looking at the spoiler tags, and one when the spoilers tags are moused over.
Not sure if this is too confusing, so I'll post an example sentence.
The man loves [the severed head of](/s) his wife.
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Delicious. I could scruff this in one go but I wanted to make it last. So I chew one solitary pea at a time and smile. [Spoiler] (#s "I was solitary not too long ago myself here in Attica.") My buds were 6 o'clock from me but they seemed busy with their own lunch. [Spoiler] (#s "Sometimes we get caught up watching our own asses, just in case.") I wanted to eat alone, though. [Spoiler] (#s "After 6 months in the hole, no one can blame me.") There's nothing quite like a heart-to-heart or mind-to-mind with yourself and a nice slice of greasy pizza. [Spoiler] (#s "When was the last time I had pepperoni? I can't even remember the texture.") Johnny, [Spoiler] (#s "he calls himself Gladiator,") is bobbing his head along to some tune [Spoiler] (#s "I'm surprised he still hasn't been moved to a psych ward,") leaving his tray untouched. If it'll go to waste anyway, where's the harm? plus I'll only take the peas. [Spoiler] (#s "That's the only thing you can trust around here, everything else is mush and who knows what they add in there!") The peas in this joint! Remind me of that song Hotel California. [Spoiler] (#s "You can check-out any time you like, But you can never leave!") [Spoiler] (#s "And why am I") here? Of all places! [Spoiler] (#s "Because of a wrong turn at life that kept me turning wrong.") [Spoiler] (#s "But") nobody cares about [Spoiler] (#s "the woes of a prisoner. Just herd us away from the luckier herd that got dealt a different hand. Rehabilitation?! None of that here and nobody else cares cept for") them peas.
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Freakin spoilers man.
**Censored:**
She was laying in the middle of the room in a king bed, completely alone. In the pale and tender moonlight that shone through the window, she truly looked like a queen, and I swear to you in that moment, I might have even felt a little love for her. I mean, we were together for a couple months now, and even though the relationship started out for obscure reasons, I started to like her seriously as weeks and weeks passed.
I looked at the bed and smiled as she turned to her side, still sleeping. Her blonde hair covered her - even while asleep - alluring face, and her thin and red lips curled upwards, as she started smiling through the veil of her dream. I stepped a couple steps closer, admiring her beauty for a few seconds, while trying to breathe quietly, thinking what a disaster it would be to wake her up.
I stood there, like an indecisive sheep. I had things to do but at the same time, I just wanted to put my problems away so badly, and lie next to her on that bed. I wanted to feel the sweet fragrance of her hair curling down the back of her perfect body. I wanted hold her cold hands in mine, I wanted to talk to her, flood her with words of my unspeakable feelings and most of all, I just wanted to feel her lips touching mine gently, with a shade of timidity I always felt in her.
I craved and desired all these things in that lonely second in the blanched moonlight. I wished nothing else in the world, but to have her for the rest of my meaningless life, and for a brief amount of time, I seriously felt that way.
Then the moment passed, and I stumbled my way across the room. Standing above her, seeing the complete beauty of hers, I knelt down and touched her face gently, whilst a little, sad smile appeared on me.
With that sad smile still on my face, I walked to the door, and opened it just a little, so I could slip out of the room. One last time, I glanced back at the moon shining through the window as an old man, who has seen everything in his time. At last, I stepped out of the room, as both of us - the moon and I - were reminiscing the broken love of a young man.
**Uncensored:**
She was laying in the middle of the room in a king bed, completely alone. In the pale and tender moonlight that shone through the window, she truly looked like a queen, and I swear to you in that moment, I might have even felt a little love for her. I mean, we were together for a couple months now, and even though the relationship started out for obscure reasons, I started to like her seriously as weeks and weeks passed.
I looked at the bed and smiled as she turned to her side in her deep sleep. Her blonde hair covered her - even while asleep - alluring face and her thin, red lips curled upwards as she started smiling through the veil of her dream. I stepped a couple steps closer, admiring her beauty for a few seconds, while trying to breathe quietly, thinking what a disaster it would be to wake her up.
I stood there, like an indecisive sheep. I had things to do but at the same time, I just wanted to put my problems away so badly, and lie next to her on that bed. I wanted to feel the sweet fragrance of her hair curling down the back of her perfect body, I wanted to hold her cold hands in mine, I wanted to talk to her, flood her with words of my unspeakable feelings and most of all, I just wanted to feel her lips touching mine gently, with a shade of timidity I always felt in her.
I craved and desired all these things in that lonely second in the blanched moonlight. I wished nothing else in the world, but to have her for the rest of my meaningless life, and for a brief amount of time, I seriously felt that way.
Then the moment passed, and I stumbled my way across the room. Standing above her, seeing the complete beauty of hers, I knelt down and touched her face gently, whilst a little, sad smile appeared on me.
*I almost felt sorrow, as I tapped into the pocket of my jacket, looking for my knife. I finally found it, and while a heavy breath left my open mouth, I stabbed her in the heart, just above her perfectly shaped breast. I did it fast, just like I did it with all of my targets, but this time I felt something odd. I still can't make that feeling into words. I cannot express what I had experienced in that moment, but it was something I have never felt before. Maybe it was love, or maybe it was grief. Perhaps it was both, since they like to come together, or so I've heard. All I know is when I stood up and put the knife away, I felt a strange sense of absence in me, like I had no place in the world anymore. I remained there for a second, thinking of what I have done, but when I couldn't find a conclusion to my thoughts, I just buried whatever feelings I had left. I buried them deep down in my heart thinking they could not get back from there, in fact hoping, that I would never feel them again.*
With that sad smile still on my face, I walked to the door, and opened it just a little, so I could slip out of the room. One last time, I glanced back at the moon shining through the window as an old man, who has seen everything in his time. At last, I stepped out of the room, as both of us - the moon and I - were reminiscing the broken love of a young man.
| 2015-06-07T20:38:16 | 2015-06-07T17:00:05 | 41 | 21 |
[WP] "All I'm saying is, the dragon's fire breath was just not hot enough to have melted the castle's support beams."
Found on @AwfulFantasy's twitter account, specifically here; imgur.com/gallery/T9Z1u
Edit: From 0 to top prompt. This subreddit works in mysterious ways. Thanks for the quality responses everyone.
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"Dragon's fire can't melt castle beams, Mikhail," I screamed. "They're made of STONE. You can't just melt a stone, fool. I'm telling you- it was black magic, the High Court wanted an excuse to increase their military power, and now they have it. One of them must've sold their soul or flesh to summon a powerful demon that toppled the tower."
Mikhail looked at me with exasperation. "We literally *saw* the dragon melt the castle's support with our own eyes. Are you calling us liars?"
"No! They disguised it as dragons, hiding the demon with dragonfire."
"You're insane. Besides- you know rock melts, right? That's what *magma* is..."
"That happens deep underground, and takes time. Did you see how fast the castle crumbled? I'm telling you, it's a cover up."
"I'm getting tired of these ridiculous accusations. What will you do, go to court and beg them to listen? As a friend, I'm telling you that they'll just lock you in a dungeon for suggesting such madness."
"No, Mikhail, I *did the math*. It's impossible for it to have dropped so quickly without something destroying the base-"
A blurred dagger interrupted my words, piercing through my heart so quickly there was no time to react.
"Mikhail...why?"
"You should've stopped asking questions. Take your last few moments to enjoy that you were right, and be glad you aren't here for what's next."
|
I, the former head of the Royal Guard, stood stripped of my armour amidst the bloodthirsty congregation of townsmen. The hay beneath my feet was dry and ready, my body twitching in fear. How I got there? It was just an ordinary day on duty. A man was upsetting the masses, claiming that the recent attack that left the castle a burning ruin was a pre-meditated attack by none but our own king. He threw accusations at King Alfred, saying that he falsely framed a passing dragon - all in order to justify an attack on the Dragons and get away with their gold!
Well, that day I was patrolling with my former subordinate Huxley. Let me explain...
It was in the early afternoon when me and Huxley went off off to pick up the mischievous conspiracy theorist named Neville as he was talking to the impressionable crowd.
"Wait, what is going on?" he said as we tore him away from the self-made podium in the middle of the town.
"See! They don't want you to know!" Neville screamed at the edge of his physical capacity.
The crowd dissolved in fear of what might happen to them, some even put on their wooden bucket-hats.
We just did our job and delivered him to the catacombs beneath the ruins of the castle.
"Truly blasphemous," William, interrogator of the royal staff, spat at the beat up Neville.
"How dare you conspire against King Alfred in such pathetic ways?"
Neville sat on a stone chair with his hands tied to the wall. The short ropes by the wall made sure his arms were spread painfully wide apart. The torture had been going on for hours when he finally decided to reply. He lifted his head and looked into William's eyes.
"What did you say? I couldn't hear you," he said to the interrogator who was surrounded by royal guards.
"That's it! Finish this scumbag off!" William replied waving his hands in the air like he didn't care.
"Vait!" a voice interjected. A skinny man with a slight line of beard on his face made his way through the royal guardsmen. "Ve should not deliver him to ze gods just like zis. I have a bettah idea."
Everyone turned around and stared at the unusual intruder.
That is the moment I wish most to be undone.
"Berger," he said, "Emanuel Berger. I just arrived from Germany to serve King Alfred and got vind of vat vas going on here."
"So?" William said eyeing the bewildering man. "What is your idea, 'Berger'?"
"Ve break into zis man's house and unears vateva dirty secret he has!" Emanuel explained. "And if there isn't anysing, ve just frame him for heresy!"
William nodded attentively, "go on."
"Vell, my dearest British friend," Emanuel said, "it is far more powerful to undermine men vis such ideas rather than to just punish zem wif des."
"Des?" Huxley asked.
Berger slid the side of his index-finger across his throat. Huxley raised his eyebrows and nodded in new found understanding. Berger smiled and clapped his hands twice. "Let's go, boys!"
Me and a few of my men made our way to where Neville was supposed to live. We found the house fairly quickly and entered with force.
"There's nothing here," Huxley said.
"Heresy it is, then," I added.
"Not so fast," Emanuel, who, together with William, was supervising our search, said. "I used to be ze profiler for none but König Herbert der Dritte himself! Men like zis Neville usually hide zeir secrets where zey are invisible to ze naked eye of viziters! Look in ze laundry basket!"
Huxley looked at me and shrugged. I nodded and he made his way to the laundry basket. I walked up behind him and watched him dig through the pile of dirty clothes. As he peeled off the first few layers of laundry we discovered a stack of written papers sandwiched between the clothes.
Immediately I reached for them and had a look at what changed my life forever.
"Those papers are documents about dragons," I reported to Emanuel who smiled a narcissistic smile.
I skimmed through every piece of paper I held in my hands. Some just had plain text while others included drawings of dragons and buildings.
"Wait a minute," I said, thinking out loud. "The dragon that we saw attacking our castle was a so called 'Cloudbreather". It says that those don't usually breathe fire, just smoke. The little bit of fire that they do spew is not nearly enough to ruin a whole castle structure..."
William straightened himself up, stood stiff like a stick, head raised up high, and inquired. "Are you sure of what you are saying, McGregor?"
I went through each page again individually and read aloud what was written there. "Yes, I am positive."
William's face reddened in anger. "Continue," he commanded me in a shaky voice, "explain your implications, McGregor."
"Well," I shrugged and said, "I'm not really implying anything. All I'm saying is, the dragon's fire breath was just not hot enough to have melted the castle's support beams."
Yeah, well. Fuck me.
| 2016-02-14T09:20:34 | 2016-02-14T01:48:36 | 753 | 119 |
[WP] The Deep Woods are a fearsome place, filled with screams and lights and terrible magic. But in the depths of the forest lives an ancient dragon who constructs all the sounds and sights to keep people away, because he just wants to be left alone.
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“Leave me,” Tamot, the Eldritch, snarled.
The dragon towered over the silhouette emerging from the forest clearing. A hunter, no doubt. This time, he would be ready for them.
The person paused. Tamot watched them with curiosity as the smoke from his nostrils twisted and coiled in the scant light, creating horrid shapes. For good measure he shivered, causing the thousands of scales across his body to grate each other in a blurry cacophony.
Yet, that didn’t deter the figure. They walked forward with ginger steps into the light, as if unfazed by the dragon’s every attempt to scare them off.
And that’s when Tamot could clearly see them.
It was a girl… A human girl no more than eight years of age. She almost resembled a ghost, a pale thing dressed in ratty clothes barely clinging to her thin frame. She peered up at Tamot, one eye hidden in a thick mess of curly hair.
“Are you the dragon people say live in the forest, sir?” she asked, a meek voice still strong with everlasting curiosity.
Tamot hadn’t heard a human’s voice in ages. Almost as long ago as when people still believed in dragons. And yet, here was this girl who not knew of him but weathered his attempts to scare her.
“What do you want?” Tamot asked. He punctuated the question with another puff of smoke.
The girl looked him up and down, as if uncertain of how to respond. She fidgeted a moment, looking down at her feet, and then miraculously found the courage to not run off.
“I need one of your scales please, Mr. Dragon, sir.”
At this, Tamot shot fire from his mouth. It was instinctual, as if he could still feel the blades piercing his flesh, carving him away at like a holiday ham. The flames narrowly missed the girl by a few inches, but the new smell of burnt hair wafted through the clearing.
The girl took a step back on quivering legs. She glanced behind her at the forest, as if considering making an emergency retreat.
*Good*, Tamot thought. *Leave and never come back*.
As if hearing his thoughts, she dug her heels in and remained in place.
“Please, sir,” the girl said. “I need a scale or my Pa said I couldn’t come back home. Said a girl like me can’t work like my brothers can so I need to make money some other way.”
Silence followed her words. They were genuine, by no doubt. Tamot could see the darkness in a man’s heart from a mile away. He had been a victim of greed, and he didn’t intend to fall for their traps again.
And yet, here was this girl. She did what many hadn’t in hundreds of years. And for what – to prove her worth? She didn’t deserve to be mistreated like that.
No one did.
“You cannot have one my scales,” Tamot finally said.
The girl looked down with a gloomy expression.
“But, you are free to stay here with me. There is no need to return to a place where you’re unwanted. Does that sound fair?”
First shock then unrelenting happiness ran across the girl’s face. She flashed the dragon a grin, a few gaps in her smile. An eager nod was her answer.
And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Tamot began to believe again that not all humans are evil.
|
A blood-curdling howl filtered in through the mist, seeming to come from every direction at once. Any other man would have fled immediately lest he be ripped to shred by the fearsome beasts of the forest. But that only urged Gervis onward, though maybe his hand did clutch a bit tighter around the handle of his ax.
After a dozen requests and pleas for courtship, the Princess of Marberry had finally promised Gervis her hand in marriage… *if* he could enter the North Woods and slay the most ferocious beast in its depths. Gervis wasn’t one hundred percent sure what exactly that was, because very few had ever actually seen the monsters and lived to tell the tale. But around the tavern fires, men would often tell tales of huge hulking shadows looming out of the forest, waiting to snatch up any man who was foolish to be out past sundown near the treeline. And everyone in the village had lain awake at night listening to the screams and wails of travelers who didn’t know of the dangers of the woods. Some men said that the wolves could grow larger than wagons, or that they turned back into the men during the day to choose which one they'd eat next. As he descended deeper and deeper into the dark forest, he was sure that whatever creature was making that sound would surely be large and scary enough to satisfy her demand.
The trees parted into a wide clearing at the edge of the mountains. From here, it wasn’t so scary. The evening mist gave it almost a gentle glow, and the setting sun cast brilliant shades of purple and orange against the clouds. At the other end of the field, a cave loomed, large enough to fit Gervis’s entire house in its entrance. After a day of tracking without even a sign of any animal prints or even trails through the dense underbrush, he decided that this was as good a place as any to make camp. At least stone walls on three sides would offer some protection from the monsters.
After collecting firewood and some loose brush for a bed, Gervis sat by a crackling fire and enjoyed a meal of apples, some old bread, and a hard hunk of salty cheese. At the far end of the valley, he could just barely see the twinkling lights of the city, and Lord Marberry’s castle perched on an outcropping over the bay. He wondered briefly if the Princess sat in her tower gazing out over the woods, wondering how his quest was going.
A ferocious howl, louder than the roar of a storming wind, came from inside the cave right behind Gervis. He leapt to his feet with his ax in one hand and a burning log in the other. He couldn’t sleep with it in *in the cave* with him, so he plunged deeper into the inky blackness under the mountain.
Two gleaming golden eyes loomed out of the darkness, reflecting the sparks from his meager torch. Each eye was the size of a wagon wheel. Gervis skidded to a halt, slipping on the slick stones underfoot and falling onto his back.
“What are you doing in my woods?” a voice roared. The echo bounced around the cave, shouting “woods” over and over again. The eyes came closer, and Gervis could see that it was like a lizard’s head, except nearly the size of a fishing boat. *A dragon*, he realized. He'd always loved the stories of dragons, but the court's scribe assured everyone that they'd died out a thousand years ago.
“I’ve come to slay a beast,” Gervis announced proudly. “For Princess Marberry’s hand in marriage!” For a moment he considered whether he should try slaying the dragon. But the ax in his hand was barely good for chopping wood, much less cutting through the legendarily stout scales of a dragon. He’d only planned on hunting wolves. And even if he could kill the dragon, how could he ever manage to carry it back?
“There are no beasts here,” the Dragon growled. “Go away.” His head receded back into the darkness, and Gervis heard a slithering sound of skin against rock.
“Wait!” He scrambled to his feet and chased after the dragon. “I heard them!” With his makeshift torch, Gervis pointed out the mouth of the cave to the forest. “I’ve been hearing the howling of wolves all day! All my *life* actually!”
The dragon snorted, releasing a puff of smoke that drifted upwards and out of sight. Gervis wondered for a moment just how large this cave really was. “That was me, you fool,” it answered. “There haven’t been wolves in these woods for centuries.”
Gervis’s face fell. He couldn’t go back to Princess Marberry with that. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked the dragon. “The Princess demanded the head of a ferocious wolf, or there would be no marriage!”
The dragon was silent. His big golden eyes studied Gervis, flicking for a moment to the ax in his hand. “And that’s what you brought to kill them? Where is your sword and armor?”
“I have none, errr…. Dragon,” Gervis answered. He wasn’t quite sure how to address the giant beast. “That is why I am not a suitable match for the Princess yet.”
The dragon was silent once again. Then he thrust his head at a nearby boulder. “Roll that rock over here for me, would you?”
Gervis didn’t quite understand why, but he did as he was told. The dragon reared up and unleashed a massive gout of flame like a cascading fire waterfall. The whole cave was lit bright as day, and Gervis could finally see the whole body of the dragon, covered in gleaming gold scales. The fire wrapped the boulder, which became so white-hot that Gervis couldn’t even tell if it was still there against the bright flames.
Then it was over. The fires were extinguished in an instant. Gervis’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness, but when he looked back at the boulder it was gone. Instead, there was a severed wolf’s head laying on the floor of the cave. Each wiry hair and curved fang was so lifelike. There was even blood dripping from the stump of the neck and slobber on the thick rubbery tongue.
“There,” the dragon boomed. “You have your head. Now return to your palace and claim your princess.”
“Errr… thank you,” Gervis said, still unable to take his eyes off of the wolf’s head. How had this come from a *rock*?
“She is trying to get you killed, by the way,” the dragon said. “That’s why she sent you to do a dangerous and impossible task. She won't expect you to ever return.” With that last thought, the golden eyes disappeared and it slithered back into the cave.
Gervis stared at the head. He could leave now and take it back to the palace, and forget that the dragon was ever out here. No one would ever know. On the other hand…. the dragon's warning did make sense. He was just a commoner, after all. And she had rejected his proposals so many other times. Why would the slaying of a great wolf make a difference to her anyway?
“Wait!” he called out, chasing after the dragon. “Wait up!”
| 2016-09-16T06:20:13 | 2016-09-16T06:17:05 | 92 | 25 |
[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.
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“John, I just don’t want to go.”
I tell my friend for the 5th time. He’s persistent. He points out that I have been locked up in my apartment for weeks and that getting out would do me a world of good. In fact, there is a Match party few blocks over from my house and I can leave at any time and walk home. I relent, even though I know that I won’t find the person who matches my color band at the party, it’s still a place to talk to people and I’ve been isolated and depressed for too long.
We meet up at the party and start to mingle. I start to relax a little and people watch. I don’t find many people with blue bands at the party, let alone anyone that matches my hue, but I was expecting that. An hour in to the party I start to notice that things change. People giving me sidelong glances, to people openly staring at me. I find John and ask him if something is wrong with me.
John grabs my arm, “It’s gone.” I look confused, then I look at my wrist. My Match is gone. The familiar light blue ringlet is not there anymore.
The world closes in around me; I see John talking to me, but the world has gone silent. All I hear is my heart pounding, so loud, so fast, and the sound of my panicked breathing. John has me by the shoulders, shaking me slightly, he looks really concerned. I break away and start running. This is my worst fear…my match, it’s gone. I am truly truly alone now. There is no one for me. It’s what kept me alive, no matter how bad it got.
That blue band, my anchor, my constant, never changing, unlike my other friends, who seemed to have a different colored band every month. That blue band, it always seemed like a sad blue, never a vibrant bright blue, just a light muted blue, but always my blue. That blue band, that little line, always meant that there was someone out there for me, that, no matter how lonely I got, there was someone else, someone looking for me, someone who would fit and understand me, someone who would love me.
Now, there is not.
Now, there is no one.
Now, there is nothing.
I get to my apartment and run to the bathroom. I pull out the razor that I have been saving just in case it got too bad. Well, it did. I look at my wrist again, I look really hard, hoping that there is something, some trace, anything, anything at all to show me that I am not destined to be all by myself. There isn’t. Being all by myself is worse than dying and that is why….
I hear John banging on the door. Pounding and yelling. I take the razor and slide it across my wrist, where my band used to be. The red is so bright, such a contrast to the light blue that used to be there. I just stare and watch the blood flow into the sink. I hear more yelling and the thumps on the door are getting more insistent. I guess I cut pretty deep because it’s running pretty steady. As I start to fade, I hear the front door splintering and then nothing.
It’s been a couple of weeks since I woke up in the hospital. It’s been rough, the meds, the visits, the emotions, the one on one counseling. It’s better though, I guess. I mean my outlook feels the same, but I don’t want to kill myself at this moment.
It’s my first support therapy session, I get to talk to a therapist in a group setting of other people like me. I get to the room early and see that there is another person in there, a young lady, maybe my age, maybe a bit younger, wearing a long sweater and scrubs. I think we are the only 2 people in this group as there are only 2 folding chairs, besides the chair behind the table for the therapist.
I sit down. We make eye contact; I give her a sad smile. She looks at my wrist, at the fresh scars and gives a sardonic laugh.
I look at her puzzled, confused.
“Oh, sorry, I’m not laughing at you. Just laughing at life and how things happen.”
I relax a little, but still am confused.
“Look…” she says as she pulls up her sleeve exposing her wrist, “we match.”
EDIT: Edited and expanded on the story. Different from the rough that I posted earlier. I'll post the rough in the comments. Thanks.
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Oak Valley wasn’t the most glamourous settlement across the Kingdom, but it was all I had known for a home. Sure, I’ve traveled beyond the mountains and have seen the ocean to the south, and the snowy wasteland to the north. To the east lies deserts and volcanoes, and to the west is dense forests too dangerous for us to wander in.
I was never gone for long on those adventures but I met many people and learned so much. All throughout those trips there was something on the back of my mind…and ache I couldn’t reach. A question I wanted the answer to. Who was my match?
I had been back in Oak Valley for three weeks, and for some reason today my wrist would randomly itch. The mark on my wrist, the band about half an inch wide, was seemingly irritated. I had asked anyone and everyone what that could possibly mean, but no one had an idea. It’s not supposed to itch. It’s supposed to be there and be the same color as my soulmate, my perfect match.
Currently I was on my way from my family home into town to buy some supplies for my next excursion. Dressed casually, I wasn’t really in the mood to speak to other people but the folks of Oak Valley are as friendly as they are nosy. I was stopped several times by people who had known me my whole life. It was nearly noon by the time I finally entered the official village.
The grocers had stalls set up along both sides of the road and sold their goods until nightfall. Only the blacksmith and the healer had houses in the town. The other three buildings were the jail and court house, the tavern, and the church. It itched again.
My old friend from the woods caught my eye from down the road and waved at me. I lifted my arm and returned the gesture, only to be given a double take by a man walking next to me. I glanced at him but then back at my friend who was walking towards me now.
“Wow I haven’t seen you in forever and a day!” She wrapped her arms around me tightly and kissed me on the cheek.
“Yes, I’ve been wandering about more frequently these days.” I never liked staying in one place for too long. My parents only supported it because they knew I would always return home. She grinned and then looked me over.
“I do believe you have grown since I last—oh my!” She gasped and dropped her eyes to my arm. Her hands covered her face, I couldn’t help but notice her wrist was ringed with a light shade of purple. I looked down at my arm to the familiar blue strip but…
“Where did it go?” I stammered. My mark…my mate… “Where did it go?”
She had tears in her eyes, “I-I’m sorry.” She said. It itched. I lifted my hand to look more closely at my wrist. It wasn’t gone…completely. It was faded and ghostly.
I looked at her and then around me, other people had paused in their days to observe us. There was commotion in the door of the doctor’s house and mournful cries. Three horses I did not recognize were tied next to the door. I never told my feet to move, but suddenly I was shutting the door of the house behind me.
In the entry way a man my own height was pacing with his hands balled into fists. The band on his wrist was a dark shade of blue. I paused and looked again at my wrist. Was it more visible now, or did I just want that to be true?
“Who are you?” He asked me. His mustache was oiled and his clothes were clean and pressed. Whoever these people were, they had money not like the kind we had in Oak Valley.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, “who is in there?”
“My fiancé,” he said it without much emotion. “She’s fallen terribly ill. Something from that disgusting excuse for a market out there, no doubt.”
I didn’t have time to tell the guy what I thought about him but the Doctor entered the room. He looked worried and was covered in what looked to be….vomit.
“Oh, my boy.” The doctor walked over to me, completely ignoring the man next to him. “You know the difference between Snowberries and Lilliberries?” I immediately nodded. We all did.
Snowberries were delicious in pies, and Lilliberries were poisonous. “Seems these travelers did not. Go out and grab some lilliberry flowers and be sure to get some that have fully bloomed. Quick now.”
I was out the door. My heart was pounding in my chest. I had no idea who was in there, seemingly throwing up uncontrollably from berry poison, but I….I had to save her. I looked at the mark again and it was still there but…dim.
Directly behind the doctor’s house was a walking trail that led to a stream. Surrounding the stream were several Lilliberry bushes. I didn’t waste time and grabbed and plucked up as many as I could hold—I stuffed a few into my pockets as well.
Back inside, the doctor had been busy mixing things together into a bowl. I handed him all of the flowers I had grabbed and he mashed them into his mixture. He added hot water and walked back into the patient room. The door shut behind him and I waited. My eyes locked onto the mark on my wrist. It itched.
The fiancé had entered the room with the doctor but after a few moments he left the room and went outside. I watched the door with no breath in me, no thought but what was going on, on the other side of that door.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.
The doctor exited the room. He looked surprised to see me. He looked at me with the question clearly in his eyes. I looked down at my arm, where the blue ring had solidified ever so slightly. “Just…just answer me one question,” I walked closer to him, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Yes boy, you saved that girl’s life you know, you must be rewarded.”
“No, I don’t care for a reward just…what color is her mark?”
“Hard to say boy. My eyes aren’t what they were and there for a minute it disappeared.”
“Like this?” I asked, my wrist suspended between the two of us. He adjusted his glasses and leaned in.
He coughed in surprise and then stepped aside and muttered to himself, “Figures why the mustache left so quickly…”
For a second I couldn’t move. The distance between myself and the door seemed to stretch for eternity. But then, almost like the spark of a fire igniting, I remembered. My eternity was on the other side of that door. I took two shaky steps forward and then two more confident ones.
The door opened and then shut behind me quietly as I stepped into the room. I kept my eyes on the door for longer than I should have, but I was still afraid of what lay in the room.
“Who are you?” The voice was feminine but hoarse. She coughed. I turned slowly. There were dark circles under her eyes, she was pale and covered in sweat. Her hair was messy and her riding clothes needed changing. There was a bucket next to the bed that had putrid smell to it. But I couldn’t look away, she was beautiful.
I stepped forward slowly, too shocked to say anything. She looked from my eyes down to my wrist. Everyone did that when meeting someone knew—it was how it was done. You made eye contact establishing a greeting, and then a cursory glance to the Mark. People of similar colors usually tried dating, which was why I figured she had been engaged to that oiled mustache from outside. Their colors were similar. But…
She gasped.
I came to a stop next to her bed and held out my wrist. She held hers next to mine and we both watched as the pale almost see-through blue that wrapped around us darkened to the color I had been looking at for the last ten years. A peaceful blue. The exact same color.
“I’m Daryn.”
“Carliah.” She smiled. I smiled. I took her hand and sat at the edge of her bed.
| 2016-10-05T00:39:06 | 2016-10-04T22:50:53 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] In a world where everyone has a superpower, you have the ability to stop time. It is by far one of the strongest abilities, but you decide to hide this power. You disguise your ability as teleportation.
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I remember reading a quote growing up .
" No man ever beat Mike Tyson, time did."
That echoed in my mind from the first time I used my powers. Stopping time allowed me to do anything, I could spend literal hours analyzing a situation like I had to in Fukushima.I could go anywhere,do anything. I even became so adept at it I could stop the world around me and let it play in such small sequences I could control anything, do anything.
But no one could know that. If they did it would draw too much attention, they would try to control me, regulate me, use me .
So that's why I'm just sitting here. In this damn crowded room, with the entire world silenced ,still, watching the TV screen as my best friend is about to die. Halfway across the world he is fighting for his life. I should have been there ,but I'm not. Everyone knows I'm at this event. Everyone knows Samson stopped the terrorists in Moscow. And everyone knows he can't really stop that bomb in 6 seconds.
But I could. I can, I must.
I don't care if the world knows I'm the strongest mutant to ever live. I can't live in a world without my friend.
It'll be a long walk , but I have all the time in the world.
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I never thought of my power as a tool to stop crime. I was in college, I had bigger things to care about. Like studying for the finals. Or wondering if my biology professor secretly vied for a forbidden relationship like I did. So I just used time-stoppage as a way to have fun.
But I was careful to share my power only with those I wanted to impress the most, like my friends and hot chicks. No need to draw undue attention to myself. Yet despite my caution, that’s what it got me: “Hey Leonard I’ll pay you to do my thesis,” this and “I know I said I’d clean up but obviously *you’ve* got it since you got the time,” that.
I could’ve said no...I could’ve...but assertiveness was never my strong suit. So, after a series of uncomfortable no’s and pleading to those who knew to keep my true power a secret, I premiered my power as teleportation.
Things were great at first. I gained confidence. I made friends with students that didn’t ask me to do favors for them—their names were Troy and Fredo (or the Traitor as we called him, in homage to Godfather II). I even got a girlfriend—her name was Emma.
Then I royally, royally fucked up.
Fredo the Traitor, Emma, Barkley and I went on a midnight bender that carried us from the University of Pittsburgh campus to the outskirts of Nowhere, Ohio. We got out Barkley’s car and meandered through the abandoned exurbia. Our rising breath was as white as the falling snow. The Traitor’s leather jacket reeked of gasoline from the gas nozzle mishap at the Mobil station. Barkley sung sea shanties (“By the sea shooore,” he crooned), drowning out the chirping crickets. Emma’s lips were as cheap and red as the wine we shared, and the aftertaste was just as pleasant. It was the four of us, stumbling through the nowhere village.
"Do that thing," the Traitor grunted. “Do that, that, that, that telekinesis shit brotha-man.”
"Yyyeah you little shit," Emma said. She pointed from the mailbox of one abandoned bungalow to the stop sign down the street. "Go from there to there."
Before my double-vision of them became too much to handle, I put my hands up and told them, “Calm down, calm down. I’ll do it. Jesus you’re making my head hurt.” Emma let out a little “yay” that reminded me of a child.
Now, although controlling the universe’s entire space-time continuum via the reconfiguration of your own mortal neurons doesn't seem like a Herculean feat to those who don’t possess Timestop powers...it was. And doing it drunk made it the more dangerous:
The world began to swirl more than the drunk-usual, like a cyclone. My vision multiplied hundredfold then split into an infinite number of fractals that had the same level of clarity from the first layer to the deepest layer. My mind then exploded and evolved into a Wonderland biosphere that was as psychedelic as it was blindingly agonizing.
“What’s happening?” Barkley barked. His head shapeshifted to that of a three-headed dog. “I-way an-cay eel-fay ym-ay in-skay elting-may.”
“Know don’t I?” Emma sang atonally. Two cel-shaded Kugelblitzes replaced her breasts.
“Im’ma sorry Michael.” The Traitor shouted. He became a tetrahedron.
We all grabbed our heads and screamed. The snow burned black without fire. Parts of the sky fell like snow, leaving a white void overhead. I tried to undo it, but it only made things worse. A tinnitus-ringing mixed with the sound of zippers zipping and unzipping grew unbearably loud. I threw up something invisible and foul smelling.
Then blackout.
Fortunately, I woke up. Unfortunately, I woke up sober. I left my eyes closed until the headache went away. Then I opened my eyes.
I didn’t have a damn clue where I was.
The world was like one big glitch of dimensions and angles that would drive any mathematician either to elation or suicide. Visible gamma rays made of impossible colors zipped through a sky which gave you that downer feel of opiates whenever you looked at it. My friends vanished; instead, there now stood a 2-D graph depicting Stephen Hawking’s Imaginary Time theory (X-axis: a blue line which was labeled from left to right: past, Real Time, future. Y-axis: a red line labeled “Imaginary Time” that cut through Real Time).
“How may I be of service to you Chancellor?” Imaginary Time said. It had the same robotic voice Hawking had.
“W-where are my friends?”
“Friends? What are those, Chancellor? Please explain and provide proof of existence.”
It was going to be a long...whatever the period of time I spent there was.
&#x200B;
\[Really went balls to the walls with this one. I wish I had more time to revise, but I gotta sleep. Let me know what you guys think :) \]
| 2019-01-12T17:22:30 | 2019-01-12T14:49:48 | 50 | 36 |
[WP] The date is April 1st 2020. Your town is deftly quiet for a Wednesday, but that’s because this time last year there came an April Fools prank that got so far out of hand that the town had to outlaw April Fools Day. That prank was yours and this is your confession.
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Four pigs.
That's all my dad said I needed. Four pigs. Oh, and some grease and some paint. You take four pigs and write the numbers "one" "two" "three" and "five" on them, let it dry, slather them in grease and set them loose somewhere. The joke back then was that everyone would spend a day or so looking for number four.
But my dumbass just HAD to crank it up. I decided that since my dad was a teenager in the early 70's, that people probably all already knew the gig. So how do we play with their prejudices?
Simple.
Let number four loose in the school 2 days after.
I was good about it, even left two scoops of manure in the hallways the night before.
Suddenly they don't know what to believe. They are sweeping the halls and school rooms.
That's all I did.... For that year...
Next year, I did the same. But now Number two was the one to show up four days later.
And the next year five.... And six... Both let loose in the halls sequentially a week later.
So we come to senior year. My mistake, believe it or not, was NOT doing anything. Now admin is looking for five to six greased pigs. Things are getting insane. Nobody can find any pigs but dammit are they absolutely sure they are around somewhere.
As I'm pulling up to the school parking lot, a friend stops me. It's Jerry. He says school is closed last minute. Admin decided to smoke the pigs out using some chemical. Who building had to be taken off the grid and sealed up save for a few key exit points where teams of people waited with nets in hand.
This is getting ridiculous.
Then the explosion. Apparently the electrician missed something when all power was being drained. Somewhere in the home ed. room, a refigerator's compressor clicks on and BOOM.
So that's why we aren't allowed to have fun anymore and why I'm banned from local livestock auctions....
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**Out of Certitude**
&nbsp;
Certitude was a town of easy smiles, warm welcomes, and friendly banter. No one soul could walk down Main Street without being offered ten greetings and an apple pie. A locked door was simply unknown in these parts, and any absent store owner could always rely on their neighbours serving and paying for themselves. When I arrived just over one year ago, three neighbours had jumped to help me move to my new lodgings next to the old church.
It was a dream, a place of the carefree and the considerate, a place where trust ruled.
Until I broke this town.
A pall of deep depression now reigns over Certitude. The greetings have dried up and now any denizen wandering on Main Street, neighbour or no, is a cause for suspicious glares. Security and wary concern are the new watchwords for this town. I hear that the hardware store down in Huntstown has run out of shutters and locks on account of my neighbours.
There is no hope in this town.
And all it took was one road sign and some cherry poppers.
I was elated after my first couple of months in this new town, drunk almost as my initial nerves of being a new arrival had been calmed by the friendly folk of Certitude. That shouldn’t be an excuse, but I really couldn’t help it. This was my first assignment, my first town, since I finished my studies. I was now a proper adult, a man of the town, responsible for these fine people’s wellbeing. I had that giddy rush of a bright future, before I ruined it all by swapping the arrows on that one sign on the evening before April’s Fools. That, and by scattering a handful of poppers down Main Street.
The spirit of Certitude was broken in that one night.
I had woken in the middle of the night to the sounds of sirens and barked commands. I rose and stared from the window in stupefied horror at the lights flashing down Main Street, from the church to the bar. It was like some TV show disaster scene, where every possible Government agency on God’s green Earth was running around in excited activity. There were shouts as well armed officials ordered families from their beds and each home was searched. As I joined the bedraggled ranks of my neighbours, I saw a wave of disenchantment spread through the huddled mass.
Thank God they blamed the kids at first.
By virtue of my role and despite my age, I had been one of the serious faced adults discussing this event the next day in the mayor’s home. As the council meeting wore on, the faces of those around me had already started to harden. For the first time that I had seen, there were short tempers and hard words. It was agreed that one of the ne'er-do-wells from the local school probably did it. I nodded in barely restrained enthusiasm, hoping that a scapegoat could restore the town’s goodwill.
I was wrong.
The mood soured further when the media arrived. The questions were an incessant barrage for any resident who dared to venture outdoors. ‘Were we traitors?’ They asked with no tact and less manners. Doors started to lock, as stores and homes were subject to these unwelcome intruders. Certain harsh truths were unearthed during this time, when the media folk went for controversy like a pig snuffling for truffles. A scoop of second families, deceived creditors, and convenient county contracts was enough to shatter this town’s sense of trust.
&nbsp;
Now, the townsfolk all stare at me. I see the first hints of accusations in their eyes.
They did not smile and wave as they entered the church this day. They entered in morose silence, the odd mumbled and harsh comment echoing through to the eaves.
I clear my throat as the tension fills me to the brim. I stand at the lectern, as the town’s still fresh-faced pastor, their moral guide, and I have failed them all.
I walk through a simple sermon on forgiveness and mercy, hoping it will stick.
It does not.
There are a few snorts of derision and calls for the Old Testament. My congregation has changed and if they knew what I did, there would be hell to pay. I nervously canter through the rest of the sermon, certain that soon someone would stand and accuse me in a dramatic re-enactment of the accusation scene from The Crucible. It was time to leave town, ahead of the tar and feathers.
I will let them know when I am on the road. It was easier that way, for all concerned. I think I will also leave my culpability in the road sign misplacement a mystery. No sense in shattering any remaining faith in the next pastor.
&nbsp;
How was I to know? I think as I end the service.
The road was forked, one way to Certitude, the other to the high way. All I had done was switched the direction of the arrows. It was a simple prank, hopefully luring some new visitors to the town. Who couldn’t have loved this place as it then was? Well, they would have loved it after they recovered from the mild shock of the crack of the cherry popper firework under their wheel. Oh, how the townsfolk would laugh at this and welcome with warm smiles the newcomers.
It was all in good fun!
It was a convoy, an entirely damn convoy that was misdirected. From some agency called the Office of Secure Transportation.
These are the folk who transport nuclear materials.
I had sent an entire convoy of nuclear material down Main Street.
Right across the cherry poppers.
The sudden cracks had sent the convoy into a frenzy of activity. Other agencies were summoned and the town was torn apart, shattering the spirit of Certitude.
I am not the bravest man I think as I get into my car, ready to take the right road to the high way.
| 2019-04-02T21:20:08 | 2019-04-02T20:44:48 | 326 | 60 |
[WP] You, a villain, heart set on taking over the world, kidnapped the hero’s sidekick. You find out that you are treating them much better than the hero was and decide to take them under your wing.
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"I have the power and brains to make the world a better place... If only i could get rid of Holy Justice and his sidekick Kain." the Dark Phantom had thought before he had kidnapped Kain.
Three days had passed since he had Kain locked up and tied up in a cell. He had felt great joy at fooling that idiot Justice to believing that he and a bunch of his men were robbing a bank. As usual Justice busted in through the front of the building making sure that all the cameras were focused on him. Poor Kain as usual had to go through the sewers and prevent the getaway... Only this time Dark Phantom was waiting in the shadows with his most capable men. Kain did not go down without a fight. Phantom was aware that this young kid was a capable fighter but he did not expect for him to be such a savage when cornered. The kid had turned into a vicious beast and severely beaten all of his men before he was able to intervene and knock him unconscious. Phantom himself had struggled and taken his share of blows and still felt pain in his jaw and body where the kid had managed to get hits in.
"Tell me where Holy Justice\`s secret hideout is" Phantom demanded for what seemed to be the thousandth time.
"No" said Kain.
Phantom had stripped Kain to the waist and was planing to torture him but had stopped when he saw the gruesome bruises all over his body. At first he thought they had occurred due to the fight but then realised that these were older...
"What happened to you? where did you get these bruises?" asked Phantom
"That\`s none of your business" said Kain.
"You are too good a fighter to have received such a beating... Did Justice do this to you" said Phantom.
Kain had tears in his eyes. For the first time he actually seem vulnerable... He nodded his head. "How did you know" he said.
"I have a sense of these things" Phantom replied.
Kain explained how he received regular beatings from Justice and told Phantom that he never fought back. He told Phantom how he would allow the beatings because he was \`bad\`. Justice kept punishing Kain "for his severe beatings of criminals". He told Kain to be more \`gentle\` like him. Phantom knew the real reason why Justice kept beating his sidekick. It was because he was jealous of Kain\`s potential and knew that he would eventually surpass him. Justice wanted to keep Kain \`in check\`.
Phantom explained all this to Kain. Once finished the look in Kain\`s eyes changed. Phantom saw pure rage and hatred in the boys eyes. But not for him... this rage and hate was for Justice. Phantom smiled at the boy. "You and I will do great things... I will teach you how to embrace your true self and you will take down Justice for what he has done to you and then... we shall take over the world!"
Kain looked back at Phantom and smiled...
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*Note first prompt pls no rage on bad "x" thing*
Standing on the roof of skyscraper; you're just a few minutes away from unleashing the most powerful, the most incredible monstrosity upon the world and finally claim it as your own.
/You hear sound coming beneath you followed by the ground starting to tremble/
Suddenly coming from beneath floor appears the so-called "Number 1 Hero"... Bob and his sidekick... "Fantistic Juan" wait hang on I think he is "Fantistic Juan...the..uhh..fourth...no maybe fith... aaah who cares he is just the sidekick anyway" you think to yourself.
As your ultimate weapon has been charging and now with only seconds to spare; you try and hold off Bob and his sidekick Juan but with just a momentary lapse of focus Juan managed to land a critical blow which damaged a crucial component triggering the self-destruct sequence (which was initially added to prevent the hero organization from screwing you over again). "You fool!" you shout at Juan "Do you have any idea how long it took to perfect and build that? ... Parts are fricken expensive and hard to come by man; couldn't you have literally just stood there or even hit one of the cheaper components is that too much to ask for.."
With the ultimate weapon about to implode upon itself; Bob punches you with little restraint causing you stagger backwards. "This is the last time you'll ever try something like this again Garathor" Bob yells as he blasts you off the roof with his seemingly overpowered energy-blast.
You start falling off the roof to what seems to be a nice hard concrete bed of DEATH. As you decide that is not really to your liking you open a dimensional-rift a couple of feet below you. Moments before you fall into the rift... it dawns on you - you can make Bob regret stopping you for the last and final time ever(you think atleast).
You realize the "Not So Fantastic Juan.. after he broke your ultimate weapon" is standing over the edge watching you fall. You use your pre-owned mind-grasp device that you got on sale at the local VillianMart ( which channels your willpower and intelligence which allows the user to inhibit telekentic powers for a short duration ) to grab Juan off the roof and through the rift with you.
/You both slam into your secret cave with a thub and a couple of groans later/
Juan looks at you and states "I will stop you Garathor, just wait until Bob gets ...he..re.." He vomits and you laugh maniacally "I see the inter-dimensional travel sickness has got you good huh?" He continues to hurl as you chain him preventing him from resisting and continuing your monologue about how truly amazing you are and how they are not ..blah blah blah yada yada yada some other important things and the monologue ends.
"So sidekick tell me exactly what I want to know otherwise this could get real painful, real quick" you notice that all the spunk and confident demeanor has disappeared leaving behind an appearance akin to that of a stray, abused dog.
"WHATS THE MATTER NOW? I JUST CAN'T GET A BREAK CAN I, FIRST YOU BREAK THE FRICKEN EXPENSIVE MACHINE AND NOW YOU START SULKING WHAT IS UP WITH YOU... UGGHHH" You yell as you pace up and down. While enraged you notice the uniform Juan is wearing seems identical to his predecessors; upon furthed inspection you start to notice scarring and scar tissue over his body.
You calm yourself, sit down next to him and ask "Now look here sidekick even though we don't always see eye to eye, heck we never see eye to eye. Whats up with this uniform it looks as old as the first Fantastic Juans', also whats up with all the scars?".
Juan begins to break down crying; just moments ago before your master plan was thwarted there was this energetic and lively sidekick; now all thats left is a husk of his former self that's emitting beaten, broken and hopeless aura.
"Geez just answer the questiosn will you" you state even though your concern is growing. Juan starts speaking "You know what? My name isn't even Juan not even remotely close my real name is Eric. And yes this is that exact uniform from all the previous Juans as for the scars; whenever Bob loses a fight or wants to train guess who is used as a personal punching bag because I'm "just a sidekick". What do you think happened to my predecessors?... you know what ignore everything and just end it here I dont care anymore" Eric closes his eyes and it seems as though he is awaiting something.
You unclip his shackles and tell him to follow you; as Eric follows you through this ever-shifting dimension of yours you start talking to him "You know Eric I have fought many-a Juans over the years but I never knew what happened to them but now it all comes together. When I was younger my father used to beat me just for the sake of "building character" he said after each beating. So I know the rage, resentment and hate boiling from within you and all I can say is... USE THAT AS FUEL, USE THAT TO DRIVE YOU, USE THAT TO BECOME SO POWERFUL NO ONE WILL DARE LAY SO MUCH AS A FINGER ON YOU WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION..."
/You notice a faint smile on his face and the return of life within his eyes as you walk.../
/As you reach your destination you tell Eric that there are appropriately sized clothes within the room and that he should take a shower and get changed into the clothes/
Eric comes out after a while with a huge grin on his face; "What?" you ask - Eric responds "No one has ever treated me so kindly before or even treated me as another human before; you know I am actually 16 right?". It dawns on you, for these mere moments you were helping this boy; you were more of a hero to him than the so-called "Number 1 Hero".
"You know if you want you can stay here, you can have that room. We might be a little broken but I think two broken might just make one whole person... or one worse person but lets focus on the positive" you ask the kid. The boy is overjoyed and jumps onto you squeezing and hugging you well stating "Are you sure? You aren't joking right? A room just for myself? You know I've always had to sleep in the living room in the couch or on the mats in the exercise room.."
"Geez, alright kid and yes to all of the above would you just get off me.. We need to go grab some dinner"
/You and your newly "adopted" to-be villiabous-sidekick head off to enjoy a meal in what the kid will realize is the dimension which all villains reside within/
| 2020-03-26T18:23:55 | 2020-03-26T17:01:36 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] In this universe all tattoos are magical but difficult to ink, powerful mages have 3 or sometimes 4. Fireballs and lightning are common choices. You’ve been transported here from Earth, with a full sleeve and more, for your taste in music, movies, ideals, etc. Your magic is…different.
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I stared around, trying to force some synchronization between my brain and what the hooded stranger was telling me.
"I'm sorry, what?"
I could tell he was getting annoyed. He lifted his arm, the maroon sleeve slumping down to reveal a beautifully detailed lighting bolt tattoo.
"What. Is. Your. Power?" He said carefully, emphasizing how slow he thought I was. I didn't- couldn't- answer him, much as I wanted to. He sighed so hard his hood fluttered in the still air, and before I knew what was happening, my arm was in his hand and my sleeve had been pulled down.
Normally I would have taken satisfaction in the way his face changed, but something about the shift from annoyance to fear sent ice down my spine. He let my arm flop, and took a hasty bow.
"M-mage! I am *deeply* sorry. Forgive my ignorance."
My tongue was leaden, but somehow I managed to respond, "I do." and watched him rush away down the foggy cobblestones.
As I stared down at the band names, memorials, and movie posters inked deep into my skin, I felt something rise up inside me; something powerful, something new, something...
Magic.
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The joyful screams of small children playing, the lighthearted haggling of merchants starting the day, the beautiful sun just barely peeking its head over the horizon during the beginning of the sunrise. All of it came together to form a picturesque village in a rural area. Yet there was someone who stood out. A stain on what would otherwise be a marvel of a tapestry, he trudged through backstreets and lesser traveled paths to avoid attention. No matter what Ryan did, though, the villagers always seemed to notice him. He couldn’t seem to escape their stares even with the best of his efforts, with conversations being stopped whenever he drew near and cautious glances being the only things thrown his way. It didn’t hurt though. He had gotten used to this kind of treatment, from the previous world he lived in and now this one. Or at least, that’s what he would have liked to be able to say. But living like that? You can never get used to it. It hurts just as bad as it did the first, every time.
A tap on his shoulder inspired hope for a brief second, thinking someone had decided he was worth their attention beyond a menacing glare, but he turned around just to find a man in some sort of metal armor, with an insignia on his chest. A guard of some sort, perhaps? Whoever he was, him and his 2 friends in the same metal outfit and insignia didn’t seem like they were here just for fun.
“You lost or something?” asked the lead guard. “You’re disturbing the people here.”
The slight stubble on the guard’s chin irritated Ryan, but for what reason he couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the guard in general that irritated him. But he held his tongue, having learned his lesson about attracting attention to himself, and tried to make himself smaller, folding into the ragged cloak that covered most of his body and staring at the cobbled streets below him as he answered.
“No, sir,” Ryan said, his voice rough and uncertain as if he almost never spoke. “I’d need a destination to get lost first, and I don’t have one of those.”
The guard frowned. “Well, find one quickly and get out of here. Folks don’t appreciate you being here, if you couldn’t tell.”
Ryan felt the familiar sense of rage and shame welling up again, and tried to suppress it. Even in the last world he lived in, no one cared about him directly. The only time people were concerned with him was when he was disturbing them somehow, and then he’d always move somewhere else. All his life, he moved for others, but never for himself. Not anymore though. Not anymore.
Ryan let his feelings overtake him, careless of the 2 tattoos the guard had. Impressive to be sure, especially for a rural village like this, but Ryan didn’t care anymore. He’d rather die than live like this. He tried to throw a punch, a kick, anything at all to resist the guard, but he found his body, frozen still, unable to move. All of a sudden, a burning pain took hold of him, starting from his wrist and racing its way across his body. He bent over with an ear piercing scream, before his body stretched ramrod straight, tendons and muscles visibly stretching to the limit as an inky black color started from his wrist and spread all across his body, following the same path the pain did just moments earlier.
The guard backing up and activating his tattoos as they swirled across his body as well reminded Ryan about his own tattoo on his wrist that he had forgotten about. Before he could think about what power his tattoo would grant him, a new voice spoke inside his head.
“You did well, Ryan, for battling me for many long years. Not once did you ever give in. Now, let’s see if these weaklings share your mettle.” And with a chuckle that could haunt nightmares and sent a shiver down his spine, the pain was gone and Ryan’s body was his own again. But when he opened his eyes, a monstrous beast had appeared between Ryan and the guards. They blasted the monster with the powers granted to them by their own tattoos, but they splashed harmlessly on its pelt.
Ryan couldn’t see the beast’s face from where he was, with the beast’s back to him, but somehow he could feel it smile, right before he heard a scream and a sickening crunch as bones snapped in the jaws of the beast. There were heavy footsteps as the other 2 guards ran, but the beast pounced twice more and 2 more lives were snuffed out. The beast turned to Ryan and did a passable imitation of licking its lips, before vanishing and returning to his tattoo. Ryan just stared at the carnage that was left over, along with the now emptied town street, before walking away to continue his journey with no destination as he told the first guard. A few townspeople came out from their various covers, eager to glimpse his tattoo and maybe get that tattoo themselves, but were disappointed at what they saw. Just a man with something to say, no one to listen, and a small semicolon inked on his wrist.
| 2022-07-06T10:50:31 | 2022-07-06T09:59:50 | 83 | 45 |
[WP] The Heroes politely knocked on the door of the Dark Lord. There was a side quest over in the nearby forest and they were rather lost.
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"Good morning." The little girl in plate armor bowed and greeted the wriggling monstrosity that opened the door, "Do you know how to get to Carne Village?"
Axylovr the Insanity rubbed what passed for a chin with a tentacle. It's been awhile since he's had visitors and it took him a couple seconds to remember how to use his vocal cords. "Follow the yellow brick path back out to the edge of my garden, make a left towards the sound of running water, then follow the river downstream. Should take you about an hour."
"Thanks, Mr. Tentacle!" The girl beamed with a stunningly beautiful smile and trotted off in the indicated direction. Axylovr the Insanity watched as she stumbled on an uneven block, tripped, picked herself up, and continued on her merry way. He shrugged and returned to his morning tea.
&nbsp;
An hour later, he was interrupted again by a knock at his door.
"Good afternoon." It was the little girl again. "I... couldn't find the river." She twiddled her thumbs and stared at the floor, a little ashamed.
AH. Of course. Axlovr the Insanity smacked himself in the head with a squirming psuedopod. "I apologize. My garden is protected by a wandering ward. I had forgotten."
He dribbled a bit of his smoking blood essence onto the floor and swirled it with limb until it curled into the shape of an arrow. "Good, follow this. Take care now."
The little girl tripped on the same block and rolled into a graceful somersault, hands held high, greatsword on her back. She turned and smiled at Axlovr the Insanity. He waved and went back inside to finish his book.
&nbsp;
An hour later, he was interrupted yet again by a knock.
"Hello." The little girl was intently studying something on her boots with her hands behind her back. "I didn't do it on purpose... I'm sorry."
She brought her hands forward, holding the twitching remains of his familiar. Its dripping form stained the brick beneath them and misted into tiny red howls. The arrow was barely recognizable.
"I fell... and my nose hit it." She was apparently composing a thesis on the dirt specks of her shoes because she still refused to look up. A bit of red dripped onto the pavement and did not boil.
Axylovr the Insanity noticed and crouched to meet her gaze. She had a nosebleed. "Lets get you cleaned up, child. What's your name?"
"Hero." She rubbed her nose with a hand, staining it with blood, and sniffled.
"Your name child, not your occupation. What do I call you?" He plunged an appendage into the void and drew out a tissue to clean her face, then her hands. He held another tissue to her nose, "Blow." She did.
"It's what everyone calls me. It's what they've always called me." Her stomach rumbled and she blushed.
Oh dear. "Come, lets get you something to eat. How do you like beef stew?"
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/r/Unexpected_Works
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The party of three and the old man stare at each other until the fighter shifts uncomfortably, his battered armor creaking. The old man lowers the hand that stopped the cavalcade of words, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Let me get this straight. You were asked to go to Great Meadow and pick four Song Flowers to cure a boy’s dog. You got chased by some goblins into this forest, you thought you were safe when the goblins suddenly ran away, only to discover they were scared off by the werewolves heading towards you.” The old man opens one eye, seeing the fighter’s head bobbing eagerly in agreement. The rest of the party looked downcast. “You used some parlor tricks to confuse the werewolves while you hot-footed it further in the forest until you encountered a chimera, and then things started getting worse.” The fighter’s head was nodding so hard in agreement the old man briefly pondered if he could actually hurt himself nodding. “And you find yourself here, out of spells, out of food, out of healing potions, and you figured you’d ask for help.” The silence was tangible, why did this party not have a bard, or even a thief? Sure, those types were annoying, but at least they took control of conversations. “Come on in. It looks like you could use the help.”
Another waterfall of speech, this time thanking the old man instead of explaining how they got there. The old man sighs as the great door swings shut. “I am… Fingus.” Fingus, now there’s a name he hadn’t used in ages, not since he became Dragot the Feared. Fingus was a young man with a chip on his shoulder and thirst for power. Dragot was a name feared by all, a merciless tyrant who did unspeakable things. And these young adventurers had no idea who he was. “…and you are?” The man with the green medium armor blinks rapidly. “Apologies, Fingus, we have been through a lot in the last few hours. I am Clarion Cowell, a cleric by trade, and I am at your service.” Fingus nods. At my service? Not yet you’re not. The skinny woman in the robe bows low. “I am Bridgid, a wizard of the fourth rank, and I am in your debt.” Fingus nods again. Debts will be paid, for sure. He looks at the last member of the trio. The fighter tilts his head in confusion at the attention until Clarion elbows him. “Oh! I’m Kodi, uh, and I’m really good at stabbing things.” He smiles at his own joke. Fingus smiles too. “Welcome. Come in and relax. I will be happy to provide a place to sleep and something to eat. I’m afraid my hospitality is limited, with me living out here alone in this empty castle and all. I must say though, I am surprised there are only three of you.” The party gets quiet, and Clarion murmurs, “Our friend is no longer with us.” Fingus murmurs his condolences, mentally regretting it was probably too late to fetch and animate the body.
Dinner was good, Fingus served cold meat sandwiches and ale, and as the adventurers chatted, Fingus considered how each would fit in as minions. Sure, he could have smeared them all over his doorstep with a simple word, but he has a devious mind, and these three would make excellent servants. People expect a mighty evil sorcerer/necromancer to be a robed fiend radiating power, not some old bent man in a rumpled tunic. This wasn’t the first time he greeted people at his door with no armor or magic. He isn’t sure if that cleric has the “Detect magic” spell, but this castle would come up clean… until you went to the sub-basement, that is. The trio were charming and so naïve, he almost hated to break them to his will. Almost. He showed them to their room (“Sorry you have to share, I didn’t really expect three guests!”), but Fingus stayed up for a few hours more, head overflowing with what he was going to do to these hapless idiots.
A little over eight hours later… suddenly… Bright light. Bright light, and pain. “Fingus” wakes, something is terribly wrong. He casts a spell, but nothing happens. While he wasted a turn casting, more pain. He screeches, but no sound comes out. A silence spell. The cleric’s work. “Sorry, Dragot,” Bridgid says. They must have cast the spell so it hit him and not them. “You were nice to us and everything, but we know what you’ve done to the local villages.” Dragot the Feared attempts another spell that doesn’t require talking, but his components have been taken away. He looks at the four adventurers surrounding him. “Oh, this is Percivus, our thief. He’s with us again. I told him not to split the party, but it seems like it worked out.” The fighter moves in and holds the necromancer, not letting him move from his spot. More pain. Dispel magic… still can’t speak. Can’t move now. Not strong enough to break grapple. The fourth member of the team is… a halfling, with a sorrowful look on his face. “I explored your sub-basement, Dragot. Such a collection of perversions. Manifests of your plan to seize power. Transmuting little girls and dogs into chimeras? What is wrong with you?” More pain, that had to have been a backstab. Dragot spends the time to break the grapple from the fighter, taking another hit from each of the party members. He is powerful, but he was so sure of his control and power, he took no precautions. The party members were all on one side of the bed, he rolls to the other side, putting one hand out. His favorite spell, he can only cast it once, incendiary cloud. Let them take massive swirling fire damage. He speaks the command word, and nothing. He turns to see the silence glyph on the wall behind him before another volley of attacks takes him down.
“I can’t believe we did it,” the cleric murmurs, standing over their fallen foe. “What now?”
The hobbit grins, holding up a gold amulet. “We just took down the biggest baddest most evil guy for leagues. We loot the place, of course! Race you to the sub-basement!”
| 2022-08-15T08:30:22 | 2022-08-15T02:18:35 | 43 | 26 |
[WP] Humanity “solved“ the climate crisis by simply moving to another planet, a technique they perfected as time moved on and other planets died. Almost 5 millenia later, researchers realize that the vacuum between the stars has warmed up by 0.1 K.
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Brett hummed, and twiddled his pen absentmindedly, as he thought things over. It was going to be hard to spin this, but universal warming was becoming a crisis that was impossible to ignore. And so, like his noble ancestors before him, Brett set about formulating a solution, not by fixing the problem, but by figuring out why they didn’t HAVE to fix the problem.
“Well,” he said to the room full of political pundits, PR representatives, and other advisors to the president’s office, “there’s the argument to be made that universal warming is a good thing, actually.”
The President perked up at this idea. “Oh, I can use that. Go on.” It was an election cycle coming up, and the void climate was sure to be a hot-button issue.
Brett presented his plan. “Well, when humanity realized they’d destroyed their home planet’s environment, it was too late to stop it. So what did they do instead? They let it continue, until their oceans boiled, their homes burned, and they had no choice but to transcend the bounds of gravity. Indeed, the legacy of humanity as a planet-traversing society, would not have existed without humanity’s devastating effect on the climate.”
“So we pitch this - when a planet gets too hot, what do we do? We leave it. So if the universe gets too hot, it just means it’s time for humanity’s next great evolution.”
The president’s eyes widened, as he gasped, “We gotta transcend into a new dimension.”
“Bingo!” Brett said, spinning in his chair. A buzz of excitement spread through the room. “And it’s about time, too. Corporeal forms are inefficient and bad for the economy.”
More nods. More murmurs. Ah yes. This made sense.
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The astrograph technician was perplexed. She squinted in suspicion, noted something on her screen, and closed the maintenance hatch.
"I've adjusted and calibrated the false color readings. They aren't this bright for nothing," Jeyna said.
"The microprocessors aren't
The researchers looked at the other astrographs. Five units, all similarly marring the results. A temperature tolerance was acceptable, give or take a twentieth of a Kelvin. That fluctuation was already massive, the vacuum of space hardly measured five thousandths of a Kelvin colder or hotter. But a tenth? The readings would show it. They do show it. What was once 2.725 Kelvin all around now shows a flabberghasting... 2.823 Kelvin.
They would've seen it coming. Their astrographs aren't calibrated often, that's how reliable they are. From the factory itself, they didn't need any extra calibration. Only now, now that their readings are correct, or so they claim. The company almost never sends out a technician.
Why hasn't anyone spoken up?
"Look, my hours are over for tonight. I can mark this off as "needs further work" and just come back tomorrow, standard hours. The warranty covers each unit, so it's only a time issue. Unless you need those measurements, stat. But I can't really help you. Sometimes things work themselves out in the morning."
The lead researcher, or so she looked it, stepped forward and nodded with her colleagues.
"Alright. We'll see what we can get. 'Twill be interesting on the final report, nothing big if its a bug. Still gotta keep track of things and make our observations replicable, so others can see what we see and confirm we aren't crazy. For Humanity, this potential discovery is interesting news for us!" she said with some joy. As much joy as could come from a researcher, Jeyna supposed.
Jeyna looked around and tapped something on her screen.
"Eh, it usually gets cleared up the next day anyway. Not the worst thing in the Universe," Jeyna said as she packed her kit away.
"I'll see you tomorrow! Looks like news-worthy stuff to me," Jeyna added as the door closed behind her.
___
The air within Grand Arkcity wasn't the cleanest, but it was better than the Sixth Ark. Cleanest air Jeyna had ever breathed, anyway. She walked through the transformed tunnels, barely remembering what they once were. Massive, regimented Arks reformed into the Grand Arkcity. A millennium-old thing, best suited for planet hopping. Featuring a bit of everything, enough to jumpstart another civilization with just enough people and a need for all the resources possible. Schools, foundries, manufacturing and warehousing equipment, everything Humanity needed. And of course, astrographs. From observation for new planets, stars, sensing everything imaginable about other worlds, other discoveries, all of it a necessity. How else could humanity live on? All they needed was a home, always in one direction. They had one, for now. Humanity requires one.
The Human Council requires that too.
Jeyna pulled out her phone and called the special number for her issue. Might as well solve it now. Work hours might be over, but Humanity's work is never done. The automated number picked up.
"Astrograph Technician Jeyna Carkadian, Number 233 dash 25. Requesting special provision for code orange per Astrograph Model R-Series Handbook... Code orange confirmed... Negative code teal. Negative code teal. Positive code orange, recommendation per Handbook is standard offline procedures."
Jeyna waited patiently. A human voice came through.
"Why are you declaring code orange on Astrograph R-series Units 543 through 547? You know that requires special attention and especially to their users," the soothing voice asked, somehow menacingly.
"Reasoning: if there's a code for it and another technician gets sent in, I'm not needed. I did what I had to do, to try and fix it and if I couldn't, send a special technician- "
"So why not apply for that? Best of both worlds for pay and you get to see even more. Your record is, dare I say in this context... outstandingly stellar, red-hot even," the voice turned grandfatherly.
"No, I'm not applying for that. I'd rather look around where I am, I don't like the weird NDA policy. I'm not ready for that," Jeyna said and kept her calm. The Council remembered all the calls and could hear all around, best not sound too loud.
"Very well. What did they say?"
"I don't remember," Jeyna said. Wasn't her job. Just the astrographs, and nothing more, and certainly no researcher babble about discoveries themselves.
"Hmph. They never say much, but you declared code orange. That's gonna stick. I commend you on your initiative. We'll fix the units and get on the way with our scheduled program. For Humanity," the voice said.
"For Humani-" Jeyna almost completed her salute as the call ended.
___
The news bulletin announced very slowly, covering news from yesterday. For the third day, it has announced some similar variation of the same message to the delight of everyone.
"RESEARCHERS FIND NEW HABITABLE PLANET SEVEN LIGHTYEARS AWAY! NEW CORN VARIANT RESISTANT TO ULTRAVIOLET RAYS, CONFIRMED FOR MASS-GROWTH NEXT GROWING SEASON! ASTROGRAPH COMPANY ISSUES RECALL FOR UNITS UNDER DIRECTION OF HUMAN COUNCIL FOR DEFECTIVE ASTROGRAPHS! ASTROGRAPH SERIES R IS KNOWN TO SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST, CONTACT ASTROGRAPH LLC FOR RECALL INFORMATION!"
| 2022-11-12T17:29:33 | 2022-11-12T16:57:42 | 846 | 48 |
[WP] When we finally meet aliens they are very scared and apologetic, they kept mentioning an asteroid a couple million years ago for some reason...
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The Being itself is larger than our solar system, could chomp us between its sun-sized teeth in a second. But it just sits there at the edge of Pluto until we send out a probe, figure out a communication method, translate.
"Sorry."
It keeps saying.
"For what?" We ask.
"Remember uh... I don't know, 2, 3 billion years ago? When I uh..."
"What?"
"Well... that doesn't usually happen to me, it's just you're such a BEAUTIFUL planet, I got excited..."
"What?"
"I uh... I thought I should tell you. I have Human. You should probably get yourself tested."
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Grigs pulled himself out of his bunk for another day on his galactic patrol mission. He tried his best to put himself in a positive mindset for his day but found it difficult when they all are the same. Grigs and his crew had been sweeping the milky way for what felt like eons to him and every day they scanned more planets, logged them and moved on. Untrue to the Space Academy's propaganda back on his home planet said, space exploration was very, very dull. Grigs stopped by the ship's cafe as he always did on his way to the bridge.
"Mornin' captain!" The inexplicably perky chef called out, "The usual?"
Grigs gave him as much of a smile as he could muster and nodded his head. He pulled out his Grax Phone and browsed reddit while waiting for his meal.
"Here you go captain, Phendraxian eggs, over easy, Frax hash and a coffee as usual."
Grigs thanked the chef and proceeded to his usual spot by the bay window. He plopped his phone down and began to eat while waiting for the gif on his phone to load. He hated that he got assigned to the Milky Way mainly because the reception was dreadful there. After finishing his meal he proceeded to the bridge where he took his seat in the captain’s chair. He pulled up his daily assignment.
*Oh fuck. The Sol system? Isn’t that the one that we accidentally smashed with an asteroid in the Cryx reactor accident?*
Nobody had actually surveyed the damage yet and it wasn’t something that Grigs was particularly excited about either. Nobody really wanted to acknowledge just quite how huge of an effect they may have caused in an uncharted system.
“Captain we have arrived at the Sol system!” Ensign Hark shouted.
“Very well, begin preliminary scans of the outer planets.” Grigs ordered.
A few minutes passed by and the expected red message appeared on the main display:
**NO SIGNS OF LIFE**
“Move on to the inner planets. This system doesn’t seem to have very many we might be able to get another system in today at this rate.” Grigs ordered.
About ready to order the ensign to begin plotting a course to the next system Griggs froze. Big green letters appeared on the main display.
**LIFE SIGNS DETECTED**
*Oh no. There’s life here too? What if they are super pissed about the asteroid? This ship isn’t combat equipped! What if they are more advanced than us?*
Grigs mind raced as he tried to remember the protocols he had learned so long ago in the Academy when the communications officer interrupted his thoughts.
“We have an incoming communication from the 3rd planet in the system sir.”
“Put it through” Grigs replied, his voice noticeably shaken.
“Unidentified vessel, please identify your intentions or we will take hostile measures!” a stern voice proclaimed through the speakers.
“Uh, we are here to scan your system to look for life” Grigs fumbled.
“Unidentified vessel, I repeat identify your intentions or you will be fired upon.”
“Well we, um, we are sorry. Like really really sorry. You know with the asteroid and all of that so uh I guess we are here to apologize.”
“What the hell are they talking about Bill?” came through the speakers muffled as if the speaker had turned away from the microphone, “You really think so?” a bit of ruffling came through and then at full volume again the speaker said “Do you mean to say you had a role to play in the asteroid that hit millions of years ago?”
Grigs almost laughed at this point.
*Millions of years?! Holy shit I think I may have just dodged the universes biggest bullet.*
“Oh, yeah that one. It was a long time ago but we still felt kinda bad about it.” Grigs said with a newly found level of ease in his voice. To his species the accident occurred a week ago so these creatures must have significantly shorter life spans to believe that it was millions of years ago.
“Thank you for your apology.” The voice came through the speakers, “would you be willing to come to our home world to discuss further relations between our species?”
Grigs muted his microphone and barked at his science officer “Pull up the scan information on this planet on the main display!”
**Intelligence rating: 3/10**
“Not worth our time.” Grigs said calmly, “Just plot a course for the next system.”
So they left.
Edit: punctuation. Also please forgive my formatting.
| 2016-09-23T21:38:35 | 2016-09-23T20:30:05 | 83 | 51 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
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As I sat and began to listen, Pete "Gilby Clarke" Martin told me wonderful, incredible, unfortunate, and unbelievable things about where he had been since running away a few years before. As our time came to a close, he asked for a drink of water. When I returned from the kitchen, however, he was gone, in his place a giant, steaming turd.
"Goddamit Pete."
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**EDIT: BEFORE YOU READ THIS I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO INCLUDE THE BEST FRIEND.** I was writing whilst preparing my kids dinner. I'm sorry to the OP. I will still submit this and allow the downvotes to be a reminder that I need to pay attention at all times.
So naturally, I obliged.
'Where shall we do this, should we sit?' I stumbled on my tongue. I didn't want to offend him with the cheap tricks we once did. Sit. Stay. Play dead. It all seemed irrelevant now that I was face to face with a talking, conscious dog.
'It's fine Phillip, don't be nervous, please, over here, under this tree is perfect.' Doug's voice was so soothing, it was nothing like I imagined a dog would talk, it was like silk chocolate milk. I followed Doug from my front door, down my porch steps and under the tree my grandfather had planted in my front lawn, back when it was his front lawn. We sat. Doug looked around and inhaled the sweet summer air.
'By my bark, I've missed this place... And you Phillip, I've missed you. You look healthy.'
'Thanks Doug, you, umm, you look great, it's been a long time. Where have you been.' Doug swallowed and relaxed in the grass.
'Four years, to this day exactly, Phillip, tell me, do you remember the last thing you said to me?'
I tried to think, I honestly couldn't remember. One day I woke up and Doug was gone. I thought it was my fault, I'd always blamed myself for leaving the backdoor open.
'I'm sorry, I don't remember...'
'That's okay, I understand the minds of men better than I ever thought I would now, I understand the struggle of just surviving, working, paying bills, mating. I've travelled Phil, I've travelled till my paws have bled, then I travelled more. I needed to understand the world of men. I slowly learnt your words, your ways... Your desires... Your hatred.'
Doug's voice fell deep with sadness, I felt weak as I noticed a sadness in his eyes.
'Oh Douggy, what's happened to you, who hurt you?' I needed to know.
'Everyone, I searched and searched for an answer to your question but I've come back to tell you Phillip. There is no good boy. Not in this world.'
Then suddenly I remembered, I had come out of the shower, gotten ready for bed and went to the kitchen for a drink to take my pills with and I saw Doug in his bed. I knelt down, patted his head and said...
'Who's a good boy? I remember now, that's what I said the last time I saw you.'
'That's right Phillip, I tried and I tried to find out for you, to find you a true and honest friend. A good boy that you deserved. You were so good to me but I know I wasn't enough, you would always ask me 'Who's a good boy?' I didn't know then and I'm so sorry to tell you... I don't know now.' Doug stopped making eye contact with me. The sadness grew and grew in those deep brown eyes. Then I felt it growing in me too, tears began to fall down both our faces.
'Doug you fool! It was you! It was always you!' I tackled Doug with a passion I hadn't felt in the longest time. Doug pulled out of my embrace, confused.
'I... I'm a good boy? Me?' Doug stammered, with his voice cracking.
'Of course it's you, you are the loyalist, greatest friend I could have ever asked for.' Doug's tail began to wag, a little at first as it all sank in, then violently as he became overjoyed. He pounced on me like a puppy, we rolled around making up for lost time. The only person I'd ever needed was back in my life.
'Oh Phillip, this is the greatest day ever, so much time wasted, so much we have to catch up on, fetch, walks, chess... Oh I can play chess now.'
'That's fantastic! You're right, this truly is the greatest day ever... Doug... Who's a good boy?'
'Oh, oh I know, I know, it's me.'
| 2017-03-31T10:59:29 | 2017-03-31T10:02:08 | 45 | 16 |
[WP]The pagan gods watch with amusement as humanity still remember them by naming their mightiest vessels after them, long after they stopped worshiping them. When war against aliens break out, the old gods subtly aid the humans, not wanting the last homage to them to be taken lightly.
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Frontiersman Lucian Xan's blood flowed freely down his brow until it met his jawline. It pooled on the tip of his chin and then dripped downward, unnoticed and unimportant. "How many are we looking at? I'm getting nothing but squid on the local."
Jack Studde snorted, "More than it's worth countin'." He gave a hapless shrug, "Only so many bullets to fire sometimes Luke. We've done what we could."
Xan's eyes watered as the smoke from the fire began to cloud the cockpit, causing the viewscreen to blur. The red blinking notification was clear enough. "We didn't get a clear line. The message isn't getting out."
"They'll know well enough when the *Hermes* doesn't report in. Sometimes shooting the messenger is message enough." Jack yanked on the release to his harness, letting some of the pressure off of his chest. Just above his breast was a small winged sandal with the name Studde emblazoned above it. "Wish we'd brought bigger guns. They say the new models got grav pulses."
Lucian sighed, "Yeah, well, it was supposed to be quiet out this way. Squids are supposed to be a few hundred AU the other direction." He slammed the heel of his hand on the panel in front of him, willing the engine back to life. They were dead in the black, their ion drive knocked offline. The squids would have them tractored in soon enough.
They needed a bit of luck, that or the grace of God.
Xan pulled up the comms relay, funneling in the last bit of power in a vain hope of getting the message out. *Thor* was only a hop and a skip behind them, close enough to make it before the air ran out in their suits. The warship had been pulverizing everything in its path, its mass drivers inexplicably performing beyond specifications on multiple occasions. His fingers flew across the panel, the spiderweb of cracks ignored as he attempted to call out.
The last bit of power trickled down, the lights dimming in the ship. "Auxiliaries almost gone," Jack called out.
Lucian ignored him, his attention focused on the little red blinking notification on relay readout. "C'mon you god damned--"
A small flare appeared, the readout flickering for the briefest of moments to show a pair of winged sandals. The red notification blinked out and re-appeared, a cool minty green. "Sonuvabitch..." Xan yelled out. "It's out!"
The lights blinked out, shrouding the ship in darkness.
"What?" Jack asked, the flexglass helmet stored in his collar unfurling and sheathing his head. A small 100% number appeared on his shoulder, indicating his oxygen supply.
"The relay, it got the message out. *Thor* should have it in a few minutes." Lucian frowned down at the local, "Probably not enough time to save our asses, but at least home has a warning that they've got squids pounding down their back door."
\---
"Captain, we've got a priority inbound from the edge. *Frontiership Hermes.* Distress." The comms officer swore, "We've got squids, Ma'am. Whole fleet of them. *Hermes* is disabled."
"Stow it and keep focused Lieutenant. Send a relay back earthward and let's get them some backup," Captain Lawless commanded, her steely grey eyes darting between the bridge crew.
"Captain, we don't know what we're up against, the message just said a fleet of squids." Comms Officer Lucas replied even as he prepared the relay message back home.
"Let me worry about that Lucas, just get us there." She sat in her command chair, her shoulders squared forward, the golden lightning bolt emblazoned on her chest twinkling in the light. "This is the *Thor*, we've got the hammer."
&#x200B;
[**PART 2 RIGHT HERE ON MY SUB. EVERYONE DIES. IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT FOR DEMANDING MORE.**](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/alzoo6/wppart_1_2_the_pagan_gods_watch_with_amusement_as/)
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
&#x200B;
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"We're not going to make it," Davis said, grimly. "We're basically Dutchman. We're dead. We just haven't stopped breathing yet."
Jasmine Huang inhaled, sharply. For a moment, she thought about snapping at her executive officer. That kind of talk was not conducive to morale.
However, a quick glance around the bridge made it painfully clear that morale was already sinking fast. The painful reality of their situation hadn't escaped any of her officers, at least none that Huang could see.
The *Athena* didn't feel like a dead ship. The command centre was still lit, and every console Huang could see remained illuminated. Both the touch-sensitive multifunction panels and hard physical controls were still operating. The *Athena* still had power, plenty of power. They weren't exactly short of electricity.
But everything was running on batteries. Emergency reserves. The actual beating hearts of the vessel had gone cold, as the damage summaries clearly illustrated.
"Surely we can change course," Huang said. She was grasping at straws, she knew that. Yet, she had to try, damn it. "The aux thrusters and backups… "
"Yeah," Aziz agreed, dryly. The helmsman didn't turn around. Not that he could, since he was strapped into a body-conforming chair and had his suit sealed, his helmet locked in place. "Sure. Minor adjustments. Ship'll miss the planet. Just means we'll all die slow, not quick."
The helmsman's voice came over Huang's earpieces. None of the bridge crew were speaking normally, but rather over a local radio link.
"I think," Huang said archly, "it's enough of a win not to slam a million tons of warship into the world we're supposed to protect."
"At this point," Aziz replied, "us kinetic-killing the colony, that'll almost be mercy. Either we crash into the place… or the wobbly ships hit orbit and do the same thing anyway, with coil drivers."
"Lieutenant," Huang said, "we are not committing mass murder, in order to kill our own people before the enemy can."
"I dunno," piped up Balewa from weapons control. The woman sounded darkly amused. "Maybe if we ruin the muck-breathers' fun, they'll give up and go home?"
Huang stifled the urge to sigh. She wanted to massage her forehead, to knead her temples, but she couldn't. Not with her own helmet in place.
Moreover, it was difficult to even move, considering the *Athena* was currently travelling at something equivalent to two or three Earth gravities. Two plus G.
Her suit was powered, of course, a basic exoskeleton setup running alongside the circulatory management lines that kept Huang and her crew functional and mobile while the ship was undergoing combat maneuvers. Though even the suit didn't keep Huang from feeling terrible. Human bodies weren't designed to operate under a constant oppressive weight.
"Balewa, that's not how it works," Huang said, tiredly. "Okay. Look, is there no chance of getting the torches back online?"
Next to Huang, occupying his own duplicate of her command pod, Davis answered: "Slim to none. We've lost reactor one and three. Completely. Those sections are gone, open to vac. You can see starlight through the ship."
Once again, Huang worked to keep a lid on her own temper and frustration. "And number two?"
"Crew's working on two," Davis admitted. "But right now? There's no magcon. We can't spin plasma up."
The *Athena* was making decent speed to Delphi, also marked on astronomical charts as Kepler 452b.
The trouble was, without active engines and something approaching full combat power, they couldn't slow down.
The *Athena* was already past the typical turnover point, where a human ship would flip end-over-end in order to point its torch drives in the opposite direction, burning hard to bleed off momentum and bring the ship to an effective halt.
But the enemy had jumped the *Athena* straight after their Alcubierre emergence. They'd barely finished transition. They'd still been in the process of winding down the MA-drive when everything had gone to hell, with the bloody cuttlefish clearly ready and waiting for them.
The *Athena* was built tough, like all the *Zeus*-class battleships. But even a *Zeus* didn't have the screens and armour to shrug off three-to-one odds, especially when the damn squishies built their own dreadnoughts bigger than anything humanity possessed.
Part of that was their biology, of course. As water-breathers, the squishies had to haul a whole lot more tonnage and volume aboard their vessels in order to make them livable. Air was comparatively lighter, and could be compressed. Humanity had the advantage in that respect. But even accounting for that, their warships were just better than anything coming out of humanity's yards.
The assholes hadn't even bothered to finish off the *Athena*. They'd just shot her up enough to render her helpless. It was entirely possible that some squiddy admiral over there thought that it was funny… such an incredible joke, to let the human vessel fly helplessly in the direction of the colony world. The same colony world that Huang and her crew had come to save.
Spacers called it a 'Flying Dutchman'. With no fusion torches to significantly alter their trajectory, the *Athena* was doomed.
Huang stopped. There was a thought dancing at the back of her mind. Like everyone aboard the ship, she was tired, battle-worn, and sleep-deprived. But there was something… something obvious that she was missing.
She wasn't an experienced spacer, in truth. Humanity didn't have many experienced spacers left. The professional core of the black navy had been torn apart in the early stages of the war. In the old days, an officer of Jasmine Huang's experience and record would be commanding a light patrol ship at most, not a dreadnought.
But there was something. Something her academy instructors had mentioned. Something she'd simmed out, perhaps. What was it called? Something from the early days of spaceflight, before human ships had the power to brute-force their way through the black...
Then, clear as day, a voice spoke.
"What? Who said that," Huang asked. "That's right, that's… "
Davis looked concerned. Huang could just barely see the executive officer's suited figure shift in his seat, with what little slack was left in his restraints. "Captain?"
Huang could have sworn that someone else on the bridge had voiced the solution. But she and Balewa were the only women in the ship's command centre, and the voice definitely hadn't been the tactical officer's soprano. It had been a woman's voice, but a low alto, and one that she didn't recognise.
Was her mind playing tricks on her?
"No," Huang muttered. "Nevermind. Must be… no. Helm! Lieutenant Aziz!"
The Athena's helmsman was a hotshot pilot type, having risen up from fighters and the carrier service. It was rare for the man to be serious. But this time, when he responded, Aziz was serious. "Captain? You've got a plan?"
"Yes," Huang said. "Lieutenant, are you familiar with a grav slingshot?"
"A swing-by," Aziz muttered. "Of course. Use the planet's gravitational field. Bleed kinetics. Why didn't I… but, okay, so we can change course or slow down. Great. But that still leaves the wobblies, boss."
Balewa snorted. "A whole three squishy ships, and we don't have our main guns anymore. Or shields. We've got more vacuum in our compartments than atmo. So, what, you want us to ram them, then?"
Aziz chuckled. "Sure, sounds good. We can get some use out of all that velocity."
Huang frowned. They were right. Even if the *Athena* could change course, they were far from fighting shape.
But they had to try.
***
Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/alx4v1/wpthe_pagan_gods_watch_with_amusement_as_humanity/efi8z9k/
| 2022-03-30T20:52:43 | 2019-01-31T22:55:27 | 2,124 | 63 |
[WP] After a treasure hunt with your friends, you make it to the treasure. But instead of the wealth you were told about, it was a note congratulating you on your journey and that the real treasure was the friends you made on the way. Only problem is that all your friends died getting you this far.
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It was the end of my journey, I was eye-to-eye with what had caused all my friends to die before my eyes. I burst in to tears from the thought of my friends, I had encouraged them to come; "It will be worth it" I said foolishly. I took a few steps closer to the treasure chest and opened it up... All I saw was a piece of paper, I picked it up and read:
*Congratulations! You've found the treasure, I assume it was not as you expect. You expected treasure, but I've come to know that we need to appreciate the small things in life such as our friends.*
*The real treasure is the friendships you've made on your journey, and I want you to appreciate that. We take many things for granted; for example our friends, some people don't have any and can't experience what it feels like. I wish you farewell, and hope you agree with my words.*
*Sincerely, Thomas Abott*
I started crying.. I had come all this way and made all my friends to die just to get a piece of paper with less then 100 words. I looked to my right, my best friend Cameron was just sitting there life-less, I had known him since we were children and I wanted to be together forever. I made a promise I would always protect him and be there for him but now look at what I've done! Cameron was the last to die, he had died when just got to the chest, he got shot by an archer but had finally passed a couple minutes later. I started screaming, I couldn't handle it, I just caused everyone I've loved and known to die.
Jade had died when we first started the journey she got scared and tried to go back home but got killed on the way, she was carrying a med-kit and a pocketknife, and we could only retrieve the med-kit.
Reaching down to the treasure chest, I put then note in my pocket, and closed the chest. I sat down beside my friend, I was going to stay here. If I went home people would question where my friends were and I could never live with all that guilt.
As I was drifting off to sleep, I noticed the note, there was writing on the back of it.
*Meet me at Grahams Castle, if you ever find this, your journey has only just begun.*
I had a second look at the note, I grabbed my armor that I discarded and got geared up. I grabbed a few tools from Cameron, and a knife from Jade, I needed to be prepared. It was time to meet Thomas Abott.
PART 2 BEGINNING
I started following the stones we made to lead us to the exit incase we got lost. I arrived at my hometown named Butchoot, it was great to be back. It was a quiet and peaceful place, and not many people lived there.
i got lazy will finish part 2 soon
&#x200B;
^(I'm pretty young so sorry if this isn't the best bit of writing.)
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Kaant and Tenor heaved at the chest, pulling upwards with all their strength. Sweat streamed down from the two men’s foreheads, obstructing their vision and making an unpleasant situation even worse. It *stung* as it got in their eyes, and neither could spare a hand to wipe away the unwelcome fluid.
They swore at the heat.
They groaned with the effort.
They argued bitterly about what might be inside.
And eventually, finally, after what felt like hours of effort—the object of their quest came free. A smattering of sand exploded upwards as the thing dislodged from the ground, and the two friends spluttered as some of the grit got into their mouths.
With a last, monumental tug, Kaant and Tenor pulled the chest up and out of the hole they had dug to reach it, and sat the thing down upon the ground in front of them. Then they collapsed, both falling to lay down on their backs, cushioned by the soft sand of the beach. The sun bore down mercilessly, and they closed their eyes against it, and took a well-earned break from the day’s labour.
“You know, I think I ought to feel more excited right now,” said Kaant. “All we’ve done, all to get here, to this place—today. The searching, the journeying, the unfortunate accidents. All to get our hands on this little box, and I just can’t bring myself to care.”
“I thought we’d’ve shovels,” replied Tenor. He turned his hand palm-side up, and opened his eyes to examine his raw and bleeding fingers. “Bloody Jesiah, what a stubborn bitch, right up till the end.”
“That was *your* fault you dote. Don’t push someone off a cliff until *after* you nab their bags, everyone knows that.”
“I did, I swear it! I just… didn’t quite put enough space between her luggage and her person is all. That woman had a set of arms on her you know, long as oars.”
“They’d have to be, to work that monstrous bow.”
“No doubt, no doubt. Remember that dragon, the one with the lightening thingy?”
“Oh yes. Right through the eyes, at what, fifty feet?”
“A hundred, I reckon.”
“Would not surprise me one iota, not at all. I do believe she had the best shot of anyone I’ve ever met. A shame she objected so adamantly about what we did to Jim Two-Eyes, but *how* were we supposed to know they were an item?”
“They were an item?”
“I… weren’t they? She seemed so… protective. Even *after* I explained the joke about the spoon, which was *quite* funny.”
“I think she was one of them folk with morals, Sir, a common sense of decency. She weren’t too fond of what you did to poor Jim No-Eyes, no siree.”
The two men fell into silence, remembering their ‘fallen’ comrades fondly.
“You ever think that maybe we could have, you know, not ‘disappeared’ so many of the gang?” Tenor eventually ventured.
“But then I’d have to *share*,” Kaant responded with confusion, seemingly unable to comprehend the concept.
“But what about poor sweet Sam? He had such a bright future ahead of him, that’s what the old crone said. Wasn’t he supposed to defeat a dark lord or something?”
“Pah. Heroes, prophesies, that’s all nonsense that comes and goes Tenor, it *comes and goes*. Gold, *gold* is forever—you should remember that.”
“Hows about Borond?”
“A *thug*, a *laggard*. Not worth the dirt on his boots after he secured us passage over the Worm-fields.”
“Sandra?”
“Oh please, the only interesting thing she ever did was crawl out from the Queen’s loins. Princesses are the product of an obsolete form of government, and any day now the whole monarchy will be cast aside. Democracy is the future Tenor, invest accordingly.”
“Patterson, Roberts and Jane?”
“Terrorists trying to bring about the downfall of legitimate authority. It was our duty as lawful citizens to hand them over to the King.”
“Father Sancor, Priestess Moanna and Paladin Stog?”
“If their god was real, she would have warned them about the *pit*. I’m sensing a pattern here Tenor, are you by any chance edging towards some point?”
“I’m just saying sir, maybe…”
“Yes?”
“Maybe…”
“Spit it out!”
“We should have a memorial.”
“A memorial?”
“Yeah. When we’re rich, and all set-up-like, we should hold a memorial. So we can say thanks to all them poor sods who helped get us our coin.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.”
“You know what, *splendid idea*, but let’s talk about the details later. We should probably make sure we are actually rich first, right?”
“That’s a good point sir.”
Both men stood, and—for the first time—really *looked* at the chest they’d gone to so much trouble to get.
It was… plain, really.
Boring and ordinary, to an extent far greater then either Kaant or Tenor had expected.
It was wooden, with solid iron banding to hold the lid down, to prevent anyone from opening it while the lock still held. There was no golden etching, no arcane runes burnt into the timber. It wasn’t even particularly large, though it did have a heft to it.
“Should I… open it Sir?” Tenor asked.
“Please.”
Tenor removed a key from his bag, a dull grey item that clearly matched the chest’s lock.
He inserted it, turned it, and with a soft *click* the catch released. He grabbed the lid, his fingers digging into the seam and lifted, the old hinge creaking as what was within was revealed.
“What is it?” Kaant asked, unholstering his flintlock pistol from the side of his pants.
“A letter maybe?”
“You can’t tell?”
“Letters were never my strong suit.”
“I didn’t know you *had* a strong suit.”
Then Kaant fired, shooting his friend in the back. He watched with detached interest as Tenor’s body fell to the ground, and then he stepped over it to pick up the fallen piece of paper.
He’d been hoping for gold, or an enchanted weapon, or some other treasure he could sell, and retire off. A note discounted that explicit possibility, but words could still be valuable.
It could be a spell, or a secret. Hidden knowledge, his for the taking.
He held the page up, squinting as he looked at it. The words were hard to make out, what with the glaring sun and it being smudged with fresh blood.
But his eyes eventually adjusted, and finally he read the words he’d done so much to find.
| 2019-06-20T01:01:34 | 2019-06-20T00:12:22 | 52 | 36 |
[WP] Your old adventuring party left you in the old dwarves mines to die. You were rescued by your now-wife and her clan. After some years, you find a retired member of your old party in the tavern.
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It was hard to keep down the venom that formed so readily and instantly at my throat, ready to leap out and slash at the god damned bastard—Roy, the Tinkerer—who sat merrily in the midst of several patrons. He took another swig of beer, enjoying the drunk and appreciative attention of those around him.
My blood boiled. How dare this man sit here, with that plain joy on his face? How has he not suffered with the weight of having to lock one of his old party members deep underground in the dwarven mines of Rockanvil to die?
And though I was ready to jump out, confront Roy, and beat him into submission, my wife—my saviour—laid a hand on my chest.
“You look angry,” Emily said, jutting her head towards the guest. “That one of the ones?”
“Roy, “ I nodded. “God, I wish I could just pummel him into the ground right now.”
Emily clicked her tongue.
“No,” she smiled. “I understand the need for revenge. But this is a well-established tavern, run by generations of Lightfoots. Wouldn’t do to have one of its staff pounce on a customer and beat him to death.”
“Then what?” I asked, indignant. “You will have this man be merry? Look at that drunk!”
“No,” Emily said, and winked. “All I know is that revenge can be subtle.”
I watched as she waltzed into the tavern once more, carefully clutching another pint of ale. She expertly moved past the inebriated chaos of the floor, putting the drink down in front of Roy. The two—and the sycophants surrounding them—shared a roaring laugh, and Roy promptly downed the mug in a matter of seconds.
Then, the Tinkerer fell face-first onto the table.
“Told you I’d find something strong enough for you,” Emily said, curtseying to the table, who roared with approval. “Carry on, my dears! Let the man sleep it off.”
Emily gave me a thumbs up, signalling me to bring yet another round of ale for the rowdy customers. But though they partied hard, they forgot that one among them had collapsed onto the table, thanks to Emily’s wonderful theatrics.
Roy remained oblivious to the din around him for the rest of the night. Come morning, he was still in the exact same position, drool slowly pooling on the table. It wasn’t uncommon for especially intoxicated guests to spend the night here, though we usually charge them extra on the tab for the extra board.
Roy didn’t need to be charged. In fact, he’s already paid for it. And soon, Roy found himself slung around my shoulders, moving to his permanent new home—underground.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
"Hey, Huntley, good to see you, how are we this fine evening?" Boris, the tavern keeper asked.
"It goes very well, Boris." Huntley said with a scratched voice. He took a seat at the crowded bar. "Busy night, huh?"
"Nothing I can't handle. Give me one second, your beer is coming right up."
"Thank you." While Huntley waited for his draft beer, he scanned the tavern from left to right. It was dimly lit, but every single wooden table was crowded. Conversations echoed through the high ceilings of the exposed brick interior. Cutting through all of the sound was a boisterous laugh that made Huntley's skin tingle.
*There's no way that's him.*
Once again, the laugh boomed from the other side of the tavern.
*That laugh is unmistakeable. That's Charles without a doubt.*
Huntley fell into deep thought, remembering the past. It had been years since Huntley crossed paths which Charles. The last time Huntley saw Charles, was when his old team of adventures had deserted him. Charles was the first to vocalize his opinion to leave Huntley down in the abandoned dwarf mines.
*That bastard left me for dead.*
Huntley knew he was significantly weaker back then. In a way, he understood why they made that decision.
*But there are still loose ends that I've dreamed of tying up.*
Breaking Huntley's concentration, Boris delivered the golden beer.
"Thank you."
"Just holler if you need anything else." Boris walked away.
Huntley put the glass up to his mouth.
"Hey, did you pay for that beer?" Someone next to Huntley said.
"I did not."
"Then how the hell did you get free beer? Do you know him or something?"
Huntley didn't look over at the stranger, he stared ahead, took a drink of his beer and set it back down on the bar. Turning the back of his hand at the stranger, Huntley showed off the insignia tattoo of black intersecting triangles.
"So what's that tattoo all about?"
"If you're asking about it, then you don't know."
"Well damn, I guess I need to get myself one of those tattoos then if it gets me free beer. Where did you get it done?"
Huntley took another gulp of beer and glared at the stranger. "Thank you for giving me the push I needed."
"The push you needed? What the hell are you talking about?"
Huntley marched towards the corner of the bar and saw his old crew member Charles giggling until he was red in the face at a table of friends. Each person had a glass of beer and a few empty glasses in front of them. Huntley felt fortunate that he didn't recognize anyone else, he didn't want to have to do too much damage in one sitting.
"Hey, do we know this guy?" Someone at Charles's table asked.
"Gentlemen, and lady. I don't mean to disturb you this evening, but I see an old acquaintance of mine and I wanted to say hello," Huntley said, the corner of his lip curling up.
Everyone at the table lost their smile and stared at each other with scrunched brows.
"I think you may have confused us for someone else," Charles said.
"I don't think so at all. I recognize that laugh from anywhere, Charles."
Charles's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He studied Huntley's face. "My God... Huntley?"
"What? Do you not recognize me with scars on my face? Or my growth spurt? Or my voice which was permanently damaged by one of the imps in the abandoned dwarf mines?"
"Huntley, it's a miracle you're alive! Thank goodness, please join me in my friends for a drink, I owe you one, kiddo!"
"Why don't your friends go outside for a smoke, it would be nice to catch up for a quick moment," Huntley said.
"It's okay everyone, just give me a moment."
Charles's friends got up from the table and took their empty glasses and dropped them off on their way outside.
Huntley sat down next to Charles and gripped the back of his neck, piercing his nape with a sharp nail.
Charles felt a slight pinch, and then took a deep, shaky breath, trying to relax.
"It's okay Charles. Everything turned out all right after you practically tried to kill me. I was saved by a special group of people." Huntley took his other hand and showed Charles the tattoo on the back of his fist.
Charles's face lost all color, and he began to tremble. "No... y-you've j-joined the Marux?"
Huntley grinned. "My lovely wife showed me the ways. They're the ones who saved me and raised me as one of their own. I guess they saw the potential in my power that you and the rest did not."
A spell flowed through Huntley's veins, channeling through his nail and entering Charles's body.
Charles couldn't keep his eyes open. His breathing was more laborious.
"It's okay Charles, you're going to a special place, much like the one you left me in. Have fun, my friend, now you'll know and understand what you did to me many years ago. I've never forgiven you, I've never forgiven anyone from our old crew. I can make this go away if you give me one location from one of our old friends."
Charles's surroundings became nothing but a black void. There was no more sound from the loud conversations at the tavern. No more glass clinking or beer drinking. Just darkness and Huntley sitting next to him.
"Romus... He's in Typia... P-please. M-make this st-stop," Charles said. He felt like his head was underwater, and another part of him felt like he was at death's door.
"Very good. Although, I'm still going to send you to the Maruxenwurld." A surge of power shot out of Huntley's nail. A black cloud only visible to Huntley enveloped Charles, and he disappeared.
Huntley still sat at the table that Charles was at, and everyone carried on with loud chatter and beer guzzling. No one had noticed that Charles was no longer at the bar.
*Looks like I'm going on an adventure.*
For more stories check out! r/randallcooper
Also, I've been releasing a detective serial on my sub with a sci-fi twist (kinda like X-Files), if that interests you, you can check out [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/s2kxxl/club_novus_part_1/)!
| 2022-02-13T10:45:14 | 2022-02-13T09:10:24 | 432 | 259 |
[WP] Create a character who is a paragon of virtue, kind and good and all round awesome. Make me hate this character.
|
J. Harden, 89, died a leader of his community. In recent years Harden was lauded for his works with the homeless and needy lights of our community.
The J. Harden Scholarship is given to one student at ASU each year that demonstrates the ability and willingness to go above and beyond for one of the dark souls in their town. The scholarship is funded by a trust established by Harden from the extra money and donations gathered at The White Door soup kitchen downtown.
Harden spent most of his life furthering the cause most important to his heart, which was the general well-being, and future health of his fellow man.
Harden served for a time in the military, "ridding the world of darkness" in his own words. He credits the horrors of his youth for the good works he came back to do in the south. Harden was often heard saying that he always hoped he could make man more pure, and leave the earth "brighter, lighter, and whiter" than he found it.
Harden died in the act of carrying out his good works. He and a small group of brothers had gone to teach the good word to the dark members of the city, bringing with them the Holy Fire of the Good Lord. After cleansing the body and soul of two darkies in the Lord's flame Harden was brought low by the shot of a cowardly coon who is surely damned to eternal hellfire. The offender was beaten into submission with a holy flail weilded by brother Thompson. He too was subjected to the holy flame, but his actions surely damn him to hell.
The body of J. Harden will be laid to rest with full honors of our glorious Klan brotherhood. Services will be Sunday at noon with march of the burning cross through the darkest part of the city to follow immediately after.
|
Rachel tried her best to hide the fact she’d been silently sobbing for the duration of her drive. She dabbed at her eyes and cheeks with a tissue, staring at her face in the rear view mirror. Her eyes remained bloodshot and her face was puffy. That would have to do, she was already running late. She walked briskly to the office from the car park, straightening her skirt down as she went and quickly smoothing over her long, brown hair.
‘Good morning!’ beamed Ellen, the receptionist.
Ellen’s over-the-top cheeriness was even more obnoxious today, given Rachel’s circumstances. She almost felt like saying what she always thought walking past the desk, ‘Ellen everyone’s seen the Prozac in your drawer, maybe close it once a while, and stop pretending to be happy and be miserable like the rest of us’ But she didn’t, of course. She weakly smiled back as she always did and continued onto her floor, the third.
She went over to her desk, passing her colleagues, some greeting her with hellos and good mornings, cursing the open plan structure of work that forced this interaction even more today. She finally collapsed into her chair and turned on the computer. She took off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair whilst she waited for it to boot up and looked at herself again in a small pocket mirror; her previous upset was barely noticeable in her face anymore. If only it was that easy for how she felt internally. As she loaded her e-mails she felt reassured that work would distract her. Oh, fucking brilliant, she thought. An e-mail from Sam. She opened it.
‘Rach, I’m sorry, I wish we could just talk without arguing. Let’s try that tonight.
Sam x’
She sighed, exasperated with him. The topic of argument was always the same, and was the reason she had been so upset this morning. Sam had been fired from work over a month ago but was refusing to seriously look for new employment as Rachel could, barely, support them on her wage alone. He also was considering going back into education which would be more of a financial burden. She felt her jaw clench just thinking of it and her eyes began to sting with tears again. She unclenched her fists and took a deep breath in, let’s focus on something else, she thought. There was a tap on her shoulder.
‘My names Gabriel’ said a soothing, deep voice.
Rachel quickly closed Sam’s email and spun around. A tall blonde-haired man stood behind her with a comforting smile on his face.
'Um…’ she began.
‘Sorry, you’re Rachel right? I’ve started here today and Peter said that you’d train me for the next few days. is that OK?’ he looked intently into her eyes as he said this, they were a very deep sapphire blue.
‘Oh..yeah…of course’ Rachel stuttered looking to Gabriel and then back to the computer.
‘Of course only if it’s OK, I don’t want to cause you any trouble’ he said sympathetically.
‘No....….no trouble I mean’ Rachel stated.
There was an awkward silence, Rachel was facing Gabriel but trying to avoid eye contact. Gabriel was shuffling on the spot.
“Oh yes, grab a chair then’ Rachel exclaimed.
The day went surprisingly quickly, thankfully. Training Gabriel was a real pleasure and he was so polite and even bought Rachel lunch at the local restaurant. By the end of the day she actually felt relaxed and content for the first time in months, things between her and Sam had been rocky even before he’d lost his job so she was thankful to finally enjoy herself a little.
'Thanks so much for your help today’ smiled Gabriel.
Rachel couldn’t help but blush and smile herself ‘Of course, you’ve been great…at your training I mean’
Gabriel grinned ‘Fancy a drink?’
Rachel automatically responded ‘Yes’ .
By 6pm her phone had vibrated quite a few times, that she’d noticed. She had said yes despite her knowledge that Sam wanted to talk tonight. But right now she was enjoying herself and she deserved it after the arguments she had endured over the last month. She sipped on the third cocktail that Gabriel had brought her as he was talking about his various charity work.
‘It was so rewarding working in the hospice, heartbreaking but so rewarding’ he said softly, taking a gulp of beer.
Rachel felt a little tipsy.
‘So, why were you upset this morning?’ he asked suddenly.
Rachel was taken aback by this question, but only slightly owing to her quite inebriated state. Prepared to reply that she’d rather keep it private instead she was surprised to hear herself say
‘Me and my boyfriend are having problems’ she spluttered.
Gabriel listened to Rachel for a good half an hour, in which she felt her phone vibrate a lot more. It was about 8’o clock before she had a chance to check the clock. She felt only a tiny bit guilty. Gabriel was very empathetic towards her and eased her worries that she was the one being unreasonable. When he kissed her she felt herself melt into him and before she knew it she was laying next to him, in his dimly lit apartment, completely naked in his bed.
**********************************************************************************************
Rachel, answer your fucking phone. This is really immature. Where is she? You're worried that she's been in an accident and she will not respond to any calls or texts but her phone is ON.
Someone from the office gets back to you.They saw her leave with a blonde-haired guy. It's nearly midnight. Your stomach sinks.
| 2014-06-27T08:11:02 | 2014-06-27T07:58:03 | 203 | 15 |
[WP] Create a character who is a paragon of virtue, kind and good and all round awesome. Make me hate this character.
|
Cooo-eeee! Hello? Are you home? Aaah there you are. No, no, don't get up, no need.
*Muah!*
How are you feeling dear? I know, I know it must still hurt so much, you poor thing. Look, I brought you some things. Cakes, I know you love chocolate cake and maybe it will help cheer you up.
Cup of tea, that's what you need, I know I'm parched. No, don't worry, I'll do it.
Oh dear this kitchen *is* in a bit of a mess isn't it? Never mind, I'll soon have it all spick and span for you. There, here's your tea, now sit down dear, don't you worry about a thing.
I told all the women at church how you are and they've all volunteered to help out, you know, fetching your groceries, helping with the garden, or just coming round to keep you company.
No, no, being here all alone isn't any fun is it?
Now, where do you keep your vacuum cleaner? Under the stairs? Aaah yes here it is! Gosh, it has cobwebs on it! No really, it's no trouble, let me....
Oh, now, don't cry. There, there. It'll be alright, you just wait. Time heals, you know. And God moves in mysterious ways. But you know in your heart that Jesus loves you, we *all* love you.
We're all *praying* for you, dear.
Well that all looks much better now, don't you think? Must be hurrying along now, so much to do! You know what they say, no rest for the wicked!
See you tomorrow, bright and early! Toodle-pip!
|
Rachel tried her best to hide the fact she’d been silently sobbing for the duration of her drive. She dabbed at her eyes and cheeks with a tissue, staring at her face in the rear view mirror. Her eyes remained bloodshot and her face was puffy. That would have to do, she was already running late. She walked briskly to the office from the car park, straightening her skirt down as she went and quickly smoothing over her long, brown hair.
‘Good morning!’ beamed Ellen, the receptionist.
Ellen’s over-the-top cheeriness was even more obnoxious today, given Rachel’s circumstances. She almost felt like saying what she always thought walking past the desk, ‘Ellen everyone’s seen the Prozac in your drawer, maybe close it once a while, and stop pretending to be happy and be miserable like the rest of us’ But she didn’t, of course. She weakly smiled back as she always did and continued onto her floor, the third.
She went over to her desk, passing her colleagues, some greeting her with hellos and good mornings, cursing the open plan structure of work that forced this interaction even more today. She finally collapsed into her chair and turned on the computer. She took off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair whilst she waited for it to boot up and looked at herself again in a small pocket mirror; her previous upset was barely noticeable in her face anymore. If only it was that easy for how she felt internally. As she loaded her e-mails she felt reassured that work would distract her. Oh, fucking brilliant, she thought. An e-mail from Sam. She opened it.
‘Rach, I’m sorry, I wish we could just talk without arguing. Let’s try that tonight.
Sam x’
She sighed, exasperated with him. The topic of argument was always the same, and was the reason she had been so upset this morning. Sam had been fired from work over a month ago but was refusing to seriously look for new employment as Rachel could, barely, support them on her wage alone. He also was considering going back into education which would be more of a financial burden. She felt her jaw clench just thinking of it and her eyes began to sting with tears again. She unclenched her fists and took a deep breath in, let’s focus on something else, she thought. There was a tap on her shoulder.
‘My names Gabriel’ said a soothing, deep voice.
Rachel quickly closed Sam’s email and spun around. A tall blonde-haired man stood behind her with a comforting smile on his face.
'Um…’ she began.
‘Sorry, you’re Rachel right? I’ve started here today and Peter said that you’d train me for the next few days. is that OK?’ he looked intently into her eyes as he said this, they were a very deep sapphire blue.
‘Oh..yeah…of course’ Rachel stuttered looking to Gabriel and then back to the computer.
‘Of course only if it’s OK, I don’t want to cause you any trouble’ he said sympathetically.
‘No....….no trouble I mean’ Rachel stated.
There was an awkward silence, Rachel was facing Gabriel but trying to avoid eye contact. Gabriel was shuffling on the spot.
“Oh yes, grab a chair then’ Rachel exclaimed.
The day went surprisingly quickly, thankfully. Training Gabriel was a real pleasure and he was so polite and even bought Rachel lunch at the local restaurant. By the end of the day she actually felt relaxed and content for the first time in months, things between her and Sam had been rocky even before he’d lost his job so she was thankful to finally enjoy herself a little.
'Thanks so much for your help today’ smiled Gabriel.
Rachel couldn’t help but blush and smile herself ‘Of course, you’ve been great…at your training I mean’
Gabriel grinned ‘Fancy a drink?’
Rachel automatically responded ‘Yes’ .
By 6pm her phone had vibrated quite a few times, that she’d noticed. She had said yes despite her knowledge that Sam wanted to talk tonight. But right now she was enjoying herself and she deserved it after the arguments she had endured over the last month. She sipped on the third cocktail that Gabriel had brought her as he was talking about his various charity work.
‘It was so rewarding working in the hospice, heartbreaking but so rewarding’ he said softly, taking a gulp of beer.
Rachel felt a little tipsy.
‘So, why were you upset this morning?’ he asked suddenly.
Rachel was taken aback by this question, but only slightly owing to her quite inebriated state. Prepared to reply that she’d rather keep it private instead she was surprised to hear herself say
‘Me and my boyfriend are having problems’ she spluttered.
Gabriel listened to Rachel for a good half an hour, in which she felt her phone vibrate a lot more. It was about 8’o clock before she had a chance to check the clock. She felt only a tiny bit guilty. Gabriel was very empathetic towards her and eased her worries that she was the one being unreasonable. When he kissed her she felt herself melt into him and before she knew it she was laying next to him, in his dimly lit apartment, completely naked in his bed.
**********************************************************************************************
Rachel, answer your fucking phone. This is really immature. Where is she? You're worried that she's been in an accident and she will not respond to any calls or texts but her phone is ON.
Someone from the office gets back to you.They saw her leave with a blonde-haired guy. It's nearly midnight. Your stomach sinks.
| 2014-06-27T08:33:39 | 2014-06-27T07:58:03 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] You are the only human being left after the mysterious vanishing of the worlds population. Two years later, power and internet starts running once again, you recieve a reply notification on Reddit.
|
My hands trembled as I clicked on the small red envelope. Who could it be? What would they wanna contact me for?
My inbox only took a moment to load, but it felt like it may as well have been an eternity. My eyes darted to the message, eager to see what it would hold.
"Kill urself fagot"
A smile crept across my face. Everything was returning to normal.
|
I was on my weekly inspection of the solar panels on my roof when I heard the loud and sudden sound of the transformer coming back online.
As I looked up sharply and scanned the surrounding buildings, still unsure of what I had heard, I saw the most incredulous thing - the lights were on in the houses facing me.
Over 2 years ago, I had left home for a 3 day solo trek to the hill forts that surround my city.
When I drove back to the city, it was the wee hours of the morning, and I didn’t find it too out of place to not see any body else on the roads.
In hindsight, if I had not been utterly exhausted, the lack of people in a city like mine would have freaked me out.
And it did, but not until nearly half a day later.
I entered my home silently, not wanting to wake my parents, and went straight to bed.
When I awoke, the house was empty, and understandably so.
My parents were doctors, and usually kept long hours.
My panic started a little bit after noon when I tried to call my girlfriend to ask her to come over.
When she didn’t answer, I got a bit concerned, but brushed it off thinking that she’d be mad at me for having been gone for 3 days without any communication.
When my friends and parents didn’t answer either, and the TV showed a blank screen on every channel, *thats* when the full blown panic set in.
I went online to search Twitter and Reddit, but they gave me no information as to what was going on.
Except that the entire world had simultaneously stopped using the internet 27 hours ago.
I don’t remember how long it took me to stop that sinking feeling and compose myself, but I had seen enough Zombie movies to know that I needed to stock up on food and barricade the house.
Over the next few days I figured out that there were no zombies roaming the streets, but I couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to take a chance.
Those first few days were extremely tough. I had always enjoyed being by myself, but to not have ‘any’ human contact was terrifying. Even more difficult to fathom was the complete and absolute disappearance of animals and birds.
It would have been worse when the electricity stopped 2 days after I got home.
Luckily, my parents were eco freaks and the house was mostly self sufficient - solar panels, a full garden where we grew some fresh vegetables, rainwater harvesting etc.
Nonetheless, I stocked up on gallons of bottled water which I took from the nearest supermarket, the doors of which were wide open.
I also took a lot more than water.
For the first few months I kept the lights out after sundown, and used them as minimally as possible. Just being careful.
But there came I time where I didn’t care and would have loved for someone to have noticed and knock on my door.
So not only did I enjoy the comforts of electricity when the rest of the world had disappeared, I rigged up some LED lamps on the roof to flash SOS after dark until sunrise.
Which brings me to yesterday.
Once I saw the lights come back on, I ran back inside and put on the TV.
The channels remained blank.
I booted up my computer and checked the internet connection.
Why the internet, you ask?
Well, after the electricity went out over 2 years ago, the internet stayed active for about 6 more more hours.
I had quickly posted to twitter and reddit a few times, asking for help and information.
I repeatedly refreshed the pages, sorting by new posts to see if anybody else was posting besides me, but my posts were the only ones there.
So when the electricity started again, I booted up my computer to check if the internet worked.
And it did.
My heart pounded and my head spun - my nervousness was impairing my ability to function.
I first checked twitter, sorting by new, but saw no new activity.
On reddit, the once familiar orange envelop was orange once again.
With a trembling hand, I clicked it.
It was a reply to my last post on Reddit, titled ‘Hello World’ and with no other body.
The message read - a/s/l?
| 2015-03-20T09:31:45 | 2015-03-20T08:40:13 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You really discovered One simple Trick, and Doctors actually hate you.
|
"So did nobody just think of this?"
"Yes, but it is highly illegal. Not to mention utterly disgusting!"
"But why? If it is the perfect vaccine!"
"Then pharmacies would come crashing down, economy would collapse, all that. Plus the components themselves are nothing less than biowaste!"
"Fuck the big pharma!"
"Please don't..."
But it was too late and he made his choice.
Little Timmy would just avoid girls to prevent cooties by smearing his face with poop.
|
"There's no time to explain, Mark! Get in the car!"
Mark dropped his bagel and jumped into his friend's sports car. The dropping of the bagel was not out of urgency, rather it was a regrettable accident; he really wanted to eat that savory bagel. "What the hell, Gary?" The car sped-off through the crowded downtown streets, weaving at breakneck speed through cars, bicyclists, pedestrians, outdoor cafés and at least right over one dog.
"Mark, you've really done it now! You've angered the International Consortium of Medical Doctors! HOLD ON!" Gary drove down a secluded flight of stairs in a tight alley and stopped several yards away. With the engine idling, Gary looked through the rear-view mirror.
"The ICMD?! I thought that was a myth." Mark turned his head to see what his friend was looking at. Above the stars behind them was another sports car revving its engine. "Jee wiz, Gary, what's up with you doctors and sports cars?"
The menacing car accelerated down the stairs and Gary peeled out as well. The chase was on, and it led through side streets, tunnels and a scenic bike path. "They want you *dead*, Mark! I tried to convince them otherwise, but that stunt you pulled with your internet banner ads was one step too far! Who the hell admits that he is hated by doctors anyway? DEAD PEOPLE, is who! There've been 5 since I joined the cabal!"
"Jee wiz, Gary, I think this might be overkill a little, no? It was only a cheap and effective trick to get rid of athlete's foot." Mark began taking off a shoe so he could show his doctor friend how well it's working. Just then a third sports car rammed them out of seemingly nowhere. It made Mark drop his scalding hot coffee safely out the window. "OH COME ON!"
Mark and Gary looked out of the passenger side window at the sports car that had just rammed them. Inside were two surgeons dressed in scrubs, looking back *menacingly*. Gary put his hand on the emergency brake and pulled an impressive maneuver that sent the other car flying into a postal service truck. The resulting fireball killed several nearby pigeons. The first sports car was still following closely. "Just be glad they didn't send ninjas! Those *mother effers* don't play! Listen Mark, you're going to have to convince the ICMD that you'll stop your medical trick immediately and take down all the banner ads! That's the only way they'll stop."
The cars raced and drifted through a local park.
"Why would I want to not reveal my great, easy and effective trick to the world?! For a nominal fee, that is!"
"Because they're trying to kill you, Mark! And me too! I'm committing treason for helping you! Just call them up and tell them you're giving up trying to cure athletes foot!"
A katana blade suddenly sliced down through the roof and nudged Mark's crotch. His penis was only saved by a trusty zipper. Gary swerved left *hard* and a tiny ninja fell off the side of the car roof. However, the ninja valiantly held on to the side mirror beside Mark. Mark tried to roll up his window without disturbing the katana that was perilously pressed against his junk. Gary skid his car along a brick wall, killing the small ninja in spectacular fashion.
The sports car behind them skid on the ninja blood and almost flipped onto its side because of a misplaced skateboard ramp. Now it was riding on two wheels behind Mark and Gary.
"I'm not giving this up," declared Mark. "My feet are almost free of fungus and I can cure the world! For a fee, that is."
Gary slammed the brakes until the beat up sports car came to a screeching halt. The car behind them stopped as well. Its passengers opened the doors and pointed sub-machine guns at the Gary's car. Gary pulled his own pistol from beneath his seat and pointed it at Mark. Right at his face. "I told the other doctors I could convince you to drop it, Mark. You've made me a liar."
"Et tu, Gary?" Mark was pinned between a busted door, a loaded pistol, and under a katana at his gonads. "We've been friends since pre-school."
A single tear streamed down Gary's solemn mug. Gary was a doctor after all. He pulled the trigger and killed his oldest friend.
Doctors hated him.
******
Just *a lot* of spelling/grammar corrections. Jesus.
| 2016-10-05T13:34:54 | 2016-10-05T11:24:21 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] You've accidentally killed the Devil. God makes you the new Devil to replace the one you killed.
|
"It's called the Satan Clause"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you read the card, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I read it. So what?"
*Barnabus the angel pulls a magnifying glass from thin air, examining the microprint around the edge of the card*
"The Satan Clause: In putting on the cape and holding the pitchfork, the wearer waives any and all right to any previous identity, real or implied, and fully accepts the duties and responsibilities of Satan, Prince of Lies, in perpetuity to which some time the wearer becomes unable to do so, by either accident or design."
"What does that mean?"
"It means: If you put on the cape, you're the bad guy."
EDIT: thanks for the karma - nostalgiaphiles unite! Tons of really great and original stuff below from legitimate authors weren't just posting a goofy sketch - definitely worth checking out.
|
I never meant to kill the Devil.
I wasn't an angel that ran into *him* in some dark alleyway. And I wasn't one of Satan's sycophants waiting in the shadows for *just the right moment*. Is that it? Is that what you think? That I was waiting for his eyes to slowly fall shut as he rested, so that I could sneak up and slice his neck open with some jagged glass? No. It's not even like that, you know. No one wants to kill Satan, because nobody wants to *become* Satan.
I was just a person. Someone a bit like you. And like you I had my problems. I drank too much, I got in fights, I never reached or had *any desire to reach* my potential. Well, not *just* like you -- I was a priest, you see. Yeah I know, it doesn't mean much these days.
I became a priest to try and make up for all the shit I'd done in my life - some kind of ultimate penance. But my heart was never in it. I tried though! Or at least, at first I tried. I would pray in the evenings and preach in the day. After a while I would preach only in the mornings and in the afternoons and evenings I would drink myself unconscious.
The night it happened, well I think I was just bored to tell you the truth. Bored and depressed with where my life had taken me. I was a messenger for a God I didn't believe in. *If there's a God, why do bad things happen to good people?* Shit, I sounded just like a child. So fucking naive.
Anyway, they say that idle hands are the devil's playthings -- you've heard that, right? -- and that night my hands were possessed by a large bottle of Glenfiddich. I'd always been partial to malts and whiskeys. Up and down my arm went that evening, as if someone above was puppeteering me. Or maybe someone below. Up and down. Up and down. *Glug glug glug's,* the sound my throat made as I emptied down the last dregs of the stinging liquid.
It was as I wandered in drunken stupor towards the liquor store that I saw *him*. His grin - it was like paper burning away at the edges. A smirk that knew too much. I can't quite explain just how much that grin and those blood red lips bothered me. "Whatcha' looking at?" I yelled as I thrust my head up in what *I thought* was an intimidating gesture. He just kept on grinning.
I didn't know *he* was the Devil. And I sure as hell didn't know *he* was retiring. All I knew was that grin... that someone had to wipe it off his pale, perfect face. A single punch flawed him and as his head bounced off the corner of a concrete step, he began laughing. God damn that sound. He was taunting me. He was telling me that I couldn't hit him hard enough to hurt him. I don't know why I even had the vial on me. I don't know what possessed me to pour the water onto him.
So anyway, I killed the Devil and... that's not good. You see, God needs a Yin to his Yang. There has to be *good* and there has to be *bad*, cause if there's not one, then there's not the other. You see, humans can't appreciate good if all they know is good. There's nothing to compare it against. Humans can't know hope and virtue if there is no hate and evil. So there has to be a Devil. Someone had to take over. And in tradition, the slayer of the Devil takes his place. I'm the new guy and I'm going to be here for a thousand years. And let me tell you, it's not much fun being the Devil.
Everyday I suffer, and everyday I cause suffering. The pain eats away at me like I'm a rib-eye steak in a river of piranhas. Only there's no ending to it. The only thing that stops it -- pauses it -- is what I'm about to do to you. Yes, it's horrible. Yes, you're going to die. *Eventually*. But I have to do it -- I *need* the release. It sets off the *endorphins* or some shit like that. Makes me feel real good. So I'm sorry, but I hope you understand.
Did I say it wasn't much fun being the Devil? Hm, I take that back. Sometimes it's a *lot* of fun.
----
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. More stories on /r/nickofnight
| 2016-12-09T08:29:19 | 2016-12-09T08:19:49 | 3,471 | 807 |
[WP] Humans are one of if not the only species in the galaxy who can heal their wounds naturally. Your alien friend is learning this for the first time after they accidentally hurt you
Apologies for the wordy title
|
Blork looked down in horror at her new friends hand, the knife was on the floor and the deathly red liquid was seeping from the gash.
"I am sorry my companion, I have ended you, what do you request of me in your final moments"
James looked at Blork and the cut on his hand.
"It's alright, just a cut, stop being so melodramatic and hand me that towel"
Blork nodded profusely and handed the towel to James, then spoke softly.
"I will now sing the song of passing of my people"
She abruptly started humming and swaying from side to side while James cleaned his hand,
It was funny for a few minutes but after the third hour the humming was starting to get tedious.
James was fed up and walked back into the kitchen.
"Blork.... blork!"
He shouted over the humming
"I'm okay! Not dead, it was just a cut"
Blork stopped humming as quickly as she started and spoke almost instantly after.
"I was wondering why you hadn't died yet"
James shook his head slightly
"It was just a cut, it will heal in a few days"
Blork looked at James with confusion displayed on her face.
"Heeeeel? The power of regeneration?! This is the first I have known of an intelligent species having such power. The only species I know to have this is the grand blorb from my planet, can you recover from the same wounds as it can too?"
James smiled smugly, feeling rather proud that he was unique to his friend.
"Why of course, it's an amaz~"
Blork interrupted
"I shall test"
Then promptly broke James' neck.
After the first ten minutes of waiting for James to get back up Blork resumed humming and swaying.
|
"Well shit, Greg. Your knee's fucked up." Said the Fpirt apocethary. "No way in hell can any of my potions fix that."
I sat up on the bed and took a look at my knee. It had one big cut across it, plus some minor bruising.
"What do you mean doc? I just tripped over your flimpk hose, it's nothing serious."
The Fpirt ignored my question. A new arm grew out of his head and he reached for a shelf above his head. He grabbed an empty jar, and set it down on the table beside me. His arm shriveled back into his head.
"Alright Greg, it was nice having you on this ship, now if you could please shrink yourself, it would be delightful." He said as he opened the jar.
"What? I'm not even a Fpirt, how can I even shrink myself? And why do you even need me to do that?" I asked.
"Oh so you humans can't shrink yourselves? Ok, guess I'll do it for you." The apocethary said, looking mildly surprised.
Before I could do anything, he forced my mouth open, and stuck one of his flimpk hoses down my throat. He pumped some of his own slime down the hose, and then removed the hose and safely stored it inside himself.
I involuntarily swallowed the liquid.
The Fpirt called for the onboard Fpirt priest.
I took a look at my fingers, they were down to the size of an old school battery.
The priest walked in.
My palms started to shrink to match the size of my fingers. And I realised that my feet had followed a similar process.
Both the priest and the apocethary made their appendages shrivel into themselves, and they were left as two blobs with nothing but a pair of eyes and a flimpk hose.
My legs and arms began to shrink. My vocal cords were still full with the Fpirt juice, and I couldn't speak.
The priest began to spew a purple gas from his hose, and the room smelled of burned gunpowder.
I had difficulty breathing, my torso was the size of an infant's head.
The priest stopped, and grew a single arm with 3 fingers right under his flimpk hose.
By then I had completely shrunk. I was no bigger that a pigeon.
The priest picked me up, and placed me in the jar. He extended his flimpk hose into the jar and spewed more of the purple gas.
I threw up the Fpirt juice. Coughed a couple times, and looked up. The apocethary was about to close the jar shut. I shouted, as loud as I could, but my voice was incredibly high pitched. And neither of the Fpirts could hear me. The apocethary picked up the jar, and carried me towards an airlock. I banged on the glass, but to no avail.
The priest had a sad look on his face, he moved his eyes to behind his head. The apocethary placed the jar on a small panel near the airlock. He grew an extra arm, and reached for the release button. My fate was sealed. I was stuck in my own Fpirt funeral. I gave up banging, and sat down in the jar.
"God damn it, Greffikqr! Are you trying to jettison one of the crew again?" My human shipmate, Isaac walked into the room. "That damn funeral gas smells like shit. What the fuck is it for?"
The apocethary moved his eyes towards Isaac. "He's got a cut on his knee, I was just making sure he died with honor instead of bleeding dry like a peasant." Greffikqr replied as he put his hand on the lever again.
"For fuck's sake Gref, a human won't bleed to death from a tiny ass cut. It's probably clotted already, what the fuck!" Isaac shouted at the Fpirt.
He walked towards the jar and opened it. I stoop up in excitement and raised my arms. He carefully picked me up, and set me down on the bed.
"Isaac, how dare you interrupt a Fpirt funeral! That man is dead, accept it!" The priest extended an arm toward Isaac to try and stop him.
Isaac slapped it away. "You fucking Fpirts and your funerals. Do you have any idea how many spacewalking sessions we've had to do out to get perfectly healthy men from your damn jars? Humans aren't protected by a thin ass membrane, we've got layers upon layers of shit. His insides won't spill out for fuck's sake. Look, his knee has healed already!" He picked me up and showed my knee to the Fpirts.
Greffikqr extended his eye to take a closer look, and was surprised to see that my knee was no longer bleeding. "Wow! You guys are like fucking superheroes! I can't believe it!"
"Got it now? Humans aren't giant cells like you are, Ok? Now fix Greg and get him back to his station. Fucking twat masters." Said Isaac before he promptly left the room, followed by the priest.
Greffikqr grew a second tiny Flimpk hose, and stuck it down my throat.
This was my first WP, and English isn't my first language so sorry for any errors. Also sorry for the shitty formatting, I'm on mobile. I'll probably edit this later.
| 2017-05-11T02:50:32 | 2017-05-11T02:26:03 | 224 | 139 |
[WP] You discover a library with a biography for everyone on Earth. While reading your own, you notice that whenever someone else is mentioned, there's a footnote showing where you can find their biography. Its odd how someone who was only a sentence in your book has a whole chapter for you.
|
*Anna was asked on a date by Phil. Anna politely turned him down.*
I'd forgotten about him. It'd been nearly ten years. My last semester at my first high school before I moved to another state a month later. I vaguely remember his dejected face. He seemed nice enough, wasn't that bad looking either, but there was something about him that made me say no.
I wonder what happened to him. At the bottom of the page, a reference number. I put my book to the side, and took a diversion to the shelf where Phil's book lay.
I looked at the contents. I immediately spotted a chapter simply named 'Anna'. I flicked to it, and found myself halfway through the book.
The beginning of the chapter seemed innocuous enough. Quite cute, even. Details on the first time he saw me, and how he was nervous to ask me out.
*Phil asked Anna out on a date. Anna politely turned him down.*
The next page or two described his heartbreak. He was not just dejected as his face implied, he was completely crushed. I started to feel bad for him. I nearly put the book down, but continued reading hoping to see his happy ending.
The chapter entitled 'Anna' kept going.
*Phil followed Anna home. She did not spot him.*
My pity quickly turned to disgust. And yet, I continued reading.
*Phil broke into Anna's home. He stole underwear, and placed cameras in her bedroom and bathroom.*
The chapter kept going and going. If "Phil watched" didn't precede nearly every sentence, it could easily be confused with my own biography. I felt sick to my stomach, but I kept reading.
*Phil found out that Anna was moving away soon. He is distraught*
The next page was the last page of the book.
|
I had gone through 6,629 pages. During the documentation of the first few thousand it didn't matter much. I was somewhat interested, but because no one had a choice it made me uncomfortable to be involved.
Years ago the national council announced all persons within their sector must participate. There was uproar for a while- there is still, but we'd all gotten so used to it. Now the idea of living without it sounds dreadful.
In short, everyone had access to simplified thoughts of those they interacted with. The NeuroLink kept track of a broken down version of every thought. The processing power is still limited, but wireless connection to Unit is able to categorized brain wave patterns and upload them without an external connector. It was amazing. I didn't quite understand the technology, so it seemed normal at the time. We had them in since childbirth; it was free, it was painless, and it was mandatory. When it was proposed to the public 70 or so years ago there was a violent response from many. Presently I can't imagine anyone reacting so poorly. What it can do for you is fascinating.
Imagine having digital access to a file on your life. Everyone person you meet, every thought you have, all simplified and organized into your tablet. You never had to swap contact information. There was no need to guess whether an interaction had gone decent or now. And with the VR extension pack you could relived an animated version of all encounters.
I have a couple personal favorites, starting with being an infant and recognizing my mother, acknowledging the love she felt for me. At such a young age my mind was unaware of how extreme her feelings were, being able to experience it again is comforting. Then there's the time I went rafting and ate rice wrapped in banana leaves with an environmental activist group. There's the California road trip we went on in college. There's the man from down south who had built himself a three story tree house with running water and electricity. I'm lucky enough to be able to afford enough storage to recall my family, friends, and the occasional interesting stranger. To get to know what they thought of me and recall the thoughts and feelings I had in the moment is both a wonderful and costly thing.
At one point I couldn't pay that months maintenance fee. The day prior I decided to attempt sorting thought and see what could be removed, it was the first time I'd done so and certainly wouldn't be the last. After 28 years of interactions I had 48,539 pages, to readjust with my budget I had to loose 5,132.
It's my fault really, I should of starting prioritizing earlier and shouldn't have taken Unit for granted. With basic income everyone was able to afford storage to begin with, but you always need more. No matter how many times the fees increase. It's sort of cruel, knowing we need access and still charging for it. I guess there's the option of opting out, but really how could you? If you couldn't see your own life, someone else may be. Besides, everyone knows an empty NeuroLink is an empty life.
So when I needed to cut down it was heartbreaking. The initial reduction algorithm got rid of any person I'd only met once. This meant I could never access their biography again, unless we happened to rencounter one another. This also meant someone I no longer was aware existed could have access to my simplified Unit identification. Deleting was difficult, but necessary. After those people I moved up to less then 3 encounters. When that wasn't enough I tried 4. Then 5. Then 6. Then 7. That was finally what did it.
Every night after work for the next month I begun looking though the pages. It helped to pick a date at random. That way you could find those who's conversations were usually only a sentence, and any where emotional connectivity scale was below .42 to weed out the less involved.
There were some great moments I had totally forgotten about. Some fun, some funny , one so hilarious I started laughing by only selecting it for an instant. Those were obviously kept. There was sad, disappointment, anger, relief. Some kept some let go. Then there was calm. For me calm was not common. In fact, after exploring more than 6,000 pages during the last few months I had never seen calm. So when that was the associated emotion during an interaction with .68 connectivity I decided to view their section on me.
The location is locked, that feature is too expensive, and their geotag isn't on so I'm unsure where this could have been. It was around the time I was working near the ocean. At first that was what i thought the calm was, but I was wrong, very very wrong. They have me saved as a .92 , well beyond anything I've ever encountered. It had to be a mistake. The only time it was that high was with close relatives, friends, or partners. To say it fucked with me would be an understatement.
Naturally I pushed forward to view the actual page. It wasn't one page, it was 19. Of the one sentence my Unit has extracted there's had extracted 19 pages worth. Initially it made me sick. I poured myself some water and sat down. This sort of thing NEVER happened, even with the creepiest or stalkers. The idea of the simple text resulting in 19 pages was too much for me to make sense of. What had their unfiltered thoughts been then? I pushed forward and begging reading the fragments. From those I discovered this person was depressed and worked at the farmers market I went to. Still, what made me worthy of a .92? The only thing I had done was smile when walking by and once complimented their t shirt.
Edit: added paragraph spacing
| 2017-12-04T05:24:42 | 2017-12-04T05:20:30 | 78 | 33 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on.
|
"Your occupation?"
"Food sales and service."
"The boxes we found in your home, you were specifically trying to sell those? Including the one we have in this evidence bag?"
"Yes, detective. I don't understand what the problem is. I got a license, I pay taxes on all my profits, it's all legal."
"Where do you buy your ingredients?"
"I... um... don't buy ingredients. I know this is going to be hard to believe. But it shouldn't matter whether you believe me. I seem to be haunted. Whenever I step from my home office into my kitchen, there's a cooked meal in the kitchen. I box it up for sale, go back into the office, step into the kitchen, another full meal. Box it up, office, kitchen, another. And always a weird note about 'could have been us.' There must be hundreds of those notes in my trash if you want to check - to confirm what I'm telling you. You don't believe me, why would you?"
"Sure I do. We found the notes, so your story must be true. Go on."
"I can pack up about one full per minute. Two hours of back and forth per day, 120 meals I can sell, then back to my office to process online orders, manage the store. I don't get to choose the menu in advance. It's not even labelled what anything is. But eventually there's a buyer for most of it, and what I don't sell, I can eat. What I don't want, I can throw away - no cost."
"So you're saying it all just appears on its own. Like magic."
"To the best of my knowledge. Or like there's a ghost. I tried watching, nothing happens. I figured out after a while that I have to be 'working.' I tried video cameras, everything just looks like a big shadow for a second."
"You don't make the food, then?"
"No."
"So the ingredients come out of your kitchen shelves on their own?"
"No. I told you, there are no ingredients. Or at least, I don't know where they come from."
"Yeah, food with no ingredients. You sure you didn't start with one fish?"
"Ha ha. If you looked into my credit cards, you'll see I've hardly bought any food at all for over a decade. Not even for myself. If you look at my business records, you'll see I have zero expenses for ingredients."
"Some might hear your story and think you don't want there to be a record. They might think you're buying the ingredients on some sort of black market."
"So I wouldn't get to deduct the cost on my taxes? Why would I do that? And why would the police care, anyway?"
"We care. Because trafficking human meat is a felony."
|
My job is not the most prestigious, or the most difficult. Like everything else, it is just a job. I hate it, just like I hate myself. A repetition of certain tasks that does not ever end. I keep to myself, as always. I have no interest in making acquaintances or friends. The only guy that talks to me just compliments me on my smile, every-damn-day. I brush like any one else, he's a freak. Besides, I'm not truly alone. I have been on my own, living in solitude for the better part of a decade, probably thirteen years if I was being specific. The reason I say this is because whenever I return home from a long day, my bed is made, a lovely dinner cooked, and a cryptic message talking about how 'this could have been us.' I should also mention, I have moved for my job a few times. At no point has this phantom left me alone. Nor has my mysterious admirer ever left me a dish that I disliked. I don't speak much, and my wife has been dead for thirteen years. I never had interest in beginning anew with another person. I don't care what people think, this is not the case of a haunting. My wife died of pancreatic cancer, there was no murder, there was no secret. We had a healthy, and successful marriage. Perfect? No. However, it was fine enough that she would have better things to do than haunt me. Besides, she was adamant about having me try food out of my comfort zone, which didn't extend far to start with. It's kind of nice, knowing whatever happens that I will have a hot cooked meal for me. I used to purposefully throw my bed around, and make it as annoying as possible to clean up. Yet, whoever wishes a life with me, they have a very strong case of OCD. I sat eating porridge, of all things, not my favorite but I had no one to complain to. I've always wondered if this is one of those situations where a depraved lunatic is living in my walls, watching me. I can assure you, that is not the case. Every time I move, I have taken a sledgehammer to the walls, and there's nothing in there but rat carcasses and cobwebs. I stared at my reflection in the bowl, desperate for the answer. Nothing. I walked past the mirror before my bedroom. A careful glance depicted a man who had begun to lose control of his mental facilities. Another problem I had, the mirrors tended to break. I don't know why. Had to be part of the bad luck that followed me. I tried to sleep in my already made bed. A few hours later I woke up, unexpectedly, and went to vomit into the toilet. I crawled back into my bed, miserable. I opened my eyes, and found myself in the kitchen, preparing a meal. I looked at the table, already written was the message I always saw. I walked back to my bedroom, passing the mirror. I stopped, and saw there was a strange mark. It looked like... the remnants of a kiss. To test my theory, I kissed the mirror, and it was an exact match. It seems a part of me wants to love myself, but I refuse to allow happiness, since Jean died. Now what would happen? I broke the cycle. I went to sleep, in an unmade bed. I went to work. When I came home, there was no food, and my room had not been cleaned. However, I did see a message I wasn't familiar with. It said 'We will be together.' I looked at the mirror, and placed my head against it. I thought I had it all figured out, but now I was once again in the dark.
Day 4751: Experiment can be ruled a possible success. Subject C exhibited a high level of grief. After thirteen years, he finally required an answer. Subject C decided to create, and believe a separate personality to explain the endless repetition. This demonstrates that with proper tuning and manipulation, a psuedo-personality can be constructed to alleviate mental turmoil. It should be noted that final message left on Subject C's kitchen table, is not one of our own. Continue research for further findings. Video play back does not indicate Subject C wrote it. At no point in recordings does the message appear. Possible formula for self-loathing discovered, but unintended and unknown side effects must be observed.
Day 4752: Subject C has not returned from work. Employer said he showed up, but never left. Building will need to be searched and searched again. Thirteen years is too long to lose Subject C. Update. Nate McReids body located, missing every single tooth. No other injuries. Subject C was alive during dental extraction. Subject C is gone. We have no Subjects left. Data is not sufficient for thirteen years. Experiment ruled a failure.
Oh, I've always admired that smile of yours Nate. You'd shine those pearly whites at me, so often. I knew it was love, between us. I waited thirteen years for this. I enjoy reading up on dental hygiene, don't you? Yes, it's a hobby of mine. You're forty-seven aren't you? Unfortunately, I'm going to be moving soon Nate. I would have waited three more years. After fifty, that's when teeth as majestic as yours, they just start to rapidly and horribly depreciate. I couldn't, I just couldn't let them fall from grace like that! It's been a pleasure, thirteen long years, but now I have to leave. Don't you worry, I will be taking those teeth with me. Can you just imagine the amount the tooth fairy would give me? Oh, I'm kidding, I'd never part with these well formed and, if you don't mind me saying, immaculate teeth. Nate, Nate, it's okay to cry those tears of joy. These will be the crown jewels of my collection. Oh yes, yes indeed, I do have many. How else did you think I could come to appreciate, to dream about, and to desire such healthy teeth? You heard the rumors, people losing teeth in our job field! That's me. None of them could do as you do though. I just, feel so clean around you. I could go blind staring at them. I'm going to start taking them out now. I want you to be able to smile at me, until you only have gums left. Just look at this molar! You know, I'm going to take out my own. I just have to have this. I'm so happy right now, Nate. I can finally retire with a perfect set! Open that dental treasure chest for me.
| 2017-12-09T07:43:55 | 2017-12-09T03:12:50 | 236 | 35 |
[WP] You're a magician, and nobody told you that the other magicians were always using real magic. They know you can't do real magic, but they also can't figure out any of your tricks.
|
Adam resumed the video in slow motion. Leaning in he could see the hair changing color as the woman ran her fingers through the long locks flowing through the air. Roots to the tips, yellow to blue. With a proud smile she steps to the front of the stage and takes a bow
"time delayed dye release?" he muttered to himself.
That would be a silly, wet affair. There would be no way to ensure that the color was distributed equally and it wasn't enough to match their skills, he'd strive to surpass them as usual.
Floatation, telekinesis, telepathy, all imitated to spectacular degree. Color change was new, though. Not since the disappearing act had he been so stumped.
She had excellent wand control. He didn't even notice it the first couple times thanks to her excellent showmanship. She had it strapped to the outside of her forearm, covered by the decorative single sleeve of her jacket.
He looked at his naked forearm. He wouldn't need to worry about concealment. He never did, not for a wand anyway.
The mail slot slid open, a single sheet of parchment slipped through. Adam made his way to the door. As soon as he touched it he could see the words start to appear.
"Good luck, love ;)
-Eve"
Smirking, Adam looked back at the screen "two color change it is."
|
Jensen stepped out of the car, a heavy downpour weighing heavy against her shoulders as it struck her coat. With a grunt, she spat out her half-smoked cigarette and crushed it under her boot out of reflex. The scene was busy, she had gotten here later than she would have liked. The feel was gone, replaced with white tape and evidence markers instead. Their resident crime scene investigator had already set up an impromptu tent to shield the scene itself from the rain, but one look was enough for Jensen to determine that they may as well not have bothered.
"Detective," Ask chimed up as he noticed her, smashing his heels together to salute her. "I arrived as soon as possible but," His words trailed off as he shot a dejected look at the drenched evidence that still remained. Jensen could tell her partner was just as disappointed as she was, the only difference was that he was much more likely to let that fact affect his work.
"It's all right, detective," She said, putting emphasis on his title in an attempt to allow him to regain some focus, "Brief me," She methodically removed her glasses and carefully wiped them off before crouching down next to the smattering of small numbered signs. Accompanying each sign was an item, of sorts. There was a queen of diamonds, light water damage, and also what looked like pieces of an eight of spades, severely damaged. There were other things as well, a burnt match, among other things, but that was mostly it.
"An intercepted call at 01:31 placed our man at this spot approximately five minutes before that," Detective Ask explained as he flipped through the records, "We had a team on site at 01:39 in an attempt to seal off the crime scene, whereas 01:46 marks the arrival of head investigator Timms on the scene,"
"And I assume this," Jensen gestured disgustingly at the small translucent material covering them from the rain, "'Tent', for lack of a better word, wasn't set up until then, correct?" For a crude construction, she had to admit it was currently serving it's intended purpose of holding back the downpour. While not something fit for a high ranking officer, a band-aid solution of this caliber was still above the average patrol officer.
"Correct," Another voice responded as an almost disturbingly lanky woman strode into the protective sphere the tent provided them, her hair slicked back by the rain, "I caught a few of these bozos trying their best to shield the scene with their own jackets," Timms laughed, a scathing yet jovial affair that included a tilting of the head that went slightly too far back in Jensen's eyes, "Well then again, what can you expect from grunts when they pay us to be their brains, right?" She nudged her elbow against Ask, prompting no response as he tried his hardest to stand at attention and not let his irritation show on his face. Jensen envied his restraint as scoffed audibly.
"Enough Sharon, just tell us if you managed to salvage anything from this mess," Jensen said sharply, inclining her head slightly toward the crime scene while maintaining eye contact. She could see the slightly taller woman freeze up slightly at her tone, before quickly relaxing her shoulders and shooting Jensen a sly smirk in return.
"Nothing, as far as I can tell," Timms answered nonchalantly, pacing across the cramped space and puffing up her cheeks like she was bored, "Maybe if we can get something back to the lab, but it was honestly too far gone when I got here," She shrugged, "Maybe if the first response team was competent-"
Ask was halfway across the tent before Jensen managed to grab onto his collar and drag him back, sending him crashing onto the pavement. Placing a boot over his neck to restrain him should he struggle, she glanced back at Timms. She was shaken, as was the right of a civilian who had just witnessed someone violently lunge toward her. Frankly, it didn't matter much that Ask was unlikely to actually harm her, the threat feels real enough all the same.
"Leave," Jensen managed through gritted teeth and watched as her civilian colleague walked back into the rain, the confidence momentarily removed from her stride. Staring down at her partner fully prone with her boot pressed gently against his throat, he had his eyes closed and was making a concerted effort to slow his breathing. With a heavy sigh, she removed her foot and sat down next to him on the ground, looking out at the rain crashing against the skyline.
It was quiet aside from the rain, as it should be. She did not have to tell him what he did wrong, and he was certainly not supposed to explain himself. They had all the facts, all that was left to do was reflect on them. And as she sat there on the still wet street next to a partner who was soon to be something else, lighting a cigarette with her bare hands, something on the ground reflected the light. It was a coin, just like any you would see at the bottom of a fountain. And yet, she couldn't help but feel the urge to pick it up. And as she did, as she picked up this coin that passed for any other and had not yet been marked as evidence, she smiled. She smiled because she was one step closer to solving the case.
| 2018-07-17T17:18:21 | 2018-07-17T15:26:27 | 33 | 14 |
[WP] Suddenly all over the world, the sky was completely covered by a gray blanket of clouds. After a month, suddenly the clouds disappear with a voice saying "Sorry for the wait. The rework of Sky has now been enabled. Enjoy!" and the sky is now filled with floating islands and cities.
|
Jaxon could live with the changes to the sky. Even the odd voice that boomed through the air when it happened didn't bother him much. For all he could tell, things didn't really change. Except for the cities in the sky.
That part Jaxon hated. With a passion. It wasn't that they were ugly, in fact they were rather pretty. They were nice to visit too. Lots to do up there, what with all the new shops, parks, and other attractions.
The problem that Jaxon had with them was a simple design flaw that made his life hell. Jaxon worked for city sanitation. Well, now it was called "sub city sanitation services".
Before the new sky came about things weren't so bad. Now, it was awful. Every day Jaxon was out in the streets cleaning as normal. But nowdays, it wasn't the trash, or the buildup of dirt, or even the occasional roadkill. That didn't bother him.
It was the plumbing. From above. Whoever, or whatever, changed the sky, in it infinite wisdom, didn't think about waste disposal for a floating city.
Jaxon was mulling all this over in his mind from the seat of his enclosed street sweeper unit when his train of thought was interupted by a sudden deluge of human feces hammered into his window screen and rooftop.
Almost absentmindedly Jaxon logged the sewage strike in his book. Biohazard crew would have to see to the rig after his shift now.
Fuckin sky cities.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Makena's heart raced in her throat as she burst out of the cobblestone alleyway, not daring to glance back lest the Iker that was chasing her caught up. She had absolutely no interest in being pierced by its long, praying mantis-like claws first thing on a Sunday morning. Of course, it wouldn't be completely undeserved, but surely stealing one little hexbolt wasn't worth her life.
But the Iker didn't think so as it screeched, a horrifyingly shrill sound that threatened to burst her eardrums, and loped after her, its compound eyes a fiery red.
Makena leapt over the merchant's table that had been set up on the side of the street, just blocking the alleyway. She winced. "Sorry!" she apologized, glancing briefly back, and the merchant looked at her inquisitively before the Iker burst through the table, howling.
"My cabbages!" she heard distantly.
But there was no time to turn back and make things right. The ship-building competition was in three days, and if she was caught and thrown in jail for the next two, she'd never be able to build it in time. And without that money...
She weaved through the crowded marketplace and brought up her hood to hide her silver hair. She glanced back. She couldn't see the Iker anymore, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. They were masters of camouflage, and she'd been burned more than once by her assumptions. When she passed by a Kuvla's stand, where they were selling fresh agave, her stomach growled. She pressed a hand to her belly.
She hadn't eaten in two days. Her fist clenched around the hexbolt, warm in her hand, as she passed by stand after stand of food. There would be plenty of it after the competition. She'd already scoped out the other builders, and her ship was by far the best. The hexbolt was the last thing she had needed, and with it, she was guaranteed to win.
She ducked into another alleyway and whipped around, slowly backing away. She was close to the docks now, and if she could reach them, she would for sure lose the Iker among the shipment containers if she hadn't already.
But it seemed she was safe for now. There was no commotion besides that of people bartering for food and goods. No shrill shrieks.
Makena breathed out a sigh of relief, her heart finally calming down.
Until a voice sounded in her ear. "Going somewhere?" it hissed, series of clicks mixed into its gravelly voice as it sounded from from behind her.
She whipped around, and her face paled. Now that it was on top of her, she wouldn't be able to escape. Although Ikers didn't move very fast, they had lightning fast reflexes with their claws. She wasn't going to get out without some permanent scars. The Ikr seemed to know this, and it bided its time, slowly using its back four legs to walk up to her confidently. "Die," it hissed, raising its claws.
Makena's mind raced. Should she beg for forgiveness? Should she try and fight back?
Then the sky went black.
But she had no time to wonder why or how. Ikers couldn't see in the dark, and she'd never been so glad her mentor had gotten her fitted with night-vision contacts. Without hesitating, she ducked back and tucked on her gloves, then began scaling the walls of the alleyway, the Iker's claws just hissing past her ears as it blindly struck out everywhere.
A loud, booming voice suddenly sounded out through the market's PA system. "Sorry for the wait. The sky rework has been enabled. Enjoy." And a second later, she blinked as everything was thrust back into the light.
Below her, the Iker whipped around, desperately searching for her. Then it spotted her, and its eyes narrowed. Without hesitation, it dug its claws into the sides of the buildings, creating its own grips as it came after her.
Makena climbed faster. Once she was on top of the building, she knew the network of rooftops even better than ground level. She'd be fine. Her hands gripped onto the side of the building, and she vaulted herself up.
Only to see a ladder in front of her, reaching up towards the clouds.
After analyzing the situation for half a second, she cursed. She had no idea where it would lead, but it was the safer option. The Iker wouldn't scale ladders. She would just have to take the risk that she wouldn't be crossing jurisdiction lines. Faster than she had ever moved before, she scaled up the ladder.
Only once she broke through the clouds, she froze. Instead of the stocky, brick architecture of Arcadia, the buildings here were a sleek silver, with rounded edges and curves. In the distance, a silver suspension bridge connected the edge of the island she was on to another. A network of floating islands.
Makena tried to run through her geography and history lessons, but nothing came to mind.
She gulped.
Where was she?
*****
I'll write a part two if there's interest!
Also, I write a lot of fantasy stories like this at r/AlannaWu if you're interested in that kind of thing!
| 2018-08-26T10:36:01 | 2018-08-26T10:07:07 | 177 | 38 |
[WP] The Devil returns from a long day making deals and collecting souls, but along the way to his keep he manages to unwittingly drop one... yours. Years later you arrive in Hell, but since the Devil doesn't know where your soul is, he can't manipulate or punish you. You're just kind of... there.
|
"What year did you die again?"
"2019"
"What generation are you part of?"
"Millennial"
*satanic sigh*
"OK, so most of this is going to seem familiar to you... uh... over here is the vestibule to the fiery pit. This is where all hope of rescue or escape is lost, but...."
"My parents generation beat you to it"
"Uh huh. Ok, well... over here is a bottomless pit of thankless toil"
"I worked at Starbucks"
"Hmm... there's the dark forest of loneliness. Separating someone from community and family is especially painful and we find..."
"Divorced parents and I'm a straight, white male"
"Over there is the den of lies..."
"Studied gender studies in college"
"Son of a .... fine. Something that is REALLY soul crushing is the toil of sisyphus. Having great effort prove to be meaningless is one of the most demoralizing experiences one can..."
"I already told you I went to college and ended up at Starbucks"
"Fuck. Well... if you can think of anything to make this place more nightmarish we might have an opening"
"Have you forced anyone here to take diversity training and confront their privilege?"
"You're hired. Welcome to hell"
*sigh*... "already said, I'm from 2019."
"Yeah... remind me to send the Boomers a gift basket."
(Edit: formatting)
|
“Behold! Beyond this door lays your greatest fear!” The demon smiled cruelly, showing rows of wicked, jagged teeth.
“Wha…what is it?” I asked hesitantly, my eyes following the creature’s gesture to the wrought iron door before me. Comprised of dark metal and adorned with a single slot for viewing that could only be opened from the outside, the door loomed menacingly before me.
“Behind this door is, um.” The demon paused in confusion then looked back at me. “Wait. Who are you again?”
“John.” I supplied.
“John what?”
“Smith.” I smiled helpfully.
The demon frowned and looked slowly between the spot in which I stood and the portal that lead to eternal torment and damnation.
“John Smith.” He frowned. “Well…shit. That’s not helpful. I mean, I’ve been here for literally EVER. Do you know how many John Smiths are down here? Hang on.”
Moving to the door the demon raised a clawed hand and slid back the viewing window.
“Well shit.” He repeated before closing the hatch. “This has never happened before.”
“What? What’s in there?” I asked, craning my neck and trying to get a glimpse before the view was completely obscured.
“Nothing.” The creature answered.
“Nothing?” I questioned.
“Like, literally nothing. It’s just….well. Nothing. No dark, no light. There’s no HELL. It’s just empty.” Whatever otherworldly awe I once held for the creature was gone in an instant as it stood in a perfect parody of human confusion.
“What’s supposed to be in there?” I asked.
“Huh. I don’t know. What are you afraid of?” It asked quickly, a glimmer of hopeful light shining behind its yellow eyes as it turned to me.
“I’m not telling you that!”
“Aww. Why not?” It asked in a hurt voice.
“Because, if I say what I’m afraid of, you’re going to fill that room full of it and shove me in there.”
“Nu uh.” The demon denied.
“Nuh HUH.” I countered. “If I say that I’m afraid of kittens, boom – that room is going to be chock full of kittens and then you’re going to toss me in there for all of eternity.”
“Are you afraid of kittens?” The demon asked eagerly.
“No! And that’s why I chose kittens, just in case you got ideas, which you clearly did.” I scolded.
“Maaaan. Look. Just tell me what you’re afraid of okay? You’re in hell for a reason, and I’m here to make sure that you’re punished for whatever you did. You’re not getting out of this, so just make it easy on yourself and tell me.” It reasoned.
“MAKE IT EASY ON MYSELF? You’re going to huck me into a chamber of untold horrors until the end of time! How is helping you making it easy on myself?”
“Spiders?” The demon asked.
“No.”
“Rats?”
“No. Stop it.”
“Snakes! Is it snakes? No one likes snakes.”
“I happened to find them rather pleasant.” I stonewalled.
“Forbidden Name, damnit.” It sort of swore. “Just tell me what you’re afraid of!”
“Fine.” I sighed. “Do you really, really want to know?”
“Yes! Please!” The demon plead. "Tell me!"
“Well, if you really must know…I’ve always been simply horrified by gaggles of beautiful women who exist only to satisfy my every sexual need, and who know infinite ways to please a man while catering to his every whim.”
The demon narrowed his eyes, and pursed his lips in apprehension.
“Nice try.”
“I mean, it was at least worth a shot, right?” I asked. The creature paused and then reluctantly agreed that it was.
“Well, there’s only one thing left to do then.” It sighed, pulling a clipboard seemingly from the sulfuric air around us.
“What’s that?” I asked apprehensively.
“Heaven.” It shrugged, scribbling something onto a piece of bloodstained parchment affixed to the board.
“Heaven? Really?” I blinked. “You mean I get to go to Heaven? I don’t have to be condemned to Hell for all eternity?”
“Yup.” The demon nodded, ripping off the bottom half of the paper and handing it to me.
I took it reluctantly, suspecting a trick. Instead, the world around me erupted in angelic light and a portal to the Heavens appeared above me.
“Thank you!” I cried, actual tears forming in my eyes. Reprieve, redemption, whatever you wanted to call it was mine!
“Don’t thank me.” The demon laughed. “They’re not going to know what to do with you either.”
My face fell as I started to rise towards the light.
“And knowing them? Rather than dealing with you, they’ll just stick you in a waiting room for…well, forever.”
“Wait!” I called down to him, scrambling to fight against the air, but I couldn’t slow the movement.
A waiting room for all of eternity.
And that’s how I ended up the only person ever to go to Heaven, just to be stuck in Hell.
| 2019-05-06T09:42:38 | 2019-05-06T09:13:12 | 35 | 25 |
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim.
|
"And the name of your intended target?"
I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Michael McCowell."
"Very well. Please have a seat while I add this to the registry. It will only be a few minutes."
I sit and run my hand through my hair. The anxiety from this decision has my nerves fried. I don't want to kill him. I love him. He was there for all the major events in my life, participating in my story, and sharing his. I've known him my whole life and dont want to imagine a world without him in it.
However, a promise is a promise. I need to do this.
"Sir? All I need is a signature."
I walk back to the window where the permit and a pen are waiting for me. With another sigh, I quickly scrawl my name and hand the paper back to the clerk. She stamps it and recites a patter I'm sure she had said many time before.
"You now have 72 hours to execute this order. In the event that you do not succeed, there is no penalty. However, you will not be allowed another attempt. Any collateral damages will be covered in full by yourself, and all criminal activities not covered by the terms of this permit will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Do you understand the stipulations stated in this document?"
"I do."
Slowly, I walk out of the municipal building and hop in my truck. The rain seems fitting as I drive to the hospital.
After parking the car I head inside and on my way to the room I stop at the nurses station. The head nurse sees me and gives me a sad smile. "He's been asking about you. He missed you this morning."
"I had an errand to run. Um, I talked to the doctor yesterday about his options. Does he have any news?"
She nodded. "He left the medicine in the room."
Thanking her, I walk down the hall to room 2441. I slowly open the door and walk in. "Grandpa? It's me. Are you awake?"
"Hey, kiddo! Yeah, come on in. Your mother was here earlier this morning and helped me make a best-of slide show from my social media. I want to show you my life."
I give this skeleton man before me a hug, his once healthy form only evident from the strength of his embrace. Tears prickle my eyes as I look at him. He frowns. "Hey now, we've got all afternoon. Sit. Let me show you how I met your grandmother."
We sat for the next six hours together, looking at pictures and videos of him as a young man. Hanging out with friends, protesting for change, meeting the love of his life, starting a family, growing old. We laughed and talked, and when I couldn't help it anymore, I cried. And despite his illness, he held me and comforted me like when I was a child.
When I had finally calmed down, he took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. "What do you say kiddo, about time to do this?" I nod gently. He smiles at me. "It's gonna be okay. I am choosing this. Im just glad my grandson is here with me so I can die with a smile on my face and love in my heart. Cause i do love you, with everything I am."
I can't bare to say anything as I get up and cross the room to the syringe of morphine waiting on the counter. I hear him press his call button and tell the nurse his thank yous and goodbyes. She replies, "Mr. McCowell, it has been a privilege to have you here. We are all going to miss your smile."
He looks up at me and smiles as I approach his IV. I can't but help and smile back, sad as it may be. I inject the morphine into his tubing the way the doctor showed me and he starts relaxing almost immediately. He kisses my forehead one last time and I watch him fall asleep. A sense of peace envelops the room as the pain and suffering he refused to show dissipate. I hold his hand till the doctor comes in to pronounce his death.
The rain had stopped in time to give me a cloudy, red sunset for the drive home. As I drove, I thought about who my grandfather was. He was not known by too many people, nor will his name go down in history. As sad as this day was, though, I got to know more of the life of one of the greatest men to ever live.
|
The streets were crowded and busy, the usual rush-hour congestion as people headed home. The streets were clogged with cars, the engines idling and pumping out exhaust. The sky overhead was overcast, a smog building up and threatening another acid rain.
I usually avoided this traffic, keeping to my one-room apartment around this time of day, posting online or reading the news. But today was grocery day, and I had run out of frozen pizzas and canned soup. My stomache had growled and demanded that I get out, and so here I was, shoulder to shoulder with strangers in suits, my arms laden with grocery bags, sweating in the summer heat, hating myself.
"Excuse me, Mr. Smith?"
I startled, nearly dropping my bags.
"Are you Andrew Smith?"
I turned. The crowd rushed past on either side of me, eyes on the ground or glued to a phone screen, parting around me but otherwise taking no notice. Except for one man, wearing a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, staring directly at me behind dark sunglasses.
"Maybe. Who's asking?"
It was embarrassing. I hadn't expected to bump into anyone I knew, mostly because I didn't know anyone outside of the internet. I hadn't bathed in days, didn't even brush my teeth this morning, and was sweating from the weight of the canned food I carried. I had rushed through the store, used the self check-out, and avoided eye contact with everyone. I had almost made it home, my building just a block away, and some guy had flagged me down. And he looked official.
"Government business, sir," and he held out an envelope. "If you are Mr. Andrew Smith, 313 B at West Paulson Apartments, you'll want to see this." He flipped the envelope over.
I looked down and saw that across the seal was a stamp. It was ornate and embossed, a government notary seal, and the ink was black as sin. Two olive branches wrapped around in a circle, and in the middle was a black dagger.
"Is that..." I began, dropping my bag. It clattered onto the sidewalk, the paper ripping, canned ravioli rolling away, debbie cakes crushed, pizza boxes dented. Around me, the crowd continued to stream by.
"Is that... Ministry... Ministry of..."
"Ministry of Regulated Purging, yes, sir," the man finished. "I take it by your reaction that you are Mr. Andrew Smith?"
"I am," and I reached out for the envelope. He pulled it away.
"I need to see ID, sir," he said, twirling the envelope in his fingers. "Regulations, sir. Got to follow orders."
"I... I..." I stuttered, fumbling at my pockets. Grease stained, dirty, large enough to hold a circus, "I... I mean, who...?" I found my wallet, pulling it from a pocket that had three dorito chips in it.
"Can't answer questions yet, sir, regulation." The man stood there, passively, twirling the envelope as he watched me, fat and sweaty and panicking. "But it's all in the letter, sir, I assure you."
I handed him my voter registration. He took it, held it up close to his sunglasses, and studied it for what seemed like ages before handing it back. "Very well, Mr. Smith, here you are. If I could get your signature," he handed me the envelope and a clipboard.
I signed, handed it back, got a cursory thank you, and was surprised to see that the agent stayed.
"Uh... do you need..." I began.
"Oh, no sir," he replied. "Just watching. Might have questions for me afterward, sir. They usually do."
I turned to the letter, flipping it over and over in my hands, running my finger over the embossed, black dagger. Ministry of Regulated Purging. It seemed so unreal.
I opened it, and read.
"Mr. Andrew Smith,
"This letter is to inform you that you are currently under Probationary Target status, and a permit for your disposal has been approved. The requesting citizen may attempt to kill you during a 72 hour period starting at 12:01 am (midnight) on June 9th."
I stopped. June 9th, when was that?
"Uh, agent..."
"Sir?"
"The uh..." I hesitated, trying to remember my high school government classes. "The Ministry is supposed to give me 24 hours notice if I am the target of a purge request, right?" It'd been a while since I had even spoken with another human. I forgot what it felt like to have my chins bounce.
"That is correct, sir," he replied, "only, well, there's just me delivering letters right now. Government funding, you see, layoffs and cutbacks. Couldn't get to all my deliveries yesterday, sir. Sorry, sir," and he stood there, face a blank, emotionless slab. I was about to die, and I didn't get my warning, as is my right, all because of staffing?
"If you wish to file a complaint, sir, I have the papers with me." He lifted his briefcase and gave it a pat. "I can take them back with me when I return to my office, sir. Uh, at the end of my vacation, of course."
*Vacation?* I wanted to ask, but the irony of it hit me. Here I was, standing in the streets, clearly visible from a hundred windows, holding in my hand a warrant for my death. Who cares if some lazy, pencil-pushing bureaucrat is going on vacation? I'm being hunted!
I looked down at the letter again.
"...starting at 12:01 am (midnight) on June 9th.
"In accordance with your rights as granted by the EU and UN Human Right's Charter, the following information about the requesting citizen is being provided to you:
"Purge Requester: Mr. Constance Upshot
"Purge Target: Mr. Andrew Smith
"Justification: Mr. Andrew Smith has filed a Purge Request targeting my wife, Mrs. Felicity Upshot, and I wish to protect her.
"Method Request: Torture by miscellaneous blunt instrument, followed by gunshot."
"Wait a minute," I said, shaking the piece of paper in frustration, "there's been some sort of mistake."
"Sir?" the agent asked, standing stoic as strangers rushed past. "I may be a bit behind on delivery, but I assure you..."
"I never put in any request," I interrupted, shaking the letter some more. "This man, Upshot, he wants to kill me because he thinks I'm going to kill his wife. See?" I pointed to the offending lines on the letter. "Only I never did that! I hardly ever leave my apartment! What would I want to kill some lady for?"
"Couldn't say, sir," was the emotionless response. "Though if you want to file a complaint, I do have the papers..."
"Nevermind that!" I shouted, loud enough that several people in the endless crowd took notice and backed away. "What good is a complaint if my purge has already started?"
"Well, sir, in my opinion, and don't mention this to my boss, it does you no good, sir. Generally takes two or three days for a complaint to be processed, another one for delivery, and that's if I can get to it right away, sir. At that point, you'd be better to just ride this out and avoid the man, sir. In my opinion."
I threw my hands up, exasperated. "But that's the thing! I don't even know the guy!"
"Oh, sorry, sir. I didn't introduce myself, did I?" He set his briefcase on the ground, reached up and took my hand, saying, "Agent Constance Upshot, sir. Pleasure to meet you."
He pressed a gun to my stomach, the silenced muzzle sinking deep into my fat. I froze, one arm still in the air, the other clasped tightly in an otherwise friendly handshake.
"Hollow point bullet, sir, cheap and effective. Let's not make a scene, hm? Don't want to get all these nice people dirty, sir."
Above, the smog-laden clouds thundered.
"What a way to start a vacation, hm? Why don't we take this to your place, sir? It looks like rain."
| 2019-07-09T11:04:22 | 2019-07-09T10:47:03 | 102 | 14 |
[WP] The hero shows up at the villains doorstep one night. Theyre shivering bleeding scared. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly, close to passing out, they mumble “didn’t know where else to go” then collapse into the villains arms.
|
I sit alone in the darkened room of my living room, the faint light of the television illuminated me. I was unnerved by the feeling that I needed to do something. It had been weeks, almost two months since I had gone out and done something. Something bad, but Powerhouse never showed up for any of the times I decided to cause a little mayhem.
I knew something wasn't right in the back of my mind the third time she didn't show, but I didn't go off looking for her, even if I knew her secret identity. I look down at my blood covered hands, the moment when she came to my doorstep the other day, bloodied and broken, makes me regret not searching for her sooner.
I stood from my position and made my way to the bathroom to clean up. I'll never forget the look she had on her face when I found her on my doorstep. She was scared. A look that I had never seen on her face, even when she was close so to death many times before.
The scene still played out in my head. Her mumbling something I almost didn't catch, but I did end up catching her as she fell forward. She was light enough for me to carry her to my bedroom, so that wasn't the issue. I knew she was injured, badly, and I needed to help her.
I had taken care of her visible wounds while she was out, I didn't want her to assume I did anything to her. She awoke hours later and I gave her the strongest pain medication I had, which was just a cheap bottle of Excedrin so it wouldn't do much.
I begged her to tell me what happened, and she did. I wish I hadn't asked. Every graphic detail, every bone that snapped, every hit, every bit of her assault was told to me in confidence. My stomach tightened from what I was being told, someone who was so powerful, someone that was loved by thousands, someone who had saved the city countless times...
...was raped.
And not just from complete strangers either, those super powered ass wipes who were supposed to be her friends! If I didn't have a reason to hate them before, I at least had a reason to kill them now.
I took care of Pow- Jen, making sure she was healed to the best of my abilities, and with what little supply I had on hand. I let her stay in my house for a few days, stealing things from my work to help take care of her. The broken bones were a bit tricky, but I managed to get them set properly.
As I washed my hands from the blood of today, I looked at myself in the mirror. I may be a villain, I may be hated, I may want to see the world burn.
But I am no monster like them.
|
Part 1/3
Shouldn’t a villain be evil? Shouldn’t that be a requirement of the label. I’m not evil, though that’s probably what all the other “villains” think. But I don’t want power, wealth or influence. I didn’t build this house because I needed a fortress or lair. I built it to be alone. I built it so I didn’t have to hurt anyone.
At first I didn’t know what was happening. My first boyfriend died in my arms. They said it was a heart attack, very rare at seventeen, but not unheard of. If it was just a heart attack, why did I black out? After he died I committed to being his legacy. He was the star center for our schools basketball team, so I devoted myself to playing. It seemed like I was better overnight. I ran faster, jumped higher, understood the game better and could just know what I needed to do to make the shot. I was the star center of the girls team almost overnight. When we took the state championship I told everyone my 57 goals were for him.
The second time I passed out was at the celebration. Our state had never won a national basketball championship, and the girls team had never placed, so it was a big deal. We met all kinds of important people; the governor, some mayors, a senator or two, a few tv and movie stars, and finally we got to me the mighty twins. Superheroes. They were amazing as they walked towards us, shaking hands and taking photos as they went. I was so excited my pounding headache didn’t hurt so bad. Then they were in front of me. Carlo took my hand in his, Carla put her hand on my bare shoulder. They smiled and started to say something, and then it all went black.
After I came to everyone was shocked. They thought I died. It seems like the event was so well publicized that some opportunistic villain decided to make a name for himself (or herself) and blasted the twins to death while they were meeting us. Several of the others were hurt, thrown back by the blast, but I got the worst of it, being right between the two. They thought I died.
Because of my proximity to the death of some of our greatest heroes my recovery was a big deal. Once I was awake other supers started to come and visit me. They asked me what it felt like, did I see anything, did I notice anything out of the ordinary, was I being followed? It sounded like they were afraid.
I was in the hospital for so long everyone else graduated. I had enough credits and my teachers passed me in the classes I was in, so I guess I graduated too, just missed the ability to walk, apply to college, prom and parties. I had to spend some time in rehab, it seemed like no part of my body wanted to work correctly. The headaches were terrible, and I even thought I was hearing voices, so I started seeing a therapist at the facility before they discharged me. They thought it was a combination of head trauma, PTSD from the attack and guilt from surviving where the great heroes did not. There was nothing I could do, they told me over and over, but something was bothering me. Damn this headache makes it hard to think!
My last day in the hospital was the single worst day of my life.
Months had passed with me in the hospital. Learning to walk again, run again, stand, bend, eat and drink again. Finally I was declared minimally fit to get out of the hospital and stop spending the insurance companies money. There were no more attacks on supers and those who came to visit me came to wish me well as I left. We all posed for one last photograph. I heard a loud “Nooooo” seemingly in my head and then a huge shock and all black again.
This time when I woke up I was alone in the center of a crater. Bodies were all around me and the ground was back from the blast. The media was in full force, the police were shouting questions, heroes were on full alert and I lay at the bottom of the hole and cried. Sobbing to myself. Why?!? Why?!? Oh god!?! Not because I was attacked again, but because of the death around me.
This time I was “awakened”. That’s what they call it when you get powers after birth. There are basically four types of powers: birthed powers, those that your are born having from day one; those that are learned; like The sorcerer in New York who used to be a Doctor; modified humans, like the neighborhood web slinger; and awakened, those are powers that activate later in life, generally with trauma. I was awakened. I knew who killed the supers. Both times. I knew what happened to Toby, my boyfriend. Me. I happened to all of them. So I cried.
As I laid there and cried I realized nobody came to check on me. Why would they, I was the girl who lived when everyone else died. They had to be so afraid, terrified even. Eventually the tears stopped, around the same time the bodies on the edge were being removed. Still they did not acknowledge me. Still they did not look at me. Even to arrest me.
All the bodies are gone now, except me. I’m still in this hole. No headache, but voices in my head. They have quieted, some faded completely away. As they fade what they were becomes part of me, and when it happens I feel them die. God, I wish I could undo it, but it seems wished are not my power. Not one of them at least. I am powered, that’s for sure.
Each of the supers that die in my head leave me what was theirs. Their powers are mine. As the voice fades and I feel them die, I also feel their power settle into my bones. It becomes part of me. So do other things. Knowledge that is not learned, memories that are not mine are now there, in my head.
So I stayed in that crater overnight, as they died in me one after another. And I became powerful. But I was not evil. I did not ask for this and so while this was all happening I looked for a solution. A way out. And I thought I found it. One of the memories, belonged to atomic man, I think, was of a place in the pacific that was particularly challenging for the whole group. A villainous island where a group of evil men had consolidated their power. The supers had never been able to disrupt them, but maybe I could. If I could I would be far away from other people. Maybe then I could find away to not hurt others.
| 2019-08-04T04:39:57 | 2019-08-04T04:19:25 | 42 | 20 |
[WP] The legendary hero that we summoned to save the realm was not what we expected. He was gruff, not handsome. He direct in his speech, not elegant. He also came with "Navy Seal Training," which we think is some sort of swordplay and a "Medal of Honor," which must be some sort of crown.
|
With a flash of light, the ritual was complete. Standing in the middle of the summoning circle was a man dressed in dark gray with a giant rucksack on his back and many pockets. He looked like a traveling merchant, not a solider.
Our concerns were immediately put to rest. With practiced reflexes he raised what appeared to be a strange weapon, demanding answers. He asked strange questions. Which country were we from? How did he get here? When we explained the summoning ritual, he looked at us like we were crazy, or lying and continued to demand the truth.
Eventually a display of magic from the court wizard, him demanding to see the night sky, and him checking and speaking into some strange glowing equipment convinced him of the truth we were speaking.
He asked what the mission was. To slay the Dark Lord. He wanted to see his fortress himself. We gathered our best knights, and dressed as travelers the party ventured towards the Dark Lord's lands.
There was an ambush along the way. Bandits. Before our knights could draw their weapons, the strange hero had drawn his, and with muffled thuds the bandits fell to the ground, blood oozing from small holes in their clothes. The knights were too afraid to ask what dark sorcery this was.
Soon they arrived at the dark fortress. The strange hero pulled a strange double cylinder from his sack, and looked into the end. Binoculars, he said. He insisted they travel to several high points near the fortress. After a few days of scouting, he was ready.
At night they traveled to the chosen high point. The strange hero pulled a metal rod, and other strange objects from his bag and assembled them together into a weapon. Rifle, he said. We waited until dawn, the hero vigilantly watching the fortress.
The Dark Lord came out onto his battlement as he always did in the morning to survey his domain. With a crack like thunder, the rifle fired. One of the knights, watching through the hero's binoculars, saw a geyser of blood and flesh as the Dark Lord's head exploded. His personal guard stood dumbfounded, unsure of what had just transpired.
With practiced precision the strange hero disassembled his rifle. Nonchalantly, he said it was time to return. The party returned the way they came, hearing rumors on the way of the divine judgement that had befallen the Dark Lord.
Upon returning to the castle, the hero immediately asked to be sent home. Returning to the circle where it had began, the ritual was performed, and with a flash of light he was gone.
|
I leave it to Dr. Lucero and her team to worry about the nature of The Nexus, how it operates, all that junk. Look, I get it's important, and I respect that they do something that I not only couldn't do, but I have 0 interest in doing. Like, none, at all. I'd rather pull shitter duty for a month straight.
So: I'm standing in front of the pink-purple energy field or pan-time-space-fuck-if-I-know thing or whatever Doc calls it. And she says something like "The curious thing isn't that it requires people in both realities to use it simultaneously...it's that anytime someone on one side wants to use it, there will *always* be someone on the other side using it at the same time. But what we mean by 'time' is --" and right about here I start re-adjusting my gear and thinking: miss me with all that shit. I have a feeling if I bothered to think it through, it would break my head. Like...yeah, no.
She goes on for a while, and I study the bank of buttons and monitors in front of her for a second, then go back to her face, then her clipboard, then spend a little time on her chest, then back to her face. Eventually, her lips stop moving, and so I stop thinking about other things I'd like her lips to do, and I grin, and I salute. My voice sounds totally normal when I say, "Let's do this."
And seriously -- I know people think it's courage, or whatever, but I think of my mind as a manual transmission, and I have to throw it in neutral most of the time or I can't do the stuff that I do. I let it idle and *deliberately* avoid worrying about what's going to happen because...same deal. I want my brain to stay put in my skull.
Doc says: "Alright, Banks. Ready?" I decide blowing Doc a kiss is overdoing it, and settle for a wink, and then step into the pulsing vortex thing.
First impression: this shit sucks. Second impression: this shit *really* sucks. I remember being on leave in TJ and eating a torta that I should *not* have eaten. And I spent most of 3 days doing some serious reflecting on my choices while sitting on the john.
That was a pleasant tickle compared to this. That was...a gentle caress from a woman who likes you for something meaningful, like your body, instead of seeing you as a ticket to base housing and Tricare.
But *this*"? This is a bowie into your gut, and then someone with untrimmed fingernails reaches in, and wraps your intestines around their hand, and pulls out, and then up, and then over, and back down again, until you feel like your fucking stomach is digesting the rest of your God damned body. I puke, or would, except I don't have a stomach, and I scream, but I guess I don't exist, and I'm really having trouble keeping my mind from stalling out. Like: I'd have better chance of keeping the engine running doing a hill start on Lombard in my old Ram.
Jesus.
I remember being re-assembled in a weird fucking order but cannot remember which parts appeared first. Probably for the best. It didn't make sense and I'm gonna stop talking about it. Gotta keep my grey matter from leaking out my ears, right?
Once I get my eyes and ears back, muscle memory kicks in, and we're back in business. Stomach's still pissed but fuck it, I can worry about that once I get a sit rep. They gave me a ton of info in the brief and I gotta say I was thinking about other stuff while it was happening but even if I wasn't...like, none of the PowerPoints showed anything that was in the same ballpark as this. They weren't even in the same fucking state. Or planet, for that matter.
Stone floor, stone walls, mostly completely open with minimal cover. Some ambient light.
First visual contact: Gandalf. Or whoever. White beard he is literally wearing as a belt and he's got a wooden staff in his hands and standing at a table with beakers and books on it in the same position Doc was in. So: Bizarro Lucero. I like her better as a woman in a turtleneck. This dude's wrinkly as shit and his pointy hat looks dumb as fuck.
Armored individuals, half dozen, relaxed stance, no worries there for the moment. Around *now* I realize that my clothes and ruck made the trip with me but not my AR, not my sidearm, my utility knife, nothing. Which...is actually a relief. It gives me something else to think about. Gandalf's table can get knocked over as cover, his glass containers can shatter when thrown hard enough and with a bit of luck the stuff inside hurts or at least stings if it gets in your eyes. Plus...I'm sure it does plenty of awesome crap in the right hands but you can get a lot of mileage out of anything long and blunt if its sturdy enough.
[General Gaffney's](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/ek1fw9/wp_in_space_wars_are_typically_quick_one_side/) twin is sitting on a throne. Gaff would *love* that shit, I'm sure. Not to mention that this guy looks to have a good 20 pounds of muscle on the CO. But even if I didn't peg him as the guy in charge, he's got a crown, and a robe, and it's like: I'm not the scientist, but I know how to do a basic enviro read.
My hand is halfway to my forehead for the crispest of crisp salutes before I check it. I stare King Gaffney right in his flinty eyes and then, with a flourish that somehow does not feel forced, I bow low.
Gandalf pipes up. His voice sounds like tires backing up over gravel: "King Xeric, I present you with the Chosen One. The Times of Darkness are about to end."
King Gaff smiles, and there's general cheering, and I have no idea what he's talking about but...I'm not gonna lie, whatever it is, it sounds like fun.
* * *
I'm starting to (very slowly) try to build most of the 200+ stories on my sub into a larger semi-coherent universe -- /r/ShadowsofClouds.
| 2020-11-10T11:23:43 | 2020-11-10T09:52:14 | 1,707 | 341 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again."
|
**Her father was a blacksmith.**
She watched countless warriors choose weapons from her father's shop and depart on "great quests" to slay the beast in the mountains as she grew. None returned.
**Her father was a blacksmith.**
She had no siblings. Her mother died in childbirth. To the rest of the tribe, she was seen as a burden. A reminder of the blacksmith's loss. A maiden from a weak bloodline with no dowery to make her a desirable wife.
**Her father was a blacksmith.**
She was raised in her father's shop. The familiar comfort of the blazing heat from the forge was her constant companion, the hiss of cooling steel her lullabies. Her father was gruff and stern, but she never doubted his love for her.
**Her father was a blacksmith.**
On her 16th birthday, her father gifted her with the most beautiful sword she'd ever seen him craft. *"You must find your strength, daughter. The tribe does not see your value, but I know steel, and your core is the purest ore I've seen. Only you can decide how to forge it."*
Three days later, the forges were cold. Her beloved father, her protector, had died in his sleep and left her alone to face the tribe.
**Her father was a blacksmith.**
He was buried in the churchyard. She stood tall under the pitying gazes of the women and the lustful stares of the men from the village. She knew she would become a target, seen as easy pickings with no male relative to protect her. She hastily packed her traveling bag, her small pouch of coin, her bedroll, her bow, her sword at her back. She saddled her horse and rode hard towards the mountains, determined to follow her father's command. She was off to find her strength. She would forge her steel, or perish in the attempt.
**Her father was a blacksmith.**
She did not flinch away from the heat of the dragon's flame. She did not cower, scream or run. She stood tall and defiant, her sword gripped lightly in her hand, pointing towards the ground. He watched warily as the mad creature before him closed her eyes, relaxed her shoulders, leaned *towards* the heat of his flame, took a deep breath of the stifling air... and *SMILED.*
Intrigued for the first time in ages, he turned and entered the cave that had been his lair for centuries, shifted form, and grabbed a broadsword from the pile in the corner. As he pivoted to return to the mouth of his lair, he was shocked to see that the maiden *had followed him into his home.*
He studied the small human for a moment, then asked the only question that seemed important to such a unique development: "*Why do you not fear me?"*
Her response intrigued him further: "*My father was a blacksmith. I do not fear heat and flame, they are merely tools used to forge the fiercest weapons. I will be that weapon. I must find my strength or perish. I'm here to forge my steel in the flames your wrath."*
**Her father was a blacksmith.**
Three years later, she returned to her village, her well used sword at her back, a mysterious stranger at her side. She had found her strength, forged her steel in the dragons fire, and knew she would never let anyone else determine her worth.
**Her father was a blacksmith, and she forged herself into his greatest weapon.**
**Her father was a blacksmith, and she, his legacy.**
|
“Once again our crops burn, even as we speak we wait for their flames to be doused. Last year was a travesty, but a surplus in stock gave us ample time to slay the beast yet here I stand with bellows of smoke in my eyes to a crumbling kingdom! Once a great nation, its citizens the wealthiest in the land of Astharnia, a haven of hope for those that dreamed of it. Now? Look at our once great city, its buildings crumbling and its shops barren of produce. All for one, individual, single beast. WHY, I must ask, Garlot, is the beast still alive? Why does it STILL rule over us with an iron wing? I thought I sent my armies to defeat it? Are you telling me the best men in all of Astharnia are not enough to take down 1 foul, ugly beast?” I looked at my brother, Prince Garlot of Hayle and watched as a bead of sweat draped down his cheek. He muttered some excuse, something about betrayal, a garrison run amok, the dragon, a beast so humongous it rivalled the size of the very mountain it resided in.
“- as we slept, my King.” The king looked at Garlot with deep drilling bores, silence washed over the room like the shadow of a dragons wing.
“As. You. Slept?” The king retorted, Garlot gulped, he had never been scrutinized so much in his life. He was their top general, the kings son, born to lead. Since the moment he could grasp a sword he had trained with it from dusk till dawn, by the time he was old enough to walk a mile he had lead an expedition over the very mountain the dragon resided in and taken back a village belonging to the kingdom of Hayle. Many more successful marches came after that, many other kingdoms attempted to lay claim to Hayle, to cripple it. None came close, not with Garlot under the kings behest.
Then there was me, the princess of Hayle, daughter of King Ardon, though that name did not do me any favours, quite the opposite in fact. Only a meagre 3 years younger than Garlot I had been tasked with house chores, since the moment I could grasp a mop I had mopped with it from dusk till dawn, by the time I was old enough to use the stairs I had carried a bucket of water up them and cleaned the floors of the upstairs. Many more successful chores came after that, I made my maid proud, she congratulated me at every corner, I was a star, the best of the best, I could clean the palace kitchen in under an hour, a feat not known to any man or woman before me. None came close, not with me under the kings behest.
“Yes, my King.” Garlot replied, his voice almost cracking, his teenage years were almost over yet his voice threatened to challenge his manly pride with an ever-emasculating shriek.
“What?” The king responded in disbelief, “Are you trying to tell me the men under YOUR command fell asleep on the job? That they were not quick enough to sound the alarm? That they couldn’t distinguish a giant flying pigeon in the sky and ring the bells of battle!?”
“My… my king, it is not as easy as… it… it is black as the night. Its wings so big its beat distinguishes the flames of the torches. The… my men were taken unaware. By the time I awoke half the… half the garrison was alight, not one bell had chimed.”
“My King.” The king commanded my brother to say.
“I… I’m sorry, my King. After that he… she… it moved to our fields, and just as we were prepared it had already burned our lands to black and flew back to its nest, it was over in a matter of seconds… this beast its… it’s too powerful my King, we MUST send for help. Right now it is just toying with us, the moment it gets bored, there will be no more toying, just death… my King.” Garlot stared through his fathers eyes, his thoughts with the grim future.
“Send more help!? HA! We are the kingdom of Hayle! Undefeated for centuries! Perhaps even millennia! We have provided for ourselves since the day the kingdom was founded, not ONCE have we asked for help, it would be utter humiliation and defeat should I do such a … weak move.” My father stood out of his seat at the idea of such a pitiful idea and almost spat on my brothers face, who stood more than 6 feet away.
“Once they see what we are up against they will understand my king, this dragon is… not normal my king.”
“Not normal?” The king asked.
“Yes, it is smart, it knows what we are trying to do. It knows how to bring us to our knees. Every time we launch an assault it leaves its home and destroys half our men, like a warning… I fear for no resolution. Except that of asking our close neighbours for…”
“NEVER! I will NOT repeat myself again! We will NOT be asking for help! From anyone! NEVER!” The kings voice boomed through the king’s chambers. People at the back stood uneasy, fearing that his voice will somehow hurt them. “You say this thing only attacks when we do? What happens if we do nothing?” He asked. Before Garlot could answer the king started to cough profusely before holding a handkerchief to his mouth, he looked at it with a grumbling grimace before quickly tucking it back into his pocket. We all knew it had blood on it, we all looked concerned but not enough to press him about it. We knew better than that, my brother on the other hand… he showed no change in emotion, his facial expressions remained emotionless.
“Nothing? My king?” Garlot asked eventually. “Then it will continue free reign over our crops, just as it did to prompt our retaliation, to do nothing is not an answer my king.” The king sat on his throne, brooding over what appeared to be a tricky situation.
“We send someone.” He said with a calm but commanding voice. “We send someone to it’s lair, quiet as a mouse, find where the foul beast slumbers and they drive a sword into its head. An army makes too much noise, if we cannot do this the honourable way then perhaps we have to resort to more… dishonourable tactics.”
I watched for a moment as my brother contemplated his new orders, send someone to drive a sword into its skull as it slept. Not the bravest move she knew but if it meant her people stopped dropping dead on the street corners then it was enough.
“A good command my king,” Garlot said after contemplation, “Whom should I send?” He asked, he expected no specific individual to be requested by the king but he asked nonetheless, out of politeness.
“I will go.” I spoke, no, I shouted. The whole room gasped, nobody expected me to say that, nobody expected me to say *anything*. I would usually stay in the corner, hidden from more ‘important’ eyes and keep my mouth shut, only there as a formality. Garlot looked at me with a slight turn of his head, his focus still on our father.
“*You?*” He said with disgust. “You’re a girl, what could *you* hope to do to a dragon that an army of Hayle could not accomplish?”
| 2020-12-01T08:02:16 | 2020-12-01T06:36:28 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again."
|
Second day. I arrive. I lose fast and hard. The dragon left me another on my arm, just above the first. Just deep enough to scar.
Third day. I arrive. I lose. I get cut.
Fifth day. I arrive. I lose. He cuts across the first four to make five.
Tenth day. I arrive. I lose but it takes only a few seconds longer. He smiles before giving me my second set.
One hundredth day. I arrive. I lose but I parried his first thrust. Im getting faster but slowly, my muscles are starting to tone but slowly. My face is hard and starting to sprout hairs.
One hundredth and seventy fourth day. I arrive. I lose but have now successfully parried two thrusts in a single bout. He laughed when he gave me my cut. I find my usual diet isn't enough to sustain this, I hunt bigger game and eat ravenously.
Three hundred and sixty fifth day. I am lean, strong and sharp and have managed to stretch each bout to three minutes in length. My muscles don't want to grow bigger. He raised his brow and uttered his first words in a year "You're slow." I must think on what he means. Has it been a year already.
Five hundredth and twelth day. The clan just came back from the winter migration, I barely noticed they left. I focused on explosive speed and endurance. My weapon proved slow so I changed it. A slim needle looking blade from his hoard. This new style increased the bout length by three minutes. He said "much better." Before giving my first cut on my chest. The arm was full.
Seven hundredth and thirty eighth day. The bouts are long and brutal, I barely notice time passing when we fight and each strike is like a dance. He is starting to smile from ear to ear each time I arrive. His cuts now cover my chest as well. I find myself wondering about other things, life, gods, meaning. I medidated for the first time tonight.
Nine hundredth day. The blade snapped mid bout. He took his dragon form and nearly engulfed me in an inferno in his anger. A sharp reminder he could end me with a breath. Once he was calm he ordered me to return tomorrow. He didn't cut me.
One thousandth one hundred and sixty fourth day. My fourth birthday since being sent here. The blade he gave as a replacement is emaculate, ripples in the metal unlike anything the bronze of my clan was capable of making. Black as sin. I bowed as usual before the bout, he did a strange salute with his own blade and returned the gesture. I repeated it back to him. I lost in 24 mins. My upper body is covered. This generous being was beyond my understanding. I refuse to believe I am merely entertainment.
One thousandth three hundred and fifty second day. Three days ago, I nearly had him, he slipped on some moisture in the cave and I ducked low to try and nick his wrist. He lost his reserve and nearly cut me in half with a swing so fast I couldn't see. As I thought death would claim me, he cursed at himself and with a flick of his wrist my wounds healed. I look at him in confusion, he simply stated "I will not win based on unearned strength" and left it at that. Today, he let me eat with him and we talked. He heard my story and I heard his but it seemed so.... insignificant now.
One thousandth eight hundred and ninety-ninth day. Yesterday, I did it. I arrived at dawn, we fought to a stand still but kept fighting, our blades sang. The air itself seemed to be my only restraint, it felt thick to move through as my body trembled and roared with adrenaline. He lost to a counter riposte I had been baiting him into for an hour, he was shocked for a short moment but roared in cheer and laughter before his sword even hit the ground.
I collapsed for a second and felt faint. He knelt, put his hand on my shoulder and smiled saying, "You are strong. Go home." I emerged from the cave and saw my tribe in the distance, the sun was setting.
Today I shaved, cut my long hair and donned the tunic and leather armour I had made in my time not spent fighting. I took my sword and walked into the alien yet familiar camp.
The chief who had exiled me was dead, his son greeted me no better than he had. A great hulking brute, spitting insults and accusations. To the side, my father and mother, they were cautious but they were speechless once they seemed to recognise me.
He told me to leave, I refused. He raised his ugly axe above his head and then he just sort of.... stopped. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum but everything was moving so slow it was basically still. Were things always this sluggish.
Before his axe had hit the top of his arc, my blade had been drawn, cut through his throat, cleaned and sheathed. The timing was such that his lose of grip sent the axe flying backwards.
The camp was silent. The weight of expectations lifted from me like a river finally collapsing a mighty dam. But, whos? I felt no loyalty to these people who had cast me out.
As the chiefs body finally hit the ground, I noticed feint wing beats in the distance, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
God speed master, thank you.
|
“A boy is what they have mustered?”
The beast seemed on the verge of laughter, amused at the most recent ‘raider’ to approach her. “I am no mere boy, basilisk,” the young man huffed, grasping at what remained of his courage, “and do not mock me!” The young one’s sword was an average implement, the dragon noted. She could feel no charms or enchantments on it either. His armor was in even more of a sorry state, seeing far more battles and far less care than the young one wearing it. He could not have been older than sixteen winters, and his strength was sure to not be average of such a specimen. There was no doubt in her mind: he was sent not for glorious battle, but an honorable execution. “Do not look down upon me, beast; you will not live to regret it,” the boy shouted in the fiercest growling tone he could muster. “I suppose I can humor you, young one. If you so insist on a warrior’s death, who am I but your deliverance?” the serpent spoke in a cold, soft tone that still commanded tremors from the cavern surrounding them.
The young one gripped his blade with what the beast assumed was fury, but the quivering of its tip betrayed his facade. She could see that this boy had no want for wrath, but perhaps his fury was not hers to claim. She thought it unsporting to strike down such a weak thing with her full might, so she decided he had earned a more even fight for making the hour a touch less dull. She decided that, for the first time in centuries, she would shift her form to one more suited for his size.
The boy stepped back in shock, keeping his sword leveled at the beast. His meager helmet exposed his agape mouth and furrowed brows, emphasized by his subtly-featured face. He could hardly believe his eyes: the basilisk had collapsed into herself from all sides, and with a flash of green light the mass of scales took the shape of a woman. “What sorcery is this? Do you dare to attempt deception?”, the boy shouted in what she assumed was his best impression of a confident knight. She stepped to her right, using the mass of silver and treasure she had melted into a pile to see her reflection in the soft glow of the solitary fire between her and the hopeless raider. “Quite the success for my first go since your king’s family seized this valley, would you agree?” the beast said, admiring her current form. “Cease your toying with me, wicked serpent. D-do not treat me as though I am less,” the boy exclaimed, his stumbling speech bringing a slight smirk to the basilisk’s now-human lips. She was particularly proud of how her scales had condensed and shifted into armor that encased her entirely below her neck, along with a bladed spear that was balanced much better than in her memory. The boy’s blade wavered, his eyes taking in every detail and realizing the elegance of her new form seemed only to further show the difference of their strengths. Her armor was a shimmering second skin, pearlescent hues of crimson and orange shining as if she were a bleeding sun. It conformed tightly to her, covering all vital spots below her neckline, subtly curving at points of motion. His eyes flicked to the spear, an implement that was so beautifully refined he doubted any smith in a millennium could replicate its bladed tip or crystalline body. The marvelous weapon stood well above the head of its owner, whom the boy gazed upon last. His eyes lingered, his face betraying his bewilderment to her. Where once was a terrifying serpent with wings commanding ten thousand breaths of air at each beat, now stood a woman to inspire envy in all the queens of men. Her hair shone in the same tint as her armor, that hue of crimson and orange dancing as of themselves a flame and its shadow. Her features were subtle, elegantly flowing and aggressively sharp all at once. Her eyes, though, they were what captured his gaze and held it unrelentingly. They bore tight slits for pupils, with an iris which shared that sunburst hue of her equipment. The slits were a far deeper black than any shadow, each eye an abyss of a thousand fathoms. The young one could almost see all the grim courses of events in each one, as if each eye was a twisted oracle. The boy blinked, remembering his purpose. He leveled his blade, steadying his hands and hoping that the trembling was lost on her.
“Your will remains, boy. How curious...” the serpent-woman remarked with a tone of joyful surprise. She recognized his wrath, and had no doubt of its depth. It was all that would shield his previous incredulous expressions. She was certain now of something though: it certainly was not for her. This boy loathed something enough to fight, to die, to kill, but that true adversary of his was not her. She leveled her spear in her right arm, testing its heft, twirling it and remembering the battles of the times that came before. Her familiarity with this body may have dulled with time, but the instincts to wage war with it were sharper than even her own blade’s edge. “Have at me, child,” she sneered at him, “show me what strength you bring!”
“I tire of your taunting words, wretch. I said do not look down on me!” The boy dashed around the fire, clutching tightly to his sword. The basilisk noted his form, he was obviously preparing to thrust at her. She waited until he was inches from her to even leave her open stance, knowing her own swiftness. She parried his blade with ease, raising her staff’s blunt end to the young one’s chest. She drove it into him, using just enough force to send him backward. “You know nothing of misdirection, boy. A strike seen too soon will always be countered,” she bellowed, her smirk almost audible. “Once more,” she commanded when he was back on his feet. His face made his fury clear, and he held his sword tightly as he charged again. This time he brought it to his side and attempted a slashing strike, but once again met the woman’s spear. He had just enough time to note the impossibility of her speed before being launched rearward again. “Cease your toying with me, beast. Yield or strike me down!” The boy was furious at the notion of being seen as an easy foe, and his blade no longer wavered. “Come at me properly and I may grant you the warrior’s death you demand,” the woman commanded, her irises expanding as though an untamed inferno raged in her skull. “Fine then,” the boy spat through grinding teeth, “I will be strong or die in its pursuit!” He charged one last time, rage fueling his steps. His breath was steadier, even as he bellowed with all the might his lungs could handle. The woman readied her spear, gripping it from her side and steadily watching the boy’s approach. In his last stride, as his sword was brought upward for a swift cut from beneath, she saw what she had not witnessed for lifetimes: this boy’s face held no expectation of glory. His mind was not daydreaming of the songs his perilous battle might inspire, nor of named squares and rich ceremonies. No, this boy sought out something different. His wrath belongs to someone else. Instead of delivering the fatal strike she had intended, she simply caught his blade in her hand, letting her spear drift to her side. “END IT! I CAN DO NOTHING ELSE, SO FINISH ME,” the boy screamed in her face, a tear carving its way through the layer of grime on his cheek. “The edge of your blade is meant to strike down another, but you would certainly fail at this rate,” the basilisk whispered. “Come again tomorrow as dusk falls. Do not keep me waiting,” she commanded as she turned away, returning to the shadows. The boy was confused and assumed more mockery, “Why, do you wish to toy further with your meal?” “You could not fulfill me,” she chuckled for a moment. “I will make you strong, then you will strike down the one you truly hate,” the basilisk spoke in a tone the boy could not quite place. “What is your name?” the boy heard as he turned to walk away. “They call me Elias,” he replied, still unsure of why the beast would let him live. “Be ready tomorrow, Elias, strength is not easily taken,” she said in her matter-of-fact tone, dismissing the boy from her domain.
The basilisk remained in her human form for some time, watching the boy’s journey home from a hidden perch at the mountain’s peak. The soft grass beneath her feet and setting sun dug into her memory, in places once almost forgotten. She thought of the time before, before the basilisk’s grip on the mountain, before she’d known any form but the one she held to fight the boy. She thought of what had been lost, and what she had sought to become to settle that debt. “You will know true might, boy,” she said with a smirk to no one in particular. The basilisk laid in her perch until dawn, then returned to her hoard in search of armor.
Please pardon any errors, this was typed on mobile. First serious response to one of these so please enjoy!
| 2020-12-01T10:42:41 | 2020-12-01T09:21:21 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask."
|
"Y'know, you're actually kind of my type."
The great eldritch god, Andolith, ruler of the Seven Rings of Eternity, slayer of the last Helian Angels, and enslaver of the Five Realms of Agamemnon, blushed.
"I... excuse me, human?"
"Look, don't get me wrong, I'm not a big fan of the pointy horns. Or the weird slime membrane. Or even all the little beetle things crawling over your skin. But dang, you've got me all flustered with the pale e-boy vibe you have going on. I just love it."
Andolith, who had no idea what an "e-boy" was, stared at the human as though she was speaking one of the forgotten cosmic tongues, "You do not have to lie, girl. Your family was the one who set these events into motion, not yourself. I am offering you the chance at eternal wealth here. Don't be a fool and not take it."
"Man, you really don't get enough compliments, do you?" Olivia laughed, admiring the pale gaunt features of the deity that stood before her, "I have every intention of taking the credit card, but I was kinda hoping you came with it."
At a complete loss for words, the more abstract traits of the god's appearance whispered away, leaving behind only a basic human form, "I suppose I don't, other than the offerings made in my name. But most mortals usually scream when they see me, so..."
"...it doesn't really count." Olivia finished, "I assume my parents were just the same?"
Andolith nodded.
"Cheap cowards," Olivia muttered under her breath, "Alright, y'know what, I have a better idea."
"You do?"
"Yeah. My parents might be trying to set up with a husband, but their marriage is falling apart and they know it. How about you, me, and this credit card set sail for the coast of Spain where the two of us can take a ton of pictures, look really happy, and rub the whole thing in their faces on Instagram? Whaddya say, do you want to make my money-grubbing parents jealous?"
For the first time in several millennia, Absolith found himself uncontrollably smiling, "I suppose I could use myself a vacation, mortal."
"It's Olivia. And your name is...?"
"Andolith."
"'Andy' it is. C'mon Andy, let's get you some sun, you look like you could use it.
Andy certainly could.
|
There's a bald spot on Gh'ogonoth's head, in-between the horns, and I have the strangest urge to rub it. I bet it would be real smooth. It's shiny. I'm like a crow in that shiny objects compel me, I'm transfixed, they're all treasures even if they're really just the lack of hair on the top of my eldritch god fiancée's head as he's setting me free.
"Your credit card? Wow. I've never been flush with cash. I've never been flush with anything."
He's rubbing the back of his neck. Is it smooth? I don't know.
"You were sold to be my bride. It was not an act of volition. I do not wish for you to be chained by my side. Please spend my money as if it were your own."
Gh'ogonoth F. Stevens, the credit card reads. "Were you adopted?"
"... What?"
"Your last name. It's pretty human-y."
Gh'ogonoth sighs. "They won't let you open a bank account without a last name. I chose one at random."
"Are you sure? How do I know you're not super-into Cat Stevens or something like that?"
"I do not know this 'Cat'. I have no feline companions."
My husband-to-be slouches down into his sofa and I stare at the blank walls. Why don't guys put anything on their walls? Why don't they get plants? Rugs? Would they be happy living in an empty void of space if they had the chance?
"Alright," I say, "I'll be heading out then."
Gh'ogonoth nods. He lights up a cigarette, then he eats it. Smoke rises from his nostrils as he munches on his little treat.
My parents aren't bad people, I think. They just really, really, really wanted money. To the point they'd trade their own daughter for it. Well, I suppose that's a thing bad people would do.
Outside, the sun is shining down on everyone whether they want it or not. Here, little plant, have some rays. Here, pedestrians, enjoy this beam of light. Don't hide in the shade, doggie, come out and enjoy my blessing! That's what the sun is like. It's not too different from my parents, when I think about it.
My mother used to teach yoga but then she got way caught up with conspiracy theories and she started a blog, then the blog turned out not to make her any money at all and my father, an architect, got fired because his boss couldn't appreciate his creative genius. At least that was what he said. But I've seen the shed he designed, it's some sort of polygon that probably doesn't even have a name. His work is unique, for sure. But perhaps not all too practical.
I don't know how they met Gh'ogonoth. I don't even know if they've met him, or if they dealt with some middleman instead. I imagine my mother met some guy named Pete and he told her he knew a way to make some easy money and I bet she just went for it. If your blog is failing, you might as well sell your daughter.
Hey. What is that I see right over there? That sure is interesting.
I haven't been gone an hour even when I knock on my fiancée's door and he opens, wide-eyed, and he says, "You're back? Did you leave something behind?"
"Nope!"
The cat meows, and Gh'ogonoth freezes in position, just stands there for what feels like forever, and he blinks.
"That's a cat," he says.
"Yup."
"You brought a cat."
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Well, when someone tells you they 'have no feline companions' that's gotta be code for 'I really want a cat', right? I just figured. Hold it. Give it a try."
Gh'ogonoth reaches out a hand and he pulls it back when the cat purrs. "It made a noise," he says.
"Cats do that."
"Is it upset?"
"No, it's happy. Take it."
He looks terrified as I put the cat into his arms.
"I also got you this."
Gh'ogonoth squints. "What's ... that?"
"It's a CD. Cat Stevens, right? I got it just in case. Also, got you some posters and stuff. Something to liven up this place."
He pets the cat as I decorate the apartment and he doesn't say a word, just stares at me with the strangest expression. Then I give him his credit card back and he says, "What are you doing? You can keep it. You can buy what you'd like."
"Oh, can't I go do that tomorrow or something? I'm all tired."
"You wish ... to stay?"
"We're engaged, aren't we?"
The cat meows and Gh'ogonoth gasps, looks at me to make sure everything is fine with his 'feline companion', and it's a lovely sight.
"... Father and Son."
"What's that?"
"It's my favorite song by Cat Stevens. How do I extract it from the disk?"
"Something told me you didn't have a CD player. So I got you one! Let's give it a listen."
The cat explores the apartment as we sit down on the sofa, and Gh'ogonoth starts humming along and his cheeks turn all red and I smile. "My father ... This song reminds me of my father, Ellthr'k the Elder."
"You must miss him, right?"
He nods.
"You know, there's something I've been meaning to ask you ..."
Gh'ogonoth picks up the cat and holds it tight, he makes himself small. "What?"
"It's a weird request, but can I rub your bald spot? It's so shiny."
"Oh. I suppose so."
My fiancée leans down and I rub his head and it's smooth. "Excellent. So, what are you going to name it?"
"What?"
"The cat."
"Oh. Maybe Ellthr'k? Ellthr'k the Younger. Perhaps I am being overly sentimental. I am sorry."
"I think it's wonderful."
For the first time, I see Gh'ogonoth smile. Ellthr'k the Younger meows and purrs and outside the sun shines and I wonder if it shines on my parents as well.
| 2022-08-09T16:26:08 | 2022-08-09T15:59:23 | 888 | 580 |
[WP] A supervillain offers the superhero the chance to join them not because they think the hero is the only thing in the way of their plans, but because they believe that the hero is being abused and taken advantage of by the general public, and that they would genuinely be happer as a villain.
|
I stared down at the poor thing on his knees. The pathetic being at my feet had been told he was the strongest and most talented the Tower had. The only one who could destroy the big bad wolf at the edge of the continent. I’d knocked him around so much today, and many times before.
For the longest time I couldn’t understand why he’d come back for more. But today… I think I finally understood. Standing on the mountainside I could see it. The “Beacon of All Hope.” The Central Tower and authority that I had stood up to long ago. The reason why I lived on the outskirts of humanity.
It had been so long since I last stepped foot into a human town yet the Central Tower still hunted me. A whole 73 years after the disagreement that labeled me a villain. Their belief that our powers should be used for the sake of humanity… what utter nonsense. There’s no reason for me to offer my powers on a massive scale for free.
Looking at the man… no, boy at my feet I could feel his senseless desire to destroy something “other.” I had powers, yet did not belong to the Tower and because of that I was evil.
“You can still hear me, right?” I asked the wavering body below me. “You’re coherent?”
His head slowly rose to glower at me. One eye completely swollen shut and his lip torn painfully he still had a look of defiance. A sneer crossed his face and he spat at my feet.
This… is the type of hero that deserved better. The strongest? I almost pitied him. This was his fifth time coming after me at the will of the Tower and he never went back in any better condition. “Little hero, where are your cohorts? Why are you always the one to stand against me alone?”
He chewed on his words and finally said, “Because I’m the strongest. I can’t allow you to hurt others so I face you alone.”
“Is that really your choice? Or is that what you’ve been told?”
“...”
“Does it make sense to face me alone? Even if you are the strongest hero, I could be subdued if maybe there were two or three more of you.”
“But they’d be hurt.”
“You nincompoop. And you’re not?”
“But… but I’m the strongest hero we have. I have to be the one to face you.”
“Again… who says so? Who says you have to do it alone? And why would THEY tell you to do it alone?”
“...” The silence was deafening.
“Even in ballads and epics, heroes don’t go after the final villain without the support of those who make them stronger. Arthur had Merlin. Frodo had Sam. Who do you have?”
“I have everyone at the tower,” he mumbled out. I could slowly see him grasp where I was going with this.
“Young hero, why am I a villain?”
“You hurt people.”
“When have I hurt people?”
It slowly dawned on him. I was “other” but I was not evil. To put it simply, I was as dangerous as any other person - capable of harming others but that didn’t mean I did.
“Do you want to live freely? Without being sent out senselessly to your destruction, day in and day out? Needlessly? Thanklessly?” I asked, genuinely concerned for this boy.
“But… but I don’t know what I’d do without the tower.” He finally murmured.
“Well that’s something for you to figure out.” I slowly walked to him and held out my hand. “Come with me. Let’s patch you up - I think we have much to discuss.”
Taking my hand, the hero slowly came to his feet and leaned against me. “No tricks.” He threw one more accusatory glance at me.
“None. I swear by my powers.”
He grunted and we slowly made our way down the mountain. Once we got a ways into the treeline I stopped him. “Please lean against this tree. I just realized I lost an item in our fight. I know exactly where it is though so I’ll be just a moment.”
With a wary glance he nodded and sank down against a yew.
When I emerged from the woods I felt for the absence of life I’d noticed when we first arrived there. Finding it I gripped for a fireball out of the air and threw it at where I knew it would be. Satisfied with its lack of identifiers I turned back into the forest where someone needed me.
The tower would have to accept the loss of their most powerful hero at the hands of a villain.
|
It is a classic scene. Across literature, theatre, cinema, and other higher forms of entertainment, it is something one can frequently become acquainted with. There stands the Hero, a pillar of the culture, norms, and people he represents, and across him there we find his antithesis, someone who stands against the established society. The Villain. In this specific case it is a Superhero, and a Supervillain. One is clad in positive bright colours, the other is clad in cold greys and deep black. In stories, the villain is usually defeated and the hero, and the values he represents, are victorious either morally or completely. But this time seems different somehow. Where is the gloating, the drama, the theatrics that usually follow such battles of physical force and mental will? Something has quite clearly changed.
Look at the superhero. Yes, his spandex uniform is still bright and colourful, but it has seen better days. Where one usually expects a stoic look upon the chiselled god-like face of the hero in question, a face that never betrays fear or weakness, one can today find a look of doubt. A tired look, an unshaven, stressed look. With deep bags underneath the tired eyes. And look at the face of the villain in turn. No gleeful gloating, no arrogant smirk, not even a vicious grin upon the face that epitomises the very concept of evil. What has happened, to change our expectations around in such a way?
Let us hear what they are talking about. Let us look closely at them as their confrontation continues.
''*Not today, please, Doctor Terminus, please.*'' The Hero, known in his country and city as the Sentinel implores. ''*I don't want to fight you today, but I will. I have to.*'' The villain, Doctor Terminus, PhD, sighs. ''*For them?*'' He motions with his arm out towards the many onlookers to this fight. Some of them are taking pictures. Others are eating snacks. A few are waving signs around. The Sentinel says nothing, only looks around, frantically looking for someone, but he doesn't find them. Perhaps they were delayed. ''*If its her you're looking for, don't bother. She's on national television, on a TV-show talking about it. She's already writing a goddamn tell-it-all book.*'' The Sentinel's hands are balled into tight fists, strong enough to crush practically anything. But he doesn't move. He doesn't start. ''*You've done so much for them. So damn much. And this is how you're repaid. A girlfriend who is more interested in making money off of you, a public who keeps putting themselves in danger at best. At worst, they're down there protesting you.*'' The Sentinel looks down at some of the onlookers. A number of them are carrying signs that they're shaking around vigorously. The signs talk about ''Genetick Abomanations r freaks'' or ''Not my hero!'' or ''Deport Sentinel!''
Doctor Terminus looks at them with disdain. ''*They're weak. And they're scared. For all you've done for them, they should crawl on their knees worshipping you like a god, but instead you get this! And corrupt TV-evangelists in megachurches talking about how you're the antichrist. Fucking masses, if it weren't for you this planet might have been destroyed a thousand times over the last 10 years you've been operating. Don't you want to go a little feral, to be a villain, against those who treat you like that?*'' The Sentinel looks like he's trying to make a counterargument, but what can he counter with? They hate him. He has stopped meteors, he has found cures for alien zombie viruses, prevented a demonic invasion, helped set up food kitchens, ensured corrupt bureaucrats and politicians wouldn't sell stuff like the city's water to unethical biogeneticists. And what has he gotten in exchange? Hate, rejection, fear, and isolation. The prime ingredients for a villain.
''*The masses hate you. Because you're harder, better, faster, and stronger than them, like the damn Daft Punk song. You're smart too. They hate that. They want everyone to be bland, boring, and frankly moronic. Society is heading towards damn Harrison Bergeron territory now, and frighteningly fast.*'' Doctor Terminus walks slowly towards the Sentinel, at first the superhero is about to defend himself, but instead, the older villain embraces him in a fatherly hug. ''*You deserve better than them my boy. Maybe not to be worshipped, but loved, treated with some damn respect. You are who you are, and you don't have to hide it.*'' The Sentinel is shocked by the sudden move. Initially he is confused, but when he was younger, and Doctor Terminus was a hero, the older man was the closest thing he had to a father. ''*I... I don't understand it. Why do they hate so freely, what have I done to offend them so?*'' The older villain sighs, and just holds him tight for a moment. The Sentinel, tired, overworked, and unloved, feels his eyes watering.
''*They're idiots. And they hate everyone who isn't as base, stupid, weak, and petty as they are. Don't you wonder why I became a villain in the first place?*'' The Sentinel sniffles for a bit, holding back the tears slightly. ''*You were refused from completing a dangerous experiment, right?*'' Doctor Terminus chuckles a bit. And then lets the hug go as he begins to laugh heartily. It's the first sign of joy the Sentinel has seen from the old man in years. When he finally stops he puts a fatherly hand on the hero's shoulder. ''*No. I wasn't stopped because the experiment was dangerous. It was stopped, the funding pulled, and my reputation destroyed because reactionary groups, several of them extremely religious and conservative, complained that I was tampering with the work of god, that it was unethical to work with genetics in such a way.*'' The Sentinel, knowing well the kind of groups, who are fonts of utter hatred and corruption that drags the name of the lord through the mud at the best of times, and through the pigsty on bad days, asks the question. ''*What was the purpose of the experiments then?*'' Doctor Terminus looks into the sky, nostalgic for days gone by perhaps. ''*Curing all genetic diseases. No more kids dying because of progeria, or early cancer. No more type-1 diabetes, no more Huntington.*''
''*And they stopped it, so you became a supervillain?*'' He shrugs, and points at some of the people watching them, many of them are now actively booing. ''*That, and because I was in the same place you were. Hated and despised. So I left the hero gig. And became a supervillain. Because I understood that if the morality I fought for desired the death of children, then it was time to begin what Nietzsche termed the transvaluation of values. I began exalting life and joy over suffering and death. I accepted my instincts of what is right and what is wrong, over the taught ideas of right and wrong. I rejected the world that had rejected me; And set forth to create my own morality.*'' He looks around conspiratorially, and then adds in a whispered tone; ''*The masses also burned down my lab and destroyed my work, making nearly 15 years worth of studying and research go up in smoke, so fuck them.*''
The Sentinel ponders this. His girlfriend betrayed him, his citizenship has been revoked, the city he has spent years of his life protecting from madmen, aliens, demons, demonic alien madmen, and international crime, hates him. ''*But... isn't it wrong?*'' He tries one last time, one final time. A final attempt to hold on to his previous held notions of morality, in the increasingly convincing evidence that he should just take over the world. ''*Sentinel, you built a machine that could halt climate change while they got their pollution issues under control and rather than using it, they took it apart and used it as the base for a better AC unit that they're now selling around the country. They never even reassembled the original and used it. You gave them the means to save the world, to fix their own fuck-ups. They disregarded its use and built a machine from it to maximize profits instead. And the masses then complained that you weren't fixing climate change for them. They're garbage. The mob, the masses, the people on the street; They're assholes.*''
| 2022-08-09T18:33:48 | 2022-08-09T18:11:55 | 134 | 53 |
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