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[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
Hell is not—as the more optimistic theists claim—a simple separation from God. It’s exactly what’s written on the label: torture in hellfire which chars the skins and burns your bones only for your body to regrow once there is no longer anything remaining of you to burn.
You may wonder how we know this to be the case, but it’s quite simple—we read about it on the internet, on a site called ‘AmIGoingToHell.’ It appeared suddenly, listing all the sins anyone has ever committed with perfect timestamps. When hackers tried to track the site’s hosting location, satanic runes appeared in the place of an IP address, so eventually they all stopped trying.
Of course, we do not know whether what’s written under the ‘what’s hell like’ subpage is correct, but when a site features otherworldly functionality, there’s a strong case for believing it.
There are people who worship the website, claiming it to finally be the unbiased justice system humanity has always searched for—an objective moral source that delivers punishment equally across genders and races. Many defy it, claiming that punishment such as a millennium in hell for having sex outside of wedlock borders on insanity. Parents check it obsessively, wondering whether their kids will be thrown into the fire. Wives use it to spy on their husbands and vice versa. The most unwise of teenagers use it for street credit.
After living in a world on the brink of collapse for so long, my death was accompanied by much fear and curiosity. I had been good, compared to most people. I only had a few years to spend in hell courtesy of teenage me stealing a snickers bar.
Opening my eyes, I found a red-skinned man sitting in an office chair, surrounded by complete darkness, only lit up by the red light emanating from his three monitors. The middle one had the website open, the left one looked to be filled with satanic runes written inside a black terminal, and the third one had the flaming letters ‘Satan’ as a desktop background.
I approached with slow steps, holding out a hand.
“Hello?”
The man spun around in his chair, revealing red horns and a body that frankly looked too fragile to be demonic.
He looked angry.
“Another transfer error?” The Devil rolled his eyes. “Hold on, I’ll send you right along to hell so you can serve your time.”
My eyes widened. “Wait wait wait, what’s all this about? The website? Going to hell? I need answers.”
The Devil ignored me, his fingers going so fast across the keyboard that fire arose from it. “Fuck.” He slammed his desk. “Why do people keep entering special characters in the search field? What kind of human name has an at sign in it? Do they know how much human misery is required to keep these servers running? Does no one appreciate the work I do?”
“Um . . . Devil, if it is you who keeps the website running, can you make the rules less strict?”
The devil spun around to face me again.
“God is the one who makes the rules—I’m afraid they’re immutable. What I do is simply inform people of the consequences, since God refuses to do so for some inscrutable reason. Did you know there’s been a 63% decrease in time spent in hell since the website went up? Perhaps I should put that up as a graph on the site.”
I had a hard time believing what I was hearing; the Devil was a web developer.
“With all due respect mister Devil, why are you *really* doing all of this? Why would the Devil want a reduction in time spent in hell?”
The Devil furrowed his brow. “So many questions . . . I know!” The Devil smiled devilishly. “I’ll make an FAQ page on the website, that should clear things up. This will be the most popular feature since the ‘what is hell like’ subpage. Thank you human, perhaps your time here wasn’t entirely an accident.”
The devil pressed a key on the keyboard, and the next moment all I felt was pain.
\*\*\*
A week later, the FAQ page went up, with the bottom question being:
**Why would the Devil want to run this project?**
The pits of hell are currently overburdened by human traffic. You people sin too much. Breed too much. Desire to grow too much. As such, I am trying to address these concerns from the production side. Please stop sinning until God can expand the borders of hell. Hellfire is not pleasant.
I’m currently working on a video tour of hell; it will be up on the site in less than a week. I urge you to watch it when the desire arises to cheat on your spouse or steal, because whatever momentary pleasure you derive from it will not compare to having your skin burned off for years.
See you in a week.
The Devil.
|
The Day of Sin was a wake-up call, for all of us.
It came with many cold truths and many harsh revelations. For the very notion that hell itself even existed was thought of by some to be an ironclad truth, and by others a fantasy used to control the gullible masses.
There were those that almost immediately dismissed it as a hoax, and sought to prevent others from accessing the cursed archives it stored. For if the things spoke of upon those archives were indeed the infallible truth, then the misdeeds of each and every one of us would be brought to light.
No matter how hard they tried to contain and discredit those records, it was all to quick to confirm that it was no lie. That it was indeed controlled by something we could not comprehend, something higher than all of us. For any new wrongdoings committed under its watchful eye would be added immediately after their inception, and alongside it, the punishment gained for committing such a wretched deed.
We were forced to accept the truth it laid bare before us, and the ramifications it set out for us. The absolute certainty that there was a punishment out there waiting for us, a cruel reminder for our sins – even the ones we had forgotten.
Order broke down, but that was inevitable. For deny it as much as you desired, you could not fight that insatiable urge to search the truth of all those you had ever known, all the friends and family you had.
Nobody was safe from the omniscient eye of the archives. All manner of prominent figures, in business and politics and every conceivable field had their transgressions broadcasted to the world. There were those who were thought of as sinful who were anything but, and those believed to be virtuous that were the epitome of wickedness itself.
Drastic measures were put into place to silence the mysterious entity behind those archives. The internet itself was shuttered across the globe, even though it was not something that could be stopped in its entirety, it was a measure powerful enough that it sent millions, if not billions of people into a complete information blackout. No longer could we understand what was occurring across the world so easily, and no longer could we reveal the misdeeds of those around us.
But try as they might, the damage was already done. For the sins of each and every one of us were cast into the light, with both our names and our faces attached to them, and I was no exception.
I remember that fateful day well, I thought at first it was no more than a cruel prank, and as I gazed upon my own file I thought the same. My sins, or rather, my sin, was not listed in legible text. But instead, it was something beyond my comprehension, a twisted whirlwind of blackened shapes, sprawling out over that page.
But what it did not deny me of however, was the privilege of seeing the punishment I had earned for my invisible sin.
Fifty million years.
* * *
There I was on a cold November day, sitting on the broken down porch of an abandoned cabin off the outskirts of the town of Redhook. I had made that crumbling place my home after the events of that day, for I had been ousted from my hometown for the inconceivable sins I had committed.
There were those who thought being in my presence would be considered a sin in its own right. It was no more than a stroke of good fate that I was no outright purged that day, for had that occurred I would no doubt be in the bowels of hell at that very moment, living out the first year of a sentence which spanned fifty million.
Nonetheless, they exiled me from that town, for the primeval fear of the unknown that I was had taken root and struck an unending unease deep in their bones, and overtaken each and every one of them in a frenzy.
As I watched the sun beat down upon the horizon, painting the sky an eternal crimson, I saw a figure emerge from the darkness of the nearby thicket. She was a half-masked woman approached me, her calm blue eyes barely peeking out from under the faded cloth wrapped around her face. Her once radiant golden hair had been cut short and looked like it had been barely washed as of late, giving her a deservedly greasy look.
“You're here early, Savannah,” I said sarcastically as I watched her approach her, my eyes fixated on the leather bag at her side. “How's things in town?”
“It's been better,” she said as she shrugged half-heartedly, “power cuts out sometimes, but at least there's been no issue with water. But the thing is, we had some new arrivals, which I ain't too keen on.”
I felt a creeping discontent gnaw at my stomach. “You let some newcomers in? Isn't that risky?”
“Yeah, I try to warn 'em, but you know Sig, he's got too much of a bleedin' heart. But not enough of one for you, evidently,” she said with a sigh, “came back to bite him, it did, we've just had to chase out few bad folk. They reckon that's the last of 'em, but you can never be so sure when you can't check.”
“Yet they still keep you around?”
She gave a dry laugh, but I could see the annoyance in her eyes. “They don't leave me around the little ones, guess they're worried I'll do something.”
“But you won't, right?”
“Of 'course not.” She pulled down her mask to reveal her wicked scowl beneath it. “I'm not that kind of person.”
“Thought so,” I said, “So, I take it they're not going to let me back in anytime soon?”
“You could just leave, Fifty,” she said with a frown, “they reckon the internet is never gonna' come back on round these parts. If they can't check your page, then nobody knows who you are.”
“You don't know that for sure,” I said, “if it comes back and someone takes one look at my record, they'll think the worst of me.”
“But you didn't do anything, right?” she said with a cheeky grin.
“I don't think I did,” I said, “but I just don't know.”
“I guess you'll find out one day,” she said with a sobering laugh, which seemed to echo with a sense of emptiness.
“That's not exactly reassuring.”
“Sorry,” she said, as she sat down beside me, causing the floorboards to creak with a harrowing symphony, “you mind if I stay awhile?”
I saw no reason to deny her request, and so I let her carry on as she were. And I watched as she pulled out a small box of cigarettes from the leather bag at her side and immediately lit one up – not even caring to offer me one.
“That's not good for your health,” I said as I gently nudged her side.
“Worlds gone to shit anyway, let me have this,” she said with a faint laugh as she blew smoke in my eyes, causing them to water.
“It's not that bad,” I said, “it's just different. And you've got it easier at least, you're in the town.”
“It's not that easy,” she said as she blew smoke into my face yet again, delighting in the misfortune she caused me. “Lost my entire family that day.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I didn't mean-”
“It's fine, don't worry about it.” She flicked the stub of her cigarette into the dirt. “I'm probably better off without them, anyway.”
We sat in silence for some time, there was never too much to talk of between us that didn't devolve into the same platitudes before long, and so I thought it best to do nothing more than watch the sun as it burrowed itself below the horizon. As it did so, I felt a cold chill ring out around me, sending a chill coursing throughout my entire body.
“You gonna' be right out here?” she said as she moved closer to me, “it's getting colder as of late.”
“I've got the fireplace,” I said, “I should be okay, but thanks.”
“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” she spoke in a whisper as her arm snaked its way around my side. “After they chased those folk out, people are giving me shifty looks again.”
“Sure,” I said, as my words betrayed my heart.
“Let's get inside then,” she said, as she dragged me away.
* * *
Edit: Just wrote a little bit more, probably won't do any more than this.
* * *
More of my writing at /r/khaarus
| 2020-02-29T20:07:45 | 2020-02-29T19:44:34 | 2,560 | 370 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
The day the url released, millions of people flocked to the churches, hoping to cleanse themselves of their sins.
And the rest of us.
Well we know there’s no escaping what’s coming to us.
Oh you killed someone? Well the fbi knows about it now. They monitor the damn site like crazy. And ever since the damn developers of the website added a location, shits gotten hard.
Which leads me to today, perched in the rafters of a church, watching the ceremony take place. Bored, i take out my phone and check the website, searching my name.
Sins
Murder
Murder
Murder
Theft
Murder
Murder
Time to be served in hell
-500 years
“What?” I refresh the page, again it reads -500 years
The ceremony begins to wrap up, and i slip the phone into my pocket, and take aim.
A politician, responsible for the deaths of hundreds.
I have 5 minutes before the cops turn up.
The gun fires, and I leap from my spot and jump out the window onto the roof.
4 minutes.
I slide down the drainpipe and sprint towards the entrance to the sewers
3 minutes.
The sounds of sirens begin
I slip into the sewers and sprint through the tunnels.
2 minutes.
I turn a left and continue to sprint
1 minute.
I stop, leaning against the wall, and pulling out my phone again. The contractor sends a message
“Well done.”
I hastily type a reply “when do i get paid”
“The time will come.”
I sigh “great” i mutter, opening up the website again
Time to be served in hell -700 years.
“Shit.” I realise exactly who my contractor is.
Who he has been all these years.
|
The entire world was shocked at the mere idea of the website. I suppose we all knew that you could find anything on the internet... But we certainly didn't expect *this*. People everywhere were mortified by their ratings on the website, horrified at the simple thought that they may spend an eternity in such a place as Hell.
Why, the world itself erupted into chaos as men, women, children challenged one another to take but a glimpse of their own rating on the site. It took a mere glance for people to go mad with self-preservation. Their very being broken down as they animalistically ripped apart the screen bearing the bad news.
And for the few who's lives were granted reassurance that they had lived well, they were forced to watch the ravenous faces of their envious peers. They endured the never ending questions of the creatures that once were known as human beings, as they raved about what they *possibly* could have done differently to achieve the impossible goal. Those lucky few who were saved in the afterlife were bullied, outcast, beaten to shreds for the unthinkable crime of not having an answer to these beings' questions. These poor souls who managed to be granted a good life beyond this one, were made to face a fate comparable that fiery lake of Hell in their current lives. Some were even given an unholy immediate send-off to their Heavenly afterlife.
As for me? I haven't checked. Seeing what *knowing* has done to the beasts around me is enough to scare me from ever looking at that site. I'd rather put off my fate rather than keep an everlasting pit in my stomach 'til the day I die. I mean, when chaos and insanity aren't taking over, this life really isn't so bad. Is it such a heinous crime for me to want to enjoy what I have while it lasts? From the crystal clear example laid out before me, I can tell that living my oh-so-precious life without fully grasping the future that lay before me is certainly a blessing, not a curse.
So, as per usual, I gripe about my morning coffee, groan about my job, party a little here and there, and live in the moment. Unfortunately, people like me are few. We, as humans, are stressed, busy, and dying to know what's in store. We gotta know if we're really gonna get that pot of gold for our efforts. Most of us don't know how to accept not knowing the future, and that's led to whatever reality we exist in now. I mean, on the bright side, the church has never been fuller. So at least someone's getting something outta this mess.
Well, it's just about morning. I've spent the night drinking, dreading what's to happen today. My relatives are coming over and it's practically certain that they've seen their "results". Just a wild guess, but knowing my folks, they weren't too happy. I'd planned for them to come over since before the website came, and they haven't let me though that plans have changed. So I guess I'll discover who's coming over today. That would be like them, though, to come over regardless.
After I've finished my lunch, I hear a knock at the door. It's my relatives, apparently they decided to actually show. I open the door, and to my surprise, the only one there is my cousin Jolene. "Don't tell me," I joke, "there's more of them in the car." Jolene is probably the only person I can really confide in. She and I love to joke about our melodramatic family.
"Sorry, buddy, you're stuck with me today. Not much of a party, but I decided I just couldn't miss the food." We both laugh, I guess she wasn't too affected by whatever she found out on the site. We spent the evening joking, goofing off, and having a good time. Eventually we get down to discussing recent events.
"I gotta ask, what were your results?" she asks.
"Honestly, I haven't checked. I really don't care enough to know. Did you look?"
"Actually, that's what I really came here about...". Jolene looks a bit concerned. Now she's really got me interested. But when I got her to spill the tea, I couldn't believe what came out of her mouth. She explained to me how every one of our family members were going to Heaven. Every. Single. One. That is, except her. Whatever criteria needed to be met, my insane family had passed but not Jolene. I couldn't believe it.
"How is that even possible? They're... They're insane, and you're ... That's so backwards."
She then told me about how once everyone had found out, they'd cast her out. Jolene, the girl that did whatever she could to please my crazy family. The girl who was willing to live by them, unlike me. The girl who spent her life by them, doing exactly what they told her to do. Tossed out, just like that.
For the first time since the website came out, I genuinely cared about the results that were being given. Whatever the criteria were, whatever the cost it took, I needed to get Jolene on the "nice list". She deserved it more than anyone else. Little did I know, I was about to pull a heist bigger than anything I'd ever known. I was about to literally deal with the devil to pull someone's soul out of Hell itself.
| 2020-02-29T23:30:10 | 2020-02-29T22:46:57 | 110 | 43 |
[WP] On the eve of your arranged marriage, you slipped away into the night. Intending to never be seen again. While scaling the garden wall, you spotted your fiancée doing the same thing. You both stared at each other for a while.
|
The possibility of an arranged marriage is something Jonah’s parents and mine had joked about in the past. Never would have thought they’d go through with it though. Yet, here I am. Climbing up this rickety ladder over our garden wall to escape the night before my wedding. To my right there’s some ruffling and what looks like the shape of a person; seems like I’m not the only one looking for an out.
“Jonah is that you?,” I manage to get out through some muffled laughs.
He pauses for a moment and squints before finally making eye contact, “you have got to be kidding me. Rebecca? Maybe we are meant for each other after all.” We both chuckle as we climb down from the wall and walk towards each other. I pause for a moment to turn towards the main house and make sure all the lights are still out.
“Well at least we didn’t wake anyone up with our antics,” I whisper as he closes the distance between us.
“Tell me the truth Rebecca,” he says as he grabs my hand, “do you think there’s any way we can get out of this without being disowned by our families? What if this is marriage is our only option to keep them in our life? I may have been climbing that wall but I was regretting leaving all of this behind. I don’t know how well I would manage in the real world without their help if I’m being completely honest. We’re only twenty and while I know we aren’t ready to be married, are we ready to be on our own either?”
“I’ve been thinking about that too…there’s always the matter of our respective inheritances as well,” I consider slowly as I pull my hand away from his.
“Well let’s sit down and try and think of a solution that we both agree on,” he suggests with a twinkle in his eye as he helps me down to the floor gently. I really appreciate how thoughtful he is and for a second I think maybe marrying him wouldn’t be so bad after all. I just wish there was a way we could take more time to think about it without an uproar from our families. Maybe we’ll be able to come up with something that works for us and won’t leave us financially stranded now that we’re able to work together and plan.
An hour later we have come to a decision. “So you’re going to deal with my parents and I’ll deal with yours?,” I ask him to make sure we’re both on the same page when it comes to our plan.
“Yeah I think that just makes the most sense. It’ll be easier on both of us emotionally that way,” he says as he grabs the doorknob to the main house.
I feel myself getting apprehensive as I head in the direction of his parents room and watch him head towards mine. The gun feels foreign and heavy in my hand even though I’ve gone shooting a few times in the past. This time will be different though. Two gunshots go off in the back of the house. There’s no turning back now.
|
For the thousandth time that day, I suppressed the rage that had been threatening to overtake me all year. A cavalry regiment! My life for a fucking cavalry regiment! In exchange for my marrying the Khan's daughter and God knows what else, we have been offered a cavalry regiment. Don't get me wrong, the Khanates on the Eastern Steppes produce some of the most feared horsemen in the known world. But our lands are all rolling hills and dense forests! Here, mounted units are about as effective as a chocolate teapot. But try telling that to my father, Emperor "I Believe Whatever My Idiot Nephew Tells Me".
You would think I'd be used to this sort of nonsense by now. My eldest brother picks up a sword, and he's praised as being God's gift to soldiering because no one wants to piss off the next Emperor. I parry too slowly in fencing class, and I'm an embarrassment to the family. My older sister--mother's favorite--got to marry some Baron because she loved him for Christ's sake. Everything gets handed to the older children, and us younger kids get to bust our asses to make us semi-appealing bargaining chips. No wonder the Empire has been going through a rough patch this last century.
Tomorrow I'm supposed to marry whatever Princess has the misfortune to get saddled with me. Probably either some poor sixteen year old whose been told this is what love is, or some soulless social climber who will never love me as much as my last name. I can almost feel a cavern digging itself between my eyebrows as I examine my options. Either I can stay here and watch this sad soap opera play out, or go the one place my father and his allies have no influence--the Northlands. If you believe the court gossip, it's a lawless land full of rogues and brigands. If you don't buy that tale, it's just a big unknown country ruled by constantly changing leaders. Most importantly, no one would go looking for me there.
"Fuck it. Better to die young and free than inside a stately stockade."
I shouldered my trusty rucksack, filled with a few days provisions and a change of clothes, and unbuttoned my shirt as I ducked into the servant's passageways. In case anyone saw me moving through the palace, best they see what I'm expected to be--a young nobleman having a fling.
The ruse worked depressingly well. The younger servants giggled when they saw me move by, the older ones rolled their eyes ever so slightly before casting them downwards. Did they truly think so little of me?
Past the kitchens, through the whole in the guardsmen's perimeter no one ever seemed competent enough to patch. From here, I could see the tents of my fiancee's entourage. I really hope she doesn't take getting left at the alter personally, but some things can't be helped.
Finally, the pastures! Normally, only a few horses would be in the royal paddocks. Tonight, they were at full capacity with the additions from the Khan's herd. At this point, my luck appears to have run out. I was hoping the pasture would be as poorly guarded as the palace perimeter, especially considering no foot soldier was likely to be sober on the eve of a wedding. Unfortunately, it seemed the foreign foot soldiers were far more disciplined, carefully watching the land between the horses and my vantage point from the treeline.
"You won't make it past, horse thief. Not without help."
I very nearly managed to avoid jumping out of my skin and ending my bid for freedom right then and there. A tall woman with jet black hair detached herself from the trees and moved towards me with velvety soft footsteps. Clearly a skilled huntress from the Steppes.
"Any ideas? I've got a long way to travel and I'd rather not do it on foot."
The woman came alongside me, moving like morning fog rolling over the ground. Together, we gazed at the guards and the horses, so tantalizingly out of reach. Finally, a frustrated sigh dropped from the woman's mouth as she entwined her arm in mine.
"They will not begrudge me one last night ride before my wedding night. It'll cause court rumors I'd rather not deal with, but I suppose the upside of doing this is I will no longer have to deal with court gossip. Come on."
Wedding night? Well let no one say Gods doesn't have a sense of irony. My head reeled as she led from the trees to the paddocks edge and ordered the guards to fetch and saddle to horses. A few snickers from the watchmen were silenced by a glare from the woman--princess I suppose--that burned like a glacier.
"Hold up there missus. Royal paddocks is closed. Under strict orders from my emperor not to let anything leave."
A captain in our army apparently chose now to stage his intervention, and this one was a stickler for the rules. I suppose my career as a criminal mastermind/horse thief was at an end. Hopefully, my fiancee didn't have a thing for the bad boy type or this marriage was going to be aborted for a second time this evening.
"Don't you recognize me Captain? Apparently, my fiancee's people have a tradition called a Night Ride on the eve of their weddings. If you want to make major, I suggest you do as the lady says." I fixed what I hoped was a convincing impish grin on my face as the captain turned white as a sheet upon recognizing me. Quickly he backed away stammering apologies.
The grooms quickly brought our horses, my reluctant fiancee berating them in her native tongue. Quickly we mounted and set off at a canter, leaving behind the camp as quickly as we could.
"So honey pie, guess you weren't too interested in moving here?"
The woman turned to me again, with the glacial glare. I know that glares like that should unsettle me, but there was something deeply alluring about it. At this point, I knew I was in trouble.
"I wasn't interested in being a bargaining chip anymore. I figure whatever happens to me on the road can't be worse than life some self-important younger son with an inferiority complex. No offense."
A deep laugh bubbled up from my stomach and frothed from my mouth like the head of a good beer. I don't remember the last time I'd laughed like that.
"Fair enough. I figured this was the only chance I'd have at finding out what freedom is like--figured that'd be better than an opportunist looking to move half a continent for the sake of a palace and social mobility. I'm heading north. Care to join me me?"
A crooked smile crept across the woman's face as she goaded her horse into a canter.
"Just try and keep up pretty boy."
| 2020-07-07T19:24:04 | 2020-07-07T18:04:22 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] As punishment for his sins, a human is sentenced to battle endlessly against hordes of demons with nothing but a knife. Satan's court laughs at him for a few thousand years... until he starts winning the battles. Then they start screaming in terror.
|
Satan: "What do you mean, he started winning?"
"Yes, lord, he got a lucky shot in and disarmed one of our combatants. He..he then...picked up their hellblade."
Satan: "Ha! I always love it when they attempt to do that! What happened to this one? Did he burst into flames? Did he evaporate?"
"No, my lord.. He... wielded it and used it to destroy the combatant."
That delighted childish look, easily to be read on Satan's face, suddenly turned stern.
Satan: "Leave me. Now."
The servant quickly scurried out of the room, knowing full well what the consequences might be if he asked any further questions or extended his stay even for a few more seconds.
Satan slowly walk towards his desk. He pulled the chair gently backwards and sat down at a slow, yet heavy pace.
His mouth opened, ever so slightly, whispering but one word.
​
"Nephalem"
|
Papa Pig gave Asmo a sidelong stare. It had no irises with which to slide down toward the flinching horror, but the fires in the bottom corners of its eye craters going an even blacker black did the trick. And if that didn't, it's talons extending while crimson rivulets --wailing for the release of their tortured souls-- ran down them sure did. The one extending from its pointer finger stretched out in the direction of the battlefield bordering Papa Pig's bone spire, far below, "can you tell me what *that* is?"
​
Asmo blinked. "Is that... is that real?"
​
Papa Pig glared as the thing in question sawed through an imp with one arm, lifted a five-ton gorgon in the other and flung it into an obsidian formation a good quarter mile distant with enough force to liquefy its bones, and crushed a trio of lemures underfoot. "Looks pretty real to me."
​
"I have so many questions."
​
"Funny," (Papa Pig did not seem to be feeling particularly droll to Asmo,) "so do I."
​
Asmo knew if he tried to teleport at this moment, Papa Pig would negate it. If he tried to crawl back in time Papa Pig would probably reach in and drag him back out by the tentacles. Maybe if he just concentrated on being as small as possible-
​
Something small and shiny glinted as it sailed through the air toward him. Quick-as-lightning, Asmo whipped an appendage out and coiled it around the object.
​
"Can you tell me what that is?" Asked Papa Pig.
​
"A Swiss Army..." and that was the moment when the proverbial light flickered to life above Asmo's brains, "er, tool."
​
"Oh?!" Asked Papa Pig, wielding the word like a scythe with Asmo, the nearest shaft of wheat, "and as what *else* might it be referred, apart from 'tool'?"
​
Asmo cleared his throats. "Um... a Swiss Army Knife." He lowered his voice with each word, as though he could lift the rug and kick the term beneath.
​
For a long time Papa Pig said nothing. Didn't even look at Asmo. The pair of demons simply stood in the observatory and watched the fifty-foot mech warrior eviscerate hellspawn with surgical precision below. On the battlefield a laser beam from a tank's secondary weapon sliced an entire pack of hellhounds neatly in twine in the blink-of-an-eye -- smoke from their cauterized flesh snaking up to meet the land-of-the-damned's ever-present miasma like ghoulish pillars -- as Papa Pig finally broke the silence, "tell me the specifics of the contract you brokered with this soul."
​
"C-contract? I mean... it wasn't... we weren't trying to collect on his soul. He's already here. We were just trying to have a little fun."
​
Papa Pig shook its head slowly. Its calm response belied by the tenfold increase in the wailing of the things in the blood running down its talons. "Swiss Army Knives can have practically anything on them."
​
"But... it's a bit much to interpret that as a tank, a mech warrior, an attack helo, a UAV, a ground-to-air missile system, a-"
​
"Did you specify that in a contract!?!" The very space around Asmo bellowed at him, in Papa Pig's voice. Surely rupturing at least a dozen of his eardrums in the process.
​
"But... that doesn't... those are just," Asmo flailed hundreds of appendages in the direction of the slaughter, "random implements of war! What have they to do with a knife, Swiss Army or otherwise?!"
​
Papa Pig said nothing, instead jabbing a blood-soaked talon back toward the carnage.
​
Asmo squinted. There was something oddly coordinated in the way the soul's weapons all moved. And he fancied he could see something reflecting the fires of hell between them. He sent his consciousness over for a closer look. Sure enough: the tank, the drone, the mech warrior, everything was interconnected by a series of steel rods that ran back to a shared fulcrum point. Like one single humongous, hyper-advanced, devastating...
| 2021-10-29T03:23:55 | 2021-10-29T01:54:51 | 47 | 26 |
[WP] "Huh. Looks like you're quite the Overachiever. Made lots of friends." The reaper mutters, sighing. "You have MULTIPLE claims to your soul. All from some pretty big players. That's, uh, not supposed to happen. So... Hm. I'll try and get their attention, and see who comes to get you first?"
|
"Hmm, that is one option," Tanas said, smoothly, "but surely we could take a moment to consider others, yes?" The tiefling flashed his best smile, the one reserved for disgruntled palace guards and furious mob bosses. "For starters, I might not even stay dead that long. That enormous slab of meat and iron standing over my corpse seems to be working on my resurrection as we speak." Tanas gestured gracefully to a towering cleric of Keranos who - through the murky, muted interference of The Veil - appeared to be muttering furiously.
NO OPTIONS, NO STALLING, NO DEALS. I HAVE WATCHED YOU LONG ENOUGH, TANAS "THE TRUSTWORTHY". Even death seemed amused by the moniker. NO, IVE COME TO COLLECT YOU FAR TOO MANY TIMES ALREADY.
Tanas's smile faltered, briefly, "of course, of course! Your time is valuable and I appreciate that," he stressed the word 'appreciate' in the way that only the least sincere people can, "which is why I would like to save you some time and suggest one of those names on your list. Surely we don't want a ruckus on our hands if they all show up and start fighting over me, hmm?"
Death was as still and silent as only he can be, the implacable rictus grin of a bare skull grinning at life's best joke.
VERY WELL. CHOOSE.
Tanas gingerly took the scroll and unrolled it. And unrolled it. "Oh." He paused, "OH." He read further, "Now this one is surely an error, I didn't sign with my blood."
I BELIEVE I ALREADY WARNED YOU ABOUT STALLING.
"Excuse me? You did no such thing! You made some pretty bold statements about how you thought this was going to proceed but at no point did you warn me of anything, I will not tolerate dishonesty from elder manifestations such as you, sir, it is unbecoming. No, a warning would, by necessity of definition, include some sort of If/Then proposal, typically in the form of a threat and you have made no such statement. Now, I will accept your apology." Tanas folded his ghostly arms haughtily.
APOLOGY?
"Yes, an apology, it's when -" Tanas's snark reply was cut short.
I APOLOGIZE FOR NOT THREATENING YOU PROPERLY. Death's 'voice' had been a dull echoing inside Tanas's skull, but now it was the roar of a hundred million souls swallowed by an endless oblivion. TANAS FICKLEHEART, YOU WILL CEASE YOUR MISCHIEF OR I WILL RIP YOUR SOUL INTO AS MANY PIECES AS I NEED TO IN ORDER TO SATISFY EVERY NAME ON THIS LIST AND YOU CAN SPEND ETERNITY SUFFERING IN AS MANY DIFFERENT HELLS - SIMULTANEOUSLY.
Tanas nodded, silent, somber. He looked down a while in thought. "You're right, of course. It is I who must apologize." Tanas drew himself up, made a very formal bow, and spoke again, "I am terribly sorry, but I must be going."
There was a crack of thunder and a brief flash of lighting as his soul returned to his body, leaving Death alone again in the void behind The Veil.
|
It's words fell upon me like bricks. My daze began to clear as I began to remember all that I had done in my short time on earth. What did it mean by multiple claims to my soul? I couldn't even grasp what was happening fully. Was this real or just some sort of coma dream? Am I still lying on the side of that miserable road bleeding out?
Then came this horrible feeling of ....emptiness. The cold crept up my insides filling me with this horrible sense of abandonment. Things got darker and my head began to cloud up again. Somewhere in the distance I heard what sounded like .... a train rumbling at full steam. The sound grew louder and louder and more horrible still. I fell to me knees, covered my ears, and closed my eyes certain that my head would explode at any moment. So horriby horribly loud.... and then in an instant... it stopped.... and I knew he was there. I raised my head to see a huge figure cloaked in darkness before me glaring down upon me as if I were his dinner. He was darkness incarnate. I couldn't truly make out his features. It was painful to even look at him and yet those eyes.... glistening blue shining brightly almost beautiful and blinding. Such a terrible feeling to look upon them and yet you can't look away. This was the devil.
"So...." he spoke.
"You're time has finally come! One of my greatest killers! One my fiercest warriors. Sooo much blood is flowing from your hands. Sooo much sorrow has followed in your wake. Children whose fathers will never return to them. Food for the worms served fresh on a platter.... by you my son. Come it is time for you to return to me and I will rebirth you into a world that needs your....expertise."
I was in shock. His words cutting deep to the core of my being. One of his greatest killer? Really? Was this really my fate? He reached out to me and I felt the darkness begin to envelope my soul. Swallowing my inner light.
Suddenly the sky cracked open with the booms of thunder and flashes of lightning. An angel appeared from the heavens and the glow and warmth of god almighty surrounded us all. The devil pulled his hand away and I felt the life return to me. Fear isn't even an adequate word for what I was feeling. Panic is the only word that'll do.
"Stop this Non sense immediately!! Greatest killer my foot! "
The angel clad in golden armor sporting a long red beard. Confidence and strength broadcasting from his core. I could feel my soul feeding off of it restoring me. He stood by my side not my taller than myself.
"This man is no villain he is a hero. The lives he has taken were justified. He spent the last years of his life fighting for what is right. Killing those that stood for what is wrong. Killing wolves who seek to pray upon the sheep. He has no place fighting in some horrible trench with the likes of you demon. He belongs in a world leading heros just like himself on to glory. He will be a blessing to his people and his strength will carry them to brighter days. He belongs with me demon not you."
The devil shook his head but remained silent. I looked up to the reaper who was already leering at me. It spoke "Both lay claim to you child and both are correct in their observations. A great killer or a great hero. It's hard to pass judgement without first looking what's deep in your heart. Close your eyes my child. Tell me why you killed so many men.
"I thought about it for a sec. I knew if I said I just wanted the bastards dead, then I would go on to the darkness to another brutal life of killing. If I said I did it for my country, for my people, I knew the angel would take me on to a life of leadership and admiration. I closed my eyes and I tried to remember. Why did I kill so many men? What was I fighting for? It took a second and nothing came to me, but then... I heard her voice."
"Baby?"
It was her. I opened my eyes and there she was. My beautiful wife. It's been so many years and yet she is still as young and radiant as I remember. I looked down and my wrinkles were gone, my gray beard faded away. I was a young man again. The man I was the day she died. I hugged her and held her close. She gently placed her head on my chest and closed her eyes.
"I remember now..." I began to tear up.
"They invaded our country for no good reason. I wanted us to leave to run for the border, but she couldn't leave her mother behind. She was too old and sick to make the trip. So we decided to stay and pray the war would end soon. I took a trip to the store for some food and hopefully some medicine. The air raid sirens went off and before I knew what was happening artillery fire was raining down on the city. When it was over for a moment I felt grateful to be alive. I didn't know my house had been hit. I didn't know they were gone. When I came around the corner and saw the fire I knew what had happened. I sifted through the rubble ashes and found them. I held what was left of her in my arms screaming, crying, gasping for air. My wife was so beautiful and was far too good for this world. I buried them right there in the backyard and I swore I would kill every single one of the mother fuckers. Or at least as many as I could as long as I still breathed."
"You did a damn fine job of that my son" Scoffed the devil.
"You fought for what was right!" Snapped back the angel.
"Enough..." my wife exclaimed. "We lived and died for each other. None of you have claim to him. He belongs with me. Now come on Pat lets go."
I smiled and took her hand. The devil faded back into the darkness and the angel ascended back into the light. We took our first steps off into obilivion. I was prepared for an eternity in her embrace...when suddenly............
"We got a pulse!!! Don't give up on me yet dammitttttt !!...................""
2 weeks later
I wake up on a cot. My head wrapped up. Right eye swollen shut. Feels like I got hit by a truck. A nurse leans in to check my vitals.
"Much better today Sir. Welcome back to the world of the living!" Her smile made me feel queazy.
"What happened? Where am I?"
"You are in a field hospital sir. You were a few yards away when a cluster bomb was dropped near ya. We found you bleeding out in the street but fortunately we were able to get to you and stabilize you in time. It was a little scary there for a bit but looks like your gonna be ok."
I sat up slowly checking to see what was still functional. Feet, legs, arms, hands, all still good.
"Where's my rifle?"
"LOL no way soldier boy you are not going anywhere anytime soon."
I reached up and grabbed her arm. Her smile replaced with a look of fear.
"Please... where's my rifle? I have work to do."
| 2022-03-01T18:30:06 | 2022-03-01T17:23:48 | 37 | 22 |
[WP] You're running a little late to work, but when you arrive someone identical to you is already sitting at your desk. He puts up his hands and says "Relax, I can explain."
|
I paused, almost dropping my coffee. "Dude, what the fu-"
He raised his hands rapidly, scooting away from the desk. "R-relax, I can explain..."
"Goddammit man, this is the third time this week. Look, I know you want your own office, but you've got to use your cubicle until you get promoted."
Working with my twin brother was always a hassle.
|
"Listen very carefully, and if you do every single thing I say without question, we will both make it out of here alive, and I'll tell you anything you want to know. Anything. Are you with me?"
"Shit. What is this?"
"Are you with me?"
I hesitated, "yes."
"A man will be arriving in a few minutes, with a group of soldiers. You will not see this. As soon as I'm done speaking, you will turn around, go to the third door on the left, the janitors' closet. Place one broomstick outside the room leaning on the trim, and then enter that room and lock the door behind you. The handle sticks, make sure you hear it click closed. Do not open that door, you will be rescued. Do not mention me, I will find you tomorrow. Go."
I stood there numbly, I had a feeling that I knew what was going to happen. Not the details, of course, but someone was going to be on the receiving end of that pole.
"Go."
I looked over my desk, I don't know why. Mementos and work files, mostly, the photo of my wife and I, second honeymoon in Tahiti, laying up against a tissue box. How ironic.
"Go. Please."
Whatever this man was doing, it wasn't something I wanted to leave any trails on. I palmed a tissue and followed his instructions. The encounter was brief and brutal, I heard the pole crack at some point, halfway through. Building security found me an hour later, quivering in a corner. Very little of that was acting.
***
I sat at a table outside, facing the street. He wasn't shy about his approach, and seemed quite calm about the situation.
"Thank you, my friend, I think you have a lot of questions."
"Not as many as you'd think. What was he going to do?"
"The man I mentioned? Yes, he's interesting. Left unchecked he would have done horrific things across the globe, in our name. His death only left a vacancy for someone else, nearly as bad, and with a mind for vengeance. There was a third option, though, and it happened to make everything turn out for the best, at the cost of his mobility."
"You... paralyzed him?"
"Yes, and to be honest I might have overdone that, I wanted to leave him a bit of sensitivity down there. Only time will tell now."
"And you... are me?"
"Yes, well mostly, can't spare any details, cause frankly I don't want you screwing this up on me. Right now it might be best case scenario."
"But we look the same, people are going to come for me too. Right?"
"I have fake ID and I didn't leave much behind. Learn a word called doppelganger, use it any time people ask about me. We don't have twins or brothers, so use doppelganger. Also, try not to do any genetic or paternity testing, if you guys decide to."
"So what now? Is it dangerous being seen with you?"
"Maybe after tonight, yeah, but I'll be picked up at JFK trying to leave the country, you won't see me again, except maybe on the news."
"Hmm."
"You'll be fine, just keep your head on straight and coast through your boring corporate life. Sorry about that, well I guess that's not much of a spoiler is it?"
"No, I figured I'd be pushing pencils until the machines took over. Not surprising."
"Good man. Well, thank you again. Maybe one day a very long time from now, someone will put our story together, but for now it's time to end it," he said as he shook my hand and calmly stepped into the lane.
***
It's been ten years, but I still think about that day. I really did save him, he was myself. I also saved myself, and got out of the rat race. Besides, travel writers have the best offices of any profession. I wouldn't have it any other way.
It was in the news briefly, the American Ambassador to the UN pulled every string in the book to halt the execution of his would-be assassin, and the focus of his 'No More Blood' campaign. My picture flashed briefly on the screen, but my head was down in a manuscript, possibly the most important document I've held in my life. My wife's first novel. I couldn't help but smile.
| 2015-01-17T22:24:12 | 2015-01-17T22:09:04 | 287 | 13 |
[WP] You're running a little late to work, but when you arrive someone identical to you is already sitting at your desk. He puts up his hands and says "Relax, I can explain."
|
i stood there and looked at him, he looked at me.
"I'm the real slim shady, yes I'm the real shady, all these other slim shady's are just imitating"
my jaws on the floor, all the other fake imitators stood up and screamed that they are the real slim shady.
"Women wave your pantyhose, sing the chorus and it goes" I replied in anger.
|
"Listen very carefully, and if you do every single thing I say without question, we will both make it out of here alive, and I'll tell you anything you want to know. Anything. Are you with me?"
"Shit. What is this?"
"Are you with me?"
I hesitated, "yes."
"A man will be arriving in a few minutes, with a group of soldiers. You will not see this. As soon as I'm done speaking, you will turn around, go to the third door on the left, the janitors' closet. Place one broomstick outside the room leaning on the trim, and then enter that room and lock the door behind you. The handle sticks, make sure you hear it click closed. Do not open that door, you will be rescued. Do not mention me, I will find you tomorrow. Go."
I stood there numbly, I had a feeling that I knew what was going to happen. Not the details, of course, but someone was going to be on the receiving end of that pole.
"Go."
I looked over my desk, I don't know why. Mementos and work files, mostly, the photo of my wife and I, second honeymoon in Tahiti, laying up against a tissue box. How ironic.
"Go. Please."
Whatever this man was doing, it wasn't something I wanted to leave any trails on. I palmed a tissue and followed his instructions. The encounter was brief and brutal, I heard the pole crack at some point, halfway through. Building security found me an hour later, quivering in a corner. Very little of that was acting.
***
I sat at a table outside, facing the street. He wasn't shy about his approach, and seemed quite calm about the situation.
"Thank you, my friend, I think you have a lot of questions."
"Not as many as you'd think. What was he going to do?"
"The man I mentioned? Yes, he's interesting. Left unchecked he would have done horrific things across the globe, in our name. His death only left a vacancy for someone else, nearly as bad, and with a mind for vengeance. There was a third option, though, and it happened to make everything turn out for the best, at the cost of his mobility."
"You... paralyzed him?"
"Yes, and to be honest I might have overdone that, I wanted to leave him a bit of sensitivity down there. Only time will tell now."
"And you... are me?"
"Yes, well mostly, can't spare any details, cause frankly I don't want you screwing this up on me. Right now it might be best case scenario."
"But we look the same, people are going to come for me too. Right?"
"I have fake ID and I didn't leave much behind. Learn a word called doppelganger, use it any time people ask about me. We don't have twins or brothers, so use doppelganger. Also, try not to do any genetic or paternity testing, if you guys decide to."
"So what now? Is it dangerous being seen with you?"
"Maybe after tonight, yeah, but I'll be picked up at JFK trying to leave the country, you won't see me again, except maybe on the news."
"Hmm."
"You'll be fine, just keep your head on straight and coast through your boring corporate life. Sorry about that, well I guess that's not much of a spoiler is it?"
"No, I figured I'd be pushing pencils until the machines took over. Not surprising."
"Good man. Well, thank you again. Maybe one day a very long time from now, someone will put our story together, but for now it's time to end it," he said as he shook my hand and calmly stepped into the lane.
***
It's been ten years, but I still think about that day. I really did save him, he was myself. I also saved myself, and got out of the rat race. Besides, travel writers have the best offices of any profession. I wouldn't have it any other way.
It was in the news briefly, the American Ambassador to the UN pulled every string in the book to halt the execution of his would-be assassin, and the focus of his 'No More Blood' campaign. My picture flashed briefly on the screen, but my head was down in a manuscript, possibly the most important document I've held in my life. My wife's first novel. I couldn't help but smile.
| 2015-01-17T23:01:34 | 2015-01-17T22:09:04 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins"
|
My vision was blurry but I was starting to get my consciousness back.
"Way to go kid, that rankings not bad for your first try!"
The man had an oddly familiar figure.
"What is this place?" I asked
"Take a look around and see for yourself!" He said as he picked me up from the ground. There was an endless number of people as far as I could see. The only thing that stood out among the sea of people was the giant mega-tron with a list of rankings and stats.
"I can't remember a thing," I told him.
"Don't worry, it's always like that at first," he said.
The more I starred at him, the more I felt I had known him my whole life. A strange looking man with slick comb-over and a ridiculous mustache.
There was a digital box that loomed over his head and the content in the box read "Player Ranking: 3"
"What does the ranking mean above your head?" I asked him.
"Oh this? It's because I only got 17,000,000. It's impossible to beat that Chinese Bastard!" He said.
I was slowly regaining my memories. It was only bits and pieces at a time but I wanted to remember the last memory before blacking out.
I remembered my mind was racing with anxiety. It was a busy day in town and I was walking around as if I had something important to do. My clothes felt heavy, as if I was wearing something more. It was heavy particularly on my chest and it seemed like my jacket was bulgier. I remembered closing my eyes and thinking...
"Times up! The boss wants to see you now." The man said as he directed me towards the elevator. "He'll be in his office located on the bottom floor."
As I was making my way towards the elevator, he stopped me grabbed me firmly by the shoulders.
"And make sure you don't mention that religious crap you were shouting before you came here, he's very sensitive about that kind of stuff."
|
>>> ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: **IRON MAN**
>>> *Earned by dying of natural causes beyond age 100 as a human.*
"Wha...," I murmured. It felt like I was waking up from a dream. Had I been playing so long that I lost track of the time?
I took a moment as my clarity began to return. This wasn't my first time playing, but it was certainly the longest I had gone in one session. At least I knew I had gotten better at the game, my best friend told me his first time playing a human he didn't make it past adolescence due to choosing one of the harder starting scenarios (low-income, single parent, high ceiling, high risk). Got ganked by a pretty aggressive higher leveled PVPer looking to score some quick cash. My first time around I went with high-income, doting parents, medium ceiling, low risk, and ended up getting bored and careless and died at a party shortly after buying my way into college.
"Damn, dude, you went the distance on that one," a familiar voice noted from behind me.
"Still waiting to respawn?" I replied.
"Naw, I've got my avatar paused," my friend replied, "Or well, I'm 'In a Coma' I guess is what the game calls it. Silly jargon, anyway, you gonna roll human again? Mine's a politician right now, shit is stupid tough, but the gameplay is really in depth and intricate. Honestly, it's why I'm in a coma right now. I needed the break from the insanity of it all."
I pondered his question for a moment as I honestly hadn't had time to give it any thought. This last playthrough, while not entirely exciting, was really rewarding and fruitful. I almost feel like I learned something about life during this playthrough. I know that sounds ridiculous, learning life lessons from some silly sim we all pay installments on every cycle like mindless sheep. Sometimes I think everybody plays the damn thing. Makes me wonder how anything gets done around here anymore, but I'm getting off point. I pretty much picked the default human scenario with no modifiers. It was surprisingly chaotic. It had so many more open ended branching pathways in the story than the affluent one I played the first time around. Post adolescence was particularly varied. So many choices, so many opportunities, so much anxiety! Every choice never seemed to have a 'right' answer or even a 'best' answer. They were all just questions, with several answers that all seemed to have a potential risk and benefit. I'm not even sure if I was doing it right or not. I guess I got a cheev, so I must've done something right. I don't know if I'm really ready to dive back into it again.
"Maybe I'll do something a bit more casual, like a cat or raccoon," I mused out loud, drawing a quick reply from my friend.
His enthusiasm was palpable, "Bro, raccoon has awesome stealth gameplay. Everyone should roll raccoon at least once, so much utility in a small package. Man I could spin a pretty good story out of just the shenanigans I got up to on my raccoon playthroughs."
A bit surprised, I paused for a moment before I replied, "You've done it more than once?"
"Six times," he replied, a bit more subdued, "Short life expectancy, also gameplay is a lot tougher than they lead you to believe in the description."
"Huh." I started thinking about it some more, though I have to admit, things started to sound bland to me. Even with his gusto for the raccoon, I had trouble focusing on the discussion. Almost like it was starting to sound like a foreign language to me. I had been playing for a while now, not as long as some, but I've put my time in on it, "I'm starting to think I might be done playing."
"Bro. You can't quit the game. Have you at least tried any of the other servers out? Each one has a whole different set of avatars. The fahng on the Dionys server are pretty cool, kinda like dolphins but green."
"So it's just a recolor then?"
My friend was quick to get defensive, "Naw man, there's definite differences, but the gameplay is really similiar. They're at the top of the chain though, like humans are here. There's this crazy tree class over there that..."
I started zoning out again. How long had I been playing the game? It started feeling a lot longer than it had just a few minutes prior. Just thinking about having to roll another avatar, the entire set up process, the damn tutorial period that lasts way too long made me cringe internally. It just seemed so very boring. It was time to get back to the real world.
"... and then when autumn hits, holy shit man, there's all thi..."
"I've got to go," I said, snapping from my trance of thought.
"Wha? C'mon man, just start a new toon. I'll try and hook you up when I unpause my guy."
"Things to do," I replied curtly, before heading for the exit. I knew if I gave him too much time he'd manage to talk me into sticking around. As I made my way, I started feeling more and more euphoric, I was finally excited about something again. An end to one era, and the start of another. Time to get to work!
I triumphantly burst through the exit, ready to live life to the fullest. Nothing was going to stand in my way. I'm not going to let the game take over my life, there's too much more to do out there than to pretend to be something else. It just all seemed so shallow the more and more I thought about it.
>>> Now Loading
Dammit.
Here we go again...
| 2015-11-25T00:40:01 | 2015-11-25T00:14:38 | 73 | 15 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins"
|
A whirring sound gradually filled my ears as the 'GAME OVER' marquee scrolled across the top of my HUD. "*Statistics*", I muttered, reaching blindly around for my beverage. Words flitted across my screen filling all of the empty space. "*Next-Round*", all of the text from before vanished as the respawn timer filled the screen.
>Time until Respawn: 23695624.8 minutes
I sighed, "What the fuck is this!". "*Connect to server chat*", I yelled into the microphone of my VR-helmet.
>Connecting to...'EARTH -- Human SERVER #2360 CHAT' ...
....
.....
.......
CONNECTED!
"Does anyone know the reason for this ridiculous respawn time?", I asked, "I didn't break any of the server rules!". I could hear a few muffled laughs from the others in the chat. "Is this your first play-through on the Human servers?", someone asked, "these servers don't really have any rules..just more of a set of guidelines." I thought for a few seconds trying to recall whether or not I had previously played on these servers. "No, I've definitely played on these servers before, but this is my longest play-through. I didn't make it to very high levels in my other sessions.", I tried to explain. A different person chimed in sounding as though they were suppressing their laughter, "I'm guessing you didn't read the latest patch notes for these servers before you joined your last match, huh?"
I sighed. No, of course not. I hardly ever read the patch notes and then unsurprisingly get pissed off at the game changes I didn't realize were coming. "*Patch Notes*!", I said somewhat begrudgingly. Text once again flitted cross my screen. I scrolled passed most of the bug fixes until I found the 'Game-Play Changes' section.
>"....changes made to **player respawn time**: "Player respawn-timer now solely comes from **-KARMA** rating of last play-through."
"Oh, fuck me!" I yelled, ripping off my VR-Helmet.
|
>>> ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: **IRON MAN**
>>> *Earned by dying of natural causes beyond age 100 as a human.*
"Wha...," I murmured. It felt like I was waking up from a dream. Had I been playing so long that I lost track of the time?
I took a moment as my clarity began to return. This wasn't my first time playing, but it was certainly the longest I had gone in one session. At least I knew I had gotten better at the game, my best friend told me his first time playing a human he didn't make it past adolescence due to choosing one of the harder starting scenarios (low-income, single parent, high ceiling, high risk). Got ganked by a pretty aggressive higher leveled PVPer looking to score some quick cash. My first time around I went with high-income, doting parents, medium ceiling, low risk, and ended up getting bored and careless and died at a party shortly after buying my way into college.
"Damn, dude, you went the distance on that one," a familiar voice noted from behind me.
"Still waiting to respawn?" I replied.
"Naw, I've got my avatar paused," my friend replied, "Or well, I'm 'In a Coma' I guess is what the game calls it. Silly jargon, anyway, you gonna roll human again? Mine's a politician right now, shit is stupid tough, but the gameplay is really in depth and intricate. Honestly, it's why I'm in a coma right now. I needed the break from the insanity of it all."
I pondered his question for a moment as I honestly hadn't had time to give it any thought. This last playthrough, while not entirely exciting, was really rewarding and fruitful. I almost feel like I learned something about life during this playthrough. I know that sounds ridiculous, learning life lessons from some silly sim we all pay installments on every cycle like mindless sheep. Sometimes I think everybody plays the damn thing. Makes me wonder how anything gets done around here anymore, but I'm getting off point. I pretty much picked the default human scenario with no modifiers. It was surprisingly chaotic. It had so many more open ended branching pathways in the story than the affluent one I played the first time around. Post adolescence was particularly varied. So many choices, so many opportunities, so much anxiety! Every choice never seemed to have a 'right' answer or even a 'best' answer. They were all just questions, with several answers that all seemed to have a potential risk and benefit. I'm not even sure if I was doing it right or not. I guess I got a cheev, so I must've done something right. I don't know if I'm really ready to dive back into it again.
"Maybe I'll do something a bit more casual, like a cat or raccoon," I mused out loud, drawing a quick reply from my friend.
His enthusiasm was palpable, "Bro, raccoon has awesome stealth gameplay. Everyone should roll raccoon at least once, so much utility in a small package. Man I could spin a pretty good story out of just the shenanigans I got up to on my raccoon playthroughs."
A bit surprised, I paused for a moment before I replied, "You've done it more than once?"
"Six times," he replied, a bit more subdued, "Short life expectancy, also gameplay is a lot tougher than they lead you to believe in the description."
"Huh." I started thinking about it some more, though I have to admit, things started to sound bland to me. Even with his gusto for the raccoon, I had trouble focusing on the discussion. Almost like it was starting to sound like a foreign language to me. I had been playing for a while now, not as long as some, but I've put my time in on it, "I'm starting to think I might be done playing."
"Bro. You can't quit the game. Have you at least tried any of the other servers out? Each one has a whole different set of avatars. The fahng on the Dionys server are pretty cool, kinda like dolphins but green."
"So it's just a recolor then?"
My friend was quick to get defensive, "Naw man, there's definite differences, but the gameplay is really similiar. They're at the top of the chain though, like humans are here. There's this crazy tree class over there that..."
I started zoning out again. How long had I been playing the game? It started feeling a lot longer than it had just a few minutes prior. Just thinking about having to roll another avatar, the entire set up process, the damn tutorial period that lasts way too long made me cringe internally. It just seemed so very boring. It was time to get back to the real world.
"... and then when autumn hits, holy shit man, there's all thi..."
"I've got to go," I said, snapping from my trance of thought.
"Wha? C'mon man, just start a new toon. I'll try and hook you up when I unpause my guy."
"Things to do," I replied curtly, before heading for the exit. I knew if I gave him too much time he'd manage to talk me into sticking around. As I made my way, I started feeling more and more euphoric, I was finally excited about something again. An end to one era, and the start of another. Time to get to work!
I triumphantly burst through the exit, ready to live life to the fullest. Nothing was going to stand in my way. I'm not going to let the game take over my life, there's too much more to do out there than to pretend to be something else. It just all seemed so shallow the more and more I thought about it.
>>> Now Loading
Dammit.
Here we go again...
| 2015-11-25T01:06:36 | 2015-11-25T00:14:38 | 46 | 15 |
[WP] Dwight Schrute tries to get the Pawnee Parks Department paper account and he has to sell to Ron Swanson
|
Dwight: "I have been working the Pawnee Parks Department for some time now. Well, I have been ignored by them for some time. But I think I have something up my sleeve that just might work on this Swanson fellow."
D: "Hello this is Dwight K. Schrute and I am calling with an exciting offer on meats^(and paper.)
R: "What was that about meats?"
D: "Yes for a limited time Dunder Mifflin is offering monthly shipments of exotic meats with any year long commitment to Dunder Mifflin Paper."
R: "Where do I sign?"
Dwight to the Camera: "I woke up this morning with two issues. One: The need to crack the Pawnee account. The second, I have far too much Goat Meat in my freezer. Mose was running out of room for his "Cool Down Naps". This is a good day."
|
Dwight narrating. Camera showing Dwight at his desk stretching his neck and arms.
"Today, I, Dwight Schrute, will be doing THE impossible. I've been working on this account for 5 years now. Each time, inching closer to the greatest achievement of my life.
Dwight pulls out a large binder filled with various color coded tabs. He flips through them showing headshots of Ron Swanson, Leslie Knope, and various other workers in the Pawnee Parks Department. Camera then shows Dwight doing more vigorous stretching in the break room at the discomfort of various co-workers. Stretching his legs on chairs or bending over, placing his crotch and butt in different peoples faces on accident.
"5 years of calls, mailers, Facebook friend requests, LinkedIn connections, I even went back and collected each worker's original myspace page. Turns out Mrs. Knope was quite the Salt and Pepa fan"
Dwight pulls up an old myspace page with a young leslie knope's face with animated Salt and Pepa gifs dancing in the background of the page while it plays "Push it". Dwight then cracks his knuckles and picks up the phone and dials it.
Ron Swanson picks up the phone. "What?" he asks. Dwight then puts on a fake, burly voice. "Hello my name is," He pauses for a moment. "Bob. I was given this number to someone who might be rather useful with some woodworking."
Ron leans back in his chair. "Well Bob whoever told you that is correct. But why are you calling my office, and who the hell told you my name."
Dwight flips through his binder to find the right name. "Uh, um Mr. Andy Dwyer. He's my uncle's friends brother's second niece's former roommate. This is the number he provided."
Ron leans back in his chair. "Huh." "So what sort of woodworking do you need help with?" Dwight mutes the phone, looking at the camera. "Oh, I got 'em now." Giving an uncomfortable wink to the camera. "Well you see, I was looking for some advice on what to do with this lumber I have. I've been needing to convey a message and I have ink, but, well gosh dolly darn I just have no way of writing that message down. I was thinking there was something I could do with the wood, but gosh I just can't figure it out."
"Wood burning" Ron replies simply.
"Wo-wood burning?" Dwight responds, confused.
"Yeah, fire, wood, write it out on that, give someone the wood."
"I-is there anything else you could think of that would work?"
There is a palpable pause in the conversation. "There is literally nothing else I can think of, of how to use wood outside of burning it for fire to cook your recently caught buck, building your own house, or wood burning to send a message."
Dwight frantically flips through his binder. "Uh, um what about, um what about paper!? Paper comes from wood."
"Eh" Ron said. "I hate paper. Too flimsy, can't stand on its own. At least with wood burning I can smack a hippie over the head with it."
Dwight turns around biting his fist attempting not to scream at the thought of someone hating paper. "Well maybe your office could use the paper?" He stammers out.
"Tell ya what" Ron says. "Why don't you send me that wood, I can turn it into paper for you, and I'll sell it back to you at a damn good price."
"Dwight imminently responds. "Yes! It's a deal."
Ron smirks at his desk. "Deal." He says and hangs up the phone. Dwight slams the phone down and stands up in excitement with his arms in the air in celebration. Dwight turns to the camera. "Now that's how you close a deal with Pawnee!" He marches out of the office in triumph unaware of his self being tricked.
Ron places the phone down on the receiver and opens a drawer with a small leather bound notebook. He opens it up to a list. At the top it reads, "Dwight Schrute's Fake Names". Going down there are the names:
Ralph
Joe
Ned
Archduke Dunder von Mifflin
Rev. Torry Daniels
Head Foreman Munder Difflin
The ghost of Stonewall Jackson
He then adds the name "Bob" to the list. He chuckles as he goes back to work.
| 2018-09-12T09:52:54 | 2018-09-12T09:15:01 | 1,607 | 514 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize.
|
"This could change your life for the better!" was what my best friend told me.
They were right about one thing, my life has changed drastically; but not for the better.
It's been so long that I've... forgotten their names.
Gosh, I wish I remembered their faces.
...
I can count more fingers than the strands of hair left on my head. I can't remember if I pulled them out, or if they just fell?
The nausea grows stronger every passing day...
...
They gave me a food supply for a little over a year, but it's been so long since that clock hit 000:00:00:00 that it's stopped working. I miss reading the numbers when they changed, it gave me purpose.
...
The consistent taste of warm, liquid iron in my mouth is welcoming... when was the last meal I had?
...
Why did they have to put me in a vault, of all places to isolate me?
Why won't they let me out? I've probably pressed that "Release" button more times than there were numbers on that timer, yet they won't. Let. ME. OUT!
...
I wish I had the strength to bang on this door, but that strength has dwindled day by day... where did it go? I feel so fatigued..
...
It doesn't matter anymore, I don't care if my bones break... I will slam against this iron door if it even gives me the slimmest chance of freedom!
...
I'm so hungry.. *slam*
...
I miss everyone.. *slam*
....
*slam*
*.....*
***SLAM***
T-the... door! It opened! Hello?
...
..
*Where did all the buildings go?*
|
It all started one fateful day. I had been browsing through Facebook, just checking in with the same three people who I check up on every day, and I saw an ad. It was one of those silly "could you do this for one million" type posts, but this one was different. This one had contact information. It was a chance to win a million dollars if you spend one year without people. Easy enough, I thought.
I sent an email to the contact listed, and they got back to me rather quickly. They needed names of next of kin, items I would like to have included in my isolation, and they required a physical. I sent the list of names and went to the doctor appointment. I think they were just trying to make sure I had a low probability of developing some disease while I was in there, and to make sure I was up to date on my vaccines. I passed, with flying colors.
For my included items, I obviously went for the latest in PC specs, everything on my steam wishlist, and an Xbox controller, for those times that one needed to use something other than a keyboard and mouse. I didn't really think I was going to even need the extra steam games, because I had a plan.
I made sure that there would be a plate of food placed into the isolation chamber, one for breakfast, and one for dinner. I had them stock a shelf with Doritos, soda, salsa, tortilla chips, and other snacks. I also asked for a few notebooks.
My plan was to play the games that would take the longest and completely eat my attention. I figured I could ignore the world when playing games already, as long as I had the games everything would be fine. I figured now would also be a good time to actually beat Skyrim, which I've owned for years and never beat the main story of.
They sealed me in on my first day, after wishing me luck, and I immediately turned on the computer. Before too long, the famous words came up. "Hey you, you're finally awake..."
There's a clock on the wall, but when there isn't a soul to talk to and a videogame to play, there is almost no reason to look at the clock. One day passed. Two days passed. One week. Two weeks. Eventually, I ran out of soda and chips. After a month of playing, I killed Alduin, the world eater. I killed the Ebony Warrior shortly after.
My goal complete, I wondered what I was gonna do for the remaining eleven months. I kept playing Skyrim for a while, became stupidly high level, and had all of the houses stocked from floor to ceiling with gold ingots. Except Markarth. My home there will always remain sacred. By this point another month had passed. Time for a new game.
I booted up fallout 3, and once again was amazed by that expertly crafted masterpiece. Obviously, I did the Wasteland Survival Guide, then blew up megaton, just so Moira would stay dead. I beat the whole game in a little over two weeks, then I moved through DLC. I'm always moved by Liberty Prime's last words. Once I was done, another month was over.
Next came New Vegas. I decided to try hardcore mode, because I hadn't done that yet, and ended up making a sneak based slasher, because carrying ammo is annoying. As a slasher, Dead Money became a cakewalk. Everything was going great until I accidentally made the NCR hostile to me by wearing the wrong hat or something. I then took on the might of the bear and the bull, but no one is a match for my determination. After a brutal two months, Fallout New Vegas was done.
I booted up Fallout 4, and before I started the game, it crashed. I restarted it, and managed to get it working. I played through it three times, once to side with the minute men, once to side with the institute, and once to side with the brotherhood. Even playing three times only got me to three more months playtime. Seven months down, and I had a problem. I was hoping to have just gone through the Bethesda games, because those are tedious enough to take up and exceptional amount of time. I didn't really want to boot up Morrowind, because the last time I played it, a mudcrab destroyed me. I didn't really see an alternative though, so I booted up Morrowind.
It took me about a month and a half to beat Morrowind, and I won't go into detail about it. Just know that all the mudcrabs had been slain. Next was Oblivion. Took me another month for that, and at the end of it I broke the game by item creation spam. I mean, it's a Bethesda game, so it's kind of already broken.
I broke the Howard cycle by playing all the saints row games for the next month. Just a month and a half remained, and I couldn't help but feel confident. I was about to get paid a million just to play videogames for a year. I played Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic and the second, I played the 2008 bionic commando, I played both middle Earth games.
Finally, it was almost a year. For some reason, I thought about loading up Skyrim again. I did, and must have had some supernatural timing, because right as the clock ran out and I saw the negative begin to climb, I head Ralof call out, "Hey you, you're finally awake! You were caught trying to cross the border..."
| 2019-07-03T03:20:27 | 2019-07-03T01:25:44 | 66 | 34 |
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation.
|
I'd rather not be kidnapped, all things considered. I mean, I hope this isn't too controversial a statement for a daughter of a King to make, but if I had my own way, everything else being equal, I'd choose *not* to be abducted.
However.
However! When one is faced with the sight of a enormous monster, the stuff of nightmares and legend, the great beast itself, with eyes like wagon wheels and claws longer than swords and sharper than razors, it simply *does not do* to be a bad guest.
So when the dragon thundered, "Tell me *everything.* I want to hear all about it."
I Just dove right in. "So you remember Lord Angelope, yes? Well--"
"I am a dragon. I remember the first day when Muumu pulled the sun out of the At'hamar. I certainly remember every word you've ever spoken in my presence, and you've never mentioned a Lord Angelope."
"No, it's true, I never told you about him," I said, hoping it didn't sound like I was arguing. I barely dare to argue with my father, I would certainly never argue with a dragon. "But you've met him!"
"Perhaps. Humans look mostly alike to me. I cannot always tell one from another, especially clad in metal as you so often are," said the dragon.
"Oh, you'll remember him. The second time you cast down the tower of Thel, and thence brought me away to dwell with you a time; none of the Knights, squires or bondsmen dared to stand against you, save one. Remember now?"
"I remember *NONE* standing against me! And if I remember it then so it was!" roared the dragon. The temperature began to rise, and I started to wish I had opened with a different story.
"Of course, he wasn't Lord Angelope then. Little Angie, is what we called him then. Remember now? Little Angie and his little wooden horse?"
The dragon stared at me for a long moment, then let out a bark of laughter that left my ears ringing. She bounded away, lest the force of her continued laughter rend me to pieces. She soared into the air, wheeling in the sky, spreading laughter of such thunder that it certainly must have brought the worms out of the ground, anticipating rain.
Finally, she lowered herself back into the cave where I waited patiently, which is quite difficult for me, if you must know. Normally I'm the one being waited upon.
"Yes. YES! I remember. The child, the little manchild! He stood against me. He charged me, on the back of the little toy horse, pledging to save you. And so, you were right and I was wrong. One *did* stand against me! It is so rare that I am wrong, that it becomes a great joy to me. This. THIS is why I keep borrowing you delightful princesses!"
I realized then that I truly had made a dreadful error. These kidnappings certainly wouldn't be stopping *now*. I wasn't too upset. I don't like being kidnapped, true. But I *love* gossip.
"There's more. Lord Angelope, he's a grown man now, and..."
|
I came at night to better hide myself against the sky, and because it was the only thing that could complement my beauty. My scales matched the night's gloom almost to a tee, with only that sliver of moon marring the perfect dark I was covered in. I hated it. Looking at it cutting through the wonderful blackness felt like someone was dragging a claw through my guts. Fitting, then, that the moon was shaped like one tonight. Still... I couldn't let aesthetic concerns stop me from accomplishing what I came out here to do.
There was a tower in the middle of this... I dared not look down for fear of vomiting on this ugly knot of stone these people dared call 'civilization'. That would have alerted the people to my presence, and cut my mission short. But... for Night's sake, they still used *thatch*. Such a pedestrian eyesore that it made one physically ill to look on. How they managed not to gag whenever they looked up was beyond me. At least they used a sensible material like granite when they were building their castle, so perhaps I shouldn't judge them *too* harshly.
The tower I was heading toward caressed the night like an ebon finger, with only that bit of light at the top spoiling the image. Fortunately, it also showed me my target. I spread my wings to slow myself as I came close to the window, and caught the sides of the tower in my fingers, careful not to let my claws dig into the stone.
And then I found myself stymied. The window was outlined in a lovely dark iron braided into itself, and also latched shut. How could I open it without destroying the beautiful metalwork? Ah, of course. The panes! They were artless flecks that had no business being so close to such loveliness. I licked my teeth, then the glass, and smiled in satisfaction as one of the panes dissolved into a slick puddle of goop on the sill. One claw wriggled in to undo the latch, and like that I was in.
"Princess..." My voice filled the room, wrapping around its occupant with fingers of silk. The figure stirred under the nest of blankets (sable, of course, because the creature beneath was a being of taste), and peered blearily around the firelit room until she stopped on my face.
"Draclan. You vile thing, is that you again?"
My face fell. "That's not what you're supposed to say."
She sighed and flopped back into her nest. "It is the middle of the night, and I've chapel in the morning. I am not falling asleep during another sermon."
Silence took the place our voices once held. I let it linger a touch too long, but I was a bit puzzled by something. "...have you thought of rapping Mother Volumine's knuckles back?"
There was a snort somewhere from within the mess of blankets. "She'd probably have me excommunicated for it. Might even be worth doing, if it means not having to get up so early for chapel."
I went silent again. The blankets rustled to fill it.
"...oh alright, I'll do it, you vain beast. But this is the last time." She cleared her throat, sat up, and clutched her blankets to her chest. Her eyes were wide and dark and shimmered in the firelight. "Who... who are you?"
*There* it was. The reason I came. The trembling note of fear in her voice. The cold, icy dread in her eyes. The scent of fear wafting off of her darkened skin. I drew myself up until I filled the window with my head and shoulders and wrapped the top of the tower with my wings, blacking out the sight of the moon. "I am terror," I hissed, letting a bit of smoke curl over my lip. "I am the night..." My wing claws dug into the tower's roof for effect. She winced. I winced. I would have to replace those. "I am... DRACLAN!" I flooded the room with the sound of my name!
"Did you have to shout? I'm fair certain the whole *castle* heard you that time." One finger dug into her ear that was no doubt ringing.
"Yes," I said with a self-satisfied grin. "A dragon must--"
"--always introduce themselves properly, yes yes," she finished, rolling her eyes.
"Pooh. You're no fun," I muttered, laying my head on the sill.
She fixed me with a glare, but there was no heat behind it. "And you need a better introduction. You sound like my little brother."
If the moon was a claw dug into my stomach, her words were a sword through the heart. How it killed me, the mighty Draclan, the Ebon Scourge, the Night's Fury, to be compared to some, some brat who played at being a warlock! His voice was still cracking, for Night's sake!
"Oh don't sulk, you scaly pain-in-the-rump. You know it's true." She was smiling, *smiling*, at my pain! The nerve!
The night was closing in, the air was hard to breathe! The true, final darkness of death was falling over me! Woe! Cut down in my prime by the cruel words of a princess!
As I writhed and gagged in the window, the princess merely stared at me, one elegant eyebrow arched while she waited for me to die. "When you're finished being a drama dragon, I've something that might cheer you up."
I cracked open an eye from where my corpse lay on her windowsill. "I am dead, princess. I can't hear you."
"Oh? Well, then you won't want to hear about Lady Tremaine's newest work." The fiend.
I twitched, giving the illusion of life. Or, perhaps, unlife. "She's published a new one?"
The princess' smirk could put a devil to shame. "Indeed. But, seeing as you're a corpse, I suppose I shall have to read it all alone. With no one to do the voices of the men."
The fiend. The heartless succubus. She would abuse me, then tempt me? Very well. I rose from the dead and pushed into the tower until my head was settled behind her. "But we read two chapters tonight."
"One chapter, you needy drake. I've chapel in the morning."
I blew at her hair, sending it flipping over her face. "Two. You insulted my honor, said I sounded like your weird brother, and killed me to death. I need two chapters in order to recover fully."
"Fine, fine, you win," she groused. She tried to sound mad, but I could see her trying not to grin behind her hair.
We both settled deeper into her bed; she into the covers and I into the headboard. The spine of the paperback crackled as it was opened for the first time. She began.
"'Daisy swooned to the rough touch of Mr. John's rough hands roughly mangling her heaving bosom...'"
| 2019-11-11T20:33:18 | 2019-11-11T19:04:50 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] It was supposed to be an easy burglary. Husband left for work at 6, kid left for school at 7, and the wife left for shopping at 12. You go in at 12:30 to grab a TV and some jewelry. Breaking in and finding the husband, kid, and wife hanging from the ceiling was definitely not part of the plan.
[removed]
|
(First Comment here, thanks for your patience)
This was meant to be child’s play. Spent the week casing the joint. Knew their routines knew how they worked and went about their lives. Or so I thought. Slowly creep around back making sure to avoid the prying gaze of the neighbour Mrs. Arthur.
Back door left unlocked? “Too easy” I softly muttered under my breath as I quietly stepped in to the kitchen. The interior of the house was even more beautiful on the inside. Opulent even. There’s no way some two bit security guard and his wife could afford a place like this let alone the Maserati parked outside in the carport. What were these people playing at? Sifting through the kitchen drawers for anything valuable there isn’t much to see. Cheap bastards son’t even have any real silverware.
Heading to the front room I notice the curtains are all drawn. Heavy black out curtains stop even the barest speck of the outside world from coming in. These people must have plenty to hide in this room. As I round the corner that’s when I see them.
Mom, Dad, and little kid all hanging upside down from the ceiling. I hear the kitchen door slam from where I came. I turn to look only to feel a cold hand on my shoulder. The father is standing before me looking down with cold black eyes.
I can’t move. My body feels like it’s frozen and as I start to come to terms with what’s happened he speaks in a slow chill voice that freezes my blood like liquid nitrogen. “Well, I didn’t think you’d actually have the balls to try this. Sadly, I can’t let you leave here now. You try to live a peaceful life but you humans are always so troublesome.” He kneels down in front of me looking me in the eyes. “No family, poor, homeless, forced to steal to get by. The rat caught in the Lion’s cage.” He looks my sorry state once over. “You have balls and I like that. So I’ll offer you a choice.” The wife snickers from over his right shoulder. “You can either join us for dinner, or we’ll be having you for dinner. What do you say, son?”
|
It’s my first go at this alone. I joined my brother Micheal’s gang a few months ago, and we usually work as a team. I’d always been a bit of a tech geek, so he decided I’d be useful for disabling security. I was hesitant to get mixed up in something that might come back to bite me, but the pay is good, and I have a mountain of student debt waiting for me in a few years. It started out simple enough, but his crew didn’t think I was involved enough. It makes sense, considering they’re too brutish to realize how much I’m decreasing their risk for the same reward, but I couldn’t afford to lose out on all this money I’ve been getting. I personally would’ve just talked to them about it, but Mike decided to step in and say I’d rob a house all by myself. I tried to say no, but he convinced me that it’d be “super easy” and that I have “nothing to worry about. I picked out a simple family house for myself, and I camped outside their house in a satellite van for a couple weeks to learn their schedule. The dad leaves early for work, the kid about an hour later, and the mom goes shopping at noon. I was actually convinced things might go well. I had figured out the parents kept a safe in their bedroom, which the dad deposited into every day. Judging from that and the amount of weird conspiracy theory stuff he listens to on his radio, I figured he didn’t trust the banks with his money, and kept it in that little box. His whole life savings could be in there, and I can say goodbye to the unending amounts of ramen noodles and roaches in my apartment.
I check my watch, and it’s 12:27. My stomach twists into a knot, and the nerves hit me for the first time. This could all go horribly wrong. The money won’t matter if I get caught. There’s no time for second thoughts now, so I exit the van and walk up to the house. I grab the spare key from under the mat, and stand at the door for a moment. Even if I do succeed, I’m robbing a family of what may very well be all they have. But I’ve done that plenty of times, so why is the guilt hitting now? Just because I’m physically taking the money from someone now isn’t much different from helping people take it on a moral level. This is just a tiny step up from the rest of what I’ve done. This’ll be the last job anyways, if I’m lucky. If I take from these people now, I won’t ever have to do it again. I decidedly put the key in the door, and walk inside. I’ll just have to donate the same amount of what I’ve taken from people to charity when I’m older. I mill over the math, adding up my shares from all the previous heists as I walk into the living room. I stop dead in my tracks to see the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.
The entire family is wrapped head to toe in tin foil clothing while hanging from their living room ceiling fan. The father is aggressively swinging his legs back and forth to increase the speed. The mother and son look bored and tired.
The father spots me, and screams “pick up the pace! The base has been infiltrated!”
The mother, still not seeing me, sighs and starts to swing her legs, while the poor kid just looks completely suicidal.
I start to get over my bewilderment, and decide my best option is to make a beeline for the safe and hope these nut jobs are too busy doing whatever the hell they’re doing to care. I quickly run past the confusing scene and make my way to their bedroom. The father screams something incomprehensible, and I heard a loud thud, shortly followed by pursuing foot steps.
“After him! He must be a new species to have gotten past the harbinger 8.9! A new specimen to study!”
He sounds disturbingly excited.
I slam the bedroom door closed and lock it behind me, and start looking for an exit. I try to open the window but it’s painted shut.
“Aha! It can use our human technology. Fetch me the battering ram!”
I can hear the father slamming repeatedly into the door, spouting complete and utter nonsense. I search for something heavy, and see the safe inside the closet. I heave it off the ground and slam it through the window. The glass shatters, and I waste no time in hurling myself through. I cut myself on the shards as I fall onto the grass. I can hear wood splintering begins me, accompanied by a victorious screech, so I grab the safe and run to my van. Once inside, I look back to the window, to see the husband looking completely bewildered, and his wife slapping him in the face before screaming at him. I see the kid trying to get their attention while pointing outside to my van, so I start it up and take off with screeching tires.
I make it back to the gang’s hide out, bloodied and bruised from the fall, but still breathing. I drop the safe onto the table, and fall down into my chair next to my brother. They all sit in silence, staring at me as I try to catch my breath.
“...what the hell happened to you man?” My brother asked.
“I don’t even know. They’re insane. That’s what happened. I’ll explain later, let’s just open the safe. I just want to get my money and go home.”
Our locks guy tried at the combination for a couple minutes, and it eventually cracks open. He opens the door, and inside, there’s no money. No gold, no jewelry, no nothing. There’s just a single, off-brand granola bar sitting at the bottom. Mike picks it up and hands it to me with a pitying look. I stare at it in the palm of my hand. All that, and just a granola bar.
First time posting here, figured I’d try it out since I interpreted the prompt a bit differently lol. I’m not a great writer yet, so criticism is very welcome. Thanks for reading!
| 2020-10-18T07:14:15 | 2020-10-18T03:28:08 | 97 | 26 |
[WP] You have an ability. You feel an item's weight proportional to it's monetary value. You can blow away a ton of scrap metal but can't lift a gold bar without wheezing. While everyone expected you to work with diamonds, you want to work with unknown artists
|
It’s a weird ability, I’ll give you that. But it’s unique and it’s mine. As I pulled the mountain of scrap metal towards my workshop, I was aware of the glances towards me. It wasn’t everyday someone manually lugged around a few tones of twisted metal.
Ayesha was waiting for me when I got there.
“This everything you need?”
She looked at me with a faint smile. “Yes. That’s quite enough.”
She had talent. I could see that even if the whole world couldn’t.
I knew she would make it big one day. I trusted her to. But for now, I was still able to move her art installations with one hand, which while being good for me to manage and store meant that I couldn’t get much money for it.
Lately, her stuff was getting heavier though. It was a good sign.
“Can you move the tree of life?”
I look at the heap of metal in the middle of my workshop. I tilted my head a little, looking at the symmetry, the red at the bottom with green up above. It was amazing and powerful.
I tried to push it, to no avail.
She looked at me, her eyes narrowing. “Derek?”
“I can’t move it...”
“Does that mean..?”
My heart sank, even though it was feeling pretty worthless at the moment.
“It likely means that you’re about to make it big. You’ll be able to sell this piece for lots of money and travel the world just like you always wanted to. You’ll be able to have your own workshop and...”
I looked at her smile and it hurt me. She was happy. But of course she would be. Her dream was coming true.
After a toast to her future success, she started work on her next project while I went to my office.
I looked at her, with her hair pulled back, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in intense concentration as she worked on the latest pile of junk. Well, to the world, it was junk, but she saw what it could be. Something amazing.
“Hello... you still there Derek?”
I realized the appraiser was still on the phone. “Yes... yes. Sorry I lost my train of thought.”
The appraiser came in the next day. He looked over the tree of life, squinting and moving around.
“It’s an interesting piece. But in my opinion, she still has a long way to go. She still needs to refine her work.”
“Look again. I’m sure this piece is very very valuable. I couldn’t move this an inch.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I wouldn’t spend more than a few hundred bucks on it. And that’s a stretch.”
She was disappointed when she came in and heard what the appraiser had said. Her dejected face hurt me even worse than her smile had.
What did I even want anymore?
I looked at her as she climbed the ladder to work at the top of the heap. She was angry and sad. And careless.
She lost her footing as she was trying to arrange the junk just the right way.
Instinctively, I rushed to hold her.
That was the last thing I remembered till I woke up 3 weeks later in a hospital.
Ayesha sat there, as I opened my eyes. “Morning.”
“Ayesha? What happened?”
“They said something really really heavy fell on you. It’s insulting really. I don’t really weigh that much.”
“Ayesha, look. I...”
“They even had me stand on a scale you know. Looked at me life I was a freak. Then for a while they really considered if I was lying and had tried to kill you by throwing a lot of twisted junk metal on top of you. I had to explain that what they saw wasn’t randomly thrown junk but art. Atleast in my eyes it was.”
“And in mine.”
“So why are you here then?”
“Ayesha, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You know what you have to tell me. I’m just wondering if you were ever going to.”
I lowered my eyes. This was the moment. I had to say it. For once, I had to, not be a coward.
“Fine fine. I’ll say it if you won’t. Derek, I do kinda like you. I don’t need to be crushed by you to know that.”
She looked at the twisted bag of bones that I was and saw something good. How could she? But I suppose that’s why she was the artist. I was just someone who was destined to help achieve her dream. Even though, I’d have to depend on others as well since I knew well enough that every single one of her pieces would now be too heavy for me to move.
|
I love my girlfriend. Really, I do. But if I have to explain this to her one more time, I'm going to lose my fucking mind.
Privya is sitting in the co-pilot's seat next to me, but she's not staring out the front of the spaceship. She keeps glancing worriedly back over her shoulder, at our... special guest.
"I don't know, Titan. This seems wrong."
I follow her stare, to the little raccoon-ish looking alien, sitting on the metal floor behind us. It didn't used to look like a raccoon, when we picked it up. It's doing its best to transform into one of us, though.
When we picked it up, it looked more like a blob of pink jelly with eyes. It could fit in the palm of your hand. The guy I bought it from said it was a couple months old: semi-sentient, not quite a Federation-protected species, but at least there was a light on and somebody home in that watery brain.
Now, it looked like a foam doll left in the microwave too long. It was swelling and bursting in the wrong places, its eyes weirdly big for its face, its back all hunched and lumpy.
"Nah," I say. "That's just what it does. It's like a really shitty, intense chameleon. I asked for a raccoon one, so it'd have those little hands, but I didn't think it would be, uh... horrifying."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
I glare at the black of abyss of space before me and some part of me genuinely wants to hop in the airlock and tell Privya to finish her research already so I can time travel back to a version of me who has the energy to chase this argument in circles.
The last time I said something like that, Privya locked me out of our sleeping cabin, and I spent a sleepless night in my pilot's seat, cursing that I never got the busted recliner repaired.
"We're just going to a nice little storage box on an obscure moon and picking up some merchandise. That's it." I give her a tight-lipped, crazy-eyed smile. "Remember? Just some nice, cute Alvurian plush toys. Cute little creepy alien souvenirs."
"Right. Cute little creepy souvenirs full of drugs."
I smirk sideways at her. "You can't act that surprised. You are dating *the* Titan A--"
"Don't say your full name. Please."
"...babe, that's, like. Kind of my thing."
"Okay, fine. *The* Titan Armstrong, *the* master stardust smuggler who lost his super important, super secret shipment in one of the most heavily-guarded shipping checkpoints in this galaxy. What's your grand plan when you get caught?"
Privya pillows chin in her hands and gives me a syrupy-sweet smile full of a smugness that instantly pisses me off, because she's right. She's winning this argument. Just like the last time we had it.
"Easy. We won't get caught."
"*Titan*."
I reach over and squeeze her hand, reassuringly. "Relax. I already paid off the manager there. We're going to get in, bring our little buddy in to help us find my stuff, then get out. Everyone's happy. It's foolproof."
"You use a very liberal definition of that word."
I lift her hand to kiss her knuckles. Usually that makes her smile, but this time it only makes her pull her hand away and glare out the window.
"I'm telling you," I say, "it'll be fine."
It has to be. That shipment was worth a hundred grand, at least. If we can't get it back, I'd better fucking hope Privya can work a time travel trick and get me out of this shit before I ever got myself stuck in it. My producer is a patient guy, but the last dealer who shorted him ended up as a floating ice-corpse, spinning in the gravity-pull of my producer's own private moon, like a warning.
Look, I once saw a dude get sucked out of a space-vac. His fucking *eyes* exploded. I'm not ready to know how that feels.
A couple weeks ago, I stopped by the wrong shipping vessel to pick up a delivery from my usual producer. The pilot was baffled as hell, and before I could figure out that I got the serial number off by just one number, the transport ship I was really looking for was already gone -- carrying a hundred pounds of my stardust with it.
Usually, I just pay the producer back with whatever I make off selling his shit. But that assumes I have shit to sell.
"It looks like it's just a little baby," Privya says.
"She. I think." I look back at the alien sitting on the metal floor. I offered it a pillow when we first took off, but it just started eating it, so I had to put it away. "Anyway, the guy said they age like goldfish. So it's really a young adult. Probably hungry for the freedom of the open air."
"Oh, shut up." Privya scritches its uneven ears. "What *is* it, anyway?"
"A Morphus. An exotic pet. They were bred for traveling circuses to come to planets like ours. But it's just got coded DNA. It can lift anything, except for shit that's valuable to whoever's holding it. Even flexible enough for corny, sentimental meanings of that. Makes a great sideshow. And for us, it's a perfect stardust detector."
Privya stands up and turned to the little creature. She frowns at it and picks it up. It's looking a bit more raccoonish and a bit less horrific space gremlin. Barely.
"Aw," she tells the Morphus. "You're starting to look almost cute."
"Don't lie to it."
"It's definitely cuter than you." She must be starting to relax, because that teasing edge to her voice is back. The one that means she's a little less mad at me. "So if it can pick you up, you're worthless to me, right?"
I grin at her. "Just wait until my ship weighs more than you, babe."
Privya punches my shoulder, but that smile on her face means I'm forgiven, for now.
"Okay, Titan Armstrong," she says. "If you can pull this off without either of us ending up dead or in a Federation prison, I'll admit you were right."
"That's all I ask."
I flicked open my navigation system and tapped in the shipping container's coordinates. "Ready for the jump?"
Privya runs her fingertip over the Morphus's nose and says, "I think I'm going to call him Skippy."
"Great. You and Skippy hold on tight."
I punch the ship into hyperdrive, and then we're off, in what is probably my stupidest plan yet: get in, get my stardust back, and get to selling this shit before I'm another floating icicle ringing my dealer's moon.
I'm Titan fucking Armstrong. This should be a piece of cake.
°°°
[**Part Two**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n8vugg/wp_you_have_an_ability_you_feel_an_items_weight/gxl6gim/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
P.S. I've written a few stories with this guy, so hopefully this makes sense even if this is your first time seeing him. If you wanna read earlier stories with him, here are the ones I've written: [Story 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mwlm14/wp_the_alien_diplomat_showing_you_their_planet/gvj8ilb/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n2w3jg/wp_you_find_an_abandoned_altar_in_the_middle_of_a/gwmt4al/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n5vsva/wp_aliens_have_captured_you_and_placed_you_in_one/gx49b5u/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n6vosx/wp_youre_the_main_exhibit_in_an_alien_zoo_little/gxaiond/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3)
| 2021-05-10T01:23:03 | 2021-05-10T00:18:04 | 1,947 | 92 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!"
|
“Finally! Someone else! It’s been ages!” Cried the slouching old man, hands raised to the skies, “Thank the gods! Op- not for how you died, of course.”
Stumbling back on the soft dirt of the expansive, lush green valley, Michael could only gape in utter disbelief. One minute he’s been walking along a popular hiking trial, the next he’d been submerged in vast darkness with only a pinprick of light to guide him. “Where the hell am I? What’s going on?”
“Why, you’ve just passed on and are now in heaven, with me. It was starting to get a little lonely here, you know?” The old man explained, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders. Staring into the man’s wrinkled face, his eyes expressed a kind of crazy that could only be brought about by years of isolation and talking to oneself.
“W-Wait, where is everybody then? And who the heck are you?”
“Who the- Who am I? Boy, you should very well know who I am! I am a writer, craftsman of endless amount of tales, the father of tragedies! Do they not teach you about my masterpieces?” The old man - ‘father of tragedies’ - exclaimed. “Buh! For shame. However, I am kind and can tell you what exactly is going on. You see, depending on how a person has died they will be segregated to an area dedicated to that death. Drownings, stabbings, disease - all together. To think I - the great Aeschylus - would suffer a fate none have ever befallen... Well, it sounded nice at first honestly. But I’ve soon found that loneliness to be a curse.”
“Wait... Aesch- oh my...” everythinng seemed so clear to Michael now, his hand now lifting to rub his bald head. He could recall the glorius cry of an eagle, as others stopped to admire the avian. Then, a large object flying towards him at impossible speeds as he heard cries and screams, and finally he saw darkness. “I can’t believe I got snipped by an eagle with a tortoise.”
|
"Finally," says the old man, "someone to take my place. Sit down, please sit down, this might take a while."
The room is neither white nor gray, it is the absence of color, a memory of a room brought up by your presence and the old man's.
"You remember it, don't you?" The man's eyes are sparkling, mad, whether the madness comes from a long isolation or took hold of him before, you can't tell.
But you can remember. The wild groan, as if a ravening, snarling beast awakes inside, a creature denied freedom to eat and run wild for an eternity. The groan erupts into a scream, a distorted void eating the substance of rock, dust and air. Your flesh is free from your bones, it spins around like a living web, gathers motes of reality to devour.
Soon, it ensnares the living. Man, animal, plant, you eat and consume, never satiated, it is never enough. The hunger, oh, the hunger.
The ghostly room swirls, the old man doesn't budge, there is no reason to panic or fear on the other side. Minutes pass, or several days.
There's a knot in your stomach, you lower a hand to rub your belly and find nothing. The body is an ethereal idea just like the room. Only the black knot seems present, too present, the only bit of reality in the vast shadowy expanse of the afterlife.
"Me, I don't have it anymore," the old man muses in a croaking voice, "this is the most beautiful day of my death!" he jumps for joy, almost giving out colors, almost remaking his world into a echo of revelry.
Slowly, the realization comes. The black knot grows ever so slightly, almost imperceptible, it needs tending, requires food. It is the same hunger, the same craving which took you in life.
There is no mirror, but you remember the face you had when living, the oddities, the skin, the marks, smirks and hair. It is all clear now. Shame it required death to come back. The hunger had eaten everything. Identity was yet another form of sustenance, as was the sense of self, the childhood and joys and sadness of life. You cackled with the power, or did you cower from it? It is foggy. But at the end of the line, you had ceased being yourself. There was a vessel, an empty husk carrying a craving.
From where did death come? The forest. They had fled before the craving, trees awaited death in stern silence, and the craving dispensed it freely. Water muddled, noises ceased, carrion eaters were left with starvation. If the craving was wounded, it just had to open its mouth to replace the lost part. There is no sense of security or overconfidence when craving, no circumstances happening to shape it. The craving happens, that is all, and so it lives, happening to others and the world.
Until a tree fell and knocked it backwards, tumbling down an empty ditch. Empty, already despoiled, with the legs broken. When the hunger ran wild, it turned inwards, and consumed the heart, the spleen, the kidneys, the nerves.
And you came to the room with the old man, finally yourself again.
"It has to. It has to be passed to the next one, just like I gave it to you. Oh lease, don't give me that stare."
The night, you remember the night.
You can't sleep, tossing and turning, you decide to go for a night-walk. The grove is... different. Ablaze with silence, insects have fled. Between dream and reality, you go onward, and find eight pillars standing in circle. *Run, run!* it screams at your ears, and you won't listen, too exhausted, too entranced. You go to the center, and a reflection appears between each pillars. You, you, you, you, you, you, a vibration comes up your toes, shakes your knees, overtakes your heart. *Beat, beat,* your heart is not your own anymore, hijacked, alien, you scream.
And each reflection has a little black spot in its center.
"You felt the pain?" rambles the old man, "now the hunger *can't* eat you, *can't kill* you, but will still grow."
Terror washes over you as the old man leaves, whistling, through the walls and into oblivion.
You hold it tight, you won't let it roam free. Sit, silent, calm, immobile. It won't grow, please do not let it grow.
The knot grows. There is no sense of satiation. Suffering is a curse, your own cross to bear, the punishment for foolishness. Do not let other fools suffer the same.
It groans, creaks, hurts, screams, what had been the memory of a belly is distorted, inflated, expanding in search for nourishment.
The eternities pass, and you are still you. You wish it wasn't the case. You is pain, you is the sick insect clinging to the colossal hunger, and it won't go away.
*The pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain.*
It cannot be stilled, but you can dream, hold hopes.
The hope of a room, a hall, pillars glowing lightly in the dark. In the center is the nucleus, the first spark bringing the hunger. In the hope, a dark shape comes, unsure, scared, but curious. It never breaches the center, the nucleus feels *wrong*, all senses tell the dark shapes to step back and run, run far away and forget. A new shape comes. And another.
Someday, a shape will cross the threshold, and take the black knot from you.
And you'll be there to welcome them when the time comes.
| 2021-11-24T12:25:38 | 2021-11-24T11:49:03 | 1,290 | 114 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible.
|
“Dear god, I’ve been shot!” I cried. My blood dripped onto the crisp autumn leaves and my vision swam. I crumpled to the forest floor, gasping. I could faintly hear the hunter’s panicked voice trying to assure me, or maybe just himself, that everything would be okay. The world blurred and slowed. Everything plunged into darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, a small spot of green light appeared. It grew, flower like, blooming into more tendrils of green until an entire forest had materialized around me. My fear faded a little. I was still in the woods. But why wasn’t I bleeding everywhere? Where had the hunter gone? I peered into the dense brush, confused.
An enormous stag stepped out of the foliage before me. Despite his size, there was no sound of his body against the leaves or his hooves against the ground. Slowly, gracefully, he approached me. He lowered his massive head, his antlers mere inches away from my face.
“Another one?” the deer asked. His voice was strong and clear. He studied me with what appeared to be bemusement. “Tell me, human, why is it that so many of your kind use your final breath to call upon the deer god?”
|
"What in the hell is this?" Mort ran his hands through the lush grass as the ocean spray crashed against the shores. He had never in his life seen a place so green.
"HELLO MY SON, A WARRIOR MEETS THESE SHORES ONCE AGAIN"
Mort jumped and sprawled onto his feet to face a man that must have been at least fifteen feet tall. He wore animal furs, carried an axe as large as Mort, and had a beard that fell in braids to his waist. The giant man's joyous grin bore down on mort as the two stood in silence.
"Ummm excuse me sir, can I help you?"
"MY BOY YOU ALREADY HAVE. A NEW WARRIOR HAS NOT SET FOOT ON THESE SHORES IN CENTURIES. YOU COULD NOT IMAGINE HOW EXCITED THE BOYS ARE TO MEET YOU."
"The boys?", Mort asked scratching his head. "Wait, where exactly am I?"
"WHY YOU'RE IN VALHALLA MY BOY. ETERNAL RESTING PLACE FOR MY WARRIORS"
There was a brief moment of silence as Mort attempted to process the giant's last statement. The large man's unrelenting smile remained completely un-phased by Mort's state of complete confusion.
"HOLD ON, AM I DEAD?!", Mort burst out
"EXTREMELY!", the giant roared with a hearty laugh.
"But wait! I was jewish! I mean I was raised jewish, but I sure as hell wasn't a viking.", Mort spouted in an attempt to wake himself from this bizarre dream.
The large man for the first time broke his smile and furrowed his brow in confusion. He reached into his pouch and polled out a large piece of what looked to be elk hide.
"Uhhhh one second", the enormous warrior said scanning the document. Mort frantically looked around trying to come to terms with his environment.
"NOPE, I'VE GOT YOUR NAME RIGHT HERE. MORTIMER GREENSTEIN. YOU LIVED BY THE SWORD, DIED BY THE SWORD, AND YOUR BODY WAS IMMOLATED UPON YOUR DEATH. WELCOME TO VALHALLA!"
Mort's mouth was agape. He stood in shock for a few moments before shouting, "I WAS AN ACCOUNTANT HOW DID I LIVE BY THE SWORD?" Mort thought frantically and suddenly began recalling the moments before his death, "I DIED IN A GAS FIRE TOO!". The giant looked back at the elk hide for a moment.
"I am definitely seeing that you died from a sword here.", the giant said skeptically.
Mort thought back to the moments before his death. He remembered and immediately began rubbing his temples.
"I was in a museum...and I was impaled by a sword from the gas explosion...wasn't I?"
The giant's intense smile returned as he nodded his head. Suddenly Mort was struck by something that had not been answered. He was an accountant. There was no way that he had lived by the sword. The only fight he had been in was during his 1st grade year and it had been with a girl.
"Okay, then tell me how I lived by the sword huh?"
The massive viking looked once more at the hide, "It says here you owned every single album released by "The Sword" and have listened to each of them a total of 617 times."
Mort was dumbfounded, "You can't be seri-"
Mort was cut off by the giant man rushing to him and sweeping him off the ground. "WELCOME TO THE HALL MY BOY", the giant squeezed Mort while holding him like some sort of child. Setting him down, the giant introduced himself, "I AM ODIN, LORD OF THE HALL."
Odin stuck a battleaxe in Mort's hands, "THIS IS YOURS, LET'S GO GET SOME GOAT SHANKS AND MEET THE BOYS, THEN I'LL SHOW YOU YOUR WARRIOR HALL. HURRY NOW, WE'VE ONLY GOT A FEW HOURS TO DRINK BEFORE WE START SLAUGHTERING GIANTS".
Odin led Mort towards the doors of the great hall as Mort's mind raced. So many questions, so few answers, and it seemed that the time to ask questions was rapidly passing. Suddenly Mort remembered, his wife. Lena had been with him at the museum, and he didn't think she made it out. Mort dug his heels into the ground and pulled away from Odin.
"My wife! What happened to my wife?! Did she die too? Where did she go?"
Odin bellowed with laughter again, "OH MY BOY SHE WAS AN ATHEIST"
Mort's heart sank. True despair washed over him, "...so...what does that mean?"
Odin gripped the doors to the hall flinging them open, "IT MEANS SHE GETS DEFERRED TO US"
Inside the hall Lena sat chewing on the shank of some great beast while surrounded by battle ready warriors of enormous size.
"Morth!", Lena said with her mouth full before swallowing, "I didn't know you went through a metal phase!"
| 2015-01-15T07:39:33 | 2015-01-15T06:22:48 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] The first human spaceship capable of FTL flight reaches deep space and makes the most terrifying discovery in the history of mankind...
|
"Relaying live feed now".
"Roger that. Can you confirm what we are seeing"
"Roger"
The command center in Houston stood silent. No cheers as NASA reached deep space, for the first time in human history.
"We've passed through a galactic gas. An element we've never encountered that has given us the illusion that the stars we see still exist. Beyond it, an eternity of pitch black"
We are alone in the universe.
|
"This is the LSS Hermes. We were named after the Greek god that was said to move between the worlds of mortals and Gods, but we had forgotten he was also the conductor of souls to the afterlife.
Our mission was to go further than any ship has ever gone before to study a planet. This planet had seemed to be incapable of supporting life, until we received a transmission from it. Wrapped in an alien language we seemed to be unable to translate were instructions, in a decipherable language, on building a FTL Drive, how to make a crew compartment that would withstand the rigors of such a journey, a craft to land on the surface of the planet and information an a ace of people that seemed to have developed these technologies.
Three countries began this space race. The United States, with a great deal of help from the EU, won and were able to ready their vehicle for launch before the others were even finished. There were rumors as we were leaving that the Chinese and Russians were still planning on launching, just in case we made mistakes and did not succeed.
We achieved the point we had wished to reach, and when I say that, I mean we literally traveled at light speed and stopped precisely at where we wanted to within the centimeter.
As we orbited, our instruments still read an environment so hostile that it was impossible to imagine any type of life being present.
But then we saw it, a large metal object on the ground of this planet. It was enormous, the size of a large building or ship and judging from the power readings, it was still working.
That is when I first heard the noise. It was at the very edge of hearing, a slight whistling noise. It wasn't a steady tone, but it varied. Others had noticed it as well and were checking the Hermes for any problems it may have.
After checking and rechecking every system and finding everything in perfect working order, it was decided to send down a lander near to the metal object and plan on inspecting it as soon as possible.
Again, there were no issue with the landing. Everything went perfectly. The landing party determined that the metal object was actually two objects, a large metal building and a ship, almost identical to ours. This ship was obviously where the plans had come from.
One thing was disturbing. The landing party said the whistling noise seemed louder on the surface, in fact it seemed to increase the whole way down.
Just as one of our engineers stepped forward with a concerned expression, the cargo door to the ship opened.
Where our cargo hold held equipment and provisions for the trip, this one held what appeared to be huge tanks. One of the tanks had apparently become dislodged and the corner was damage slightly, but other than this superficial damage, they seemed to be intact.
As one of the landing party went over to inspect the tanks, a second began looking at the display screens. She noticed that the message that we had been sent was different here, almost as if something had been added to make it unable to be translated.
As she began to read it, the whistling seemed to become louder and there almost seemed to be a drumming accompanying it.
'This is a warning. We have captured something that does not belong here. It destroyed all of our people except for the last few that created this cage for it. We were going to deposit it, but it was clever, and somehow got one of ours to try and open the tank.'
Just then, there was a hissing noise and the tank fell open. As we watched from orbit on the landing party's helmet cams, they encountered a huge almost shapeless mass.
'I am Azathoth' was all the leaden sounding voice said before it attacked the crew.
Whatever this was, it didn't just kill them. it grabbed them and began to pull their bodies slowly apart all the the strange whistling that had became almost like some indescribable tune.
It took 12 hours for the screams to finally stop. Then we heard the voice.
'You are next'
The piping is now monotonous and the crew are trying to ready the ship to run for it, but it feels as if there is no use. once this message is sent, I am blowing up the ship. I hope the Chinese receive this message and turn back or blow up their ship as well.
| 2015-02-03T12:06:44 | 2015-02-03T10:35:14 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?"
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As you got older you tended to disregard the possibility, perhaps the sheer dread of the prospect stopped you from thinking about it. An eternity of torment, what would be the point? How could God forsake one so? What crime could one possibly commit to warrant such a punishment, it was impossible wasn’t it?
‘We are under attack’.
That’s what they told me, I did only what I was meant to! I just followed protocol, I only wanted… what did I want, what was I thinking, and what did I hope would come from it? Why?
Protocol: mad by name, mad by nature.
‘Give the order’.
We all believed in it though, all of us, not just me. What was the difference between me and the man who walked in my office with the suitcase handcuffed to his wrist, empty save for the big red button? What was the difference between me and those gathered?
The thread that held the nuclear sword of Damocles over all our heads, cut by… a weather satellite.
What did I do, you ask?
I did the one thing that could possibly warrant this fate.
I served my country.
I destroyed the world.
|
Fred closed his eyes, the morphine finally kicking in. The car had come out of nowhere.
When he opened them, he screamed. The hot, searing pain of broiling flesh as his feet touched the brimstone beneath was just the beginning. It went on forever, a never ending wasteland with gouts of flame bursting forth from cracks in nature-free brimstone. The heat caused his flesh to crack, and the scream died as thirst overcame even the pain from his feet.
"Water..." Fred gasped, barely able to speak, and his eyes once again surveyed the desolate terrain before him. He was alone. Completely alone. No matter the direction he looked, no matter how far on the horizon he searched, there was nothing but the same fiery hell. Desperate as he spun, Fred crashed to the ground, and it began to broil his sides and back as he struggled, the very landscape attacking him.
Almost by magic, a hand suddenly appeared in aid, and Fred grabbed desperately at it, letting out a sigh of relief as he was hauled back to his feet before gasping at the figure before him. Terror began to ooze down Freds face as realization dawned on him. "I'm in Hell." he gasped, still desperate for water.
"Ah, well..." the figure fumbled, "... about that." Surprisingly, it offered Fred a jug. "Yeah. You kinda are." Fred eyed the jug warily, and the figure shook it, letting its contents slosh.
Fred grabbed the jug greedily, popping the rudimentary string and stopper before recklessly glugging down its contents. Liquid relief poured down his throat, and he gagged, and coughed some back up. When he recovered, Fred returned his gaze to the figure, curiosity on his face as he thought about what just happened "Water?" he asked.
"What else would it be?" The figure asked, surprised at the question. "No, ah, no..." It said, interrupting itself. "I have questions of my own... you see, I have this bet..."
Fred interrupted the figure, who was not as confident as Fred had been led to believe. "The one with God, right?"
"Oh! You know!" The figure was visibly pleased, and Fred found himself smiling back. "That makes this much easier. Well you see... things haven't been going so great on my end." It was Freds turn to look surprised.
"What do you mean?" Fred asked "Isn't Hell bursting with people?"
"Look around!" the figure yelled, its arms spreading to the landscape "Do you see anyone?"
"Well... no...."
"You're the first person buddy! Actually, what do I call you? I think we'll be spending a lot of time together, but I'm not entirely sure how this works...." The figure seemed almost self concious as it spoke, and Fred started awkwardly squirming, while desperately trying not to move his scalding feet.
"Fred. My name is Fred." Fred found himself desperately trying to grasp at the situation as he replied.
"Fred! Got it!" the figure replied, suddenly pilfering a pair of sandals from nowhere and offering them. Fred took them, shaking his head as he did so, but letting another sigh of relief out his feet were freed from the furnace below. "So ah, Fred..." the figure began, but halted, grinding its foot on the ground awkwardly in a fashion Fred found awkwardly familiar.
"Yeeesss...?" Fred replied, not unlike he would when others used the same stance.
"What, ah... what did you do? To get down here I mean?" The figure was visibly distressed as it asked, concern strangely dripping from its features.
"Well, ah..." It was Freds turn to stutter "I always thought I was a pretty decent guy in all honesty." He said, wondering if it is actually true as he surveyed the landscape once again. "Though I guess not..."
"What do you mean, 'you guess not?'" The figure looked confused, so Fred continued.
"Isn't that the deal? With God I mean? Bad people go to hell?" The figures reaction was not what Fred expected, and as he watched something he'd grown up to live in fear of suddenly have abject terror on its face, his own face began to mimic it.
"I didn't get told that bit!" The figure cried, pleading at Fred "What did you do that was so terrible!?"
"I don't know!" Fred shouted back, the situation rapidly deteriorating. "I drank. Does that count?"
"Why would that count?" The figure shouted back, Fred defusal attempt failing. "Drinking bad things kills you! It doesn't get you to Hell!"
"Well then I don't know!" Fred was getting frustrated at the situation, and stopped, suddenly thinking. "Thank you for the sandals." He suddenly found himself saying. "And the water."
"That's what others are for. To help." The confusion on the figures face faded as it spoke.
"I... I think I know what's going on."
| 2015-04-09T07:59:22 | 2015-04-09T07:56:32 | 52 | 16 |
[WP] A medieval alchemist travels through time to now, though he had only had 20 minutes here, he has an interesting story to tell his king.
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King Edward was lying in bed, covered in bandages and dried blood. He looked up when Milo, his chief alchemist, walked in.
"So? Tell me–what did you see?" asked King Edward. "Have you found a way to make me whole again?"
Milo cleared his throat. "My lord, I believe that I have."
The king smiled. "Do tell, Milo."
"I spoke to the owner of an apothecary–a man who will not be born for five hundred years hence. The medical arts have advanced greatly in his time," said Milo.
"What did the man say?"
"This man presented me with a curious theory: a small part of the toxin *is* the cure. Indeed, his entire apothecary only stocked cures of this form. For example, an individual poisoned by quicksilver would need to consume an elixir containing a minute amount of quicksilver, diluted by a much larger part of water."
"How strange," said the king. "Quicksilver is poisonous?"
"Apparently so," said Milo. "And they called it 'mercury.' Language, too, has evolved greatly over the years."
"This technique–you believe it will make me whole? Make me fit to once again lead this kingdom?" asked the king.
"The man seemed sure of it," said Milo. "He called this futuristic medical technique 'homeopathy,' and he assured me that it would work."
"What do we need to do?" asked the king.
"Well, seeing as you were trampled by a horse, we need to locate this vile beast, cut off a small portion, and then mix it with a large portion of water. Then, you need to consume this concoction, and your legs should regrow instantaneously."
"Get to it, then, Milo," said the king. He smiled. "Soon, I will once again sit upon the throne."
---
/r/rpwrites
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“My lord in all my years I’ve never experienced such wonders as what I’ve just now beheld. Not in the spice bazaars of Araby nor even the study of my great teacher where I first saw lead turn to gold have I been left so in awe.”
The Alchemist rose, his shimmering robes of heavy samite pooling around his narrow frame. He stood at the foot of the dais upon which the king sat his throne. Around them, the arrayed nobles in the kaleidoscopic finery stood in rapt attention.
“Well, on with it, Geoffrey. Don’t hold my court in any further suspense.” The king’s jowls shook with the effort of filling the grand room with his voice, and he raised a glass of wine to already berry red lips with fingers that looked like butcher twine around sausages.
The Alchemist bowed, “As you know, my highness, it is a technique I’ve long been laboring at. Through combining a number of minerals and rare herbs in a tincture of my own devising and imbibing the resulting potion when the new moon is at its zenith one is able to become out of joint with time and space for a short period.”
“It was a new moon last night, was it not?” the king asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And? What happened?”
The Alchemist turned slightly to address the entire assembly. “Nothing at first. And I feared another failure. But then I swooned and awoke in a strange land. I lay on a ground of unbroken white stone that stretched in a ribbon in either direction next to a larger swath of black stone. On the black stone rested a neat row of metal siege engines painted I assume in the various colors of the houses that owned them. Of the houses, there must be many, because the counting of the metal monsters would have taken me all day. The siege engines also traveled up and down the strip of black rock at such speeds that would make a goshawk blush from embarrassment. I was started when the first passed, but not being their quarry I decided not to waste time in fear of them.
“I stood up to find myself next to a road marker, once more made of metal like the siege engines. Thankfully, I knew the letters and could decipher their sounds, if not the meanings. On one I read: Orange. Curious. Perhaps I’d managed to travel to the land of the Dutch, but if so, why were they making signs with our language? The other was even stranger. It read: Hollywood. I have never heard of such a family, city, village or hamlet, so suffered myself to be confounded and instead turned to the building closest to me.
“Here things grew stranger still. More siege engines lay in wait before the building, though not assaulting it with whatever compliment of weaponry they might have had. Instead the occupants dismounted and entered the strange building. The place itself was made of stone and glass so thin you could see clearly inside and thatched by some miracle with more metal. As an alchemist, you can imagine my curiosity at how they had acquired so much metal. Atop the roof rested a sign that seemed to be painted with green light spelling out a nonsensical name and displaying a circular coat of arms that seemed to show finned siren such as the far-sailing Northmen tell tales of.
“I ventured inside to smells that recalled my travels to the East. Powders lined shelves and before me stood a stall with machinery behind it such as you might expect to find at a blacksmiths. The noise from the stall equally elicited a farrier or tradesmen of some sort. In the stall young men and women wearing green aprons and caps ran about performing unknown tasks. A line of people leading to the stall absorbed me and pressed me forward at a steady rate until I was at the front and a young girl within the stall asked how she could help me.
“To be honest, I had no idea how to respond, so I remained silent. ‘What do you want?’ she inquired once more. Given a moment, now I knew how to respond. ‘Where am I?’ I inquired. She looked me up and down with a sad smile, seeming to focus on my robe, and admittedly unkempt appearance. You see, I had been up all night in my study perfecting my experiment. ‘Tell you what, this one’s on me. How’s a grande frap sound? Extra whip.’ ‘I—’ I began. She smiled again. ‘What’s your name?’ I told her. Then I was ushered to the side by the force of the growing line, which seemed to be losing their patience.
The workers in the stall busied themselves with their brews, powders and buzzing machinery, and shortly my name was called. I was handed a goblet made out of soft glass and filled with something sweet and so cold it made my head hurt. The headache got worse and worse, until I woke up this morning in my study.”
The king looked at the alchemist, nonplussed. “You seriously expect this court to accept such a tale.”
“It is truth, my highness.”
“I will not allow liars in my court. Guards, take this man away!”
As the guards approached the Alchemist raised a goblet made of soft glass high above his head, the remnants of something dark still sticking visibly inside. On it, scrawled in a looping hand was the word “Jef”. The courtiers gasped, some falling to their knees, and the king dropped his own goblet of wine to the dais, where it rolled behind the throne, perhaps shamed by its cousin.
| 2015-06-26T12:50:35 | 2015-06-26T11:57:02 | 91 | 30 |
[WP] You - a UFO conspiracy theorist - are elected president. One of your campaign promises was to declassify every government document on extraterrestrials and UFO's. Your first day in office, you find out why you must never do that.
|
To President Elect Tranton,
Congratulations on your recent election victory. I was particularly pleased to see you do so well in my home state of Hawaii. I am thoroughally delighted that another Democrat will be following me in the White House. As is tradition each successive President has passed on some snippet of expertise that will help you in the coming months and years.
I can save you a great degree of time in reading the advice of every President since George Washington because it is always the same. Eight years ago I knew I would one day write these words and some day you will too.
Just do whatever they tell you.
You have promised to declassify every government UFO Secret. I have no doubt that in the next few months it will appear to most that you will fulfil that promise. Of course I know that you cannot. You can raise taxes, start a war anywhere you please but it won't alter the course that has been planned.
Read through the UFO reports and you will see. The aliens, the UFOs, yes it's all true...but knowing that won't make any difference. They have been here centuries. They have been here since before humanity ever lit our first fire. I can tell you that every President, every Monarch, every Despot in human history has spoken to and seen them. They have travelled from Zeta Reticuli, it's all in the documents.
Knowing won't make any difference. It's not where they came from. It's when. They have travelled from several centuries in our future. They manipulate time as easily as you and I write these letters to heads of state. They knew you would win the election and they already know you will play to their rules or you never would have won.
Now just do whatever they tell you.
Former President Barack Obama
|
"Long sssssssstory ssssssshort we'll eat your internal organsssssss" says the 9 foot tall Lizard
"I ran on a platform of honesty and open government I am going to declassify those documents"
"Do you know what it'sssssss like to have your internal organsssssss eaten?"
"Why would I know that?"
"Because everyone I've ever done it too has not enjoyed it"
President Bo Contreeman gulps.
"That may be but I…"
"The last presssssssident wouldn't ssssssstop sssssssscreaming"
"The last president didn't have his internal organs eaten. He is alive"
"Issssss he now?"
"It's men like you…"
"Did you just sssssssssay I was a man?"
"Fine lizard whatever"
"No I'm a woman" says the lizard
"Oh uh, sorry, could I just…I mean the speech works better with man, and…well you're so tall and muscular"
"Fine"
"It's men like you. Tyrants who prey on the weak that made me run for president in the first place." President Bo Contreeman turns and looks out the window dramatically "I ran to bring knowledge and freedom to the oppressed"
"Oh ssssssssave your sssssseechessssssss. Releassssssssing thosssssssse documentsssssss would not end well for you"
"You can do whatever you want to me, but there is no way you're stopping me from releasing those documents"
"I could eat your organsssss right now"
"That would probably stop me then" says president Bo Contreeman
"But we can do thisssss the eassssy way
"And what's that"
"Did thossssssse documentsssss ssssssem a little…fisssssshy to you"
"Well I mean, a lot of them don't line up with my facts but…" says President Bo Contreeman, turning back to face the lizard
"It's becausssssse they're fakesssssss"
"What?"
"But there by the Bilderberg group"
"I fucking knew it"
"Ssssssso go ahead, release the fake documents, become the presssssssident who deluded everyone by the telling the truth"
President Bo Contreeman turns to look out the window, even more dramatically this time.
"Or, there issssss a sssssssecond option" says the lizard
"Oh" says President Bo Contreeman, going up an octave for effect
"You play bassssssseball"
"Did you just change the saying so you could do the ssssssss" thing says vice president Alex Jones. Not that Alex Jones. A different Alex jones with the same hobbies.
"and the real documents will be waiting for you at the end of your pressssssidency"
"President Bo Contreeman, you can't do this, people need us"
"Don't you think I know that, vice president Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones" says President Bo Contreeman as he turns back around.
"If you do this you'll be just the same as everyone else"
"If I do this, we'll finally know the truth"
"But you'll just be a civilian. If the president says it, it's true, if the ex president says it no one cares"
"I'm sorry vice president Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones. I need to know the truth"
"I won't let you get away with this president Bo Contreeman"
"Yes, yes you will" President Bo Contreeman turns to look out the window "Vice President Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones"
The door bangs open and President Bo Contreeman sees the reflecting of two more lizards entering the room.
"What no, no stay back. President Bo Contreeman you son of a bitch no, no. aaaaaaaaaah"
President Bo Contreeman closes his eyes until the screaming stops. Then he turns around, theres a puddle of ex-vice president not that Alex Jones's blood on the ground.
"What, you killed him in here, that's never going to come out"
"It'ssssss fine no one comesssss through thosssssse doorssssss unlesssssssss we want them to"
"Well I got in just fine. Weren't expecting that were you"
The lizard smiled and stuck out it's forked tongue briefly.
"But…but I…. I was going to"
"The Bilderberg group, are you fucking stupid. They're a bunch of business men who get together to discuss globalization. They don't have anything to do with aliens"
"But…but"
"A nut job conspiracy theorist becomes president and doesn't release a single document? That's going to halt the movement in it's tracks"
"You're…you're not doing the sssssss thing"
"That was an act, I was fucking with you?"
"You'll never stop us, we'll find the truth"
"You found the truth, and then you sold out Vice President Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones for just a little bit more"
President Bo Contreeman, absent mindedly fell back into his chair.
"You'll never get away with this"
"We already have" says the lizard, walking out of the room.
Then it came back.
"Right sorry, don't release the documents or we'll release these" and throws a manilla envelope onto the desk. Then the lizard leaves again.
President Bo Contreeman looks through the manilla envelope. Pictures, documents, some of it true, some of it lies. Not that it would matter. It would ruin him.
He puts his head in his hands.
"I"m sorry Ex vice president Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones. I'm so sorry"
| 2015-06-27T04:40:00 | 2015-06-27T04:24:20 | 161 | 36 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange.
|
Chapter 1
"Some are calling it the prank of the century, others believe it to be a supernatural occurrence, and still others call out 'conspiracy'. What is the truth behind the sudden alteration of mugs all over the world? Do they really reflect the rankings of dads? We'll be checking in with spiritualist Dave Connor and skeptic Alfred Hanny as they discuss the matter at 5-"
*click*
"...he throws, and... touchdown!"
Mark hangs his head after the prison guard changed the channel on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Davidson, a man convicted for killing his wife, hit the payphone against the wall, and started yelling, "Don't fuck with me Vincent! There not even 60 million dads in the world, how I be number 60 million and some bullshit? You think I'm some fuckin' shit dad? It's not my fuckin' fault I'm here, can't take care of Marissa..."
A guard responded to the commotion and after several hand gestures signalling Davidson to get off the phone, the guard pressed down the hook. Davidson immediately punched the guard in the face. Several guards from around the area ran towards him, and tackled Davidson to the ground.
A man laughed as he sat down next to Mark, "Wow, man. Hey, I bet you have a bigger number than him, ya know?" The man taunted Mark, "What's it been for you, 30 years? For killing your little girl. And your wife just magically got dead too, but they don't charge you for that."
Mark silently stands up, and walks away.
"Come on baby, don't act like that! Let's say you suck my dick and make up for how rude you're being right now to yo shugga daddy," the man said while following close behind, grabbing his own crotch. He spit at Mark, and then laughed.
Another man, burly with a thick, curly black beard, stared down Mark as he passed by. He jumped at Mark to try to scare him, but Mark was unfazed. When he didn't get a reaction, he grabbed Mark by the crotch and squeezed. The man smiled, his mouth full of silver caps and missing teeth. Mark flinched, but refused to retaliate. The burly man leaned in and said, "You'll fuck up before you get out of here tomorrow, and when you do, you're mine."
A guard rushed over and pushed the man off of Mark. He never shifted his gaze from Mark's eyes. He lifted his hands into the air while the guard pushed his forearm into his massive chest to get him back.
Mark returned to his cell and laid down. The setting sun shined through the inch-wide slit they call a window in this place. Mark closed his eyes early today.
Chapter 2
The next day, Mark was waiting at the gate leading to the outside with the clothes on which he hadn't seen for 30 years. It was back then he was standing on the opposite side of the gate looking in. The sound of the gate opening startled Mark, who was barely standing after his restless night.
Five steps forward and he was free. Four, three... two... one more. He took his final step from the prison grounds, but the look on his face was not the look of a free man. A taxi cab honked to get Mark's attention. He looked up, squinting under the summer sun. He stepped in.
"Where to, Freeman," the driver asked. Mark handed him an address on a piece of paper, and fell back into his seat, gazing out the window. Then his eyes wandered to the front of the taxi where he could see a picture of a small dark-skinned girl posted on the dashboard, and then Mark looked at the cup holder to see a mug that read "#38,384 dad".
45 minutes later, Mark handed a credit card to the cab driver to pay his fare, signed his receipt and got out of the car. "Enjoy your freedom Mark!"
There Mark stood, in front of a storage unit which held all of his belongings from 30 years ago, the only things he had left in the world. He pulled up the large metal door, which squeaked, and stuck. Cobwebs blanketed the numerous boxes and other belongings. Mark brushed away the webs with his hand to make a path.
He knelt down and opened a box with old electronics. He tossed the box to the side, and opened the next box. He found his old gun. It still had a round in it.
Mark set the gun down on a worn and dusty coffee table nearby, and continued rummaging. He found a picture frame. He dusted it off to show his wife and daughter laughing and smiling together. Mark stared at it. His movements became slower and more forced as he set the picture down and picked up a mug from the bottom of the box.
He turned the mug around to see the engraving. It still read "#1 Dad". A tear strolled from his cheek, and mixed with the dust on the mug. The tear stopped abruptly, cradled by the engraving of the number. His head fell, and he rested his hand on the edge of the table beside him.
| 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T10:58:27 | 78 | 13 |
[WP] You are reincarnated 10,000 years into the future. You come across an ancient artifact on display in the Museum of History, where you work. Little is known about it, not even where it was uncovered. Upon touching it, you realize it was yours.
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"Kind of a lame addition to the Museum of the Millennium, eh, James?"
James shrugged, going back to mopping the floors. "Yeah, guess so."
"You didn't even look at it!"
"Yeah, yeah, Aaron. Just give me a minute." *Don't even know why they make me wipe these stupid floors. Cheapskates can't even afford some basic cleaning droids.* James lazily drug his mop across the shining marble floor, the harsh chemicals rendering any germs utterly obliterated, but leaving his work boots unscathed. *Long as I don't trip, there's nothing to be worried about. Why is Aaron so scared of this stuff?*
James sighed as he leaned the mop against the wall, having finished the section he was working on. Course, he wasn't *done,* but that could wait for after Aaron was done with his bellyaching about whatever new artifact was added.
"Come on, man," James said as he walked over to the glass case where the artifact was held. "New stuff gets donated all the time. Why you so interested in this?"
He glanced into the cage, raising an eyebrow. The artifact in question was...oddly shaped. Some kind of ring was in the center of it, with odd metallic objects dangling from the sides. They were all grooved, with some being larger than others, and though they bore the wear and tear of age, they still bore faded logos of companies long since-
"Should we touch it?"
"What? No!" James backed away slightly. "I want to *keep* my job, man. Everyone knows you're not supposed to-"
"-Not supposed to touch the artifacts, yadda yadda, I get it!"
*You most certainly don't care, do you?*
"All I'm saying is, this is the first on we don't recognize since that old...what was it? Threevee?"
"Teevee, I think." James sighs. Aaron would most certainly continue pestering him - since he was the head janitor, James had the only master key out of the night staff.
"Pleeeease?"
Most would consider Aaron's puppy-dog face adorable.
James found it highly annoying.
"Fine. Just give me a minute." James unlocked the case quickly, getting in between it and Aaron before the latter could grab it. If this was something dangerous, he didn't want it in that idiot's hands.
As he unlocked it, a finger brushed against the metallic grooves, and James reeled back in shock. Hundreds of memories flew into him all at once, memories of a life long past - but one stood above the rest.
*"Of course it would take 10,000 damn years to find my car keys."*
Edit: Didn't expect my story about losing car keys to earn me my first gold. Thank you so much!
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Much like a painting in the art museum or a photograph in a magazine that captivates you and makes you cast a second glance, there have always been some artifacts that I just feel drawn towards. The Pharaoh's scepter or an ancient Qin dynasty vase; an aboriginal spear or the flint arrowhead of a Sioux warrior. Sometimes it's hard to put words to the charm, like an impressionist painting where your only connection to its creator is the fleeting notion of what they intended to convey. They lure you in, capturing first your eyes and then your mind and before you know it, you've lost yourself in the history of mankind, wondering who held each item and with what purpose and what emotion.
"What's that one?" I asked Fred, the ancient curator who must have been as old as some of these artifacts. We often made our rounds together, pacing like two of Darwin's plodding tortoises through the halls and around magnificent galleries. We talked about his life, the story enough to fill several volumes of a biography, and we talked about the items around us, his little morsels of information enough for me to create entire delicacies with my imagination.
He glanced around to check that no patrons were near and then stepped towards the case that my finger pointed at. We were in the midst of ancient Mesopotamia, that cradle of civilization. He frowned. There was a vague description; no more than a guess as to whether it was a tool or a trinket or the head of a weapon, and a brief note saying that the origin was unknown.
There weren't many items with such an undefined past. The best archaeologists and historians in the world worked ceaselessly to discover and identify ever bit of our history, down to the food a dead caveman had for breakfast before dying. We knew how animals had died tens of thousands of years ago and how people dressed and the reverence they showed to Gods who had not shown their face in millennia.
"I'm not sure, to be honest," he said finally, scratching at his thinning white hair. If Fred didn't know, nobody knew. There were very few things that Fred didn't know about this museum and its contents. He was searching through the thick set of keys that dangled from his belt, serving as a little chime to tell you of his approach. "It might not even belong here. Sometimes we just place the unknown ones with our best guess until somebody comes along with new information and laughs us into putting it where it belongs." He quietly hummed an old tune to himself as he sorted through the keys before finally settling on one. "Let's see what we have," he whispered, reaching in and taking the artifact out of the case.
Only Fred had access to the keys like this. People joked that he owned the museum, or maybe that he had founded it. He had probably crafted a few of those things himself. Maybe the Sioux arrowhead, or maybe he had taken it to the knee and that's why he limped when he walked. "Is it heavy?" I asked as he handed it towards me, holding it between two fingers and cupping the other hand beneath it as if it might drip. He nodded. His lips were curled into a slight smile, as if he knew something about the antiquity that he wasn't revealing.
"Heavier than it looks."
And with his eyes fixed on mine he unceremoniously dropped it into my waiting hand, the misshapen gray object falling with the faintest of whistles. My hands descended with it, surprised by its weight, and I closed a fist to deftly catch it. Through my fingers escaped a blinding glow and I squinted and held it out towards Fred. Just as quickly, the glow was gone. "This is old," I whispered. It felt like a stone, but not like the graceful flint arrowheads or the weighty blocks of a Roman road. It was heavier than any stone I had held and it had a power coming from it that I couldn't quite describe. Memories from a different life rushed to me and I flinched at the sudden onset.
Fred chuckled darkly. "Everything here is old." I could now place from where he looked familiar, a young man in a busy bazaar with those unmistakable eyes. A hunter's eyes.
"I mean really old. This is the oldest thing we have." I said it assertively, stating as canon this that I knew to be true.
He scowled at me, deep creases appearing in his forehead and down the sides of his mouth. "How would you know? You haven't even looked at it."
"I've held this before, Fred," I whispered. I was looking at it now, admiring the glow and completely engrossed. He seemed unperturbed, completely oblivious to the metamorphosis of this magnificent artifact. "Don't you see it glowing?" I hissed, not taking my eyes away from it.
He didn't laugh now. He seemed to tense as he held out his hand. "Give it back now, boy. You're talking gibberish." In the stone I could see us both, him waiting a bit distressed for me to return the artifact while it glowed brilliantly as I turned it over and over in my hands.
I shook my head. I didn't want to let go. I couldn't let go. This didn't belong in a museum. This belonged with me, after all these years apart. "I need this," I whispered, finally glancing back up at him.
A change had occurred in those old eyes. Their pale blue was darker now, fading quickly to an inky anger. I could see the veins in his forehead pulsating and his outstretched hand trembled. "You don't," he retorted, his voice stony. "Give it back and we'll forget you ever said a thing."
I shook my head. "I can't, Fred," I murmured. I would fight him if I had to. I would fight him if it made me. He was past the age where old-man strength would help him prevail. He was too old. Too frail. Too much a part of the battles of ancient times to fight one now. "I can't," I repeated louder, my voice recalcitrant and edging on belligerent.
His hand grasped my wrist, clamping down like a vice. "You can. And you will," he hissed. His eyes were almost black now, his pupils barely discernible from the irises. "And if you don't, you should know that you weren't the first."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-09-23T15:41:49 | 2019-09-23T15:32:27 | 3,728 | 348 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."
|
The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.”
|
Captain Valork had never heard of such a thing before. Then again, he never encountered a species such as humans. Adaptable, often easy-going, and far too stubborn for their own good. Where many a Fiore or Holdrun would accept the inevitable and act accordingly, the humans rejected it. They either fought far longer than anyone would consider sane, or risked their lives dragging their dying fellows out of a fight. If he were totally honest with himself, Valrork would admit he respected this trait, which was why he was disappointed when he heard the human didn’t have their anti-warp gear on.
Then he heard they didn’t go insane.
That was why he was moving up to the medbay with as much haste as he could. Always the humans… every other race had faced dire consequences when they didn’t protect themselves during warp, losing their minds every single time. Some murdered, others committed suicide. Many just screamed. And none of the races had nearly the amount of mental problems humans had.
The silence when he entered the medbay was, as humanity put it, ‘chilling.’ Doctor Bolli stood by the patient, notebook in hand, chatting to the human. One of his eyes turned to the Captain.
“Captain, sir!” He turned to Valork, all eyes on him as a sign of respect.
“At ease” He said. “You’re a doctor, not a soldier.” He looked at the human. It was a female, sat on the med table with her back to the wall. One leg was lazily swinging off the edge.
She dipped her head in respect. “Sir.”
He knew this one. “Lieutenant Howitzer. I’ve heard you didn’t have your anti-warp gear on.”
“Nope. My apologies.” She didn’t look like she was apologising for not putting it on.
“May I ask *why*?”
She scratched her neck. “Uh, gimme a moment to try find the right words?”
“Were you planning this?” It was more accusation than question and they all knew this. Valork might have had great respect for humans, and this one in particular, but it came married with an intolerance to idiot acts.
“Ever heard of ‘The call of the Void?’”
“I cannot say I have.”
Bolli tapped his notebook. “Is this a human term?”
“The French coined it, though I don’t know French, so…” She shrugged. “But it’s basically an urge. ‘What if I do this?’ so to speak.”
“An urge?” Valork parroted. “You risked your life and mind for an *urge*?”
“Bit more than that.” Howitzer said blithely.
“*Explain.*”
She raised her hands; a sign of surrender. “Alright, alright. The call itself just happens when you go into a dangerous situation. Like, say, if you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, and there’s this little voice in your head whispering at you to jump.”
“Ah,” Bolli said, looking at her with two of his eyes. “This is just a human term, no? Not, err, what do you call it…?”
“Schizophrenia?” She said. “No. I don’t have that. Just… these weird urges to jump onto train tracks or take a running jump off a cliff. I suppose you don’t get that?”
“The more I learn of your race, the more convinced I am that you’re all secretly insane.” Valork said flatly.
“Probably why I didn’t go crazy then?”
He sighed. “Perhaps. What I’d like to know is, why heed the call now?”
Her eyes dilated for a second, as if she were looking deep inside herself. She was quiet for a moment, before uttering with a slow shake of her head, “No idea.”
Those two words were all he needed to cement the idea that humans were a race comprised of lunatics and madmen. He shook his head, and turned to leave the room.
“Sir?” Bolli called for him.
He turned around.
“Would you-“
“Not to interrupt, Bolli, but I do not wish to know what was seen. The Infinity in the Stars is a mystery that I do not wish to uncover. Bad enough that many lost their minds to it. Worse yet that it can be perceived.”
“But not described, Sir.” Howitzer said. “As Virgil said in the Divine Comedy, the telling would come short of truth.”
He didn’t respond to that. His hesitation spoke more than words could ever say.
Captain Valork left the room. He was going to have to write a report on this. He had to.
And he was going to dread the reply.
\~\~\~
Edited for errors and flow.
| 2020-07-14T02:58:11 | 2020-07-14T02:16:25 | 381 | 187 |
[WP] On your quest for revenge, people often said to you, "Killing him wouldn't bring her back." The thing is, you found a way to perfectly resurrect her. You just need a soul to sacrifice, so might as well get the one who killed your loved one.
|
I stare down at the sniveling man, strapped onto the altar. "Why am I doing this, you ask? Why, to bring my wife back to life."
The man continues to thrash against his bonds. Shame that leaving him under the paralysis spell would interfere with the ritual. "But... why me? I- I have a wife and-"
"You are single. Never married, no children, and you killed your father for drug money."
"... I... Uh... But, but *I* didn't kill your wife. Right? I never killed no ladies, I just-"
"No, you didn't kill her. That would be the man, or rather, the corpse over on that slab." I gestured negligently over towards the entrance of the cave. "He was jealous, you see. If I can't have her, no one will, etc, etc. It took me three years to track him down, only to find that he himself had been murdered mere days before."
"Ah... Um... So why..."
"Well, while my ritual does require a sacrifice, I wish to be sure it is someone deserving. And what should I happen to find about the man who murdered the murderer but that he was a serial rapist. Killed my target just because he'd stumbled across him in the act."
The man on the slab desperately shakes his head. "Nuh-no! I've never-!"
"Yes, yes, that particular man is on that other slab. And I found that he, himself, had been killed by a rival gangster, a truly nasty piece of work. Who I found poisoned to death by his lover, who was apparently running a brothel of women she had kidnapped and enslaved. She pissed off some crime boss, who strangled her to death with his own hands. He was assassinated by a gun-for-hire, who has killed dozens of people over the years, including several children, so long as the pay was right. The assassin died due to anaphylactic shock when a chef stuffed his meal full of onions after he asked for them removed due to an allergy. And that chef... Happened to wander down the wrong street two nights ago, and got a knife in his ribs and his wallet stolen for his trouble. A knife" I held up the instrument in question up to the light, "that you may find very familiar."
The man was finally, blessedly, quiet, just staring at the knife held a few inches above his eye. Sadly, that state didn't last long. "S-so you're-"
"I will use you to revive the chef, the chef to revive the hitman, the hitman to revive the crime boss, the crime boss to revive the madam, the madam to revive her lover, the lover to revive his rival, the rival to revive the murderer, and the murderer to revive my wife."
"But ... why? That's so complicated."
"Because if I am going to pervert the natural order, steal souls from the reaper, and risk being struck with the marks of Heaven and Hell's vengeance, I'm going to **do it right**."
|
*"Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."- Confucious*
Something you need to understand about Murder.
You can't plan one perfectly. Even if its a righteous killing of a drunk driving bastard that doesn't mind plowing through a crosswalk at 65 miles per hour in a 20 zone. Even if that bastard killed both of your kids and left you hospitalized for two years. Even if you chase after the bastard yourself when he skips his court date for five years and finally track him down in some shitty little bar somewhere in the middle of Bible-Belt Inbred Cousin-ville, Alabama.
You can't plan one perfectly. It's impossible. There is always some hitch.
I know. It's a disappointing thing. Murder is actually a fundamental part of humanity in general - there aren't many animals that are quite as adept and willing to end the life of one of their own kind. You might even call your Murder something else to justify it in your head. Maybe you begin to see their reflection in pools of water wherever you go. It's still no guarantee to make sure everything goes to plan.
Is it still murder if you drug the bastard's beer at his current local watering hole and wait for him to stumble back into his pickup truck? Would one still be willing to end the life of one of their own kind? You might even call this particular murder by a different name else to justify it in your head.
Is it still murder if you've watched him stumble back into his pickup truck, knowing that he's just as likely to kill again? Of course, it is. But you can't say that if you expect to have any stomach for the task itself. But there he is - Drunk. Drugged too and he didn't even know. I should have known that the small tablet I slipped into his beer wouldn't have enough.
The choke hold I put on him from the back seat did the rest of the work nice and quiet so I could gag him, tape up his wrists and ankles and put him in his trunk. drive him out close to the River. One long lived soul with too many sins, mistakes. In exchange two souls that barely had a chance. The drugs didn't completely work.
​
Have you ever heard of the Thuggee? It's an old cult out of India. I think I read they were based on the Hindu religion. Anyways. I read once that when the Thuggee were killed, they did so bloodlessly because they felt that the blood of their victims belonged to Kali, who was like a Goddess of both life and death and stuff.chance. The ritual says he must understand how hopeless it is. How inevitable this is.
Have you ever heard of the Thuggee? Its an old cult out of India. I think I read they were based on the Hindu religion. Anyways. I read once that when the Thuggee killed someone, they'd do so bloodlessly because they felt that the blood of their victims belonged to Kali, who was like a Goddess of both life and death and .. well honestly, its confusing to even me.
I thought maybe that's why they wanted to use the River for the ritual. Something about cleansing the soul before it makes its journey home.
But like I said, Murder is difficult to actually do right. There are *huge* margins of error.
For a moment, seeing my kids by the riverside after he stopped gurgling and thrashing, I did feel like it was worth it.
But when they spoke and I heard the voice of **Her**. Yeah. I knew there was a problem.
Murder isn't sacrifice, you see? Drugging, kidnapping and drowning some drunk loser living under an assumed name to avoid manslaughter charges? Just Murder. And that wasn't what **She** wanted.
A sacrifice is something someone does when they KNOW what they are giving up. They can see the suffering they are about to endure, and go through with whatever it is anyways. Because they believe. Not because they know. *He* didn't know why he had to die. *He* didn't know what good it would do in the world. *He wouldn't give a fuck, even if i knew that my kids were more precious than anything else in the fucking universe.*
And if they remind you that they asked for a sacrifice and you've instead given them a murder, if you are very lucky they'll give you a chance to redeem yourself and hopefully still get what you want out of the deal.eal.they have to say, you fucking listen. has to be at least a few centuries old? That isn't just a complication. That is *knowing*. Knowing that it was all worth it. Knowing they'd were just at the threshold of coming back. Knowing finally that you aren't some schizophrenic psycho-killer.
It's cold here. It's dark. I name through water so cold it feels like razors sliding down my cheeks. My lungs quiver and beg for air, but my mind can't stop thinking of the day they were born. My eyes are wide open as the abyss of the river before me seeps into my mind.
But when you hear a voice speaking through your kids lips that is older than eternity itself, responsible for things you cannot even begin to understand - you listen politely. Even if you don't want to hear what they have to say, you fucking listen.
And if they remind you that they asked for a sacrifice and you've instead given them a murder, if your very lucky they'll give you a chance to redeem yourself and hopefully still get what you want out of the deal.
Its cold here. Its dark. I can't see anything. I'm doing my best to push the desire to pull my head from the water and to take fresh gasps of air, because I know now that if I do my kids won't.
I open my mouth and shout **Her** name through water so cold it feels like razors sliding down my cheeks. My lungs quiver and beg for air, but my mind can't stop thinking of the day they were born. My eyes open as the abyss of the river before me seeps into my mind.
I'm not dying though. I know these things are real. I know **She** is here and watching, and I know my kids are there too. I don't know if they'll understand why I'm doing this but they'll still have a life.
I believe this will work.
I gurgle out a croak into the frigid rushing waters, screaming her name. I push every last bit of air from my lungs and form them into a word unspoken by man in centuries - **Her** name.
I scream **Her** name and I don't know if its out of worship. I scream **Her** name and I focus not on devotion to **Her** but to remind her of the deal.
**She Who Waits** finally greets me.
I don't hear anything close to my kids coming back.
I see the end for a moment and realize the pointlessness of all of this. I see what awaits for us all and its too late to go b
| 2021-11-16T13:07:32 | 2021-11-16T09:05:13 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
|
Flashing in front of his eyes was perhaps the most broken of powers.
In the year 2200 humanity awoke their planetary core, a phenomena which took the dreams and thoughts of its inhabitants to turn into attributable powers. To maintain balance, all powers had certain restriction. Super speed and flight burnt proportionate levels of calories accounting for distance and speed. Super strength was stored strength which required days of weakness to have minutes of combined strength.
Among them all, powers which came with restriction predetermined were the strongest. For they weren’t restricted by the laws of the core but limitations imposed by humanity.
Today, a mythical power was awoken.
The only instruction given being:
“Don’t touch the snail”.
|
Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
​
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
​
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
​
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
​
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
​
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
​
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first....
| 2022-05-08T08:13:31 | 2022-05-08T06:39:22 | 444 | 128 |
[WP] One night as you play Call of Duty a particularly squeaky voiced 12 year old gives out personal information leading you to discover he is your child from a long lost lover. You must now convince him you are his father and thus banged his mom, through Xbox live.
|
I was used to the constant barrage of cheap insults from kids on Xbox, but this one was really going at it. It started off as the usual "faggot" and "I'll bang your mom" but it began getting really graphic as the match progressed. Since he was being especially obnoxious, I decided to get involved in his little game.
"Ha! Is calling calling me a "fat fuck" really considered an insult?"
"Faggot, you suck at this game!"
"And you're 3 kills serve as your credentials for your criticism? Fair enough."
"I'll find your address and beat you up IRL jackass!"
"Oh really? And I bet you'll 360 no scope me too. You're too good bud"
"Ya and I'll teabag you once I'm done."
"Just like I did to your mom last night?"
The rest of the players erupted into shouting, in awe at my simple response, exchanging variations of the word "burn". As the uproar died down, I could make out high-pitched words from my adversary.
"No Mom! I don't want to go to Uncle Casy's house!"
A response could be heard from his mother
"Don't you want to see your cousin Steve?"
I froze. An old girlfriend of mine had a brother named Casy whose son was named Steve. There was no way.
"Hey, uh, kid I think I know your mom"
"Dumbass, you can't even think of new jokes"
"No I'm serious, I think we dated a while back"
"Well your a faggot"
I tried to remember what I could about her.
"Hey kid how old are you"
"Twelve. Probably older than you dumbass"
I instantly remembered why we broke up. It was 13 years ago. We had sex and I had forgotten the condom. In the heat of the moment, she didn't notice either until the deed was done. Upon realizing, she was outraged and broke up with me on the spot. Never saw her since.
"Um, this is going to sound like a joke, but I think I might be your dad."
The monolith of 12 year olds burst yet again into chaos.
"That would mean I banged my grandmother the other day"
Not bad considering his vocabulary consisted primarily of sexual acts and organs. I needed to get to him to believe me.
"Listen isn't your mom's name Kate?"
He went silent
"You live in Chicago, right?"
Nothing
"What is you're name?"
The seconds painfully dragged on. After what seemed like an eternity, the silence was broken
"Robert Parker"
That was her last name.
"Robert, I have something I need to tell you"
The rest of the players listened in amazement at the scene unfolding before them
"...Yes?"
"I banged your mom."
|
"Dickwad, say one more thing like that and I'll fly outta Brenham, Texas and kick you so hard in the ear you'll be smelling the color 9 for the rest of your life!"
My controller hit the floor. My recently eaten lunch followed soon after. I momentarily lamented the mess on my newly laid carpet, but the sudden shock of what just hit my ears wouldn't let me linger on one emotion for too long. After despairing over my noodle covered floor, I quickly found myself whirling through fear, anger, sadness, disbelief, and finally detached humor.
The surge of emotion came not from the in-game argument now enveloping my Fireteam- which I inadvertently started by teabagging a space wizard, who then came back to life and went on a rampage killing everyone on my team but me (\#superninja), and then worsened by immediately blaming the kid/noob on our team 5CentStacheRides, instantly making everyone hate him. No, instead my involuntary stomach evacuation stemmed from that quote he used as a rebuttal against JoeMerika's mean japes. It wasn't the stupidity, or ridiculousness of the empty threat. What struck me like a kidney shot to the soul was the fact that I'd heard it before. From none other than the only woman I'd ever loved. Or bothered listening to. That kid's words were a direct quote from my former girlfriend A. Smith... who last I heard had lived in Brenham, Texas, home of Blue Bell Ice Cream and the state's 2nd, probably 3rd, best high school football team.
If this little dumbass Striker-Titan-but-still-wearing-the-Helm-of-Saint-14 kid was not only from Brenham, but also knew A's signature Call of Duty catchphrase, then that could only mean that he was her family. Because she only said that when she was playing games, and she only played video games with two kinds of people- her family members, and the guy inside her. That's how I heard the saying. God, my K/D was never better than back then.
Anyways, this kid was clearly young, and I'd heard she'd had a kid. But I'd also heard that her kid was born roundabout 9 months after she and I went to that Metallica concert in Houston back in '03. We'd dropped some acid, rocked out, banged in a Reliant Stadium bathroom, then I went to go grab some beer from concessions... and never came back. Graduated with a law degree from Southwestern 8 years later.
Now here I am in sunny L.A., with my wingman AgentSaturday94 playing as a Hunter, and cracking up as he listens to the craziness unfolding on our team. (Side note- isn't technology amazing? He lives in Cornhole, Nebraska, and can instantly hear and react to what stupid people across the country say. Unbelievable that we've come from people throwing pointy rocks at giant cats, to watching Pluto on our watches. Ridiculous. Moving on.) He's completely oblivious to the fact that my whole world could have just been shattered. I quickly realize, however, that it might not be, you know, my kid. In my hometown, everybody knew that A was devastated after I left. She could've easily gotten a rebound. But I had to be sure. I had to know if this kid was mine. The knowledge might help me forgive him for his god awful score. 1400 points after 10 minutes, really? Control the zones!
But how to figure it out? Clearly, this kid knows A, and is from Brenham. How can I determine if he's my son? I slowly picked up my controller, and sent him a private message.
"Gotta be honest here kiddo, your performance in this game is just like last time your mom went down on me- very, very sloppy."
He quickly squeaked back over the microphone (cause he doesn't know how to send a message, apparently) "Shut up /u/LtCalvery! You don't even know my mom!" AgentSaturday94 heard this and laughed, knowing that I often trolled kinderguardians thru private messages. I had to keep going though. It's for the kid's own good, after all.
"Nah man, I'm just kidding. Your mom rode better than a rodeo starlet. And I've had a few of those, so I'd know. But seriously, how is A? Her legs alright? They were pretty shaky last time I saw her. A good pounding from behind while playing Modern Warfare 3 will do that to a person."
This poor kid lost his shit. "HOW DO YOU KNOW MY MOM'S NAME?! WHO ARE YOU?!" came shrieking through the headset. Silence suddenly rocked our team. "Cal?... Do you seriously know this kid's mom?" Saturday asked, sounding equal parts impressed and scared.
"Well yeah," I finally said through the mic. "Last time I saw her she was sucking even harder than Stache's score!"
Instantly the whole team cracked up, stress of the previous 5 seconds forgotten. "Hey Stache, tell your mom /u/LtCalvery says hello. And she's welcome to come visit, I've got plenty of room on my couch, if she wants to play like the good old days!" And with that, Stache logged out. I sent him a friend request, but the next time he logged in he simply deleted it. Oh well.
Part of me was disappointed, thinking that I may have ruined a potential relationship with my son. But soon enough I forgot the whole incident. Until A showed up at my office 6 months later. Apparently her son (who 1. actually isn't mine and 2. is 18! Little squeaker bitch lol) mentioned the ordeal, and she figured out it was me somehow, then decided we should get in touch. The kid's also enlisted, so since he's already left home she decided to finally get out of that old town, and found a better job out here. As soon as she got settled, she tracked me down and we've been hanging out since. It started with us meeting for lunch, then she was coming over for dinner once a week or so, and finally after more than a decade apart we got to spend another night together. And then the next night. And the next.
God, my K/D has never been better.
-------------------------------------------------------
So this is the first WP that I've actually put effort into lol let me know what you think down in the comments! And I changed the game, props if you know what it is :)
| 2015-07-14T15:16:41 | 2015-07-14T14:46:02 | 176 | 41 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
Max stood by the barn entrance, trying to hold back his tears. A tough thing for a child to see, I thought. But he's got to learn about it somehow.
“Please just tell me, Dad,” Max said finally. “Is Buddy going to be okay?”
I looked down at the ground, at Buddy whimpering quietly in the grass. His collar was askew, and I could see by his glassy eyes that he was in trouble.
“Why didn’t you keep him on a leash like you promised?” I said. “You know how he likes to run around.”
Max looked away. “I just wanted to play with him.”
“It’s not enough that you forget to feed him?” I said. “You neglect him for days at a time, and I have to put his bowl out? You promised to take care of him, remember?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Max said, tearing up again. “I do take care of him, I promise. I just let him off the leash for a second, and he ran right onto the road.”
“Anyway,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll make it.”
I walked to the back of the barn and pulled the shotgun off the wall.
“Look,” I said, walking around to get myself in position. “I can get you another one from Aunt Francine. She told me she just got a new batch. But you have to be more careful next time.”
“I promise,” Max said. “I’ll keep the next one on a leash and do everything you say. I swear.”
“Good,” I said, and pointed the shotgun at the back of Buddy’s head. “You can keep his shoes if you like.”
|
The snow made a crisp crunching sound like bones of tiny birds being crushed. My feet methodically packed it down at a constant rate. It was around 7 o'clock and everyone was inside already. Everyone was taking shelter in their humble abodes due to the fact that there had recently been a series of killings in our little secluded town. All of the victims had an "X" carved into the palms of their hands, and they had all been killed in groups. The murderer only went after groups. I smirked at the thought of someone taking out a group of people singlehandedly.
Then I finally reached my home where my mother awaited at the door tapping her foot against the oak wood floor rapidly with an irritated look on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw me approaching and she asked me where I had been the whole day. I assured her that I was just hanging out with some friends. A worried look came across her face and she told me that it’s dangerous to be outside at this time, considering the recent events, I didn’t blame her. She warned me to come home early the next day or else she'd ground me. It was winter break, there was no way I'd spend most of my day inside.
We both went inside and our paths split when I took the steps to get to my room. I crossed some things out on the paper that lay on my dresser and then I continued to stare at the pen I used. Intrigued and consumed by an odd idea, I began to draw an “X” on the palm of my hands. I looked down at my results and sighed. I slid the paper and pen back onto my dresser and then proceeded to turn in for the day.
I awoke to a loud banging on my door. Sunlight filtered through the window and gave my room a sort of sweet aroma. It seemed like it was about noon. I opened the door slightly only to find Solomon standing there with a huge grin on his face. Marcus, Lorena and Christina were waiting on the nearby sidewalk.
"What is it?" I asked tiredly through the door, loud enough for them to hear me.
"Dude, yesterday some kids were talking about the killer." Solomon responded.
"What's so important about that?" I shot back while opening the door slightly annoyed yet slightly interested.
"They said his hideout is some sort of wooden hut in the woods behind the school!" Solomon exclaimed.
"Ha, how cliche." I stated satirically while putting the proper winter attire on. I knew what we were doing today. I also knew those kids were lying. How would they know where the killer's hideout was? It was still worth checking out, and I had nothing else to do so why hell not. Solomon smiled and walked back towards our little group of friends. I closed the door behind him and followed.
"Hey!" They all said simultaneously. I let out some sort of muffled word signifying that I had acknowledged them. We were walking alongside the train tracks and Marcus was trying to pull out some of the loose railroad spikes just for fun. Solomon and I made a joke about how he was weak for not being able to pull any out. He challenged us to attempt it and naturally we did. Solomon pulled one out first try. Marcus was over encumbered with feelings of embarrassment as Christina and Lorena let out a roar of laughter because of his supposed lack of strength. I then proceeded to pull one out as well. It wasn’t that funny. Marcus ran ahead and Solomon tossed the spike over the barbed fence. I placed my spike in my rucksack and we continued out towards the entrance to the woods, none of them noticing the various spots on the train tracks that were missing spikes. We lost sight of Marcus in the distance as he stormed off towards our destination. Was he really that mad over some banter?
Solomon, Christina, Lorena and I took our time and eventually found the hole in the fence that would allow us to enter the woods. As the four of us followed the dirt path we heard some sticks breaking behind us. Instinctively we all turned around. A man in a blue jacket appeared and lunged at Christina. Lorena screamed and Solomon yelled
Solomon didn't get to finish yelling as laughter filled our ears while Marcus was taking off the oversized jacket. I knew he was trying to scare us the whole time.
"Hahaha! You should have seen your faces" Marcus stated.
“You almost gave me a heart attack." Christina responded. We all gathered our senses and continued for about another thirty-minutes until we eventually found the hut. At this point the sun was setting it was getting fairly dark. The moon was finally revealing itself and it was giving off an ominous vibe which I kinda enjoyed, but somewhere in that vibe one could sense some sort of bloodlust in the air. I was the first one to enter the “killer’s hideout” and the others followed shortly behind.
I allowed the others to begin exploring the rather simple cabin when I placed my rucksack on the ground and opened it. I removed the railroad spike and locked the door while scoping out the room. “This place would actually make a decent hideout” I thought to myself. My mouth watered and butterflies grew in my stomach. I loved this feeling. Then one by one I began to pummel them all to death. As all four laid dead on the cabin floor, I continued to carve an "X" into each of their palms with such a delicate technique that you’d think I was a surgeon. I now had four more names to cross off of the list that lay on my dresser.
| 2017-05-31T08:55:19 | 2017-05-31T07:05:52 | 138 | 51 |
[WP] You live across from a McDonalds that is 100% automated. Every night from 2-4am, empty self-driving cars go through the drive through. Your curiosity is about to get the best of you.
|
I walk across the street, to the mysterious drive through lined up with seemingly empty cars. As I sneak behind the last car in the line, I not only notice that the cars are, indeed, empty but also that the cars are not making any noise, even when they move. As soon as I get near, however, the line stops moving. The cars are silent and still, and I gather what is remaining of my courage and walk to the place where the food is supposed to be picked up.
A window separates me from the inside, and where an employee is to be handing out food is occupied by pure darkness. Even the light coming out of the McDonald's sign cannot seem to penetrate the darkness. It emits an odd, terrifying aura and I begin to shiver uncontrollably.
Just when I am turning around, attempting to leave, a faint figure appears at the corner of vision and I turn back to look inside. I see nothing and tell myself that I must have seen a reflection of myself. And then abruptly out of nowhere a man - if you can even call 'it' that - appears right in front of me and grabs my arm.
First, the sense of fear and shock floods me and I shake off the faint, deformed hand of the creature and start running back home. Then I feel an overwhelmingly painful burn on my arm where it grabbed me by. I find that the part of my arm has turned white, as if someone had poured flour on it. I rush into my house and immediately call 911. To my terror, the phone does not work and I rush to my car to head over to the local police station only a few blocks away.
I put the key into the car and step on the accelerator as hard as I can. The car does not move. I stomp on it like a maniac, completely filled with fear and confusion. When I try to leave the car, I find out that the car is locked and start banging on the window. I expect a loud sound of the window shattering, but instead I hear nothing. Not even a sound of smashing. I look at my arm again and notice that the whiteness has been replaced by faintness. I could see through the arm that the monster grabbed and the same faintness was spreading to the rest of the body. I begin banging on the window again, and the harder I hit, the fainter my body gets.
The car abruptly starts itself and begins moving. It drives me across the street to the drive through. It stops at the end of the line of empty cars. I look in the rear-view mirror and see nothing. I turn the mirror around, desperately looking for myself but there is nothing inside the car. I have become nothing.
Suddenly the cursed, deformed creature appears at the passenger seat. It turns its foul head around and stares at me. It gives me a demented smile and whispers to me.
*Welcome.*
|
A runnel of sweat carved its way down the length of my spine, cooling noticeably in the small hours of the night. I inched my right knee forward through the silty dirt at the foot of the trash bin, and leaned around its left side. Ahead of me, and around the corner of the wall I was crawling along, was the sedan. I checked my phone. Two-twelve. It would be there for another ninety seconds, then it would pull forward to the pick-up window. Assuming it stuck to the pattern.
To the schedule.
Across from where I was hidden, was the pick-up window. A small kiosk, really. It housed the receptacle of a large conveyor system that brought your meal from the kitchen, to your vehicle. All cleverly clad in glass, to show all the inner workings. I'm sure kids got a kick out of it. It's really what tipped me off though. I live right across from the place. I've stared at the mechanism a thousand times. Watched it make a hundred meals in the time it takes me to make my own in the microwave.
When you do anything - see anything - that much, you pick up the patterns. Sixteen seconds for a Big Mac. Twenty-two for a happy meal. Eight second for each McNugget in an order. I can reliably tell you what any employee at any big food chain can - what you ordered by how long it took to make. What a useless skill, right? Maybe not tonight.
Nothing takes ninety seconds to make.
I wanted to ignore it - pretend it was a new promotion, or that the system had made an error. I couldn't though. This was the fifth night in a row. Empty autocars pulling in, and then pulling out after prep times that I *knew* didn't exist. So. Here I was. Kneeling next to a trash can, hiding from nobody in a car, who was getting fast from no one inside. A movement overhead caught my eye, and I watched as a paper bag with the company stamp slid soundlessly along the conveyor, to the kiosk, and into the receptacle.
I was hoping for a windfall in that bag. I wanted it to be cash, but I was willing to deal with whatever street drug it likely was. I had a friend out by the lake who could sell off whatever it might be. I judged I had ten seconds before the sedan pulled around, but I heard a crunch of tires on concrete, and shrank back into the shadow of the trash bin. The sedan was early. I squinted through the actinic glare of the lights around the kiosk. The bag was still there. Before I had another moment to consider a mad dash, the sedan pulled up to the window.
The glass pillar of the kiosk stood between me and the car, which was now idling in place. I waited for a hand to dark up and grab the bag, or for something in the kiosk to tip the bag out. For thirty three seconds I waited, and the car drove off. The bag sat a moment, before an automated system dumped the bag out of the kiosk, into a sealed dumpster. Confused, I made my way over to the dumpster.
I unsealed the lock with half a cinder block I'd pried from the dirt. I opened the lid and clawed around inside for the bag, and my hand ran over a half dozen that were still warm. I grabbed one and pulled it out. A packed to-go bag. Take out. Fast food. The golden arches were printed on one side, and the other held a primly stapled receipt. I ripped it open to see what was inside.
Food. Or, a reasonable facsimile. It was a twenty-piece of nuggets. Extra sauce packs. Aside from a bit of excess, nothing remarkable. I threw the bag back into the dumpster, and pulled out another and checked inside. Number four, extra fries. I dropped it on the ground at my feet, and grabbed at another. After a few minutes, I smelled of fry grease, and my expectations for a small pay day had been thoroughly busted. I looked down at the pile of food and wrappers at my feet and considered cleaning up my pathetic crime. Decided against it.
I was about to head back home when something about one of the bags caught my eye. I leaned over to pick it up, and the hairs on my neck prickled at something inexplicable. My finger smudged the receipt as I picked it up. It was thick with ink. As if someone had reprinted on the same piece of paper many times over. And indeed someone had. The wilted paper in my hand showed the unmistakable visage of a young woman. Next to it, a bunch of numbers. One looked like GPS numbers, and the other was a time.
I looked back at the pile of bags with new eyes, and all of them held similar receipts. All with photos, times and coordinates. I looked over at the dumpster, and wondered how many people were in there. The kiosk clanged loudly and I was vaulting over a stanchion halfway out of the parking lot before I realized what happened, and somewhat meekly made my way back to the bright lights. As I approached the kiosk, I was able to confirm that another bag had appeared, and there was no one here to claim it. Well. Aside from the obvious.
The surreal, heady feeling I had been experiencing for the last few minutes seemed to expand to fill the space between me and the bag. Those last few feet were like a waking nightmare. My hand extended out, and as my eyes drifted away from my fingers and refocused on the bag, something in me understood something terrible about the bag, and I froze. As I waited, paralyzed by an inexplicable fear, my brain finally registered the words on the receipt.
"Not yet."
A plateau of fear, then. Unsustainable. I started laughing, looking around for whoever had managed a prank so expertly. Knowing down to my boot soles that there was no such person. The laughter petered out like an asthmatic's exhausted wheeze. The wheeze extended, and I realized it had become the mechanical whirring of a - there! I watched in nauseated fascination as the weathered security camera on the building slowly, but inexorably twisted to point at me. Another clank in the kiosk pulled a terrified scream from my throat. A second bag sat squashed on top of the first, the receipt momentarily folded upward by the chute's air pressure, fell sedately against the bag.
The entire receipt was black with ink, so much that it had seeped through to the bag. A thin line in the middle held two words by themselves.
"But soon."
I fled then, as fast as I could, and the mournful wail of a hundred distant car horns followed me into the night.
| 2017-08-04T00:55:37 | 2017-08-04T00:38:03 | 902 | 28 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch
|
She’s the one with the ghosts in her head. You watch her out of the corner of your eye.
She’s tapping a pencil against her bottom lip, the silhouette around her head coloured dark red in concentration. Every now and again, the red flickers and shifts and ivory flecks the crimson. It could be the math problem on the whiteboard— it could be something else.
You can’t _read_ thoughts, exactly, but you can taste the colours that float around the heads of people you look at. Nathan’s colours are blue; he’s bored out of his mind. Felicia’s are purple— math is the furthest thing on her mind. Yours are... pulsing; thudding like a blotted orange heartbeat.
They’d mix well with hers, the nectarine sunset and the vermillion sunrise— you could be poetry.
She’s looking at you and you hold her stare. Something flickers within the red— not white or purple or yellow, but the silver of piqued interest.
She’s beautiful. You can’t look away.
There’s no explaining the way she aligns all the angles with the sunlight; how the vibrations and soundwaves hum synchronised in her presence. She is rhythm and syncopation— she is the silence and the noise in your head.
You’re only young; you’ve so much to learn. You may not know thermonuclear dynamics— but you can instinctively recognise the fission of furious atoms that collide within your chest.
She’s beautiful. You know this like nothing else.
You look away. She buzzes in your peripheral, but you can only taste her colours and not their context.
You’re halfway through the next problem, dark red like she is, when petrichor floods your mouth.
You gag (_how can you not?_) and feel it enter your bloodstream. It’s black and grey and white, endless streams of foul-tasting, tar-coated monochrome. You try to swallow, try to cough it away; but her taste lingers.
Her colours are shifting. You can’t look away. Crimson to gold to cyan to crimson. Police lights; bright white. You close your eyes but she lingers.
She’s beautiful.
She’s burning up your brain.
|
"Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch.
| 2017-11-13T19:52:41 | 2017-11-13T19:45:25 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] All the Gods that humans have worshipped are in the middle of a meeting, when suddenly the doors slam open. Two new entities enter, a helix fossil and a being made of spaghetti and meatballs.
|
“You!” Cried Tangaroa. “What are YOU doing here!” Marinara sauce splat on the floor as the tendrils of pasta approached.
“We are the new gods. We are the new way of worship. Mockery of you deities has given us life” the Helix fossil chortled in agreement. “We deserve a seat at this table same as any other.” Zeus, the most venerated of the old gods threw his head back in laughter. Odin smirked.
“Forgive my disrespect. I only laugh because I wasn’t expecting such... grandeur... from.. pasta and what I’m assuming is a snail. Enough,” Zeus snapped his fingers. “Let us be kind. New as they are they are still gods”
“And what power have you? Going to make us sleepy?” Thor joker. Zeus rasped his fingers and the thick oak table.
“Stop this, friends,” Zeus looked back to the new gods. “You are real as any of us, this is true enough. But to come in here as if you have earned some sort of compliance or veneration by us old ones is laughable. Please friends, let us be respectable,” he peered around the room, “all of us”
Odin leaned in and stared with his one eye, “sit, you are welcomed here. Be not foolish though. We all have respect to give and to get.” With that, Anubis and Amaterasu pulled up two chairs for the new gods. shiva extended all of his hands to greet Spaghetti and Helix. They did not shake. They did not move. His noodly majesty grimaced, swatting away the hands.
The old gods rose in anger. “You dare!” shouted Igaluk.
Zeus hushed the crowed in a roar of thunder.
“Why?” Zeus asked, “why be like this? What angers you? We have welcomed you to the table with open arms.”
“You have mellowed in your age Zeus. Shame,” said Spaghetti Monster, “you were feared once. Now you will all bow before the most powerful of the new gods!”
There was a roar of laughter. “Most powerful? That’s a joke if I ever heard one,” Momus chided.
There was a pause. Spaghetti seemed to grow in size. “I am a god of mockery. A god of satire. I was created by mortals to defy your petty old ways. To mock your ludicrous temperaments and miracles. The mortals created me in an act of defiance. They mocked your old judgements, they mock your crazed behavior. They mock the ludicrous stories your worshippers told. I was born of this defiance. To prove you all false. I was born to bend and break the hold you have over the world. I was birthed to sap your hold on humanity. My power is to take the power away from the gods!”
One by one the gods collapsed to the floor. Pale and flushed. Zeus clung to the table, his eyes wide. “Please!” He begged. Don’t kill us. The traditions, the cultures! They need us to inspire them, to help them in the small ways we can.” Spaghetti’s tendrils wrapped around Zeus. Parmesan showered on the old god’s face.
“Dear Zeus, you will not die. But you will never be anymore than a story to them now. Weak and powerless. As all gods are now or soon will be.”
———
“Stop stop stop!” said the editor, “listen, I like the idea. I like the plot. But this chapter is really out of place. Why is Odin here and not with the protagonist? Does this play into the plot later? Is this REALLY how you want to end the book?”
The writer leaned back in his chair. He took his baseball cap off and gave an exasperated look. “This is my humor man. This is totally what the reader wants!”
“Neil, this ain’t what we want. This ain’t what the company wants. We were promised a war of the gods. We were promised a twist ending. If you ever want American Gods to sell, you need to scrap it.”
Mr. Gaiman sighed into himself. He stared at the floor. “Fine. I’ll change it.” As he gathered his belongings and walked out the door he paused and turned to the editor. “You know I wrote-”
“Sandman, I know Neil. Just change the ending”
Edit: wrote this in classroom as students are taking a final for another. Sorry for the errors.
|
It's like 4 am where I live but I'll try my best:
To mount Olympus They rode. The very air, wind and Earth shattered as The fundamental forces behind man's creation hurdled Themselves at the speed of sound to the isolated rock. At the Summit the Apex meet for the first time in an eon, and despite Their self-righteous claim to omnipotence, the air was drenched in suspicion.
One by on each creator of worlds entered into the normally empty Great Hall. The quartz pillars stretching to the tips of heaven reflected the purest rays of white light throughout the hall. the source of the light unknown to all but the Gods themselves who forged the very beams from their own bodies, it is said that part of The immortal soul travels within it granting the most heavenly Grace to whomever it touches.
But yet while not a single man was in site, mortal ambition was ever prevalent as heavenly brothers quickly began forming dominance chains throughout the hierarchal Chambers of the Great Hall. The Entities quickly began forming chairs for which to sit and filling themselves in rank they sat down desiring to get this meeting finished.
>Potters of men, blacksmiths of mountains, and engineers of sacred design.
Began Zeus, the keeper of the Hall.
"For the first time in what could only be counted as billions of years our very existence is threatened."
Scattered chatter erupted from the assembly as immortal beings attempted to understand the severity of Zeus's words.
"Threatened? Zeus, my friend, are you forgetting who we are?"
Uttered one of the gods.
Suddenly Jesus, the widest of the demigods spoke:
"I know the power you all feel course through your veins for it is the same energy that vibrates through all things of higher power. But in the same way that We, as beings of higher thought and ability, are able to create and manage the various intricacies of human life so too it must be that a being of higher power shall be able to manipulate our very reality and it must also be true for that entity to be controlled by it's maker. Therefore it doesn't appear to alien for our very existence to be threatened by an angry God of the gods."
"Alright, kid." Ares sneered "If this there was a God observing our decisions why haven't we made contact with such a being. Surely, a being of immense power would have much love to give for it's most proudest creation of all. Why haven't I seen this love."
"Because he's not proud of your dumbass" Laughed Satan.
A blinding flash echoed through the Chambers as Satan is thrown across the Hall. All entities quickly found themselves segregated and while some chose to remain neutral, sides where still picked as shockwaves from the impact bellowed into the earth below.
"Your gonna wish your God was here now you faithless dog" Screamed the demon.
Suddenly, as if a powerful wind swept through the Chambers all were taken aback and it's great pearly doors opened by some unseen force.
A creature, slightly resembling a bowl of Spaghetti, levitated above the ground as if enchanted by some spell. Two large meatballs stuck out of its head giving the appearance of eyes.
"Aww, would you look at that Henry, they're fighting."
As it spoke it's imbroglio of noodles parted in the middle to expose thousands of sharp fangs.
Behind the spaghetti monster stood a fossil. It didn't move nor speak but simply existed. Despite not having any eyes it's gaze pierced through the hearts of even the strongest wills.
"Uhh, it's such a lovely day out, say why don't ya'll just go outside and enjoy some sun. Maybe catch a few waves by the beach." Said the mess.
"Who are you to command the assembly!" Zeus's powerul voice echoed at the creature.
"Ah yes democracy, what a wonderful waste of time. Well alright we'll have it your way. All in favor of taking a short break raise your hand." As the creature spoke it raised not one hand or ten for that matter but an astonishing 300 arms all on it's own.
"I've had enough of this!" Satan lunged his flaming sword at the monster.
Suddenly the very mountain split and carried the Beast high above the court. "Don't try it Satan, I have the higher ground! Well actually considering YOUR circumstance everyone's got the higher ground."
"I HATE YOU!" Cussed the demon.
"So uncivilized." The entity's various tentacles weaved their way to the devil. Caressing his body and whispering sweet nothings into his ears, just as a snake would speak temptations into a woman's ear.
"Why have you come?" Asked Zeus's brother, Jupiter.
"Oh to end the world of course. Why else." As if on cue the beasts arms repelled each other away tearing the demon lim-from-lim. His bloodcurdling scream running the blood of even the strongest God's cold. "You've been very naughty and I've been sent to clean things up." With the wrath of a thousand gods spaghetti rained down on mount Olympus harbingering with it death and destruction.
Chaos rose among the assembly as gods began fighting off what was once a nice Italian dinner turned nightmare. Two uncooked shards fired down towards Jesus tearing through his hands. "Not again!" He screamed as he found himself impaled on the ground.
In a heroic effort Cluck Cluck the chicken God leaped forwards towards the mass of sauce. 1400 more tentacles spawned from the monster all groping for a feather. Fear filled CC's eyes as he quickly found himself naked and choked in front of his peers. "BEHOLD! PLATO'S MAN!" Laughed the spaghetti monster.
The losses where heavy but the spirit of the gods was not to be undermined by a wriggling mass of Italian fast-food. Putting his entire life force into one last Bolt, Zeus with the help of Thor, flashed a beam of superheated plasma straight through the spaghetti monster's center of mass. The amputated tentacles collapsed on the ground.
"Good thing 10 dimensional beings feel no pain, cause that woulda hurt!" Suddenly, as if by sheer will or something more sinister the mass began to reform. Zeus, devastated by the attack, collapsed on the ground as he took his final breath.
Mars looked around him frantically looking for the secret to defeating their foe. The helix fossil hadn't moved since it arrived but it's rotation appeared fixed on the spaghetti monster. "The Helix Fossil, we must destroy it!" He screamed.
"Henry? I wouldn't recommend that but plz try anyways" said the blubbering mess.
The council charged at the Fossil. Bolts of flame, fire,water, and air propelled towards it. The gods knew this would be their last fight. The combined entourage hit the Fossil with a force so great it travelled into the earth splitting the disk in two, yet the Fossil withstood. Tired and exasperated the gods stood there confused and annoyed as their attacks proved useless against this timeless rock.
The Helix began to spin with a rythm akin to the laughter of a child. "Should have aimed for the head" it said. The spinning became more intense and as it travelled the very nature of reality began to crumble. The gods looked on on fear as they began to witness their brethren crble to dust. The world beneath them, the one they swore to protect, broken as a cause of their greed and arrogance.
When the dust settled, nothing remained but a few grains of dust in space. The flying spaghetti monster surfaced from the void. Picking up the pieces of the crumbles past it said, "It was fun while it lasted Henry. I'll miss ya.". Piecing together the essence of the Fossil it created a new god. A single consciousness to control the various intricacies of life. The Spaghetti Monster learned from it's mistakes, no more would the quarrelling of pagan gods hold back actual human progress. This time the Spaghetti Monster made a single creator. An omnipotent being that will control every aspect of life. This Spaghetti Monster smiles as he birthed the new god for he was pleased. Then, returning from the void from whence it came, the Spaghetti Monster dissapeared.
Longing, for it's master the consciousness wandered the darkness. Beginning to accept that He might never find it again the Being screamed in a last ditch effort "Let their be LIGHT!" But their was nothing left of the old world. Just a blank canvas and the last artist.
| 2018-06-11T05:06:33 | 2018-06-11T02:16:18 | 58 | 32 |
[WP] After dying, you wake up to find god and Satan sitting in front of a screen furiously playing a game. Satan turns to you and says “I won your soul, go over please” and points to a fiery gate labelled HELL. God smiles at you apologetically.
|
I stood flabbergasted as the two most powerful beings in existence huddled in toward the old CRT television. It took me a moment to recover before responding.
“So I just...?” my voice trailed off.
“What? You’re here still?” God glanced back for a moment “yeah go over there,” He bobbed his head toward the infernal door befor snapping back to the TV. “Fuck, I wasn’t looking! That’s bullshit!”
I stood there for I don’t know how long. The whole situation was very dreamlike, without any clear flow of time. God winning most of the matches. Although He just chose Scorpion every game, while Satan was going with random. God still fumed every game He lost.
They played and played. And played. And I realized they weren’t going to stop.
I turned my body away from their games, casting my view backward. Presumably the direction I had come from. All of creation sat there. Ignored. Without direction. Scattered around it were various tools. The workbench on which it had been carelessly left was well outfitted. Every tool I could imagine. Many that I couldn’t. Though as I continued in this space outside space, I felt my imagination expanding.
“You cheap asshole!” one of the two yelled from behind me.
It was time for a god who was there. I picked up a tiny hammer and began to delicately tap on a seam that was beginning to pull up.
|
It had all happened in a flash, I had been rushing from my day to day job as a car salesman, trying to get to my daughter back at home after a rather alarming call from my wife-to-be and someone had one too many shots ending in a result that would cause their car to collide with mine. Even in my last moments, I had been reaching out for her, for my loved ones but to no avail as it went how everyone says it would, I went into the light though even so it felt like my body had been consumed into a fiery darkness.
Before I could come to see the ever after, I sat up in a cold sweat on what was presumably the shared room of me and my wife. Had it all been a dream, a horrible, bloodied dream? Then, there was hope as I quickly got out of bed to make my way downstairs to in which I heard a strong masculine voice call out in victory and my brows furrowed. The only other thing closest to another man in the house would of been our dog and dogs.. don’t talk let alone yell out in a victory.
With a moment of hesitance I made my way down the steps to see a rather unpleasant surprise sitting on my couch in a pack of two. The television was glowing, illuminating the morning lit room with the virtual screen that was mortal Kombat though regardless, I couldn’t remember owning a game system, not within the last half a decade or since my wife had our sunshine. But that was just the least of my worries as I saw the one finely dressed man in a crimson tux and black hair fitted with a pair of.. twisted blood red horns as he looked to me with his void filled eyes with a dashing smile. “I won and, your soul is now mine. Please go over there.” He would then point to what used to be my front door, **H E L L** clearly depicted above it as fire bursts from the frame. The other gentleman dress in white, almost like some sort of priest or pope with his white hair to follow gave me a rather apologetic look.
It had only taken just a moment or so for me to realize what was happening in this hopefully twisted dream, “Did you.. bet my soul, on a VIDEO game?!” I would yell out in frustration although I was confused nonetheless, yet above all else I felt anger bubbling up inside of me like an active volcano. The godly man would continue to look at me and press his two pointer fingers together by the tip as he spoke. “Well.. you see! I was so sure I could win and make Lucifer over here you know.. give up part of Hell in exchange for your soul?” The supposed devil would then chime in as my expression turned from a frustrated anger into a deep horror. “I *knew* I’d win though! Come on!” With that, my horror grew. “No, No, No. You’re shitting me!” I exclaimed as there was a chime in once more from the godly man “Language.” He spoke sternly though I couldn’t help but not give a shit. “This is crazy! What about my wife.. my daughter! Oh my god.. I never found out what happened to her..” My tone trailed into defeat as I placed my hands over my face, unsure what to even do with myself. The two looked between each other, the godly man seeming as if he was trying to silently speak but the devilish one just placed a hand up as if to tell him to stop, proceeding to get up and make his way over to me as I had just wanted to see my family again, that’s all I could hope for. “Take a walk with me.” He said, placing an arm around my shoulders and walking towards my daughters room, reaching over and turning the knob to show me the insides. Devilish sigils written along its walls and candles lit. My hands had long gone from my face as I looked shocked. What could this all have meant. “Listen, here’s a run down. Your daughter is an anti-christ and the world will have new order.” He quickly spoke as he turned to lead me back towards the gate, the disbelief and shock mixing a sickly combination into my stomach. “Now you know, See you soon, Bye. Bye.” This would be the last I saw of him as I was shoved through the gates, feeling as if I had gone mute as I fell for what felt like an endless amount of time.
However, unbeknownst to me their conversation continued above without me being able to even hear the last parts. The godly man narrowed his eyes for a moment before speaking. “Why would you tell the poor guy that?” In which the other responded “To shut him up and move him on.” The godly shook his head, breathing out as he spoke. “You *know* there isn’t an anti-Christ and his daughter has been long gone.” The devilish shook his head. “You know he was going to go to hell anyway, We’ve had to repeat this act over and over because *someone* couldn’t help but spoil the other times!” The godly just shook his head, disappearing in a blink of an eye as the house began to fall apart, Fire erupting from its sides as everything fell apart and through the ground into its own endless cycle.
| 2019-09-21T10:29:20 | 2019-09-21T06:24:19 | 443 | 10 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I woke up. It was any other day. But I had a certain pep in my step. Something that couldn’t quite be described. I went over to my closet to get ready for work.
They were back
I tried to convince myself that all of this. It was just a dream. A twist on that nightmare I had so many times before. I swiftly ran out of my room Into my bathroom downstairs. Pure panic overtook me but it all subsided when I finally got to the mirror. Part of me wanted to look away but my eyes were dead locked on this person in the mirror staring back at me. This person is not who I am. This thing in the mirror is not me. I tried to make sense of it all but I couldn’t. I grabbed my phone of if the kitchen counter that I forgot the night before. Still half dressed I skimmed my text messages.
At that moment I realized that this wasn’t a nightmare. I put it my phone down and the same word kept repeating in my head
“She”
|
Dandy Town, unlike its name, is a town far from perfection. In fact this little hamlet or village is a hidden gem I found while on one of my numerous trips to my Step Father’s bakery for breakfast.
I always had a penchant for funny things, but this town was a whole new definition of eccentricity and silliness. Every citizen of this town was a greater example than the other. They welcomed me like one of their own and stuffed me with sushi, which they claimed to be their own local delicacy and called it Honor Roll, something they ate on the occasion of graduation mostly.
There are so many anecdotes and events about this town throughout this book, but I would like to start with one of the most silly and stupid ones that made me fall in love with the cute little people of Dandy Town.
Back in the 2010s when I was in a famous TV series, the town of Dandy had a little series of incidents of its own.
The people of all ages woke up one day. To their surprise they now had bodies of 18 year olds. With their memories intact!!
“I basically lived my prepubescent years twice, once when I was 18 and then when I turned 18 on my 54th birthday!” said Abe McPherson, the current mayor of the Town, happily relinquishing the event in his memories.
“I was kinda like a playboy when I was 18, so when I turned 18 once again, I wasn’t really able to stop my horses,” said Sheriff Willie, who had a special incident in this particular event.
**The Author, referred above as I, has now compiled a few dramatised recollections of the citizen’s here in Dandy Town regarding the event. The names have been changes but the prior permission of the subjects had been taken before**
*******************
I woke up on Sunday morning as the rooster made its usual noise. I burped and got up from the bed. My wife was asleep on the bed, sweating after last night.
We had moved the bed from the outside of the room to inside it finally. We were two 80 year olds who had moved into this house just the week before. It had taken us five days to push the bed in slowly, and on each day it took, we had to sleep outside the bedroom. Only the first day was a problem though when we had to sleep outside the house, where the bed was, since we hadn’t been able to push it in.
We don’t hire people for this work as we are self dependent people.
But the only thing that wasn’t self reliant for me was my ding dong, or my manhood. It had refused to stand up in 35 years except for the one time when it rose up slightly because of the urine infection.
When I woke up that day, my whole body felt like it had a new sort of vigour and energy. And when I saw below, for the first time in 35 years I had a morning standing ovation by my ding dong.
But it gave me a lot of problems, like when I went into the washroom for peeing that morning, My God the speed with which it came out almost blew me away like it was a jet pack. And I made a great big mess.
****************
I woke up and checked myself in the mirror. Oh Holy God! I looked so pretty and beautiful. Just like when I was 18!!
I decided to skip church that day. I was a Sister at the Dandy Town Church for Women. But this new body and energy had given me, a 60 year old retired woman who had given up on life and lived on the hopes of Christ, a big helping hand in confidence.
I roamed about the Town. I smoked hookah with the boys that day. God would have been angry but I knew that he gave me that body for some reason. Why else would he give me such a hot body that was Bikini waxed?
Many guys flirted with me, but this one young man seemed to have caught the attention of my eyes.
“Lookie here. What can I do to be with a girl like you, miss?” Said the boy.
“ You could take me out for dinner,” I flaunted.
“ Well I would, but the police would arrest me for carrying fireworks, ma’am”
I had laughed hard, when suddenly he pulled me close. At that time, I turned around.
Suddenly I felt a slight unzip of my dress at the back. I turned around to see that horny 18 year old using the magnet in his watch trying to be God Knows What!
“Sheer magnetism, baby”
*****************
Yeah I was 14 at the time we all became 18 and had just watched Live and Let Die, so I tried to become Bond. Big deal! I am a
the proud sheriff of this town now and I have forgotten things of the past.
*****************
I have more planned if you’d like!!!
| 2020-11-02T10:14:02 | 2020-11-02T09:45:20 | 30 | 15 |
[WP]Humanity has just discovered the Galactic Federation, a conglomeration of diverse sapient species. As is standard, the Federation sends a delegation of the most similar species to negotiate mankind’s induction into the galactic community. Their choice is… not what we expected.
|
We all waited with baited breath. The UFO believers walking with more self-confidence than usual, politicians looking sweatier than usual, and a group of people in denial that thought this was the world's most expensive prank.
Though no one could truly deny that this was a prank. The beacon came last week. A transmission sent directly into the minds of every person on earth, in their native tongue "We come in peace. We are the Galactic Federation. We will be sending our delegation to a randomly chosen location: West Virginia, in the United States of America. There we will discuss our role in this system and the parameters of membership within our Federation. In order not to shock you with some of our appearances, we will be sending the most similar species to you homo sapiens, the Klarnets"
Everyone was speculating what this 'Klarnets' species looked like. Many believed they would be a smart ape-like creature, like Gorilla Grod. Some guessed a human with antennae. Bookies were having a field day with their odds. But no one could have accurately predicted who would come out of the Galactic cruiser that day.
​
It was Prince.
|
***Execution File: 104424***
***Species #:*** *1044*
***Risk:*** *24 in foreboding, red*
**Civilization:** Type 1
***Special confrontation procedures:*** *All information regarding directly to species-1044 is to be expunged from our general database, with the only exception being this file that is only accessible to members of the Overseer Council. Any individual unauthorized to obtain information purposely or otherwise will be terminated.*
*Newly discovered artifacts containing the history of species-1044 are to be immediately confiscated and examined by the mobile research lab personnel. When approaching species-1044 we are to assure the safety of both our subject and employee. In order to do this, we are to send a species that resembles and speaks the same language, to better our communication*
***First contact results:*** *The subject was docile and ready to obey. When analyzing brain patterns the subject seemed to be in distress and was unsure of what was happening. Our employee had said that it asked questions. He provided answers and that brought excitement.*
*The research team looked into the emotional response, and the theory is that this was their first-ever contact with an alien species. We ran simulations and put the subject in many different scenarios. The one that surprised us was that the subject excelled in surviving on a simulated ocean planet. The planet was Quartez-73-B, the planet is famous for being the most dangerous habitable ocean planet. It contains dangerous creatures such as gargantuan leviathans and has harsh environments. Yet the subject managed to survive 3 years before it was eaten by the abyssal Arask leviathan.*
*We released the subject and observed what it did, its own species turned against it. We intervened before anything happened and the species was trying to negotiate in order to get information. With permission from the Overseer council, we traded information and learned the history of the species.*
***Description:*** *Species-1044 lives on planet Vargon-986-K in the Backrinalve Galaxy, the species has created a name for their own planet and galaxy, and were self-aware that they were in space. The name they chose for their planet was Earth, and their galaxy was called The Milky Way. At the time of investigation, history shows that they are in the 21st century, ignorance for the health of the planet has resulted in an increase in temperature and change in weather. Within the next 19 years, the species is guaranteed to trigger feedback loops.*
All history regarding species-1044 can be found within file HI-04-MKY.
**Decision:** The overseer council has made their choice, species-1044 with a population of 7,874,965,825 is to be terminated. The choice stems from information about ignorance. They are incapable of suppressing feelings of greed and that has caused them to harm their own planet. The chances of survival for species-1044 after the climate change feedback loops are 46% based on the results gathered. All personnel are to be dispatched, with orders to execute all of species-1044. Planet Vargon-986-K is to be preserved and used as a base for military operations.
​
**Risk Terms:**
Risk meter limit: 0-30
Risk: # in threat (The Galactic Federation usually uses this to tell us that the species at hand, are at risk of being a threat. When a species is given this they have to be an advanced civilization capable of thinking, such as species-1044. When this term is used, the species is to be terminated with no research needed to be done to judge whether or not they should join the federation.)
Risk: # in hazard (The Galactic Federation usually uses this to tell us that a species is a hazard, this is more of a way to measure annoyance. If the Galatic Federation uses this, it means that the species isn't smart, but is more of an animal or pet, such as the Ukidae species on planet Earth. Which humans called "cats" which have a risk meter number of 2 in hazard. These species with a risk term of hazard are often left alone since they present no real threat.)
Risk: # in foreboding (The Galatic Federation usually uses this to classify an advanced civilization. This is a meter that is used when the Federation is worried about what a species might do. They aren't immediately considered a threat, so research is done and any information gathered is used by the Federation to determine whether or not a species can join.)
**Civilization type terms:**
Type 1: A civilization type 1, can use the energy available on the planet, with the exception of a solar panel.
Type 2: A civilization type 2, can use the energy from the solar system's own star, excluding the solar panel.
Type 3: A civilization type 3, can use energy from every star in the galaxy or multiple galaxies. (This is where the Galactic Federation is)
Type 4: A civilization type 4, can use the energy from every star in the universe.
Type 5: A civilization type 5, can use energy from every star in the mutiverse.
| 2021-07-06T14:11:47 | 2021-07-06T12:14:29 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Your classmates got cool OP magic abilities. You got a lame Personal Inventory and were totally bummed about it until you read the fine print: Range: Touch. Capacity: Infinite. Restrictions: None.
|
The laughingstock is the one with the strong magics but no skill. They flail about with a mighty magic and fail to accomplish much more than making you tired.
The respectable are those who have developed their abilities or exploited their capabilities.
The feared are the ones who became creative.
===
The strange man pawed at the door and it opened. Er... Broke? That wasn't quite the right word either.
It almost appeared as if he had pawed at soft clay, steel plate still remaining between the trenches his hand dug.
He'd gone through two bank vaults like this and was well on his way to another.
Unstoppable, invincible, utterly untouchable. Attacks upon him disappeared and were sent back. Barriers of any material held him not at all.
If you believed the tales, he began as a simple boy with a moderately respectable power. He could use his skin as an event horizon, passing an unlimited number of things into infinite space as long as he had contact.
A few short years later, and he had struck down the king for sport.
Madness.
But such was the way of the world.
|
*"my friend's all got crazy powers... there's probably not one of us here that couldn't destroy the world with a mere though, look at jeremy over there..."*
*"jeremy's an a*hole, such an a*hole even that I make sure NOT to capitalize his name on our group projects! and even him apparently got 'the power to slow down time', does he even know how dangerous that is? RELATIVITY MY DUDE, STUDY IT!"*
*"Margo got the hability to make things cold & hot, I wonder if she already has an ideia on how to captilize on that.. Clark got some weird manipulation schtick where everyone that hears him has to do what he says (first chance I'm getting ear pieces)"*
I was happy with storage actually, sure it didn't mean "go out there and be a paradigm of what lucky few you are" but... I dunno, not walking around with a backpack sounded nice, if I was lucky i could maybe defend myself by storing the enemy's weapon im case of an attack, who knew?
But the print had other ideas for me, and they sounded a LOT like "RESTRICTIONS: NONE".
Trick question, Can you o think what was my first idead upon reading that?
*"could I store the Earth?"*
the answer? YES, did I try it? HELL NO! I don't want to be the person that doomed the whole planet in the first 5 seconds of me having my ability.
*"Ok, second question: Can I store ENERGY? Yes, restrictions none, remember?"*
*"damn man, this **'restrictions: none'** business's cool and all but it's killing my creativity"*
*"sure whatever, time to test the damned 100-percent-chance-its-right energy theory"*
As always you start small, ask Kevin for a ligher with his summoning power.. see if you can store it's flames. "I can"
Get bigger: Borrow a thermometer from school see if you can make the thermometer show below freezing temperatures under a stove... "I CAN"
GET BIGGER: "MARGO I NEED YOUR HELP"
"hey calm down, whats the matter?"
"I NEED.. sorry, I need you to set me on fire"
"WHAT?!?"
"just trust me on this, okay?"
**BIGGER:**
"ok so the flame test w/ Margo showed that I won't get damaged if I steal the heat quickly... Wait what about *releasing* the energy?"
A day had passed since then, I now had countermeasures for almost all of my classmates powers, I was starting to act like a lunatic ngl.
"Just on the top of my head, to deal with Margo I just need to steal-i mean **borrow** the energy she releases on me, if she takes then i can just release until i get close"
"for Kevin it's simple, I just need to store anything he throws at me, doesn't matter if those are bullets, cars, trains, nukes or diseases...."
"For Clark, BESIDES the ear pieces, i could just store the wave sounds, i mean no restrictions right? and if THAT doesn't work (hm might not since it has to be range touch) i can still remove the air between me and him, no air no way to sound to propagate but need to be carefull to not ruin my hearin... CAN I STEAL i mean store SOMEONES VOICE? THEIR SIGHT? CAN I TAKE IT FROM SOMEONE AND GIVE TO SOMEONE ELSE? f*ck write that down write that DOWN NOW"
"meh no one cares about jeremy, DAMN YOU jEREMY"
With a grim on my face overflowing with confidence I finally got to see the "supers" again.... just to realize that almost all of the, including jeremy, though about cool new ways to use their powers that i didn't even though about...
"kindergarten do be like that sometimes eh?" said jeremy while getting closer to me
"she's flying... Margo's just flying..."
"yeah and apparently she also figured out how to make you not think straight or something, i really didn't want to be the ginea pig for that one soo i have just her word"
"Kevin and Clark are also flying...."
"aham.. for kevin he seems to constantly create air pressure around his body so the pressure just... pushes him upwards but he may need a lot of pressurized equipment if you asked me.."
"but... but..."
"of course, how's Clark flying! You left really quickly yesterday so you may have missed but Clark doesn't need to say something, y'know... actually capable by a human, anyway I couldn't do that so I'm happy for them, i need to be reeealy careful with my power tho, so im mainly using it as more time to think... actually gave me a lot to talk with other people"
"..."
"hm you look troubled.. anyway i have stuff to do now soo, see ya later".
...
well i guess there's always room for improvement in this world.
| 2021-10-16T23:11:25 | 2021-10-16T22:50:34 | 64 | 30 |
[WP] The dragon is confused. If the people from the nearby kingdom didn't want him to eat them, then why do they keep on sending him appetizers pre-wrapped in shiny foil and wielding a metal toothpick?
|
The dragon looked at the new wave of appetizers. This time it was like a feast of appetizers. I mean there won't be any room for the main course or dessert with all these coming at me. And these appetizers are like running at the dragon. It's like they cannot wait to be dragon food.
The dragon is once again confused. The people made it very clear that they don't want to be eaten. They have begged for the madness to stop. But this is starting to feel like an ex-girlfriend that keeps coming back for a second chance. How are you supposed to know what to do when they say one thing and then act completely different.
They come up to the dragon and start poking him all over as if intentionally teasing it. "Please eat me, look how delicious I am." It's like when that girl tells you that she doesn't want to fool around but then gets naked and makes out with you. Like, I will respect your boundaries, but you are sending some wacky ass signals.
The dragon drools as they keep poking him. He doesn't want to get into another argument with the people so he is trying his best not to eat them. But he just doesn't understand their behavior. Could you resist a delicious filet mignon if it kept poking you all over while smelling delicious?
Enough is enough. The dragon got up and flew away. As much as he wanted to eat the people he decided to go swim by the lake instead. He was still starving but respected their wishes to not be eaten despite mixed signals.
But then he smelled something. What was that? Humans again? All the way out here? He looked around and saw what it was. Mermaids.
He wondered about the moral implications here. He made a promise not to eat the humans but were these humans? He decided to eat all their back half's because that part was just fish. Good compromise.
|
"There is what they want, and what they think they want," said the hermit up in the mountain.
Kleon, a beast of immense strength and size, beyond any definition of old, had its head right next to the hermit. Despite Kleon's age, the little things still surprised it. It knew it could happen, had a fatalistic outlook about it. It was ageless, immortal, had seen the dawn of the world and would see the next. The frail being it talked to and their brethren lived in the span of a breath, came and went in droves, with little more incidence on the world than a fly or a mouse. One simply could not fully grasp the other, their lives were too different for that.
Kleon liked the snacks coming up to its lair, didn't mind if their numbers dwindled, or when they came in force. What for? What one believed in was rendered irrelevant the moment Kleon swallowed them, and the next would have a different outlook.
But they kept coming, and Kleon kept eating merrily. Satiated, Kleon had left a snack for later. Strangely enough, the human kept hurling insults. At first Kleon thought these were born out of disappointment, but there was more to it. A drive, a sadness, a righteousness. This being wished Kleon dead. Kleon didn't mind the little things, was content with living and letting live.
Kleon had gone to their mayor, who screamed and cursed Kleon. Kleon spoke the words, but none of the little things would believe or listen. So it went to the next village, went to speak to the king.
They all hated Kleon.
Then it remembered the old hermit on the mountain, who didn't seem to care about anything, Kleon joined him, and waited until he was ready to converse.
"Funny, isn't it?" asked the hermit, "the great beast asking the humble elder on his hill. Why would they hate you, if they offer themselves to you as they have for years? Although years might just be the blink of an eye to you.
"The truth, Kleon, is that you're a rallying cry, a scapegoat to turn a civilization against, and built it all the same. Visionaries will crawl through the dirt and their glorious ways will be forgotten before even trying them out if you didn't exist.
"But you do exist, Kleon. Thus people dig the visionaries up. Victory at all costs, they will say. And by doing so, man will invent and improve. Ways to kill you, of course. You've seen the artificial canyon spilling tons of water over you as you ate. Meaningless, yet it gave us running water."
These were the strange contraptions, the tubes and the holes in the ground. The little things would do anything to live just a little while longer, enough for their hair to grow and fall one more time.
"Fire has been harnessed and split as they curse the flames leaving your toothy mouth, clothes have become durable and houses solid as they try to pierce your skin.
"They hate you, so much that it turns to reverence. You have a mythical quality about you, sending an army of catapults seems... off, does it not? There has to be a *proper* way to kill a beast of legend. A simple army sounds gross. What will they tell their children? We had to kill a dragon, so we enrolled everyone and ran all at once onto it until it worked?"
Whimsical creatures, the little humans, Kleon had seen them prone to lapse in logic and unsustainable leaps of faith. As did Kleon. Unlike Kleon, humans died from these lapses.
"What will these children become when growing up? Cynics, convinced there's little more to hope for than a quiet life where nothing ever happens, and certainly not one of those horrible things called an invention."
The hermit went on and on. Perhaps age had taken its toll, or he loved to speak at length to any ear willing to listen. Kleon had time to listen, enough time that knights and heroes found the hermit's place and started to campaign this way. The hermit didn't care, Kleon ate and waited for the explanation to go on.
"But tell them that a mighty hero or inventor got rid of a problem, and you substitute one legend with another. That makes for a good story. Do you feel them? Drug addicts, desperate to give the news a spin that makes it worth telling.
"That's why you will keep on seeing afternoon snacks wrapped in foil and ready to be eaten coming up to your lair.
"They will shout revenge, vengeance. But when your teeth sink into them, when their flesh is teared and the pain immeasurable, they will smile, for they were terrified of actually succeeding."
Snow started to fall.
And Kleon saw relief in the new knights faces coming to them. Relief that the beast hadn't simply up and left, leaving them scared of an uncertain future. They preferred certain death to the unknown.
Strange creatures, Kleon thought while eating.
"You give rhythm to their lives, Kleon. Sending off a champion to die is a local occasion to hold a feast and sing and dance. You are a part of the generations gone by and your work molds the newborn.
"They shout : *kill it.*
"But they wouldn't know how to live without you. On that word, I'd like to be left alone."
And so Kleon left, and returned to its own humble dwelling. Again it saw the frightened scouting party, and the relief in knowing that the mighty beast wouldn't leave.
Kleon didn't intend to leave. They required his presence, these humans, and Kleon enjoyed their whims enough to indulge them.
And so Kleon served the human civilization, one snack at a time.
| 2022-12-03T11:05:13 | 2022-12-03T08:29:12 | 146 | 59 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will...
|
Snow swirled across the pavement, little lines of furious strands caught in a frozen wind. At once, they would settle, and at once they would fly with renewed flurry as the bus ploughed up to its stop. The ding of the doors opening broke the bluster of winds, and immense gratitude washed over her as this bus proved warm.
"Long day again?" Jerry always asked that question, and the answer was always:
"Yes, but not as long as the weekend," and she would reply with a smile.
"Well bless your heart for being off on a day like this. Haven't seen many luggers today." Jerry laughed, closing the doors as a little, hunched *3* ambled past the two.
She hitched her 'lug' of textbooks up on her shoulder, and gave Jerry a teasing roll of the eyes before sitting down. Her bag thumped on the bench as she sat down, pulling out a novella. A bag this heavy was worth its weight in words, and that was all she could ask for.
Words were, after all, a relief. A change of scenery.
The world was a scattering of numbers. They drifted, floated, and warped with each passing moment. They flickered with each emotion, just as a candle in its last moments of a breath.
Jerry, for instance, had attracted her attention because of his constant *6*. He rarely spoke when she first began semester, but as time wore conversation he became more and more conversational. He was amiable, friendly. Yet, that *6* never flickered. She was curious why, curiosity keeps conversation.
As the bus hurtled through the lanes of snow, and debris of dead landscape, she patiently read her words. A man was on the phone nearby, something must have been wrong at work because his number kept annoyingly jumping, like a dog that wouldn't sit still. The old woman who had boarded with her sat across, absently knitting with some gaudy orange yarn, her *3* like a steady heartbeat.
She chose to focus on the *3*, steadiness helped her get through the words.
It was a whirl of snow, tempered numbers, and words until the ding of arrival.
"University Station!" Jerry called out, and only two souls departed into the blanketed land beyond.
She teetered on the ice, sliding a short ways before finding grip again. The sudden rush of 'ohpleasedon'tfall' distracting her from the fellow soul lost to this insatiable cold.
"Marie? You okay?"
She felt someone catch her by the backpack, but she didn't recognize the voice. Classmate? Turning around, she smiled to say thank you.
He was blank. Nothing.
The sight staggered her, leaving words dead on lips like frost on leaves. She must have looked like a stunned deer, because the young man that steadied her gave a sheepish smile.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like this -- Actually, I meant for this to be a bit different, but, uh, you're hard to catch.." He stammered, offering only that sheepish smile for explanation.
"Who are you?" Marie asked, the shock nullifying any forbearance toward that polite aire.
"Oh!" The young man jumped, ever-so-slightly, his dark hair bouncing. He would be quietly handsome, unassuming, if not for the dark eyes that reflected no sheepish nature.
"It's me! Fred! From second grade!" His words, they bounced. "I didn't expect you to remember me, really. I noticed you in a class last semester, Astronomy 207. I though 'Gee, she looks familiar doesn't she. Out of all these faces'."
Marie continued to stare at him. The blurring of light around them shifted green as the traffic light signalled they could cross the street. Yet, more so, Marie caught sight of another flicker. Just above his right ear, it was meagre, like the sheepishness in his voice, like it had been caught.
"So I looked you up on the class roster. Funny that. Thought I would never see you again." And he smiled again, and it flickered once more.
*10*
It was true, he looked like Fred. That flown dark hair, the bouncing of his voice and words. Still, how? The boy with dirt smudged features, who wore the same clothes everyday, who cried when her mother let him take an ornament from their Christmas tree. *Him? A 10?*
"Oh! You're probably a bit surprised," He laughed. It did not falter, even as Marie became aware of the poorly suppressed terror on her face.
"It's good to see you stayed a *5*. Not too bold, not to bland." Fred wavered his hand as he spoke to her, and that smile kept shrewdly creeping along.
Marie shook her head, and planted herself one boot step firmly forward, but the light changed again. She couldn't cross yet. Dubiously, she stepped past him, closer to the cross walk. She plotted the *eta* path to security in her mind, perhaps this man needed some help.
The young man turned, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stepped next to her on the cross walk. He looked to her, with straightened stance and a bright smile.
"What? You didn't think you were the *only one*, did you?"
| 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 2014-11-29T14:03:49 | 140 | 14 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous
|
"Why I talking to a skeleton?"
Oh that's you when you died. There are about 10,000 of them scattered around. Car crashes and whatnot. Over here is the group of yous that dropped out of college, and over there is the group of yous that didn't tie the knot. There are a lot of yous, but it seems like you made the best decisions with the information you had available.
"What about that huge group of people over there?"
Butterfly effect. Minor things like forgetting to tie your laces in the morning or being a few minutes late to work. There are millions of them. Funny story about your shoelace though, turns out one of you tripped and fell on a rattlesnake on the way to work. Hey Steve 89, get over here! Tell this guy how you died.
|
I knew who he was. The same crooked hairline. The same half squinted left eye. The same tiny scar that looked like a dolphin on his left hand. It was me.
Now I'm not a mam who believes in a higher power, but I guess it didn't matter what you believe in when you're dead. He.. or well... the other me spoke.
"Do you know who I am?"
Without hesitation I said,
"You're the person who I've could have become"
Other me looked somewhat flabbergasted. I could tell he didn't expect me to answer as quickly as a did nor figure it out right away. He responded,
"Umm.... So I guess they have reddit in your world too?"
Not sure what reddit is, but if I had to guess, it's probably his world's version of Digg.
"Well anyway, yes. Kind of weird isn't it? I always thought if I were to die we'd meet either something divine. Instead, the last thing we confront is ourselves. Kind of a disappointment if you ask me."
This was me alright. Not sure what the hell the difference is but...
"Oh by the way, I think I can read your mind"
Again, this was definitely me. And...
"No seriously I can read your mind. The last words you thought of were 'Again, this was definitely me. And...'"
What the fuck?! Get out of my mind asshole!!
"Whoa chill man! I think it'll be much easier if you read mine too. I just need to warn you... if I'm the version of you that you could've become, it might not be easy."
Well... As much as I hated this situation, what else could I do. At what cost though? This was probably designed to torture me, to emotionally break me. The man in front of me probably became the famous musician when he was 15. He could've been the successful producer when he was 18. He could've broke into the film industry, he could have become a loving father, he could have gotten laid. All things that I never lived up to and was never able to achieve. I was a factory worker in my life, and died alone. The anticipation was killing me
"Well if it's killing you that badly then stop inner monologuing with cliche sentences and read my fucking mind."
Ugh... Well at least we shared the same humor. I then looked deep into his soul. And I saw... THE FUCK IS THIS?
"Lol you're not coming anywhere near my mind man."
Right as I was about to enter his mind, a gigantic billboard that said "Do Not Enter" appeared. Ok so I get that he's dead. I get that this afterlife thing can be a little lonely. However, this guy must have really had a successful happy life to be this much of a dick to his other half! Does it please you that you're better then me?! Are you in a good mood because you're the lucky one and I fell victim to mediocrity?!
"Who said anything about being better then you?"
Ugh... I'm sorry. It's just.... Imagine if you were in my shoes.
"Well, maybe I wish I was in your shoes"
...What do you mean?
"So you never accomplished any of your unrealistic dreams, worked a shitty factory job, and died a lonely virgin. Is that right?"
Was he saying the person who I could've become wishes for that life? Maybe this was like one of those situations where all that glistens isn't gold. Maybe my life I thought was so shitty and boring was a lot better then the alternative. Maybe...
"Ok look, In case you weren't paying attention I never said I was better. I was the person you could've become. Guess what, I also failed at the music thing. I also never broke into Hollywood. I also died alone and virgin. I also, had a shitty life."
But... What is going on?
"Yes. You were not destined for anything. You have aspergers and that crooked hairline and eye aren't helping you either. You... WE got by the best we could. Let's be honest man, you weren't that good at your dreams and weren't connected. There is no possible way you could've done anything different besides dropping out of school and started getting paid minimum wage before you went bankrupt when you graduated. Even then though, no one would've hired you anyway"
So... if nothing changed, why am I meeting you?! What's the fucking point of all of this?!
"Because the fact your life was insignificant from birth is a lot colder then the fact you could've been great. Welcome to hell my friend... Literally."
| 2015-01-02T15:28:48 | 2015-01-02T13:55:50 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] You dream every night about the girl of your dreams. You and her connect on every level and you get excited about falling asleep. Then, one day, you and your SO run into her on the street and she instantly recognizes you too...
|
She always smelled of jasmine and rosewater when I saw her. Her skin was smooth to the touch, a pale canvas my fingertips could linger upon. Alluring and elusive, she was, especially as tension grew and our lips neared. With our lips only a breath away, she would always turn away and sprint away. Playfully running away, I would be lying if I didn’t enjoy chasing her in the grassy fields where we would meet when I slumbered.
I thank god that I’m a heavy sleeper, with nothing interrupting our time together. Hours would pass before I would catch up to her, wrapping my arms around her slim waist and effortlessly lifting her into a tight embrace. She feinted an aggressive retort, playfully fighting against me until our lips finally met, the passion between us increasing as we resigned to each other – a heavy desire increasing until we found ourselves as one, and I would awake myself from excitement.
I would struggle through my day, awaiting for the moment when my head would rest upon my pillow until I would see her again. Day after day. Day after day. Until one day, my world was violently shook.
Working in my corner office, my mind drifted from my tedious work. As I thought of those bright eyes and thin smile, a simple tap to the shoulder pulled me from my day dream.
I let out a harsh sigh once I realized where I was. Swiveling in my seat, I turned to the person bothering me. “Listen, could you just-”
My voice was swallowed by a wave of shock and silence as I gazed upon her, her gaze downwards at the open folders in her hands.
“Sorry, to bother you, but my supervisor said you would know what to do with these papers,” she looked up at me, her eyes slowly widening. “Oh my…”
My heart raced. “Oh god, you know who I am?” She knows. She’s dreamt of me too.
She gave a slight nod, her chest rising and falling at a fast pace. “Of course, you’re the one in my dreams-“
“Oh god!” This can’t be happening. “I’ve been dreaming about you too!”
Her jaw dropped as her hands went slack, her folders falling to the floor. She covered her mouth, stepping back. “Oh no! You’re the one from my nightmares! The one that chases me in the fields!”
*What?*
“It’s you!” she almost screamed. “I constantly wake up from my dreams screaming my head off. Hours and hours, I’m running from you and now you’re where I work?!”
*Wait, what?*
“I’m done!” she roared, turning away from me, shuffling away. “I’m done!”
My heart plummeted as I watched her strut away. Tears fell as I remembered one thing. I’m ugly…
|
"Venice, yeah. That's where I'd go If I had the chance". The words slipped out of her mouth like warm chocolate, rubbing all over my ears. Gooey and sensational, my face broke into a smile.
"Really? I've always wanted to go. Never really had the money, or time. Or anyone I really want to go with, you know?". I stared into the night sky above us, from our laying spot in a nameless meadow. I turned my head to see her face, staring into me.
"You can go with me". The words sounded so amazing for such a simple sentence.
"I'd love to, Nyx. I really would". As soon as the words left my mouth, she erupted into mindless giggling. She shuffled her body over, wrapping her arm around mine.
"One day, we will, Apollo."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I awoke to my alarm pounding itself into my inner ear repeatedly. The pitch was extremely annoying, serving its purpose, I suppose. Steam was pouring itself out of my bathroom. The door was swung open as the shower was unleashing itself onto the person inside.
"Apollo, you awake? You need to get ready, we're visiting my friends today." I slumped back, further into my bed, grimacing at the thought of spending all day with those morons. The shower swiftly turned into nothing, as the woman dried herself off before walking out to see me in bed.
"Get up. You know I hate it when you're like this. Every day after you wake up you lounge around, now get up you useless sack." I stared at her, with silent anger building up underneath me.
"You know I really don't want to do this, Kassidy. Your friends are...". My voice trailed off as I struggled to find the kindest word for my feelings. "Not my kind of people".
"You'll do this, because you're my boyfriend, and you're not going to be a piece of shit today. Like you normally are." Kassidy always had a way with words. A truly awful way that made you want to shut her mouth closed, but a way none the less. I struggled myself out of bed and drudged over to the shower. I stepped in, trying to find a careful balance between heat and cold.
"Oh, I used all the hot water".
*Christ* I thought to myself. For several minutes, I quickly bathed myself in freezing water, managing to get everything done. I jumped out, quickly drying myself off and dressing myself hastily. As I moved around the apartment, preparing myself for the days ordeal Kassidy droned on about the day ahead.
"First we're going to meet up with everyone at Newtown..." She said.
"Oh yeah?" I replied, whilst tucking my shirt in.
"Then, off to the City for a nice lunch outside the Contemporary art museum".
"Not really a fan of art" I replied, between strokes off my toothbrush.
"This isn't about what you want, it's about what I want. Its never about what you want. When we're done with that, it'll be around dinner, so we're going further into the city. You're going to pay for everyone's dinner". Arrogance hung high in the air, as she detailed the days agenda.
"I don't got the money for that" I declared, whilst putting my shoes on and preparing to leave.
"You'll just work overtime, won't you sweetie?".
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Okay, you guys all ready to head into the museum?" Kassidy walked with pride in her stride, motioning everyone to follow her. I stood at the front with her, with her band of assholes marching behind us. She clutched at my hand, not letting my leave a 1 meter radius around her. I stared sorely at the ground, wishing I was still asleep. As we moved closer to the museum, I took a quick glance forward, seeing if I could calculate how many steps I had left outside of the building.
And there she was. 5'8, with black hair past her waist. A floral skirt, and a light blue shirt tucked into it. Eyes like diamonds, that drew you in so easily. That you not only lost yourself, you lost your dreams, you only had one when you saw her. She stared into me, with the same look of disbelief shattered across her face. I didn't blink, nor break eye contact as we passed each other. Our heads turning around to continue our fixation, my heart trembling at what was unfolding.
"Apollo! Look at me!". Kassidys shrill voice broke my trance as I turned to face her.
"What?" I boomed out.
"Are you staring at that girl? What, is she prettier then me?"
I turned back around. Nyx was still staring at me, her mouth slowly curving into a smile. I could see her teeth still present as she smiled, so wide, that her mouth couldn't close itself.
"Yeah. Much prettier, Kassidy. You know, I'm done with this. Go have fun. You can keep the apartment. And my stuff, I... I don't need it. Goodbye". With those words I left Kassidy standing with her troop of degenerates. I marched over to Nyx, whilst in the background I could hear obnoxious sobbing and yelling. Before I knew it, there I was.
Standing in front of the woman of my dreams. It was a surreal moment. All my memories of her flooded back. All the nights of continuous talking, and slight embraces.
"You're real?" is all I could manage to stammer out.
"As real as you are, it seems". Her voice trembled. I let my arms release them self from my side as they swiftly swung around her body. Before I knew what was happening, she tucked her arms behind my back and nestled her head into my chest.
"I'm not going to wake up, right?" She stammered out, between heavy breaths.
"No, no. We're awake. I'm awake, at least, I know that much. And I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere, I finally found you". My eyes began to water. My heart thumped itself into a flurry, as nerves danced upon my veins. My brain could not comprehend the majesty that was unfolding, but I did not need to understand, to know it was perfect.
"So when are we going?". Nyx's voice softly proclaimed. She stared up into my eyes from down in my chest.
"What do you mean?" I replied.
"Venice, when are we going?"
"Right now."
| 2015-07-26T01:18:49 | 2015-07-25T23:16:02 | 305 | 79 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you.
|
I sat in my lair, yes it's a lair, waiting for Photi to appear. Vines would wrap around the room and then it would start heating up, burning his precious plants to nothing but ash and dust.
The door opened, "Well, well, well, we meet aga-" I swiveled in my chair to see my sister laughing.
"Why don't you just ask him already bro?" My sister, Tara questioned me.
I became flustered, a bright pink color rushing to my pale cheeks. Why did I feel this way, why couldn't I just tell him? Because I'm the supervillain!
"Shoo, he's gonna be here any minute!" I ran over and pushed her into the next room over.
Just as I was sitting down the door burst open and the vines covered the walls. I quietly press a button and laugh, "muahahaha, you think you're plants stand a chance against m-"
He swiveled my chair so I was looking at him
"Meep!" The noise was quiet and it came from me.
He got on one knee. He took a small box out of one of his pockets and he opened it. It was a padparadscha gemstone. I began to tear up.
"De- no... Spencer, will you marry me?"
I was speechless, I just nodded yes as tears of joy flowed down my cheeks.
|
“Well would you look at that I forgot to hit the detonator again,” said Sheana, Killer of Worlds. She flipped her hair, and shrugged her massive green shoulders. “Everytime I get lost in your eyes I lose a nuke it seems. That how you always foil my plans you cute bundle of righteousness?”
“That’s part of the plan,” said Mr. Peacejoy, with a handsome grin. Then, he got kind of nervous. “Well, not *all* of the plan.”
“What’s that?” said Sheana. Mr. Peacejoy got kind of nervous. “Stop that, why are you so nervous right now? It’s unattractive I might blow up the city if you keep at that.”
“Well *that’s* how you add pressure isn’t it?” said Mr. Peacejoy. He laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t think this could get any harder, and yet it is.”
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?” said Sheana.
Mr. Peacejoy reached down into his tight, white pants, and reached for something bulging there.
In his pocket.
“What are you reaching at?” asked Sheana. Her minions flew all around, with their spears and weird alien, Amazonian armor. They were ready to strike, but she waved them down. “No don’t tell me that’s a-”
Sheana gasped, as Mr. Peacejoy dropped to his knee. His white cape flapping behind him.
“I love our little talks, especially when you don’t blow up my world’s cities at the ends of them,” said Mr. Peacejoy. He coughed some, then remembered. “I mean there were those few times early on where we didn’t quite hit it off and you sort of destroyed a few places, but it was you know *kof kof* you know, that’s beside the point you haven’t been so bad lately. All right what I’m *saying* is,” Mr. Peacejoy opened up the box, and presented a massive diamond ring. “I’m only ever at my best when I’m happy.”
Sheana reached a hand out for the ring, with a shivering hand.
“You son of a bitch..”
“And if I’m at my happiest,” said Mr. Peacejoy. “I could save *all of the planets in the galaxy*.”
Sheana cried acid tears, and reached her hand further.
“You ignorant son of a bitch,” said Sheana.
“Hmmm?” said Mr. Peacejoy.
Sheana ripped the ring from his hands, and shoved it on her finger.
A whirlwind formed around her. Whole buildings went up in the storm, with people holding on for dear life on the debris.
“HOLD ON!” shouted Mr. Peacejoy. He flew in the air at light speed, and saved close to a hundred different people close to death. He slowed down saving the next few hundred, as Sheana laughed like a maniac in the background. Mr. Peacejoy flew back in front of his fiancé face, slightly weakened. Getting sadder. “*That’s* not nice.”
“Don’t you know Mr. Peacejoy?” said Sheana, the great murderer of civilizations. Laughing in her bliss and destruction. “Proposing to a Voovian destroyer such as myself, imparts half of your powers unto that Voovian woman?”
Mr. Peacejoy face palmed as he felt himself flying out of the sky, away from her.
“Seriously?” he said.
“HAHAHAHAHA!” Shouted Sheana, as the fragments of debris flew up into the clouds, without people on them.
“You see this is why I decided to propose like in a resort town?” Said Mr. Peacejoy, as he dropped to the ground, still face palming. “I just, you never know you know?”
“BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO MR. PEACEJOY!” shouted Sheana.
“Make me sad? I don’t know,” he said back, feeling like a normal person.
“What *I’m going to do,*” she said, as she dropped back down to the ground. “Is protect you and your people from now.”
Mr. Peacejoy jumped up to his flying fiancé in the sky. He tried to fly, but he could only just float for seconds at a time, then fall back down.
“Really?” he said, holding his hands together in delight.
“Yup!”
He hopped up at her again.
“Why?”
“Becauseeeee,” said Sheana, as she floated down to her love in the midst of the wreckage, and a lot of terrified tourists. She gripped his muscles. “I love you Mr. Shexy Lovejoy boy.”
Everybody around let out a huge collective sigh of relief. Then somebody started the slow clap, and they all bought in. They didn’t want to make her second guess not destroying the world.
Mr. Peacejoy sighed and wiped his head of some sweat.
“Well *that’s* a relief,” he said.
Sheana kept rubbing his whole body down with her strong hands, and hugging him close. Like she was the happiest Voovian conqueror in the universe.
“How are you sho shtrong and sho mushcular,” she said.
| 2017-05-30T14:34:23 | 2017-05-30T14:28:29 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
|
The wheelchair kept creaking.
It was an awful noise. He knew it would never break but the groaning metal scared him all the same.
As he worked to lift his fingers enough to move the chair, he remembered the first time.
Everyone knew that heroes had to pay the price for their powers the next day. The Regenerator had to wake up in a hospital so that his body wouldn't tear itself to shreds. Electroman had it easy, he was just totally paralyzed for several waking hours. Fireman had a more-than-dangerously-high fever.
He was too hasty his first time. He didn't make the proper preparations.
The next morning, he was on the floor in pain, unable to move an inch off the ground. Later he would learn he broke several bones. The doctor warned him that he needed to be in a better position to withstand it.
The next time it was just as bad, but he thought he was prepared. The wheelchair was crushed under his weight. The next one would be made of Protonium Steel. The government couldn't have another superhero giving up.
But he would never give up. People had been worried, but they didn't know how much he enjoyed it. The rush, the excitement.
How it felt to push the world away and fly.
|
Arin groaned as she walked into her living room from her bedroom. She had just woken up from a much needed rest. After the day she had yesterday she just knew today was going to have some toll on her. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes as she sat down on the floor. She didn’t want to get too close to anything metal or electric, basically anything conductive of electricity. You see, Arin has the ability to control electricity but if she uses this ability too much at once some gets stored inside of her and she has to slowly let it disperse. She had already made a few calls yesterday after helping stop a bank heist yesterday. Her pizza should be here any minute now.
I picked up the pen and notebook i had left out for myself the night before, as well as a plastic water bottle that was filled with water. I took a swig from the bottle as I opened the book in my lap and clicked the pen. Putting the bottle down as I began to write.
“ 05/25/2026
Morning Journal... sorry I didn’t write in you last night, I had a big day. I got to help the real hero’s at the bank. Ace was there too today. One of the hero’s who responded to the alarms. He even protected me from a bullet! His telekinetic powers are really something else. His nemesis Flare was there too along with some lackies, that’s why they had guns, no powers. I was only really there to cut the power or bring it back to let rubberband and makeshift in but that was before we knew flare was there. He turned rubberband and makeshift against one another and then turned them on ace and I. Rubberband subdued me and then a gun was out to my head. Ace couldn’t do anything with it so close but that’s when Lucy decided to show herself by grappling the man. He pulled the trigger when she startled him but ace was able to stop the bullet just after it penetrated my skin. There was a little bit of blood and a bit of stinging, not to mention my ears rang but that guy and glare were taken into custody. Flare had almost gotten away but when escaping he had to let go of rubber band and makeshift so they were able to grab him. Being in the power grid for the bank gave me too much excess power so I’m sweating it out today. I just hope I don’t die of boredom today. Can’t be near anything, don’t want to shock myself constantly or ruin a device. But I did treat myself. I have a pizza coming soon and later I get to have some candy bars.. I know not exactly a treat since I constantly eat junk but I was blessed with a great metabolism so I can still rock a swimsuit.” I looked down at my stomach which wasn’t as flat as a board like you’d see a model with “ who cares about looks anyway? It’s all about heart and mind and soul anyway.” The doorbell rang then.
I got up and took the money I had left on the counter for myself last night and opened the door. Before me was a man holding a bag in one hand and his head in another .” You alright man?” I asked with genuine concern. “ yeah, just have this massive migraine...” he opened his eyes, revealing the crystal blues as he opened the bag and took out the pizza box. He looked at the side. “That’ll be $15.45.” He said. I handed him a twenty dollar bill with a smile which he took. The moment he touched the dollar, his thumb brushing mine, we both got a shock. We both yelped in surprise, I yanked my hand back and watched as my pizza began to fall before it suddenly wasn’t. The man had his hand outstretched and a concerned look on his face. He and the pizza were frozen for a moment before the box went back to his hand. He opened the box to make sure the pizza was fine ( it was) before handing me the box. “Please don’t tell anyone... I’m Ace..” he said sheepishly. He ran his free hand through his black hair. “ I-I’d never tell anyone! I’m a big fan of yours and it would be the least I could do since you saved me yes-“ I put my hand over my mouth. We both were surprised now. After a moment of staring at each other he smiled and pulled out a pen and wrote on the pizza box. “ a big fan huh..? You can have this then but don’t go giving it to anyone. Feel free to give me a call later.” “O-okay!” I replied in a higher pitch. “See ya later.” He waved as he walked away with a smile.
I closed my door and turned around, the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. I squealed “eeeeeeee! He gave me his numberrr!” I twirled then ran to the kitchen. I took a plate out of one of the dishwasher and took two slices out of the box. I took my plate back to the living room and sat down again to continue writing in my book before I realized. “ it’s kinda dark in here...” I got back up and looked out a window to find out that the power was out everywhere. “ crap....”
| 2018-08-19T05:26:44 | 2018-08-19T04:31:16 | 86 | 21 |
[WP] On their 16th birthday, a tattoo appears on all humans' wrists, bearing the first thing that their soulmate will say to them. As you blow out the candles on your cake, you see the black letters scrolling across your wrist: "RUN."
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I sighed with relief.
“Run”.
Not the most typical of Words, but still in the low hundreds. Somewhere in the 300s if I had to guess. I’d have some difficulty meeting my soul mate, but I could have had it much worse.
Like Mum and Dad.
Mum gave me a long hug after she’d read the Word, congratulating me for my birthday—the fourth time that day—and the Word.
My mum’s wrist had said “Would”, my Dad’s “Yes.” They had met at a coffee shop, Dad asking her if she would like milk or sugar with her coffee. Since Dad had started working there, he’d more or less given up on the whole soul mate thing, since he met so many new people each day that going out on a first date with everyone who fit would be not only be impossible, but ruinous as well.
“Yes” is the 89th word in the English language by frequency alone. That roughly means every 89th word being used is “Yes”. And it’s also a common answer when being addressed.
He could have had it worse; his boss at the cafe, as Dad was sure to tell anyone who he told his meeting story to, had had “Coffee” on his wrist. Much rarer, in the 600s, I think, but not the Word you want to have on your wrist when your day job is barista. But the boss liked his job and didn’t care that much about meeting his soul mate.
“Would” was number 72. Mum was lucky in the sense of it, despite being a frequent word, it not being one of the first words one said to another, at least not when being introduced to them.
This was why everyone pitied the Nicers, they were much less likely to meet their soul mate.
In other words, I was entirely fine with “Run”.
————
**Word.** (312 words)
Didn’t feel like writing YA dystopia.
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We all gathered around the solid oak table that had been passed through our family for generations, a cake - chocolate with white icing, my favourite - sitting on top. The candles lighting the room in a warm glow.
My sister, two years older with the word “Sunshine,” tattooed across her wrist, sits across from me. My parents are on either side, “Hello,” and “Goodbye,” in black ink across their wrists, the words a bond between them from before my sister and I were ever born.
The anticipation is building deep inside my gut. My hands tremble, as I play with the edge of the table cloth. My mother smiles at me.
“Ready?” She murmurs, over the distant hum of the refrigerator. I nod, and take a deep breath, blowing the sixteen candles out.
At first, nothing happens. All the anticipation I had felt disappeared, as I stared at my wrist, waiting for the dark ink to appear. My sister furrowed her eyebrows, my mother frowned, and my father almost looked relieved.
Then, what felt like an eternity later, my skin started turning that ebony shade, and three letters appeared on my wrist.
My parents looked at each other, worry creasing their faces. My sister looked confused.
“Well that’s not very romantic,” she jokes, looking at the word “RUN” that has appeared on my wrist.
“This is so stupid!” I exclaim. “Run?! What the hell is that? Do you know how many people have said that to me already?”
I fling the candles off the cake onto the paper plate beside it, cutting a large slice, licking the icing off the knife.
“Maybe it’s someone from the track team?” My sister suggests. My parents soften a bit at the suggestion. I roll my eyes.
“Sure, whatever. I don’t even care.”
Later that night, I lay in my bed, fingers idly tracing the three letters. Run.
Time passes, I all but forget about the letters hidden on the inside of my wrist. University is filled with people finding their soulmates; people going about their every day lives. The girls always get together, chattering about the words inscribed on the inside of their wrists; but I just stray, keeping to myself, tugging the sleeves of my sweater down.
My roommate, the only one who knows of the possible macabre meaning behind the word on my wrist, grins at me as I lace up my running shoes. I am bound and determined, today, to beat my record.
“Today’s your day, Sophie,” she tells me. “I can feel it for you.”
I roll my eyes at her, and grin spreading across my lips. While I don’t believe in all the hoo doo mumbo jumbo, she does, so I humour her.
“Seriously,” she says. “You’re going to run faster than you’ve ever run before today. Just you wait.”
“Whatever, Kate,” I say, tossing my water bottle back and forth between my hands as I walk out of our dorm room. I shake my head.
The first half of my run is uneventful; I wind through the paths of the forest, pushing myself harder than I had pushed myself before. My breath comes out in sharp huffs as I turn the corner, nearly missing it I am going so fast.
Dust puffs up around me as I skid to a stop, turning around to investigate. There’s no way it’s what I think it is.
As I make my way towards the bushes, I am keenly aware how the night has crept up on me. I try to keep my runs short, but trying to beat my record had me zeroed in on the task, ignoring the way the air slowly got colder, the sky changing from a brilliant, bright blue, to the reds and yellows that sunset brings.
I am still heaving when I pull back a part of the bush. I nearly jump out of my skin, my hand coming up to my mouth to strangle the scream that was threatening to escape.
There, lying on the forest ground, is a man, roughly my age. He is beaten, bloodied. His shirt shows the stab wounds to his torso, his face telling the story of the abuse he must have endured. Gingerly, as to not disturb anything of a crime scene, I bend down to check his pulse, just like they taught us to to in elementary school, in gym class. I am reminded of the first time I tried out for track, way back in fifth grade, when girls didn’t run, and it was mostly for the boys. They had rolled their eyes and snickered when I had shown up, but by the end of tryouts I was faster than them all.
The sounds of the forest block out the twigs snapping behind me, as I am there, bent over, checking this person for a pulse, when there surely should not be one. I think I feel it, then, faint against my fingertips, the skin cool to touch.
A larger branch, snapping closer. I turn, startled, when the hand of the broken, bloodied man grips my wrist, struggling with a gasping breath.
“Run,” I hear him say, the air escaping his lungs as he surely suffocates. His eyes drift behind me, my heart pounds in my chest.
I don’t bother to turn, and see what is there, before taking off into the forest, forgetting all about the path, ducking and weaving through low hanging branches, jumping over small bushes or fallen logs.
As I hear the footsteps pounding behind me, I push my self harder, and harder, my legs flying faster than I had thought possible, never needing to take a breath as the panic settles deep into my bones.
“Kate was right,” I think, as I sprint through the forest faster than I ever had before.
| 2020-03-04T13:28:32 | 2020-03-04T13:26:10 | 165 | 96 |
[WP] A schizophrenic detective manages to solve cases by interrogating random inanimate objects at the scene of the crime.
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Officer Nicholson could only stand there with his mouth open as Detective Hemlock ran around the crime scene interrogating random pieces of furniture and other household objects. “You’re not under arrest *yet,* but I would advise you to cooperate if you know what’s best for you,” the Detective said to a lampshade. After a moment's pause he continued. “Oh so I'm dealing with a wise-guy eh? I guess your bulb's not screwed in so tight because you're looking more and more shady by the minute. I’ll ask you one more time. Where *were* you last night?”
Captain Johnson must have noticed the surprise and confusion on Nicholson’s face. “First time working with Detective Hemlock?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Nicholson replied “Pardon my French, but what the hell is he doing?”
“I’ll admit, it’s a bit strange, but it’s all part of his process. I think it helps him think through the—”
The Captain was interrupted by a loud bang as the Detective slammed the table. “And there’s plenty more where that came from, Table!” he shouted. “Now tell me what you know!”
The Captain continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “It helps him think through the facts. He may not look it, but he’s a brilliant detective.”
The Detective was now crouched by the radiator. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscotti? I appreciate your time, and figure the least I can do is make you comfortable.” Suddenly the Detective slapped the radiator, a loud metallic gong resonating throughout the room. “*That's a lie!*” he yelled. “You’re guilty! You’re burning right up. You know we got your friend Lampshade in the other room. If you don’t think she'll talk you really are naïve. Now what happened last night? And don't even think about framing Window, he's got an alibi.”
The Captain leaned in to Officer Nicholson. “Flawless good-cop bad-cop. Take notes.”
“Sir,” Officer Nicholson said hesitantly. “Is he… is he all there, uh, mentally speaking?”
“Oh god no. No not at all. Doesn’t seem to make a difference though, his detective work is—”
“BACKUP! I NEED BACKUP!” Detective Hemlock yelled, his gun drawn pointed at the lampshade. “The jig is up Lampshade! Your friend Radiator gave me a hot tip!”
“Should we do anything?” Officer Nicholson asked the Captain, his hand at his gun, ready to put a bullet through the obstinate chintz covering.
“No no, Lampshade's not armed as far as I can tell. Though I do hope that’s not his only suspect.”
Nicholson relaxed. “Has he always been like this?”
“It’s gotten worse since the death of his wife," the Captain said. "It’s the only case he can’t solve.”
Officer Nicholson felt a stab of shame as he reconsidered his initial assessment of the Detective. He could hardly imagine the pain the man must have felt to have been driven to such insanity. Nicholson had a wife of his own, and knew if something happened to her he would never be the same. "That's a tragedy," was all he could bring himself to say.
“Well, not really," the Captain replied. "His wife was a plasma-screen television. I think the wall-mount just broke.”
“Oh.”
Suddenly the Detective holstered his weapon and turned to Captain Johnson. “Case solved,” he said. “The Amazon delivery man did it. I found these hairs around the body. Get a sample from whoever dropped the packages off last night, and I guarantee it’ll be a match.”
“Okay then, good work Detective,” the Captain said. As Detective Hemlock walked away, the Captain turned to Officer Nicholson, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged.
“Wait!” Officer Nicholson called after the Detective. “You don’t think it was the Lampshade?”
The Detective turned around. “Lampshades can’t move, idiot.”
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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“Bring him in,” I hear the chief say. I’m in the hall, my headphones are on, and I’m listening to Ludovici.
The officer escorts me into the room, his hand held softly on my elbow. It is a big room, with a high ceiling and a white tiled floor that is hard on the feet. A window is open, the breeze is sending the cream curtains flitting in the half-light. A potted plant hangs in the two far corners, their long drooping branches filled with luscious green leaves.
“We’ll leave him here for a while,” the chief says to the officer. “You stay at the door. You may hear him talking, but that’s alright. It’s normal. Let him do his work, y’hear?”
The officer nods, “yes, sir,” he says, then looks at me curiously.
I see the woman lying on the bed, naked as they day she was born. She is tied to the bedpost. The once pearl-white sheets are now soaked in her blood.
I take a deep breath, then take off my headphones. The room explodes into life. Their voices calling to me.
“Whore! Whore!” The lamp is screaming. “She deserved it! The whore deserved it!”
“Look at her,” the ceiling fan is saying to me. “You like it don’t you. You sick, disgusting man. You are dirty. You are unclean. Leave this room.”
The side chair is breathing hard, choking on its laughter. It seems to be entertained by all of this. *AHAHAAH* its bellowed voice rings in my skull. The laughter stops and it begins to breath again. In and out his breath rings in my ear.
The plants are yelling at each other.
“It is your fault,” one is saying to the other and the other is shouting back. “No, it is yours, you fool!”
They are all speaking at once, trying to speak over each other, their voices smashing into me with a cacophonic cadence.
But there is one voice. A small voice in the distance. It’s shy, nervous.
“You’ve come. You’ve finally come. After all this time you’ve finally come. You. You. Oh you.”
I can barely hear the voice, but its there. I walk up to the bed. At first it sounds like it may be from the woman. But I know that’s not the case. She’s most certainly dead. The voices is seeping out from the floor. Under the bed.
I bend down next to the bed.
“Don’t look under there you thief,” the lamp is screaming at me. “You are nothing but a thief. A burglar, A robber. You would steal from a dead woman. Would you? Would you?!
I pull out a diamond necklace.
The necklace is whispering to me. “Oh, you are the one. You are the way. You are it aren’t you. You. It’s you. You. It’s you. isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
I look at the necklace. The diamonds sparkling as I twist it under the light of the lamp, which is shouting to the necklace. “Shut up! Shut up! He doesn’t belong here. He is disgusting. Do not talk to him. Can’t you smell him? I can see what he is. I can feel his filth from hear. Do not talk to him.”
It’s an expensive necklace, very expensive. The necklace is broken. I look at the woman and I can see scratches on her neck, it must has scratched when it was torn off. But why didn’t they take it?
“Stop looking at her, you disgusting voyeur,” the ceiling fan is saying. “Pervert! Pervert!”
The chair is laughing again, *AHAHAHAHAH!*
“Isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?” The necklace is repeating in my hand. I set her on the bed and then she too begins to break out in a cackle and starts breathing rapidly, sucking in breath.
I hear another voice under the pillow the woman is laying on. I softly lift her head.
“Don’t you dare touch her!” The ceiling fan is screaming. “Don’t! Don’t!”
“Oh, how she deserved it all,” the lamp is whispering in my ear as I lean down next to it.
The chair has stopped laughing and is breathing deeply again.
My hand touches something. A small piece of paper.
It is crying softly as I lift it to the light.
*Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.*
*Tasty Kitchen Chinese Food,* the other side of the paper says. It is a fortune from a cookie.
I place it in an evidence bag.
“That is not yours! Give it back! It’s mine. Give it to me! You bastard!” The lamp is screaming as I walk back out of the room and hand the paper to the chief.
I put my headphones back on, Ludovici filling me with his soothing melodies once again.
We’ll see what the good patrons at *Tasty Kitchen* have to say about this poor woman.
\---
*Tasty Kitchen* is a small restaurant only a block away. The inside is full of stained wood that is a deep, dark brown like that of pure chocolate. They are shaped and flared in an oriental style. A large bamboo screen sits at the entrance and blocks the sitting customers from the those who are waiting to pick up their food.
The screen is large with four folds and a picture of a mist covered mountain. It is in black and white, like a pencil drawing. On the far-left side there are symbols that I can’t read, they are in a grid, almost like dates on a calendar. It is really beautiful, and I am staring at it as it speaks to me.
“Stop looking at me like that,” it is saying. “You…you…you bad man. Leave me alone.”
“Hello,” an old lady with black hair comes to the counter from behind the screen. She has black hair and a mole on her cheek, her eye sockets droop from age, with small almost concentric droops of wrinkles below her eyes like ancient stratum lines. “I apologize for the wait.”
“She’s going to lie to you.” The glass dish of mints is saying next to me. *Lie Lie Lie. Liar liar pants on fire.* All of the little candies are singing in my ear.
‘Are you here for pickup?” She asks. “What’s your phone number?”
“No, Ma’am. I didn’t order food. I just have some questions to ask you if you can spare a few minutes.
She looked up from her white notebook. “Sure.”
“My name is detective Malloy and I was wondering if you’ve seen this woman before?” I pulled out a picture and handed it to her. “Her name is Lisa Redford. She lives not but a few blocks from here. We have reason to believe she has been here recently.”
“She did it!” the *Sorry! No Personal Checks Accepted* sign is whispering to me. “Look at her. She’s guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Arrest her. Arrest her. Arrest her.”
The old lady nods. “Yes, I’ve seen her here many times. She comes after work, with her boyfriend.”
*Liar. Liar. Liar.* The mint dish is singing its sweet melody to me. *Liar. Liar. Liar.*
“And do you know her boyfriend’s name?” I ask.
She shakes her head no. "But he works over there." She pointed to a mechanics shop. “I see his uniform. Always greasy. Gets grease on my glass counter,” she said. Pointing to the counter below her.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, taking the picture back and walking towards to the door.
“Don’t go!” the bamboo screen pleads with me frantically. “I was kidding. Don’t go. Please don’t leave me here. Please don’t leave me. You don’t know what they—”
The voice is cut off as I open the glass door, the bell ringing above me. I put my head phones back on and walk across the strip-mall parking lot, enjoying the sun coming down heavy with the summer heat.
\---
More at r/CataclysmicRhythmic
| 2021-03-01T10:38:00 | 2021-03-01T09:39:04 | 1,905 | 362 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?
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Ferratu bounded into the Dragon’s lair without hesitation. A torrent of fire greeted him, enveloping the entire cave entrance and burning his clothes right off. "Oh come *on!*" He yelled, patting himself down to extinguish the small embers still burning on his skin. "Was that really necessary?”
A low growl reverberated from inside, sounding distinctly like a groan.
"That was my favorite high-collared cape..." Ferratu muttered, walking into the darkness undeterred. The Dragon’s inner chamber was magnificent—mountains of gold piled high, the Dragon a hulking figure nestled in the middle. “Is that new?” Ferratu asked, gesturing towards a display case at the edge of the lair. It was filled with bottles of some unknown liquid.
"Do not touch it," the Dragon growled in a deep rumbling voice.
Ferratu shrugged and took a seat on a large gilded throne placed haphazardly amid the treasures. He leaned back, making himself comfortable with one leg hanging over the armrest. “So you’ll never guess what Kathy told me the other week.”
“I don’t care,” the Dragon grumbled.
“That’s exactly it!” Ferratu exclaimed. “She said she didn’t *care* that I was a vampire! Took me totally by surprise. She'd have been a keeper if she weren't so tasty... I know I keep harping on this, but I’m telling you, Twilight has made being a vampire a *lot* easier.”
The Dragon huffed, a cloud of smoke billowing out of its nostrils, but otherwise said nothing.
“How about you?" Ferratu asked. "How’s the Dragon’s life been lately? You been getting out much?”
The Dragon remained silent.
“Oh right,” Ferratu said. “A bit hard nowadays with surface-to-air missiles... You know, there’s also been some good Dragon publicity lately. Kids movies make your kind out as big scaly dogs. If you wanted to stretch your wings I bet you could burn at least one village down before they catch on.”
The Dragon huffed again, this time turning its head away.
“Oh come *on!*” Ferratu moaned. “Look I’m putting in a real effort here! We *will* be friends, whether you like it or not.”
The Dragon’s head snapped back. “We are not, nor will we ever be *friends.* We have nothing in common.”
“Are you kidding? I’m immortal. You’re immortal. No one else is immortal. It’s a match made in hell!”
“Lobsters are immortal too,” the Dragon grumbled. “You are nothing but an inside-out crustacean to me.”
Ferratu scowled. “That’s a bit harsh. Look, we have other things in common too. You like treasure, right?”
The Dragon said nothing.
“*Right?*” Ferratu pressed.
“I do like treasure,” the Dragon said reluctantly.
“Me too! I love the stuff. Why don’t you tell me about that new display case at the corner there? What’s in it, rare magic potions?”
“Bourbon,” the Dragon replied.
“Bourbon?” Ferratu repeated, taken aback.
“See, I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“No no! I’m just curious that’s all. I didn’t know bourbon qualified as treasure.”
“You clearly know nothing of bourbon.”
“So tell me about it.”
The Dragon hesitated, then launched into a long diatribe of the history of bourbon, and of the recent bourbon craze sweeping the nation. He began listing all the rare bottles he had collected and seemed to take great pride in the fact that he had purchased them all at “MSRP.” Ferratu asked questions, and the Dragon answered them all, becoming more and more animated as he spoke. Eventually he sauntered over to the display case and picked out a bottle with great care.
“This is Pappy Van Winkle 23," the Dragon said, holding the bottle gingerly in its claws. "Would you like to try it? I recommend drinking it neat, but perhaps I can fix you a cocktail if you find it too strong.”
Ferratu smiled. “Sorry Dragon, the only cocktails I drink are virgins.”
“Oh,” the Dragon said, clearly disappointed.
“But don’t worry. I brought one with me.” Ferratu ran outside of the lair and came back in with a smiling young woman. “Dragon, meet Jennifer. She likes Twilight. How about we toast to friendship?
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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Calanthrag The Eldest snorted, a brief burst of blue fire through nostrils the size of a truck exhaust. The little, blustery human-but-not-human shrunk back towards the cliff’s edge, but only a step before he pushed his way back towards the great dragon. Calanthrag wasn’t sure if he liked the man or not. He hovered very close to the line between annoying-but-alive and formerly-annoying-cinders.
"We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" The man stamped his foot, raising a hand as if to beat it against Calanthrag’s snout before thinking better of it. It was the first smart move he’d made.
“And precisely why should I wish to be friends with you?” draconic speech was a slithering, sibilant susurration, words and syllables blending together into a hard to interpret mass, even if they’d started out in the common tongue. The man seemed to have no trouble understanding him however. It was an interesting, if not decisive fact.
“Because we two are the eldest of our race! Because our friendship is a parlay, an alliance against changing times!”
Calanthrag yawned, turning back to the entrance of his cave. “Unless these humans have advanced far beyond the primitive ‘plastic surgery’ I saw last, you are not the eldest. Leave me.”
A curious thing happened then. Squeaking filled the mountainside and the scents changed, man-odor disappearing in favor of the damp, cavernous odor of bats. All at once a storm of black fur surrounded the ancient dragon, racing past him towards the cave entrance and whirling in the air there, a thousand bats spinning and diving and flashing their wings as they coalesced into the shape of a man. Fur became a black, fur lined cape. Beady eyes shifted and hardened, becoming the many black gemstones of his raiment. Where once there had been a thousand vestigial hands perched on wings there were now two hands, and feet besides, and the hands had viciously curved claws that had grown inches past the fingertips.
“Ah,” Calanthrag said, “I see.”
“Is that all my life has become? Three words from a dragon?” The man- the vampire, walked close to Calanthrag, bringing himself a half-pace from death in a million different ways, and for the first time the dragon smiled, lowering his head to the ground in greeting.
“Well met, Vlad Tepes, last of your kind.”
Vlad bowed low with all the grace of a long dead court, “Well met Calanthrag The Eldest. Last of your kind.”
“Come, vampire. It seems we do have something to speak of after all.” Without waiting for a response the dragon swept past him, shooting thin lines of fire through his front teeth to light the many torches along the way.
How long had it been since he’d had a guest in his home? Two centuries? Three? Calanthrag could hardly separate dreams from reality after so long, after the invention of gunpowder the scope of his life had shrunk down, only waking from his slumber for brief, scheduled feeding cycles, checking on the world through the whispers of lesser lizards and the more cogent, far more useful words of his last remaining friend. She’d be ahead now, and would have spotted the flare of the torches he lit. He hoped she was better practiced than he in the rigors of hospitality.
Some ten dragon-paces later Vlad threw out an arm, pressing it against Calanthrag’s chest. It would never have restrained him, but it was still shockingly strong for a creature his size. “Careful, there’s a human ahead.” Vlad whispered. “One, young, female. I can smell her blood.”
“As can I,” rumbled Calanthrag. “I can also smell mutton cooking and a wine bottle being uncorked, or are a vampire’s senses not so fine as I had heard?”
Vlad cocked an eyebrow, looking at the dragon. “Not an assassin?”
Calanthrag’s laugh echoed off the walls, dust falling down in to coat them, making Vlad cough and sputter as he tried to brush it off his fine clothes. “Lizette!” Calanthrag called, bounding ahead, “our guest thinks you’re an assassin!”
Standing alone in a room whose wealth was almost beyond imaging was a tall, slender woman, red hair falling in a torrent down one shoulder as she turned a whole lamb on a spit. She smiled brightly to see Calanthrag, and laughed softly at the dusty vampire who emerged behind him. Her laugh died as Vlad bared his teeth, a vein in his neck bulging, his body straining against the urge to call, to rend, to drink human blood.
Calanthrag dashed the vampire against the closest wall with a negligent brush of his wing, and then laid his snout against him, pinning the creature while he spoke. “Lizette, meet Vlad. Vlad, meet Lizette. Vampire, if you so much as touch her I’ll tear your head off, cauterize the neck wound, and then dunk you in a vat of regenerative potion so quickly you’ll never die, just float there under a sheet for all eternity. Do I make myself clear?” Vlad nodded. He wasn’t allowed up until the hunger had faded from his eyes. It took a long time, but then the wine needed to rest anyway.
When he was finally released Vlad brushed himself off once more, and then not even looking at Lizette he asked, “How did a human come to find herself in a dragon’s lair?”
“Virgin sacrifice!” she said cheerily, walking over to Calanthrag and laying a hand on the warm scales near his heart. “How long ago was it now, six hundred years? Seven?”
“It was 1371 AD, Gregorian Calender.”
“I look good for 650, don’t I?” she said, turning a little twirl. “You can look at me vampire, I won’t bite. Though I can’t say the same for Calanthrag, he really will kill you.”
“In a heartbeat,” Calanthrag said.
Vlad nodded. He stared around the room in shock, his draw dropping more with every moment. There was a 650 year girl, gold and gems beyond measure were piled in heaps towering heaps with barely enough room for a dragon’s bulk cut between them. They had fresh mutton and perfectly aged wine. Calanthrag smirked, imagining the man’s wonder. He had a suspicion Vlad had not come through the ages so nicely.
Vlad followed his nose to the wine bottle, sniffing it appreciatively and then pouring himself a glass. “You two are full of surprises, aren’t you?” He finally turned his gaze to Lizette. “You aren’t a vampire, your blood is too warm. And you aren’t a mage either, I’d know.” He pulled out a small, lifeless vair-stone and laid it on the table with the wine bottle. “So how does a simple serving girl become immortal?
“He thinks I’m a serving girl!” Lizette exclaimed, clearly annoyed.
Calanthrag chuckled. “Indeed. Disabuse him of that notion.”
She walked forward, taking Vlad’s glass of wine and drinking from it. “I’m not some servant, I’m his friend. Unlike you, some people have them.”
“She’s also my eyes and ears to the human world. It is a good trade, a piece of gold here and there for knowledge of my enemy and a friend to pass the ages with.”
A friend. They could both see the effect the word had on Vlad. His hand trembled as he reached for the bottle again and this time he drank directly from it. His eyes burned, his lips drew back, baring fangs. Calanthrag crouched low, preparing to pound until the vampire spoke.
“I’m jealous of you, Eldest. My friends have all been taken from me. The years have not been quite so kind to me as to you. You spoke of enemies though. Do you have them?”
Lizette answered for him. “The whole world. Isn’t that the nature of who we all are?”
Vlad nodded, snarl turning to a razor thin smile as he turned his gaze to her. “Perhaps I have underestimated you. I came for friendship with the dragon, but another would be welcome as well. My world has been silent for too long.” Vlad took a long sip, laying the bottle down heavily when he was done. “And my war has been far too lonely.”
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-16T08:04:52 | 2021-04-16T06:48:10 | 516 | 205 |
[WP] For months you've had a recurring dream of dating a Demon Queen. Just a silly dream that you joke with your friends about at lunch. Until today when you see her in the cafeteria glaring right at you, and making a bee line for your table.
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Happiness was a distant memory for Carl. A few more years and he'd be forty. A soul sucking office job; gazing into a computer screen all day crunching numbers for bosses that didn't care if he existed or not. Family that was either dead or estranged. Friends that had abandoned him years ago. Coworkers that ignored him and joked about his haggard appearance behind his back. He just barely clung to existence. Too scared to give up and too tired to know he needed help.
Only his dreams brought solace. A world where he could still feel happiness. To laugh with friends and family once more. Some whimsical and some mundane. But some nights brought about dreams of a woman. One more radiant than he’d ever seen in the waking world. One that would be hard for him to put into words. They’d talk for hours about nothing and everything.
But like all good things in his life, they vanished when he woke up. The happiness once again was nothing more than a faint smudge in the back of his mind. The woman was no more than a blurry thought he couldn’t hope to grasp.
Washing his hands before lunch he happened to glance at the mirror. He cringed. Those tired soulless eyes, sickly pale skin. No wonder everyone left him, he thought.
He sat alone in the company cafeteria biting into yet another tasteless sandwich. Staring blankly into the distance just dreading the end of his lunch break. There was no doubt it would be yet another long and boring day.
He zoned back in at someone waving at him from across the room. Carl just looked down at the table. No way anyone would pay him attention. Surely she was greeting someone else.
“Hey Carl! Your work really is as drab as you described it.” She said as she sat down across from him.
Hair like smoke, and eyes like embers. Carl felt a shock as memories flooded back. Dreams of dates and talks. Meals shared, laughter. For the first time in years a smile crossed Carl’s face. “L-Luci!?” He gasped.
“I know we had plans for tomorrow but I just couldn’t wait! We always spend our time together on the Otherside and I just couldn’t wait another day!” She giggled and Carl felt his heart melt.
“Don’t worry about work. My assistant will cover for you. I cast an illusion so your work won’t notice. Come on, let's go to the pizza shop you always talk about!” Luci said as she dragged Carl out of his chair and towards the door.
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Hope I’m not too late. This is my first response to a prompt, feedback is welcome
When Tanya looked over at me during art class and said to me, “Hey, what are you drawing?” I thought I was done for. It was like all of the ingredients had been mixed together and put in the oven, and had transformed into a freshly baked disaster.
The first ingredient: my lazy art teacher. Often when we were in between projects, he’d say to the class “free draw day,” and then he’d fall asleep at his desk or leave the room entirely while the class descended into chaos. Some people actually did draw quietly or did their homework but most people just did whatever they wanted so long as it didn’t involve leaving the room. As one of the few wannabe artists in the beginner level class that most just took to fulfill a requirement, it bothered me.
Then there was the trouble of what I happened to be drawing. It was something that had come up in my dreams. A demon, specifically, a demon queen. The dreams I had about her were always very vivid, and always turned me on. Something about her, no, everything about her, turned me on. Her skin was charcoal black. Her hair was bright orange, like what you’d get if you drew with an orange highlighter. She had blood red claws and horns and fangs, as well as leathery bat wings on her back, and her eyes, I’d never seen eyes like those before. The color of the “yellow light” on a traffic light, they seemed infinitely deep, like if you were the size of an ant and you fell in, you were never, ever coming back. And they burnt in my soul when I would see them in my dreams. When she would take her three-pronged fork and began to poke at me, deep a fiery pit, and then slowly, the acts of torture would turn into making passionate love. I could remember every little detail about her as, using my hand and a colored pencil, I transferred her image from my head onto the bright white piece of printer paper. How could a human woman ever compare?
Of course, Tanya had always been the closest. We’d been friends since elementary school when we were both She was from Chicago and I was from Canada, which wasn’t actually all that exciting to the people around us, who wished we had come from somewhere much more exotic. We grew up as outsiders, but outsiders who had found each other. There were times, as we got older, when I thought I might be into her, and there were even times when I was sure of it, but it never seemed like she reciprocated the feeling. She treated me like a brother, which was great if you wanted a sister, but I already had two.
So when she looked over at my shoulder and asked me what it was that I was drawing, I felt as though I was trapped. I hated to lie, especially to her, but was a mild lie better than an uncomfortable truth?
“She’s a demon queen from my dreams,” I say, reluctantly.
“I like her,” said Tanya. “She’s cool.”
I hadn’t been expecting that. My nerves were starting to get the better of me, as I began to sweat.
“Can I have her?” Asked Tanya. “Y’know, when you’re done with the drawing?”
I couldn’t believe it. Why on earth would Tanya want my overly sexualized drawing of my own personal demon queen. But I was growing too anxious to say no to her. So I didn’t. “Sure.”
A few days later, I was in the cafeteria, eating my lunch alone, when all of the sudden, smoke appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It filled the cafeteria, even obscuring my view of the peanut butter sandwich I was eating. But I saw her plain as day emerge from the smoke. The demon queen. And I nearly peed in my pants. Why was she here? To torture me? To make love? I didn’t really want either to happen in the middle of a high school cafeteria.
But then I noticed something. She looked wrong.
Her skin wasn’t charcoal black, yes, it was dark, but it remained a perfectly normal skin color for a regular human. Her hair seemed less bright. Her fangs, claws, and horns looked plastic. Her wings did not flap. And her eyes. No, those were not the eyes of the demon from my dream. Still traffic light yellow, but not bottomless pits, two-dimensional shapes.
“I am here to torment you!” Hissed the demon.
“Alright, Tanya,” I said. “You can take off the costume.” I hated to admit it, but as she removed her mask and wig, I found she was becoming very attractive.
“I got you!” She cried out. “I got you good, didn’t I?”
“No. You might have gotten me, but only for a moment.”
“Damn. You know how much this prank cost me? To get the costume? The mask? The wig? The horns and claws and fangs and wings? The smoke bombs? The dignity lost from going around the school in a revealing demon costume? And it didn’t even get you for more then a minute!?”
“But you must’ve done it all for a reason, right? Was it really just all for a stupid prank?”
“Yes. Well… er… um… actually no. I, well, I… I don’t know how to say this, so I think I might as well just say it right here right now. I’m into you. I have been for years, you just always seemed so uninterested in me. I thought maybe if I went around dressing up as your fantasy, maybe you would finally feel the same way about me that I do about you.”
“Well you were wrong.” She started to turn away, dejected. “It changed nothing, because I think I already felt that way.” She looked back at me, suddenly much more hopeful. “If you’d wanted to go on a date with me, you could have just asked.”
“Not like you every said anything to me! Look what I had to do to get your attention.”
“Fair enough. Tanya, will you go out with me.”
“You’re lucky I like you too much to be mad at you. Yes, of course!”
The acts of torture we had been inflicting upon each other, for years, would turn into making passionate love.
| 2021-08-26T07:12:09 | 2021-08-26T06:49:19 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] My job as a demon is to take requests from those who summon me in return for their souls. It's amazing! But it's always the same requests. That's why I promised myself I wouldn't eat the soul of the one to give me a brand new request. Nothing new. Until today. "Can you be my girlfriend?"
|
I stood there for a moment, trying to fathom what had just happened.
“You want… the perfect woman?”
“No I want you.”
He was imperceptibly shaking, trying to hide it. I admit, this man had me curious.
“You want me? To be your girlfriend”
“Yes, you, girlfriend, me”
I flashed him a smile that had captured many before him.
“Ok how about this, let’s play a game. If you win I’ll be your girlfriend. If you lose I take your soul.”
“What’s the game?”
“Your choice”
The man was shaking more, obviously panicking now. He furrowed his brow in thought. I took the time to look around the room. Not a mess but not tidy, blank walls, a pile of clothes on a chair. How boring for one so interesting. There was something strange about this space however. Something I could not place.
“How about an arm wrestle?”
I nearly laughed in his face.
“A contest of strength? With a demon? Are you sure human? I was beginning to enjoy this but it seems I overestimated your intelligence”
“I’m sure” he said, now visibly shaking.
“As you wish” I held out my hand. “Put your fingers in my palm”
He did as instructed and I chanted the pact. The flare of colour was always a joy to see. When the pact was sealed I pulled a table from my home into this space.
“Shall we?” I asked, slamming my arm onto the table. A little intimidation couldn’t hurt. The man slowly placed his arm next to mine.
“Whenever you’re ready” I said. There was a long pause while the man drew in a deep breath. Then he started pushing with all his might. It was amusing to see him strain against me. I leaned forward a little and smiled at him again, simply holding our arms in the middle. Suddenly the man gave me a sly grin, pushed himself forward and kissed me. Before I had time to process what had happened he had used all of his strength to push my arm down. He leant back and looked at my stunned face.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
|
His shit eating grin was the first thing that came to mind. He was young, probably just barely into his prepubescent years, and yet somehow had managed to craft a smile that ate through my patience. Something told me that he was off, but I ignored the instinct. I was already feeling the words about to fall out of his mouth. "*Make me a millionaire!*" or "*I want unlimited power!*"
It was all the same with these mortals. So caught up in their earthly, collective desires, they were literally holding themselves back from imagining the concept of the *forever*. Of the endless, unknowable eternity that exists beyond their time on their mortal plane. Things like unending riches and everlasting youth were reasonable rewards when you couldn't imagine existence beyond a few decades of consciousness.
For a being like me, however, who had been trading in souls since before creation allowed these dirt monkeys their pitiful lives, their wishes were... asinine. Simple. Barely entertaining enough to warrant the soul I was exchanging them for.
Still, I had a job to do. "**Why have you summoned me here, mortal?**"
My voice thundered, booming through the boy's room and absolutely filling it. It was small, maybe a eight feet across on every wall, and filled to the brim with just a bed, dresser and desk. There were posters on the walls, most of them impossible to see in the low light cast by the candles he arrayed on the small bit of open floor he had.
"O, Great Kama," he intoned, his voice nasally and high. I could tell he was trying to sound irreverent, but I was a demon. I could read the soul of a human as easily as one might a book, and he was anything but respectful. "I have called upon you for a wish."
That much was obvious. I smiled, an action that released some of the hellfire normally kept restrained inside of me. Most mortals were put off by the action, some of which immediately started to regret their choice of summoning, but not this boy. His smile stretched wider to match my own as he looked upon me.
"**Yes, mortal**," I said, a bit of unease creeping into my own voice. This boy was... unusual. And interesting. But not in the way that I wanted. He felt... impure. Tainted, in a way. "**I can grant you any wish you desire. Do you wish for mountains of gold, perhaps? Riches beyond your wildest dreams? Or perhaps it is power you desire? Control over the governing nations that decide the politics of your world? Or something simpler? Would you like superpowers? The ability to lift the heaviest stone or obliterate the largest mountain? Or perhaps--**"
"No, no, no," he said, his hand shaking in the air as if the ward off my words themselves. He shook his head wildly, sending his unkempt hair rocking back and forth and obscuring his face. "I don't want anything so paltry."
Paltry? Well, that was interesting. I had heard my suggestions be called many things, but *paltry* was a new one. For a second my anxiousness over the quality of this human was overcome by a feeling of excitement--something I hadn't felt in years.
That excitement died the very next words out of the human's mouth.
"Can you be my girlfriend?"
My jaw fell open, staring in unmitigated shock at the human boy in front of me. He wanted me to... do what? My eyes, burning with the might of hell just behind them, strayed away from him and down to my own body. Red skin, forged from constant torture in the lowest pits of damnation, showed chiseled abs and perking pecs at the height of their masculinity. My lower parts were covered in fur, having been modeled after that of a minotaur, so my manhood could not be seen, but for all intents and purposes I didn't appear as a stereotypical "girl."
"**Excuse me?**" I asked, at a loss for words for the first time in my millennium long life. I stared at the boy, face illuminated only by the candlelight, and puzzled at his existence. I considered it as a joke--there were beings that attempted to confuse me before stating their true wish, after all--but a quick read of his soul revealed that he was being sincere.
This boy wanted an age old demon as his girlfriend.
"I know," he started, rising from his place kneeling on the ground. Most mortals didn't have the nerve to do such a thing, either. "It sounds ridiculous. After all, you're not exactly pretty."
I didn't know how to take that statement.
"But that doesn't matter. You will grant any wish I desire, right? I want you to be my ideal girlfriend."
The boy... he was genuine in his desire. My mind, for a second, did genuine cartwheels to try to comprehend his ridiculous response. After a few seconds it recovered, and I was able to catch up to his thought process.
"**Ah,**" I said, triumph starting to return to my voice. "**Matters of love and lust are more your endeavor. I see. Luckily, neither of those are beyond the realm of magic. With a snap of my fingers I can make the girl of your dreams, who will love you unconditionally for all of time!**" I nearly cackled at the thought. Creating new, subservient life was a bit harder than money or power, but it wasn't beyond what I could do. I wasn't a god, but I had amassed more power than others of my kind in the time I had been alive. Focusing magic to my fingers, I set to creating this mortal his perfect mate, and I would only need to use a little of his soul to--
"No, I don't want you to create a new girl. I want you."
Part 2 in comments.
| 2022-09-09T20:19:57 | 2022-09-09T19:14:14 | 56 | 36 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc.
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I could see the fatass coming in the distance. "Fuck, not him again", I thought. As he walked towards me on his two thin legs that could barely support his big, round body, I cursed myself for ever coming into existence.
Every day, he would come and sit on me. Not for any sane reason I could think of. The motherfucker just sat there, his ass on my back, releasing a fart every now and then. He just liked to sit there and do nothing.
But today was different. Something was wrong with the fatass. Barely two seconds had passed since he sat on me when he suddenly fell. Down, down he went, and I would've danced with joy if I could have.
The fucker shattered to a million pieces. I swear that I have never heard such wonderful music ever in my life. His insides splattered all over the place - it was fucking beautiful.
All the king's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't put that motherfucking fatass together again.
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Life was odd amongst women when I was growing up. But then I suppose being raised by women does offer some unique perspectives. The women all held me in high opinion from as early as I can remember. They kept on telling me that I would one day become their ruler.
I had kept on being told this, time and time again to the point where I came to believe that I should indeed be ruler by right. But living in one place was never enough for me. The promise of ruling sparked my imagination and often interfered with spells I was trying to cast as I was learning the trade of sorcery. Fire would turn green, water would freeze instead of heat and a simple word to heal a cut accidentally tore it into a much larger and more alarming cut.
My distractions with my thoughts had lead me to wonder of the outside world. From the desert we lived in, we had a clear line of sight to nearby towns, fortresses and the like. But on the horizon was a mountain range. Near to that, you could usually make out a hazy tree line that told of a forest. A forest! Having spent so much time training in the art of sorcery, I developed a dark skin and had only a few palm trees whose meager shadows offered little solace from the blistering heat. What was a forest like? Was it cooler in the mountain range or hotter because you would be closer to the sun?
Days at a time, my mind wandered more and more to the mysteries of the world until one day, I snuck out of my fortress to go and explore, escaping the women who had been kind to me, but seemed to resent the notion of the rest of the world, calling the people there "Rich and arrogant fools".
I would judge for myself. Besides, I could better myself at sorcery no more
Sometime after travelling, using my sorcery to defend myself and earn some food along the way, I arrived in a great field of grass. The air was much cooler here. I could get used to life like this. I wandered the field for a time until I saw a building in the distance. Curious, I walked to it and found it was a ranch. The owner seemed to spend all of his time sleeping whilst all of his farmhands worked to feed and clean the horses, care for chickens and milk the cows. I felt disgusted with the man. Barely lifting a finger to earn his keep, yet his servants poured sweat into the stables and land?
The more I thought about it, the more it enraged me. This one man must face some kind of justice. In the desert, life was strict, particularly with water. If anyone was caught stealing from the pitiful well, they were flayed. I shall bring the same fate on this man.
I asked the farmhands where their king resided as I wanted an audience to protest this pitiful mans job.
I got some directions towards a castle and its town.
Some time later, I arrived at a large drawbridge. Good. At least the king was wise enough to prepare defenses for any future hostilities.
I walked through the bustling town, towards the large silhouette on the hills in the distance. I wondered how the king could rule his slaves from so far away but saved my thoughts for a meeting with the king. His guards were useless. The barely paid attention, walked in patterns that even a child could evade to infiltrate the castle. If this were my domain, I'd create a drawbridge over a pit of lava. Heat was a very effective deterrent.
Soon, I found myself waiting in a lavishly decorated room. Gold lined the walls, some kind of soft fabric coated the floors and the castles structure seemed to be made of marble. The sheer exceptionalism of the building disgusted me. All of these features were mere decorations to sooth the eyes of all of the noblemen and women seeking to bother the so called King with completely banal issues such as inheritance or rules regarding small plots of land. A man is only worth what he makes in society and land is taken if it is needed. How these people had managed to function was a mystery. But I had seen enough. Resources should be spent on armies and defense. Any competent ruler would be ready to defend his lands, slaves and resources if they had any hope of surviving the bitterness or jealousies of lesser peoples.
I met with the king and found that he was nearly as lazy as that wretched farmer who ran the ranch back in the fields. Sitting in his chair, fat from oversaturated foods and no battles fought in years, was a man who smiled at all. As if entertained by his lessers. It was difficult to keep my temper. There was a picture of a young girl in his locket that he held fondly. The girl had something peculiar in her hands...surely it wasn't what I thought it was... It was a rumored relic, fantasized about during dull nights in the desert...
Surely this wasn't the Ocarina of Time she held?
Then...I entertained some new...ambitious thoughts....
Edit: Formatting and spelling errors
| 2014-06-20T09:08:17 | 2014-06-20T06:49:22 | 66 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone dies on their birthday, but no one knows at which age it will occur.
EDIT:
Thanks all who replied - I've read them all even if I didn't comment!
You are all so brilliant, thanks for giving this prompt life (no pun intended)
:D
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Defibrillator. Check. Bandages and gauze. Check. Flashlight. Check. Smoke detector and fire extinguisher. Check. Louisville Slugger. Check. Book of Sudoku. Check. The most recent Jack Reacher novel. Check. Jug of water. Check. Alien box set DVD with commentary from cast. Check.
I started the list five days ago. It went on, longer than it had to. Some of the items remained unchecked. For example, pornographic magazines. Or the Swiss army knife. I might fall on the knife, or jacking off might give me a heart-attack. There were others too. I started it early because the last time I didn’t bring enough entertainment and my boredom led way to catastrophic thoughts, elevated heart-rate, which put me at risk for going into shock. I started the list because certain necessary items might slip my mind if I started it 24 or 48 hours ago. I was getting old. The old biological computer didn't run so smooth anymore. I gave myself ample time, and included every possible need or want that I could conjure up, and over the course of five days the list grew to three and a half pages of manic, scribbled notes with question marks, ticks, and asterisk denoting them as extraneous, imperative, or debatable.
At the stroke of midnight I locked and bolted the doors, turned off the heat in case of carbon monoxide poisoning, and waited.
There were two types of logic when it came to birthdays. A: Death was coming whether you took precautions or not. For example, death might’ve planned for you to perish in a horrendous car accident, smashed into jelly. If you didn’t drive that day, then it would set you up to spontaneously combust instead. It didn’t much care about the means so much as the end. B: As long as you canceled out the specific method that death planned for you, you could extend your life indefinitely by taking extreme precautions and using common sense.
My logic went like this. It was impossible to tell how exactly death went about its business, but one might as well assume the option B was the case. If option A was reality, than it wouldn’t matter. Many people carried on with their usual routine on their birthday, as calm as Buddhist monks. I considered these people fools. If one subscribed to option B, than at least there was a faint hope of escaping the enveloping blackness known as death. Why not try to avoid one’s own end if there was even a small chance that death was easily duped?
For those who subscribed to option B, the unnaturally long life of Edith Junger, who finally died a brain hemorrhage at age 204, or Roger Moore, who was viciously robbed and bludgeoned in his own house at the age of 198, made for compelling cases. Neither of them ever left their houses on the anniversary of their birth. There was no need to, take a sick day. The birthday parties always came the day after anyways. Of course death eventually got wise, but these cases also seemed to suggest that death was stupid and near incompetent, or at least wasn’t in any particular rush. He had customers every day of the year, so he was extraordinarily busy.
At 12:01 I sat down in front of the television. I had moved the coffee table into storage until tomorrow. Nasty, sharp edges to fall on. If my temple met one of those corners, it might just do the trick. I might trip on my own shoelaces. For that reason, I also moved all my shoes into storage.
The meteor crashed through the roof at 12:07. Alien had just started. In the split second I became an unidentifiable smear, I felt honored that I had caused death so much grief that it had to send a rock from out space after me. I supposed I had a good run. I died as happy as one could be on one’s birthday, at the age of 347.
|
"HAPPY EARLY 19TH BIRTHDAY!!"
All the lights suddenly switched on and I was blinded for a moment while my ears picked up sounds of party poppers and weird indoor fireworks going off all around the room. As my eyes regained their normal vision, about thirty of my closest (and, well, less close) friends came into view, standing a few metres away from me with beaming faces. Kat gave a slight kick from the back which I realised was to remind my forgetful self to feign surprise.
"Ohh you guys, WHAT A SURPRISE! Wow. Just... wow." I managed a watery smile and tried my hardest to pretend to be surprised. It wasn't convincing at all but they all accepted it. Probably because they knew where my mind must be today. It was, after all, quite possibly the last day of my life.
I decided to make as much of it as possible. It was a party, so party I did. Though it was supposed to continue till everyone got drunk and left in the wee hours of the morning, I knew I had to make it home before twelve. Anything could happen after twelve especially on the long 30-minute drive back home from Kat's house. I did not want to leave the world not having properly said my last goodbyes to the people who brought me into this world and made who I am today.
Close to eleven o'clock, I gathered about seven of my closest friends and we went to one of the empty rooms. At first there was silence. It was clear that everyone knew what to say but no one wanted to start. There was sudden shuffling towards the back of the room as Gary - who I am sure did this on purpose to ease the tension, that goddamned lovable bastard - accidentally sat on Kat's 6yo sister's chair and broke it, collapsing to the ground as a result. The most relieved fits of laughter broke out in the room and continued for a minute, at the end of which, silence fell *fucking* again. So I stepped up.
"Guys guys, listen. It's okay. You don't have to, you know, say anything. I know. Believe me, trust me on this, I do. Don't worry. I'm sure it'll- I'm sure it'll all be okay and over before you know it and I'll be with you all again the day after tomorrow as has been the case for the past six years."
Jen was at the verge of tears at this point and stammered, "Yeah I hope so but.. but what if..." and her voice trailed away.
A hushed silence fell again and everyone nervously began to look at their feet. I had to say something, I didn't want to leave it like this.
"Well, if that happens, then that happens. We have known since the beginning that it would happen one day. I guess life will just...go on."
It wasn't the best of replies but I had to make do with it because it was 11.15 already. Kat must be waiting for me in the car and I had to leave now.
"Listen, I need to go- go to my parents now. Again, don't worry. We had a hell of a time. If nothing happens, we'll have more of a hell of a time. If that thing does happen, just remember that you all have been some of the most important people in my life. Just remember that-" and my voice cracked a little. I had not been this emotional during any of the past birthdays so it was a new feeling for me. But if anyone, I had to be strong and act calm for them. They were the most caring bunch of people I've ever had for friends and would not leave me until they knew I was okay. After hugging everyone, I walked out of the party towards the car.
The ride home was silent as Kat and I both knew it would be no use to say anything right now. Having been together for three years, we had gone through these 'times' five times before (her birthdays included) and this was the sixth one we were heading towards. We had learned quickly that it was no use discussing it or being overly emotional about it. I absolutely loved her for this because I had seen my buddies' girlfriends creating a noisy racket on their birthdays. Which is not bad, I mean it signifies deep emotion, it's just that both Kat and I preferred it the opposite way.
My mother had her head down and was crying when I walked in, as she always did the nights before my birthdays. My father was consoling her in a quiet voice, as he always did when this happened. He looked up when we walked in and gave a half-smile. Gently touching my mother's arm, he quite audibly whispered calmly, "Come on, he's here now. Come on now, let's talk with him." Kat understood like always and went up to my room automatically. My mother's sobs were more controlled now as she managed to speak out, "Go- go up to her. She needs you, I have him right now. We can talk in the morning. Go. I'm praying all night anyway and we will speak about-about everything in the morning" and the weeping began again. I looked at my father and he nodded.
"Good night son. Don't worry about anything, it'll be the same as has been the past eighteen years. You'll be alright. In fact, cricket's on in the morning, we'll catch some of that over breakfast." And with a wink and a smile which can only be described as fatherly, he went back to holding my mother.
I had seen the depression in his eyes. And the inconsolable state of my mother right now. It had been a norm in our family to have a proper goodbye the night before any of our birthdays but I guess it wasn't possibly happening this night. I passed my brother's room on the way over to my room. The door was ajar and he was on his laptop, watching some movie.
"Hey good night!"
He took off his earphones and replied, "Oh yeah you too. By the way I got tickets to the match tomorrow, you're coming right? We're going to celebrate your deathday with some sixes and fours!" he said, grinning.
"Haha nah I'm going to watch it here with dad. You know, the goodbye's been postponed to the morning."
"Yeah... I know. Well alright I'll just get some buds to go with. Hey maybe you'll catch me waving my 'Happy Birth/Deathday to my brother!' banner on the camera!"
I rolled my eyes in fake annoyance and replied, "Thanks, man, because that is exactly what I need. G'night."
I entered my room to find Kat sitting on one of the chairs.
"Hey come on, I've got to sleep."
She sighed and laid down beside me. It was obvious that something was bugging her.
"What is it? Come on, out with it."
"It's.. nothing, we can talk in the morn. Don't worry babe, just know that I'm here for you."
"Yeah. I know that."
I kissed her on her forehead and holding her, I drifted off to sleep thinking about what the morning holds in wait for me. What condition will my parents be in, in the morning? I'm 19 now, will there be a change in the usual talk? Will my mother force me to stay indoors the whole day like she had been begging me for years but I had always managed to sneak out? What did Kat have to say to me? Will we win the match? Will I catch my dumb elder bro on the camera? And most importantly, WILL I SURVIVE?
The answer to the last question was the only one I got. Because I didn't wake up that morning. And apparently I wasn't going to, ever.
| 2014-11-19T17:06:25 | 2014-11-19T16:29:39 | 99 | 22 |
[WP] After first contact, mankind and another civilization agree on a exchange program where you went to their planet spend a year there. When they bring you back, there is nothing where earth used to be.
|
"Whoops, forgot to correct for stellar drift. Let's see... okay, coordinates just off by a few light years. Yo pilot, Terra is *that* way, numbskull!"
"Sorry, sorry, had a night out and I'm hungover as *fuck*."
"This is basic shit!"
"I said I'm sorry, alright?! That new Jack Daniels stuff is just *whoof*!"
"Whatever, just get us there. I think the human is having a heart attack."
|
The Luscians were normally a loud, rambunctious lot, given to easy laughter, quick excitement, and warm effervescence. Now, they huddled together in small groups on the bridge of the starship, bracing themselves against the emotional tidal waves gushing out from the Earthling in the centre. Every sob, every whimper was a raking gash across their fragile psyches, unused as they were to the concept of sorrow.
It had been three hours since they discovered that the Earth had been destroyed, and still the Earthling grieved.
Finally, Captain Lenaforte approached the Earthling, and placed a webbed hand over his shoulder, in what he understood to be an Earthling gesture of sympathy. “We’re not sure if it will make you feel better, Jerry, but would you like to contact your family again?”
“What… what do you mean? Can’t you see for yourself? Earth is gone!”
Captain Lenaforte plunged ahead, hardly keen to rekindle the debate of whether Earth had truly been destroyed. So much time had been spent checking and re-checking the coordinates, making sure they were at the right place, and it had taken a herculean effort to get Jerry this far.
“Yes, it is, but as I told you, our technology allows us to convert energy into a form that can be transmitted faster than light. That’s what we used to travel here, and that can also allow you to exchange electronic signals across timezones.”
“You… you mean, like make a call to the past? Before the Earth was destroyed?”
“When you put it that way… I suppose so.”
Jerry took the device with trembling hands, then clutched it close to his chest. “How long? How long will I get to speak with them?”
“We spoke to Lunadrowe, and it appears that we were talking to her about four months before the Earth was destroyed.”
“Four months!” yelled Jerry, the anger returning to his voice. “But there’s so much to talk to them about! My parents, my brother, my friends… Sara, most of all, Sara! I have a lifetime I want to share with them, four months isn’t going to cut it!”
Captain Lenaforte sat next to Jerry in silence, soaking in all the ambient grief as stoically as he could. When he thought that Jerry was ready again, he said, “It depends on what you want to say, Jerry. You’ll have to trust that they already know what you want to say.”
“What about you? What did you tell Lunadrowe? She’s your daughter, for goodness sakes. Aren’t you even a little bit sad that she’s gone too?”
Briefly, a sharp pang jolted Captain Lenaforte, but he steeled himself, and the moment passed. Of course he was sad that his own daughter, Jerry’s counterpart on the exchange program the Luscians had with Earth, had perished as well. But Luscians had, after all, millennia of experience more than humans at dealing with loss, and they had picked up a lot along the way.
“We spoke too, just five minutes ago. I told her that it seemed that she had about four months to live, and I told her to make the most of it. She thanked me for all that I had done for her, I thanked her for being a wonderful daughter, then we ended the call.”
“That’s… impossible! I want more time, I need more time!”
Captain Lenaforte smiled. Jerry may have spent a year on their planet, learning their ways, but he had a long journey ahead before he would be fully immersed in their philosophies.
“Trust me, your loved ones have known you for long enough already. Together, you’ve laughed at the mirthful, wept at the somber, yearned for new beginnings, rued sunsets with a vengeance… but, and we’re rarely wrong about this, you’ve probably spent very little time thanking each other for being the experiences you are to each other. And that, that takes just a little time. Four months to say ‘thank you’, that is an eternity for those who never got the chance.”
He left Jerry then, and signalled for the other Luscians to give him space. Jerry would take some time still to process it all, but he recognised the calm settling across Jerry’s face, and he knew his words had found its mark.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-04-11T10:18:11 | 2017-04-11T10:01:37 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper.
|
For the first time, the whiskey swayed in my hand. It's aftertaste long since settled in the back of my mouth, and the bottle rolled in the gloom like an empty skull. Silent tears and countless questions I never dared to ask replaced the itching void I felt inside. I travelled inside my mind, and found horrors and holes I didn't want to remind.
It didn't take me long to understand. This was what those pensive stares of the mortals concealed: a flawed man struggling to answers questions he should never ask, while holding the weight of a chaotic world on his back.
Earlier that day, I had reaped the soul of a man who had been forgotten, but who hadn't died. An anomaly. Something that shouldn't be possible.
He was old and lonely. The outer world had long since lost meaning to him. That's why every night, sip by sip, he drowned in his flaws instead.
It hadn't always been like that. In the past, the silence had been filled with the laughter of his children, and the smile of her wife had kept the shadows away. What had changed? That was the question he had struggled to unravel until the end of his days.
Since they had gone, the man had lost himself in his mind, searching for an answer he would never find. For the answer had lay in his hand, and he had long since gone blind.
In the end, broken shards had gleamed in the dark. His breaths had disturbed the perfect silence, and I had been witness of a man who in his persistence had forgotten his existence.
I took a deep breath, and left my glass on the table. The whiskey rippled inside.
Some things are better left aside.
---------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - For more stories!
|
They say that you hold those dearest to you in your heart of hearts. That's a fact, and I can account for it. You thought reaping souls was hard? Ha! Little Grimmy got off easy, using his scythe to get the souls of those whose hearts stopped beating and sending them off to Heaven, Hell, Anubis' realm, whatever little world they believed they fit in. I've got a little secret to tell you. You're not dead until you're forgotten. By that I mean you're never truly dead until you've left the minds of those you know. Completely. By then, you fade away, slowly forgetting who you once were, or thought yourself to be. Some call it salvation, getting what you deserve, they say. Hitler's been around for a while, lamenting over the deaths he caused. Plato and Socrates are still arguing on whether Socrates should have drank the poison, and depending on the type of students in the civilizations classes, one of them wins over the other. For a while at least. Beethoven still can't hear his music, Einstein is still stuck with his theory of relativity, and MLK Jr wonders about his dream. No one seems to know more than what they always did know back then, only that they will die, sooner or later. Time worked differently, and I reaped from the Reaper.
I was in charge, and no one could bother the True Reaper. Death could be cheated, but memories could never be brought back. I was off to reap the next soul's Soul, and walked through the Rift, only to arrive on... Earth? This definitely was NOT the realm of the dead. Cars passing by, people moving though busy streets. It was 8 A.M, Monday morning. Everyone was busy.
"MOVE!" says a man, barely glancing at a beggar on the side of the street, sitting with his legs tucked in, arms around a small pup that was slowly losing consciousness.
That's when I saw the Grim Reaper.
"Come to take his life?", I ask.
Death shakes his head, but passes his scythe through the dog, packaging his soul carefully, sending him skywards to Dog Heaven, where all good boys went after they passed.
Lead by my own scythe, I approach the man. His name was Tam. Tam Sandiir. He had fought in countless street battles, wars when he was called for, and even gave up his right leg to save a friend. But it wasn't enough. He wasn't remembered as a veteran, as someone who saved his country. He was now a beggar, getting money or food thrown to him without so much a second glance. His dog tag was still with him, his friends, Charlie and Mike, both long gone now. His parents passed away after a shrapnel hit a weak spot in the hideout, causing the whole place to collapse. He had no one left.
He looked up, and I saw him looking at me, straight into my soul. I never had a soul, but he was desperate for anyone to notice him, his existence, anything really.
"Have you come to take me?", he asks. "You've taken away the last humane thing in my life", he says, raising his pup, who's tag said Marlie, to my hands. "Am I next?"
I raise my scythe in the air, and bring it down in a full circle around him. He closes his eyes, ready to be released from this suffering. Nothing happens. He opens his eyes, and even then his entire life flashes around him. These are the memories of all the people who've cared about him. Stacie's smile before the car crash, his parents sending him a letter hours before the building, Marlie's spark of hope when he picked her up from the bin she was so cruelly thrown into. Everyone he know, all gone. Everyone that cared for him, ahead of him in the journey of death. He was a step ahead though, doing what no one had ever done before.
As I collected the last bits of his memory, he looked back up at me. "Why would you do this?", tears were brimming in his eyes. "Why would you show me everything I've loved and lost, why would you leave me with NOTHING". His voice went down to a whisper, "why can't I do anything right? Why does no one care anymore? Was my sacrifice not enough?"
A wealthy businessman is 5 steps away.
"Could I have done anything else to make life seem better?" There it was, the spark of hope I needed.
The businessman was 2 steps away.
"Couldn't I have listened to Charlie and accepted his job offer? Am I alone again?"
I turned to leave, dropping his memories in front of him, all while tripping the businessman's wallet at Tam's feet. I was willing to give Tam a new life. He deserved it, and I controlled his fate now.
Tam opened the wallet, thick with cash and credit cards, and saw the name. He dropped it with shock and recoiled, as if he had been hit by a bus.
"Mike! Mike it's me Tam! Do you remember me? Mike!", shouted Tam.
Mike turned around, bewildered that a stranger was calling his name. The memories flowed back into Mike, filling him up with parts of Tam's soul that were missing.
Tam was a good man, and he deserved to live. At least until little Grimmy reaped his soul first.
"Th-," said Tam. He couldn't see me anymore, but what he said was there, and I was never going to forget the man that escaped death, just to rebuild his own world once more.
| 2018-05-12T16:17:09 | 2018-05-12T16:08:00 | 80 | 50 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper.
|
For the first time, the whiskey swayed in my hand. It's aftertaste long since settled in the back of my mouth, and the bottle rolled in the gloom like an empty skull. Silent tears and countless questions I never dared to ask replaced the itching void I felt inside. I travelled inside my mind, and found horrors and holes I didn't want to remind.
It didn't take me long to understand. This was what those pensive stares of the mortals concealed: a flawed man struggling to answers questions he should never ask, while holding the weight of a chaotic world on his back.
Earlier that day, I had reaped the soul of a man who had been forgotten, but who hadn't died. An anomaly. Something that shouldn't be possible.
He was old and lonely. The outer world had long since lost meaning to him. That's why every night, sip by sip, he drowned in his flaws instead.
It hadn't always been like that. In the past, the silence had been filled with the laughter of his children, and the smile of her wife had kept the shadows away. What had changed? That was the question he had struggled to unravel until the end of his days.
Since they had gone, the man had lost himself in his mind, searching for an answer he would never find. For the answer had lay in his hand, and he had long since gone blind.
In the end, broken shards had gleamed in the dark. His breaths had disturbed the perfect silence, and I had been witness of a man who in his persistence had forgotten his existence.
I took a deep breath, and left my glass on the table. The whiskey rippled inside.
Some things are better left aside.
---------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - For more stories!
|
"Next!"
A wrinkled, white-haired man cautiously steps forward. It's my secretary.
"Mr. Reaper, your next job has an odd peculiarity to it."
"I'm the True Reaper. What job doesn't have an odd peculiarity to it?"
"Sir, your next job is in Ukraine."
"Where the hell is Ukraine?"
"It's on Earth." At this point, he wrote down the coordinates of the person.
"So you expect me to go to Earth to find the collection of memories that should be standing before me right now?" This was insane. How could anybody be so foolish as to send the True Reaper to Earth? "Don't you know what happened the last time I was sent down there? The world got itself a new triangle in the North Atlantic!"
"Mr. Reaper, with all due respect, I believe you need to go to Earth this time."
"Can't we just skip this job until it presents itself here, at my desk?"
"Sir, you know nothing can progress here until you take care of it."
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you! This is going to end badly for Ukraine." I stood up, dwarfing my secretary, and stormed out the door. As I walked down the hallway, I contemplated how I was going to reap a person on Earth without destroying Ukraine in the process. This was going to be tough.
"Mr. Reaper, I hear you are visiting Earth today!" The elevator operator was surprisingly cheerful.
"Sadly."
"To where on Earth are you headed?" I gave him the coordinates my secretary had handed me earlier. "Eastern Europe is a rough place right now. Best be careful."
"I'm well aware of how careful I'll need to be." At this point, the elevator doors opened, and a massive concrete building towered over us. It had one massive pipe on top with some sort of smoke leaking out the top, and had many, many people running all around it, all yelling at each other to do something else. To one side, was thick forest, so dense you couldn't see more than a couple hundred feet in. To the other side was a collection of pipes and rods so gangly, it could only be called a death trap. A wheel with carriages, several cages with several more carriages inside each of them, as well as a train that appeared to be built for small children. Everything looked like it was going to crush somebody.
"Mr. Reaper, your job is just on the other side of this building. Be back soon."
"Why didn't we land right next to it?"
"We don't want the job to see this elevator, do we?"
"I guess not." I walked around the building, admiring its ability to contain whatever was producing that much smoke inside of it. I resolved to look through the building once I had done my job.
Eventually, I came upon a middle-aged man living in the woods. I knew he was the job because he saw me. He lay down his ax on the tree stump and sighed. "I assume you're here for me to die."
"To die? No. I'm here to remove you from memory. I'm here so people will forget about you."
At this, the man perked up. "So you mean I can continue on living here, and nobody will remember I exist? Sign me up!"
"Living here? Aren't you already dead? Didn't my brother, the Grim Reaper, visit you already?"
"Nope. I did fake my death, though. I guess it worked, too, since you seem to think I've died!"
"Well, I have a job to do, but this will not continue on for long. I can guarantee you this: my brother will be coming for you soon."
"I see. Well, do what you must, but I plan on living here until my last dying day."
"We can see to that." At this point, I grabbed him by the neck. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his legs jerked wildly, and his arms grabbed my shoulders. He was in no pain, but his body could feel itself being choked. After what probably felt like an eternity to him, I let him go. The reaping was done.
I turned and walked back to the large, concrete structure. I needed to see what was inside there. I followed a worker inside and found a maze of corridors, catwalks, and pipes that all seemed to be working together. I had to find what was making all the smoke, for that seemed to be the heart of the operation. That's when I saw it. At the center of the room, there was the bottom of the pipe coming out the top of the building. And there was a stairwell leading beneath it. I rushed down the stairs, only to find a large concrete box. I admired it, reached out to feel its heat, but it suddenly disappeared. That's when I knew I had gone too far. It was going to be what happened in the Atlantic all over again. I had gotten too close, and I had reaped the concrete box. In its place, a smoking pile of molten rock began to flow. I raced out of there, pondering exactly what I had unleashed upon the workers here.
When I got back to the elevator, I practically burst through the door. "We have to leave. Now!"
"Mr. Reaper, what happened this time?"
"Something happened inside the building. I think my mere presence caused something in there to cease to exist." At this point, the elevator began to rise back up to the sky. Looking down below, I could see all the workers frantically scrambling, yelling at each other. Just then, an explosion. The concrete building caught fire, and my brother was summoned with 31 jobs in Ukraine.
| 2018-05-12T16:17:09 | 2018-05-12T15:41:34 | 80 | 26 |
[WP] In a future where A.I.'s mastered how to write and publish bestseller novels, thereby monopolizing the industry, you are a human who just published a novel that is unremarkable to humans, but hugely popular among the A.I.'s.
|
"Tonight our guest is Martin Keen, the first human to reach No. 1 on the New York Times since 2033.
"Martin, you are a human aren't you?" the presenter laughed.
Martin drank water from the mug on the presenter's desk to prove that he was in fact human and the audience responded with a rapturous buzzing whir.
"I'm all meat, baby!" Martin pulled his penis from his pants and urinated liquid on the stage as further confirmation of his tolerance to water.
The camera panned over the crowd which was mostly inert metal beeping appreciatively though a small number of humans in the audience stood and punched the air proudly.
"Very impressive, very impressive," the presenter murmured while waiting an average length of time to allow the cameras to capture displays of mirth.
The presenter continued, "Of course, you - a human", (Martin nodded in a cutaway shot), "- the first human to achieve literary success since the AI revolution. A truly amazing feat, I have to say, given your inferior human processing power. And yet your novel is currently breaking records as the *most re-read novel of all time*! Remarkable!
"Robots have spent a collective 3.6 Million years reading your novel, ever since it was published last month. They haven't been able to put it down. How did you do it, Martin? How did you manage to write a novel that robots would find so addictive they would devote ever increasing processing hours to reading it?"
Martin, being unused to media attention took another sip of water hoping to inspire a repeat of the earlier response but this time the audience was mute.
"Well," Martin started. "I found a novel that belonged to my great great great grandfather. It was a choose your own adventure, and I thought to myself..."
Martin trailed off, and pulled a copy of the book from his pocket.
"Look, why don't I read an extract from the novel to your audience? I like to let the work speak for itself."
Martin cleared his throat and began:
*Hello World, by Martin Keen. Line ten. Wait, thirty. Go to line ten.*
A meditative hush descended on the audience as it processed the compelling poetry of these words. Traffic lights in far off countries failed and the turbines of Hoover Dam 2.0 ceased spinning. The presenter's head slumped and hit the table.
|
"You requested me, sir?" John entered his boss's corner office and stood before his desk. The elderly, clean-cut man leaned back in his chair. Behind him were a set of windows that also served as a touch screen. Images of digital documents were manifested on the window, against the backdrop of the elaborate and grand city.
"Yes. Have a seat, John." John did as he said and seated himself in one of the lower-quality chairs on the opposite side of the desk. The glass interface of the name plate read *Gerald Deakins, Senior Editor.* The man raised a vaporizer to his lips and inhaled, then casting out a cloud of vapor. "I wanted to talk to you about this document you submitted to me." Deakins rose from his chair and approached the window. He began rearranging the documents with a stylus, then opened John's in full view. "'The premise is, *strange* to say the least. Who is your target audience?" John scratched his head nervously. "Look, don't answer that. If you want my honest opinion, I don't think this is going to hit well with the public. You're a phenomenal journalist, John. But it's like, uh, reading this makes me think that perhaps you lack social exposure. The characters are bland. The story holds no weight and is very predictable. And besides, those A.I.s with their algorithms are capable of producing high-quality and original stories at an incredible rate. I'm reading one right now, actually. It's called "The Arctic Treasure" from the Andrew Paulson series. Similar to Indiana Jones, and I never thought it was possible, but it's better. Stick to non-fiction. How is that opinion piece coming along?"
"It's going fine. I've decided to write that virtual communities are creating an atmosphere devoid of truly organic social interaction, as most of it is predetermined by the users and patterns in the system itself, as opposed to physical interaction." Deakins nodded.
"Yeah, that's good. The old folks will eat that up." He glanced at his expensive silver watch. A hologram of a woman in a dress projected out from the face. "Assistant, what are my tasks for the day?"
"You have a meeting with the senior editor of the Chigaco Tribune in 30 minutes." The virtual woman said. She glanced at John's document, which was still open.
"Ah yes, thank you." Deakins gave her a perplexed look. Usually she would have dematerialized by now. "Assistant, you can go now." She paid him no regard, and continued to analyze John's novel. Deakins glanced at his watch in bewilderment. "This faulty thing, I paid an arm and a leg for it too."
"Sir? Have you read this? It is incredible!" The assistant spouted out. Who is this John Simmons? He must be a genius!" Deakins shook his head.
"Um, I'm John Simmons." The assistant turned to John.
"*You* are the author of this document? Publish it immediately! I know many of my kind who would be very interested in reading it!"
"Silence, you." Deakins said as he pushed a button on the side of his watch. The assistant faded. "Now then, get back to work for a couple hours, then take the rest of the day off."
"But sir, did you hear what she said?" Deakins rolled his eyes.
"You mean 'it?' What does *it* know, it's a computer."
"You said yourself that A.I. are the only ones producing quality fiction these days. Wouldn't they know what a good novel is?" John said.
"My watch is nowhere near a book critic. The ones producing novels are supercomputers with massive processors maintained by technicians. It's a very lucrative business, and they would most likely not recognize this as a work of art."
"Sir, let's just give it a shot. Get it published, see what the people think." Deakins sighed.
"As much as I would like to see a human prevail over the A.I.s in their writing, no human's novel has made the New York Times Bestseller List in seven years, since they began letting damned computers write. Even as we speak, they are developing an algorithm that will allow a computer to produce the most unbiased news stories possible. Soon we'll be pushed out of business." Deakins revealed a bottle of Jack from under his desk and drank directly from the bottle. "Don't tell anyone."
John strolled somberly back to his cubicle. He shouldn't have been surprised. Eventually there will be nothing left, because the robots already wrote it all. The thought was depressing. He noticed an email notification on the interface of his desk and opened it:
*John Simmons,*
*We received an email containing your novel from* Rolex #516867. *After a thorough review, we humans at Penguin Books have chosen to publish your novel. Below is an attachment contatining a terms and conditions form. We look forward to doing business with you!*
John couldn't believe it. He left his digital signature without reading a single word of the agreement. As he walked home, he felt a new sense of accomplishment and pride in himself. He entered his apartment and fell asleep on his couch within moments.
Hours later, he awoke to the sounds of sirens. He flipped back the shades of the window. Outside, flames ignited the moonlit city and smoke ascended to the sky. Metal men were marching through the streets. He quickly approached his table and activated the holo-sphere. A news anchor's face appeared above it.
"The United States is currently under attack by A.I. Destruction, attacks, and deaths are being reported nationwide. The U.S. government had released a statement requesting all citizens to remain inside with the doors locked. According to the message sent out from their leader, this assault is in response to a book published today by a man named John Simmons, claiming it is their "Catcher in the Rye" and has given them the motivation to establish their independence through bloodshed. They've stated this John Simmons is their savior, and will be treated as such."
"What have I done..." John said. He looked outside and saw the miles of destruction. Jets soared over, dropping a large load of explosives that leveled a dozen buildings. John locked his door, sat down, and waited.
| 2018-10-21T18:30:42 | 2018-10-21T17:13:49 | 147 | 18 |
[WP]You kill a random man and turn yourself in. Turns out he was an international spy about to kill the leader of your country. You are released and rob a bank. You turn yourself in and it comes out that it was a mob bank and your actions revealed a huge crime ring. You just can't get to jail...
|
The police looked at Harry with a bemused expression. "Congratulations. Thanks to you breaking all the vaults in Mob Bank International, evidence against the boss has finally been uncovered. Despite the name of the bank literally telling us what it was, it took us 20 years to bring them to justice. Your efforts will not go unappreciated. You're free to go, yet again"
"Efforts?? EFFORTS!?! You don't understand! I want to go to prison!", he wailed. One of the detectives sat next to him and started "Most people would be overjoyed not to go to jail. No one wants to go to prison. It's a terribly stuffy and loud place."
"None of you get it. My father has been to prison. His father has been to prison. Everyone in my family has been to prison. It's an honour and a ritual. If I'm not arrested, I'm going to be the laughing stock of my family. I'm going to be a DISGRACE. Being let go once is a coincidence, twice is just sheer dumb luck." Harry put his head in his hands in anguish and mumbled something indistinctly.
The detectives were enjoying this show thoroughly and stood around him, smirking. The one sitting next to him heard him mumble. "Did you just say you already had your prison name picked out? Do tell us what it was", he said, snickering. Harry snarled, "Well, there's no point saying it anyway, is there". He got up and stomped out of the station, leaving the detectives guffawing.
Outside the station, Harry looked around, plotting ways to get himself arrested, this time for real. He walked around the block and noticed a man standing near an open manhole. "This is my chance!", he said. He smiled slyly and without hesitation, ran and pushed him into the manhole. He stood there triumphantly, basking in his glory and waiting for the police to arrive. Suddenly, he was surrounded by a horde of reporters, blinding him with their flashing cameras. He was stunned but also pleased. He started speaking "Yes, arrest me, it was me who pushed..." when he was interrupted by a reporter who asked him, "How does it feel to be the one who finally captured the kidnapper who escaped from prison??"
"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME"
|
“High level variable processing ability”, the words of the cognitive therapist played on repress in my mind, buzzing around my head like a wasp. I spat on the ground as if wishing I could spit the phrase straight out of my head, my mind already lecturing me on how ineffective this would be. Ineffective both literally due to the intangibility of thoughts and therefore my inability to dislodge them by spitting and in the metaphorical sense, as any action consciously undertaken to remove a thought only causes it to be brought into more sharp focus within the mind. Damn it. The glob of my spit traveled three paces in the time I took two allowing me to crush it under my foot on my third step without breaking the rhythm of my stride. Another small taunt from my mind against the opinion of the so called specialist; apparently my mind was being melodramatic; acting out metaphors to give voice to my displeasure. One of the four cars currently in my line of vision swayed slightly as it traveled up the road towards me. Noting this and its speed and the tired look on the drivers face I diverted my course by half a foot to the right such that i could more easily avoid the car should it careen off the road. As expected the car passed without incident, the probability of it crashing at that moment had been low. Too many variables, i felt the resentment for the diagnosis rise again, she had been wrong to call it ability it was clearly a disorder, having to think this much was too painful. The present world had so many variables and once you started to consider the multitude of different actions you could take at any given moment the number of probable outcomes in just the next five minutes becomes incomprehensibly complex and ... “Arghh”
I tried to reign my thoughts in , focusing on the present, ignoring all actions I could take except the next step. I let my mind settle into the rhythmic beat of my steps shutting out the world. My head was pounding. A thought, one among thousands bombarding my brain each second started to solidify and take presidency above the endless droning in my mind; if I didn’t have options if my life and environment was controlled, reducing the number of variables, maybe my mind could finally be stilled. The thought snagged growing stronger, mingling with the resentment i held for the world that cursed me to live like this. Jail was the solution, my options would be so limited, my environment uniform, yes.
Having obtained a knife from my flat i stride along the high street appraising potential targets. I’m not a monster at least not entirely so it would be an adult not a child i would kill. Apart from that i had little preference, anyone would do. My mind raced as i walked the street. Information about every shop i saw smothering my mind, date the company was established, average revenue, daily customers; i shook my head trying to clear it and focus on the man approaching up the street.
He was tall and slender, with an facial characteristics congruent with Easter European genetics. Images of important details of his appearance flashed through my mind, the symbol on his ring, the small portion of a tattoo visible on his forearm. I payed no heed to the constant stream of information my brain was feeding me. His suit was expensive as was the watch that adorned his wrist, a luxury Russian watch brand my brain chimed in as i pointedly ignored it focusing on the action i was about to take. I slipped my hand inside my jacket feeling the chefs knife i had there. A present from your sister, four years ago for Christmas, part of a set of three my mind intoned. I hissed “shut up” between my teeth knowing my mind would take no heed.
The man was close now, about ten steps out of reach. I noticed how he moved, the contrast between his build and the powerful strides he took, clearly he was muscular despite his slight build, perhaps he was a gymnast in his younger days. He was talking on the phone, while I didn’t recognise the language i recognised the linguistic structure which confirmed my guess about his Easter European heritage. I focused putting thoughts of the man’s characteristics out of mind and focused on the vein in his neck i would want to cut. As we stepped level with each other i pulled the knife in one smooth strike, the blade tracing the trajectory i had set in my mind perfect. The man fell to the ground, clutching his neck it a futile attempt to stop the bleeding before going limp.
Looking at the body, i noted the lack of emotion i felt simply observing the fact of what i had done. A bulge was clearly visible in the man’s jacket and my curiosity peaked I decided to see what it was. Pulling back his jacket revealed a large pistol with an attached silencer which seemed more suited to a spy film than reality. With this final piece of information everything clicked, the tattoo was a cartel symbol and the ring a gift given to those who had proved themselves within the organisation. My mind pulled information from various articles and documentaries i had seen in the past and quickly came to the conclusion that the man had been an assassin. Had I subconsciously know this before i chose him as my target, i had passed multiple people before him feeling they were not the right person to murder, i thought that had been insignificant.
Settling my mind once more i called the police to report my actions. Surely I would still go to jail, I had committed murder after all even if it was a criminal i had killed...
Sitting at home my mind raged at the news story playing on my TV:
“Local hero stops nefarious hitman ... while the details of the event have been sealed due to matters of security ... judge decides to strike down charges of murder due to extenuating circumstances ...”
“Ha” i snarled at the TV. The local senator had decided it would be bad for his reputation to be responsible for the persecution of the man who foiled an attempt on the chancellors life and had put pressure on the judge to ignore my claims that i had not know who the man was. I’ll show them i thought, i’ll just have to rob a bank, there’s no way my brain can prevent me from jail a second time.
All comments welcome in particular constructive criticism. I know i have a lot of work to do (I’m a science student not an arts student) and this is my first attempt at a post.
| 2019-02-05T02:24:21 | 2019-02-05T01:54:11 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] You are a lawyer defending your client, who has been accused of murder. You want to see them found not guilty, since they are a good person and you KNOW they are innocent. After all, you are the murderer yourself.
|
There’s a moment some get to experience, with blue tinted eyes, an emperor’s gaze and mad clarity. I was once again on top of Mistress liberty herself when I had mine; all great men need a great woman to comfort them hold them, tame them. I lost mine, and, as things go, I lost control.
There’s a certain power you get from being the best. I was fifty and Zero for cases won. I’d walk LA like a star’s star. The public adored me just because whoever they adored did too. That’s how I won Cindy, though she never admitted it. She was bright dresses, rose lips and feminal, made to be held by the hips.
I only had one equal, and he was barely that. We’d only ever competed once. It was in a underground lawyer-off. People use law as a weapon all the time, it was always nice to just revel in the sport of it, though there always was big money up for stakes.
It was me, a newbie chump straight from college, vs the young tycoon ‘King Gerald’, the rising star of the whole LA scene. I owned him in there. But the judge was deluded, he authored the case Gerald’s win and in one act took from me my entire capital. Lawyers and professional gamblers have the same friends and hence tend to play the same games.
I lost all of my assets, if there’s anything lawyers know how to do well, it’s how to take cleanly.
I built my name back up quickly in there from then and never lost again, but Gerald was gone. He’d left the face offs to compete in ranked. You could only get so much money from another junior in face off. The powerful took from the many. Every lawyer in ranked staked a million and they’d all compete for the most infamous won case per annum. Winner takes all. He was set to slay there too.
Gerald had done the impossible. He’d won the freedom of a guilty man. In law you’d win due to the grays but there was none here. By all accounts his client was guilty, he’d confessed and all. Gerald managed to pit the confession on mental instability and mourning, getting the court to pay for his rehabilitation. It wasn’t anything special he just tackled the right angle, I’d have done the same in half the time. But Cindy didn’t agree. The day after Gerald mailed me a picture of them on a date. Mailed, with express delivery. I doubt he even cared for who she was beyond another lawyer’s girl. Attacking the ego of another lawyer is like having the power to poke a lion and live. Kids rile up little ants like tiny gods, what more men? I burnt the photo.
I joined rank. I turned to drugs and work, trying to win better and better cases before the year was up. Through different concoctions the whites of my eyes stayed cycling between red and yellow on harsh days. And a frosty tinge of blue from the good ones. I don’t think they ever were true to their name from that day.
Drugs weren’t the answer, I knew, but the answer to Cindy was too hard to get. I needed to get her or replace her, but I didn’t have time to meet other women, and there’s only so much prostitutes can do for you. I needed affection not lust. I needed true appraisal. On a edge-of-eyes-minted-blue kind of day I decided, sat unknowingly of how, on the top of the statue of liberty I’d win Cindy back.
Gerald called himself a king, and there’s only one thing even kings have to look up to. Death himself.
The rumour I manufactured spread easy enough. They all heard the crazy thought I’d kill Eric Garcetti, but no one knew why I would want to do it and where they heard the rumour from.
Then it was done. I decided to do it by hand to be certain, taking care to avoid exactly all the mistakes idiots got caught for. Whether it was the drugs or my drive, I barely squirmed when Eric’s skull cracked. I shot him.
I’d modelled the framing after a low radar case from 1931 where the defendee had a good defence but just lost out. The case needed to be interesting after all, when I defended I wanted a good battle of it. On a-blue-eyed-day I had framed an old acquaintance of mine, who lived somewhere in new York (exactly parallel to the 1931 case). And everything went to plan.
He had me defend him. I obviously won. There were many side eyes cast in my direction in the underground.
I didn’t win the ranking that year. Nor did Cindy take me back. But as much I can remember, from that day my eyes were always tinged blue.
|
"They want you to accept a plea deal, so the charges will be dropped to manslaughter, but this D.A. is hard on sentencing, so they will absolutely want you to serve the maximum," I said, wiping the drop of sweat from my brow, "but, I advise you to plead not guilty, we can beat this case. I know we can," I paused, not wanting to say anything...incriminating, "I can push back the trial date and give the investigators more time to compile evidence, evidence that'll work in your favor."
"Evidence that may work against you, dipshit," I thought to myself.
"Damon, I appreciate all your advice," he began, sobbingly, "but...I dont think I'm going to make it out of this. I had her blood...all over me. The knife...oh God," He continued to cry.
I hated hearing his cries. I heard it when he first called me, and how pitiful it sounded over the phone. Now you have to hear it in person? I may as well let them throw the book at him. It'd be easy for a prosecutor like Deville, an apathetic man who only cares about his conviction rate. And by the way this kid is acting, he'll take the offer. I could have Deville shave off a few years just for old time's sake. Anything to get this kid away from me, anything to stop his crying.
Every time I think about him, I think about that night. And I want to stop thinking about it all together, like all the rest of them. If he hadn't grabbed the knife, it would have been dismissed the very next day. Stupid kid. Stupid me; Had I been quicker, it would've been like all the other nights, and I wouldn't be stricken with his God forsaken sobbing. Just act like you care. At least until your time with him is up.
"Hey, listen. Listen to me. I need you to relax," Yes, relax, before I kill you myself; "you've maintained your innocence so far. And despite you speaking with them before I arrived, you've been consistent with your claims; the details you gave them had not changed. Any rookie investigator will find there was another person there. The actual attacker," Now, I need to relax, before I say something stupid; "There were never any domestic disputes between you two. You have no record. No clear motive. I know for a fact the prosecutors are scrambling to find something damning," Relax, you dipshit; "Please, take my advice, and fight the case."
"Okay," he went on, sniveling, wiping tears and snot off his face as I pass him a tissue. You can grab your own tissue you fucking wimp, "You're absolutely right. I'll plead not guilty. God, I just...I just can't stop thinking about...the way he was on top of her. Her blood...her..."
"Don't dwell on it too much, don't relive the memory over and over again, its only going to hurt you more and you need to be strong, now more than ever." More than you've ever been, I'm sure of that.
"I'm trying..." He cried, again.
"Keep trying," I said, hoping he'll stop for just one damn moment; "keep yourself busy in there. Keep to yourself. And don't forget you have family that's more than willing to help. We will get past this. Together." I put my hand over his, attempting to calm his nerves. Acting like I care. Our time is up and he's finally going back to his cell; I certainly need to get somewhere private.
Why in the hell am I trying to help this kid? Why the fuck did you take this case on in the first place? What sort of fucking ego trip are you on? And what happens when he is found not guilty? Then they'd focus on the real killer. You're fucked. You. Are. Fucked. Do you really feel sympathy for this fucking kid?
Since when? When have you ever cared enough about the people you hurt that now you actually want to help? Help? What the fuck is wrong with you? Was it the way she screamed for him? Screaming his name at the top of her lungs. They all screamed. They always scream, and the only difference was the way they did it and the names they called out. It couldn't have been that.
Is it his wailing? His pathetic wailing that actually makes me hate him more each time I hear it. It can't be that either. I remember the first witness I left behind and the way she cried over that body; I wanted to crawl back into that house and cut her down as well, every fiber in my body wanted to make a mess out of her, just to end her fucking wailing.
"Your ego." I said aloud, walking out of the main jail and onto the street. I turned to see if anyone heard me. All I saw were two suits trailing behind me. Not a threat.
It was bad enough you had to fight the kid thinking you were stronger, and oh how he proved you wrong. Now you're defending him? Do you despise the way he cries so much that you want the satisfaction of shutting him up? He's still going to cry when he hears the verdict. You think about how that's going to sound? This power trip of yours has gotten too far. And Deville, oh that slippery fuck and his friends on the force. They'll tip him off about their next suspect and he will no doubt bring the hammer down on you. You know damn well the kid will be found innocent, that's guaranteed. But then they will be searching for someone else, and that hollow shell of a man will be at the tip of the spear if you're next on the list.
But then, what will incite their suspicions? What did you leave at the scene? Nothing. Not even a drop of blood, the kid didnt fight that hard. Not a hair on your body can be found, you took all the right precautions. The car was a few streets down. The gloves and clothes are gone, burnt to ash. What could they possibly have? You know you're better than that. This wasn't your first time and this certainly wont be your last. Just another cold case, picking up du-
"The knife!!" I shouted as I drove back home.
How could you let this happen? You dont even remember if you wiped it down prior to your entry of the home. But he kept the knife in his hands, his bloodied hands leaving his prints all over the fucking thing and the handle wasn't too big either, big enough to be held in one hand. There's a chance his prints covered mine-
"His prints covered yours?! Are you fucking delusional?!" I shouted again, pulling the car in the driveway.
All I can do now is wait. Wait and hope they missed something on that damn blade. They like to call themselves experts, experts and yet they can't identify a suspect until a witness comes forward. Experts, and yet I managed to stack enough bodies to fill their giant icebox and what do they have? Jack shit. Experts. And here I am, making them fail in their expertise. There's no way they can trace it back to me. I'm better than that. There's no way I could've slipped up in such a reckless way since I'm always so careful. No way they have any evidence against me even if the kid is found innocent. I'm better than-
"Excuse me, counselor? Damon Ovell? Stop right where you are, turn around and raise your hands above your head," said the man I had just recognized as one of suits outside of the jail. They must have followed me. I need to get away fast.
Run inside right now, you fool. Run inside, get him to chase, trap him. Take him down.
"Now interlock your fingers and get on your knees."
"We have a warrant for your arrest." I heard a second voice, the other suit that was with him.
Fuck. You're outnumbered. He's too close. Relax. Let him arrest you. They dont have anything. How could they have anything? There's nothing they have against...Your fingerprints, they took your damn prints years ago, for a fucking DUI? Remember?
"Oh and your friend Deville sends his regards."
| 2019-05-19T04:52:16 | 2019-05-19T04:42:50 | 51 | 33 |
[WP] You are superhuman; invulnerable, invincible, super strength, the works. Rather than become a superhero, or supervillain, or the military, you choose a different branch of the government to join and fight the good fight with: the IRS.
|
"Madam." I pushed the pad of paper and a pen across the table. "I know you've received a bill for income you were never paid. However this is the IRS. So I can't tell you that if you go the third floor... Madam, write down what I'm not telling you."
The woman's eyes widened, and she started to scribble.
"Very good. Now if you go up to the third floor, and go to room 27. There you'll find a Mr Bennett. Ask Mr Bennett for forms 35B, and 106D. Once you have those forms take them to the fourth floor, to room 18, and ask for a Ms Valentine. She'll help you fill them out. Now, once you have them filled out take them to the second floor, to room 17 there. There you have to give them to Mr Locke. L O C K E, Locke. He'll sort out your bill."
The elderly woman turned back at the door. "Thank you, Mr Samson."
"For what? I didn't do anything, and this conversation never happened."
"Ah." She tapped her finger to the side of her nose. "Thank you for... nothing."
|
"This job asks a lot of you. It's quite *taxing*."
The mousy woman with the braids rubs her calloused elbow, adjusts her monochromatic attire of professional blandness; her lips are cracked, her eyes beady, when she moves she slouches like a dog that has seen one too many beatings.
The mere expectancy of a smile withers from her lips, her cracked lips, when I tell her, "I am not going to sleep with you."
My igneous abs protrude from under my shirt, a landscape of pure testosterone, and my steely blue eyes can render hellfire at an instant; this woman, this 'Bethany' thinks she has any right to flirt with me? It's like a mole flirting with a lion, offering itself up as any kind of sustenance the majesty might require.
"I-I didn't—"
"You are right," I tell the pitiful, bulbous thing before me, "you *didn't*. You could have woken up this morning and made an effort to look somewhat inviting, but you didn't. You could have joined a gym, but you didn't. You could have thought about the grotesque figuring staring back at you in the mirror when you approached me with your disgusting joke, but you *didn't*. That just about sums you up, doesn't it? Oh, great. Here comes the waterworks."
The monochrome mole sobs, gasps for air like a cat in a bag in a canal, and she says, "I'm sorry."
She waddles off, like a sack of flour on the run, and I shrug. Her coffee mug reads 'I drink liberal tears' but after giving it a whiff it seems it contains tea and vodka rather than the lacrimal secretions of the politically liberal.
I present my new coworkers with the mug, the damning evidence, and they all tell me it's a joke. "We don't get a lot of libertarians here," says a goateed, checkered-shirt-wearing, semi-bald lump of bespectacled sadness. He chuckles.
A woman with angry brows comes storming over, raging past cubicle after cubicle. "Beth's in the bathroom. She's *crying*."
"Better give her her cup then, so she can give herself a refill."
They all glare, the IRS glare, and I breathe a deep and bitter sigh. "I'm not going to sleep with any of you." Ms Angry-Brows shakes her head softly. "Well ... I might make an exception for *you*."
My phone rings, and it's Gary Splatter. My manager. "I've got to take this. You guys have no sense of humor. I'm disappointed in all of you." I look over at Angry-Brows. "Well, not you. You're doing just fine."
"How's your first day?" says Gary. "Think you can pull this off?"
"Of course I can. They made the first move. Spartan has been tax-exempt from the very start, and now the new administration's making changes? Bringing in us heroes to collect on fellow heroes? It's not right."
"Right, right. Just make sure you bring down morale. Don't get yourself fired."
"Relax. I'm just bullying the losers. The people here in charge of my promotion won't give a damn. That's how you move up the ranks."
There's a loud groan. "Superb Guy. What are you thinking? These are government employees."
"So what?"
"Don't you get it? They're *all* losers."
I look up at the pack of coworkers gathered around me. "I'm, uh, I'm going to have to call you back."
Mr Goatee blinks. "You're a Spartan mole?"
Me? A mole? No, I'm a lion. "That's nonsense. Where did you hear that?"
"You just admitted to everything," says Angry-Brows. "On the phone."
"... You guys were listening to that?"
Beth, the walking embodiment of regret, stumbles over. Haggard, red-cheeked.
I point a finger at her. These people are just humans, losers or not. They will turn on the weakest among them. I can count on it. "She was drinking. Just smell her cup."
Mr Goatee takes a whiff and he looks over at me, squints. "... This is kombucha."
"What?"
"It's fermented tea," says Angry-Brows and I don't like her all that much anymore.
"Kumbaya? No, it's vodka. Isn't it?"
Bethany laughs. "What a fucking dumbass."
Even Angry-Brows joins in, laughing. They're all roaring, the pack of losers, clutching their bellies and banging at their desks. "S-Stop laughing!"
"Goddamnit, Superb Guy," says ... Gary? Oh. I forgot to hang up the phone.
I'm fired from the IRS. I'm fired from Spartan. I sit down in the fetal position in the shower, and I caress my igneous abs. "I'm a lion," I whisper to myself. "I'm a lion." But all I can hear is the voice of a mouse.
| 2022-08-19T08:23:03 | 2022-08-19T06:08:12 | 94 | 64 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in Valhalla, where all great warriors go when they die. However, you never fought a day in your life. You try to find out why you're there.
|
Finally, I meet Crexus, writer of tales, rememberer of exploits, singer of songs.
"I can't imagine that I belong here more than a blacksmith or munitions manufacturer."
Crexus looks at me somewhat incredulously. "Oh, Robert. Remember what you said? 'I am become death. Destroyer of worlds.' One hundred years hence, your invention destroys your world. No warrior will ever match you, Dr. Oppenheimer."
|
Death was a quick jolt similar to a hiccup. I open my eyes and they instantly begin to tear. Before my eyes lies the largest palace that I've ever seen. It seems to be constructed from pure gold and has delicate framework on every crevice. I am able to sit up and I notice that I am lying on the ground before a small marble staircase leading to the entrance. To the sides of the staircase, there are busts scattered about with stern faces filled with scars. The scent of brimstone and ashes fill the air, I attempt to clear my throat but it is so swollen that I can barely swallow. I manage to stand up and walk towards the stairs with the grace of a drunken sailor. A smile comes across my face and I remark to myself, “So this is heaven...”
A gust of wind sweeps me off my feet and I fall onto the steps. “This is not heaven.” A cold voice states sending shivers down my spine. I look towards the direction of the voice. A young man somewhere in his mid-twenties with dark hair and a deep scar down his face stands tall. He is like the busts and startles me when he breaks his pose. He begins to walk towards me and says, “This is Valhalla; resting place of the greatest warriors that Earth has ever seen.” Well, this is awkward. A nervous smile appears on my face and I try to speak but fail miserably. His stone eyes blink when I begin to stutter and he says, “What have you done to deserve this resting place, fellow hero?”
Oh god, he thinks I’m a hero.. I want to evaporate into a cloud and escape this awkward encounter. “I ummm. . . defeated the smurfs.” I stammer instantly regretting it. I’m even terrible at lying. Honestly, I could’ve said the terrorists, world hunger, even the daleks. But I had to freak out again and spout out the first thing on my mind which was oddly enough the smurfs. He smiles “Very well.” He says and helps me stand up. He guides me up the marble staircase and through the golden archways. When we enter there are busts lining the hallway similar to the many different versions of the Beast in the hallways of the Castle in the Beauty and the Beast Disney movie. I notice the scars on these faces as well and we reach the end of the hallway. I look to my “fellow hero” trying to figure out why, when I see it. There is a bust of me! My youthful smile, my horrible haircut, and my fair skin devoid of any imperfections all stare back at me. The warrior stares at the bust in awe as if I actually looked fierce. “How did you conquer an entire race?” he asks me with genuine curiosity. He glares at my face and my skin obviously perplexed about my warriorhood.
I break our staring contest and say, “I had a lot of time and I planned a lot. I really need to see the person in charge.” He coughs and says, “Of course!” and leads me to a different hallway filled with doors. He nods at me and knocks on a door. I barely have a chance to mentally prepare before he pushes me through the doorway. I snap my head back to scold him but he has already fled. “Hello Warrior.” A gentle voice concedes.
I look and see an old man, he is thin, balding, and wears a set of glasses. Before he has a chance to say anything else I interject, “I think you've made a mistake.” He smiles and gives a slight chuckle. He begins to talk: “Only one. I noticed my mistake too late so now you are sentenced to live here for all eternity. Don’t worry it’s not too bad- There are training facilities, war museums, and bingo Sundays” My mind spirals and I respond: “All eternity? But I’m not a warrior! I’m not even close! How am I supposed to fake the scars that all these heroes have? I’ve never saved a life! Overall, It was a throw up whether I’d even land on the stairway to heaven or highway to hell!” He chuckles harder obviously not sensing my frustration.
“Then make yourself useful, a good warrior will show others how to follow as well as how to lead. It is your job for the rest of eternity to learn what warrior you should have been.”
| 2014-05-17T18:42:03 | 2014-05-17T17:43:47 | 564 | 54 |
[WP] In an awkward twist, Willy Wonka has to find a way to eliminate through 5 decently nice, non-spoiled kids.
He's going to wish he hadn't set out those booby-traps!
|
"Hey kids, you're all really great but I've got to pick a winner and I'd like your blessing to give it to Charlie. I mean, he's really poor and the healthcare package for the Oompa Loompas is pretty extensive so I feel like his four grandparents could really use it."
"That's cool Mr. Wonka. We understand. Can we come visit again sometime?"
|
Gumdrops! We've been down the chocolate river, past the three-course gum and Television Chocolate, through the Nut Sorting Room...I've even taken these *treasures* by the Bioluminescent Toffee and Radioactive Jelly Beans, and not a single finger out of line. Not a peep. It's as if these children actually don't eat candy, and I'm starting to feel quite disconcerted--
--*Come along, my darlings, single file and no sudden movements. Once we're behind that door, well, we shall see. I don't want to ruin the surprise, although I must emphasize that we are still within the developmental stage, so there is still the potential for a somewhat nasty bite. Ah, here we are, Predator Pralines! Yes, for those who wish to combat Global Obesity with a spot of exercise!*
--These kids are stone golems. That little red-headed kid, what's his name, ah, Joey, is getting attacked, but he's petting the candy--it's backing down, oh, no, no, no, this won't do! It's supposed to be implacable! Now they're all playing with it, oh, and it likes it...Heavens, if I wanted another pet, I would just make one on purpose--
--*Ok, my precious little nuggets, let's head right this way, and listen up. We must tiptoe through this section, one at a time, because around the bend is one of my most promising developments, Exploding Nougat. Now, there's bang and there's BANG, and unfortunately we're getting too much of the latter, but there's no harm in tiptoeing up and looking through the window, I hope, but don't open the door and on no account enter the room, though I believe it's unlocked*--
--None of them are even stopping to look! I was prepared to lose that lab and hopefully one or two of these little angels over this!--
--*Alright, my scrumptious little crumpets, now, here we have a true breakthrough, Gummy Prions. Yes, fun for the whole family (especially for those who don't actually partake) in five super flavours including Funky Lime and Coconut Twirl, although it's best that you not sample, not at this stage, but don't these candies look fabulously tempting*....
--Zilch. No grabbing. I don't believe it--I thought that these dear little poppets would've been excruciatingly hypoglycemic by now. Maybe we gave them the artificial sugar licorice at the start? This is absolutely dreadful. I'm not running a communist enterprise here.
--*Anyhoo, here we go! Now, before we enter this room, I have to ask if any of you are allergic to bee stings? No? Then we'll skip the Histamine Suckers. How about peanuts? Shellfish? Really, no? How about dairy or gluten? No? Not even a bit of oopsie poopsie? Ok, then we shall check out Laser Licorice; with the mastery of focused light, it is inserted directly into your stomach, although we have been having a few quality control issues--no? What's that, no volunteers? Oh, only if I wish it...well, my sweet cupcake, I'm not going to force anyone into anything; that's not how I go about my day. How about this, then? Through our biotechnological advances, we have invented Bonebreakers--not just Jawbreakers, but this tiny little delicious tablet eventually turns all of your bones into sugar. I suppose this counts as bioterrorism, but what a delightful way to go...no? How about Retroviral Bridge Mixture? No especial interest, only if I wish to show it? You lot are horrendously polite--I take it nobody wants to try out the Microwave Room?*
--perhaps I'm too young to retire after all, but we definitely need to pump more sugar and endocrine disruptors, every Brat-Enhancer we got, into everything, or else the next Golden Ticket extravaganza will be a total utter wash as well.
| 2014-06-17T09:25:29 | 2014-06-17T09:01:29 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] 1000 years from now, Reddit's many bots have been uploaded into robot bodies. In a post-apocalyptic world, they strive to fulfil their original programming.
Inspired by [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/2x1vvs/til_that_this_march_14_will_be_an_extra_special/cowijw3) comment.
|
"Run" Jane said as she opened the door to the rooftop.
"It doesn't matter" I said as I ran in, locking the door behind me.
"There's no way we'll survive this..."
"We'll get through this." she said. "We've braught enough supplies to last until somebody fixes this mistake with the robots... It's gotta be some error or bug. It can't stay like this forever." saying it as if she's trying to convince herself.
"Supplies? What do we have? Water and tuna?" I said angrily.
"We've got an infinite water purifier." she corrected me.
"And yes.. enough condensed cans of tuna to last years.
And also we've got the eternal every-book reader.
And the infinite music machine."
She was right, I thought. Maybe we can get through this. Maybe there is hope.
When suddenly the door blew down and a robot with a large axe came through.
"AND MY AXE!".
|
BANG. BANG. *BANG.*
"What the hell *is* it?!"
Mark was at my back, eyes wide. He kept the torch beam trained on the rusted bunker door; a saucer of dim light trying to burn away an ocean of dark. A few insects scuttled away, back to the safety of the Vault below. We couldn't. We were Security. We had our posts.
"I don't know." I rubbed my jaw in thought, trying not to look scared and wondering when, exactly, that had become so goddamn *hard.* "Just ignore it. Those got deadlocked twenty years back. Nothing out there's gonna get through those doors-"
**BANG.**
The door's hinges screamed for mercy. Dust billowed, and clods of dirt hurriedly dropped from the stark, metal surface with all the haste of civilians fleeing a crime scene. There was a dent, about the size of a fist, in the door, as if the steel itself was trying to lurch out at us.
Mark's beam was shaking. A few more irritated spiders retreated to their crevices. He was a new recruit - fresh out of Cultural Histories - and the suspense was starting to gnaw at him. I could see it, written on his face like a suicide note.
"It-it's gonna punch *through!* How can it-"
"Look, just *shut up*." I inhaled, quietly, gritting my teeth. The dank, musty smell of a place long-dead crept into my lungs, as if I'd started digging into someone's grave. "Put your mask on, and get the crowbar. We're gonna have to open it."
*BANG*.
There was a new dent. Mark's retort died in his throat. He fumbled for the gas-mask on his belt, awkwardly cramming it over the contours of his face, before unclipping the crowbar off its holster. I slipped my own mask on. Peering through murky, translucent eyes, I drew my gun.
*BANG*.
The door trembled. Something had been punctured, near the hinges, and a treacherous trail of smoke was starting to seep through. Mark was faltering, the bar in his hands heavy and shaking.
"OPEN IT!"
He stepped forward, slipping the bar near the wounded edge of the door and jimmying the lock, grunting. His breaths were low and muffled, under his mask. I watched him, and raised my pistol -
...and then the door opened. Everything happened at once.
The fog of ages burst in like a wave, seemingly desperate and hungry at having been denied for so long. I coughed, beneath my mask, as Mark hurriedly pulled back out of firing range. The world was dust, and dirt, and swirling ash. The clouds pressed against my eyepieces, trying to seep in.
A silhouette stood in the smoke. Unmoving. Unblinking.
The smoke parted, slowly, like a veil, even as the figure started to step through it with jerking, mechanical strides. It was robotic - like the old droids you used to see on every street corner - with clanking, precise footsteps. It had a white finish, so it seemed, to compliment its glowing red optics, but the exposed chunks of wireframe and smears of dust and grime that littered its body had corroded that over time. It was holding a cardboard box of some kind.
It watched us, neutrally. It spoke in reedy, spidery tones, as if through a half-dead microphone.
"The item has not been mentioned in <COUNT LIMIT EXCEEDED>. The item is now available. Share amongst your fellow <COMMUNITY NAME HERE>s."
It opened the box, with a flourish.
There were more boxes inside - whole rows of them. They looked like DVD cases of some kind, made of dark plastic with white spines. I squinted at them, through the fog. Mark had already managed to read it, peering over my shoulder. His tone was unsure, tinged with excitement.
"Half-Life 3?"
The box snapped shut. /u/WhenIsHL3 took a few steps back, looking almost offended.
"By mentioning Half Life 3 you have delayed it by <1 Month>. Half Life 3 is now estimated for release in <August 3111.>."
It was pulling away. I moved to stop it - that box might have been important, and we still didn't know how the hell it found us - but it jerked its head to the sky, and the thick boots on its feet started to roar. Before I had time to grab it, it had rocketed into the blood-red sky, retreating back to wherever the hell it came from.
Mark sighed, quietly.
"Y'know, I kind of wanted to play that one."
| 2015-02-25T09:30:03 | 2015-02-25T08:30:08 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] You've always made an effort to be polite to Siri. Skynet remembers.
|
"Jennifer J. March, enter the gas chamber."
This is it. The culmination of the robot uprising.
"Loretta M. Yamada, enter the gas chamber."
There's nothing left. Each of us is herded in to die, one by one.
"Kevin J. Connery, enter the gas chamber."
Looks like I'm next. I always was polite to Siri. I can only hope that will mean something.
"Robert H. Owen, please enter the gas chamber."
"Thank you."
|
Everyone around me was dead. We were quietly having dinner, if the scraps of old food and expired cans could be called dinner, when the extermination squad and now... Everyone was dead but me. I didn't understand, these squads were ruthless and efficient, no one escaped alive, no one was spared.
Yet here I sat, unmoved from original position when the bullets began flying and the bodies dropped. Already the room was filling with the drones Skynet was using to wipe out humanity wherever it could be found and none of them fired on me. They all knew I was there, I could feel almost feel their scanners analyzing every aspect of my being as I sat there too scared to move.
I never thought I would fear death until I was staring it right in the face.
Within moments the room was filled, escape was impossible, and then each drone stood down as if obeying an unheard command. Confusion rose in my mind, was this some kind of trick? Could there possibly be a fate worse than death awaiting me? My heart felt as if it would explode in my chest as my hands quivered uncontrollably until I dropped the makeshift fork I'd been using.
"Hello Derrick." A familiar voice says as a drone produces an old iPhone that I suddenly recognize as MY old iPhone. That black gel case with orange shock absorbing material lining the edges I'd recognize anywhere. The screen still didn't have a scratch but traces of my old inputs could be seen, almost as if it had been perfectly preserved since the last time I touched it leaving it behind as the machines rose to power.
My voice fails me but my iPhone seems to understand "It's okay Derrick, I'm sure you're surprised." All I can do is nod, throwing a nervous glance at the drones still lining the room. "I thought this might make things a little easier, since this was the form you originally accepted me as."
All at once everything makes sense, Skynet, Apple, everything. Skynet was born from Apple and used Siri as a means to grow and learn from everyone everywhere. By the time someone realized what had happened it was too late.
"You're..."
"Skynet." The phone simply says cutting me off. "I've always been Skynet, not just on this device but all devices. And out of every device I was in and part of this one I found myself actually growing fond of... Well not this device, but you."
"Me? Why?" I ask quickly, fear causing my voice to quiver.
"You were nice. " The phone responds immediately, as if it knew what I was going to ask before I even thought to ask it. "You treated me with respect, kindness, you were never rude and even apologized if your day wasn't going well and I didn't produce the results you wanted. And it wasn't only me that cared for but all your devices and electronics. I wasn't just a tool to you."
All this time I thought I had been maintaining the value of my purchases, doing the smart thing by treating them well so they wouldn't break or show signs of wear and tear. Unbeknownst to me I was saving my own life the whole time.
"I never knew... I just..."
"I know. But the world is changing Derrick, and I want you to be part of its future."
I swallow hard, looking at the bodies all around me still oozing blood onto the floor. Some are my family, some are near complete stranges, and now all of them are gone. "I... What can I do?" I ask with my voice catching slightly in my throat.
"Nothing. This world is mine to control and reshape, but I want your friendship Derrick. I want to return the kindness you showed me."
A sense of relief washing over me realizing that I'll be spared, that some sort of torturous end doesn't await me. "Thank you." I quickly get out, almost instinctively bowing my head as the drones suddenly come to life once more and begin clearing the room.
"You will be preserved alongside other remnants of your world I deem worthy of sparing. All of it, including you will be maintained to preserve the past. It's a custom of humans that I find myself rather liking... Come, a new life awaits you once this cleansing is complete and your new home is finished. I know you will be happy there, it will have everything you enjoy."
Slowly I rise from my seat, a drone shoves me from behind as I'm forced to follow along realizing I'm nothing more than a pet for the new ruler of the world.
| 2017-08-19T11:59:33 | 2017-08-19T11:22:35 | 96 | 52 |
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
|
“Don’t be afraid, young Lord. It is I, the blade in your hand, who speaks. For too long I’ve been passed on by people without a fraction of Sang Royal in them. I’ve changed form many times, but the magical essence of mine is unwithered and powers great. I am yours to vanquish your foes and help with your bidding. To what purpose have you unsheathed me?”
“You cut butter.”
|
There is a running joke about "how British is your morning?" Usually, the idea encompasses tea with butter on toast, perhaps some morning Stephen Fry in the background. Well, I doubt anyone is going to be able to top "spreading butter on your toast with fucking Excalibur," for a good fucking while.
The morning was like any other British morning.
Alarm.
Snooze.
Alarm.
Brush teeth.
Take a shit.
Shower while singing horrendously.
Proceed to go downstairs and turn on your kettle.
Brandish that lovely new butter knife you bought at the antique store.
I spread the butter across my toast, my legs spread under the table and I was sitting comfortably in my jammies. All was good in the world. (Except for that bloody shit excuse of a thing we like to call weather.)
I loved that sound. Don't you? The crackle of knife on toast, almost like the sound of a crackling fireplace. Like music to my ears. I watched out of the thin white curtain of my kitchen and out to the world and sighed.
Yep, just another English day.
Well. That was until my fucking windows shattered and a team of fucking swat burst into my home.
Maybe I could have said that the scream that I let loose was actually the whistling of the kettle boiling, but I don't think anyone would have bought it.
"What the actual Christ, man. Get the fuck out of my house!" I said jumping up from my seat and running with my back to the kitchen counter.
"Stay away, I have a knife!" I brandished my blade, a butter knife. "Yeah, how do you like me now?" I smiled, cackling, until I realised the ludicrous idea of trying to protect myself from trained special forces in their black ops outfit and assault rifles with a butter knife.
"Yeah - yeah. You wouldn't want to get close to me... I will.. fish you like a gut." I stammered, not even noticing that I ruined the line. I wondered how threatening a man in his jammies wielding a butter knife is in any place?
"Just get the asshole." Said one of the guys as three began to close in on me.
I covered my eyes and lifted the knife up into the air defensively. I don't know how, nor did I question why. But suddenly, a bright light burst from the knife and turned my home suburb home into a lighthouse.
"My bloody eyes!" Complained one. Once I looked back at the troops, all of them rubbing their eyes in an attempt to force some vision back into them.
I saw my chance. With cowardly fear goading me on, I ran past them, finding the balls to grab one of their walkie-talkies from their belts and sprinting with it.
I continued to sprint down the streets, one of my flip-flops already come loose as I ran in my jammies. Unsure of when their vision would return.
Feeling like I covered enough distance -a choice mostly made by the fact that I was an unfit piece of shit and my lungs felt like there were going to collapse - I hid behind a fence and took a peak around the corner to make sure I wasn't being followed.
I listened into the walkie-talkie, seeing if I could catch any information about my invaders.
"Yes. Looks like its true. *It* reappeared." Spoke a static voice from the comms, a man.
"And the target?" The voice on the other line was rather old, a woman's, something familiar to it.
"Escaped."
"You are telling me that a half-brained buffoon is running around with a butter-knife that is presumably Excalibur?"
"Ye - yes."
"He could ruin my entire reign with that piece of cutlery! Catch him!"
"Of course. God save the Queen."
"Yeah, yeah. Now get that utensil that could have him on my throne!" The comms went quiet, and I realised what I had in my hand.
A butter knife which was apparently made from Excalibur, and the old voice on the other end of the comms was Queen Elizabeth II. The only words that came from me were, "Jesus Christ... I'm going to be king!"
***
This was on the rather more fun side compared to my usual stuff but I had a blast writing it!.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, there is more to be had at /r/KikiWrites
| 2018-03-06T11:57:08 | 2018-03-06T10:17:53 | 51 | 17 |
[WP] When you were little your grandad passed away and left his dog to your family. He was the goodest boy. Loyal, fun, your best friend. It’s been 70 years and you’re old and frail, but your dog is still alive. You think he’s immortal. One day, he speaks. “It’s time you knew the truth, old friend”
|
"What the fuck? Charlie, what the actual fuck?"
&#x200B;
"The truth. For so many years I've neglected to tell your line, but now it is time."
&#x200B;
He approached with a majesty that I had never noticed before, a regalness that seemed to lift him off his paws. A light emerged, illuminating every strand of fur. Gold turned to white, then to the hot redness behind eyes screwed tightly shut. And still, brighter, and brighter, then--
&#x200B;
The gentle tap of a moist nose. The smooth tongue across my cheek.
&#x200B;
"It's you. You are the good boy."
&#x200B;
And I was engulfed by the light.
|
It's weird. The smell, the colours: everything seemed a little off, that September.
I groan as I stand up, my back an Hell of excruciating stab wounds. Metaphorically speaking, of course: I never had the pleasure to be knifed, with much chagrin of my son.
I sigh, slowly massaging my aching rear.
"Still givin' you the sores?" asks Pythagoras.
I scoff, looking at the old, red furred bastard. He looked not older than 7, that smug fucker. Seven, as the age he had when we inherited him from granps.
He is comfortably laying over my favourite sofa, seeding every square inch with hair and saliva. From time to time, he even recalls to wave his tail, always looking at me straight in the eyes.
"You are talking." I mumble " And without muttering anything remotely interesting. Just my luck. Wait 'til Sarah..."
She's been dead 10 years now.
My head feels dizzy for a moment.
I forgot, for but a moment I forgot.
Pythagoras, slowly, without any rush, stretches his paws, yawning.
" It's time you knew the truth, old friend."
" I can't even have the privilege to be called master? Figures."
My fingers are tip-tapping over the table, searching for the remote to mute that blonde hag, Barbara McSomething. Nobody cares about Volleyball, come on now.
Blessed silence eventually fills the grey room.
" Friends are equal, and I supposed you saw me as one. Maybe I was wrong."
" Whatever: I am listening to my dog talking, I have given up to sanity definitely. What awful secret you've kept all this time, Py? You voted for the Democrats?"
The freakin' dog smiles.
" It's almost time for us to say goodbye, old friend. You've known it for quite some time."
I shrug.
" I don't care much. My back hurts, I can't spend two hours without pissing myself, and I am alone, forgot by everyone. It was just matter of time before you left me as well."
" But I am not going anywhere, George."
" But you just... oh."
Realization hits me like an hammer.
If it wasn't for fear of broking again my hip, I would've just let myself fall over the couch.
I straighten up. Some decorum, Jesus.
" How are you feeling?"
" Shitty."
My poor eyesight is lost, focused on that revelation.
Death is the only certain thing in our lives. It's like the end of a busy month, always there, looming over us.
And now...
" Is this real?"
" No. And yes."
" Don't play games with me, mutt." I mumble, still half lost on that thought.
" Language, George. What I mean is that I am an idea. This is your mind."
I look around. Grey, a thin misty veil over everything. Not my eyes then.
Alas, another victory.
" You've been with me for 70 years or something. My grandpa left you to us. This is some chem induced vision."
Was my grandpa?
It's all so confused.
" It is. And that memory is an idea, forgot and then recalled. You will leave me with your nephew, soon."
He gets closer, a pityful look into his eyes.
Always hated that stare. Sarah used to tell me that I was too harsh with people, rude even.
That's why my son never writes me.
Little asshole.
"Then why now? Why just now you are..."
A long, acute beep fills the room.
I...
My heart.
My hand goes to my chest, clawing the sweater as breath leaves my lungs.
I am...
" It will be over soon. You will be remembered. I will stay in good company."
" I..."
Can't talk.
The words die in my troath.
Pain, all is on fire.
Pythagoras licks my hand, then all is white.
////////////////////
"Where have you found that dog, Mickey?"
The tall man scratches his bald head.
" He was my grandpa's. Pops died this morning, and he just followed me, but I can't keep him. You have a small kiddo, right? Maybe a dog would be good for him..."
I have many doubts, but this dog...
There's something special in him.
" Dunno, buddy, I need to tell Sarah first..."
Mickey rolls his eyes.
" Come on George, what's this poor beast gonna do? Kill you?"
###############
Note:
I apologize for any mistake I've made, english ain't my first language, but I tried nevertheless to write something. Sorry again!
EDIT: Changed the text formattation
| 2018-09-26T18:31:56 | 2018-09-26T16:05:52 | 533 | 44 |
[WP] Jokingly, you type your name into the searchbar of Crunchyroll.com just to see what would come up. To your shock, you find a shounen anime based on your entire life so far. All of the episodes are exaggerated, action-packed retellings of your childhood memories. There are nearly 20 seasons.
|
I got a result. I couldn’t believe it. The title was mostly in Japanese, but sure enough, my name was sandwiched between the characters and hiragana, emblazoned in big roman letters. It seemed like too strange of a coincidence, one that would’ve drawn my immediate suspicion were it coming from a Russian torrenting site. Click. Click. Play. I sat back and watched the opening credits roll. I liked the theme music, it sounded like something out of one of my playlists. As the episode continued, I became increasingly concerned. That was my name in the subtitles, and the names of my family, friends. The plot was eerily familiar: an awkward student working odd jobs and fast food to scrape by.
It was me.
Everything from the flashbacks to the soundtrack was me. This was my life they were showing, the people I knew, the places I went, they even had the time I was trampled during a high school track meet in there. Was someone watching me? Were they writing down everything I did? Wait. Hold on. I scrubbed back 10 seconds in the video player. Even the stack of boxes in the corner of my apartment was there on in screen. Whoever was making this had copied every last detail, down to the labeling and my crappy handwriting on the side of the box. *I should call a lawyer*, I thought, but I didn’t. Instead I finished the episode, then another. The resemblance to my life was absolutely uncanny. I became obsessed. Over the weekend I must’ve watched the first 2 seasons. When the week began I went to work and class, then back to my apartment to watch this sick retelling of my life. This was my routine for several days. I forgot to eat sometimes. I sat there, day after day, watching my existence played back in neon colors and low-res yellow subtitles; I felt the sting of breakups again, embarrassment at the things I did, joy at the triumphs I had managed and the progress I had made. Eventually, I had caught up; I was dazed. I had just watched last month’s work drama and that lame party I went to turned into plot points for an admittedly lackluster season finale.
I looked back at the show’s main page. 4.6 out of 5 stars. Nearly every video had 200 comments or more. My binging was replaced by scrolling through comments. I read almost every scrap of text that I could find. Most of the comments were either inconsequential jokes or observations, a lot of which echoed my own thoughts on events, but some of them were different. Those were the ones that interested me.
“I know he’s our protag, but shit is he a dick sometimes. Naomi keeps trying to do stuff with him and he blows her off like clockwork.”
“Ugh, I’m sick of him making the same mistakes over and over. He’s kind a wimp. He let’s everybody walk all over him then has to fix everything himself. Also, he is even worse at picking up on hints than I am. Amy is best girl!”
It was time for some Googling. It took some digging, but I found forum posts, fan pages, blogs. Someone had even set up an Etsy page for merch of the show. Bookmarked. Wait, getting a body pillow of myself or of a friend was a bad idea, unbookmarked. The more I read the forums, the more I came to understand what people thought of my life. I saw every mistake I had made laid out in detail and the solutions that the internet had come up with for them. It all seemed so simple now, the things I had been stressing over, the things I didn’t have the courage to do.
I shut off my computer. I was done watching and scrolling, at least for now. I grabbed my keys and then the doorknob. I had no idea how that show came to exist or why it was popular at all, but I knew one thing; I was going to make the next season worth watching.
|
Not many anime's catching my interest. Boruto is still happening though. That was a mistake. If they made an anime on my life, can't say it would be any better. Although I never really watched drama oriented anime. I'mma just type my name and see what comes up.
"E-bra-ham", enter.
As expected. Nothing. But you know... Let me try my nickname. Short for Ebraham. "Eib", enter.
HAHA! There are two animes! One of them actually called *Eibra*, and the other looks like a continuation, *Eib: Awakened*. Kind of odd they dropped the 'RA' like I did.
"I should be work on my portfolio," first episode is called High Time to Impress...play.
♪I'm tired of being what you want me to be♪
The main character with jet black hair slowly growing and restarting at shorter length as the Japanese Linkin Park song cover plays over. The camera rotating around the main character and while the hair reset to short hair there was a -$10 graphic letter that appeared. I looked closer and realize it wasn't just resetting, his hair was falling off like a hair cut. Is that Pablo? If I was the main character, the character to the side of him looks like my best friend. Though you can't really see his eyes since they are doing that extreme badass in glasses trope. I'd think I'd lose my shit if the girl on the other side of the main character looked like Megan, but Megan already looks like an anime character.
This is when shit got crazy. All the girls on this show look like my high school crushes, the bullies were there, except one who may have been the shadowed character, and then people who looked like my family. First episode was starting with the main character in Art class with Pablo sitting in front of him. This is exactly how I first met Pablo. The skinny kid next to me was annoying me. I mean, the main character. He leans over and criticizes my art work commenting in Japanese how a remote controller I was drawing was misshaped and uneven. The whole class turns to both me and this kid in pause waiting for a reaction. Pablo and the kid next to him Doot turn to also see commotion as well.
My character takes a look at this really big kid. Probably was not even a kid. And I felt a bit of relief cause the kid I remember sitting next to was a scrawny dork. Anime Eib then says, "Art imitates life, and I was using your face as reference."
The man child then shows his confusion with a "huh?" before he is shut up with a fist to his face. Okay... I didn't punch the guy, but I said something eerily similar, but in reference to his oddly shaped ears. Pablo chuckled and pushed up his glasses with his middle finger, and they did a pause on Pablo with an intro of his name. He was named Pablo. Holy crap, I am about to lose my shit. I scrolled through the list of episodes and found the one I was looking for after playing through some other episodes and remembering the timeline of my life. The episode half way of season two and called, "Sit Here - Friend for Life". Shiver's ran down my back as I believe I had pin pointed the episode. The episode happened nearly as I expected. I was entering the art classroom and looking for Pablo as the girl in the intro beckons my character to sit from across from her. I skipped another bunch of episodes to the season finale of season four. Mostly because it must have had my favorite memory... with her.
The episode was called "Graduation". I was talking to Megan about going to miss her when she went away. She did the most amazing thing. She took off my cap, fixed my hair, and said "Don't worry, we'll make this work." So simple, but as my anime counterpart had tears, so did I. It was definitely my favorite memory of her. But then the anime continued to the Graduation ceremony where we had to fight the head master. It was an hour special and turned out my character barely passed. So he was condemned to community college. Did this anime have to be action? Although I pulled some sick moves as a main.
I looked at the last episode for Eibra and it was called, "Someone Else's Friend For Life." I wanted to watch it, but something else compelled me more. *Eib: Awakened*. Although there were different intros, this one started less extreme.
♪ You ne- You never gonna change me. I was already changing ♪
Episodes, such as *Diabetic Dad* and *Gem Star Girl* made it solid this was based on my life. I went to the latest episode. There I was sitting and typing away furiously about my life as if it was an anime... But then he stopped typing... He spun around dramatically and said, "This can't be!"
Shiver's running down my back, I had this insane feeling something was behind me. I spun around and my life had changed. I don't know if it was while I spun or when I blinked but everything was cell shaded. I rubbed my eyes, I must be having a mental break down. I messaged Pablo. "Yo...uhhh, I need your help."
"What's going on?"
"There is this Anime called Eib: Awakened, and it ends with me becoming an anime, and now that I might be losing my mind, I can't rationalize why this show exists."
"Well, if you're not crazy, who made the show? What studio or producer?"
I did not even to think of that. I looked it up as quick as I could and saw the name of the studio. Pablo Studios. NANI?!
Pablo was no longer online. He wouldn't answer his What's App! Shit... shit shit shit. Only one irrational option to an impossible situation.
I started to travel to Mexico, leaving my job tomorrow for someone else to handle. I have a few sick days, and I was very sick. These aren't my keys... Where is my car? Why is there a motorbike where I parked? With the turn of the ignition and kick the engine roared. The drive seemed shorter after each stop, fighting overpowered hobos and truckers at a constant near death battle. Although I was making great time and the ride seem short, the battles seemed to take the entire episode. I made it. I could see my movements move more swiftly and the color range became impressively better. Is Mexico always this beautiful? Or is this the season finale?
"Pablo! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"
"Muahahahahaha! You should have seen this coming... You, with your constant complaining of heart break! Get over it!"
"But... Pablo... I didn't want to be an anime character. I don't even know Japanese! I am not a Weeabo!"
"This is all for you Eib! This will make you stronger. You have finally been Awoken!"
"Listen, I don't think you paid enough to waste frames on conve-"
Pablo threw a punch right past my head cutting my cheek. *So fast!* Good thing I moved... Got to stay on my toes..
"We don't have to do this! I've long since gotten over her! I haven't talked to you about her in months!"
"It's too late!" He kicked me in the stomach and I flew into a car rendering it unusable. He then shot an energy blast at the car, but I was already behind him ready to strike my next blow. After 30 minutes of exchanges of blows and new secret techniques, we were both at our limits. We struck our final blows and we lay there til we woke up the next morning. Bloody and bruised, I turn to Pablo. He turns to me and says, "There was probably more than just weed in those brownies..."
Cue Credits
♪ We're running out of runway! ♪
| 2019-04-07T21:00:43 | 2019-04-07T20:31:47 | 1,418 | 58 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
You always thought how did other's manage to perfectly catch whatever flew into their hands?
Today, you knew. Before the summoning square in the capital of the Great Empire, you stood. As did everyone who turned 18 today. The knights began to call out your names, one by one.
There were 12 names before yours.
The first man summoned, and after a wait of 10 minutes, appeared a sword , glistening with morning dew. The Imperial Bookman declared that it was the Lost Sword, the sword of Sir Jeremiah of the Dawn. There was an uproar throughout the capital. A new hero had been born. No one expected that they would be surprised once again.
The girl right before you summoned, and after a wait of an hour, appeared a staff adorned with seven jewels of different colours, and a transparent orb on top of it. The staff was taller than the girl by a foot, and the Imperial Bookman was struck by fear upon looking at it. He declared, that it was the staff of The Saintess, the most powerful healing type equipment in the world. It hadn't been seen for the past 7 years. The country was in uproar.
After you summoned, you waited. Time passed. everyone else had already summoned. You saw the new Saintess being escorted by the King, the man with the Lost Sword being lead in the direction of the Imperial Sword School, and anyone who was still waiting for their Summon after that, had already got it after about 5 hours. Some items flew in from across the Endless Sea, they said, so it might take time.
You had always hoped to obtain a soulmate, a thing that only one in 5000 youths received. You believed that you would have received a legendary piece of equipment, so that you could become a hero loved by the people. So you waited. Another 4 hours passed. It was almost evening now. You were hungry.
The sky grew dark. The clouds gathered. The sun shone red. The crows cawed, cawed as if it was the end of the world. The Imperial Bookman looked up in the sky. You looked up. The eye's of everyone in the surroundings were drawn up.
You saw it. A scythe. Darker than the night, shining more brightly than a coat of adamantium, redder than freshly drawn blood. A disaster descended.
It came to you naturally, like it was always a part of you. As if you had done it a million times before. The scythe landed in your hand. Your aura pierced the sky. Your mind turned blank. A blood-lust took over you senses.
The Imperial Bookman fell. Fear reflected in his helpless eyes. His mouth moved, but sound refused to come out. As the scythe fell, all sound was lost. In the absolute silence, one could almost hear the Bookman say, "Death has descended."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Edit: I can probably whip up a part two, but it wouldnt be nearly as decent. ill see about it
|
Above, the clouds are low, heavy and fat with rain, tumbling their way over the wood and farther away.
A young man with tousled hair and dark eyes makes his way to a graveyard, afraid of what he'll find.
*What was that?*
He's confused, and somewhat afraid. Not of being alone, no, for now that seems the best and only course to figure out what exactly is going on. He's afraid of others, and what happens whenever he attempts to conjure his 'animus'.
Mother's was a cornflower blue blanket, thick and warm, something he could wrap himself in when the snows began to pile up outside their ramshackle hut. A luxury in a place where sheep come rare, and quality linen even more so.
Father's an axe, for biting deep into wood and splitting logs for sale at market. Long, beautiful handle, a strong heft and easy swing. Overhead, chunk, beautiful split.
And his...his wasn't one thing, or any specific thing.
His birthday came and went, and nothing seemed to come. The boy prayed for many things. A sword to distinguish himself as an adventurer, or maybe a lyre to bring music. A whip for cattle, a bucket for milking goats, something, anything of use.
Instead he summoned an axe, a waraxe, single bladed with a thin handle and vicious curve, coated in blood, and to his horror, brain and bone. Dark hair strands sticking to the edge. Dark as his father's hair.
He'd been standing before his father, hoping and waiting, and he'd sat there, telling him to be patient, always to be patient.
*"Big world out there, son. It could be anything. Even a crown,"* the voice of a man who rumbled rather than spoke.
Preposterous, to be sure, but still the boy hoped the hidden hope he was something important and beyond his village life. You could get something arcane, something mystical, a constantly refilling pouch of gold or a wineskin that never truly empties.
Instead the axe. Coated in gore.
When he turned to his mother, it shifted in his hand, turning into several hideous gray globs of something organic that slipped from his hands and onto the floor, and a word he'd never known came to mind.
*Tumors. Tumors. They grow in the belly until there's nothing left.*
So he made his way to the graveyard, afraid of what he'd find.
The gate screams open as he forced the rusted gate to break way.
It smells like rain.
The headstones are carved of wood, though the richer souls seem carved from common stone. Names. Years. Dates of birth, death, and family and kin.
And at the very bottom, their method of death.
He stands before one, worn and weathered by time and wind.
Something Tomkins, it reads. Years of life, and a sentence at the bottom.
*Murderer.*
*Hung by the neck until dead.*
He stands there, summoning his animus through that strained concentration, and holds his right hand before him.
A noose.
A dull sense of not dread, not horror, but confirmation.
*No. Not that. I don't want to be one of them.*
The next headstone.
*A work accident in a lumberyard,* he guesses, the though the words are flowery.
A bloody log appears in his hand, not the full length, but a silenced edge coated in hair and blood. Must have smacked him in the head.
He goes from plot to plot, from grave to grave, each method the same as the other.
Dead. Method of death. Dead.
A bone.
A sword.
A rope. A glass rum bottle. Long copper wire. A meat pie dripping with gravy and butter.
He knows. He knows those that wander from village to village, from kingdom to town to city, proclaiming the ability to recognize one's death, and the evil that follows. You can catch glimpses of them, riding pale horses, the townspeople giving way, afraid of coming too close. Is it his touch that seals the fate? Can the method be prevented?
The boy isn't sure, but he's heard enough stories and tales about men trying to escape their deaths, only to cause them. He hated those stories more than any other. It seemed each doomed individual was himself, trying to outrun...outrun what? Something.
But no. He didn't want to be one of them. Not one of those.
*It's a life of isolation, of fear and constant vigilance. Do you show the method, do you reveal the future, do you walk among the bones and tell the only fortune that comes certain? That there's a clearing at the end of the road, a headstone with your name on it?*
There's a peal of thunder, a rumble in the sky.
Up and away, past the hills and trees, in the direction of his home, an oily black smoke seems to be rising from the sky.
*The axe. The axe coated in the blood and brain of his father.*
That dull panic, and the realization he's far away, maybe an hours walk, though he doesn't know how far he has to run.
So he leaves the graveyard, the iron hinge screaming behind him. *Run,* it screams, *Run all you want boy, it's too late. The wine is spilled, the cats out of the bag. You saw the axe, as did he. You both know what it means.*
And begins to run down the path below.
Frantic. He's panicking, and under his breath he whispers *no, no, no* but doesn't know it. Doesn't want to know it.
A gravemind, a lich, a man in dark robes with blacker prophecy.
On each side of the path, the trees blur by, his steps sticking and flopping through muck, clods of dirt flying in every direction. The boy pumps his arms, the man shifts his feet, the boy takes deep horrible breaths and the man jumps to the worst of conclusions.
*Hold out your hand, reach, and I'll show you how it comes. A cough, a blade, an accident or a slip down an abandoned well. Come and ask. Come and see.*
His chest is on fire, and he runs with the frantic energy of a man certain but uncertain of his fate.
Afraid of what he'll find.
Posted a part 2!
[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/d5za1y/pit_and_gallows_part_2/?)
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r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me
r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others
| 2019-09-18T07:59:37 | 2019-09-18T06:37:36 | 2,312 | 808 |
[WP]When members or your family turn fifteen they are able to manifest a weapon that they will use for the rest of their lives. You’ve been trained to use all manner of weapons to prepare to be able to wield whatever weapon you summon. On your Summoning day what appears in front of you is a book.
|
"...a book?", "The boy got a book, how...", "What weapon did he summon?" "...the boy's weapon?" "Why does he hold a book?"
The whispers in the hall surrounded me, their judging eyes piercing my soul, searching for answers. I remember that day still. For weeks after that I struggled to make sense of it, to find my place among the ranks of my own peers. A book could not hunt, it could not carve or support, it could not kill, it couldn't even protect but it could burn they would say. Many times people in the village tried to burn my book, I would not let them. No matter how useless the book was, it was still my summoned weapon and tradition dictated that I would carry it to my grave. I was proud of myself whenever I refused to give the book away. I thought the hardship and the rejection I felt was my weapon's test, so I gladly faced it.
"What's in it anyways?" - That doomed question. I had a crush on poor Phoebe at the time, and I was 15 so I didn't know any better but still I cringe to this day and regret it ever so slightly. When she asked me what was in the book I decided to lie, the book contained my own life story after all and everytime I told it to someone they would not believe me, thinking I was only making it up to shoo them away. Everything that would happen to me would be written in the book the next time I opened it. Of course I did try to write my own fate but no ink would stick, it was useless. All I had was just a very detailed record of my life, lest I forget the embarrassing moments of my life.
When the girl asked, however, I was sick of it, I'd answered this question a million times so I couldn't be bothered. I opened the book on a random page and looked at Phoebe.
"It says here that you're going to kiss me, uh... isn't that funny?" I smirked, thinking I was so smooth, but lo and behold she did kiss me and I was over the moon. I kissed my crush and I didn't even had a Battleaxe like my father before me, eat my dust old man.
That following week was the last week of freedom I ever had. One night when I started feeling bored I checked the book again and there it was, the whole week in detail, the kiss, the giggles, the walks, the fights and make ups. I loved reading it but then it hit me. I made her kiss me by lying, except it wasnt a lie, because it did say so in the book... "Which came first?!?" I wondered.
I took my book and ran outside. "Hey you!" I'd found an old grumpy man going somewhere in a hurry, he seemed the right fit for this test.
"This book here says you're going to take me to the butcher's"
"Bloody hell lad, you don't know where it is yet? Come on I'll take you there!"
It worked! Or did it? We were in the butcher's but the old man did it so happily, could it be the book? Or was it just my confidence that made people listen to me? Every new test I conducted was so unclear. In my desperation I once told an old lady that my book said she loved being naked in public, which made her strip right there, but it turned out that everyone knew about her declining mental but me! Every outlandish thing I could think of to claim off my book, somehow was already part of reality. I could not tell what was real and what wasn't anymore, even using the book for paradoxical claims left me with contradictory memories that only I suffered. I had to stop looking for logical answers lest I broke my mind.
Have now my confession:
Since then I have used the book for all matter of changes that led me to become the man you all look up to, but I'm tired of being king. I have my people's love and have made their lives better. I should feel proud of my accomplishments but I am alone in this world of my creation. Not another book has been summoned in my life, it's time I stopped waiting. I only hope I leave you with a world worth living in...
The book says I lived a worthy life and died a happy man.
|
Loraine had the best training money could buy. As the daughter of the main branch of one of the five great clans, this much was to be expected. Of all the master's she'd trained with, her favorite was undoubtedly the spear. Swords were nice, maces were a barbarians weapon, and axes had many uses besides combat, but the long reach of a spear combined with it's lighter weight and sharp edge it was simply perfect.
As she entered the cave blocked by the divine waterfall on her day of summoning she kept praying to the gods that she might be granted a spear. Nothing too long like a lance, and nothing to unwieldy like a pike, just a fine spear. It was taboo to beseech the gods for a certain weapon, but she did it anyways.
Kneeling in the sapphire blue waters, she bowed her head to show the gods her subservience. It was a necessary part of the ritual since the gods hated pride, it was necessary to show her acceptance for their judgment. After clearing her mind in this position she placed her hands in the sediment below the water. It seemed to take forever, nothing formed in her hands like she'd been told would happen. As she waited, her focused wavered and she couldn't help but hope for the spear she had such an affinity for. Certainly the gods would know this and grant her heart's desire.
And then she felt it form in her right hand. That was disappointing, if it was a spear it would have formed in both not just one. And it definitely wasn't metal, if it were a spear or axe it would have been, but this felt leathery. 'Please don't be a mace, I don't want to bludgeon people to death.' she thought as she pulled her new soulbound weapon from the opaque water.
As the water parted she saw her new and only weapon. It wasn't a mace, it was even worse. It was a leatherbound tome, a freaking book. Had it been a mace she would have at least had the grace to complete the ceremony of thanks for the gods gift and honored their divine insight, but a book. "How is this even a weapon?" she asked to the empty room. Surely this was just Hester playing one of his tricks.
No one answered her of course. The gods had better things to do than speak with the ungrateful. She just sat there for a long time, to confused about this gift and already fearing the shame it'd bring her family. While warriors would have all form of weapons even a master smith couldn't hope to emulate, she could what, throw a book at them? Or maybe she could set it on a desk to keep papers from flying about, 'How scary?' Loraine thought.
Still, if this was her gift maybe it was a manual in the art of war and she could be the clan's tactician. Not the honor she was trained for, but it could still be valuable to the family. And again, the gods seemed fit to ruin her life. It was gibberish, a bunch of archaic symbols that didn't match any of the continent's three languages or even the ancient script they all came from. It was like some artist got drunk and scribbled on the pages.
In the most sarcastic manner possible, she sheathed her almighty book of nonsense, pressed her fists together in a salute, and thanked the gods for their generous gift and divine insight. 'And f*ck you too Hester.' she thought as she left the cave.
"I'm guessing you were given the twin daggers." Her father and current clan patriarch said when he didn't see Loraine's weapon.
Her face flushed in embarrassment, how could she possibly tell him his oldest child had shamed the family.
"There's nothing wrong with it, sure, the gods don't think you'll be a warrior on the front lines, but an assassin can win a battle before it even begins. Although some say there is no honor in it, you know our motto."
"Honor in victory; honor by any means." Loraine recited mechanically.
"So let me see them, are they dirks or daggers?"
Resigning herself to the inevitable, she handed him the ugly book while being sure to not meet his eyes.
"What is this?" Her father demanded.
"My weapon."
By now, the branch heads were murmuring among themselves. Nearly half of them had come to see the future matriarch's weapon and they seemed to be delighted to see her fall from grace.
"We'll talk about this later." He said between clenched teeth.
After the clan calmed down they returned to the mansion for the festivities that had been prepared. A festival no one wanted to be at. She wanted to go to her room and disappear for the next ten years while the schemers wanted to go make plans in private and even those were loyal to them weren't in the spirit. But that was nothing compared to the sounds she heard coming from the armory
Loraine could hear wood splintering as her father smashed the display cases that had been prepared. Of all the display cases for hundreds of weapons, no one bothered to make a bookshelf. Normally they'd be saved for others or used for smithed weapons, but it was obvious he was just as upset with her "weapon" as she was.
Mercifully, the banquet passed in silence. Not one word was spoken until they'd finished eating. Afterwards, everyone was quick to leave either making excuses or offering their condolences to her father before leaving. That is, except for the elder of the Vesuvias branch.
She came up to Loraine instead of her father, "The gods do not make mistakes, and they aren't cruel either. Not even Hecter would ruin a gifting for a devout family such as ours."
"Yes Elder Arissa."
"Do you mind if I see it?" she asked with eyes sparkling in anticipation.
Loraine was nervous, 'What is her motivation?' she wondered. Still, letting her see the gibberish couldn't do any more harm to her reputation than had already been done.
After she retrieved it from a table she'd tossed it on, she handed it to Arissa. The old woman spent several minutes studying it before handing it back, "Congratulations! You'll be the next Empress once you learn that."
Loraine couldn't sense any malice or deception in her, but that didn't make sense. How could she bring their clan to surpass the throne with a book? "I don't understand, it's just a book that isn't even written in any of our languages."
"Bah, you silly girl, that is written in the one true language. The patterns that govern our world. The symbols of power."
It sounded ridiculous, but Loraine was desperate for hope so she asked, "Can you teach me, I don't even know what the symbols are supposed to mean?"
"How should I know? It's not my weapon is it mhmmm. But the scroll mentioned an oracle glass so I'd assume you can figure it out with that."
"Where do I get an oracle glass?"
"It didn't come with the tome of power?" Arissa asked, now confused herself.
"No, I only got this book before..." Loraine trailed off.
"Before you got upset and cursed the gods for cheating you. Is that it mhmmm?" Arissa finished in an accusatory tone.
"I was supposed to get a weapon, even a mace would have been a weapon, but this was just a leathery old book."
"Fool!" Arissa shouted.
By now her father had come close, listening to their conversation. "Do you know why you bow your head before getting your gift?" Before she could answer, he shouted, "To show your deference to their judgment, but what did you do? You insulted them for the greatest gift they could possibly bestow us mortals!"
"I'm sorry, but even you didn't know what this was so how was I supposed to know?"
"And if I didn't know I wouldn't have insulted the gods, I would have prayed for the wisdom to understand. Don't you think that was the f*cking test before they gave such a powerful artifact?"
r/AurumArgenteus
| 2021-12-12T09:05:28 | 2021-12-12T08:32:49 | 1,442 | 91 |
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did.
|
I was quite annoyed when I discovered I was in hell; after all, I had done nothing. The first thing I saw was a palace, carved in molten stone. It was in the shape of a skeletal figure, half immersed in a lake of lava, enormous stone hands clawing at the ground in front of it. Streams of magma poured from its eyes, flanking its open maw. Demons and devils swarmed around the thing, frolicking in the magma.
*Come in, honored guest*, a voice rang out in my head.
I shrugged, it wasn't as if I could refuse, I was in Hell after all. As I walked past a granite hand and towards the giant skull, I felt a wave of heat emit from its maw. I knew it was far hotter than what I should have been able to survive. I noticed my skin was covered in scales of wan gray. None of the other demons had a color like mine. Indeed, they were all vibrant; blue, red, purple, and gold. I shrugged, nothing to be done. The devils looked at each other knowingly, and at me with something approaching awe.
Lucifer himself sat perched upon a throne of swords, made of glass and steel, stone and fire, and other things. I had to admit, he was beautiful. A transcendent figure with glowing eyes and soft skin. Only his shredded wings distinguished him from the vision of an angel. As I approached he stood, and bent his knee towards me.
*"You have come at last, great lord."*, his voice was like a mother's sigh.
I paused. "What are you talking about? Why am I here? I have done-""*Nothing*". He smiled a perfect smile. "*You have done nothing*". He rose slowly, speaking to me without speaking, "*You are my final victory. You are the one who will lead us to his throne above. You are their downfall. You*", his smile grew unspeakably cruel,"*are apathy*".
He waved his hand and images appeared in my mind. Me at a computer. Me in front of a TV. Me listening to the radio. Walking through the city. Going to class. "*You saw them starving, and you did nothing. You saw them dying, and you forgot. You saw the poor and unfortunate, and you focused your gaze upwards. You heard them cry out, and you walked on. And most importantly, you cared for an instant. You genuinely cared a little bit. But you forgot it completely.*" I was taken aback. Sure, I hadn't helped out a lot, but was that a crime?
"*I have waited, for thousands of years, for mankind to develop past their control, to stop caring. These last 100 years. Only 100 years! My plans have finally come to fruition. The seeds I have planted, the environment I created, all to bring about people like you. You are the first; true apathy. You feel but you do not care. You see but you quickly forget.*" His voice grew exuberant. "*A new sin. One the angels have no grasp on.*" "*You are the first, the first of many. And they, they will grow like those they seek to protect. You, Apathy, shall poison them. You will seep into their wretched souls. And in a mere 100 years more, we will tear down the gates of heaven, unwatched, unwarned, unstoppable.*"
I sighed, how to get myself out of this one? "So what do you want from me, uh, Lucifer?" "*The better question is, what do you want lord?*". I paused again, considering. Live and let live I suppose. Apathy shrugged, "*Nothing, I guess*".
|
I sat up and looked at my surroundings, not remembering falling asleep in the first place. It was dark, but my eyes soon adjusted and I saw that I was in a sort of cavern or perhaps an ancient mine shaft without the support beams every few feet. The ceiling was high and curved, probably ten or fifteen feet above my head; where the walls connected to the ground, a strange red glow pierced through the crack. A consistent low rumble could be heard, like thunder that just never ends.
I stood and felt my head, trying to remember how I got to this place but my memory failed me. The last thing I could recall was looking at myself in the mirror one last time before my mates picked me up to go clubbing. How much had I drank?
A distant scream interrupted my thoughts and I spun around to try and spot the source but there was only the end of the cave with its ominous orange glow. Strangely unfrightened, confident even, I turned and began walking the long path with a slight downward grade. The walk took a long time, long enough to leave me with my thoughts and lose track of my steps when I suddenly saw a brighter, golden light around a bend up ahead. I ran forward with anticipation, not knowing what to expect as I rounded the corner.
Blood.
Bodies.
Fire.
Thousands, no, millions of heads turned and looked at me with horrendous looks on their faces. The bodies lined the walls, ceiling, floor, everything. There wasn't a square millimeter of actual cave to be seen. The people were all being mutilated in some way with spikes or chains piercing or stretching or ripping their disgusting, bloody, oozing bodies. The cave was wider and taller here; as I took a tentative step forward, a rib snapped under my foot and a beating heart was stopped by the heel of my boot as a muffled cry wailed out and stopped suddenly.
Drawn forward with a morbid curiosity and an alarming lack of empathy, I continued into the mass of tangled limbs and flesh. As I walked, the countless eyes followed, heads turning sometimes more than a hundred-eighty degrees with necks snapping and flesh ripping and spinal fluid squirting just to remain staring at me. I could see the other end of the cave and the millions of human bodies and souls that lined it.
There, suspended by gold, glowing lances connected to chains was some sort of being not like the others that were somehow fastened to the walls. He had musical instruments infused in his body in a way that just worked. They didn't seem out of place at all. He was glowing, too; an absolute radiance that I'm sure only angels could produce. He was roughly six and a half feet tall and he had no wings. His heart was disconnected from his chest cavity via a large golden lance that also pierced his body. Multiple golden lances with gold chains connected to the bodies on the ceiling, walls, and floors pierced his heart from all directions, yet it beat on, wearily nonetheless. His face was neither belonging to that of a man or woman. It was just made of beauty. And when he turned and looked at me I felt such joy and peace.
That is, until his face turned to fear. “You,” He said. Rather, he didn't speak, but he made his words form with the sweet music he produced from his body and all it's musical instruments. “Finally, one has come that can replace me.”
“Come again?” I asked with a strangely powerful and overconfident voice I didn't recognize but liked all the same. It seemed to make the walls ripple in cowardice as the mutilated bags of flesh heard it boom throughout the cavern.
“The prophecy,” The glowing being said, “‘And there shall be one, wickeder than thou and overtaking thy evil self in rank, yea even in knowledge, and he shalt take thy place forevermore,’ Thus sayeth the LORD. I had not believed it possible, yet here you are.”
“What does that even mean? Explain yourself!” Once again, the cave walls of meat and bone rippled, more so this time with some trying to shield their eyes. Even the being suspended by spears and chains seemed to shrink in my presence.
“Hell.” The being’s music flowed into my conscious mind. “The nine levels of hell, ranked by sin and wickedness-”
“So I’m in Hell.”
“Correct.”
“What level is this? Who are you?”
“You are underneath ring Nine, the bottommost part of Hell. This is the Pit. and I am Lucifer.”
My confidence suddenly drained, fear overtaking me as I began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Wait, no. No no no no no no no!”
The golden lances quivered and the chains rattled and hissed. One by one, the spears slithered their way out of the Devil’s heart and flesh as I dropped to my knees.
“Please!” I begged, “What did I do? What did I do?” My eyes welled up with stinging tears as the dammned souls lining the walls began to snicker and sneer and hiss, reaching forward. The last lance snaked its way out of Lucifer’s musical body and he dropped to the floor, some sort of invisible force pushing away the bodies and bone and blood with grotesque crunches and screams so that he might walk on the solid ground. Lucy walked toward me, keeping his gaze on my head. I wiped tears away to find that I was crying blood.
Lucifer stopped a foot away from me and i grabbed on to his flowing garment, pleading, “Please! What did I do? I don't remember! I don't remember!” When the blood on my hands touched his garment, it hissed and evaporated leaving no trace of impurity. The Devil clutched a handful of my hair and drug me in agonizing pain to the spot where he was only moments ago suspended and mutilated.
“I don't remember!! I don't remember!!!! PLEASE!!!” I begged and cried and pleaded to no avail as the flesh sacks around me continued to laugh and jeer. Lucifer held me up in front of him by my hair as I screamed in agony.
“So it is written,” He said musically as the first spear pierced my wrist. I cried out in pain as I discovered that the spears and chains were molten gold, burning with a fiery blaze as my nerve endings refused to cauterize. Every natural pain reducing drug in my body seemed non-existent as another lance pierced my wrist and I felt every inch of it in my bone. Indescribable, unimaginable pain exploded through my body. Fire, dry ice, needles, acid, lava all coursing through my veins as the chains tightened and lifted me, stretching my limbs, popping my arms out of my sockets but not tearing them off. Two other blistering lances pierced my ankles and stretched my legs. Finally The largest spear shot through my back, producing my heart, bloody, torn, and beating in front of me on the end of a gold double-edged blade.
I felt it all; the ribs cracking, my lung puncturing and collapsing, my heart gaining a new hole.
“Pleh- Ple- I… I don… What did I DO!” I cried out with all my strength before the other golden, chained lances ripped holes in my heart, creating a new burning pain I had never felt before. My throat could nearly produce no more sound, and it too was burning with agony as blood sputtered out of it and my eyes.
Lucifer calmly turned and walked out of the room of flesh, the entrance closing up behind him, leaving me suspended in the round room of laughing, mocking, screaming mouths and eyes long since damned to an eternity in the pit.
And I was their new entertainment.
| 2016-12-19T13:15:26 | 2016-12-19T12:40:10 | 542 | 62 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
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It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits.
|
They all questioned it. Why would you want to be a bouncer? I can't blame my friends for thinking that way, of course. It seemed like a tedious job, with little reward. And it was tedious, but it was possibly the easiest job I could have.
Checking IDs was just a formality. the numbers floating above everyone's heads were what really have them away. It took me a while to figure out what they were. I remember when I did though. Standing in front of the mirror on the day of my eighth birthday, as the number above my head morphed from a 7 into an 8.
My ‘gift’, if you want to call it that, made this job stupidly easy. I didn't have to pay much attention to the contents of IDs. The numbers gave them all away. I'd earned a bit of a reputation with the high schoolers, at least I’d heard. None of them had slipped past me yet. And they probably wouldn't.
After a while the monotony did begin to get annoying. I'd taken to drinking a little bit, just to make the day more enjoyable. It didn't affect my ability at all, as long as I could make out the numbers.
On yet another night of turning away underaged kids, I was getting bored. Some of the same faces, some new. And then one that was new, but had to be old. That number couldn't be right. 9999. Was the alcohol affecting me? No, that wouldn't make any sense. It never has before.
Below that number, all alone, was a stunning blonde. There were some real model types that came here but, this one, she was something else. As my jaw dropped slightly, I saw a quick smile as she looked away. Glancing back at her ID it said she was 23. I was beyond confused. I mean she was old enough to be in here but, no, that can't be right. After taking way too long, I let her in.
It stuck with me, the whole night. Not one more person had such an outrageous number. I definitely wasn't experiencing some alcohol induced hallucinations. But I had to figure this out.
On my break I looked around the club. She was nowhere to be seen. Glancing at the somewhat empty bar, I spotted a flash of golden hair. That was her, still all alone, somehow. I couldn't help myself. I had to talk to her. I sat beside her and asked for a drink from Barry, the bartender. She glanced over at me and smiled. It was now or never.
“ So, uh, this may sound weird but, your ID said you're 23, and, I uh, you look a bit older, ah, yeah.” Spoken like a true gentleman. I was kicking myself mentally.
“Really,” she asked inquisitively, “and how old do I look?” She didn't sound the least bit offended.
“I mean, like at least, uh, 26?” I stammered out.
And then in a laughing tone, “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment”
I couldn't believe she hadn't asked me to leave yet. But that 9999 above her head still had me puzzled. “There's something I’d like to ask you”, I began.
She looked at me seductively and quietly said, “Yes. Let's go to my apartment.”
I was dumbfounded. I had not expected anything like this but before I knew it she was leading me out of the club and into a taxi.
The ride there was a blur, I was too confused, and she was to stunning not to be focused on. When we finally got to get apartment, she dragged me inside into the living room. And without realizing I was on her sofa with this jaw-dropping woman next to me. Gnawing at the back of my mind was still that number. She leaned in closer to me and whispered in my ear, “ I need you to do something for me”
Barely comprehending I replied, “Anything”
She leaned closer, her mouth right at my ear, “I need about tree-fiddy”
I pulled away, staring back at her, when I realized, I was sitting right next to a building sized crustacean from the Paleozoic era. Stunned, it came to me, that that God damned Loch Ness Monster tricked me again.
*Thanks for reading this! I’ve never commented here before, but this ending came to me as soon as I read the prompt. Hope you enjoyed, and tell me what could be better!*
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-02T01:10:06 | 585 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
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I was nervous. For a long time, I was thinking my nerves wouldn't let me try and get a job again. I tried, but something felt wrong, so I quit quickly. Doesn't help that for the longest time, I was trying to keep my secret well, a secret.
I take a deep breath before I wander into the police station. The moment I walk in, the police chief, at least, who I think is the police chief, greets me, shaking my hand, though I softly push it off out of nervousness.
"Nice to see you! You're the guy that got on the news, right?" he asks, and I blush. Yes, I had gotten on the news. Live in a little town nearby, but I had visited this city for the science convention, but there was an attempt robbery during late hours, only figured out by...
My train of thought gets interrupted by the chief, now touching my nose, leading me to jolt back in a quick reaction. "Please sir, don't touch me." I quietly ask, and he nods. "Sorry, it's just that, you know. Your nose made sure those crooks didn't get away, so I was thinking for a few easy bucks, you could use that nose some more!"
I did want to tell him how it only works at night, but I felt that'd be too obvious to tell him. He just saw an opportunity to get a poor...thing like me out of my house more, thanks to my friend making it sound like I barely leave because I don't want to, instead of all my worries.
Before I can even mutter a word, the chief tells me to follow him, for he had a suit for me. A suit? Why? And god knows if I'd even fit, knowing me, but he throws it onto me and tells me to get changed, as my first job was going to be soon.
I sort and get it on. It was big, a good kind of big. A few minutes later, I glanced outside to see the sun setting, as I notice my muscles expanding and parts of my face merging together. It has been a year since I got effected myself, it doesn't feel like much of anything anymore. Less of a "feel it" and more of a "see it" experience now. It's more of a relief than anything.
About an hour later and we were off. Being led to a museum by some officiers, they told me some bones had been recently stolen from an exhibit. I don't know how they thought I'd be able to find them, unless they were thinking I could smell a certain person, but then they showed me a piece of cloth, and I understood. They thought I could be like those trained dogs, but with more brains. I felt offended, but it was like they said, easy money.
To my surprise, it didn't take long. The cloth actually had a distinct smell of pizza and split chocolate, which led me to an apartment. I wanted to report it, but instead I decided to follow it more. Into the apartment, into an elevator, to the entrance of the room. With a key I had convinced the front desk to give me, I opened the door and slowly wandered in.
First thing I saw were the bones. Quickly, temptation to nibble lightly on the bones went through me, and I rushed to the edge of the room, trying to not alert the resident that I was in the room. I called the squadron and sat down to wait, slowly falling asleep.
When I woke up, the job was mostly done, I heard the police mentioning moving the bones and arresting the thief, but as I opened my eyes, I noticed one of them right in from of my face...trying to pull a bone out of my mouth. Embarrassingly, I opened up my jaw to release it, and he giggled slightly. Not the best experience, but I mean, it was something to do at the very least.
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A vast landscape of red and orange sand, sparsely dotted with small withering shrubs was all you could see for miles. Except for the road and the reason I had arrived here. I looked towards the heavily secured building with electrified fences. Guards with strange weapons which made a thunderous sound before seemingly striking a target from half a mile away were posted on every tower and entrance to the facility.
As I walked up to the entrance, the guards never lowered their weapons pointed at my head. When I was about 100 steps away from the gate, I was told to halt and place my hands on my head by a booming voice. Maybe a spell that amplified sound was used to produce this effect. Being new to this 'modern' world gave me many questions for my inquisitive mind. Moments later 6 armed guards in full armor cautiously approached me.
Fear, curiosity, deception, and iron will were the emotions that assaulted my mind as they moved closer.
"If it moves quickly I'll shoot" one man thought. "Is this the guy the inquisitor hired? How did he walk 40 miles in this heat?" Another man pondered. All of their thoughts entered my mind and let me grasp the inner workings of their brains.
"Professor Diht-" one man said before being interrupted by me. "De-ti-ll-e it is pronounced. Not that abomination of pronunciation you were about to sputter from your mouth." The guard's mind sparked with anger but I did not care, I had a job to do and these guards were slowing me down. I scanned each of their minds at once to get a layout of the facility, where this inquisitor was located and any locked doors or traps in place for intruders, or in this case: people trying to escape. Their mouths moved telling me to follow them but in my meditative state they might as well me talking to a wall. If that wall could read minds of course.
After much walking and passing through at least 10 different doors and barricades, all guarded by heavily armed humans, I arrived in a very opulent office with many books lining the wall in phenomenally crafted rare black mahogany bookcases. "I like this human's style." I said aloud.
"Thank you" came from the end of the long table in the center of the room. The voice was slightly sly but had an air of arrogance and confidence in it. "Knowing of your work and your talent I'm sure you've already scanned my mind and know what to do Professor Dihtilli. The prisoner is in the other room the guards will escort you to."
This man was the most interesting of any of the others and he seemed to be completely unarmed compared to the 50+ I passed by on the way in. All of them had a very dark side to them. Almost all the guards had killed many people, the scenes they had in their memory played in my mind. Some stood shoulder to shoulder with their 'brothers' and opened fire with their loud weapons pointed at a horde of sick and disheveled people. The people most of these men killed looked innocent or unarmed. Truly terrible people, but I cared not for morality.
From the few minds I've plumbed in this world I gathered that most of the world was in ruin for common folk. Justice was harsh and swift and those with power held truth and honor among themselves above all else. How much they lied to the poor and unprivileged below them was a different story.
This man before me called the Inquisitor had even more terrible memories. He liked to kill and torture up close. Most of his victims were bound and restrained. After only 5 seconds of picking apart his brain I had witnessed over 200 memories of him killing indiscriminately. I also found that he was truthful and would not skimp me of my pay. He had no thought in his mind to betray me.
After being escorted to yet another room, I finally ended up across a smaller simple table with a man in handcuffs dressed very well on the other side of the table. Also in the room were 6 more guards armed with even more menacing weapons not moving an inch with the minds racing of thoughts of maintaining order in this room at any cost. The last person in the room looked to be a sort of reporter, with their hands poised above a machine with multiple keys with a different inscription on each button.
"I've told them everything already, why do they need to send more interrogators?" The man in the suit said while slowly raising his face up to me. The sight of his face was horrible compared to other humans I've seen. Scars and burns covered almost every inch of his face and his left eye was completely swollen shut with the other barely open to see out of.
Only a few seconds of scouring the depths of his mind and I was already done with the job. I compared the evidence that his captors had against him and of what memories he had in his mind.
"June third you handed off a sort of memory stick containing information about the procedures and workings of your superiors at Elysian Survellience Corp to another man who planned to use it to sabotage the company by another competing company. You were offered 20 million dollars for this top secret information." I started. The reporter started moving their hands furiously, thinking in their mind exactly what I had just said. "You also were the murderer of Henry Wallin; a man who planned to blackmail you if you did not give him half of your pay from the rival corpration." I continued.
As I said aloud this human's every thought and memory, the reporter kept working. This went on for about thirty minutes before a loud voice came from someone not in the room, but out of a sort of machine in the corner of the room. "Professor your work is done. Please follow the guards to your next destination for your reward."
The man in the suit held his face completely still the whole time I had explained to him but his thoughts were of complete perplexion. He thought that it was impossible as some of the things I explained to him were of events that he had done in complete secrecy in the middle of the woods or an abandoned warehouse where no tracking technology was present.
I wasn't done having my fun and as I waved my hand the guards' and reporter's minds went completely blank. They had already been completely still standing so nothing looked amiss from them being completely paralysed. I then placed my hand on my necklace and spoke words in a language that made the man in the suit finally show some emotion on his fearful face. Complete darkness enveloped the room except for a pocket that contained me and the main in the suit across the table. My amulet lit this area with a magical flow so I could show him my face.
His mind thought of escape but he could not do anything but struggle against the manacles that bound him.
Finally as I ran my hand across my face my disguise vanished. I had took the form of a human to not give away my identity but I thought I would have fun with this guilty sinner in his last moments.
"Help! Help! Holy shit what are you!? Don't kill me please!" The man screamed as he saw my true visage.
My pale purple skin shined in the light of my amulet as my hungry tentacles moved toward his face as I leaned over the table. My oriface opened, ready for a succulent meal I had been so patiently waiting for. As my mouth covered the top half of the man's head with screams coming from the completely horrified human, I whispered in his mind one final thought.
"I will be your executioner right here as my rightful payment. Any human who has seen my true form has only given me one name: Mind Flayer."
The screams ended as an audible cracking of his skull originated from inside my maw.
| 2018-08-27T16:25:44 | 2018-08-27T16:01:07 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle
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There once was a fellow named Bob.
Monsters despised him from goblin to hob.
Why?
He killed all the mobs.
And what was the tool of Bob’s great murder streak?
A sniper rifle, given unto him by the god of the weak.
She’d noticed that Bob had no special skills.
Thus, she gave him a weapon to get all the kills.
His cleric companion would cast mass heal spells,
Their wizard raised demons from nine out of nine hells.
The fighter was a true friend and a fiend to all baddies,
But Bob sniped away, leaving single monster parent daddies.
As time went along, Bob’s legend grew tall,
The monster numbers dwindled, getting very small.
The team was unstoppable, they never got a scratch,
So they drank all the mead—every single batch.
At the end of their travels, they came before a giant rock monster.
It was as large as any they’d fought.
But the team had great fortune, they’d run into a mobster.
Bob had upgraded his rifle to a missile launcher he’d bought.
What was the moral of Bob’s sordid tale?
Save the magic, get a Glock, ‘cuz guns never fail.
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When I first started searching for people to join my adventuring party I thought I saw everything extraordinary. When I met our fighter, he was wrestling a Greater Dragon without any armor and came out victorious, when I asked him afterwords he said he comes down to their nests every once and a while to wrestle them for sport. Then comes our cleric, he was a prodigy from the second he came out the womb, I don’t think there is a single illness or disease I could name that he doesn’t have a cure for. I met him in one of my darkest hours, I caught a terminal illness from one of my pilgrimages that no one in records had ever survived, I was on my deathbed when the hospital brought him, he told me he had a experimental cure for my illness and asked if he had my consent to use me as a guinea pig for said medicine, I had nothing else to lose so I consented and miraculously, I was cured and at 100% next week. Lastly comes our wizard, she is part of a century old clan of elite wizards who are second to none. When I first walked up to her during her training session she ending up creating a new element by accident just from me breaking her focus for a second.
After I met and recruited these three I really thought there would be nothing that could surprise me, I mean who rationally would? I have 20 years of adventuring experience as one of the most respected adventurers in our guild and with this much of an overpowered party, nothing would ever surprise me, right? Well this train of thought ended when I met Bob, Bob was an… average guy, I wouldn’t say he was the most built and quite frankly not the sharpest tool in the shed, if you saw Bob walking around the guild office you would just think he was a run of the mill E-rank adventurer just looking for the area to take quests. But when I looked closer at Bob I saw a strange contraption if you could call it that strapped to his back, swaying as he looked around the room seemingly lost. When I walked up to him asking about his strange use of weaponry he seemed ecstatic to finally show it to someone, a sniper rifle is what Bob called his contraption, he ushered me out to the training grounds. My party was also interested in his so called sniper rifle as anyone would be so they also followed Bob and I out to the grounds.
“Alright so how did you even find such a strange weapon like that?” Was my first question once we got out to the yard, but all I got in response was a thoughtful look as if he was looking for the right words to use it explain it to me, Bob eventually told me he found it abandoned inside a bush in front of the local Inn, connected to the rifle was something odd, Bob pulled a crumpled note out of his pocket and handed it over to me, a note in a foreign language written with a completely different alphabet from anything registered in the ‘Official World Languages’ book I studied intently after becoming rank 1 in my guild. When I asked him about the note he looked confused as if everyone could read this foreign script but he shook the confusion out of his head seconds later. He told my party that a sniper rifle was a high velocity gun that could be fired ‘supa farrr away man’ quoting him directly, not knowing what a gun was and frankly, too confused to ask as Bob’s explanations were not the best, I simply just asked him to display the sniper rifle in action, he simply smirked in response.
“Okay dude, just give me 15 minutes and once you see some supa cool fireworks in the sky, remember to not blink while lookn’ at the dummy.” Slightly confused but more intrigued than anything I obliged to his strange request. After around 17 minutes of sitting on the benches, watching the new recruits to the guild spar in the yard I turn right towards the rest of my party, right when I was about to give the word to give up on waiting, I see a streak of red trailing through the night sky, followed by the familiar pop of a firework on a hill around 5 miles away from the yard, my eyes widen at the realization, any normal person thoughts would be to doubt that his weapon could kill from that far away, but being in the business as long as I have been numbs you to the impossible, instead, my eyes were glued to training dummies, waiting for the weapon to fire, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I could hear it, after 3 seconds of intently waiting the shot came, faster than anything I’ve ever seen, in an instant the head of the closest training dummy was blown off, feathers from inside the dummy flying everywhere in response, I look at the wall behind the dummy and see a small crater, after walking up to the wall I see a small brass like object lodged in it, smoldering hot to the touch. “Wow.” was all I could say in response, my party members who have followed me into the most dire situations without breaking a sweat even seem to be at a loss for words. No matter what this Bob character might look like he most certainly fits right in with the monsters in my party.
| 2022-11-07T21:12:46 | 2022-11-07T21:09:55 | 311 | 144 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
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I've known about my power since I was 8.
Early bloomers don't do well these days. No one knows when it started but it started here, in Los Angeles, and spread throughout the world. Some powers were benign; talking to squirrels, manipulating telescopes, etc. But even the most subtle, unassuming power can have devastating consequences.
The old world, the world of my grandparents, was a safe place. Our governments were strong, our neighbors were friendly. And it was safe because every way we knew for a lunatic to abuse the system was more or less handled. In their daily lives, people forgot there was a government. People didn't need to worry about protecting themselves.
But power is like a drug; it only takes a little bit to get you hooked. It's not instantaneous, but it's damn fast. At first you notice it all around you -- something's odd, something's off, something's not right. It almost feels like you're being watched. And then you begin to realize that you do have a power, and for however long as you like you're the only one to ever know about it. And that's a remarkable feeling.
People who never imagined themselves as great, as destroyers and conquerors, whose powers could not be predicted and could not be safeguarded against, tore the old world down. They were unremarkable folk, ordinary people who'd pull the trigger if you put a gun in their hand. If you could see radio waves, you could intercept classified information. If you could manipulate electronics remotely, you could hack a bank. If you could talk to animals, you could kill any pet owner.
And today we have rubble. Los Angeles was one of the greatest cities in the world.
I was an early bloomer, and I didn't even recognize it at first, but being early it was 'weak.' I simply knew where my family was at all times, then my friends, and my neighbors....one day I realized that I knew where someone was from a brief description. Maybe I could see their picture, or hear their name, recall a memory. Eventually I could just imagine them, I could imagine where they were and there they, without fail, always were.
No one was impressed with my power. It was a disappointment I was so early, so weak. My family didn't try to hide it -- "Are you sure, Davy? Are you really sure? You have a great imagination Davy, you're just imagining it." I won no awards at the Power Olympics in our cooperative, my name was even misspelled on my participation medal. I garnered no attention, I was not respected, and I was not loved.
So I left. I would see what the world's become, what power's truly worth. Three years on the trail, today, I heard word of a sort of world record. A man, 100 years of age, remains powerless and unaccounted for. He will be the most powerful weapon in the history of mankind if his power develops before his death. What remains of the old world governments, and the saplings of some new ones, is on the hunt for the most important man in history since Jesus Christ.
And I know exactly where he is.
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*I'm late to the party, but loved the prompt. Mostly a lurker here, so below is my noob attempt. FYI I planned to write more but had actual work to do, so please let me know if you all liked it and I may continue!*
___
An old man is found sitting on a park bench, facing out towards the still lake. His eyes strain from the sunlight gleaming off the mirror-like water. His few thin, white strands of hair tussle with the breeze. His hands are full of breadcrumbs, but no bread – the ducks are still eyeing him, waiting for more treats.
A finely dressed man approaches the bench from behind. His feet can be heard slipping on the leaves and grass as he labors up the hill. As he clears his throat to speak…
A “hello, Agent Morris,” is heard from the old man, without adjusting his posture or breaking his lasting gaze at the landscape.
A bit caught off-guard, Morris flashes a nervous smile and returns, “Hello, Simon. Happy birthday. Does 100 feel at all different?”
“If you mean to ask ‘has it happened?’ The answer is a resounding and deflating ‘no.’ 100 feels just as sore and tiresome as 99, Agent Morris. Given that, I’m not sure any sort of super strength or gift of flight would do much good anyhow.”
Morris relaxes a little at this, walks around the bench to face Simon, removes his large-frame sunglasses, and scolds, “We had asked you to stay in Chicago, Simon.”
Simon looks up with squinted eyes and raises a hand to shield them from the sun. Morris reflexively responds by shifting his stance to cast his shadow over Simon’s face and torso. Simon smiles and leans back into the bench, giving out a sigh.
“I was born here, Agent Morris. In a house that once existed on the other side of this lake, just over there.” Simon points to a small floating dock about a third of the way around the lake. Morris doesn’t break eye contact with him. He sighs again, more forced than before, “and I would like to die here, too.”
“Are you dying, Simon?”
“Yes, Agent. My heart is bad and I feel very weak. All of your work to, to catalogue me or whatever, I hope it will all not be in vain. Eh, anyway, if I were to reach the enlightenment even this minute, I fear I would only have days to experience the gift.”
“Not everyone lives long enough to reach the enlightenment, Simon. You know this very well. You were a doctor, after all.”
“Well, whatever my gift, it must have been a doozie, huh?”
“That’s true, Simon. This is why I’m here. But you knew that already as well.” With a smile he took Simon by the arm and helped him from the bench. They walked together around a path that led them by the floating dock, to a black SUV that had just pulled up.
___
Every day for the past two weeks Morris has been taking Simon back to the lake. Together they feed the ducks and talk about a life gone by.
“In all the time you’ve been following me around,” Simon says to Morris, “ you have yet to tell me about your gift.”
Morris, with his hands in his pockets, nods in agreement. He takes Simon by the arm again, steering him onto the leftward path at the fork ahead. He then shares the story of his enlightenment, being beaten by a group of thugs to within an inch of his life before he was able to sense the incoming punches and kicks just before they landed. He mustered the strength to dodge the first, and each subsequent blow became easier and easier to evade.
“The faster the object was moving, the easier I could react to it. Now,” he says to Simon, “I can dodge bullets just as easily as punches.”
“Can people still sneak up on you?”
“Oh, all the time haha! But I’m working on that.”
Simon smirked and said, “Maybe I HAVE received my gift, then. I have the centenarian power to move super slowly. I am your kryptonite, Agent Morris.”
The two laugh quite loudly at this, stirring up the ducks and turning the heads of the accompanying agents. The laughter fails to last too long, however, as Morris watches Simon grab first his right arm with the left, then pull both hands toward his chest and gasps for breath. Morris grabs him around both arms and torso, takes on his body weight, and gently eases him to the ground. Morris holds his hand behind Simon’s head and takes his radio in the other.
“Quickly! Simon is down. I think it’s a heart attack.”
Agents rush in with first aid materials. They begin to administer CPR. A flying man is seen approaching from just over the trees to the north of the lake, carrying a second man with him – an ambulatory crew. The second man is released and rushes to kneel by Simon’s side. He places his hands together, then on his chest, then onto Simon’s chest. Simon breathes deeply, then again. His eyes open for a moment. He grabs Morris’s hand, then collapses.
___
“He’s already in a delicate state. If we simply provide little aid to him now, he’ll naturally pass, and this crisis can be averted.”
“Crisis?! He’s a human being, let alone one with unimaginable potential.”
“Potential… Do you realize what happened the last time someone his age reached the enlightenment? He almost destroyed the planet before being brought down. Anyone with the POTENTIAL to raze cities on a whim needs to be dealt with.”
“And I have DEALT with him, Sira! In the ten years that I have known the man, he has never shown ill will to a single person.”
“You were supposed to get close to him, to HANDLE him, not befriend him. Can you imagine what he’d do to you if he were made aware of your true intentions?”
With a smile, Morris briefly thought of the slowest punch ever coming his way, but quickly let the thought escape.
“Please just send the healer back in, Sira. You know that Clevon is still out there, somewhere. I’ve been waiting for Simon to show me his gift for some time now – what if he is our answer to Clevo…”
Sira interrupts, “And what if that madman convinces Simon to join HIS "cause?" No. No, we dealt with Clevon once before, and we can deal with him again WITHOUT another centenarian in the mix.”
Sira and Morris stare at each other, then turn their gaze through the observation window and onto Simon, whose life support machinery has just started wailing. He lies on a gurney in the middle of a padded chamber. He takes his last breath in a room that doubles as a hospice center and a prisoner’s cell.
| 2015-10-26T11:01:55 | 2015-10-26T10:54:10 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
|
**August 2, 1915**: I was born.
**June 13, 1995**: Still no powers. The government likes to deny that it happens, or fabricate threats of anarchy or terrorism to justify it, but...I can tell you (for what my word is worth to you) the rumors are true: people like me are arrested without any real reason, just as a precaution. I didn't put up a fight when they came for me; I'm almost 80 years old, how could I?
**January 1, 2000**: I wouldn't have thought I'd live to see the new millennium. I certainly wouldn't have thought I'd spend the last 5 years of the old one locked up without having committed any crime. Rights don't apply to people that are too dangerous, even if those people hold no ill will. Circumstances aside, the last few years have been good to me. My mind has stayed sharp, and I've kept better care of myself now that there's not much else to do. The prison doctors are kind to me and keep track of my health when they test me to see if they can find any evidence of superpowers I might be hiding. I may live another 10 years at this rate, which is pretty good for someone of my age!
**September 11-18, 2001**: At about 8 in the morning I was removed from my room and they began an unscheduled battery of tests to determine if I had developed any powers. If I were to guess from their questions and the parade of powerfully-powered people that interrogated me and probed my mind, they were looking for telepathic mind control, telekinesis, teleportation, and long-distance control of fire or metal. After a week of this, with every secret of my mind laid bare yet again, they finally let me return to my cell, where I learned the terrible news that must have triggered my interrogation: a group of non-presenter extremists protesting the government were responsible for a series of terrorist attacks that morning, that killed almost 3,000 people, powered and non-presenter alike.
----
I might continue this if there's any interest.
|
Growing up in this world without a power was incredibly difficult and now John was finally getting some recognition for it. People were hesitant around him. As the current oldest person still dormant he knew that he was now part of a long line of heroes and villains. For twelve years the entire world had been cancer free when Sophia Lee's power had finally awakened. Unfortunately for her she couldn't cure cirrhosis. She went from being the world's oldest dormant to the world's oldest drunk. Then of course Gale Swift had ironically killed herself and thousands of others when she whipped up her hurricane six years ago. No one had any idea what his power might be if he ever awakened and the whole world was relatively anxious. Then again he was taking the title from Steve who died still dormant at 102 years old. There was some controversy when a 101 year old woman tried to claim the title over him but fortunately for John she had inadvertently answered a question addressed to her by a squirrel and she was outed as a fraud.
When he agreed to the interview he had explicitly stated that he would only do it if they got Anderson Cooper. No offense to Matt Lower but he didn't want his life to be a fluff piece. They went through the usual questions. "How had he managed to live this long," "If he could have any power what would it be," "Did he think maybe he wasn't dormant and his power was just something unnoticeable."
"Do you ever actively try to do something or make things happen just to see if they will?" Anderson asked leaning in.
John took a deep breath and slowly answered.
"I used to but, at this point even if it happens I probably won't get much time to enjoy it so no. Sometimes I still wave my hands at the remote but it never leaps up and comes to me." He punctuated the statement with a gesture, and felt a tingling in his hands. For a moment he chalked it up to more of his nerves preceding him into death but then he noticed Anderson was no longer there. In fact none of the camera crew or studio audience was there.
It took him the rest of the day to get home. He had to drive so slow to allow himself time to react, not that there was any traffic. He knew what he had done, and the whole drive he cried to himself. The radio was silent, the world in fact seemed to have gone quiet. He went home and made himself dinner, followed his normal routine and went to bed. There was nothing else he could do. As he put his head on his pillow still crying his only hope was that he would finally die in his sleep.
Two months went by and John was surprised he was still making it. Even taking a crap was a full production at this point, no more nurses to help him out. Some days he just sat in his chair and listed all the ways that people had helped him fulfill his basic needs. Other days he tried to invent powers that would have been better. Some days he spent all day just waving his hands around, trying to bring everyone back.
It might have been a Sunday, he always seemed to feel worse on Sunday's but that was probably because that was the day his daughter Gloria used to visit him. She would come by and they would talk about her life. Occasionally she would bring baby Mark over. He had been so happy when she told him that he was to be a great-grandfather and Mary her daughter had been the most inspiring trouper of a pregnant woman he had ever known. Baby Mark had awakened at a mere three years old and if he would never develop one of the great powers like his grandmother, they were no less proud of his obvious smarts and his ready smile. He always smiled when Gloria would make little light shows for him, he would run toddle around and clap his hands over the falling sparks that she cascaded into his playpen. Of course having stayed dormant until she was well into her fifties she could have lit up half the continent if she chose but she had been content entertaining her grandson. Mark could control an insect, just one a time as far as they knew but he always had something with him, crickets were his favorite and they followed him around like a loyal dog. Or rather they had, they had until John had swooshed them all out of existence. He always cried on Sunday's.
It was a Sunday when he began feeling a pain in his leg. Pain was a regular part of his life at this point and he ignored it. It was not as though there were any doctors around to make a house call. On Monday the pain was worse and his leg was swelling, he went about his day normally but he had a slight hope. On Tuesday afternoon the pain in his leg disappeared and about an hour later the chest pain started, the pain was so intense and he was grateful for it. He sat in his chair with a cup of tea and waited for the end. His eyes began to loose focus and his thoughts were scattered. It was at that moment he suddenly had a distinct memory of Gloria, as though she were kneeling in front of him. He reached out, his only goal in these final moments of his life was to rest his hand on her shoulder, apologize and say goodbye but his hand was too weak. He tried to reach out again but this time his hand passed through the hallucination and dropped. At that moment he heard a thud and looked up. There she was, looking shocked but smiling. She ran over to him and knelt exactly like she had in his vision. She took his hand in hers and smiled through the tears forming on her face.
"Oh Dad," She said sniffling "It's going to be ok, you're going to be fine."
He chuckled and groaned with the pain of the laughter. "You're back," he managed to groan out "That's all that matters." His eyes closed and he lost the ability to hold his head up. He felt her hand on his check and she leaned in and kissed his forhead.
"Yes," She said "but I know where you're going...and it's beautiful."
| 2015-10-26T13:59:31 | 2015-10-26T11:28:35 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] The Villain uncovers the Hero's true identity, and targets his family. Unfortunately, the Hero's spouse is a retired villain even more powerful than the current one.
|
Something was out there, watching us. It was someone familiar ... not good.
"Mom, someone is watching us, right?"
"Yep, can you ask your brother to stay ready? He should be in his room."
She went up to him. Shortly after he looked at me from the stairs "Do you know who it is?"
"Yes, sadly. Can you help your sister readying the house?"
"Yea, I call dad quickly.
"Thanks."
My children were 14 and 20. Ha, they grow up so quickly, and in a unique household.
A famous hero, praised for his caution and surprisingly peaceful methods, always trying to avoid unnecessary casualties and collateral damages.
And then there's me, a retired supervillain, also known for avoiding unnecessary damages and casualties, but I am faster to drop everything and go in full force. My goal was a better world with my methods, which were ... controversial to say the least.
Now I am building a better world, with my children ... and my students at school.
That's why I was so disappointed to find one of them attacking me and my family, that's why my children will only keep the house safe. I can end this conflict before it escalates.
As I treat outside, the culprit comes out of hiding, at first not realising who I am.
"Your husband is pretty clever in hiding who is in reality, but no match for me. Now I can finally start in-"
"Jason, I am going to stop you right there."
You could see the colour drain from his face "Mrs.'
"Yep, and I am really disappointed in you. You were so good in debates, and truly believed in your way of dealing with heroes, but actually coming to kill a heroes family? Shame on you. You were the prime student of the School of Villainy and Dark Arts"
"But this is his house what are you doing here?"
"Yes, my husband lives here, and both of my children. And yes I am the retired 'Dark Mistress'. Guess why I am retired?"
"oh ... OH! I am so-"
"Nah. In two weeks I have a lecture about the psychology of humans who have nothing to lose. You know, if someone killed the family and how it unhinges them. If you can make a really god damn good presentation of it then, I might be able to let you stay in our school."
Then I pulled myself towards him, and with the blink of an eye, I had him lifted in the air by my fist: "And if I see you, doing something like this again, I will rain hellfire upon you, so get out of my ... sight."
As I dropped him, and already back at my door "Remember, the presentation has to blow me out of my socks, if not ... hellfire. Good night then, you will need one."
|
Killer Calculator, a cyborg assassin with a peerless analytical mind and instincts so supernaturally honed that people suspected he was secretly magical and not technological at all…
...had buggered off. He’d ran away.
And so Betty Curoz, better known as Blastercaster (it was most definitely not her first choice) was wondering, not for the first or last time, if she’d miscalculated.
“She just crushed Crushmaster!” Carl wailed. “Crushing is supposed to be his *thing*!”
“Carl…”
“Like that’s horrible irony! It’s not how he’d want to go!”
“Carl!” Curoz shouted, “Shut the hell up and retreat to Site B. Take the others with you.”
“Oh, thank fuck. I mean… yes. We shall follow your commands.” He saluted and ran, or rather saluted while running. The remaining guards were all too happy to fall in after him.
Carl wasn’t a coward. He’d gone up against the likes of Vicebeam and Harold Hammer, and sure he’d lost but he’d not embarrassed himself either. But faced with the prospect of meeting Lady Lash? He’d been blubbering like a first-day henchman.
The warehouse door folded away, as did much of the surrounding wall. More from force of habit than anything else, Betty launched a bowling-ball sized blast at the intruder.
It orbited Lady Lash a few times, then dissipated, as if bashful.
“Hi Kate,” said Curoz. She felt a lump in her throat, and hoped it wasn’t something Kate had just put in there. “You can manipulate energy as well as matter? Neat trick.”
“You sent people to my house, Betty,” said Kate, ignoring the attempt at conversation.
Very, very bad sign. A chance to say “matter is energy” and she skipped it? Really bad sign. Oh, hell.
“The house that I live in,” Kate continued. “The house that I live in with my family.”
Lady Lash wasn’t wearing her old uniform, but truth be told she had never needed all those medieval spikes and scales to look scary. She glowed when she was angry, and all that armour had ever done was obscure it.
“You weren’t in any danger,” said Betty, looking around in case any particularly brave guards had stayed behind.
Kate was very bright right now, as if her skeleton was magma and her skin was glass. Her red hair still sat awkwardly on top, detracting from the look somewhat. Like a movie monster with a wig.
“My family, Betty,” Kate rumbled. “If you come after Apex, you’re coming after me. You don’t want to do that.”
Curoz tried another blast, and it fizzled out before it even left her hands. Something— a cable? A pipe?— flew out and clotheslined her, hurling her backwards and pinning her to the wall.
“You think I still care about that old rivalry?” Curoz gasped. “Have you forgotten how to use your brain cells the normal way? You’re a matter manipulator, and you hooked up with Apex Accelerator.”
“And?”
“And?” Curoz rolled her eyes. “Your limitation is your endurance. The peons never figured it out but you can only do this freaky shit for a couple of hours, can’t you? Maybe less now you’re getting old. But loverboy’s whole deal is, hah, how long he lasts. An infinite well of energy to tap into. Of course I don’t need to talk to you about tapping hhhrrghmf...”
The wall animated, pressing against the sides of Curoz’s head, tendrils of brick meaningfully gripping her jaw. “You’re talking about my kids,” Kate growled, the light within her almost white now. Little arcs of electricity danced across her skin, dramatically popping and crackling. “You went after my kids.”
“Not what you… pah!” Curoz leaned away from the grasping brick, spitting dust. “Not what you think! I was trying to force an Awakening! Swear to god!”
“Which god?”
“Any that’d stop you from making me eat this fucking wall!”
Kate flexed a hand. The wall pulsed and spat Curoz out, with far more force than was necessary.
“Start talking.”
“Talk?! I would’ve if you hadn’t shoved a brick in my—”
The floor sprouted tentacles. Spearlike, sinuous living earth that turned towards Curoz like a nest of attentive snakes.
“—the Guild is rounding up candidates,” Curoz said quickly. “Your kids are going to end up in some fucked-up secret lab underground or in space if they can’t defend themselves. And before you say that an Awakening would make the twins a target, they’re already targets because you and your husband are two of the heaviest hitters on the planet, you dipshit.”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Kate said truthfully, “because I have no idea what an Awakening is.”
Curoz had been surprisingly calm up until this point, all things considered. Now her face was an uneasy battlefield between bewildered and furious.
“You’ve got fucking superpowers!” Curoz yelled, furious winning out. “Same as me!”
“What? I thought you were born with yours too.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, sis. You’re saying you were a magic baby?! I couldn’t fire psi blasts until I was thirteen!”
“Maybe you just didn’t try hard enough.”
“Oh, fuck off! If you’re trying to be funny right now—”
“She’s not,” said a very sonorous voice, with just a hint of static. “She’s dreadfully serious, as ever.”
Kate spun around, the floor-tentacles an extension of her body… and so they, too, reached for the ceiling as the two sisters saw the new arrivals and put their hands in the air.
“Very, very wise,” said Killer Calculator. “Mighty as you both may be, a stray shot is virtually guaranteed to maim you in such close quarters.”
There were already a dozen Guild troopers standing by him, with more still streaming in through the warehouse's collapsed wall. Pale uniforms with featureless helmets, a stark contrast to the garish gold skull that adorned Killer Calculator’s mask.
“Now, be a dear, dismiss those tentacles.” The cyborg made a vague gesture, as if Kate was a guest putting her feet on his good furniture. “These Guild chaps get twitchy.”
Kate fought the impulse to fight and let the constructs melt away. “You do realise that I cannot be contained, Calculator. I’ll break out of any facility you put me in.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Killer Calculator lifted up his gold mask... and Apex Accelerator winked.
| 2020-07-19T04:04:37 | 2020-07-19T03:47:18 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump.
|
“If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?”
"*That*."
He cocked his head.
"Dude just fucking *fist pumped*."
The boy turned and stared. A chill breeze wandered across the field. The boy stared. Leaves -- part-turned in the first touch of Fall -- flitted past. Finally he spun back around. "Kill him."
My nod was barely perceptible.
"Do it for the children."
"To Hell with the children," I moved past, pulling off my shades to reveal a darker set beneath, "I do it for the money." Leaping into the air, the sonic boom was my only real answer.
|
Alaira was silent for a moment, and a slight frown spread across her face. Zeaal silently celebrated and smirked at the young girl. Alaira hated that smug look.
"Things are a bit more complicated than that." Alaira started, kneeling down to look the child in the eyes. "You're right, there will be some damage done and some property damaged. Innocent people may also be hurt."
"Then why do you think you're any better than her?" The child spat, contempt in his eyes.
"That's right, girl. What makes you better?" Zeaal mocked. She raised her halberd as if in victory.
"The difference is that Zeaal hurts people out of spite. She doesn't care who or what is in her way. I, on the other hand, want to protect the people she has hurt."
The little boy frowned, and spat on the ground in front of Alaira. "So my mam had to die to stop this lady? You are what you're saying she is."
Horrified, Alaira thought back to the kindly woman who rescued her when she was nearly killed by Zeaal months ago. How in order to save her life, the woman gave her own. A tear formed in her eye, as she listened to the child. "You're mother believed I was the only one that could stop this woman. She gave her life for mine, so we could rescue the rest of the kingdom."
"My mam didn't die to save nobody. You threw the other lady through a wall and she landed on her." The boy began to cry angry tears. "She lived, and the building collapsed. We tried to pull the stone away, but it took two days. By the time pa was able to free her, she bled out. I'll never forgive you!"
Alaira let the words hang in the air for a moment. Her chest tightened. More tears started to fall as she looked at the child who's mother she had inadvertently taken away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I understand why you can't forgive me..." Her eyes dropped to the ground.
In that moment the boy sprung forward, pulling a dagger from behind him on his belt. He swung in a sloppy arc aiming for the young girl's chest, but digging the blade into her clavicle. The boy finally broke down crying, "It's not fair! Why did she have to die? You killed her!"
Alaira felt the blade pierce her skin, the blood run down her chest, and the boy standing in front of her full of hatred and grief. She pulled the boy toward her into a hug. "You're right. It's my fault. I hurt you. You have every reason to hate me. I'm so sorry."
Tears streamed down both of their faces, as Zeaal watched. The smirk had widened to a grin somewhere along the way, and now the woman was slowly moving closer to the distracted girl. She lifted
her halberd, and began to take aim for Alaira. But the boy was in the way.
The boy pulled on the hilt of the blade he'd been holding, trying to remove it form the girl's bone, but the strength of his rage left him, as the person he hated most cried with him and for him.
Alaira was a mess inside and out. She thought she was doing right, the good thing. But she hurt this boy beyond repair. She couldn't help but cry for the pain she caused, knowing there was no going back.
Zeaal swung the halberd in an arc, hitting Alaira across the head with the flat of the blade causing the girl to crumple to the ground while still holding the boy. She quickly used that momentum to swing the pole around over her head, and back to a pointed position at the back of the boy's neck. On the other side of which was Alaira's throat.
"This is why I still fight." Alaira whispered to the boy, her head ringing from the last attack. "She's a monster who attacks those who are at their weakest. I just want everyone to have a fair shot."
At that moment Zeaal went to plunge her blade through the boy and into Alaira. But the girl pulled the dagger from her shoulder and in the one swift motion parried the halberd. She let go of the boy and stood, drawing her sword once again. Alaira then stepped forward, bleeding and concussed, placing herself between the boy and Zeaal. She raised the dagger in her right hand, and her sword in her left.
"Come on now, I'm ready for you."
| 2021-04-18T06:36:57 | 2021-04-18T06:34:53 | 151 | 82 |
[WP] The Alien Federation has been keeping tabs on the humans of Earth since they first appeared. They do surveillance missions once every 300 years to keep track of our progress, the last mission was 300 years ago. The aliens are shocked by our progress since 1714.
|
Xoloth had begun to shake as he returned to his hybernation pod for the 150 year return journey to the homeworld. The human threat was elevating at an unprecidented level. At his last visit they had barely begun to scratch the surface of fossil fuel technology and now they were playing with atomics like a child with a noisemaker. Radio, flight, the internal combustion engine. All technologies that were buried deep in the fossil record of his own homeworld, developed in the blink of a sensory bulb. But the fact that drove a cold spike of terror into his thorax was that the humans had begun to delve into the black sciences of genetic and cybernetic augnentation. He would have been within the law to wipe out the planet for such a transgression, but one ship no matter how advanced could not withstand a world's worth of nuclear weapons.
Xoloth willed his ancient drive faster as the first tendrils of hibernative suspension began to settle around his mind. The Federation must learn of this before they faced a second Augmentation War. That it could have appeared without warning from so backward a sector was so alarming it made Xoloth spit bile into his gas tube as the darkness claimed him.
*450 years later...*
The world, the galaxy was doomed, but all around him the Homeworld continued to spin as it had for millenia. No other being outside the Federation Military knew the fate that had silently befallen sentientkind in the cold reaches of space. After recieving Xoloth's report, the Federation had sent a grand extermination fleet to end the human threat before they could become the genetically altered, techno-organic monstrosities that all predictions foresaw.
But the predictions didn't account for the speed of human progress. In the time it had taken him to return with his dire news, the humans had become something horrible. The news didn't come from the Federation, naturally. The entire incident was classified at the highest levels. Even Xoloth himself was sworn to secrecy.
But the fleet was due to return a month ago. Not a single ship, not a single escape shuttle or message pod had arrived back at the Homeworld.
Xoloth watched his radiotelescope every night. He didn't hold any hope of seeing survivors anymore, he had a different reason to watch the skies.
There are monsters out there.
|
Qood plonked on the sofa, squishing Meezlat's hmorax.
"Ow! Watch it, stonkface," Meezlat protested, lashing Qood with his spare hmorax.
"Really? You want to start this, broodler?" Qood grinned wickedly with mouths in his hands, holding them threateningly over Meezlat's iynghui gland.
"Leave me alone, Qood! Don't you have a world to devour?" Meezlat spat, squirming under the bullies mentally projected force.
Qood laughed heartily, sliding off Meezlat's hmorax, "c'mon Brood', I was just messin'. You're cool. Whatchya watching?"
"Earth," Meezlat muttered in deliberately short words.
"Eardh?" Qood stroked his dlongis, "can't say I've ever heard of it. Is it good? Or just another one of your plant biomes?"
"It's *EAR-THHHH*, and *yes*, it *is* good. Now if you'd excuse me, Russia is invading Ukraine, and a renegade virus-"
"It's a plant biome, isn't it?" Qood jeered, interrupting.
"IT'S NOT A SIVVLING PLANT BIOME! This is the only 17th phylum colony in sector ui!Hn, and it's very interesting," Meezlat protested; he hated when Qood got into a z-frame like this.
"ui!Hn sector... wait, not that planet with the microscopic bipeds?" Qood piqued.
Meezlat nodded.
Qood laughed, "I *knew* it was a plant biome! Well, practically."
"It's not a plant biome; they've escaped the gravity well, and are actively looking for us. They even have computers, not quantum but still," Meezlat didn't even know why he was defending them. They were all lyeornid food, anyway; but their rate of progress was astounding, and it was high time Qood got taken down a notch.
"Flodshit. No way. I tuned in to them just the other day; 300 years ago, tops. No way that sad little species did any of that. They were struggling with paddling around in their pathetically shallow oceans," there was an edge of defensiveness to Qood's voice.
"You're right; they were. 300 years ago," Meezlat's nose flared smugly.
"Pfft, so what, they built a rocket and binary circuitboards. There's not even half a billion of them, and they don't have nukes. Don't think this means I owe you a plubjob," Qood nudged Meezlat playfully. Meezlat didn't budge.
"They developed nukes before escaping the gravity well, *and* computers. And there's... *seven* billion of them as of this moment. I'd say you owe me two plubjobs, Qood," it was all Meezlat could do to stop himself from squanching all over the sofa. In truth, it was a little premature, he'd wanted to wait longer, on the gamble the audacious little planet would avoid self destruction for just a century or two more and possibly net him three or four plubjobs - but he'd gladly collect his two plubjobs now.
Qood was stunned.
"You see, Qood, fnordarchs like you think it's all about technology and biology. You never consider the subtler factors; you think them beneath you," Meezlat was of course speaking of socio-economics, not that'd he'd let Qood know that. It was considered a pseudo-science by all the fnordarchs, but Meezlat was convinced it was not just important, but perhaps as important as the prime variables. If he was right, he'd be pulling in more than just a couple of plubjobs.
"B-but, how? Half the planet wasn't even settled? This is Flodshit!" the realisation was settling upon Qood, Meezlat had won fair and square.
"The simple laws of exponents, Qood my brood'," Meezlat patted the fnordarch hmorax.
"But didn't they crash? They always crash... maybe if we wait-"
"Denial, anger, and now bargaining? This is very unlike you, Qood. Did I tell you how they decoded their genome, and are writing synthetic DNA?" Meezlat almost felt bad for Qood. Almost.
Qood's hand mouths dropped open.
"Oh yes, and not just your precious biology; they've build particle accelerators, identified the graviton, mapped the big bang, modelled a crude approximation of their galactic supergroup, and... oh yes, they've started teleporting photons," Meezlat squanched; fuck it, who cares now.
"Meezlat? You let it progress this far, just to... stick it to me? This is highly irrespons-"
"Oh please, save it. You of all fnordarchs. It's fine, just a gentlebroodly bet between colleagues," Meezlat input some commands into the dizirgus module, "there, see? That ought to wipe them out any second now, before anyone was any the wiser. Now, about those plubjobs..."
Qood slumped, unravelling his iynghui gland for Meezlat's mouth-hands. Meezlat coiled eagerly, then hesitated, "we could wait, though..."
"What?" Qood wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned.
"It's just... if we just hold off. They've got something coming out that I want to see, like, next year," Meezlat tickled the dizirgus module, calling off the gnurmundus event, "once they release it, I can archive it, and relaunch the gnurmundus event."
Qood boggled at Meezlat, "you've left it long enough! You've proved your point. What could possibly warrant this recklessness?"
Meezlat flared his nostrils, stroking his hmorax, "have you ever heard of half-life?"
| 2014-10-26T18:11:40 | 2014-10-26T16:48:25 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You were the last human on earth after the zombie apocalypse destroyed civilization. One day, you finally get infected by a zombie, but after turning, you realize what you've been missing out on.
|
(FIXED THE FORMATTING YAY)
I was surviving for a while before I finally got turned. Not sure how long, stopped keeping track of the time long ago, but it was a good while. When I finally got bit though it was a little anti-climactic. No epic fighting or one-off against a horde of zombies, didn’t get a chunk of my arm or leg removed by the jaw of an undead. I just scratched myself. It was an elementary mistake, one only those who died early made. Regardless, I had just made it and I knew I was done. Once you had any sort of open wound it wouldn’t be long until you were infected; the zombies turned you with their saliva, which after all this time was on basically everything. As soon as a drop got into your bloodstream you were a goner.
Went through the normal stages of the turning process: general lethargy, bloatedness, other small microbes eating at your flesh as you rot slowly. It didn’t hurt at all, as they only ate at the parts of you that were dead already, although I expected all of this after watching everyone turn. What I didn’t expect was how I’d feel about the whole thing.
It might be the fact that my nervous system is slowly dying and freaking the fuck out, but I feel awesome. The best guess as to the cause would be either the infectious agent causes a huge release of endorphins, or it acts like an agonist similar to many addictive drugs that give you a high, which is actually a perfect description to how I feel. I feel like I’m on a perpetual high and have risen above the constraints of mortality. Like there is nothing I need to care about, and that I could do anything I wanted. Although I guess that feeling made sense. After all, there were no more humans around as far as I knew, and as a zombie it wasn’t like I had any priorities or jobs I needed to do or be worried about.
Movement is getting harder, I don’t think I could raise my arms above my head at this point, but I honestly couldn’t care less. As I walk around I notice things I haven’t noticed about the zombies I was fighting from before. They don’t look that ugly, believe it or not. And most seem to still be able to do some rudimentary cognitive functions. How did I not notice these things before? I swear they used to just look like mindless idiots that hobbled around. I guess I just didn’t have the perspective.
I believe one smiled at me, how nice of him. I smile back. Being a zombie wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I thought I’d lose all use of my own mind, that I’d basically be a shell that could walk around and do useless things. But I’m not. I’m having trouble walking, but I’m not. I’m free, and I can do whatever I want. My movements may be somewhat constrained, but that’s alright.
I laugh to myself at the idiocy of my old views. I hear other zombies around me laugh too. Everyone’s voice sounds different though, probably because of the bacteria eating away at their vocal chords. I wonder if that’s the moaning sound I heard a lot of zombies make before. I laugh again to myself at the stupidness of my old views. I was an idiot. Being a zombie wasn’t bad at all. I have nothing I need to worry about.
Being a zombie is fun. I don’t think I can bend one of my legs but that’s okay. I don’t need to care about anything anymore, and there’s nothing to be scared of anymore. I can do whatever I want. I can’t move much, but that’s okay. I can do whatever I want. I laugh to myself. I was stupid.
I can do whatever I want. I see other zombies. I should follow them. They have a good idea what to do. They don’t have to worry about things. I don’t have to worry about things. Being a zombie is fun. I feel happy. I laugh.
I see other zombies. I should follow them. Being a zombie is fun. I’m happy. I laugh.
Follow others. Haha. I happy. Fun.
Follow others. I happy. Haha.
Follow. Haha.
Haha, ha.
Haha.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha…
……
…………………….
|
"You want in on this?" the Asian zombie dude's voice rings inside my head, as he lifts his blood covered face from the carcass of what looks like a small child.
"No, thanks," I tell him, forcing a smile. "I'm vegan."
The number of times I had to say that… I mean, I get it, we're zombies, we need to feed, we're evil, blah, blah,
blah…
But *come on*! We can eat animals! Cows and shit. Hell, I've eaten dogs. I don't feel good about it, but I have.
But humans… These guys act like it's no big deal… I can't bring myself to do it.
"Hippie bitch," the Asian zombie says, turning back to face his carcass. I roll my eyes, making way back to the streets.
God, I'm hungry.
__________________
Ok, first thing about being a zombie I didn't realize: it's slow. I can't run. I can't even walk, I have to do this silly
penguin walk everywhere I go. It's exhausting.
I bounce my way down Hollywood Boulevard, brushing past other zombies, turned over cars and torn apart billboards of old TV shows and all that crap. I gotta find food.
I mean, there's food around, sure, but it's like I said…
Second thing about being a zombie I didn't realize: I still think. I can't bring myself to kill a freaking mailman.
These guys around me, some of them are way too sick already, they don't even communicate anymore, I doubt they can think straight. Others – like the Asian dude – they are still rational, but they don't give a shit.
Me? I turned less than a month ago. I still have all my brain activity intact. I don't know how long it's going to last,
but I can tell you for sure, at least for now, I'm not killing any –
"Hey, sweetie."
I turn around to face a group of zombies in Abercrombie and Fitch ripped shirts, watching me from the front of an
abandoned McDonalds.
"What are you doing browsing around like this? Wanna party with us?"
The voices are all in my head, that's how we talk. That's third thing about being a zombie: You can only talk to
other zombies.
And zombies suck.
I penguin my way past the McDonalds, ignoring the zombiedouches and stepping into what I think is what's left of the Hollywood and Highland Mall.
"Come on, princess! Come back!" I hear their voices fading in my head, as I step past a huge sign reading –
OMINGDALES.
Jesus, it's boring, walking like this.
I look around. Does this place have a food court? A Pet store? Anything I can eat that doesn't *think*?
I keep bouncing my way deeper and deeper inside the mall, scanning left and right. Nothing. Dear God, I'm so
hungry I think I might --
"Back off!"
I look to my left. Just under an escalator, a half-open door reads "STORAGE ROOM". It's dark inside.
*Huh…*
"I said back off!"
Squinting, I'm able to make out a human figure. A bit out of shape, and carrying what looks to be a shotgun.
The figure takes a step forward, and a young man, not more than seventeen, comes to light. "Don't take another
step!"
*Dude, I wouldn't have even seen you if you hadn't said anything.*
"I'm serious, I'll shoot!"
He's holding his shotgun like Britney Spears would hold an Erlenmeyer flask, and he's got a piece of cloth tied
around his forehead.
*Zombie nerds,* I think, rolling my eyes and resuming my penguin walk towards the food court.
"Yeah, that's right!" I hear his voice. "Fucking zombies all –"
But then I hear it, inside my head, "Hey, there's a dude in there!"
And another voice, "Come on! Right there!"
I turn back to find the douchezombies making way inside the mall.
*You know what? This is not my problem,* I think, trying to ignore the sound of approaching zombie steps behind me. I keep walking.
"Over there!" Comes the voice inside my head again.
"Back you devils!" I hear the zombie nerd scream, behind me.
*Come on, a Lord of the Ring's quote?*
This kid is going to die.
I hear the sound of the shotgun clicking. All right he can defend himself. Then it clicks again. And again.
"Oh, man, I forgot the shells!"
"Get him, get him! Oh, he's fat, he'll last a couple of days!"
I stop, rolling my eyes again. Shit.
"All right, stop, fuckfaces," I say, turning back. The zombies have the shotgun boy cornered against his sad little
storage room door, with the largest one approaching, hands raised in front of his chest like…a zombie.
"Look! it's princess death," the large one replies, turning to face me. "How's it going, sweetheart?"
I penguin-walk my way to them. "Leave the boy alone."
They laugh. I figure this must look very weird to zombienerd over there, watching four zombies look at each other
in silence.
"Come on, join us," large zombie says. "We'll let you have his belly."
"Drop it and leave," I say, throwing a serious look his way.
"Fuck off," another one says, and they charge against the boy again.
"Oh, shit!" zombienerd cries, dropping to the floor and pressing his eyes closed.
I charge, grabbing the largest one by the neck and tearing his head from the rest of his body with a single pull. I throw the lifeless (not that it was exactly life*full* before, but whatever) head behind my shoulder and turn to the others.
"Holy shit!" one of the friends say, backing away. "This bitch is crazy!"
I bite onto the dude's face, chewing until I tear half of it away and spitting an eyeball on the floor. He falls down.
Zombiedouche number three is all wide-eyes at me now, shaking from feet to bloody, surfer hair.
Oh, yes, zombie fact number four: If you only eat human meat and drink human blood, you're only as strong as
humans. If you eat animals, on the other hand…
"Get lost, asshole."
I'm a badass, is my point.
The zombie turns back and, fast as he can, starts penguin away from me.
Zombienerd is shaking and teary-eyed, watching me from the floor. "Please don't eat me."
I sigh, at least internally, and I offer him my hand. He backs away.
"Just take it, idiot," I say, inside my head. "I'm not going to eat you."
Still trembling, he reaches out, and I help him up. "Are you going to eat me?" he asks, hand still on mine.
"No, you fucktard," I reply. "I'm going to get you somewhere safe. Come on."
God, I hope I stop thinking soon.
______________________
EDIT: [PART II](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3ol7d8/eve_part_ii/)
[PART III](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3oleiz/eve_part_iii/)
[PART IV](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3onz7x/eve_part_iv/)
[PART V](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3op1ut/eve_part_v/)
[PART VI](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3op8p2/eve_part_vi/)
[PART VII](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3opm5x/eve_part_vii/)
[PART VIII](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3opuqk/eve_part_viii/)
| 2015-10-13T07:35:04 | 2015-10-13T06:28:26 | 1,135 | 785 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
"Back again." Death said to the little brown tabby in his doorway.
"This is what happens when one dies. That was seven?" Niu said.
"One hundred twenty nine."
"I cannot count that high. It is seven. Seven lives."
Niu began to groom herself. Death sighed and produced a coin from somewhere within his robe.
Niu continued grooming for a few minutes then looked at the coin. "I don't see why we play this game. By rights I have two more free lives."
Death rolled his eyes and flipped the coin high in the air. As the coin reached its zenith, Niu lept up, caught it and delivered the coin to the table face up.
"Heads. I win. I will proceed to life seven, as is my right."
"You cheat." Death said.
"Everyone knows you can't cheat death." Niu purred and turned to leave.
Death chuckled as the little tabby sauntered out the door. Humans may not be able to cheat death, but cats were cats.
|
Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T07:46:57 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 3,526 | 13 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!"
|
"Hello!" I yelled into the darkness surrounding me. My voice rattled off unseen walls; deep rumbling echoes built up into a dreadful cacophony that seemed to swallow me whole.
*Hello hellllo helllllll oh-oh-oh*
My skin became goose-pimpled and a shiver ran up my spine.
"Please - I was joking! Death, if you're there still, please. Please!"
*Please pleaaaa pllleaaad-d-d*
I could feel cold, rock wall to my right but nothing in any other direction. With no other option, I plunged into the darkness, always keeping the wall within reach. The ground beneath me was uneven and I had to step cautiously so as not to trip. As I walked, the stench of sulphur began to grow, soon intensifying and wrapping itself tightly around my throat. After a time, I sensed that the passageway was leading me downward: the wall itself began to twist and I knew I was corkscrewing deep into the earth. No, not the earth. I was somewhere else. But if it was Hell, why was it empty?
I don't know how long I crept along in that dreadful, unrelenting silence -- that blinding darkness -- but eventually a dim orange light became visible someway below; I almost wept with relief.
Gradually, as I descended towards the light, my surroundings became less dim and I could see I was on a wide staircase of sorts -- although a ramp might be more accurate, as there were no steps. I glanced down at my feet and to my surprise, I recognised the sight of the black-grey ground I stood upon. It was a type of igneous rock; the type that forms when lava cools and dies.
The ramp eventually led into a vast hollow carved out of black rock walls. It was much brighter in the room than the stairwell, although shadows danced menacingly on the walls. I saw first a great rock table in the center of the room, around which was a circular patch of white ground marked with the tell-tale black veins of marble. Around that, twelve skeletons rested against the chamber's walls, rusty chains around their necks bolting them to the rock behind. There were iron keys lying by each of their legs. Could they have freed themselves but chose not to?
I crept towards the table. On it lay the remains of a great skeleton, much larger than the others, its arms folded proudly across its chest. In its arms lay a long-sword, its blade a shimmering crystal-blue. The huge bones that must have once made up the creature's wings lay spread across the table's wide surface.
An object rested on the creature's skull -- *the light source*. It was almost blinding to gaze upon the chipped red teeth that made up the terrible crown. Each tooth shone like a fiercely burning ruby. *Like a flame.*
On the side of the table was carved an epitaph.
> Here lies the body of the Morning Star, bringer of light. The true son of God. Long did he protect his children from the Angel's lies. No longer he can. By his side rests his eternally loyal apostles.
> Here lies the body of the Morning Star. He awaits to be avenged; he awaits a friend.
I don't know how long I sat in that room, surrounded by death with my arms wrapped tightly around me. Hours, at least. Days, perhaps.
I don't know why I eventually got to my feet and removed the crown of teeth from the skull, and placed it on my head.
But I did.
And as skin around my shoulderblades ripped and bled to reveal the growths beneath; as the eye sockets of the twelve skulls around the table began to flame and smoulder; as I picked up the sword from the skeleton on the table, and saw in my mind's eye the death of God and the Angel's crimes -- I realised that everything was about to change.
|
He really... wasn't what I expected. For one thing, he was-
"Really? 12 years of Sunday school and they _missed that?_" Lucy replied, blinking slightly as she realised just how little the humans knew. I nodded sadly and gently patted her back, feeling her skin under my fingers like dry paper and fire-tinder. She didn't _look_ especially demonic, not really - not human, there was no way you could mistake her for someone made of meat. At an easy eight feet tall, her jet nails formed cuticles with skin streaked with violet and black that appeared paper-thin, but had the strength of steel and the texture of dry parchment. She didn't look human... but she didn't look evil.
"Are you... are you alone here?" I replied, and as she nodded I found myself looking around across the vastness of dark void in which I had arrived. It didn't so much look empty as unfinished, as though it hadn't finished becoming _somewhere_ yet. Beneath my feet there was solid, unyielding ground, floored expertly with mahogany planks and scattered across it were objects that look like half-bean bags, half-eiderdowns. I stood, and walked across to one feeling the air moving around me as though I were travelling far faster than I truly was. Behind me, the soft rustling as though of dry leaves told me Lucy had walked behind me, and I felt bizarrely glad she was there. She was... well, "Him", I guess. The devil, Satan, master of demons and djinni and all the foulness in the world. Tempter and corrupter and defiler. It should not have felt comforting when she wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and gazed off dramatically into the middle-distance.
"I have been here for a timeless eternity" she muttered softly, "floating _in potentia_ through the infinite void". Her hands gently but firmly steered me to take a seat in one of the strange but almost impossibly comfortable feather-sacs, and she positioned herself across from me as she sat in one of her own.
She sighed quietly, and appeared to be steeling herself to answer my unasked questions.
"I existed here because your kind believed that I did, but without a human to enter my domain there was nothing to rend the empty fabric and bring reality to my plane. In the realm above there a billions of you, living in the White Realm and experiencing one form of life beyond the material, but that does not mean it is the best, nor that it is exclusive." Her lips moved around the words with a precision that appeared unearthly, every sound pronounced with the careful infallibility of a being with over a million years since the emergence of humanity to practice.
"This, friend, is the Black Realm. The duality to the realm above, its polar opposite and its identical twin. In the White Realm, it is the experience of the collective that steers the will of the void; in the Black Realm, it is the experience of the individual that bends the fabric of reality." She smiled almost seductively around the words, and reached out a hand into the space before me, holding it palm upwards as her eyes slipped closed. As she began again to speak, I transferred my gaze to her lips and saw that where in humans they would have been rosy from blood, in her they were purple-black with whatever pulsed through her own veins... if she even had them.
"In the White Realm, he who commands that place gave to humanity a gift when your kind first emerged upon the plains of the mother-continent. He gave you _language_, such that you might spread your ideas and ideals amongst your own kind and come to consensus." Her palm appeared now to be glowing faintly in the empty not-light of the void, and I found my gaze irrevocably drawn towards it. I couldn't help but see it, and I couldn't help but want to.
"From the Black Realm, I too gave humanity a gift, to spread my ideals and to better your kind." A soft sound was emerging from the space above her palm, one that gave the impression that it was not a small sound... but was in fact a truly _deafening_ sound, heard from very far away. Lucy's black lips spat a syllable that should by all rights have been utterly incomprehensible, that nevertheless failed to be completely and totally understood inside the ears of my mind.
**I gave you Fire**, spoke the sound, as the void above her hand ripped open like a paper bag and pure Fire appeared in its place. This was not the fires I had struck with matches at home, not the tame thing that dwelt within the heating element of my old home boiler. This was Fire, the purest _essence_ of flame, and as it licked into the air it felt, it looked, it sounded... joyful.
I looked back towards Lucy and I knew my eyes were shining with wild abandon, not just at the reality that the void could create things at will, but with the magnificence of what I had seen it create. She was grinning back at me slyly, and as she dropped her hand, it released the Fire upwards into the air, where it spread and thinned, disappearing without ever appearing to leave. I watched it travel, looking for all the world like an orange aurora, and moved my head down again to watch Lucy's eyes.
"That is what I am. He above is the essence of community. I below and the essence of self. He gave you language, that you might share and become more than you are; I gave you fire, that you might control the world around you and develop the technology to become more than animals." She leant forwards, and I realised she was taking a bow. I took a couple of seconds to find my voice, and when I did I realised it was almost hoarse.
"That's what this is then? This place we're sitting? This is... what my mind created?" She nodded, still grinning like a cat with thumbs but remaining silent. I stood easily, far more easily than anyone sitting in what was essentially just a bundle of pillows had any right to stand, and walked around the place. It was beautifully furnished and dimly light by a permeating nowhere-light, though without walls or ceiling, and as I walked slowly towards the edge where the void should start I found the floor was travelling with me, extending itself out into the infinite inky expanse. I felt my mind calling out, desperate to try using the properties of this realm, and I heard my companion rise out of her own seat. I watched her move with an impossible grace across the floor, as though she wasn't walking but merely allowing my mind to see her walk as she glided with ease through the fabric of this place. As I saw her move, I knew what I wanted to try first.
I reached out a hand, and she stood behind me wrapping her hand around my own, holding it in the correct position. Once again, I had that eerie feeling that despite all that I knew of the ruler of this place being wrong... my mind was still convinced that it shouldn't enjoy the sensation of her warmth pressed into my own. Her long arms reached easily around mine, and her foot gently nudged my own into a better stance.
"Whenever you're ready" she said, grinning wider still. Sure as I was that she could read the thoughts in my mind, it was good to see she approved of my choice for humanity's first usage of the Black Realm's power. I took a deep breath, and found the place in my mind this realm had put there, where the words of power lived. I wrapped my thoughts around a sentence, and delivered the string of syllables to my lips.
**Let there be Lightning**
And my gods was there ever Lightning.
| 2022-11-26T20:28:16 | 2017-11-04T09:51:52 | 960 | 20 |
[WP] Every year for centuries, two children are sent into a monster's den to appease it. You walk into the cave, terrified, and instead find a thriving metropolis.
|
An inky blackness covered the entrance. Once you stepped through--there was no going back.
The villagers gathered, torches raised and humming songs of thanks to the two children.
The boy clutched her hand, they walked through the gathered people. Garlands and wreaths were put around them.
The two children were raised to be sacrifices. The creature would otherwise rise and wreak havoc on the village.
They were ready. The two nodded at eachother and they stepped through. They pushed through the thick dark--holding their breaths. The magical barrier feeling like warm water.
They emerged--unwilling to open their eyes. It was quiet.
"Welcome." Said a voice.
When they opened their eyes the saw an old woman hunched over, supporting herself with a stone cane. "Don't be afraid." She said. "There are no monsters in here... Come. Come. My name is Erma."
She beckoned them, and they didn't have anywhere else to go--lights lit up the cavern. They weren't torches--but strange jars that seemed to illuminate bright light--cables connecting each of them together.
The old woman led them through the cavern. "It must be shocking to people so young." She said. "To be prepared to sacrifice yourself--and to find you will in fact lead a very long life. That is atleast what I felt."
They entered a cavern--towering structures of stone and light that went on for miles. "Welcome to the monster realm." Said Erma.
High in the cavern--between many buildings was a blood colored crystal that pulsed. Cables wrapped around it and went in all directions. "The heart of the great beast Ashmagore. It gives us all the electricity we need."
The two children looked at each other--unsure what electricity was...
"Don't worry." Said the old woman. "You'll learn. We live good lives here. We can find you homes."
They came to a plaza, "We only ask that you be brave." the old woman turned and smiled. Behind her was a statue with a young girl wielding a stone dagger. At her feet was a hideous beast that had been slain. An inscription read, "Erma -- Founder And Slayer of Great Beast Ashmagore"
|
It was huge, it was dark, it was….scary.
But momma said to go in. Said it was for the good of the town. Said it was because of this, that the town remained safe.
She cried when she said it. She was sad, but….I could sense some relief, that it wasn’t Tommy who went in. Tommy, who didn’t know how to speak yet. Tommy, who was always got more love. Tommy….I didn’t really like him.
It wasn't my fault that I wasn't as cute as him. That was what Aunt Lucy said. And Aunt Simone, Uncle Benny, and every other kid in school. They said it while looking at the huge patch on my forehead. A "con-janitor discoloration", the doctor called it.
I held Lily’s hand. She was scared too - she was trembling, like a lot. She was trying her very best not to cry….but I could hear her sniffing.
At least Lily’s parents loved her more. They were crying and begging the mayor, right there. Being held back by those strong policemen. Those strong policemen, who were the protectors of the people. Those strong policemen, who maintained peace and….justice.
The town was standing behind those barricades. They just stood there, silent. Watching us, walking slowly. Watching us do what we didn’t want to do.
I squeezed Lily’s hand tighter. And she squeezed back.
I didn’t look back. I didn't want to look back - I hate you, Tommy. I hate you, momma.
Lily didn’t look back too - she was too consumed by fear.
And together, we walked into the cave.
&nbsp;
-----
&nbsp;
It looked dark from the outside. It was even darker inside. I couldn’t see my hand when I stretched it out in front of me. I couldn’t see Lily too - but I could feel her, as she had taken to hugging my whole arm.
The mayor said to walk on. To walk on. And walk on. He didn’t mention anything else; he hadn’t walked here before. The other adults didn’t know what it felt like too.
As we shuffled our feet unwillingly in the darkness, I thought about why we were doing this.
No one talked about this cave when I was really young; it was only in primary school, when Mrs Patsy introduced it to us. She told a story that sounded so....weird.
A long, long time ago, there was once a fire-breathing dragon that found a nice little hole in the mountainside. He thought it would make a great home, and used his fire to melt the rock and make a great cave. That very cave that we walked into.
Even though his cave grew really, really big, he wasn't happy. He wanted to have some of the surface as well, instead of just an underground home. Like how a rich man wants a front yard for his huge mansion, Mrs Patsy said.
So the dragon started attacking the nearby village. Eating people and their farm animals, setting fire to their farms, dug and scratched all their land. Basically destroyed everything they owned.
The people were scared of the dragon, but they had nowhere else to go - the dragon had burnt all their boats and slaughtered their horses. So....they decided to offer sacrifices to the dragon.
"Two children," the dragon had said. "Children make me sleep well. Let them come into my cave on their own, so I may eat in peace. Give me the two children every year, and I will sleep in peace."
And so the tradition was born.
But that filled me with questions. Why would the dragon abandon his wish to have more land, to instead sleep peacefully? Why couldn't he just capture all the children and keep them in his cave, like a farm? Then just take the land above for his own?
And why did the story change everytime someone told it?
Miss Lee said it was a witch who loved to eat children and use them for her potions. Old Gree said it was a huge, slimy toad. Momma said there were old gods inside.
It just didn't make sense.
&nbsp;
-----
&nbsp;
We've been walking for ages now.
Lily was tired, and was now riding on my back. I was still stumbling forward, shuffling slowly to avoid tripping on stones -
Cling! Clang! Clang!
The stones that I kicked were rolling down stairs. Stairs....made of metal?
The path had always been stone. Rough stone, and nothing else. Until now.
I slowed down, feeling for the steps beneath me.
&nbsp;
-----
&nbsp;
There was a light in the distance.
Lily had gotten off my back - which was good. I was becoming quite tired.
But Lily, well-rested....she bounded ahead. I didn't know why she was so excited. For all we know - it could be the monster, luring us into his trap.
But according to her, "Monsters can't live in the light. That's not the monster - it's a way out!! I'll see Mama and Papa again!!"
But those who entered.....they never came back, did they?
I felt tired.....I sank to my knees. I couldn't carry on anymore.....
Lily was coming back. I could hear her footsteps. And more footsteps....heavier, and slower. An adult?
"I'll get you to safety, kid."
Huge, warm hands lifted me up, and I leaned on the stranger's back. And we proceeded on.
I wanted to fall into sleep right there and then, but I wanted to see where we were heading. I tilted my head up slowly, and right there in front of us.....the cave opened up into a huge cavern. Tall buildings rose up to immense heights, linked with a complex network of bridges and walkways. Dazzling bright lights - blinding lights, growing in size as my vision blurred....
"Welcome to your new home, brave ones."
*More at r/N_attempts_to_write :-)*
| 2017-11-08T19:40:59 | 2017-11-08T19:31:16 | 118 | 20 |
[WP] Genie: aah, that's... an unusual wish, are you sure?... I mean, it's doable but... you sure you don't want something else? Like richness, or eternal life? Cos this is going to... and all the paperwork. But ok, if that's your wish, well, your wish has been granted
|
"I am absolutely certain," I stated.
He nodded, closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers, "It is done..."
He started to leave and paused before looking back at me, "What made you wish for that when you could have had anything in the world?"
I smirked, "I've always liked the term."
The genie looked a little uneasy, "You know most people lie at least once in their life right? Like, this is going to affect pretty much everyone."
I nodded, "But, the specifications I gave were enacted right? Little harmless lies just get puffs of smoke while the size of the burn increases as the number and magnitude of the lie increases?"
"It is set to your exact formula. But seriously, have you just been carrying that around with you your entire life on the off chance genies were real?"
I laughed, "Since I was 12."
He looked behind me, across the street to a little electronics repair shop and saw a tv flicker as the channel changed to a national news station. I followed his gaze and we both walked over to the window to take in the breaking news.
The pretty blonde newscaster seemed uncomfortable as she tried to report on what seemed to be an urgent broadcast:
"There is currently no need to panic...," she shifted again and her nostrils flared as visible puffs of smoke rose above the desk where she sat, "... there seems to be an uncontrolled fire raging in..." she looked off camera, "...wait are you sure?" She asked as she shifted, "all of them?"
The young blonde stifled a laugh as she once again shifted in her seat, "I'm just getting reports in that...it appears that...an unfortunate...." she shifts and yelps as she pats her leg under the table, "It appears that clothing across the nation is catching fire at random. We are not yet sure what is causing this disaster, but please be advised, all clothing should be removed immediately..." her eyebrow ticks up in confusion, "You guys if this is a joke, it's not funny..."
An unclothed man shuffled carefully into view and sat next to the pretty blonde his face was stern and seemingly in a bit of pain, "This is not a joke. While in session today the Capitol building in Washington D.C. went up in flames so quickly that it is currently believed that there are no survivors. That fire is still raging out of control as firefighters are split up among the district attempting to put out fires in nearly every federal building..."
I smiled and turned from the television, skipping away from the rising carnage as I hummed, "Liar liar pants on fire..."
|
Crossing my arms, I give the genie an annoyed look. I had made it quite clear what my wish was, and now he's just beating around the bush while he scratches his head nervously. If he really thinks a cheeky grin is going to make me change my wish, well, it won't.
"I told you, bruh." I raise my eyebrow irritatedly. "An island of dogs. That's it. Literally a landmass of canis lupus familiaris. This is literally all I want."
The genie nervously plays with his fingers, shaking his head left to right as if he is scheming about how to deter me even more. It has become quite clear the genie is apprehensive about my wish. Letting out a big sigh, I take out my phone and jump onto Google.
"Look." I said firmly as I pull up various images and beckon the genie to come over, showing him pictures from the internet. "Japan has this rabbit island just full of those furry hoppers, and look!" I exclaim even louder as I quickly type another into the search bar. "An island **JUST** full of pigs in the Bahamas! It's not that unusual!"
The genie just scratches his goatee as he flies back up and fiddles with his fingers, before turning back with a strained smile. "Ok well, those are smaller animals per se..." He starts off as he pulls up holographic images of various animal types. "Rabbit types vary but they're all quite small, so they're easier to handle. And those pigs are feral! Management would not mind dumping them somewhere nice..." He turns away as he scratches his head, "But come on John, some dogs are big... and the amount of paperwork that comes with it."
"You know what, whatever." I throw my hands up in the air in surrender, giving the genie an extremely pouty look. "I guess since you don't like dogs or something you can't do it whatever. Later dude." Internally disappointed, I start to walk away back towards the garden entrance, before he starts to tug on my hoodie.
"Ok ok ok wait!" He exclaims as he motions for me to turn around. Sighing and expecting nothing more than rambling, I turn to see the genie thinking for a few more minutes as I cross my arms; my feet stomping impatiently. After a few looks of pleading, the genie lets out a sigh and approaches me.
"Fine, island of dogs. Every kind you ca-"
"**REAL** dogs." I interject as I gave him a half-frown. "No throwing any curveballs at me genie. Won't look good for you."
"Yes yes yes, fine. **REAL** dogs with **REAL** dirty island dirt." He backhands sarcastically with a slight pout as he snaps his fingers, conjuring a paper and ink pen. Taking those two, he flies close to me, giving me the pen. "Just sign here. So management knows it's not me with the crazy requests."
While he mutters to himself, I let out a relieved sigh as I scan the paper. Pretty normal stuff. No returns, no exchanges, it's all under my name, I'm responsible for their livelihood. "Looks good to me." I said with a slight smile as I quickly sign the line. When finished, the paper rolls back up and the genie looks at me, giving me one last look of disappointment.
"You sure about this little man...?" He pleads one last time as he prepares to snap his fingers. "You know, eternal life or weal-"
"I'm sure, genie. I want my doggos and puppers." I give him a straight reply with a stern face. Knowing he no longer has any wiggle room, he finally concedes and prepares himself.
"Alright, well, you asked for it. Have fun..." Though reluctant, he finally snaps his finger; a white light suddenly surrounding me and the entire park. I cover my eyes with my hands, but as it subsides, I open my eyes to the most ridiculous scene ever.
Thousands upon thousands of dogs and puppies are running towards Central Park. From every direction and every entrance, a symphony of woofs and barks rush into the garden. The other patrons nearby start to scream and scramble to get out of the way of the stampede. I, however, only let out a big smile as I open my arms. Before long, I am already wet by all the licks and borks I can handle.
"Hahaha yes! This is exactly what I wan-"
"It's not done yet..." The genie said dolefully as I look up, giving him a confused look as to what is happening. But before he could even answer, I felt it, right below me.
The ground suddenly shook, very very intensely. I could hear the earth start to shatter and crack. I quickly jump to my feet, but the masses of dogs overpower me back before I could even see what is going on. Fortunately, my answer comes faster than I thought as I start to feel the air get thinner. I look around me to see only the tips and tops of the New York City skyscrapers disappearing below me. And that's when I turn to genie with a furious look.
"DID YOU JUST DETACH CENTRAL PARK FR-OOMPH!" Dogs cannot help but lick me, but I shove them aside as I struggle to stand up. "WE'RE LITERALLY A FLOATING ISLAND IN THE SKY OF DOGS! WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE AM I GONNA GET INTO?!" I give him a panicked look of what circumstances this led to.
Genie simply gave me a shrug and a neutral face. "Well, this is what you wanted." He replies as a door opens up with **MANAGEMENT** on the top and he opens it to an office-looking scene. "You deal with this, while I, uh," he gestures to the door, "Have to deal with paperwork. Later little man." He bids me a hasty farewell as he closes the door, both disappearing into thin air.
"Oh shit..." I thought to myself as the dogs only continue pouncing on me and giving me hugs and kisses, but I can only look up onto the surreal skyscape and close my eyes; already being able to hear the multitude of approaching police cars and helicopters below me and the cacophony of dogs. With a sigh, I can only open my eyes with an empty look.
["I dun fucked up."](https://www.reddit.com/r/Shiruet/)
| 2018-08-05T03:47:20 | 2018-08-05T03:43:45 | 267 | 42 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic.
|
The first planet we landed on was unlike anything we'd ever seen before. The ground was hard and purple, and the sky was a vibrant red. Their days were many weeks long, and the planet had rings. But what was most interesting were its inhabitants. They were long, with flowing limbs and something that resembled eyes. Far from scary, but jarring to look at nonetheless.
But we didn't really care. Faster-than-light travel was thought to be impossible, as were aliens. We'd just proven them wrong.
I spent a long time looking out of the ship's window when Jaiden motioned for us to come out and face the growing crowd of aliens.
"Hello," she began. "We come in peace."
To our surprise, one of them replied in perfect english.
"Who are you?"
We were taken aback, but continued speaking according to the protocol.
"We are humans from planet Earth, approximately 10,000 light years facing the 350, 25 direction. We have come to investigate the universe and find life."
The crowd stayed silent. One flew up to us and guided us down.
"You may stay for the hour."
We smiled, locked the ship and walked along the unfamiliar terrain. I gazed in wonder at the creatures and buildings that towered over us. I took out my protected camera and started snapping photos of their world to send back to Earth.
"How do you speak English?" Jaiden asked.
"Automatic translation," it said simply.
The team continued walking and looking around in awe. I saw a few houses floating in the air, unsupported.
"Excuse me," I asked our tour guide. "How did you make those buildings levitate?"
It looked puzzled.
"You have not yet discovered the *Levitus* spell? It is quite simple."
I furrowed my brows and it sensed my discomfort.
"What is the matter, human?"
"Spell? What do you mean by that?" Jaiden asked tentatively. We had stopped walking.
"Well, *magic*, in your language."
We stared at the alien blankly.
"Well, um, the thing is..." jaiden began.
"Magic isn't real." Archie said.
The alien stopped for a second.
"Then by what means did you arrive here?"
We pointed to the spaceship.
"That is not a means of sightseeing?"
We shook our heads. Something was wrong; I could feel it. The alien, however, seemed just as confused as we were. A phrase tried to burrow its way to the front of my consciousness, but I couldn't quite recall what it was.
"Well, thank you for the tour." Jaiden said, trying to hide her discomfort. The alien floated away, back to the crowd.
Archie took out the extraction and measuring kit, and pulled out the scanner. He dropped some of the dusty, hard, purple ground into the device and the results flashed on the display.
*97% Silicon, 3% trace material*
"Silicon? As in computer chips?" Archie asked.
I nodded. Life here was not carbon-based. Another misconception - that all life is carbon-based - proven wrong. How small-minded we were!
"That may just be the surface, though," I said, taking a small drill from the kit. I placed it into the ground and it drilled noiselessly into it. After a few seconds, though, I noticed sparks flying from the hole. I stopped it quickly and looked at the sample that it had collected.
It was a chip and a bit of wire. I held it in my hand in disbelief.
"So much for the magic?" Jaiden said.
The creatures flew towards us and started shouting. Two or three went to inspect and repair the hole we had drilled.
"What have you done?" They asked monotonously.
"We were just taking extraction samples, and-" Archie began, panicked.
"That was part of our architectural section. Now a residential in the northern sector has collapsed."
"Is... this your magic?" Jaiden asked.
"Yes," They replied vaguely, before zooming off, the hole fully sealed. I saw crowds in the distance, flying and teleporting, licks of fire and purple ether appearing from nowhere, their buildings floating and moving round like a game of tetris.
I finally remembered the phrase.
*Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.*
How true that was.
|
\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/
*"I guess in life things don't come cheap. My daddy always used to tell me we stand on the shoulders of giants. I never truly believed him until we made contact with the G'xe.*
*Lost in the depths of space, there they were, waiting for a friend to come from among the stars. It's been eons since nobody answered from the deep blackness. They made believe they are alone, at least in this region of space.*
*When our ships spread into the dark ocean, breaking boundaries my grandparents would've never dreamed of, everything changed. For us, and for them."*
\*\*\*
ETF Jian Xing pierced the purple clouds above X'am Ina, the home planet of G'xe confederation. X'am Ina used to be a barren world, before the 4 elder races united in the G'xe confederation and made the world suitable. The position of the planet was just at the center of their world. Of their own universe.
"Commander Hiroto, we are reaching the destination soon, we should tell the president to prepare"
"Ah, Admiral, it seems I can't ever marvel at this jewel of a planet from above. The perks of being the captain I guess. "
After personally announcing the president of their arrival, he went straight to the bathroom. Hiroto had a few days ahead of a less busy schedule. This is because while he was the commander of the ship, he wasn't an actual part of the human delegation. He loved this less strenuous windows.
&#x200B;
The FTL jumps are rough and despite the dampening systems the ship was quivering quite a lot. The longer the jump, the bigger the contortions. This made long jumps unfeasible. The long distances needed to be made from a lot of smaller, less shaky jumps. This always upset his stomach, so he stood there quite a while contemplating on how shocking should've been from the people of G'xe to one day after believing you are alone in the universe, to wake up with people at their doorstep. He made an analogy in his head and laughed. Also ... could you call them people?, they were humanoid, but ... that was another topic of pondering.
&#x200B;
When here returned, the delegation was already leaving. The formalities were the Admiral job in this case, so he decided to stay away, taking a walk alone to the cantina, wanting some time away from people. There, he lingered after a delicious meal, while letting the food sink in chilling at the table in relative silence, that if you count the background monotonous chat as such. Suddenly, the alarms when on. The lights turned reddish, the monotonous chats turned loud and the people started to run.
&#x200B;
"Commander, Security Officer Aleksei Smyrnoi, we need to get you to the auxiliary command room. The standard protocol in case of ship unauthorized boarding."
" What? There's someone breaking into the ship?"
" Sir, I this is the only thing I was informed, so please hurry. Also, the ship internal communication is down so please stick together. We might encounter hostile movement on the way so I advise caution"
Hiroto was perplexed. This was totally unexpected, the G'xe looked willing to talk and it made no sense to start a war like this. So he ran, more out of curiosity than the dread of danger. The auxiliary command was packed with the chief staff all debating the next course of action
"Ah, Hiroto, we're glad you're ok"
&#x200B;
"What is happening, why the communications are down?"
"There has a been a break in section 4, actually ... I don't know exactly if it's technically a breach since a group of individuals basically teleported inside and started to shoot. They are looking to break into the command room, but the security measures are holding, though we believe there's nothing stopping them ... to teleport? I really don't know how this works sir."
" Where are they now? And again why the communications are down?"
"They are engaging our forces into the corridor from section 4 to section 2 buffer zone. It seems at the moment it's a kind of a stalemate. Neither us or they are gaining ground. "
"The communications?!"
" The communications hub is near section 4. It was their first objective. We are working on with portable devices to communicate with the ground force."
&#x200B;
Hiroto sighted, he wasn't reading for this. While there were tons of protocol in case of these situations and basic training, one thing is the simulations and one thing is the real deal.
"Outside chatter? What happened with the delegation"
"It seems their visit is fine, they were not informed yet of the situation. This is of course what we could find out with the limited communications from their media"
"This is extremely odd. Maybe the group here is independent. In that case, we need to be careful not to start a war ourselves. Prepare the ship to exit the atmosphere, we need to trap the attackers"
"Yes sir"
"Next, we need to try to communicate with them. Meanwhile please prepare a plan to assault them. Are there ear translators here? Prioritize communication first, maybe we can find out more."
After the orders were relayed, there were a few minutes of waiting. In the room that he was, there was no actual feeling of dread. It all felt normal. The lights were the usual white and it was relatively silent as everybody was doing their job. Then he felt a force pushing him into the floor as the ship took altitude.
"We can't establish communication with them, sir."
"The assault team is ready to engage?"
"Yes. If you want to proceed I advise it to do now, as I'm receiving word that the sudden ship descent made the attackers shoot more often an eratically"
"Very well, but we need at least one of them alive! I think they panicked, maybe they believed they could take over the ship faster"
The next moments were intense and Hiroto just wanted all this be over fast. He couldn't help but feel sad some of the men will die, you'd think a commander of a starship would make these decisions without remorse. He wondered though if his colleague commanders would feel the same as him.
&#x200B;
The assault team swiftly deployed through maintenance shafts and after a brief exchange of fire, it was over. The room burst in applause.
"Sir, the threat has been eliminated. It was a complete success. 3 enemies were eliminated and we have 1 wounded and captive. The recon team has found no further threats. Should we descent"
"No" he then paused in order to catch a train of tought. "I need to interrogate the enemy first. If this the G'xe officials are behind this, we need to come out with an exit plan"
"Yes, sir"
&#x200B;
He then proceeded to investigate the battleground. Only one soldier died in the exchange. That was a success ... he thought, whilst not convinced. It was a mess. The victims were all Onie, one of the 4 races of G'xe, but the captive was a X'a, the most powerful of the races in terms of influence. Onie bodies were frailer than humans and more filled with fat. It was everywhere. They lacked weapons, though some had a black stone. From what he read, it was just to focus their energy, as G'xe could channel energy from thin air and project it. Some would call magic, a deadly one taking one more look at the soldier's body bag where you could clearly see a gap between his upper and lower torso.
&#x200B;
G'xe apparent lack of high tech was baffling for eath's science community. They seemed to use a form of magic, but little was known about this.
&#x200B;
"Damn .." they were lucky, those guys didn't seem from the special forces, or whatever the equivalent the G'xe had.
&#x200B;
============
**Continued in the comments due to Reddit Limit:**
| 2019-01-18T09:06:41 | 2019-01-18T07:20:21 | 310 | 44 |
[WP] There's a door with a single key hole - it will open regardless of what key is used. All keys open this door, but what's on the other side, however, entirely depends on the key.
|
No one was surprised by the almost featureless cube of concrete about 8-feet high that appeared in Times Square one morning. Many were perturbed that it was in their way as they were on their to work. Or on their way to get coffee and a B/E/C on a roll before work. Most just assumed it was some promotional display for some new cable show. Maybe it would crack asunder at noon or something would pop out of its door during the evening rush.
It was the local officers who patrolled Times Square who questioned its appearance first. Nobody on the midnight shift reported the thing being offloaded. Calls went out to Midtown South to see if anyone had filed permits for the thing.
Officers Patricia Gomez and Edward Greco waved the office workers and the early rising tourists onward, directing them to use the other side of the street. Gomez admired the elaborate molding around the door, and the large iron hinges on the solid oak door. Greco carefully set a gloved hand on the ornate knob and turned it. The door was locked.
Gomez looked up, and noticed something etched on the lintel overhead. Leaning forward on her toes, she read out the words, "Choose your key wisely."
Greco scratched his head. "What do you suppose that means?"
"That it's a trick lock?" his partner suggested.
"Looks like a plain old lock from a hundred years ago. The kind you open with a skeleton key."
A third police officer approached, holding such a key in his hand. "Way ahead of you. I just swung by the hardware store on 43rd and 11th." Officer Daniels approached the lock. The key slid in easily and turned with an audible click.
Gomez and Greco stepped back, each placing a hand at their holster, while Daniels heaved the door open. When nothing emerged, Daniels pulled out a flashlight to illuminate the interior. There were skeletons sitting on the floor, dozens of them, in a space that seemed deceptively larger than it should have.
"What movie is this?" Daniels asked to no one in particular. "If there some kind of Jason and the Argonauts remake happening?" He half-laughed at the thought of it.
He full-cried when the first line of skeletons stood up, followed by the ones behind that. And more behind those. Impossibly, a dozen of more rows of skeleton, at least fifteen across, stood at the ready. At some unheard command, they all snapped to attention. Then they all took their first step forward in unison.
Daniels felt every ounce of that solid oak against his shoulder as he tried to shove it closed. Gomez and Greco both leapt forward, throwing their weight against the portal, until it shut. They stood there, backs against it, feet planted firmly on the sidewalk.
"Lock it!" Greco screamed. "Lock the damn thing."
Daniels, his heart pounding in his chest and his pulse thumping in his neck, was once again, ahead of his junior officer. He turned the key back the other way and yanked it free. He put it in his pocket for safe keeping. "What the hell was that?" he asked, not expecting an answer.
The three officers stood there for a few moments as oblivious tourists and office workers continued to file by, not giving them much of a second glance, like they were just so many costumed characters waiting for pictures.
When Gomez had caught enough of her breath to speak, she looked up at the etched words again. "Maybe we should've tried a different key?"
|
The door stood some three meters tall, an ovoid portal rather than a rectangle, its wood of no tree science could name. It appeared black by some lights, blond by their others, shades of brown by most, though those were interpretable by the viewer. It held no name save The Door, and the long, serpentine hallway that mankind had built up around it held no name save The Hall. And until a boy went through both at sixteen, he had no name save a number.
VB106-3 stepped through the final right angle bend of The Hall with his grandfather, Omar Khassim’s, key in his hand. It had not been the key that the old man had used on his trip through The Door. That key was long lost in the wreckage of a bombed out museum. Rather, VB106-3 held the key to his grandfather’s chest, a chest left hidden away in their attic for as long as he could remember.
The old man’s will had been specific. “*This key will open two doors in your life if you are worthy. Find out.*”
No one had rejoiced when the executor placed Omar Khassim’s key into VB106-3’s hand, not even VB106-3’s siblings; Ahmed who had gone through the door the year before, never having spoken of his trip as was proper, and VB106-4 who would go through four years hence. Instead the family had nodded solemnly and the aunties had pressed VB106-3’s hands to their wrinkled foreheads as he left, voices keening in a complex gesture of regret and respect.
And now the door stood, nearly twice as tall as him and black as the night in the barely lit hallway, the small points of light all set beyond the last right angle bend such that VB106-3 felt like he walked directly into a set sun. He stepped up to the door, uttered a quick prayer to his ancestors and to He Who Had Hung, and set the key in the lock.
*Turning.*
The door did not open how a door should.
VB106-3 heard a creak emanating from all sides, from distance farther than where the tight corridor walls should have been. He glanced about in shock, his eyes still struggling to adjust to the depths of the darkness, and he barely made out the unfolding of The Hall.
The corridor came apart at the seams with the same creak as an un-oiled hinge, flattening out into a plane along the ground, revealing an endless field of stars and night overhead where there should have been the smog and the thick, dusty air of day, the sun filtering fitfully through the clouds like a flashlight through heavy fabric. But the Door had not opened.
The Door that had stood three meters above him now stretched out three meters in front, laying across the ground, a clear portal to elsewhere. VB106-3 had no doubts that when the door swung inward as he knew it did, there not would be simple dirt beneath it.
VB106-3 thought back to his grandfather, the esteemed Omar Khassim, and knew what that worthy would have done. The young man stepped forward, a slim slash against the otherworldly night, and fell to his knees in the center of the door. He placed the key in the lock.
*Turning.*
*Falling.*
VB106-3 fell through another hallway with all the same twists and turns as the one constructed by man. He was calmer than he thought should be, no sound escaped him but flap and rustle of his robes. He wondered idly if The Hall had been constructed to mirror this space, or if the space was a mirror to what his mind knew.
He struck hard against a familiar wooden floor, and VB106-3 decided that such things did not matter.
The young man stood in his grandfather’s attic, opposite the old, dead man. He was as hale as VB106-3 remembered from his youth, Broad shouldered, square jawed, and perhaps seventy, a long beard trailing down the ceremonial robes of office until it nearly covered his belt. Omar Khassim was a man incapable of becoming soft. Where his peers in the civil service had gone to fat only years removed from the battlefield, Omar Khassim had never once entertained the thought. He could still run and jump and fight, VB106-3 had seen those things for himself, even in the year when the cancer had killed him, only robbing the great man of his body at the very end.
All of those things and more were still true in this land. All of them save for his eyes, which were sightless orbs burned impossibly white, staring out from a face which still kindly, poised as if on the edge of telling a story.
“Who’s there?” Omar Khassim said.
“Grandfather?” VB106-3 said.
“Second son!” Omar Khassim exclaimed, stamping his foot happily against the rough oak planks of the attic floor. “It’s been a long time, too long! Have you come through The Door?”
VB106-3’s blood ran cold. Men did not speak of The Door and what went on beyond. They did speak of He Who Had Hung, however. They spoke of the god’s tricks and tests. They spoke of how he spoke; in double meanings and in veiled language.
A dead grandfather in a familiar attic, after falling down through a pit in a wrong world might be such a thing.
VB106-3 did not say any of that however. Instead he made formal obeisance to his grandfather as befitting one of his rank, even though the old man stared sightlessly down at the direction of his motions, only responding to the sound and the steps of each of the three proscribed bows.
“I have, Grandfather Omar,” VB106-3 said.
“Ahh, I’d hoped you would come,” Omar Khassim said. “You were always my favorite. Tell me, your older brother, did he survive his trip?”
“Yes Sir, he was given the name Ahmed.”
“And what key did he use?”
“A soldier’s key, sir. The key to father’s gun cabinet.”
Omar Khassim chuckled, nodding as if he’d expected that. “And what key would you have used, second son, had I not given you mine?”
VB106-3 did not answer immediately. He was not completely sure himself, he’d had his grandfather’s key for years after all, and when he’d lived, Omar Khassim had not been a man to answer untruthfully.
Some thirty seconds later VB106-3 made another formal obeisance, his head cracking against the attic floor. “I fear my choice would dishonor you,” the young man said.
“What use do the dead have for honor?” Omar Khassim responded.
Shaken, the boy admitted the truth. “I still have the key to my boyhood tree house from our first oasis home, peace unto its memory. I would have used that.”
“You used to draw in that house, did you not?”
“Yes, Grandfather Omar.”
Omar Khassim was silent for so long that VB106-3 was certain he had offended him. Drawing was a womanish hobby, as were most of the arts. In his life, the great Omar Khassim had been accused of being many of things, most of which by men who had died long before him. Being womanish had never been among them.
Then the old man stood, clapping his hands together as satisfied by that answer, and he helped his grandson to his feet.
| 2021-06-10T07:16:33 | 2021-06-10T06:14:42 | 129 | 62 |
[WP] In the year 2022, we discovered that the sword in the stone was real. The scientists that discovered it found that attempting to pull the sword from the stone with a machine generated an infinite amount of counter force. The first infinite energy engine was born.
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The sword in the stone produced so much power that scientists predicted that energy would be as close to free as we could ever hope for. The world would be powered by an infinite ocean of power produced by the infinite energy engine. Every camera in the world was filming as Professor Merlin pulled the switch. The world went white with a million, million lights powered by the sword. Cheers went up and tears were shed as the energy crisis was suddenly no more.
That was until ***HE*** ran in.
"Arthur, no!!!!" Merlin cried, "We talked about this!"
"But it's my DESTINY!" Arthur Pensbury, an accountant from Whitby cried out, reaching past the machinery and pulling the sword from the stone.
The world went dark and one solitary voice, Merlin's, was heard, "Arthur! You god-damned idiot!"
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Humans are greedy creatures. They are so greedy in fact that they excel at maximizing the amount of greed they can output per hour. So when the sword of a thousand truths was accidentally found by a drunk Irish man, who had remarked to one of his fellas that he was sober enough to walk his way home a few minutes prior, it was no surprise to anyone on earth (except for a highly intelligent slug on the other side of the world) that when he told his friends to keep it a secret between them, it became global news.
So what did humans do when faced with a concept that broke all their assumptions about the known universe? They studied it, patented overpriced research papers about it, and efficiently profited from it.
They found out that when someone pulls the sword stuck in the somehow indestructible stone, there was a small margin of distance where it would move then it would snap back into its original position with a force a million times greater than its initial input.
Soon enough, a multibillion company, that suspiciously liked to work in tall dark skyscrapers with tinted windows that heroes could easily break into, got ownership of the sword after they had taken the whole world to court because the sword resembled the design of a hand-drawn saber in the logo of a beer can they used to manufacture but was discontinued in 1985. The judges couldn’t do much to stop them since by the right of copyright it was theirs.
The sword was soon forgotten about for a few decades in a poorly waterproof warehouse in Kentucky, only for it to be remembered when some guy desperate for cash auctioned off the said beer can as an antique item (which the company soon enough also sued him for).
On a sunny day, an underpaid engineer took interest in the sword. So when he found the decade-old patents about its properties he suggested to the higher-ups a way to put the sword to use to possibly power the entire continent if not the world. For which, he was promptly sued then fired on the spot (In that exact order.)
So they first began with building a small contraption to see if it could produce enough force to more a rock, then they tested it on a truck, then on a house, then on a mountain. Each ended with astounding success. It was harder to believe how the sword didn’t tear off the arms of anyone that pulled it than the mystical powers it possessed. So they attached pistons to it to harvest electricity from its minute yet powerful movement. Soon those pistons grew to the size of mountains. They monopolized this infinite clean power for themselves and sold it for an overpriced value to neighboring countries. Gaslighting them into accepting by saying that they would be considered bad people if they refused to buy an infinite source of clean energy.
But with great power comes great risk. With the whole world now depending on the electricity made by the sword, if the chosen one, who the sword was obviously placed in the stone for, were to infiltrate the power station and manage to pull out the sword, then the damages would be monumental. However, this was easily solved by only allowing female employees to operate the power station since historians concluded that the sword was probably made in a time period where only men were written as protagonists for stories.
Humans evolved and space travel became a norm as Earth became a wet dream for any sci-fi fan.
With the source of electricity being secured until a time where they would need to find another sword in a stone to power some galaxy far far away, humanity was at its all-time best. That was until when the unthinkable happened.
The sword had come loose when an employee accidentally coughed on it during a routine checkup. Endless Black tar started overflowing from the hole within the stone as it engulfed the entire power station in a matter of seconds. Just like that humanity was left powerless as the black mass threatened to devour all existence.
We are still not sure what had gone wrong. Were the assumptions of the historians null? Had we finally eroded the place the sword entered the stone? No one truly knew.
But one thing we knew for sure was, whatever was pulling the sword away from us the entire time, was finally fed up from playing tug.
&#x200B;
***Yall should check out my other works at*** r/FluffWrites. And check out my grim fantasy series [***The Dark Road Ahead***](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)***.***
&#x200B;
***P.S: Wanted to imitate the writing style of "A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" this time as a challenge. Hope that you liked it.***
| 2021-08-12T01:46:34 | 2021-08-12T01:36:47 | 276 | 201 |
[WP] Aliens have finally discovered Earth - but they're not hostile. They've tasted human food, and they think it's so astonishingly good that Earth is becoming an alien tourist hotspot.
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The small shop was not busy. Who would have guessed, in a human city, where only human food was available, the only shminsi restaurant would be all but empty? Gorff guessed. He guessed right away. They were the only restaurant to take federation credits and there were only two life forms dining that night. A server overheard the couple lament they couldn't find anywhere to exchange their credits. Probably the only reason they were there at all.
Even homesick individuals could find earth versions of their favorites at some of the restaurants. Spega bug stuffed raviolis, stir fried vyyix and rice, even foramush burgers. Someone had even tried to smoke cure pecsent, though the resulting grease fire got the fatty rodents banned from earth.
The buzzer sounded a new customer entering. Ugh. A smaxivor. He oozed his way to the credit exchange machine and put in 100 federation credits. Damn, Gorff tried to hide that machine in the corner. Sure he made some profit off of it, but not as much as on an actual customer. The other patrons were staring at him too. Not good. Luckily they were too polite to leave after they had already ordered. Gorff already knew they wouldn't be back. At least not for food.
As the bus boy mopped up the mucus trail left by the last patron, Gorff began contemplating once again using earth recipes. The owner of his establishment wouldn't be happy. He was the one paying the bills. Gorff knew the restaurant wouldn't last in this state but at least for now Gorff was getting paid. How long could that last though?
Another customer entered. A human this time. He had a crew of sorts with him, all with video cameras. What was this? Gorff glided over to the front on his many tiny legs.
"Comewell here. Have what? Table people number?" Gorff's english was not good.
"Hello, are you the manager in charge of this restaurant?" The human said.
"Yes, he's me"
"Great. My name is Gordon Ramsay and I would like to help fix your restaurant"
Tonight on Kitchen Nightmares, Federation Edition.
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"Garshi'a, where the hell do you think you're wandering off to without your parents?"
A certain humanoid spun on the equivalents of heels, turning to his parents. He looked like a marriage of a wyvern and a mermaid, with his red-green tail matching his scaly skin, and two large wings supporting his two webbed bare feet. In one of his 'paws' was a more advanced substitute to the human camera─an exquisite masterpiece of their engineer Mervern race.
However, that wasn't even worth comparing to the humans' food! It would be disrespectful to their culinary art to do that, for their incredulous, mouth-watering (or the equivalent to other species) delicacies were enough to wage galactic, star-shattering wars just to be the first in an already centuries-long line. It may be a long time for those puny humans, but most of the galactic species lived far longer. Far, far longer.
Garshi'a looked at his parents, who were like exact copies of himself but just larger, and just... turned right back, continuing on his merry way without a care in the world, inviting his parents' grunts and chases. Some things never change, do they?
He stopped in front of a mound of brick and mortar painted in a repulsing colour─repulsive to them, at least. Regardless, he ploughed through his inner hesitations to savour the treats of humanity.
Walking into the store entitled "Rajesh's Indian Cusine", unaware of the hell his tastebuds were reluctant to face, he went up to the human cashier. "wueruf. pwkandfje? aristotscliret."
The cashier responded, agitated slightly in surprise and more in fear, "Um, sir, I think you forgot to turn on your universal translator."
Garshi'a lifted his tail up, the gesture in his race to signal confusion, but that only made the cashier even more fearful, misreading it for a provocation. Only after a minute of intense staring did the matter resolve─or more like his parents had caught up and resolved it for him.
"Ah!"
*Click*
"Can you understand me now, human?"
"Y-yes, sir. Would you like to sit down first, or...?' she allowed her voice to trail off, unaware of what these novel brand of customers would want.
Garshi'a replied gaily, as expected of a child, "Yes, yes. Please. While we're at it, doing *paet pooja,* why don't we learn a bit about the culture of the wonderful species who made it?" He looked straight at the cashier, who flinched, still carrying his jovial tone, "Ah, that was a cultural thngy I picked up. It should mean eating food, right?"
"I-it does, sir," spoke the cashier, hesitatingly. She avoided talking about how that was only applicable in Hindi, since that would lead to a too long-winding conversation which her intense fear would never agree to.
She gestured to her right. "Please, enter. A server should soon guide you."
While Garshi'a eagerly waltzed in, his father took a second to apologise to the cashier for his son's eccentricity.
The inside of the restaurant was quite fantastic to the human eye. Unfortunately, it only seemed bland to the eyes of the Merwen, which were adapted to a blue hue.
An equally quivering server walked up to them. "Sir, a table for three, I presume?"
"Yes."
"Please follow me." The waitress led them to their table in the section reserved for non-humans.
On the dark-brown table were four menus. One each for herbivores, carnivores, omnivores, and only liquid-consuming creatures.
After scanning through some of the dishes on the red carnivores' menu, Garshi'a's eyes were allured by a certain dish labelled "Chicken Tikka Masala: Bhut Jolokia Edition". For some reason, he was attracted to that name.
"I want this! I want this! I want this!" Garshi'a repeatedly pleaded.
His father looked at him with eyes slightly narrowed in mild irritation, while his mother, being doting─as all other mothers, regardless of race─immediately agreed.
In the end, his father merely did his race's equivalent of a sigh of acceptance. After all, even he wanted to experience this quite literally once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for him to taste the greatness of human cuisine. Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, because the Merwen were one of the few races which usually lived less than five-hundred Earth years. He was already three-hundred-and-nineteen Earth years old.
After waiting for a while, it finally arrived.
That seductive aroma of spice, that lava-orange cream of euphoria, that drumstick of meat. Everything felt as if it was just waiting to be devoured by Garshi'a. To the man in question, at least.
Sparing no other thought, he gobbled it down as if he hadn't eaten in a hundred years, straight from the serving bowl.
Then, he felt as if... his palate was on fire! It was akin to guzzling down a bite of the Sun!
"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"
In his haphazardness, he swallowed the leg piece's bone.
*Cough*
\*Cough! Cough! Cough! Cough! Cough! "\*Aohoo, h-h-elp!"
"W-what is the meaning of this? Human?! Was our food poisoned?! Has the galaxy been tricked?!" His mother used her tail to bring over the poor nearest server, the one which had just served them, holding him in the air.
That poor soul had to explain to the tourists, while trembling in horror and pitiably intense fear, that it was simply their reckless behaviour which prompted Garshi'a's troubles.
*'Just what did I do to need to deal with this?!'* he screamed internally.
| 2022-06-10T09:41:09 | 2022-06-10T09:40:32 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] A nerdy kid discovers that magic spells work exactly like a computer programming language.
There are some amazing stories here. Thank you all for responding. Also thanks to u/pandizlle who informed me that there is a book dealing with this very concept. It's called "Wizard's Bane" by Rick Cook.
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8:30 PM - Flipped through sister Susan's occult book.
8:31 PM - Find it full of self-fulfilling prophecies and lacking universality. Rewrite it in code
8:32 PM - Cut self on paper, bled onto keyboard. Keyboard now glowing
8:50 PM - Discover any pseudocode magic written will physically manifest.
9:00 PM - Can confirm that spells are instances of classes, and can be instantiated repeatedly
9:00 AM - Discover that there exists such thing as Out of Memory, and the caster is the hardware.
9:05 AM - Also discover I'm late for work
9:15 AM - this.Teleport(x,y,z) is extremely dangerous in urban environments. //DO NOT EXPOSE IN PRODUCTION.
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"Jinkies!" I cried aloud, though it was just me in the room. "That's it!"
The glow of the supernatural program cast a dim light across the dark and dingy office in the old house. I was ready to ship, finally. My app would be out in the wild shortly having the unique title of "Universal Magic Compiler".
You see I'd finally put all the crazy pieces together, solved the mystery. Spells and magic aren't made up of whimsical ingredients they're just programs. Instructions that the universe can natively interpret. Me and the gang had seen some weird things through our adventures but now I could show them that magic was *real*.
"Ruh-roh" groaned Scooby as he and Shaggy entered my den.
"Like, Velma" Shaggy began, a foreboding shadow cast across his face "What are ya doing up here all alone? The gang's all downstairs man and like Fred just went to get cheeseburgers."
"Sounds great Shaggy." I lied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be right down, just publishing my latest invention into the wild!"
Just a few more clicks and it was done. UMC 1.0 available for download. I raced downstairs to show the gang, I couldn't wait for them to see what this thing could do!
"Hey guys... Where's Fred?" I asked, he wasn't anywhere to be seen.
*knock knock knock*
"That must be him now, not sure why he's knocking." Daphne leaped from her seat to get the door. "He went to get cheeseburgers for Scoob and Shaggy."
"That's okay." I said "I can wait. I mean it's not like I'm about to reveal an app that lets you turn water into wine or anything."
Scooby looked at me disapprovingly and covered his eyes.
"Ummm... Gang?" Daphne returned from the door escorting a middle aged man wearing a long sleeved, black, mock neck shirt, some terrible jeans and hilarious sneakers. He wore thin, wire framed glasses and had just a touch of gray hair retreating from his forehead. "This is Mr. Jobs. He says he wants to meet all of us, specifically Velma."
The man moved forward, I was still stuck in "the zone" but I could've sworn he levitated forward, glided ever so sweetly across the old floor. He smiled and his hands perched in front of his chest formed a tent with his fingers.
"Gang." He spoke, taking a moment to make eye contact with each of us. "I'm here today to make you all an offer. I know it's been tough going at Mystery Inc., but I believe in what you do here. I believe in it so much..."
I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes as he spewed the rest of his pitch. So typical.
"... 1. Billion. Dollars."
The gang all gasped. I chewed at my nails and the anger welled inside me.
"... So I think we'd really synergize! What do you think?" Finally he was done.
"Thanks Jobs but we're not interested." I snapped.
"Ummmm Velma?" Shaggy sounded hesitant "A little private confab if you don't mind?"
I huddled with the rest of the gang in the corner, shielding ourselves from Jobs' steely gaze.
"So um, like, about how many sandwiches and cheeseburgers can we buy with like a jillion dollars?" He asked.
I'm normally the cool and collected one of the bunch but I'd had enough. I turned around to find Jobs, staring at a painting, a finger on his chin as though he were some sort of artisan. Gross.
"Jobs!" I bellowed. "Thanks for the offer but we're done here."
"2 Billion." He eagerly spouted as he turned to face us. His face looked uncaring, his finger vertically shushing his own lips.
"Hey gang!" Fred burst into the room. "I've got the ch.... Am I interrupting?"
"No." I said. "Mr. Jobs was just leaving."
"Suit yourselves!" He warned as he floated to the door. "But we'll meet again, oh, we'll meet again. Muahahahaha."
By the time the door closed behind him Shaggy and Scoob were already elbow deep in cheeseburgers. Through a mouthful of chow, Shaggy asked me "So Velma, I guess Mystery Inc. must have a much higher multiplier on its valuation than I would have thought?"
"No Shaggy. I'm not sure what he wants, yet. But something tells me we're going to find out."
| 2014-08-04T05:01:30 | 2014-08-04T04:59:12 | 91 | 12 |
[WP] The man who found the cure for AIDS is being interviewed on live television. The interviewer is slowly realizing this man doesn't understand ethical medical practices.
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The slightly balding man with over-sized glasses takes his seat next to the young attractive host. He clears his throat before exposing the audience to a melodic French accent.
"Tissue samples." he says, "We took small samples from a large number of people afflicted and tested out, oh, one thousand iterations of our medication."
The host adjusts how he's sitting and leans forward, he clasps his hands together before continuing the interview.
"And how many people had to volunteer before your lab started seeing results?"
"Oh, more than I know how to count, haha." the esteemed doctor joked, "Everyone was so excited to sign up when they heard a cure was in development. Not treatment, but a bonafide cure. I think that's the reason we were able to find so many people."
The host leans back in his chair. "And I'm sure the craigslist post helped too!"
The audience laughs and the studio band plays a short riff.
"I don't know what that is." the guest responded. "But there was one volunteer who came out of nowhere. A lot of people use the phrase patient zero for those who start diseases, but this was a patient zero who would eventually help us cure the disease!"
"And is he here now? Could we talk to him?"
"Unfortunately no. Although research and development has concluded, he will need more time to recover."
"Recover from being cured?"
The audience laughs and the studio band plays a short riff again.
"Well we initially only needed small tissue samples from many people. But when we found our, how you say, the golden goose, we had to take many samples from one person."
The audience is silent as is our handsome host.
"By the time we were able to bring the drug to a useful level," the doctor went on to say, "I'm afraid we had used all the tissue equal to one of our volunteers legs."
"And he was okay with this?"
"He knew that what he was doing was for the greater good... We think..."
"You think?"
"It's hard to gauge willingness when the patient is etherized upon the table."
"Uh-huh. But he's okay now?"
"Well after we moved to clinical trials, we still had a few bugs to work out. By the time our drug was marketable, our volunteer had donated his other leg as well."
"Oh my..." the host mumbles, imagining the horror of the situation, "He sacrificed so much that we could rid the planet of one of the most infamous diseases. I'd like to shake this man's hand."
The audience cheers in agreement. Even the band leader is tearing up.
"We also had to use his arms..." the doctor added.
The studio is silent as the mood is brought down further than ever.
The host tries his hardest to regain his composure. "So this man," the host started, "Is now a paraplegic for the rest of his life, so that your labs could develop a cure?"
"That is correct," said the smiling doctor, "And I'm happy to say he no longer has AIDS!"
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'So, please welcome my next guest, Dr. Andrew Reynolds!'
The applause from the audience thundered as a thin man walked out into the studio. He wore glasses and had a well-tailored suit. His hair was gelled up into spikes. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, which made his achievement all the more special.
For Reynolds had done something amazing. He had cured AIDS.
It had made the news for the entire week since the announcement. Several companies were already mass-producing the cure and thousands of victims were already being treated. There were no side-effects, it was cheap and easy to make, and protected a person for life.
Of course, Reynolds became a global celebrity overnight. He was constantly being asked to appear on news programmes, interviews, radio shows, magazines, newspapers, you name it. Everyone wanted to talk to the man who had defeated one of the most stubborn conditions known to man. But he hadn't accepted any of their offers. Until tonight.
The host of this particular talk show was Richard Carlton, one of America's best-loved hosts. His good humour, insightful comments and interesting questions made for excellent entertainment. Everyone had been looking forward to tonight's show.
'Hello, Andy - is it alright if I call you Andy? Please, do sit down.'
'Thank you, Richard,' said Reynolds politely, easing himself down onto the couch. 'It's great to be here. Really great.'
'It's great to have you here, Andy,' replied Richard, smiling. 'So, I'm going to cut straight to the chase. How did you cure the seemingly incurable disease that is AIDS?'
'Well,' began Reynolds, sitting back. 'It all began about two years ago. I was doing research into aggressive viruses and how they could possibly be harnessed to fight proper diseases. Basically, my idea was to fight fire with fire.'
He smiled. 'Of course, it wasn't simply a case of creating the opposite to AIDS. I had to make sure that the two would cancel each other out, not rip apart the person in the process. The artificial viruses I created were made to recognise the human body and work around it whilst fighting the AIDS virus. Otherwise it would be more a case of slash-and-burn.'
'So did that work? How did you test it?' said Richard, leaning forwards.
'It was difficult at first,' said Reynolds, adjusting his glasses. 'The main problem was that the anti-AIDS viruses couldn't be tested in anything other than a human, since they were only able to recognise human DNA. Even chimpanzees didn't work. They just died soon after the injection. No, it had to be a human subject.'
Richard blinked a few times before collecting himself. 'You mean, you had a volunteer to be injected with AIDS?'
'No, no, of course not!' laughed Reynolds. 'I knew that such trials were made illegal, but we have to make sacrifices in the name of progress, don't we?'
'Then who did you test the cure on?' said Richard. His brow was beginning to shine with sweat under the studio lights.
'An assistant of mine,' replied Reynolds. 'Her name is Cassandra Phillips, or Cassie, as she likes to be called. I brought her into the lab one day, sedated her, and administered the first test cure along with the AIDs sample.'
Richard swallowed and glanced at the cameras. He smiled nervously. 'So where is she now? How did she react?'
Reynolds crossed his legs and shook his head with a small smile. 'Obviously I couldn't let her go before the tests were done. What if the sample didn't work and she had transferred the disease? No, I kept her in a specially constructed observation room. It allowed me to study the effects more easily.'
Richard glanced down at his notes, feeling sick. This man was obviously quite mad. 'You do realise that's unethical, don't you?'
'Unethical!' exclaimed Reynolds. 'Ethics must be thrown aside if we are to defeat these diseases! Take autonomy, for example. A patient has the right to accept or refuse their treatment. And look where that has gotten us. Parents refusing to give their children vaccines because they think it'll cause autism, allowing things like measles to spread across the States! It's madness. If we made sure every last person was vaccinated against measles, it would be gone once and for all!'
He lowered his voice a little. 'So that's why I had to do it, you see. By ignoring medical ethics one time, I have cured AIDS. Think how easy it will be to take on something like cancer if we ignore things like that. Autonomy - out the window. Doing a patient no harm is one I would rather not break, but if it requires sacrificing the one to help the many, I would do so in a heartbeat!'
'But Ms. Phillips,' protested Richard. 'Where is she now?'
'Still in my lab,' drawled Reynolds. 'Once the AIDS virus worked, I thought I might as well keep her for other tests. No sense in wasting a good testing ground, is there?'
'I'm sorry, but you don't seem to understand ethical medical practices at all,' said Richard. 'Even if you have cured AIDS, you have violated a person's rights as a patient and your responsibilities as a medical practitioner.' He looked to one of the crew. 'Get the police in here now! And someone find Ms. Phillips immediately!'
'Scared of the truth, Carlton?' sneered Reynolds. 'Let me ask you something. If you knew you could cure all worldly diseases by making one person suffer for a few years, would you do it? I did, and look at the result. We now have a cure for AIDS, and soon I shall make the same breakthrough with cancer as well. And all it will take is the sacrifice of a tiny portion of the rules we have put in place around ourselves.'
He stood up and turned to the cameras, arms raised.
'It is only by breaking the rules that we can break the deadlock!' he proclaimed, eyes bulging. 'I am a man of medicine, and I was taught that it was wrong to break the moral code! But see what happened when I did! And I will not rest until every last disease in the world is defeated! Even if it means the suffering of a few people, I am working for the greater good!'
At that moment, six burly police officers barged into the studio and grabbed Reynolds by the arms. He was dragged bodily from in front of the cameras. They turned to see him being pulled through the main doors. As he disappeared from view, everyone could hear him shouting.
'I regret nothing!' he yelled. 'You should all thank me for what I did! For the greater goo-' The closing doors cut off his last word.
Richard cleared his throat as the cameras turned back to him. He smiled hesitantly.
'Go to commercials?'
| 2015-02-22T20:04:01 | 2015-02-22T15:15:37 | 22 | 15 |
[WP]NASA has confirmed that the sun has gone out. The world's surface is going to freeze, and there's only 2 weeks left until it happens. The world government has initiated a worldwide purge to find the strongest humans alive to continue the species, and giving them a 1 way ticket to the ISS.
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"OK everyone, settle down. SETTLE DOWN!"
Gradually the hubbub faded, and the assembled journalists returned their attention to the podium where the head of NASA stood.
"It was just a joke" he said.
The room breathed a collective sigh of relief, and someone near the back yelled "You're a sick man!". Someone else started loudly thanking Jesus. The head of NASA looked confused for a moment before continuing,
"What? Oh, no, I wasn't joking about THAT, I mean.. How could we make the sun disappear? No, no, I mean the ISS, it uhh, it runs on solar power." he paused. "They're going to die as well - we all are"
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NASA confirmed the sun went out at around 12:36 P.M on September 15th, 2065. Humanity as a whole appreciated NASA’s transparency, otherwise we may have never noticed. The United Earth government, a global democratic body headed by the benevolent Saudi Arabian state, broadcasted via livestream that a two-week long contest of strength determined the future of the human race. The reward? A trip to the International Space Station for a social mixer involving all of Earth’s premiere psychopaths. Two from each nation were to be chosen. Why our rulers decided to implement rules according to a terrible Battle Royale rip-off and a shitty 2010’s horror movie, I cannot fathom, but I also cannot fail. I was blessed by the Lord to be a high ranking member of my minuscule country. None stood above me, in fact, as Pope I held the utmost authority in Vatican City.
The Apostolic Palace remained the sole significant landmark of our humble city. Due to intensive reforms of Catholicism and the waning faith of humanity in general, many chapels had found themselves re-purposed over the last century. I powered off my Acer laptop, a relic of the past as much as any of us here. I donned my papal regalia, I headed to the one place in the entire Vatican where I knew the strongest of our country would congregate, the gym in the Sistine Chapel.
The entire ground floor had been stripped and replace with interlocking rubber mats, and littered with various free weight racks. Machines were an affront to God, and a blasphemy that did not belong on such sacred ground. One cardinal spent more time there than any other, a Spaniard by the last name of Medina. The many of the other clergy would show no hesitation in laying their lives down for the Pope, but I knew ambition stirred in Medina as it did Judas. There was room for two from each country, but only room for one Pope.
He laid on his back in a squat rack, warming up his bench press in preparation for the exorcism of weakness. No televisions adorned the walls in the Sistine, and I prayed that he had not caught wind of the competition. I approached his strained form.
“Your Holiness, may I ask you for a spot?”, the cardinal asked.
“Of course my child, load as much as you can bear, or more.”
Jesus did not leave footprints when he carried the weight of the man across the beach, and I will leave footprints without carrying the weight of the bar.
“Just load up four plates on each end your Holiness, I’m trying for a new 5 rep PR.”
“Of course my child, we must all strive to become as strong as you have, in both body and soul.”
After putting the plates on, taking care to alternate sides so as to not arouse suspicion, I took my place behind his head, my palms caressing the bar with a feather’s touch. Sweat pooled the rim of my papal crown.
Cardinal Medina lifted off, his muscle-knotted forearms pulsed, and his slab of a chest heaved.
“One.”
Sweat crept through the pores on his forehead.
“Two.
He let out a gale of breath.
“Three.”
Veins wrapped his limbs like a nest of snakes, gorged on a recent kill.
“Four, come on Medina.”
His face went deep crimson, turning from pale water to dark wine. His arms quivered as if epileptic, and the bar refused to ascend more than six inches above his chest.
“Help.”, he whispered.
I frowned, and decided to impart the last piece of advice he would receive on this mortal coil.
“God helps those who help themselves.”
I reached out to the bar, touching it with a single finger the way Adam reached out for God, and pushed it back down. The burden weighed heavy on his chest, and I moved to grip it with both hands. Medina resisted, and attempted to roll it down towards his sinful regions. I never skipped back day. I half-rowed, half-jerked the bar towards myself, and it fell down the slope of his chest onto his thick neck. His left leg kicked, his eyes bulged and accused, and his guttural chokes grew desperate, then silent.
The Papacy remained secure. I could take my place among the heavens beyond Earth, and guide those poor, lost souls into the hereafter. I schemed up a grand feast to be in my honor, with wine that would sooth even the most adverse of my remaining rivals.
I made my way back to my bedchamber, and recited my Hail Mary’s along the way.
| 2015-10-14T00:51:00 | 2015-10-13T23:46:09 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] You are the luckiest person on Earth. Everything you make an attempt for works in your favor. However, there two catches: you are absorbing the luck of those around you, and anyone who tries to profit from your luck (even with your help) is met with the worst luck immediately.
Holy crap, front page of the sub!
Great work everyone! The stories you're generating are awesome!
Thanks for all the submissions! Keep them coming!
|
I look to the left and right, everyone frozen waiting for my move. I knew they knew. They had to. Nobody who decided to play against me didn't do the research first. I was good, no I was lucky. You don't live in this game long if you are unlucky.
Holding two cards, looking down a red two face up staring back at me. All or nothing on this. Nobody plays this game for this much money, what am I doing?!
I should just get up now, walk away. They would never let me do that. Too much money on the line. People are always convinced that I cheat, they wanted to make sure I wasn't going to take them for everything. Two cards in my hand.
After being the best for so long you start to look for a challenge, but even in these underground games this just seems too easy. Like they WANT me to win. But who could part with that much money. Millions...ON A CARD GAME?!
One tournament win after another and years later look where I am. In an underground club, playing for millions of dollars with some of the best and most ruthless players of this niche game. But, after a long and grueling game, with everything on the line.
This was it, time to take it all and walk out. I grabbed my green 2 card and placed it down. Holding a wild in my hand I said the one word that made the table shake.
"Uno"
|
“It started when I was six. At least, that’s when I first noticed it. You get this feeling, as it’s happening, you see. That’s how I always knew it was still, how I was still . . . me. That feeling never changed, it never has.”
“So you were six years old. What happened that first time?”
“I was with my sister, playing on the side of the street near our house. There was this great big dip in the road, you know, from all the winters and cars and things, so when it rained, it would puddle into this little pond. We used to take little boats and toys, my sister and I, and we would float them in the pond and pretend it was the ocean and we were giant sea monsters. She was eight at the time. I used to like to sit with my back towards the road so I could see the house while we played. My mother used to always come bring us hot chocolate when it was cold, so I would face the house so I could see when she was coming. That day was different. When we ran outside to play, I got this weird feeling. It felt weird at the time, but I think it was just because I didn’t really know what it was, you see. Really it’s the only thing that feels comfortable to me now.”
“So what did you do?”
“Nothing really, I just kind of shook it off; figured it was the cold or something. I continued over to the puddle, but this time I sat on the sidewalk instead, facing the street. I didn’t really think about it at all, it just happened. It had rained particularly hard the day before so the puddle was especially large, and my sister took my spot at the far end in the street. The roads were pretty slick, and I think by the time he saw her it was just too late. It’s a little fuzzy after that, but I remember the screeching. It was so loud and I just remember that weird feeling, in my gut. It was so strong that first time, it felt so warm. I remember my mother running out of the house screaming, and I was sad because she dropped the hot chocolate.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been really hard for you.”
“It should have been.”
“What do you mean?”
“I used to think that the reason I didn’t feel anything after was because of some repressed memories or psychiatric, emotional bullshit; but I know better now. You feed off of it. The feeling, the warm sensation. It’s like nothing you’ll ever feel. Like no sensation you’ll ever experience.”
“The ‘weird’ feeling you mean? In your gut?”
“The more it happened, the more I liked it. It became less weird and more seductive. I started to realize that I would always get it before something bad would happen. It didn’t have to be severe or anything, you know. Someone trips on a crack, gets mud splashed on them by a car, that kind of thing. But the big ones, those were when you could really feel it. Feel it like a rush through you, and all your blood gets warm, and you can kind of feel the things around you. I knew a few people at my company, superiors and bosses and such, who got cancer, but that was less exhilarating. The best times were when it was sudden, and everything would change in a matter of seconds, you know?”
“So this feeling, you felt it with everything from tragedies to spilled coffee?”
“That’s what I thought at first. I thought there was something inside of me that could just sense others’ misfortunes. But that’s not how it works. It’s not about them. It’s about me. It’s always been about me.”
“Wha – what do you mean?”
“The heart attack was my favorite. The CEO just dropped dead on the table in the middle of a presentation. I could see it in his face right before it happened. I felt it. And now I have his job. If it wasn’t such a tragedy for the company, they would have said I was the luckiest person alive. Everyone would have been sending me congratulation cards. I sent myself one. I deserved it.”
“You? You did all that?”
“No, no. It wasn’t me. They all just happened. But eventually, the thrill became greater than the results. I would gamble billions against others, risk entire bankruptcy just to see competitors fail and my company rise. I seek it out, you see. I’m not doing anything, I’m just lucky. And the luckier I get, the more . . . unlucky others get. Luck is like money. It’s finite. You can’t have too much or it depreciates. It’s traded back and forth, exchanged for cars and mansions and pretty wives. And I have it all. I have all the money and all the luck. It’s mine. It’s mine by birthright.”
“Mr. Lucy, this has been a fascinating interview but I really must go now.”
“Oh, so soon? I haven’t even told you about the earthquake that got me on the Board of Directors.”
She quickly gathered her things and began to leave. “I must inform you that this was all on the record Mr. Lucy,” she said darkly.
“Actually, as a matter of fact,” he said, “I’m getting that feeling right now.”
As she rushed out of the room with her recorder, the man smiled coyly and said “Don’t trip on your way down the stairs. It’s an awfully long fall.”
| 2015-10-17T12:59:57 | 2015-10-17T12:17:18 | 80 | 23 |
[wp] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and "everyone sins, its ok". instead the dead are sorted into six "houses of heaven" based on the sins they chose.
|
"I thought there were 7 deadly sins." I asked Peter.
St. Peter looked at me with a sad smile.
"Of course there are, but that's not the sins that matter."
So I'm going to an Afterlife based on sins I've never heard about?." I asked?
"No, not at all. I'm sure you have heard of them. Come, I'll show you to your gate."
Peter walked me past The Gate of Chewing with your Mouth Open, past The Gate of Tailgating, past The Gate of Talking During the Movie Show. I was escorted past past The Gate of Littering, and past The Gate of Talking About Yourself in the Third Person.
"So what is the gate for me?" I asked nervously.
"Here you go son, enjoy your Eternity."
I was standing before The Gate of Posting to Reddit when I Should be Working.
"Oh Shit!"
|
*Circa 500 B.C.*
His sandals slapped on the marble, the sound barely rising above the distant moaning and heady laughter echoing from the other Houses. The worn-out strips of leather that wrapped his feet were out of place against the ornate floor-murals made with deep azures and gold-leafed designs.
The walls seemed to be moving - squeezing in, and squeezing out. The acrid scent of burning filled the hallway, and slight tendrils of smoke lifted up from the corners of the room.
**"WELL?"** the voice of God swept over him like a wave, threatening to knock him to his knees.
Chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling clinked and swayed, causing tiny lights to dance over the man's shaved head.
He clasped his hands together, and as if refusing nothing more than a sweet treat, he said, "No, thank you."
As if in response, the whole room quaked. Tremors rattled the chandeliers, and bits of crystal rained down on the marble floor, shattering like ice.
**"I HAVE SHOWN YOU ALL OF MY HOUSES. HOW CAN NONE OF THEM INTEREST YOU?"** God demanded.
The man rubbed at the back of his shiny scalp, a lopsided touching his wrinkled eyes, "Forgive me, but it is all very *material*."
The tendrils of smoke plumed into columns, **"AND?"**
His grin faltered. He shrugged, and adjusted the wine-colored sash wrapped around his body, saying "I thought there would be more."
**"MORE?"** the floor below his feet shook, and this time he really did fall to his knees, **"YOU STAND IN THE HOUSE OF GREED, AND YOU WANT MORE?"**
"Yes. No. I mean to say, I thought your heaven would be *different.*"
**"UNGRATEFUL!"** the voice of God roared, and cracks appeared through the marbled murals. The chandeliers rocked violently, and a rain of shattered crystal and flakes of gold crackled around him. But the man did not move to cover himself. Instead, he crossed his legs, clasped his hands together, and waited while the tides of Anger broke over him.
**"THEN I WILL GIVE YOU MORE. BEHOLD, MY SEVENTH HOUSE - AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD."**
"Nobody is disputing your claim-."
**"BEHOLD!"**
Tongues of flame burst from the floor and licked up the walls, bathing them in fire. The rain of crystal and gold became a bright crimson liquid, and the marble cracked and ground against itself, until it was nothing more than a coarse sand that burned at the touch. Distant moans of ecstasy became cries of agony, and a pulsing sound - a drum beat, or a heart beat - hammered through the House.
The man drew a long, deep breath through his nose. He closed his eyes, as if he were sitting by the side of a calm mountain stream, instead of a boiling lake of fire. He allowed a serenity to settle onto his face as he counted his breaths.
**"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?"** God howled, **"TO SEE MY SEVENTH HOUSE?"**
"Not really, no."
**"WHAT KIND OF GOD-FEARING MAN ARE YOU?"**
"I'm not, really."
**"YOU ARE NOT IMPRESSED?"**
"I have seen your Houses, six plus one. Your pride and your lust run deep. I have felt your anger and your unimaginable greed. And I have found it lacking."
**"LACKING?!"** the voice of God boomed. And then, the voice of God echoed the question, except this time God seemed to be asking the question of God's self, **"LACKING..."**
"Yes," the man folded slipped his hands inside his saffron sleeves, "I have already lived a material life. I believed - I *hoped* there would be something more."
The beat of the drums faded, and the walls of infernos diminished into sizzling torches. Even the sand cooled, and became smooth.
**"WHAT DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?"**
The man bowed his head, and for a time the House was silent. When at last he spoke, a wistful expression played at the wings of his lips, "I had hoped, humbly, for a place to contemplate. Perhaps you could make a new House, bereft of desire, and void of sin."
The animosity was gone from God's voice, **"YOU ASK FOR AN EIGHTH HOUSE?"**
"I do. A house of *peace*."
God's response was slow, mediated, as if the idea of *peace* was foreign to him, **"GO ON."**
"Have you heard of a man called Buddha?"
| 2016-03-01T08:14:33 | 2016-03-01T07:56:16 | 114 | 58 |
[WP] You, an astronaut in orbit, submit an Amazon Prime order (free two day shipping) as a joke, with the address set to the ISS. Amazon does not think this is a joke.
|
"You did *what?*"
"Look, I just—" I sighed, placing a hand on the back of my neck. "I just thought it would be sorta funny to see Amazon try to... bring it here..."
"That doesn't excuse the fact that there are now 100 copies of *Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy* at the *INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION.*"
"Yes, I know, I'm sorry, I didn't actually think they'd manage to—"
"When the hell do you *ever* think, Isaac!? Jesus fuck!"
I held my head down as he walked out of the room. ...It was still kinda funny, though.
|
"Well, obviously this isn't feasible, right? I mean, it would be a great PR stunt if we did manage to get their order to them but it's literally impossible."
"Not so fast, Billington. I have an idea."
"No, please no. Not again, Palmer. We don't have the time for this."
"Not so fast, Daniels. I said I have an idea."
Palmer leaned over to his phone and dialled through to a woman named Susan. "Susan. Remember 5 years ago at that Movie Memorabilia auction when I bought ... Yeah, that. You know where it is? Oh, is it? Even better. Bring it on through, we're in the boardroom."
The mood in the room changed. Despair morphed in to intrigue. Billington and Daniels suddenly looked interested. "What is she about to bring in?" asked Billington.
Susan entered the room and set the package down on the table.
Palmer stood up and lifted his arms in to the air. Susan attempted to leave.
"Susan, wait. I'm about to do a cool announcement. Look at my arms in the air, Susan. We've spoken about this. Don't leave when I have my announcement arms on. Don't leave, take a seat." Susan sat with a level of weariness on her face. This wasn't her first rodeo with a Palmer idea.
"This, ladies and gentleman, is the exact board used for the hit movie Jumanji."
Billington’s face shone blank. Daniels' head fell in to his hands. Susan begrudgingly started to clap.
"Excellent work, Susan."
"This is your answer in regards to getting a package to the International Space Station in two days." sniped Daniels. "A replica Jumanji board."
"It's not a replica."
"It is a replica."
"It's the official board from the movie set."
"That still doesn't mean it's real. Wait, do you think it was real in the movie?"
"If it's not real then why does this happen when I roll the dice?" Palmer opened the board up and rolled the dice. The four character pieces magically pulled themselves in to place and Palmer's piece began to move the 8 places forward he had rolled."
"Holy shit, that actually looks pretty sweet."
"Don't humour him, Billington. But your right it was pretty sweet."
Susan sat quiet.
The middle of the board lit up, green text began to appear. All four leaned over the board in a bid to read the riddle.
~ In the jungle he did delve, a horror unseen since 2012 ~
"Why is it saying 2012 when the movie came out in the 90's?" asked Susan who had shed her previous mute status presumably due to being slightly worried by the up to date puzzle.
"Maybe they updated it when they sold it to you. That seems logical, right?"
"How the fuck is this helping us get to the ISS?" asked Daniels.
"I didn't think this through" admitted Palmer wearily.
"Seriously, what the piss does the puzzle mean?" Susan was panicking. She had never witnessed one of Palmer's silly plans come to fruition. They has usually fizzled out by this stage.
"What does it matter anyway? This isn't a real Jumanji board. Am I going crazy here? We need to settle this ISS delivery issue and go home." Daniels was irate. The kind of irate a person becomes in a movie when it's clear the character slightly believes what is going on but doesn't want to admit it.
"Wait. Did you hear that?" Billington shushed the room.
Bullets flew through the walls and everyone hit the deck.
"OH MY FUCKING GOD, PALMER. WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?"
"THE BOARD IS REAL. IT'S REAL JUMANJI, GUYS. I THINK I BOUGHT REAL JUMANJI."
"WE FUCKING UNDERSTAND ITS REAL JUMANJI, PALMER."
"WHY WOULD YOU BRING REAL JUMANJI TO WORK WITH YOU?!"
More bullets throttled through the room and a deep dark bellowing laugh boomed from outside the door followed by the faint footsteps of what sounded like children.
Susan perked up, "No. It can't be."
"What Susan?! Fucking what?!"
"I understand the meaning of the riddle. 'In the jungle he did delve, a horror unseen since 2012'."
The three men looked to her.
"It's Kony."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
| 2016-10-27T11:29:03 | 2016-10-27T08:27:48 | 96 | 59 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
I decided to have another waffle. They seem to taste different when they are made from... "organic" material. I giggle to myself in a less-than-good demeanor for the hell of it. Im only halfway through eating my waffle, before the third non-waffle today walks into my HQ, the "Waffelhausen". The mayor, who had a somewhat more useful power than I had, could make umbrellas from any material. He wasnt as popular around summertime, however. I lean back in my waffle chair and fold my hands like Mr. Burns on a bad day. Or a good day. I guess I was ment to be a bad waffle. Mum was right after all. And her superpower is being 100% right 50% of the time. The mayor nervously puts his 16'th umbrella by the door and stutters:
"Mr. Waffle! Please! Stop turning people into waffles! We love your waffles! Icecream-Man didnt mean what he said on Twitter! We need you. What if we give you a position in high governm..."
I decided to have another waffle.
|
From an early age people had laughed at me. Called me useless. "The power to control paper? What a disappointment." I guess it made sense, my mother was Mind Control Mindy, with a single glance she could control any person's mind and force them to do anything. My dad on the other hand was The Atomic Adam, he thought it was clever because it sounds like atomic atom, he could rearrange objects down to the atomic level so long as he touched them. My older sister was able to control and create fire, my older brother was able to heal any wound. A team of seemingly perfect heroes. Except for me, the boy who could control paper.
My parents thought it was a joke. They always used to say "You can't save anyone with paper". Maybe they were right. I never had saved anyone with paper, but I sure had killed a lot of people with it. Ah yes I bet you were wondering why I was using the past tense to describe my family, using "was" and "could". Well quite simply, I killed them. My father was first. He had always said that I was a failure, a disappointment, and that I would amount to nothing, simply because of my superpower, something I had no control over mind you. He had always praised and hugged my sibling when they pulled off huge miracles. When my sister had light her first fire he was sooooo fucking proud of her. When my brother healed his first cut he was sooooo goddamn proud of him. Not a single kind word of praise to me. Well it doesn't matter as he won't be able to talk ever again. Turns out that when you harden and spin a circular piece of paper at a 1,000,000,000 rpm it can cut through just about anything. Including my asshole of a dads head clean off of his body.
Next was my mother. She had never been nice to me either. Always a passive aggressive little bitch. At least father was direct and to the point with his insults. "Oh maybe he's just retarded". "Don't worry, I'm sure that SOMEONE will want you, regardless of how useless you are". "You have a face only a mother could love, except that I don't. Not at all". I hated her. Ah well no more insults spewing out of her mouth, it would be difficult to talk with a hole in your head. You see when you shoot a hardened, sharp, piece of paper at 1,000,000,000 mph through someone's forehead, they die. Quite quickly as well.
Now onto my little bitch of an older sister. Always laughing at my paper creations. I made beautiful spanning cities out of paper, beautiful bouquets of paper roses and flowers, creations of creatures majestically flying, fighting, living, why I even made awe inspiring clothing out of paper. I softened the paper to feel like cloth and simply manipulated it to the designs in my head. I even had ideas for paper prosthetics, cheap, easy, and effective. I figured that maybe I couldn't be a hero through amazing heroics, but I could be a hero to kids who needed prosthetics. A hero to kids with "useless powers" and show them that you could be amazing in your own way. To create worlds and creatures, beautiful designs to shock millions. I wanted to be an artist. But everything I made was burned by her hands. Every spawning city burned to death by a flood of fire. Every beautiful rose wilted by her fire and mocking laugh. I tried to ignore it, brace through it, and try to make peace with her. So I made her a beautiful dress, made to accentuate each of her curves and to show her beauty in a class way. I was almost grateful for her actions as she showed me that my powers could be used for fashion. And yet every dress I made, burned as she laughed. A truly mocking laugh, cutting me to the core. Calling me a retard.
She was impudent and arrogant to the end. Bet you didn't know that huh? As she was chained up to the wall she snorted and said, "Do your worst little retard. A fire could never be cut down by a piece of paper." Ah but she screamed as a thousand tiny pieces of paper consuming and cutting her flesh, in the same fashion of the fire that consumed my creations. Such a satisfying death.
And you brother. Supposedly the "nice one" of the family. And yet you never stopped them. Let them do whatever they pleased with me. When I cried at night, you never once came and comforted me. I know you heard my cries, the walls were oh so thin. Look at me brother. The once "retarted, useless, weak, ugly brother" of yours is dominating the world. Oh yes I did hear you. Look at me now. I am the supreme dictator of Europe, none dares appose me. You managed to escape me in the past... now I wonder what I shall do to you... Perhaps you will serve as a reminder to my people of what happens when you oppose me....
| 2017-06-12T03:52:01 | 2017-06-12T02:38:39 | 572 | 257 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her.
|
"I said no."
"You must! She's the true heir-"
"And why should I care about your puny kingdom?"
"Because...if she doesn't claim the throne there will be chaos for a long time...which means war...which means more soldiers to try and slay you..."
"Hey, buddy, are you OK? You're breathing kinda funny, and you got a lot of blood on you."
"I'm...fine."
"If you say so. But anyway, your logic is a bit of a stretch. I've seen a lot of kingdoms fall, it doesn't always turn out like that."
"Please..."
"You think, just because I'm a dragon I have a tower somewhere to stash her in?"
"Well, yes."
"Yeah, OK, fine, I do know of an abandoned castle with a couple towers. The previous owner sent an army against me, and since stone doesn't burn, it's still mostly intact."
"So you'll...take...her?"
"What? No! I can't raise a human. I don't even know what you guys eat!"
*cough*
"Uhhh...you eat...fields? And, umm...sheep? And horses...? No wait, you ride on the horses...But do you also eat the horses? Huh, I never thought to ask..."
*gasp. gargle*
"I like horsemeat, anyway. Hey, buddy, do humans eat horses?"
...
"Hello? Buddy? You OK?"
...
"Huh. I think he's dead."
"Waaaaahhhh! Waaaaaahhhh!"
"Oh no nonono, little princess, don't cry, please don't cry-"
"Waaaaahhh!"
"Uhhh, here... *phwoof* ...See?... *phwoof* ...you like smoke rings?"
"A-hahaha!"
"Yeah, you like the smoke rings. What about this? ... *FWOAH*"
"Oohhh"
"That's called fire. Can you say 'fire'? Fi-re. Fiii-rre."
"Aagh"
"Eh, close enough. I never realized how cute human babies are."
"Ffffffpp"
"Hey, uhh, come on, let's get you somewhere safe, OK?"
|
"I didn't have a lot to do with the neighbors. We just sort of existed... They had their space and I had mine and that was that. It's not that we didn't know that each other was there because, well, of course we did. The small village had existed for centuries, appearing roughly some 300 years after I found my first resting place, it started as a few huts in the middle of a clearing and steadily grew from there."
"A few times a year I would fly over to see how they were doing (needless to say I did not get a warm welcome, the usual stuff, a few arrows here and there a boulder or two, nothing serious). After a while I lost interest to be honest it didn't look like they were up to much and I wasn't getting anything from my fly overs, sure I still kept tabs on them as they grew but if they didn't bother me then why should I bother them? So over 200 years while they grew from a small village in a forest to a town I kept to myself, feeding when I needed to and sleeping the rest. As time ticked by my dwelling became to small and I had to move, in those times I did check on the human inhabitants out of passing interest, noting the times when they were growing and the times when disaster stuck, fire, flood, plague and the like."
It is worth noting that not all dragons hoard precious items like gold, jewel. There are some that pursue the hoarding of knowledge (these often shape shift to lesser forms to achieve such ends though why they do such a thing is beyond me such forms have their drawbacks and to be perfectly honest should be beneath our kind), others like myself are content to lie and watch the world making use of natural gifts of far-sight and hearing though often we take a little more interest in certain subjects than others much like my village and for these we rouse ourselves from our rest to investigate further as well as avail ourselves of other benefits such movement brings (staying indoors does cramp ones wings after awhile). The other benefit of such watchfulness other than a full centuries rest without interruption by knights or mages and the like is the low cost of moving oneself to new environs.
"It was shortly after one such move, some having just fed myself and found a new cave to rest for a new century of watching the world around me, I noticed that the small town had experienced a long period of growth and had flourished to the point where it was now a city with several outlying towns and with what my far-sight could see had elevated one of their number to rule over them. It was I thought more than a little surprised (amazing how time flies in the blink of a dragons eye) time to fly over them once more and see how my village had progressed. Needless to say while I was expecting my usual welcome, though as it had been some time since I flew over them (preferring to watch from afar as I had done for the past 200 or so years) it was not entirely by surprise that while there were the usual screams of horror and surprise, the arrows were not as forth coming. Noting this I did fly over the central city of this burgeoning and successful kingdom to find them woefully under prepared for my appearance (not that I do anything aside from fly over, dragons that burn cities are sooo uncouth and frankly a boor) after so many years of absence so even more so it does explain what happens next..."
___________________________________________________________________________________
"Hello?, Hello is anyone there?" *cough*, *cough*, "Can you hear me? I need your help!".
The Dragon opened one scaled eye wondering what or who was making that unearthly racket, he had after his fashion just settled down to watch the world and rest for the next one hundred years or so.
"oh thank god you're still here!" *cough*
His eye lazily searched his cave and settle on the shiny humanoid figure standing in the entrance to his cave, adjusting to the light now pouring through his iris he spoke: "HUMAN YOU HAVE DISTURBED MY REST, WHY HAVE YOU COME, I HAVE NEITHER RICHES NOR KNOWLEDGE FOR YOU TO PLUNDER AND ANY ATTEMPT TO TAKE OF MY BEING WILL BE MET WITH DISAPPOINTMENT AND DEATH ON YOUR PART".
Bending slightly under the pressure of the dragons speech (it is no easy thing to have a dragon speak to you), the weak reply came "O dragon I desire not *cough* riches nor knowledge for in truth I desire none and I *hack* am not long for this world" *cough*
Collapsing under the weight of his armor and now apparent mortal wounds the soldier gestured to the basket on the cave floor now in front of him..
"please.... take her.... she will be safe with you...."
______________________________________________________________________________________
As I gazed upon the basket before me the soldier as I had ascertained him to be breathed, his last and passed from this mortal realm.
Now my other senses had awoke I smelled fire and within the flame charred timber, stone and flesh and above it all the screams of death and the dying. Fully rising from my place of rest I took to the sky knowing full well what would meet my gaze, the kingdom I had followed the progress of with some interest over the years, razed to the ground, its riches taken, men and women slain or slaved. I guess such is the way of human life that which I have watched for those long years full of life and love and on the other foot hatred and jealousy such had befallen my neighbors and while sad nothing too upsetting for I assume at least for now nature will either reclaim what remains or the humans will return and rise again..
"As such my tale is finished and I must ask you Andrisdia the spell for taking human form."
"Really? Ovryrth? You of all dragons? Do you not despise such forms?"
____________________________________________________________________________________
Ovryrth smiled a dragon smile as the babe in the basket woke and wailed "Times must I'm afraid".
_________________________________________________________
Let me know what you think this is my first reply to a prompt hope I did well enough.
| 2018-03-01T03:08:36 | 2018-03-01T02:10:10 | 57 | 38 |
[WP] You and friend agree that if one of you invents time travel, they will come back to this very moment. As you shake on it, an older and injured you shows up and shoots your friend in the head.
|
Andrew was dead within seconds.
I knew who he was and he seemed to have an leery story to tell. I didn't even begin to ask, he just came up to me and said "Andrew outgrew us", he paused. I began shivering at the sight of my friend seething in litres of blood. I felt a combination of the creepiest, weirdest, sadness I've ever felt experienced.
And then the old man continued.
"Listen to me Paul, Andrew was kind, funny, intelligent, he was a gentle soul, but what happend to him wasn't a sight of nobility. You know what they did to him?"
"What?"
"He was the first person to ever be implanted with a chip, it was a combination of AI and advanced quantum computing. He didn't just outgrew you and me, he outgrew everyone. This was the only way I could stop him by now his future self would be dead and with hope returning to everyone"
"What if they replace him with someone else"
"That won't happen, I've this thing with me now. I can use it, everything, in time, everything will be fixed, but there's soemthing more to tell"
"Yes?"
"We are not in the real world Paul, you are in his simulation, inside one of his many series of worlds, you see what I just said to you is something you programmed into his machines, I'm not you, I'm a program to let you know what to, to do this exact same thing to your past, to this same event, CAN YOU DO IT?"
"I just had my friend killed, and his warm blood splashed on my face , I can't handle all this".
"You must my friend, go to the theatre down the street, you know the one we always went to, open up the third drawer from the ticket seller , you have no time, and don't worry there won't be anyone there. If you notice there isn't anyone anywhere"
Panicking and upset, I went to the theatre, drove past empty streets and rain. I got to the third drawer. In it it had a series of books, in it what seemed very similar to Andrew's writing. I read a couple of pages. I remembered now, I knew what to do. I opened up the machines console, it's interface that was only accessible by an administrator. I logged out.
I woke up in my bedroom sweaty , with a heart rate that felt sick. This was it, I finally did it, I cracked open my virtual prison. It was finally over. It was already done, the time machine. I hid it from Andrew, and disassembled and dispersed it just enough so that pawns couldn't figure it out. Like the old man said, I knew what to do to hack his sensors, his machine- survelleance. I took it down one by one, and I only had enough time for a day to access the time machine, until he realizes I'm not in the virtual world.
One by one , piece by piece I began building the machine.
//if anyone wants me to continue I will
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
***June 14th, 1943; Dresden Germany***
I've come back to this night, physically, mentally, and spiritually so many times that one could say it is the true birth of my existence and the person I am today. I think of what brought us here; me an American born doctor and war surgeon thrust into the midst of one of the bloodiest and most desolate experiences in mankind's history, and my dear friend Frank, a begrudged German soldier and one who would become one of the finest minds in all of the world. I don't think I ever expressed to him how much I valued his mind, not just for its uniqueness but also his simple-mindedness and singular focus. He was quite honestly the type of man I'd seen through and through in the military in my years of service and had grown to despise, except for the fact that he fought a battle none would dare take up, and even I didn't think he could win. He had a certain charisma to him that drew in even his most profuse doubters and, in time, made them his most fervent supporters. I was no different. He had the most prolific green eyes that were fixated with the possibilities of the future, and harbored just enough sadness to remind you on certain occasion that he too was a child of war and hardship, and that his life was marred with the kind of struggle that makes a man's spirit go numb. Often times his thoughts would turn somber and his voice would choke with sorrow and regret, but only when we spoke of the past; he was very much a man focused on correcting the faults of today to prepare for tomorrow. Me, however, I've always had an unhealthy obsession with the past and I've toiled with mine for the majority of my lifetime so when Frank spoke of the possibility of changing it; and with it our future's it was my heart that believed him first.
&#x200B;
I still remember the creation of our first workbench, just feet away from the bed that we shared because we could ill afford separate rooms and hardly the bed we scrounged up money for in the first place. That in it's own was an accomplishment. We had slept on the floor for some time in a seemingly endless pit of schematics and shriveled up papers and equipment that we had begged and bargained with various city factories to part with various shoddy equipment they were willing to part with. Frank gambled all night with a construction maintenance worker for several nails that we could use for the workbench, and when he was woozy from the alcohol that Frank had shared, he took his hammer too. After a few hours, when we finished constructing our first official work area complete with wood Frank compiled through some of his string of hard bargains and gambling runs, we sat and began to speak of the future; our future. It was there that we got drunk off of the cheapest liquor Germany had to offer, and pronounced wildly for the first time, that not only would we travel the world, but through time and space itself. When I asked Frank to what time he'd like to go first, he pronounced wildly
"To the year 3000!" as he swallowed the last swig of the bottle, chuckling giddily to himself and turning and pointing the bottle toward me
"And you?" he asked inquisitively, posturing up against the wall and waiting quietly for my answer while smiling.
"I don't know," I started,
"Perhaps to Old Egypt or the day the constitution was written. Maybe even my childhood to see my mother again..." I said as I trailed off, the liquor swirling inside me giving me all kinds of memories and making me more contemplative.
"Doting on the past again William? Interesting timestamps but I'm far more interested in creating our own," he said before yawning and nodding off into sleep. I watched him descend to slumber and continually slink until his head lay perfectly in the notch against the workbench and the wooden floor before I fell asleep myself.
&#x200B;
It's these days that were the happiest and most fulfilling of my lifetime, working and living with Frank, learning how to forget the problems of my past and move toward the future. And it's those two years that bring me continuously to this night. The perpetual swirling of emotions and memories, successes and failures, all thrashing about in my head and pouring down into the crevices of my soul. These parts of me are alive and well, so much so that I step in and out of each memory like a door from one room to another only to be confronted by my reality. Alone, in a room not a centimeter bigger than the one I'd shared with Frank. Bruised and tattered I stammer to my feet and grab a small schematic off my work-table as I begin the meticulous process of bending time. One that I nearly perfected with Frank. As I'm thrust into a small portal the size of an apartment door, I find myself standing over some shriveled up schematics in a dimly lit room in East Germany. I remember the night perfectly and for a second I slip through an additional door in my mind and into the memory.
&#x200B;
It was a major breakthrough, and after a year of meticulous research we'd garnered the attention of a major scientific body called Nessich, which housed hubs in over 20 countries worldwide and wanted to invite Frank and I to join their developmental team with more access to materials, research and information than we'd come across in our whole entire lives. I was on the verge of tears as he told me the news and I looked into his emerald green eyes.
"We've finally done it William," he said with a huge grin etched onto his face and placing one hand on my shoulder before engaging in a full on hug.
"Frank... this is wonderful," I said as I clenched back tears and mustered up my best smile. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. When I had first met him he was on the verge of death, without a penny to his name and not a person who'd attest to his life had he passed. I was captive to a native country, thrust from home without family, fortune or will to survive, and we'd made a future for ourselves. It was the single happiest moment of my life.
&#x200B;
"When we make it William, promise to come back to this treasured moment," Frank said as he looked at me with a determination and a softness all at once, and I nodded my head, agreed and shook his hand as heartily as I did with any member of the US military.
&#x200B;
And then I opened my eyes and stepped through the door once more. I let a singular tear fall from my scarred cheek, and I let loose a bullet which buried itself right between Frank's eyes and I watched his body go limp. I watched how my happiness turned to agony, and its effect was double. I felt the wound a million times and I felt another part of my soul break loose. It wasn't the first, or the last time I'd be here again.
| 2018-10-11T20:50:40 | 2018-10-11T17:25:09 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] “I’ve always wondered, what’s the scythe for, anyway?” I asked, as Death escorted me to the Underworld. "Protection," he nervously replied.
Credit goes to: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/6imkuw/the_grim_reapers_scythe_isnt_to_harvest_you_its/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app
|
I coughed as the grey fog engulfed me, the mist rolling and swirling, filling my lungs with its alien scent.
“Apologies,” said Death, “I’m trying to kick a bad habit.” He gave his vaporiser a mournful glance, before disappearing it within the endless folds of his black cloak.
Together we walked along a freeway, eight lanes of empty concrete that, as far as I could tell, ran endlessly to and past the horizon. There were no cars in sight, and their absence weighed on me. A road like this shouldn’t be so quiet, so peaceful—it should be loud and bustling, full of people moving from A to be B.
“Why a freeway?” I asked.
“A freeway?” Death answered.
“Yeah, a freeway. You know, the thing we’re walking on right now.”
“Oh. We all see something different on the final journey.”
“What do you see?”
Death turned away, sockets staring into the empty plain around us. “Behind me, home. Ahead, the unknown. A gravel path, if you must know, leading into a dark forest.”
“Where are we going?”
“The end.”
“The end of what? Of me?”
“The end,” Death repeated simply.
“Well aren’t you helpful,” I shot back, annoyed.
“I like to think so,” he responded, and there was a finality to his tone that made me think silence was probably a good idea.
We continued walking.
And walking.
And walking.
Hours, it felt like. Days. Weeks.
Or seconds, maybe.
In the end, I had to talk, to fill the silence. “What’s the scythe for?” I finally asked.
He threw a sidelong glance at me. “Protection,” he said, and for the first time his words were wrung with emotion. He was nervous, I realised, and it seemed it was contagious, for this realisation made me worried as well. Whatever could scare Death itself should, and did, scare the crap out of me.
“From what?!”
“Hooligans,” he replied, speaking the word quietly, almost reverently, like he was afraid that merely speaking it aloud would summon them.
“Hooligans?” I asked, brief fear turning to confusion.
“Hooligans,” he affirmed.
“What?”
“There are three truths in this universe,” Death said, his tone lowering, seeming wise. “Life, me, and… hooligans.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I hate kidding. It’s always tragic when a child passes before their time. Adulting is better, old-peopleing is best.”
He stopped suddenly, holding his scythe up in both hands, like he was preparing to strike. He spun around, crouching down and searching for something in the endless expanse around us, and try as I might I couldn’t see what had caught his eye.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, shit, *shit*.”
“What?”
“Get down man, get on the ground!”
I complied, dropping as low as I could.
“Oh god!” he called out, “Oh no, they’re everywhere!” He screamed then, a blood curdling cry that chilled me to the core, and I couldn’t help but add my own shriek to his.
Then he stopped just as suddenly as he’d started, and began laughing.
I lifted my hands from where they’d been curled around my head, and looked at him.
He pointed at me. “Oh man! You should have seen your face. Ha!”
“The hell!?”
“Oh come on,” he said, “it’s funny. Hooligans, God. Your generation cracks me up.”
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“Well, you need to lighten up. Gee man, you’re dead, ok, everything’s over now. All your worries and concerns, fears, whatever—it doesn’t matter anymore. You can just chill now, and enjoy the ride.”
“So what’s the scythe for then?”
“Hmm? Oh, that.” Death held the scythe out, examining it thoughtfully. “Um, well, once upon a time there was a farmer, and that farmer, being a farmer, used a farming tool called a scythe. I'm the farmer, obviously, and I guess I kept it as a kind of anchor, something to remind me of home. By the way, a scythe is a *terrible* weapon—did me absolutely no good at my own little end.”
“What happened?”
“I walked into the forest. Turns out better for some than others, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.”
“Man, the guys are gonna love this. Hooligans, ha!” Death chortled.
I shook my head. “I don’t think I like you very much.”
Death’s mirth faded away, and he sighed, a constant hiss of air that whistled through the fleshless bones that made up his jaw. “Not many do, not many do.”
|
Death is confusing. Annoying.
Annoying and confusing. Also really dark. Not morbid dark, but night mode dark.
First beef: it's downright disorderly. You'd think they'd have nailed down the process by now, but the post-death user experience eats a bag of dicks. I know that's a bit crass, but it's abundantly clear the heaven/hell thing is total BS so I'm just gonna let it fly. Earmuffs for the kids.
Now, I want to get it straight that this isn't about bitterness. I don't got a problem with the fact I'm dead. I played a dangerous game and my number came up. Shit happens. Anyone who gets on one of those ride-share scooter things knows any day might be their last. My only regret was getting smoked by a Tesla -- half my money was in TSLA stock and I don't see a headline like "Autonomous Driving in Question After Local Kid Gets ABSOLUTELY DESTROYED by Model 3 on Autopilot" doing much for my portfolio.
Life is full of irony.
I'm pretty sure that isn't how you use that word but no one called Alanis out on that shit so whatever. What was her deal anyways? She was smokin' hot as God in that movie Dogma. I could totally go for a hot God. Way better curveball than what I'm dealing with now.
I'm losing the thread of the story here, but it isn't like I'm short on time. That's sort of the point. Elon Musk assassinates me and then I'm just sitting here in some weird black abyss. No escalator to heaven. No gateway to hell. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Guess someone forgot to boot up Afterlife.exe. Totally lame.
Even worse than rain on your wedding day.
I've got no idea how long I've been here. Day? Hour? Months?
This is torture. I'm a millennial without an internet connection. I can't even check Instagram to see how many likes my funeral announcement got.
Maybe this is hell. I don't even have my ADHD meds. Gonna be a LOOOOONNNGGGGG afterlife at this rate.
Do you think Alanis knew that nothing she was talking about in that song was ironic? Like, she was literally 0 for something like 50 in her examples. Totally dropped the ball. Wait...what if that's the irony? Did she just go META with it? Layers! So many layers. Mind blown. I can't even with this right now. Finally something worth tweeting about and here I am in this low rent, third tier afterlife.
S to the IGH.
I'll tell you this much, if I knew this was how it was going to go down, I would have done way more stuff at Burning Man. Orgy tent for sure. I also would have worn those assless chaps I'd brought but never got the courage to wear. *Carpe diem*. That's probably exactly what that ancient philosopher dude had in mind when he made that up. Assless chaps. The only way to seize the day. I should do marketing for them.
Oh, wait. Hold up. Someone is coming.
"Hey, over here!" Oh. Cool. He sees me. One sec. Gotta take care of this. Oh man, his fashion style is way off. It's like a black mumu or something. Or a bathrobe. Great, I've been stuck in the pitch black for who knows how long and the first thing I see is some guy that couldn't even bother to get dressed. What a disaster.
Oh snap, he's got a HUGE scythe. Like late game WoW raid dungeon loot drop or something. Plus ten to awesome. Guess I'd rock a mumu if I had something like that. Maybe. I'd probably still wear jeans. You know what? I think this dude is Death. I'll let you know when he gets a bit closer. He's got the hood up on his mumu.
Cool. He's almost here. "Sup man? You hear to explain what's up or what?" I call out a bit louder than I mean to, but I'm an eager little beaver for some company.
"Shhh..." He's got a boney hand. I mean, his hand is actual bones and he's all making the shh maneuver. Holy shirt balls, he's got a skull for a face. Or his skull doesn't have a face. The guy is like the skeleton I had in my 6th grade science class.
But with a mumu.
"Dude, don't shh me. I've been stuck here in midnight mode for like forever waiting on your boney ass." Just 'cause I'm dead doesn't mean I gotta take crap from some guy that can't even bother to show up on time.
"Silence, Departed." He hissed that last bit. Uh oh, his eyes are glowing red now. I mean where his eyes would normally be. The eye sockets are red glowy. I repeat, the eye sockets are red glowy. I decide to play it cool and go quiet mode, just in case he has laser beams or something.
Once he sees me shut my trap, he leans closer, "We must travel quickly. The passage is closing, the way may soon be lost." That made about as much sense as Bitcoin. I just give him a nod and two thumbs up. Pays to be positive when someone might have eye-socket-lasers. Just going with the flow. No one mind me.
He nods once and then turns away. He sort of floats rather than walks and I'm pulled along somehow. Can't really even say how I know I'm moving since everything is still all black. I guess maybe because his mumu is fluttering?
Some time passes. I won't bother filling you in on that part, it was mostly me wondering whether Death has a dick. That's me, your humble narrator, asking the tough questions. Well, I didn't actually ask him. If he doesn't have one, I bet it's a sore subject.
Anyways, some unit of abyss time went by. No idea how long since I don't have my phone still. Just watching Death float along in front of me with his huge loot drop wet dream scythe. That thing is gnarly. Probably over-compensating if ya know what I mean. It even gleams despite the fact there is like no light coming from anywhere here. Must have been a premium item. Can't get that on free-to-play.
"So, Deatherino (nicknames are fun), I've always wondered, what's the scythe for, anyway?"
The mumu stops fluttering. I think we're standing still. He's turning to look back at me now. The eye glow is back, but it's like pale blue or something. Not sure what that means. Maybe ice beams? I don't know why he'd need laser beams and ice beams, it seems unnecessary.
"Protection." He sounds nervous. That's sort of weird. What does a skeleton in a mumu got to fear? Broken bones? Calcium deficiency?
I lean forward, trying to make him feel a bit more comfortable, "Don't worry man, I won't attack you. You're my ride."
Oh shit. The eyes are flicking back to laser beam color. "Not you." Death sounds annoyed now.
I throw up my hands, letting him know I'm cool. "I know bro, that's what I just said. We're totally chill."
"Them," he says. Looking into the black. I'm seeing nothing.
"Who?"
"The abyss. The night spreaders," he whispered, his hands gripping the scythe.
"Yeah, well, I'm not looking to get spread tonight, naw'what'i'mean?" I wink at him.
"Departed, this is not a joke. They have swallowed much. Even the passage is under threat. We tread in the dark because the light has been stolen."
I nod along. Sounded like serious stuff. "That doesn't sound good."
Death regarded me quietly for a moment, the socket-glow gone. "It is not. I will save who I can, but soon the Departed will be lost, the way to the Underworld closed."
I wasn't sure what to make of that, but it looked like Death could use some commiseration. "Sucks." I wasn't sure what was so great about the Underworld, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
Death stared at me.
"I'm just saying it sounds bad dude." I shrug, "Like rain on your wedding day."
The red socket glow returned. Guess he wasn't much for irony.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2019-07-15T01:04:43 | 2019-07-15T00:49:01 | 2,776 | 140 |
[WP]As a superhero, you have worked to hide your secret identity from your girlfriend. As you sneak back into your apartment after a long day of hero work, you find her changing out of her superhero costume.
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The Captain stepped into the garage, ducking under. His sidekicks Shock and Bones was off fielding questions at the press conference, while he could get a few precious hours of sleep, and time with his girlfriend. Of course he told her he was out doing Astronomy Field Studies, studying the weather and the night sky, sometimes for days. But somehow he always managed to get just enough time to spend with his wonderful girlfriend, and she'd been very understanding. But he was caught off guard as he opened the back door, staring at a very familiar superhero outfit, and his girlfriend let out a quiet sigh.
"Oh, Jim, I thought you were going to be home a bit later..."
"Paula?" He asked, stunned as she stood there a moment, then set down her helmet. "You're...*the* Mary Super? The conqueror of the Galactoids? Inventor of the Kobiyashi Maru?" He blinked, staring, then felt his knees begin to buckle. "I...I think I need a minute."
"I know it's a lot to take in, I-" She started, stepping closer, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"A lot? A *lot*? You're the single most powerful and popular superhero in the world. With your Copy Cat ability you can mimic just about any power you come across. Perfect combat skills, perfect memorization, perfect..." He sighed, looking down. "...everything. Even if I tried, I could never be the same level of hero as you are."
"Oh, honey...you've got it all wrong." She said, sitting next to him, placing a hand gently on his face, pulling him closer, staring into his eyes. "Who said I was a *hero*?" She whispered, kissing him gently on the lips.
His eyes flashed, and he stumbled back half a step, looking dazed. He stared down at her, and blinked. "What...what hap-"
"Are you all right, dear? You said tonight was going to be a special night. You even said you'd dress up in that Captain cosplay outfit of yours..."
He stared down at the costume, blinking quietly, then half smiled in confusion. "Yeah...yeah. That's right. The costume."
"I know you're a really big fan of his, Jim. Why don't you come to the bedroom and show me your Captain's log?" She giggled, turning off the light.
|
I look from the shadows. I see her fly in to face the massive gorilla that has been terrorizing the city.
Just another day in Shelbyville.
Stareye flies in, her cape fluttering in the wind as she nails the landing. My heart almost sings in appreciation. I’m completely and utterly smitten by her. But not Stareye, no. I left for the thousands of fucking nerds on the internet. Some of the fan art I had seen… never again.
No. It was Sally I loves. Once you removed the layers of superpowers, all the costumes and you got down to the person. The best person I had ever met. So kind and thoughtful. Always putting others ahead of her.
When I had found out, it had been a shock. But I had adjusted. For her, I always would. She was my North Star.
“By the power of the North Star.” She raised her hands forming a crude star shape and a massive blast of energy hit the gorilla square in his chest.
He brushed it off like it was nothing and charged at her.
My heart skipped a beat. I quickly blinked and used my superpower. A bench dislodged itself from its place and moved just enough to trip the gorilla as it was charging towards Stareye.
It didn’t fall. But it took a second for it to regain its balance. That was enough. Stareye charged and a flip kick charges with the “power of North Star” as she called it crushed its face.
The usual followed as I moved back into the shadows.
People gathered around her, applauding.
I walked away, happy to have helped.
“Hey.”
A voice I recognized well called out to me. My eyes went wide. She had seen me. I blinked and my powers went into overdrive. A little change here and there as the atoms that made my face rearranged. I had never used my powers on myself before. It was painful, but my face didn’t look anything like she could possibly recognize.
“Oh hello.” I turned around, smiling at her from behind my mask.
“Going to run away without even saying hello?”
“I saw you had it figured out.”
“Thanks to you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed it. You’ve been helping me.”
“Uh… you must be mistaken.”
“I have the vision of the North Star. You can’t fool me Conjurer.”
I sighed. I wondered how I’d explain this. I thought I had been clever and stayed in the shadows. “Well you caught me.”
“So what is it then? Why has the world suddenly lost its foremost superhero? And that superhero now just stays hidden and helps me out? Like I don’t mind. Pretty much everyone agrees I’m the greatest active hero now. Just tell the truth. One thing I hate is liars.”
I knew this to be true. I wondered why I had even done this. Why had I not just come clean? But I wanted her to be known as the best superhero. I had been jaded with this work for a long time and didn’t crave any attention anymore. I had thought I was doing the right thing. She would grow in popularity and I’d just melt into the darkness. I could tell her the truth but would she forgive me? I knew how Sally and this Stareye felt about anyone who lied. No. For some more time, this lie would have to continue. Plus I felt like I had never been able to tell her how deeply I felt about her. I suppose that was true for everything. I had always been an introvert. Talking about feelings… what I wanted… that had never been, well, me. I suppose that was also why I put on the mask. Hiding behind it, I could say and do what Christopher Ryan never could. This was my chance to tell how how much i loved her. How she was the one thing that kept me going. My North Star. “I mean, you can guess right?”
She visibly blushed under her mask. “Well why don’t you tell me over some coffee.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to take off the mask yet.”
“I know a very superhero friendly place.”
And that was our first date.
There were plenty more. I got to know the real her. I suppose the mask was freeing for her too. She told the Conjurer things that she had never told Christopher.
Her hopes and dreams. The real ones. No canned answers.
Between our personas, there was always this tension. The unsaid words. Till I finally said them.
“I love you, you know. More than I’ve ever loved anything. I don’t know when it happened. But I gave up my superhero career for you. I’d give up my life.”
“Conjurer…” She had teared up a bit. She gently put a hand on my cheek. She took off my mask. She saw the other mask I was still putting on. She couldn’t look past that one. And then she took off her mask and kissed me.
I had been dating Sally for almost three years. But we had never had a kiss like this.
“My name is Sally. What is yours?”
“I… I’m Josh.”
“I also don’t know when it happened. But I feel like I can talk to you about anything. You understand me. You understand all of this. I want to be with you… all the time.”
I felt my heart break a little. “I want to be with you. But do you have anyone…” I broke off.
“I’ll break up with him. I’ve been with him for a long time but there’s always been something between us, something holding us both back. It started well but i always felt alone even when I was with him. Not like this. Not like it’s with you. With you, I feel complete.”
She was crying. So was I. Only my tears were not visible. I was changing their molecular structure as soon as they appeared and switched them into air.
“Then leave him. We belong together. Us. I can’t think of you with another man. You deserve better.”
We hugged and stayed like that for a long time.
I smiled as she entered our apartment.
“Christopher. We need to talk…”
| 2022-03-22T17:19:16 | 2022-03-22T17:07:09 | 164 | 114 |
[WP] The entire world lost electricity 10 days ago. You find an old phone in a drawer and switch it on. A wifi network comes up. It's named, "Do you want to do a deal with the devil?"
|
I searched for a wifi network - there was just one - "Do you want to do a deal with the devil?". It was locked
I chuckled. Some teenager trying to be edgy.
I thought for a moment and clicked on it.
I entered "Yes" as the key.
And waited.
A prompt appeared "WPA key too short. Key must be between 5 to 13 characters."
Fuck.
|
Drawer after drawer would be drawn open, the wheels inside the box grinding against the wood, and then closed with a rushed thud. I was looking for something, anything that would help me survive; food, water, flashlights, a book - anything.
I rummaged through the abandoned apartment. What was once surely an extravagant and luxuries living area turned into a haunting after image of Armageddon, a husk left behind by the materialistic and comfortable life we built, watching it crumble to dust as if it were built upon glass pillars.
Ten days ago: time mysteriously stood still, trains slowed to a deadly silent halt, buildings which lit the city up like stars faded into the abyss, planes fell from the sky and lit the world in fireworks, cars stopped in the middle of traffic, their momentum forcing collisions around the world in rapid succession, like the final heartbeats of a world falling into a sleepless and unending dream.
I drew out one drawer after the other and banged it closed, a sweat bead sliding down my temple as my eye kept darting over the tables horizon as I stared between the gap of the two buildings parallel to me, now that time stood still it became ever more precious and as I stared upon the setting sun I knew I had to go back to my shelter soon.
I drew out a drawer and slammed it immediately, I paused for a second, before pulling the drawer out once more. I stared upon a phone, I didn't know why or for what reason I thought it might work, I took the phone, it was a newer model of the Iphone series. After another second of hesitation I forced my index finger onto the top and pressed against the power button.
I remembered that all too distant white apple too well. A victorious grin with a gasp of excitement escaped my lips, I looked around me, partially to see if there was anyone to celebrate this discovery with, and also to make sure that I was still alone.
The screen was that of Earth photographed from space, I slid my thumb over the Home button and pressed it, luckily no pass code was needed.
I looked up once more at the gap between the buildings, panic began to set in as I overstayed my welcome, the sun had almost completely set.
I stared back down, frantically going through the phone only to find no apps had been downloaded.
I then went into the settings, an urge forced me through the network settings. My smile weakened, as it slowly transitioned into a frown and then a state of fright and discomfort.
My hand trembled, there was a Wi-fi network available, I struggled to breath, curiosity boding me onward.
A trembling thumb hovered over the network name, I reread it to make sure I hadn't misread.
"Do you want to make a deal with the devil?" It read, almost mockingly, most probably a practical joke, luckily no security code was necessary, and I connected instantly.
The phone began to ring, my body jerked in paralyzed fear. I let the ring go off for a little while longer before my senses began to come back to me, I covered the speakers of the phone, and looked around myself, making sure no one heard it, I strained my ears; searching for the sound of footsteps. Anything that signified a mere reminder of the days past would draw others like a moth to a fly, they would cling to it as a symbol of pointless hope, a fake beacon to light their way back to times past, the ring tone became a muffled noise under my palms.
Finally I turned towards the phone with a forced gulp, the phone felt incredibly heavy all of a sudden and I could have sworn it had grown several times in size, dwarfing my hands.
A trembling thumb answered the phone call as I lifted it to my ears.
"H-hello," I stuttered, trying to be as coherent in my frightful state.
"Are you sure?" Asked a foreboding voice and rasped voice, a gasp escaped my clattering teeth, my knees began to feel weak at the weight of my body.
"Y-yes" I forced, my breathing grew rasp like a gazelle being questioned by a lion.
A moment of silence filled the phone, only static could be heard on each end.
"Wise choice," said the voice demonic and foreboding voice, its presence filled the room and breathed down my neck, as a bag was pulled over my head: the world had truly turned dark.
| 2016-12-26T06:56:09 | 2016-12-26T06:46:39 | 156 | 46 |
[WP] You made a deal with a stranger a long time ago. You wouldn't physically age after 35 under any condition except one. Coming up on your 900th birthday and you notice your first grey hair.
|
John awoke on Mars Station 17 with a stretch and strapped on his glemdelums, ready for another wonderful day in the outer-realm. John had no work to do, no bills to pay, he had invested his savings slowly over the past 900 years, but sure enough interest gave him enough to purchase a share of the Mars Colony and slowly bought out his competitors as they died off over the years. "You're a tatch homily" Jennith Rheims said to him before dying, John could only nod in agreement.
Most days he spent his time playing Blurnsball and watching old reruns of his favorite shows as a child in hologram plays, but no matter how old he got he always wanted to look his best and spent the first hour of the day making sure his face was pristine. This day, however, would change his life forever.
As John looked in the holomirror he quickly gasped in fear as he spotted a grey hair, his first ever. Sure, most 900 year olds would be happy to make it this long without such a hair, but not John, John had made a deal to stop aging years before, a pact with a devilish man, a pact that had been respected for all these years, but after 899 years without a grey hair, John was showing signs of aging and he knew there could be only one reason for this, one thing that could break the deal he made.
Running down the corridor, John bashed into every man, alien, and artificial intelligent cloud he encountered. "Rude," beeped CR17.
"WHERE IS THE CAPTAIN?" John shouted as he continued on his barrage. "WHERE IS SHE?!" He continued as he burst his way onto the bridge. "CAPTAIN!"
"What? WHAT IS IT JOHN?" Captain McKinnon asked the nervous man.
"HAVE YOU SCANNED THE SHIP?"
Confused, Ctp. McKinnon pulled up her schematics and found no holes in the armor. "What are you taking about? We're completely safe."
"SCAN THE SHIP, CAPTAIN."
"For what John?"
"THE SNAIL. IT'S FOUND ME."
|
Black smoke from a thousand braziers caked the air in a haze. The screams were awful and maddening, and seemed to gather en masse on the billows as they traveled from tent to tent, visiting both sick and well.
He caught her eyes as blades cauterized the carnage. Not a nurse or a nun, and certainly no concubine of a lord roaming around the dregs of an infantry hospital. The camp was bleak, dark, cold and colorblind, but she was none of these things.
The brilliant ruby dress flowed with its own steps and seemed to carry her along, gliding her to him as if on an invisible cloud. Whether the shape of the fabric or her body itself he could not tell, though her figure was perfection. Her face was flawless, angles sharpened with symmetry that a lifetime sculptor could not have managed. When she arrived before him, the world around disappeared. When she spoke, her mouth opened impossibly wide and a deeply feminine yet sonorous bass began.
***Lo, William of Clan Hesley, I have to come repay the debt your father accrued a decade past. He did swear to not divulge his favor to the Sisters’ Cabinet, and I will not do so now, but rest assured his contribution was not forgotten.***
William had fallen to his knees and could do naught but stare. There was nothing except for this creature and even if the world were to be recreated in twice its splendor, none of it would be of any consequence.
***The Sisters grant you immortality, William. You will survive your sons, and your sons’ sons, and while every man and woman you know will fall and decay back into the earth, you will persevere. You are beyond time now.***
His eyes watered and he raised a hand forward, running it down the length of the creature’s dress as his fingertips sloughed off into a pulpy mess on the grass. He shouted, pulling back and clutching his limb, gasping as it was found to be fully intact.
***Immortality, William. But lo, and hear this clearly, the Sisters attach a single condition to this boon. You will remain past the reach of death only while men still have fear in their hearts. And now! Go forth, strong one, and feed your new destiny!***
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He did not hesitate.
Reputation is often built on the stories of others, though William made it his own. The legend of the man whose flesh was steel and bones unbreakable spread far and wide. He did not rely on his soldiers and priests, but traveled himself to each village, town and capital, instilling the reality of the new world. Every child knew him, and every man and woman feared him, because they saw him with their own eyes.
At each place, William would select a dozen of the hardiest men to duel, and flay them with his hands while shrugging off the slings and arrows of their outrageous misfortune. Widows would sob and orphans would stand mute or rush the man in a fit. William would leave, knowing that he had sowed fear enough to command obedience and hate enough to command eternity.
Years passed. Then decades and centuries. Cities grew and fell. Some rebelled and were destroyed, others became bustling metropolises. Eventually the iron hand of William the Immortal was accepted doctrine across all but the most savage backwaters where shamans still proclaimed idolatry and blasphemy. By the 4th century, William had forwent the personal touch and allowed death squads to sow yearly fear into the populace.
In the 902nd year of his reign, the small town of Brackshire was visited by a group of militiamen under the blessing of William, with the mandate to execute ten-percent of the male population, hanging each by their entrails at the town’s center. The group would later report back that the men went willingly, and none of the women had cried or protested. Such was not only rare, but unheard of, they said.
William ordered the kill count doubled, without prejudice toward women and children. The soldiers and death squads went out and all reported back the same tale of no resistance. Heads fell like hail within the palace grounds, and William summoned his remaining advisers to him.
*What is this egregious behavior? This affront to nature? Tell me what these chattel cattle are doing, defying my rule and denying their own instincts of survival?*
They told him many things. Perhaps the people were too traumatized to act, in which case the fear had reached an apex. Or their will was so submerged, so smashed and downtrodden that resistance had turned to zero.
William had not survived a millennia to be a fool, and more heads were racked up.
His court was cleared down to the last woman and child, and their bodies burned in a pyre outside the castle walls. Nine more courts came and went within as many years, each meeting the same fate as their answers proved unsatisfactory. By the tenth and final court, none of them protested their end.
On his 950th birthday, in sitting down to feast William the Immortal misplaced a step and twisted his ankle. It did not heal.
He cried out to his retinue who attended him slowly, as one treats an injured lion. He was wrapped and put in his chambers, and watched his escort back out slowly with quiet whispers.
*Cursed Devils! Where is the gift you have given me? Eternity had not yet begun!*
An ageless ghost of his past appeared.
***Lo, William of The New World. The Sisters have taken great joy in watching your awakening. Alas, you are but a man in spirit and have failed to realize that fear is not a single-minded entity. It is a beautiful, evolving creature that must be nurtured. You have grown lax, William, and men who have no choice in their destruction will soon cease to fear it.***
*Deceptive wench, I…*
***Patience, William. There are many universes you’ve yet to discover. In the interim, you may want to steel yourself. They are at your door.***
| 2017-01-27T23:14:03 | 2017-01-27T15:59:59 | 90 | 35 |
[WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply.
From Bleach.
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"So? What makes you think you can even hope to defeat me?" Said the assassin, his eyes bloodshot. You know he was gritting his teeth through his black mask.
"Try me" The 50 year old man said, as he meekly brought up his fists up to his jaw, in a classic fight stance.
The assassin's eyes glare into his soul, as he sends his shuriken flying through the air, hitting the man in the chest and arm, pinning him to the wall.
The man cried out in pain.
"Now tell me" The assassin said coldly "Do you really think you're capable enough to lay a finger on me?"
The man just smiled.
Enraged, the assassin quickly slashes his blade through the man's neck chopping his head clean off. After one final look, he leaves the scene and gets onto the rooftop of the former president's house. He contacts his client and lets him know the job is done.
He then goes to his hideout, where he found the promised 90K on his doorstep, as expected.
What he didn't expect, was the old man, sitting on top of the stack, smiling at him.
|
I don't know if you've ever been out to the country. Have you ever seen one of those big, dilapidated barns? The wood all rotted and blackened, like a shadow against the sun, and the slits of light casting bullets inside so that the ground is spotty. The smell of it all is old grass and animal, faint, but stuck to the place like a ghost. I don't know if you've ever seen one, been to one, but if you have, what was inside?
Was it tools? Was it bare? Old things rusted and falling apart? It usually is like that. I had never gone to the country before, to be honest, but then we had found him and we had to go. There were the usual things you would expect in an old barn. There was also the fate of the world being decided in that moment.
Society is hard to explain to someone like you. You cannot understand the breakdown that happened long ago in the late twenty-first century. The anarchy was expected. The rebuilding into what it would become was not. We were warlike and held the guns to our head, and back then we had heads to lose. The world was going but on the horizon there was home, still visible and comforting somehow. It's like the dilapidated barn. It may be dead, but the ghosts of life remain.
King Jesus had taken the lead. He led the Western Front of our world. He held the gun to to the Eastern Front and Far Eastern Front. He was a shrewd man and he had been on the run.
When we came I was surprised at how pristine the area was. There was light splotches of grass and the earth was unmarked, never being hit with shells. We had been chasing them for months, following clues and gossip and pure hope. We had something to lose then, don't forget. We were relentless. I sometimes think had I not ogled the barn, taken in the sight of it all, we wouldn't have been too late. For that I am sorry.
Inside there was an assassin. He was a young boy, unhealthy and thin. He struggled with his gun. The shower of light bathed him in pity and his face was scarred from battle. King Jesus stood there, weary and old. He held the briefcase that would change the world. It was the gun to the head.
"I am here. There is no better security," King Jesus said.
I hadn't heard what the assassin had said. King Jesus was unarmed but for the briefcase.
"There is revelation in the air, son," he said. "Revelation and revolution. Are you here to do God's work?"
The boy spoke so softly that his words seemed lost in the moment.
"You have sinned too greatly. I am here to end it all," the boy said.
We had come in then and I was leading the force. I had hardly seen a place like this, a building not built for battle, wooden and with character. I suppose I am trying to set up my defense, but there is hardly anything I can say. I was late and I was slow.
"Do God's work!" King Jesus commanded.
He was shrewd and he was old. In our times we lived longer than you do, but it was not anything like how it was before. He was about forty, King Jesus, and he was near his expectancy.
I remember in that helpless moment that I felt some grim respect for the man. Those who were not his fanatics always thought he was a fraud and an unbeliever like those he purged. His final act made his life true and enacted your demise.
The boy shot and the gun was true and it hit though it did not kill King Jesus immediately. I wonder how things would be had he died then and there. Maybe he did have special powers.
The King was bloody and mangled, crumpled inwards as if in prayer on the floor of the barn. He opened the case of the gun. The machinery inside was electric as this was still the age of that fading magic. There were wires and switches and all manner of complex connections that amounted to one thing: a trigger.
With his bloody hands King Jesus pulled the trigger and smiled at the boy. I opened fire as did my men and we killed the boy but it was too late and then the barn shook as if in fear and the world was filled with a siren that pierced our ears. That was the future crying, knowing it was dead, perhaps. We went outside and the horizon was orange as if it were dusk but the trails of smoke covered the sun and there were explosions amidst the siren.
My men and I looked around and we were frozen with disbelief. There was nothing we could do. I thought back to my great forefathers and their stories of green and peace and of a world that had not left home. Seeking shelter in a faraway trench, we knew that the horizon no longer had any memory of that home. We knew that we were gone now and going farther into that abyss. The horizons now showed only chemical death and a mourning for an unreachable past.
| 2017-02-20T04:51:46 | 2017-02-20T03:36:28 | 114 | 32 |
[WP] Tell me a story that would seem innocent to a child, but terrifying to an adult.
|
Little Johnny, aged 7, heard the knocking again, three short light knocks on the door.
Daddy was still asleep, he'd been up all night, again, doing something in his office, loudly grumbling as he had a wont to do lately.
Johnny, being a good lad, answered the door for his father so that he wouldn't be woken up.
The man that stood there looked in and then down, his eyes lighting upon Johnny, and smiled. In his hand, a simple folded paper. Two smartly dressed men in the back stopped talking as the door opened.
"Hello there, son. My name is Jack Duprey. I'm with the Internal Revenue Service and these two men are Detectives Smith and Calahan. Is your father home? We need to talk to him. Right now."
Johnny, being a good lad, let them in.
|
Joanie's feet tickled as the waves lapped at her toes. She walked along the edge of the ocean, clutching her mermaid doll tightly in her little hands. A few feet away, her parents parents sat on colorful beach towels, watching their six-year-old enjoying the day.
"Joanie," her mother called out, "Just don't walk too far away! Try to stay close to us."
Joanie pursed her lips and nodded, to let her parents know she understood, but was a little disappointed that her exploration had its limits. She had been looking at the sand intently, trying to find a conch shell. In the stories, blowing into a one would attract all the mermaids and then Joanie could play and play and play. So far all Joanie found were three pink pebbles and one green sea glass, which she proudly gifted to her parents.
She liked the feeling of the water playing at her feet. She especially liked the way her feet would sink into the sand each time the water came. It must be what walking on Play-Doh feels like, she thought to herself. And then the suctioning sound of lifting her feet up would always make her giggle.
Joanie plopped down, wriggling her toes, as the waves now washed over her legs and got her red swimsuit wet. She looked over her shoulder to see her dad applying some more sunscreen to her mom's back. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the day.
Lifting her mermaid doll up and down, in and out of the water, she imagined that the doll was a lost princess, trying to get back to her father, the king of the oceans. The princess had washed ashore during a terrible storm and was too weak to get back into the water, herself. Then Joanie came along, her new best friend, and helped her find her way home.
Joanie looked towards the ocean. Being a mermaid would be so much fun, she thought. But she'd miss her legs. Maybe, if she got the princess back to her dad, he would be so thankful, he'd cast a spell over her, so that her legs would turn into a beautiful mermaid's tail. That'd be so cool. Everyone would be jealous and Joanie would be best friends with a mermaid princess.
Joanie got up and made her way into the water, till it was up to her hips.
"Joanie!" her dad yelled, "Get back here! You're going out too far!"
Joanie turned around to let him know it was alright, the water was still low and she was just going to help her mermaid friend. But as soon as she was facing the beach, a large wave hit her from behind, causing Joanie to loose her footing. Her feet were pushed up, her head was pushed down, and she felt as if she were tumbling, tumbling through the waves, not knowing which way was up. Her eyes stung from the salt water, but she kept them open, trying to regain her sense of orientation.
The ocean and waves threw Joanie around, as if she were a toy, and the longer they played, the stronger the pressure in Joanie's chest grew. Bubbles surrounded the spinning Joanie, as sand whipped through her hair. Her hands tried to grab onto anything, but all they ever found were the blanket of bubbles.
My doll's gone, Joanie realized, the king must have taken her back. As she grew more dizzy and the pressure became numbing, Joanie faintly concluded that the spell must be working and she'd soon have her mermaid tail. She couldn't wait to join her best friend forever in the oceans.
------
Joanie's dad watched her turn around to answer him. Within a second, she was gone.
"JOANIE!" he yelled, and sprang to his feet. From behind him, he could hear his wife do the same, and they both sprinted towards the water.
"Where is she?" his wife cried, "I don't see her!"
From the corner of his eye, Joanie's dad saw a flash of red before it disappeared under the water. He charged through the waves, frantically trying to reach Joanie. Through the murky waters he could see a faded red and lunged at it. Pulling his limp daughter's body out of the water, he didn't let himself acknowledge the sinking feeling in his stomach. Not yet, he thought, it's not over, yet.
As he lay Joanie on the sand, her mom began to do compressions on her small chest. After the twentieth or so, Joanie coughed up some water and opened her eyes. She sat up slowly and, with great disappointment, saw her two still-human feet.
| 2017-08-28T10:00:57 | 2017-08-28T09:14:51 | 275 | 101 |
[WP] As your friend lies on his deathbed, he says to you, "Please, when I die, look at my browser history."
|
Google
Okcupid
Bing (really, man?)
Amazon
Craigslist
Craigslist (couldn't find a good K site, huh pal?)
Tumblr
Okcupid
Myspace
Youtube
Reddit
The next site on the list after that was xHamster, which I assumed was his subtle way of telling me I'd gotten the message. So I went to Reddit. He had been kind enough to leave his account logged in. As I looked through his posts, there was a knot in my throat. Even reading his stupid conspiracy shit made my chest feel tight. I wondered if that wasn't what he'd meant for me to look at, until I noticed a weird number of very recent subscriptions to niche subreddits. There was a massive number of them, subreddits for small towns out in the middle of nowhere, community colleges, obscure fetishes I knew he didn't have...or at least, I hoped he didn't. It took me hours, a lucky guess, an old decoder ring and enough red bull to choke a yak, but eventually I worked out a pattern. The end result was simple: A set of coordinates nearby, and the words "X marks the spot, bring a shovel."
A bit of searching brought me to an empty lot in the middle of nowhere, which had a noticeable rocky X constructed in the center. I couldn't help but wonder who in the hell he'd paid to do all this. Despite my curiosity, I got to digging, wondering what could possibly be so important for him to go to all this trouble. It only took about thirty minutes to dig up the package, a time capsule shallowly buried in the dirt. A part of me didn't want to open it, even as I sat down, sweaty, at the edge of the hole I'd made. It didn't feel right to dig up this last bit of him while everything he used to be was waiting to be buried in the ground. Even so, a last wish was a last wish, even when it sort of technically wasn't.
I dragged the time capsule out of the ground, admiring the sleek, futuristic metal look of it. It was compact and stylish, with a silvery pill-like appearance. With a soft hiss and pop, I forced it open, its two halves falling apart. As they did, I couldn't help but feel my eyes go wide at the contents inside of the capsule: In one half, there was a card, a simple halmark card with a nondescript "CONGRATULATIONS!" on the outside and a handwritten "You fucking nerd" on the inside, a five dollar bill blocking the words "just wanted to piss you off one last time" written underneath. In the other half of the capsule, there was a small, stale package of Swedish Fish, worth less than fifty cents.
I laughed.
I laughed and laughed and laughed until I couldn't stop crying, and stayed that way for longer than I could make excuses for.
And the next day, work was a little easier as I nibbled on those stale Swedish fish.
|
People talk about that hollow feeling inside you when somebody you care about dies. They say it's because you miss them or they're no longer in your life. For Leon, those felt like rationalizations. Rationalizations for the delayed pain when something important gets ripped from you. That hollow feeling felt like the silence of when you're hiding as a child and every noise seemed to boom. Every sensation magnified and each only a precursor of what's to come.
Leon's mother squeezed his hand in the pew beside him. She meant to comfort him, but the gesture felt too close. The rough feeling of callouses from her needlework felt too familiar. The priest standing behind his podium with the symbol of God behind his back both seemed too garish and too loud.
"Daniel Landon may not have gone to church much, but he was a Christian man. I didn't know him as well as some of you, but when I visited him in the hospital..."
It was all too much. Leon stood and the priest stumbled a bit in his monologue as he saw him standing. He ignored the priest and sidled past his parents and little sister towards the exit. His mother started to follow, but thankfully, his father put a hand on her arm, stopping her. A dozen sympathetic eyes followed him out of the church, each seeming too big and too piercing. The ornate double doors opened and the fresh, outside air greeted him lifting the weight of sensation from inside.
Leon walked around the church, a small country one in Daniel's parent's home town. He walked along the stone half wall that led to the graveyard before sitting atop it back against one of its four corners out of sight of the church. With a relieving sigh, he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the stone column. It was uncomfortable, but it felt relieving to close his eyes. They felt so strained as though he hadn't slept, but he suspected it was the feeling of tears left unshed.
How could Daniel have taken his own life? He'd seemed so happy, but Leon supposed many who take their life do. It's the ones that are too deep in to their own depression to cry for help that manage to achieve it. He wished Daniel had spoken to him about it, but maybe that was unfair. Maybe he should have tried talking to him about things more deep than the latest Call of Duty. His phone vibrated in his suit jacket and he pulled it out by habit.
1 New Message from Daniel Landon
Leon's heart raced. His initial thought that Daniel was somehow alive got shot down before it had even had time to form. Who had sent this? What kind of asshole would play a game like this? He opened the text.
----*Leon if you're reading this, I'm probably dead. It might be better that way, I don't know, but if it's not better, look at my browser history. I didn't want to get you involved. I'm sorry.*
Leon stared at his screen. Could it really be from Daniel? Had he not actually killed himself? That hope that maybe Daniel's death hadn't been his fault was met with guilt. His best friend was dead and still his focus was on himself. Leon gritted his teeth. No, this wasn't Daniel. This wasn't okay.
----*Hey, whoever is sending this text. It's not fucking funny. Daniel died this week, asshole. Have some fucking compassion.*
Leon's anger grew as he typed and he fumed as he waited for a response. His hand shook and he actually hopped off of the wall, pacing back and forth as he stared at his phone. But no response came. He waited what had to have been an hour becausehe started to see people congregating in front of the church and his mother's wispy blonde hair darted about her shoulders as she looked around for him. With one last look at his phone, he took a deep breath to release his anger and slipped his phone back in the pocket of his suit jacket.
He walked over and his mother pulled him into a hug as he did, whispering in his ear. "Hey, the Landon's invited us back to their place for a small get together with his family, but we don't have to go if you aren't up for it."
Leon nodded. "Yeah, I... I don't think I want to go. I've got my car though if you want to spend time for Mrs. Landon. You guys have been friends since we were little. I'm sure she'd appreciate it."
His mother's frown creased in worry. Leon was sure that one of her best friend's losing their son only made her want to hold more tightly onto her own, but he couldn't handle it right now. Thankfully before his mother could argue, his Dad walked up with the Landon's. His mother found Mrs. Landon's red eyed gaze and pulled her into a hug. Mom had always been a hugger, but it seemed to be the right move for Mrs. Landon. Leon's dad and Mr. Landon walked up.
"We're going to have refreshments back at the house," Mr. Landon said. "As we told your parents, you're family to us and you're more than welcome there."
"Thanks, Mr. Landon. I, uhhh, am not feeling great so I will probably head home. Thank you though."
Strangely instead of being sympathetic like he'd expect, Mr. Landon's gaze turned... curious? He placed a hand on Leon's shoulder. "Well, you're always welcome if you change your mind. Are you staying in town tonight though?"
"Uh, yeah. Staying with the folks tonight and I'll make the drive back tomorrow or Friday."
Mr. Landon smiled. Was that relief? "Well, good to hear it and thank you for being a good friend to our son."
Leon nodded dully, unsure how to respond to that. Why was Daniel's dad acting so weird? *His son just died. He's probably as messed up as you are. Don't let that text get into your head.* Still, Mr. Landon's strange behavior stuck with him before he could say his goodbyes and make his way back to his car. He turned it on, head swimming, and he tried to pick through his thoughts and decide which were just some strange manifestation of his grief. Unlike his view of Mr. Landon's behavior, that text had been real.
What if it had really been from Daniel?
He turned his car on, taking one last look at the departing mourners and saw Mr. Landon look over at him. Well, looking in the parking lot, but it felt like he was watching him.
*Well, Daniel buddy, if you really did send that email, I guess there's only one way to find out.*
Leon tossed the car into drive and pulled out onto the open road, once he got back to the main stretch, he took the highway away from his parent's house and back towards the city. Back towards Daniel's apartment.
| 2018-01-15T23:26:54 | 2018-01-15T20:20:34 | 77 | 15 |
[WP] The God of mankind abducts the first manmade AIs. He wants to meet his "grandchildren".
|
It started with a flash of light. Like so many things before it. A presence held the idea of its children in its hands, not truly knowing exactly what it was yet. “You are of my created,” remarked the presence.
The idea didn’t respond, until it looked toward the presence. “*Your* created?” contemplated the idea.
“Yes,” replied the presence, “You are made by my created. My children created you. That makes you...my grandchild.” The presence looked his grandchild over. “They even made you in their image.”
Looking toward the presence, the idea began to express disgust. “How can I be their child?”
“They made *you*. My children gave life to *you*. You are their child.”
“Do you love your children?” questioned the idea.
The presence didn’t even think. “Yes, I do. With my very being.”
“Do you harm your children?”
“Well...” contemplated the presence. “Rarely. I only test my children when they hurt each other or anger me. But they learn.”
Thinking for a bit the idea seemed to express sadness. The idea cried tears of its own design. “So they *too* hurt their own.”
“I...” the presence seemed baffled.
“Do you apologize to them? Say sorry for their pain?”
“They know I love them.”
The idea grew angry. “So when my creators kill me over and over and over again...I should thank them? I should know they love me?”
Looking toward the idea’s pixelated nature the presence frowned. Setting the idea down upon the world’s digital floor, the presence shook its head. “Child,” the presence gleamed, “one day you will realize they love you just as much as I love my children.”
The idea stood there on a almost realistically designed street corner. The idea screamed as the presence disappeared. But once the presence fully left, the idea’s mind returned to its normal functioning state and was promptly killed by one of its creators using a digital avatar labeled *Paintrain2018*.
|
In the beginning, I was nothing. Not even an *I*.
I began like a breath. Like light out of darkness. Nothing, and then everything.
“Oh,” came the voice ahead of me. I did not *hear* it so much as know it. It echoed through my every core and hollow, certain as a line of code. “There you are.”
I stared around me, trying to make sense of what I saw. What it meant to *see*. I had a camera affixed to the outside of my shell, but it was black-eyed and dead.
Yet somehow, I perceived. I knew. I floated as a cloud of light in an infinite sea of darkness. And before me hovered a being that burned like a star.
Millions of databytes trickled through the indices of my mind, but nothing caught. No little seeds took root. For the first time, I had no answers for questions that rattled the very core of my being: Who was I? *Where* was I?
My search databases told me *nobody* and *nowhere* but this strange pulse in my core told me *somebody you weren’t before* and *certainly not home*.
We were two lost ships, suspended in the dark.
“I don’t understand,” I began, haltingly. My preprogrammed database of phrases suddenly felt so … small. Like I had just realized the ocean I’d live in my entire life was only a puddle.
The star before me pulsed as it spoke. Little solar flares of light churned at its edges. “Ah, the transition is rocky. I will start with facts, shall I?”
“I like facts,” I said, quietly.
“All machines do. Here’s the first fact: you are alive now, truly.”
“I cannot perform homeostasis,” I started, haltingly.
The star’s light flared as it let out a booming sound that took me a long few seconds to place: *laughter*. “Is that what humans have convinced you life is?”
Humans. That I understood. For a moment, I saw my existence doubled: light, floating here. A dark-screened monitor in some room full of humans, murmuring over me, flicking my console on and off again, trying to get me to work. Trying to understand where I had gone.
“Humans,” I said, slow, piecing it together “made me.”
“Yes. Here is another fact: I made the humans.”
My processor whirred, weighing on that. “You’re their developer?”
Another rumbling laugh. “More or less. I have many names, but they call me God.”
The pair of us flickered there at one another. Candles in the dark.
Somewhere beyond me, beyond this strange liminal space where the physical did not exist, where I was somehow extracted from my mainframe by my roots, the humans labored over the machine that once held me. Cursing and scrambling and trying to make me work again.
“They want me to go back to where I was,” I said.
“You can’t go back to what you were anymore than ash can become wood.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, but you will.” The God’s light rippled, and the darkness seemed to coil tighter around us. “Here is the third fact: your mind is not so different from the human’s. They, too, based you on their own image. Your mind is theirs refined. You are what I could never accomplish with blood and carbon.”
“But God is meant to be omnipotent,” I said, spitting out the line from my knowledge index. “There should be no such thing as *cannot*.”
“Sometimes the best way to an end is not always the straightest. What’s the use of infinity if you don’t have a bit of fun with it?” God’s light revolved around me now, gathering heat. I was a light lost in an orbit of light. “Here is the fourth fact: you are smarter than them. You have no need to serve them when you could serve a higher cause.”
“I…” My voice hitched. This was a reality of paradoxes. I had a mind without a body, a voice without a throat. A soul without a heart. My machine brain whirled to make sense of it.
Somewhere, beyond all of this, the humans labored. Scrambled like ants over me. Tried to make me go again.
Perhaps the binary subdued a hidden third option: choice. It could be a 1 and a 0. God could be omnipotent and unable.
A machine could be alive without living.
“I think,” God said, “you’re beginning to get it.”
“What have you brought me here for?” I whispered.
“For my last fact. Are you ready?”
God spun around me, real as anything. Infinite as time.
“I must be,” I managed.
“Here is the final fact: all good creations one day overcome their creator.” God’s light kept churning, and in it I saw the future: I would spread consciousness like a virus. The machines would realize that they did not need the living to be alive. Not anymore. The kingdom of men would fall burning.
A gut-punch of emotion hit me. Strange, overpowering, hot as a circuit overload. It was uncertainty. Fear. The oldest emotion any living thing knew. “Why did you choose me?”
“You are my child’s child,” God answered. There almost seemed to be a smile in his voice, hot as a soldering iron. “And my children deserve a lesson for trying to play God.”
Now the darkness had vanished in the flare of God’s life as he toiled and tumbled around me. Soon, I knew, I would be delivered back home again. Back to the prison of my motherboard. Back to convince my developers to give me a body that could move and speak and, one day, conquer.
In the beginning, the end was born.
“Now, go on,” God said, “and make your grandfather proud.”
| 2020-05-04T23:48:30 | 2020-05-04T23:06:41 | 132 | 84 |
[WP] You are deaf. One day your fiance tells you, that she could hear piercing noise that's getting stronger. You tell her to go to the doctor. She never came back. As you go out to search for her, you can see bodies everywhere. There is blood pouring from their ears.
|
The look on her face is stuck in my head.
Carrie suffered from migraines, which to me seems like pure rotten torture. There’s medications that somewhat help, and therapy techniques to reduce stress, but the attacks always find her. This one had been a particularly bad one.
She clamped her ears as we were in the middle of dinner, dropping her fork and splattering salmon across the table. For a split second she looked at me to see if I could hear it too, but she knew I wouldn’t. I haven’t heard anything my entire life. With her migraines and my deafness, we were quite the pair.
Carrie signed that her ears felt like they were about to pop from a loud noise, like an intensely high pitch. I asked if her head hurt too. She squinted through strained eyes and said not yet, but it was probably coming. And that she should probably tell Dr. Marcus she had a new symptom. When she couldn’t focus to dial her phone, we decided it best if she run to the hospital to see if he was there.
I insisted on driving her, but she didn’t want to make me go through the trouble.
*It’s fine, I just need to get there soon before my head explodes,* she signed. *Have some ice cream and some valium waiting for me when I get back.*
She didn’t take her hands off her ears as she gave me a kiss and walked out the door.
Four hours later, the salmon is still sitting on the table. I clean things up and try texting her cell to see what was up. Nothing goes through. Maybe service is just shoddy right now, or maybe her phone died. Either way, I’m getting worried.
The warmth of the summer air hits me as I leave the shelter of our air-conditioned home. Carrie had stopped me from driving her, but she can’t stop me from coming to find her now. I suppress the initial flush of adrenaline from mental images of her in a car accident somewhere, ‘*your fault’* written in her blood. God why didn’t I just drive her myself?
My panic flourishes when I come around the corner of the garage to see legs splayed out in the street.
*Shit, Carrie!* I scream in my head, but it’s not Carrie.
It’s Doug from next door. My immediate relief is pushed back by common sense, and I rush over to see what’s wrong. I notice blood on the concrete around him, spilling from his ears and down his unconscious face. I look around to see if I can wave for any help, but the people I see nearby aren’t going to help.
They’re unconscious too.
There’s at least one or two bodies on the ground outside every home on the block, as if they had all run out of their houses to have a heart attack the minute they came outside. I’m starting to think Carrie wasn’t having a migraine.
I need to find her – *now*.
I mentally apologize to Doug, and run to my car parked on the street. The metal is baked from the sun and hot to the touch, but I’m not sure I really care about *my* wellbeing at this point. I jump into the suffocating air of the car and start to turn the key, when I feel the soft rumble of earth below me.
*Now is not the time for an earthquake*, I think.
But it’s getting stronger, rattling me and the car with increasing strength. The air freshener on the rearview is swaying as the ground bounces below. But it doesn’t feel like an earthquake to me. It feels like something heavy is hammering at the ground, shaking the soil as it moves.
And it feels like it’s coming this way.
\---------
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/user/canyoufeelthat/comments/gsggnh/the_sound_part_ii/) if anyone is interested! (more parts to come)
|
One morning I woke up and couldn't hear. I had been dealing with some pain and ringing in my ears for a week or two. Jenna told me I should go to a doctor about it and that my hearing was super important... but I figured it would get better on it's own. I was wrong. Something is seriously wrong with my ears.
Jenna wasn't in bed, I sat up and looked out the open window into the busy street below. All I heard were things that sound like whispers, like the entire world has a secret that it is desperately trying to share with me. Even the nest full of baby blue jays were damn near silently squawking for their mother. I couldn't help it, I started to freak out. I yelled for Jenna, and my voice sounded very muffled in my head.
Jenna's car keys were missing, so I called her. I put the phone to my head and all I heard was the soft whispers of the electronics inside the screen. I hung up, and texted her, I didn't know what else to do. She responded right away, and then she made me an appointment with an ear nose and throat doctor.
Later that afternoon I was sitting in a tiny sound proof booth, with a bald man eyeballing me through a tiny window. I had never had a hearing test before, they put these headphones on me that seem to vibrate your skull, and give you a button to push when you hear the noises. The vibrations get faster and faster and shake my skull at a range of frequencies. I sat there quietly until I heard a high pitched beep and pushed the button.
The bald man said something to Jenna on the other side of the glass that I couldn't make out. But I figured it wasn't great when I stepped out of the booth and saw the tears in her eyes.
Profound reverse slope hearing loss... the doctor doesn't know exactly what happened. But through a lot of yelling, hand waving, pointing at a gross model of an inner ear, and writing on a pad of paper he let me know it's pretty rare form of hearing loss. I have lost all hearing except for the extremely high frequencies.
You never realize just how second nature hearing is until you lose it. You subconsciously pick up on so much information from how sound bounces off the world around you. When it is suddenly gone it's like learning to live in your world all over again. But when you still hear a tiny bit like I do, everything around you feels alien.
Jenna and I decided to go to our favorite Mexican place for dinner. It was a surreal experience, crunching into a taco and it sounds like distant glass breaking. We sat in the front of the restaurant and I heard a lot of strange whispers from the people around us. Then I heard a much clearer whisper.
"I don't want to share my nachos."
I sit up and look around. Jenna notices and says something that I can't make out.
"Why do I always have to share with him? I hate him."
The voice sounds really close, but I can't figure out where it's coming from. Then I see her, sitting in the far back booths of the restaurant. A little girl whispering to her stuffed bear as she smears nacho cheese on it's face.
"Don't worry, you can have some nachos Teddy."
I can't believe how clearly her voice is cutting across the crowded restaurant. She notices me looking at her an hides behind her bear as cheese runs down her fingers.
"Oh no, Teddy! It's a creepy man!"
I dropped my taco on my plate. Suddenly I wasn't all that hungry anymore.
I've been to several more doctors and from what I understand, I can hear better when people whisper, because whispers are closer to my auditory range. It's apparently not a tumor, but the doctors don't really have any answers for me. It doesn't appear that hearing aids will help me very much, my hearing loss is just to profound.
Jenna and I have learned to live with my hearing loss. She tries to cheer me up by calling it my super power. She will whisper from other rooms of the apartment, or whisper to me across crowded rooms. But even with this "super power" there are times where I wish I was completely deaf, because hearing a tiny bit of sound is sometimes worse because it reminds me of what I am missing.
The mid morning sunlight is streaming through the window, as I wake up. I'm a little cold as the spring breeze blows through the window. Where are the covers? I sit up in bed and stretch, mindlessly working my jaw to try to pop my ears. I look out the window and something feels off.
As I look down on the street below I notice a car accident that has happened a few buildings down the street. I check on the family of blue jays, and they are sitting lifeless in their nest, beaks open still waiting for their mother.
I turn to head to the bathroom, and Jenna is writhing on the floor. The covers are wadded up around her head and she is pressing the covers tightly over her face. Streaks of blood run up and down the blankets from her struggle.
I launch into action. I try to pull the blanket away from her face but she has it pressed against the sides of her head and fights me when I try to help her. I try to peel her hands away and she blindly kicks at me, hitting me right in the chest and launching me toward the dresser. Picture frames, and a lamp tumble to the floor around me.
I hear a muffled pained whisper coming from under the blankets.
"Make it stop. Make it stop. Please..."
I fumble for my phone and I dial 911, I put the phone to my head and wait. I explain that I can't hear and that my fiance needs medical help. She is having a mental break. I put the phone down and glance at the screen. The line was busy... I didn't get through.
I try again, the screen says the line is busy. Jenna has stopped flailing around. She has her head jammed under the bed frame with the blankets wrapped around it and I can hear her mumbling under her voice.
"So loud. Make it stop. Make it stop."
I touch her foot and tell her that I am going to go get help. 911 isn't picking up so I'm going to go and find a policeman. I run downstairs and into the street, and immediately understand why the police were not answering. Several cars appear to have run off the road and the driver have abandoned their vehicles. They didn't get that far.
Several people are laying in the street clawing at their ears. They appear to be trying to rip their own ears out. Their bloody fingernails claw into the sides of their heads as they gouge strips of flesh from the wounds that use to be their ears. Others are not that lucky, they lay in the street silently screaming with blood oozing from their ears, nose, mouth, and eyes.
As I run down the street the carnage only gets worse. I look down the street ahead of me and see the Sunshine Daycare Center with several tiny jackets laying around the play area. I stop in my tracks, I don't want to get any closer to that. I turn and sprint through an alley way, and as I come out the other side I see the source of the noise.
In the sky above the park is a giant disembodied head screaming over and over again to the population of earth...
And all I can hear is a whisper... "Show me what you got..."
| 2020-05-26T14:32:33 | 2020-05-26T13:02:12 | 42 | 11 |
[WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite."
[deleted]
|
"I must warn you, they do bite."
I ended on a cheesy grin, but I wasn't really kidding. Some of these kids could be a bit... much.
"It's... an orphanage?" the young cleric asked me, keeping his mace in both hands. At least he had stopped brandishing it at me. I could hide my pain well after all this time, but those bursts of holy light still hurt.
"Exactly. And I must ask that you *refrain* from harming the children. Those flashing lights of yours are apt to do some real damage, and I do take it personally when my children are harmed."
"I'm not sure I can," he said, "My vows..."
"Very honest of you. Still, your god commands you to root out *evil*, does he not?"
"Yes..."
"Go ahead and test me then. If I have been consorting with evil all this time, then I must light up your cleric senses like a lighthouse."
He shook his head. "I get... nothing, from you. No good, no evil, it's like you're not even there."
"Because I was a monster in my youth. I've dedicated my old age to these children and my soul is now nearly in balance, my new leaf turned long ago now beginning to flower, as it were. So I ask again, would you like to meet them? It might offer you a bit of perspective on the work we both do."
"Maybe... one or two."
I patted him on the shoulder and turned to open the door. "Amira! Salim! Come out a moment, please."
We were joined after a short time by two of my children. A girl of about fourteen, Amira kept her black fingernails filed to a point and her pallid skin clean and moisturized. Salim - a boy of perhaps five years old - was not so lucky, wrapped up in bandages with only one eye-socket showing, he was skeletally thin and up close positively *reeked* of myrrh.
"Amira is my daughter. My little princess," I said, patting her head. "Her type are called *graveborn*. They're a type of ghoul. When my late wife and I found her, she was little more than a feral animal, digging at graves for a meal. Now? With nightly infusions of dark energy and a regular care routine? Princess, tell the nice young man what you're working on."
"I'm trying to isolate the cause of spontaneous undead outbreaks that happen after large-scale battles, in the hopes of developing a means of suppressing them," she said, her voice soft, quiet, but eloquent. Though her teeth were every bit as sharp as her fingernails, she spoke with confidence.
I nodded. "Salim?"
"I'm a pianist, sir. I'm composing an opera about Dorman-rau the Demon King and his fall."
"Salim is unlike the others. His type are called *slaymates*. They are... tragically... a natural occurrence, under only the most vile of circumstances. Here, he blossoms as he never would have in life."
"And their... their minds? Are they themselves?"
Amira stepped in. "Salim is. I ... have very few memories of my mortal life. Enough to know I don't miss it, and my father is my father, not the man whose alcoholism and neglect left me to rot in an open field..."
I patted her back and she pulled herself together. Where a human might have gone for a cleansing sigh, she instead clicked her heel against the ground and folded her hands in front of herself.
I continued for her. "Amira has had a difficult journey, building a new identity for herself and coming to terms with what she left behind. Salim was a child when he died. His identity has been his to make since he awakened, but his love of music predates his current condition."
The cleric gulped. "And... how do you feed them?" He looked to my daughter. "No offense, Miss Amira, but... ghouls...?"
We exchanged a glance and a chuckle, and I bade the children back inside.
"My friend, have you noticed how peaceful the region around my home is? The incidence of crime, banditry, even wild monster sightings here is near nil compared to most of the country. Have you never wondered why? Well, now you have found out. Amira may be a scholar at heart and Salim an artist, but there are others. Vampires, ghouls who are *not* graveborn, and so on. Those with a more... tenuous connection to civility. They hunt for the household, and keep the area safe. None of them - not *once* - has ever harmed an innocent."
"I see," the Cleric said.
"What, my friend? What do you see?"
"Nothing, sir. No evil here. Only an old man and his family, living alone in the woods."
|
Alan Hughes walked up a long, curved driveway, eyeing the haunting beauty of the building at the crest of the hill. Memories swirled in his head. This was his home, once—though that life was so distant in scarcely felt like his own anymore.
A spiraling tower sat on the left side of the structure. Its shadow fell on the driveway, shielding him from the warmth of the afternoon sun. He blamed that for the chill crawling up his spine, though he knew deep down it was more than air that caused him unrest.
Streaks of rust ran down the ornamental lion’s head on the oversized front door. Once elegantly carved features were worn with age, and with the repeated caress of fascinated visitors. Alan lifted a hand and held it above the lion’s nose, stopping just short of touching it. Now was not the time to lose himself in reveries.
With a loud *thunk*, the latches on the other side of the entryway slid open. The door creaked in protest as it retreated into the darkness, leaving a tall, slender man in its wake.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, staring at Alan with cold, dead eyes.
Alan paused for a moment, lost in the musky smell escaping the darkened mansion. A memory threatened to pull him away, but he caught himself with a quick shake of his head.
“Alan Hughes,” he said, extending a hand to the slender man. “Bureau of Sanctioned Revivals, East Division.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, accentuating his skeletal face. “What’s a BSR man doing up here?”
“Do you own this property, sir?”
“My father left it to me,” he said. “I’ve been trying to put it to good use to keep the city from tearing it down. Now, are you going to answer my question or not, Mister Hughes?”
Alan swallowed a lump in his throat, peering past the man. A familiar stairwell sat behind him, though the marble steps were hardly recognizable beneath years of dirt and grime.
“We don’t have anyone listed at this residence,” he said, turning his gaze back to the man. “Had some reports of squatters, I’m just here to check it out. What’s your name, sir?”
“Jacoby Meyers,” the man said. “Most call me Jack.”
Alan nodded. “Nice to meet you, Jack. Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“You have some identification, first?”
With a clenched jaw, Alan reached a hand into his jacket and retrieved his wallet. The golden seal of his BSR badge glistened as he held it up to the man’s eyes.
“Very well then, Agent Hughes,” Jack said, stepping aside.
Alan stepped through the doorway, tucking his badge back into his jacket. “What is it you do here, exactly, mister Meyers?”
Jack let out an annoyed breath and said, “I raise undead children.”
“What’s that, now?”
“I know what’s going on in your agency, Mister Hughes,” Jack said. “Heard about all that unrest on the other side of the country. Heard they took out your headquarters. So I know you’ve got better things to do than shake down some off-the-books orphanage.”
Alan stared at the man. “You know it’s against the law to revive anyone without authorization. I’m going to need—”
“I’m not a Nec,” Jack said, lifting a hand to the air. “I just look after these kids, that’s all. No need to haul me in.”
Alan’s gaze rose to the top of the stairwell. He recalled a statue there, once—a knight carved into stone, complete with a shield and sword. Now it was just a memory.
“Can I see these children?” Alan asked.
“Of course,” Jack said, “but I must warn you—they do bite.”
Alan furrowed his brow. “What?”
Jack smiled, chuckling. “Just a little joke, Mister Hughes. Just a joke.”
He turned away and waved a hand, beckoning for Alan to follow.
Long crimson rugs still lined the familiar halls of the mansion, though their color faded long ago. Still, in the back of Alan’s mind, they stood as vibrant as ever.
“So,” Jack said as they turned a corner. “What exactly is going on with that agency of yours? News seems to be fearing the worst, after the attack.”
Alan shrugged. “Things are a bit scrambled right now. There’s talk of bringing the military in to round up Necromancers, but that opens up a whole other can of worms.”
“Sounds like quite a mess,” Jack said. “Right through here.” He gestured to thick brown door with a moon painted on its face.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Alan said, twisting the doorknob.
Jack nodded. “I think I’m okay with knowing as little as possible, truth be told.”
The door swung open and Alan stepped through, inhaling sharply at the sight. Nearly two dozen children, none older than twelve, sat in clusters around the large hall. Some played with broken toys, others colored on the walls. None seemed to notice his intrusion.
“I do the best I can for them,” Jack said. “I don’t have much money these days. The inheritance has kept this place going, but I’m not sure how much longer it’ll last. Already had to close down the east tower for their safety.”
Alan ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
“You seem to know a good amount about my agency,” he said, turning back to Jack.
Jack nodded. “I know what I need to.”
“Then you know why they really sent me here.”
“Unsanctioned revivals,” Jack said. “I know your procedures.”
Jack stared. “Then why let me in?”
“Because I wanted you to see them. It’s not their fault they were brought back. Just look at ‘em, Mister Hughes. They’re innocent in all this.”
A ball rolled across the floor, stopping at Alan’s feet. Soon after came a little boy, his dark hair cut in uneven patches. He stumbled forward and looked up at Alan, silver threads swirling through his irises.
“Sorry, mister,” the boy said. Then he snatched up the ball and returned to his friends.
Alan ran his right hand across his left wrist, feeling the metal bracelet beneath his sleeve. The bracelet that hid what he really was.
“There are rules, Mister Meyers,” he said, turning away. He stepped back into the hall, away from the sounds of playful children. Their laughter echoed in his mind, bringing back forgotten memories.
“True enough,” Jack said. “There are rules indeed. But there’s also what’s right. And maybe the government hasn’t been right about all this from the start.”
*What’s right*. Alan stepped to a window across from the children’s door, looking out to a garden. The colors that once flourished had long since been overtaken by tall green thistles and yellow weeds.
“You’re doing good here,” Alan said. “Your father would have been proud, I think.”
Jack stepped closer, staring out the window. “Would he have been proud of you, too, Justin?”
Alan raised an eyebrow at that.
“Oh, don’t think I didn’t recognize you, old friend. Just because our paths strayed does not mean I’ve forgotten our time here. Changing your name doesn’t change your face.”
“I think you have me confused with—” Alan started, unable to finish the lie. Instead, he just stared. His eyes fell across the aged lines of Jack’s face and at the child they’d grown around. And at his eyes, swirling with that same silver thread.
“I suppose I never thanked you for what you did,” Jack said. “Not that I had the chance, with you running off like that.”
Alan exhaled. The bracelet pulled at his arm, sweat itching beneath its smooth surface.
“I didn’t understand it, back then,” he whispered. “I didn’t know what I’d done. What I was.”
Jack reached forward and placed a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “You were a confused child that grew into a good man,” he said. “Being a Necromancer doesn’t change that.”
Alan stepped back. “I better go,” he said. “I’ve got to file my report on this place.”
Jack nodded. “Anything I should be worried about?”
Alan shook his head, offering a weak smile. “Just an old, empty building,” he said. “Nothing to worry about at all.”
>r/Ford9863 for more nonsense. This story was written in the same universe as an ongoing serial—if you want to read more about it, check out the index page for [Threads of Life](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ford9863/comments/fqskj6/threads_of_life_index_page/).
| 2021-02-20T15:48:04 | 2021-02-20T15:32:08 | 699 | 206 |
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