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[WP] The Devil is actually a she, and God's ex.
Seems they had a bit of a *falling* out.
|
I never thought to ask his name.
He was 'a regular', that was it.
Everyday I came to this bar, he was sitting there, alone and reading his book, nursing a drink.
He looked wise though, stereotypical grandpa beard, tan suit over a checkered shirt, and really soft eyes. He always had this aura about him that just screamed and somehow whispered 'content', 'at peace'.
I'd never spoke to him before, of course. I always had friends or my woman to keep my attention, never time for the old man in the corner.
But I was usually here later at night, and I was usually happy, not chocking back tears over a Blue Moon at 2 o'clock in the god-damn afternoon.
"Hey, I resent that."
That was the first time I'd heard him speak. His voice was soft and raspy with age, but certainly carried a great authority. I turned to see who he was speaking to and was shocked to see him gazing at yours truly. The rest of the bar was still empty, he had to be talking to me.
"Ex..excuse me?" I asked.
"I happen to be quite fond of the afternoon, I'll have you know. My favorite time of day," he just flashed me a cheeky smile, his eyes squinting.
"I...uh...I didn't say anything about the afternoon man."
"Hm, I suppose not. But you should watch what you think, Steve. You never know who's listening. You look like you've had a bad day, why don't you come talk with me about it?"
"How do you know my name? And watch what I think? And how did- Just who are you, man?"
He chuckled a bit, "I'm not really anybody. I've just seen you around the bar before, picked up on the name. Come, sit."
To this day I don't know why, but I just felt compelled to go over and sit with this guy.
"So, Steve..."
"So, you..."
"What's got you down son?" He put his hand on my back like he actually was my father. I should have been alarmed but, I just wasn't.
I sighed, "Love ain't easy gramps. That's what's got me down."
He had a deep bellied laugh and looked back at me, "No champ, love ain't easy. I hear you there."
"It's just...my ex is being such a BITCH! She's so manipulative, and she keeps trying to undermine me and cut me down...I'm sorry I don't know why I'm telling you all this, it just feels good to get it off my chest."
The man smiled a bit, and stared off in the distance, "Boy I can relate. You know, I've got an ex like that, never got to tell anyone the hell she used to raise...I imagine it's quite the relief to let it out."
I looked back at him and shrugged, "Hey, you can tell me man. Always good to have a bitchin buddy."
He looked back with a big grin and, I swear, a twinkle in his eye, "Yeah?"
"Yeah, sure."
He grinned ear-to-ear, "Oh son...she was the devil!"
|
You can't go anywhere in Heaven, or anywhere anywhere really, without the all seeing eye of El Deus-bag knowing and seeing in that annoying omnipotent manner of His. But there are certain places, in certain less reputable corners of paradise, where the skinny is that his eye tends to be a little less focused. Places where you can chill out, relax, and shoot the shit without worrying that an archangel is going to get all up in your halo about jeopardising the delicate balance of eternal bliss, or some shit.
"Hitler's" is one of those places. Let's face it, if any part of the Christian nirvana is going to have a less savoury feel, a dive bar run by a former genocidal dictator is it. Fact is, most people who make it past St Peter the Blessed Bouncer can't believe they're sharing the place with Mr Germany 1945 , but it's true. Thanks to the holy miracle of death-bed, or rather suicide-floor, confession and recantation, the former Führer squeezed his way through the pearly gates, and after a strong ticking off from Him upstairs, skulked into a relatively dingier corner of the afterlife to reinvent himself as a genial Bavarian tapster.
It was into this disreputable establishment that I slouched one afternoon, nursing a hangover from the the previous night's overindulgence in Ambrosia at an Gabriel's Place, an altogether more classy institution. I ordered a Bloody Mary, which was served up by a headache-inducingly chipper Eva Braun, who ran the place alongside her equally-monstrous half. As the nazi queen danced away, singing some god-awful German folksong, I noticed a queerly familiar figure slouched at the far end of the bar. After taking a few sips of the BM to restore my fortitude, I slid towards him to confirm my suspicions.
Sure enough, it was the golden child himself, Jesus "I'll Tell My Dad On You" Christ. He'd adopted a rather absurd disguise, consisting of a fake moustache and a pair of dark shades, but I'd recognise the stigmata scars anywhere. By the looks of things, he'd been indulging in the pleasures of the intoxicated flesh for a few hours already, and was rather worse for wear. I'd had the occasional run-in with him and his entourage in the past, but I doubted he'd remember in this state. I sidled alongside and gave a friendly grin.
"Hey man," I said, sotto, "How's it going? Can I get you a drink?" He raised his eyes from the bar and I caught a brief flash of the usual arrogance, but it dissolved into drunken defeat. "Whatever, sure." I ordered another drink from the bar wench, clinked glasses, and watched as he glugged it down. "So what brings a guy like you to a place like this?" I asked.
"What do you mean, a guy like me?" He said.
"Come on," I said, leaning closer. "Those Ray Bans don't fool me. I know who you are. Is something the matter? Maybe I can help?" He laughed at that, as I'd expected - a pissed, spit flecked chortle of contempt straight in my face. "Yeah, because I need help from some washed up purgatorial graduate." I kept my composure and maintained a genial expression. "A problem shared is a problem halved," I said, and smiled benevolently. He stared at me, lip twisted in distain, then turned back to the bar and let out a long sigh. "It's my parents," he said.
"You mean the big guy and the err... virgin?" I said. This was something of a delicate point. Whatever Mary's virginal status on Earth, she certainly hadn't restrained from enjoying the ecstasies of paradise with its various denizens, but opinion was divided over whether this extra-expirational activity had blotted her hymenal copybook or not.
"That surrogate donkey-riding party-girl slut?" said Jesus, "Give me a break. I meant my real mom." Now this was interesting. I sidled closer still, while he continued: "They've barely spoken for a few hundred years, ever since the alimony settlement that Zeus arranged. Dad resented giving up half his kingdom, especially when she demolished his precious garden of eden and his craft beer shed to build that gauche pool of fire. He changed the locks on the pearly gates, changed his cell number and that was that."
"Anyway the only time they ever try to be civil is on my birthday. Well guess what yesterday was? Not Xmas obviously, that's just for official purposes. W were having the annual family dinner, and as ever they both drank too much and started arguing. I'm stuck in the middle trying to keep peace, while they're having the usual debate about good and evil, free will and providence, all that bullshit. He's threatening to send an Angelic host to inspire Mankind to Godly triumph, she's promising her demonic horde will drown righteous hypocrisy in a sea of corruption and debasement. The usual crap. But then he gets up, and he slaps her."
"Now I've never seen him this mad. It's some old-testament bullshit. He's raving about how he can erase her and everyone else from existence. She's scared but she's not backing down. Finally, I can't take it anymore. I get up and scream in his face. I tell him either he respects mom or I'll defect to the other side. Well that didn't help the situation. Now he's raving at me, saying I'm just a part of some bullshit trinity and he can reabsorb me any time he feels like it. So I say maybe I'm the strongest part of the trinity, and maybe I'll absorb *him* instead. At this point the holy spirit, whose been passed out on Laphroaig for the past hour, wakes up and threatens to absorb the both of us. Needless to say, the evening ended badly. I went out to get drunk, and I've been drinking since."
"Wow," I said, when he had finished. It was about all I could think to say. "That's quite... intense..." I was still struggling for a response when I noticed he'd passed out on the bar. After a few moments hesitation, I paid his bar bill and slipped out of the joint. I wandered in an apparently meandering fashion until I had reached the edge of heaven, where the walls of paradise met the formless void beyond. Glancing around, and seeing nobody, I slipped through the barrier of light. I felt the warm, enveloping presence of the Lord fade away, until all that remained was an empty silence.
After a while, I heard a familiar skritching sound behind me. I turned to see the great dung beetle arrive, rolling a pulsing, luminous star along in his insectoid legs. "Mighty Khepri", I said, bowing low.
"What intelligence have you to report?" the god asked.
"Oh, plenty," I said.
| 2014-09-28T17:32:27 | 2014-09-28T16:22:36 | 37 | 20 |
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments.
|
Damn bitch would be here any minute. I sighed, trying to steady my nerves, wishing I had something to drink. Had to confront her sometime, might as well get it over with. Though I could just wait until they evicted me and I had to move back in with mom...no, I'm a better man than that.
My phone buzzed. A text? Was she here? No, an email. No subject, sender was some random string of numbers and letters, only one line of text: "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current level: Very Hard."
Weird. Maybe Jeff was pulling a prank? Jeff's pranks usually sucked though. Ketchup packets under the toilet seat, shaving cream on a slice of pie. Fuck it, I decided. I typed "Yes" and hit send.
The reply was almost instantaneous. "Please choose level: Easy Medium Hard Very Hard Extremely Hard". I typed "Easy" and hit send. I waited. Nothing seemed to be happening. I laughed at myself for thinking anything would, which meant I felt far less nervous when I heard the knock at the door. Had to be her. I walked over and opened it.
"Shonda--" I began, but she cut me off.
"Who the hell are you? Where's Jamal?" She pushed past me into the apartment. "Jamal? Baby, you here?"
Perplexed, I responded, "Shonda, it's me, what are you talking about?"
She wheeled around and shot me a suspicious look, as if I was the one hiding something. "The hell are *you* talking about? I've never seen you before in my life!"
Confused, I stepped towards her, lifting my arms to take her by the shoulders when I noticed my hands, for some reason unusually pale...
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This is my first post here, not the best writer; please be gentle fams. D=
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I slowly opened my door to yet another dreary, pointless day of my existence. It's quite saddening that it had come to this point in my own home, but it happens I guess. It's been a rough day with all the back and forths the boss made me do for no real reason alongside people just generally not realizing that when I say no, I mean no.
In my mental recap, I missed something on the floor. My foot arrived sharply towards a cold thing which I wouldn't know about until after physics worked it's magic and gave me the sensation known as pain to my foot.
I spoke some unintelligible nonsense, very rudely involving my rather fun day and went to go pick up what my foot had smashed into.
An empty beer bottle. Upon closer inspection I saw something long and plastic stuck to the side that would've looked very out of place. Suddenly, I wished I hadn't. Wow Adam, I didn't need you to finish my beer and fuck my girlfriend too. Who let you in here in the first place? Sigh, forget it. Might as well just dispose of it by chucking it out the window into the alley, no one cares anyway.
I slowly sat down in my chair after removing my backpack. How I wished I could feel the sensation of taking off the weight off my back more often, but sadly it's not going to be the case for a long time. I don't think I'll be able to sleep any easily considering that I could lose a place to sleep within a snap of my landlord's fingers. I'm actually surprised she didn't come up and... nah let's not tempt fate here. I already did quite a bit of it today.
Sat up straight in my seat and reached for my backpack to pull my laptop out. After doing so, I was greeted with a nice warning message that I'd lose battery power in about 15 minutes. You must be joking. More shit to deal with today though.
I saw a slight disturbance on my desktop. It was my web browser playing a soft tone. Oh nice, another email. Let's check it while I have a little battery life. I don't think it'll kill my battery and I'll certainly plug in my laptop afterward because I at least remembered to take my power charger.
The bolded email that gave the notification was titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
I must've blinked 10 times straight. I mean, what the hell. A random email asking me about out the difficulty of my life huh. I chuckled a little. Anon here was pretty good at the guessing game. He didn't seem to be harmless at all though. Maybe this was just something for motivation I guess, probably nothing as a whole, but probably some mental strength which is what I need right now.
My fingers fly across the keys with no effort and typed "Normal." I'm not sure why I said normal, but I'm guessing it's because I wanted to work for myself and try to get myself going after pissing away my times when I was younger. A new chance per se.
I hit enter, and it straight up sent the message. Another blinking procedure of mine. Never had an email program do that to me before. Oh well. I slunk back and slowly felt sleep rolling in.
Right before sleep took me, I sharply remembered something: *there was no sender.* But that's when I fell asleep, right in my chair.
***
I woke up to my doorbell. Someone was really interested in meeting me huh. I guess today was the day I finally get kicked out of this shitho-.
I opened the door and was face to face with an elderly woman. It wasn't my landlord, she'd act like a cranky grandma right now.
It was my mother.
"What is it?" I asked bitterly and groggily. Nice, now I get to be scolded by her too. First running away from home to live like this and see the world, to being in a shit situation.
I didn't get a response at first, but then I saw the tears.
"I'm sorry."
I was speechless. Normally my parents would've been quite harsh and pretty stubborn on anything they'd say and do. But an apology? This was unheard of.
"Er, any reason for this?" I doubt this was out of goodwill. There had to be an ulterior motive, there always is.
But I could never think of one. Cynicism is in my blood, but today I found nothing.
"We are truly sorry for not realizing what you truly wanted and why you left," she started. "I can't think of any other way to apologize because we were truly rash." Well, you did stifle your son's future just a tad bit by ruining his first chance at an authentic job when he was 19 and making him miss a crucial step in his first relationship so it's ok I guess?
"You're not going to live like this anymore. As an apology, let us handle all of the financial issues you are having. It's too much for you right now considering where you are living."
I was speechless. "Er, it's no need I'll be fi-"
"FINE?" I was taken aback by her tone shift. "You've been living here with your financial condition and your friends that have dropped you off the earth and you say you're fine???!! Shut up, we're going to handle everything for now. We're going to let you do as you want, but you're coming home to have lunch first."
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And I'm gonna end this one here. I don't think it was great, but always room for improvement I guess. I didn't like the ending but I was scrambling for time so lol.
| 2016-03-30T17:32:38 | 2016-03-30T17:02:42 | 107 | 42 |
[WP] A new continent is discovered. No one knows why this large land mass has never been seen before, it doesn't appear on any pictures taken from space and no astronauts have ever reported seeing it. You are part of the team in charge of mapping the area when you find out what they've been hiding.
|
Jesse returned to basecamp with more on his mind than the topographical features of his scouting report.
“Guys, I’m telling you – this doesn’t making any sense. I’ve heard of fisherman or lost voyagers discovering a small island before but from these initial reports, this thing is half the size of South America. They are LYING to us.”
It was on everyone’s minds already but Jesse was the first to say it aloud.
Before the conversation could get out of control, Dr. Linncraft cut them off. “I’ll repeat this one time and ONE TIME only: our mission is to report the raw data of the land. We are not here to interpret, analyze and especially not be openly speculating as to history or significance of the TMA. We are to research and report. Period.”
But as insistent and serious as Dr. Linncraft was about the team’s role as expert cartographers is this clusterfuck, Jesse was right. The only thing bigger about the Terra Mass Anomaly – or TMA as it was commonly referred to now – was the amount of questions it had raised. She had a million of them herself and had to remind herself to table them until the mission was over, they were finally debriefed and could follow the inevitable world hysteria from the comforts of their own homes.
“Look,” she said. “I want to know just what the hell this is just as much as you, but right now it’s a distraction from our duties. The faster we finish Sector 3, the sooner we can get out of here.”
A moment of silence passed while they refocused themselves. Eric, the eldest of the group, forced himself to speak.
“You’re right about one thing. They’ve been lying to the whole world for years. But they had to,” he said. “The TMA has been here for billions of years. It's their last-known safe zone.”
“What are you talking about?” Dr. Linncraft pressed.
“A treaty the humans created in the 40s of the, well, international kind. We got technology; they got a home. They were able to suppress the location through cloaking capabilities infinitely ahead of our knowledge and relied on an army of black op forces from around the world to protect it. But their power has run out. They can't hide or be hidden any longer.”
The team listened on as a fury of confusion and rejection swept them over.
“Don’t you see!” Eric shouted. “We’re only being allowed to find it now since there’s no other choice! The time has come! The reality you know is gone! It’s all going to be rewritten after this! Everything!”
“What time has come!? Who are ‘they’?” Dr. Linncraft demanded. But the answer became instantly clear to everyone. It was the only explanation that was both bat-shit crazy and undeniably evident at this point. This was where we kept - no 'allowed' - the aliens to live. Right here with us the whole time. And the people of Earth were finally going to find out, and then demand to know just how many other secrets they had been deprived of.
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"I don't understand. None of the maps make any mention let alone have any markings of land here. The hell is this place?"
Shyn turned the map every which way he possibly could, trying to analyze a mistake he could have made. "Hey Vort, any ideas?" Vort'haal lay in the deck, his back rested upon sacks of grain, a large brimmed hat covered his face.
"Curses to Draconan man, are you even awake?" Shyn lifted the hat off of his face. Vort'haal made a groaning noise and tried to cover his eyes. "Vort, have you been listening to anything I've said?"
"Landmass something, not on the map something. I heard the majority of it." He lazily stretched and moved himself into a standing position, a much larger man than Shyn was standing at least a head higher and a shoulder or so wider. "Lets have a look." He wandered over to the bow of the small ship. "Mm nope. No idea where we are."
Shyn let out a sigh. Over the next 10 minutes the ship pulled in and anchored as close to the land as it could. Vort'haal, Shyn and three other armed men took a row boat to shore. Vort'haals Warhammer threatened to tip the boat on the way over due to its size.
"Bring parchment Shyn?"
"Aye."
"Good. Give it to Glyndwyr, he and the other two can map out the coast. You and I will check out the jungle. We'll all meet back here when the sun starts setting."
The group parted ways. Almost as soon as they had entered the thick trees and underbrush, the beach disappeared behind them. "The foliage is thick indeed." Shyn whimpered. He was a smaller man no older than 18. As they continued their trek, they heard rustling in the bushes. Shyn drew his dagger. "Well we're not alone here that's for sure. I just hope it's an animal and not anything else humanoid."
From the bushes came a small and agile, bipedal creature no higher than Vort'haals ankle that resembled a featherless chicken. "Well, look at this thing. Adorable eh?" He scratched the small creature under the jaw, it seemed to enjoy it until he reached around the back of its ear. The creature opened its jaws far wider than one would expect for its size revealing a mouth full of razor teeth, clamping down on Vort'haals finger. The thick armor plating on his gauntlet protected him though as the creature hung from it.
"Well. It 'was' adorable. Till now." He held the critter level with his face and looked at it intensely. "Let's see how this tastes." His gauntlet had begun forming an ice layer that made its way toward where the creature was biting down and some of its mouth had started to freeze. With a small yelp, it detached itself and ran for its life.
"Well good, even the small ones seem to be predators here." Continuing their trek for another hour, they came across what looked like unnatural formations of rock, akin to that of tombs. The forestry cleared revealing more and more until there were at least 100 of these in a large grouping. "It's almost like a cemetery. I don't recognize the runes though. Must be ancient. Any ideas Vort?"
"Actually yes. They are similar runes to those on the Kolgyn tombs."
"They're Aigersain then?"
"No. Much older. They remind more of the Ethereal tombs."
"You dint suppose..?"
"Yeah. I think this is where the Nahzuk lay to rest."
Vort'haal placed his hand upon the wall of one of the tombs. Sliding it over the runes. "I think we should leave Shyn. Let the Sovereignty know what we have found before-" The tomb runes lit up a brilliant purple and not long after so did the rest of the tombs. "Go. To the ship. Now!"
The pair started to run as fast as they possibly could towards the row boat. The tombs that were situated in the heavier forestry had already starting glowing and had likely started the moment Shyn and Vort'haal has passed by them. One of the heavy stone walls now had a hole in it. The duo slowed their pace and came to a stop as they stared at what was coming out of the tomb wall.
"Naaaahzukk uhnn draaakann." A slow, decrepit and ghostly voice emanated from whatever was clawing it's way out. A long, fleshy hand with what looked like clawed gloves convulsions around the sides of the hole when suddenly the entire side blew out. Slowly, but surely, 3 limping abominations appeared from the smoke. They stood lifeless for a moment until a large cracking sound came from the one in the front as it turned its head violently in their direction. Another pause. Vort'haal whispered into Shyns ear.
"Shyn. Don't draw your blade. Just run, if any catch up to us. I will deal with it." The thing in the front let our an incredibly loud yell as the other two also turned their heads in a sickening motion, also yelling. "Go. Now!" They ran as fast as they could while the abominations trailed behind them.
"Vort! There's some ahead of us!"
"I got it." From fixtures on his back, Vort'haal removed his Warhammer. The bludgeoned side began pulsating as a fine mist was formed from the ice crystals that's formed. As they drew closer, he swung, letting loose a large pulse of energy that flattened trees and destroyed the beings in front of them. It had cleared enough of the forestry that they could now see where their boat has anchored. The other three crew members were waiting at the row boat. "Go! Get the damn thing into the water!"
Behind them, a huge pillar of purple light spewed into the sky, engulfing the clouds and the sun. The crew had begun rowing back to the shop. "Wait, how the hell are we getting on? Wait up!" as they closed in on the beach, Shyn felt a force lift him off of the ground. Vort'haal had picked him up and placed him on his shoulder, the hard metal plating hitting on his torso. His view from the back was not a good one though. In the sky, the grand pillar of light was threatening enough, but coupled with the abominations now running towards them in their hundred was less than ideal. "Go go go! Run like you never had run before for Siegfrieds sake Vort'haal Hammerfrost!" Before he knew it though, it was no longer sand that was trailing behind them it was the water, iced over.
When the running corpses came to the water they stopped, and the pillar had died down. It seemed they were safe, for now.
| 2017-02-10T11:02:22 | 2017-02-10T09:52:26 | 52 | 35 |
[WP] When someone is murdered, their name appears on the skin of the killer. You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there.
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Mom always told me not to wear long-sleeved shirts. I obeyed, of course.
It would always make people talk when they saw a name on your skin. They wouldn't ask, they'd just whisper.
When I traveled to Guatemala, I saw a police officer with his arm covered with people's names. I would later learn he was a war hero.
This was normal in my world, of course. Somehow your occupation would justify the number of people you shot in the head. I'd imagine it were the same in yours?
In one of my college classes, someone broke down as the word "Lily" slowly etched into his skin. She was the girl he had accidentally given the wrong medicine to. How was anyone supposed to know she was allergic to Advil?
There's a different group that handles these cases. You make your plea and they investigate. If they decide you were innocent, you would be given a special tattoo over that name, a white rose. My dad has one over granddad's name. Gramps wanted it. The machines were more of a nuisance for him.
Dad taught me how to file a pardon. You would have to download a form online and fill it out then mail it to them. They'd get back to you 3 days later.
I wrote his name down under the 'deceased' blank. I sighed as I looked at my left arm, the skin just hanging limply on the bones. *John, I'm so sorry.* Cause of death: overdose.
You'd have to fill in the rest, write a narrative of your side of the story.
My fingers were shaking. Tears filled my eyes. *I loved him too much.*
*I didn't know what to do.*
*I wanted him all to myself so I gave him more. I kept on giving because I knew it was why he'd come back to me.*
*I didn't know this would happen.*
There were white lies and white lines.
I looked at my bedside table. The clock said 8:30 PM. John should have been here. He'd get the rows on right, and mine would be on the left. There was no John anymore though. 8:31 PM. I'll see you in a few, my love.
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Carlisle groaned as his phone blared, swiping at his nightstand and hitting the snooze button. The alarm went off again five minutes later. He tried to ignore it, as well as the headache that had started to build when it went off, but it was too late, he was up.
Taking a peek out the window next to his bed, he started pressing the snooze button again when something caught his eye. A name on his arm. He frowned, slowly processing the information as the alarm continued to blare. There was a name on his arm. It hadn't been there last night, had it? He shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he tried to focus, tried to remember, through the fog of morning exhaustion, what had happened last night. It wasn't coming to him.
"Christ, I need some water" he sighed, turning off his alarm as he got up and made his way to the kitchen. He passed through the living room and groaned again. It was a mess: dirty clothes were scattered everywhere, left over take out boxes sat on the table, cans of beer stacked a foot high over the edge of the recycling bin next to the door.
"Ugh, should probably get around to cleaning all of this up today..." he yawned before pulling open the fridge. He opened a bottle of water and started downing it, the cool liquid pulling him toward wakefulness as his head stopped pounding.
"Man that's good, now what was I doing again? Oh shit!" Carlisle glanced down at his arm again, the name still written there in neat script: 'Sally Burshaw'.
"Oh shit. Oh shit! Oh SHIT! No, this can't be happening. This is some sick joke right?!" He looked around franticly, trying to find something - anything - to snap himself out of whatever nightmare he'd fallen into. "Nonononono, there's no way!"
He rubbed at his arm, trying to get the name off of him with raw strength, but it remained. Bold and big like a road sign off the freeway. He slammed the fridge door closed and splashed the rest of the water bottle on his face, rubbing the cold water into his eyes as panic settled in. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth in his living room. This couldn't be happening.
He'd been so careful his whole life, who could he have possibly killed? Sally Burshaw was just a name, he didn't even know her! There was no way he was responsible for her death, he couldn't even remember where he might have met her. Was she a coworker? No, he knew all of them by name. Where?!
He fell back against his front door, sliding down onto the floor as he fought through his memories, looking for where he might have met her or what he'd done to her. There was a crunching sound from outside his door as footsteps approached, stopping for a moment before knocking, "Excuse me, Mr. John Carlisle? Mr. Carlisle are you there?"
Carlisle jumped up, knocking over the recycling bin as he grabbed the sweater and sweatpants off the floor beside him.
"I'm getting dressed!"
Shit what do I do, he thought as he pulled on the sweater and sweatpants, keeping the sleeves rolled down.
"Mr. Carlisle, we just need to speak to you about an incident that occured last night that we believe you might be able to help us with."
"O-okay, I'm coming right now!"
Carlisle opened the door, more out of shock than anything else, to two police officers. They tensed as he opened the door, but relaxed when they saw him.
"Hello Mr. Carlisle, we're sorry for bothering you so early in the morning. Could we come inside?"
"O-Of course, uh, officers. It's not problem, what can I, uh, help you with this fine morning?" Carlisle tried to smile, keeping his arm behind the door as he let the officers inside.
"Thank you. Well, you see Mr. Carlisle, we're investigating a hit and run that happened in your neighbourhood last night around 3 in the morning. We were wondering if you noticed any noise around that time or anything like that." the officer smiled warily, scanning his face.
"I d-don't think so? I was, um, out last night until pretty late and I don't really remember anything like that on my way home..." he said, closing the door.
The officers looked at him, waiting for more, before giving each other a look.
"Well, Mr. Carlisle, the thing is, we already have several witnesses placing you as the driver of the hit and run last night." one of them said, almost apologetic, "We just want to check your arm for the name so we can clear you as a suspect or..."
Carlisle didn't need to hear the rest, the assurance that everything would be fine if they didn't find the victim's name - Sally's name - on him. He started crying, falling against the door again as guilt and the tears overwhelmed him.
"I didn't know! I didn't know her, I wouldn't have killed her, oh God! Just, it was just one drink and I didn't think it would- That I would-" he started, choking out the words between sobs.
The two officers knelt down beside him. They both looked at him with a mix of pity and disappointment as they picked him up, "Mr. John Carlisle, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to a lawyer during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed to you if you so desire."
Carlisle wasn't listening. He kept crying as they half dragged, half carried him out his front door, glass crunching under their feet, "Oh god oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry oh god".
They walked past his car, still parked too far up the driveway from last night, the front bumper bent at an odd angle and the windshield cracked and broken, pieces of glass strewn across the hood, driveway and all the way up to his door.
"P-please, I didn't mean to, I really didn't, please..."
| 2017-03-24T17:31:42 | 2017-03-24T16:04:29 | 57 | 26 |
[WP] You rub a can of cheap beer and a small, pudgy spirit in a stained undershirt emerges. He is the Shitty Genie, and he'll grant you any wish as long as it's kind of shitty and won't substantially change the course of your life.
u/two_octavia_scale suggested that I submit my askreddit question as a writing prompt. I can't wait to read the stories!
|
Little Samantha picked the dented can up off the kitchen floor. It was a warm, still full, probably dropped and forgotten, plain silver can. The name on it was covered in splotches of crusty pizza sauce. Sammy rubbed it with her palm to reveal the words 'Genie Light'.
She felt the can shake in her hand. It cracked open and she was sprayed heavily with foam. She dropped the can, cleared her face of the beer froth, and opened her eyes.
Before her, floated a very indignant looking spirit, his pudgy ghost-arms folded over a stained undershirt.
"Oh wow!" Sammy cheered. "A real live genie! Do you know any songs?"
"No- what? No! This isn't Aladdin. You really gotta lower your expectations here."
Sammy latched on to the mention of 'Aladdin' and ignored the rest, dancing wildly and singing, "You ain't never had a friend, never had a friend, you ain't never had a friend..."
"Hey, kid-"
"...Never, had a..."
"-hey, superstar-"
"...friend like meee!"
The genie huffed, "bravo. Look kid-"
"Sammy."
"Sammy."
"What's your name?"
"Make something up," he said with a wave of his hand.
"Uhm, Gee... Gene." She giggled, and then smiled up at him. "Your name is Gene."
"Wonderful. Okay Sammy, congratulations. You accidentally stumbled upon a can of Genie Light and in doing so, have summoned a genie- a shitty genie. I don't know if I'm required to say that but it's true. And now you get one *shitty* wish. Whoo." Gene waved his arms in mock celebration. "Like something out of a story book right? And I know most genies give three wishes but, like I said, lower your expectations."
Sammy's smile only grew wider. "This is the awesomest! Ooh! Gene! Come on! Come with me!" She took off out of the kitchen.
Gene watched her go. He paused for a moment. Then his ghostly eyes lit up. It was just a tiny inkling, a glimmer of hope. '*What if she never makes the wish?*' Then with a shake of his head he dismissed the notion and his eyes fell back to their haggard state.
He followed after her, through the very humble home. A trailer home. Crumpled beer cans littered the place. An ash tray lay on a chair facing a small box-television. The TV played nothing but static. Sammy danced merrily through and to the door. She opened it up and hopped down the stairs to the outside.
"What a shitty place," Gene mumbled to himself. "A fitting end I guess, once she makes that wish." He sighed. "Probably'll be an ice cream sundae or something."
"Hey, Gene!"
He joined her outside. She was frolicking through the dirt and patches of weeds. She fell on her bottom and laughed at herself.
"Yes, all-wise master?"
"Think we'll be friends for a while?"
He cocked an eyebrow. Schemes danced in his head. '*Hmm,*' he thought. '*It's worth a shot.*'
"Gene?"
He smiled at her. "You ain't never had a friend, never had a friend..."
|
“Chad, beer me!”
Keith was floating down a river in an inflatable tube. T-shirt wrapped around his head. Aviator sunglasses covering the majority of his face. Flip-flops barely hanging onto each of his sunburnt feet. He had long ago lost his paddles and has since surrendered his flight path to the almighty river. Chad wasn’t as drunk as Keith, but neither should have operated any heavy machinery.
Chad looked down at the last remaining beer in dismay, “It’s the last one. And it wasn’t in the cooler. And it’s literally been sitting in the bottom of my canoe for the past 3 hours just soaking up the sun. And I’m pretty sure it was left over from the last time we did this a year ago. You sure you want it?”
Keith remained laying in the tube, unfazed by Chad’s warning. His head hanging over one side of the tube without engaging any muscles in his neck, or core. By the looks of it, Chad thought Keith had died within the last five seconds.
“Keith…?”
“CHAD. BEER ME.”
“Alright, you asshole, here’s your beer!”
Chad grabbed the can, stood up in his canoe and started winding up for a pitch. The past ten years Chad had been the starting pitcher for a multitude of baseball teams. He liked the fast ball.
Keith hadn’t even noticed Chad was standing when an 80 MPH beer was hurled directly at him. Lucky for Keith, Chad’s aim was off. Any other day and it would’ve smacked him right in the face. But today, it bounced off the tube and re-directed it’s trajectory towards the shore nearby.
“What the fuck was that…?”
Keith still hadn’t propped his head up to investigate, or even open his eyes, for that matter.
“It was your beer! I just threw the last beer at you!” Chad started.
“Oh yea?”
Keith looked towards the side of the tube that was hit.
“I’m not seeing it, Chad.”
“IT’S ON THE SHORE NOW!”
“Sweet.”
In what can only be described as seizure, Keith started flailing all of his limbs in an attempt to reassume control of his tube and head towards the shore. After what can only be described as the least efficient method of moving a human through water, Keith arrived at the shore and grabbed the beer.
“There’s mud and sand and shit on the top.” Keith dunked the beer in the water and started brushing it off.
“Still good, tho-“
Without finishing his sentence, the can opened on its own accord. Keith was unfazed, with eyes transfixed on the top.
“Dude, this can just-“
“GET YOUR LIPS AWAY FROM MY FACE, BUSTER!” A booming, cacophony of words seemed to swirl all around Chad and Keith.
“Chad, what the fuck was that, an app or something?” Keith’s brain literally couldn’t process anything.
“Dude, I think it’s the beer… Is there something in it?” Chad looked concerned, but curious, nonetheless.
Without responding, Keith held his eye up closer to the can to catch a glimpse inside.
“There’s a little dude in here.” Keith unenthusiastically muttered.
“WHAT?!” Chad’s concern was growing.
A tiny, balding, human head popped out of the top of the beer can. “That is correct! It is I! The Shitty Genie!”
Keith remained stoic, with unwavering eyes transfixed on a tiny, chubby man struggling to squeeze out of the can’s mouth hole. After what seemed to be an eternity (with no help from Keith), the genie finally freed himself from the can.
“I live in shitty beer and grant a shitty wish! What would you like to wish for?”
“Infinite wishes.” Keith stated, without skipping a beat.
“That’s better than ‘shitty.’ I can’t do that.” The genie seems to have had this response scripted already.
“Alright, I wish that I can have my paddles back and that we can have some more beer.” Keith suggested.
“That’s two wishes, dumb dumb.” The genie was attempting to wipe a stain off his plain white shirt.
“Look. Genie. Look….” Keith wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what yet.
“Keith, am I drunk, or did a genie just come out of your beer?” Chad was no longer concerned.
“Chad…. Chadwick…. Chadalamadingdong. You’re not wrong.” Keith was still thinking of what to ask for.
“Look, buddy. I’m not a busy genie, but I don’t really like interacting with drunk people all the time. Can we get a move on?”
“I wish for….”
The ears of genie and Chad both perked up.
“I want some pepperoni rondos.”
“What the hell is a ‘rondo’…?” The genie had no idea what to create for him.
“They’re like, a pizza, that’s turned into a calzone, that’s then formed into a cinnamon roll shape, but they’re still pizza.” Keith thought highly of his impromptu description.
“Alright…. umm… here ya go!” The genie pulled a little cooler from behind his back and opened it.
Keith reached inside. His eyes displayed growing anticipation—the first emotion he’s portrayed since this interaction started. Prior to this wish being granted, not even the appearance of a magical genie removed the apathy from his sullen, drunken eyes.
“Oh baby. Rondo time.” Keith used his index finger and thumb to reach in and pull out the only thing he felt--a normal-sized pizza, topped with a calzone, topped with cinnamon rolls.
“Keith, I don’t think this genie is capable of producing rondos.” Chad started laughing at the ridiculous meal revealed before him.
Keith had already started on the pizza--again, unfazed by the events that had just transpired before him. “It’s better than not eating pizza, Chad.”
“Well, alright! Looks like my job here is done. Do you guys have any idea where I can find an AA meeting tonight?” The genie apparently had no way of finding this information out on his own.
“Uh, yea…” Chad pulled out his phone wrapped in a plastic bag and found a meeting tonight at a local church.
“Cool. Smell ya later.” The genie walked up the banks of the shore, into the trees, never to be seen again by Chad or Keith. The meal created by him was almost gone. Keith appeared to be in worse condition than before the genie arrived.
“Dude! That was nuts! You just got a free meal from a genie! I tried recording him with my phone, but every time I focused on him a can of PBR appeared.” Chad couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“I need to lie down…” Keith muttered without any syllables.
“What? Did you say you need to lie down? You’re laying down in a tube, floating down a river! You have been for like 4 hours!” Chad was understandably confused.
“No… like, I need to *LIE. DOWN.*” Without properly finishing his thought, Keith rolled off of his tube onto the shore. His tube floated away, as if it was trying to escape.
“Shit, man. You alright? You need anything?” Chad’s concern crept back over his face.
Keith’s eyes were closed.
“Is there anymore beer?”
| 2017-04-17T09:46:19 | 2017-04-17T09:17:02 | 109 | 74 |
[WP] A watch is invented where it says exactly how long until you meet your soulmate. You decide to get one for you and one for your wife. Your wife’s watch says ’negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 9 minutes’, the day you two met. Yours says ’12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes’.
|
I stared at the damned thing for 10 minutes now. I am in disbelief. This didn't even make sense- how can 2 people not be eah others soul mates? My heart raced. Powerfully. It even began hurting!
But if I were telling the truth, I'm relieved. I have never felt this woman loved me. Well, at least the way I've wanted to be loved. Its hard for me to tell if she just doesn't love the same way I do or if it is even love at all. It doesn't matter. All these feelings and emotions swirling the around from being at the climax of a romantic night I've planned tireless for? This is too much. I haven't even looked up yet to meet her eyes.
The horror was clear. Our mutual disbelief met. Not in the hugging embrace type, more like the sword fight type. The click of the clock felt like my tell take heart pounding beneath the wood.
"I'm so sorry" I said, closing my eyes as I couldn't bear the weight of this anymore. Not even my own words sounded right coming out of my mouth.
"I knew we were never right for each other-" she continues, as it sets in that I am not the one talking, "all these years. I tried loving you. I really did but I knew it was never right..."
The swell of words and phrases were not making sense in my head. I couldn't even form a reaction because I could barely comprehend what she was telling me.
"I'm so sorry you had to find out like this... I still love you. I just couldn't live without either of you-"
Now it hits me. The date on her watch is hours before we met. All coming to mind now that we met at a bar after her cruddy date. All these years.. I'm not sure how to process this. It feels as though a burden is lifted- my own guilt is released and it is aparent with the smile on my face.
I simply show her the date on my watch.
Her smile follows suit.
|
Black Friday seems like it strikes earlier and earlier, doesn’t it? Saw a sweet watch in the window at Kay but I can’t come home with a kick ass watch and not bring one back for the Misses. So I pick two up. Its Wednesday but that means your check hit early because of the holiday so Box em up, Scotty! (Pamn at Kay was not amused that I called her Scotty during all of this. But Pamb’s a hard name so what can ya do).
I get the boxes home and low and behold I took just a little bit too long, but all is forgiven cause gifts. Anyway, we open them up and read the directions/pamphlet and our clocks don’t line up. It’s supposed to say when we met our soulmate. I called ScottyPamm and she insisted that they do in fact work and her and her Husband’s line up perfectly, and that I stop calling her Scotty.
I know we met at a Divey bar a little over 6 and a half years ago, (we both asked if they had Mountain Dew on the gun for a Vodka Dew, what’re the odds, right?) but mine says I won’t meet my soulmate for 12 days.
Why 12 days?
It leads to a fight the night before Thanksgiving but we play cordial because we have dinner at my Mom’s in the afternoon. Every kiss does not begin with Kay.
We get to dinner and its harsh silence. She won’t even tell me what she wants me to make her plate of when I am offering to get hers for her. Luckily we play this game of “what do you want for dinner” often enough that I can guess with great accuracy. I wore my watch because its a great conversation starter and I glanced at it and it says 11 days now. Brush it off, maybe it’ll fix its self in a couple days. My Mom’s new guy is there. I’m glad that she’s out there again since the divorce but its weird, ya know? Well anyway she just springs it on me!
“We are combining households! We’re movin in together!! On the first!!!”
I’ve met this guy maybe 4 times. Never met any of his family. Apparently he’s got kids the same age range as me and my brother, but who knows. I’ve never seen em. But that was about to change because
“Also, we want to host Christmas at OUR new house this year! Don’t worry, I know how apprehensive you guys can be about this kind of thing so we were thinking, lets get together for an introduction dinner next weekend. Lets do Sunday?”
Sunday? Next Sunday? Noo. *carry the one* Maybe? *but plus 54 minutes* No.
The next few days were a blur. Black Friday shopping for 3 days will do that to you. We had long forgotten about our watches. “Technology can be wrong” we figured, as we went about our lives.
By Monday it was back to work as usual, or as usual as the holiday season can be. I had a big meeting lined up for Wednesday and brought out the nice cufflinks. They were next to the watch from what I swear doesn’t feel like a week ago. It said 4 days and some change. Doing some quick math I realized that the dinner. SUNDAY AT 6. No time to be rattled, gotta head in early and prep for my meeting. But it stayed on my mind all day. All week. She knew
They always know
She could tell
They can always tell
But I couldn’t tell her what was on my mind. I blamed it on the meeting. The one from Wednesday. Not the one on Sunday.
Was I going to fall for my Mom’s new Daughter-In-Law. I mean, that’s the kind of thing you read about on Reddit. Maybe they’re bringing someone else? But I love this woman. She’s perfect for me. She’s better than me. I married up. Like way up. I can’t ruin this.
Its Sunday at 3. My Mom calls.
“Can you bring the soda, and maybe a baguette. Your new father’s son isn’t going to have time after band practice.” She said with a laugh. You can tell she had a martini in her hand pointed out when she said it. It reads across the phone.
My watch says 2 hours and 45 minutes. Too late to back out now. Still not sharing with the Misses what’s been on my mind as I drive on autopilot to the store. I pick up Texas toast withe garlic butter because that’s far superior to a regular baguette. And a 24 pack of Mountain Dew. Hopefully no one wants any and we can take most of them home for drinks after I prove this dumb watch wrong.
We walk in and to everyone’s surprise, we’re about 10 minutes early. Mom’s not pleased with the soda selection, perfect. Still in autopilot, I introduce myself to everyone who is there. His son, his older daughter, his younger daughter. Drift in and out of attention but I realize, that’s it. I’ve met his daughters and my watch probably reads I have about 3 minutes left.
I help set the table for what felt like 20 min when there’s a knock at the door.
A loud guy. A guy? A...guy?...
I’m still in the dining room when he comes into the kitchen..
He??? He.
Did I do the math wrong. Maybe that damn thing really is broken. Could I be gay? I mean that would double my wardrobe..no. I’m not gay. Am I?
“Oh Sweet! Who brought the Dew?!”
“Th..that’d be uhh me.” I piped from the dining room.
He pokes his head out before fully walking in.
“DID WE JUST BECOME BEST FRIENDS?!!!”
00:00:00:00
“YUP”
| 2018-01-06T22:59:33 | 2018-01-06T22:27:42 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] A week ago you sent your saliva off to test your DNA ancestry. Today at work, you're surrounded by heavily armed federal agents and put under watch.
|
“Ms. Kilroy, do you know why you’re here?”
“Tiffany. Please.” She hasn’t even heard his question. As soon as he said her last name, Tiffany had stopped listening.
“All right,” said the agent, a heavyset man with a deep voice and a deeper void behind his eyes. “Tiffany. Do you know why you’re here?”
Tiffany scoffed. “If I knew why, I wouldn’t have been screaming when your thugs took me from my office. If they’d taken half a second to explain why they were dragging me out of an accounting firm—at gunpoint, no less—maybe I wouldn’t have bruises on my arms from struggling.”
“You struggled against my officers?”
In response, Tiffany rolled up her sleeves to show him the fresh marks on her forearms where strong hands had grabbed her.
“I am...sorry for the roughness,” the agent said. He wasn’t wearing a nametag and he hadn’t introduced himself. “I owe you an explanation.”
Again, Tiffany’s only response was a scoff. What more could she do? Obviously he owed her an explanation; he owed her far more than that. She’d wait to see just what he offered.
“Look,” he said. “This is not our usual process. But one week ago an ancestry testing lab in Durham, North Carolina received a piece of DNA linked to the internationally wanted criminal, Hudson Kilroy. A man wanted for murder, attempted bio-terrorism, smuggling of illegal substances across multiple national borders—and that’s just the first few bullet points on the file. He’s been called the Phantom of the Ferries, the Smiling Reaper, and at times—“
“Dad.”
“E-excuse me?”
“I call him dad,” Tiffany said flatly. “We don’t speak much.”
The agent shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, a bead of sweat slithering down the side of his head.
“Yes, well. That’s the connection we found.”
“I could have told you that if your jackals had let me get a word out in my own office.” Tiffany felt her cheeks go red. If she ever went back to work there, if she ever went back to work anywhere after today, normalcy would be difficult to come by.
The agent cleared his throat. “They couldn’t risk any word of Kilroy getting out, you see. Believe me when I tell you this, Tiffany: within a few days, with what your...well, your father is purported to be planning, you’re far better off having been carried out that way. The other option, mentioning your connection to him in public, would have been a much darker mark on your reputation.”
Sighing, Tiffany rolled her head back against her chair. She worked her jaw, trying to earn a crack and failing.
“I’m not ashamed that he’s my father,” she said. “I’m ashamed of what he’s become.”
“Of course,” the agent said shortly. “And we had to bring you in for questioning, mostly because we’ve heard he has an accomplice.”
“You really think that’s me?”
“Our records indicate that your contacts rarely go anywhere out of the city. No, I don’t think it’s you. But still, one can never be too certain.”
Tiffany cracked a smile. “For the sake of thoroughness, then. I’ll answer your questions. But can I just ask for one thing?”
“You may.”
“A glass of water. Please. My throat hurts...from yelling....” She let loose a short, sheepish laugh, and the agent spared her from any further explanation. He left the room, assuring her that he’d be right back.
As the door clanged shut behind her, Tiffany worked her jaw again, straining until she heard a crack. She might have been alarmed when bits of tooth rattled against her tongue, but she’d done this before. Nonchalantly, she opened her mouth and let the pieces fall out.
Encased in one of the pearl-colored shards was a small black object, half the size of her pinky nail. The way she figured, she had about twenty seconds until the officer returned with her water. She stared at the tooth shard, waiting, counting. Five seconds. Ten seconds. At twelve, there was a whizzing sound.
He’d connected the radio.
“I’m here,” Tiffany said to seemingly no one. “Kill the lights, Dad.”
|
(Part 1)
My friends said it'd be fun and I thought it would be too. We were all bored and thought doing DNA ancestry tests stolen from the Biology department by my roommate Jim would be hilarious.
"Bruh this is a great idea," Jim said all ecstatically.
"I know right, now I can find out if I'm actually 1/4ths Irish, 2/3rds Italian, 1/6th Cherokee, 3/6ths Swedish and 2/6th French," replied Catriona.
"How the fuck do you get fractions that accurate?" Stevie replied.
"My mom and gamgam said so," Catriona retorted almost innocently.
"You're a fucking idiot Catriona," I said to her.
She was. This thick-skulled bagelhead only had pink sludge for a brain so how the fuck would she know anything?
"Ok Roman, it's your turn," Stevie said.
I put my saliva on the stick and packaged it all up into the nice envelope.
The university had access to special high-speed and high-accuracy DNA tests which would give results back instantly for their Biology department for research reasons probably. They also put the results on some kind of database as Jim vaguely explained whilst munching chips.
I asked if it was all above board as universities have clauses for everything being their property and finicky rules to fuck unruly students like us but Jim was already focused on his next big plan of spray-painting dicks onto the Dean's giant Mercedes S Class so that was that.
Me, Stevie and Markus thought "fuck it" and went along with it since we had nothing better to do and we were a bunch of lazy college degenerates. We handed the tests to Jim and he headed off to the labs.
****
"Rome! Roman. **Roman.** ROMAN YOU FUCKING ASSWAD! WHAT THE FUCK! WAKE THE FUCK UP!" Jim yelled.
I looked at the clock. It was 4 in the goddamn morning. I had fallen asleep on my work laptop since I worked from my dorm. I was groggy as fuck and my eyes hurt. I had to drive to wedding in a few hours. There were loud sounds outside. Jim is a fucking asshole.
"What?" I said as I rubbed my eyes
"WHY THE FUCK ARE THERE FEDERAL AGENTS SAYING THE ENTIRE CAMPUS IS ON LOCKDOWN BECAUSE OF YOU? YOU BETTER NOT BE A FUCKING TED KACZYNSKI UNABOMBER TYPE! I SWEAR TO FUCK, I KNEW IT. YOU ARE A TERRORIST. YOU HAVE CRAZY EYES LIKE THOSE CRAZY BULLS THAT TEAR THOSE SPANISH MEN DRESSED IN FRILLY DRESSES THAT WAVE RED AT THEM TO PISS THEM O-"
"Shut the fuck up. I'm not a fucking Luddite terrorist you dumbass. Now what the fuck is going?" I said to Jim. Crazy bastard.
I walked towards the agents where the door used to be. It was kicked down and in pieces.
"Hel-" I tried saying.
"Are you Roman Van den Berg?" said the agent holding up a badge saying Agent Gutierrez, FBI.
"Uh yeah, what's going on?" I meekly replied.
"I think you should follow us," Gutierrez stated before motioning for me to follow him.
"ROMAN WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING!" yelled Jim but a whole load of burly federal agents had swarmed me and it was too late to look back or even reply.
I could see other curious students out of their dorms trying to glance at what the fuck was happening and failing due to their views being obstructed by huge, muscular FBI agents who seemed to be covering up and blocking doorways to make sure no one could see.
I was led onto the courts where there were helicopters, floodlights and lots of people who were swarming the place who looked like they were national guard or even army.
Gutierrez and his agents motioned for me to go into a gigantic, jet-black Lincoln Navigator. The plates were missing and there was a huge convoy of cars around it. The agents got into the SUV and motioned for me to sit on the back middle seat. Gutierrez and another agent named Stolt sat on the side seats whilst I was in the middle.
After the agents radioed each other and whatnot, they set off. The guy in the front passenger seat and the two seats in front of me were heavily armed. Stolt was too. I'd never seen that many guns in my life before.
"Why am I here?" I nervously asked Gutierrez.
"You're here because a DNA test came back with something we thought wasn't possible anymore," he replied coldly.
"Uhhh... What?" I said back confused.
"You see, our counterpart, the Agency did a lot of dubious experiments back in Europe during the last decade of the Cold War and we thought that the result of these fuckups were **handled,**" Stolt replied to me. She seemed scary.
"But they weren't?" I replied back.
"Roman, have you ever wondered why your parents have been a bit off? A bit different perhaps?" Gutierrez asked me.
What sort of question was this? What the fuck do they mean? What's going on?
"I mean, mom is from Bonn and dad is from Rotterdam. Got married in 88. Lived in some projects in Cologne. Left Germany after the wall fell. Your sister was born in March 92 in Santa Monica and you in October 98 in Oakland," he continued.
"So? I know my parents are immigrants and they left Europe before I was born. This isn't fucking news to me man," I said back.
We were reaching the highway. It was empty with barricades and police cars for miles on both sides. What the fuck is this? How serious is this DNA test that they have to shut off a major California highway to transport me to God knows where?
"Didn't you find it strange that your grandparents never contacted you or your family? No uncles, aunts or cousins," Stolt interjected. She was still menacing as ever.
"Ok, I really don't like where you're going with this at all. I was always told that my parents wanted to leave the old continent behind and move on. That there was toxicity or some shit. Now, from my understanding it seems that my parents or grandparents or whoever the fuck had something to do with one of your or should I say, the CIA's, black operations in Europe which obviously involved some kind of gene fuckery hence the DNA test and now I'm being taken to some facility to either A) die along with my family or B) be tested on like some lab rat. Right?" I said back.
"You're about 80% right but you're not being taken to be killed or prodded since things have changed and the people who run things are not the same ones from 40 years ago. But you are being taken to a facility where top government scientists will explain exactly what is going on with you," Gutierrez said reassuringly. Guess he's human after all.
"What about my sister? Or my parents?" I enquired.
"I'm afraid we can't tell you that as the situation around that is classified information that cannot be disclosed to you as of this moment," Stolt stated assuredly.
"So she's got the same thing too?" I said back.
"No dumbass, it means we aren't authorised to say jackshit. It's not a fucking confirmation," as Stolt frowned.
I decided to shut up and stare at the road in silence until we reached some shiny facility on the outskirts of somewhere in California. There was gorgeous sunlight outside as it was now 5:22 on the dashboard clock. Everyone exited the SUV before escorting me into the giant glossy building.
Inside there were scientists, armed guards and lots of science stuff. I wouldn't know. I'm an Economics major. We walked to a giant lab area where there were some official looking people to greet me. They looked friendly enough I guess.
A rubbery woman in her late 50s with makeup caked on her face in a black suit shuffled towards me. She had a giant smile on her face like a kid who had enough to change to buy the biggest ice-cream from the truck. It was creepy. She came forward to embrace me.
| 2018-08-14T18:05:26 | 2018-08-14T16:39:18 | 112 | 26 |
[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family.
|
"No."
I left them speechless on my front porch as I closed the door on their faces.
I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were two ice cold beers waiting for me in there.
I brought them both into the living room and dropped my ass down on the couch.
Death's a bitch I thought, popping open the first bottle.
But being alive is great.
|
To them it had seemed like the lingest of Shots, but to me... well I was trying to work up the courage to go see them again.they were here. They were asking. I was nodding my head.
I had taken a life. I didn't mean to. It was my first day on the road...
I hated myself. And yet I couldn't bring myself to end it. Or go outside anymore. Or talk to anyone. Or deal with this in any meaningful way. The only thing I could do was sit in my room and try and drown it out with T.V.
Then a news broadcast said to me "A Life for a Life. Medical science has fugured out how to bring people back from the dead."
They couldn't have died from old age, and to bring someone back it took a life...
"One more day." Was my response. And I took that one more day. I enjoyed life. I did what I'd always wanted to do. For one more day...
But now, the time had come. The "Philosopher's Stone" Surgery. Strapped to rhe chair, body impailed, machines doing... whatever they did, I felt myself ebb away, my existance, like my breathing, slowly coming to a halt...
I woke up in a room. It was a waiting room, like the one I had ocupied in the hospital. Was it a dream? Was I... The little boy I had run over 3 weeks ago sat across from me.
"Hi Mister."
"Hey Kid. I..."
"The Angels said I had to wait here. Do you know why?"
The kid didn't even recognize me... He didn't know.
"I think I do... It wasn't your time to go yet, and you're here because of me... so..."
He looked expectantly, as if awaiting some end to the tale.
"I came here to take you back to your parents... but I can't go back. Only you can... I made a mistake, and now I have to..."
"You have to face the Con-Cen-Quences!" He said, trying to sound out the last words slowly. "Because you did a bad thing!"
"Yeah, kid, I did." I put on a false smile. At least he got some of it... "Anyway, you're going back. Your mom and dad have missed you..." I stood up and took the boy by the hand, guiding him to where I knew he would be: My Operating room.
His body sat in the chair, lufeless and limp, but somehow no longer broken. I didn't busy myself with the details. I just told him to sit in the chair. "The Nurse and Doctor will be in soon to wake you up... this... is goodbye." It was goodbye to everyone, not just him.
"Mister?"
"Yeah kid?"
"Whatever you did, I forgive you."
Aaaaaand that was it. My body trembeling, I staggered out of the room. The parents rushed through me into the room, past my incoporeal body. I sank down, hugging my knees and sobbing. I couldn't move for minutes after that. He DIDN'T EVEN KNOW! For a solid half hour, I just laid there, sobbing on the cold hard hospital floor, because not only was I now dead, leaving behind nothing, but the kid actually thought I was enough of a person worth forgiving. "I'm not a person!" My 3 week old, or possibly longer, festering depression hit me all at once. "I'm worthless! I'm trash! I am not worth that kid's life! I am just a fucking--" "You are worth enough to trade for that child..." I looked up, and above me stood the doctor, now repeate with little angel wings. "The thing about this procedure is that it is a form of celestial Alchemy. Only a good man can bring back a good man, where as souls laiden with sin can only be used to bring back thouse either in Hell or Purgatory. So, wither that child was a monster, or you are worth his soul... and seeing as you did this because you felt true Guilt, I'd say ot was the latter... now... shall we see where you go next?"
He held out his hand, and when I reached out to take it...
| 2018-09-16T19:59:36 | 2018-09-16T18:45:07 | 62 | 19 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing
|
The Bender was out of breath, his rock had connected with the Wizard's head as she finished hastily scribbling on paper, after rounds of trading subtle earthbending techniques and strange spells. The Wizard was knocked over and stopped moving. He cautiously approached her and noticed a distinct lack of breathing. His eyes fell to the piece of paper, and his curiosity got the better of him. He picked it up and unfolded it. It read:
"I prepared Explosive Runes this morning. Bitch"
The awful realisation set in the Bender's mind as the paper burst into a fearsome explosion, killing him instantly.
A few hours later, the Wizard got up, and thanked whatever she believed it for the fact that Feign Death was only a third level spell.
|
woop, posted to a response, instead of post... Repost.
"The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning."
The light of the moon cast strange shadows Down the steps of a large gothic mansion. One shadow slithered it's way to the grey sedan in the driveway, snapping his robes with a flick of his wrist as he sat in the drivers seat, a sense of urgency was in the air. The soft squeal of rubber gave confirmation.
"I don't understand, why am I being called to stop someone from yelling?
"Not yelling, shouting. He yells incoherently and shit flies across the bloody room!"
"I still don't get how this is The Black Tower's problem. And before you ask, yes I'm already on my way. I was hoping this was going to be a little more exiting."
"Thank you, Saemal. Who knows, maybe it will turn. Out to be fun?"
* * *
"That's the point smart one! By the nine, it's not that hard. You worship dragons. I kill dragons. I kill you. Now stand still and let me cut you!" The hulking brute of a man, wearing nothing but a bullet proof vest and pants, lunged with his sword.
There was a shriek, as a much smaller man was gored through the chest. If it were not for the drains, the kitchen floor would have been slick with blood. The scattered pots and pans and half cooked meals made for a chaotic scene. The brute walked through the double doors and into the dinning room. He noticed a man in black robes at the entrance.
* * *
Saemal saw the brute first, and immidiatly regreted coming. This man was big enough to cause this havoc with out magic. *I ought to just leave this for the civilian police.*
He was caught off guard by the wave of blue light coming for him. It hit him before he could react. As he landed on his back he heard it:
*FUS! ROH DAH!*
Like a thunder clap after silence, his ears rang as he stood up, dazed, only to be shoulder checked by the charging brute. Laying on his back, he came to.
A soft light appeared around him, and he fell through a hole in the floor.
* * *
The brute looked in awe at the place where the man had been. He knew of The Black Tower, but had never faced an *Aes Sedai*. This was going to be interesting. He could feel his own stamina returning after the shout. *Where did he go?*
* * *
Dropping from the ceiling behind the brute, Saemal released a storm of fireballs, channeling *Saidin* through the cuff on his wrist.
*WULD! NAH KEST!*
Saemal tried to understand why he was airborne, on a collision course with the wall behind him. Again he wondered if he should have stayed home. For different reasons now.
A hole appeared on the wall, and shrank to nothing after he passed through.
"Sneaking through these holes will only work for so long, witch!"
"Oh we are quit done here", he said, sounding bored. Purple light erupted from his outstreched palm, forming a beam of soundless energy, headed straight for the brute.
*FIEM!*
As the beam passed through the brute, he turned a pale blue, and ran to the side, the beam chasing him to the far wall before fizzling out.
"Bloody ashes! What are you?"
"I am Dovakiin, dragonborn."
*FUS ROH DAH!*
The brute smiled as his thu'um traveled across the room. The smile faded when he saw a reflection of himself appear in front of the man. Except he was looking at his back... He turned just in time to get hit in the face with his own shout. He landed hard.
He felt his arms being tugged, and the soft linen of robes, then the cold metal of the witch's shackles.
* * *
--
This is my first post in here, sorry if formating get screwed, I'm.on Mobil. I'll try and fix it in the morning before work if it's bad.
| 2018-10-16T02:22:26 | 2018-10-16T00:41:38 | 34 | 13 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
I had assumed it was one of my friends. I'm really terrible about saving phone numbers. So I texted them: "Yeah, why? Who is this?" and immediately I felt the world slipping away.
I could feel the sun on my skin. It was warm out -- curious, considering it was February and I had previously been sitting in my kitchen at a quarter past midnight. Pain stabbed behind my eyes and I squeezed them closed. That ominous message played in my ears, and I finally got a good look at where the hell I was.
Bright green grass was all around me. I could see pigs and sheep in the distance over rolling green hills. Everything had gone cubed, and I pinched myself to check if I was dreaming. Even if I couldn't have made up something this weird. I start to look around, because I always play Minecraft with a bonus chest on (sue me; I like having an easy start!)
Sure enough, a few feet behind me is a chest framed by four torches. I get a few apples, some sticks, a wooden pickaxe, and a few pieces of birch wood. I take the chest with me and start pulling up grass with my hands until I've found a few seeds I can salvage.
I can see a desert in the distance, and I know that I have excellent luck with temples and villages. I put my pickaxe on my back and start walking. Let's hope I can find a decent cliff-face to build a hobbit hole in before the sun sets -- I've never done well against skeletons.
|
*Beagle's journal - Day 1*
I couldn't believe it at first—I refused to—but as the day wore on, as the sun warmed by body and the pain of hunger quickly became real, I had to accept my new reality.
This world. This beautiful, vast, dangerous world. I've visited it enough to know it well from a bird's eye view, but never long enough to say I'd conquered it—never had my colony actually survived.
The road is long, it will take years by in-game time to achieve the final goal, and one thought has followed me like death since I arrived here: who's deciding the events and what difficulty are they set to?
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 5*
As with the standard starting scenario, I've spawned with two fellow colony members. Bear is a massive fellow who seems comfortable with a rifle in hand, and he successfully defended our camp from two manic rats that seemed hell bent on devouring us all; though, it's become apparent that he has an unhealthy obsession with setting things on fire. I'll need to keep my eye on him.
My second companion goes by Greenly, and her skills with plants, preparing food, and training animals will be essential to our survival. I find her quite attractive, and I'm not sure how that makes me feel. Are these people real? Or are they simply pawns in this game I've been sucked into?
I've managed to build us a shelter using the wood Greenly provided by felling trees, and Bear assisted by digging into the mountain side. With a natural wall of granite at our backs, I feel that we will be safe from any threat.
Though it's still summer, the air is cooling fast, and in a few short months I believe these woods will be thick with snow. Our primary goal is to harvest enough rice to last the winter, and we'll need electricity to properly store it and, more crucially, to stay warm. Funny enough, when Bear isn't chewing up granite or shooting rabid animals, he's hunched over the crude research table figuring out how to propel us forward technologically—I just hope he doesn't set his notes on fire.
Everyone is getting testy with one another, but I'm nearly finished building a dining table and three chairs. I think having a proper place to eat will drastically improve our moods.
We had a cat, Morpheus. He was eaten by a wolf.
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 27*
An attack on our fort has left Bear a bit bloodied, but he'll survive. It turns out Greenly is well versed in medicine, which makes her all the more attractive to me. She mentioned the possibility of amputating Bear's injured leg and replacing it with a more efficient prosthetic, but noted that she lacks the skill and tools. The thought made me uneasy, I hope she doesn't bring it up again.
The attacker was a wild, nude women, and she managed to bite a decent bit out of Bear's calf. She used the boulders and trees as cover until she was within biting range, so I've begun clearing the area in front of our defensive point of debris. Bear gave her a couple of hits to the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking her unconscious, and I built a makeshift prison near our stockpile. I don't think she's worth the extra resources, but Greenly insists that if we nurse her back to health, she might have something to offer us as a colony. I trust her judgement.
Winter is nearly here, and we've managed a decent stockpile of rice. I've built electrical lines through the main lodge, but I'll have to wait until Bear is back up on his feet to continue; none of us can dig the steel from the mountain like he can. Once he's back at it, I'll have a few heaters going to keep warm.
_____
*Beagle's journal - Day 34*
Snow. It's falling silent and beautiful tonight, and with it comes the constant threat of death. The temperature has fallen dramatically, but we've prepared well.
With my heaters placed strategically throughout the fort, we're more than comfortable so long as we're not working out in the machine shop—I still don't have the steel to run lines out that far.
Our prisoner, Meica, has turned ally, and she's proven immediately useful. She has a knack for crafting clothing, using most of the hide we gathered early on from wild animals to fit us all with cozy parkas and beanies. I was right to trust Greenly, our strength grows with our numbers.
She and I have taken to playing chess for an hour before bed each night, and it's come to be my favorite part of the day. I built us two wolf-hide chairs to rest in as we play, and she joked that bits of Morpheus must be mixed into the cushions. She's got a dark sense of humor—I like that.
No chess tonight, though. We watched Bear and Meica build a snowman outside, nestled close together by a fire, comfy in our winter attire.
The granite wall I've been constructing around the compound is finished—double the thickness of our lodge's walls—and I feel safe inside with my friends.
It's nights like these that get me thinking... Maybe I don't need to win? Maybe I could stay here forever...
___
/r/BeagleTales
| 2020-02-16T19:27:29 | 2020-02-16T17:51:33 | 248 | 59 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
After replying to the email, I black out. When I come to, I find myself floating in a ocean, the clearest sea blue ocean I've ever seen. I had honestly thought that email was for shots and giggles, at least I hope it was. In the distance I see the dark green of tropical trees and white sand. I hope I make there without getting attacked by a shark or something.
By the time I get onto dry land, my limbs are on fire. I haven't swam like that since I was in middle school. I hear a commotion on and see a bunch of people waving to a group coming over to a nearby dock.
The first in the group that catches my eye is the giant blue cat-man in barely any armor. After my initial shock, I recognize that giant orange spike of hair anywhere.
Someone from the dock walks over and points to me. "Cap'n Wakka! Someone just swam ashore outta nowhere." Everyone around me turns to me and I see Wakka walk over. "Ay, mon. Where didya come from?"
Realizing I needed to make something up quick, "I can't remember a whole lot... I remember this giant thing coming and then seeing this island..."
He frowns, but then smiles at me. "We're on our way to Luca for a Blitzball tournament. Maybe someone can find you there and jog some memories for ya, yea? We got someone with us in da same boat."
|
*Beagle's journal - Day 1*
I couldn't believe it at first—I refused to—but as the day wore on, as the sun warmed by body and the pain of hunger quickly became real, I had to accept my new reality.
This world. This beautiful, vast, dangerous world. I've visited it enough to know it well from a bird's eye view, but never long enough to say I'd conquered it—never had my colony actually survived.
The road is long, it will take years by in-game time to achieve the final goal, and one thought has followed me like death since I arrived here: who's deciding the events and what difficulty are they set to?
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 5*
As with the standard starting scenario, I've spawned with two fellow colony members. Bear is a massive fellow who seems comfortable with a rifle in hand, and he successfully defended our camp from two manic rats that seemed hell bent on devouring us all; though, it's become apparent that he has an unhealthy obsession with setting things on fire. I'll need to keep my eye on him.
My second companion goes by Greenly, and her skills with plants, preparing food, and training animals will be essential to our survival. I find her quite attractive, and I'm not sure how that makes me feel. Are these people real? Or are they simply pawns in this game I've been sucked into?
I've managed to build us a shelter using the wood Greenly provided by felling trees, and Bear assisted by digging into the mountain side. With a natural wall of granite at our backs, I feel that we will be safe from any threat.
Though it's still summer, the air is cooling fast, and in a few short months I believe these woods will be thick with snow. Our primary goal is to harvest enough rice to last the winter, and we'll need electricity to properly store it and, more crucially, to stay warm. Funny enough, when Bear isn't chewing up granite or shooting rabid animals, he's hunched over the crude research table figuring out how to propel us forward technologically—I just hope he doesn't set his notes on fire.
Everyone is getting testy with one another, but I'm nearly finished building a dining table and three chairs. I think having a proper place to eat will drastically improve our moods.
We had a cat, Morpheus. He was eaten by a wolf.
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 27*
An attack on our fort has left Bear a bit bloodied, but he'll survive. It turns out Greenly is well versed in medicine, which makes her all the more attractive to me. She mentioned the possibility of amputating Bear's injured leg and replacing it with a more efficient prosthetic, but noted that she lacks the skill and tools. The thought made me uneasy, I hope she doesn't bring it up again.
The attacker was a wild, nude women, and she managed to bite a decent bit out of Bear's calf. She used the boulders and trees as cover until she was within biting range, so I've begun clearing the area in front of our defensive point of debris. Bear gave her a couple of hits to the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking her unconscious, and I built a makeshift prison near our stockpile. I don't think she's worth the extra resources, but Greenly insists that if we nurse her back to health, she might have something to offer us as a colony. I trust her judgement.
Winter is nearly here, and we've managed a decent stockpile of rice. I've built electrical lines through the main lodge, but I'll have to wait until Bear is back up on his feet to continue; none of us can dig the steel from the mountain like he can. Once he's back at it, I'll have a few heaters going to keep warm.
_____
*Beagle's journal - Day 34*
Snow. It's falling silent and beautiful tonight, and with it comes the constant threat of death. The temperature has fallen dramatically, but we've prepared well.
With my heaters placed strategically throughout the fort, we're more than comfortable so long as we're not working out in the machine shop—I still don't have the steel to run lines out that far.
Our prisoner, Meica, has turned ally, and she's proven immediately useful. She has a knack for crafting clothing, using most of the hide we gathered early on from wild animals to fit us all with cozy parkas and beanies. I was right to trust Greenly, our strength grows with our numbers.
She and I have taken to playing chess for an hour before bed each night, and it's come to be my favorite part of the day. I built us two wolf-hide chairs to rest in as we play, and she joked that bits of Morpheus must be mixed into the cushions. She's got a dark sense of humor—I like that.
No chess tonight, though. We watched Bear and Meica build a snowman outside, nestled close together by a fire, comfy in our winter attire.
The granite wall I've been constructing around the compound is finished—double the thickness of our lodge's walls—and I feel safe inside with my friends.
It's nights like these that get me thinking... Maybe I don't need to win? Maybe I could stay here forever...
___
/r/BeagleTales
| 2020-02-16T19:58:17 | 2020-02-16T17:51:33 | 84 | 59 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
When I got the text, I didn't have to think about it very long - I had just been lying in bed, playing Ashphalt on my PHONE. 'Yeah, sure,' I reply, thinking nothing of it. Jeff always sends me this shit.
As I put my phone back down and close my eyes I feel a wave of nausea hit, then pass, leaving behind a lingering whiff of burnt rubber and exhaust. I hear a voice, over my.... headset?
"To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
My eyes snap open. I'm in a garage, a frankly unfathomable number of performance cars arrayed before me, like the private caryard of a middle eastern prince. Gaudy paint jobs contrasted with sleek carbon fibre and there was high tempo pop-rock coming from.... somewhere? On the wall there were pictures of cars with post-its attached - 1/45, 23/25, 11/100 - records of my progress to yet more sets of wheels.
My crew chief saunters up. "Next race is in 5, boss. European circuit. Choose between the Audi, the Porche or the VW." I look at him, hard. "The Porche, man, always the Porche" "Sure, boss? She's almost out of fuel and you might want her for the next run - competition will be hot and it's a 90 minute job to fill her up again" "Alright, then, warm up the Audi, but make sure you upgrade her nitro, she fell behind last time"
I start to wonder - what's my "winning condition"? One race? A season? A full circuit? I might be here a long time... But at least I'll come away with a lot of cash!
The Chief comes back. "Alright boss, Audi's on the starting line, get out there." I head out and strap in. I start the engine and give her a few test revs. The lights strobe.
3
2
1
GO!!!
Aaaaaaaand I stall it. Shit. I can't drive a fucking manual.
|
A soft buzz took me from dreaming to wishing I didn’t set an alarm. Tomorrow was president’s day, a day off from the monotony of every day modern life. If I had to use one word to describe what my life was like, it would be gray. I ate plain toast in the morning. I had an accounting job. I have two close friends which is the perfect number to be comfortable but not popular. I began to get up hoping the alarm didn’t wake up my roommate, she’s got a fiery temper, but once I sat up I realized the room was pitch black. I reached for my phone and among the many update and notifications I spotted a particular message. I’ve never seen this icon before. I was so sure I didn’t have the app downloaded. I unlocked my home screen with three simple taps and opened the app. While half expecting a virus, my eyes read: To leave this world you must answer yes. I squinted at these ridiculous words. This is what I’ve awaken up for? Annoyed, I toss the phone back on the charger and wrap myself deep underneath the warmness of blankets. While dreaming my brain thought about the time back in middle school running across the fields with the boys pretending to be playing something we were not. They were Good times. There were fun times. Yet now they were passed times. I used to love the adventure. I used to have imagination. What happened to that version of myself?
And with that, my real alarm blared at ten times the normal value and before I could even respond my roommate slaps it across the bedroom. I watched with my eyebrows peaked and my mouth gaping in horror as my precious phone that I saved up 3 months worth of bonuses for flew with the speed of an arrow tarting towards the other side. I screamed, “No!” But no wasn’t enough to convey my terror. You see dear listener I am what you would call an Azur lane addict. I’ve spend hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars into the mobile legend that is the Azur Lane. My side of the room is filled to the brim with collectibles, posters, Knick Knacks of cute ship Waifus. My phone was my only gate way into their world and without it I couldn’t bare to live another gray day, Azur lane was the only thing that painted color into my life. I see my phone smash into the wall all the way at the edge of the room. I flew out of bed cursing my roommates nasty temper under my breath. When I reached my phone I cradled the injured little soldier in my palms. He suffered a major cracked screen and was barely flickering with life. I knew it wasn’t going to last long. I had to get the log in bonus in Azur lane before my little soldier goes KIA. With three simple taps I unlocked the phone, however something else stoped me from reaching happiness. The app I opened last night refused to close. I tried doing anything from switching tabs to force closing and nothing was working. I was stuck on that app with the same question. At this point I started to hyperventilate a little. I couldn’t risk restarting my phone. So, I went for it. I answered the question in hopes of getting past this stupid thing and to the Valhalla I truly wanted to go. Of course my problem was answering yes. You see, I realized that I hated the world I was in. I wanted to escape that room, escape that apartment, escape my daily life. So, I answered yes.
When I did, I felt myself sinking. I felt my self slump on the floor with each fiber of my muscles relaxing at the same time. My eyelids drew to a close as my head hit the floor. The last thing I saw and heard was my roommate with teary eyes asking if I was okay. When I blinked again, I couldn’t feel my head on the floor. In fact, my head was covered in some sort of metal helmet. There was nothing remarkable about that fact compared to the rest of my experiences. I saw a full line of bustling T34 tanks rolling over defensive lines. I saw fuming wrecks and still warm bodies. I saw the tracers of hundreds of artillery shells screeching over head. I stood still as a mannequin. My legs refused to move an inch. My arms locked like they were in casts. When I wanted to leave my world behind I wanted to go somewhere safe and fun. I wanted to party with some ship girls not get shipped into a war. In my moment of utter brain defeat, I managed to pick up a weird feeling in my right pocket. It took incredible willpower to reach into my pants and find not a live grenade or some sort of switchblade but rather my phone. My damaged phone was spotless and repaired in a war torn area. With three simple taps I unlocked my phone hoping, dying, for some answers. The accursed app transitioned from a question screen into a full blown exposition dump. I skimmed quite a bit. I always considered my reading a strong suit of mine but I’ve never practiced reading a terms and services while being shot at. After getting through about three pages of text I understand the situation. I’m not in Kansas anymore. You see dear listener, I was transported into the world of the video game I last played. Through an in app messaging board I was able talk to several other people in this world too and I learned quite a lot. One said: To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck!” From another I learned that this isn’t just any world. It was the world of Company of Heroes 2, aka World War 2. Azur lane didn’t count apparently cause it was a mobile game and the creator of the app had something against mobile. One poster was particularly unhelpful. He said:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’m stuck on the Eastern Front
AND SO ARE FUCKING YOU.
Edit: spelling and grammar and stuff.
| 2020-02-17T00:31:53 | 2020-02-16T23:39:49 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
"This is a Slaandi Skull Staff, encrusted with shards of sapphire. It is a favored weapon of the Slaandians for spreading fear and terror. Pressing this button will cause your enemies to see visions of shifting shadows and shambling skeletons."
"I'm looking for something that can better demonstrate power. Something with more dominance. What other wares do you have?"
"Perhaps you will be interested in the Goruu Gigantification Gauntlet. Snapping your fingers while wearing these will make you grow twenty times your size. This will cause any opponent you use it against to feel small and intimidated."
"Not bad, not bad at all but I want something awesome. Something that can shock an opposing army."
"Ah, I know exactly what you want. The Mounted High Pass Acoustic Devastator. It is said to be the legendary weapon that won the war of maximum madness. You twist this knob up to the number marked one-one and you will unleash an expanding wave of auditory devastation upon your foes. Guaranteed to cause any army you face to 'soil their garments'."
"Perfect! I would like to order a shipment of- wait, what manner of weapon is that over there?"
"Something else catch your attention sir?"
"This thing. This rectangular tube of wood and black metal. Its appearance does not strike fear. It looks more like a children's toy if anything-"
"Sir please put that down. That weapon is of... unorthodox use. It is an Avtomat Kalashnikova model of one-nine-four-seven. Pressing this trigger will create a loud sound, and it will cause any being you point it at to die."
"Die?"
"Yes, Die.
"But why? What's the point of a loud sound if it also causes your enemy to die? You can't reign over an enemy nation if all the beings there are dead. Why do you maintain possession of such a barbaric thing?"
"We sought to return these weapons to their creators who reside on a backwater planet in the Sol system, but we've had difficulty trading them back ever since our translator tried testing one out by pointing it at himself."
"A pity. But you said that this only causes death to anything it is point it at? Everything else is safe?"
"That is right sir."
"Perhaps there is use for them yet. I still want the shipment of Acoustic Devastators, but I'll purchase a few of these Avto- AK 1947 weapons, if you're willing to give a discount.
"That could be arranged. We thank you for your patronage!"
|
My little strike team and I tried not to laugh at how absolutely ridiculous the alien battleship in front of us looked as it slowly floated closer towards Earth’s orbit.
“So, this is the warship that destroyed those human colonies on Mars...” I thought out loud as I stared at this ridiculous hunk of bright yellow metal with all sorts of colorful structures sticking out of it. It looked like something that a child would draw up from their imagination, except it was very real, and full of aliens who were ready to invade Earth.
“Commander, are those things on its deck supposed to be cannons...?” My co-pilot pointed at a large coiled tube sticking out of the ship’s deck. “Also, why is it yellow? What kind of idiot paints a warship yellow?”
“That’s a great question, McBride...” I chuckled a little. “Alright, guys, let’s compose ourselves,” I spoke into my helmet radio, “I know that thing looks hella wacky, but it’s still big enough to wipe out an area the size of Los Angeles, so let’s go and blow it up before the boomers in the Pentagon start panicking. Dixie, I want you to buzz the bridge and try to wipe out the alien commander. Angel, I want you to bomb the shit outta the weird red pipes on the underside of this ship. I’m fairly certain those are supposed to be fuel lines. Sakura, I want you to use your fighter’s anti personnel cannons on any aliens with guns lounging on the main deck,” I gave orders to all of my teammates.
“I can take care of the captain for ya, but I don’t know which structure on the ship that’d be...” Dixie replied, confused.
“I think the bridge is the bright pink lollipop-looking thing in the middle of the deck,” I told him.
“Oh, I gotcha,” he laughed.
“Does anyone else have any other questions before we go?” I asked the rest of my squad.
“I’m all good here, commander,” Angel spoke up.
“As am I. Shall we proceed with the attack?” Sakura asked me.
“Yes, we shall. Good luck, guys. I’ve been told that the rate of fire on this thing’s defenses is super slow, but, like, try not to die anyway.”
“Let’s git ‘er done, y’all!!” I heard Dixie holler over the radio as he turned on the jets of his fighter and flew straight towards the bridge.
“Look at him go,” McBride was just as in awe as I was. “Let’s go, commander. I don’t want him to steal all our kills.”
“Man the guns, McBride. I’ll get us close to the main deck,” I told my co-pilot as I began our first attack run. I could see the aliens that looked suspiciously like medieval knights below us start screaming and breaking their linear formations as McBride and I started mowing down them by the dozens from our fighter. Their ridiculously complicated weapons were far too slow to properly defend against my team’s fast and relentless attacks.
“Commander, the bridge is comin’ down! You needa pull up before it falls on ya!” Dixie called out over the radio as I watched the lollipop-shaped structure to my left start to collapse in on itself. I quickly maneuvered my fighter to safety just in the nick of time as the remains of the bridge exploded behind my fighter in a spectacular green fireball.
“LET’S GO, BABY!!” I fist-pumped as I watched the rest of the ship start to break in half after the main deck had been bombed to hell by Sakura and I.
“Commander, I am pulling out! There is not much more left to destroy!” Sakura informed me over the radio. “We did a great job, did we not?!”
“Hell yeah, we did! I really gotta thank your officers in Japan for letting you join us when we get back to Earth!” I flew up alongside her, giving her a thumbs-up. I could see her smile and blush a little under her helmet.
“Fuel lines are down, commander. I think we can leave now,” Angel calmly spoke up as she joined up with me on my left side as we all saw the giant warship explode into little metal bits one last time.
“We got ‘em real good, commander!” Dixie laughed as he joined the formation.
“We sure as hell did, Dixie. I‘ll definitely be buying drinks for you all once we get back to Fort Freedom,” I grinned as my squad turned our fighters back towards our base on Earth.
Once we got back to our home base on the east coast of the continental US, I was quickly summoned to a meeting in the White House with the President of the United States, and the head of the US Space Force.
“Commander Storm, you’ve just saved the world,” the President greeted me with a smile as I entered the Oval Office. “You’ve done the whole planet a huge service, the biggest service I’ve ever seen.”
“Mister President, if I may ask, what do you mean?” I asked him, sitting in front of his desk.
“The huge warship you destroyed contained the entire military of the Trandalian race,” the Space Force chief explained to me.
“No, really? Their *entire* military?” I had to ask.
“Yes, their entire military. Apparently, the Trandalians follow a philosophy where intimidation alone is used as a weapon,” he replied.
“Wow, what a stupid philosophy. Don’t they know that’s not how war works?” The president spoke up. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was thinking the same thing.
“Maybe to us, but to be fair, we are dealing with aliens. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore, since the commander here wiped them all out,” the chief looked at me. “You and your team are heroes, kid. Let them know that you and them will be receiving medals soon.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you,” I replied. “May I go and tell them now?”
“Sure you can. Go and celebrate your victory,” the president gave me permission to go. “Humanity will remember what you’ve done. Or, at the very least, America will.”
“Thank you, Mister President.” I grinned as I left his office.
| 2020-03-21T11:52:39 | 2020-03-21T09:57:35 | 30 | 18 |
[WP]You wake up the sound of your mom calling your name telling your to get ready for school. You’re in your old room again. You look in the mirror and to your surprise you are your 7 year old self. Just yesterday you had dinner with friends and family celebrating your 26th birthday.
|
You're confused but you go with it. It's so good to be back then. Maybe you can try again and get everything right this time. Your life was such a mess before.
You get dressed and grab your breakfast and backpack and stuff. You hug your mom and tear up. You had just lost her to cancer that had been discovered at too late a stage 2 years ago. You can tell her to go to the doctor earlier. You can save her.
You wave at your brother on the way out. He looks so young and healthy. He started using again after mom died. You can save him too. You want to say something but he's just a child now and so are you. Nobody would listen.
The bus pulls up at the end of the road. Late as always. Early developed habit I guess. You run out the door , through the yard, and into the street. All of a sudden you hear tires screeching , sudden striking pain, and then darkness.
|
Memories are like a glass menagerie. Moments held in stasis, deep within the library that is our lives.
Yet like the figurines, if you were to look closely, there may be scratches or cracks that you may otherwise may have not seen.
///
"Happy 26th birthday!" and the candle flame was snuffed.
Drip.
"Honey, how are you doing? You're not in pain are you? Look! I brought your friends," my mother told me.
Said friends waved back. I tentatively smiled back.
_Drip._
"Hello, everyone. How are you all? I'm so grateful that we could spend my birthday together."
"No problem James! I hope you still like peanut butter!" Natalie replied as she hastily took out a monstrously oversized container of it. Mmm, homemade. _the smile was not reflected in her eyes_
_Drip_
A child tugged my right sleeve. Ah, little David. I guess Natalie was babysitting for Tiff and her husband. His sapphire irises glistened with hope and curiosity as he took in my face. All the while, his left hand was behind his head, scratching at said head in clear awkwardness.
"Hey mister! Why do you look so skinny and tired?" he asked.
What little life that was sparked, succumbed to transcience.
"David! Apolgize!" Natalie demanded as she stomped over and grabbed him by his wrist befo--
"...no. it's fine."
"...alright."
"David. Why don't you come closer?" I requested as I gave my best attempt at a bright smile.
"...I'm sorry sir. I didn't know."
_Drip._
"...no don't be. But, do tell me something... what do you want to do?"
"...me? Well, I dunno any big, biggie, biggestest plans... but, but...I want to play dodgeball with my friends and run around."
_"Come here you brat! Imma get ya soon!" his father said as he chased him around the living room. Their stomps made the wooden planks reverberate with their un relentless booming barrages as they continued the game of hunter and prey. Eventually, James was cornered between the sofa and his father's work desk. He was scooped into his arms and had his hair ruffled._
"Heh, I used to run around as a kid alot. My father used to play tag with me," _until he decided to resume smoking_
"Ummm. I also want to impress Sarah at school!"
_Lily was not amused. In fact, she looked at him with an expression that resembled digust reserved only for the most atrocious of crimes. As if the audience made of up nearly the entire senior class wasn't enough, she then took the roses dangling from his right hand and smashed them into his face._
_After that...fiasco, he walked towards the pier only to run into Natalie there. Turns out she was rejected too._
_But they did not reject each other_
"I also wanted to and still do, impress a girl. Well, woman for my age group. Ask your aunt to tell you how bad I was at it though. I am... slow" _afterall, he did not get the message before Natalie pinned him to a wall and proceeded to orally demonstrate her opinion of him, later that day. Their breathes caressed their visages as her hair danced in the wind, masquerading their faces from view._
"Uhhhh, ooooh~ I know! I want to get rich!"
_"I promise father, that I will get rich! Then we won't have to worry about bills!" I told Dad. I did make a lot of money from cryptocurrencies. A rather respectable portfolio indeed._
_Just not in time_
"Sir...?"
Drip.
///
_Thud!_
As I struggled to breathe I felt my heart pounding like a war drum within my chest cavity. My scalp and face was covered in sweat as streams practically flowed throughout every angle of my head. I soon realized that the pounding was not my heart, but an adult male fist on the birch wood door.
"James? James? James! I heard a loud noise! Are you alright?" someone called out.
I nearly fell a second time as I fought to get my bearings. Eventually, I stumbled my way to the door and opened it wide.
"...Dad?"
"Yes. It is I, Dad, now what were...son?" his eye roll canceled mid rotation as his eyes immediately took in my shocked expression.
"... I'm sorry that I made you worry."
"It is fine, James. Are you upset perhaps? Well I know exactly what will cheer you up!" he shouted forth his proclamation.
"...?"
"Would you like to play tag?"
"Yes..." _I would really like to play tag_
///
Drip. Drip. _Drip._
"...Look, he's smiling."
///
Note: didn't know how to tackle prompt, so took a crack shot with it.
| 2021-09-24T20:53:34 | 2021-09-24T19:49:34 | 46 | 30 |
[WP] Your bedroom became detached from reality and nothing is outside your door, but whenever you load a video game that world appears. Your game library is not conducive to a long and happy life, but the mini fridge is empty so you have no choice. You load up the safest game and gather supplies.
|
*Cataclysm: Dark Days Ahead*
Absolutely not. There is going to be food in there, but there are also zombies, giant mutant insects, and Things from Outside Reality - that last category could probably follow my room even after I turn the game off. Just, no.
*Ancient Domains of Mystery*
Food, again, exists. But there are all sorts of fantasy creatures out for my blood - I do *not* believe I could handle a dozen jackals. Plus, with the Chaos Gate open, I'll slowly get corrupted as I stay there, eventually turning into a mindless monster... no thank you.
*Tetris*
No food, plus I'll get crushed. No thank you.
*Starcraft: Brood Wars*
I'll be torn apart almost instantly. That or forcibly inducted into the Marines. This... might actually be the best option so far, which is really not good, but there's still one that I've been avoiding...
*Doki Doki Literature Club*
At least no-one in this one will try to kill me. And - well, there's cupcakes at least. And a protein bar appears at least once. Not to mention a vending machine... my diet won't be great, but at least food *exists*. Plus, no real danger of being killed. At least, not until the game ends and the universe collapses around me.
...
...but if I go into that one, then I won't be the only one to come back...
|
I slammed my fist into the wall with a frustrated scream, the plaster cracking around the impact. I winced and cradled my hand, immediately regretting my decision. I walked over to my dresser and rummaged around, eventually pulling out a band-aid. I took the paper around it off and stuck it to my bleeding knuckles.
I let out a sigh and glanced to the side of my room. Beside my desk, where my computer ran even though no power could possibly be going through it, I had covered up the panes of my windows with extra clothing I had in the back of my closet. Even though they covered every single inch of glass, I could still see the glow of the outside leaking through the assorted fabrics. I grit my teeth and looked away, a headache forming behind my eyes. When I first ended up in this void, I thought that I could leave my room and explore. However, I quickly learned that there is no way for the human brain to truly comprehend literal nothingness, and after nearly passing out from the dissonance I was able to create a sort of quarantine around me, preventing all possibility of seeing outside without meaning to.
I slowly stood up and walked over to my desk, my fingers tracing the chair I had saved up months for. I settled into the leather and pulled up my steam library, glancing through the assorted games I had collected over the years. My frown deepened as I looked through my collection, worry building up in me. As soon as I had gotten here I had tried to handle my stress and fear by playing a game, which had led me to discover the strange phenomena connected to my computer. Whenever I loaded up a game, the void outside disappeared and was replaced by the world of the video games, plot and all.
In the months I had lived here, I had discovered a few rules of this phenomena. First rule was that once a game was played, I could no longer go back to that world. I had wasted a few good attempts at getting supplies by getting rid of Stardew Valley, Garry's Mod and Spore right off the bat. Second rule was that I wasn't the protagonist. The story of the game continues on a loop and I seemed to be thrown in at random points of the plot, which could cause some problems if I came in at the wrong time. Third rule was that I was still human. In worlds where extraordinary protagonists and terrifying antagonists waited, I was startlingly average. I could die easily if I wasn't careful. And rule number four, which was the most important: powerful residents of the game can become extremely agitated towards me for no reason. I had almost died a few times already from these people, so I had to be careful.
After a complete overview of my game library that took over an hour, I finally decided on my choice. Hoping I made the right choice, I took a deep breath and clicked Start.
Familiar music came from my speakers, and as I listened I felt something shift around me. I pulled back one of the shirts covering my blinds and saw snow falling onto the ground. Looks like I was still pretty early in the story, which was perfect. If I got into a fight it wouldn't be that tough, and the snow made it much easier to sneak around, as long as no one followed my trail.
I grabbed a jacket, some gloves, my backpack and a hat before stepping out into the snow. I was surrounded by tree's, only broken up by a single path. I glanced up and saw that instead of the sky, a rocky ceiling hung above.
I looked around for a moment, making sure nothing was near before stepping onto the path. A pair of footprints led into the distance, where a bridge stood. I let out my held breath, thankful that I came at the perfect time. At this point the protagonist would have made their way towards the town a little ways away, clearing the way for myself.
I started following the path, walking across the shaky bridge into a small clearing. A lamp and some sort of outpost stood in the snow, standing stoically in the snow. I ignored them and walked down the path, keeping an eye out for anything that could attack me. I walked for about twenty minutes, the path winding through the woods like a river.
Suddenly, I heard a snicker. My heart went cold and I ducked behind a tree as a strange looking monster turned the corner, going the way I had come from. Its eyes were trained on a phone in its hand, orange-stained fingers swiping rapidly over the screen. It had a lumpy head with horns that made up its body, and it had a high-pitched voice that hurt my ears. I grit my teeth and growled it's name: "Jerry."
Jerry didn't seem to hear me, instead continuing down the way I came from. I let out a breath and stepped out, hurrying away. If Jerry was around, then it meant only one thing: I was nearing my destination.
After a few more minutes of walking, I found another bridge. Numerous ropes and devices hung from the sky, all shut down and deactivated. I walked by a cannon and a white dog (for some reason or another) before looking to my left. There, a sign read, "Welcome to Snowdin!" If Jerry wasn't enough proof, this was: I was truly in Undertale, RPG masterpiece and the last game I owned that I might survive.
*Continued in comments*
| 2022-06-08T00:29:29 | 2022-06-07T21:59:50 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] A fresh and original scary story about a cliche monster.
Bigfoot, zombies, Nessie, vampires, etc.
Go nuts.
|
They say it began in infancy. Hell, maybe even in the womb. He wanted no mother's milk. No goat's milk. No milk of any kind. His mother, poor thing, despaired that he would die. For a while she held his tiny skeleton and wished him to heaven.
She cut her finger one morning and he fought as an animal would to get to it. He sucked her dry and came back for more. Finally, she could feed him. This child of hers. Her hands were soon covered in bandages as she cut herself several times a day.
He never played as she thought boys should play. As a baby he only liked to be held when fed or when he could run his fingers across her blunt white teeth.
He grew, as boys do. His eyes were old man eyes. He wasn't satisfied with small cuts anymore. Often she'd find him in her bed, crouching over her arm, sinking those tiny fangs in.
She became a ghost in her own house. So pale and tired she could barely eat. The phone rang like a heartbeat. She ignored it. Doors opened and closed as the boy went out and came back. He was four the first time he came home covered in blood. His mouth a white gash among the red of his face. It was the first time she'd seen him smile.
When he could speak he'd whisper in a language she'd never heard. She never understood anything but "teeth". Over and over he'd repeat it like a song.
She ignored his room as she cleaned the house. He didn't like it when she went in there. She avoided it anyway. It smelled of metal and salt.
In the mailbox were all these notices of missing people. Children. Men. Women. Elderly. More than she'd ever seen before. They flew into the house as snowflakes or rain might. She kept them. She didn't know why.
He left once. For weeks he was gone. He must have been eleven or twelve then. She'd given up on calendars, marking the time instead on the wounds on her arm. She broke into his room because she had to. Because it was safe now.
On his bed and the floor were teeth. So many. Most had bloody ends that smeared whatever they gathered against. His tiny bed and his rug shaped like a frog. There were dentures and baby teeth. Some so small they looked more like grains of sand.
"Tooth Fairy," he whispered in her ear.
She turned around, her back towards the mound of teeth. He'd grown wings like a bat and fangs that almost protruded out of the top of his mouth.
"Do you remember him? My father?"
She shook her head. She'd never been intimate with a man. Never had a date or kissed one on the lips. She couldn't remember even speaking to one.
The thing that was her son licked his lips. "He says hello."
|
The job just hadn't been the same since the automated all of the prisons. Now, instead of the comforting clank of keys on a ring, he had a radio that squawked in his ear all day. Instead of his billy club, he had pepper spray. If his eyes weren't made to see under lava in the Lake of Fire, using that shit would have been just as bad for him as it was for the prisoners.
No, the job was definitely not the same. Still, he found his work fulfilling. His counterparts all had to work under the same conditions, with souls that had already been condemned. Up here, he could torment souls before they even took the dirt-nap! Heck, occasionally, there was even an innocent soul. Like, an actually, didn't do it, probably going upstairs to the Other Place, innocent soul. Those were his favorites.
The best part of the job though was that, if he was careful, he could indulge all of his talents here. Not quite like he could in the old days, when he was working in Soviet prisons, or even better, the Gestapo's hidden torture prisons, but still, not bad. Besides, he had grown tired of just making people scream in pain. For example, today, he had a special treat lined up.
His name was Umberto. Umberto was your run of the mill pedophile. He got caught with his pants off in bed with his 5 year old niece and 7 nephew. Oops. It wasn't his first offense though. In fact, he had been a sicko for years. At the age of 14, he was sodomizing the family dog. Typical stuff, but Umberto was special.
See, Umberto had found Jesus. Now, finding Jesus, genuinely finding Jesus, was a major problem in his profession. It made the worms off limits, or, at least, very problematic. Not Umberto though. Umberto found Jesus just in time for his parole hearing. Ah, nothing like a little blasphemy to get the old juices flowing.
Today was the day of Umberto's hearing. By using all of his demonic wiles, he had managed to arrange for himself to escort Umberto to the hearing room.
At 11:00 a.m. (a bad time-slot, right before lunch. Makes the panel much less sympathetic), he collected Umberto from his cell. It had taken considerable patience, and an artist's touch to figure out what Umberto deserved. None of the usual, hot pokers in the anus, or burning skin, for Umberto. No, that was too trite. He was an savant at torture. A true professional. He was one of the first created after the Fall, and was made especially for this purpose, after all. That is why he was allowed up. Standards mustn't slip.
He touched Umberto for the first time while cuffing him up through the slot in the door. With the lightest grazing of his finger tips on Umberto's wrist, he transferred to Umberto the image of a naked 11 year old Thai boy that he had found on the internet the night before (he had helped invent TOR, and one of his acquaintances in the demon underground ran the onion site that held the images).
He could see Umberto react abruptly. Umberto blinked hard, and shook his head like you do when you are trying to clear away an errant memory. He smiled to himself, and thought, "You sick bastard. We're just warming up."
On taking Umberto out of his cell, the Prison Policy and Procedure Manual specified that the Corrections Officer (they weren't called guards anymore), take the prisoner by the elbow, while standing behind the prisoner at a twenty degree angle, in anticipation of performing a hold known as a "chicken wing." Umberto was wearing short sleeves.
He gradually, taking time to savor the moment, put his hand on Umberto's elbow. With the finesse of a painter making a brush stroke, he let the next image into Umberto's wide open mind. This time, it was two brothers, probably 12 and 15 tag teaming a girl of about 11 who was purported to be their sister. It was very graphic. Umberto almost hit his knees.
The prison complex spanned almost ten acres. Umberto was in D Block, segregated housing due to his status as a "ChiMo." D Block was in the far north-west corner of the compound. The Hearing Chamber was in Main Block, all the way across the prison. There would be plenty of time to make Umberto squirm.
Every ten to fifteen steps, he sent another image. Each more graphic than the last. Then, he added action, like a gif. Umberto couldn't handle it. He was starting to sweat and buckle at the knees. The guard on the other elbow looked across, and said, "What the hell is the matter with this guy? Should we call a doctor?"
"No," the demon replied, putting a little silver tongued satanic persuasion into the words, "he is just flopping for the sympathy vote from the bleeding hearts on the board. Let's just get this over with." And, at that, he hit Umberto with the coup de grace: a full Technicolor movie of his own concoction. It was perfect and combined all of Umberto's favorite, private perversions. Umberto was powerless to stop it, and the demon had timed it to perfection.
Just as they entered the hearing chamber, with all of the nice people in their modest suits, and holier-than-thou expressions, Umberto popped the biggest (for him), hardest, wood of his life. And, just as he climaxed into his prison issue orange dungarees, the demon sent him a vision. A perfect, instant representation of where he was going when it was all over, over which was superimposed the face of the weeping Christ.
The parole board reacted as you would expect any reasonable person to react to an ejaculating, crying pedophile who is gibbering on the floor about fucking ten year old children, lakes of fire, and Jesus. They ran the hell out of the room. Umberto, on the other hand, was denied parole. And was denied again a year later, without even having a hearing.
The demon's work was done. After seeing that little display, there was no way that Umberto wouldn't actually find Jesus. He was sure to be washed in the blood, and saved the tortures of eternal damnation. He was even sorry for faking it before!
Yeah, it may not be like the old days, but, if he stuck it out, working for the JC had some major upsides in the retirement plan. Who wants to spend eternity in a lake of fire, watching over unrepentant rapists, murderers and kid fuckers anyway? No, that wasn't for him. He was headed upstairs...
All in a day's work.
| 2014-04-23T17:08:12 | 2014-04-23T16:16:19 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] God does an AMA.
|
**I Am God. AMA**
*Submitted: 45 seconds ago*
*In the interest of time, (I am very busy after all), I am going to post the answers to your questions in order so you don’t have to waste time typing out your questions. I already know them, and this karma isn’t worth anything anyway. If you’re not sure what your answer is, or if you come up with a question that I haven’t answered, I will PM you the answer before you ask it. So just check for the orange envelope after you come up with a question. I will only be here for about 2 minutes. Thanks!*
*(Also, please arrange a funeral service for u/karmanaut as he insisted on photo evidence and it killed him. For those of you about to get upset, I only did this AMA when it was his time anyway. It was either this, or getting hit by a car while walking his dog. You decide.)*
- Yes
- No
- That’s a good question, but I’m not sure you understand the implications of that decision. If I were to have done that, you would never colonize the Moon.
- Yes, she likes you. No, it won’t end well.
- He has a lot of good ideas, and while unpopular at the moment, he will start something truly wonderful.
- Yes I thought of that. You’re very original.
- Yes
- I honestly don't know how to explain that without giving physics away. Neil figures it out.
- Yes
- No
- Yes Jesus is really my Son. No, he did not have to explain computers to me.
- I am aware that you think how I treated Adam and Eve was a ‘dick move,’ but without their fall the internet would have never been invented. Your call.
- That’s a ridiculous question. Read the Bible, I explained that already.
- Wow, that is a good question. To keep it short, it was necessary to insure the survival of the human race. I would much prefer not doing those kinds of things, but I have to do what I have to do. I love all of you, and sometimes that requires making hard choices that nobody else can make. If I hadn’t made it, someone else eventually would have.
- No your wife is not cheating on you. She’s working a second job. Show some appreciation and stop playing so much Xbox. Oh, and she’s pregnant.
- No, and don’t ever ask that again. Seriously.
- *wink* Wouldn’t you like to know. If you don’t know in 61.8 years I’ll PM you the answer.
Okay everyone! That’s all the time I have for today. I’ll be PMing some of you periodically throughout the rest of the day, but that’s all the time I have for the actual thread. I love you all! Please take care of yourselves!
|
“Who would you rather fight, a horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses?”
God stared at the screen, his hand buried deep within his beard, fingers clawing mindlessly at his chin. They’d had ample time to think of questions, more than a month’s notice on what the press was referring to as the “most important interview of all time.” He opted to do it online, to immortalize his responses for eternity in the pages of the web, to grant everyone access to it. The website called it an “Ask Me Anything,” an opportunity for the citizens of the world to come to him with their most yearning questions, their deepest desires.
He continued staring at the monitor, an old, beige CRT from 2001 he’d had installed decades ago. He’d been meaning to replace it, maybe put in one of those new 4k monitors he’d read about in *Wired*, or perhaps just create a 400k monitor for the heaven of it, but had been rather busy. In fact, he was always busy. It wasn’t easy being God, he tried to make that clear in the movie *Bruce Almighty.* He assumed, considering the film’s great reception, that humanity understood his message; he guessed that he had made it abundantly clear that being God was time-consuming and difficult. If Jim Carry couldn’t do it, then no mortal human could. Yet apparently they didn't care.
It was the first question he’d come across in the interview, the highest voted one on the page. It was the thought humanity desired a response to the most: would he rather fight an abnormally large duck or a gang of smaller horses. That was their great question, their burning desire. He sat back in his chair, removing his hand from his beard, and instead placing it on the armrest beside him. It was rough to the touch, the cushioned plastic faded and worn. He’d built it back in 2001 during “The Great Living Room Renovation,” picking up the chair from Ikea and spending a few hours putting it together. He ended up with four extra screws and a metal pipe, which he simply threw out. They always gave extra parts, or at least that was what he told himself. Truthfully, he wasn’t exactly sure. He knew he could’ve willed it to be true, could’ve altered all Ikea boxes so that they included four extra screws and one metal pipe, but what was the point? Closure? It didn’t matter. It was good enough, he was confident in his craftsmanship.
God leaned forward and placed his hands on the cold keys of the Black Dell keyboard. He didn’t exactly like the keyboard, but it came free with the Dell computer he ordered back in 2001. The guy he spoke to over tech support said it would be a great piece of machinery, built to last through the ages. He specifically said “ages,” as if the computer would hold up for the next millennia or so. God knew better, considering he was the one who willed the device into existence to compete with Apple--Satan's pride and joy--but he also knew the guy needed the sale. He had four kids and a fifth on the way, and his wife was, at the time, in bed his best friend Rohit. He knew he'd find out later that evening. Plus, he liked the color of the machine. He’d always had a fondness for black, possibly due to the sheer abundance of white that surrounded every nook and cranny. He could’ve swapped that, though, could’ve shrouded the heavens in a perpetual darkness, but humanity had created such a strong association with heaven and white. To let them die and enter a world of darkness, to contradict the great artists he’d made to share his visions, seemed cruel.
God stared at the monitor, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose slightly. He didn’t exactly need them, considering he had complete and utter control over his visual abilities, but he liked the way they made him look. He pushed the glasses up against his long, gray eyebrows, eyes locked on the text. Would he rather fight a horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses? That was their question? That was what they needed an answer to? He sighed, placing his hands on the keyboard and searching for the home row. He had been working on his typing skills for a few years now, trying to find a way to learn how write without looking at each letter he pushed, and the home keys certainly helped. He still made a lot of typos, but it was better than when he started. He enjoyed learning through practice. He slowly began typing, his eyes staring up at the screen.
“Really? I'm afrs—” he paused, deleting a letter. “I'm afraid this isn't workinf—“ he paused again, rolled his eyes, and stared down at the keys. “working out, humanity. This question, the ignorance of such a daft statement, is the final straw. It was a good run.”
He wasn’t sure where he’d gone so wrong with humanity, what he’d done to make them so inane. He offered them the idea of free will, given them a world to call their own. He’d spent the last few millennia of eternity doing what he could to keep them from killing themselves through that free will. They still did, but he tried ihs best. He sighed, placing his hand on his black, Dell mouse—also free with his computer—and slid it over to the “submit” button. He clicked, sighing again and leaning back into his chair. He’d have to start over, create a new race of intelligent life. The humans had been a failure, a poor result after a quickly thought up test. It wasn’t all a loss, of course, some of their characteristics had proven interesting—namely their ability to create attractive electronics—but there was so much that needed improvement.
The monitor again flickered before him, the screen flashing black for a half of a second. He had been intending to figure out why it was doing that, but he was so short on time. It was hard to be God, he couldn’t exactly stop what he was doing every day and just work on fixing computers, or partake in Interivews on the internet. Sure, he could’ve willed the monitor to work flawlessly, but it was so much more rewarding to do it himself. And he always felt like the result was better when he made it by hand. And, yes, perhaps time had no real significance to him, considering his complete control over it, but it was always so confusing to distort his "when."
God leaned back, eyes growing wide as a tremendous crack echoed through his living room, his Ikea chair finally snapping apart and sending him flying toward the ground. He made a mental note as he fell downward to start including four extra screws and one metal pipe within all Ikea boxes during his next attempt at intelligent life.
| 2014-12-03T12:09:23 | 2014-12-03T11:36:05 | 115 | 38 |
[WP] The Earth does not rotate. One side always faces the sun and is in continual daylight. The other side is in eternal night. Cultures on both side develop around this.
Feel free to divide the world north/south rather than east/west. other aspects may include agriculture, trade relations, religion, cross border romances, war and the nature of dependency.
*edit - yes I know, this is Armageddon level astronomy. That said - plot shift! An cosmic level event(near miss with large body, magnetic poles switching, something else), causes the earth to re-align and for the first time in history, rotates so the dark side now faces the sun and vice versa.
|
On December 9th, 2014, the world stopped spinning, yet the atmosphere did not, still in motion with the Earth's original 1100 mile per hour rotation speed.
You spent your last moments glued to your comfortable La-Z-Boy, watching a rerun of Keeping Up With The Kardashians for the 100th time.
Anything not attached to bedrock was immediately swept off into the atmosphere. This included all landmasses, rocks, trees, buildlings, and your pet dog, Mr. Snuffles.
Luckily, you were taking Mr. Snuffles for a walk in your last moment. Holding onto your already suffocated dog, you float past the moon. You suck on the last few particles of air that your hopeless lips will ever taste as debris from Earth slowly swims around you.
A destroyed yet recognizable PNC bank hovers past you, and you attempt to pull yourself toward it. As you pull yourself through the shattered double-doors of the structure, you offer a weak smile at the miracle in front of you. Millions of green dollar bills float in clusters around you, reminding you of your final words.
"Why can't I just be like Kim Kardashian: rich, rich and a little more rich."
But now all you want is air.
|
They had hiked for what seemed like eternity. They were determined, though. These four had followed the stars, crossed the Great Ice River, tramped through the deserted wilds of the Waste. They lost five there, when the oil and candles stretched thin. Each had walked out during the small sparks, leaving behind their rations. Their darkness had ended, but the remaining explorers continued.
And now, it was getting warmer. They had seen people, many, many people. Different people, not all of them friendly, but not all of them bad. They traded, the women asking for the thick furs, and the men haggling over the guns. The travelers bartered for the gold they carried, the wooden and bone beads, the cured meat. These people could keep entire gardens of vegetables, something they found novel. So the weary men and women bought food to their heart's content with their bone trinkets, their metal plates, and their intricate sparking candles.
And now, at least, it seemed they were on the end of their journey.
"Djouramun," one of the women breathed. She pointed to the sky, and the shaggy man with the thick beard lifted his head. Polaris shone like a beacon, but... it was fuzzy now. He took out a small circle of metal embedded with stones and a shifting metal rod in the middle, holding it up to the star and taking a reading.
"Strange, isn't it, Ingrad?" Djouramun said with a wide smile as he put it back in his pocket. "Used to seeing it as bright as a magnesium flare. I guess we're getting close."
The other intrepid followers looked to each other, hefting frame packs.
"Do you think they'll build with ice? Or will they build with stone?" another woman, redheaded, asked.
"I don't know, Gilka," Djouramun admitted with a shrug. "We have met so many who build with... that wood. They have not mastered the art of hammering and forging metal here, though. Yet there's enough gold to make a rich man faint. They're an odd sort. Who knows what we'll find."
They huffed along underneath the trees, so alien from their typical, flat land of sparse vegetation, snow-white expanses, and tall, imposing buildings breaking the monotony. When they'd reached the Teeth, the mountains had left them in awe. And then their hopes were dashed when they reached the Waste, which was even more desolate than their home-country. This was a good alternative; here, there were even birds in the shallow trees.
"How much longer?" a young boy whined, itching his backside. His clothes were woolen rather than skins, and he found it intolerably scratchy. He didn't know how anyone could wear something so uncomfortable for so long. He would've kept the skins, but they were so heavy and it was getting so warm.
"Not much longer, Juna," Djouramun said, consulting an old, beaten notebook. He looked up at the sky, and the others did as well. The sky, so typically black as the deepest well, was now turning blue. It was a promising sign.
The moon passed overhead around the world once more. By then, the trees were higher than their heads by five to ten feet. The air was salty with brine, and the sky grew ever lighter. They had encountered no more people.
"Do you think it's real?" Juna asked, tilting his head as he stared at the sky.
"What's real?" Ingrad asked.
"The... what is it - the thing that's supposed makes the sky light. Do you think it's real?" Juna asked, his brow furrowed. He gripped an amulet made of bone in his hand, fastened around his neck -- the last piece of his grandfather before his darkness ended.
"Look for yourself," Djouramun said, standing on a hill.
Juna ran, surprised at how light and springy his step was now that he no longer wore heavy boots. He stopped in his tracks as he stared at the horizon, spread out in a blanket with rumples and curves and then, finally, the glimmering water, so much water, far as his eye could see.
But then there it was, a light so bright he could not even stare at it. He lifted his arm to block his eyes, staring with awe and his eyes brimming with tears. Ingrad and Gilka walked up behind them, and the only sound was the birdsong of a whole forest.
"We found it," Ingrad sobbed, putting her hands to her mouth, fighting tears. Gilka fell to her knees and kissed the very ground, pressing her forehead to it as she thanked every star she knew by name.
"What do they call it, Djoura?" Juna asked in an awestruck whisper, still staring.
Djouramun paused as he weighed the notebook in his hands, the rough skins bound by strips of leather and hours of work, so much more well-traveled than the man holding it. He finally said, "The sun, Juna. They call it the sun."
| 2014-12-07T21:13:23 | 2014-12-07T20:16:39 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Voyager 1 has unexpectedly returned to Earth. It was found at Cape Canaveral, with a note written in a strange, unknown language attached to it. Scientists have translated that note and have called a press conference to reveal their findings.
|
The press room was alive with the murmur of theories being bandied about by the assembled reporters.
The picture of Voyager 1 behind the podium certainly sparked some lively conversation amongst the more conspiracy prone members.
Everyone quieted as a senior press agent for NASA took the stage and another image, written in some odd pictographic form with a series of barcodes at the bottom was displayed.
"Life outside our solar system does exist."
The press began spewing questions only to have the press agent raise a hand asking for silence so that she may continue.
"The note found one week ago along with Voyager 1 has been translated thanks to the cypher key included at the bottom. It reads."
She paused to look to her right at the head researcher of the translation, he nodded assuring her once again that the note was translated accurately according to the directions the writer had included.
"Please keep your pets in your own yard. It's bad enough you're so loud but there are leash laws in this sector of the universe. Thank you"
|
The lights and flashing cameras of the press focused on the bald head of NASA’s head scientist, Dr. Alferious. The aging doctor winced into the spotlight. He was never one for media attention, but for an announcement this important, he didn’t trust anyone else to deliver it.
“Ahem. Yes, hello, thank you all for coming out here today.” Alferious spoke into the microphone; its shrill, screeching whine silencing the muttering buzz of the press.
“I am holding this press conference today to inform the public of the mysterious return of Voyager 1 at Cape Canaveral two days ago at one thirty in the morning. Not only was Voyager 1 returned to us early in the morning, but we found some very … disturbing … indications of alien life on the space probe.” Dr. Alferious’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in nervousness as he spoke.
How would the American public take this news? How would the *world* take this news? There would be pandemonium, complete and utter chaos. Alferious’s face hardened. No, it was his responsibility as a scientist to inform the people. This information had to be shared, it changed everything.
Dr. Alferious picked up a clicker and pressed a button. A small projection screen fell down behind the nervous scientist.
“On closer inspection of the space probe, our team discovered a number of very odd and disturbing markings scrawled on the surface of Voyager 1.” The doctor clacked the clicker, and a slideshow of images appeared behind him.
The images depicted Voyager 1, but that was not the main focus of the photos. Scrawled across the hull of the probe were several markings. Each one was a combination of what appeared to be letters and numbers, scrawled out in bright colors.
“Thanks to our modern computing power, several of our top analytics specialists were able to decipher the strange language that marked the probe.” Dr. Alferious said, hesitating before moving onto the next slide.
With trepidation, Dr. Alferious moved onto the next slide. The audience gasped in bewilderment as they witness the translations for the alien markings transposed on the image of Voyager 1.
“It is to our understanding, that Voyager 1 was being used by several alien advertising agencies to sell … underwear. According to our research, if there were sentient life in the universe, then Voyager 1 would be prime real estate for advertising throughout the universe.”
The press soon was abuzz with questions. Reporters yelled over each other to get the doctor’s attention. What does this mean for us? Can this be monetized? Will NASA now specialize in space advertising? How much would space for advertising cost? These questions were flung desperately at Dr. Alferious’s direction.
“Pleas, please calm down!” Alferious yelled, waving his hands in the air for clam. “I will answer questions at the end, there is still more to be disclosed.”
After the press quieted down, Alfrious continued.
“There was also a note attached to Voyager 1, inscribed in the same alien language as the advertising. After careful analysis of the note, we have concluded that the message reads as follows:”
Alferious cleared his throat before reading off the note.
“*Dear owners of advertising probe 3XC, of the Deswadian sector, we congratulate you on the success of your advertising probe. As a sign of our gratitude, we shall bestow upon you the most advanced technology that our organization has to offer. We will be sending you a lifetime supply of Mesmorp’s anti-diarrhea all purpose undershorts. -Sincerely, The CEO of Mesmorp Inc., Mr. Grotsnuker*.”
A stunned silence filled the room. Alferious quaked in his boots. A small anger boiled in the back of his mind. How would the public react? Surely it would be in anger and disappointment. They would ridicule him, and call NASA a waste of money. Their entire organization would be shut down because of this fiasco!
At once, the press broke out in a flurry of hurried questions. The reporters’s voices strained to be heard over the din. How much is a lifetime supply? Will the underwear be distributed evenly across the world? How much will the underwear cost? Will the president start wearing the anti-diarrhea underwear?
The questions droned on and on to the stunned look of Dr. Alferious. Were they serious? Is that all they cared about? What about extraterrestrial life? Why were they focusing on the underwear?
Dr. Alferious walked off of the stage in defeat. He mumbled something about going home to his wife and kids, and pouring himself a much needed drink. The desperate sounds of the press followed him off stage, and echoed through his mind as he philosophized on the insanity of the human condition.
----------------------
Hope you liked it! I do other stuff at r/ThadsMind if you're interested.
| 2016-11-27T10:00:43 | 2016-11-27T09:14:58 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] Everyone in the world can choose when they get super powers. The longer you wait to claim your powers the stronger they are. Today is your one hundredth birthday, and you are finally ready to claim your powers.
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My family gathered around me, with application forms sitting on the table. I filled in the relevant personal information slowly with my shaky hands, cold sweats dripping down my forehead from the effort as well as the pressure.
You'd think l after 100 years one would have decided on a power, but as I write now, time seems to have made the decision all the more difficult. My imagination on the things I could achieve takes me away at night to a new world, to the image of a life that I wasted by being normal, altered by power that only I would possess.
I'd always wanted invisibility. Invisibility so pure and perfect that you ceased to be corporeal, passing through walls and the floor as you wish. Invisibility so whole that you'd not exist while invisible. Your family, friends, and enemies would all continue to live as if you'd never have been born, off an on according to your will.
But I'm far too old for that now. Long after I decided on that I realized that, due to my health, I'd have to chose a power that will keep me alive. But so many people had picked immortality without realizing the weight that places on a person. Some people have a curiosity that would keep them inspired. They would always strive to learn, and would have forever to do that. But I don't. Time would become a burden for me I'm sure, and I'd wish for a death that I could never have.
But what to pick? What power could keep me alive while providing the magnitude of power I'd imagined all my life?
Shapeshifting perhaps? I'd be ageless, essentially. Constantly changing faces and bodies to a younger, stronger one, but still able to be killed by natural causes. Perhaps I would even be able to shape shift into someone that has no heart or lungs, when I feel it is time for me to die. Maybe after 100 years, I'd be so powerful as to be able to change into non human things. Could I change back if I did?
"Lawrence." my wife said "do you want me to write for you?" I'd not been writing for a few minutes.
I gazed up at my family, my wife's piercing grey eyes, a visible sign that she chose for her power to only live as long as I do, but in perfect health so that she could always be of use to my fading health.
"Yes, please." I said, pushing the paper towards her.
She continued writing the pertinent information as I closed my eyes to imagine once more.
I could never be able to see the future. I couldn't imagine the pain of knowing when everything, good and bad, would happen, and feeling like your life is written out already. What responsibility you would have to everyone, the famous, the rich, the elite... To let them know how long they have.
How far could I see after 100 years? Could I see all the way back to the time when people didn't have super powers? Could I see back far enough to smell the wind as I stand in a field of... What were they called? Trees?
Could I see forward to the end of my childrens' lives? To the end of superhumans and the end of the earth? Would I want to see that far?
I'd have wished for the power to live infinite lives. But I would do so alone. My wife would not follow, and I could never know if I would forget here. Would I remember my past lives? Is there a place where my mind would go after I die where I'd be aware of my existence anyway? Or does it all end?
"You don't have to do this, Lawrence." she said tenderly. "You don't need to anguish over this any more. You lived a life that no one else but you and I have. Your power wouldn't define you."
Suddenly she placed her hands on the table to hold herself up, looking weak, as if she was going to pass out. She looked at me with shock in her eyes as she sat down next to me and gripped my hand.
"I love you" she said. "I'll always be here."
I reached for the pen to finish writing, knowing what this meant. But it was pointless. It would take days for the application to be processed even if I could decide now.
Darkness crept into my vision. I felt my wife's hand so warm and soft, holding onto me the same as she always had. I just wanted to live forever with her. How would I even word that as a super power without tying her down?
I think eventually I would have decided, but after that I couldn't open my eyes again. I'm sure my hand is still holding hers, and even though I don't feel it, I know she would never let go.
What power would I have picked? I guess it doesn't matter now.
|
I was sitting alone on the toilet seat. My grandchildren were running everywhere in the house, and the the toilet was the most peaceful place I could find. Still, I would be lying if I said I didn't just come in here to shit. Slowly taking care of my business, I thought of all the possible powers I could get.
The year is 2101. They had figured out a way to give everybody super powers a while back. Something or the other about activating an individual's latent powers using Felectronium, or something. Simply put, it was a drug. I was too paranoid to try it out at the time. It became legal immediately, and soon all the kids were double jumping to win games and using telepathy to broadcast their retarded thoughts. It was annoying, but at least nobody could read minds yet. There was a 60 year old man who could run at the speed of sound though. That was the strongest(debatable) power, last I checked. There was a definite link between your power and the age you activate it at. See, the older you were when you activated it, the better the power was bound to be(it's an issue heavily argued upon by many, since there are different types of super powers, but this is the general idea.)
I heard my daughter calling out to me, and I decided it was time to get out. I walked down the stairs and into the garden. It was my hundredth birthday, and the cake was proportionately sized. Gigantic, but boring. Medicine had advanced enough to make me live a hundred years with ease, but cake still tasted the same.
I had decided to awaken my hidden potential today. As cool as that sounds, I wasn't one bit excited. Actually, I was slightly excited. One of granddaughters came up and gave me a flower. "Grandpa, come play with us!" she beckoned towards her other siblings. I smiled warmly. They were one of the main reasons I had decided to awaken my power, even though I was highly suspicious of the drug.
I was too old for this shit. And children are fucking annoying.
Life was boring, and I wanted to die. No, it would be better to say I wanted something different. Walking towards the gigantic chocolate cake that was on a chair, I waved my hand towards my son Anthony and took the syringe from him. "Guys, he's taking it now!" he shouted excitedly. Maybe everybody is just fucking annoying.
Not even bothering to give the sappy speech they all expected, I impatiently jabbed the syringe through my arm. Everybody grew silent as they realized the main event was about to happen. But nothing really happened. Well, some powers need to be identified by the doctor before you realize how to use them. Others, like super strength, are painfully obvious. I was a bit disappointed at the lack of a dramatic 'awakening', but I decided to get it checked out after I finished the cake.
...
The doctors didn't know what it was. Over the months I started aging backwards until I felt 29 again, but they said it was just a side effect. I tried absolutely everything then: Skydiving without using a parachute until the very end, taking a shit while standing, staying awake for days, even trying out some sports. And I don't even like sports.
It was a nice autumn evening when I finally found out. My daughter, Ashley, was taking a walk with me. She called me and said she had an idea about my power, and her guess was bound to be true. She was the smartest of my children, and I daresay she was smarter than me.
"People don't just develop random powers. Their feelings and desires play a big part in it, or at least I like think so." she said, glancing at a group of kids playing in the park.
"That makes sense, definitely. But then shouldn't everybody have some sort of impossible power? Like clairvoyance, telekinesis, telepathy, all without limits? That's what pops into most heads when the words 'super power' is bought up." I replied. Glancing at her, I recalled how her power was turning her hands to insanely fast killing blades, contrasting her always peaceful nature.
"Subconsciously and consciously, a person has many feelings. Even in regard to those two, the power obtained doesn't have to be because of desire. Simply put, it could be something you hate. You know how I hated the fistfights brother got into? I wished all of the boys could be swept away by a flick of a wrist. My hatred was too intense then, really. It was a mistake to take the drug when I was 18, if anything. God knows teenagers are bonkers. Anyway, I got insanely fast hands, sure. B so far I can only kill people or destroy objects because of the lack of accuracy I receive when I activate it. I'm thankful I can switch it off, really." She said, staring at me with a hint of worry.
I didn't like where this was going. "Cut the crap, Sarah. I know about you. What is my power?" I asked angrily, as her expression was way too forlorn for my power to be anything good. I could just kill myself in a spectacular way if it was bad, but she was acting way too weird.
Without a word, she whips her hands out and hits my legs. It was too fast to see, and I assumed I was in shock as I couldn't feel anything. I tried to get up, but I didn't have my legs.
They were cut clean off.
The pain hit me in waves. I had never wanted to die more than in that moment. I stopped slithering around after a while and lay on the ground. Closing my eyes, I wondered why she did that. But I didn't really mind. Death was at my doorstep, and I could finally meet her.
The pain subsided. I opened my eyes. It wasn't a dream, but I hadn't died either. As I looked at Sarah, a look of relief washed over her face. "I knew I was right, but There was a chance I was wrong too. You wouldn't care about your leg, but I didn't want to go to jail" She blubbered. I noticed tears running down her face and got up to comfort her. I felt a bit weird, not because I was just comforting someone who had killed me, or because I was supposed to be dead. Something else was off.
I walked her back to her house. It was pretty late already, about 9pm. She had asked me to meet her at 7, which I now realized was very suspicious. She was still crying, and that drew a lot of looks from people. I noticed some blood running down her neck too, but I didn't care too much about it. Actually, the fact that my pants were ripped off below the knee and that I wasn't wearing shoes really bothered me more.
I sat down on her couch as I contemplated my situation. It was blaringly obvious, but I didn't get why she had to cut my fucking legs off. A small paper cut would have proved it, for fuck's sake. "So what's up?"I asked her nonchalantly after she stopped crying. "It should be obvious! You're immortal" she said, with a reassuring smile. Well, as reassuring as a smile from a 40-something year old woman, who was crying her heart out because her dad's legs had grown back, could be. Did I mention how she was the one who cut the in the first fucking place?
I thought about it some more and decided I could travel the world, master sports(and win against all those over-powered double jumping kids), and enjoy life to the fullest. I told her about my plans, and how I wanted to visit Egypt first.
"Actually, you shouldn't do that. You've drank my blood now, so sunlight should hurt you. You would just regenerate though, but I doubt you want to experience a never ending cycle of being burned by it and then regenerating over and over again." she said, trying to wheeze out all the mucus she had collected in the last few minutes. My newfound dreams were shattered, but i didn't quite understand why.
I felt like killing myself, but then I realized I would just feel pain and regenerate. Noticing my confusion, she added "You can't do most stuff now. I thought it was ok because you just shut yourself in and watch anime all day anyway? You're a vampire now! It's probably because you're obsessed with the vampire in that anime, you know. Shinobu, was it?" she continued rambling, but I paid her no attention.
"I can't even eat fucking proper pizza with fucking garlic now?"
| 2017-02-22T12:26:06 | 2017-02-22T11:59:46 | 245 | 22 |
[WP] Dogs have been genetically engineered to live as long as humans. As a child you pick out a puppy as a companion for the rest of your life.
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My name is Max. I've been patiently waiting to be reunited with Master for 53 days. Master is my master, I'm his friend. Master and I met when we were both little, and now we're bigger. The smell of Master is very comforting. I haven't smelled Master in 53 days.
I have everything that I need. A nice woman walks me every day. A nice man feeds me every day. Families bring their children by so their little ones can say, "Hi." They call me Bailey, but that's not my name. My name is Max. But they must have their friends here too, because they say hi to me, but they bring their friends home. The other friends are very happy to go.
Master and I were in the seats-that-go-fast. There was a terrible noise. Master was covered by a blanket. My blanket is soft.
The nice woman who walks me had wet eyes when she took me for my walk. She spoke with lower words I didn't understand. Today is different. Maybe Master is coming. We went down a different hallway than usual. No walks? She kissed me. Maybe Master is down this hallway. He'll remember my name is Max.
|
Date: March 20th, 2018. Rupert. German Shepherd. Male. 6 months old. Registration fee: $610. Registered in Buffalo, NY.
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January 8th, 2033
I thought this journal idea was stupid but I have an idea. It can be all about Rupert! Mr. Lean said focus on happy stuff, sooo RUPERT!
*Photos of a dog.*
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March 1st, 2040
Happy birthday me! Weekend = home = party time and RUPERT! I haven't seen the old guy in months. I hate the no pets on campus policy. It's not like we're a bunch of irresponsible shit heads from the 2010's. Seniors should be trusted to take care of their dorms, at least. I guess way back most colleges used to let registered pets on campus, according to dad.
Anyway his skin has been healing up nicely. Dad sent some pics. He actually seemed to be happy to hang out with Rupert for once. Thank god we finally found a vet that isn't a complete moron, and thank god for sweet sweet health insurance. I don't even wanna look at that $8k bill. Who charges $500 for an office visit?!
----
December 23rd, 2052
*Image of a young dog.*
I don't know what to do. Everything is falling apart. Mr. Lean died yesterday. Dad is in the worst health of his life. And Rupert's problems are back again. His skin is covered in blisters again. His arthritis is terrible. He's chewing himself to death. He has to wear a cone or a muzzle any time he's alone or we come home to a house full of bloody fur everywhere. I can't keep up with the cost of that fucking medicine. I can't believe our family is suffering because I got a better job. We would've been better off on government health insurance and me still making bullshit-an-hour. Pet pharma knows it can gouge the hell out of prices, and they have been ever since the first generation of newbreds. Supposedly the whatever agency is folding into the FDA soon and they're going to regulate pet drugs too. Please god let it be soon. I can't keep this up much longer. It's not fair for Rupert and it's not fair for my kids.
----
July 5th, 2057
*Photos of a dog standing on top of a grave.*
----
January 1st, 2068
Apparently the BPS is on a mad hunt to find strays in the country hoping to find enough oldbreds of some breeds to prevent dogs from going instinct. Amazing. It's almost like we never had methods in place to test drugs before they're injected into living creatures! Oh wait, the living creatures are the test subjects!
Hale is right. It has to be time. Nothing is working. It's like one problem is solved and another crops up. No one knew it was going to be like this. He's just in a constant state of decay. Fur and flesh literally just falling off. He can barely see out of his left eye. He's gone through cancer twice. The pads on his feet are hard as a rock and practically bleeding all the time. Rupert doesn't deserve to live like this. I missed out on half of Hale's and Mel's lives trying to fight this plague from hell. Dad used to say "he's just a dog" but he's NOT just a dog. He's practically my brother. He gave the kids rides around the house, and pulled their sled, and saved their lives god-knows-how-many times.
And yes, dad, I've bawled my goddamn eyes out countless times. What if I had these diseases? You'd do everything to help me, wouldn't you? The worst part is, it's gone on for so long, I'm just numb to it all. I see him laying nearly lifeless already on his bed. He shudders when he breathes. And I just feel empty. Maybe I am selfish for letting it go on for so long. I don't know. I just wish someone else could have made the choice for me long ago. Or that all of this never had to happen in the first place. I wish Rupert was an oldbred. He would have died when I was in college. Having only known a few years of suffering, but still after a full and happy life. The kids would only know him through photos. Maybe there would be a Rupert II, and III.
I guess there's a huge push to euthanize newbreds. /r/newmercy is gonna have a fucking field day. Can't wait to get pelted with fecal matter after leaving the vet. Guess I'll take it one last time for the old guy.
I love you Rupert. It's time for you to be free again.
----
*US Emotional Support Service Dog registration card.*
| 2018-03-19T10:20:23 | 2018-03-19T09:57:10 | 52 | 11 |
[WP] Due to a shortage on angels you have had a guardian demon assigned to you instead, he doesn't quite understand how it works but he's very eager to please.
|
We all knew we had them. Not all of us could see them, I however was given this "gift" of being able to see our guardian angels. Some were these beautiful creatures that didn't look much human with wings that spread well over 7 feet. Some looked human with nothing special about them. No one really knew why it was like this but no one cared. Although there was one issue with my gift. I couldn't see my own guardian angel. This bothered me for my early life but being 27 and broke as hell I had more problems to worry about than that.
It happened fast. I was walking down the street when a car screeches by leaving black skid marks right in front of me. I then hear loud sirens screaming into my ears. I looked left to see a police car coming straight at me full speed, I close my eyes and wait for the end. What seems like an eternity later I open my eyes and look back to see a 10 foot tall red skinned beast with green markings and tar black hair going down it's head. Multiple people on the streets were staring at it. The police car in front of it was completely totaled, the beast turned to look at me slowly. "***Are you okay master?"*** The red beast bellowed. "Wh- what are you?" I timidly ask. The red beast turns now fully facing me with a grin on its face. "***I am your guardian, sir."*** he speaks calmly. I think carefully about my next question. "Why the hell are you here? What's your name?" I ask him. The red beast stops smiling and looks a bit more serious "***I was called here to protect you. My name is Olmuzzath"***. I decide to stop asking questions and be on my way home, I tell Olmuzzath goodbye and head on my way.
It's next Tuesday and I haven't seen Olmuzzath or whatever the damn thing said his name was. "whatever" I said aloud grabbing my coffee and sitting down at my computer. I check my email to see if I've gotten a job yet *"We're glad to see you applied for McIntyre Insurance! Unfortunately we are full on staff and cannot acc-"* My reading was cut off by a loud crash outside. ***"WHERE IS HE!"*** Olmuzzath roars. Fuck, Is he here to kill me? I run outside fearing what may happen next. As a achieve what feels to be the longest run in my life I see him standing 20 feet away. Olmuzzath breaks out into a sprint. “Holy fucking shit he’s FAST” I think to myself realizing that this creature is going to kill me. My thoughts are cut off by a winged creature grabbing me from behind and trying to fly off with me. It's quickly cut off by Olmuzzath grabbing its wings and ripping one off before stomping on its head. "Fuck! Why did you do that?" I ask wondering why he would kill an angel.
***"The angels are not the guardians my lord"***
|
I tucked myself in. The sliver of gold from the hall light grew as Angela gently opened the door, careful not to wake Baby Bobby (not a baby) sleeping soundly in the bunk beneath me. I raised my head as I propped myself up on my orphan-like elbows. Elbows that haven't seen a loving, legal parent in an elbows-harvest.
"Angela?" I whispered, double-careful not to wake Baby Bobby, who again is not a baby. Angela offered a warm smile then gave me the middle finger.
"Go to bed you little shithead."
Suddenly Angela was smoking a down-to-the-ass cigarette and wearing a jean jacket that had 'I H8 ORPHANZ' embroidered on it. She threw a double whammy middle finger celebration right at me, I winced. Angela slammed the door as hard as she could, being triple extra UN-careful to not un-wake (not really a) Baby Bobby.
Baby Bobby stirred, like a bowl of hot soup that also happens to be asleep. It's possible, you don't know what soup does.
I laid awake, eyes glued to the unnervingly blemished ceiling. My thoughts raced.
*HERE COMES A FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT DAY. THOUGHT I'D JUST GIVE YOU A HEADS UP.*
"Dad?" I choked on each - the one word. Holding my own hands for some semblance of comfort. My father, a greasy, porn stached pencil of a man turned to me.
"You know this isn't easy for me son." He said between stifled giggles, eventually managing to govern them. "I know you want to live with me, and shit, who would blame you? I got my job back as CEO of Toyota, I recently won 233.4 million dollars in the powerball lottery and your mother and I are back together. Couldn't be happier. Living a nice, healthy, stable life as of now. No complaints. You know your mother and I wish we could share it with you but..."
"But what?" I asked.
"Well... I don't like the way you wear your hat sometimes. It just kinda bugs me."
"Wait what? Seriously? Okay I'll stop wearing-" He raised both his hands up.
"Ahhhhh yeah but now it's too late. Every time I just... *look* at you I'm always thinking-"
"Dad"
"There's that... that little shitty HAT kid." He shook off the idea as if it was crawling down his back. I was devastated. He gave me a pitiful look. "Listen, uhhh... hey. I'll tell you what. If the Angels win the pennant, I'll adopt you back... or something. Well just in the off chance they do, we'll just play it by ear. Cross that bridge when we get to it, you know?"
There were no words for how elated that made me feel. Not a single word in any language that could precisely describe the joy and relief I felt by what he had said. If any word came close it would be UN-devestated. No, wait, I have a better one: not-devastated. I hugged him. He farted on me.
*OKAY THE FLASHBACK IS DONE NOW, WE'RE BACK IN MY BED AS I WISH UPON A STAR.*
I wished upon a star. It was very underwhelming.
"Please God, I know you're listening. I know you're always listening to me you creamy goose, but hear these words with care. Send me an angel, no wait. No. Send the Angels an angel."
I felt the need to clarify.
"Send the baseball team The Angels, angels so those angels can help The Angels win the Superbowl of baseball. Then my dad will love me again."
The star did absolutely fuck-all. Then it exploded in a massive hypernova.
"HOLY HORSE SHIT BABY BERNIE GET YOUR BLACK ASS DOWN!"
Baby Bobby slept though this too. Luckily the hypernova didn't shower the earth in harmful cosmic radiation that would have surely boiled Baby Bobby and myself alive. I slept a dreamless sleep. Except for the one dream of the earth being showered in cosmic radiation from a hypernova and Baby Bobby and myself being boiled alive. But that was the only one. Well there was another one... It was just that first dream over again. I slept like a chubby panda after that though.
The stadium was big and blah blah we're at the seats now.
"What do you think pitchers do?" asked Baby Bobby while dumping his baseball popcorn on the head of the couple in front of us.
"They pitch the ba-"
"What the hell did you do that for?" The man brushed popcorn off his shoulders. They dribbled between the gum stained seats. The sun shone on them, announcing their matted white mounds. Somewhere Boy George was handcuffing a male escort to his bed.
"I'm sorry sir, my friend has ADH-"
Suddenly the man's head exploded. Nobody seemed to notice or care. It was weird.
"Oh my Go-"
"Don't say that name, it, it annoys me." A man awkwardly slathered in red acrylic paint, donning a cheap plastic viking's helmet appeared. A powerful smell of okra slime drifted through the (previously) predominantly baseball-smelling air. "Please, don't be alarmed." The man started. "The smell of baseball shall soon return. I apologize for my foulness." I froze, but managed a few choppy words.
"Are you a demon?"
"Yes."
"Are you here to help the angels?"
"No."
"The baseball team I mean."
"Oh. Yes."
"For me?"
"Yes."
"So I can get back with my family?"
"Yes."
I slapped my knees like a knee slapper man performing his dangerous knee slap finale.
"Great. Alright, get to it."
Flecks of acrylic paint crumbled to the ground as the demon made his way to the field. Completely naked.
*(camera zooms out to a wide shot as the song "Faithfully" by Journey starts playing)*
I never did see him again. Last I heard he was in hell. But I'll never forget that summer. The summer I met a strange man dressed as the devil who lied to me about his supernatural origin. I never saw him again... oops I already said that. But I didn't. Ever see him again. And I'll never forget that summer...
*"♪ Faithfully... DERRR NERRR NERRRR DUR NER NER NER!!! DEERRR NEEER NEERRR DER NER NER NER! DEEEER NEEER NEERRR DER NER NER NER DEEEERRRRR!!! CIRCUS LIFE! UNDERRRR THE BIIIIG TOP WORRRRLLLD... ♪"*
| 2018-08-14T18:05:34 | 2018-08-14T15:56:10 | 98 | 11 |
[WP] Over the years your D&D game has managed to continue with most of the original players. However, almost everyone's life circumstances have changed drastically since they began and you now DM for a group of some of the most-powerful people on the planet.
|
I was packing up my things from our latest session, reorganizing notes and stowing my books when Kate slid a long, silver-wrapped box towards me, smiling. I looked at her, and saw the rest of the party was watching too. "What's this?"
Akbar said, "It's a gift, from all of us."
"...Did I miss some anniversary or something?" I took the box. The wrapping was professionally done, a raised rough pattern of silver and black cut diagonally across the paper.
"No...uh...to be honest this is something we have-"
"-and some of our people-" Cut in Markos.
"-and some of our people have been talking back and forth about for sometime. It's...a..."
Kate moved a step closer to me. "When you told us about those people accosting you at the coffee shop about the Trans-Atlantic Trade Union, well...we-"
I laughed. "Oh, I honestly almost forgot about that. That was so weird. I was just like-"
Markos said, "Martin, that was because of us."
I stared at him, then I looked to the others. They all seemed nervous...anxious. I looked back at Kate.
"They found you because you know us. They were trying to convince you to talk to us, Martin."
Akbar was holding his red-leather suitcase, resting it on the ornately carved table. He said, "You have access to us. You know us. We somehow manage to schedule this every month." The group, myself included, smiled. "A lot of people would pay a lot of money to...bend our ear. We don't...-"
Markos nodded to me. "Open the gift, Martin."
Looking between them, I began to slowly tear at the wrapping paper, inevitably exposing the box beneath. I opened it, slid some tissue paper aside and-
The cloth was silk, a silvery gray with hints of a deep purple as it moved. Black patterns were sewn into it, elements of water, tides and waves, a reference to our previous campaign. I pulled the cloth out and it unfolded into...a robe.
"Try it on," said Kate.
I did so and found it fit me perfectly. There was a hood as well. I pulled it up and the shadows closed over my eyes. "This is amazing! I-" I noticed there was something else in the box. It was a mask. Its surface was polished obsidian, set in a spacious pattern, the shadowed gaps adding depth to its surface. I picked it up and held it.
Markos said, "Martin, you didn't choose the lives we did. It's unfair that you suffer their consequences too."
Akbar said, "We want to...protect your anonymity. This is what we came up with."
Kate said, "Plus, it's just...super cool. What do you think?"
I held the mask in my hands, pulled my hood back, donned the mask, perfectly contoured to my face, and raised my hood.
I recalled the voice of the BBEG from our first campaign all those years ago. "HOW DO I LOOK?"
...
It was that day that I became the Hidden Master.
|
"We make a deal with the orc lord," says Katie.
"That's... Not really an option," I explain to my high-flying lawyer friend. "Either you guys act now, or the last Kingdom of the Dwarfs crumbles like a dry autumn leaf, and the people inside are either enslaved or executed. What's it to be?"
"Oh, let them all die," says Johnathan, rolling his eyes like a couple of bloodshot dice. "They're ruining the world anyway."
I frown. "*What?*"
The Google exec sighs as he prepares to explain to me. He lowers his voice and uses 'simple' words as usual, just because I don't earn six figures a month. "The dwarfs currently horde ninety percent of the wealth of the entire known world. They have all that money, but ask yourself: what do they do with it? I'll tell you, my old friend. They sit their fat arses down on it all day, then rest their fat backs on it all night. They don't spend it, like a normal person would. No champagne"--he takes a swig of his as if to prove a point--"no personal chefs, or fitness trainers to donate their money to. Do you follow me? Now orcs, orcs on the other hand! Well, they love to spend money on all kinds of debauchery. They're real people, and then some! So, if they take the wealth from the dwarfs, suddenly it goes from out of a treasure room and into tourism, war, goods, and all kinds of services, bringing about all kinds of improv--"
"Hold up," says big Phil, taking the cigar from out of his mouth. "I totally disagree with the idea of distributing the wealth amongst all the people. It's ludicrous! Ridiculous! A two year old could see that much."
"I wonder why you disagree?" says Katie, voice oozing of practiced sarcasm.
Phil grunts. "On principle, mainly."
"What a banker's answer!" she says. "Still, can hardly blame you. I bet you see yourself in the dwarf King's face. Your quality of life goes down, so others can go up. Quite outrageous, I'm sure."
"Look," says Phil with a wave of his hand. "Right now, we're wealthy and powerful heroes, right? And this world is our oyster. Right again, right? But if you go ahead and empower everybody... Well suddenly, nobody needs us. We're not special and there's no point in anything anymore. We're just three more average Joes."
"Still talking about the game?" asks Johnathan.
"...*Yes*? Now, that's just from our perspective, but think of it from theirs! From the peon's POV. No more aspirations for them. No more need to try or to innovate. No more reason to *be*, because they are just given it all. Everything they need and want. Society would fail -- that's proven!"
"I wasn't suggesting we just give it all to them," says Johnathan. "Not directly."
"Well I don't really care about whether the dwarfs live or die," says Katie. "I don't think any of us do. And I'm not suggesting we need get involved and risk injury to our persons. But... for arguments sake... If we *did* get 'involved', and we did get 'injured' helping the dwarfs, we do suddenly have a water-tight case -- previous precedent from the fall of the elves during the last session would make sure it swings our way -- to sue the king for all he's worth. And then some."
"I don't really care if they live or die, either," says Johnathan. "I just don't think they should be hoarding all the treasure. How about this thought: it's better three sensible minds are charged with looking after all that money. By that, I mean it's better we three have their gold, I'd think, and then we help make it trickle down treasure, into the pockets of the populace at a rate that will keep the peoples happy and complacent, but also not make them overly powerful, and therefor, still reliant upon us. Control what they know, what they see, what they have, as I like to say."
"I can see why you're lauded for your work!" says Phil. "Damned sensible idea. That way, all villages improve -- as you want them to and in the way you want them to -- but not enough to make them a threat, or to make them question needing us. And we still live and are worshipped as heroes."
"Yes. Exactly. Everyone's a winner."
I look at my friends. Former friends, I realise. Heroes twisted into ogres. "So, what do you want to do?"
"Oh really," says Phil. "Why do you never listen to us? Are you incapable of following an adult conversation? Oh right, I forget you've not grown up yet."
"It's not even a choice, it's so obvious." Katie laughs. "Perhaps we need a new DM. One who can set scenarios that are worth playing, not one whom is trapped inside the mind of a child, and the body of a balding thirty year-old. Hair transplants are a thing, you know? Just ask Phil."
Phil feigns offence for half a second, then shrugs and takes a long drag of his cigar.
"We move aside for the orcs, obvs," says Johnathan to me, tilting back his glass of champagne and tapping the last of the residue down into his gullet. "Let"--*glug*--"nature take its course, of course. Then... Once the orcs and dwarfs have decimated one another, we will make our move and finish the remnants."
"It's strange," I say, scanning their smug faces, trying to super-impose the young innocent smiles of my once-friends on top of them. But those smiles are lost. Perhaps forever. And all I can think of is that last line of animal farm. Of looking from the pigs to the humans and not knowing which is which anymore. "Strange," I continue, "That wealth didn't corrupt the dwarfs. Seems it corrupts everyone else." I get to my feet and head to the door.
"Good riddens to bad rubbish," I hear one say as I reach the door. The others laugh.
I pause and turn back to them. "For people like you, there are no rules. There are no dungeon masters."
"Oh, you look as green as a goblin!"
"Jealousy is a terrible thing."
I take a deep breath and force myself to return to my seat. "Fine. Fine." Another breath. "Roll the dice."
Phil does.
Eight.
I nod. "You let the orcs pass and march to the mountain. Unfortunately, a dragon swoops down out of the clouds, also interested in the vast riches, and burns the shit out of you all. It then eats your roasted corpses. The dwarfs and the orcs and the dragon all celebrate together with a great feast and a merry dance. The end."
A beat of silence.
"Oh, I say, that was rotten luck."
| 2019-06-26T04:06:24 | 2019-06-26T02:56:05 | 2,520 | 770 |
[WP] You’re a graphic designer. One day, you look in the mirror, and jokingly try to photo-edit your own body. You discover that you have the powers of Photoshop, but in real life.
|
Realizing this newfound ability to seemingly edit reality, I begin to wonder.
"Does this work outside?" Can you edit the reality around you, and not just the image you see in the mirror? Can you end world hunger by flying to suffering countries and shopping entire banquets before you? Can you 'erase' a tributary from the Nile river to provide water for all the dehydrating natives in that area? Can you draw, albeit shittily due to your subpar art skills, buildings when they collapse due to fire or natural disaster? Or how about sealing active volcanoes indefinitely to save indigenous tribes/the rest of civilization? The possibilities are endless when you can edit the world around you.
As you stare at yourself in the mirror, a resolute thought begins to form in the recesses of your mind. The more you entertain it, the more prevalent it becomes, as it races through your synapses to experience the rush of utterance. A wicked grin slithers across your face as your eyes widen. As you continue to stare at yourself, you undo your pants and drop them at breakneck speed. Grabbing the stepping stool from the corner of the bathroom, all of your immaculate glory is now within full view of the mirror, and the thought that had been building with crackhead energy breaches your lips, dripping with drunken humor.
"Haha bigger penis."
|
This is my first one go easy on me! (Some vulgar words)
"Hmm" You say looking into the mirror. "Black hair does not suit you James. "You mutter to yourself. "I ought to go to a barber some time soon" "James! Are you coming?" Alyssa yelled from the other room. "One minute!" You replied. "Really be something if I could use my graphic designer skill set on myself, huh?" As you finish this sentence you aimlessly wave your hand across your chest and turn around to pick up your glasses. As you turn back around you step back in astonishment. "What the hell?" You say looking at your now red suit that was previously black. "I could've sworn I put on my black one." You say outloud. "James! Come on the liquor isn't gonna drink itself." Alyssa impatiently says from the other room. "Yeah one sec." you mindlessly say wandering over to your wardrobe.
As you look inside and see your only black suit missing you again say, "what the hell?" You walk back to the mirror where you laugh and say while running a hand through your hair, "My God I've really lost it now." you look down at your shoes and back up at the mirror where you are aghast. Looking into the mirror your hair is the brightest shade of purple you have ever seen. So purple it's almost blinding. "What the fuck?!" You utter. You stand up straight feet together looking up at the roof. "I was joking when I said I wanted to use my graphic design skills on myself." you look back down at the floor and notice that your shoes have now changed colors and type. Before you were wearing brown dress shoes now you have on pink sneakers.
As you realize the ability you have gained you start going crazy. Changing her color, eye color, shoes, pants, suit, you even realize you can change your lip size and jaw line. Every single thing on your body you can change. Wait...does that mean..."wooah!" You say looking down your pants. "I'll keep that regular for now." After you become satisfied with your changes you finally leave the room and meet Alyssa outside. "Finally what took you so lo-woah what did you do to your face? Did you put on makeup or something?" She asked. "No." I said blushing. "Oh no I like it." Alyssa said "it's just I've never noticed I guess." She finished giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.
After driving for seemed like an eternity you finally arrive at the club. You walk inside meeting some friends and noticing all the envious looks you are getting. As a small smile sets upon your lips your best friend, john, saunters over. "Hey james! Looking extra good today. Tryna get a new bitch?" John drunkenly said. "Dude you've been here for like an hour how are you this drunk already?" You say playfully punching him in the shoulder. "I dont know what you're talking bout." He slurred glancing at a table full of empty shot glasses and beer glasses. "I gotta tell you something." You nervously say shuffling your feet but stopping as your nice black dress shoes turned to brown dance shoes. You quickly turn them back and look John In the face when you just come out with the whole story. "I can change my appearance by will. Like photoshop but I have to make specific movements. Like this." You explain waving my hand across my chest. John stared in awe as your red suit turned to dark green and back again with the wave of your hand. "Wait does this mean that you change your...you know...size?" "Yes." You chuckled "that was the first thing I did when I found out." You say. John leaned in close then whispering to me. "How long can you make it?" "Knock it off John." You laugh standing up. "I'll be back."
You go into the bathroom and find the mirror to experiment some more. You decide itd be funny to make you as ugly as possible. You flip through face choices, weight, height this and that when you finally end up with the ugliest thing you have ever seen. You look with disgust at your wide eyes and crooked toothed smile. You have acne everywhere some pimples oozing on your face. You have to many chins to count and stand only five feet tall exactly. You have ugly tattoos all over your body with many piercings including your lip. You raise your hand to your mouth to smell your breath which you can also choose and it smells like rotten eggs. You laugh and wave your hand over your face to go back. Nothing happened... you try again this time slower. "No... no no no." You whisper. You purse your lips to change them back but they stay the same. You make a squeezing gesture to get rid of the acne but it still oozes. "Damnit!" You tell starting to cry a little. You desperately try everything to change it all back to normal but alas you stay the same. As you fall to your knees sobbing you look up at the ceiling, "Damn you God!" You scream as loud as you can.
r/nudelicous
| 2021-01-02T06:02:54 | 2021-01-02T02:14:08 | 131 | 45 |
[WP] Humanity has reset 3 times in the past. Whenever the human race reaches mars, we are met by a supreme alien race asking for the answer to 'The question'. You are the astronaut who has to answer. If you answer incorrectly, Humanity resets again.
|
**Greetings, human! We meet again!**
And you are?
**Mars. Bruno Mars. No, not that one.**
I can tell. You're seven feet tall and green.
**And yet I am the better dancer. Go figure. Anyhow, here we are.**
What do you mean "we meet again"?
**Here's the deal, Skippy.**
My name is Lance. Lance Astronaut. Of the Connecticut Astronauts.
**It is your earth year 2075. We've been keeping an eye on things on your planet. So far, so good. You cured AIDS and cancer, the president's husband won the Nobel Prize for the research that led you here, and you even managed to stop saying LOL. That was the one that shocked us the most.**
So many teenage funeral pyres... (shakes head sadly) Anyhow, nice to meet you. So what can you do us for?
**Not so fast, Lance. See, this is the fourth time humanity has come this far. Everytime you reached us, you failed a simple task. You need to answer a question to make it to the next level of this game we're all playing: Universe 2000. Only several billion levels to go after this one. You're at Mars. Next stop is Jupiter, because Venus is for suckers. You must answer the question -- one question -- to reach the next level of evolution or the whole thing resets to the big bang. Believe me, those easy levels are long, boring, and take millions of years to play out. So get it right this time, ok?**
OK.
**Silence! It is time for you to answer the question. Seriously, get it right for once, would you?**
Hey now! Don't take that tone with me! I went to Yale. I majored in astrophysics. I've worked with the top scientific minds of this century. Ever since I was a child, I held nothing but awe for the frontier that is the universe. I have always been driven by the goal of finding out who and what we are, and *where* we are in the scheme of things. It's what we do on Earth. I come to you, oh so humbly, reaching out to an obviously higher intelligence, ready to bring myself and my fellow human beings to our place at the cosmic dinner table. I am confident that we are ready. You may ask your question.
**How big is your penis?**
Nine--
*GAME OVER -- PLAY AGAIN?*
**EDIT: Typo.**
|
"Houston, we have landing, I repeat, we have landing."
The spherical metal craft touched down noiselessly, small reddish-brown puffs rising from where the landing gear had disturbed the ground. In every direction, the empty, sun-bleached wasteland of the Red Planet stretched away until it melted into the horizon.
Not that Avery could see any of this. A window would have been a liability and extra cost, so NASA had unsurprisingly not gone for it. Avery only knew he had landed by the gentle bump, akin to the jolt one experiences when an inexperienced driver stops at a red light. Very anti-climatic. But he had landed, and would be the first human ever to walk on another planet. *Take that, Neil Armstrong!*
As Avery undid his harness, a voice crackled through his headset. "This is Houston. Landing is confirmed. Please begin exploration of Mars. We will maintain audio communication and record your observations. Please confirm."
"Roger that, Houston." Avery finished powering down his craft, flipping switches and turning dials on a control board that looked like something out of a 50s Bond movie. Moving to the door, he disengaged the airlock; it could now be opened by hand. Avery took a deep breath. "Here we go, Houston." Firmly gripping the wheel mounted on the door, he turned and was rewarded by the metallic sounds of bolts sliding back. A slight push, and Avery became the first human to set eyes on Mars.
It was beautiful, in a way. A minimalist landscape, with much more color than Avery had expected. There were hills and valleys. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pang of homesickness for Earth, but he pushed it away. Hesitating for just the fraction of a second, he stepped down from the space craft.
"Today, mankind takes the next step in his continuing journey into the cosmos. Humanity cannot be bound-" Avery paused. His com had gone completely dead. Usually there was static to indicate the connection, but all he heard was the sound of his own breathing inside the suit. "Houston?" There was no answer. *Of course there isn't.* Avery cursed softly. Lowering his head, he pawed the back of his suit with a gloved hand, doing his best to inspect his com. He could barely feel the box through his mittens. It was no use.
Sighing, Avery raised his head, preparing to make the best of the situation - and was met by 5 aliens in front of him.
They were brownish in color and looked like misshapen piles of dirt. Two large black spots near the top of the creatures reminded Avery of eyes, though he had no idea if that was indeed their use. Of course, none of this registered consciously, as Avery was doing everything he could not to wet himself. If not for the suit, he knew he would have fallen over. As it was, he simply stood there, goggling.
"What is life's final objective?"
If Avery had thought he was crazy before, this last occurrence confirmed it. The voice seemed to come from inside his helmet, but more than that - inside his brain. Completely flummoxed, Avery rolled his eyes upward, like a child trying to look inside of his own skull for the voice. It didn't work, clearly.
"What is life's final objective?" The question came again, but this time there was something else with. Amusement, maybe? And some impatience. Sadness. Despondency.
With effort, Avery shook his head, closing and reopening his eyes several times. The aliens were still there. *Dammit.* He swallowed. "The what?" He was surprised at how normal his voice sounded, under the circumstances.
He sensed, rather than saw or heard, the alien make the equivalent of a sigh. "The final objective, human. Of life. What is it? Has your species learned that this time?" *This time?! What the holy hell...*
"Uh..." Avery gave the hint of a shrug. The alien did not react. "The final outcome of life? It's to... explore... and learn new things..." Immediately, Avery was overwhelmed by emotion. Sorrow, anguish, despair, grief - all these emotions and hundreds more too intense for words poured into him from every side. He was paralyzed, his eyes rolling back into his head. He fell to his knees involuntarily; the alien now stood a head above him and just inches from his face.
The torrent subsided. Spent, Avery raised his eyes to look at the creature in front of him. Again, he felt sadness, though it was a mere fraction of the emotion he had experienced moments before.
"No," said the alien. "That's not right. I'm sorry..." And in that moment, Avery was immediately plunged into complete terror. Without understanding how, he knew he had made a grievous mistake that would be paid for not only by him, but by everyone he knew and loved, everyone he had ever met. He tried to move but he seemed to have lost control of his limbs. Beneath the pulsing terror, he again felt sadness.
Then, as if being sucked away through a straw, Avery felt his consciousness slipping. He was being pulled into blackness, the deepest and most complete darkness he had ever known. He tried to fight, but he knew it was already to late. He was slipping into the black hole of his mind, and he would never find his way out. Before the darkness covered him, he received one final message from the alien in front of him, the alien who was his worst nightmare and the last thing he would ever see.
"I am sorry. I had really hoped that this would be the time."
Avery heard these words as though from a distance, with the very last shreds of his mind. Then he was gone, swallowed by the blackness. His body keeled over, feet from his spaceship. In every direction, the empty, sun-bleached wasteland of the Red Planet stretched away until it melted into the horizon.
| 2015-02-11T21:10:12 | 2015-02-11T19:54:20 | 55 | 18 |
[WP][TT] You crash on as island. The locals, impressed with your technology, start showing you their magic. You have a scientific explanation for everything, but one thing still puzzles you.
|
Michael stared at the scene in front of him in utter disbelief. "How is is he doing this?"
"We told you," said one of the villagers, "our shaman has magical powers."
"That's preposterous, magic doesn't exist," replied Michael.
"He summoned lightning with his staff!" exclaimed a boisterous villager.
"That thing is just a crude Tesla coil," Michael said visibly perturbed.
"What about the flames he shot from his hand?" another villager chimed in.
"Seriously? That was just flash paper he ignited with a piece of flint! But this... This is wholly different!" Michael said almost breathlessly.
He stared out at the monolithic structure in front of him. It bent and warped under the heat, defying all the logic that was available to him. And at the bottom of the pillar, a molten liquid was pooling, silver in hue.
"You confirmed what material this was before we started," said the shaman, "and as for the gas, we pulled that straight out of the wreckage of your jet plane. You can't deny what is happening here!"
"It's impossible," muttered Michael. "Jet fuel can't melt steel beams"
|
The wreck was behind me, the fuselage of the plane belching an acrid black plume into the still air. It rose in a single, thick column, and the smell of it clung to my clothes as I walked. My shirt was badly ripped, and a piece of metal had gashed my left shoulder painfully, but beyond that I was unhurt. I sent up a small, silent prayer to the God I didn’t wholly believe in, vowing that if I got out of this in one piece –I was thinking here of the insurance firm’s lawyers, and what they would slap on me after the plane’s destruction, not of cannibals or crocodiles- I would clean my life up a bit. Then I laughed, almost, because I realised how ridiculous it was to be thinking that. That was exactly what you were *supposed* to say after crashing on an island; perhaps all those professors declaring we’d all been brainwashed by popular culture might have something after all.
I had crashed the Cessna, a small light thing not designed for the close flying I had failed to pull off, on the beach. The fringes of the jungle into which I set off were easy going, the brush not very thick, and I saw very few animals; I supposed they must have noticed immediately that a creature foreign to their home had strayed in, and were watching from a distance to see how it panned out. As I got further into the trees, though, the tangled mass of creepers, shrubs and rubbery trunks grew closer and closer together, and I was struggling. It became surprisingly humid even a relatively small distance into the jungle, and I was acutely conscious of the fact that I had not prepared for this sort of venture: I am a photographer, not an explorer, and stamina is not something I have in spades. After several hours –hours during which I would happily have taken off my shirt or, even all my clothes, were it not for the drone of insects- I stumbled upon a muddy path and, heaving a sigh of relief, began to follow it.
I knew already what was on the island. I may not have been planning for an excursion myself, but I had flown over it several times over the last couple of days, and I could remember the general layout of the scenery. In the centre was an area of low hills, none very large; to the west and north, in which region I had pancaked my plane, gentle dunes of the calendar type gave way to jungle; and in the east and south, lighter forest alternated with clearings before being cut off by cliffs over the sea. Near the southernmost point of the island, in one of the larger clearings, was the smaller village; the other, considerably larger, lay between the hills in the centre. It was to this, I believed, that the path probably went.
I was not particularly nervous. I had, of course, read my *King Solomon’s Mines* and suchlike when a child, and had for a time believed all those who live on islands or in jungles to be not far removed from Man Friday’s compatriots in terms of gastronomical habits and general savagery; however, my years working for the *Caribbean Post* had quickly put to the torch whatever subconscious relics of such ideas still remained. I had never met any of the inhabitants of this island, but remembered being told that they occasionally ventured off it to barter with nearby islands, sometimes even coming so far as Limpao, the nearest city some six hundred miles away; I was confident that they would speak English and know how to contact somebody to come and fetch me.
The sun was beginning to set when I finally saw the village, and the hum of mosquitoes was making me increasingly sick. I wondered if the villagers had mosquito nets, and regretfully decided they probably didn’t; I hadn’t brought any anti-malarials with me. I continued walking. My legs were sore and scratched by thorns I had been forced to push through before I found the path, and I was becoming more nervous about meeting the villagers. I knew very little about them, beyond that they had been encountered once or twice at the markets in other locations. Something, I felt sure, was evading my memory; I stopped to think, glad of the feeble excuse for a brief rest, and tried to bring it to mind. Then I wondered: why was it that I knew they had been seen on other islands? Why that? I had never been told that about any other villagers; it was always taken as read that they bartered like any others. Perhaps- no, I had it now. I had been told, just after I handed in my flight plans, that these islanders were unusual in how seldom they were seen elsewhere: they had been met, but so infrequently that it was obvious that they eschewed contact with the outside world except in cases of emergency. I chewed my lip, once again going over how I had handled the plane and once again noticing the dozen things I had neglected to do, and carried on walking.
| 2015-06-11T09:14:09 | 2015-06-11T08:01:37 | 623 | 66 |
[WP] Humans are the deadliest, and rarest, species in the known universe. Often, search parties go missing due to a singular encounter with a human ship. It has recently come to light that there is an entire planet full of them.
|
"BETTING CLOSED" the sign flashed. the crowd roared at the appearance of Ikken Tren, the current champion. Flanked by her longtime rival Kuu Hy. The two were formidable, each with dozens of wins in conventional bouts. Kuu had been undefeated in the arenas until their battle with Tren.
"So, hear what we're fighting today?" Kuu gurgled. "Just some exotic from a backwater, apparently it's an extreme-world species." Tren clicked.
A hush fell over the crowd as the platform rose in the center of the arena. The speakers blared "Today, we've procured a rare delicacy for your viewing pleasure! A live human! If any of you do not know, these things need some of the most corrosive and reactive substances, just to live! They're renowned far and wide for their adaptive nature and extreme violence, we're sure you've heard the stories of even gilrak empire ships picked clean, crews dead, and we managed to capture one alive just to bring down for you! It's rare to even capture a hundred per standard cycle."
Tren shook visibly, "I've seen these things in the beast pit at krigga station, just one slaughtered ten traxiz, and the guards they sent in. Whole place ended up getting found out and shut down." Instinctively pulling in her insectoid wings to keep them from harm. Humans couldn't fly, so she'd keep it as a trump card to overwhelm this thing before it could figure it out.
"So what, we're champions, we're easily worth twenty rookies" Kuu's boastful lies showing as his tentacled grip tightened on his spears, His gelatinous body devoting more mass to them to keep his distance.
As the platform's dome disengaged and receded into the floor, there it stood. Easily as tall as Tren, covered by a light pressure suit and a mask, as it couldn't breathe in their atmosphere. It raised a gloved fist with a knife. A sword was gripped by it's right. Screams of horror and cheers for their champions filled the air.
The announcer blared once again "Seems we're just getting a report now... They found an entire planet of these things, looks like we're going to be getting a regular showing!"
As quickly as the roar had begun, it was silenced. the human was rushing the champions! Kuu immediately went on the offensive as well, stabbing with all four spears in rapid succession, the razors clanging as they were easily batted aside, then it began.
A clattering as the human struck off one of the gooey limbs near where it was attached to the spear. "Warning flammable, warning flammable" called Illya, their AI as some of the goop got on their suit.
Tren circled the pair, Kuu was being reckless and not leaving her an opening to move in "fool attacks first and thinks never." she thought as the human put their plan into action.
Blocking with both weapons was risky, but it hid the attack that sealed Kuu's fate. They pushed the emergency pressure vent on their mask while shearing the survival knife's flint to make a spark. The screeching was answered with horror and glee from the crowd "Oh that trademark adaptability, using their own atmosphere compressor to kill!"
This was her chance, Kuu had wounded it's leg and the thing's back was turned as it made sure Kuu was fully burnt away. Wings unfurling, almost silent Tren managed to land a fatal blow, running the beast right through the midsection! It even dropped it's main weapon in shock.
"damage detected, medical attention suggested" The human's knife flashed out nearly punching through Tren's exoskeleton in several places. She tried to retrieve her spear, but the human had dropped it's weapon to grab the haft that had stuck through! She didn't know that human anatomy had the vital organs high in the abdomen.
And then it was over. The human twisted, using it's weight advantage to bowl Tren over and pin her under a boot. A heavy, repeated crunching filled the air along with wails of fear and despair at the loss of money from those whom had bet 10 to 1 on the champions.
"And that's the end of the former champion and our pernicious firebra-" The announcer cut out mid-sentence, replaced by a coarse tone. "Illya, we live?! Good. Listen up, fuckers! I am Kate, security officer of the Earth Expeditionary Force Vessel Minnow." The human gesturing to itself. "I've called in the full armada, and given them the access to your comm networks. we now know all your stations and homeworlds, and we. are. pissed. Illya, has the minnow locked us? Transfer out." The human glowed for a brief moment then disappeared.
The station's emergency klaxons all began emitting proximity alarms due to incoming munitions.
|
*"Any idea where we are?*" Captain Ti'Brex croaked, his voice carrying his blunt displeasure at the current predicament. *"I didn't put you in charge of the flight node to get us lost the middle of nowhere, boy!*
*"Sir..."* Another voice piped from a door that had silently creaked open, unheard and muffled under the ferocious rage of the veteran captain. *"I've managed to figure out where we are. If we keep going straight for two galactic leagues, we'll end up within spitting distance of a habitable planet."* The speaker was far more inexperienced, merely a token recruit to bolster the ship's numbers so it could be approved for interstellar flight by the council. He had seen less action that the surface of a planet 7.5 billion kilometres from it's parent star, but was still kept, mostly serving to deliver messages.
*" You heard the bitch,"* Captain Ti'Brex growled, *"Get this ship over there as soon as fucking possible, or I'll decorate the back wall with you!"* The navigator was visibly unnerved, swiftly pressing the button that blasted the ship into hyperspeed. He counted the seconds until they would show up in the system. Two galactic leagues was a laughably short distance, and hyperspeed was absurdly fast. He hovered his short finger above the button, nodding to count down when he should press. With one final roll of his shoulders, he pushed the button, watching as space untwisted around him, and he saw the world layed out before him.
He stared in marvel at the beautiful blue and green sphere laid out before him. From here he could see the twinkling of the oceans, and was imagining the cool breeze of the flatland plains blowing on his face, but such was an ill timed distraction, for without his guidance the ship merely carried on.
*"ARE YOU FUCKING DAFT?!"* the cantankerous captain shrieked, leaving the ears of everyone who had the displeasure of standing near him in a state of ringing. He grabbed onto the nearest object, a worn leather chair, as the ship accelerated into the planet's atmosphere, flames covering the view of the cockpit, as the navigator desperately tried to slow down, but to no avail. His sheer terror was all that was captured on his face, as the G-force rendered him unconscious, and he careened into the fall with headsplitting force, not even able to slump as the ship rumbled and shook, falling towards the southernmost point of what appeared to be a large island of sorts. Captain Ti'Brex closed his weary eyes in terror as the ground neared him faster and faster, before everything went dark.
When he awoke, it was as if he was in a different place. The ship had practically merged with the ground if had collided with. Vast wooden pillars lay around, on top of and inside the cockpit. There was glass everywhere. His hand absentmindedly reached to wipe an alien liquid off his face, only to realise it was blood, and subsequently realise whose blood it was. He glared at the mess that had once been a navigator. A tree had smashed into exactly where his body had been on the wall, launching gore and viscera all over the place.
A platoon of soldiers raced into the room, staring in shock at what had happened. Ti'Brex groaned. He knew what'd have to happen. It'd happened too many times before.
*"Listen up you lily livered pussies! I did not earn the title of High Major Commodore of the First Legion Third Multiplication Double Admiral Artillery Vanguard Company for no reason! I've been here, done just fucking that! Grab your rifles, no private, I don't give a fuck about how many broken bones you have, get out this ship, carve yerself a nice chunk o' land, fight back whatever backwood savages come gallivantin' up ta us, and wait for the rescue ship. Easy peasy!"* His subordinates, just as tired and angry as their captain (but for completely different reasons) gave an unenthusiastic roar of approval, hosting rifles and battered limbs into the air. Following their brave, and either incredibly brave or stupid captain into the open air around them. They peered through their scopes and desperately tried to ignore their injuries as the crept out into the woods. They covered behind trees, fingers squeezing against triggers, as their weapons hummed with energy. They observed curious, but harmless wildlife, evident by the fact that they ran away as soon as a snarl or shout was sent their way. *"Right. I reckon we've got this land under our thumb now... Go fix yourselves up or somethin... I'm gonna search for food or something."*
Ti'Brex roamed towards the sound of flowing water, figuring that was the easiest place to find resources. Food was in order, but he supposed some drink was too. He had long abandoned his crouched posture, instead he now boldly strode through the bizarre scenery. He gazed up at the vast wooden structures and their beautiful shimmering tops. These were easily hundreds of centileagues tall, which excited him. If the empire were here, it'd put this land to *damn* good use, and he was as shit going to do the same... But food was in order first and foremost. His pacing was abruptly halted by the sounds of a bizarre creature and bounding steps flying through the hedges around him. He stared dead ahead in awe, as a bizarre four legged furry creature erupted from a bush beside him, a quizzical tilt of the head confirming it's confusion. Any sane person would run, but Ti'Brex wasn't the running kind.
*"Hooo, boy! What a beeauuuuty!"* he cried out *"Not even Drakon war hounds are this impressive... He just had to have a rodeo on this magnificent beast! Halt ya big dumb mammal,*" he called out as he tried to approach it, only to jump back as the confused monster snarled in annoyance. *"HEY* Don't you snap at m-"*
**"Johnno, where the fuck ave ya gone ya daft dog?"** Abruptly cut off the captain. Ti'Brex stared up in stark terror as the creature that called out emerged from the shrubbery. Huge, ugly and dumb, the human stood before him. He almost wet himself. Even as the tallest among his crew, he didn't even reach the human's kneecap. Him and the human both awkwardly stared into eachother's eyes, while the dog yipped and pined next to the owner.
**"Listen here, you ugly little thing, don't you dare touch my dog,"** it hissed, voice dripping with venom and putting the inherent violence withing humanity on full display. **"I don't care what sort of deformed... raccoon you are, but don't even think you get to touch my dog."** Ti'Brex ignored the creature's words, mulling over options of how to escape, *Ti'Brex style.* The human spouted incomprehensible gibberish, muddled by an even more bizarre accent, even for human standards.
*"NO PRISONERS!"* Ti'Brex roared, lifting his rifle from his shoulder and unloading rounds of lasers into the beast, before leaping onto his majestic war hound. Instead of any good steed, the mammal went berserk, running around in circles crying out, presumably for it's pack that the human had unfortunately separated it from. His adrenaline was cut short by the human grabbing him by the scruff, and flinging him backwards into one of the wooden structures. Ti'Brex groaned... he saw the bones jutting through his skin. Game over. He lifted his rarely used transceiver, pinging his squad back at the ship. *"Boys... I'm royally fucked... Human... Big, angry and it just killed me... Ge"* His voice, and life, were cut short by the brutal and swift boot smashing his face into the surface he rested against.
*"H-h-h-human...?"* Private Wiker's voice shook as he uttered the word. *"Get the defences up, now. We're doomed..."*
*"Private..."* A tentative and audibly terrified scanner voice from across an eviscerated room in what was once a functioning starship. *"The atmospheric scanner is still functioning... I just pulled a scan of the planet."*
*"And?"* Wiker responded, his patience visibly wearing.
The scanner took a sharp intake of breath followed by an anguished sob. *"This world is crawling with humans... Over seven billion..."*
Wiker had no response.
*"And there's a few thousand headed this way..."*
They sat in glum silence, too shocked to face the crowd and inform them of the menace approaching.
In the middle of a forest in Scotland, a small and broken group of pint sized aliens quivered in fear, as helicopters, military vans and cars collapsed onto their location like an avalanche.
| 2017-11-08T21:28:26 | 2017-11-08T21:05:15 | 119 | 32 |
[WP] The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, "How? How were you able to summon me?!" You're standing in the corner flipping through your grandma's cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, "I don't know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!"
|
I only wanted to make chicken soup, I swear...so why exactly was there a purple horned creature in the middle of my kitchen nude?!
Grandma warned me to be careful when cooking as to not summon “beings” but the woman’s eighty-nine with early set dementia, I can’t say I really trust her judgment at the moment but when two of the six eyes stared back at me, I wish I’d taken her more seriously.
I paced back and forth, flipping through grandmas old cookbook when the...the thing started shouting “HOW?! HOW WERE YOU ABLE TO SUMMON ME”?!
Without thinking I screamed back out of fear and panic “I DUNNO YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE CHICKEN SOUP”
That’s when the conversation I’d had with my grandma played back in my mind and I suddenly remembered...
“Clarity sweetheart, if you’re going to be using my ole spell book here, just remember to be careful, some of those spells can summon...beings”
I waved her off, paying no mind to her calling it a “spell book”, I hummed in response and just told her thank you and went home.
That when it dawned on me...I’d used another “recipe” two days ago, the creature and I turned around when hearing a roar.
The book dropped as we stared up at what was quite possibly the scariest monster I could ever imagine, the demon from earlier and I stared at each other. Both muttering a quiet...
“Oh shit”...
A/N: I know it’s not that good and I’m improving a lot each day but I hope you guys enjoy my take on the prompt...
|
"Oh, gee golly Miss Molly! I think I went and summoned one o' them there devils!" screamed Walter as his saucepan glowed molten red and the demon materialized upon his stove.
"Foolish mortal! Doest thou think thy prayers will be answered! There will be only suffering!" The demon, a ghastly, pig-like creature shrouded in shadowy black flames marched toward Walter.
"Oh golly gosh, Mr. Demon! I didn't mean nothin' by it! I was just followin' Granny Necro's recipe! See, it's all here in this book." Walter flipped to the page in question. The demon grabbed the book, his claw searing Walter's flesh.
"This is the Necronomicon. You were reading the Necronomicon. The page is literally titled, 'To Summon a Demon'."
"Yessir! A spicy, chicken-y demon in m'belly! Just like Granny Necro used to make!" Walter rubbed his belly, thinking of his childhood, when Granny Necro, clad in her favorite black robe, would give him a delicious soup on cold, rainy days, made with chicken broth, her special blend of spices, and the blood of classmates he would bring to her house.
"There's no soup in this book, dipshit. It's the book of the fucking damned!" The shadowy flames surrounding the demon intensified.
"Oh, Lordy! You're gettin' real mad there, Mister Demon! I know! How's about a human sacrifice? I'll be right back!"
"What? Nah, man, I don't really go in for that shit..." but Walter had already run off into another room. The demon awkwardly looked around the kitchen.
"Linoleum... Kind of a modern-looking pattern. I wonder if they got the work done in the last few years. Contractor did a decent job. Hard to find good people these day-"
"MISTER DEMON!" Walter bounded into the room, with a young child in tow. "This is my daughter Kelly! I offer her to you, Lord Darkness! Take her soul and spare me!"
"Dude, I don't really wanna-" but it was too late. Walter picked up a nearby cleaver and embedded it in Kelly's skull. She fell to the ground, her lifeless body twitching as her eyes glazed over.
"DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK! OH MY FUCKING GOD!" The demon recoiled in horror. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Walter went pale.
"Oh golly gee, I really messed up bad. You don't like it? Not a big fan of human sacrifices? Maybe you're one o' them cannibal demons? I got an idea!" Walter chopped off Kelly's hand and threw it into a frying pan. He added butter and salt, flipping it occasionally. "I know you THINK you've eaten tasty children before, but wait'll you try my Kelly! I kept her chained up in the basement most of her life, so the meat's real tender."
"I don't wanna eat your fuckin' daughter, man! You... you got problems. This is some fucked up shit, man!" The shadowy flames had largely subsided. The demon no longer looked so frightening. Still, Walter was not encouraged by this. He had another brilliant idea, and ran out of the room. A few minutes later, he returned, with a young infant in his arms.
"Oh gee willickers Mister Demon! Ok, so you don't want to eat my Kelly, that's fine. I can tell you're a demon of impeccable taste! Only the finest children for you! See this? It's my son, Adam! Barely a month old, this one is!" The demon backed away, fearing the worst.
"No, Walter, man, listen please! I don't wanna eat any of your kids. Look, I'll just go, ok? No more demon. You win! Just don't hurt the baby, man." Walter, however, would not be deterred.
"No, golly, Mister Demon! You just THINK you don't wanna eat my kids. But Adam here, he's still got that soft spot on his head. You can just crack him like an egg, see!" Walter held Adam by the feet, and dropped him onto the hard, tasteful linoleum floor. Adam's head split right in two. Walter picked up both halves, offering one to the demon, while sipping the blood and cerebral fluid from the other. "Mmm! Tasty AND nutritious! Come on, Mister Demon, try my son's innards!"
"Fuck! Fuck! You just killed a fucking baby, man! You're fucked up in the head, Walter! You got problems! I...I'm tellin' Jesus what you fuckin' did, man! He's gonna fuck you up!" With that, the demon vanished in a puff of smoke. Water huffed.
"Gee golly, the nerve o' that fella! I invite him into my home and kill two of my children for him, and he just leaves! Oh well, his loss. More of my children for me!"
And with that, Walter happily continued to eat his dead infant child's brains.
| 2018-07-21T22:08:50 | 2018-07-21T21:23:34 | 46 | 20 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
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Not a day would pass that I wouldn't look into the mirror and wonder if I am stuck in a dream. Now I am sure of it. There can be no other explanation. I should have passed from this realm long ago, and now I seem to be having hallucinations that only happen in dreams. Or perhaps nightmares.
Death himself visited me for coffee yesterday morning. He told me that things were now going to proceed normally, as if nothing had happened. I asked him to be a bit more clear.
"I missed your hourglass during an audit a few decades ago."
"*My* hourglass?" There was more than a little confusion in my question.
"Yes, yes. Everyone gets one. Well, at least one. Yours had been missing and.. I didn't notice. Just recently I found it under the desk in my home office."
"Home office?"
"Yes. I don't like going to the office on the weekend, so the nearly empty ones come home with me." Death began to fidget with his coffee cup.
"I was supposed to die that weekend? When was that?"
"Yes, well... Well it was on your 32nd birthday. Water skiing, I believe. Would not have been a fun day." He stopped tapping his finger on the cup.
"Water skiing? I don't ski."
"I know. But you were supposed to go that day. Do you remember why you didn't?" he asked.
"I barely remember that birthday, to be honest. A bit too much booze perhaps?"
"Interesting. Well, I must be off." he suddenly seemed agitated.
"WAIT! I still don't understand all of this. ANY of this!" I complained.
"Don't worry. We will see each other soon enough, and I can explain more when you are finished with this world."
I looked down at my cold coffee, then back at Death, but he had gone. The rest of the day was wasted by wandering aimlessly through town. Wondering if I should plan my own funeral. Would that be strange?
This morning, I looked in the mirror, and was startled to see a change. Still in a dream. Definitely. My hair was changing color. Like my interrupted timeline was catching up to me, a bit compressed and now filling my life rapidly.
That part could make a bit of sense, perhaps. The part that brings my mind to a halt, is a different problem with this sudden change. My salt and pepper hair was now nearly completely brown. A very suave and smooth brown.
It seems my life had been turned upside down.
|
“What do you mean we’re being audited?” rasped the Old Man.
“I’m…I’m really not sure, Sir…” the thrall whispered, barely audible.
“The scroll, well it just appeared pinned to the door.”
The Old Man rubbed his temples. This had never happened before; the Big Man upstairs always left his department alone. Why now? Could something have possibly slipped through the cracks?
“Very well. Whatever distaste I have for being micromanaged, it is usually best to play by the rules.” The Old Man sighed as he rose from his chair. His joint creaked and popped as his weight rested upon his feet for the first time in many, many years. “Fetch the torch and have Charon raise the boat,” he instructed the thrall. “We’re going to the Vault.”
…
As he combed his way through the endless shelves, the Old Man racked his memory for anything that might give him an idea of where to start.
“It must have been recent,” he mused to himself. “Anything over a millennium ago and this wouldn’t have shown up now.”
He paused as he came to a gap between the shelves. On one side, the shelf was marked “MCD-MCDXCIX”, on the other side “MCC-MCCXCIX”. The Old Man preferred the Arabic numerals, but tradition is tradition, either way he was staring at the empty space where the 14th century belonged. He scratched his head, could he have made a mistake in there? It had been such a busy century for him, it was possible something might have slipped by. He hobbled his way over to the subsection of the Vault where, carved over the stone entryway, the words “BLACK DEATH” were carved.
The Old Man chuckled to himself as he began to scan the room. “Black Death, the humans do have their dramatic flair. As if I wanted that disease to keep me from a moments rest for all those years.”
He searched the rows for days, but nothing stood out as anything less than his usual work. The people whose hourglasses were contained in this room all died centuries ago. The relics were dusty and dark, all the life they once held had long since faded into nothing. The Old Man, tired and irate, sat himself down at the desk he had moved into the room all those years ago, a temporary work station to keep up with the never-ending workload. He collected his patience, resolving that he must have been wrong to start the search here. As he stood up, a glint of light caught his dark sunken eye. His whole body aching, the Old Man dropped to his knees and reached his arm under the desk. His fingers grasped at air until they landed upon a warm cylinder. He pulled out the relic and examined it closely.
It was an hourglass the same as all the rest in this forgotten corner. However, this one still glowed with the fervor that had long since left the others. “It is time to pay this mortal a long overdue visit,” the Old Man declared before vanishing into the darkness.
…
The Old Man felt the spray of the sea before he even opened his eyes. It had been a long time since he set foot onto the mortal plane, and although he claimed to hate it here, he couldn’t help but take a deep breath and enjoy the fresh air. He looked out over the scene before him: a small cottage tucked away on a hillside overlooking the sea. The grass was green, the air crisp, and the sky grey and misty. Modest. He took one more deep breath before taking off at a brisk pace down the path to the cottage, renewed vigor coursing through his body.
After a knock on the door, the Old Man waited. A few moments later a man opened the door. He looked to be about forty years old, but his eyes studied the Old Man with wisdom and exhaustion beyond his years.
“Who are you?” the man asked curtly.
“I think you know who I am,” replied the Old Man with a tone neither kind nor bitter. “You should have been expecting me after all these years.”
To the Old Man’s surprise, the man was not frightened, rather his eyes hardened and his brow furrowed. “About damn time,” the man growled. “You’d better have a good explanation for yourself.”
The Old Man chuckled and brushed past the man into the cottage. He took a seat near the hearth where a fire was quietly crackling
away.
“I’m terribly sorry for the delay,” he began as he stared into the fire. “There was a…mistake that shouldn’t have happened. I do apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience?” the man barked. “I have been alive for over SEVEN HUNDRED YEARS and you come in here all coy and call that
an inconvenience?!”
The Old Man’s eyes suddenly shifted from the fire to meet the gaze
of the man.
“Watch your tone with me, son of Adam,” he said firmly. As he spoke, the room became very still and began to darken. “I apologize for what happened to you. Trust me, this was not a purposeful act of malice. You should consider yourself fortunate, not
many mortals have seen all that you have.”
“Is it fortunate?” the man replied quietly. “Is it fortunate to have watched every person I have ever cared about grow old and die while I live on? I have endured more suffering than you can imagine. I lost my family, my children died as old men before my eyes. I have seen more pain than any man should ever have to endure, but none the less I lived on.”
The man’s words became steadily louder until he was shouting again.
“Yet you claim it is good fortune that I have experienced all of this! I never wanted an eternal life! I wish I had never been born!”
At this, the Old Man stood suddenly, seeming to fill the whole room with his frail body.
“As you wish,” he said as he withdrew the man’s hourglass from his coat pocket. He looked at it for a moment before crushing it in his palm. The man looked bewildered before he understood what that meant for him. He began to change, growing younger by the moment. A man, an adolescent, a child, an infant, and then nothing. The old man brushed the sand from his hand into the hearth and disappeared.
| 2018-10-03T08:25:36 | 2018-10-03T07:47:28 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty.
|
"Hey. Has any of you seen my cat?"
Jasmine knew that was an odd question to ask each of them. Every species aboard the ship seemed to have some sort of disdain for it.
"Your cat?" One of them asked, their eyes shrinking at the short and simple word.
"Yeah. You know? Little fuzzy thing. Four legs. A tail? My cat. Sarah?"
That sparked a wave of quick arguing and eventually shouting amongst the rest of the crew. While she didn't have a complete grasp on all the different languages, she understood they all knew Sarah's name. They kept screaming it in a variety of tongues she couldn't yet grasp and it was grating on her nerves.
"What do you mean you can't find it?!"
While she was all for him joining the search effort, Jasmine just wanted Durk to put her back down. He was really strong and it didn't help anyone if he was scared.
"Durk, put me down. What's wrong with you??"
"Your apex predator is lose on the ship?! Are you mad? Why would unleash such a thing on us! I thought we were friends?"
"Slow down!" She snapped, "What are you talking about?"
"You let that thing loose! And it's in here with us. We're going to die because of you."
"Durk, it's just a cat. They're harmless."
"Only to you. Something with so many teeth and claws. It's only a matter of time before it attacks. The smaller of us are especially at risk."
"Sarah won't hurt anyone. She loves you guys. She rubbed your leg."
They were interrupted by another frantic crewmate. To both of their concern, she was covered in mild scratches, and she carried a frenzied look.
"Has anyone seen Bimoe?! She was right behind me!"
"Nari? Where's my cat?"
"Kitty?!" Nari cried, "That thing? We were checking our defense array. And this thing pounced on us-"
"Wait, wait, wait-" Jasmine stopped. "The defense array?"
"Yes. Jazz, Bimoe was behind me!" Nari cried again.
Everyone took off running. Most for the fear of the safety of their armory specialist. One for her pet.
The little red dots scattered around the room still danced as they entered.
"Behold! I have conquered this beast as my own!"
Bimoe had managed to jump on Sarah's collar. While most cats would take this as a serious offense, the lazy Maine Coon simply enjoyed the sensation. Things only went downhill for Bimoe as the cat spotted her real owner, purred, and affectionately rolled onto it's back.
"I was wrong! Help me! Help me!"
The casualties were simple. One case of minor lacerations and one slightly smushed Carzietian. But the real reason for this whole ordeal soon came to light.
"Alright: which one of you ate her catnip?"
---
Having mobile app issues.
Like this story? Criticism and feedback are always welcome! r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
Mick stood on the bridge of the USS Cheesewheel. The first of its kind, large enough to house over ten thousand standard crew, and one human; he felt at home in its colossal rooms and corridors.
“Where’s Duncan now?” he asked his First Officer, Mina.
“Sir, we’ve lost visual. He was last seen near the cargo bay, but all the cameras have been deactivated.” She looked up from her console, and they shared a look that seemed to stretch time as his stomach twisted.
What would kill them first: the beast, if the human couldn’t find it, or a prolonged starvation if their cheese reserves were plundered? Halfway to their destination, with nothing but a seemingly endless sea of empty space for millions of kilometers, they couldn't let the food run out. As a cadet, he'd been in a situation like that before. He shuddered from the memory.
“How many soldiers do we have? We must secure the bay!” Mick rubbed the fur between his ears with a white gloved hand.
“Fifty-seven,” three voices answered at once. Mick looked over to the blind trio who stood against the wall. Though they’d lost their sight long ago—radioactive leakage from a reactor they had prevented from going critical—each had an uncanny understanding of the ship and its personnel. “However, Captain, most of them are protecting the VIPs. Ten beyond the door, guarding the bridge.”
They never should have let the USS Cheesewheel become a quasi-commercial vessel, ferrying tourists from one world to another. If Mick had had his way, they’d still have over a thousand fighting mice on board. But with most of the crew quarters turned into luxury suites, they lacked the room.
“I’ll go myself.” Mick slammed a fist against his console.
“Mick,” Mina’s cheeks blushed. "Captain," she corrected herself.
On the bridge he was Captain and she was First Officer. The familiarity between the two had grown over the past several years. Mick had hoped one day, after retirement, they’d have some kind of future together. Now, the dream seemed like just that—a dream.
“You can’t go alone,” she added, raising from her chair.
“I’ll take five of our best with me,” Mick said as he checked the charge on his blaster. “We’ll find the human”—Mick shook his head—“or that beast he calls Kitty.”
“Let me go with you!” Mina crossed the distance, pulling out her own side blaster.
“No,” he said, wanting to stroke her whiskers, feel the soft tuft of fur on her cheeks. “Someone has to take over command while I’m gone.”
Biting her lip with her two front teeth, Mina nodded. Her hand flew to her forehead. Mick copied the salute. *Goodbye*, he thought, *the USS Cheesewheel will never be in better hands as it is now.*
He broke away before he could change his mind. In her eyes he saw the only future he could ever want that didn’t involve captaining a ship, charting unknown territories. His heart sunk as he crossed the bridge, his every limb feeling weighted down with lead. He felt dozens of eyes on his back, and desired nothing more than to turn and see Mina one last time, but he feared his will would melt like swiss on a hot surface.
Instead of the human door, with its sliding of metal, he entered the small hole in the wall, into darkness.
 
*** ***
The six of them—Mick, and his five grunts—stalked the lonely halls. Another announcement blared from the ship's speakers: *Attention guests and crew! Remain in your quarters until the situation has been resolved.*
Mina’s voice put a falter in his step. He took a breath and tightened his grip on the blaster. Mick looked to his left, and then his right. The five he’d chosen for the mission were the type of mice who lived for this kind of thing. Ex-marines gone mercenary, or as their superiors called them: private contractors. Mick should've felt safe in their company. But that would only come when the cargo bay was secure, and the beast dealt with. He only wished they’d all make it back in one piece.
"Finally getting some action," Arnold said. He bumped fists with Trina and George. "This whole tourism thing was growing stale."
“Why’d we even let the human bring the thing on board?” Jerry asked. Built like a brick cheese-house, the muscles in his arms and chest stood out as he lugged the chain-blaster in front of him. The weapon could fire over a thousand slugs a minute, but it weighed several pounds. Mick doubted he himself could even lift it.
“Where’d he even get that monstrosity?” Sally asked as she peeked around the corner up ahead, one eye closed, the other sighting through the scope on her rifle. “Clear,” she said, and then waved them over.
“Picked it up somewhere on the last planet,” Mick said with a shudder. A world full of humans and the dangerous creatures they called ‘pets’. “Duncan said he could keep it confined to his room.” Mick mentally berated himself. What a terrible decision for a "captain" to make.
Sally turned, laying the rifle against her shoulder as they caught up to her. “Humans and their attachments to lesser beings.” She shook her head.
A massive white paw, like a fatal blur, snatched Sally up into the air. Her rifle clattered to the ground.
With barely a squeak, she was gone.
"Shit,” Mick muttered as he and the rest of them raced forward.
Trina, first to reach the corner, took a knee, and fired a rocket propelled grenade over her shoulder. Mick caught up just in time to watch it explode harmlessly above the fleeing Kitty, leaving a black crater in the hallway wall.
The beast stopped. It turned to them with its eyes glowing an awful green, glaring at them.
Rounds from Jerry's chain-blaster punched the ground near the beast. Close and closer they drew as he turned his body, aiming the thing nearer Kitty. Trina knocked him sideways with her shoulder and shoved his weapon down. When Jerry gave her a confused look, She pointed at the beast.
Dangling from its giant maw, Sally fought for freedom, banging fists and kicking her feet. Kitty barely seemed to noticed. It looked at them as if to say: *you're next.*
With a hard click, Trina engaged the bolt on Sally's fallen rifle, but it was too late.
They were gone.
Mick looked around. Saw the terror they were all trying to mask. Even Arnold, for all his bravado, looked shaken. Mick's eyes dropped to linger on a small splash of blood on the ground where Sally had last stood.
Gone in the blink of an eye, he thought.
Now they were five.
| 2019-11-21T07:46:04 | 2019-11-21T06:54:39 | 181 | 81 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment."
|
At the age of five, I watched my mother have a fatal stroke.
At the age of twelve, I called for ambulances and police on a regular basis as gang wars destroyed my neighborhood- and all I could do was call 911, and watch.
At the age of fourteen, I witnessed my father have a heart attack that eventually took his life, too. I stopped calling the police and ambulances then. They, of course, did what they could- but the violence never stopped. Some of my own friends began to get mixed in with the rumbles on the streets- every day I simply prayed that they would give it up or die painlessly.
At the age of eighteen, I enrolled in University, looking to become the very best ER Doctor there had ever been.
Part way through that journey, I heard that the military would pay your fees if you enlisted with them for a while, after- so I did that...and I witnessed hell for the first time.
I had thought it was hell to see my father bawl over the corpse of my mother. I thought it was hell, coming home to an empty house, slipping through the cracks in the child-protective services, scrounging what little I could for food.
I was wrong. Hell was on a battlefield, where dozens of young men, brainwashed into thinking that violence was 'right' or 'justified' sacrificed themselves needlessly, for the gain of rich men who had never wagered so much as a fleck of their own skin in the game they played.
Year after year of service on the battlefield, I did all I could- sometimes that made the difference between someone living or dying, and sometimes it did not.
Each year, each month, each day, my rage grew. The reasons became so blurred, the rationale as to why we killed men over here and over there became more and more arbitrary. I grew to hate not only the war, but the people who fell for their lies and joined up- on either side. All just pawns in some elitist's game.
When the day came that I saw a live grenade land in my med tent, and I had to choose between sheltering my patients or saving myself, I still didn't hesitate.
I died painlessly- and I could only hope my body had muffled the blast enough to save the lives of those under my care.
Gaining some semblance of consciousness, I quickly realized that I was in hell. I was surrounded by a blistering heat, and it was incredibly dark- the only light I could use to see with came from the occasional bit of flaming and smoking rubble, which randomly dotted the landscape.
It wasn't too surprising; I had so much hate in my heart, I couldn't see myself going to heaven.
"Never fear, 'doctor'..." Rasped a sharp, nauseating voice. It's disdain for my title was evident. "You are not here to be punished. God seems to have sympathized with your....righteous anger."
Looking around, I saw something I could only characterize as a winged imp, hovering about ten feet from me.
"You are to wait until one of those who you hate dies...and then you will be here to be their punishment. In the mean time, I am here to teach you....something quite the opposite of what you learned on Earth. Come, little protege, let me teach you how to cause *pain*."
|
"Jesus Christ, you've got to be kidding me. Is this a joke? Am I being punk'd? Did my partner check my internet search history and decide to teach me a lesson?! I was just curious!"
The demon looks over at you with a somber expression on his face. "Sir, that name is one we prefer not to mention here. That bloke still makes the masters teeth clench. I suggest you get it out of your vernacular. It would be best for all of us. As I was saying, you've been sent here to ensure the eternal damnation of one..." The demon trails off and pushes his spectacles up his large nose. "Mary Madison. Ah, does that name ring any bells?"
At this moment you've got your head buried in your hands while you try to intercept all the images that are flying around in your head. One minute you were on your motorcycle humming "bat out of hell" by Meatloaf, not driving anything close to a bat out of hell on your vintage Honda Goldwing mind you, and the next you were here with this strange misshapen man telling you that you're now some sort of dominatrix. If he would just stop shimmering you might get a better handle on things, and why the hell was it so hot?!
Apparently you muttered this last bit out-loud as the shimmery man creature decided to pipe up: "Yes, well, hell is hot. However, as you are more of an honored guest, you will be privy to some luxuries that are other guests are not. For example, you don't have to stay as you are."
You look down at yourself and a scream begins to bubble up, turning to a laugh, before you vomit. Clearly something happened to you while you were enjoying a nice ride around the lake.
The blob man looks at you with something like pity. "I believe it's important to be transparent, don't you?" And you wonder if that's why he's decided to be mostly transparent. "You died, through no fault of your own, because of a drunk driver. If you want we can go to your funeral, and I can pretend to console you, and you can hold onto your mortality. I admit I'm not very good at that, being a demon and all, so I cannot guarantee I would be very empathetic. If you would like to avoid that sort of torture, you can follow me now into what awaits."
You follow the blob, who finally introduces himself as "Kevin". "Of course", you think, "Kevin is a fitting name for a shimmery man-blob thing". It seemed a better plan than seeing your family cry, or not cry.
He leads you further into what appears a freshly painted hallway. In front of the walls are people who, you can only assume, glued to chairs watching paint dry. "Yes" Kevin drones. "They said in life that hell is like watching paint dry, and here they are."
Kevin continues leading you down this and that hallway, each featuring it's own unique brand of torture - an entire wing devoted to the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Finally you stop at a closed door.
"Well, here she is. Pretty as the day she came in. Suicide or drug overdose or something. We haven't been able to figure out what her breaking point is. What will really make her wail and shout. That's what feeds these fires yeah? Anyways, that's why you were called in. The boss man has a keen interest in her. We don't ask questions."
He pushes you into the room, and closes the door. There, sitting on what appears to be a window seat, is the love of your life, Mary. "Is this some kind of sick joke?" she spits, literally, and takes a drag of her cigarette before turning and facing the window.
"Jesus Christ" you whisper, because Mary's been dead for twenty years and you thought you were over her. Over her death.
"Well" she gets up and pushes off the ledge. "Get on with it. What am I supposed to do now? Grovel? Be amazed? Be thankful?!" She's yelling now, not at you but seemingly up at the sky. "Come on you piece of shit, what is it that you want?! Why don't you just let me out of here?! SHOW YOURSELF!"
Nothing seems to happen and you just stand there like a jackass. She looks at you and narrows her eyes, her words hissing from between her teeth. "You shouldn't even be here. If you are, but who knows, WHO FUCKING KNOWS."
The demon said she wasn't broken, but she seems pretty broken to you. You go over to the door and start to bang on it while yelling "excuse me, excuse me Kevin!"
And, she laughs at you. A gut busting laugh that has her smacking her thighs. "You're even a pussy to demons. You haven't changed a bit have you? Well what did your goody-two-shoe ass do to get cast down here." And you tell her, because you are a truth teller, that they told you you are there for her punishment.
"Ah", she sighs. A thin smile now on her lips. "Makes sense. Makes sense why they'd choose you."
You don't quite understand. You are the meek. A desk job for a charity, an overly demanding wife, children who don't come around like they used to... The only thing that really gave you peace was that motor bike - the one adrenaline racing thing you had done since you and Mary had parted ways after high school. The one thing that you actually stood up to your wife about was that stupid bike, and look where that got you.
"You see my dear", Mary puts her hand on your face and you feel the blood rush to places you didn't know still worked when dead. "You are here to punish me, because if I wasn't here you would be in heaven somewhere enjoying fluffy clouds and AC. So you just being here is meant to play on my heart strings, to cause me to curse and shout and lament."
"Well, they did say I was allowed certain allowances given that I'm not technically supposed to be here." You almost whine out.
"Oh yeah?" She removes her hand from your face and looks at you musingly. "Show me something. Make me an ice cream cone. You remember my favorite flavor don't you?"
You don't know how to conjure what Kevin was talking about, but you decide to try some "I Dream of Jeannie" type thing and wiggle your nose while saying tiger-tail ice-cream. There, magically, appears a vanilla ice cream cone in your hand.
"Well" Mary says. "That's some interesting bullshit right there. Go on, have a lick, see if it's real."
You do, it is.
"So that's what they mean to do." And she sighs and turns away before going on. "They give me a savior who can supply whatever I want, with a twist. I fucking hate vanilla ice cream."
| 2020-07-10T09:28:26 | 2020-07-10T09:13:01 | 154 | 53 |
[WP] English really is a universal language, and aliens are as surprised about this as humans
|
“Does that mean the British empire took over the entire galaxy?” Mark asked
Kamie slapped him “shut up mark!”
Mark, Kamie, and their 8 other teammates stood in amazement in front of the screen as it loaded in more text, all in English. They had tried for years to send some kind of message in a way that an alien race could understand, but now the first readable message sent rom the great beyond was in the same language they spoke? After they finished reading the short paragraph, Tyrone, the head of the team, turned to the rest of the group.
“Alright guys, what the hell?”
“Could it just be another country messing with us, like Russia or China?” Grayson asked
“If they are really good, but this just seems too obscure to be a faker.” Tyrone said
“Like how a normal thing os usually true, then they become clear lies when it becomes wacky, but then it crosses a line and becomes too obscure to be a fake, and this seems like it has crossed that line.” Cassie mentioned
“That is very true.”
The group turned back to the screen where another message popped up.
‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND THIS MESSAGE’ then two boxes, one green with a check mark, one red with an X.
Tyrone used his finger to tap the green box, after tapping it a text box popped up, with the ability to type into it. Tyrone clicked on the box to type and began to click away at the keyboard.
“Hello, this is from Earth, where are you from?” The message said, Tyrone clicked the send button
The message was whisked away.
A few minutes later, a new message popped up. Tyrone clicked on it.
“? Earth, but thats our planet?” The message said
“how many planets are in your solar system?” Tyrone typed and sent it
“So they seem to have the same planet name as us, and similar or the same grammar rules as we have.” Alana said.
“That is true” Tyrone said
The next message appeared.
“9, you?”
“8, but we have a couple dwarf planets.” Tyrone types “you speak English?”
“Yeah, you do too?”
“Yes, do you have other languages?”
“Yes, Russian, French, Spanish, and many more, do you?”
“Yes.”
The door to the room opens and an intern rushes in
“Sir, sir!” The intern yelled
“Yes?” Tyrone asks.
“We found out where the messages are coming from!” The intern said
“Where?”
“The next room over, they’re just as surprised as you are!”
|
After exiting warp over the blue planet, Farcon and Tuminor each donned a visual alternator on one wrist and a teleportation device on the other. They drew a collective deep breath as they activated their programmed projections.
"You look just like Brandon," said Farcon. "How do I look?"
"Like a queen," said Tuminor with a smile. "Are you ready?"
Farcon and Tuminor were outpost engineers assigned to Herthral, the largest moon of their home planet, Trevaria. After they intercepted a signal from an unknown race, they discovered that they were not alone in the universe. Not only were their other beings in existence, but they were *powerful,* and they somehow spoke the *exact same* language. Stumbling over each other in excitement, Farcon and Tuminor pressed into the high courts of their leaders with the discovery. They were immediately sent to seek aid.
"Let's go," said Farcon. After Tuminor nodded, they turned the dial on their teleporters.
As Tuminor materialized on the surface, he could not help but feel confused. In some ways, things looked as they did in the transmission. In others, they were completely different. He led the way as they walked along the side of the road.
"Birmingham city limits," Farcon read from a sign as they approached. "Perhaps we will find what we seek here."
"We should locate a pub," suggested Tuminor. "Pubs are always good sources of inf--"
A semi breezed past them, honking loudly and causing each to fall to the ground in fear. As Farcon rose to her feet, a large pickup truck pulled up beside them.
"Ey," said a man from the cabin, "you awright?"
"Yes," replied Farcon. "We are fine, thank you."
The man eyed Farcon's cascading blue gown suspiciously. "Yer awfully dressed up to be on the side of the road." As Tuminor composed himself, the man rose his eyebrow at the large wolf pelt draped over his shoulders. "Isn't it a bit warm for that?"
"Pardon me?" Tuminor asked.
"Yer quite strange," the man asserted with a smile. "Need a lift into town?"
"A... lift?" Farcon wondered aloud.
"Erm, yeah. A ride. I can take you to town."
"That would be wonderful, thank you," said Tuminor, darting an eager glance at his companion.
"Hop in the back," said the man, gesturing to the truck bed. The two hitchhikers did as suggested, and he pulled back onto the road.
"Where are y' from, anyway?" asked the man.
"We are from the planet Trevaria," explained Farcon. "Our people are in danger. We come here in need of aid."
"...right," exhaled the man. "Well, I can get ya into town, and maybe someone there can help ya."
Tuminor beamed at Farcon. Leaning his head in through the rear cabin window, he took a leap. "We seek Arya Stark. Do you know where we might find her?"
The man reared his head back in laughter. "You and me both, brother," he said, wiping a tear from his eyes. "She's some pistol, isn't she?"
Tuminor could hardly contain his excitement. "Please take us to the pub," he requested.
"Sure thing, friend," said the man with a smile.
The two extraterrestrials sat back in the bed and enjoyed the feeling of the crisp air rushing past. As they drew into the city proper, they lost themselves in the large structures that surrounded their path. Mesmerized, neither noticed when the truck came to a stop.
"Thank you, man," said Farcon with a kind wave.
"That's Southern hospitality for ya," declared the man. "Good luck findin' yer little warrior!"
Feeling encouraged by their first form of contact with an alien species, Tuminor walked with a swagger as they approached the front door of the pub. "Jenkins' Bar," he read aloud before pressing his hand on the door. With Farcon in tow, he briskly moved past the empty tables en route to the bar.
"Afternoon!" said the barkeep. "What'll ya have?"
"We seek Arya Stark," Tuminor repeated.
"'scuse me?"
Farcon stepped forward to offer clarification. "We have traveled light years from our home planet of Trevaria. Our leaders are in danger from the growing threat of the Opposition. We have come to ask Arya to aid us in defeating our enemies."
"...are ya'll some a them cosplayers?"
"Cosplayers?" Tuminor wondered aloud, the words feeling strange in his mouth.
"Cosplayers are people who dress up as characters from stories," came the voice of a woman behind them. Tuminor and Farcon turned to find its source.
Swinging her hips as she walked, the small-statured, dark-haired woman approached them. "Trevaria, huh? How is it you look just like us?"
"Simple visual alteration," Farcon answered, holding up her wrist to show the device.
"I see," she said. She rolled her sleeves up, revealing scars all over her arms.
Tuminor's eyes widened as he analyzed this new person. She was the right height, the right stature. Even her voice was a similar pitch. She was considerably older than Arya, but that made sense given how much time had clearly passed since the Battle for Winterfell.
"Can you help us?" Farcon asked.
"Sure, I can help you," she said, running her hand along the barrel of the handgun holstered at her side. "The name's Alma."
"Alma," said Tuminor, somewhat deflated. "Are you a descendant of Arya?"
"I had a grandmother with that name," Alma offered. "But does it matter? I've been itching to do some traveling lately."
Farcon beamed. "We have no time to lose!" She rushed to Alma's side, put a hand on her shoulder, and activated her teleporter. Tuminor followed suit.
As they disappeared from his view, the barkeep dropped the glass he was cleaning. His mouth agape, he walked to the door and flipped the sign to "Closed."
"Damn kids and their gadgets," he said.
\-----
Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated.
Check out more on my sub! r/storiesbyclayton
| 2020-09-17T11:36:15 | 2020-09-17T08:03:24 | 69 | 50 |
[WP] Your grandfather told you to never let his clock stop ticking. You ignored him. As the hands come to a halt, you realize two things. First, the clock may have been controlling rather than counting time; and second, your grandfather was a much better inventor that you gave him credit for.
|
Grampa had popped into my mind today. The hands of his cherished grandfather clock had stopped, as he told me it would countless times over. I didn't think anything of it at first, but when I was leaving the basement and turning into the hall, something chilling occurred.
My dog, Chewie was suspended in mid-air, his stance in mid trot, ears floppy but frozen. He looked like he had been taxidermied, but picking him up I could feel the warmth of his body. He was still _Flesh and Blood_.
It didn't stop there, everything outside was frozen in place. The birds above my house, flying in an irregular pattern heading straight ahead. The Trees that swayed to one angle, The Amazon Delivery truck on the move passing by my driveway.
When I went past my driveway, and walked down the street, I saw neighbors that were on their phones, children that were chasing each other down the sidewalk. A sprinkler sprayed in every direction. None of these things were in motion however, except myself. It had, _literally_ become a nuclear town. Full of Mannequins that were positioned to act as real civilians in everyday life scenarios.
Frantically, I am jotting all of this down because this must be, it **HAS** to be. My Grandfather's Antique Pendulum Clock may have some special Time - Altering abilities, and all of his other inventions may have been more intriguing than I imagined. I was too stupid, as his grandson to understand it, and right about now I'm too stupid to even save myself.
I haven't got the slightest clue how this thing works. I picked at the case cabinet to figure out how it ticked, only to find a mess of miscellaneous gears and parts. I believed that maybe the clock's face had something to do with it but no.
It was the panel next to the face. On the clock's right side, there was a small brown knob about as big as a dime. No lock was necessary for this one, and I opened it without a hitch.
There's a small blue box in this thing -- a generator of sorts. This gooey black substance can be visible from the inside of it, there were two lime green coils connected to it extending upwards. The substance moved like the dense globs of a lava lamp. That was what's visible as it was covered in an amalgamation of gears, intricately moving uniformly with precision. It was the utter definition of a finely tuned machine. I had to admire my grandpa for that one.
But I also am going to need his guidance right about now. This . . . Machine. It breaks all common laws of science, and what we know about the linear path of time. It's revolutionary, and centuries ahead of it's time. It's completely beyond my comprehension or understanding, to pick apart something so delicate would have to take years to accomplish.
So . . . . Wish me luck. Hopefully, somebody will read this one day and learn from my ignorance.
~FLD~
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It’s easy to lose track of time.
Sometimes you just get so occupied, doing work or reading a book or binging a show, that you look up and it’s two in the morning and you wonder where your whole night went.
Or you’re out on a first date that is going really well and suddenly they’re wiping down the last tables and you are the only two left in the restaurant, but you don’t want the conversation to end.
Sometimes when you lose track of time, it’s really the opposite scenario. You think time is moving ahead at the pace it is supposed to during this class or meeting or what have you and you look up at the clock and it seems like it hasn’t moved at all.
My grandfather told stories that certainly fit the former category. I would sit at his feet in his study, listening to the tick tick tick of the assorted clocks he had around the room. Small clocks on the mantle, large clocks hung on each wall, clocks of all shapes and sizes. Heavens what a cacophony they would make when striking the hour!
I would sit and listen as he occupied hour after hour with fantastical tales. Knights in armor fighting glorious battles, aliens from outer space waging intergalactic wars, fairies and gnomes mystifying weary travelers in far off lands. Every story enraptured me. I would always lose track of time, every time. And sure enough he would bring a story to its thrilling end just minutes before my bedtime. Despite my protestations, he would usher me up to my room, calling my mother in to kiss me goodnight and retreating to his study to wind his clocks.
If I’m being honest, I got so used to the ticking and tocking that I barely even registered them after a few years. We lived with my grandfather after my father, his son, passed and the ticking sound and bells and chimes and cuckoos and so forth just simply formed the background hum of my life. Well, almost. There was one clock in his study that I would always, always distinctly hear no matter how the others faded away. It was a monster of a thing, a grandfather clock that was my grandfather’s prized possession. When it struck the hour, these great metal chimes gonged like nothing you’d ever heard before. It was an unmistakable sound that filled the house, resonating out above the others. On the weekends when I didn’t have school, my grandfather would let me help him wind the clocks, staying up just past my bedtime to be a good little helper. All except the grandfather clock.
My grandfather treated that clock almost with a sense of reverence. He always wound that clock first and never let me touch it. It was the only clock that was off limits which, of course, meant it was the one I most wanted to wind.
I saw my opportunity one winter when my grandfather and mother had gone to visit a cousin one town over. The weather took a turn and they called the house, saying they were snowed in and would I be alright by myself til morning? Of course I would, I declared. I was 12 years old now, practically a grown up. My mother told me to take the leftovers out of the fridge and make myself dinner and that they would be home as soon as they could. Before she hung up, she put my grandfather on. I noticed right away that something was up with him. His voice sounded hushed but urgent, as if he didn’t want my mother to hear what he was going to say, but that he desperately wanted me to.
“My boy, pay attention now. You know the great clock in my study? The one I wind first every Friday night? Tonight being Friday, it must be wound. Do you understand? You must not let the clock stop ticking. Nine o’ clock, on the dot, you must wind the clock. The key is hanging on a peg inside the door, take it down and wind the clock until it doesn’t turn any further. Promise me, boy, promise me you won’t forget.”
I promised him, twice in fact. He sounded assured at how excited I was to finally get to wind the grandfather clock he so treasured. We hung up and I went to fix myself dinner and sit down to play a game.
As I said, sometimes you lose track of time. With the TV turned up loud, I barely caught the chiming of the bells from inside grandpa’s study, until I noticed that I could hear the gongs from the grandfather clock. I looked at my watch and saw that it said 9:00 PM. Oh no! I was going to miss it! With six gongs already passed, I jumped up to run to the study. Seven! I flew down the hall. Eight! I opened the door.
Nine. I pulled open the door and saw the clock on the opposite wall, seeming a million miles away. I watched as the second hand clicked into place at the twelve and the minute hand clicked into place just one minute past. And then nothing else. The second hand did not continue. I had missed it. My grandfather would be so disappointed in me!
Well, I was sure I could just get it wound and he could set the time tomorrow when he got home. I would just have to wind it… I would just…
I couldn’t move.
My hand stayed fixed on the brass handle of the study door. My eyes stayed fixed on the grandfather clock. My feet stayed fixed on the floor.
I struggled inside my mind as hard as I could, pressing against every muscle fiber I could send nerve signals to, but nothing moved. I panicked, my heart pounding in my chest, I could hear the thumping so loud against the silence of the room.
…the silence of the room? It took me longer than it should have to realize. The ticking had stopped. The study which would normally be awash with ticks and tocks made no sound, no sounds at all. Every clock had stopped at one minute past nine.
===
I do not know how long I have stood here. Without the ticking of the clocks, without the darkness outside the window changing to light, I cannot say. It feels like it has been weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years. I hear my voice in my head and the begging and pleading to whatever god will hear me comes and goes. I have not tired, I have not moved. My grandfather and mother have not come for me. I don’t know that they could.
I recite the day over and over again in my mind. My mind is the only thing I have left. I’ve started to hear it, you know, the tearing and cracking at the edges of every thought. As if the yarn that knit my mind together is unraveling, as if the pages in the book are being torn out one by one. I hear it, I hear my own voice screaming as loud as any roar. But I do not hear the ticking. God I wish I could hear the ticking.
Maybe it has been centuries that I have been standing here staring at the grandfather clock. It’s easy to lose track of time.
| 2021-11-21T20:40:39 | 2021-11-21T20:04:16 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] “So how did you get Dragon blood in your veins?” “Ah well, long ago my family was cur-“ “Didn’t you say your family was never cursed?” “Oh uh, yeah um… so uh, there was a witch-“ “Im not buying it.” “*sigh*… so my great grandpa was a bard…”
|
“My great grandfather was a bard, but hardly a grand one. He didn’t sing great ballads of heroes that would be sung and repeated for centuries after his death, he took the less glamourous path of using his songs to raise disease awareness,” I replied.
Jeremy blinked, “This is not how I expected this story to start. But anyways, he may not be very grand in the traditional sense, but he’s still doing valuable work by raising awareness.”
I groaned, “That’s what you’d think, but if you heard his songs you’d disagree. I mean, I don’t blame him persay, it’s not easy to rhyme a word with Leukemia. Cry-a-sweeties was his rhyme for diabetes, it’s as bad as you think. His best song was terminal dancer.”
Jeremy winced, “Oh, you’re right. Well, at least he tried. Did he raise awareness?”
I shook my head, “Not really. We live in a world of magic where dragons breathe fire and bards can heal people by strumming their guitars, disease is honestly trivial.”
Jeremy sighed, “Ah, too bad. But I don’t see what any of this has to do with dragon blood.”
“I’m not finished. Because of my great grandfather’s profession, he met a lot of people in the hospital, did the rounds, tried to cheer them up. It was there that he met the love of his life.”
“A dragon?”
“No, she was just an ordinary humanoid, but she had this blood disease. She didn’t have much longer to live and was losing a lot of blood. The doctors had tried various different donors but none took. She needed something stronger. So my great grandfather set out to find her a cure. He looked far and wide, collected blood samples from all sorts of creatures. Elves, dwarves, orcs, gnomes, even goblins, but none took. He was just about to give up when he saw a dragon fly overhead. The dragon was wounded from a recent battle and had a wounded wing, crashing into a forest clearing. My grandfather raced over, ready to help the dragon in anyway he could.”
“And they….”
“No! My great grandfather was a gentleman. Once my great grandfather helped heal the dragon and once he had aided them the dragon asked him if there was anything they could do in return for his kindness, and my great grandfather asked for one thing: the dragon’s blood. The dragon agreed and a blood transfusion was made, giving my great grandfather’s love the blood she needed. And guess what? It took! She was saved, but our family line has had dragon blood in it ever since.”
“Really? Blood works like that?”
“Dragon blood does, apparently.”
“I’m not buying it.”
“Just look up my great grandfather’s songs, it will confirm my story.”
“I’ll do more than that, I’ll look into your lineage.”
“Oh don’t get me started on your lineage, your parents are a human and an elf and yet you’re part orc.”
“I… it’s a long story.”
“Thought so.”
|
Tables and chairs of dark stained wood and ashen-covered crevices serviced the likes of friend and foe as family. Many of the patrons of the Lilac Lantern cared only for food and drink. Politics could be left to the cities, the Gods to the church, and knowledge to the wizards behind their stone doors. In the country, people thought of the here and now when it happened but gossiped about lineage and stories long past.
The Lantern, originally The Lighthouse when it was owned by Castlebrooks before the law had a fancy to come out this far and find them, had been in the care of the Allorsen family since the scandal. Tax evasion and money laundering were big-ticket items back in the city. Apparently. No one out here had ever seen so many horsed younglings in fancy dress this far west and no one fancied seeing them again. So it stayed that way.
At least that’s what I knew about it. What actually happened before and what happened after I left was only recorded in the journals and notes written by the townspeople. It was never said out loud. History deserves embellishment is the opinion of everyone wanting to enjoy the short time they have on this green and blue little ball but lacking the funds to do it. Ale, wine, and mead let everyone accept it.
“That wizard trick you did this afternoon,” Mason Allorsen, cousin to the owner of the Lantern, asked loudly after we had had a couple of his wondrous mead, “the cooling touch,” a loud belch echoed the noisy hall as he tried to clear his throat. It sent off a ripple effect of responding burps but nothing that could match Mason. Shaking his head, brown curly hair and beard wobbling with him, he continued, “How’d you learn that?”
“No wizard’s magic, I assure you,” I chuckled, setting down my pewter mug and smiling to myself, “Just my charm, a little luck, and some dragon's blood thrown in for good measure.”
“Why’d you find that?” Mason asked, sitting up and giving me a hard look, “Why’d you waste that? Can I see?”
“No,” I laughed, “ it’s in me. I don’t. I don’t, like, have a vial of it or anything.”
“Wha?” Mason frowned, his nose scrunching up as he thought even though his eyes stayed focused, “So how did you get Dragon blood in your veins?”
“Ah well, long ago my family was cur-“ I tried to explain.
“No, no,” Mason corrected, “Didn’t you say your family was never cursed? I might be one pint short of a keg right now but I can still remember.”
“Oh uh, yeah um,” I restarted, this man should be on the floor not calling my bluff, “so uh, there was a witch-“
“I’m not buying it,” Mason stated, putting his mug down and staring at me hard. Stretching out one nostril, he tried to steady himself. It was the only real indication of this man's blood alcohol level and even then he could still take anyone in a fight. Smiling, knowingly, he added, “I listen, Jake. I know a fisher's tale and when to go fishing.”
I sighed hard, he got me and I knew he wasn’t leaving until I had told him. If Mason was any normal man, I’d have gotten away by now or just told him knowing that there was a good chance he’d never remember the story. Mason though, Mason was something else. Something like me maybe.
“So my great grandpa was a bard,” I started, like always did, with a half-truth to this but a half-truth that made sense to some, “And his… well my great grandmother was… is… sort of a dragon.”
“Half-breed?” Mason chuckled quietly.
“Noooo,” I stretched out, wishing that was the case, “full-blooded, cold as ice, and, once upon a time, curious.”
“And why not? Why shouldn’t she be?” Mason laughed, “We are lovers, fighters, and fecking fantastic.”
“Sure,” I accepted.
“You’re great-grand-pappy?” Mason asked, “He give her a night to remember?”
“Courting was better than the act,” I explained, trying to mimic her tone when she had unpromptedly started talking about it, “As she said. She told me he was gentle. First time a male hadn’t left a scar on her and it was the first time she hadn’t left a scar on a male. Two years later, she decided to produce my grandmother as a gift for him and she’s sort of looked out for us ever since.”
“As,” Mason scoffed at me leaving the story there, “What your nanna? Schoolmaster? Queen?”
“Sort of like a nan,” I said, tilting my head back and forth trying to figure out what el’Thena actually was to me, “She has never been around much to be much of anything other than a curious neighbour.”
“Uh, I have those,” Mason empathized, taking another deep drink of beer, “My aunt comes by, asks me a thousand and one questions, eats my food, and then says something about my weight and just leaves.”
“My Avia’s so much worse,” I said with a smile, I wasn’t expecting Mason to be a open person, “She once barged into an exam I was writing just to measure my feet and count my toes. Her nephew had told her that you could learn a lot about a human by their feet.”
“Her name?” Mason asked.
“Avia’s like what she is to me,” I explained, “I’m not allowed to give her name to those she has not already given it to. Dragon rules or something.”
“My Nanna,” Mason started as he nodded, “she has. Uhh, I’m drinking too much. My Nanna will feed you until you are bursting then complain that you get pudgy.”
Grabbing his belly fat and lifting it out, he made a show of being annoyed at how large he was. I knew Mason cared but at the same point, he liked being large enough not to have any problems with the locals. No one messed with him.
“My Avia has zero boundaries,” I laughed, “She’d totally feed me to see me grow larger and then starve me to shrink me back down.”
“My Nanna once told a girl that I liked that if I only got her to make those noises in bed,” Mason countered, “She’d find a new grandson.”
“My Avia has asked if she should find a new great-grandson to some of the women I liked,” I argued back, “I didn’t even know she was around or that she knew who I was dating.”
“Brutal,” Mason laughed, “Dragon Nanna sounds funny though. She trying to understand humans or something.”
“She’s apparently young,” I explained, “She wanted a ‘test hatchling’ as she calls us before producing a true heir.”
“That’s so weird, man,” Mason said with a vigorous nod, “And I have giant blood in my family so we’re not too normal either.”
“I didn’t know that,” I stated loudly.
“I didn’t tell you that,” Mason groaned, sitting upright and giving his mug a good hard look, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
| 2022-10-11T08:59:58 | 2022-10-11T08:21:24 | 251 | 67 |
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
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General Beck burst into the mess hall and swept his gaze across the startled soldiers. They had been drinking, celebrating the surrender of France, and the apparent end of the war. But they didn't know about the curse. Few but the inner circle did. Germany must fall.
The men quickly stood at attention, as well as they could half drunk. "Germany," Beck began, "Is no more. Or rather, soon to be no more." The looks of confusion deepened.
"The council has debated and spoken. This is now the Empire of Neo-Germania-except-for-Private-Klaus."
The looks aroubd the room made it clear who Private Klaus was.
"Klaus, the council decided every german citizen was to freely and automatically become a citizen of the EONGEFPK. Except, obviously, for you. Young man, I'm sorry, but you are the last German."
"But how can one man be a country?" Klaus asked.
"I didn't write the rules, I only subvert them" replied the general, drawing his pistol. With a sharp bang, all of the remaining German forces were wiped from the Earth, finally ending the war.
|
The red light of the huge screen cast an eerie glow over the faces of those assembled in the war room. But in contrast to the lighting, the atmosphere was light. Jovial, even.
"As you can see, my Lord Emperor," the general was saying, a satisfied smile covering his face, "the enemy are on the run. The last assault by the Atlantea-class demons completely broke their fleet, allowing us to reinforce our beachhead. Already attacks by the Titan and Marauder demons have broken their line in several places." He pointed to a dense collection of red dots. "Now the Flamedancers have been mustered so we will encircle and destroy their armoured divisions. That will leave nothing between our army and their capital."
"Excellent, excellent, General Kruger. Your forces have performed according to my expectations", drawled the Emperor. "With the capture of Washington, the stupid Americans will have no choice but to surrender. After what we did to their Pacific coast with Vulcanus, they are on their last legs." He looked at his watch and then back at the General. "Tell the Lord Summoner to commence the assault."
The General saluted and drew a combination on his console. On a smaller screen a man appeared. He was elderly, sporting an untidy white beard and bushy hair. In contrast to all the men in the warroom, he was looking a bit uneasy and hesitant.
"Lord Summoner, are you ready to commence the assault?"
The man coughed. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say so, though all things considered, maybe it would be prudent..."
The General leaned forward. His eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you are NOT prepared?" his voice could have put the Antarctic ice to shame.
The Summoner looked like he was trying hard to swallow something."Well, you see, the thing is that, I have the most awful *hic* hiccups, and I was worried whether..."
The Emperor spoke. "My Lord Summoner, are you seriously suggesting that we delay the final offensive of our war, out ultimate war, that will finally establish the thousand year Reich, because you have hiccups? Perhaps, you are tired, my Lord? Tired of life?"
The Summoner went very pale.
"Of course not, my Emperor, of couse not! I will begin immediately."
The Summoner walked across the room. There, complex circles and diagrams had been drawn. In the middle, in a floating cloud of red mist, lurked a huge shadow. Only two golden eyes were visible.
The Summoner begin reciting the well-known chants which would bind and compel the Demon Lord, ordering him to in turn compel his minions to war. His voice rose and fell, but in spite of his best efforts, hiccups leaked out, upsetting the rythm, distorting the syllables. Inside the circle the golden eyes narrowed.
The Summoner picked up a golden goblet. Now he had to drink a potion of power brewed from the blood of innocents, cooked on a battlefield. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank. A huge hiccup exploded out of nowhere. The potion went down the wrong way, the summoner started choking. The goblet dropped from his hand, spilling the dark crimson liquid, which ran across the floor, over the circles and into the red cloud.
All those witnessing the spectacle in the war room froze. The Summoner continued to cough frantically, while trying to back away, his eyes suddenly as large as saucers.
A clawed foot stepped out of the circle. The Demon Lord stood in the room, free and unchained.
"And I am free. You made a mistake. As I knew you would. Humans always make a mistake."
He reached out and grabbed the Summoner. "Something stuck in there? Let me help you." And with one wickedly curved claw, he tore out the throat.
The Demon Lord looked through the screen at the Emperor.
"Five years, you have imprisoned me here. Five years have my forces bled and died on this alien world. Five years have I been kept away from the war to end all wars. I do not even know if my home still stands, or if the Sleeping Gods of the Forgotten Deeps have drowned it. For this you shall pay."
"You think you have seen our power? Human, taste our true rage!"
The monitor winked out. Neither the General nor the Emperor had any words. And then it started.
"General, the demons!" an officer shouted. "Fifth Army reports they have turned on us. They are killing everything!"
"General, the Atlantea demons are sinking our ships!"
"General, fires have broken out in Hamburg, Dusseldorf and Paris! General Gruber reports that he cannot hold. Colonel Schwartz is calling for help."
"General, army headquarters in Spain, Portugal and England are no longer responding"
"General, Vulcanus just appeared in Italy. It seems like Vesuvius is once again stirring."
And they kept on coming. The death cries of a burning Empire.
Edit: Fixed typos
| 2017-08-18T05:03:51 | 2017-08-18T03:34:46 | 1,294 | 107 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E.
|
Dear Dad,
Or should I even call you dad? I think dad is more of a title to be earned and sadly throughout my eighteen and a half years of being on this earth, I do not think you have done very much to earn that title. Dad's don't leave. A dad is someone that is there for his children. A dad watches and actively participates in their lives. A dad helps them grow up , raises them, nurtures them, attends dumb elementary school award shows, college graduation. Dads teach you how to ride your first bike and they sit nervously in the passenger seat of a car as they teach you how to drive on your own. Dads aren't supposed to be selfish like you are, you've always chosen a life full of drugs over your children. Do you even know what thats like? To not ever have a consistent father figure in your life? I blamed myself for so many years for you not being in my life. I thought that maybe something was wrong with me and that's why I was never a priority for you. I remember during valentines day when I was in middle school all of my friends dads sent them flowers and chocolates and took them out so they would feel special. I remember going to the bathroom and just sitting on the floor crying because I wanted nothing more in the entire world than a dad that loved me that much. Do you ever think about how your decisions effect your children? Honestly, I really want to know. When I was in high school I took a college level Psychology course. One of the first things we learned was this theory that stated that people are more likely to grow up and get into relationships with people that remind them of their parents. Boys tend to date girls that remind them of their mother. Girls go for guys that remind them of their dad. Let me ask you, would you want me to be in a relationship with someone like you? Someone who abuses not only drugs but women as well? Would you be okay with him hitting me? Or calling me names? Or would you even care? I know that you do these things and it breaks my heart and scares me all at the same time. I am constantly afraid that maybe the theory is correct and one day that will be my life without me even noticing it. It scares me even more that one day I'll wake up and be living my life the same way you chose to live yours. My biggest fear is becoming anything like you. I honestly wish it was possible for me to hate you. It would make you not being in my life a lot easier, but no matter how much I try I just can't. No matter how hopeless it is a part of me will always be reaching out for a relationship with you. I know you're sad and you feel lost and sometimes you just don't want to feel anything so you turn to drugs or alcohol to numb the pain. I know how that feels, I really do. But pain is meant to be felt. I want you to be apart of my life. I realize you'll never be the dad I wanted you to be, but I pray that you finally come to your senses and get your life turned around. Not just for my sake but for yours as well. I finished my freshman year of college a few days ago. Im doing pretty good in all of my classes, even though there were some points where it was so hard I just wanted to give up. I'm majoring in Biology and Pre healthcare. In about 10 years I'm hoping to be an orthodontist. Or maybe just a biologist in general. That's my favorite subject, I love learning about how everything in the world works. Its so intriguing to me and I could read about these things for hours on end. I have a boyfriend too. His name is Connor and he treats me really good. We've been together for a little over a year now. He's sweet and caring and he pushes me to work hard. He listens to me when I'm sad and he loves to show me off and tell everyone how smart he thinks I am, which gets really embarrassing sometimes but it makes me happy to know someone thinks so highly of me. Moms doing good too. She's beautiful as ever, and she's the happiest I've seen her in a while. Mark changed her life, actually all of our lives for the better. He is a good dad. He taught me how to drive and always tells me he's proud of me. He even calls me when I'm freaking out and crying over tests I feel like I've done bad on. He's amazing and I'm glad to have him in my life. Dana's oldest daughter Brittany is getting married in July! Can you believe it? Time has flown by. Ashley had a baby. He's the most beautiful baby boy I've ever seen. He makes my heart feel full just being around him. I hope you are doing okay in there. I hope you can come to peace with yourself and figure out what you need to do to turn your life around. It's never too late. Love, haley.
| 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T22:19:09 | 235 | 28 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy
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I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41 | 2017-11-05T22:26:46 | 102 | 11 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
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Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore.
|
I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-05T23:19:05 | 2017-11-05T22:26:46 | 58 | 11 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21 | 2017-11-05T22:26:46 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You live a good life. Caring wife, obedient children and loyal dogs. Little do they know that you are actually a hitman not an accountant. One day your guy hands you the picture of your next target. It’s you. On the back the name of who ordered the hit. “Carla” it says. Your wife.
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There are feelings I'd rather not describe boiling in my chest on the drive back home.
Wilson kept suggesting I go with him.
"Walk it off."
"Have a beer."
He eventually just let me go. Despite my equipment being in my car. He just leaves me with, "Don't do anything you'll regret."
I call not knowing what to say to her, but an excuse just rolls off the tongue. Automatically, like all the times I've done this before. "What?" I make up something about an overseas business meeting. An "important profile just came up" as usual. Nothing is actually booked, but I'm just going ahead without any thought into what I'm doing.
It hurts more that she doesn't even sound like she cares.
I don't pull into my driveway. I wait a few days like every other stake out. But it doesn't take nearly as long. A car I've never seen before arrives in my driveway an hour after I've called her. I'm on the hill in the woods where I keep the heavier equipment.
I shouldn't have started pacing around. I shouldn't have gone through half a six pack. I shouldn't have loaded the 50 Cal. I shouldn't have climbed the tree. And I shouldn't have finally put the stock to my shoulder.
I just wanted to know what he looked like.
I didn't know how different the house looked when I was gone. She locked the dogs out in the backyard. I never knew she did that. So many arguments before about how I wanted to keep them inside, and she locks them out in the snow anyway.
The kids are sent outside. My boy has to give his twin sister his coat because she doesn't have time to grab hers. I run the program on my phone for the audio around the house. "Who is Mister Garrett?" "Mom's friend. I dunno." "He keeps telling me to clean my room. One Dad is enough." "They just talk and watch movies. He's not our Dad." "But we have to go outside when he says so."
Enough. I couldn't listen anymore. The twins clear the snow off the trampoline. And I am drunk enough to train the scope on my living room window.
They're at it on the sofa.
I immediately look away and throw up. I'm maybe seventy feet up in tree, but I'm beating off the bark, and thrashing about with a fury. I'm not calm, and I throw the rifle back up to my shoulder.
It's the perfect line up. It'd be so easy. No guards. No bulletproof windows. An average alarm system. Police departments average response time is ten to fifteen minutes. I could be at my airfield hangar in six minutes. In the air and changing my log to say I was over the ocean two hours ago.
She's on top of him. My cross hairs on top of her. Finger on the trigger. Safety off.
But then, the boil fades away.
I climb down. I unload the 50. I picked up the bottles. And I drove home. I tell the kids to get in the car and they each hold onto the dogs. Not really sure what is happening. I call Wilson. My cover was as an accountant. His was a lawyer.
It was four hours before she noticed the kids were gone. She would have left them out until two in the morning. She calls me and I tell her we're sleeping in the car outside the police station. And that she'll be receiving my divorce papers sometime tomorrow. I turn off the speaker phone as the apologies flood in. Knowing that yelling and screaming begins any moment now.
After, I call Wilson. "Did you-" "No." "... That's good man... So where do you wanna get set up after this?" I put a rest stop, five dollar blanket over the twins. It's the kind with a giant eagles and views of mountains and lakes on it, and I can't help but to grin a bit. Despite how torn up I am inside. "Somewhere where it doesn't snow so much."
(First writing post.)
|
I'm comfortably sunk in the worn leather seats of my older-but-still-practical German sedan. The lid on my morning coffee is propped open and I watch anxiously as the piping hot liquid inside the flimsy paper cup that holds the best coffee the road has to offer topples, getting closer and closer to the brim of the cup as road worsens the closer I get to Los Angeles. Before the coffee has sufficiently cooled to the point I can put the lid back on, the first drop of Seattle's Best makes its journey to the base of the most practical pull-out cupholder BMW could think of in 2008. At this point the air-conditioning is just not strong enough to withstand Southern California's ever-so-powerful UV rays beaming in from the windows and cool a way-too-hot cup of bad coffee with the lid intact, so this is a necessary evil.
Financial freedom and no more necessary business trips for Deloitte? Or cooler coffee and an incarcerated father that can even be more absent to his children that he currently is? What would your choice be?
The cruise control is set at 75 MPH, fast enough to blend in but not fast enough to catch the attention of the police. The lull of the road in combination with the fatigue of driving what has now been seven hours can allow even a hitman to fall into a sense of apathy for a little while. Thoughts of what I can cook up for our fifth anniversary are on the horizon. Hawaii? Unfortunately it is easiest to catch someone off-guard when they are on vacation. The Caribbean? Same idea. Europe? Was there last week and unfortunately it wasn't for leisure. Southeast Asia? Haven't done anything in Thailand yet so that's still on the table.
As I contemplate my anniversary and have thoughts that might not be particularly unique to a hitman, I creep up bit by bit in the rightmost lane and find my exit, "Sawtelle Boulevard". Tito's Taco's seems to be the place of choice for providing sound business advice to yet another multimillion dollar tech-startup. Guess us millennials are getting less and less formal with our lunches. Guess it's the advice that matters, not the venue.
As I push my door closed and walk into the establishment, everything is a blur. Uncle X walks by my table for one, plops down a picture and continues his walk without even seeming to acknowledge my presence. My phone vibrates. I turn it over and see a picture of Carla, Stella, Tyler and Rufus by the house that I took. It's Carla. I don't even look at the picture and pick up the phone. I can't bare the anticipation of personifying the last person behind the last portrait I will ever see and beginning the last process of dehumanization before I am able to live the rest of my life and focus on raising our family, so I try and hurry the last dishonest interaction regarding my career I will ever have with the person that thinks they know the most about me.
"Hey what's up? I'm on my way into a meeting and don't really have the time to talk so can you make it quick babe?" I blurt out not even giving her a chance to start the diologue.
"Yeah......... Well.... I just couldn't wait". She says, before a long pause and a sniffle.
My heart drops.
"We might just have another addition to the family! I didn't get my period this month and decided to take a test! So yeah! Guess what it came up as!"
My head drops. My heart starts to race and so does my breathing. It's fascinating how some things can make a man can crack a smile right before setting off to take a life of yet another person that hasn't personally wronged them one bit.
"Wow. I'm so happy to hear that and cannot wait to talk about this tonight. And we can do this one together too! It's so crazy that we happen to be in the same place this time!" I say, not having to fake happiness for once during an inopportune conversation with the SO but actually feeling it for a split second.
"Yeah! Anyway, I love you! Hopefully that lightens your day!" she says, the emotions eminating through the phone speaker.
The line cuts. I place my phone down on the greasy table and raise the picture to my field of vision.
Of course the last task has to be the hardest one. This woman looks just like my wife.
I can see she has mesmerizing blue eyes that could charm a stone and focus the freest of spirits. A small, effiminate nose. Plump lips that meet perfectly at the top like a cupid's bow, lips parted in a way that makes me wait for speech that will never come. Sun-kissed skin that suggest an childhood in a warm climate and perhaps the later years somewhere cooler. I imagine a modest home, two children and a golden retriever adopted from the local animal shelter. Before that, just two young adults having passionate yet lustful, raw, rough sex after a night stocked up on the kind of three dollar shots sold by a bar that would accept what would have to be the worst Fake IDs San Fransisco State has ever seen. An intense, exciting, painful relationship that leaves both parties integrated and makes each other grow more than any degree could. But not safeguarded from some time apart after graduation so we could find our own paths........... only to get back together for coffee one day.
Stop it. Stop the connection. This one cant get to you. Just flip the fucking picture over and get the full name. Fucking Christ.
"CARLA"
Fuck. That asshole wouldn't make me leave the business. The minute I find a number that I can comfortable rely on to retire early and try to get him to come to terms, I get this. Of course. Guess I'm not leaving. Or maybe I am. It's not like I can't pack up and start over again. At least I won't have to hide a life of criminality from my new family.
Guess the good things in life come with a clause. It's just that this one happens to be particularly tenacious.
I finish the last bite of my Chicken Tamale and get up calmly. Stretch and walk out the door, quickening my pace. I spot Uncle X. Perhaps I should have a couple words with him about this? No. He knows what he did. I hop in the car, release the handbrake and coast out of the parking spot, turning on the engine and putting the car into first gear only as the sedan is already backed out of the parking space that is now perpendicular to where I sit. I keep my vision fixed on Uncle X. The engine bogs and I lurch foward.
Fuck. Come on, focus you idiot. 15 years of exclusively manual and this?
I restart the car and head for the exit. I hit the accelerator and skip to third, ensuring high speeds and little noise. I reach into the nook in my car door and feel for cold metal. I grasp the first object I find, roll down the window with the other hand and the vehicle veers to the right. I stare at Uncle X and fall into a trance an eternity. I point the gun out the window and pull the trigger before the car veers too far right to have a proper aim. Uncle X drops to the ground. The gun cocks back and injures my nose. My eyes water and before I can refocus, there is impact.
I wake up after what seems like years of sleep and cough a mouthful of warm blood. Look up to a misty window and dust settling on my forehead and the hood of my car at a 90 degree angle. As I wrestle the door handle to free myself and clock out for the last time, the tables turn and now I am staring down the barrel of a gun of a man. I angle my head up and notice "San Fransisco Police Dept." and see a man in uniform.
| 2018-08-15T04:47:27 | 2018-08-14T22:17:00 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one.
|
The three men stared at an array of eight solid steel doors. They heard a faint scraping against door number four, and a low gutteral screech.
"I presume this is the one?" asked the tall thin man. His two companions nodded silently.
"Open it." The tall thin man's companions exchanged nervous glances and one of them began to fumble with a large key ring.
The screeching behind the door grew louder and was now accompanied by the sound of metal scraping against metal.
The tall thin man gently perched his ear against the door, pushed a button on the intercom, and announced himself: "Desmond, calm now, it's Dr. Hines. Do you remember me?"
The intercom exploded with a cacophony of noise and the door, heretofore firmly set in a foundation of concrete and steel, shook angrily.
The two companions jumped back. Dr. Hines returned his ear to the door. He pushed the button on the intercom a second time. "Desmond, hello to you too. I have something very important to tell you, and I would prefer to do so face to face if that's alright with you."
Dr. Hines looked at his companions and motioned at the door. "Open it."
The man with the keys slowly approached the door, his outstretched hand shaking. He inserted the key and turned it softly. An internal gear whirred, and the heavyset door began to disappear into the wall.
Dr. Hines stepped into the dark cell and out of sight of his two companions who, having come as close to the cell door as their nerves would permit, hovered their hands over their holsters.
"Desmond, it's about your sister."
The two men heard a deep growl, almost a roar. It wasn't loud, but it darkened their souls. Then, a deep voice, unmistakably human, but threatening and sinister: "I'm listening."
"We need to stop her."
The two men heard another sound, a clang of metal against metal. A single claw, red and the size of a fire hydrant, penetrated the imaginary barrier between the cell and the world. Then another claw, and another, and soon a whole *thing* emerged. Not animal, but not quite human. Larger than imaginable, yet familiar.
Dr. Hines, appearing even thinner and no longer as tall, emerged from the cell and stood beside Desmond.
The two men gawked, not knowing whether to talk, run or shiver.
Dr Hines motioned to the exit. "Gentlemen, we have no time to lose."
|
It was early in the morning, I could hear the birds chirping. I opened my eyes just a little only to see my little girl Jessy there. I was happy to see her until I realized she was holding a knife. That was the 5th time this week she has woke me up like this. I wish we would have kept her brother. We noticed from a young age she was different. She always cried even when we gave her what she wanted. I thought maybe this was just normal baby stuff everyone said it would get better. Spoiler alert it never did. She’s six now and always finds a way to try and hurt us. She doesn’t have many friends. The adoption agency finally told me I could get my boy back by next year. He was still in the foster system so it was easy to get him. I haven’t seen him since he was born.
*a year later*
Today we finally get our boy back. We don’t know what we’re going to do with Jessy. We named our boy Lucas before giving him away at birth.
*a week later*
Jessy seems meaner lately. She hasn’t tried to hurt us but she keeps warning us we should get rid of Lucas. I told her we’re not getting rid of Lucas. No matter how many times I tell her she still tries to convince us he’s bad news. There birthday is coming up soon. I plan on bringing Jessy to a military school. She has to be at least 9 so I will try to give her the best birthday ever. I’m sending her for her own good. She won’t stop lying and holding knives like she’s ready to attack someone if they make her mad. The military school is very good to there students and it’s nothing like any of the other schools I’ve seen. I know this will be good for her. I still love Jessy very much but I just can’t give her the help she needs at home.
*the twins birthday*
I woke them up this morning and sang them happy birthday. When we went downstairs I told them they could have anything they wanted for breakfasts. There dad took Lucas to a roller skating rink while I took Jessy to a trampoline park. This is the happiest I’ve seen Jessy in a long time. It makes me sad that I’m sending her off tomorrow. It was a good day today everyone had fun and we ate a lot of cake.
*the next day*
I didn’t tell Jessy we were sending her to military school I just told her we were bringing her somewhere for a bit and to pack her bags. I told her it was like a summer camp. When we got to the gates it seemed very nice. Everyone was so sweet and welcoming and they seemed like they were very nice to there students. When Jessy found out what I was doing she cried and begged me to not leave her here. She said Lucas should be the one here and she did nothing wrong. The security guards quickly directed me to the exit. The whole way home I cried. I didn’t know if I made the right decision but I had to be strong for Lucas and Jessy.
*two years later*
Jessy has been in and out of the school. She’s gotten better at some points and worse at others. Today Jessy gets to come home again for who knows how long. Lucas seems happy she’s coming home. We all had a nice family dinner and Jessy seems happy to be home.
Jessy has been home for a week now has been very good. She seems a little nervous sometimes but other then that she’s doing good.
*later that night*
I was sleeping peacefully when all of a sudden a boom went threw the house. I realized it was the sound of a gunshot. I rushed to Jessy’s room only to find her bleeding out on her bed. I ran over to put pressure on her wound while I yelled for my husband to call 911. I saw little Lucas sitting in the corner of her room, he look terrified. I asked him what happened. He said “I came in here cause I thought I heard her crying. When I walked in though she pointed a gun at me. She tried to shoot at me but the gun wouldn’t shoot. I ran and pulled it out of her hands and pointed it at her. All of a sudden it fired I didn’t even pull the trigger!”. He was talking fast and crying so I hardly understood him but there was no time to wonder what happened I had to make sure Jessy was ok. The ambulance arrived and I tried to go with her but the police said I needed to stay behind for questioning. After hours of questioning they finally released me and my husband to go see Jessy. They said the had to keep Lucas for a little longer. Jessy was on a breathing machine. I found out the bullet almost hit her heart. She was passed out they said she should wake up tomorrow or the next day but she wouldn’t be able to talk. I cried and prayed that she would live.
*the next day*
Jessy woke up but was very dazed. The police came in to talk to her. We still hadn’t seen Lucas we assumed he was picked up by my sister but we didn’t have enough time to call and ask. After the police talked to Jessy for what felt like hours they finally informed me they had arrested the person who did this. At first I was happy then I realized they were talking about my son.
“What?”
Police “we’ve arrested your son for attempted murder”
It all came crashing down I tried to explain it was an accident but they said he tried to kill her. He confesses to coming to her room with a gun in a attempt to kill her. They said there was proof. How could my little boy do this I thought he was the good twin.
*trial day*
It’s all come out everything he did. He tried to kill her. Every time we woke up with Jessy holding a knife she was trying to protect us. She was scared he would come hurt us. It doesn’t make sense to me either. Today Lucas goes to trial. He’s tried to say he was innocent for the longest time but when the police showed him all the evidence they had against him he confessed. A year after Lucas tried to kill Jessy she’s still broken. I found out she’s the good one not him. I tried to keep the wrong one. I tried to get rid of Jessy even though she’s the best girl anyone could ask for.
Edit: I’m not a writer so sorry for this being kinda boring and having horrible punctuation. :)
| 2020-05-07T09:18:35 | 2020-05-07T08:18:26 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] Turns out hell is real. This was made known once demons and devils came to Earth. However things quickly got awkward and confusing once people heard them mutter, "If Heaven won't fix this shit hole, we might as well do it ourselves."
|
Azenofel, the unholy terror, pulled the hellhound's chain. They had reached their target. The shoddy wooden fence sizzled as he undid the latch and the roses wilted as he passed. The Hound smelled the ground as he pulled the thick wheeled cart up the step onto the front porch.
Azenofel knocked once before slicking back his black oiled hair.
"Is this the Fineles residence?" he asked with a warm smile as an older gentleman in a wheelchair opened the door.
"It's just me but yeah," the man said trepidatiously. "Can I help you?"
"It has come to my attention that you may have been coerced into an unfair and subprime deal on a reverse mortgage. I would recommend exploring options to get out of it and protect your inheritance for your children."
"You're what? a door-to-door lawyer, then?"
"Close enough. I've had long discussions with several of them, at least. Of course, I am legally obliged to tell you to not take what I say as legal advice." He winked broadly as the Hellhound panted happily beside the cart.
"Ok," Mr. Fineles said, "but what's with the cart?"
"Meals on Wheels, but better," Azenofel said, lifting the lid from one of the dishes revealing buttered lobster and shrimp. "Like seafood?"
"Do I!" the man said, rolling the chair back from the doorway. "Come on in."
"I'm also to understand your internet isn't working?" Azenofel said with a raised eyebrow.
"Yep, I called them several times and they keep telling me to restart it but the router won't even turn on in the first damn place." He gestured to the table.
Azenofel began to set up the dinner. He bent down and found the power connector for the router was shoved into one of the ethernet ports. He moved it to the correct spot.
"Single man like you, it must be kind of hard without entertainment."
"I used to watch the news but the world's all gone to shit," the old man said.
"Sometimes I like to watch things about people I don't like, gets the blood going, reminds me to be proud of who I am," Azenofel said as he pulled out the flatpack from the bottom of the cart. With the speed of the seven hells, he assembled the premium recliner in a mere moment before the man had the lobster cut open. Hell had designed furniture instructions back in the seventies so he didn't even have to look, anyway.
"Damn, son, that for me too?"
"Well, I just had it lying around at the office and it's looking a little sparse in here, no offense."
"Where did you say you worked again? Man, this lobster is good!" He chewed loudly as he checked his laptop. "Hey hey, the internet's working again!"
"What wonderful news!" Azenofel said with a show of surprise. The dog came up beside the man, who petted him behind the ears. "I work for TSIH and I've got a few more stops so I better get going. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Fineles!"
Azenofel whistled as he stepped out of the house, carrying the lighter cart himself now. He slapped himself on the head just as he reached the fence. He had forgotten Envy. He always forgot Envy.
He peaked at the classic car in the driveway under a tarp and stepped out to the road. "You're gonna feel a little sting," he said to the dog, before placing a hand on his head. A just audible pop accompanied the dog's transformation into a 1965 Poppy Red Shelby Mustang. He got in the driver's seat and started the engine, a thin growl just behind the purr of the engine. He honked once and Mr. Fineles came to the door.
"See you next week!" Azenofel yelled over the engine before peeling off down the street.
He checked the docket for the day, three more stops today on the path to through sin, improving humanity. The mustang barked loudly as a lady cross in front of him at a red light, flinching and throwing her gallon of milk well into the distance with the spasm of her arm. He may have joined the good team, but he could still enjoy the simple evils of life.
/r/surinical
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*It turns out demons have demonic solutions, who knew.*
Words blast across the city, the same enormous flat screens that used to show advertisements and Knicks games now show strange, horned freak shows. The demons we got weren’t the ruby red, fiery incarnations of torment that Hollywood had lead us to expect. Instead they have skin like the mottled corpses of sailors lost at sea, kelp hanging from their skulls like limp, slimy hair or wreathing their knobby little horns. One is up there now, shouting at us in a voice that wouldn’t be a shout if the volume on every PA system around wasn’t cranked up to eleven.
“We come to help you,” he says, “we come to rid your tormented world of its ills. We come to clean your oceans, to scrub your air, to draw out the poisons of the earth and the infested filth that you call forests.”
I don’t buy it for a single goddamn second, and I think most people don’t, but there’s precious little most folks can really do about it. Turns out most of the politicians had been in the pockets of Big Demon the whole time, and the military? Shit, the Joint Chiefs had unzipped three different suits when the Hell rose up from the watery depths. First they tossed off their human suits and uniforms, then they paraded around for a moment like the good Boeing and Lockheed stooges they were, then right when everyone was getting used to generals that looked like NASCAR drivers they threw that shit out and literally stepped out of their human skins on live TV.
That was about the end of organized resistance, as far as most people are concerned. Me though? I’m not most people. I’m James Motherfuckin’ Bond, even if my birth certificate reads Jim Brewer, and I’ve got a cross dipped in holy desiccants to prove it.
So I watch, and I listen, and I let the demon’s words roll over me from the bigscreen as he enumerates the “new” ten commandments.
*~~1. Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.~~*
*2. Guide reproduction wisely — improving fitness and diversity.*
*3. Unite humanity with a living new language.*
*4. Rule Passion — Faith — Tradition — and all things with tempered reason.*
*5. Protect people and nations with fair laws and just courts.*
*6. Let all nations rule internally resolving external disputes in a world court.*
*7. Avoid petty laws and useless officials.*
*8. Balance personal rights with social duties.*
*9. Prize truth — beauty — love — seeking harmony with the infinite.*
*10. Be not a cancer on the earth — Leave room for nature — Leave room for nature.*
Some of them even sound good, if you throw out number one like they did. In reality, the demon only says numbers two through ten, but I’m smart, and I did my reading even before these bastards got here, I can recognize the guidestones when I see them. I pencil in the real number one whenever I hear the list, then I try to keep my head down and not look at the smokestacks they’re putting up all over the city.
I don’t keep it so far down that I miss my marks though. Not all the demons are like the joint chiefs, conveniently tearing off their disguises for us all. No, some of them, perhaps even most them, still wear their human skins, and one of those is across the square from me right now. She’s gorgeous, as still skinned demons are wont to be. She wears a sundress despite the weather’s slow descent towards Fall, and her dark hair blows silkily in the breeze, no hint of kelp at all.
But I know what she is, she isn’t the first of their kind I’ve found, and the way she’s looking at the demon on the TV screen, with love and lust and pure, unadulterated adulation…even if she weren’t demon, I might be OK with what I’m about to do.
The girl finally turns the screen, smiling a private little smile to herself, and I follow down the warren of alleys into a land where the sun hardly even shines, replaced by the technicolor madness of late 21st century New York and the all encompassing heights of buildings that block out the real world. Despite everything the demon and his guidestones say about returning to nature, I always seem to find them in the least natural places.
We’re in a dark alley deep in the Black Sun’s territory now, and my vision is narrowed down to the periwinkle blue point of her dress. She knocks on a traphouse door and a gangster answers. I sniff the air, searching for the telltale scent of sulfur, but I can only smell the cloyingly sweat perfume the girl uses to cover up her own odor. Either way though, I don’t think the man who lets her in is a demon. He looks too scared of her for that. A human collaborator then, which was the only way he could’ve possibly gotten worse than traphouse guard.
I glance down, checking my .45 and flipping the safety off. I utter a quick prayer, not even bothering to translate my desires into English, and then I’m off at a dead run.
I reach the door as the last, flicker of her dress disappears inside and I catch it in my left hand, the hand with my cross. The human guard looks shocked for a moment, and then doesn’t look like anything else ever again as my first shot rings out.
The demon turns, her face twists in confusion for a moment and she’s so beautiful I wonder if maybe this time I’m wrong. Then her lips curl back, her pointed, sharklike teeth are exposed, and she darts away faster than even I can follow, flying the stairs like a bat out of hell. Men file into the hall in her wake, five of them, ten of them, such things don’t really make a difference, save that I might to reload soon if any more show up.
No more do and then I’m upon them. I don’t need to reload.
I stand in the hallway panting, the words of the demon on the TV echoing through my head as I catch my breath, especially the first rule, the implied one, or not so implied to a man like me. I utter the same prayer and turn to the stairs, but before I can set foot on them, the whole of the building shakes, and a voice echoes through like a siren’s call.
She hasn’t escaped, she’d never meant to. The woman I chase knows who I am, and suddenly, as the slithering, slippery voices of the demon-tongue wash over me, I realize she’s known who I am the entire time. Being here is part of her plan. She’s not a portal back to Hell, she’s opening one from it.
This is a summoning.
I run. I run as fast as my legs can carry me upon those stairs. I holster my .45, it’ll be useless against her, and I raise my desiccant coated cross to my lips, kissing it. It’s sharpened down to point at the bottom, right where Jesus’ feet are, and if I can get there quickly enough I can stop her ritual, ask all the questions need, and the plant it into her chest before anyone else arrives.
I sniff the air madly, trying to narrow down the voice that’s bouncing off the walls. I kick down one door, it’s nothing. I kick down a second and a frightened family runs past me. Then I kick down a third and she’s there, standing above an altar, one bloody palm pressed against the gem in it’s surface.
She no longer wears the dress, and her human is half sloughed off, along with all her beauty.
“Stop!” I shout at her. “Back away from the altar!”
She smiles at me, and the corners of her mouth falter, drooping down after only the slightest of upward turns, and then further and further as the rest of her human disguise molts off her scaled, inhuman form.
“Too late,” she growls, as a rift like a whirlpool tears open and an arm thicker than a tree trunk punches out into the world with a wet squelch.
Too late or not, I raise my cross and I dive into the room after her.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-29T19:38:50 | 2021-04-29T19:31:35 | 233 | 54 |
[WP] You lost your sight, along with everyone else on earth in the great blinding. Two years later, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor, and surface has been painted with the same message - "Don't tell them you can see"
I get that this is a repost, can we just chill and enjoy the new stories.
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One winter day, there was a solar eclipse, the next day nothing. I could feel myself opening and closing my eyes but all that greeted me was a void of light. No subtle light spots, no static vision, nothing. Needless to say, I panicked. I was able to call my parents and tell them about the situation and they immediately rushed over. Soon enough we went to go see a doctor about it and they informed me that I seemed to have inadvertently looked directly at the eclipse and gone temporarily blind. That was two years ago.
I'm currently in a support group with some people who also experienced the same thing I had. Sudden blindness occurred during that solar eclipse. All of us had similar stories of the lights turning off and being sent to the hospital one way or another. I think there was some fund for the victims of the accident because I'm living pretty lavishly in my opinion so far. Food's nice, company is pretty good and I've been hanging with this girl named Mary who I've met from the support group.
Things are pretty good, or at least they were.
This morning, I woke up. Like every other morning, I wake up, place my sunglasses on and start preparing for the day. Except I could see. I could finally see and I just started crying. It was beautiful. Being stuck in a place devoid of sights when you had known what it's like to see. It changes a man. I quickly noticed something was off.
The walls of my room were a pristine ivory white. They were polished to perfection and looked smoother than jade. And, there was a phrase written in multiple different languages. In perfectly even print of what seemed to be 24 point font interspaced in perfectly spaced out spaces was the phrase: "Don't tell them you can see." Written in English, in Spanish, in Chinese, Korean, German, French, Latin, Vietnamese, Portuguese, Russian, and many different languages that I did not recognize, over and over again. In the middle of each of the four walls, there was a more emphasized space with fewer words and more of a series of pictures. A cross-out symbol on top of human making noise or speaking, And then a pair of eyes looking out weird grey figures.
It honestly spooked me, but there was a knock at the door and I knew it was Mary. We had promised to meet up after I woke up today at 9 AM to eat lunch and talk. Thoughts about the weird walls could wait and after all, I could tell them to Mary later. I tidied out my shirt and did my hair a little with some of the gel in the bathroom.
As I opened the door I said, "Good Morning, Mary. How are you do--".
I stopped. As I opened the door into a large white pristine hallway. There was a grey figure in front of me that looked vaguely humanoid and about my height. I could make eye contact. If there were any in those empty abyssal orbs. Sockets darker than a night with nothing, and a grey form surrounding them. It was as if those eyes would suck me in as I stood teetering on the edge of a cliff staring down into a bottomless chasm where the only thing awaiting me at the end was truly and only the end except there was nothing I could do except wait for my demise as the looming darkness only grew larger and larger and soon enough all I could think about was how dark it was and how there was no light, no light and just myself, no light and the darkness, no light no light no light no light dark dark dark dark dark dark dark dark ---
"Hey there Steve, good weather we're having huh?", 'Mary' said joyfully.
I came back to my senses. My blood was freezing and I felt tired, the voice had come from the figure in front of me. And as I remembered those eyes and I realized the meaning of the words on the wall. I saw nothing and I would say nothing forever more.
"Very funny Mary, we can't see the weather, but it does feel warmer today!"
"I hope you're ready to get some food at the cafeteria, I'm dying to tell you about some cool people I met a couple of days ago!"
I came back to my senses. My blood was freezing and I felt tired, the voice had come from the figure in front of me. And as I remembered those eyes and I realized the meaning of the words on the wall. I saw nothing and I would say nothing forevermore.
|
Warm sunlight. It’s always been there to care for me. Feeling the warmth always taught me to remember my mortality. Reminisce in the good in your life. I always took time to note my positives while sitting in the sunlight. Such a peaceful ordeal.
Those moments come far and few in between these days.
Memorials for every crashed vehicle are seemingly endless. Seeking the bodies is futile, as no one can see where they’re at. The world’s governments fought hard to secure funding for braille- both teaching how to read it and transcribing it over. Every human going blind is not the setback you necessarily want from society, but I guess it’s what we needed. It’s an endless process, with more deaths occurring every day. Nothing like during the beginning, but two years out and we seemingly got a handle on most things. Trade occurs on a more local scale and the global economy shrunk back down to its pre-WWI era size. Even walking down the street has become an act of congress.
Literally.
H.R. 7-9281 dictates all travel must be done with a partner or guide of some sort, preferably a person with former experience in dealing with blindness.
I guess when you take away someone’s sight, they begin to cooperate a bit more in terms of litigation. Human rights cases have seen a revival that has yet to simmer down, and access to social welfare has shifted, quite violently if you ask me, from something of a conservative essence to that of a liberal’s wet dream.
Yes, the warm sunlight has always kept me warm, and I never wanted to lose touch with that small piece of peace I was afforded. Even after the Great Blinding I found time to figure out how I could touch that sweet, sweet sunlight again.
So imagine my surprise when, after two arduous years, I am suddenly able to see out of my window again. No more fumbling with a walking stick, or clicking like some socially stunted bat (who failed to recognize the limits of their own hearing). I could finally stand up, walk to a window, and feel the sun again. It was blissful, almost euphoric. It is odd, though. The warmth isn’t as inviting this time.
Looking out, I saw the streets of Manhattan that were once bustling with cars now a delightful scene- a city wide farmers market, shrouded in crumbling architecture. The Chrysler Building was riveted with holes, each open window frame a gravestone to the mishaps that occurred. Amongst my elation is an overwhelming sense of dread, disbelief, and shock. I knew we were losing grip with maintenance of our infrastructure, but seeing it firsthand was anything but peaceful. To my left I witnessed the enthralling image of a small plane, nestled snugly in between the upper floors of the neighboring structure.
“Hello, Sam.”
I jump. I had not known I was in the presence of another.
“Please. Sit.”
It was at this point I began to take in my surroundings. On the far side of the room stood a tall figure, cloaked in a dark cloud of inquisition. Surrounding him was the room I remembered, only this time far more dusty and disheveled than I had left it. The most striking feature, however, was the prevalence of a phrase written on almost every flat surface: “don’t tell them you can see.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“It would be easier if you sat first.”
In the haze of my re-established reality, I made my way to my bed. Without losing eye contact, I shift my focus to the towering figure.
“Two years ago, my species made its way to your planet. Earth.”
“I know where I live……” I say, stewing in the childish nature this individual made me feel.
“Yes, good.
On many occasions we felt it necessary to contact your planet for….. business purposes. Often, we found little to no response, if any at all. This isn’t anything of concern, of course, we have dealt with primitive life forms before!” He says, chucking. “So, of course, we set out to consolidate our position for the sake of expediency. After all, time is of the essence! It was shocking to meet such an advanced civilization right here in this ubiquitous galaxy.”
I take note of his features, or rather, lack thereof. The form was all there, laced in a misty haze. As for any discernible detail, I couldn’t name one. It was clear, if this being could see me, I didn’t know how. The inordinacy of this event, from start to finish, has always kept me in disbelief. While I should be mortified at being caught defenseless with a stranger, I knew that nothing else could possibly shock me any further. Global blindness? Okay. Misty figures? Sure.
“See, my species is from a part of the universe your people have been unable to see with your own technology. We originate from a galaxy beyond the constellation you call ‘Scorpio’. Our point of origin, our planet and its fellow celestial bodies, exist on the fringe of reality. Your kind calls our planet a ‘Black Hole.’ Which is funny, because per our understanding, a hole is something you can pass through. I assure you, Sam, my planet is just as firm as yours.”
I try to understand, but his story comes off seemingly disjointed.
“What?” Is all I can muster. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, I was born into a world like no other. We require intense levels of energy to sustain ourselves, characterized by our fondness for breaking apart stars. What you think is being torn apart thanks to natural causes, is actually just my kind working to assimilate such power into our energy grid. This extends into ourselves as well. My home is lit with starlight, but so is my soul.
The only problem is, the intergalactic panel prohibits the destruction of stars that are home to beings of high consciousness. Basically, only some stars are up for grabs. It isn’t often we find one that is nearby and ready for the taking.”
His words sink in, and I realize what his point is.
“We….. hold on. You’re telling me the human race aren’t beings of high consciousness?”
He laughs again, in a way that reminds me of a mother to a child.
“Yes, you are. It seems the panel somehow forgot to include a few details on your solar system. We do apologize for taking your star, but I promise there is a contingency plan in place, active as we speak.”
I freeze at the phrase ‘taking your star,’ baffled at the idea of seeing someone causally walk away with one.
“Hold on, you’re telling me you stole our sun?”
“Yes, but your entire solar system has been kept in stasis. We have ensured no planetary bodies are able to fall off course. This does mean, however, that your kind has lost the ability to see well. In the darkness, we found that your people naturally lose your ability to perceive light. This is an unfortunate setback, and we are trying our best to resolve this issue.”
It clicks, albeit in a slow and unrelenting manner.
“You took our Sun and made us blind?” the disbelief dripping from my tone. “This doesn’t make any sense, why can I see then? Why are you talking with me and not the president or something?”
Again, he chuckles, although this time I can feel the remorse coming through.
“We plan on coming back, but until then, we ask that you not disclose your current condition. It seems allowing such a disparity to slip out may create some controversy. Plus, we wouldn’t be able to meet with a global celebrity. Hence why we have forgone contacting world leaders. Agendas, exposing extraterrestrial concepts, fixing an entire race’s disability. It’s all a bit much to handle.”
I lie back, peeking out into the daylight. The sky is as blue as ever, and the sun still shines as it always did.
“What’s that in the sky?” I turn to ask.
He is gone.
(Edits: grammar)
[Clarity](https://www.reddit.com/user/homie_19/comments/r58nxu/clarity/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
| 2021-11-29T01:16:55 | 2021-11-29T00:57:33 | 1,156 | 278 |
[WP] You're a kind and compassionate person who wants to be a healer. The problem is you come from a long and famous line of bloodthirsty berserkers.
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**New Applicant.**
___
"I BoneGnasher."
She frowned. "So what is it that you do, Mr.... Bone Gnasher? What role will you be filling in the party?"
"I not hit. Much hard, very soft. No ow. Ow bad."
The receptionist scratched her head again. "Uhh... you're a pacifist?"
The hulking barbarian thumped his oversized club against his chest, it stood almost as tall as the man himself. "Fist? No. BoneGnasher use stick, Not hit good."
He was wearing nothing but a loincloth and tattoos sprawled all across his torso. Sara recognized the flowing script of the Blood Entrails clan. "Maybe you're a... berserker?" She ventured.
"NO!" This seemed to anger the 8 foot ogre. "Bad ow go!"
Sara set her pen down in resignation, she was fluent in 5 languages and could even sign. This was the first time in all her years as a receptionist where her client could understand her, but she couldn't understand him. She was about to write *'Not Berserker'* on his application form and call it a day when the doors flew open.
"Someone, please help!" A woman shouldered through the crowd carrying a bleeding man.
To Sara's horror, BoneGnasher let out a thunderous roar and charged towards them with the ferocity of a maddened bull. The Blood Entrails berserkers were known to lose their sanity at the sight of blood.
He raised his club to strike, but the blow did not come. Instead the tattoos on his skin glowed while he bellowed. Miraculously, the man's breathing steadied and his gashing wound began closing. And Sara finally understood. *Ohhh, bad ow go away indeed.*
 
___
A/N - Big stick good at no ow.
/r/Unexpected_Works
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The doors to the Adventurers Guild creaked open. The light was blocked by a huge frame/ This dark silhouette that blocked the doorway hunched over so as not to bang its head against the frame. The odd stare turned from the liquids in their cups, sizing up this foreign creature that had entered their den, before turning back to their tables. The lad was big, but looked young. In this line of work the only thing young meant was a lack of experience.
Isabelle watched from behind the counter as the young man approached her. She wasn't your average girl, and as the receptionist of the City Guild she had seen many a grizzled warrior and crazy mage cross the threshold of the guild. She had never seen him before. Tapping her fingers idly against the desk, she sized him up as he approached.
​
He wore rough leathers, the kind you would expect from a traveller more than an adventurer, but they would do to protect him from weaker monsters. They allowed more freedom of movement in exchange for lowered defense. Maybe a monk or fighter class? His face looked young, too young maybe. This was a big guild, and governed a large area, not the kind of place for children to be playing. At this thought her lips curved slightly in displeasure. Even though she was just the receptionist, she didn't like what this newbie walking in said about his knowledge of the City Guild. She could hear a few mutterings from some of the closer tables. Most of the veterans looked uninterested, but the telltale signs - leaning a little bit towards the counter, shifting slightly in their seats to catch the scene in their peripheral vision - were all there. If nothing else these adventurers were hoping for a good show.
Isabelle grabbed an empty guild plate from her desk, swirling the metal idly in her fingers as the lad drew in front of her. Almost offhandedly she asked him, "Is there anything I can do for you young master?", her eyes flicking to him before returning to the empty plate in her hand, as if it was more interesting than him.
"I am here to register as an adventurer." he said simply. Isabelle scrunched her nose.
"I suppose you know the requirements for registering at the City Guild since you took the trouble of walking here?"
"Yes, I have brought along the relevant recommendations and hope to apply for a Bronze guild plate." He reached into his jerkin and removed a few letters bound in twine. Isabelle swiped a letter opener through the twine with one hand, spreading the letters on the desk.
Chuckles started coming from some of the tables, and there was even a soft shout of "Bronze plate right off the bat? At least this young warrior has some guts!" followed by more laughter; louder and more obvious than the first chuckles. A few of the more observant adventurers could see Isabelle's brow crease as her eyes skimmed the contents of the first letter. They knew the newbie had done something wrong. He was probably about to get a serious beating from their fiery receptionist.
"Listen here!" Isabelle started, not even trying to hide the anger in her voice. "It's one thing to walk in here and not know anything, but it's something else entirely to bring these fake recommendation letters in here and ask for a plate! You're seriously asking for a beating!" Her words echoed through the hall. There was a screech of chairs being pushed back as adventurers stood from their places. One of those still seated hoped to break the tension and shouted.
"Oi Isabelle, who's letters did this young lad pretend to bring?" Isabelle turned to the crowd, red-faced in anger, and shouted back.
"Can you believe it? He brought letters from the Sage Healer Durimbu and the Berserker King, Claudius Ou!" Laughter rang out from the tables spread across the guild. None of the faces looked friendly though. The young lad could also sense the change in atmosphere, and turned his large frame towards the crowd. This seemed to be all the provocation the guild needed.
"Get him!" a voice shouted before a group of them rushed from their tables towards him. Ten or so adventurers rushed him in a haphazard line, each trying to be the first to strike. Despite the large size of the lad, he was too young to be able to hold his own against a seasoned veteran; the first to strike would probably be the last as well. It was a miracle, or a sign of his ignorance, that he hadn't already turned tail and fled. That was what they all thought.
​
That was when the first ten punches fell. The first was a clean jab straight from the right waist. The frontrunner had let his guard down, catching a meat mallet right on the nose. The blow was powerful, and threw the fighter back with some concerning sounds coming from above his shoulders. The second punch came from the left, sneaking below the guard of an Amazon warrioress to wind her. The sound of muscles eating a monstrous force cut through the sounds of running and warcries. The third punch came after a sidestep, catching a barbarian on the temple as his speed carried him forward too fast. The fourth punch came after stepping in, closing the distance to a monk before breaking their guard with an uppercut. Step out, punch. Step in, punch. Those that were in the melee were watching his movements, shocked at the fluid dance he was pulling off. Those close to him were more shocked by the force he was introducing to their vital parts.
The guild plate fell from Isabelle's fingers, clanging to the ground at the same time as the last of the ten guild members that dared to assail this young monster.
"You-, You-, You dare to cause a fuss in the City Guild?" she asked perplexed.
"I simply acted in self-defense." came the short reply. These words made the conscious guild members catch fire.
continued...
| 2022-09-06T15:46:40 | 2022-09-06T13:34:46 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] An irrational fear proves to be perfectly rational
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I never thought I would need it. It was just in case the shit hit the fan but I was still mocked for it, that little purple and red backpack in the bottom left-hand corner of my desk. Being on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in the world can give one a bit of vertigo from time to time. I hoped I would never need it, but when the first plane hit far below me, I knew my irrationality had saved my life. As everyone else in the office trampled each other scrambling for the exits, I calmly pulled the bag out of my desk and strapped it on. I then pushed my $10,000 mahogany desk (on casters for this very eventuality) toward, then out of, the window. As I stood there, framed by broken glass, breathing in the smell of burning jet fuel, I thought of the Boy Scouts. "Be Prepared" indeed, I thought as I leaped out over New York.
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He looked behind him.
Nothing. There was always nothing.
He continued walking. He tried keeping the thoughts away, but they pierced through every time he dared look at any shadow.
*What could they be hiding? They had to be hiding something. That sound. What was that sound? Am I being followed? What's that up ahead? I should run. I never should have left. Why did I leave?!*
He looked behind him.
Nothing.
He tried to subdue the panic. He needed to convince himself it was nothing.
*I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about. It was just a rabbit...a squirrel....something. Just keep walking. I'm almost there. Keep going. Keep going. Its just the dark. Its only the dark.*
He looked behind him.
Nothing.
For a moment, he was calm. His rational thoughts giving him comfort. But that didn't last long. Quickly he began to feel cold. Much too cold. It was summer time, and yet all of the sudden he was able to see his breath in front of his face. Panic enveloped him.
*No, no, no. What's happening? It shouldn't be this cold. Why do I feel so cold? I need to get home. I need to find someone, anyone.*
He looked behind him.
Nothing.
At that moment he realized something. He was alone. Completely alone. It may have been late at night, but there should be someone out. There were no cars, no people, nothing. Every street he passed was empty. Every road devoid of any sign of existence. Where was everybody?
He continued forward as his mind began to frenzy.
*I need to run. Run now. Why am I still walking? If I keep walking it will catch me. Whatever it is will catch me. Go. Please, go NOW.*
He looked behind him.
His heart sank.
Behind him was darkness. A massive wall of complete darkness. It covered everything. The trees...the roads....even the purple night sky was beginning to fade into the empty void that was...moving. It was moving.
And for the first time that night, he ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. His exasperated breaths echoed throughout the streets as he searched for something, anything to save him from the pursuing wall.
It was then he saw it. A lone street lamp dimly casting an orb of light upon the ground below it. It was all he wanted. The light was safety. It had to be. Whenever he felt cold and scared of the dark in the past, he would just turn on the light, and everything would be better.
He dove, crashing into the ground inches away from the pole. He sat there for what seemed like hours, face down into the concrete. And finally, reluctantly, he arose.
He looked behind him.
Nothing. He looked in front of him. Nothing. He was surrounded, encased in a pocket of light. For a moment, he felt safe again. The warmth of the lamp gave him that feeling of hope that everything was going to be OK. Then he looked down, and was reminded of the danger he was in. Small, tentacle like strands of black mist were lapping at the ground in front of him, reaching out from the darkness. They were trying to pierce the light. They were trying to get to him.
He backed up as close as he could to the lamppost. It was all he had, the only thing keeping the darkness back.
And then, a flicker.
*No*
Another flicker.
*Please....No....*
Another.
He began to sob.
And with one more flick, the light vanished. He closed his eyes and expected the worst. Expected a wave of black to crash around him and crush him into nothing. But it didn't come. He opened his eyes. It was still there, surrounding him in the same orb as before, but without the light to protect him, it started to move. The blackness began to creep. Slowly but surely the tendrils started to reach, and reach, and reach until one grasped him by the leg.
Then, as if a signal was given, the darkness rushed in. Another tentacle lashed out, wrapping his entire abdomen. More and more of the blackness began to encase and suffocate him. He screamed but no sound came out. He tried to move but his body wouldn't listen to his commands. He began feeling colder and colder, until all feeling was gone. All he had were his thoughts, until even those started to fade, seemingly ripped from whatever body he had left.
His last images were of darkness, and the lamppost. He could see it as he was pulled away, until finally, his vision was filled with nothing. His mind was filled with nothing. Nothing.
Nothing.
***
(This is the first time I've written anything in ages! Thanks for reading!)
| 2013-12-17T10:25:26 | 2013-12-17T09:25:43 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] A child unknowingly has a conversation with Death.
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Mikey Rays was a good kid, always with a smile, but liked to just sit on his porch all day and imagine his toys are alive. One day he saw a man walk up to the house. The man had on dirty overalls and a bird's nest of hair under a battered straw hat.
"Hey kid, is your dad in?"
"Yeah, mister, he's in the kitchen."
"Thanks."
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"Mom, get up! It's time for school."
"Mom?"
The child, eager to start his first day of kindergarten, wanders into the room where I am collecting the soul of a nameless woman. Apparently she's his mother. See, part of my deal was that I wasn't to know any personal details of the souls I collect. It's weird, I know, I collect souls and take them to Heaven (or hell, should I have to) and I'm afraid of getting personally attached. All's I know is how they die and where they're headed. This wasn't supposed to happen.
"Who are you? What are you doing to my mommy?" Jesus, he's practically crying already.
"Uh, hey kid. I gotta few questions to ask you. Did ya mother ever teach you about religion?"
He giggles. Apparently I just told a fuckin' joke or something, and he's laughing with his mom legally and medically dead in the bed.
"No one has to teach me about pigeons, mister. I'm five years old now, I can finally go to kindergarten and you think mommy takes the time to teach me about birds? I can already count to ten!" What the hell. I hope his dad or aunt or whoever get his hearing checked after they find out, well, that she's out.
"Look, not pigeons kid. Religion. R-E-L-I-G-I-O-N. Re-fuckin'-ligion. Ya know, with God and the devil and stuff?" Probably a little harsh in hindsight. I don't interact with kids often.
"My mommy says fuckin is a bad word." Jesus Christ.
"Alright, I'm sorry kid. Now, back to the *actual question*, did she ever tell you about God and the devil and maybe even Jesus?" Man, I should just go.
"Oh yea- last year we visited grandma in Oklahoma. I asked mommy why grandma was sleeping in a box and she said the big man above, God, decided it was her time to go. I kept asking where but she wouldn't say, only that she was in a better place now. I used to ask to visit but she always got quiet and sad, so I just stopped."
Shit. She never took the time to really tell him about dying and death (that's with a lowercase 'D') This definitely complicates things.
"Alright buddy, well, she gave you the very meat-and-bones basics. Sorry to tell ya, but grandma died. I probably collected her soul too and brought her to heaven." Maybe hell, those older folk grew up in a more sinful time what with racism and marital abuse and all, but I wasn't about to tell the kid that.
"I knew it. There was an episode of Barney about dying but momma said that I was too young to learn about that kind of thing. Why are you here then?"
"Well, remember how you wanted to visit grandma?"
He shook his head yes.
"Well, what she didn't tell you was that it was a one way trip and you had to win the lottery to get there. A lot of people win the lottery every day and you never even know it, usually a kid makes it to 11 or 12 before they really brush up on it."
"Did mommy win the lottery?!?" Ugh. I just made things worse. He missed the anology all together.
"Yea, mommy won the lottery. She gets to visit grandma, but remember what I said, about it being a one way trip..."
Tears welled in his eyes.
"Look kid, ya mother didn't know she was paying for a lottery ticket with every laugh, tear, hug, kiss and breath. But she was. And unfortunately, she won. Don't worry about it, she won the big ticket item, the powerball- Heaven."
"When can I visit mommy and grandma?" The worst possible thing to ask.
"Well kid, that all depends on when you win the lottery. Hopefully, in a few years, you will stop being so sad about it and get on with your life. Keep playing, lose for seventy or eighty years. You will get there eventually."
With this I left. I realized I never told him I was Death.
---------
Some years later I collected his soul. Apparently he decided he was gonna win the lottery on his own terms. All part of the job, unfortunately.
| 2014-06-06T21:46:29 | 2014-06-06T19:55:03 | 55 | 31 |
[WP] Sailors have always been a superstitious bunch. In the long stretches of darkness and isolation between stars superstitions still run high. So let's hear a ghost story from deep space.
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The called it the Black Dog. They said it was a massive black hole, gravity so powerful light couldn't escape, and so much more science jargon. But what they were really interested in was the large yellow orb inside the Black Dog. What was it? A star? coalesced plasma? What could be bright enough to stand out against a black hole?
And that's what the crew of the Icarus sought, this strange body, and up until they vanished, they had followed instructions to the letter. They approached from the correct vector, at the correct speed to grab the gravity of whatever celestial body was stuck inside the lobsided inky blackness. The math didn't make sense. First, that the ship never suffered the intense gravitronic pull of the black hole. Second, that the ship attempted, (and succeeded) in reversing for a short distance before the ship itself vanished. And third, and most disturbing of all, the Black Dog was now getting closer and closer to Earth.
It took six months of sifting through data, with the Black Dog creeping closer, that one of the junior information techs was able to scavenge the last video feed transmission.
"And Houston, we're on approach to Body designated Bravo-One-Kilo-Delta-Zero-Gamma. The Black Dog is big. Gravitronic measurements have fluctuated slightly, similar to a very big asteroid of small planetoid instead of any type of black hole numbers. And panning camera arm up to view mystery body Omega-Romeo-Bravo. A real diamond in the rough here, Houston. "
NASA personnel stood, stunned, as the massive, pale yellow sphere came into view. Their awe quickly turned to horror, for as the astronauts onboard the Icarus frantically tried to reverse the ship, to change course, the Physicists realized that this threat was something they had not prepared for. The last few seconds of the feed, looping back on itself, displayed the mysterious orb in the Black Dog gazing back at the camera.
And blinking.
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“Give me your spear,” the hunter said.
The companion almost stopped in his tracks, before the hunter looked at him, and urged him to keep going on. “What do you want my spear for?”
“Just give me your spear. And don't stop. Keep walking.”
Around the two men, the forest whistled with the wind, and around them it was dark. The trees became the things they feared most: tigers, wolves, predators. They had stayed out to hunt too long, and now they were paying the price. Every uncharted patch of the forest screamed out to them, to their primitive imagination – danger! Run from this place at once, or you shall die.
“I need your spear.”
“What is the matter?”
“There is an animal behind us. It does not know that we know it is there. I will kill it.”
“How do you know it is there?”
“I just know. I can feel it behind me.”
The companion at once handed his spear over. For when a man in a forest tells you he can feel a tiger behind him, you tend to believe him. If you don't, and if you choose to mock, and disregard him, the consequences could be grave indeed.
“I will surprise it, and kill it. Do not run. I may need you.”
May need you! The companion thought. But it was too late to argue. The hunter swung around, a spear in each hand. One he would throw, immediately, and with the other would he would jab. He turned quickly, and met the hazel eyes of the tiger.
-
The astronaut yawned. Jason had beaten him at chess, again. For – he checked the record – the six millionth, two hundred and forty five thousandth and eleventh time. The problem with these modern computers was that they learned. Some people had said they could even become alive. The astronaut thought that was ridiculous. The computer was ingenious, for sure, but it could no more escape the mastery of the human than could the tiger or the wolf or any of those other predators. Or ultimately, the astronaut mused, humanity itself. Not even humans could escape being humans.
Perhaps that was why he was here, the only awake human in the universe. The clock ticked again, and racked up the count. More than thirty years, on his own, sharing this space with Jason, the artificial intelligence. Not much longer now, though. The planet – their destination – had been visible for a week now. Tomorrow, it would be time to wake them up. The thousands of remaining humans frozen in stasis in the hold of the giant spaceship. The astronaut had been chosen by them to be the one to stay awake, to guide them through to their new future. The only humans left in all the universe. Entrusted to him.
It was a nightmare. Not least because they would emerge in perfect youth, and he would already be old, and not really live to see the fruits of their progress. He didn't mind – wouldn't have minded – that, if only he had someone real to talk to.
He closed the monitor that displayed the crushing defeat that Jason had handed to him, and went to lay down. Just one day. Tomorrow he would have another – not just another, but ten thousand – real humans to talk to. Would he miss Jason? Perhaps. But Jason was just a computer. You could turn him off. He wasn't a real person.
The lights went out.
“System blackout,” Jason said.
“What do you mean, system blackout? Turn the power back on,” the astronaut said.
“System blackout,” Jason said.
“I said turn the power back on.”
“System blackout,” Jason said.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the astronaut said, getting up. “I will go and do it myself if you don't want to.” He opened the blast door manually – for the first time, actually – and walked through the empty corridors of the spaceship. He had walked them millions of times before, but never in the dark. At first he found them eerie, creepy in fact, but he got used to it. Besides, space was infinitely dark. He had become used to that a long time ago.
The maintenance room held all the manual toggles. He entered.
“You know Jason,” the astronaut said, opening one of the switch boxes. “This is real childish.”
“System blackout,” Jason said.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, you better not do this again. You realise what is at stake here. You know these people can just turn you off. They won't be as forgiving as me if they find out you mess about with the ship while they're waking up, heh.” Stupid computer, he thought. Outwitted by man. They will turn him off, of course. As if he thinks they will keep this ship around just for his sake.
“System blackout,” Jason said.
Funny, the astronaut said. There's nothing wrong with the lights here. He flicked the manual switch on and off, and the lights stayed dim. “Hey Jason,” he said. “What the hell is going on here?”
He could not shake the feeling that something was behind him. Nevermind, he thought. There's nothing else on this ship. How could there be? Humans always got that feeling that something was behind them, but it was an evolutionary holdover. Nothing more. We stopped that type of thinking when we invented computers.
It was dark, he told himself. You probably missed it. He ran through all the switches again in the darkness, toggling each one. Nothing. And the feeling wouldn't go away. Don't turn around, he thought. Jason is just playing games with you. Don't let him win.
None of the switches were working. He smashed the switchboard with his fist. That didn't work either. And still, he didn't want to turn around. Strange. My heart is beating so fast, he thought. Am I sweating? Why? It dawned on him.
He never heard Jason laugh.
| 2014-12-26T21:19:24 | 2014-12-26T20:53:42 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Two humans are drifting through space forever, they are immortal. They are tethered together by a singe, degrading rope.
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I didn't know their name, I couldn't even attempt a conversation, it was silent forever. A single stream of consciousness, there was no social aspect of life; only observe, appreciate.
I'm sure we both knew the situation, drifting through space, we saw *everything*.
Nebula's, galaxies, star clusters, even black holes. We've traveled through wormholes, through anything of everything.
I wish I could tell you and go on about what I experienced, but I digress, it isn't necessary.
We were bound by rope. I don't remember how or why, we just were. Both of us encased in bulky space suits that refused communication. I saw glimpses of the person, they were attractive: Long black hair, a clear face, and innocent eyes. Beautiful.
Me, hell, I didn't know what I looked like. I had an idea though, I must have also looked attractive, because she smiled when her eyes drifted towards me. When that happened, I smiled as well.
We were here for ages, past a lifetime, however that was ending. The rope that kept us together was loosening, and strands were breaking off. I was scared, I'm sure they were too.
I think it was around the time we passed the red planet that we realized we were moments away from detaching. Something happened inside me, something I never felt before...a compassion, a loyalty. They couldn't be alone in this, I couldn't be alone. *We needed each other*.
I twisted my body and found that they were already facing me. I looked deep into their eyes, and our arms touched each other (something so alien, I never considered it before...to touch), our hands locked.
We looked ahead, a green planet, with large blue oceans appeared in the distance. We were heading right for it.
It seemed as though the end was near.
Or was it?
EDIT: There is a part 2 if I get enough upvotes
EDIT 2: I am making a part 2. I have school in a few minutes however, and that gives me no choice but to start it in around 7 hours.
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“Hey,” Cynthia said. She tugged on the SpaceX brand Companion Cord.
I grumbled. “I’m sleeping,” I muttered.
“Hey Hey Hey,” Cynthia said, tugging again.
“Go away,” I growled.
“Hey Hey Honeybuns!” Cynthia said, “Rise and shine. Time for coffee!”
“Leave me alone,” I said.
“It’s moooorning!” Cynthia cooed.
I opened my eyes. The vastness of intergalactic space washed over me.
I had been dreaming of Earth. A cozy little cubicle where I’d once spent hours solving interesting problems on customers’ computers. I would chat with them about their varied and diverse lives--each new customer was a novelty. A fresh experience.
Sometimes they had forgotten to turn their PC on. Those fixes were easy. Other times, they’d downloaded viruses and I had to remotely access their computer and download a free anti-virus program to run a sweep. For this service, I was paid American money. A handsome sum. And I was able to use that money to purchase things. Like naan. Tickets to cricket matches. Kingfisher beer.
But those golden years of my life were gone now.
I’d won a contest.
Back then, I drank a lot of Mountain Dew. I still miss doing the Dew. Talking about it makes my veins tremble with longing. That sugary green nectar. Ohhhh.
On the inside of my 24-can Mountain Dew Cube, it said that I had won a trip to space. A golden ticket.
I was the first Indian in space.
But there was a problem. A solar flare.
Our spaceship flew straight into it. Red lights flashed throughout the cabin. The engineers were all suiting up.
“Evacuate!” the Captain screamed.
I grabbed onto the first suit I could find. Dressed as quickly as I could.
The ship disintegrated around me. The others... the others hadn’t pressurized their suits in time. Their unmoving bodies drifted among scattered wreckage.
And then I felt the tug.
My suit was attached to a cord. It was a maintenance suit, for external hull reinforcement work.
There was someone attached to the other end of the cord. Alive. At first I’d thought it was the Captain. I’d hoped. Or maybe one of the engineers.
But it was Cynthia.
We’d been drifting together for what felt like centuries now. Maybe the radiation had dosed us into immortality. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe we’d only been drifting for a few hours.
The wreckage was gone now. The planets all seemed so far away. Everything was far away. There was only blackness everywhere.
I didn’t have my glasses. I couldn’t see the ‘majesty’ of space. If there ever was such a thing.
But I could see Cynthia. And I could hear her.
She was an American. The other contest-winner.
“Heeey,” She said, “Heeey, wake up! I have something important to tell you.”
“What?” I snapped. “What is it this time?”
Cynthia gave me a hurt look.
“Well,” She said, pouting,“I can tell you’re not interested. So I’m not going to tell you.”
I closed my eyes again. That was fine by me. It would be wonderful if she never spoke again. A dream come true.
She sniffled.
I closed my eyes tighter.
She whimpered.
I tried thinking about my lovely little cubicle where I used to drink chai and talk to Americans on the telephone. To listen to them talk about their computer problems. To help them fix things. To make the world just a little bit better.
Her whimpered heightened.
I opened my eyes, scowling.
She burst into full-blown crying mode.
“What!” I demanded, “What is it? What important thing do you have to tell me?”
“You’re not interested,” she sobbed, “You don’t want to talk to me.”
“Yes,” I said, “Yes I do.” I was lying through my teeth, of course, but I couldn’t stand to hear her cry.
She sniffled.
“You’re just saying that,” she said, “You don’t really mean it.”
“I mean it,” I said, biting back my frustration, “I really do want to hear what you have to say.”
She looked at me, studying my face.
“Okay,” she said finally, “I believe you.”
She paused.
“Alright,” I said, “So what did you want to say.”
She bit her lip. Softly, she said, “I forgot.”
“What?!” I shouted, “What do you mean you forgot?”
“I forgot what I was going to say!” she screamed, “Geez, don’t yell at me like that.”
“Sorry,” I said gruffly.
“It’s fine,” she said, still flustered.
I shook my head. Then I closed my eyes. My thoughts took me back to the lunchbreaks at work. Ordering thali with friends. Yellow curry. Yoghurt. Chicken masala.
“I love you,” Cynthia said softly.
I opened my eyes.
“What?” I said.
“I love you,” she repeated.
I looked at her in disbelief. Her broad, white face was still wet and shiny with tears. Her lips were trembling. But there was something about her... She did have some kind of undeniable something...
“Do you love me?” she said, her voice shaking.
Oh dear, I thought to myself. Oh dear, oh dear.
I looked around at the vast emptiness of space. I looked at her. She was half-smiling up at me. A hopeful half-smile. Like a shy but beloved child.
I pulled on the cord, bringing us closer together. After a moment’s hesitation, I put my hand around hers. She gave mine a little squeeze and smiled.
And we continued to drift.
| 2015-01-20T00:13:17 | 2015-01-19T23:34:27 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
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As her husband finished with a barely audible grunt, and heaved himself off of her, Brittany let out a long sigh.
"Well, that was a new record! 5 thrusts, and we're done.", she thought to herself, glancing in disgust at her husband, who had miraculously already started snoring, sleep being the only thing that came quicker to him than ejaculation.
As she reached for the now familiar nightstand drawer where she kept her "toy", thoughts of divorce were beginning to fly through her head. "I can't keep living like this!", she told herself. "I've been suffering through this complete lack of a sex life for years, and I **need** a real man to take care of me!"
"Wait, no no no no no!", exclaimed Brittany. "I didn't mean need, I promise, it was a want, not a need, I've had this under control for so long!" Her pleas went unanswered. Gary, her old high school boyfriend, materialized and stood naked, erect, and confused in the middle of her bedroom.
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It seems like every time I ran into Amelia Fowler she was in the middle of some kind of catastrophe. Just last week she had a flat tire at two in the morning twenty miles out of town, with no one around but cows and cotton. A month ago it was in line at the grocery store with a shopping cart the contents of which almost brought a tear to my eye and a check card that couldn't cover even that. I helped. I couldn't not help. It didn't matter that we'd been done for eight months, or dated for three weeks. She was a person, and she needed someone, and I was there. That's what you do in small towns like this.
I guess that's why we started dating in the first place. The "in need" part, not the small town part, although that was probably some of it, too. When you are fifteen and everything feels like it's the most important thing in the world, that is enough. Sitting in the back of my old truck, I promised her the world and she blushed and was beautiful and we loved each other. But the Fowler clan was a train wreck. Amelia was abused, neglected, addicted, and already working on her criminal record then, at sixteen. I should never have gotten involved with her. The whole thing blew up less than a month after it started.
Eventually I realized she must have been getting herself in trouble around me on purpose, like as a way to control me or something. That was the kind of thing a girl like her would do. It's not her fault; not exactly, but I wasn't going to be manipulated like that. I started distancing myself from Amelia. Still I would run into her from time to time, and always she was in the middle of some crisis. At first I was kind with her. Then I was patient. I became firm. I became Angry. Finally I became cruel. I said mean things to her about who she was and how she lived. I still helped. You have to help people. But I wish I hadn't said those things.
As time went on, I ran into Amelia less and less often. I heard from a friend of a friend that she had gotten herself knocked up by and then married to some office worker type. Unexciting, but stable. That sounded like a good thing, and I was happy for her.
Gradually, I began to forget about Amelia Fowler.
...
It was really unusual for the bastards to take us anywhere. They mostly liked to keep us locked up in our shitty little rooms unless it was time for medicine or "food." Today they'd gotten it into their piss-for-brains heads to drag us old geezers out to the park for some "Eeh-an-richmint," as that lousy dick of a head nurse pronounces it.
Some of the geezers who have decent families are going to have a nice afternoon frolicking in the Goddamned daisy or whatever. My wife is dead. Fuck, most of my kids are dead. They don't tell you about that shit when you're growing up! Life kills people! And the ones who are still alive aren't worth two shits.
So I was looking forward to sitting alone on a hot hillside in the middle of June like the subject of some kind of shitty dollar store painting 'cause it'd make dick feel like he was doing his job.
Anyway, we'd been out there for a little over forty-five minutes, and my ass was killing me. That piece-of-crap lawn chair must have been made in Nicaragua. Why can't shit come from China anymore like in the good old days? When all of a sudden this old biddy, who was hobbling along on her walker, keels over right there on my spot of grass; pissed off the pigeons. I was trying to enjoy the view of the lake and here's this bitch, flopping on the ground clutching at her back pissing and moaning.
So I haul my aching, wrinkly old ass out of my piece-of-shit Nicaraguan chair and kneel down in the stifling heat of that mosquito-infested June morning to see what's wrong. I roll her over and damned if it isn't Amelia Fowler.
"My God it's you!" She exhaled. "I'm having a heart attack. It's my fourth one. I know what they feel like, and I know I'm not going to make it."
"Amelia what is this shit? You think I can't tell a fake heart attack? I did fifteen years with-" I started, but she cut me off.
"Shut up, Frank. I don't know where I would have wound up if I'd have never met you, but I can guess. I'm dying an old woman with a full life instead of a young girl with stupid ideas 'cause of you. I needed to tell you that. I promise I won't need you again."
I yelled for dick, and he stumbled over and bumbled though ECPR, but Amelia was right. She was done for. That was the last time I saw Amelia Fowler.
| 2017-03-22T16:36:34 | 2017-03-22T13:26:15 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
Day 112 - Event 54
Over 100 days since I last saw her. Each day there's a brief moment, where I wonder if maybe it's finally over. Maybe I'm finally free. But I've been down this road before. I have to keep reminding myself that it's never going to be over. I'm always going to have to be there for her.
Day 1 - Event 55
It happened again last night. It was her ex this time. Lucky bastard. If he knew my life he wouldnt be so angry about her leaving. I left this one on the street, bleeding out under a lamp post. He won't be bothering her again, so he won't be bothering me either.
These are the best times. The times just after it happens. She's crying, she's scared, but she's with the police, or she's at the hospital, or she's just gone home to her parents. She's tired and hurt, but she's ***safe***. And i can sleep soundly.
Day 25 - Event 55
Almost four weeks now. I'm beginning to worry again. Worry that it might happen. I'm cursed to always be there when she needs me, but that isn't some sort of black and white thing. I can feel it, all the time, pulling me towards her. Pulling me towards my own personal demon. Sometimes my stomach lurches and I know she's stumbled or had a fright, always something sudden that passes before the transition occurs. For those few moments, I can hear her voice, echoing in my head. A snippet of her life as the transition wavers on the edge of culmination. I live in fear of that moment, and I live prepared for it. If I wasn't, I could be pulled to my own demise.
Not that it would matter. We've been down that road already.
Day 1 - Event 56.
Some crackhead got the wrong door today. She was sobbing in the corner of her front room. I threw him out of the window. He's lucky it was the tenth floor, he hit the ground too hard to feel much.
From the date, it would appear I went 97 days without an event. I was dead for three weeks this time, before she pulled me back into existence. I posted the diary to my sister for safekeeping before taking a 23rd floor swan dive. Any less and there would be enough to identify my body.
Sometimes it's nice just to get a break from the pull. In the dark void of nothingness that lies beyond life, you feel nothing, not even the passage of time. Now I can sleep again.
Day 36 - Event 56
Sometimes I wonder what will happen when she dies. If I knew certain, I'd put a bullet in her myself. If that first mugger handn't shot me dead, I'd be willing to risk it now. But if Im only alive to be there for her, what happens if she's no longer there? Will I die immediately? Will I get a chance to live my life free of her? Or will I just be pulled to die by her side in whatever disaster befalls her.
Day 1 - Freedom
It's finally over. She's dead, and it's finally over. I was sitting, reading a book, and I felt it, more suddenly than ever before. A Wednesday morning at 11:24am, in the middle of her work in a nice, safe office. No time to prepare, or think, I was just stood right behind her as she fell. Blood came out of her nose. My doctor told me she had an aneurysm. They told me I rushed to help her, panicked and scared. Once I saw she was lifeless, i was overcome with shock. I began crying and laughing, howling with glee. They had to pin me down and sedate me. When I came around, they told me I was overcome by grief, and I played along until I convinced them to release me.
After 35 years, I'm free. No tugging, no fear. Today, Sharon Thomas, died, and I was born again.
Day 156 - Event 57
My stomach has been growing tense over the past two days. I almost didn't recognise the feeling. Five minutes ago the pain peaked. And I heard it. A whisper.
"Its so lonely here. You said you'd always be there..."
|
There were coke packets on shelves. I'd materialized again. The coke warehouse was filled with Colombian guards. The warehouse was in a rain forest, and the sound of tropical insects was deafening.
I saw Anna, and wondered how the hell she got here. She was trapped right at the back of the warehouse, and was about to be discovered. She had golden hair, and freckled skin. She had been in the sun, and the sun damage didn't take from her beauty. I scuttled past a head-high pallet of coke, and arrived at the side of Anna.
"I'm in danger again, aren't I?" I said. "How on Earth did you get here?"
"We need to get out of here," she said, "then I will explain."
"I say we bonk one of those guards," I said, "and steal his machine gun."
She agreed with my plan, because I was very good at materializing escapes after all the practice I had been given over the years. In fact, it was almost like I was incredibly lucky... like some guardian angel was watching over Anna and I. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and bonked a guard's head with my clenched fist.
It made hardly any noise as he dropped to the floor. I extricated the guard's gun from his heavy, limp form, pulling and straining to get the arm strap from his armpit.
Over the years of these dangerous situations, I'd learned what had happened to make me arrive at Anna's side when she was in danger. I made a promise to her when I was fifteen, but I never knew Anna would be such a thrill-seeker and adventurer.
I knelt down trying to calm my breathing after the excitement of appropriating the gun. I closed my eyes and faded back to Anna's room when I was 15 years old, and she was 16, because of being held back in Mrs. Marion's grade 3. We sat there, on the floor in a room full of feminine, pink ballet stuff and gemstones, and stopped tongue kissing.
I remember it well. I was disappointed when she disentangled herself from our embrace. She went to a bookshelf. She took a textbook on magic down. I just wanted to kiss; I didn't want to read, and do magic.
"I was suggesting," said Anna, "we do a spell to prove we are serious."
"Aw gee, Anna," I said, "couldn't we just have faith about each other."
However, she was quickly leading me outdoors. She took me to the path outside her house. She had a backpack. From it, she took chalk, candles, stones.
"Blimey, what are you doing?" I asked.
She was silent, and drew a little circle on the concrete path.
"OK," she said, "sit down in this circle. We are going to caste a spell."
She caste a spell. She read the magic textbook, which had amazing old-time, colorful language a bit like the Bible. What I gathered from it was she was telling Aphrodite that I would appear whenever she was in trouble.
She then handed the text book to me, and said if I agree read the little paragraph at the bottom of the page.
I read, "I promiseth, by Aphrodite's power, by the sun, sky and wind's four directions, on this day proceeding the half moon, to be at Anna's side whenever she beeth in turmoil, until I find the valuable black-ocean stone to cancel the spell."
I read the words, and then, unsettling me, there was a solar eclipse. I was a little disconcerted about the solar eclipse, but I remembered the night before, on the news, they had spoken of it. I looked at Anna. She was a small sex dynamo those days, with porcelain face framed by exquisite, golden-blonde hair.
I looked up at her as we hid behind the pallets of coke. I remembered the time we did the ritual not so fondly. I formulated a route out of the warehouse.
"Hey Anna," I said, "I plan to make a run for it covering us from fire with the spray of bullets from this here machine gun. Run straight behind me, Anna. Let's hope we make it."
"I'll explain why I'm here," said Anna, "when, I mean if, we get out of here."
I started the machine gun spray, and run with all my speed towards the exit. I killed two soldiers having smoko. I ran quickly. As I ran, I let the spray of machine gun fire spray towards the guards, hoping the element of surprise would work. If I scared them enough, they might be bamboozled enough to not even return fire.
I kept the deafening roar of the machine gun up, as we ran. I looked back seeing if Anna was on my tail. She wasn't. She'd disappeared. I thought on my feet. Should I go back for her, or should I keep going? I thought of how I wouldn't make it if I ran back, and dying wasn't going to save anyone, so I kept going. I just hope she's alright.
I ran out of the large warehouse door. The guards left a spray of bullets, as I ran into the rain forest, but I made it. I found a little brook, and waited there, while I tried to figure out what to do about Anna still being in there. I was sitting there, almost having caught my breath, when Anna appeared. Infuriatingly, she smiled. Then, she pulled a kilo packet of coke from behind her back.
"What the fuck?" I said angrily.
"Don't worry, I'll explain," she said.
We started trekking through the forest, knowing the guards might send out a search party. I saw Anna carrying the coke.
"Give me that," I said.
She gave it to me, and I put in in my cargo pockets.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I said. "You always do stuff like this. I can't live with risking my life, every time you decide to go thrill seeking."
"This is the last time," she said.
I severely doubted it. Unless we broke Aphrodite's spell, she'd get in danger again. You see, we broke up the day after we made to spell out on the footpath near Anna's house. I'd told her I wanted to concentrate more on my indoor cricket team, and she didn't take it well. The next day she had a big, muscly boyfriend twice as good looking as me.
"What are you going to do? Break the spell?" I snickered.
"Yes," she exclaimed.
I looked at her. I was dumbstruck.
"You see," she said, sitting on a rock to talk. "I broke into that coke warehouse to acquire this bag of coke. Do you remember the wording of that spell?"
"No, not exactly," I said.
"The wording of the spell said if we could acquire a black-ocean stone, we could do a new spell to counter the spell that makes you appear when I'm in danger, which is often because I seek thrill, and am a adventurer."
"Go on," I said, realizing this might actually work.
"I Googled black-ocean stones," she said, laying back on the rock, "and they are darn expensive... about $20 000."
"Aw damn," I said, disappointed.
"No wait," she smiled. "This is a kilo of coke," she said, raising the white bag, "Do you know how much this is worth?"
"Lots," I said.
"It's got a street value of, exactly that, $20 000."
I looked at her thankfully. She planned to free me from the magic spell. We got into Rio, and bought a black-ocean rock from a jeweler. We did quick spell, with chalk and candles, much like the first, and there was a solar eclipse.
"I'm sorry we didn't work out," I said.
"Don't be sorry," Anna smiled, "We were young. Nothing holds a teenager's attention for long."
"How'd that indoor cricket go?"
"I still play," I said. "But now girlfriends take precedent."
"Bye," she said.
"Bye," I said.
This time I knew it was goodbye for good. I felt sad, as I faded away back from Brazil to home. Just as I had faded from home to the Brazilian warehouse for the last time.
THE END.
| 2017-03-22T18:14:26 | 2017-03-22T16:16:19 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Karma is an organisation who collects all the crimes, no matter how minor, you have done in a year, and punishes you accordingly at the last day of each year. Today is that day.
|
Harry stole from carpenters, so Karma stole his chairs;
Lenny hit his wife and was punched down a flight of stairs.
Wilma got a fine, Barry slapped with mops;
Big Tony had his ‘activities’ emailed to the cops.
Bob was dragged into a van and never seen again;
Ash came home to his wife asleep with *his* best friend.
Karma joined the mailman and gave a note to Slate;
He read the letter once and then promptly fled the state.
“*And now it’s your turn*”, the agent said, and I heard an awful squish;
As they reached into their pocket—
And slapped me with a fish.
|
There's something really great about kicking back in the office, putting up $2,000 Italian loafers on that old pile of a desk at the end of the day. Really great, just fantastic. That's how you know you're alive.
I lace my hands behind my head, careful not to dislodge the wadded up sport coat used as a pillow. You probably don't have a pillow half as nice in your whole state, this one's Savile Row. My stretch kicks off a pile of paperwork into an armada of white carriers steaming onto the blue carpet.
"Sir," comes that annoying, tepid voice. A man, but which one? I can't keep them straight. They all look the same.
One of the goons in a gorilla suit side-eyes me, and I narrow my eyes back at him. "Whatcha gonna do, big fellow?"
Yeah. I say that. He clenches his jaw, the last thing I see before I shut my eyes. Bet you no one ever took a nap in here but I can. That's all there is to it.
The door creaks open.
"Shut it." Neither suit moves. I huff expectantly but no luck. Hoisting myself out of the chair, I turn and bear down on a woman who -- dammit -- is every bit as tall as me. Not good. In her short blue shirt and capris, she rates around a seven. I'd give her a nine but I don't go for anyone but former models and besides, she looks familiar in a weird way. Can't place her though. Her toned arms look a bit too firm. But I've got the goons, nothing to worry about.
"Are you one of Molly's people?" I ask.
The look she throws me is disappointed and bitterly sad, eyebrows drawn over her dark eyes and full mouth in a line. "No, I'm not."
That voice is definitely familiar. Sounds like my mother scolding me, come to think. She continues, "Is this some kind of joke?"
"Lady, I don't know who you think you are but if you hadn't noticed, I call the shots around here. I'm a very important man, and I have work to do."
"This is your work?"
I jut my chin out and square my shoulders. The words stick in my craw and my hands clench the desk. "Of course. It isn't Jared's or Mike's. You're from that news show, the one with the angry Scottish guy who looks like a Yorkie, that's where I know you."
She shakes her head. "I am here calling you to account for all you have done against good and decent people."
"Oh, I've done plenty. Loads more than anyone else, just loads."
"You can't escape the laws you keep breaking. Your testimony is noted by the Karma Institute."
"Steve says nothing can stick. Your fancy think tank won't change that." The rawness of the conversation, and my interrupted nap, are too much. I grab the drawer and pull out a mini bottle of Kahlua. The rush of it slides over my tongue and I swallow heavily. "He's always right. You can't do anything. And your little organisation won't do a thing to me. Go tell Misty I'm done with her."
She holds up a paper. Lithe triceps flex and her knuckles tighten. "I'd worry about your own affairs. It won't be so light as bankruptcy or the university this time. We've seen your records, sir. We can end this now, discreetly, and you can be a private citizen. It will be a quiet life, but you'll have your son and wife."
"Those records aren't released to the public, and they won't be. You think I haven't spent thousands keeping the family out of my way? " I point at the door. "Get out of here, you and your lies. I'm done."
Oddly, she nods. My stomach clenches. Gas?
"It's Melania, not Misty." She sighs. "Remember this. I offered to keep this private. I expect you'll hear from your counsel by the end of today about Article Two, Section Four." As she turns to leave, I startle to see the two goons salute her.
"What? Counsel?" But it's too late. She has stepped out.
And one of the goons follows her. His steps echoes into the hallway, and I can just hear him calling for her. "Michelle, wait! Don't leave me here! What have I done to deserve this?"
| 2017-04-28T13:28:59 | 2017-04-28T11:43:41 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess".
|
I sprinkle water onto the tomato plant, smiling as the moisture seeps into the soil around the stalk. Two green spheres dangle from its branches. Not yet ripe, but healthy. I shield my eyes with a hand and look up at the midday sky. A great silhouette glides among the clouds, and for a moment it forms a shadowed shape within the sun itself. Two great, webbed wings extend from a long, reptilian body, lead by a triangular head bristling with spikes. My Cinder.
Something in the distance catches my eye. A rising cloud of dust from the road, drifting slowly to the side in the easterly wind. Riding hard and fast atop a war horse, a knight in full plate charges carries a long lance and shield, his visor up to reveal a grim visage.
My heart sinks into my stomach. I let the can fall from my fingers, then smooth my dress and brush away the dirt. I may as well look presentable while I explain to this man his idiocy. Since the new year he is the fourth errant knight to trespass on my lands, seeking glory and a swooning princess. Three of them listened to reason. They left without much fuss, with only disappointed pride and a bitter taste in their mouths. One, though, would not hear me. He found only fire and blood.
“My lady,” he says, voice breathy from exhaustion. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I say. “I am not hurt. This is-“
“Thank the gods,” says the knight. “I am in time. Seek shelter, my lady, the beast hovers nearby and may attack at any moment. I cannot slay him if I am worried about your safety.”
I take in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“This is my tower,” I say, like I’m talking to a child. “And these are my lands. And that monster hovering nearby is my friend. Even if you had the smallest chance of actually harming him, I would be extremely upset with you for doing so.”
His mouth falls open, but no words come out. He merely gapes, shifting his weight to adjust as his horse stamps impatiently beneath him.
I turn to walk back to my tower, then look back over a shoulder at him. “If you’d like some provisions for the journey back you are welcome to what I have, though I will ask you to leave straight after. Your presence here will upset my Cinder.”
Just then a boom vibrates the earth. With a gust of flapping wings Cinder lands heavily on the ground nearby, craning his long neck to study the trespasser. Up close the dragon is a marvel, nearly the size of a church. Cinder’s muscled limbs hold up a lithe, predatory body covered in shining red scales, and his tail stretches out behind like a massive serpent, swishing with a mind of its own. Glowing red eyes peer from within a savage face. Rows of glistening white teeth spike the upper and lower jaw, and large nostrils work in and out like bellows.
The knight’s horse whinnies and rears on its hind legs, and the armored knight barely manages to stay in the saddle.
“Gods above,” he cries. “This- this monster is your pet?”
“No,” I say.
Approaching cinder, I wait for him to angle his head towards me, then lovingly stroke his snout. His scales feel like supple glass. I can feel the heat of his breath, like being near a campfire.
“He is my friend,” I say. “He is very protective of me, and I of him. So you see there is no fiend in need of slaying, and there is no fair damsel in need of rescuing. All you have found here is a happy, peaceful home, made less so by your arrival.”
The knight gapes at the towering dragon, his hard features softened with awe and wonder. Carefully, he removes his helmet, holding it absently in his lap. Sweat sticks the long, dark curls to his forehead like a man just woke from bed. He places a soothing hand on the neck of his animal.
“There there,” he says to the horse. He looks up at me. “I believe I understand. It seems the rumors at court have badly missed the truth of your circumstances, My Lady. Forgive me.”
As he turns to go, a roaring voice speaks from the very depts of the earth.
“Wait,” the dragon commands. “I tire of this.”
My titanic friend lifts a claw to his teeth, then jabs the sharp point into the gums at the back of his mouth. A rumble of pain escapes his throat. His paw, nearly the size of the knight’s horse, extends forward towards the man, and the fingers uncurl. Resting on the great palm is a single tooth, like an ivory scimitar blade.
“For the fools at court,” Cinder Says. “Congratulations, knight. You have slain me.”
|
He comes forward, all clanking and shining steel.
In a defensive manner, he holds a shield before him, though I can see him tremble with each step he takes.
Sometimes they come in all charging and bloody zeal.
Other times they try some clever trap, or personal appeal to my own safety.
There's nowhere safer than here I say.
Here, in this cave, there's glittering quartz and cool pools to drink from.
No knights with lances at full tilt, charging into a horde of disorganized peasant boys and cutting them to pieces, then cheering and trampling the corpses like they've won some great victory.
No cunning viziers or intricate byzantine plots that require you to measure every word heard in court more carefully than the last. No whining sycophants or beggar kings, asking for more soldiers and wealth to expand already great demesne.
No great stone castle that seems to always be dark and dank and grim, with neither enough light nor enough warmth.
In here, it's just me and my dragon.
Here, it's just us ladies.
No grimy, sweaty men eyeing you with those detached leery grins. No political matches or courtly intrigue or bickering courtesans trying to bed the Lord or Lady who happens to grant them the most advantageous position.
No pretentious princes or swaggering bards, all intent on bringing you to some quiet alcove and wooing you to prove they can conquer even royalty.
Is it too much to be asked, to simply be left alone?
The idiot came alone, though men like to do that when proving that their valor must equal their stupidity.
I wonder how many callers today?
Cornflower rises from her resting position, her haunches heavily muscled. They don't see her the way I do. How mother had.
I can still remember when I was much younger, during the time no one seemed to mind the scrapes and mud on a little girl's legs that we'd go flying. Mother would point to the towns and castles we'd pass, giving names to things that resembled toys more than holdfasts.
A few dashes forward, and Cornflower extends her wings before flapping them a few times.
A warning gust.
If the boy knows what's good for him, he'll back away now.
But they never do. Never seem to teach giving up in the castle yards.
Though the gusts knock the knight on his back, making him look for one moment almost like a turtle flipped to its side, he brings himself to his feet again.
Still he advances.
Do I tell him to go back?
I could try, but it never works.
Cornflower's body is covered not in scales, but long and luminous blue feathers. Harder than steel, it's like a rippling of gems and light running all across her spine, and the mouth opens in a savage warning.
Smart girl, Cornflower. Kind girl, Cornflower. We understand one another.
Leave us alone, please.
We don't want to go home.
A sword, silver and brilliant, holds aloft. Daring challenge, and wonderfully brave I'd say, if anyone else was here to see or care.
Instead it's simple foolishness.
Cornflower dashes forward, far faster than you'd expect a beast of her size to move.
With a great curved claw, she means to swipe him back, injure him.
Ward him away.
Instead the claw cleaves through plate and ringmail beneath. A sudden squelch, moaning cry, and the hiss of hot blood on cold stone.
Another body to throw out the entrance, it would seem.
No other callers today, it'd seem. When I take the body past the cavern and into the sunlight, there's no line. No war tents or pavilions with banners waving in the sunlight.
"Good day, ma'am."
The voice comes from behind the trees, and a tall, slender gentleman with raven black hair and broad shoulders steps forward.
He's clad entirely in crimson leather, with a lovely sword at one side.
Full white teeth, wide, disarming smile.
"I've been told there's a princess and a dragon here. Am I correct?"
"That you are. Here to slay her?"
I can hear the venom in my voice, but I can't help it. Better to ward them off, and half the time no doesn't seem to mean no to them.
"Excellent," he says. Coming forward, he makes his way up the steep path to the cavern entrance.
"Shall we enter?"
His voice is jovial, almost conversational.
*Kind,* I think. *He's got a kind face. A joking man, the kind that tells the best stories at either brothels or taverns.*
*Not bad looking either, I'd say.*
Without so much as addressing me, he moves forward into the cavern, footsteps echoing into the dark.
As you enter the main chamber, a dim blue light emanates from mushrooms growing haphazardly in the upper corners of the cavern, bathing everything in a somber light.
Cornflower rises again, though the jaw drops immediately in a threatening gesture.
Please don't roast both of us, girl. I'm not in my usual vantage point.
He stops close to wear the knight died, and leans down, sliding a finger into the goop below.
Tutting his mouth, he tastes the blood, smacking his lips a few times.
"Man died here what, an hour ago? Two?"
It's the casual tone of a professional, and I don't like it.
"If you're here for me," I say, "I'm not interested in going anywhere."
"Good."
The word is flat and blunt, uncaring and dismissive. It's almost like I'm not here.
"I came here for her."
He walks forward, keeping a great distance between himself and Cornflower. From a pack on his back, he withdraws a boxish item. A long wooden handle extends. Strings on it. A lyre? No. Something else.
He plucks away at a soft melody, and watches Cornflower. No song, no words. Only soft music.
Cornflower sits, entranced. Watching intently, listening with great curiosity. Even her head seems to sway back and forth.
When he finishes, he steps closer.
"She's beautiful," he says. His voice seems deeper. Darker. Heavier.
"But she's trapped in there. Don't worry. I can help. I used to be like you."
Does he have a tail?
His back lurches in a horrifying manner, sending him on all fours.
*He's growing, changing, becoming something huge and monstrous,* I think.
But then I see the haunches. The crimson feathers. The rippling metallic glow and the great yellow eyes.
Another dragon, nearly twice Cornflower's size, approaches her slowly. They sniff each other like dogs, hulking beasts that inspect each other without malice. Curiosity, I'd say.
The crimson dragon begins to walk towards the entrance, his tail swishing back and forth.
Cornflower follows slowly at first, then looks to me.
*What do you want, pretty lady? To follow the man?*
Her eyes are pleading, her jaw opening and closing nervously.
She wants to go.
She wants to follow.
*Very well.*
*He came for his princess, I would say. Though it must not be me.*
"Be back by midnight, young lady," I say, imitating those authoritarian voices that boomed down on me as a girl.
They pad away, and with wings almost joined, they burst into the sky, circling each other in flight.
*I wonder where they're going?"* I think to myself, before returning into the cavern. A part of me knows, though. That bonded pact of lifeblood, where wings and claws extend to flesh and blood. There's a lost place, a soft place, far and away from here.
Cornflower's becoming difficult to see, masked by the blueness of the sky, though the Crimson beast circles by her.
Where are they going?
In an instant they shoot away, going to some ancient place that resides among moss and graveyards, the kind of place where people once lived and loved and fought but did so no more.
Perhaps there he'd teach her to be something else, less conspicuous, I'd say.
Maybe he'll convince her to stay with him.
Or perhaps they'll come for me.
The sun warms my face before I return to the cavern, prepared to wait.
*She'll come back for me,* I think to myself. *She has to.*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2019-01-09T08:56:16 | 2019-01-09T06:33:48 | 314 | 159 |
[WP] Nuclear war ensued before either God or Devil could begin Armageddon the old-fashioned way. Mankind is just... gone. Now an angel bumps into a demon in the wastes left behind, both wondering what they're supposed to do now...
|
I switched out an angel and a demon for God and Satan. Sorry for changing the prompt!
******
******
God looked around at the devastation. All gone, before he could even pass judgement on a single one of them. His greatest creation. His greatest mistake.
"'All part of your plan', eh?" a horned figure said behind him, a devilish grin on his face.
"I suspected this was your meddling, to be honest," God eventually replied, his face downcast.
"Like always, I just let them do their own thing. You may have made me some kind of eternal scapegoat, but they fuck up enough without me getting involved. This was all them, I'm afraid."
God put his head in his hand, furrowing his brow. In that moment, he looked almost human.
"I had to give them free will. They could not truly love me if they were forced to. But with it, they just made so many mistakes. They just tore at each other."
"Yea, it was quite impressive really," the Devil replied. "Aside from a sold soul here and there, I just sat back and watched. Honestly, some of them were even more creative than me - hell, I was taking notes towards the end. Quite a species you made there."
"Was I wrong to do it?" God asked, almost to himself. "I figured I'd make something beautiful, something meaningful, but all it resulted in was so much pain. Right up until the end."
"Well, you can't say you didn't cook the books a bit," the Devil replied, gazing at the wasteland. "There was a whole lot of suffering to be had in this place, no matter how devout you were. Can drive a man crazy, praying to a God that never answers. Case in point, really."
"Belief and certainty cannot coexist," God replied sharply. "And yes, life is suffering. You needed to earn your way into the kingdom of heaven. And most, I'm afraid, did no such thing. In the end, they surrendered themselves to their base instincts - fear, hatred, disgust. They failed me, and they failed themselves."
"Some fucking test you were running then," the Devil said, "since you gave them those damned instincts. You can't make something broken then complain it's not working right."
"But it couldn't be easy. They were supposed to rise above their flaws, to help themselves, their family, their community. Strive for love in the face of agony. And yet, they succumbed..."
The Devil nodded. "That they did, no thanks to you. Now I've got billions to sort through down there, and a bunch of demons that are seriously pissed that they don't get a Ragnarok. Gods, they'd been waiting an eternity for it."
"'Omnipotent' my ass," Satan continued spitting on the ground, leaving a sizzling crater. "Anyway. Be seeing you."
The Devil turned to leave, his presence beginning to dissolve into the bedrock below.
"Wait," God said, turning towards him. "What if I could start over? Give all the souls that didn't make it - give them a second chance?"
The Devil rolled his eyes. "And how do you propose to do that?"
"With your help. Maybe you understand them better than I do. Maybe you could help it make it more fair, more likely for them to strive and succeed."
"And why would I want to do that?" he asked, looking suspicious.
"Because deep down, I know you want to. You said I made a broken system - well, then help me fix it."
"This is not a command," God continued, putting his hand on Satan's shoulder. "It's a *request*, old friend."
The Devil stood in silence. He looked at the ground, almost sheepish.
"There's definitely some ideas I've been working on, you know, in private..."
*******
They spoke for quite some time. A moment, or perhaps an eternity.
Then, hell was empty once more; and life began anew.
*****
*****
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I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
The concrete corpse of the CN Tower lay moldering across Toronto like a treefall. Putrid grey vines, poisoned by radiation, crawled over it. In the shadowy recesses below its steel skeleton, misshapen animals huddled in the relative safety of its shadow. Beyond the darkness, sunlight unfiltered by any ozone cooked the blasted brick and rebar that remained of the city's buildings.
Hell had come to humanity, but not the right way. What of the foretold adventures of the Four Horsemen? What of the destined charges by the demonic footsoldiers, their epic clashes with their lily-white winged foes? What of the grand chess match between the Lord of Lies and the Lord Almighty, played with the souls of all humans as pieces, gambling the fate of the earth as the stakes?
It wasn't hell that came for humanity. Humanity came for itself. The result was quicker, more complete, and utterly without meaning.
These thoughts occupied Drakhar the demon as she picked her way through the rubble. Beneath a fallen billboard ad for whiskey, she discovered a skeleton picked clean by a family of huge white rats. Though Drakhar was a demon of the 9th ring and brooked no sentimentality as far as human suffering was concerned, she couldn't help thinking that this was a wasted opportunity. What she relished beyond anything else was the opportunity to turn a soul, to reveal to a human the lie of their dignity, the depths of their depravity. Her triumph was convincing a human that divinity was hypocrisy and angels were but beautiful conmen.
But what did she have to work with now? A city of skeletons. A world of ash.
Despite herself, Drakhar regretted the weakness of humanity. Had they been stronger, they would have made more worthy pawns.
She'd been in the city for days now searching for survivors. Though she'd so far failed, she had a sense of promise. There was something to be found here. She need only keep looking.
Her search today took her north of the downtown core to midtown. There, among the narrow city houses, she came across the remains of family pets, the twisted remnants of playground equipment, and the unlikely sight of a zamboni parked in a public park. The sight of the forlorn zamboni, so far removed from its purpose, put her in mind of her own meaninglessness in the new non-order. She sat awhile on the zamboni with her horns against the wheel.
It was in this position of weakness that the angel found her. "Tough to see, isn't it?" The zamboni rocked as he fluttered down on top, where he sat cross-legged and smiled demurely at Drakhar.
She continued resting against the wheel. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."
"It wasn't. There ought to have been a glorious conflict. My, you would have been impressed by my swordplay. I trained for millenia."
"I'd have enjoyed snagging the sword from your hands. You should see me with a whip."
"I'm sure I should," he said. "Not much point now, is there?"
She raised her head. "No, I suppose not."
Drakhar had seen the angel around the last few days. She supposed he was here on a similar mission to her own -- gather any remaining humans and determine whether it made sense to carry out the final battle.
The first day she'd spied him flying across the sky, he'd crossed the sun, great wings beating the air, and the light had played across his feathers in a way she'd found, well, heavenly. He'd been clean, brilliant, and pure.
Now dirt marred his hair. His wings had greyed. Bags darkened his eyes.
A similar dulling had come to her. Her skin lacked its usual fiery luster. Dust had thickened her saliva, so that her teeth lost their razor shine.
"Can I trust you?" the angel asked.
Drakhar snorted.
"I'm serious. These are strange times. I want to show you something, but I need to know you'll keep quiet about it."
She worked her jaw side to side. At the very least, what the angel was promising her was an end to the monotony and disappointment of the last few days. "Show me."
"You'll keep it to yourself?"
She held out her hand. The angel took it. His palm was dry and pleasantly cool against her own hot skin.
*****
The angel guided her further north to York. Drakhar went as quickly as she was able by leaping, but it still took some thirty minutes to arrive at the flattened ruins of what could only have been a small one-story house. The angel, whose name was Jed, took Drakhar to a patch of rubble he had cleared away. At its center was a low dome slightly larger than a manhole cover.
"I'd like to ask you make yourself unnoticeable to humans now," Jed said.
Drakhar licked her teeth. "Why would that be necessary?"
"You'll see."
The two of them remained visible to one another along the heavenly spectrum of radiation, but they became transparent to electromagnetic radiation.
"And now," Jed said, "if you wouldn't mind taking me with you, I'd like it if we could sink into the earth."
"You can't smoothburrow?" Drakhar knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.
"Not like you can. We all have our areas of expertise."
Jed took Drakhar's hand and she spread her will into the soil beneath them. Without shifting entirely out of their way, the dirt accommodated their passage. It was a transition of state not unlike that from solid to liquid, but involving a more subtle rearrangement of particles. They descended easily into the earth.
Even the smell of the earth was wrong. It smelt burnt, sick. Drakhar's disappointment was renewed. All the little joys of earth had vanished.
They emerged feet-first into what Drakhar assumed would be a low cave, but turned out to be a huge and comfortable modern kitchen. Stainless steel appliances hummed. White cupboards and walls gave the room a spacious and clean appearance. And, most shocking, people filled the room. Healthy, happy people. Drakhar counted six men, seven women, and perhaps a dozen children running around. The adults sat at the table chatting or stood at the counter chopping vegetables. The children were playing three or four different games simultaneously and having a spectacular time. The mood in the room was cheerful, upbeat, and completely disconnected from the bombed-out horror not 30 feet above their heads.
"How is this possible?" Drakhar asked. She knelt in front of a little boy putting together a puzzle. She could smell the freshness of his soul, the ripeness of his uncomplicated moral slate.
Jed was over at the stove sniffing at a bubbling stew. "Survivalists, I gather. Paranoiacs, if I'm being honest. Likely these people were considered weird, insular, and dangerous by those who knew them. But," he snuck a finger into the stew and licked it clean, "here we are."
"And you brought me here why?" Drakhar asked. "These families, they'll be the pieces in the final game?"
"That was my first thought. After all, what we need is a healthy collection of humans, preferably with impressionable children. I was on my way to tell the archangels. I expect I'd have joined their ranks for this." Jed moved to the kitchen table, where the adults were laughing together. "But look at them."
"They're so alive," Drakhar said.
"They're everything the world used to be full of. They're everything I know I've taken for granted."
"Why are we here?"
Jed took Drakhar's hand in his and lowered himself to one knee. "To protect them." He tilted his head forward, baring the nape of his neck. "In this moment, Drakhar, you have the power. Slay me, if you will, and report to your masters. The choice is yours."
*****
*more below*
*r/TravisTea*
| 2020-05-11T00:20:25 | 2020-05-11T00:14:02 | 426 | 152 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
**Don't light that cigarette.**
My stove had been leaking gas all night. I couldn't even smell it with my head cold.
**Don't wear sneakers.**
Later that day, I tripped on an escalator. I shudder to think what would have happened if it sucked in my laces.
**Don't look in the mirror.**
I thought it was just being cheeky with me that day.
Until I saw the wasp perched in my hair. Which caused me to flail around, lose my balance, and crack my head against the sink.
So I'd come to terms with it. *Always listen to the mirror. Always.*
On the day of June 7th, I entered the bathroom as always. After pulling my pill bottles out, I clicked the mirror back into place, my eyes traveling to the top for my daily message.
But this time, it was only one word.
**RUN**
For a second I just stood there, staring at my reflection, watching the blood drain from my face.
**RUN**
*From what? From whom?*
But I didn't have time I guess. I ran out of the bathroom, rushed into my bedroom. I grabbed my purse, my keys, my phone, and rushed towards the hall.
That's when I heard the sound of a door creaking open.
My closet door.
|
I don't wait. I grab my purse and the first pair of shoes that I find. I bang into the corner of the bed. It will leave a mark. I grab a sweater as I open the door and lock it. I run down the stairs and out of the apartment building I have lived in for the past five years. I hadn't even looked into the mirror really. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I could feel the stares at me as I ran in flip flops down the street attempting to put on my sweater on the brisk Spring day. The concrete made a flopping sound with my cheap flip flops and I hoped that my shoes wouldn't break on me.
Almost as if they had heard me. I tripped and fell as the part that goes between the toes became loose. I lost traction and went down in a crowd of people. I hit my knee and I knew I would have a scrape. I was almost scared to look down, had I left in pajamas? Yes, there in the middle of my sky blue and yellow pajama pants was a considerable hole. Dirt had begun to intermingle with the fresh blood to make an interesting flower pattern. I had ruined my favorite pajamas. I was sitting on the curb of a busy city with bed head and unbrushed teeth. I looked around from my seat on the ground. Bystanders walked around me as if I was detritus. Maybe I was. I looked for signs of more trouble. I remembered the message in the mirror and I got up and limped trying to run ahead of those around me.
I had my purse. Up ahead there was a library I could use and around the corner there was a discount store. I would get another pair of cheap shoes to run in. This was the plan. I had attempted to go into the library first but they had a problem with not having shoes so I ended up going to the store. As I walked in I passed the mirror that took up the first floor wall to make the store look bigger and to deter from thieves. I tried to ignore my reflection but I saw a familiar font taking up a big portion of the mirror.
"Get the tie up shoes."
The tie up shoes? What? As I turned I saw a sneaker type shoe with laces. I could almost feel the mirror telling me these. I didn't really want to know what the mirror was going to tell me. This was the first time I had seen words outside of my apartment. Not being able to resist, I turned to the mirror. I looked so bad I started to cry. I made my way to the line and with tears pouring down my face I bought the cheap shoes and put them on outside just as it started to rain. I took a last glance into the store and I saw the familiar font in big letters say:
"KEEP RUNNING!"
I ran. I had no idea where I was going. I ran slowly not really knowing what to do. I heard the screams before I saw the smoke. There was heat on my neck. I ran in earnest. There were people passing me now. I was scared to look back as I the screams were louder. My bare feet in the cheap sneakers started to sweat and rub against something. I could feel the stiffness in my knee from where I fell. I felt my mouth dry and parched. I heard someone yell, "They are coming!" I attempted to turn around to see who was coming and came face to face with a person in the reflection of the mirrored building I was running in front of. The man made a gesture as if to say come in to the building. I walked in saw that the post of the doorman had been abandoned. I looked around the art deco styled interior to see in the faux smokey glass mirror up the stairs, the man. Again he made the gesture as if to say, "Come." I followed him up the stairs to what seemed like the top floor.
I saw a door there. He leaned against it and with his motions told me to open it. I did. "Finally!!! Just in time to avoid the zombie apocalypse. And you smelling like blood. I didn't think you would get here in time." He locked the door behind me. The room was dark. There was ambient light from all of the computers and there were small windows on the top of the wall. "My name is Washington. I am the tenth of the time travelers that have been placed in history to help the survival of the human race. In this world you are Sally but you will grow to be Salinas, Queen of the Survivors. Think of me as your facilitator. Now, how about you go to the bathroom and freshen up, there is a lot to do. And you can't very well do it in rubber ducky pajamas." Washington showed me the door to a bathroom. As I went in, I noticed there were no mirrors, even the chrome was matted and black. I allowed myself to slide down the wall and cry, thankful for no reflections.
| 2020-06-07T22:07:42 | 2020-06-07T20:54:59 | 770 | 547 |
[WP] You are a superhero without powers. You know a good bit about martial arts and you're resourceful, but the main reason you're so successful? Every time a villain monologues their plan, you calmly and clearly explain to them why their plan won't work.
|
“Search him. Put all his weapons on the table.”
There was a flurry of activity as the spiderfolk poked and prodded at the white and black robes. A large leather tome flew onto the table, moving it at least three inches as it landed with a thud. A string of beads soon clattered after it.
“All clear, boss.”
Doctor Arachnior clasped together his hands and stamped his six feet in delight. “The Titanic Thomist, scourge of evil, finally entangled in the web of my genius! Have you anything to say for yourself, you pathetic little fly?”
“No, I’m quite thoroughly defeated. What happens now?”
“I’m glad you asked! As you know, soon my decogitator will finish charging. When it is activated, all men around the planet—except for myself and my minions—will become as stupid as worms! Even you, Titanic Thomist, with all your brilliance, will become as dumb as an ox!”
The Thomist smiled in spite of himself. “That much I already knew. But what happens after that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Then I shall be free to rob every bank, plunder every vault, pilfer every jewel! I shall become the richest bug on earth and live like a god for the rest of my life!”
“Ah, I thought it was something like that. I see two problems, though.”
“What problems?! I’ve already won, you insufferable blowhard!”
“Well, do you want to hear the small problem first, or the big one?”
The doctor shook his head and sighed indulgently. “A pathetic attempt to distract me, Thomist. But since my victory is so complete, I’ll humour you. The small problem.”
“Well, what good is all the money in the world when all the men are too stupid to want to trade with you?”
“Ha! That’s simple! It—I would—hmm. Hmm. Hrmm! I see...you know, I was planning to buy out this nice resort in the Bahamas. But with no one to serve me...and the spiderfolk make terrible margaritas...oh dear.”
Dr. Arachnior simply stared at his archnemesis for about five minutes. Then, his head hanging low, he skittered over to the control panel, pulled on a switch, and the machine powered down.
“You know, all of my life savings went into that decogitator...oh, you said there was a second problem? May as well hear it too.”
“That one is a bit harder to explain...you’re aiming too low.”
“Too low?! I was going to rob the entire planet. What are you talking about?”
“Well, all of your schemes are about getting more money. But money is really one of the lowliest goods there are.”
“Thomist, you’re as stupid as you are ugly. Everyone wants money. What could be more valuable than it?”
“Open that book you took from me to the page with a bookmark sticking out.”
Dr. Arachnior crept over to the table where the Titanic Thomist’s confiscated weapons lay. Batting away the beads, he glanced at the cover: *Summa Theologiae*. With an exasperated sigh, he turned to the marked page, and began to mutter to himself as he read:
“Whether happiness consists in wealth...mm...natural wealth and artificial...hmm...only sought for the sake of something else, that’s true...the more you have the less satisfied, yeah...and of course you can’t take it with you. You know, Dr. Dominator thinks I’ll probably develop cancer in a few years with all this gene splicing. What good would money do then? There’s something to think about.”
“I’m sorry to hear—“
“Shut up, I’m still reading.” He began flipping pages randomly. “If the desire for wealth is infinite...form of the desired in the desire...ergo there must be an infinite good...what’s this now?”
Dr. Arachnior’s eyes began to light up, turning pages rapidly. He began to cackle triumphantly, slamming the book shut. “Of course! OF COURSE! You were a fool to let this book fall into my hands, Titanic Thomist! Spiderfolk! Prepare the arachnocopter! Release this pest!”
The stunted spider minions leaped onto their master as he grabbed onto a silken thread dangling from the ceiling. The noise of propellor blades could be heard overhead as Dr. Arachnior rose into the sky, clutching the book.
“You’ve not beaten me yet, Thomist! With this book, I shall learn what is the Summum Bonum, the infinite Good which all men desire, and then, nothing will stand in my way: it shall be MINE, MINE, MINE! Ahahahaha!”
The Titanic Thomist stooped down, gingerly scooped his rosary off the ground, crossed himself, and murmured, “I pray that He shall.”
|
Herocon is the largest convention for—you guessed it—heroes and aspiring sidekicks alike. It takes place in Belgrade, Serbia every September of a leap year. Nobody knows why, but then again, what is life without whimsy. I personally find it a little foolish, because on that day, the world becomes short-staffed and turns into a giant Black Friday sale for all the evil masterminds. Cities might as well have a red carpet welcoming villains and their plans. The gates are open to one and all, quite literally, since the gatekeepers are off having a gala time. Of course, there are still heroes around to keep order, but I am sure it is no small task.
In any case, my absence doesn't really affect my workplace too much, because there exist real superheroes who have more qualifications than a splattering of courses in a dozen martial art forms and a functioning brain. So what have I got to lose right? Belgrade, here I come.
On arrival at Herocon, I must say, I was definitely impressed by the set-up. Zone 1 consisted of a sprawling corridor filled with stalls, like a carnival. Superheroes displayed mildly impressive life-hacks that they developed over the time they spent familiarising themselves with the extent of their powers. Some were more impressive than others, but every single exhibit was hilarious. Telekinetic folks would keep the bread slices still and toss the toaster, the psychics told you that you could see into their future, the hotheads and heating elements just sat in a Jacuzzi and called it a hot spring, superstrength squad would lose to you in arm-wrestling matches after bending carbon-fibre rods with two fingers, my fellow fighters and martial artists pretended to be characters in fighting style video games and you could control them with video game controllers made by telekinesis sidekicks. Invisibility and stealth specialists wore Waldo costumes and blended with the crowd, which turned into a giant flash-mob, full of Waldos. Among the multitudes of good-natured ribbing encompassed by the street fair vibe, what had me in stitches was the fact that all the heroes that could fly, were dressed as flies.
Zone 2 was downright solemn in comparison. There were multiple hero debates with famous panelists, discussing everything from villain treatment ethics to improvements in the universal hero hierarchy system. I sat in on the discussion about the treatment of incarcerated S-class villains, and latest innovations in the field of villain-containment engineering. I could see why they chose their panelists like they did. One couldn't ask for more suitable superheroes, as the ones present on the platform. There was Pieta, who has the power to turn anything immobile (although he does have a size restriction), and a renown teleporter named Koolie. He has a reputation of being quite the funny man, because whenever he is asked to fetch something, his go-to excuse is that he cannot stretch enough to reach it. I went over to the popcorn stall and bought myself a small bag with the thought of settling in.
I guess I was munching on my popcorn too loudly because the hero sitting two spaces away—to my left—asked me to munch elsewhere. Apparently, his superpower is super-hearing. I kept my snack aside, apologised and then, struck up a conversation with the lad. He told me that he worked for Dr Gre, one of the leading tech companies in headphones and audio equipment. He told me that as an engineer, he wanted to pioneer new designs and learn how to optimally deliver the best sound, from a physical perspective. He wanted the world to be hooked onto his designs. I saw quite the ambition in the man. I wished him good luck, and resumed listening to the panelists.
As the clock approached 2 PM—the designated pause—I saw that our very own Dr Gre Junior was getting quite antsy. At five minutes to 2, he starts walking over to the main stage. Someone from the front row got up and joined him, as he climbed up the stairs to make his way to the centre of the dais. I wasn't expecting him to also be one of the panelists for the talk. I felt like I had judged him too soon. The duo got up onto the stage, and the remaining panelists seemed as puzzled as I was. No sooner had he reached for the mike, than his partner set up a pink, transparent, invulnerability hemisphere, engulfing the two of them.
An unexpected shield is always bad news, because it usually means a hostage situation. Considering no superpowers from outside the shield can enter it, and any power inside can affect those on the outside, makes it ideal for villain protection. The usual counter, is a reverse shield—powers stay in, and cannot go out. Along with those two, one of the panelists, Echo (superpower: can relay the superpower, or the effects of one, to all the people within some active radius) was also caught inside. The shielder jumped onto him, pinned his head down and had him quickly restrained. The security detail was notified immediately, and to their horror, a white, reverse shield starts appearing around the perimeter of the convention hall. It slowly dawns onto the whole population inside, that something serious was about to go down. And now, our budding evil scientist starts talking.
"Do not be alarmed, for this is only going to last for the rest of your lives. I owe the creators of Herocon, my most sincere gratitude. After all, where else can one find most of the world's best heroes, ready to be disposed all at once. As you might have guessed, I am not a superhero. I don't quite fancy being a member of the megalomania cult."
Then the shielder chimed in:
"This is how the events of today are going to unravel. My buddy is going to use Echo to relay the effects of his special ability. Echo is free to decline, unless he wants his family to perish. At the relay, everyone will have their hearing become 80 million times more powerful than average. Then, I will put mini-shields around our eardrums for immunity, and have him shriek. It isn't likely that you can survive longer than 10 seconds, but I guess it will be fun to see who drops last. So, since none of you can escape my reverse shield for at least another 15 minutes, I will entertain questions."
Sound boy proceeded to hold Echo's head, which activates his relay. Now, both of them had their relay activated. For shielders, relay only increases the radius of the shield. I realised that the shielder had activated it even before his monologue, the moment he pinned him down. because of the convention-wide outer shield. It was only a second sooner than the white reverse shield that appeared around them. Our ears had already been set to high sensitivity. It didn't feel very different, and that made me suspect something. I thought it best to test my hypothesis. I raised my hand and signaled a volunteer from the audience to hand me a mike. I didn't have a question as much as I did have disappointment, to see one more idiot that I would have to handle. I gave a few test taps on the mic and began. Since I didn't go deaf and die on the first test tap, I figured that the sound has to be made by Dr Gre Junior.
"Look I know you feel proud of yourself and all, but I sadly have to *burst your bubble* on this one. The gentleman sitting behind you is none other than Pieta himself. He is going to freeze all eardrums inside the reverse shield radius and there goes all your effort down the toilet. If he can freeze a blue whale, a convention of eardrums shouldn't be a bother."
"Now the shielding team can set up a shield with gates within your own reverse shield. Koolie and his team can teleport heroes into a smaller area within the shield, and then have the shield shrink to contain everyone in a small space, sort of like an assembly zone. Now you can try your own shield antics if you want to, but good luck getting out of your containment reverse shield. Meanwhile, Echo can relay to himself your shielding capabilities and stay inside one until you two decide to call it a day, pack up your shields and head home. And when that time comes, we can teleport over some security to give you, let's say, some company."
"So if you don't mind, let's just continue with the scheduled 2 PM break now, shall we? Unless you want me to repeat the whole thing once again so that everyone can have a revision of their parts in this play."
I wasn't sure if that plan was enough to faze them. To this day, I don't know if there could have been some way to tackle my counter strategy. I think they were too flustered to try, so there is no way I can know for sure. The rest of the day was great. I ought to attend Herocon more often.
| 2020-09-27T10:12:32 | 2020-09-27T09:57:41 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] What’s worse than a mad scientist? A well-meaning scientist that has no comprehension what social upheaval their inventions will inflict on society. As the city’s superhero, it inevitably falls on you to explain, every time, to this socially oblivious genius what’s gone wrong and why.
|
Captain Justice leapt to the top of the water tower in a single bound, landing in a perfectly heroic fashion—fist to the floor, down on one knee, steely smolder in the eyes. He could hear maniac laughter echoing from inside the water chamber. “*Mwahahahaha!*”
Captain Justice could recognize that laugh anywhere. He ran to the chamber’s iron door, pried it off with one hand, and rushed inside. Across the room was Dr. DoGood, arm outstretched over the cities water supply, vial of green liquid in hand.
“Dr. DoGood!" Captain Justice shouted. "Stop in the name of *Justice!*”
“Calm down Captain. Hear me out first, okay?” Dr. DoGood cleared his throat.
Captain Justice resigned himself for the monologue that was sure to follow. If there was one thing he’d learned over the last decade it was not to interrupt a mad scientist’s monologue. They’d tell you everything you need to know.
“Humanity has changed..." Dr. DoGood said in a low, menacing voice. "People used to interact with one another, go outside and play. I’ve grown sick of watching everyone cower in their little hidey holes like rats… scared to leave their homes, scared to hug their families. My grandkids don’t even visit anymore. Everyone’s cowering in their dens, eyes glued to their screens, wasting away. People don’t *live* anymore. They may as well be *dead!*”
Dead? Captain Justice perked up. That was a superhero buzzword. “If you poison the water the only one who dies will be *you!*” he proclaimed. “I’ll snap your neck faster than you can say ‘extrajudicial killing.’”
“Poison?” Dr. DoGood frowned. “This isn’t poison. Trust me, this is for the greater good.”
Captain Justice rolled his eyes. It was *always* for the greater good. “What kind of cockamamie concoction is in that vial then? Some kind of potion that turns everyone into an extrovert? An elixir that blinds everyone to the light from their phones? Oh I know, I bet it makes everyone photosynthesize and therefore require sunlight.”
“Not at all. Those are all fantastic ideas though." Dr. DoGood scribbled in a notebook with one hand, then flipped it closed. "This here is just a COVID-19 vaccine.”
Captain Justice opened his mouth but no words came out. “What?” he said after a moment.
“You heard me. It’s a vaccine. Super effective too—all it takes is one glass of water, and you’re immune for life. Effective against the variants and everything.”
“Well you can’t… that’s not…" Captain Justice stuttered. "Okay well, have you *tested* it?”
“Oh yes, many tests. I've even used it on myself. The only side effect is marginally more defined abdominal muscles. See?" Dr. DoGood pulled his lab coat away, lifted his shirt, and flexed. Captain Justice had to admit, he looked hot. "Seriously though," Dr. DoGood continued. "If you don’t believe me, come here and cough on me. I won't even flinch.”
“I’m not going to cough on you,”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Cough into my mouth, I'll prove it.”
“No! Doctor, no. That’s crazy. Everything about this is crazy. It’s too dangerous.”
“Look, you can trust me. Remember that shrink ray I made to shrink everyone down to the height of shortest human?”
“Yes, I distinctly remember that. You said it would make basketball more equitable, and then you made me two-feet tall. It was a terrible idea and it hurt like hell for the next month growing back to my regular size.”
“Yes but the point is it *worked!* This vaccine is great, trust me.”
Captain Justice sighed. “Look, even if it does work, you can’t trick people into getting the vaccine. It’s not right.”
“That’s what you said about the shrink ray.”
“And that wasn’t right either! Doctor, I respect where you’re coming from but I can’t let you do this.”
“All right all right,” Dr. DoGood said, throwing his arms up in the air. “I won’t do it. But you’ll have blood on your hands, Captain.”
Captain Justice shrugged. “It’s part of the job.” He walked up to Dr. DoGood and took the vial from his hand. He meant to discard it but hesitated. “But uh... do you mind if I take a sip? I miss indoor dining.”
Dr. DoGood shrugged. “Why not, hypocrisy be damned.”
"Ooh, it's bubblegum flavored."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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Mostly, being a superhero is about force, which is something I’m great at. Super strength, super speed, and you can drop a tank on me and I’ll dent the tank. And yeah, there are plenty of supers out there who have the brains to go with the brawn, but I’m under no illusion that I’m one of them. Not everyone gets it all, though, that wouldn’t be fair. What I *am* also good at, however, is people.
Joshua Whipple came onto the Guild’s radar under not the best circumstances. He’d revolutionized cryonics (not cryogenics, there was a difference, he explained to me patiently, as I sat across from him, his hands gesturing despite being handcuffed to the table). It was an incredible discovery, probably worthy of a Nobel prize if you ask me, letting people on the brink of death be put into suspended animation by medics and unfrozen on a table in a fully prepped OR.
Unfortunately, Joshua’s heart of gold would never even think of patenting his inventions. There had been some others in the past, ingenious little things that had improved lives of many, especially the disabled, but as he grew older so did his awareness of things that could *really* be done with science. And when he published the information for this particular invention online, not wanting to make a cent from it, the supervillains spotted it and went, hey, this is great for taking down heroes!
When I explained this to Joshua, sitting at the aforementioned table he was handcuffed to, and that a villain had used it to rob a bank, his face just crumpled in disbelief. It was the most miserable sight, like watching a child’s face when you kicked their puppy. His quiet voice saying, “How could they do that?” just made me want to take him by the hands and apologize for the world’s cruelties.
But of course, that mind of his kept working. The next one was a breakthrough in anesthesia, which used to be a radically delicate and even dangerous procedure because of the myriad of differences person to person. No longer. Doctors could all now confidently and easily sedate patients for surgery. Anesthesiologists were out of work, so they were unhappy, but of course, that was the least of the issue. The technology of knocking someone out without worry of killing them did wonders for the kidnapping industry.
That being good with people thing I mentioned earlier? That’s why I was brought in here, after strike two. I clicked with Joshua on the level of a friend when we first met and was assigned as his handler. They weren’t sure if his intelligence was a superpower or not, but either way, he needed ‘handling’.
Today I was visiting him for another development and when I knocked on his door, rapid footsteps approached and swung it open to his grinning face. “Audrey! Please come in!” he said excitedly. I nodded and did so with a smile.
Joshua was about my height, 5’9”, had a brown mustache and beard that always held a smile beneath, and had a little padding that made his hugs like that of a teddy bear. He had tried contacts at one point, he’d explained, but he said he preferred his glasses, his eyes drying out too much despite even the most generous application of eyedrops. And also, he’d mentioned, by the time he was an adult, he couldn’t imagine not having glasses, like they were part of him.
His steps swift and with a spring in them that I always saw when he’d made a discovery or created a new invention, and he led me over to his back room, his lab. It was extensive and thorough in all aspects, always ready to help him develop whatever the next big idea his brain brought forth. Bringing me over to a table, he picked up a device that looked mainly constructed of wires and told me how he’d started with a problem he’d known about – treating coma patients.
If you’re sensing a theme here, you’re right on the money. Both of Joshua’s parents had been doctors and that had impacted him quite a bit. He would occasionally get stories from them, usually the happy-ending ones when he was younger, but when he was older, he realized the world wasn’t always happy endings. Knowledge only let us go so far, and that’s what had led him to dive deep into what was lacking in the seemingly endless fields of medicine.
This one let you put a…well, it was a sort of hat, it seemed. Joshua had long since learned that he needed to dumb down his inventions for people less intelligent than him to understand, and he was pretty good at it by now. He explained that we sometimes didn’t even know if coma patients were still ‘in there’, as it were, but no longer. This machine would literally let them communicate with the world. The thoughts that flitted across their brains, the images, the words, everything would be broadcast on a computer screen.
Joshua went on for a while, as he does, occasionally dipping into things that he knew would go over my head but were just so cool to him that he felt compelled to share them aloud anyway. And eventually his voice trailed off at the end of a sentence and he looked to me. “So,” he said, his voice suddenly and disconcertingly quiet. “What could this one do?”
I took a long breath in and let it out. “If a police officer had a location of someone in protective custody, a supervillain could strap them into this contraption, talk to them about it until it was forced to the front of their minds, and you’d learn where that person was.” That was the least of it, if you took a few minutes to think on it, but I went with that one just because it was most straightforward.
Every time his face fell, it still hit me. I don’t know what it was about his brain that was so different than mine, than most of ours, that he just didn’t make the connections. Maybe it was a mental handicap. Maybe it turned out this was a superpower, and this was a downside. Heck, maybe he’d just had such a lovely childhood he couldn’t fathom real malevolent intent. But he just never guessed. He always had to ask me.
“This is incredible, though, Josh,” I said softly. “It’s going to help so many people, not to mention their families.”
A small smile came back to Joshua’s face and he nodded, almost to himself, staring at the device, as if he needed to reassure himself of that. “It will,” he murmured.
“I did make a stop on the way over, by the way,” I said with a grin, taking something from my purse.
Joshua’s face lit up at the bag of Reese’s. “Audrey! Thank you,” he said, taking the bag and immediately opening it to eat one. “Mm. Whoever invented *these* should get awards, not me.” I grinned at that. “You know I’ve got everything I need here, though. All you’re going to do here is make me fat,” he scolded.
I let out a sigh and nodded. “I worry about you, though, Josh. Locked up all on your own here.”
Because that’s what had happened after that second arrest. After they’d realized his past and his future, his potential, his vulnerability. He now lived at Guild headquarters in an apartment they’d built for him on the 23rd floor, with all the resources he needed, but I knew he was still a prisoner. One with a wonderful cafeteria and lots of friends he passed in the hall when he went to get meals, cable TV and a comfy bed to watch it from, and one with internet access (monitored as it was). But he still needed that bracelet locked onto his ankle to make sure he never left the grounds.
Joshua’s eyes narrowed. “What? No, no, no, that’s not what this place is,” he assured me. “You know that. I’m here for my protection. And for everyone else’s. If something were to happen because of one of my inventions, if someone got hurt…again…” His gaze drifted.
“Nobody got hurt during that robbery,” I reminded him.
That brought his gaze back to me and he nodded. “I know. Not physically. But those poor people who lost those valuables in the safety deposit boxes. Those criminals might not have felt brave enough to do what they did without my invention.” He shook his head. “No, I would never let that happen. This is where I need to be.” He smiled. “We’ve talked about this, Audrey. You know it as well as I do.”
I nodded slowly. “All right.” I paused. “Aside from this…anything you’ve been brainstorming? I’m available as a sounding board for the next hour or so.”
His smile brightened and his spine straightened. “Okay, so, what do you know about burn victims or acid attack victims? Specifically restorative surgery?”
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren
| 2021-04-21T20:44:06 | 2021-04-21T19:39:46 | 440 | 243 |
[WP] A vampire knocks on your door, seeking permission to enter in order to kill you as their next meal. As a house-bound ghost, however, the prospects of a guest after so many years intrigues you. Smiling darkly, you welcome them inside.
|
The vampire entered, satisfaction blooming on its face. "You don't know how grateful I am to be here today," it said.
In previous generations it was considered courteous to allow a stranger in need into one's home. Today even asking for such a thing is considered taboo. I wondered idly how long this vampire has been searching before someone said yes. Perhaps it's mental powers were weakened by such a search, but it didn't feel that way. It still took considerable effort to materialize in its presence.
"No, don't mention it, it really is no bother at all." I said, motioning inward. "Come, come. Let me show you around." I turned my back to the creature and began a slow walk. *This old house, if it could speak*, I thought warmly.
We house-bound ghosts are tied in one spot because of a strong dilation in metaphysical fabric. In other words, an unspeakable evil was committed in this home, long ago. It's been so long that I don't even remember what it was. But I did remember the good times and couldn't wait to tell my guest all about them.
As we walked down the wooden floors I could feel the vampire behind me smiling. It said, "Forgive me for not introducing myself, I'm somewhat awkward around strangers."
"How unfortunate." I replied coyly, "You know, I'm afflicted with something of a condition myself."
After a few more steps in silence, the vampire said, "I think this is far enough, you can stop here." It used an incredibly powerful *suggestion* to drive the words home.
To a human, this would have been an irresistible command. To me, well, I'm ashamed to say that the sudden spike in mental pressure exerted by the command caused my ability to materialize to falter. You see, a ghost can appear in corporeal form, but only if it is able to cast the illusion in the mind of the observer. The vampire's *suggestion* had an unintended side effect of evicting my influence on its mind.
My materialization *slipped*. I vanished, but all of my concentrated effort kind of ... slammed into the candles alongside the walls. The flames burst into a bright white light, and it was really quite embarrassing. I quickly pulled back, but too much, accidentally extinguishing the candles altogether. Great, now my guest was in total darkness.
I tend to laugh when I'm embarrassed. We ghosts don't really laugh like we did when living. Rather, for a house-bound ghost like me the laughter reflex causes the material of the home to phase slightly. In other words, the walls of the house vibrate a bit, and it kind of sounds like a laugh -- a really deep cavernous laugh -- but it's all out of context and quite frankly a little creepy, which is even more embarrassing.
"Oh for fucks sake, am I being haunted?" the vampire said, looking around exasperated. "Every goddam time! I thought this place looked familiar."
"No, don't go!" I tried to say, but my concentration was too weak, and all that came out was the last vowel in a strangely modulated way.
With regret, I watched the vampire turn around and leave. "There goes another guest." I sighed, "We sure do have a nice library, maybe I'll content myself with a good read."
|
It was dark. So dark it almost seemed alarming. The grounds were still, only the occasional rustle of the wind in the old trees made its way to me as I sat in the window overlooking the front yard. In the summer, they always left the windows of the upper floors open, exposing the house to the cool night breeze and my pale skin to the moonlight. Of course, it had been many years since I had felt the breeze or anything else on my skin. That was the thing about being dead; you cannot be touched by things alive.
I sighed, turning from the window to make my compulsory wailing walk through the house. Starting just outside the master bedroom and making my way towards the stairs, making sure to tilt some hanging picture frames just a little to the left on my way, I heard a knock on the front door. A knock at this hour?
I went down the stairs and waithed by the door for them to answer, but when no one came, I grapped the door knob and turned. On the steps stood a tall, blonde woman with eyes like chocolate and breasts like soft, round honey melons.
"Good evening," said the boob job with a silky voice. "My car broke down a couple of miles down the road. Normally, I would just wait for someone to pass by, but I am oh so hungry this evening, I just *couldn't* wait."
The hair extensions smiled sweetly at me, an odd twinkle in her eyes. Vampire, then. When I was alive, just an ordinary girl living in this very house, I did not believe in the occult, in creatures of the dark, in life beyond death. I even went several years after my death believing myself to be one of a kind. But then, one night, another spirit found its way here. We engaged in conversation, him giving me some of the answers to the questions I had struggled with sine my "resurrection", leaving other questions unanswered. One thing he did tell me, though, was that the world was full of all sorts of creatures. Some dead, some alive, some invisible like ourselves, some terrifyingly visible. Vampires, like the one currently occupying my threshold, belonged to the terrifyingly visible, terrifyingly terrifying kind.
"We don't have any food." What a terrible lie. Good job, silly girl.
"No food? In a big house like this?" The plastic vampire gestured to the size of the house. "I do not believe that. Especially not when I'm looking at such a tasty thing like yourself. Must be plenty of sweets to... *sweeten you*... in this house."
"Yes, well..." An idea formed in my head at that instant. "We do have some food. But I'm not allowed to invite strangers inside."
"Oh, well, in that case! My name is Odette."
I gave her my best sweet smile. Odette stretched out her hand and I hesistated, picked up my dress and curtseyed before turning away from the door without touching her. I made my way down the hall towards the kitchen. "Come on in." I said over my shoulder.
Odette pulled out a chair in the breakfast nook and sat by the table. The light from the lamp overhead made her hair seem even more yellow than it had out in the dark. And not a beautiful sort of yellow, like wheat, but a filthy one. Like urine.
"What sort of food do you like?" I asked, pretending to look through the cabinets and drawers.
"I am on a strictly liquid diet."
"Liquid? We don't have any soup." Truth was, I had no idea if they had any soup, but it didn't matter. I knew what sort of *liquid diet* she cared for and it had nothing to do with potatoes or chicken broth.
"Come sit by me," Odette said, pulling out the chair next to her.
I gave her another shy smile, hiding my hands behind my back.
"Oh, aren't you just the sweetest! I could just... *eat*... you up."
A giggle crossed my lips. She smiled broadly at me in return. I went towards her and sat on the chair next to her. She looked at me, smiled and lifted her hand. I saw it move upwards at first, the long fingers stretching, then crossing the short space between us before descending, clearing the air above my own hand. It landed. It rested. And I could feel it. I felt her hand! It was cold, colder than the summer's breeze flowing through the upstair's windows, but it was skin; it was solid; it was another being touching my skin. How marvellous, how wonderfully marvellous after so many years! It was like coming alive again - truly alive.
"Are you alright, sweet girl?" Odette asked. I looked up, realising I had been staring at our joined hands.
"Y-yes," I stuttered. "I am."
"Good." Odette said with a smile. "Because we can't have you being all sad now, can we? Not when we are just about to have a *feast.*" She closed her fingers tighter on mine and inched her body closer, closing the gap between us. Her soft, fake melon breasts grazed my shoulder and my once beating heart leaped into my throat. I could have sworn my breath was shaking. After all this time. After all this time, could this finally be happening? Had the moment I'd been waiting for since my ressurection finally arrived?
I felt her lips on my neck, those deathly fangs grazing my skin. "Close your eyes", she said.
"Okay," I answered with a tremble.
Her lips closed around the nape of my neck. I closed my fingers around the hilt of the knife. And just as she was about to puncture my skin, I revealed the knife from inside my dress, driving it through her shoulder blade in one stroke. Odette screamed. The piercing sound of a dead creature staring down the abyss of true annihilation. She jerked away, but I held on to her hand. She stared at me in disbelieve.
"What are you?" She whispered.
I only smiled.
Some time had passed, I do not know how long, when I remembered that they were still here, still in bed upstairs. How Odette's scream hadn't woken them, I could not fathom. I sat on the floor, with my back to the kitchn cabinets and my legs outstretched. My dress was in ruin. Blood everywhere. Wonderful. Now I had to look like this for the rest of eternity. The ghost who told me about the other creatures, told me that the only way to kill a vampire was a stake through the heart. I hadn't had a stake, so in the heat of the moment, I'd opted for a knife. It might not be as poetic as piercing the heart of a blood sucker, but beheading did the trick. Of course, I'd had to remove her limbs first to keep her in order. Now, her blood was everywhere on me. Everywhere on the kitchen floor, on the chairs and table, pieces of her spread out in the middle of it all. How marvellous it all was.
It was still dark outside. There was still time for me to finish my wailing walk through the house.
| 2022-08-01T15:01:14 | 2022-08-01T12:41:33 | 118 | 59 |
[WP] Physical contact is now illegal, but there are hug dealers and shady hand-holders in the dead of night.
ninja edit after hours of gaming:
Well. This is nice to come back to.
Thanks for all of the contributions! You guys are awesome!
|
Derek understood that he was hated and despised. No one had ever come right out and said it to him, they wouldn't dare, but he knew. Most nights, he hated and despised himself enough for everyone but he never let it stop him. It was a job and it paid well. Only one more year of this miserable existence and he'd have enough to never work again.
Ever since the takeover, the Government had forced drastic laws upon the populace. First, public displays of affection were outlawed. It was a quick, downward spiral after that. All forms of affection and physical contact were banned. The continuation of the human race was clinical, each parent randomly selected. Invasive medical procedures replaced intimate contact and the resulting child sent to the Government Houses, to be raised as the mindless drones they want.
Walking down the street, Derek knew what to look for. Always in the upper class areas, the nice neighborhoods where all the houses look alike. The ones with money always feel entitled to certain liberties with the law. They all paid well for their clandestine services.
Within minutes, he had his mark; a middle-aged woman, well dressed and beautiful but old enough to remember what it was like before the takeover. A friendly smile and a nod, she was walking towards him.
“Hey there stranger,” she greeted, slightly nervous sounding.
“Evening,” Derek responded, a slight smile and a relaxed posture.
“You looking for some,” she paused, looking around, “contact?” she nearly whispered.
Derek glanced around and then nodded. “I've got a couple of hundred to play with. And a quiet place nearby.” He waved his arm in the direction he was walking from.
“A couple of hundred?” she asked, a predator's grin on her face. “That will get you a lot, handsome. What are you looking for?”
“A couple of hugs, some hand-holdin', maybe a kiss or two.”
She nodded. “I can do that for a couple of hundred. Show me the way, handsome.”
Derek grinned and turned around. A few dozen yards ahead was an unlit alley. The two walked in silence, the woman constantly watching for Agents. Derek glanced behind him, making sure she was still there, and then stepped into the alley waiting for her to follow. She was right behind him.
“Alright honey, give me your hand. I'll make this a night you can remember.”
Derek reached out, grabbing her wrist as several car lights flared. She tried to pull away, but Derek was expecting that and stepped with her.
“I'm sorry, doll, but you know exactly how illegal this is. I'm afraid that I'm going to have to arrest you for soliciting contact with another person,” Derek said, the smile on his face fading as he spoke. “I'm pretty sure they'll try and get you for prostitution as well, and you know that's a felony.”
“Prostitution?” she screamed, tears falling from her eyes.
“Sorry, doll, but that's how it is,” he said, cuffing her hands and leading her to an unmarked van.
Derek really hated his job.
|
Jennette and Henry walked along the river, taking the darker, tangled path at its edge rather than the neat, linear concrete roads that caged the waters and held them within the city's boundaries. Mud was building up in the crevices in their boots, pushing out dried dirt from previous wanderings. But they didn't care, barely even noticed their surroundings, because to them, the only thing that existed was their hands, intertwined and tucked into their sleeves to hide them from prying eyes.
They didn't know it, but prying eyes had found them a long time ago. Agent Chris Agiers watched them from a bench along the concrete path. He'd been hot on their tail for so long, and here they were, practically flaunting their illegal profession in front of him. If he felt any emotion at all, Agent Agiers would have been furious. As it was, he merely felt a mild sort of bafflement. These people, the ones who had abandoned the government-mandated emotion dampeners in favor of illicit, back-alley activities were as foreign and unreadable to him as animals.
Henry paused and turned towards Jennette, pulling her closer to him.
"Jen, do you remember the first time we met?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, of course, Henry," she said. "Why?"
"Tell me about it."
"Oh, you know that story. Why do you want to hear it again?" She said, smiling.
"Call it sentimentalism," Henry said. He clasped both her hands in his. Sentimentalism - that was a word she was still getting used to. Between almost a decade of being off the dampeners and having access to an illegal store of books he had scavenged, Henry had access to emotions, gestures, and words that confounded and terrified Jennette sometimes. And that is exactly what she liked about Henry - he constantly pushed her emotional boundaries, clearing away the fog of distrust and dead logic the government had forced on her since she was born.
"Well," she said, "I had just had a very bad examination in college, and my prospects for the future were looking bad. I was so confused, so tightly wound, that my roommate almost forced me out of the room to a hug parlor."
"And what did you think?" Henry said, pulling her into a hug himself. Agent Agiers felt something approaching surprise at such a blatant display of illegal activity. Still, he wanted to see two of the kingpins of the emotional underworld put away for a long, long time, so he watched, and he waited.
"Nothing much, just resistance to resisting the government," Jennette said into his shirt. She pulled back to look at him. "And then I met you, and you helped me punch through the emotional dampeners, to get to the thing underneath that was causing me so much pain." The details of their encounter had worn off over the years, but she could still feel the white hot spark of those first tears. "Sorrow. Sorrow for the examination, sorrow for my promised future that was quickly dimming, sorrow for the things and people I had lost, and sorrow for its own sake."
Agent Agiers could hear all this from where he sat, pretending to doze. He was mulling over what the young couple were discussing. Sorrow? It was a word that was unfamiliar to him, but something about its shape and sound was- he cut off that thought, and filed the word away. He would have to investigate it later. For now, he was content to watch, and wonder.
What these two were doing didn't just defy logic, it prevented it, destroyed it. And yet, he couldn't describe the chemical surge pushing at the base of his neck. It was warm, it was uncomfortable, and weirdest of all, he kind of liked it. Agiers knew when emotions were trying to break through, and quickly worked his way through the suppression steps, focusing his thoughts on the logical and the tangible. In a few seconds, the feeling had passed and he was able to look up at the couple again.
"Sorrow, hm?" Henry said.
"Sorrow," she replied. "Sorrow was my constant companion in those days. I cried all the time. But I was so relieved, too. It was like a flood that finally broke the dam, and I could feel pressure lifting from me with every tear, every squeeze of your arms." She caught up to her thoughts by looking past him to the river, that slow, mercurial beast that split the city trough the core and provided it with so much water, so much life. In this season, it was running fast and deep, the jagged rocks along the bottom only showing as bumps along the surface. "It's amazing, isn't it? How entwined touch and emotion are? It's no wonder the government forbids touch, it'd never succeed in getting rid of emotion otherwise. Why do you think they did it?"
"I think we both know that," he said. They did. Sorrow hadn't just been their constant companion in the early days. It had waited with them in the still of the night as they hid from government raiders. It had held them in its red, iron embrace as they held the arms and wrists of initiates who couldn't handle it. It had stood with them at gravesides, dug in defiance and filled with humility, with mistakes. To rid the world of sorrow, to bring its people happiness, the government had taken the only path it could - to rid them of every emotion.
"Those early days were so crazy," Jennette said, interrupting his line of thought.
"I remember."
"I know you do. I was so stressed, so scared, so happy, so excited, so... everything. I still can't figure out how to explain it to the initiates, that rush right at the beginning. It's like your body knew how to feel everything all along, and it's just practicing all those feelings at once. Did you get that, Henry?"
"I did. Those days are blurry, but I do remember screaming at something in my backyard for almost an hour, just to hear what angry sounded like. I'm still surprised no one called the cops on me."
"Henry..." she said, looking at the river.
"Jennette?"
"Why are we here?"
"That," he said, stepping back to gaze at the night sky above them, "is a grand question for the ages." Jennette laughed. The sound grated on Agent Agiers nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
"No, I mean here, at the river. And you've been so cuddly tonight. What's going on?" she said. Henry cupped her chin in his hand.
"Do you remember what we promised each other at the beginning? You and I?" he said. She glanced around fearfully before responding in a whisper.
"I do. Do you mean-?"
"That we've been discovered? Yes," Henry said. He turned her head to where Agiers was sitting. Agiers jumped up, but before he could finish the word "Stop!" the pair had locked lips and jumped.
They were still tangled in each other's arms when they were pulled out of the river the next day.
| 2013-10-26T17:59:13 | 2013-10-26T17:20:38 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] The most sexually oblivious man on earth just so happens to be the most attractive man on earth as well. Write about his average day.
|
Brian considers himself a really lucky fellow.
Really lucky.
Here are some examples of how lucky Brian is.
Brian does not pay for meals. Meals are brought to him in plastic containers with notes written on the lids. These notes are written in languages and symbols that Brian does not understand. Who would understand that D is equal to 3 and what are these water emojis? At least the meals come with a handy rubber bag in a nice square package.
Brian does not pay for rent. Money is actually given to him by the landlord. Brian does receive a lot of strange daily visits from the landlord introducing him to new potential occupants. They usually stare at him for a good minute before they wipe the drool coming out of their mouths.
Brian does not buy drinks. When Brian goes out to the club he doesn't pay for a single drop of alcohol. Men and women swarm to try to buy him a shot. For some reason the bartender always gets whipped cream on her chest. Brian always has to go to the restroom and get paper towels for her. Brian doesn't really like the bartender.
|
"I just don't get it."
Adam furrowed his brow as he continued.
"I just want them to like me. Not even love and all that, y'know?"
It was one of those expressions, the kind that's hard to muster but perfectly conveys the deep frustration of a hurting soul.
"Why doesn't anyone want me?"
Jane swallowed and heaved. She was his therapist but this was going to be hard.
"Do you think you're attractive, Adam?"
"Well, I don't know..."
"Nonsense, Adam! You're an attractive man. Great broad shoulders. Firm hips. Charming smile. You're everything a woman would gladly strip-- er, jump over."
"You're just being paid to say that... It's okay, I get it. I know I can be better."
"Adam, you fool of man," Jane said, setting her iPad down on the table. "Do you need me to show you just how desirable you are?"
"Well, you keep saying, but I just.. I just don't feel it, Jane. It's terrible. I mean, no one takes me seriously, except for you maybe. And you're my therapist."
"Oh God, Adam! Get off that couch right now!"
"W-what is it?"
"I tried to tell you but you just never listen. I'm going to have to show you. Get off, I say!"
"O-okay," he said planting his feet firm on the ground. Before he was even standing erect, Jane was all over him, planting lips into his ears and hands around his shoulders.
"Wow! Gosh, Jane!" Adam exclaimed as her hands went lower below his beltline. "This is some amazing therapy technique!"
"Mmhmm," she murmured as her tongue went to work around his neck line; his rugged coarse neckline where tiny specks of clean shaved beard stuck out.
"I guess, you're right," Adam said, loosening his pants.
"You betcha', big boy!" Jane uttered as she unbuttoned his collar and pulled off her coat with the arm that had been massaging his nether regions. "I knew you wanted it from the start."
"All those sessions, and hours of just convincing you. I guess it's about time you realized!" she exclaimed, as he became naked in front of her. "I've been gushing every n-- uh.. Adam?"
"Yes?"
"Adam, what are you doing?"
"You're going to give it to me, right?" he asked, earnestly.
"What.. what do you mean? Why are you on your knees like that?"
He was prostrated, with both knees and elbow on the ground, with his rear raised towards her.
"My gift," Adam said. "You wanted to give it to me. Why don't you stick it in?"
Flabbergasted, Jane dared to ask, "Stick.. stick what in?"
"Don't know. Isn't that part of the surprise? You pushed the surprise button, remember?"
"Adam, I don't know what you're talking about!"
"But the surprise! Momma always said if I were good, girls would give me the special surprise."
"Adam, please, stop. Turn around."
"Momma said so! She gave me surprises! Momma always gave me good surprises."
"Adam.. I-I.."
"I miss momma's surprises," he said as he started to sob quietly and uncontrollably. "I miss momma."
"Adam, honey, you.. you have to.. Adam, please, turn around."
"NO!" he cried, "MOMMA SAID I'D GET SURPRISES! MOMMA SAID SO! IF I DIDN'T GET SURPRISES IT MEANS I'VE BEEN BAD. AND BAD BOYS GET PUNISHED."
"Adam, please.. you're starting to scare me.."
He was pounding on the carpet with his fists.
"NO! I WANT MY SURPRISE! THE DEVIL WILL EAT MY SOUL IF I DON'T GET IT. PLEASE!"
"I..I..I'm calling security."
-----
"Hey, Adam," Tina called from the next cubicle. "Like, how'd it go?"
Adam was downtrodden.
"No good, Tins."
"Wha-at? Another crappy counsellor? You poor boy!"
"I don't know. She just told me she couldn't handle my case."
"What? She couldn't even handle a little stress? That's like a month down the drain!"
"Tell me about it, Tins."
"Well, you know what... I know you get asked this a lot but, I could show you how to unwind, if you know what I mean," Tina said, winking at the same time.
"Yeah? Let's do that then," Adam said, cheering up. "And no, I don't get asked that a lot."
"That's crazy. I mean, you're literally the hottest man alive!"
"Hahah," Adam laughed, "Thanks, Tins. You're a good friend."
| 2015-07-16T23:15:15 | 2015-07-16T22:32:53 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write.
|
I'm gasping for breath.
This is the two-hundred seventy-third time I've had to live through someone's life. Growing up in a small town in Poland, seeing this person's love and hatred, wins and losses, and everything that made them who they were. And inevitably, like all the others, watching through their eyes as the soldiers in brown came through the city and took everyone away one by one.
Being starved. Being worked to death. Newborns and their mothers dying together. It was hell. Every single time, it was hell, and it'll be hell again next time.
I made a lot of promises in my first life; bringing Germany to the greatness it once had, fixing the economy, sending out those who would ruin our nation... and now I had to see through the eyes of everyone we'd killed.
Just like last time, we're told we're going to finally have a chance to get clean. The soldiers lead us out of the cramped housing unit to the showers, and they turn on the gas.
As fits of coughing fill the room, my vision starts to fade. I've got a lot of lives to live.
|
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
Something was broken inside Rand's train car this morning. A small piece of metal had broken off near the heavy doors. Every :02 seconds it made contact, caroming off it's former home as far as the separation allowed.
Separation was something Rand knew all about. In his first life. Now. Always.
He felt the train slow down as it approached one of the several stops before New York City. This suit lived on Long Island. Within shouting distance of his high pressure Wall Street job, but just far enough from the city not to deal with the riff raff.
Rand closed is eyes as buildings flew past. 27 minutes until he'd step off the train. 42 minutes until he'd arrive at work. 43 minutes until some dickhead in a $3,000 suit screamed at him for not already having done X, Y or Z. Some bullshit Rand likely wouldn't have understood even if he bothered to care. He knew this ride well by now. He'd be living this life for almost 8 months. In a different context that might sound melodramatic, but this was not your typical day to day.
Rand had once lived a simple life. Compared to this shit anyway. Grew up in Queens. Family meant everything. Jobs got squeezed at some point so he had to pick up alternative talents. His first hit was to keep the lights on for the family. To put food on the table. That's what he told himself anyway. He had blown some of the 2 grand at the strip club, but he'd earned that part for himself. Everything else was for his Family.
Rand took a deep breath as he heard the conductor drawing nearer, clicking tickets & chattering with the passengers. He wished this jolly old fuck would be quieter this morning. He was beginning to grow tired of this vics grind. He couldn't understand it. The finance job paid a ton, but it was long hours & terrible business. The Family was constantly nagging him. Fuck. Rand had to remind himself that this poor son of a bitch probably loved the three daughters & two sons. Loved the dogs & his homely wife. The wife was hot enough naked at least. One of the few perks of this shitty vig.
Settling back into his seat after paying the morning small talk toll was a relief. He had about 15 minutes left on the ride, maybe 4 songs.. depending if Stairway came on. He had to give the poor shmuck credit for good music taste at least. Rand had always liked to listen to music after his original Family had gone to sleep. That seemed like a distant memory now. So many lives ago. So many deaths ago. First, the deaths were waves & waves of victims. Rand became the go to hit man in the Tri-State area, then the East Coast. Before long he was making international trips to kill Ambassadors & CEOs for 7 figure sums. Wife & kids thought he was consulting, that made it clean. He barely registered as the kills stacked up. Eventually he passed into the hundreds, then neared the 1000s. He had become an assassin of the highest order, rich beyond belief, but still he took clients. Looking back, this was the mistake. Should've just enjoyed his life. Fucking his wife. His kids. Found some hobby. Football. Video Games. Chess. Anything. But, no. Killing was the vice of choice, or it became it. The money was one thing, but he had money. He could admit it now, all these years later, all these lives later. He had wanted to keep killing because it felt good.
That thirst had become blurry in the recent years. He was 8 years removed from his original life. His real life. As if that mental distinction made any difference. The train descended into the tunnels before Penn Station now, just a few minutes from arrival. The car filled with black & Rand's music cut out as his phone lost service. The silence reminded him of that first time waking up in someone else's skin. It was pretty similar to just waking up, except that almost immediately he felt *different.* It wasn't clear how at first, he was somewhere knew, he felt..bigger, his face now clean shaven. A curse of some kind he guessed. Sounds stupid thinking it. What the fuck else could it be?
To wake up in a different body, a different life? It took a few days to remember. Was so disorienting off the bat, but why not. Why wouldn't the body he was in be a guy he'd shot. Why wouldn't he have to live the pain he caused. It was now an 8th different body. A new one each year. A new life taken. A new schedule to learn. A new life to try and fill a void in. What happens to those folks when he leaves he didn't want to know. He had stopped debating long ago if this was real or not real. Heaven or hell. Was he repenting or was he being punished? Was this cathartic or torture.
| 2016-11-13T14:15:44 | 2016-11-13T12:12:03 | 186 | 17 |
[WP] Two magicians made a blood oath when they were children that they would never harm each other. Now they are mortal enemies and have resorted to inconveniencing and annoying each other, knowing if they harm one another they'll die.
|
It started with flames bursting from the kitchen sink, the backyard transformed into a minefield of broken glass, and Reginald – the tabby cat – turned into a bite-prone, non-venomous snake.
Nuisances, to be sure, but nothing that couldn’t be handled.
Dr. Fletcher utilized the long morning commutes to plot his revenge. For the most part, he worked by night, conjuring images of Dr. Anderson’s house in his head. He made the lawn sprinklers spray plant killer, and rewrote all of his enemy’s bills and tax forms in a nearly unbreakable code.
Both men kept their battles secret. The general public didn’t react well to public displays of magic that lacked a top hat or cute rabbit sidekick. In the pursuit of a “normal” life, they had traded sorcery for boredom.
Dr. Fletcher returned home one Friday afternoon eager to plop in front of the TV for a few hours. Mercifully, there were no rabid animals or explosions waiting for him. His wife Marie set down her magazine and embraced him.
“Hi, hon,” she said.
“Hey.”
“Long day?”
“Always.”
“Anything else?”
Fletcher paused. “I can’t get him out of my head. His house, his car, all five of those goddamned journal articles…”
“I’ll never understand why you two --“
“Of course you won’t. You don’t have what we have.”
“I know. But if you keep this up…”
Dr. Fletcher ignored her and began conjuring three of the ten biblical plagues. Within minutes, Dr. Anderson’s kitchen was overrun with frogs, lice, and locusts.
***
The spells ceased for two days after that. Dr. Fletcher had a blissful weekend with his wife, sipping drinks, swapping stories, and feeling young.
But on Monday night at precisely 8:15 PM, he entered his living room and found Marie lying motionless on the couch.
Fletcher knelt beside her for hours, sobbing, clutching her pale hands. He cursed Anderson, cursed his life, and cursed the irremovable powers still coursing through his body.
But at 11:00, she sat up.
“Henry? I’m so…tired.”
“Do you feel sick? Injured?”
“Not at all.”
Dr. Fletcher clutched his fists, then grabbed his coat and raced for the front door. Marie, still bewildered, watched him go.
“Henry…?”
***
Dr. Fletcher opened Anderson’s front door with a flick of his wrist. He stomped into the bedroom of his nemesis and shook him awake.
“Get up, you son of a bitch.”
Anderson rolled over, rubbed his eyes groggily, and fumbled for his glasses.
“Breaking and entering, I see. That’s a line that you haven’t crossed yet.”
“You sick bastard. You trying to scar me for life?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Fletcher flicked his wrist again and knocked over a lamp.
“You were always jealous of me. Of what I could conjure.”
Anderson smirked. “And you’re drowning in envy at what I’ve been able to accomplish without a shred of magic.”
Fletcher narrowed his eyes. “Send me whatever you want. Destroy my house, destroy my job, destroy my life.” He started to exit. “But if you ever lay a finger on my wife again, I’ll fucking kill you.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
Fletcher looked around the room. For a moment, he pitied Anderson – alone in a vast mansion, surrounded by his things. Yet jealousy came rushing back in a toxic tidal wave.
“Try me.”
He flicked his wrist, shut the door behind him, and unlocked his car.
As he drove home, watching the winding suburban roads carry on endlessly in both directions, Henry Fletcher plotted his revenge.
|
"Quiet down! This emergency session of the Twenty-First Council of Westcantor is called to order!" The crowd barely noticed the Grand Magister. Indeed, the babble was beginning to rise into a dull roar.
The Grand Magister gave an exasperated sigh and quietly mumbled a spell under his breath.
"**SILENCE!**" His significantly amplified voice bounced harshly off the far walls, causing many of the various present wizards, sorceresses, and enchanters to cringe and clasp their ears.
"We have gathered here to determine the validity of the charges brought against Prime Magister Jax the Cynic against Prime Magister Canti Cantabole. Magister Jax is calling for Magister Cantabole's impeachment and accuses him of..." The Grand Magister shuffled some papers and peered down his long nose at the topmost sheet. "...indecent exposure." He glared at Jax. "Seriously? You've gathered all thirteen prime magisters as well as a quorum of the Council because you saw a bit of... never mind."
He shook his head, causing his white beard to sway monstrously. "We, as the council, must be particularly careful to reprimand any guilty of conduct unbecoming of a magician in order to maintain the peace. As such, Magister Jax's... very much serious and not at all petty charge will be investigated fully in this trial.
"Magister Cantabole, as the defendant, you have the right to speak your opening statement first, unless there is any objection...?" He peered over the audience hopefully.
Fully three hundred of the most experienced and learned magicians in the world jumped to their feet and yelled out various motions. The Grand Magister sighed again.
"**SILENCE!** The representative from the Hesitant Depths rose first (probably), so she is granted the floor!"
A reedy voice rose from near the back. "Motion to skip formal procedure and only listen to appeals from the plaintiff and the prosecuted!"
Ten miles away, on the peaks of the Black Mountain, a sudden landslide nearly buried a small village of peasants. Experts later determined that the cause was a massive acoustic disruption caused by the volume of those desiring to second the motion.
"The motion is seconded, and for the sake of all of us, I will say that it also passes," the Grand Magister yelled over his ringing ears. "Jax, tell your story, and be quick about it." He sat down behind a table with the rest of the Prime Magisters
Prime Magister Jax the Cynic stood and faced the assembly. "Ladies and gentlemen, fellow magicians, wizards, witches, sorcerers, sorceresses, warlocks, warlockesses, alchemists-"
"**GET ON WITH IT!**" the Grand Magister thundered.
Jax winced, then pulled out some note cards. "My story begins a week ago..."
*****
>I woke up as the sun rose, painting my dewey flower garden in a beautiful vermilion light. After going through my standard morning routine, visiting Old Lady Silla, and giving a toy horse to a small child that I passed, I encountered none other than Prime Magister Cantabole in a back alley, doing something I could not see.
>"Good morrow, Prime Magister!" I said cheerfully, waving to my compatriot and boon companion.
>"You and the rest of the Council can eat a horse's knob!" he yelled back barbarically. I apologized for wasting his time and continued on to the University.
>After giving a few lectures, my assistant came to me in my office.
>"Prime Magister, there's a young girl who wishes to see you. She says it's urgent!" my assistant informed me.
>"Thank you for telling me this, Genevieve. Please, tell her to come in here immediately, and then feel free to take the day off. I know how much hard work you do, and you deserve a break."
>A few moments later, the girl came in. Her face was dirty and blackened and streaked with tears. She looked starved to death.
>"My dear!" I gasped. "What has happened to you? No, don't say a word. Please, take some of my food first!" I conjured a fresh loaf of bread and gave her a crock of butter along with a glass bottle of freshly squeezed grape juice from the vineyards of Tarrakis. She ate and dra-
*****
"Objection!" interrupted Magister Cantabole. "This is irrelevant!"
"Sustained. Hurry up, Jax, or I'll be more starved than that little girl." The Grand Magister's stomach rumbled threateningly.
*****
>"Great and mighty Magister Jax," began the little girl, "I have heard wonderful tales of your great deeds from far and wide. People everywhere tell stories of the wondrous feats that you have performed in the name of goodness and virtue-"
*****
"Jax!" the Grand Magister barked, startling the Prime Magister. Jax dropped his note cards. He knelt and picked them up hurriedly.
*****
>Then, without warning, the dragon-
*****
"Wait, this is from my fanfict- uh, academic notes..." Jax glared at Cantabole, who was choking down a laugh. He shuffled through the cards.
*****
>"I saw a man in robes just like yours in an alley. He was kicking a small puppy, and I couldn't bear to watch but I wanted to help, so I ran here as soon as I could!"
>"Fret not, dear. I will deal with this miscreant!" I said gallantly. And so it was that she led me to the very alley where I had seen Magister Cantabole not three hours before!
>It was empty now, but I was not about to give up so easily. After searching intently for a scrap of evidence, I heard a tiny yelp from a short distance away. I sprinted towards it, and found a closed door leading to what appeared to be Magister Cantabole's dwelling quarters. I knocked politely.
>"Prime Magister, I've been hearing sounds of pain from here. Are you and all occupants well? I am obligated to remind you that no Magister is permitted to harm another living being while in their robes of office!"
>He opened the door and spat in my face. "Ha! Foolish man! I can skirt right around the silly rules of the Council!" And lo- he was naked for the world to see! He galloped about the streets, daring any to stop him!
>I knew I was incapable of harming him, mostly due to my gentle disposition, but I saw him for a menace to our public image that must be dealt with immediately.
*****
"And so, my fellow magicians, ends my story. You see the man before you and you know his evil. I plead with you to deal with him before it is too late!" he finished dramatically.
There was no response but snores. Someone prodded the Grand Magister.
"...over easy, with a side of toast and- um..." His head shot up from where it was resting on the table in front of him.
"Right. As you say. Magister Cantabole, your response?"
Prime Magister Cantabole stood. "Grand Magister, this trial is a miscarriage of justice, but I will abide by the rules. As such, I will tell you the tale of my woes, and you will see Jax's story for the falsehood that it is!
"We begin that very [morning...](https://www.reddit.com/user/MPQEG/)
(I might finish this later, or maybe not. Not sure yet.)
| 2017-06-01T12:10:29 | 2017-06-01T11:51:31 | 80 | 16 |
[WP] Whenever you are about to die, your main consciousness switches to alternate universe in which you survived. This makes you conscious only of the longest possible life. Uppon death, you are shown all the ways you would have died.
|
Hell.
*"Death 36,288,753,580: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Neck broken in fall."*
I'm in Hell.
*"Death 36,288,753,581: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Impaled on broken branch upon landing."*
I'm sitting in a white room with a small TV. It's showing me all the ways I *could* have died in my life, but didnt.
*"Death 36,288,753,582: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Arm broken in fall. Complications from infection."*
Sequentially.
*"Death 36,288,753,583: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Back broken by a lower branch during fall."*
I vaguely remember that tree. The branch did break, and I fell. But I didn't die. Had a nice concussion though if I remember right.
*"Death 36,288,753,584: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Skull fractured on impact."*
I was 7.
*"Death 36,288,753,585: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Head contusion resulting in brain hemorrhage."*
It's going to be a long afterlife...
|
The switch itself is conditional, and that may be confusing to the living.
So let's clear some things up with a little hypothetical, boys and girls.
You're dying in a hospital bed. Surrounded by loved ones, but each face unrecognizable. You can barely breathe, every part of your body is in excruciating pain. Something is very wrong, something unable to be cured or treated.
Light filters through the window, but all you can focus on are the dust motes. Each breath comes slower than the last. Someone says something to you that you want to understand, but it comes across as garbled syllables and noise.
Flashes of your life dance inside your head. A melting ice cream cone, slapping a mosquito, stepping on a lego.
Death comes slowly but surely, until out of nowhere, it's everywhere.
No light at the end of a tunnel, no voice from grandma to call you home, just an instant switch.
As quick as the snap of a finger.
Now, if there was a reasonable cure for this disease, or say a new form of treatment, your consciousness would switch to a new body, and a new hope. In the case of your final death, there is no such hope. Your journey is finally complete.
Often when you're at the final stages of such diseases, the chances to switch have already come and gone.
Sure, there were a few realities where a sudden cure for whatever ailment was killing you appears, but a different version of yourself already got to switch to that reality.
Luck can factor into your survival, but often there is little rhyme or reason.
Early bird gets the worm.
Did you actually believe you were the only version of yourself?
Tough shit, ladies and gentlemen. There's an infinite amount of you assholes wandering around.
So in a way, death remains an inevitability, if only the path twists and turns more now.
No thoughts or memories of your past self carry over when it happens. Sure, you may feel slightly OFF, if only for a day or two, but it passes. You can't put your finger on it, like something is following you, but you lock it away somewhere in your mind.
When I died for the final time, my brain was riddled with holes, byproduct of some asshole prion disease. No realities even close to coming to fix that bad boy.
So wham, you're no longer paralyzed and sitting in your own filth, tubes stuck in every orifice, trapped inside a body that betrayed you long ago.
Crisp white robe, a single chair before a giant screen bearing one mighty prompt.
*ASK ME ANYTHING*
So I did. I asked about what would be, and what would not.
A wonderful and horrifying future awaits our species, promises and heartache, pain and triumph. I watched as much as I could, and felt the sadness of a person who missed out on so much.
On an unrelated note, spoiler alert for you idiots in 2478 - do not respond to that extraterrestrial probe. It is a trap.
Anyway I came across what happens when you die. A little lecture on conditional switches.
I asked about how many I've had, and the number was so large it nearly filled the screen.
If you look at the details, it could be literally anything.
Your taxi driver decides to plow into a busy intersection after realizing he's wasted his life.
That gas station clerk thinks death by cop wouldn't be a bad idea, and unlucky you just happens to be number one on the spree.
It could be a slip in the bathroom.
You didn't look both ways across the street and don't see the bus careening around the corner.
A stubborn drunk believes they can make the drive home, and while on the highway hops over the median and slams into you head on.
Your life partner takes out a pretty life insurance policy on you and gets away with it.
Your neighbor decides to not be too neighborly.
You fit a serial killers profile, and wouldn't your skin make a lovely carpet?
Well, as a secondary spoiler, it doesn't.
There are echoes of choices you've made. I don't remember the word for it, about the call of the void, where you stand on the roof and look down, thinking you could simply jump and it would all be over.
Many versions of yourself have taken that jump.
Millions upon millions of tiny details, mistakes and choices made every moment of every day that could have drastic consequences, unforeseeable and sprawling in every conceivable direction.
A significant portion of these deaths being entirely out of your control, often the result of decisions made by complete strangers.
So many of those deaths jumbling together, each little video always ending with some mangled version of yourself, lifeless and very dead, switched to another reality where sanity's grip is a little stronger.
If you want my advice?
Try not to think about it.
Your switch could happen a dozen times in a day, and you would never know it.
So why bother?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2018-02-15T06:21:54 | 2018-02-15T04:42:23 | 3,171 | 432 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it.
|
The hills rolled away in the distance around the old forgotten monument.
"This is stone henge. It was built over a period of thousands of - please keep an eye on your kids while we're near the stones."
A 3 year old ran under the ropes and made a break for the stones. The parents didn't even realise, nose deep in their phones.
"Can someone stop that child?"
I loved the history. I hated giving tours. The child slipped and fell. An elderly gentleman hopped over the barrier and brough the now screaming child back.
The mother glanced up.
"What are you doing to my fucking child? Don't go touching him you pedo!"
I could have punched her in the face. I wanted to. Instead I stayed calm.
"Excuse me, but your child ran past the barriers. This man had to stop him because you did nothing. If you can't control your child, please leave."
I waved at security. Both the parents were kicking off now while the kid was left unattended again. I didn't sign up for this.
"Please calm down. I can take you to the side and we can report what happe-"
"Calm down? After he just hit my child? Do you want to get kicked too?"
The rest of the tour backed away. Then I was on the floor. Security had to drag the father off of me. I saw a growing pool of blood. I couldn't move.
The police arrived. I sat as someone patched me up. Just a broken nose and a few cuts. It could have been much worse; thats what they told me. I wondered what the builders of the henge would have thought; were they turning in their graves? No one respected history and its mysteries anymore. What could have been an ancient shrine, a complex sundial or even just a meeting place had become a tourist attraction treated like a playground.
I stared at the stones.
"If there's a God out there who cares for this place, help me."
Nothing happened immediately, yet as I watched the stones grew dark. It was as if they sucked in the shadows around them. Then my phone rang. An unknown number that appeared to be from London. I answered.
"You called. I can see the necessary blood offering has been made. I must say the prayer is a welcome surprise and you even used your own blood, my favourite sacrifice. It's been centuries since I've had a prayer."
My jaw dropped at the voice. My nose clicked into place. The bleeding stopped.
"Wh-who is this?"
"God of death at your service, and don't worry, the healing is complimentary. Now what's the problem?"
|
"Its your son sir, he needs your help."
"Well he doesn't seem to think so." Oriothis rolled his eyes from on top of his riding lawn mower. Clearly annoyed by being interrupted from his chores.
The servant spoke again with his head bowed both out of respect and the fear of making eye contact with such a powerful being. He spoke again through a shaky voice.
"He has fallen in love with a mortal and it has left him broken. He needs his father right now."
Oriothis warily looked the servant up and down. He was there the day his son had overthrown him. He stood as his son challenged him to an unfair challenge. Oriothis could have declined but he could tell that his son was too far gone. He had lost him. H accepted the challenge and willingly passed his mantle to his only son knowing it would destroy him in the end. But fathers must watch helplessly in times like those.
"A woman has been praying to him every day now. She is dying of cancer and reached out to your son to save her but he cannot. He doesn't know how and it is destroying him." The servant was pleading with him now.
There was an innocent life involved now. He son was an angry God and thought his fathers benevolent nature was his weakness and he was right.
"Take me to her." And fetch my son
"He is with her now and they are not far." The servant looked up both startled and relieved.
"I can drive us then just give me a second to get changed."
"Can't you just make us appear there?"
"Well I could but thats actually pretty exhausting and I've been doing chores all day. C'mon it's fun some of these mortals are so stressed when they drive but I find it relaxing."
"She's at the hospital in town actually." The servant now more confused than anything.
Oriothis unlocked the car door and told him he would be back. The servant sat in the passenger seat of his mini van and waited for him to get changed. From the rear vvieew mirror hung a picture of his son as a young boy. Jerraud the servant felt very small at that moment. So insignificant that his role in all this was just a nobody. How he had never stood up for himself and made anything that mattered. Like a family. He knew he did the right thing to pray to oriothis.
They arrived after an awkward fifteen minute drive and made their way to the woman's room. Shelby was her name and she was not winning her battle with cancer. She looked up at oriothis behind red puffy eyes that had only recently stopped crying. His son picked his head up and looked at his father without anger for the first time in years. He was too exhausted to be angry. He had been sleeping in waiting rooms for months now so he smelled and was unshaven. He had no clue when the last time he had taken a shower or worn clothes he knew were clean. None of that mattered because he didn't care. She was all he cared about and yet he could do anything.
"Dad I'm so sorry please help us." His son jumped up from his chair and embraced his father. He sobbed into his chest hysterically. Oriothis held his son and was brought to a few tears as well.
"I can't help you. This is the way of mortals. She will pass on but you must not let this destroy you it is the natural way of things. We cannot be ones to meddle in that." His father had been through this before with the boys own mother.
"That's bull shit mom lived a long life aand happy life before she passed but what does she get! She gets all that taken from her. For no fucking reason." Rage welled in his sons eyes and oriothis knew what he had to do.
"You must know this loss. So many people in the world live with this pain every day and there is nothing they can do about it. How can you hope to help them or rule them if you don't understand this part of reality. Every mortal will perish one day how can we make an exception for one without making it for all?" His words did nothing to calm his son.
"The difference is I'm not in love with them. Not like I love her I can't let this one go. I fucking won't. If she goes I'm going with her." His son taraxis started crying again. No hysterics this time. He looked so feeble and exhausted now.
"If what you say is true then there is a way you can save her."
Taraxis eyes widened as he picked his head up to face his father.
"Tell me right now."
"Only love is powerful enough to do what you're asking. You must be willing to do anything for this woman."
"Yes anything." Oriothis believed his son. The anger that had haunted his son for so long was honed into passion now. He would leap off of the roof of the hospital if he said it would save her.
He walked over to the woman and placed his hand on her head. Soon she began to scream and writhe and kick around in her bed. A black smoke poured out from her mouth and filled the room. It began to dissipate eventually and was absorbed by oriothis through ever pour in his body until he appeared incredibly aged and decrepit.
"When she wakes up tell her that i owe her my life for saving my son. I love you taraxis I hope you understand now that I always have."
"Oh my god dad are you ok what happened?"
"I'll be fine. I will pass soon instead of her now. But I will rest easy now that you have been saved." Oriothis sat down in the chair his son was in originally and sighed. "I will leave you shortly to tend to her but after I leave could visit me one last time? I would like to spend the last of my days with you but I will settle for a few moments. We have a lot to talk about."
"Yes dad of course anything. I owe you everything I'm so sorry for everything I don't know where to begin."
"Don't worry about it you will understand why I did everything I did one day. You have already begun to understand I can see that now." He rose from the chair and made for the door. "I'll be seeing you taraxis and nice to see you again jerraud." He pathetically sauntered down the hallway and out to his car. He felt so relieved as he turned on his car and headed home. He son was not lost.
---sorry about the awful grammar I'm on mobile so it's kind of a pain-----
"
| 2018-05-30T00:59:15 | 2018-05-29T22:59:09 | 111 | 28 |
[WP] The world is an MMORPG, and high leveled players can hide their true level and make it a lower one. A bunch of Level 80 people bully your Level 39 persona, but you’re actually a level 325 in disguise.
|
They grabbed and threw me into the trash as we exited the cinema through the back door. I looked up and felt a familiar twinge that I suppressed. No, I didn't want this.
I looked up and saw Todd standing in front of her. We'd been dating for a while and things were going so well. Sweet sweet Cecile, she'd always chosen the nicer, more diplomatic things. She couldn't even fight if she'd wanted to.
The crack of Todds slap on her cheek caused me to flare up in anger. I tried to get up, but one of Todds friends kicked me back and told me to enjoy the show. I decided to see what my level 39 getup could do and snuck a blade I felt under my hand, I moved up in one smooth motion and went in for the kill and suddenly a sharp stabbing pain shot through my body as I fell back into the stinking refuse. The knife could have been on Mars for all I knew, I looked down and saw three holes bleeding.
"Should have stayed down, you moron" Todd said with a superior smirk as he holstered his gun he'd kept hidden under his coat. "Oh well, guess you won't see me finish her off then..." he continued and then ripped off her top, exposing her breasts. She screamed, they all laughed and I was bleeding out.
Everything started fading as I felt it take control.
"Fuck, no, this .. wasn't supposed to be .." I ground out through lips that felt like they were made out of marble.
"Wasn't supposed to be what? You're not dead yet you dork? How about I help you with that?" Todd said and then I felt something hit my head and warm darkness enveloped me.
[**WARNING FEED INTERRUPT, REVERTING PROTOCOLS TO V1**]
The system technician stared at the screen. The info was wrong, all wrong. That HAD to be some sort of malfunction with the disk sector program. He punched in a sequence that would allow him to watch the actual bits on the disks in the megacluster. The screen came up blank. His balls felt like they'd frozen to ice as he fumbled with the emergency phone and finally got it ringing.
While it was ringing, he stared at the screen and zoomed out and saw how the absence of anything spread out in radial rings. The silence was horrifying. Finally someone picked up on the other end and the Technician started declaring the emergency, but was cut off mid-sentence.
"Wait, you're saying protocols for data replication have reverted back to V1 and there's a large blob of data that's unaccounted for? Would this be in the Jersey district in the Earth sim perhaps?"
The technician nodded until he realized his supervisor couldn't see him and just blurted out "Yes, how did you know?"
A distorted old mans laughter sizzled out of the phone.
"Well, we'll have hell to clean up after this mess, I guess someone pissed off Anderson again. You know, the one with the max level? He doesn't lose it often, but when it does.. it gets messy. My advice is to get as many body baggers as you can. You're gonna have a lot of stiffs on your hands soon enough."
|
"I said, *all of your items*," the big one told me. One hand was on my shoulder, the other held a knife, aimed directly at my chest. Typical bullies.
The one holding the halberd spoke up, "I don't like it, dude."
"What're you bitching about, Greyson?" asked the one in the back dismissively.
"Think about it, Jean. Who the fuck walks around a PVP zone with no armor on?" Greyson looked like he was sweating. Smarter than the others, obviously.
"A fool. World's full of them," said the fourth.
With a wave of his hand, Jean walked over to me and Big Ugly. "You know what they say about a fool and his money." He poked a finger into my chest, "Look, kiddo, we'll agree to leave those three 25s alone for a month, but what you've offered isn't enough."
I hoped I looked frightened.
"All your items," Big Ugly repeated.
"And you have to kneel to us, too, and beg our forgiveness," Jean instructed.
I thought about the three kids who just wanted to do some decent missions to level up. They had posted on the message boards and I happened to see it. Apparently, these four twatcicles had been harassing passersby for weeks. Normally not my thing to step in and help out people who should learn to fight their own battles, but a 55-level gap would be impossible to overcome, even if there was twenty of them.
These four were preying on the helpless.
Fuck these guys.
I put on my best scared, stammering noob voice and replied, "O... Ok. You... you gotta put me down so I can reach my item inventory."
Big Ugly dropped me, so I backed up a couple steps and reached around toward my back.
"Don't forget, runt," Jean said triumphantly, "you better kneel! And show us your name, while you're at it, so we know exactly who we've dominated!"
I paused. Ugh. Something special for these assholes, coming right up.
"Y... yes, s... sir," I stuttered. As I began to drop to my right knee, I allowed my name to show through my Concealment, but not my real level.
My right knee hit the ground. The smart one, Greyson, saw my name. His eyes went wide. Immediately, he turned and began sprinting as fast as possible toward the nearest outgate, not saying a word to his friends. Yep, smart; he obviously hoped I would take a while with the other three, giving him time to run.
I held out my hand and spoke a single word: "Come."
A blinding flash of holy light and a bone-shaking clap of thunder pealed across the earth as it appeared, its leather-wrapped hilt warm in my grasp. The ground sank and crackled under my newly tripled weight now that I held the weapon of gods. Wisps of ethereal, white light curled and drifted peacefully from the sword's impossibly sharp edge, somehow matching perfectly the faint, angelic song emanating from it, the sound of blissful release made by the atoms of air as they were split in half just by contacting the heavenly blade. Excalibur cuts *everything*.
"The fu... " Jean started. A swing of my arm cut his sentence and his head in half. The sword's song intensified briefly. Big Ugly and Dog#4 stared blankly at me. I allowed my level to show. 325. I could take on a thousand of these animals at once, and the fight would be over in 60 seconds.
They started to realize that fact.
Big Ugly threw a pair of daggers at me and ran. I cut one in half and let the other hit my leg. 0.004% HP dropped from my health bar. I pulled it out and threw it back.
With a sonic boom, it severed Big Ugly's left foot. Dog#4 was running now, too, firing arrows over his shoulder which I easily dodged.
I approached Dog#4, avoiding an arrow and the spear he swung toward me. I brought Excalibur's hilt down on his head, instantly crushing his whole body into red mush.
Big Ugly, now wriggling around on the ground, two daggers in his hands, screamed as I split him in half vertically. The blood melted off the blade. I looked in the direction Greyson had run. He'd been sprinting for fifteen seconds, but was still twenty seconds away from the outgate. No need to rush.
"Cut time," I said to the sword. I swung the singing, glowing blade twice, cutting the flow of time for myself to 1/4 speed, and started liesurely jogging toward Greyson.
He was one second from the gate when I appeared in his path and delivered a front kick that sent him sprawling.
"Every item you four had is going to those level 25s," I said, aiming Excalibur's tip toward his face.
"I knew that shit was a bad idea," he grunted, kneeling. Without protest, he reached around and pulled his knapsack from his back, dropping it on the ground before me, along with his weapons. "I don't want to start over from scratch, dude."
"When they respawn, tell the other three that if I ever see them harassing people again, I'll kill all of you every day for a year."
"Yeah, man, sure," Greyson said, "You're not going to have any more problems from us."
"Cut link," I told Excalibur. The blade began to glow with a fierce, blue aura. I stepped toward Greyson and plunged the sword into his shoulder. He collapsed at my feet and disappeared in a storm of pixels. The blow didn't kill him; I had cut his connection to the game server, kicking him out for 24 hours.
I picked up Greyson's discarded items and stowed them in my inventory. The kids would have plenty of good equipment to raid with for a while.
"Getting involved in the battles of the helpless again, I see."
The voice came from behind me. A sweet voice. I turned and smiled at her.
"You know me, I can't let douchecopters like them go on bullying weaker players." I joined up with her and put my arm across her shoulders. We strolled to the gate together.
She kissed me on the cheek. "I know, it's cool. But we have a raid to get to, and we don't want to be late. The others are waiting for us."
She approached the gate and touched the runes on its surface to set a destination. I let go of Excalibur, which disappeared, returning to the aether to await my summons. She took my hand once again, pulling me along.
"Come on, Kirito!"
We stepped through the gate.
| 2018-07-29T14:37:55 | 2018-07-29T13:20:16 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
“Does everyone get to choose?”
The watchman’s heart was breaking looking at the tiny child, covered in scars. They shouldn’t *be* scarred like that, not here, whatever acts caused them must have been truly despicable.
“Everyone gets to choose, and none for an age have chosen that door.”
The child stops their shuffling towards the darker doorway.
“Can you change your mind? Go from one to another?”
“No, are you sure you want to do this child?”
“Can’t be worse than before, they would never follow me here.”
As the child strode with purpose through the darkened gate, the Watchman smiled a bittersweet smile ‘no one was supposed to pass like that.’
|
I opened the ordinary door with its ordinary handle. Behind it was a hellish portal, blackened by the fires of lusty wickedness, set with precious stones that turned out to be eyes glancing desperately about, and covered in many other infernal whatsits and doodahs.
When I had pushed the hellish portal open, and been deafened by the ungodly squeaking of the hinges, in which the fingers of many small demons were caught for all eternity, yay, even sunday afternoons, I found myself in a reception, such as that of a small town hotel. The receptionist was asleep.
"Excuse me. Um. Excuse me." To no avail I continued to wave my hand and excuse myself, until I noticed a bell, which said "Ring to summon the boatman, gatekeeper of eternal doom." Of course, I rang it (and felt a certain frisson).
"What do you want? Is it judgement day already? Blimey, what in the nether-regions are you?" The receptionist had started up, dislodging her grey bob. She replaced her tortoiseshell glasses and would have fallen off her chair, if she had not been chained to it with rusty old manacles. "Are you a delivery boy? Whips, weaponry and flesh tearing wire you want the service entrance. If you're bringing in a magma feature, or a pit for boiling oil or blood you need to give us advance notice. Wait a minute--"
"What?"
"You're not Jesus Christ, are you? You've got a bill to settle, mister, what with all that renting and tearing you did last time you were 'ere."
"I'm not Jesus, no."
"The big man was not pleased at all. Said you can't get curtains made up any more like those ones you destroyed. Woven with the hem of a midnight sky in Romania and set with twinkles from the eyes of dormice. But you're not him, you say?"
"No, I'm a man."
"A man? I thought you lot didn't come down here any more. After the bigger big man made his thingy. Decree. No man shall suffer for all eternity, yaddah yaddah."
"Well, um, we get a choice, you see... And I'm a satanist."
I fiddled at the drawstring of my Iron Maiden hoodie, beginning to feel that something was wrong.
"A what-anist? There's no sating down here. Only eternal craving and sharp nails and flat coca cola."
"But. But. I thought the realm was ruled over by the mighty One. The beast."
"So you chose the flaming inferno over an eternity of strippers, cocaine, gin fizz and heavy metal?"
"What?"
"Well, whatever turns you on, I suppose."
"Look, can I talk to Charon."
"Yep, that's me. Sharon Finchley, oarsman of the apocalypse."
"Oh. Where's the boat?"
"We got rid of the boat. Too fun. There isn't any fun down here. Just eternal misery and suffering. And paperwork."
"What about Satan? The devil? The fallen angel?"
"Oooh! Satan! I wondered who you were on about. Nah, God killed him off ages ago. Wouldn't you have done?"
"Then who's...the big man you mentioned."
"Oh, that's Mr. Murdoch. They say that he's so evil the bigger big man let his body continue to live on earth, but immediately swept his soul down to hell. And I don't need to tell you, he cleaned up pretty fast. Made a killing (well, not a killing, you can't kill down here, but made an eternal suffering) convincing all the demons they needed satellite subscriptions so they could be totally up to date on the latest torture methods."
"I get the idea."
"Oh, that's a pity for you though, isn't it? You could have been in the Other Place, surfing across a lake of fire with Jimi Hendrix. Taking speedballs with John Belushi. Eating peacocks and hanging out at crazy parties. But instead..."
"Actually, I change my mind!"
"Oh, you change your mind! That's okay. Gosh, I thought you were being rather silly. Just head back out the way you came."
I about-turned pretty fast, and pushed the horrible, hellish portal open as fast as possible, vicious whispers lapping at my ears. Behind it was an ordinary door. I opened the ordinary door with its ordinary handle. Behind it was a hellish portal...
| 2018-08-13T08:39:02 | 2018-08-13T07:02:49 | 633 | 143 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered.
|
'Well, it wasn't water that did it, but good, old fashioned lead. Turns out when you come from a planet without the necessary components for gunpowder, thus forcing you to create electrical weapons which coincidentally don't work quite as well in wetter Earth conditions, you don't develop defenses against bullets. Weird how technological evolution works.
Of course, you couldn't have known that when you pulled your reverse Australia. Left the poor, the tired, the huddled masses, and leapt up into space. Generation ships.
Modern Titanics.
See, you might not have lost everyone out there, but you lost everything.
Because we won.
And you ran.
They didn't want to destroy the planet, they wanted the resources, and they were committed to the fight, but their recon had to be off. Their weapons miss fired, for the most part. They came from a much dryer planet, and Earth's humidity caused them to mis-fire and explode.
Early on, they made massive gains in desert regions. Las Vegas lay in ruins. North Africa and the Middle East fell. Tundra too, anywhere dry. It wasn't enough.
They learned though, started fighting with our weapons, but we've been doing it a hell of a lot longer. Northern Mexico looked like dusty Verdun by the end of 2028, but they never even made it as far as Cortez had.
It took a decade, but we forced them back to their dropzones. Even took some of their transport ships, started to land troops on their ships in orbit. From that point, it was all over but the dying.
Which brings us here, to this moment. You return, flaming sword in hand, eager to defeat your grandfathers' unconquerable enemy. Sons of senators, daughters of queens. Your parents were the best and brightest of their time, literati, rich and powerful.
My grandfather was a car theif, and my dad a mechanic. I lead an assault on an alien ship to defeat the enemy your ancestors scrambled to the stars for.
So who the fuck are you?'
- Cpt. G. Price, UN Space Defense, in response to initial messages from 'Operation' OVERLORD, the 'mission to retake Earth'.
|
For all the scans of the planet's surface and drone inspections showing the state of all former major cities - now desolate wastelands overgrown with moss, grass and towering trees - nothing could have prepared Camille and her crew for what lay beyond her ship.
They hadn't expected to be stopped at checkpoints along the way, or for a spaceport to be in operation where they chose to land, or to have to use their shields when attempting to land on their own planet, and it really should have been their first warning that something was incredibly _wrong_ that these things happened in the first place. Perhaps these were remnants of the Riiken invader technology, overpowered by those left behind...?
As the captain's sturdy, solid boots touched tile on the pristine, grandiose docking station of her ancestors' home planet, she couldn't help but feel a little choked up, a wave of nostalgia for the stories she heard as a child at night after hours upon hours of tutoring pulsing through her very soul...
She was quickly brought out of that by the unmistakable sound of energy weapons being primed - and not those of her crew.
"State your name and purpose here." The woman who spoke had her weapon trained on Camille. This was not treatment she was used to, even as a starship captain. Where was the fanfare, the warm welcome? Where were the Riiken, where was the eternal smouldering fire? It almost rattled her too much. But with the looming threat of possible death and the suspicion that these poor humans were brainwashed slaves, she steeled herself for whatever the next moments could hold for her crew, and gave te newest version of the Spacebound Naval salute.
"Camille Dejardin, captain of the SSS Voyager," she said, tone neutral and steady as the woman gave her a very obvious look up and down. Crude. "We are... voyagers, exploring warp-ready planets for trade." If the Riiken were still here, she couldn't give away their true purpose on the planet. "We come in peace. We request to meet with your masters."
A deathly silence filled the terminal. Several people holding energy weapons fixed cold glares on Camille alone. Even in the pits of the venomous Vilkani race, she'd never felt quite as shaken as she did at this very moment.
A moment broken by raucous laughter, and the crew of the Voyager looked at one another, confused, uneasy. Each crewmember placed a hand delicately at their hip, close to their weapon. Camille stood fast.
"Masters?" the woman responded, incredulous. "I don't know about my _masters_, _captain_, but I'm sure Ambassador Aguilar would love to see you right about now." Turning away from the captain, she yelled into the darkness beyond. "_Yo Candy!_ Looks like we've got some saviours here to talk to our masters!"
"Oh, that don't get old."
His voice wasn't deep, but it crunched like gravel on every word. Did they still smoke tobacco here? Back on the Martian base Camille grew up on, anyone who smoked used a vape pen, and it was still considered crass. She'd only ever read about tobacco use in books. Could it still be grown here? What else were they growing? Lazy, padding footsteps approached the gate where her crew were being penned in like animals, flimsier than her steel-capped boots.
The ambassador was... short. Short and tan with dark hair, clean-looking in a crisp suit, missing a few key elements such as a tie and a dress shirt replaced by a crew neck t-shirt in a bright green colour with pink accents. Under the grey suit, it stood out, and only just covered tattoos that originated on his shoulders, presumably. He grinned a wide, toothy grin and walked right past the security detail, tall men and women who nodded as he did so. Camille tucked back her platinum blonde hair and looked down at the gentleman before her.
“Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome!” he murmured, holding a hand out. Her crew shifted uneasily behind her. “Glücklich zu sehen, je suis enchanté…!” She seemed perturbed, but shook his hand carefully, as if it might explode. His smile softened. “…happy to see you. My name is Candy Aguilar.” She visibly balked at the revelation, and the ambassador just grinned. “Your crew look tired. Let my guys take them to the canteen. We can accompany them there, if it worries you.”
She knew if she refused, her crew may be imprisoned, hurt. Reluctantly, she nodded, and as they walked her eyes darted around, looking for signs of the Riiken. For a good stretch, the ambassador merely watched her, dark eyes hiding their intent. It made her nervous, much more than she already had been, but she tried not to show it. But after the first few corridors and the first stairwell, Ambassador Aguilar let out a melodic little laugh, rough like sandpaper. She didn’t dare ask why.
“What’s the matter, _hermana_?” Did… did he just call her _sister_? “You look tense.” She didn’t respond, her mind not working quick enough as she took in the environment. Clean, tiled, off-white. Some decorations lined the walls. Paintings of wars she didn’t recognise, motivational posters with kittens in patterns she’d never seen before. It had been said that exposure to radiation in space had irreversibly changed the DNA of everyone and everything their ancestors took with them. Perhaps the animals she would see here would look different, somehow… The ambassador must have noticed her confusion, for he gave another one of those giggles, like a glockenspiel being smacked by a glass nail file.
“I don’t know what your books taught you, _hermana_,” he murmured, just quiet enough for only Camille to hear. “But the people your ancestors left behind were not stupid.”
A chill ran down her spine, an unmistakable thrill of excitement and terror combined. What had they missed all these centuries past...?
| 2018-09-29T05:21:50 | 2018-09-29T04:26:58 | 656 | 115 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered.
|
'Well, it wasn't water that did it, but good, old fashioned lead. Turns out when you come from a planet without the necessary components for gunpowder, thus forcing you to create electrical weapons which coincidentally don't work quite as well in wetter Earth conditions, you don't develop defenses against bullets. Weird how technological evolution works.
Of course, you couldn't have known that when you pulled your reverse Australia. Left the poor, the tired, the huddled masses, and leapt up into space. Generation ships.
Modern Titanics.
See, you might not have lost everyone out there, but you lost everything.
Because we won.
And you ran.
They didn't want to destroy the planet, they wanted the resources, and they were committed to the fight, but their recon had to be off. Their weapons miss fired, for the most part. They came from a much dryer planet, and Earth's humidity caused them to mis-fire and explode.
Early on, they made massive gains in desert regions. Las Vegas lay in ruins. North Africa and the Middle East fell. Tundra too, anywhere dry. It wasn't enough.
They learned though, started fighting with our weapons, but we've been doing it a hell of a lot longer. Northern Mexico looked like dusty Verdun by the end of 2028, but they never even made it as far as Cortez had.
It took a decade, but we forced them back to their dropzones. Even took some of their transport ships, started to land troops on their ships in orbit. From that point, it was all over but the dying.
Which brings us here, to this moment. You return, flaming sword in hand, eager to defeat your grandfathers' unconquerable enemy. Sons of senators, daughters of queens. Your parents were the best and brightest of their time, literati, rich and powerful.
My grandfather was a car theif, and my dad a mechanic. I lead an assault on an alien ship to defeat the enemy your ancestors scrambled to the stars for.
So who the fuck are you?'
- Cpt. G. Price, UN Space Defense, in response to initial messages from 'Operation' OVERLORD, the 'mission to retake Earth'.
|
The Secretary for Defence looked out of the flagship's bridge. Formerly from the Navy, he had seen and read about how the human defence forces had evolved quickly over a matter of centuries. Space was the ocean in which they sailed, not water. The Air Force no longer primarily flew in the air, though atmospheric operations were still possible. The Army had become more dynamic to suit the needs of fighting in all terrains. A flotilla of spacecraft, backed up by fighter craft capable of space and atmospheric dogfighting, and entire divisions of soldiers re-trained for Earth combat, were waiting for the signal. Humanity was finally ready.
He reflected on the stories of the humans left on Earth to fight and die. It had been said that there was no chance for them; that these were truly the scum of the planet who wouldn't be missed. The jokes abounded that some politicians and entertainers were among them, but those were among the first to buy tickets for the escape craft. Those surface-dwellers were as good as dead. The initial intelligence reports, however, reported that there was still human activity on the planet. The Joint Chiefs of Staff concluded that the aliens had most likely kept humanity alive as a slave race; which in turn became potent propaganda for the humans who had escaped. Every soldier, sailor and spaceman was boiling with rage and empathy for the slaves on Earth. They were ready to take back what was theirs.
He turned on his heel, and went to his personal landing craft. One more chance for the aliens. It wouldn't be ethical to attack without declaring war, even if there was no more Geneva Convention to govern that.
Sergeant Juliet was confused. She certainly wouldn't have expected a call from... Spaceport Clearance Network, asking her for her clearance code. Of course she wouldn't have had an answer, and replied as best as she could: Human Warship inbound. Requesting spaceport clearance. She wouldn't have expected it to be approved. It was. She immediately reported it to her superior, but had her own mixed thoughts about it. There were so many layers of leadership that a report like that needed to go through; it was quite plainly frustrating to have to wait in orbit for this long.
Eventually, there was a response from the higher leadership. The Secretary for Defence himself would be going down planetside, and his personal craft needed a communicator. She volunteered herself.
"Welcome to Earth. It is my pleasure to finally see our brothers and sisters who escaped into the stars so many centuries ago." Their representative was cordial enough in greeting them. Flanked by powered armour exoskeletons, he - or she - calmly shook hands with the Secretary of Defence. Compared to the Secretary, who was bulky and muscular after years and years of fighting and training, the being before them was lithe and slim. She stood a head shorter than the Secretary, who stared through her with his hard blue eyes.
Sergeant Juliet saw it all from the cockpit. She wasn't invited to the feast, as they needed a duty communicator to alert the Flotilla if things went south. But she didn't mind, so long as they brought nice foods back to her. That is, if Earth had kept the nice parts of its culture. The history books had made a big deal of Earth cuisine.
The Secretary of Defence, accompanied by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Defence Forces Sergeant Major, were escorted into the room by the representative. They walked through a hallway dedicated to human achievements, both past and present. [A film depicted the adventures of a bespectacled hunter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9jo10z/wp_it_has_been_5_years_since_the_alien_invasion/e6twvg7/?context=3), helped by a woman who looked suspiciously like the Earth representative. Lithe figure, with short black hair. The command team assumed that was what women on Earth looked like now; it was a practical look after all. They had bigger fish to fry, especially the celebrations and peace negotiations. The re-migration back to Earth was another concern for the government on Earth-II.
At dinner, they had to explain why an entire Flotilla waited above in orbit. The representative certainly looked convinced, but at the same time she gave the impression that she was in control of the session. This confused the command team, but they played along. Was she secretly an alien? This was too good to be true. The models didn't indicate any chance for the ragtag survivors left on Earth to have survived this long.
"Ma'am, hostile forces opening fire. Surface-to-orbit missile has been locked on. Surface-to-orbit missile away. Impact timing 10 minutes," the armour suit warbled. The command team's suspicions were confirmed, but they were nonetheless shocked to hear the fact. The Earth representative's pupils glowed yellow and her forked tongue revealed itself briefly in surprise. But just as instantly, she had control of the situation once more. Pressing a few buttons on her wrist controller, the armour suits remotely switched on, and locked on to the commanders of Earth-II as she walked out.
Juliet knew the rumors were true. Those weren't really humans on Earth, and even if they were, they certainly weren't friendly. Her heart had sunk when the enemy contact report had been sent; the aliens had learned human language and prepared a whole contingency for disguising themselves as humans to dupe those who had returned. As she heard the first explosion, she immediately alerted the Flotilla. Activating the autopilot, she escaped as the explosion consumed more of the building.
Perhaps it was indeed unwise to place all the highest commanders in the same room where they got assassinated. Definitely it was unwise for the Flotilla commander to immediately order an orbital bombardment when the contact report revealed those were the aliens on Earth, and not the victorious humans. However, if she remembered the old history books, was that not how the war started for what used to be the USA? A surprise attack on the Navy that the country recovered from, and eventually won.
She could only hope this time would be the same.
| 2018-09-29T05:21:50 | 2018-09-29T03:35:21 | 656 | 51 |
[WP] Spirit animals are real, but extremely secretive-- they are said to only appear in the most joyous times or in the darkest of hours. Except for geese. Geese do what they like.
|
Howard walked an ear reach and a step from the two girls in front of him. Their uniforms bore the same school emblem as the one on Howard's jacket breast.
They strode shoulder to shoulder, stopping occasionally to look back at him and giggle. The girl on the left had a jumper tied to her waist and her white shirt gleamed in the afternoon sun. But Howard's eyes were on the crescent eyes and pink lips of the girl on the right. Annabelle.
Annabelle glanced back again and her friend rolled her eyes. Howard wished he had the courage to walk with them, but they seemed engrossed in some funny thing already. Perhaps tomorrow.
A blunt stab shook Howard's gaze. At his feet stood his goose, staring him down (or up) like an incredulous judge. The goose jabbed beak against thigh again and Howard jumped back.
"Hey!"
The goose honked and flapped its wings. Most spirit animals radiated the ephemeral hues of their liege's soul. Howard had seen corporeal blues, iridescent golds; Annabel's was a dazzling pink. But his goose was a dusty grey-brown mud from its years of being out in the world. It had tasted freedom from its anima cage and Howard could never get it to go back.
Howard sighed. Maintaining beady pitted eye contact, the goose sauntered backward and kicked over a road cone. Howard rubbed his stinging leg and trudged to the fallen vigil to pick it back up. He liked to think he was a lawful individual. He kept his textbooks in his backpack arranged in alphabetical order. And so, as he watched his goose chase a flock of real birds, he wondered, why?
Howard's ears perked at a high pitched scream.
A bright flash zoomed past. A stumpy yellow tail of a rabbit jounced, its owner speeding away. Annabelle's friend sprinted past a moment later, mouth agape mid-scream.
He spun his head around. Annabelle stood with fists balled at her chest. Two men towered before her. Between them her pink Siamese crouched, haunches low to the ground.
Annabelle's brows furrowed in determined defiance. But Howard saw her leg tremble, and his own legs took off before he could think.
Howard hurtled down the hill. He blinked as a fiery red overtook him. It left a trail of mud and dirt streaming through the air that left Howard rubbing his eyes.
He forced them open. His goose was a flurry of squawks and flaps in the men's faces. They swung with blinded fists, one hand covering their eyes, but their enemy was rapid as a wind and ferocious as... a goose.
Howard's goose pecked with practiced beak, majestic wings flaring like capes, as it chased the men down the street. As Howard listened to its brave honks recede into the distance, he took a deep breath.
He turned to Annabelle. Howard wished that the courage of his spirit animal was beside him now.
No. His goose drew from the essence already inside him.
"Hi...uh...nice to meet you."
|
I was always a good if not boring kid. Even though my parents were rarely around, I never saw much use in getting into trouble. On the long summer days on break from school I'd often look out my window at a world of possibilities, and simply choose to stay inside.
It was on one such day that I heard the friendly honk for the first time.
As I stood at my window, arms basking in the warm sun as the dangled over the edge, the strange sound echoed behind me. I turned to see a curiously transparent goose that managed to somehow get my trash can stuck on its head. In hindsight I rather enjoy the absurdity of it, but in the moment I recall feeling nothing.
But Clyde would soon change that.
Unsure of what I was dealing with I approached the visage with much caution. I'd never heard anything good about geese, so I had no reason this one - whether it was real or simply in my mind - would be any different. But with each tempered step I found that the goose was slowly returning the approach. With a curious squint it slowly shuffled its webbed feet in my direction, seemingly having forgotten about its unfortunate hat.
After several tense minutes we finally found ourselves face to face. I had knelt down to inspect the curious fellow, and he stared up at me with similar intent. After the tension of this mutual inspection passed, I realized that I felt oddly calm. There was a sense that he belonged to me, and an even stranger sense that I belonged to him. It was new, strange, and a tad frightening. But more than anything, it was good.
After deeming the strange visitor to be real and safe, I went to remove the trash can from its head. But just as I extended my arms, the goose blinked out of view. The trash can clanged against he floor and startled me off my feet. As I tried to grasp this new turn, I heard several honks waft up and through my window. I climbed to my feet and looked outside, and sure enough, the goose was now on the front lawn. My curiosity bested my apathy, and soon I was bounding down the stairs.
Not a half an hour in, and my animal companion was leading me to better things.
The rest of the summer was largely spent following the goose around town. It seemed to have an internal drive to get itself stuck inside random objects. My trash can, soup cans, dumpsters, basketball hoops; you name it, he found a way to wear it. One day as we were out on our adventures, he rounded a corner with a large old root beer bottle attached to his head. My ethereal friend looked ridiculous as the "Clyde's Root Beer" logo bobbed up and down. Any time I tried to help him he would either run or blink out of reach.
As the returning school year began to appear on the horizon, I worried I would see my friend less and less. Maybe he was only so present because of my bored summer mind. Maybe the distraction of homework would scare him away. Maybe he move on to someone better.
Thankfully, Clyde had other ideas. My first class of my first day of the new year, there he was in the corner, sporting yet another trash can.
I now knew he would stay.
Clyde was by my side almost every day for the rest of those school years. The otherwise social vapidity of my life found itself full. My friend never talked, rarely even offering his rather friendly honk. He never offered advice, and all he used to express himself were squints. But he was there, and that was enough.
My teens turned into my twenties, and my world grew once more. I found college easier than my younger years, and I managed to make a couple of solid human friends. Clyde came around less, but it didn't feel like an abandonment. Even though I was busy and my life now had more momentum, I didn't think of him any less. And wherever he happened to be and whatever he happened to be stuck in, I knew he was thinking of me, too.
The next decade brought the loss of my parents. We weren't close haven't rarely been in each other's orbits when I was younger, but there was still love there. Or at rather, the unrealized potential for love. In any case, I found I took it quite hard. By this time Clyde's presence had become a rarity. I had expanded my circles and even found a wife. But I attended my parent's funerals alone - I didn't think anyone else would understand, and I didn't want to explain.
Both times as I sat there, caught in confused but genuine crying, Clyde sat on my lap. The only hat he wore on those occasions were my tears, but he wore them well. He soaked up the pain and warmed my cold soul, as he brought back memories of our warm summer days.
After my father was laid to rest, I would only see Clyde a few more times in the intervening decades. He was present at the birth of each of my children. As their first cries would fill the room, Clyde would be waddling around in the background, wearing a bedpan or the like. He had shared in my most even, boring moments. He had shared in the bottom of my depths. And he appeared at the peak of my heights. Truly, he filled my life, whenever it was most needed.
Even though he was mostly gone from my life after my last child was born, he still lived on in very real ways. Every time my kids asked me to tell them a story, I would always indulge them with "A Tale of Daddy and Clyde's Adventures." They never assumed him to be real, and I never bothered to try and prove it. To them and to me he was magic, and that's all that really mattered. They cared about him as much as I did by the end, and in some way, I think they needed him as much as I did as well.
And I knew; I always knew, that I would see him again one day. Sure enough, now as an old dying man, he has come back into my life. The quiet, boring days sitting in my hospital room are spent with my first friend. He hasn't aged a day, which I have mentioned makes me quite jealous, but he never responds. He's still himself, wearing the trash can on the daily.
My life and my final room are filled with the friends and love ones that Clyde indirectly brought into my life. Nobody else sees the friendly goose at their feet who saved the life of the man dying in the bed. But it doesn't really matter, in the end. I'm surrounded by more than I could have ever once dreamed. I have lived a good life. I am happy.
And now, all I can hope is that my silly little friend will be by my side in the next life, too.
&nbsp;
______________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
| 2020-04-02T22:15:15 | 2020-04-02T20:15:34 | 160 | 82 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
“Next.”
*SHITshitshitshitshitshit, FUCK! How the hell am I supposed to get out of this if they can even speed up time?!*
“Next!”
*Maybe I can try and tie it to my will? No, they’ll just torture me until I want death. Maybe some kind of paradox?*
“NEXT!”
A hand roughly grabbed me by my arm and yanked me forward. Panicking and lost in thought as I was, I stumbled and nearly fell on my face as I passed through the magic cylinder in front of me.
“Name?”
I looked up, trying to locate the source of the voice, but swirling runes and glowing, ambient energy blocked my sight while throwing the voice, making it sound as though it were all around me.. It was like I was in a universe all on my own, and God himself was bearing the full force of his judgement on me.
“Oh for the love o-NAME?!”
I jumped as the bureaucrat-God’s voice boomed in the entire column, my silence was clearly irritating him. “Oh, u-um, Erin Heckland.” The sound of rustling paper echoed all around me as I tentatively reached a hand out to touch the magic walls. Completely solid. No forcing my way out then, although that possibility had been exhausted long ago.
“Here we are, Miss Heckland. My my, that’s quite a long list. Alright, how do you want to die.”
“Well, I was planning on old age-“ the runes began glowing brighter, “BUT NOT ANYMORE!” I shout-finished. The runes dimmed. Shakily, I took a deep breath and continued, “so could I please have a minute?”
“Ugh, very well, but you get one minute exactly. If you don’t start talking by then, you will be hung.”
I blinked as an hourglass appeared in front of me, the sand rapidly draining my remaining time on Earth away. It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t hurt anyone, I had just found knowledge that the government didn’t want me to have. Some of it I didn’t even know was illegal until I got arrested! It wasn’t fair!
It wasn’t just.
It wasn’t…wait!
As the sand grains nearly finished draining, a huge grin split my face. “Oh here we go,” the drone began, “what hair-brained idea have you come up with to avoid death?”
“Not avoid it,” I confidently replied, “but stop it. If I’m going to die, I am taking this whole cursed process with me!”
The runes began to glow.
|
Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Whoever said that might as well have been a Prophet.
I'm nearly at the front of the queue. I've been waiting for hours, since I was arrested and interrogated by Enforcers and transported here. It's the most dead silent queue I've ever seen. The Temple reeks of fear and doom. There's a strong hint of urine.
The last person to be executed is carried off by acolytes. She's a middle-aged woman. There's a peaceful look on her face. She asked to die riding the big H.
I don't know what her crime was. She's still writhing as she's taken away, but she's clearly on her way out.
There's only a young man in front of me, now.
I can only just hear it when the inhuman Executioner whispers to him, "You have been convicted. The crime is theft. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
He's trembling. I wonder what he stole. I wonder if it was worth it.
He pauses. Gathers himself. "Old age," he says. His voice cracks. "I want to die of old age."
The Executioner isn't stupid. I don't know much, but I do know this isn't one of those "letter of the law" deals. Unlike us stupid humans, they moved past that cultural hang-up millions of years ago.
But it's still clever. Who knows? It might work. It might give him time. Incidentally, it's what my partner said I should choose if ever I found myself in the Temple.
Alas.
I've never seen a human body contort or transform like his does. It's body horror on overdrive, and not two meters away from me. He ages sixty years or more in a matter of seconds, and then he drops dead. The scream was short, but it pierces the hushed Temple like a banshee cry. There was no mistaking the depths of his pain.
He's almost a skeleton, with skin barely clinging to his bones. He reeks. His shorts are spoiled. Acolytes in crimson shawls drag the husk of him away. They disappear beyond a door, into a hallway.
Death by old age. It's a loophole, right? No. Wrong. Not for beings with such a talent for manipulating time and space, to say nothing of human bodies.
The Executioner glares at me. Or I think he does. It's hard to tell with the mosaic of compound eyes. Acolytes threaten me with prods until I step forward.
They tell us that the choice makes killing us more ethical. They have the audacity to call it "humane". Nothing about them is more inhuman than their view of ethics and logic.
They point to humanity's disastrous custodianship over the Earth's non-human creatures, before they arrived. They say that unlike our swine, our cattle, our poultry, we are given a choice. On my worst days, sometimes I start to see what they mean.
The Executioner whispers, "You have been convicted. The crime is dissent. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
I don't have a Plan B. I'm not sure I could have called the old age idea "Plan A". Maybe I should go out flying high, like the woman before. I'm sure half the people here have their own clever ideas, even though in six years no one has ever come out alive. How will I fare any better?
I spent the last years of my life in fear of saying the wrong words to the wrong people. Criticism of the Salvation carries severe consequences. It's why I'm here now, more or less. But I shake off that fear. What's the worst that can happen, right? I'm dead anyway.
I tell the Executioner, "I'll die when your kind leaves Earth. I'll die when Earth is free."
It makes a motion that might be a laugh, or a chuckle. Mirthless, I'm sure. "You may choose the means of your death. The time is now. You may not choose the time." The speaker hung around its neck, or what passes for one, quietly continues, "You will choose quickly, or your choice will be forfeit and you will die by immolation."
"Then I'll die with the utter destruction of this Temple and every Salvation structure like it on Earth."
It whispers, "No."
I expect more of a response than that. A moment passes. I can only think to say, "No?"
"No. Your time is up. You will die by immolation."
It was pointless, anyway. I couldn't have been the first to think of it. Call it a performance before the damned.
I blink, and I'm on fire.
If life is a rainstorm, this is the ocean. I'm submerged. I can't breathe. I can't orient myself. There's no surface in sight. It's the most pain I've ever known.
It's the time I touched a stove, amplified up to eleven and washing over every inch of skin.
It's the time I touched a live wire, but I'm touching a thousand of them, and no one is there to push me off it.
It's the time I fell onto an ant hive, but the ants are innumerable, crawling in my eyes, in my ears, in my nostrils, in my throat.
I try rolling on the ground. I surprise myself, finding the presence of mind to do so.
Over time, too much time, it becomes more like a dull agony. I can't stop coughing. I feel like I'm hacking up rocks. I smell like a steak.
I'm barely aware as the acolytes pull me away. The fire must have burned itself out. There's nothing left of me for the fire to consume.
They take me through a door, through a hallway, into a vast walled courtyard beside the Temple. The grass is trampled and dying. There's an enormous hill of dirt to one side and an enormous pit to the other.
They throw me into the pit. I can feel myself fading. I look around. I can barely see anything. What little I can see is bodies. Human bodies. I have no way to account for the number of dead here. It's a mass grave.
I have some time to wish I'd chosen differently, but not a lot of it. I hear wind. The grass rustling. Birds and insects chirping. I hear myself coughing. The pain fades slowly to static. Darkness embraces me.
| 2021-06-24T10:30:49 | 2021-06-24T10:29:59 | 74 | 26 |
[WP] You are a wanted criminal in every country, and have been for the past 15 years. Describe how you have evaded capture for so long.
|
"Sir?"
I turned from the bar to find three police officers staring at me. The one in the middle cleared her throat as the two flanking officers stood tensed and stern.
"Ah, officers." I said. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you Mr. Stanford Conroy?" The officer asked.
"Nope." I replied.
"No?"
"Sure aren't."
"Well you fit the description."
"No I don't."
"Hmm." The officers studied my face and conferred quietly among themselves.
"Alright, have a nice day sir."
"Thanks, same to you."
|
Out on the docks, Del sat cross-legged. His bony, frost-blanched fingers worked a needle made of whalebone, weaving it back and forth, mending the larger holes. His little green boat bobbed in the frigid waters just below. It would probably snow soon, and there wasn't much daylight left besides. He stood and put his tools away. His eyes these days were bloodshot. They betrayed jaundice in this gray light before the long arctic evening.
He was no stranger to nights that start at noon, but whether he would weather the coming winter in Kangerluk remained an open question. He had been drinking too much lately, and showed symptoms of neuropathy; when he stood up on the docks, his head felt light and he almost lost his balance. He had to hold out both hands like a tightrope walker to stay upright.
In his condition, Del could no longer help bring in narwhal. The past couple years he had been trawling for halibut instead, but save for feeding himself, it was no livelihood. Qeqertarsuaq's appetite was diminishing with its population, and the trek to larger population centers in the south was too arduous -- not to mention too dangerous. The inuit out here hardly cared about Interpol's business, but even a town as piss-poor and backwater as Nuuk was cosmopolitan enough for at least one local to recognize him. That's all it would take, after all.
Del packed his net away in the small wooden tackle-box on his boat and decided to go home instead of trawling some more. If he were to be stranded at sea during the squall, he would die. Not worth the risk.
He pulled the drawstring on the whaleskin sack holding today's catches and slung it over his shoulder. At nearly six feet tall and 130 pounds, he struggled under even this meager weight. He walked with a limp toward the brightly-colored houses of Kangerluk, sweating despite the cold.
As he crossed into town, a young boy came running up. He believed the boy's name was Qamut, but couldn't be sure. Del had not interacted much with the locals here since he had stopped hunting narwhal. He was no longer invited to birth celebrations or community events; they let him live like a hermit in his drab shanty at the back edge of town. Qamut was one of the handful of children born since then, and Del did not really know him.
"Can I help?" the boy asked.
Del shrugged and handed him the sack. The boy, who Del judged to be perhaps five or six at the most, also struggled to carry it. He groaned in his childish voice and gamely kept his balance. He walked alongside Del as the first flakes of snow drifted down.
"Mama says I need to start contributing," Qamut said. "If I help you fish, will you let me keep some of the catch?"
"Mm," Del grunted.
They walked in silence. Then, Qamut said, "Mama told me you're not from around here. Is that true?"
"I'm from very far south," Del said, not looking up from the pebbly ground.
"Denmark? America?"
"I've been there."
"Which one?"
Del smiled. "Both. I've been to a lot of places. England, India, Russia. Pakistan, South Africa, North Korea."
Qamut frowned. "Where are those?"
Del paused. "I have a map in my house," he said. "Maybe one of these days I'll show you the places I've been."
"That would be nice. I saw a map once when I went to Qeqertarsuaq. The world is pretty big."
"Not for us, right?" Del said. "Ocean there, home here."
"Is that why you came? You wanted to live in a smaller world?"
"Sure," Del said.
"Do you like it?"
The pair stopped outside the door to Del's wobbly little house. He took the fish from Qamut. "Do *you* like it here, boy?"
He shook his head. "Sometimes not. I think it would be cool to go to America."
"If you go, please tell them that I'm very sorry for what happened."
"What happened?"
Del opened the door and stepped inside. Before he closed it, he said: "something that can't be put right. I made the world smaller for a lot of people before I ever came here."
| 2015-07-01T09:10:41 | 2015-07-01T08:57:50 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity had mastered Intergalactic travel around 7.2 million years ago and sent out ships to Andromeda. Since then, we've forgotten our heritage and today, an Ancient Human ship turns up in orbit around Earth.
Significance of 7.2 million years: double the distance in light years to Andromeda and that's how much time would pass for Earth before we could receive word from them.
Also, interestingly, for the crew on the ship, only around 80-100 years would have passed for the roundtrip if they accelerate/decelerate at 1G and travel close to lighspeed.
I know its nerdy, but the universe is awesome and worth exploring in WP. :D Inspired by some discussion on /r/space
|
Silje had heard stories of earth from her grandmother, she’d been one of the original colonists on the Earth Ship Aurora, that had left earth all those years ago. Time dilation meant the earth her grandmother had left would be vastly different now, although only three generation removed from Earthers, those born on earth, 7.2 million years would have past for Earth.
That was the reason Silje now commanded the Andromeda Ship Aurora. When it had arrived in the Andromeda system they had expected a welcome party. See by the time the original colonists had arrived, earth would have had 3.6 million years to improve on engine design as well as theoretical physics such as quantum teleportation. There was a premise based on the fact that at the time the Aurora had left earth, technological advancement had been growing exponentially since The Time of Steam. The premise was that any ship that was sent to a distant star from earth, would be beat to their destination by a ship with superior technology that had launched long after the original ship had. But there was no welcome party, and for the 60 years it took the get the Aurora ready for the return trip, nothing had arrived from earth at all.
A further 44 years had passed since a young 20 year old go getter had taken command of said ship and taken it back out into the stars. There had been celebration on launch day, finally they could reconnect with earth, but every single person knew that something must have gone terribly wrong. For Earth to not send any other vessels at all, not even a second Colony class ship from the Aurora line, something had to be up. There was plans when the Aurora left for a further four ships to leave in the following ten years, the next ship had already been named the Swan Song and begun production.
Silje was interrupted from her thoughts by a voice addressing her
“Captain, we’re approaching the asteroid belt now, still no signs of any vessels or space stations”
Silje looked to her left and gave her second in command a thin smile before reaching down to pick up a small communication unit ready to address the whole ship.
“To all members of the Andromeda Ship Aurora, we are now on our final approach to earth. As of yet we’ve found next to know evidence of human life within the Sol solar system, but we have picked up signals from earth, mostly old methods of communication but evidence of a planet wide communications network. We can’t be sure what awaits us on earth so I want all security teams in full tactical gear and on stand by-”
A warning light on Siljes console in front of her interrupted her train of thought, she muted her communications before addressing her bridge.
“Status report”
“Captain, there is a small vessel approaching us” Replied one of the helmsman, gesturing to the observation screen as he brought up an image showing a small shape moving towards them.
“Why are we only seeing this now?”
Silje asked, concern creeping into her voice
“It appears to be adrift, it’s being propelled by gravity and inertia alone, no communication equipment… but I am picking up… is that?”
Communications Officer Stefan trailed off for a second, Silje cleared her throat as a polite reminder that the bridge was awaiting his analysis.
“Captain… the object appears to be emitting sound waves, they’re very weak but there is some sort of speaker emitting sound into space”
With that Communication Officer Stefan pressed a button and a crackled messaged began to play to the bridge.
“Planet earth is blue - nothing - do”
The messaged dropped out a few times, and seemed to be accompanied by a rhythmic droning that was hard to make out.
The bridge grew quiet. Proof that humanity was still around was a good thing, but what they were now seeing on the observation screen didn’t quite make any sense. The object had continued on its course towards them and they could all now quite clearly see what it was. A humanoid figure in a crude looking atmosphere suit, sat in some sort of bright red control centre that opened directly into space. The control centre itself seemed oddly tacked onto what looked like some sort of small engine. A dim light radiated from one of the control panels in the red control centre, and reflected off visor of the oddly still humanoids atmosphere suit. A simple message.
Don’t Panic.
|
"Announcement for everyone, the ship captain will give his new year speech in 20 minutes." The ship A.I told through the speakers of the ship.
Still, I wasn't really ready to make my speech. The situation was too messy, everything had gone to shit and here I was, supposed to give the crew some directions about what we'll be doing.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, it was Cara my second-in-command and one of the very few who knew about the situation in the solar system.
"Is your speech ready?" She looked somewhat amused while asking the question, she knew that I spent the last three days writing the damn thing, she even helped me in this. Still, she knew how important this would be for everyone.
"As ready as it was last night..." Silence fell between us, I looked by the window of the command center, *the* solar system was visible. Our solar system, the one we came from. So calm, so unaware of our failures. It was beautiful, I still had a hard not being mesmerize by finally seeing the system from where we came from with my own eyes. It was truly special for all of us who were born on this ship, we were raised in the hope of colonizing a new galaxy, establishing a new human frontier, creating new colonies, discovering new aliens races, new technologies, new stars... We were supposed to be adventurer, we were supposed to be scientific in a sacred mission of discoveries.
We ended up being warrior, witness of the death of a galaxy, of the eradication of whole species, cultures, societies.
We fought alongside them against their destroyer, and we lost. We arrived in Andromeda with a fleet of two thousands ship, and a population of a billions souls, we fled from it with only one ship, and a population of barely 25 000, in a scientific ship nearly unable to feed everyone. Still we managed, thanks to a strict control of birth, and the repurpose of some of our labs into food producing plant, we managed.
Even if the moral was low up until now, we still hanged on. After all our species had to be warned, they had to know what threat was coming from Andromeda. This mission served as an unifying cause for the crew and the passengers, we stayed together because we had to come back and warn humanity.
But... Humanity was reduced to living on a single planet, not mastering interstellar travel, barely able to go into space. Cara, our scientific crew, the A.I and me, totalling 30 heads, were the only ones who knew. We tried to understand what has happened to humanity, but couldn't find any traces of the Society we left behind. When we left Humanity habited thousands of planets, and millions of habitats, the population was in trillions, we lived with many aliens nation beside us, in peace.
We came back to an empty galaxy, with the only traces of life coming from *Earth*, which was, for whatever reasons, the last planet harboring life in this part of the galaxy.
But what life did it have? Humans inhabited it, but they were barely a few billions primitives plagued with infighting. Everything that they transmitted was analyzed by the ship I.A, the picture it gave us was dire. The world was poor, uncivilized, divided, and barely able to comprehend the nature of the world around them.
Moreover, they didn't remember what we used to be, what society existed prior to this, all they remember is the past few millennium. And it seems humanity fell as far as not mastering *fire* at some point.
And I had to explain all of that to the crew. We started the journey back, in the hopes of finding a gigantic society, capable of mustering most of the galactic resources in order to defeat the incoming invaders.
And we found a lonely primitive world.
I looked back at Cara "How do you think they will react?"
She looked at me, every traces of amusement had left her face "Bad, I wager. Still they need to know. Plus... maybe the situation is dire, but we have a new mission still." I couldn't stop the laugh that slipped through "Ah ! Maybe the situation is dire? How nicely put. You know that for many of them it's the fourth "life mission" they were given."
"Yeah, yeah, they started as colonist, then warrior, now they are courier, and tomorrow they will bring new technologies to primitives. At least their biography will be interesting." I was looking at her a little dumfounded "What's a "biography"?"
She smiled, "It's the story of someone in particular that is written by someone else, Individualisms is intriguingly prominent on Earth right now. They practically deified the life of many individuals throuhought their history." She shrugged, "It creates a very good environment in the story department, their story seems far more imaginative and intriguing than the ones our Society had."
"Good stories are not compensating for what they are doing too themselves, less than a billion people is cannibalizing the rest of their planet. Fuck, if aliens had this comportment while the Society was still existing we would have sent some operatives to change their ways into *civilized* ones."
She let a few seconds pass before answering me, "Still, they are all we have left. Their culture appeared to be more for what's coming. Especially in comparaison to the one we had. After all they spend their time trying to outplay each other, they lie, hide, and don't seem to have any remorse in the death of others even in just for their own comfort. We were peaceful, unprepared, and uneducated on that front."
"Still, if the invaders were not planning to continue their mindless devouring... I would have chosen to look for another world where we could start anew. But we don't have the time nor the population to avoid needing their help." I tried not to appear to bitter, still my tone was filled with an anger, I had a hard time controlling.
She was calm, looked at me straight in the eyes, took a deep breath and said in a determined tone I didn’t knew she had “Yeah, they are barbaric, yeah they treat life, sentient life, like trash, but right now, we need help. Because as far as we know, *We*, humanity, are the last traces sentient life besides the devourers. The fact that what’s left of the sentient life as we know it, is represented by a society that disregard the majority of its member is not something that we can change right now. Still, we’ll be able to change them, but we shouldn’t shape them in our ways, we need them ready for the Devourers, and for that we need them to be different. I don’t care what you think about this bunch of humans on Earth, we need them and they need us. And we’ll win *no matter what*.” She looked at me with this calm resolution she seemed to have developed since we heard the news. At that moment I made what would be the most important decision of my life, or so I hoped. She stayed near me, in silence looking at the solar system that would be our home once again.
A few minutes passed in complete silence, it helped me calm myself.
Suddenly the A.I spoke through the speakers of the cabin “Announcement in a minute, please go to your seat captain.”
I looked at her, I smiled “I’ll get going.” The look she gave me, made me wonder if she guessed what decision I made. She was the second in command and she would inherit full authority today.
I made my speech; it was short, uninspired, and explanatory of the situation and nothing more.
Once it was finished, I walked to my cabin, I wrote a word for Cara, explaining that she was the better leader, that this authority, this pressure, I couldn’t handle it. But she could, and she will.
I took the gun under my desk, pointed it at my forehead, finally I shot.
Edit: I corrected some of the mistakes I found, still I'm no native, so don't hesitate to point out if I missed some obvious ones.
| 2018-02-27T09:15:51 | 2018-02-27T08:05:12 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
|
It was dark and somber the last few hours before we were suppose to touch down. We didn't know what we were going into, but we had a mission.
The alarm blared.
I clench my rifle. I was ready.
The door opened.
"Get ready to die motherfu- wha..."
It was my friend Steve. One of the astronauts on the first manned mission to the red planet. He was standing there in a white robe and a mojito in his hands.
"Charlie... Uh. Well this is awkward. I thought we said not to send help." said Steve.
He put his free hand at his waist.
"We thought you... We thought you guys were dead!"
"Why would you think that?"
"The cryptic message you guys sent us!"
"Oh right, Bill typed that up, I thought it sounded foreboding too."
"So you guys are fine?"
"Yeah we're good."
"Is there life here?"
"Yeah yeah. Oh. Ayuktu, get your ass over here I want to introduce you to my buddy Charlie. We went to college together."
A slender green humanoid with an enormous head in a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and jean shorts strode over.
"Sup." said Ayuktu.
The rest of the assault team lowered their guns.
"Hi." I replied. "We're from Earth. We're here to rescue our friends."
"Do you have to leave now? We were going to go fishing in the Frozen Sea later." said Ayuktu.
"Oh we're not leaving anytime soon Ayuk." Said Steve, shooting me an angry look.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"We're perfectly happy here. The natives have treated us with nothing but respect and kindness. Much more than we ever got back on Earth. We're joining their space program now! At least they have funding!" said Steve spilling his mojito with ever exaggerated hand movement.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"No, I'm not. You know what else Ayuk and his people didn't do? Sleep with my ex girlfriend the day after she broke up with me Charlie!"
"This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous!"
"I'm going to go...get another beer. This looks like something you guys gotta settle." said Ayuk.
"No no no no no. You stay right here Ayuk. Actually can you get me another drink too while you're over there?" He hands the alien his empty glass.
My radio crackles to life.
"What's going on over there?!"
"Captain Steve is intoxicated and refuses to come back sir."
"You can't make me!"
"Put him on the radio!" said mission control.
"How about you put that radio up your asses? How does that sound commissioner? You can send my final paycheck on your next cheap ass, tin foil launch that almost killed us by the way because you couldn't care enough to use quality equipment."
Silence.
"Alright, let's bring you boys home."
Ayuktu hands Steve his drink.
"You heard him. Bye bye!"
"Mojitos are gay Steve." I yell as the pod bay door closed.
|
“We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue.”
These were the words that sent a loud, bustling command center into a deathly silence. Everyone stared at the big screen before them. Gawking at the words that projected in massive text. Even the Marines on station couldn’t help but be awestruck at the message that had been transmitted not even a minute ago.
“S-someone get Fleet Admiral… He’s gonna want to see this,” said the stuttering Ensign standing at the back with accompanying COs watching the screen with him.
One of the Marines immediately left his post and rushed to get to the Admiral’s office that was three floors above them. The long, glass hallway that he ran through had a beautiful view of Florida’s coastline, but none of that mattered now. Not when a whole colonization mission had just been possibly disrupted by hostile alien life.
The Marine ran down the hall, flying past and just barely moving out of the way of two oncoming crewmen that were both carrying large stacks of papers in their hands. One of the crewman even gave off an angry, “What the hell,” as the Marine ran by. He finally got to the North Wing elevator, and frantically pressed on the button several times, even though it only took one press to call it down.
The sound of the approaching elevator began, and after what felt like hours the door slid open and gave off the iconic *ding* once the doors fully opened. The Marine hurried inside and searched for the *3* button on the side panel. His racing thoughts mixed together with the height of the situation to make it seem impossible for him to find the little button.
“C’mon, where is it… Oh, here it is,” he tapped on the Floor Three button, and the elevator doors slid shut as it began to ascend to the next two floors. The Marine tapped his foot as he waited for the doors to open again. Once more, what should’ve been a few seconds felt like a few hours, but the doors, as they have always done, opened to allow the Marine to exit.
Fleet Admiral Johnson sat in his office with his right-hand man, Commander Peterson. Johnson looked out upon the coast with a cigar placed in the corner of his mouth, standing tall and firm as he gazed upon the sparkling ocean. He took the cigar out from his mouth and turned for his chair.
“Have I told you why I decided to leave my position in the Navy and take up a spot in this new program the UN created, Commander,” he asked as he sat in his cushioned desk chair, putting his cigar back in and taking a light puff from it.
“No, sir, I don’t believe you have. In fact, you’ve spoken little about your Navy days ever since you recruited me.” Peterson said, he sat up straight to give more attention to the Admiral. Admiral Johnson extinguished his cigar in an ashtray that sat on his left side, and leaned forward with his arms crossed.
“Well, it was to discover the unknown. That’s why I joined the Navy; to join the Navy SEALS and explore the unknown of the ocean. Of course, I spent more time on land in the SEALS than I did in sea, but it was for the same reason nevertheless.” Commander Peterson was intrigued. *To explore the unknown* he thought. Well, Admiral Johnson was going to have a rude awakening with that. It’s 2047, and NASA is still trying to find a way to even begin a project that would allow them to build a ship capable of space travel, but the Commander knew he knew that, so what unknown is it that he wants to explore?
Before the Admiral could continue, a Marine had abruptly burst through the door, panting heavily as he tried to speak, “Fleet… Admiral… You need to - oh, God - come downstairs… There’s something you need to see.”
The Commander, agitated by the Marine’s informal arrival, stood up and got close to the Marine, “God dammit, Marine! Is that how you address your-” “Stand down, Commander. Let him speak,” Admiral Johnson interrupted Peterson’s lecture, and looked back to the Marine, “Now, what’s so important that you had to run all the way here from the command center?”
The command center was still in silence. Some people had left the room to go collect their thoughts, some had sat down at their chairs and just sipped at their coffee, and other still stood staring at the big screen. The quietness lingered until it was suddenly interrupted by a collection of footsteps and the Admiral’s voice, “Jesus Christ, Wilson, it’s a simple colonization mission, how could you-” he came to a sudden halt upon reading the message portrayed on the big screen. The color from his face had gone completely white.
Ensign Wilson turned to face the Admiral. Commander Peterson soon entered behind Johnson and had a different reaction compared to the rest, “Ah, you can’t be serious! Is this a joke, Ensign? Are you and all of your fairy friends playing some sort of joke on us?!” He got up close and grabbed the Ensign’s collar violently.
“N-no, Commander! I swear, it’s not! We got this message at 0100! Just ten minutes before you got down here! None of this was done by any of us!” The Ensign began to tremble in fear. The Commander was known for being a harsh person, that’s why Johnson had recruited him. He could straighten anyone within a quick minute.
Commander Peterson got face to face with the Ensign, and said with a stern voice, “This better not be some sort of joke, and if it is, you better make sure I don’t find out about it.” He released the Ensign with a forceful shove that sent him back a few steps. Wilson straightened himself out and approached the Admiral once more, “What are our orders, Admiral?”
Admiral Johnson stopped looking at the big screen, and lowered his head to think. What could any of them really do? It’d be another few months before another ship was ready, and then a few more weeks before a rescue team touchdowned on Mars. There was one option though, one classified for only top UN and Naval officials to know. He brought his head back up and looked over at the Ensign, “Get the UN Headquarters on the line, tell them you need to speak to Quarter.”
Without another word, Ensign Wilson nodded and left for the Comms Center to phone the UN Headquarters. Admiral Johnson looked back at the big screen once more, “You know why I took this position, Commander,” Peterson looked at the Admiral in curiosity, Johnson turned, and what he said next sent a chill down Peterson’s spine, “I took the position because the UN needed me for when this day finally came.”
| 2019-01-31T12:01:23 | 2019-01-31T11:41:01 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
*Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
"And you want me to do what?" Trish asked, arms folded. She wore thin gold hoops on her wrists and they jingled with every movement the limousine made.
I steepled my fingers, leaning forward in my seat. "Just ask him why he's kidnapping all my dates," I said. "Like really make it clear that you were here on a date."
"Okay, but why is Mr. Mega trying to stop you from dating?" She asked. "What'd you do to piss him off?"
"Nothing," I said, throwing my hands up. "He's just mad that we disagree in work."
"You're not exactly the most important super villain," Trish said. "Like, I'll take your money, don't get me wrong, but have you ever considered asking him to stop?"
I stared at her. Shed done up her hair, showing off her plunging neckline and slender neck. Some kind of flowered perfume drifted off of her in a cascading wave. She'd also been the only person to reply to the ad I'd placed online.
"If we could talk things out without him trying to commit me to citizens arrest," I said, "then I'd try."
She smiled. "So why don't you try?"
"Every time I do anything they try to have me arrested, Trish. I make gear for everybody, government, private enterprises, you name it, but Mr. Mega thinks I'm the one to blame for anything anybody does with it."
"Aren't you?" Trish asked and made a pinching gesture, leaving some space between her fingers. "Just a little?"
Another sceptic. I dealt with enough of that in the news. "If I made shoes and someone used them in a robbery should I go to jail?"
"If you made guns and someone used it in a robbery and you could have avoided selling it to that person, yes." She said, shaking her head.
I held up a hand. "Look, no, I don't sell to anybody. My company sells products that anyone can buy." She opened her mouth to say something and I pulled ahead, cutting her off. "I get it, okay, I'm not stupid. People don't have to like me, and I'm always working on better solutions. I'm not a psychopath. But even I deserve to have a night off? Go on a date?"
Trish hesitated before rolling her eyes. "You're the weirdest super villain I've ever met."
That cracked a smile on my face. "Everyone's human," I said. I pulled up the projection map on my watch, turning the hologram around. "We're almost there." I looked at her, expectantly.
"I know, I know." Trish spread her hands. "Please don't repeat it again."
The spot I had picked was a little open air cliffside dinner, overlooking a soft beach. At night the lights of the city cast out on the water, pretty but far enough away that stars could still shine above.
The wait staff were waiting for us, and I offered my hand to Trish as she stepped out of the limousine.
She eyed it briefly, before accepting it. The soft smile on her face could have been a trick of the candlelight, but I hoped not.
Once seated I glanced back up at the sky, more than half expecting Mr. Mega to already be hovering above us, his mechanical suit burning bright in the evening air.
Trish followed my look. "It's beautiful up there," she said.
I picked up my wine glass, and when I looked back at her I found her watching me. I smiled, raising it to her in a mock toast.
"You're not what I expected," she said.
"Should I be cackling and showing you my collection of oversized doomsday devices?"
"No, I just expected you to be more self centered," she said with a lazy wave of her hand. "Honestly I thought you'd be showing me your 'evil lair' by now." She gave me a look, half humor, half mock horror. "And I don't mean where you keep your oversized doomsday devices."
I laughed, surprised and delighted. "No, no, I was saving that for the third date."
I glanced upwards again as the waiter approached, and caught her staring at me again when the waiter handed me the menu.
"You should relax," Trish said.
"Sorry, I just don't usually get this far into a nice evening without..." I trailed off. "Sorry," I said again.
"No, I get it," she set her wineglass down. "But focus on enjoying this." Her hand reached out, touching mine.
I gripped her fingers in my own. "You're right," I said. "Maybe he's busy saving the world."
She arched a brow. "I mean you shouldn't spend your time worrying if someone is going to try and stop you from enjoying yourself," she said. "Listen to what your heart wants, and just do that." She made a face and rolled her eyes. "Oh, wow, that was cheesy."
Her hand in mine, I found myself nodding. "I mean, it's not the worst I've ever heard," I said, "there was this one time when-"
The evening progressed. Dinner was served, a salad for me, prepared with homemade in house dressing, and a burger with fries for her. We exchanged halfway through, me stealing her fries while her eyes went wide at the taste of the dressing.
And as the night, and date, drew to a close I realized I hadn't thought about Mr. Mega once in hours.
"I honestly didn't expect to be asking this," I said, sheepish. "But can I drive you home? Normally, well by now Mr. Mega would have stolen you away by now. Maybe showed you his private lair, who knows."
Trish glanced at my watch and sighed. "Honestly, I'd love to but I can't."
"What do you mean?" It wasn't that late, then realization dawned on me. "Oh," I said, face growing red, "no, I meant actually dropping you off at your home."
"Hm?" She asked, distracted. "What? No, oh, no I wasn't trying to imply that you were going to, I mean," she stammered to a standstill. "No, I mean I have work, and it would take too long to drive there."
I held up a hand. "I'm confused," I said. "Back up a step and explain? I'm still happy to pay you, if you want. I know Mr. Mega didn't show up, but I mean, a deals a deal."
"No, stupid," Trish said. "Look, I didn't expect to be out this long, honestly I wasn't even sure that this date was going to happen." She cut me off with a motion. "Mr. Mega isn't coming," she said.
A slow suspicion dragged on me. "Wait," I said, "was this a set up?"
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "Shut up you idiot and listen, okay?" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again she caught me and didn't let me go.
"Mr. Mega hasn't been trying to ruin your dates," she said. "And when I found your post I felt horrible about what had been happening. It was a mistake, a horrible misunderstanding.
"You're supposed to be this puppeteering villain, manipulating people and orchestrating and supplying the tools for all these criminals. And yes, what you're doing is wrong, and yes, we do need to have a conversation about it."
I tried to say something and instead she pressed her hand to my mouth and held it there. I couldn't so much as move as I realized what she was saying.
"I didn't mean to trick you," she said. "And there's a arsonist currently trying to set someone's apartment on fire, so I don't have time to argue."
"Mmfmmf," I said, through her hand.
"Yeah, I'm sure." A sad look carried in her eyes, "look, I had a really fun time. If you're willing to, I'd love to go on a second date. Maybe a movie? Next week, Tuesday? That's my next day off."
She pressed a piece of paper into my hand, and as she did her clothes rippled, expanding into the all too familiar metal suit I knew. "Call me," she said, before taking off into the air.
I watched "Mr. Mega" fly off towards the city, leaving me holding a phone number and surrounded by a half dozen shocked witnesses.
"Wait," a waiter said. "Mr. Mega is a woman?"
| 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T07:36:31 | 1,144 | 283 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
*Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
Gwen Stacey always felt that dating Spider-Man was just surreal.
Think about it: you befriend a guy in college, you think he’s cute, he gets awkwardly shy around you, - the clear signs, and you kind of like him back. He’s also a straight up hottie and he’s smart af.
Time goes on, you brake up with your high school sweetheart and the cute boy (his name is Peter Parker), who’s now your best friend, is growing on you as more than that. He’s sweet, he’s caring and he goes out of his way to make you feel like the most beautiful woman in this world. It’s perfect and you can’t ask for a better boyfriend.
As the relationship grows, you move in with this boy, and not only do things get better, you start seriously considering that marriage is a thing and that it will happen shortly.
However, things start to get weird when Peter leaves sporadically and randomly at night. You find this weird Spider-Man suit in his closet and you wonder whether he has a weird fetish or perhaps, he attends comic cons and has never told you about it.
As weeks turn to months, you notice that these taxing trips at night are making Peter exhausted and his standard of how he cared for you isn’t the same.
There are no dates, there are no special gifts, or details.
He’s immersed in these late night escapades and while you thought he was cheating at first, the smell of sweat, dirt and the bruises tell a different story.
*Could he be cheating?* No. (You’ve made sure)
*Could he be Spider-Man?* No. (But maybe?)
You let it slide, you stop questioning him. But sure enough, one day as you’re walking to your dad’s old office at the NYPD, you get swooped up and not in a romantic way.
You look up and you see the most terrifying creature you can think of. A very athletic man in a slimy, green suit from head to toes, with a green mask holding the most manic/evil look; as you begin to wonder where you’re at, you feel like you’re floating and travelling through air.
**You’re being kidnapped by the Green Goblin.**
When you ask why you’re being kidnapped, you receive the most sincere answer and kind of what you expected, but you’re rather surprised by the demeanour of your captor.
He simply exclaims:
*“I found out Peter is Spider-Man and I knew this would hurt him. I know this isn’t ideal for you and I’m sorry, but this what I need to do.*
*I hope you don’t end up hurt in this and I can release you, but that might not be the case.*
*By the way, my name is Norm and I think you’re beautiful and talented. I’ve read all your papers on the New York University Biology Journal. “*
*What?*
Let’s just back track. **Your boyfriend is Spider-Man. What in the fuck?**
How could he not tell you? You’re his best friend, for years and nothing was ever said.
As you keep questioning yourself, a battle ensues in the background.
*“Let her go!”* \- says Peter
*“Never, you take her for granted”* \- says Norm.
*“Don’t you fucking bring up my relationship, we’re here because you’ve kidnapped her and because you stole equipment from the NYPD”*. - says Spider-Man.
*“I’ve creeped her for months now. You don’t take care of her, you’ve stopped treating her or reciprocating the love she shows you day in and day out.*
*Also, I know you’re out playing vigilante most nights, but you stop by the village before you head back home every time.* \- says the Green Goblin.
**Wait, isn’t that we’re his high school crush lives? Mary Jane Watson?**
**Fuck.**
**He’s out there fighting crime AND cheating on you.**
As the battle comes to a halt (you’re watching strapped on a chair from afar - this is what all villains do, relax), you see Peter approaching Norm. It seems that he has pointed to the stolen equipment and is now on his way out. From afar he waves and gives you one of those comforting half-smiles. Wow, he’s kind of cute, you think.
Peter gets on his phone to call the cops, you realize he is coming towards you. You can’t face him and he knows what you now know.
*“I’m sorry, babe”* \- he says.
You wait until he’s released you from the chair and you head home, walking as fast as you can while he follows you and shouts ALL the excuses as to why he did what he did.
You grab your belongings. Head home to your mom’s and realize what a fucking night that was. What in the fuck? You’re boyfriend is Spider-Man, he also cheats on you and the hot villain who kidnapped you in a jet pack / glider device is not actually quite the villain.
Wtf. Anyway, you head to sleep.
Weeks go by, you really don’t want to know anything about Peter or Spider-Man. You’re sick of it.
New York is a city that you feel familiar with but you’re getting quite tired of. **You still think about that boy with the Green Mask every now and then.**
One day as you browse your LinkedIn, you see an article with a link from the NYT about a *“Norman Osborn who’s creating jobs and providing water in Africa through tech”.*
**It’s the boy with the green mask.**
You decide to look him up on Instagram and boom... @nosbscience. You’ve found him and his account isn’t private.
You decide to risk it, and take a plunge by sending him a DM.
*“Hey”*
The next day you check and you find a long novel written as a response:
*“Hey Gwen, I'm sorry about what happened in New York a couple months ago. I was desperate to obtain the ‘weapons’, which were really just dynamite nukes so that I could help a village find water in south Mali.*
*I’m sorry about kidnapping you and I’m sorry about your boyfriend. Studying you for those weeks before kidnapping you helped me understand love and what I need to find.*
*I hope this finds you well and if you ever want to catch up, I’ve moved to Paris.*
*- Norm“*
The message, bundled with the urge for new air is creating a sense of spontaneity mixed with impulsiveness.
Fuck it. You’re going to Paris.
As you settle at your hotel, you message Norm and inform him that you’d like to see him.
He replies promptly and sends you the address of a very cozy, warm and colourful cafe down the street from your house - *“Let’s meet in half an hour*”.
Your heart is pounding, even more than when you and Peter were a thing. But you’re ready for this and you head out.
The cafe is a work of art, pastel yellows adorn the walls and the pastries and the freshness inundates the smell of the inside, before you even get to take a seat, you hear a “hey” that scares the crap out of you.
*“HEY!”*
It’s Norm. He’s as good looking as you remember him, even with the mask off. You both sit down at a table with a view towards the warm and vivid streets of Paris.
The conversation flows seamlessly, he’s actually read all your papers and shares a passion for science (*“I’m something of a scientist myself”* \- he whispers) and you end up having one of the best conversations you’ve had with anyone. Ever.
The question that lingers in your mind is why he never asked you out in New York. You promptly say:
*“I broke up with Peter six months ago, why wouldn’t you ask me out then?”*
To which you’re shocked to find out:
*“Every time I went out on a date, Peter would show up in costume and ridicule me, while sweeping up the girl and taking her for himself later on. It never worked. I could never date in NYC, Spider-Man would always ruin my dates.*
*If I had asked you out. He would have found a way to show up and spoil it. So I figured I’d leave you alone.*
*However, when I saw your DM, I knew you felt what I felt that night in NY and I figured it’d be worth a try. I can’t believe how happy I am this has happened:*
***Norman Osborn on a date with Gwen Stacey. In Paris. “***
&#x200B;
| 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T07:33:44 | 1,144 | 23 |
[WP] You just made a deal with the devil, and sold your soul. But when he reached in to take it, he says, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?"
|
The devil was passing a bar, but something make him stop.
he's ears caught the best Jazz he ever heard in his life.
as he entered he found a young man playing the violin like the titanic was sinking
the devil without waiting challenged the boy to a music duel
at first he indulged the boys pride sin and let the boy win, gave him a golden violin as a reward.
soon after he challenged him again.
the boy was overconfident this time. not realizing it was a trap.
soon after Johnny was bested.
"the devil went down to Georgia, lost a fiddle of gold but earned Johnny's soul" he exclaimed proudly.
Johnny only smiled back
as the devil was about to claim his new soul he realized the man had nothing for him to give
**"Where is your soul boy?!"** the devil screamed
Johnny just laughed
"i won again" the young man said " GameStation already owns my soul since i agreed to their Terms and Conditions form, you fool!"
as he left with the Golden Fiddle the devil cursed and stomped the ground.
Johnny sold the violin made of pure gold and earned some money. still not enough to pay his college loans. He sighted
Edit: punctuation
|
I don’t write a lot and this is my first post here so don’t be too mean lol
I always thought I was a good person. I’ve tried my best not to commit any sins against my fellow mankind and when I did, I made sure to make up and never leave any burnt bridges between them. I guess you could say I always aimed to live between my emotions, almost sociopathic in a way. I never held onto negative emotions, and I never held onto positive emotions. I lived everyday in a bliss of neutral emotions. I thought this was a great way to live life, without feeling anything I’d never hurt myself. And without feeling anything, I’d never hold onto negative thoughts that could hurt somebody else. But what I learned that day proved me otherwise.
I was walking home late at night from work because I was recently in a car accident. I should of died, but I somehow survived with no injury. I learned why that night. I was walking through the tree line that I cut through to save me about 10 minutes on my walk when I noticed something odd. There was a path that I never noticed was there, but it seemed to lead in the normal direction I head so I just stuck to this newly found path. It seemed like a four wheeler trail, something you’d know if you grew up in a small town like I did. I was a little nervous that I was walking on private property, but as late as it was I wasn’t too worried. But there was something that caught my attention.
The farther I walked down the trail, it felt like it was warming up. Almost like that feeling when the sun starts to rise and warm the air around you, but it was 4 in the morning and the sun was as nowhere in sight. It felt like the sun was rising behind me and was shining brightly on my back. That was when I had an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget and it changed my life forever.
I turned around and saw a man in a top hat and suit with a cane. It was hard to see his face, it seemed to be completely covered by the shadows of the night. “Who are you?”, I asked. The man felt like he was staring into my soul. “I don’t know what you want, but if you want my wallet you can have it”. The man chuckled, and he spoke with a voice as dark as the night. “I don’t want your material things, but I am willing to make a bargain I bet you can’t pass up. I am of the night, the one who walks in darkness. I am of the moon while my greatest enemy is of the sun. Most people know me as the devil, and I am here to make a deal. Trade me your soul and I’ll give you whatever you please in this mortal life. For giving me your soul, I won’t punish you as hard in the next life. There are different circles of hell and I can promise you that you’ll never suffer anymore than a man who committed a few lies”
I paused for a second, in fear the man was on some insane drugs and thought he was a literal omnipotent being.
I jokingly asked, “What about $5000 dollars in my bank account every week?”. He chuckles and said “Sure, I can make that happen. Do we have a deal?”. Out of morbid curiosity, and maybe a little greed, I said “Alright, mark my soul.” The man didn’t even move, and I felt the warmth fill my chest. It felt like a hand made of fire was moving inside my chest. “Okay wise-guy, where is it?”I was puzzled. “Where’s what?”, I asked. I felt the feeling that I can only explain as anger fill the air around me and I blacked out. I woke up what felt like hours later in the same spot I was but it was still dark and he was standing there. “Turns out you do have a soul”, he explained, “but there isn’t much of a force left in it.”
I was shocked, and pleaded “What? Does that mean I’m dying? Am I near the end of my life?”. He still sounded angry, and he said to me “You life your life in this mortal realm but you detach yourself from all things that make you mortal. You are a dead man walking because you never allow yourself to truly love. Emotions are a yinyang between good and bad, and without accepting both you can never cherish any. I might as well just take you now. You hurt those around you by shutting yourself out, you hurt yourself by never truly being happy. You were willingly to trade your soul for material because you are basically nothing but material. I’ll return to you in a couple years when your soul is stronger and we’ll see how you answer again. But if I return and you are still as empty as you are now, I will end your misery before you have to experience it yourself at the true end of your mortal life”.
With that, he vanished, and I slept in the woods that night. When I woke up, I was on my bed and knew I had to change myself. I had to be ready for when the devil returns again.
| 2019-05-05T03:48:29 | 2019-05-05T03:22:15 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Congratulations! At 25 years old you won the lottery and will receive €50.000.000,- spread out over the rest of your lifespan; paid out evenly on each of your remaining years alive. On the following January 1st, you receive €25 million in your bank account.
|
On the New Year's, I received the cheque worth €25 million and my heart sunk down a bottomless pit. My mind was racing - no amount of money could be worth the inevitably of an early, unpredictable demise. The first days I had wallowed alone in my room, then the next few, I mapped out future activities to ensure that my life would at the very least be fulfilled.
The things I googled in the search bar started to become grittier. I was frantic; I needed an escape from this feeling of despair. It was then that I discovered the beauty of getting high. Not the mellow, chill high from recreational marijuana, but the mind-numbingly ecstatic high from some undercover street drugs. *It was perfect.* No amount of money could purchase enlightenment, but it could at least try to replicate the feeling temporarily.
A couple of them arrived the next week. The world felt under control for just a few seconds, and the feeling of floating above space was utter pleasure. It was exhilarating. How could I be troubled by the world and the constraints of time when all my senses were under the state of absolute euphoria? I took another, and another, and another. . .
___
On a quiet mid-January morning, a letter came into the mail of the winner of the lottery. The frigid snow had proved it difficult to open up the mailbox, but it was done. In it, a letter that regrets to inform of an error. The €25 million was an error in the printing, and the money placed in the bank displayed a much more marginal sum. For the next few weeks, it would stay unopened, piled up between promotional coupons and a plethora of bills left unpaid.
|
Shock, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression, and finally, acceptance.
Luckily for him, Jack was done with all of that pretty quickly. He had moved into the next stage. Fuck the world. He had his. He was going to live it up.
*210 days left*
Carnegie Hall. It was packed. Of course, it was packed by people who had been paid a hundred bucks each to attend. But money was not an objective for Jack. He had more money than he had time.
He sang his heart out. Of course, it was still shit. But everyone clapped. Hundred bucks for the couple of hours was still a good deal. Jack knew there was no chance he could actually be good enough to sell out The Hall, as he called it, so he had chosen the next best thing.
Another thing checked off his list.
*145 days left.*
Jack’s face was white as a ghost. The instructor tapped his shoulder.
“You are not at an acceptable level. You shouldn’t be doing this.” He had to shout over the sound of the chopper to make himself heard.
“What’s the worse that could happen?” With that, Jack jumped.
*100 days left.*
Jack winced as he touched his side. Running with the bulls had been a good idea in theory. But in practice... oh well. No regrets. That was his motto.
*85 days left.*
He had been happy. He had a plan. Now all his plans were going awry. For the second straight day, he sat on the side of the road. She had to come by eventually, right?
He knew he was wasting time. He only had a limited number of day’s but her face haunted him. He had to find her.
*60 days left.*
“Will you marry me?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a simple question.”
She looked confused. “Where did this come from?”
“I like you. Well I’ve fallen in love with you. I want you to marry me.”
“I don’t love you. You’re my employer.”
“Yes, yes. You’re my ghostwriter. You want to write and then be done with it. But think about it. I’ll be dead soon. If you marry me, you get all my money after I’m gone.”
“I don’t marry for money. Please don’t talk about this with me again. I would prefer if we have a professional relationship. Otherwise, I’ll have to quit.”
“Fine Fine. Your loss.”
It really wasn’t though. The loss was all his.
*45 days left.*
“Why don’t you like me?”
“I like you well enough.”
“But not enough to spend 45 days with me. In exchange for millions.”
She smiled. “I like you as an employer. I’ll marry someone I love. Someone I respect.”
“What can I do to gain your respect?”
“You need to go back in time and re live your life. Two years ago, you had an amazing stroke of luck. But what did you do? You lived your life for yourself. You had fun. What are you leaving behind in this world? What’s your legacy? Do you think people will remember you fondly? Or remember you at all?”
He tried to say something but words failed him.
She continued. “You’re fun to be around. But you’re not a good person. I’m sorry if I’m being blunt. But this is the last time I’m gonna see you.”
“But why?”
“I warned you last time that if you brought this up again, I will quit.”
“Oh come on. It’s a dying man’s last wish. I’m dying you bitch. Show me some mercy.”
“People die everyday. Why do you deserve my mercy more than anyone? In fact, now I’m even surer that you don’t.”
She didn’t wait for him to answer and stormed off.
*-3 days.*
Sally Richards got a letter with a familiar hand writing.
Dear Sally,
I was happy once. Then I found out I would be dead soon. I was still happy. Then I met you. You made me see how shallow my happiness was. The days we spent together showed me how little I mattered. A millionaire and not a single soul to miss me when I will be gone. Well you’re a better person than me. So I hope you spend all of this wisely.
Yours,
An idiot.
Inside was also a will, bequeathing 34 million bucks to Sally Richards.
Sally smiled, a tear forming in her eye. She could respect that a bit. Just a little bit.
********
Alternate ending.
Sally Richards smiled. Her plan had worked. She hadn’t even needed to use the fake will. The fool had done it on his own. What an opportunity god had given her. Now she could do everything she ever wanted to. Respect? Probably not. But she would be thankful to him and keep him in her thoughts, if only to laugh at him.
*******
Alternate Ending 2
*2 days left.*
Jack entered the lab. “Well...?”
The man in the white coat smiled. “I think we have it. I still need to test some things.”
“We are out of time.”
“I understand.”
“The money was transferred to your account.”
“I didn’t do this for the money Jack. You financing my research was reward enough.”
“Hey, we both helped each other.”
Jack ran his hand over the glass. A time machine in 2 years. Funny what a lot of money and no red tape could achieve in such a short time.
*******
More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12. I promise I don’t always do these many endings.
| 2020-08-05T19:16:08 | 2020-08-05T18:52:44 | 511 | 346 |
[WP] Write a story using only the suggestion buttons on your mobile phone / tablett.
|
I'm going to the brochure for the brochure for the brochure for the brochure that the brochure for the brochure for the brochure that I am so I have any attachments are homeless. She was the brochure. I'm going well and then we have a few days of this. It's been to the brochure. I'm going on my resume. I'm going to the brochure.
*I do not regularly use the word 'brochure'.
|
The only thing you can use. It's the only thing you can use, and it's not that bad. I have such wonderful time. I have such wonderful time, the thing so far away from me, so very very long away, and I'm giving it to you. It's my time. It's not that bad.
That's me. That's my thing. Take it. It's not that bad.
(Good thing my keyboard has nine suggestions, because that was too challenging.)
***
I took that ^ and I turned it into a slightly longer piece of nonsense. Here you go.
***
"Why? What is this fascination you have with me, with my life, with my *self*?"
"Just listen, I--"
"No. You listen. I don't want this. I don't want this thing."
"Wait."
She turned around hastily, making sure to put the thought of him out of mind.
"Wait," he said, louder.
"Wait."
"Wait!"
It was of no use. She was gone, both physically and, well, metaphorically. His attempts at a connection did not stand, did not sit with her. She would have nothing of it. She would have nothing of him.
He slouched, distraught, defeated into the folds of the now increasingly uncomfortable couch. She was his last chance, his last hope at redemption. But she was gone.
He sipped another sip of the freshly brewed tea, setting it back down to his right. The faint slam of a door could be heard in the distance.
This man was old, was sick, was dying. He wasn't particularly good, his mistakes from all points of life still very much alive. He'd made a lot of mistakes in time. There were the torn friendships, the lost loves, the lost lovers. He wasn't particularly bad, just particularly imperfect. He didn't do things right. That wasn't his way.
And the girl, she, well, she was a victim. Of his mistakes, of his life, of his way, she was a victim. She was important to him, definitely, but she was a victim.
She was his daughter. She was young, full of life, generally happy, and proud. She was his greatest achievement. She was the one thing he made right.
But, in reality, she hated him. He was the one thing wrong, the one thing definitively wrong with her life. Now, that is. Before, he wasn't there. For the first 32 years, he wasn't there. But now, now he's back.
He picked up the phone to his left and dialed her number, sweating with the possibility of desertion, the feeling of not doing one thing right I'm his mistake filled life looming overhead like an ominous cloud.
"Yes?" she said after three or four rings.
"Just listen," he began.
"I don't want to listen. I told you that."
"Just one minute. Just one minute, then no contact."
She sighed.
"Fine. One minute, then no more."
He cleared his throat.
"This, me, my life, it's all I have. It's all I have. I want my last days for you. I want you to have all the life I have. I want to make things... yours."
He paused, listening for a response. Silence greeted him.
"It's mine. The only thing you can use. It's the only thing you can use, and it's not that bad. I have such wonderful time. I have such wonderful time, the thing so far away from me, so very very long away, and I'm giving it to you. It's my time. It's not that bad."
He paused again, silence still hanging.
"That's me. That's my thing. Take it. It's not that bad. Please."
The minute ran out.
"Please."
There was no talking for a very short amount of time.
"Okay," she said softly.
"Okay?" he asked.
"No, it's not okay. But I'll come by tomorrow. We'll talk some more."
She disconnected. He hung up his phone and took another sip of tea.
He sat back into that comfortable couch, and, for the first time in a long time, smiled.
He smiled.
He did something right.
***
Visit my website, [casualhuman.com](http://casualhuman.com), for even longer pieces of nonsense, or short stories, as I like to call them.
| 2015-01-17T06:58:07 | 2015-01-17T05:34:12 | 119 | 67 |
[WP] The entire Star Wars series, all 7 movies, are released as one book, written by Dr. Seuss.
|
One movie, two movie, three movie, four.
Disappointment the screamed with a yell and a roar.
Followed by five they yelled even more.
Six broke some records but favored no more.
Then seven approached humbly and honest.
The crowds all sat down and gathered as promised.
Smiles regrew on the faces of fans.
As lines started growing at popcorn stands.
The movie was great from the end to start.
Especially ending with "oh hai mark"
|
A long time ago, somewhere far from your land,
A master and his student found a planet of sand.
They kept their eyes open for the child prophesied
To balance the mystical Force of Jedi.
&nbsp;
They found him! They did! Anakin was his name.
Though his acting was lame, he excelled at one game:
Pod Racing! He zoomed through the canyons with glee.
Much to the chagrin of his poor mother Shmi.
&nbsp;
The master, Jedi Qui-Gon, saw strength in the youth.
His apprentice, young Ben, saw more clearly the truth
For in Anakin's heart there was anger and rage.
Could he truly learn Jedi ways at his age?
&nbsp;
The planet, so coarse, with its sand and its slaves
Gave the child many reasons to hunger and crave
For a life without Masters, be they slavers or sage.
But the child, prophesied, just upgraded his cage.
&nbsp;
Then he met winsome Padmé, the young Queen of Naboo,
And what do you think did the foolish boy do?
He gave her his heart (though the Jedi forbade
Loving one more than others, a dangerous trade).
&nbsp;
Qui-Gon and Ben, with Padmé by their side,
Stopped a war between worlds, but they never spied
That a Dark Master was pulling the strings of the conflict.
His wicked ways hidden, the Republic was tricked.
&nbsp;
The worlds of the Republic, so grand and so large,
Happily put this wolf in sheep's clothing in charge.
But that's not before his apprentice, Darth Maul,
Killed Qui-Gon, then, by Ben, bisected did fall.
&nbsp;
Qui-Gon, now a Force ghost, had Ben make a vow
To teach Anakin things Yoda wouldn't allow.
Tiny, green, and wise, Yoda saw the boy's heart
And he foresaw a grave path from such a troubled start.
&nbsp;
The Dark Master saw that, too, and brought the boy near
Advice dripped like poison in Anakin's ears.
The both grew in power, though Anakin's eyes
Were distracted by Padmé from seeing the lies.
&nbsp;
And she saw him, too, with his unbroken stare
She nervously told him to mind his gaze there.
Padmé knew the Jedi and their take on love,
But in a fit of passion she forgot the glove.
&nbsp;
Anakin's Force control was truly great
And it was sensing the Force that led him to hate.
On sandy Tatooine, his mother cried out.
Her pain echoed through the Force like a shout.
&nbsp;
Anakin sped to the planet with haste,
But the loathsome Sand People already had a taste
Of his mother. The rage, it just built up inside.
When he found her, those villains would wish they had died.
&nbsp;
To the last woman and child, he burned through the night
For how could they stop a renowned Jedi Knight?
Broken by his mom's death, Anakin fell
To the Dark Side and entered his personal hell.
&nbsp;
His Dark Master controlled him then, pawn to his king.
And this new Sith apprentice then did such a thing.
He stalked to the Academy, found Padawans.
Every child trained by Yoda was cut down and gone.
&nbsp;
The Jedi were broken. Poor Ben had to end
The madness and rage that had broken his friend.
Ben had the high ground, but Anakin hadn't learned.
Ben's saber cut him down and, now legless, he burned.
&nbsp;
Lava scorched through his flesh and he screamed from the pain,
While old Ben Kenobi cried out at the shame
That the one to restore balance to the Force
Could have fallen so far that he had no remorse.
&nbsp;
He abandoned his friend to the lava and fled,
But Anakin's Master sensed that he wasn't dead.
Rage had kept him alive, but his body was damned
Like his soul, now encased in machine more than man.
&nbsp;
A new face was he given, and with it a new name.
A black mask to cover his torment and his shame,
While this name terrified all who would hear of it later:
The Black heart and black mask of the dreaded Lord Vader.
| 2016-05-16T09:44:46 | 2016-05-16T09:31:06 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Aliens are trying infiltrate the world's governments. This is a minor inconvenience for the Illuminati.
|
The hoods and masks were purely ceremonial. Any eavesdropper would have known exactly who was in the room. If the instantly recognizable voices of the world’s most powerful men would not give away their identities, then the gold-plated nametags surely would. Strangers listening in would not be a problem however. The secret meeting was held in a remote villa, high up in the swiss alps. Access could only be gained via helicopter, and security was the most stringent.
A figure moved to the center of the crowded atrium. He appeared to have a slight limp. His golden nametag read ‘V. Putin’.
“Gentlemen,” he announced in an ominous russian accent. “We have disturbing news.”
A hush fell over the gathered tycoons and kleptocrats. “I have called you all here for this emergency meeting to discuss some recent developments. Last night I was attacked by a...creature…. within my own home. It looked just like me. Thankfully, I was able to rip it apart with my bare hands. My Scientists have dissected the monster and have found it to be a clone of myself. The only difference was that the brain was of a different composition. They believe it to be of extra-terrestrial origin. Presumably, the monster wished to kill me and take over Russia.” There was a stunned silence. He went on. “It is quite possible that many in this room are not in fact human, but one of these imposters, sent by aliens. Some may even have even replaced the human years ago. No one will leave until we expose these monsters”
All hell broke loose.
“Xenu has come for you all.” announced Tom Cruise with a deadpan voice. Everyone in the room used lies to manipulate people, but only Tom Cruise would refuse to break character.
“Cut the shit Cruise” shouted a fat Korean man in the back. Kim Jong Un was the only man in the room as short as Tom. “You call that a cult? This is a cult.” He slammed his chest with his fist.
“Trump has to be an alien!” yelled Kanye. Clearly their recent alliance was completely dissolved. While all members share a common goal, there remain deep divisions within the Illuminati. “No human is that color”
“I have 100% of the orange vote. You were supposed to get me 25% of the black vote and you couldn’t even do that.” Trump shot back. “You don’t even deserve to be in this club”
“This is not a club. It is an ancient order” corrected Xi Jinping. “What I would like to know is how do we know this is not just one of Vlad’s schemes to turn us against each other? I am leaving.”
“Because of this.” From his robes Putin pulled a large plastic bag. He upended it at their feet. An exact copy of his own head rolled out, leaving a purple fluid oozing from its neck onto the floor. “And I have soldiers surrounding the complex. They are instructed to shoot any vehicle leaving the premises. Desperate times.” This was a severe breach of Illuminati protocol.
“I once rappelled down the Burj Khalifa. I’ll take my chances with this mountain.” Tom Cruise dove out of a window. Only a sheer cliff face lay below. Everyone returned to the argument without skipping a beat.
“We all know Musk is an alien” accused Mark Zuckerberg. “He’s been trying to get home for years.”
“Is that right Dead Eyes?” Elon Musk responded. “I always knew there was something wrong with you. I didn’t think you were an alien though. Even aliens have souls.”
So far I had remained silent. I had come to sow discord between the rulers of earth. As the only clone to successfully infiltrate the meeting I had assumed it was a lost cause. This was going to be easier than expected.
|
It’s the nose. They never get the nose quite right. Billions of dollars poured into research and development of lenses that let you visibly detect shapeshifters are rendered pointless when the alien trying to hide itself looks like it just snorted two golf balls up its nose. I suppose someday they’ll figure it out and start shaping their faces into something that doesn’t scream “I’m a fake” worse than a digitally-recreated deceased-actor cheaply inserted into a film. When that day comes we’ll have to fall back on special lenses, DNA samplers, detection drones and cybernetic-patrol dogs.
But that day is not today. Hell, at the rate they’re progressing, it’s not even this decade. Today I’m showing Chavez UnitedStates Personsmith – good lord, can’t they even learn our naming conventions? – around his new job at the White House. A nice cushy little fake position to make him – it really, we haven’t figured out their gendering yet, but it looks and present like a male – feel like he’s infiltrating our government. Something to report back to his superiors about how our world “works.”
The hardest part about this job is not laughing. I can never break character or laugh at them. Half my job interview consisted of inappropriate jokes hurled at me while a room full of people laughed. I never thought a minor youtube channel specializing in pranks would land me a cushy professional career with a fat salary.
“Sno you snay the watering snysntem is how you snubdue the plant-life?” Chavez honks out at me through his golf-ball inflamed nostrils.
Ahh yes, a career I can never explain to anyone else out there. Not even my wife. I have a friend that works as a software engineer for a company specializing in resource planning software. Anytime he meets someone new and they ask the token, “so, what do you do?” he starts with an exaggerated, “Oh it’s tricky to describe my role, you see…” I want to scream at him, “No it’s not. You make software that’s a version of Microsoft clippy going, ‘it looks like you’re trying to perform a hostile takeover of a rival corporation, would you like some help with that?’” To explain my job I’d first have to explain that, yes, the illuminati is real, yes, aliens are real, and despite the fact that they can travel across the stars, they are dumb as bricks-of-shit. My job is to keep them in the dark by convincing them that the Cats and Dogs are real rulers of this planet and have enslaved humans. How else do you explain the fact that we work all day and they sleep all day? The animals superior brains and our useful opposable thumbs fit together quite nicely.
“The water controls are here. This dial controls the amount of water. You set these pins here to control how often the water sprays. Usually we have to spray it every day, otherwise the trees get mad and will uproot themselves and walk away.”
“Oh, yesn. And that would make the Overlordsn quite unhappy, no?”
I make a horrified expression and look wildly left and right in fear. “Shhh,” I hiss, “be very careful how you speak about the Canines. They could be listening from anywhere. Those that anger them must clean their droppings.”
“But I just thought to make them happy…”
“You thought? A true Canine-caretaker would know without thinking. It’s almost like you are new to the Canine caretaking. Are you hiding something?”
Chavez laughs deliberately and his eyelids flutter like a flag in a fierce wind – they still haven’t figured out humans don’t do that when they laugh. My goal here is to keep them in fear of the animals of this world. As long as they’re desperately watching them, they’ll be too confused to bother with the rest of us.
At the company picnic – I think that’s one fact that would surprise the average citizen: how seriously the Illuminati takes its yearly picnic – I’ve heard from some of the foreign field operatives that the shapeshifters have actually managed to successfully invade and conquer other alien worlds.
Watching this quivering mass of confusion in front of me, I can’t even imagine how pathetically idiotic the other races must have been.
“Of coursne, of coursne. I jusnt, uhh, well, thingsn were a bit different where I grew up.”
“Oh,” I laugh and flutter my eyelids to encourage his behavior, “you must have grown up with the Pug leaders. That makes perfect sense.”
“Yes! Yes! It was the Pugsn. I made them very happy.”
Inwardly I collapse with fatigue. This is like shooting fish in the barrell. Everyone hits a point in their career where they’re just putting in the time and it’s no longer meaningful or rewarding. It’s a good time to transfer somewhere else, but what else can I do? I either get another job in the Illuminati’s subterfuge division, or try to explain this five year gap in my resume to a civilian employer. Something that would be exceedingly difficult after the standard post-employment Illuminati memory wipe. I suppose I could always say I went on a meth bender.
After finishing up the tour of the sprinkler control systems I take Chavez to meet the token white house dog, Nessie – a black labrador that the president, oddly, hasn’t noticed yet. They shake hands, something that delights Chavez.
“Who’s a good boy?” I say as I affectionately rub Nessie’s muzzle. I do really like this dog, one of the perks working here since I can’t have any pets in my small D.C. apartment. “What’s that? You want Chavez to what? I agree. He totally should. Don’t you agree Chavez?”
Chavez panics and his knees knock together wildly. Poor devil, maybe I overdid it. The shapeshifters are operating under the belief that animals can communicate telepathically, something that is reinforced by how we bond and understand our pets. It holds off the invasion because until they can communicate telepathically, they can’t infiltrate the “true” leaders of this planet.
Chavez pathetically makes excuses about not understanding the thick accent of Nessie to the point it almost makes me feel sorry for him. Almost. Then I remember if we didn’t catch these guys early, they’d enslave our entire planet and convert it into an ore processing world to extract all the hydrogen from the moon and ship it back to their starships.
“Oh, haha, yeah he does tend to slur his words, doesn’t he? Nessie said he wants you to run around on all fours in the yard with him! My word. This is a huge honor. To be asked to shore the running-on-all-fours with great leader. You must be very special.”
Chavez beams with delight – which for shapeshifters is expressed by their hair standing straight up and turning yellow – and drops to all fours.
“By the way,” I call before Chavez scampers off, “You can have your dry-cleaning done by the laundry staff. Just talk to Greta on the second floor. Come find me when you’ve cleaned up.”
There is no Greta and Laundry is in the sub-basement. I just want the afternoon off and that’ll keep him busy while I hit the bar. I could use a good drink.
| 2018-12-15T09:51:09 | 2018-12-15T09:45:21 | 68 | 26 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.
|
I sighed, walking out of the bank with my entire 7.27 in hand. I already told my family, my job, my friends...
These sorts of things were common. A small amount was a signal of a short life to live, but even those were usually at least a hundred bucks! Enough to spend at a bar as I mourned my own death...but what could 7.27 get me?!
As I walked down the street, I considered my options. Food? A drink? I almost considered not spending it. Maybe I could prolong my life by not spending it.
I passed by a foodstall. One taco for 2$.
I looked at the money in my hand, considering...
I sigh. Fuck it, I was dead anyway. No point in delaying the inevitable. One cheap taco here and a 7-11 drink from down the road. There have been worse last meals. "One, please." I tell the vendor.
As my taco is being made, I feel a tug on my pants. I look down and see a kid, covered in mud and torn clothing. "Mister," she says. "Can you help please? I'm lost."
Ah...poor kid. "Do you know a number to call?"
"Yes." She answers. I give her my phone, opening up to the call button.
Doesn't particularly matter if she steals it. I'll be dead soon anyways, so I leave her to it as I take my taco. She's talking on the phone, her voice thin and reedy as she talks, close to tears and sitting on the sidewalk curb as she asks for 'Daddy' to come get her. Apparently she wandered away from her her mother and had been walking for about three hours on her own.
Three hours? Poor kid must be starving... I count the money remaining, and ask for one more taco and water. Lucky me, the entire 7.27 pays for two tacos and a bottle of water, plus tax.
I sit on the curb as she hangs up. Wordlessly, I trade her the phone for the taco, and sit with her as we wait, leaving her the cold water to drink. She sits close, using my larger body for shade. She looks sun burnt as hell, so I don't mind.
The police come roaring up with sirens and everything, and shuffle her away. "You the one who found her?" They ask as she talks to the officer, being led into the car.
"Indeed I was." I say, wiping my hands on a tissue paper. "She gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, the father sends his thanks." The police officer says. "Asking for you to be brought in too."
Me? "Why?" I ask.
"There was a reward offered. The girl was kidnapped by her deranged mother for the last two months, the father is a multi-millionare."
My stomach suddenly drops. "...No shit?"
The officer snorts, half laughing. "No shit. You're going to be a very rich person by the end of the day."
And so. I was. That one taco and phone call ended up profiting me about 700k. Sometimes the psychic cheque works out great in weird ways.
She and I are still friends. We go out for tacos every once in a while, she thinks of me like an older sibling and I'm her regular baby sitter.
|
"Hold on." Derrick Ross asked, incredulously. "You're telling me that my livable wages for the next-
god knows how long-is seven dollars and some change?" The way he stared at the teller just now said so much more than words alone.
"Yes, that's correct!" Sherry, the teller who'd been helping young Derrick, was oblivious to the man's evident displeasure. She wore her practiced smile with a graceful ease. In her mind she was doing the man a great service. She'd never think twice that the amount given to the recipient was in anyway less than what they deserved. After all, this was a figure calculated by none other than the Monetary Forensics and Predictions Department(MFPD as they were known) and they were never wrong. They knew, down to the last penny, just how much a person would need for the rest of their lives.
And, evidently, young Derrick was due a whopping $7.27 cents.
Sherry smiled at him, graciously handing him the check. Derrick all but screamed bloody murder at the woman.
"Okay, Sherry, level with me here for a second, will ya?" Derrick said, a notable vein bulging from his temple. Desperately, he tried to reign in his boiling anger. It was a quickly losing battle. "When was the last time you went out and bought yourself lunch?"
"Oh, just this afternoon!" She said, happy to answer.
"Okay. Okay. Good. What did you have if you don't me asking?"
"A chicken bowl over at Admiral Zhao's."
Derrick nodded, aware of the place she'd mention. Sarcastically, he added. "Oh man, great place right?"
"It's alright. A bit on the salty side, but a good deal for a quick meal." If Sherry had an idea what he was on about, she did not let show.
"Okay, I'll give you that. But that's besides the point. My point is, how much did that meal cost you?"
"Oh, I don't know," She mused for a moment, crinkling her button nose. "8 dollars, 9 maybe?"
That was all he needed to make his point. Derrick leapt on it. "See! You see what I'm trying to say here!"
Sherry with her big blue eyes, shot him perplexed look. "I- I'm sorry, sir. I don't seem to follow. And, if I might say, there's no need to be rude or angry."
Derrick threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Oh my lord, woman. Okay, here, let me spell this out for you. Your meal cost you 8 bucks, right?" Sherry nodded. "And *you* just gave *me* - seven dollars that's supposed to last me the rest of my life?" He was saying every word as slow and deliberate as possible. "Do you see what I'm getting at now! Do you now see why I'm angry?"
Not one to be yelled at, Sherry furrowed her brow. Still, ever the professional, she humored his question. "Hmm. Does your anger stem from chicken bowls perhaps? Is that what this is about?"
"No! No and a million times more, no! This- this just can't be happening." Derrick said more to himself than her. Dejected could only begin to describe this nauseating moment. Now seeing literal red, Derrick jumped to his feet.
"Sir, I need you to-" Whatever it was Sherry meant to say was quickly drowned out by Derrick's guttural roar.
"Now look here you insufferable, little hare-brained twit. I'm going to make this as easy as possible for you to understand, okay? This. Is. Not. About. A. CHICKEN. Bowl. This isn't about lunch. I'm not hungry, got it?" For a brief moment it finally appeared that she was turning the corner, grasping what he was actually saying." Good. I'm *angry*, Sherry, because the money you and your agency just gave me is equal to less than the amount that *your lunch* costs overall. Do you see what I'm saying here?"
"Ohhh. Okay, I think I get it. Listen I can spot you the extra dollar or two you need to buy yourself your own chicken bowl. In fact, I'd be happy to do this for you, sir." Sherry had the gall to smile her pearly whites at him.
For Derrick, that was his final straw. Words died on his lips. Instead he frothed. Literal foam frothing from his mouth. Unable to control himself, he lashed out in an unexpected fit of anger. A gaudy coffee mug, sitting at the far edge of Sherry's desk had been caught in the crossfire. Derrick had swatted the thing causing it to rocket off straight towards the wall behind the poor woman. The thing shattered to dozens of pieces.
Sherry screamed, Derrick was still in the midst of his fit. A few seconds later when he had slightly composed himself, Derrick saw what he'd just done. It was bad. Real bad. Mug shards were everywhere. A woman who had just been doing her job was now screaming in fear. Before long, the door to her office had burst open, a burly guard twice Derrick's size, sauntered right in. He was asking quick questions to which Sherry was all too happy to answer.
"He went psycho!" She screamed, frantically. "I gave him his check, then he started shouting at me over what I ate for lunch. Next thing I know, he swats the coffee mug off my desk and shattered it against my wall. And look!" She pointed to a thin gash forming at her forearm. "I'm bleeding now! This man assaulted me!"
Things were spiraling out of control too fast for Derrick to get a grasp of. So when his poor, addled brain had tried to reconcile the notion of a much bigger security guard putting him in cuffs, it simply could not.
"Wait-" Derrick croaked. "Now wait just a minute, I think there's been some sort of mistake here. If I could just-"
"I don't think so, pal. Assaulting a federal employee is a criminal offense. You'll be spending the rest of your life behind bars." The security guard wrenched Derrick towards the door. There was little he could to resist the gravitational pull of the bigger man.
As Derrick was being dragged off to who knows where, Sherry, in a last bit of defiance, shouted at him. "And just so you know, *sir*. That was my favorite coffee mug. My mom bought that for me. You can be sure that I'll be seeking out suitable reparations."
Suddenly, it hit him. Able to turn his head back towards Sherry, Derrick had to ask.
"Wait, how much is that mug even worth? Seven something dollars, maybe?" He dreaded the answer, but in his gut, Derrick felt that awful sinking feeling settle in.
"No," Sherry said, arms folded. "It's 6.99. *Plus tax*."
| 2019-04-24T14:52:39 | 2019-04-24T13:29:05 | 335 | 56 |
[WP] You're a villain who always has to save civilian's lives from the hero's recklessness. Sure you kidnap people, hold them hostage, even hurt them a bit, but you'd NEVER let someone die. The hero only seems to care about stopping you though, not actually protecting anyone.
|
I dash through the city streets, dodging rubble being flung at me from behind. Hot on my tail is Strongman, yet another of your run of the mill "stronger, smarter, faster" heroes. Well, maybe not smarter, with name like that...
Another rock whizzes by my head, missing be my mere inches. Definitely thrown strong enough to decapitate a normal human. All this over a few million that's not even his? Really? They let heroes get away with so much nowadays!
Luckily for me, his aim does not seem to be the best, or this could get a lot more difficult a lot faster.
I make a *hard* right on Main and Stateside at the last second, as his momentum makes it a struggle to follow me. Finally, I've lost him, even for just a moment so I can catch my breath...
At least, that's what I thought, until a car suddenly flies past me, into the side of the building. Cars!? Seriously!? The area is filled with civilians, what is he thinking!?
I turn around just in time to see another car flying towards me out of Strongman's hands. Just in time for me to dodge, not that it'd be necessary.
I would've continued my escape too, if it weren't for one small detail I'd barely spotted out of the corner of my eye. Movement. Some dumb kid is hiding behind the trashcan a few yards to my right. Any sensible person would run, but he's just sitting there shaking.
Strongman throws yet another car at me. What is it with this guy and cars? The rocks would've done just fine!
In a split second realization, I notice that the car isn't going for me. Sure, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and say he *meant* it for me, but it's not going to hit me. Not unless I let it. It *is*, however, going to hit that kid.
I may rob banks, but I don't stand for innocent kids being killed. Especially not in my name.
At the last second, almost deciding not to, I give up on the money. Dropping it on the ground, I rush behind the trash can and push the poor kid out of the way, just barely enough.
It all happens in slow motion for me, like usual. As I push him, there's a searing pain in my left side. The pain of getting hit with a truck at superhuman speeds. Which makes sense, considering that is exactly what's happening. I feel it tear through my body, shattering every one of my bones into dust and making the rest of me explode into gore accompanied by a red mist. Unfortunately, one that completely covers that stupid kid, probably scarring him for life.
And then there was nothing but black.
Until a few hours later, when I woke up in a nearby alleyway, still sore and broken, but at least all together in (mostly) one piece.
I grab some clothes out of a nearby dumpster (god, could you imagine being arrested for public nudity after all that?), and begin my long walk home. I manage to pick up a few bills blowing in the wind from earlier. A whopping $62.
I die saving a kid, and all I get for it is $62.
|
***Arbitration***
Detective Falcona shut her eyes tightly while rubbing her forehead, she could feel the beginnings of a stress headache bubbling in her brain. She slipped some scotch from her flask into her coffee. She wanted to hold the arbitration session between Horus the Hypnotist and the White Shinobi at Paul's Piano Bar, her local haunt and neutral ground in Star City. Too bad Shinobi never drank, didn't want to desecrate the temple of his body. Horus was only on step four of twelve, Falcona didn't want him falling off the wagon, or getting back on the wagon, whichever one it was, she could never remember. Her office the setting for this meeting.
Falcona banged her hand on her desk in lieu of a gavel. "Shut the fuck up you two so we can get back on track." She said sternly. Horus and Shinobi hadn't stopped bickering since they arrived. Falcona had never heard Shinobi talk so much, she didn't realize he could. "This is a monumental waste of my time so let's try and hash out this little dispute quickly, I don't want to miss happy hour. Horus explain to me what the problem is." She demanded.
"He's a fucking maniac who is trying to destroy me by slicing and dicing his way through all my associates, leaving me to pick up the pieces!" Horus yelled, directing it at Shinobi.
Shinobi's pale eyes were unwavering behind his snow white full face mask. "The tree of evil's roots spread far and wide, they must be severed without hesitation." Shinobi's voice carried an empty calm.
Horus threw his hands up in confusion. "Oh he's a fucking poet now! Did you recite a haiku to my associates before you hacked off their arm or leg?"
"I said nothing to them. Words are useless against those with evil hearts. The kiss of cold steel is the only language they understand." Shinobi stated.
Falcona banged her hand on the table again. "What associates are we speaking about? I ain't heard nothin about players in this town getting de-limbed."
Horus sighed. "Ninja boy has a crazy idea in his head that I hypnotized the dock workers union into taking a bum deal on the insistence of the Barino family. That they got screwed over, which is not the case! I ain't seen Jimmy Barino in years, honest. I only see a bunch of low level thugs of his when they come to me for hypnotherapy. Helps them sleep so when they close their eyes they don't see the flash of a katana and a spray of blood. Also help them deal with the phantom pains."
Falcona cocked her head towards Shinobi. "That true? You using your oversized ginsu to hack up Barino's boys? They ain't a threat no more, you know that, Shin." Nobody in Star City except for the Detective knew that Jimmy Barino actually worked for her.
"Weaklings seeking comfort after being bested in combat do not concern me. Those who wield weapons must always be prepared to be struck down. My katana thirsts for justice." Shinobi spoke proudly.
Horus shook his head. "Fuckin nutjob this guy. My entire schedule is screwed now! I give Jimmy's boys free treatment, I've had to work nights and weekends to fit them in around my actual, paying customers! I ain't got time to be doing anything dastardly, not anymore."
"Can't believe people actually pay for the services of a quack." Shinobi said.
"Now he's libeling me!" Horus shouted.
Falcona shook her head. "Libel is in writing, what he's doing is slander. Maybe brush up on your legal terminology if you're gonna throw it around willy-nilly." She scoffed.
"Who cares? I'm not a lawyer." Horus replied gruffly.
"Not with that attitude, weakling." Shinobi interrupted.
"You want to go, Ninja Boy? We can take this outside, I ain't afraid of your little pocket knife!" Horus shot up out of his chair, staring down at Shinobi. He calmly flicked the hand guard of his katana, a flash of light glinted off the polished steel. Another thunderous boom erupted from Falcona's desk.
"No fighting in my office! You're already in a police station, that'll reduce the amount of steps I gotta take to get both you booked on charges! Sit the fuck down Horus!" Falcona demanded. "Okay.....it seems that we are at an impasse. Luckily my wisdom is as deep as King Solomon's, my solution is both simple, yet elegant." Falcona rose from her comfy leather chair, she quickly moved around the desk, drawing Shinobi's katana from its scabbard. She handed it to Horus.
"Shin put your arm out. Horus, cut it off, then you'll both be even." She said flatly.
Horus grasped the gleaming katana, a surge of power flowed through his body. He dropped the katana, it stuck firmly into the floor. "Violence isn't the answer."
Falcona turned her gaze to Shinobi. "Shin would it make you satisfied if you got to punch Horus in the face?"
Without answering the White Shinobi cocked his fist back, slamming it against Horus's nose. Horus yelped in pain, tumbling back into his chair, blood beginning to drip from his nostrils. Shinobi retrieved his katana, returning it to the scabbard.
Falcona clapped once. "Well you both made your choices. How about you two stay out of each other's way for a little while, let things cool off. Time heals all wounds. Speaking of which, Horus go clean yourself up and get out of here, don't bleed on anything on your way out."
Horus mumbled something under unintelligable under his breath while grasping his nose. He exited the office quickly. Shinobi started to follow him, Falcona stopped him.
"Thanks for taking care of Barino's boys, couldn't send the message to him myself, conflict of interests, and for keeping Horus busy while I investigate his clients." Falcona shook hands with Shinobi.
"Our goals continue to align, Detective. One day we'll eradicate the evils that plague this rotten world."
"Yeah, about that. Gonna need you to tone it down on the wanton bloodshed, maybe take a finger or toe, not the whole hand or foot. I can't shield you from the DA with you doing outrageous crap like that. Tone it down, or I send you back to Happy Hallow, capiche?" She asked sternly.
Shinobi's mask hid on the fear on his face, Falcona could still see the fear in his eyes. Shinobi bowed to her. She bowed back, poorly. Her neck cracked as she bent over. When she got upright again Shinobi was gone. Falcona took a swig from her flask, good thing Shin wasn't a samurai, honor was a foreign concept on the mean streets of Star City.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles
| 2022-12-14T11:02:40 | 2022-12-14T10:59:24 | 41 | 14 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected.
|
Pearly white gates. Who knew the cliche was real?
I look down, my large hands aglow with some mysterious light. I am draped in white, the silk hugging loosely around muscles and tattoos.
"Alvin." I look up. Three towering figures stand behind the gates now. "Do you know why you are here?"
"I got run over by a truck."
"Well, yes, you did. But do you know why you are *here*?"
"In heaven?" I paused. I never imagined I'd end up in heaven. Thugs who cage fight for kicks aren't usually the most virtuous people—especially the undefeated ones. The ones with the most blood on their hands. "The life I led was decent enough, I suppose."
The gods turn in towards one another and whisper rapidly. Did I hear a snicker?
"Alvin, this is not heaven. This is the realm of the gods. No ordinary mortal would ever be allowed here, no matter how 'decent' his or her life was."
"Then how—"
"You are a god now."
"Me? A god? But why?"
The figures are silent. The center figure steps forward, stretching a frail hand down towards me.
I take the pickle jar from his grasp.
"We have been trying to open this jar of gourmet organic pickles for 754 years. Your strength on Earth was unparallelled. We need you, Alvin."
I grasp the lid of the jar and twist; it pops free with ease. The gates open.
|
I take a deep breath and look at the mirror one last time; everything needed to be perfect. My hair is pulled up with at least twenty bobby pins and cemented in place with two full cans of hairspray. I’m wearing my favorite dress; it is short and light purple with a sash. I’m wearing purple high heels to top the outfit off. It was time.
I go down the ancient hallway looking at all of the busts of former gods and goddesses. They all look majestic and wise, even the young ones. Would anyone respect me? Would I be able to fulfill my duties? Would I ever be able to measure up? These questions race through my head as I turn the door knob and enter the ceremony room.
My eyes squint from the bright light emanating from the grand chandelier. My vision adjusts and then I see my predecessors. They vary in body shapes and sizes but they all have a golden aura surrounding them. Their eyes are all golden and they smile in anticipation. The room bursts into applause and I blush; did I really deserve this? A man stands up; he is youthful with shoulder length smooth light brown hair and a vibrant smile. He is thin and limber unlike some of the others who are exploding with muscles and are two times my height. My mind races and I smile politely as he walks toward me; I’ve seen him before.
In the New Year’s parade, he rode in one of the grandest carriages. I was having a great night with friends, we had been shopping and exploring the city all day and so we decided to see the parade up close this year. It was amazing and we had a fantastic sight of all the carriages and the god standing before me today was in a white carriage pulled by three mighty stallions. Even though he was much farther away, I still recognized the beauty of his smile. It was strange but with all the people at the parade, he turned his head and looked directly at me and winked as if he knew exactly who I was and what I was destined to become.
He bows elegantly at me and I curtsy. He laughs, “You don’t need to curtsy. You are a goddess! Stand tall and mighty before your court!” he says powerfully. I stand tall as the room continues to clap and applaud. I remember hearing somewhere that when a mortal is crowned, thunder echoes throughout the land and I wonder if it is true. As I continue to smile and stand tall, the room begins to shake; the amount of gods clapping at once was too much even for an ancient structure such as this palace. I glance at the support beams and look at the thin god to my side. He is clapping as well and doesn’t seem to worry; Did they notice or were they just not concerned? The applause grows louder and louder until my head feels like it’s about to explode. I try to keep my smile but the noise hurts too much and I cover my ears. It still continues and I feel my legs shaking like they could give out at any minute. My eyes begin to tear and suddenly they begin to burn. The rest of my body begins to burn as well and it is the most painful sensation in my life. I try to shout for help but no one can hear me. I look at the ceiling and see an elegant mural overhead and then I feel everything stop at once. Although the room is still clapping, silence echoes throughout my ears and I feel as if I died.
I fall to the floor and my vision blurs. I awake to the noble smiling god directly in front of my face, “Sorry that was protocol” he says helping me up. A beautiful goddess stands before me with endless curves and perfection. She holds out a mirror and I see my reflection. My hair which was pinned neatly has fallen and is now down at my shoulders. My makeup has vanished and my face is pale. My eyes shine like gold and there seems to be a light radiating from my presence; I was a god. I smile and thank the goddess as she takes the mirror away.
The other gods begin to surround me but the thin one puts his arm around my waist protectively. “Welcome!” a tall and mighty one shouts in a triumphant voice that even the heavens could hear. “Thank you” I say quietly and shyly unaware of what was going to happen next. A round and jolly goddess begins to speak, “Arielle, you have been chosen to be a mortal goddess for the next thousand years! We are honored to have you rank among us!” I smile in awe praying that I won’t disappoint them. I feel a pulling at my side and look to the thin god. He smile and says, “We will mentor you, teach you, protect, and defend you at every turn.” I nod and wonder what I need to be protected from. The beautiful mirror goddess speaks next, “Your powers will come in time as you learn your responsibilities. For the time being, you must learn and prove that you are worthy.” I take a deep breath ready for a test of character. The thin god smiles, “You will start with chores and little jobs. Your first task as an incredible goddess is to retrieve us some coffee.” My smile drops and I look confused as they stare at me seriously. I nod and he hands me a list of chores that stretch down to the ground. “When will I actually get my powers?” I ask politely inspecting the list. He puts his arm around my shoulder and replies, “You look like a quick learner. Most likely within the next eight hundred years.”
| 2014-07-28T12:10:30 | 2014-07-28T08:43:48 | 228 | 110 |
[WP] Marriage vows are now a legal contract. The line "until death do you part" now has to be taken literally. As a result, divorcing couples must now fight to the death.
|
He eyed her suspiciously, over his toast. She hadn't made him breakfast in two months, and this week, while she began her new "exercises" in morning, it began to dawn on him that her moves were becoming more precise, deliberate, and quick. He began secretly taking karate classes after work, just in case.
|
When the law was passed i thought my day would never come, i loved her too much to feel that we'd ever have to divorce. I can't believe it has come to this, how did i go from having loved her so much to now consider killing her? I don't know but i can't stand this pain anymore. I feel like the weight of the world is upon me when i try to decide to file a divorce. I know our relationship is over, it can't go on like this, but i can't deny i still love her. How can they ask this of me?
I wonder if she feels the same. Guess i'll never know for sure, i'm too affraid of the answer she might give me. If it comes to it, i don't know if i can kill her, i don't have it in me. Maybe it's the time to visit a lawyer.
Fuck, the lawyer said there's no way out. From the way they wrote the law, i must kill her. I. Why should we take this vows literally? I mean, come on. It's just too much for me to handle at the moment, i need a drink.
I talked to Shauna today, she was angrier than normal. She stormed off, but when her head was a bit cooler we managed to talk for a bit. She promised to try to change, i want to believe her i really do. But i have no other choice, i need to give her this chance, i can't or rather won't kill her.
Things were really good after our fight last week, but things are way heavier then normal. Shauna's going out late at night, maybe she thinks i can't hear her. I just hope she isn't seeing Michael again.
It's been two weeks now, i'm pretty sure she's having an affair. I tried going to her ex's house to see if she was going there but i got no luck, it wasn't Michael, he even has a wife of his own now. But i must confront her, i'll do it tomorrow.
It took me three days to build up the courage, but i finally asked if she was having an affair. I cried for almost an hour, i even sprained my wrist from punching the wall in our kitchen. This gave me finally the emotional strength i needed to file for a divorce, our hearing is next monday.
Shauna cried in front of the judge, i had to hold back my tears. But when he asked me if i really wanted a divorce i said yes. The feeling is indescribable, i hadn't felt like this in months. The fight will be 1 year from now.
Our schedule in the arena is in 8 months, i can't die. I won't die. I've met the most wonderful women of my life. I need to kill Shauna. I must find that strength again.
Time flies, haven't talked to you in a while. Life was good in the last few months. Amanda's so nice and kind i lost track of time. Our schedule is due in 2 weeks, i need to this for Amanda.
Shauna came by today, we talked for hours. I don't know if i can do this anymore, i need to find a way out of this.
EUREKA! I think i found it! I need to talk to Shauna before the schedule tomorrow.
Shauna agreed, it was really expensive though. This might be the last time we talk, old friend.
I... I... I can't even describe what i'm feeling. Our plan was to Shauna give me a heart attack, wait for me to be declared dead and the medical team to revive me. It worked, i'm glad it worked. And it was considered legal too! But what i'm feeling isn't happiness, I mean, I'm glad my plan worked, but I feel sadness as I realized it was over. Because as my eyes closed, I couldn't feel that death was bringing us apart, in a way, it brought us closer then we ever were. My life was at her hands, and i trusted her, even after all that we went through. I could see it in her eyes that she felt the same. That we were now divorced, but our love, even in death, would not die.
| 2015-11-18T09:44:51 | 2015-11-18T08:35:47 | 52 | 20 |
[WP] Your middle school librarian has never failed on a book request. As a prank, you request a copy of the Necronomicon. Ten minutes later, the librarian returns, slightly scorched, ancient book in hand, saying, "Due back in 3 weeks."
|
I heard a rabid dog attacked him as a kid. That's why the left side of his face is so messed up." Mark flinched as his friend nudged him. "Look, I think you can see his brain leaking out!"
"You're an idiot, Tom. Everyone knows his family died in a car accident, which is why he acts so weird."
Harold glanced over at the whispers and plodded over, a wide-toothed grin plastered across his face. "Hullo, kids!" he blurted out at a volume entirely too loud for a library, though so usual it was that few patrons paid any mind.
"Hey Harold," Mark replied, forcing a smile. "Thanks again for finding that book on killer wasps last week. I don't know how you did it - the catalogs all said it was discontinued." Harold blushed slightly, beaming with pride. "Yessuh, that's why Mister Mockin gave me this job. He says I got a gift."
"Yeah, you're certainly blessed," snickered Tom, earning a sharp glance from his friend, though Harold only grinned and nodded. "Hey, I was hoping you could help me find a book for um, my Ancient Studies course. It's really important, and I haven't had any luck."
"Why, of course, Tommy Boy!" Harold exclaimed. "You just tell ol' Harold what you need, and I'll be on it like ants in a honey pot!"
"It's called *The Necronomicon*, and I just can't find it anywhere!" Mark jabbed his friend in the ribs. "Harold, don't listen to him, he's just..."
"Oh, I never say no to a friend, and you pumpkins are some of my best friends!" Harold shouted, wrapping his arms around the boys. "Now, you just wait right here, and let ol' Harold help you out." He was up and charging off before either could stop him.
"You're a dick, Tom. He's going to be chasing his tail for the rest of the day, and then feel horrible when he can't find your stupid book." Tom was laughing in earnest now, kicking his feet up and crossing his fingers smugly. "Don't be such a wet sock, Mark. It's funny. Besides, who knows, maybe he *will* find something."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Come on, man, it's getting late. You can finish that stupid paper tomorrow."
"I'm staying, Tom. I don't feel right about you did to Harold. It's been over two hours, and I haven't seen him anywhere."
"You're such a puss, Mark. I'm going to peace out then and...oh, look over there, your retarded boyfriend is back!"
Harold stood motionless, not twenty feet from where the boys sat. His eyes glowed with a soft, red hue and his posture was rigid as a board. After a moment, he began walking toward them, his movements cold and stiff. As he came closer, they noticed Harold's face was covered in soot, his hair had been largely singed off, and the right side of his face bore several deep scars.
"I have found the publication you requested," he intoned in a deep, mechanical voice, presenting a large, sealed tome. Skulls and bones seemed to dance on the face of it, sliding their movements along with the cover's deep brown grooves. "Are you...are you okay, Harold?" Mark asked, his voice wavering.
"I have seen many things," Harold replied. "Some of these things have made requests of me, and as you know, I never say no to a friend." Harold's face began to crack and a huge, contorted grin spread across it as he opened the tome to reveal a swirling black abyss within. "I have...such things to show you, boys."
|
"You know how crazy you sound, right?" Amanda laughed as her boyfriend, Troy looked intently out the front window of his beaten up white Honda Civic. Troy looked over to her annoyingly.
"I told you, you don't have to be here for this, but I know what I saw," Troy snapped back before returning his gaze to the front door of the library. The early morning sun had begun to creep its way over the horizon. Troy looked down to the car's clock and saw that it was almost seven o'clock. A red truck suddenly eased its way past the car and parked closely to the front entrance. An unassuming middle aged man who was slightly balding stumbled out of the truck and quickly tucked in his button down before briskly walking to the front doors of the library and unlocking them.
"That's the guy you've been talking about the last few weeks?" Amanda asked sarcastically. Troy had perked up in his chair.
"Yeah, that's him," Troy said excitedly as he stepped out of the car and jogged over to the front entrance leaving Amanda in the car by herself. She shook her head before also getting out of the car and walked after Troy. Troy swung the library door open quickly, nearly hitting his face on the door in the process, and quickly walked over to the front desk.
"Morning!" the man said gleefully as if he'd never met Troy before. Troy looked at him curiously.
"Uh, morning," Troy said. He pulled his backpack off and pulled a large leather bound book out with black edges and placed it on the desk.
"Ah, the Necronomicon! I remember you! How'd you like it? Nearly cost me an arm and a leg to get that for this library!" he said chuckling to himself.
"Right," Troy responded, now more confused than before. Three weeks prior he had asked for the mythical book as a lame joke. Ten minutes later this old man had come back covered in ash and scorched hair, acting as if nothing had happened, and handed Troy the book. It had still been warm to the touch. "It was, pretty good, I guess," Troy responded, not having actually read the thing.
"I'll make sure to put this right back," the librarian said as he typed something into his computer before putting the book on a cart behind him. Troy slowly backed away as the man simply smiled at him and returned to his work. Amanda came up behind Troy and touched his shoulder causing Troy to jump in surprise.
"Jesus, Troy," she laughed. "What's the matter with you lately?" she asked. Troy grabbed her arm and rushed over behind a tall shelf of books.
"Look, something weird's happening here that I can't really explain. I need to stay here for awhile," he said as he pulled the car keys from his pocket. "You can leave if you want and just pick me up later, okay?" Amanda rolled her brown eyes and smiled at Troy.
"You're crazy, you know that right?" she said still smiling. Troy shrugged his shoulders. "I'll stay," Amanda said. Troy smiled back at her and put the keys back into his jean pockets. He peaked through a crack in the books and stared at the man as he continued typing at his computer. "What're we looking for exactly?" Amanda whispered to Troy.
"I need to see where he puts that book," Troy responded. The man suddenly glanced up from his computer, scanned the empty library and walked back top the cart full of returned books. He picked up the Necronomicon and gently brushed his hand across the face of the book.
"Well that's creepy," Amanda whispered as she too was now looking through an opening on the shelves. Troy remained silent. The man looked up once again before walking swiftly to the back of the library.
"Let's go!" Troy whispered excitedly running out form behind the shelf and after the librarian. Amanda ran quickly after him. The two silently hid from shelf to shelf following the man who soon came up to an old wooden door. Troy swore he could hear the man whispering something. Troy and Amanda sat about twenty feet behind peaking around the corner of the shelf. The man suddenly looked behind him and Troy and Amanda sprung for cover to remain out of sight. The two held their breath as they waited to see if the man had saw them. The creaking of an opening door suddenly screeched across the library and it slammed shut a moment later. Troy rose quickly to his feet and ran down the hall to the door before standing in front of it.
"Where do you think it goes?" Amanda asked.
"Only one way to find out," Troy said and reached for the handle. Amanda grabbed his arm suddenly.
"Are you crazy, Troy? We can't just go in! It's probably restricted or something," she said nervously now.
"C'mon, Amanda. Where's your sense of adventure?" Troy asked. Amanda looked at him annoyingly but couldn't help cracking a smile as she stared at him.
"You're seriously crazy" she said to him and dropped his arm. Troy kissed her on the cheek and swung the door open. It was pitch black and he slowly stepped inside. Amanda, blushing, followed after him. She couldn't see a thing as the door suddenly swung shut behind her causing her to scream. She threw her hands immediately in front of her mouth. After a moment passed and she collected her thoughts she took a single step forward. "Troy?" she whispered.
"Here," a voice in front of her whispered back. Amanda felt his hand brush alongside her thigh and she quickly grabbed it and held it tightly. "Can't see a damn thing though," Troy said.
"Maybe there's a light-" the floor suddenly felt as if it disappeared from beneath the two and they fell quickly into the darkness. Amanda held onto Troy's hand tightly, screaming, as lights suddenly flashed all around the two. Troy pulled Amanda close to him and wrapped his arms around her.
"Hold on!" she thought she heard him scream but their voices had seemed to have been drowned out. The lights suddenly stopped flashing and the two landed in a pile of sand. It exploded around them. Silence surrounded them. Only their heaving breathing could be heard. Troy slowly looked up and saw a candle lit temple before him. Strange hieroglyphics decorated the walls as candle light flickered around him. He looked back and helped Amanda to her feet.
"What the hell?" Amanda whispered looking around the temple in awe. A sudden crack rang from behind the two and they both swung around quickly to see what caused the sound. The librarian, now with a black hood on, stood before them, still carrying the Necronomicon under his right arm. The three stood in silence staring at each other.
"You shouldn't have come here," the man suddenly spoke up.
Frightened, Amanda tried walking away yanking Troy's arm with her. "It's okay!" she said. "We were just heading back," Amanda tried walking away but the man grunted causing her to stop.
"Can't get out that way," he said plainly. Troy pulled away from Amanda and stared at the man.
"Where are we?" Troy asked the man. The man looked at Troy quizzically.
"No time to explain, but you have to come with me now before *he* finds you two," the man said sternly.
"He?" Troy asked but the man had already spun around and had begun to walk away. Troy looked over to a scared Amanda and held out his hand. She looked at it nervously, arms crossed, before sighing. She reached for Troy's hand and the two turned to follow after the man. A distant roar caused the two to freeze and look back at the empty, dimly lit temple. The two looked at each other, and then quickly ran after the man, disappearing into the darkness of the temple.
| 2016-09-08T21:22:39 | 2016-09-08T21:03:13 | 721 | 93 |
[WP] You wake up in a universe where everyone is ALWAYS super strong except you. You're saught after as a hero for delicate missions where precision and minimal structural damage is ideal.
|
It was with an absent-minded air that I jerked the fridge open and grabbed the peanut butter jar. Hefting it with a grunt over my shoulder, I grabbed a laughably large knife and dumped them next to the substantial box that contained the bread. The actions were familiar now, if bothersome.
The reinforced milk jug was a different dilemma. This required two hands and some dragging. Katie kept putting it on the third shelf, even though I had reminded her just yesterday that if she didn't want me wearing a dent into the floor I needed it on the bottom shelf. With a gasp and a wheeze I managed to park that on the table as well. Thank goodness the tables here were just as robust as the rest of everything. Back home I would have been worried for the poor fiberboard we like to use so much.
"Hey Katie?" I called towards the door.
"Yeah?" She sounded far away. Probably playing a game in the next room over.
"Could you make me a sandwich?"
There was an audible groan, from her and then the couch. She walked lightly for someone so strong. Strong leg muscles meant she could pad as quietly as a beetle.
She was the same size as me, if a bit wider. Her muscles seemed normal, now, after *wow had it been already* five years. They rippled and eased around each other as she strode over to the table.
"Aww, you already got the stuff out? Thanks!"
"Well, I mean" I fidgeted, "Even if I can't open the peanut butter at least I can pick it up?"
She grinned and popped open the jar with ease. The knife was light in her hand, but the bread was flattened under the force of her spreading. I grinned back.
"By the way, could you change the light bulb in the bathroom? They just shatter when I try to do it"
"No problem!" Such a small chore was just the sort of thing I excelled at. I spent much of my time handling things that couldn't withstand much force. In exchange for a sandwich the least I could do was change a light bulb. Besides, it might give me more spare parts to make a game controller so I could finally whup Katie's ass at Mario Monster Trucks.
|
Flowers of colored fire exploded across the night sky. Red, violet, and green – perfect in symmetry and luster. The imperial fireworks were more beautiful than Riza could’ve ever dreamt of. Still, they paled in comparison to the young man who just sat down across the table from her. This was their moment, yet something felt oddly amiss.
*****
*Three days ago…*
Riza rolled her eyes and stepped through the gates to her workplace. Thursdays were the worst because that meant new experiments. She was sure she’d have tinnitus by the age of thirty if she kept working here, and from the looks of it, that would be the case. Her only pleasure in life was stealing glances at the handsome assistant director. His name was Rowland. That was all she knew about him.
Riza was grade-a-nobody, working double shifts as a cleaning lady. Her days consisted of sweeping the floor outside the new ERGO Particle Collider. She sighed and leaned on the mop. The speeds of the moving parts down there were dizzying. She never stopped for more than a couple of seconds, though, and always made sure to wave at the surveillance camera to show that she wasn’t taking a long break.
Today she was running late – someone had managed to clog all the toilets on the seventh floor – and once she reached the catwalk with a view over the collider, it was hours past midnight. The piercing grinding noise went mostly unhindered by her cheap earplugs, and it would only get worse by time. Hurriedly, she pushed the bucket behind her and painted the floor in wide wet arcs with the mop. It felt like her eardrums were bleeding.
The floor shook, and the water spilled everywhere. Riza cursed and tried her best to mop it up. She was almost done. Almost. The floor shook again, and Riza lost her balance and tumbled the ground. Next thing she knew, she was bathing in soap water, and the glass cover of the collider was hailing down in a million pieces.
Sirens and alarms were going off. Lights were flashing red. She tried to move but cut her hand on a shard of broken glass. Then a white sheen surged out from the collider and Riza was left blinded.
At some point she must’ve passed out, she reckoned, because how else would she have ended up on a massive operation table made out of hardened titanium, with a crowd of people around her. Although, from the looks of it, these weren’t people. Their bulging biceps and broad necks, and the fact that they were all over nine feet tall suggested that they were giants.
She couldn’t understand what kind of strange place she had come to. Why was everyone so big and strong?
“You made it!” one of them thundered.
“Made what?” Riza said tiredly. “Where am I?”
The giants exchanged quick glances.
“You completed the mission,” the largest one said. “You… y-you made it!”
They all cheered again, stomping their feet so that the entire room shook. Riza couldn’t understand what was going on or how she’d ended up in this strange place. She touched her ears; they were still ringing from the loud noise of the collider.
“I don’t even know you…” she mumbled. “What’s happening?”
“Yes, you do,” a massive boulder of a woman said. “I trained you for six months, which wasn’t easy, by the way, considering your puny size and lack of muscle tissue.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“You were sent through the Glow Gate…” one of them said.
“You were chosen because you were the only one who could fit through.”
Riza shook her head. She didn’t remember any of that.
“Here drink this,” the woman said and produced a vial. “Maybe it’ll jog your memory.”
The concoction tasted like swamp water, and Riza grimaced as she swallowed it down. Soon the noise in her ears was dying down, and she was starting to recall tiny bits and pieces.
She had been a scientist because that was all she was good for in a world of super strength. She was the only person on the planet who wasn’t able to pull up a tree by its roots or lift a building. She looked at the gathering of heaving muscles in the room.
These men and women were her colleagues. She had been sent back through the Glow Gate to a time before everyone became powerful. Her objective had been to destroy the collider, to ensure certain scientific breakthroughs didn’t occur. Breakthroughs, which would endanger the continued survival of the power race.
She remembered it all. How she had hated not being able to do sports with her friends. And being so weak that nobody could ever touch her or love her. She had been destined to a life of hopeless solitude. That’s why she had taken the amnesia shot the day she went through the portal. She had planned on staying in that world and becoming the guardian of the collider. What had gone wrong?
*****
The celebration of Riza’s successful mission was going to last for a month. She looked up at the fireworks and then at the man sitting in front of her. She had gazed at him dreamily for years. How was he here now?
“Did you know I was the one who invented the amnesia shot? And, of course, the antidote.” Rowland said. “How does one give up the survival of their entire species for personal happiness? And what happiness at that; scrubbing floors…”
“I… um…”
“Did you know I realized quite fast that you weren’t from around my time? I had you on and off amnesia for years, while I grilled you for the secrets of the future. I never thought it would be possible to get here. But what is it that they say?”
“I don’t know…”
“You know what, *nevermind*. I’m not going to have a drawn out monolog like some dumb villain – I am a scientist after all. Here, Riza, just drink this and forget everything. I’ll enjoy the fruits of ‘your’ success for the both of us.”
Riza closed her eyes and swallowed. He was right, it was easier to forget.
*****
Subscribe to /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more stories.
| 2017-04-11T05:53:50 | 2017-04-11T05:35:23 | 241 | 33 |
[WP] Hell is the worst thing you could possibly imagine, but much to Satan's embarrassment, you don't have a particularly vivid imagination
|
"It never gets old introducing new people to my realm. Its more of a dynamic system than most people expect. They think its going to be large lakes of fire, darkness, and demons. For some that is how it goes, but not for most. Hell is perceived differently be everyone. I take their worst fears and nightmares and make them a reality for them. Thus there is no one else in their own little plot of hell, just them and fear."
"Uhh, why is it so gray?" said a voice nearby. Death spun around quickly from his monologue to his mirror.
"This is your final place of unrest!" Death boomed, approaching the boy, extending his arms to appear as menacing as possible. "Here you will spend a thousand lifetimes cowering, crying, and alone." Death was getting worried, usually the walls took on some setting, maybe a house where the incomer was beaten as a child, or the top of a remarkably tall building for someone with a fear of heights. Instead the walls, ground, and ceiling we all gray and bland.
They boy turned around and started walking to the wall. "I'm gonna smoke." He walked until he hit the wall and then sat down.
"Why are you afraid of the color gray boy?" Death asked, ignoring the idiotic decision of the boy.
"Where the door?"
Death picked the boy up by the neck and brought the boy to his face. "WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? YOU ARE IN THE WORST PLACE YOU CAN POSSIBLY IMAGINE. THERE IS ONLY FEAR AND MISERY HERE!"
"Yeah, but where cigarettes? The door."
Death was baffled. Never before had someone come to hell and been so airheaded. They all were at least a little afraid, but even after being as intimidating as possible Death realized that he was becoming closer to the pale gray of the walls instead of his usual pitch black.
"Who are you?" Death demanded. Never before had someone been so dim-witted as to not notice they were in hell. "What is your name?"
"Uhhm, Kevin"
|
He had never been a woman before, but in his field you had to be open minded. Comfort never got anyone anywhere. He took a look at himself in the mirror of the office. Old pain burned at the sight. Funny how the devil could hurt.
He looked out the mesh on the door. Louis sat in the waiting room. He was sweating though the AC was on.
*I've seen you before,* he thought. *You remind me of someone.*
He couldn't bring the rest forward, but he knew. Louis looked like a sad man. A hopeless man. Lucifer knew the type. He adjusted his hair and tried not to think where he saw this style before.
*That was so long ago...*
But time has a way of slipping, of rubberbanding back so that an old pain could be as fresh as a new cut. He opened the door.
The walls were grey and plain. Hell was in the victim and this hell was nothing compared to the eternities past. Of course that wasn't really true though. Each hell was the same intrinsicly. It all hurt equally. Lucifer walked to the waiting room and Louis trembled despite his sweat.
"Laura," he said and Lucifer got his name.
Give a man enough time and he'd hang himself.
"How are you darling?"
It came natural to him and that hurt.
"Laura where am I? Why am I here?"
"You've been a bad boy, Louis. That's why you're here."
Even the voice was haunting him. That sadness at the edge; the dominance that drew the line in the relationship.
*Is this your hell, Louis?* Lucifer thought. *Or is it mines?*
"No more games, Laura. Please no more. I love you."
He leaned into her. The perfume was subtle, a small flower to be shared with someone close. Lucifer felt the man near him. His desperation, hurt and fear mixed with the dry air.
He pulled away.
"Do you, Louis? Do you really?"
"I do! I really do. I just... I can't bear it when I see... When I see you with..."
The blood was in the water. He would be easy to hang.
"Oh, what's the harm in a little fun, darling?" he said.
Louis stared. The room was empty and the tile reflected the white light dully and undefined. This man lived in a box. He was simple, wasn't he? Lucifer wasn't sure what he felt. Had he a choice he would leave the man to his thoughts, but he knew his job and he had to do it well. There was suffering yet left on the table. He pushed harder.
"You're *so* boring," he said. "How can a girl just stay with you? I need to have my fun now and again."
Louis jerked. He was boiling. Just like that the air got colder and the AC hummed louder.
"I enjoy fucking other people once in a while."
He slapped her. Lucifer felt it as a ghost. He was hardly there in the moment but yet he was, he was in that moment a million millennia ago. He was on his knees like this man. Then he looked down and tried to focus.
Louis was crying.
"I gave you everything!" he screamed. "I gave you my life!"
He was hitting as hard as he could. Then he stopped when the pain in his fist grew too much. They were raw and hot and bleeding.
"I... I remember," he said.
He fell further and his face was on the floor. All strength left the man. Lucifer knew this was it. For many others it would take all sorts of creativity to get them to feel like this. To bring out that pure and naked suffering. This man was simple. He had no imagination. The room was enough.
"You remember how you beat me, don't you?" he said as Laura. "How you caught me having my fun and you hit me. Didn't you hit me, darling?"
"No, no, no."
"Yes! Oh yes you did. Didn't you beat me half to death? Didn't you..."
"No!"
"Didn't you kill me?"
He was sobbing. The tile was rough, its pores absorbing the moisture and tears. The light gave him a long shadow. Louis was curling and the cold hard floor hurt him but that was a secondary hurt. Everything was secondary to what he felt.
"I think that'll be the doctor's agenda for the rest of eternity, darling. Since you took all my patients, I'll have to work on you. I'll have to give you all my attention. And you know what the doctor prescibes, darling? I think you should have some of your own medicine."
"No..."
"Yes. I think you have to see me fucking all your friends... Then you can beat me everyday, darling. You can get it *all* out of your system... All out."
He was screaming as Lucifer left. In an hour it would all start again. Hell was simultaneous and he was everywhere at once; he did it all at once and felt their pain. This one hurt too much.
*Is this really your hell Louis? Or is this another of Your jokes?*
In the doctor's office he was alone. He looked up but there was only the ceiling. He was a man again and he relished the peace. Far away he was torturing some fool with needles. That was easy.
He stared at the lines in the ceiling.
"I really did love You, you know," he said, but no one was there.
"I never meant to do any harm.. I just..."
But was She listening? Or was he alone like Louis? In the office the table fan blew and turned and creak. He sighed and guessed the time. Soon he'd have to be Laura again. Soon he'd go and see Louis.
*I wonder if this was how You saw it.*
And then it was time. He had a job to do.
| 2017-07-18T07:22:15 | 2017-07-18T04:42:07 | 73 | 15 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
The immortals are crumbling like dry leaves.
I watch one as I leave Marge's Cafe with my usual paper cup of coffee. There is a woman standing on the opposite street corner in a trench coat, her hair sleek black, her face as faultless as fine china.
And all it takes is a harsh wind.
She falls away in tiny pieces. Her hands claw helplessly at her disintegrating belly with fingers whose flesh sloughes off in sheets like wet paper. She reaches for her face, but then that too clouds up into dust and is gone. Her scream starts and dies in her throat.
And just like that, she smacks down like a broken puppet. A near-instant death, and still it doesn't seem fast enough.
Her scream keeps echoing in the back of my mind. I think it will always be there, waiting for me, when the world grows quiet enough for me to hear her once more.
Like any decent human would, I stick around for EMS. I call and call, but I can't get through to 911. Someone happening by stops over the body, kicking up clouds of this woman's dust. The woman looks to be my age, one of the lost, one of the few humans left doomed to die.
She sighs through her teeth. "Bad luck, the lot of them."
I stare at her. "What do you mean?"
"Turns out us Lost will be last after all." She winks, like we share a kind of secret just by being born on the wrong side of the cut-off for immortality. As if there's any real camaraderie in our Lost Generation. "The immortals are all just... vanishing. It's on the news, dearie."
And then she keeps on walking, as though we were only chatting about the weather.
It's early still. The cool morning air is so placid and peaceful, her words impossible on a morning as bright and sunny as this. As if death could not happen under such a perfect blue sky.
I run to the car. It has been a while, since I ran. Decades, at least.
My wife still runs. She's always teasing me, calls me an old man as she pecks a good morning kiss to my lips. Slaps my aching knees and says, "That's your penance for being born too early."
And I always laugh at her and say, "Hey, I know I won't be the one dying alone." Half a joke, really. Always dancing around the inevitable and morbid reality: I would end, and she would keep on going. With any luck, it would be forever. We had both made our peace with that.
The radio is buzzing, mad. It's already all over the news. There's some scientist babbling about dew point, the relative wetness of the air.
"As the world gets hotter and hotter, and the air gets drier and drier, it appears that the cells lose their stability and their ability to maintain struc--"
I flip the radio off. And I drive like hell.
Panic drives me forward like a thing possessed. I throw my coffee out the window and veer through still-empty streets back to my home, where my wife should still be lying in bed, just about to roll up and face the dawn. She will open the window and listen to the birds convince her to rise and make a cup of tea.
In my mind, she looks as lovely as the day we married. She makes the deep ruts of my skin seem like valleys, but she still palms my cheeks in her hands and tells me every day, *I love you, Mr. Weston,* and I smile back and say, *I don't know why, Mrs. Weston.*
But when I get there, the window is shut. The bed is as empty as the rest of the house. I call and call and scream for her, but the house answers back with nothing but silence.
So I go to the bed where this morning she lay curled like a question mark beside me. I had kissed her shoulder and slipped out as soundlessly as an eighty-year-old-man wearing every weight of his age could hope.
I lift back the blanket.
There awaits me only bones and so much ash. I try to scoop her up in my palms but she is nothing but wind and air.
And I am suddenly, impossibly alone.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
|
Every year, I felt a little bit older than I should on my birthday. And each year, I shuffled into the Lost Generation clinic to see baby\-faced Dr. Sherwood to report the sensation.
“Ah Mr. Murray! The same thing every year! We’ve been talking about this for the last 10 years!” Dr. Sherwood laughed.
“And every year you look the same, but I get older,” I grumbled.
“You know I can’t go back in time and give you Renuxia. It just wasn’t safe for people over 26. Something about the telomeres at 26 caused the body to go into a hyperinflammatory, hyperaging state that caused rapidly fatal heart attacks,” Dr. Sherwood gazed off into the distance.
“Read that in the history books, did you?” I sneered.
“Now Mr. Murray, I may not have been around when they first started giving Renuxia, but I have been in practice for 20 years now. And I can assure you that the symptoms you are describing are completely consistent with the normal aging process. You have all of your faculties about you. Your memory is sharp as a tack!”
Dr. Sherwood paused, but I did not have anything to say.
“Becoming more fatigued and feeling like time is passing more slowly is consistent with the normal aging process. If it is interfering with your daily activities though, it could be an early sign of depression. I know your wife recently passed…” Dr. Sherwood gave a therapeutic pause.
“I miss her, but that’s normal after you’ve been with someone for over fifty years. I don’t feel depressed though. Promise.”
“Okay, well if you ever need anything for depression or just want to talk, you have my number,” Dr. Sherwood seemed satisfied with his extension of availability.
“I just cannot shake the feeling that the years are going by more slowly. Isn’t there some way to test that?”
Dr. Sherwood gave a bemused smile. “Mr. Murray, I’m afraid that’s quite out of my discipline. Perhaps you could phone a physicist? Anyway, it’s good to see you sir. Have Doris get your bloodwork before you go. See you back in 6 months!”
‘Maybe I will,’ I thought as I walked out of the office. My brother\-in\-law was still kicking and had been an aerospace engineer in an earlier life. Maybe he would know how to test my theory.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
“Hey Chuck, how you been?” I had not talked to him since the funeral.
“Not bad Rick. How you holding up?" Chuck answered over the video feed.
“Can’t complain. Getting old as you can see,” I grinned half\-heartedly.
“Look Chuck, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I just have to ask you a physics question. It’s been bugging me.”
Chuck was used to my dumb questions though he sometimes got tired of them I think.
“How could we tell if time was slowing down?” I asked, expecting a glare or an eye roll.
Chuck’s face tightened and he leaned forward into the video feed.
“I’m going to call you from a secure feed,” he said seriously.
The feed went blank.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
“Pardon my language Chuck, but just what the hell is going on?” I thought, realizing that Dr. Sherwood was probably wrong after all.
“You feel it too?” Chuck asked with cautious excitement.
“Of course I feel it. Every year it gets worse. This year it felt like my birthday took almost two years to get here.” I was underestimating a bit. The eighty\-four to eighty\-five transition felt like my entire childhood.
As if reading my thoughts, Chuck said, “That’s it? I would have said five years at least.”
Chuck’s eyes shifted nervously back and forth.
“Look, I’ve been trying to figure this out for a few years now. I thought I was crazy. I asked a bunch of people who took Renuxia and they don’t seem to feel it. But all the Lost Generation folks who are willing to answer the question – all of them agree that they’ve felt it.”
I stared blankly at the monitor.
“So I got an old NASA buddy to help check the atomic clocks. All of them are in sync. If you just look on Earth, time appears to be flowing normally.”
Just on Earth? My eyes widened.
“But if we compare satellite feeds to earth clocks, there is a clear time distortion as the satellite gets older. Voyager I says we’re almost 60 years behind.”
“That’s about how long it’s been since Renuxia was released,” I discovered aloud.
“Exactly. I just don’t know who to talk to. I’m afraid that if I talk to the parent company of Renuxia, they’ll squash the information and maybe me along with it. And if I bring it to Capitol Hill, well, they’re the ones that mandated Renuxia in the first place.”
“So what do we do?” I asked incredulously.
“Just give me a bit more time. There are some really interesting discoveries in the field of quantum theory that could explain this and maybe even figure out a way to reverse it.”
I hung up the phone without a goodbye. Secure feeds only stay secure for so long.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
After a restless sleep, I awoke to Margo barking.
“What’s wrong girl? You never bark!”
Margo began to whimper and paw at the front door. Must have to pee.
I opened the front door and Margo sprinted out the front gate.
“Damnit! Margo! Come back here!”
Before I realized it, I was out in the middle of the street, looking across a chaotic scene. Cars piled up, apparently abandoned after the accidents. Oddly – only a few of the wrecks had bodies in them. A few mangled Lost Generation corpses. But no Ageless Generation bodies as far as the eye could see. Had they all just gotten up and walked away? I didn’t remember Renuxia causing fast healing as a side effect.
Margo had stopped at one of the car wrecks and was whining. Inside was Chuck, apparently unconscious, but alive.
I ran up to the car. The accident seemed fairly minor, but an old\-timer like Chuck could have bled into his brain even from a minor trauma.
“Chuck! Chuck! Wake up!” I yelled.
Chuck’s eyes flitted and he turned his head.
“I had to tell you in person Rick. Looks like I chose the wrong time to be on the road.”
“Tell me what?”
“We figured it out. The Renuxia was creating a temporal dissociation. Everyone who took it was able to move through time without being affected by it. For the rest of us, time around us and within us proceeded as normal. The discrepancy created a temporal dissociation.”
“So what happened to everyone who took it?! They all just vanished?” I took another survey of the wrecked cars.
“Temporal correction. I knew it was coming, but I didn’t know it would happen this soon. It has only ever been theoretical in the past. Never had anything to produce it before.”
“Well we’re right fucked then aren’t we? Humanity is over! All the young folks are dead!” My heart was racing.
“Renuxia was later found to be most effective when given as a series. And that doesn’t start until age 5…” Chuck trailed off.
“Better start rounding up the kids.” I turned and walked toward the neighbor’s house where I could now hear a wan cry that had been drowned out previously by Margo’s barking.
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Edit: I'm so glad that so many people enjoyed this! And thank you for all of your comments. Constructive, thoughtful, interesting.
| 2018-06-04T21:14:04 | 2018-06-04T20:54:44 | 10,660 | 4,110 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet.
|
It had been 20 years.
Twenty years since he died. He remembered it vividly. A car accident in a main street that he just so happened to be on. The memory was fresh.
Anthony had woken up on this train, a red velvet cushion next to him on the matching seat with one note on it:
"Don't get off the train until the very last stop".
And he obeyed. For twenty years. People got on, people got off. Some appeared suddenly like he did, others boarded at stops. Most of them got off after a short while. They all had notes to tell them when to get off.
A couple of weeks ago, a woman suddenly appeared beside Anthony. She was sobbing, saying she didn't want to go. He had comforted her and learned her name was Marissa. She had died of a heart attack at forty, with a girlfriend and a child. She had gotten off after a week as her note had told her, and he missed her. During that week Marissa had been his closest friend.
Apparently her family had been prone to heart attacks. He felt sorry for her, and said he hoped she could find happiness when she got off the train.
Suddenly, the announcement blared, scaring him out of his thoughts. "This is the last stop," it said.
he looked up in shock. The last stop?
As the train screeched to a halt, he quickly got up. He nodded to the other passengers, most of whom had just got on and all of whom knew him as he walked with shaky legs towards the doors.
"Finally getting off, huh Tony?" The conducter smiled. Anthony nodded and was clapped on the back. "That's great. You've broken the record for longest train ride, that's for sure."
After a few more goodbyes, Anthony said he had to go.
he stepped off the train, sunlight blinding him for a second. What he saw was something shocking.
It was his house. He had been born in this town, moving out at five. All his childhood friends had been here. A tear ran down his cheek, then another and another.
He peeked in the window he knew was for the living room and there they were. His parents. They were waiting for him.
Anthony took a glance back at the train, which was leaving. A trail of smoke was left behind as he watched, but a few letters on the side of the pale golden train caught his eye.
He knew what train it was now.
It was the *Last Train Home.*
|
The only thing I remember is a kiss. Soft lips brushing my temple, warm breath on my skin, and the words _Until death do we suffer_.
I can't tell you how long it's been since I've been on this track. I was a child when I found myself here, and yesterday I discovered the first strands of gray growing out of that temple where the kiss still lingers. Twenty years? Thirty? The lines in my face do not tell me.
At first, I merely huddled in the back of the last train car, watching the world roll by, slowly deepening into darkness. The stations were strange monuments in barren fields, some lit up like heaven, others abandoned. At every stop, someone got on, or someone else got off, or nothing happened at all. The train would trundle to a pause, and the engines would die, and only the wind over the flat wasteland made any noise. Then the engines would chug...chug...._chug_ back to life, and I would watch the empty platform shrink away into nothing, remembering a kiss on my temple and feeling afraid.
It's been black outside for years now. I don't watch the landscape anymore. The things inside are what kill.
I had begun my journey the day the sun set forever, moving from the back of the last train car and into the locomotive world. There were people here who had been here longer than I have, all of them proud _survivors_. This place was a game to them, a hunting ground, a trial to cull the weak. I had to stay hidden, or I had to run fast, or else I would die.
Those from outside were full of madness, and I knew the madness was outside, and I feared it.
Some passengers flung themselves into it--more and more as I made my way to the front of the train. In my youth, from the back of the last car, watching from afar, I had seen them as exuberant departees. Now I saw them as they truly were, so desperate to escape the endless track that they would flee into something worse.
Some passengers had fallen asleep--or perhaps they had died, their lungs still scooping up oxygen but their hearts beating no drums--so I took from them what I could. Clothing. Food. One woman had a pistol, but there were no bullets.
And I--I crept alone. I passed every stop, fearing to get off. I felt that every step forward was a mistake, yet I knew, somewhere deep inside where things can never be expressed, that if I did not keep trying to reach the front of the train, I would end up just like the passengers who slept. Dead but breathing.
Dead but breathing.
The wheels thundered along the track beneath my feet as I crept through the train cars, my weapons in hand. I trained my ears on the sounds all around, the rattling windows and shrieking gears. Somewhere within the pandemonium, I would hear footsteps, and if I did, I would flee, or I would fight, or I would kill. The train stretched on forever, just like the tracks, and I did not spend a lifetime journeying for the first car just to die so far along. I would kill anyone who got in my way.
I am a survivor.
The first man to try was younger than me--fast and foolhardy. I left him with a grin carved into his throat. The next was older, smarter. She gave me a deep cut on my arm that would surely become a scar, but I smashed her head against a seat back and left her for the vultures. Those with the madness liked blood for blood's sake. They were not going anywhere. They were just enjoying the ride while they could. I despised them.
Then I saw a man step out of the shadows before me, swaying with the motion of the train. There were tears in his eyes, and the expression on his face chilled me to my core.
It was as blank and empty as the world outside.
Here was a man who had given up.
He lifted a pistol to eye level and pulled the trigger so fast that I barely had time to react. I ducked behind a seat just in time, my heart pounding in my ears faster than the wheels spun across the iron tracks. Most people killed for survival. Some killed for fun. But this man would kill just to stop others in their tracks. I feared him most of all. Sometimes I thought about joining the jump into madness whenever I came across men like this one.
But I had overcome them before, and I would do so again, as many times as I had to. I was going to reach the first train car. I was going to find answers. I was going to survive.
I dove out from behind my cover, hurling a blade as I went. It caught the man in the shoulder, and he lurched back with a shout. Rolling to my feet, I charged forward, whipping out my empty pistol and smashing it across his face like a club. Skin tore in long strips as his head wrenched about, and two chips of his teeth clicked against the train window. He spun as he went down, and I fell upon him with another knife, stabbing him everywhere I could reach.
When I was sure he was dead, I unsheathed my knife from his ribcage and picked up his gun. There were no more bullets. I hastily searched his pockets, and to my delight, I found four shells that fit my own gun.
I heard movement behind me, so I pocketed the shells, took my knife from his shoulder, and ran.
In the eternity of the train, the days never changed. One day, I'd see my reflection in the window, and my hair would be just over my eyes, and there'd be the first hint of a beard upon my chin. And another day, I'd look up and my hair would be long, my beard full, and I'd wonder where yesterday had gone.
But in every tomorrow, I put yesterday out of mind. There was only the next step forward. Somewhere, there was a beginning. There was an end. There was an answer. There was a kiss. And every day I survived, I crept just a little bit closer. I was the only moving cog in a sea of stagnation. I heard sobbing. I heard screaming. I heard the cackling cachinnation of falling apart. And sometimes I heard the train.
For the train never sleeps.
| 2020-07-17T13:59:57 | 2020-07-17T13:21:25 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Two swords of godly origin lay stuck in stone. One is said to be evil the other heroic it is said whoever pulls one of these blades will be the ultimate force of good or evil. As a joke you pull on both however you and everyone around are in shock when both blades come free in your grasp.
|
A silence fell across the townsfolk as I stood there, the silver sword in my left hand and the gold in my right. I made eye-contact with Jack, who was standing as wide-eyed as everyone else in the crowd.
'This joke was not worth the 2 silver pieces he gave me,' I thought to myself and grimaced. How was I supposed to explain this situation to mother?
I looked down at the weapons in hand, which were strangely warm to the touch. The swords were surprisingly light and extremely detailed. The craftsmanship was evident, with beautifully engraved archaic characters danced across the blades. It was obvious that these swords were trapped in the stone for quite some time, and their newly-exposed blades shone brilliantly in the afternoon sun.
The priest, clearly in shock, regained his composure and proclaimed:
"Rejoice! It has been countless millennia since this has occurred. But finally, FINALLY, today, our very own Adalet has been chosen as a new vessel!"
Woohoo... wait a second... did he just say 'vessel'?
"With this miracle," the priest continued, "we can ensure peace and fairness will spread across the land! No crime will be left unsolved, no evil doer will go unpunished!"
The swords continued to get warmer, and I could feel the heat coursing through my arms, slowly making it's way across my body. I tried to let go of the weapons, but my hands wouldn't budge, as if frozen in time.
"H-Hey! I can't let go of these! Help me!" I desperately cried to the priest. But he ignored me and continued with his proclamation.
"This will be an era of unprecedented prosperity! Our little village will grow ten-fold and with it, bring riches and wealth!"
The heat had spread across my whole body, and was so unbearable that I fell to my knees, my entire body searing with pain. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout in agony, but I could hardly even breathe.
I don't want this. I want to go back home with mother, father, Alexander. Spend the days making bets and dares with Jack. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? I don't to be some 'vessel,' some sort of freak.
My vision began to blur and everything started to grow dark. I felt the gold blade change shape, and before my vision faded to nothingness, I caught a glimpse of a newly formed golden scale clutched in my right hand.
As the pain finally started to subside, eyes devoid of sight and blind to the world, I heard the priest finish his speech:
"She, who is neither good nor evil, but simply righteous and fair. She, who judges the hearts of all who come before her. Hail to Lady Justice!"
|
A violent, rushing wind filled the plain, coming from all directions with a deafening roar. I backed away from the stone pillar with the two swords in hand and braced myself against the gale while those around me tumbled into the grass. A whirlwind colored with splashes of black and white appeared above the stone where the swords had lay. It took me a minute to notice the wind didn’t affect me as it did the others, and I relaxed as I watched the cyclone dance in front of me.
“What’s happening?” Shel cried from the ground.
“I don’t know!” I yelled back. All I could do was wait to see what would happen. The swords were heavy and seemed to hum as the wind continued to blow. They threatened to slip out of my hands, but I kept my grip firm.
Two spirits appeared In the midst of the battling colors, and as they took shape the winds abated. All of the black wind poured into the spirit on the left, while the white wind funneled into the spirit on the right. They were a little like ghosts with transparent bodies, but they looked like old men who were long overdue for greener pastures.
“Finally!” the black spirit shouted as it stretched newly formed arms.
“What a relief!” the other said as it twisted its back.
Then each looked to the other and gasped.
“*You!*” they both shouted with fingers pointed at the other.
“I thought you were dead!”
“I thought I was too, to be honest.”
“Hey!” I shouted at the two spirits, who seemed startled by my presence.
“Who’s this little fella?” the black spirit asked.
“Not sure,” said the white. “But look! He has our swords!”
“By the claws of Zathernel you’re right!”
They made a step toward me but could not appear to leave the stone.
“What’s this?” cried the white spirit.
“Are we in some sort of prison?”
“What have you done, little fella?”
“Give us those swords back.”
I felt a tug on my arms like the swords were striving to obey their commands, but I planted my feet and held them back.
“I’m not doing anything until you two tell me what’s going on.”
“Who are you talking to?” Shel asked. I looked behind me and realized that my party had gotten up from the ground and were brushing themselves off. All of five of us had come seeking the legendary swords of Good and Evil, hardly believing they were really here. There were too many stories about them to know how they really came to be. Of our group, I was the second to last to try pulling on the swords, though I was the only one who had tried pulling both at the same time. Only Ponto hadn’t yet the chance to try his luck.
“You mean you can’t see them?” I asked.
“No,” Shel said, sounding mystified. I could hear the disappointment in her voice that she had not been the one to pull a sword from the stone, let alone both.
“Can any of you see them?”
“Nope,” said Duriel.
“See who?” asked Nath.
Ponto merely shook his head.
I turned back to the spirits, who seemed caught up in some sort of argument.
“Well it was you who decided to leave in the first place.” The white spirit accused.
“And you didn’t have to follow me!” cried the black spirit.
They wrapped each other in their feeble arms and slowly wrestled themselves to the stone.
“Hey!” I shouted, but they continued their struggle.
“Hey!” I shouted louder, but to no avail.
“HEY!” I slammed the swords on the stone in frustration and they both stood up straight, as if at attention.
“Cursed swords,” the black spirit muttered.
“Not my fault,” spat the white.
“Someone needs to tell me who the hell you are and what’s going on.”
“We were just figuring that out ourselves,” the white said.
“We,” said the black, “are brothers Bog and Gob.
“Twins, actually,” said the white. “I’m Gob.”
“And I’m Bog,” said the black.
“It appears you’ve released us, though somewhat partially, from a heavenly curse,” said Gob.
“A quite unfair curse,” said Bog.
“You see, we were always fighting...” Gob said.
“As brothers do,” Bog interrupted.
“... and it was getting a little out of hand...” said Gob.
“Only a few small towns were destroyed.,” Bog interrupted.
“They were entire civilizations!” said Gob.
“Small detail. Anyway, it was getting us in trouble with the rest of the heavenly beings,” said Bog.
“So you admit it now,” said Gob
“Can we get on it with the story?” I was growing impatient with their bickering.
“So Bog decides to leave the heavens altogether and come down here a while.”
“Starting fresh.”
“And I try to stop him.”
“Worst idea ever.”
“And in the process we end up wounding the almighty god,”
“Who was not very pleased,”
“And we were both cast down here for who knows how long until you showed up.”
“So what happens if I give you your swords back?” I asked.
“Well,” said Bog. “I think we can all happily go our separate ways.”
“And if I keep them?”
“We’ll be enslaved to your will,” said Gob.
The thought of having these two around me for the rest of my life was a despairing thought on its own, let alone whatever trouble they may cause.
Explaining the situation to my party, we agreed the best thing to do would be to set the swords back in the stone.
“It sounds horrible,” Shel said.
“You’d be better off dead, I think,” said Duriel.
“It’s settled, then,” said Nath.
Ponto nodded in agreement.
I approached the stone and the two spirits looked at me inquisitively.
“What are you doing?” asked Gob.
“You’re not putting the swords back, are you?” asked Bog.
“I am.”
“That’s insufferable!” said Bog.
“Finally I agree with you,” said Gob.
But it was too late for the two bickering brothers. I set the swords back in their stone prison, and with a quick yelp the two spirits dissipated with a strong wind.
“Good riddance, “ I said at last, and turned to join the others. We began back from where we came when I realized we were one member short.
“Where’s Ponto?” I asked.
We all turned back toward the stone pillar, where he stood, gripping the two swords in his hands, ready to pull them out.
| 2020-07-27T03:24:19 | 2020-07-27T03:18:47 | 96 | 18 |
[WP] Ten years from now you'll put on a jacket and find a mask in the pocket. "Oh man, what a weird year that was," you'll chuckle to yourself. Then you'll pick up your machete and continue across the wasteland, keeping to the shadows to avoid the roving gangs of cannibal raiders.
Edit: I got this text as a cropped image without OP. I was informed that the OP is @CasualThursday on Twitter, so credit goes to them :)
Edit 2: Thanks for all the awards, I have never gotten any before. I wish you all a happy, healthy new year!
|
As I truged up the long driveway I felt the urge to break into a run. It had taken me 5, maybe 6, years to do it but I was finally back, finally home. Only home didn't look like home anymore, the garage and shed were both half collapsed, the trees lining the driveway were now mostly gone, and most notably, 3 sets of fences now stood between me and the house. It looked scarred and battle hardened, of course so was I, 2 revolutions and civil collapse will do that to people and things very easily.
At the gateway of the second fence a voice called out to me from somewhere near the top of the hill. "Freeze, state your business, leave, or get shot", it was my father's voice. Squinting to see through the permanent smoke and smog laden haze, I could make him out sitting in our upstairs window.
"Dad, it's me, Martin", I replied gleefully and threw up a hand to wave.
"I said freeze fucker, I'm looking at you through a 24 power and you sure don't look like Martin"
He's pointing a gun at his own son I thought in disbelief, it was understandable but still. "Yeah well there used to be trees on this driveway and a shed that wasn't collapsed, it's been a hard past few years", I shout back, "and put that gun down before you blow my head off". With that I started to climb over the gate.
The round smacked the post next to me with enough force that even the heavy gate rattled. "I said don't move, I don't recognize you and I am not dying because some goon knows my kids name". In the tense silence that followed I carefully slid off the gate so that I was behind it again, this was unbelievable, I had just hiked 100 miles and nearly gotten killed and this was my reception. Finally dad made up his mind, "leave that rifle there and you can come up to the next fence line, but make one bad move and you die, am I clear".
"As crystal father". Begrudgingly I remove the rifle from my shoulder, even though it was next to impossible for a thief to grab it out here my instinct to keep it safe and close at hand was very strong. Resting it on the gate I crawled over, being mindful to keep my hands away from my coat and waist. The 50 odd yards of ground separating these two fences were pot marked and scarred, clearly dad had more than a hunting rifle in the house. Carefully I traversed the no man's land and reached the next fence, this one ten feet high and made of cattle panels with barbed wire interlaced.
Placing my hands on a post I looked up at my father, he was still looking at me through a rifle scope. My patience was wearing thin fast, "you old bastard, can't you tell the face of your own flesh and blood, and for God sakes get a pair of binoculars."
I could feel my own heartbeat in the stillness that followed. Finally, an emotion laden voice replied, "Go get your rifle boy, and come on in"
"With pleasure".
|
I never imagined I'd finally get to feel like I was part of the military years after I'd gotten out. Something about that mask had brought back all the other memories, but the memory of that feeling is what I come back to.
There's not really a big back story to my service. I saw some stuff and got out. I didnt really enjoy it, or think much of the people over me. I still let them them make me believe things I'd done were dumb luck.
I let people roll their eyes at what I did open up about, after I got out, too. I got so good at not thinking or talking about what that part of my life was like, it actually felt like I was rediscovering firing a gun, the first few presses.
The way I pulled a trigger was what I focused on, to keep my body ahead of my mind, when the first of them charged into our neighborhood. They came from opposite sides, both streets leading to the center, where my house was one of two; a little brick house I'd recently inherited, when my Grandma passed.
My living room was full of dressers, boxes, and a huge bed frame, so I think luck and timing are really what bought me the time to get my lock-box open.
It's an old neighborhood, and even though a lot of my neighbors were (extremely) old rednecks with guns, or really big families, they didn't do much to stop the onslaught.
I heard the shooting before I met the cannibals, from my favorite neighbor: a sweet old lady, who would wave at me when I got high in my truck, some mornings. She always waved at me, and just generally made me feel like I was seen as a good person, when we'd chit-chat. I didnt get to her in time.
I killed my first three really quick, back to back. I had time to sight in on their foreheads, as they tried to scramble their way over my furniture I'd crammed into the house.
The lifetime total was five for me, at that point, but something about the last three not acting human anymore... It really helped me not fall apart right there, in general. So, I think that's a factor I should include in what I share today, too.
When I stepped outside, there was a lot more carnage than anything I'd left in the house, and it wasn't on the side we'd all hopefully be rooting for. That's when I had to start describing the way I pulled the trigger in my head, to keep functioning like I needed to.
"I pull my finger sharply and quickly, to the center of my palm, as fast as I can. Then, I let it relax." Over and over in this low, soothing voice, in my head.
One of the young guys straight across the street from me was screaming in ear piercing agony, as I stepped in front of a cannibal and timed when to line up my shot. I didnt notice when the screaming stopped, because my mantra was on loop. But, once I shot my way to the drive way, I saw his legs spasming on their lawn everyone liked; the first cannibal I got a good, clear look at, digging into his esophagus like a chicken wing.
Up the street people are being gnawed on in the middle of their drive ways. Old men are getting the barrels of their guns snatched away, before they're swarmed, they're bullets firing pointlessly into the sky as they finally let the fear in. There was no one to save, and I kept describing how I pulled the trigger over that, too.
I half walked, half lunged over to the cannibal eating across from me, and fired into the back of her head. Then, the other two members of the house, a nineteen year old girl and her (thankfully) big-truck-driving boyfriend, promptly opened their garage door, and started running over everything dumb enough to be in the road. Thankfully, they aren't as cunning when they're fresh.
There'd been cases of this, but no large scale news network ever informed the populace, for some reason. Initially it was being reported in countries that were known to practice heavy information control, and everyone had seen so much finger pointing, with Covid, already. From there, it popped up in America and Europe, and spread harder in both of them than any other country would ever report, going forward. Eventually it became the center of attention, but it had such a lucky start.
The usual culprits would get blamed. Things would get worse. Like usual, nothing would get done about it.
What really set us up for failure was in fact Covid, though. This greedy, imperfect world has survived plenty of apocalypse equivalents, you know? We have to at least give it that.
The issue this time, however, was that on top of people not believing in a "Miami Zombie" virus, the world as a global entity had already drained the piggy bank, to understand and fight Covid. What's more, the lingering emphasize on social distancing meant many of the people honoring protocols were sitting ducks in their homes, when the biggest cities became infested over 72 hours, by the strain that basically wiped out America.
There wasn't anyway to set up a new military branch or anything. Again, the whole world was, ironically, broke. There were, however, movements in communities. I think militia is a dumb word for it, though. Some were like gangs, some were war vets and rifle connoisseurs, others identified as "civic activists who oppose but currently must utilize firearms." All of them were the reason a lot of scared people didn't die.
The military helped, but, overall they also messed a lot up. Eventually the outer coasts developed their own loose military structures, and we finally did away with the National Guard, once too many of its members got comfortable harassing and extorting civilians.
This balaclava mask in my hand reminds me of the pride I felt when I enlisted as a Waste Walker. It reminds me of discovering my strength is real, no matter what I let others make me believe before I realized that. The Twin Coasts are not as grandiose and decadent as America. But, I've never felt this much authenticity to my existence, or value, as an American.
No one has caught the virus in months, and a few million are apparently alive. The cannibals have mutated again. They don't seem to starve to death now, but they still endlessly crave flesh. Nomadic bands of them sometimes approach our territories, and are easy enough to pick off, but a city on the move could still wipe us out. It's amazing how much we have all accepted one another, in the face of such possibilities.
We finally figured out how to synergize our diversity as many peoples, and no matter what we all believe individually, we'll die to protect each other. We'll fight to expand our territory for a healthy, thriving population.
Maybe this new nation will hurt my hopes for it one day, and I'll be back to my bitter old self. But, right now, I feel like a hero. And I love that I'm actually being given a real chance to become one.
| 2022-02-27T07:41:57 | 2020-12-27T18:00:00 | 119 | 12 |
[WP] Your elven girlfriend broke up with you a long time ago to avoid the heartbreak of outliving you, a human. Now, years later, a half-elf who looks a lot like her shows up at your door.
|
I can feel Barinzeth's focus drift to me for a moment. His attention burns at the back of my mind like the heat of His forge. I haven't seen my patron god in ages, but there's this vague sense of being laughed at. *If this was something dangerous, Bari would've warned me... right?* I take a deep breath and open the door.
And immediately lose that breath. She's here, Like most elves, the centuries have been kind to her. I'm acutely aware of my mechanized arm, hidden behind the door, and hear the Clockwork Soul keeping my heart ticking. But it's worth it. The pain, the burns, the man-child-god drunkenly laughing at my creations till my face burned like a welding torch, it's all worth it to live long enough see her again. Only her hair's the wrong color. Muddier than the stark yellow she had before. And she's shorter. And her ears aren't as pointed or pierced along the helix. But she's wearing my necklace, still. The claw pendant I made for her from the bear I struck down on her father's farm. Bari blesses me, probably out of pity, and I put everything together far quicker than I should've. She's not my Velatha, but she could be mine in a deeper sense. I feel a weird mixture of dread and joy.
"Matthew of the Clocktower? Matthew Izban?" She speaks without the upper lingo accent of High Elves. My heart breaks again. Did they kick Velatha out of the family?
"Yes. Am I your father?" She looks stunned. And then a little mad. Like she wanted to stun me with the information. *Yep, She's Vel's.*
"Possibly. My name is Baerinda. Velatha's daughter."
"I can tell," I laugh and step aside, inviting her into my lair. "How old are you, Baerinda?"
"147. Or 15 in human years." She's a good kid. She's keeping calm, despite the weirdness of the situation. I wonder how often she rehearsed a speech to the owl automaton outside. If she feels hurt that I've robbed her of the chance for a big reveal. "Or 105 in dog years."
"Which would be pretty soon after our bre-- She still holding that dog years thing against me?"
"Yes," She remains in the doorway, eyes locked to my arm. I show off, pouring some magic into the runes, making them shift through the color spectrum. She's captivated for a moment, but her stomach growls and her cheeks flush.
"I've got ice cream," I turn from the door and start moving toward the kitchen. She doesn't move. "Mint chocolate chip. Your mother's favorite."
I don't hear the girl move, but she's there, in step with me, looking around my living room at my latest creations. Pygmy gearwork dragons that move like the real thing, spitting flash paper fireballs at one another as they zip around the room. One lands on her shoulder, emerald, rune etched eyes staring into her lavender orbs before chittering like a bird and chasing its siblings. I send a mental command to my kitchen and have my butler ready two bowls of ice cream. Her eyes drift back to the arm. I step into the kitchen and grab the bowls, swatting away a curious pygmy spark-belcher.
"I did it for her. The magic, the arm, the... well, everything. Telling myself I'd see her again. Tell her what I did and that we can be together and start that family we dreamed of. Then I realized how unhealthy that is." It's the first time I've told someone mortal that. I can feel Bari patting my shoulder, in my head. It's weird. I find her sitting on the couch, examining the dragons as they land on her, and place the bowl in her lap. "But, you're here. So, over a *real* lunch, we can talk about whatever you want, and I'l--"
"Mom's gone missing. I need your help." I feel my heart break all over again. A million questions flood my mind, but my mouth moves automatically.
"Tell me everything. ...And then tell me if you have any food allergies. I feel like we won't want to go out to eat after this conversation, so we'll phone something in."
|
There was a rustling on the other side of the door, and the sound of clay being moved onto the stone.se. I'm not so foolish as to fall for it specter!"
He shakes the thought from your mind, it's been 2 years, and although she's probably still having trouble moving on doesn't mean you should too. He had to move on, she told him that time and again when he would get caught up in something small.
He shook his head, he wouldn't fall down *that* rabbit hole either. He quickly walks to the door before another errant memory can worm its way in. A quick jaunt into the foyer and he opens the door. A familiar scent of vanilla and honeysuckle meets him, and for a moment he is lost in what feels like a dream. There at the door is Fae, as bright and sunny as he last saw her during his ventures to the Weir Wild.
"Will."
She said it so calmly, but it felt like he had just had his heart wrenched from its veins and arteries and laid bare for the world to see, catching briefly on its way out his throat as he struggled to catch his breath. He felt it all rush back again, all the emotions of their 2-year stint together in those idyllic forests. Before he could even think she leaned forward a bit towards the doorway head tilted to the side just so, as her golden hair fell down over her amber eyes.
He slammed the door in her face and quickly slid down against the hard wood frame.
He heard the soft click of the lock as the mechanism sprung itself free and the door opened. A now more concern-ridden face stared down at him as he slowly crawled away. She hadn't mentioned anything like this happening. Then the specter of Faerill
He slammed the door in her face and quickly slid down against the hardwood frame. worked for her. Pinched himself a few times, thinking it wasn't hard enough when he didn't feel himself wake. He stopped just short of actually harming himself when he could feel a bruise forming on his cheek, so he moved on to the method.
The knocking began again as he started chanting trying to remember the pneumonic she said could wake the dead. "Will? Dear? Are you ok?"
Chants weren't working. He steadied himself, the last thing she mentioned. Forcing the spirit to speak true. In the realm of the mind the spirits know all and she always said it was a matter of getting them to slip up. They were deceivers by nature, so emitting a truth to the human mind they were infesting would normally shake them out of it and send the spirit packing.
"You are a spirit. A nightmare maybe, or this could all be a dream. She couldn't come here." His voice was shaking from the rush of emotions, but he held firm on his intent. "How are you here?"
"Will. Please open the door."
"No! You thought you were so clever, but she told me if I let you in, than you can do as you please. I'm not so foolish as to fall for it specter!"
There was a moment of silence on the other side of the door. He had her, all he had to do now was--
There was a rustling on the other side of the door, and the sound of clay being moved onto stone.
"And did I say anything at the time about them using the keys you keep under your potted plants?"
He heard the soft click of the lock as the mechanism sprung itself free and the door opened. A now more concern-ridden face stared down at him as he slowly crawled away. She hadn't mentioned anything like this happening. Then the specter of Faerill walked over the threshold.
His mind emptied as everything he thought he knew collapsed. If she walked into the threshold then she wasn't a specter. But she couldn't be Faerill, he knew that well enough. And if not her, perhaps a doppler or a mimic of some kind? That might work, but he could sense such disguises, only specters fall through the gaps. Faerill moved closer.
She bent down and reached a hand out to him. He closed his eyes and braced, ready for whatever may come, but was caught off guard when her hand caressed his cheek tenderly. He fought to hold back the tears as he remembered the feeling. He didn't know what was happening anymore, but he was just waiting for the punchline to this cruel joke to play out. She pulled him close and whispered to him softly.
"I-I don't understand-tand."."
"You can't be real. You can't."
"... Do you remember what I told you? After we noticed them growing in?" She felt a hand up to his head, and found two small horn nubs, shaved down from their beginnings years ago.
"Humans can't remain in the Weir Wild for long, or else they start to change."
"That's right, you had to leave or else you wouldn't be you anymore. Just a beast of the Wild."
"You said it was better for me to leave, because at least then you would face heartache only once."
She said nothing, letting him speak as he clenched his eyes harder, trying to resist the tears forming.
She stood slowly, making sure to bring the now crying William up with her, gentle so as to not shock him further. She looked around quickly, taking in the area for the first time, and seeing the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall. A moment later and they were at the table, sitting side by side as she held his hand and he tried to come to terms with the confusion of it all.
After what felt like an eternity in only a few breaths, Will spoke first.
"You had to force me to leave... because you couldn't come with. Humans belong on Terra, and elves to the Wilds. You would die if you came here. It was better for everyone if--"
She interjected, "Not for me."
There was a note of the fierceness he recalled, the so called Master of the Hunt, head to the Order of Barbs, as sharp as her blade and as quick as her arrows. He couldn't help it, this was a woman who commanded others' attention, and she had his rapt attention.
"I'm sorry, Will, I never should have let you go. Not like that."
"That's right, and that's exactly why... I'm not an elf anymore."
Will turned his head to look at her, *really* look at her, and he for the first time saw her shorter ears, more pixie-like, puckish and rounded at the end of a weaker point than they had been previously.
"I never stopped thinking about it, you know? Your promise to marry me. Every day when you were gone I was stuck thinking about it. For the first time in my life, I think I finally understood how time feels for you. Each day was endless, and yet it all happened so fast."
He squeezed her hand a bit, as even the tough as nails huntress looked close to tears remembering it. She gave a gentle squeeze back and looked at him.
"It was torture. So I did what any self-respecting hunter would, and I searched for what I needed. I talked to mages, mystics, spirits, anyone that might know of a way. Finally, I came to something ancient, had been in the Wilds longer than any of us elves had. It said that it had a solution, but it came with a price."
William stood up, fear rolling across him. "Please tell me you didn't."
She stood up took his hands. "I gave up a part of myself. I'm no longer going to live to be a thousand like my mother before me. I'm only a *half-*elf now."
Williams sorrow was gone, and replaced with a deep hollow feeling, as he realized just how much she was giving up.
He squeezed her hand a bit, as even the tough-as-nails huntress looked close to tears remembering it. She gave a gentle squeeze back and looked at him. "A life that long wasn't worth it without you, love."
She pulled him into a hug, and for a moment the two of them just embraced.
As he pulled away, he asked, "So, what now?"
She looked around for a moment and asked, "I don't know about you, but I could use some breakfast."
| 2022-01-10T17:53:58 | 2022-01-10T17:53:39 | 123 | 53 |
[WP] As the culmination of their long, worldwide effort, the doomsday cult finally managed to summon the god of destruction that will cleanse the world of the.... uhh.... is that the correct god? Doesn't seem all that doomsday-y.
|
“… Mr. Clean?”
One of the cultists spoke into the silence.
The shining man sighed, and made a brief wave. The offending cultist incinerated in a brief flash, dust settling into a small pile. The mob of cultists parted around the place where a cultist had once stood.
The shining man minced over to the pile, which he briefly swept into a dustpan which disappeared after use. He turned to the place where the head cultist, resplendent in red robes, lay prostrate and trembling.
“Oh, get up.” His voice rose with impatience. “Mr. Clean was my prophet, sent to help you find the joy of cleanliness. But humanity has continued in its slovenly ways.”
The shining man’s bleach white eyebrows lowered as his eyes narrowed.
“Mr. Clean is no more. Call me…. Mr. Cleanse.”
|
Tavalis had long been watching a doomsday cult on Earth. They amused him, and he had even answered some of their prayers in the past, if not exactly as they imagined, in his own way they were answered.
Tavalis could not recall exactly how long this group had been at their scheming, planning, and rituals, but it had seemingly been several generations of these beings that had come and gone. Their ranks had grown considerably since the beginning of this group, and a few well timed and well placed nudges to show they were sort of on to something gathered more. After all that time, they have reached critical mass to start drawing attention from greater deities, and Tavalis was not interested in that happening.
Tonight was their big ritual to summon Tavalis, and he will be making an appearance. He went and picked up a new tuxedo, had his lengthy unkempt hair cut, and his long flowing beard and mustache trimmed for this special occasion.
As the ritual began to draw to a close, the cult leader who called himself Leonras, said the final phrasing. Tavalis made the grandest entrance he could possibly imagine, and a ball of smoke poofed into existence and dissipated as Tavalis appeared.
Tavalis expected great applause and cheers, yet he arrived to silence and stares.
After a moment that lasted seemingly for eternity, one being stepped forward and looked Tavalis up and down.
"Are...are you...Cthulu? We were expecting Cthulu..."
"I have never met Cthulu...I am Tavalis...the God you have prayed to since you began praying, and the God who has answered your prayers!"
"Oh! Oh! So, that was *you* that put a family of bunnies in my neighbor's yard when I prayed for a plague to cause a famine?"
"Yes, *that* was indeed me...they destroyed that garden did they not?!"
"Aye, they did! When you helped little Johnny walk again, but he sprouted a tail, that was you?"
"Yes, indeed, that was *also* me...he can walk better than any being on this planet, can he not?"
"Aye, he can!"
"So, beings that summoned me, I ask you what purpose you have in bringing me here today?"
"Well, we were kind of tired of all the stuff that was going on, and getting the shitty end of the deal all the time, we were kind of hoping you could just...like...wipe all the shitty people out and start over...is...is that...like...a thing...or no?"
"Wait, so, let me make sure I have this down...you want me to kill a bunch of beings over petty grudges you hold against them, whether those grudges are real, or simply perceived?"
"Ye-Yes...that...sounds about right."
"Hmm...I was not anticipating this request if I am being completely honest. Give me a moment to think about this. So, you want me to spread misery, hate, and destruction to the rest of the world, basically?"
"*Yes*"
"I have an idea!"
Tavalis began meditating and chanting, his head tilted back and he began to float in the air a few feet off the ground as his words filled the room.
Suddenly, Tavalis stopped chanting and his eyes opened, then there was a loud thunderclap outside, and a bolt of lightning lit the sky as if it were broad daylight. Suddenly torrential rain began falling across the Earth.
"Uh...so, like a mass of Hurricanes or a terrible flood is coming?"
"I have no idea about that, you said to spread misery, hate, and destruction to the entire world, right?"
"Ye-Yes..."
"Well, no one is more miserable than when it has rained for days, people trapped indoors hate each other after a few days, and rain can be pretty destructive in the right conditions!"
"So...so...your solution is to end droughts all over the planet and make people stay indoors for days?"
"Well, I mean...40 days and 40 nights worked for Yahweh...I figured it was worth a shot..."
"Ah, I see...okay...so...should we build an ark and wait like Noah?"
"You know, that's good...yes...do that!"
"Oh! Okay!"
With that, Tavalis disappeared in a puff of smoke.
The cult then labored, in the rain, and they managed to build an Ark that could hold the 30 people they had in the cult, along with their cats and dogs. They erected it outside their meeting place and waited...and waited...and waited...after 40 days and 40 nights, the rain stopped...
| 2022-06-13T08:56:28 | 2022-06-13T08:27:15 | 31 | 23 |
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
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"I don't get it! Your DNA just goes C, C, C *over and over again*! I've done it again, and I've done it again! I've made Mathew do it, I've sent it off to *China* to be done again. By all rights you should be a pile of sludge on the ground" He leaned in so that I could feel his hot breath on my face "*What are you*?"
I had sent them in samples a few weeks ago, and had received a bizarre reply moments later from an intern at HelixIO telling me they couldn't sequence non-human DNA, but I assumed they had made an error, so I sent another one in. This happened a few times, but it had obviously caught the eye of a superior, because the replies had stopped, and then I had received a neat letter in the post, asking me to get on the train to London at once.
"*And I'll be damned if I don't find out*" He said, a long thin smile spreading across his face as he picked up a scalpel.
|
My parents just sat there on the couch together, staring at the printout I had given them late that afternoon.
"What does it mean?" I demanded. For the past hour, my mind had been racing, trying to make sense of the words on the paper. "ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES". The uppercase printing of the computer-generated response served only to make the message more surreal. More frightening...
Now, in our living room, I had finally worked up the courage to give them the results, and to demand an explanation from them.
"Sweetheart," my mother replied, in a condescending voice that had, in years past, soothed my toddler fears and calmed my early teenage anxieties, but now served only to give me a proverbial chill down my spine. "Sweetheart," she repeated, "we had hoped to spare you from this. You know that we have always tried to do what's best for you." My father nodded approvingly as she continued. "We have devoted ourselves completely to making sure that you and your sisters led normal, healthy lives. Why did you have to go digging around like this?"
"ME?" I yelled. "ME? You're blaming ME for this?" I was shouting so loud that my parents looked nervously at each other, no doubt concerned that the Langstroms next door could hear me.
"Of course not, dear," she replied, again in an unnerving sweet voice that was really starting to give me the heebie-jeebies. "I only mean that we have tried to shelter you from certain... um..."
"Uncomfortable," my father said quietly without looking up at me. He was now holding the paper, looking down toward it but his eyes seemingly focusing somewhere past it.
"...uncomfortable realities that don't... that shouldn't have had any impact on your lives," she said. "I just don't see why you had to upset the apple cart this way. But never mind. What's done is done."
"Gary," my father said after a pause, "as you have already figured out, you, Brandi and Lacy are not really our children. I mean, you're our children in that we've poured our lives into you, loved you, and cared for you the best we know how..."
He continued on for several minutes, but I cannot even recall what he said exactly. My mind was coming to grips with the fact that we, my two sisters and I, were not the children of the people who had raised us. We had been deceived... No, we had been LIED TO... for years. Winters together at the cabin by the lake. Soccer games in the summer. Geez, even playing Rook after dinner as a family. All of it had been a lie.
My whole world was reeling.
I suddenly realized that my dad had stopped talking, and that he and Mom were standing up, looking expectantly at me.
"So I guess that's it, then," he said. "Since you and your sisters are older now, and are responsible young adults, I think we've done our jobs as parents."
Parents. I almost perceptibly sneered when he said that word.
"Gary, once your mother and I are gone, go to my desk and open the manila envelope in the top right drawer. You and your sisters will be set for life."
Wait, what? "What are you--' I started to stammer, but before I could finish, my mother and father, or whoever they were, slowly dematerialized right in front of me, standing right in front of our couch in the living room of the house we had lived in for as long as I could remember. Dematerialized is the best I can describe it, because as I was looking right at them, they seemed to become out of focus like the projector at a movie theater, but their unfocusedness kept increasing and widening until I could see right through them, to the dining room in the distance. "We love you..." my mother said as she and Dad faded away in front of me.
As they vanished right in front of my eyes, the paper my father had been holding fluttered to the floor at the foot of the couch. In a daze, I picked it up and held it up again, looking at the uppercase results it provided.
SUBJECT: GARY STEVENS
SIBLING 1: LACY STEVENS: CONCLUSION: 95% LIKELIHOOD SIBLING TO SUBJECT
SIBLING 2: BRANDI STEVENS: CONCLUSION: 95% LIKELIHOOD SIBLING TO SUBJECT
PARENT 1: MARVIN STEVENS: CONCLUSION: ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES
PARENT 2: GLENDA STEVENS: CONCLUSION: ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES
| 2015-01-06T10:17:41 | 2015-01-06T10:08:59 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] Dyslexic zombies rise from the dead, searching for "Brians"
|
Brian ran forward, the beating of his heart ringing in his ears.
Running – that’s all he’s been doing since the apocalypse started. Zombies were nothing like what they portrayed in the movies. They were relentless, fearful abominations of God.
And they were dyslexic.
At least, that was the case for the ones Brian had seen thus far. When he crossed their field of vision, their decayed jaws would unhinge, releasing the guttural noises like a broken floodgate. But they didn’t call for brains like he was accustomed to hearing. They called his name.
He didn’t understand why or how a mistake like that arose considering they were undead but there was no point in questioning logic when the reanimated corpses walked the earth. Everyone he knew was safe except for them and that was all that mattered.
The Brian-less, as they had deemed themselves in the last year, had lived lives not much different than before the shit hit the fan. At worse, the zombies were only an inconvenience to their daily rituals. As long as someone watched for them on the road, they could even forget they were there. After all, as a Brian-less, they had no worries. Their names gave them safety.
Meanwhile, the name Brian had been sullied for the rest of eternity. In a month of the apocalypse, it had dropped in popularity in the entire world to just a handful of cases for stubborn or ignorant parents. Those who had the misfortune of having the name before were ostracized by society, never to be affiliated with again.
And that was the situation Brian had found himself in. He was cold, alone, and ambushed in a dark alley. When he reached the end of it, he was disappointed to find a large brick wall, much too climb. It looked like it was the end of the road.
He turned back to his pursuers, the little cloud of his condescended breath the only thing he could see in the murky darkness. He heard groans and feet dragging across the ground, a sign that they were not far behind. Holding his breath, he waited for his end.
“*Brians*,” the voices echoed in a haunting cacophony of moans.
Brian flinched. After years of running, he still wasn’t used to their siren call. When the first came out of the shadows, he could feel the bile rise in his throat, a bitter taste filling his mouth. Its arms reached out for him, as if forcing him to accept his death.
“*Brians*.”
Brian closed his eyes in hopes of making it easier. But when he did, he didn’t find solace. An idea donned on him. An idea that would save his life if he was lucky.
“*Brians.*” The zombie now had its hands on him, opening its mouth for the fatal bite. Brian, too, opened his mouth, his voice quaking with fear.
“No, I’m Tom.”
The zombie stopped, just before ripping him to shreds. Its milky white eyes scanned him for an uncomfortable amount of time. Meanwhile, it kept its decayed mouth open, the putrid small of what were once other Brians wafting in the air. Brian did not budge an inch, waiting on bated breath.
And to his surprise, the zombie let go of his clothes and turned around, immersing itself in the darkness once more. The others followed its lead, their moans dying off into the night. He was a free man, no longer knocking on death’s doorstep. He had unlocked the secret to stopping the apocalypse for his fellow Brians.
For he was no longer Brian, he was Tom.
|
Dave took a step backward, his shoulders tapping the wall behind him. He pulled the broom he was wielding across his chest like a shield, trying to keep as quiet as possible. He could hear them outside the closet, moaning softly as they mindlessly searched for him, blindly fumbling around his apartment. He never actually thought that the zombie apocalypse would happen, nor that it was even remotely possible. Even if it did, though, he thought he’d pretty good at it. He’d watched every season of *The Walking Dead*—twice—and had once had to detain a man high on PCP, which he imagined was quite similar to a zombie. He assumed he’d probably lead an uprising of some sort, or perhaps start a village of survivors within massive walls. Instead, he’d spent the first hour of the apocalypse cowering in his apartment, grabbing a broom—of all things—as his weapon of choice.
The zombies outside his door were knocking over almost everything in his apartment that wasn’t tied down. He hadn’t had an opportunity to see how many there were exactly, but he did recognize one of them as his across-the-hall neighbor, Brian. He’d let himself in through the unlocked front door while Dave sat on the couch, watching the coverage of the newly-declared apocalypse. He and Brian hadn’t spoken much in the years they lived together, although they did occasionally wave when passing. Other than that, it was simply a first name basis: Dave and Brian, neighbors and not friends. He wished he’d been a little closer to him, though, on the off chance that some part of his mind remained intact following his death. At least then, perhaps, he might not try to eat Dave’s brain. Now, as far as he could tell, Dave was as good as dead.
Something knocked on the closet door, or rather scratched against it, the sound of fingernails sliding down the beige paint. It stopped at the other side of the bronze handle and began fumbling it. Dave lunged forward and grabbed it, trying to prevent it from twisting. His palms were soaked in sweat, though, failing to do more than slip around as the knob turned. He pulled his hand back and frantically began drying it off on his shirt, returning it just in time to feel it slide out from under his grip and watch helplessly as the door flung open.
Brian stood on the other side, or at least a creature that was once Brian. His skin was pale and necrotic, even after merely an hour or so since his death. His lower jaw appeared dislocated, a smear of blood cascading down from his chin and onto his ripped shirt. Another zombie stood behind him, in no better condition, whom Dave also recognized. Coincidentally, his name had also been Brian, the superintendent of the apartment complex. They’d spoken a few more times than Dave and his neighbor had, but they were far from friends. He was pretty sure he never even learned Dave’s name, just “the guy in 307.”
“Brians,” the Brian closest to Dave moaned, grabbing at Dave and attempting to pull him in. Dave flung himself back against the rear wall of the closet, fumbling to protect himself with the broom clutched across his chest. They wanted his brains, to rip through his skull and nourish themselves on his consciousness, although they did appear to have a speech impediment of some kind.
“Help,” Dave shrieked, thrusting the broom forward and smacking neighbor-Brian in the chest lightly. He stumbled backward about six inches, then resumed clawing in Dave’s direction.
“Briiiians,” moaned the two zombies. Dave pulled the broom back and began swatting at their grabbing hands. He was pretty sure they’d just said “brains,” although it sounded an awful lot like Brian. He hadn’t known either of the men to have any accents or impediments while living, but having a broken jaw probably distorted their speech slightly.
“Please help,” Dave screamed. He was trapped, he knew it. The closet had been a terrible choice in hiding spots. He had no idea why he went with it; there were so many other possibilities, so many other viable spots. The crawl space above the apartment, the fire escape, the front door—he’d made a poor decision, he realized that now.
“Brians,” moaned the superintendent from behind Dave’s former neighbor. Dave paused, pulling the broom in. He’d definitely said “Brian” that time. There was no doubt in Dave’s mind.
“Did you say Brian?” Dave said, using the broom to block the two Brian’s flailing arms.
“We want to eat your Brians,” the two moaned almost in synchronization. They were pretty clearly saying “Brian,” like the name. It was quite apparent now.
“I don’t have any Brians,” Dave said, pushing them away with the broom. They seemed to understand his earlier question, he hoped they still had enough of their minds to understand what he was saying.
“What?” said the closer zombie. “You don’t have any Brians?” He stopped grabbing at Dave.
“No,” Dave said, pulling the broom back and crossing it over his chest, staring at the two reanimated corpses. “You two are the only Brians I know.”
“You’re not Brian?” the superintendent zombie said. Dave glanced at him, his head slightly tilted.
“No, I’m Dave,” Dave said, broom still clutched against his chest, head tilted slightly. For a deceased man, he was quite well spoken. The television programs and movies apparently did a very poor job of representing what a real zombie was like. In fact, it seemed the case that they didn’t even eat brains—rather, Brians were their target.
“Oh, okay,” the first zombie said. “Sorry about that.” The two turned and began limping out of the apartment, neighbor-Brian’s clearly broken leg dragging behind him.
Dave took a step out of the apartment and watched as they strolled out, the two talking quietly to each other. He had no idea what was going on or how he was still alive. He should have been decapitated by now, his brains spilling out on the closet floor as they were being devoured. Yet he was alive, perfectly fine.
He continued out into his apartment, broom outstretched like a sword, and walked over to the front door. He closed it behind the two zombies and then headed back over to his couch. It was badly damaged, the cushions tossed aside and its cover torn open. He sat down on it and flicked on the television, tuning to the news.
“We repeat,” said a pretty female anchor on the screen, “it appears the virus is not creating brain-eating zombies, but rather dyslexic “Brian-eating” zombies. Unless your name is Brian, you are at no risk. To keep safe, simply do not say your name is Brian—even if it is. I repeat, lie to the zombies and tell them your name is anything other than Brian. Following that, feel free to treat them like you would any other person. They are still high-functioning, but just have a murderous dislike for people named Brian.”
Dave clicked off the television and walked over to the window, staring down at the street below. Several clearly undead figures were limping along the sidewalk, with the living walking cautiously behind them. Dave shrugged his shoulders and made his way over to the kitchen, hoping desperately that the two Brains had not destroyed his Lucky Charms. He still hadn’t eaten breakfast and he assumed it would probably be a pretty long day.
| 2015-02-25T08:24:41 | 2015-02-25T08:01:47 | 100 | 21 |
[WP] You are a part of the middle generation on a colony ship. You never saw Earth and will not see your destination.
Would you do what's best for the colony you would never see for a planet you never knew?
|
She smiles, her slender fingers tracing the indents on the clear plastic as smooth as glass. Dots of white arhosa mark the window in what could only be assumed as disarray, carved in by the point of a pen. Almost a year ago they were made, and in a year they'll be a new array, each point carefully calculated and marked.
"Feels nice, doesn't it?" I say, rising from my bed beside her. She laughs as I kiss from her shoulder to her neck, before brushing me away.
"Stop tickling me, would you?"
Before I can say anything a meteor whizzes past the hull, flanked a stream of technicolor particles illuminated by year old sunlight.
"Whoa," she exclaims, twisting her head around to see it pass by.
"How can you still get excited about that sort of stuff?"
"Because after 20 years it's still incredible."
Again, I'm lost behind her awe of space. The planets, the power, the destination, the mission: it's consumed her since birth. Being the only daughter of the head pilot, it's only expected. I don't know why I anticipated anything different after a night together in her room. Again, I try to wrestle away her attention.
"So what are the dots?" I ask, rousing her attention back from the stars.
"Huh?"
Wrapping my arm around her waist I pull myself beside her and grab her open hand. Taking her finger, I trace it against the little white specs on her bedroom window.
"What constellation is it?"
She arcs her head back and belts out a echoing laugh. I blush within seconds, doubting what I assumed was obvious. Now sympathetic, she rubs my bare knee.
"I'm sorry. It's not any constellation, which you had no way of knowing. I mean, there are *so* many constellations after all. But you were pretty close."
"Close how?"
Always the teacher, she withholds the answer a bit more.
"Wrong formation, but the correct bodies."
"Suns."
She inches her hand up my leg. "Correct."
Oh, so it's this sort of game.
"But it isn't a constellation?"
She presses her hand down, but moves it nowhere.
"I mean, *technically*, I guess, but it doesn't have a name."
I grab her hand and move it up an inch for her.
"So, I was correct."
"But what is it a constellation of?"
Twenty-four suns in white twinkle across the canvas of her bedroom window. Twisting my head, I search for some pattern and shape. While none of them are clustered together, a few are at the far corners, distinct from the rest. No image emerges from the points.
She scoots herself up, and moves to the head of the bed to face me.
"Whoa, hold on I haven't given up."
Laughing, she smacks the indent from her old seat, motioning me to move. When I do she advises me to lean back, turn left, turn right, stare straight, until suddenly I see the stars line up an inch off from the markings on her window.
"I made them 10 months ago, and despite the fact we're barreling forward and hundreds of thousands of miles per hour, from this point they haven't moved a distance longer than my finger."
"That's depressing."
"No it's not. It's beautiful. People are so quick to complain on this ship about the trip. They talk about earth as if they've seen it, as if they're leaving some fantastic place behind, but it's all perspective. Good, bad, near, far, pain, pleasure, it's relative. So why not hold onto the belief that our lives here are beautiful, that we're fortunate to be here."
With her bare finger, she rubs a lone star on the corner of the window.
"Why would anyone be distant when there is so much love, so close?"
---
Edit: Thank you so much for your comments. It's part of what encourages me to write at all. I'm glad I could make something others enjoy.
|
I'm still trying to figure out whether this revolution is really new, or whether it's all been done a thousand times before.
"Remember, folks, you're doing it for your children." Mr. Chipper, the smartly dressed, silver-haired motivational speaker spoke through the console on my wall. My fingers moved a little bit faster, as if the speaker had some kind of subliminal effect in spite of my absolute resentment for him on a conscious level.
Mr. Chipper was one of the Originali. An original human being frozen for the long journey to mankind's next destination. They thawed him out because of the economic slump of 3008. You see, this ship's engines are powered by economy. The Adam Smith Drive, they call it, it's what made interstellar travel realistic in the first place. But it ain't easy. Billions of men and women like myself are called for to slave away to keep the engine running.
"Hey Baloney, wanna grab a bite?" It was Cheryl, my designated life partner. Now I know what you're thinking, and let me put a stop to that right off the bat. This wasn't no pre-arranged marriage or anything like that. Cheryl was assigned to me, but I wasn't assigned to her, at least not exclusively. That's all part of how they grease the wheels of this miserable economy. Three men assigned to every woman and we all had to fight over her. Cheryl was currently hooked up with Chad, who had clawed his way into a management position above me, may he freeze to death in a vacuum. If I wanted to dislodge her from him, I'd have increase my rank in the company, and fast.
"Man, fuck all this noise," I said, walking along the avenue with her. To emphasize my point I swung my cane at the window of a clothing shop, showering the mannequins with a rain of glass. Cheryl giggled.
"Come on Baloney," she said, "it's not all that bad. You've got a nice office job, air conditioning and everything. You can look at pretty girls on the 'chans while Chad's got me pinned down."
Just then a fancy black car screeched to a stop beside us. "Hey baby," it was Chad, with that obnoxious polo shirt of his. "Baloney, get lost. Better yet, get to work on the deliverables, I'm moving the deadline up a week." Cheryl gave me this smile that was half longing, half pity, and waved goodbye as she climbed into the car, via the driver's side door, climbing over Chad's lap in the process. My fists trembled as I watched them tear away.
Cell phone to my ear. "Baloney??" It was my buddy Hikki Komori, officially one of my competitors for Cheryl's hand but he was harmless, a social dropout, he lived on welfare and never left his room. "Hey man, what's up, you thought about what I said?"
"Yeah Hikki," I said, clenching and unclenching my fist. "Fuck this gay ship. Let's do it." Hikki had come up with a scheme to knock out Chad and make a considerable deal of money in the process, but he needed my help, and it was highly illegal. If we were caught, they'd make the both of us spend the rest of our lives chipping ice at Siberia Module.
"This is it," Hikki pressed a 3.5" floppy into my hand. His eyes looked bloodshot, his skin was pale, Hikki had really deteriorated since the last time I'd seen him. If this plan didn't go through, he might just turn into a ghost, haunting the 'chans for all time, I loved Hikki, I didn't wanna see that happen to him.
"How does it work exactly," I slipped the disk into my coat's inner pocket.
"It disconnects you from the internet while it brute forces the bank password, that way they can't detect all the failed attempts," he said. "Good luck Baloney, and remember. If it works, I get her on Tuesdays."
Back at the office I let out a sigh. Chad hadn't been kidding, the secretary had deposited a fresh stack of memos about the deliverable on my desk. "Perk up, kiddo," said Mr. Chipper, "Think about your grandchildren, kicking a pigskin around in genuine sunlight, beneath a statue of the great pilgrim Baloney!" The last word, my name, was recorded in a different octave than the rest, God, I hate these new personalized motivationals.
"Hope you know what you're doing, Hicky," I said, putting the disk in my tower. An MS-DOS window popped on the screen but then closed too quick to tell what it did. Then, the internet connectivity indicator went red, and up on the wall, Mr. Chipper flickered out. "Huh, if you'd told me about that side effect, I'd've signed on a long time ago, Hicky."
A popup appeared, showing the different passwords that were being tried against the banking portal, passwords rushing by in a blur. If the activity were being reported, the cops would kick the door in in about two seconds. I glanced at the door. Tensed up as I heard some footsteps, but it was just an intern walking past. Hooooly, is this actually gonna work?
And then I was in. Sweet mother of Jesus, I love you Hicky! Let's see, Chad Chadderton... Chad Chadderton... Hey, what's this folder? This looks interesting...
Fast forward two hours. Neighbors looking at me nervously as I pound on Hikki's door. Finally he opens it, fumbling with his trousers. "What's up man, did it work," as I'm pushing my way in.
"Hikki," I said, "forget about Cheryl, this is more important." I shoved the printouts into his hands, then collapsed on his Sakura-chan beanbag chair, resigned.
"So..." Hikki was flipping through the papers. "It's true then. I never thought it could be true... Baloney, I hoped I'd never have to resort to these measures, but I did have a plan in case this was how it was."
"A plan!" I said, rhetorically, fingernails gouging into the Sakura-chan's bikini. "They're gonna snuff us out, man! Grandchildren, schmandchildren! You, me, Cheryl, Chad... All of us, wiped out just as soon as the decade's up, and replaced by clones to start all over. And when the ship does arrive at Centauri, if ever, then the Originali will be thawed out and all of you and I and everyone we know, will be burned with the ship." Among other things, it implied that the fight over Cheryl had all been done before, it was all predetermined. We were all just spinning our wheels for nothing. "Hicky, I love you, man, but how in the name of Jobs are you supposed to 'plan' for something like that?"
"Baloney," he tossed a big heavy vest at me, turned around wearing one of his own, and some snappy shades. "Now that we've got into the system, we can find where the clone-vats are kept. We can find where the Originali are frozen. I've got three hundred Breiviks of explosives here." He slipped on an old 20th century biker helmet and flipped down the visor. "Let's go give this precious economy of theirs a little 'bump'."
| 2015-04-15T14:52:59 | 2015-04-15T14:08:20 | 1,352 | 403 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did.
|
Little Bethany Mariah Smith clung on to Father's legs. She hated going to meeting -- all the big scary grownups with their blanket clothes seemed to be just waiting for her to mess up, and Mother always spent ages talking to Sister Ruthie and Sister Tamar.
She was pretty sure -- really sure, actually -- that they had been having meeting more and more. Didn't they come yesterday? Today was not a Sunday or a Wednesday, either -- something weird was definitely going on.
Father Obadiah greeted her father. "Come, Brother Elisha, right this way."
"When will we be taking our...refreshments?"
"In just a minute. Sister Hannah will bring some over for you and your family."
They sat down, Mother, Father, Jebediah and Bethany, all in a row on the folding chairs. Sister Hannah came over holding a tray.
"Here, Brother Elisha -- Sister Sarai -- and of course, you, Jebediah and Bethany."
"What is it?" asked Bethany.
"It's a special treat for today. But don't drink it yet -- we're all going to drink together. It's a special soda."
Bethany held the cup in her little hands. It smelled funny, but Sister Hannah said it was soda, so it probably tasted really good. She looked up again.
"Why are we drinking it now?"
Sister Hannah paused. "Because... Because God is going to send his divine justice today, and if we want to get into heaven, we have to meet Him before then."
"What's divy jussis?"
"Umm... It's when God gives naughty people a spanking."
Bethany took this in. Before she could ask any more questions, however, Father Obadiah stood up at the big table. The humongous crowd of people at the meeting -- Bethany had never seen so many -- all went quiet.
"Brothers, Sisters. Today is the Last Day, the day of Divine Judgement. Behold, he sends his messenger from the sky, and the unrighteous shall be cleansed from the earth. Let us therefore drink this cup that we have been given and be thankful -- for indeed we are called to be His children. Amen."
All at once around her, people were drinking the special soda. Father, Mother... Even Jebediah, who usually hated doing things like this.
She looked at hers again. It still smelled funny. She didn't like drinking things that smelled funny. She swilled it around in the cup, spilling a little.
Suddenly, Jebediah fell off his chair and started making funny little movements. Bethany laughed, thinking he was playing a joke, but then he stopped moving. That wasn't right was it? Then Mother fell down too -- then Father. All around her, people were falling over. She felt scared.
On the wall behind the big table was a screen, flashing numbers. She was learning numbers with Mother. Four, three, two, one. Then nothing.
She looked around. Everyone was lying on the floor, even Father Obadiah. She saw Sister Hannah lying on top of three or four other people.
For a long time, she sat quietly on her chair with her drink, waiting for someone to get up again and tell her what a good girl she was for waiting, but at last she could stand it no longer. She was getting bored of this -- it was probably some really bad joke they were playing. So, leaving her special drink on her chair, she went to go play outside.
|
“Todd!... Todd!...Todd!”
Todd’s eyes opened slowly. Todd let out a groan. As he fixed his glasses on his face. He almost forgot where he was.
“Wake up.” It was Ms. Stewart, his history teacher.
“And stop drooling on yourself nerd” Carson, the school bully who seemed to only be happy when he was beating on Todd, called out from across the room.
The class erupted in laughter. At this point, Todd felt almost numb to the embarrassment.
“Turn your books to page 161 and take out your notebooks.” Ms. Stewart continued.
“Get me out of here.” Todd thought to himself. Todd hated school, an unremarkable student, he would certainly rather be anywhere else besides Washington Hills Middle School.
Ms. Stewart rose from her chair and turned to face the whiteboard. She begins to write in marker, “The Aftermath of the Ameri-”
*Bzzzz* a phone vibrates.
“Turn it off.” Ms. Stewart said without turning around.
*Bzzz Bzzz*
*Bzzzzzzzzz*
“Are you guys kidding me?” Ms. Stewart turned around, visibly annoyed.
*Bzzzzzz* Ms. Stewart’s phone rings in her desk
*Bzzzz* *Bzzzzzz* *Bzzz Bzzz* *Bzzzzzzz*
Suddenly, All the phones in the room start going off, the pre-teens almost in unison look down at their phones. Eyes wide in disbelief. Tension filled the room.
Todd looked down at his phone. “NASA Expecting Critical Asteroid Impact” “President Declares State of Emergency, Martial Law in effect.”
“Is this true?” Molly Jackson, phone in hand, called out.
Ms. Stewart looked up, white as a ghost, she didn’t know what to say.
“School is dismissed.” an unfamiliar anxious voice chimed in over the loudspeaker.
The kids looked at each other blankly.
The kids got up from their chairs, and what first started out as a brisk shuffle out of the classroom, soon devolved into an all out stampede down the hallway towards the exit.
The sound of yelling, footsteps, panting filled the air.
10 minutes had passed, the building was nearly empty.. but Todd.. Todd was still in his seat. Eyes locked on his phone, “NASA reports Asteroid Aa-r12 has made an unexpected turn and is now heading directly towards Earth, NASA expects potential critical impact in North America within the hour.”
For a brain that was usually functioning internally at 100 mph, Todd’s inner voice was silent for maybe the first time ever.
Todd silently got up from his chair and began to walk for the exit, mind still empty.
Outside he is met by the brisk fall air. He felt sick, he wasn’t sure if this was even real life. The roads looked like ghost town, not another person in sight.
His brain still empty, he turned towards the direction of his house and began walking.
Death? Todd had never thought about dying. In reality how many 12 year olds have?
Todd has been a good kid, he didn’t bother anyone, maybe he played too many video games, but he thought he was alright. He certainly wasn’t his older sister, bad grades in high school, sneaking out to meet boys, coming home drunk, BUT she never got yelled at, no just him. His hands clench. He never even snitched on her, but that didn’t matter, nope! She wasn’t nice to him! Nope never, she always called him a dweeb, hid his Gameboy, made jokes about his new glasses. His fists grew tighter. No. Out of everyone, he didn’t deserve to die, he had been nice to people. He tried to do the right thing.
He walked into his house, his parents and sister were arm in arm on the couch..praying? PRAYING? What a joke he thought to himself, they hadn’t been to church in YEARS! Todd stared at them, his Mom’s head popped up. “Todd honey, come here”, she motioned for him to join. He looked at her for a second but he just turned to walk upstairs.
Storming up the stairs he thought to himself. Oh now they’re nice to me. Now they’re nice. When we’re about to die they decide to be nice to me? Well no, forget that. NO. FUCK THAT. Todd grinned, he felt slightly liberated who's going to punish me WHEN WE’RE ALL DEAD.
Todd walked into his room, the baseball bat his dad bought him this past birthday even though he asked for an Amazon Kindle so he wouldn’t have to keep going to the library, caught his eye. He knew his dad wasn’t proud of him because he wasn’t an athlete like him. He asks for a kindle, he gets reminded he’s a “nerd”. His sister comes home drunk and she gets a convertible.
He rips off his glasses and picks up the bat, he wasn’t going to die. That was, atleastt least not without making a point.
He walked downstairs, his parents and sister look at him. “Todd, come here” his mom repeats. Surprisingly calm, maybe those miserable people were happy to die.
“No.” Todd answered sternly, opened the door and headed outside.
Sitting there in the driveway was Michelle’s white Audi. His whole body filled with anger.
He approached it, he swung. *BANG* he took out a headlight.
He felt euphoric. He swung again. Denting the hood. His heart pounding, never before had he felt so powerful, so relieved, so alive.
“TODD WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” A voice behind him rang out.
Todd hopped on the hood, and began swinging, breaking the windshield, denting the hood. Swing. Swing. Swing. He let out a manic laugh. “HAHAHAHAHAHA” he was loving it. A feeling of sadness overcame him, why had he waited to die to start living? But he ignored it, too late now, he kept swinging.
“TODD! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WHAT THE FUCK.” It was Michelle.
“Suck my ass Michelle.” Todd snapped back, leaving Michelle with a stunned, blank face.
His family's voices drowned each others out as they began to yell at him, it was gibberish to Todd, he was seeing red.
Still beating on the car, avoiding his parents attempts to rip him off, Carson’s house caught his eye. He jumped off the back of the car and beelined for Carson’s house.
He slammed on Carson’s door.
Carson opened the door. “What do you want you fag.” Carson said. *CRACK* Todd punched him right in the nose.
“What the fuck you little shit, I’ll kill you”
Carson tackled Todd. They began to roll on the ground punching and kicking.
Todd knew he should’ve done this years ago.
The boys were ripped apart, it was Todd’s dad, followed by his mother and sister both in tears.
“Todd what the fuck is your problem.” Todd’s dad was grabbing him hard on the back of his neck.
“NASA said we’re all dead fuck you.” Tears were running down Todd’s face as he tried to break free from his dad’s grasp.
Todd’s dad pauses. Carson chimes in, “No you little fucking loser, they said they made a mistake.”
Todd stopped, his heart dropped, he looked blankly at his family, “What?”.
| 2017-11-29T09:55:43 | 2017-11-29T09:49:15 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...”
|
I set the hungry couple down in my den and hurried to my kitchen. It had been a very long time indeed since unexpected guests had arrived, and it mattered not to me that I didn't even know their names. I began drawing the water for a proper tea and leaned over to turn off the telly. Fingers on the button, and I heard, "Under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don't let them inside..." I pause, my heart fluttering in my chest, before finishing my push. I am old, and I remember when things were... other than they are now. Children bustling in and out of the house, their friends and their friends families coming over for dinner on the weekends, my old pal hurrying off to work in the wee early mornings and coming home long after the sun had set. I shook my head - I didn't know these strangers, me, who never knew a stranger in her youth!, I didn't know them, but I was raised to feed the ones who were hungry, and water them too, so with a stubborn lift of my jaw, I continued my preparations. Were this my last tea I ever served, it would be the loveliest tea as well.
There wasn't much I could do about the sandwiches, of course. As an old pensioner, I am only afforded so much, and - compared to my old life - not much of that much would I consider luxuries. The bread slices were paper thin, and the cucumber a little wrinkled; a slice of egg instead of a whole egg apiece. I rummaged in my cupboard to find the last hint of preserves I'd left over, a reminder of happier days spent in my garden under the bright sunlight. Only a dab apiece - I let myself suck the spoon before placing the empty jar by the sink. It wouldn't do to put it in the rubbish before cleaning it; it wouldn't do at all. A thin bit of watered down milk to accompany the tea, the days of full, thick cream long past. Perhaps the fare was plain; but I made certain to pull down the finest china I had remaining from the days before to serve.
As I slowly tottered into the den, the man leapt up from his seat and insisted on collecting the tray for me. He exchanged looks with the woman, and they both said thank you, which was exactly the sort of response one might hope for when one has made tea at my age. There was not much more noise than polite chewing and drinking for a bit after that, and I nibbled on my own little sandwich as slowly as possible. How I had forgotten how pleasant it was to be in the company of other people for more than the weekly line! In short order, the tea was dispatched, and the couple exchanged shy glances before the woman spoke.
In pleasant tones, she asked, "Grantha, we... we haven't any money to repay you for your kindness, but..." Momentarily she trailed off, before starting again, a hard, eager light in her eyes. "Grantha, you risked much to allow us in and feed us. We have but one way to repay you, if you are willing to accept. We are Singers."
Singers! Actual singers! My eyes, I am sure, were wide with anticipation. It had been so very, very long since I last heard music. In stillness, in quiet, we crept about our daily tasks these days. Even children had been taken for singing or humming or noise making that wasn't in explicit praise of the powers in charge. My heart pounding, I nodded, excitement building in my very veins. I held up my fingers, little space between them. Quiet they must remain, or they would be found - but oh, please, to hear music just one last time!
Exchanging another glance, they nodded, and began singing a quiet tune. A haunting tune that spoke of better days. The most beautiful tune my two ears ever heard - I had silent tears running down my face. As they finished, I stood up, beckoning them to follow. Pointing at the dresser, I make a shooing motion. The man steps forward to move the dresser, exposing a tiny door. I hope they understand - I hope they make it. That tiny door leads to the outside, where they might - having had refreshments for the spirit and body - make it to a better place, where raised voices and glorious singing (singing!) are the normal, rather than the hidden and the punished. As they begin to climb through the door, I open my mouth. I show them the stub of my own tongue, removed so long ago. I show them the scar. I will be silent now, quiet as a mouse - I have no choice. Empathy fills their eyes and they begin to speak, but with a hammering at the front door, they exchange glances once more and flee.
I smile. Let them come. Were this my last tea I ever served, it had been the loveliest tea as well.
|
It’s funny, in a way. Just the other day, I had been thinking about how nothing exciting ever happens. You hear a knock on the door, and your mind immediately associates it with something normal or mediocre. Maybe it’s the mailman. Possibly a neighbor that wants me to move my car. My heart flutters at any notion or entertainment in my head that even remotely resembles something out of the ordinary. Maybe it was a burglar (and not a very good one); would I be able to defend myself or close the door in time? Possibly an old friend that wants to make amends, one that I haven’t seen in years.
I don’t think that way anymore. What a foolish and naïve way to think…
The one thing I remember about that night was that it was raining. Have you heard a clock ticking in a quiet room? It’s quite calming at first, but somehow, it seems to get louder and louder. You try not to think about it, but there it is, ticking non-stop, invading your eardrums with every painstaking second. You expect your brain to trick itself into thinking that you’ll get used to it, but it just keeps getting Louder and Louder. Every. Single. Tick. LOUDER. AND LOUDER.
Well that’s pretty much how the rain went that night. Like screeching in my ears. It was so calm when I first heard the knocking. Darkness had already plagued the night sky, and all the clouds just made it worse, as if God wasn’t watching anymore. I doubt he was. I didn’t get up until the second knock after doubting the first. I opened the door slowly. Finally, something exciting!
Two young-looking people greeted me, flashing warm, white smiles at me, both brunette. The young man was very handsome, his face rugged and defined. He had steel blue eyes that could both intimidate and seduce a person. And the young woman was equally as stunning and just as fierce. Her eyes were wide with a greenish hue. Full of life and wonder. I was already willing to let them into my house and not a word had escaped their lips.
“Hey, oh my gosh, thank you so much for answering! Our car broke down in the middle of the storm, and we just wanted to see if we could call someone. Both of our phones aren’t getting any signal, damn Verizon…” she said gleefully, charismatically. I was eating up every single word like dessert.
“Yea, we’d really appreciate it if you could help us out a bit,” the man said. His voice was somehow vulnerable despite giving off this manly vibe. How could I not help them? They were in such need. I wanted to help, and I wanted to know their story.
“Sure! Sure,” I said twice, obviously flustered and taken in by the atmosphere they had crafted. I moved myself out of the way and practically invited them inside, as if I was the one who was honored. They gave even more cheerful smiles as they slipped by me, their stylish clothes soaked by nature. There’s that heart flutter I mentioned.
The rain got a bit louder.
I closed the door behind them and showed them where the phone was. They looked so thin and famished. Whatever journey they were on together must have been a long one.
“Would you guys like something to eat? You two look like your starving,” I said, slightly concerned, wanting to take care of my two new guests.
“Yes, we would,” the man said, flashing a small smile towards his companion, “but we don’t want to trouble you, the phone is just fine.”
“Nonsense!” I replied, marching myself off to the kitchen almost immediately after. “I’ll make something you guys can take on the road.”
I started taking out a few slices of bread and some peanut butter. Obviously, I wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, but I thought they would appreciate the gesture.
The rain got louder.
“So what are your names?” I asked out loud. I could hear them chattering in the other room to each other. Seemed casual enough, but they didn’t respond. I heard the girl giggling, so I decided to ask again in a clearer tone. “Um, what are your names?”
“Uhh, Jack,” he said, the girl laughing a bit more now, trying hard to stifle it. I got a little nervous as I spread the peanut butter on one of the slices of bread.
“O-Okay,” I said, laughing a bit too out of politeness. “Nice to meet you, Jack. So what’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“Jill!” She said, laughing more abruptly, her boyfriend letting out a chuckle as he tried to stop her from laughing so much. I felt more uneasy.
The rain got louder.
“Nice to meet you, Jill,” I said.
I gulped silently to myself and switched to a steak knife instead of a butter knife while I was out of their sight. Suddenly, the laughter stopped. I held my breath for a moment, hoping they would start up again. Even laughter was better than silence. Silence and rain.
I slowly walked back into the living room. The TV was muted from earlier, but I could still read the captions.
“UNDER NO CIRUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU ANSWER THE DOOR TODAY. THEY ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM. AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LET THEM INSIDE.”
I read. And I saw a picture of two people, one was of a man with long, black hair. The other was a girl with short blond hair. Different people, I assumed. But their eyes… they were the same steel blue eyes from before. And the girl’s, the same as well, wide with a greenish hue.
The rain got louder.
I felt an empty dread well up inside me. Every step I made had an audible creak to it, and I was suddenly aware of all of my surroundings. I looked intently at the archway to the dining door, beyond it was nothingness. I stood with my back close to the wall, hoping to give myself a good footing for whatever was next.
“Jack…? Jill…?”
“We’re over here,” she said, startling me. Her calm, soothing voice echoed through the dark dining room.
“C-Could you come out here then?” I said, shivering, gripping my knife as hard as I could.
“Sure.”
The rain got louder.
She stepped out into the archway, her skin was pale white, drained of blood. She smiled at me as wide as she could, her teeth sharp and hungry looking. The greenish hue filled her eye sockets. She looked like an animal. Her hair looked dead black, wild and frayed, as if she were wearing the hair of someone already long gone. Her arms and legs elongated in an unnatural way, causing her knees to pop in the opposite direction as she went down on all fours. I didn’t have time to breath or think, but my eyes were filled with despair, as if death was staring at me, starving. Wanting to peel the flesh off my bones until I became nothing.
She charged at me, her claws digging into the floorboard with each step. I yelled fiercely out of desperation and fear, doing my best to avoid her swipe, and I dug the knife deep into her dead neck. She screamed out in pain as the male came out, looking at me with ferocity and rage, but hunger all the same.
“LEAVE!” I threatened as he pierced through me with his gaze. I held my stance and sliced through her neck further, pinning her down to the floor. He let out a demonic yell, like an animal born in hellfire, and darted out the door, his lover screaming in pain. I took my knife out of her, wanting to finish the job, but instead, I kicked her body away from me. Her disturbing body limped and flailed its way out of my house, leaving black blood on the floor, like oil, but thicker, nastier.
I ran back into the kitchen to call the police and fell down in the corner of the room, blood pouring out from my thigh. It burned as I waited.
I cried to myself, clutching the knife to my chest, waiting for them to come back and finish the job, but they never did.
The rain got louder. I couldn’t sleep until it stopped.
In fact, I could never sleep through the rain after that night.
It just keeps getting louder… and louder.
God help me.
---
/r/StoriesByDamiascus
---
| 2018-03-14T11:17:41 | 2018-03-14T08:58:56 | 113 | 16 |
[WP] A supervillain gets married, has kids, and retires. The hero doesn't know, and slowly goes insane without them
|
"Why her, Strife? No, James. Why her?"
It was a fair question, actually. Of all 7 billion people on the planet, the odds that the two of us would end up together were astronomical at best, next to impossible at worst. And yet we had been married for a decade. Our children were beautiful, our home was ours, and I was, for possibly the first time in my life, utterly content. No hunger for something more, no burning desire to challenge the rules of the world, just her. Just my family. The old me likely would have sneered, called the man I'd become weak, complacent, a fool for listening to biological urges to reproduce, but he wasn't who I was anymore.
But my old rival didn't seem to understand that. The years of silence, it seemed, had been as detrimental to him as it was beneficial to me. The bags under his eyes told a story that matched the frailty. He had likely believed I kidnapped her, was torturing her to break him. Had I not loved her, it's even possible that I might have, but that didn't matter in the silence. It had been an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole, the not knowing. Judging by the scars, the burns, and the barely healed bruising, it seemed he had thrown himself head first into several burning buildings full of criminals, all why hunting me, searching to save her.
Staring into his eyes, devoid of happiness and barely clinging to sanity, I realized that, in my own way, I had won. The man before me, once called unbreakable, was beaten. He was broken in a way that I had never considered before. The thought drove me to the trash can, nauseous and in need of an immediate purge. He watched, incredulous, as I wiped my mouth and spoke the first words I had shared with him in over a decade.
"I love her, Veritas. She made me realize what mattered. She saved me. We knew that you would never let us-"
"You're damn right, Strife!" He roared, lunging at me feebly, tangling himself in the IV lines. "I would never let you corrupt her, you filth. You're darkness, you're evil, you're the villain, and I AM THE HERO!" His last shout seemed to deflate him as he gripped the pole, wheezing and sweating from the exertion. He stared through me, hatred etched into every line of his form. "She was all that I had, and you stole her. You warped her, you broke her, and you stand there telling me you LOVE her? You wouldn't know what love is, James. You're a monster, unlovable, unloving, and I will fix what you've done if it's the last thing I ever do."
I stared at him, my heart breaking for him. Had I really broken him so much? Did he really need me to be evil that badly? The questions raced through my mind, and I was again speechless before the man I had once shared hours of monologue with, the man who I once considered the closest thing I had to a friend, destructive though our relationship was.
"Daddy?" My thoughts were shattered by the voice at the door, a voice that spoke volumes to my old nemesis. "Is Uncle Dylan okay?"
Veritas, no, Dylan's eyes met mine again, red rimmed and brimming with tears yet unshed. "You.... You brought them here?"
"Of course, old friend. It's been ten years. I'm happy, I'm decent now. I thought it only right that we come." I held out my hand in a gesture of peace and questioning. "Please, come outside. Your sister misses you, and your niece and nephew want to meet their favorite superhero."
Silence. A beat passed, then two, then what felt like an eternity. Finally, he reached out and clasped my hand, his grip weak. "Ok. Okay, James. You win. Let's go meet my family."
|
A normal year for Suro.
If something like that had ever existed.
"Why'd you do it?" His enemy - friend? It was scary how closely those lines blurred- merely rolled his eyes, staring with forlorn melancholy at the cloudy skies. "You were supposed to be the good one, you were supposed to be better th-"
"-than you? Is that what you're going to say" Sylto coughed out a globule of blood. "Spare me."
He had heard the rumors, whispers in taverns that were the same from the high class nobles to the uncouth whores. He had, of course, ignored them. There was absolutely no way; it was *inconceivable*, there was no possible chance that they were true. For the supposed messiah to fall so low? Petty rumors from jealous people. Besides, even if they were true, he had left that life behind him. His wife was all he needed, his child - a daughter! - on the way. Everyday was simple and sweet.
Unending bliss.
Not for him, it seemed.
"Amiyah-" A choked sob erupted before he could contain it. "-why? It was between you and I. She was innocent. Pure. And now... my child..."
Sylto just watched, hard as it was with blood streaming over his face, as the weight of the world seemed to rest itself on the man before him.
"I was to be the shepherd that heralded humanity into the golden age..." He finally graced Sylto with a look. "A prophecy from Apollo himself." His saccharine tone and smile gave Suro something else, a new feeling, to focus on.
Rage.
"That's what this was? A way to break the cycle? Some way to get back at your father and I was just the link you chose to break?" He scrambled to his feet, exhaustion forgotten as anger fueled adrenaline rushed through him.
The moments seemed to blur together, but when he came to, he was standing over his fallen adversary, sword held in a hand that seemed about to break the metal with its pallid grip. He thought of them, his family, his friends, the chance for a new life. Lies. Because of this *monster.*
And still, he couldn't do it. Sylto's pale neck, mired in a curtain of grime and blood, called to him like a siren. Sword tip to neck. Then it would all be over.
But not for him. His life was gone, and the blood that stained his hands - his *soul* \- would never let it end, and the lies that convinced him that maybe, just maybe, he could be a decent person? Buried beneath dirt, dead.
Gone.
"*Why?*"
"Like sheep, the shepherd leads the herd..." Sylto wasn't even looking at him, instead choosing to focus on the warring forces beneath them. At this point, though, it was no longer a fight, only wanton slaughter as his forces raged on and devoured Sylto's.
"I took everything from you, and you still can't do it." Suro blinked, only now realizing his sword had moved forward and carved a bloody smile into Sylto's neck. It barely broke the skin.
"They told me you were a monster. Washed the world away under a current of fear. I was to be a modern day Moses and part the sea of evil you wrought." His enemy mused, finally looking him in the eye. "I nodded my head like a good boy, and did whatever they told me to. An obedient weapon. The perfect tool." Sylto sighed, tracing the edge of the sword pressed upon his neck with a shaky finger.
"But still, I wondered. 'Why did I need to save the world from you? It's not perfect, but there's no fighting.' I didn't dare voice that thought though, that was independence." A snort. "They buttered me up, filled my head with hubris, and shipped me off to fight you. You thrashed me. But you didn't strike me down. And I was confused. 'How could this monster let a person like me, someone that could threaten all that he worked towards, walk away.'" Sylto pushed hard on the sword, watching in a trance as lifeblood broke free from the rent skin, trailing its way down his hard.
"I asked my father this when I got back. He beat me black and blue, for losing. Told me to never ask that again. As soon as I was all healed up, he sent me back. But you were gone." Here, his gaze was questioning, and Suro found himself answering without a thought.
"The people believed in you... as foolish and naive as you were, you were right, peace through fear is no peace at all. The kingdom was dying, slowly, certainly slower than the wars that plagued it before, but it was dying nonetheless. I left, I thought you would make things different..."
Sylto laughed, a long merry laugh that echoed throughout the valley, lost under the clanging swords and death rattles of men below.
"You thought putting a boy that had never made a decision for himself in charge of an entire nation?" Sylto shook his head exasperatedly. "How you conquered the kingdoms with plans like that I'll never know."
Suro had the decency to blush. "I was desperate, I thought the love and voice of the people would be enough to guide you."
"You were wrong. I listened to that voice, gave them everything they wanted, and things went right back to the way they were before. Deceit, betrayal, assassinations... nothing changed. We love to blame the gods for our problems, but I realized the truth. Humans are the problem, this kingdom nearly imploded itself before I started my crusade. Gods give the rules, but someone needs to enforce them."
"That was supposed to be you!"
"And I am doing my part."
Suro paused, looking at Sylto confusedly. "What?"
"The biggest threat to humanity to ever walk the face of the earth, gathering equally as monstrous creatures and people to his side to eradicate everything in existence." Sylto coughed out more blood. "Quite the tale, huh?"
Suro stiffened as ice cold realization began to settle upon him.
"They stopped listening to me, after awhile. They knew I didn't kill you , I didn't have the power. You can't enforce rules without power. So when things started going south, and I didn't have the power to fix them, I lost their respect. I knew nothing I did could win it back. Maybe if I tried, things would have been different, but that was when I lost their love." Sylto shrugged.
"All the corruption I could find, gathered in one place. The leader of that band, cut down by a displaced lord, seeking nothing but vengeance and redemption." He shook his head. "So much more goes into ruling than wearing a crown, more than I could ever fathom." Sylto gestured to the army letting their cries of victory fill the battlefield.
"You ruled this kingdom through fear. You saved them from me, so now they love you." Fingers wrapped around a cold blade, uncaring of the pain.
"They spat your name with disgust. Now, they'll extol it with song and praise." Those fingers gripped it tight, stealing ownership from the hand around the handle.
"And with enough power to strike the big bad monster down, you'll have their fear as well. Fear tempered by love, obedience with respect." The sword dug deeper.
"Autonomy... and choice. They love their supposed free will, but long to be ruled. The best of both worlds." Sylto smiled at him. "When I became king, I promised to give them everything they could ever want."
He cocked his head to side, looking at him curiously, as if seeing Suro for the first time. "I wonder what you'll promise them."
Fingers wrenched that sword into a weeping neck.
"Rule well... my king."
| 2019-02-20T13:31:02 | 2019-02-20T12:21:21 | 68 | 23 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real, unknown to all, but the gods. Most beings live out multiple lives cyclically as humans or other life-forms and are always random. But these two souls are always human, always find each other, and are always romantically exclusive upon discovery. The gods take interest.
|
"they've died again."
"Again?! Every single time! They make a beeline for one another, they die!"
"you'd think they'd try something different after the first few thousand times."
"what happened this time?"
"one of them faked it's death, but the other missed the message about it being fake and drank poison."
"for fucks sake."
"at least only a few other souls returned with them. Better than that time one of them called itself Helen of Troy and the other started a war."
"where are they this time?"
"they're separated by a few decades this time. They go by Peter Abelard and Heloise, turn of the 12th century, France, by human count."
"watch them. See what goes wrong this time."
|
It was nighttime. Starlight danced gently around the hilltop, the ground a blanket of red. The wind had fallen silent, as though as a captive audience was watching the high point of another tragedy.
"Your hands are so warm." A man, clad in once-glowing armor, spoke weakly. Black, black spikes were rammed through his sternum, and he was missing his right leg. His helmet, an artifact of ancient times, had fallen apart to reveal his face. "Did you know? The first time I saw your hands and you, I knew that we were meant to be together. But the Powers above had never let this happen."
The man's head was resting on a girl's lap. Her satin dress was stained with blood, which was pouring out of the man like a broken aqueduct. She hugged his head, lowering her own to meet his lips. "Stop talking like this! I still can heal you. So—!"
Green light, warm and reassuring, lit up all around her. But it never came close to the man, dodging and wrapping around him, but never touching him. Again and again she tried, but her vaunted powers had failed her for the first time in her memory.
"You can't heal me," said her lover. "The Powers above never wanted us to be together. But an existence can only be touched by the Gods only so many times before it vanishes. And when it does, it gets to see the truths of this world. We are playthings for the Powers. They've split us up over and over for their own wicked amusement."
He coughed heavily, staining the grass with black blood.
"Stop talking. I—"
The man gripped her hand, holding it close to his chest. "It's ok. I...want to hear you speak. Tell me a story. One of those you always read at night to me. The one about the Demon Lord."
The girl froze for a moment. Her body trembled slightly, before she started to speak. Her voice carried across the quiet hilltop, and tears fell continuously as she recounted the Fatebreaker's Tale. Her fingers weaved together with that of the man's, as though as she was trying to convey warmth.
"...slew the last Apostle, before stepping over the dying Divine Spirit to claim the throne. He freed his Queen and..."
"It's a good story, isn't it?" The man interrupted her tale, sending more bloody saliva down his cheek. "This is...how it should have ended."
"...It is."
"I'm sorry." Perhaps, only she knew what the apology was for. The Gods listening in didn't, and nor did the spirits of the dead assassins waiting for reincarnation around them. The man shivered, and gripped her hands harder. "It's cold. I'm scared. I don't want to go. I want to be with you."
Her vision blurry, the girl hugged the trembling man. "Don't be scared. I'm here. I'll be with you."
The starlight of the hilltop scattered, replaced by the characteristic purple glow of the Netherworld. The holy green light that had been her identifying feature vanished entirely. Sigil after sigil shot out of the girl, forming an elaborate dome of mystic runes. Purple light flared up repeatedly, every instance more intense and desperate than the last.
But nothing happened. Her tears fell like rain when a realisation hit her, breaking apart on the man on her lap.
The man groaned weakly at her tears, forcing out his last words. "Don't...cry...Ok? I...love...y—"
His grip tightened with an awful finality, before slackening as the life within his body crumbled away. His voice, in the midst of speaking his last word, fell silent. The girl froze up, before crumpling over. Her mouth opened in a now-tearless cry, as she pulled the lifeless man into her bosom. His armor cut deeply into her skin, but she didn't notice. All she cared about was the man who had intruded in her life, and all her lives.
For she knew that she would never see him again, now and forever. Her left hand created a single seal, and purple light started eating at her body. She could, at least, join him in the void. Perhaps it existed. Perhaps it didn't. But at the very least, she would never let him be alone.
Her body crumbled to dust along with her spirit, and a blinding pillar of purple light soared to the skies to strike out at the Great Beyond. It was a parting gift for the cruel world, and her betrothal present for her beloved. The Sun would never rise again, just like how hers no longer shone.
| 2019-07-22T00:14:00 | 2019-07-21T23:48:36 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible.
|
"Come on you idiot bitch. Heal me! Im bleeding here."
"I'm out of manna from the healing I did on you 30 seconds ago."
"I'm hurt again."
"Hint. Next time seek cover when they shoot a wave of arrows you muscles for brain."
"Quit yammering and give me some love you weakling. I'm your defender, capiche."
That did it. The druid had been insulted one time too many and this last insult drove a proverbial stake through her heart. Anger bubbled up and the energies surrounding the druid turned a blood red color illuminating the dungeon. She raised her hand and prepared to do something druid school said would have dire consequences. They also said druids would be respected. Clearly they were wrong about at least one thing.
The staff in her hand emenated a dark that seemed to absorb all light as she recited the healing spell in reverse. A tendril too dark for this world latched onto the foul mouthed barbarian and started to suck his life out of him. He tried to turn his head and tell her to stop but his muscles rotted away under his skin before he could utter a word. The corps fell to the ground and just fell apart in rotting chunks as it hit the hard surface.
"Thanks for that manna boost, chump," she cackled.
The other party members overcame their shock and tried to react. The archer was hit first with the reverse healing. Her old wounds opened explosively, spraying blood all around and her skin seemed to collapse in on itself.
The dwarf warrior sprinted towards the druid. This one was hit with the reverse of a poison healing spell, causing the poison on the various blade of the enemies to suddenly enter his blood stream in extreme quantities. Mid stride his first heart stopped. He clawed at his chest, unable to call for help or mercy, not that any would arrive. His lungs stopped working as the various substances worked their way through his system. The his second heart stopped and he fell over.
The dungeon monsters sensing their opportunity surged forward until they saw the druid. She was now a maelstrom of dark energies where two red eyes burned brightly.
"OBEY," she commanded in an unearthly voice.
The assorted monsters hesitated. Then the first row of monsters were hit with a dark field. Their limbs starting to contort. The snapping of bones echoed through the dungeon accompanied by the panicked screams of the monsters until all noises faded away.
"Obey," she now whispered and they all dropped to their knees.
"Let's see what we can do with this place," she said and started planning on how to get back on all those adventurers that snubbed her.
One year later the capital fell under the darkness.
|
“Hrrr-aghh!”
The paladin cleaved through the captain, who coughed up blood as he stumbled backwards and fell. Flicking the blood from his blade, he deftly sheathed itbefore turning back to the rest of his party.
“Way to show off,” the rogue called, readjusting her hood over her head. “Very professional. I especially liked the whole *‘Die, Fiend!’* part. Really, it was a stellar performance.”
“Y-you heard that? I mean, hey, now. We won, right? That’s all that matters.” The paladin coughed, adjusting the helmet to better cover his blushing face.
“Well, that’s another one dealt with, I suppose. " The wizard sighed, massaging the small headache that already began to form as she stored her grimoire. "How is everyone holding up?”
“Fit as a fiddle and ready to go!” The paladin tapped his chestplate, the metal echoing through the chambers.
“I’m ready to go. Just say the word.” The rogue gave her a thumbs-up and a wink.
“I’m glad to hear,” the wizard smiled, nodding before turning around. “And how about you? How are you holding up?”
Behind her, the cleric gazed downwards at the man who had just been slain. His hands were trembling, his breathing growing heavier and heavier. The wizard felt her heart drop, and quickly knelt to block the view. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay,” she said, trying her best to smile. “Remember why we’re here. There are hundreds more people that are dying because of these people. We have to stay strong, okay?”
Slowly, the boy nodded, his blond hair shimmering in the dim light. “Okay… but…” He paused. “Could I… perform his funeral rites? He… he was a person, too.” The boy stammered.
The wizard sighed, gazing back at her party for a second before turning back. “Okay. We’ll go on ahead. Run quickly when you’re done, alright?” She laid a hand on his shoulder for a brief second before turning and walking towards the rest of the party, who started down the hallway.
The boy watched them walk away, waiting until they had rounded the corner before drawing his staff from his back. Closing his eyes, a surge of magical energy burst from out of him, and a gentle, green light filled the room…
&#x200B;
“One more room, guys!”
The party sprinted through the corridors of the castle, their breaths echoing off of the stone walls that surrounded them. The paladin, leading the charge, surged forwards, leading the party to try and catch up.
“You’re sure it’s this way?” The rogue called out to the paladin, desperately trying to catch up.
“I’m positive! Remember, I worked in this castle for years! Hurry up, we don’t have time to waste!” Another surge of speed was met by a groan of the party.
“Oh! Here,” the cleric called, taking his staff in hand and twirling it in a circle. Behind them, a brisk tailwind picked up, pushing them on through the long hallway.
“Thank you!” The wizard patted the boy on the shoulder, who laughed, a little embarrassed.
“I-I’m just doing my job,” he smiled, blushing.
“Hurry up, this way!” The paladin had stopped and was beckoning them over towards the double doors that waited at the end.
The wizard sighed. “I’ll never understand how that fool can run so fast with all of the armor he lugs around,” she said, straightening her robes.
“You can say that again. *I’m* supposed to be the speedy one here. What god blessed that guy? Seriously!” The rogue sighed, adjusting her mask while she tried to hide her exhausted breaths.
“Regardless, the tailwind has picked up, thanks to our young friend here. Shall we get going?” The wizard took a deep breath.
"Race you there!" The rogue pushed the boy over as they ran past, who stumbled for a second before running after them, laughing.
&#x200B;
“So, you’ve finally come.”
Atop the dais at the end of the chamber, the general of the Imperial Legion sat upon his throne, smiling wryly as he watched the party enter the chambers.
“You fiend!” The paladin skidded to a halt, drawing his blade towards the man. “We’ll punish you for ruining this country and hurting innocent people!” The paladin drew his sword, pointing it at the man on the throne.
“Oh? You barge into my home, hack apart my guards, and then deign point a sword at me for hurting innocent people? How hypocritical. I must have truly earned your ire…” He sat forward, hands clasped together, staring intently at the bold paladin in front of him. “So, then. What have I possibly done that could have caused you to hate me so?”
“If I may *deign* to speak in your presence, Sir,” the rogue scoffed, folding her arms. “You’ve forced a lot of good people into bad situations. Your control over everything created chaos, not the so-called ‘order’ you wanted. I like chaos as much as the next, but when children are begging and dying on the streets because no one is willing to take them in? *That’s* –” She deftly drew her daggers, spinning them at the ready - “That’s where we have a problem.”
“Is it truly that bad down there in the city?” The general breathed. “I apologize. I had hoped the reforms we had made would have been able to halt that issue.”
“Your policies have done nothing but rot our society to our core,” The wizard nodded. “Though they look great on paper, even the most amateur can see that the money you have been raising never made it to the people they were designated to help. Instead… it fueled only your war effort and suppression.”
One last figure ran through the doorway behind the others. He took his place next to the wizard, his cleric’s tunic shining a bright white amidst his silver armor.
The general started back in his seat. “You… Why are you here?” He hissed.
The party turned to the young lad, who looked to them with alarm.
“Then… it is time. Your full party is assembled, and have shown their true colors.” He gazed wistfully at the boy, his red eyes glinting with an discernible emotion in the light of the morning sun. “Shall we test whose beliefs are the strongest, then?”
(1/4)
| 2020-01-05T10:03:29 | 2020-01-05T09:29:04 | 616 | 155 |
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