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2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64
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[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?"
I always enjoyed a campfire to warm myself up during the winter, it reminded me of the forests that I used to camp at before I moved to the city. My house had a big yard that was fenced off from a Grove of trees that the neighbors always refused to cut down. I didn't mind this since it added to my felling of the forest. As the embers slowly danced and faded I went to snuff it out for the night but my eyes caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes staring at me. *"Greetings,"* it rasped, *"may I share your fire tonight?"* My vison shot back up to the creature but I didn't feel fear. The eyes glowed with the dying ember color, it's pupils were near invisible within the glow of the fire. The eyes weren't aggressive, but gentle in a way, as if they had experienced a thousand stories and are waiting to experience a thousand more. *"Yes, you may, let me grab more wood."* *"That won't be necessary."* The creature creaked and rumbled as if it was made of wood and stone. It stretched out its hand, human-like with moss covering it. The creature flexed its hand and a small fire appeared. As the fire danced in its hand the creature dropped it into the campfire giving the embers life once more as they danced in the dark revealing the identity of the creature. It was large, but not opposing, it's fur was mossy and covered in leaves. Most of its body looked as if it was made of the forest itself. The face that bared the glowing eyes was human with a bit of goat mixed in. The top of its head it bore two long tree like antlers. It sat on the ground on the other side of the fire. After a long silence I finally decided to break it with questions. *"If you don't mind me asking, "* I begin, *"what are you?"* It looked up from the fire up to me and it's eyes seemed to try to study the question, but it soon gave its answer. *"I am what your kind consider another story to put fear into your young, another lie to let the mob see us as the monsters, another theme that is used within the fantasies that your kind make to escape the real world."* It leaned forward closer to the fire and sadness was all that I could see from the creature. *"A troll is what I am, best to remember that."*
The warm flickers of the flame offered comfort in the chilly night. My hands outstretched towards the fire, trapping the heat between my fingers, trying to keep my body heat. The others had gone to bed, leaving me to watch the dying flames waiting for their light to extinguish. As a stray yawn left my lips, goosebumps surfaced along my arms, accompanied by a feeling of dread. Such a feeling was common at night, but this felt more sinister, as though it were more real than the strange imaginings of my mind. My hands shifted together, rubbing with added intensity, trying to soothe the growing discomfort. Suddenly, the warmth of the fire did nothing more than offer a small sanctuary of safety from the ever-suffocating darkness of my property. Unable to seek comfort in its warmth like I previously had. “Greetings.” A raspy voice spoke up. I was certain the voice had come from the street and yet I couldn’t see anyone under the streetlights. I rose from my chair, trying to get a better view of the stranger, but no matter where my gaze went, I could not spot them. Maybe it was a group of teenagers trying to scare me? I knew having the campfire set up on my front lawn was a bad idea. It just invited weirdos to come and bother me. My foot tapped against the ground, trying to tire out my anxieties as I sat down again, praying that it was all in my head. “May I share your fire tonight?” As those words were spoken, a pair of deep, ruby colored eyes opened in the distance. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out anything other than their eyes, forced to stare into their gaze as they patiently waited for my answer. “Excuse me? This is private property.” Were they standing on my property? How could I even tell? They were still a few feet away from me, observing me from a distance. Maybe they were still on the street? “I understand, which is why I’m asking for permission to join you. That fire will die out soon. I was hoping to warm my body before that happens. If you would be kind enough to let me join you.” Nothing about their tone sounded threatening. I made a motion with my hand, silently telling them to join me. Despite my motions, they refused to move from their spot, still gazing in my direction, not even blinking. “Please tell me I can join you.” “You can join me?” Even with my confusion, that was enough of an invitation for the stranger. They made their way over to the flames and found themselves a chair. With the light of the campfire now on them, I could see more of their body. She was tall, that much was obvious given how she stared down at me, her wrinkled face holding a smile as she placed her worn, skeletal fingers on the embers, stealing whatever warmth she could from them. “Thank you. It’s rare to find someone that would be so trusting of a stranger. I’m Victoria.” I didn’t respond at first, lost in the red pits of her eyes. Something about them held my attention, only able to pull myself away when she blinked. “I’m Luke. I don’t mean to be rude, but is it safe for an older woman like you to be out this late?” My attempt at being tactful failed, her face only stirring into a frown as she twisted her fingers near the embers, warming the back of her hands. “Perhaps not, but I enjoy a midnight walk. It’s one of the rare times I’m allowed to be outside. So, why are you out here alone? I thought a handsome man like you would have a partner to share this with.” “A partner? Oh, no. I wish. I was just spending the night outside with my friends. We like to have a fire. It helps give us something to do. They ended up getting tired, so I offered to extinguish the fire for them. Guess I got a little distracted.” “No partner? I have a daughter you would like.” Victoria considered before letting out a dry laugh. “Are my walking habits your only concern? Usually people mention my eyes.” It was true. Her eyes were strange and still I felt compelled not to ask about them. Whether it was out of fear or a worry that bringing up such a thing would be a touchy subject. “I admit, it has crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to offend you.” “You’re a kind soul, a little dimwitted, but kind. I will spare you tonight. Do you know about the witching hour?” Her eyes dulled, returning to a normal blue and suddenly I felt awake, as though that cloudy haze of confusion had fled. “The hour is nearly over; I intend to go home. Just so you know, Luke. I intended to kill you tonight. I was only waiting for you to mention my eyes. Most of us have a method to our monstrous nature. I wait for my victims to point out my eyes before trapping them inside, making them watch as I lure others into the same fate as them. You got lucky. If you wish to try that luck again, keep camping like this. Maybe you will enter the witching hour again.” I awoke to the dying flame at my feet, its warmth long since fading. “What a strange dream. I can’t believe I dozed off.” I found myself a bucket, filling it with water and dousing the remains of the flame. “There, that should do it. I really should go to bed. It’s creepy sleeping outside. Anyone could have just walked over to me.” As I headed inside, I tried to piece together the remnants of the dream. There was an old woman and some strange eyes? That was about as much as I could piece together. Well, that and the fact that if I wanted to see her, I needed to set up a campfire again. I’m sure my friends would love to hear that story the next time we did this. Maybe I might even see her again. I chuckled at the thought, certain the story would scare at least one of them.       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
2022-01-05T21:46:17
2022-01-05T21:44:32
153
113
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
We've studied them for hundreds of years. It was a simple planet, barely reaching passed their own moon. Our records showed they knew of war, they knew it well, but in their modern times they avoided it with diplomacy. The weaklings pleadings of mercy to the powerful. Our emperor laughed. Such actions mean weakness to our kind, and our victories have all but proven this true. Their diplomats came. Offered knowledge, culture, trinkets. Worthless. Their diplomats we're the first blood spilled. I remember when we received our first casualties. All at once, our orbital starships crashed upon their planets surface. We knew they had weapons, but we underestimated their power. Nuclear bombs. The same material used to once power our early space fairing vessels, weaponized. Our ancestors beloved it impossible. Not for the humans. We crashed and we're met by explosions of fire that melted our hauls, ammunition made from metals and not energy, making our shields useless. Our blasters had ten shots before a recharge. Their firearms fired off thousands in a second. Our dead went from thousands to millions. The few that were not killed, were taken prisoner. Torture unlike anything our race could fathom. Brutality on par with the ancient dark ones of myth. Humanity didn't offer diplomacy as a weakness... They were being kind. They were showing us mercy, for we knew not what their race was capable of. Against one another, they are evenly matched. United against a common enemy, we never stood a chance. They took our technology, modified it, reverse engineered it, improved it. In a week, they had their own armadas. In a month, they overthrew all our nearest outposts and colonies, both made by us and taken from the weak. In a year, our empire was in ashes. To all who hear this transmission, beware, beware the species known as Humans. For if you see one. Accept their kindness, accept their mercy... For their wrath could burn the whole galaxy...
[[Translated excerpt of "The Fall of the Ky'hree," a simian warrior race which once ruled an empire spanning twelve systems. Students are expected to write an essay detailing the tactical mistakes the Ky'hree empire made in the historic assault on the human homeworld of Earth, which sparked the warm-blooded war and subsequent near extinction of the Ky'hree at the hands of the human race. Some terms may no longer exist in current universal common. These terms will be given an appropriate substitute.]] We were woefully unprepared. Our first strike was on the <mid-western> continent. A surprise attack, which we had hoped would gain us a foothold, was made on what all our intelligence had revealed to be their most financially stable quadrant of the planet. We believed that crushing them here would destabilize their global economy and destroy the morale of the humans. Easily, we destroyed them, in our first of a series of battles that were meant to span the globe. The continent fell quickly. "Europe," the humans called it. It was lush, temperate, and the people soft. How the troops laughed at how easy this planet would be to take. This was the last time I saw many of them, and the few I saw again have yet to express what could be considered <joy> since that day. We set up a base zero and began the second stage of our plan to take this world for our own. We sent troops to the <south>, with instructions to take everything and use what we could. Our home was far away, and it would be several months before the <technical crews> finished punching the wormhole to connect the <supply train>. Before long, our <southern forces> were reporting mass casualties from what I can only describe as the planet itself siding with its denizens. Incredulous, I read through the mountains of casualty reports. Many reports spoke of humans in mountains, in caves, in watercraft, firing automatic weapons into the troops. Those who were not killed in these ambushes were taken by wildlife or disease. How humans live with these creatures, I will never understand. Within weeks, we had lost contact with the forces we sent down <south>. The few returnees spoke in fevered tongues, of large creatures with larger teeth which could bite clear through a carapace and snap an anodized exoskeleton with ease, and of clouds of parasites which would bite and sting and leave victims dying of plague. We looked for another foothold, and marched <east>, into the <northern> section of the <eastern continent>. This time, we were wiser, and prepared for the vicious beasts that surely awaited us. We interrogated the human prisoners. Most <laughed>, but one told us of a human <warlord>, who once led his men in a great march to take the very same land. He <stared> into my <eyes> and ended his story with, "be like Napoleon. I want to see it." I should have taken that for the warning it was. Nothing could have prepared my soldiers for what I sent them into. The bitter cold was as unceasing as the attempts by the humans to destroy the very land under our forces' feet. The troops fought for every <centimeter> forward, as their protective barrier covering was pushed to the limit by the barrage of explosives that never truly seemed to stop. Eventually, as the barrier began to fade, the troops began to retreat, but it was too late for many. The frigid temperatures overpowered the <thermal regulators> in the <habitats> of my troops. Many of them froze to death before they could make it back to Europe. We were forced to abandon much of our equipment, the first in a series of events that would enable the human forces to equip themselves and follow us back to our empire. With two failures, I decided to send a second assault vessel to the <western> quadrant of the world. This would turn out to be the greatest tactical mistake I could have made. The moment the assault craft broke the <stratosphere>, it was met with a nuclear armament. I was forced to watch as my men fired out of their escape pods and were scattered among the <northern> two <continents>. Explosions mirrored the sudden silencing of the emergency signals the pods sent to the command craft as they were summarily destroyed before they made landfall. I had one final plan; I would send the last of my forces to the large <southeastern> island. Orbital scans revealed this place was much more arid than other environments on the planet, but I believed that a pincer movement from "Europe" would allow me to take the large population of the central landmass as a slave force to conquer the rest of the <continent>. My troops didn't stand a chance. The reports of my soldiers were that of disappearances. There would be howling in the <night>, screams, and men would be gone. Still others reported large insects that would kill a soldier with a single bite, or bipedal creatures with large tails. I commanded a retreat, but the humans had already snuck in and stolen the landing craft. I was forced to retreat as the human forces followed a return protocol the assault ships had to my command ship. I should have stayed and died with my men. I should not have given the humans a clue to the location of our empire. I write this as a warning to my superiors and to any who may read this in the future. The humans are not weak. They are dormant. They are settled. And if you engage them, do not expect mercy.
2022-08-05T16:07:13
2022-08-05T15:30:52
166
106
[WP]A modern human is transported through a portal. Expecting to find a Lovecraftian horror on the other side, he instead discovers a beautiful realm where he, himself, is the horror, compared to its inhabitants.
Passing under the stone arch, he saw them laid out before him. Slender. Radiant. Beautiful. And it was only a matter of time before they saw him. That was when the screaming started. Unsticking his balls from the stars and stripes Speedo, Randy waddled out toward the water. "Beach season", he sighed wistfully.
Rahleigh was the seventh of the day, and it wasn’t even midday yet. His predecessor had gone in wearing the latest Tzelay-tech Mark 4 power-armor, with enough destructive power to blow up a small city or two. They had received a garbled 5-second radio transmission of inhuman screaming mixed with the sound of tearing flesh before the signal cut off and the gate went silent again. The unremarkable gray-slab of concrete and steel trimming, rising up some three meters in the air, bore its official name in old-runes at its foot, engraved in an equally unremarkable brownish plaque like a welcoming mat: “Rising against the Void”. At either end of the runes the material had a polished sheen from the thousands of feet that had stood there contemplating the wisdom of their decision, before taking their final step in this realm. Rahleigh did not bring power-armor, even if he’d had the money he was certain it would have done him no good, as the previous Tribute had just demonstrated so convincingly. His faith lay with the Seven Flowers, as it had for his entire life. Some thought that obstacles in life should be overcome, challenged, fought, destroyed if needed. The Flowers maintained that they should be loved. He placed his bare feet on the final words, momentarily surprised by the warmth of the material. Then he disrobed. He did not bring weapons, or prayers, or even clothes, because he needed none of those. The Seven Flowers were not pacifists by any stretch of the word, love could be violent at times, all-consuming. The Void, the beast-with-a-thousand-eyes, the wrecker of realms, he would show it love like only a Great-giver of the Seven Flowers could. Rahleigh eyed the dark ripples that now only his eyes could see, as they rolled over the surface of the gate, like shadows over liquid stone. He stretched out his arm, but when his fingers vanished in the surface of the gate he could not feel any distinct sensation. Only fully committed would the gate open for him. He thought back about the Day of Revelation, when they had solved the mystery of the Void. Every Tribute came prepared the best they could, and among them had been great Generals, Dancers-of-Swords, Kings that had ruled entire galaxy’s, sentient AI's whose intelligence defied all measure, all had stepped through the gate and all had failed. From what little the gate would release about the fate of the Tributes, the consensus had grown that they had been defeated each time by the very asset they had aimed to bear against the Void. His own great-grandfather had surmised the solution. Bring nothing but love, and nothing less than love for everything. Thus the Seven Flowers had been founded. Rahleigh was the fulcrum of three generations of cultivated and conditioned love. His love knew no boundaries and no conditions, and therefore whatever the Void was, whatever face it showed him, he would love it. And the Void could do nothing but love him back. He stepped through the gate. He blinked, once, twice. It felt like waking. He was in a dimly-lit room, although he could tell the walls were painted in bright cheerful colors. He slowly looked around, deeply inhaling the slightly sweet smell of the air. It felt like home, like safety. As his eyes trailed over the various object in the room, he realized it must be a child’s room, toys strewn across the floor and a small bed with racecar prints on the covers. From behind him he heard laughter, and he turned just in time to see the boy, no more than six or seven years old, run towards him through the hallway. The boy halted at the edge of the door, suddenly aware of a presence in the room, but eyes not-yet adjusted to the darkness enough to identify him. It gave Rahleigh time to observe the boy. He was beautiful, the light from the hallway catching on his ruffled brown hair, and his cheeks flushed red from running and laughing. The boys eyes held a puzzled smile, like he knew the current mystery would have pleasant unveiling, but did not know yet what it would be. Rahleigh smiled back. It had worked. He had conquered the Void. He loved it, and the Void loved back. He stepped forwards towards the boy as his erection hardened.
2014-06-09T17:13:26
2014-06-09T16:32:34
14
10
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with.
The examiner cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Say that again, son." "Prostate cancer. June 23rd, 2032." The examiner laid down his pen and clipboard. Tears began to well in his eyes and his hands begin a slight shake. "Thank you. I... I think we're done here." I'm escorted to the door of the small testing room where the same nurse who led me in is outside waiting for me. She is still breathing heavily. Trying to compose herself and not look me in the eyes. She doesn't have to. "I'm sorry," I say. "Is there anything I can do? I have a daughter." "I don't know if it works that way. I'm sorry." She leads me to the discharge desk where I'm handed back a stack of paper work. The receptionist seems excited. She seems to genuinely enjoy her job and is giddy to look at my results. Her excited smile quickly fades to a frown. Her eyes lock with the nurses teary eyes, and then to mine. Her head trembles from side to side, as if begging me to stay silent. Stabbing. Pretty soon, as far as I can foresee. I learn quickly to keep my mouth shut and spare her. As the nurse exits back into the hallway, I can hear her speaking to one of the orderlies I saw in the earlier. "Hey, Frank. Do you think you can drive me home today?" It doesn't work that way, I think to myself. Frank too. Today. As the cab pulls up to the front of the facility, a sigh of relief escapes my lips. The cabbie. He has a while. It isn't so bad. "Where to?" He asks. Now it's my turn to start shaking. "Home," I say. "I'd like to see my mom and dad."
Light cascaded through the blinds of the first floor window of his parents home, waking him gently. Simon had been long awaiting this day; the day he'd learn his talent. Many of his friends had already found out their talents and it was just like he'd been told throughout his time in school and by his parents: "Your 18th birthday will define your future". Grant had become a strengther, destined to assist in hard labour, military or emergency service roles. Keith had become a kinetic, adept in manipulating the position of small objects in space with precision using only his mind; a talent that had become well-suited to surgeons, scientists and - when working with teams of kinetics - construction and controlled demolition. Sandra had been unlucky. Sandra's talent had been a rare one. She had the gift of invulnerability. Governments across the world had agreed to share their invulnerables in the largest joint-nation experiment in history - human rights conventions easily sidestepped by newly written laws that came swiftly in the aftermath of 'the event' nearly 50 years ago. In those 50 years there were no statistics for how many invulnerables there bad been or how successful these experiments were. Sandra was picked up the day after her 18th birthday. The joint-governments had set up an efficient task force that detected the unusual electro-magnetic activity associated with invulnerables during their change. Simon prayed he would not end up the same. 10:34. That was his birth time. His parents had shooed his younger sister Emma out of the room. She was too young to watch a change. 30 seconds. Simons palms sweated as he looked into his father's eyes with an overwhelming mix of excitement and fear. 20 seconds. His mother took his hand "It's going to be ok. We're here for you." she assured him. 10 seconds. Simon felt a creeping sensation tingling from the base of his spine slowly climbing to the top of his neck. 10:34. His eyes lit up furiously with a crimson red that made his own mother recoil a few steps back. His whole body shook violently and he crumbled to the floor seizing. He had heard of the pain experienced during the change but nothing could have prepared him for the razorblades inside his head and the fire in his veins. 10:44. His parents were sitting on the floor next to him. They held each others hands and looked visibly shaken. Simons eyes opened. He felt strong, like waking up feeling well after having been ill. His father was first to speak "Are you ok?", Simon nodded. "That was the most violent change I've ever seen." His father continued "Are you sure you're alright?". Simon found his voice "I'm fine, honestly", "how do I find out my talent?". "You've gotta try it dear", his mother said quietly. Simon stood up with his parents. He felt lighter. As if he'd never exerted so little energy to stand up. His thoughts felt quicker. As if he'd been operating in low gear his whole life. Simon effortlessly lifted the piano in the dining room. "I'm a strengther!". "Thank god!" his mother squeaked. "Like father like son." his father quipped. Simon was giddy. He told his parents that he had to go and show his friends, they laughed and let him on his way. Not 20 minutes later he was at the park with Keith and Grant. Grant was spinning a roundabout close to breaking point while Keith carefully arced a swing back and forth. "Simon! What did you get man!? What's your talent?" Grant shouted as Simon approached the roundabout. "Strengther" he said, as he easily brought Grants self-experimentation with the roundabout to a halt. Grant wrestled the opposite side of the roundabout with Simon but it did not budge. "That's awesome, how are you finding it? Keith asked calmly, still more focused on his swing than on the competition with the roundabout. "Yeah, so far so good", Simon admitted "It's a little strange though". "Feels sudden doesn't it." Grant stated more than asked, giving up and stepping back from the roundabout. "Yeah", Simon agreed "It does". It was at this point that he had noticed Keith struggling to control his swing, as if battling with an unknown force. Simon looked around and saw no one nearby. He looked back and Keith had regained control, visibly annoyed at himself. Tests for kinetic surgeons were among the most gruelling of any job. The three friends played around with their talents for the rest of the afternoon, Keith flicking up objects in the air for Grant and Simon to smash between each other. On his way home Simon tripped over and landed beside a broken bottle. It wasn't till he'd stood up and walked a few yards that he realised his hand had a shard embedded deep. Maybe strengthers feel less pain than others he thought, absent mindedly pulling the shard from his hand and covering the gash with his jumper sleeve as he continued the walk home. When he came in the door, Emma ran up and hugged him "Missed you Sai-mawn!" she was still struggling with her pronunciations. A large meal had been prepared and a few particularly nice drinks were chosen to "break you into the world of alcohol nicely" as his father had put it. They laughed and joked about how worried they'd been about the change and Simon felt a little closer to adulthood as he shared a beer with his father. As he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed he realised that there was no blood on the jumper from his cut hand. He looked down and turned white as a sheet. His hand was completely fine. There was no sign of the gash the glass had left after being deeply jammed in not a few hours ago. They would come for him tomorrow.
2015-03-28T06:38:22
2015-03-28T05:31:34
61
27
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
Ander stood shackled to a post in the middle of the courtroom, tuning his ears for the sentence that would decide his life. It was hard to see, the walls made entirely of stone- ebonite, as dark as the night of a new moon- and was only lit by sparse torches burning a deep red. As such, Ander’s best bet was to just wait for the emperor to say his sentence rather than look for him to walk up to the podium. Coughs echoed from the jury on either side of the room from the musty smoke smell that was abundant in the courtroom. Ander didn’t know which was truly worse, to be the judge and smell like this constantly or get the death sentence. Thinking about it, the latter sounded better. “Mr. Ander,” A growl came from in front of him. He looked up to see the emperor, dressed in his formal black and red attire. The most prominent things were his eyes, the glowing red slits seething scorn and hatred. A chill ran down his spine, and it felt as if all the warmth ran away in panic from his body. “E-Emperor, sir…” “You have committed a very dire crime in the eyes of the empire, are you aware of what you are being accused of?” “Uh,” his lips tremored. It was hard to keep it together, “I think, d-disobeying orders, my lord…” “You think?” “I- Uh… yes. Uh- Yes Emperor Sir!” “Well I think you should know what you are being tried for, or else this will all seem nonsense to you.” “Of course, S-sir.” “You have been charged with disobeying the orders of your direct commanding officer. Do you have a defense prepared?” “D-Defense? No, my Lord.” “No Defense! Nothing! Tiberius gave you no one to help you prepare?!” The emperor screamed. Everyone winced back, the torches in the room exploding. With a gesture, all the torches came back, providing the same dim illumination as before. “This court is adjourned. Ander, you are free to go.” “My lord?!” “You heard me. Free to go. I shall not have an unfair trial in my empire. You are a citizen of my country, you deserve equal rights and liberties under the law.” Most of that sentence went over Ander’s head, but all he needed was the first part. He deeply bowed as the guard-chimeras unshackled him, “Thank you my lord!” Ander was escorted out of the room, grinning madly. He wasn’t going to die! He wasn’t going to be executed! He could see his family! Maybe he could just lie low, live on the farm with the rest of his siblings. It was a simple life, no one would disturb him there. “That fool Tiberius,” He heard the Emperor mutter from behind him, “If I hear about one more rigged trial it shall be him who goes to the guillotine!” The warmth returned to Ander as he walked out of the evil building and into the fresh sunlight. The guard-chimeras handed him his things, and he was off into the world, as a free man once again.
"This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted. "Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them. The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out. "Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal. "First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said. The man came in and bowed to the throne. "My lord, I am glad to meet you." "You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy. "The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass. "As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked. "The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said. "Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name. "Juan, my lord." "So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked. "People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir." "OK, but how were the people?" "I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said. "Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further. "I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied. "If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked. "Because we are sinners." He replied. "But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute. "So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated. "Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric. "I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded. "Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door. "Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back. "Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan. "Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said. "Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied. There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend. I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan. "This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council. "Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards. "Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly. "Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said. "You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied. "Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said. "Second!" I shouted along with half the council. "Sorry." Drew said. "But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said. "Second!" Half the council shouted. "So, what are the current issues?" I asked. "We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me. "Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said. "As good as done." "But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected. "I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded. "But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys." "We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded. "God demands his death." The religious representative responded. "Fuck god." Drew said.
2017-06-12T08:28:55
2017-06-12T08:19:09
18
10
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
I had fun reading the book until I got to page 428. I mean, my life was pretty great. I married Jodie, the love of my life. We had three beautiful children that I loved with all my heart. I got to meet my grandchildren, and even one great-grandbaby before I passed away at the ripe old age of 92. But then I turned to page 428: *"Maybe we should see a doctor," you say. "We've been trying for a year, Jodie, and nothing. Nothing at all."* *"No, no, let's just try a little longer," she says, pulling me into a kiss. "I've been drinking this herbal tea. It's supposed to make me more fertile."* *Do you go to a doctor? Turn to page 537.* *Or do you listen to Jodie and leave it alone? Turn to page 619.* In real life, I'd chosen the second option -- and a few weeks later, Jodie was pregnant with our first child, Michael. Curious what the other option led to, I flipped to page 537. *You walk into the doctor's office. "Have a seat," he says, his face grim. "David... we got the test results back."* *"What do they say?" you ask, feeling your stomach tighten with worry.* *He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry. You're sterile. There's no way you will ever have children of your own."* *You drive home, miserable. When you walk in the house, you feel the tears burning the corners of your eyes. Jodie, however, is beaming with joy. "Guess what?!" she says, leaping into your arms. "I'm pregnant!"* The book falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor. r/blairdaniels
I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
2018-07-03T23:46:35
2018-07-03T22:39:59
2,218
92
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
"No. No those are rocks that have been shaped by humans to resemble various beings. They're also art, which we just talked about. Remember the happy clouds?" "Also. Art. Happy clouds yes." "Right. So we are not a race of giant slaying and imprisoning super beings who can battle your - what did you call them? - the Kathori? 500ft tall sun demons?" "Yes from the sun. Many suns. Suns beyond -" "Beyond the reckoning of final light. Yes we discussed this. Look, those are statues. Art. Happy clouds. Ok? We can't fight a sun demon. We couldn't fight you. Do you remember us having to explain those things we used on you when we met were supposed to be weapons?" "Guns. Oh. We have made a grave error." "Yeah." "May you be consumed quickly and without malice when the Kathori come to ravage your light. Farewell human." "C'mon man."
“How do you do it?” I blinked. *Huh?* The woman stepped towards me, a wistful expression on her face. A dark trench coat hung loose over her shoulders, flapping in the wind. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, revealing pale skin that was too tight, and blue eyes that were too distant. They seemed to focus not on me, but on an infinity somewhere far beyond. I reached for my phone, slowly, and backed away. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” At that, she lowered her head and started shaking, almost imperceptibly. A strange noise escaped her mouth, and it was only then that I realised she was laughing. It bubbled out of her, pitchy and dissonant, soft and then loud, morphing into a slow, racking cough. She wiped her mouth, and stared at me. Then she looked away, towards the green-blue copper monument that took up most of our view. “Twenty-six thousand earth years” , she whispered. “When I came here, that’s how long they told me I’ve lived. I was indifferent, at first. Then, I read the documentation. I came here, for the first time, to this fragile world. And then it dawned on me, how long that was. To the people of Earth, I am but a god. Lifetimes in a day of my life. You burn, and then wither. How could anyone stand it, I thought. The end before the beginning.” I swallowed. Maybe listening to crazy people was not the best idea. She sighed. “Once I was here, I began to feel old. So old. Where I come from, we live for millennia. And yet I have been here for only a hundred of your years and it feels like a lifetime. It is, isn’t it? For you.” I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, I do-” She shook her head. “Always so distrustful. We could never figure it out, you know?. The best replicator technology, the best technicians. And still, there was a spark, somewhere deep in your eyes, that they just couldn’t give me.” A great sense of panic was beginning to take hold, but I still stood rooted to my spot, transfixed. “When I first came here, I was scared. Of these strange humans, that moved so quick and did everything and nothing all together. I saw this statue for the first time then. I was...horrified. What giants did you slay, what monsters had you trapped? Put on display, like a terrible trophy.” She tilted her head. “I called in the attack then. It was only later, that I realised what they were. Metal men, made by your own hands. Trophies, yes, but of your own making. I was troubled by this, at first. But what is an attack to you? To anyone on this planet? What are men, in the vastness of the universe? You would die, in an instant, should you dare traverse even seconds of light. Not of the cold dark, but time itself. To journey to our planet and back, your skin would wrinkle, and then crumble entirely. Your bones would turn to dust and your people would be dead. There would still be people, of course. But not yours.” I choked out a garbled excuse, and jerked around, my brain screaming at me to get the hell out of there. She moved, faster than I could react, and grabbed my arm with unnatural strength. “The first thing I ever said to a human, was almost entirely like my exchange with you. Then, I wanted to know how humanity felled the giants. Now, I want to know how you live with it. How you live at all with such little time. But the truth of it is, I don’t think you know. I don’t think anyone here knows. And that scares me more than anything at all and I have shivered in silence while monsters roared and butchered great armies of my people.” She locked eyes with me for the first time, and a shiver travelled down my spine. There was something ancient there. A strange dimness, unlike anything else I had ever seen. “The army comes in ten thousand of your years. Do I regret it? Perhaps. But you will not make it. No one will. This humanity will be dead. Take comfort in that, as there is little else. For there will be people still, when the army arrives. In my time here, humans have advanced our centuries in our seconds. Who knows? They might be a people worth conquering.” The end of her sentence trickled away like the wind, melting into nothing at all. I shivered. She was gone. \*\*\* (thank you for reading, critiques welcome!)
2021-02-28T18:43:56
2021-02-28T18:11:40
39
14
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
I sat out on the sidewalk that day. The last ship would be leaving in a few minutes, and I could see it over the rooftops from there. The streets were empty, quiet, the only sound the distant thundering of speakers from the launchpad, reduced to barely a whisper by the time it reached me. You'd think I'd be mad. When it was discovered that we could make use of the universal folds to reach more habitable places, when we realized we could not save the Earth, I'd been assigned to develop sustainable gardens that could be used to not only feed passengers but seed the new planet, survive it's subtly different environment. I'd always liked plants, enjoyed their stillness, their diversity, their lack of judgment. They didn't mind if it took me longer than most people to till their soil so long as I did it delicately, didn't call me useless if I took a few extra minutes of effort to get their water to them. I'd become an expert in botany, and was the obvious choice to piece together that corner of the logistical nightmare. I did a pretty good job too. Played with chemistry, adjusted air and water efficiency, developed ways to keep plants healthier with even less soil, and much more sulfur. My gardens were perfect. Beautiful. My favorite strawberries didn't know I wasn't going to be one of the humans allowed to escape this dying world with them, and didn't think I deserved to be left behind. I leaned back in my wheelchair, trying to be comfortable. No amount of cooling pipes in the cushioned back and seat stopped it from being hideously burning hot out during the day. Still, it was better than being inside, missing it all. The Earth's corruption had already taken enough from me, taken the stability of my DNA, the functional use of both legs and one arm, stopped one of my eyes from blinking on it's own… I wasn't going to let it take this from me too. A neighbor I'd never spoken to more than once came outside as well, a few houses down. An older man, potbellied and busy, we'd simply never had a reason to chat. He caught me staring, and walked over, plopping down to sit in the grass by my side. "Didn't you work on those things?" He asked, voice gruff and smoke torn. I nodded,"Yes. I developed their botanical preservation system." "Why aren't you on there?" "My condition is genetic. They deemed me an unfit candidate for transfer." His voice came out half angry, half defeated,"That's fucked, you know that? Bullshit too, they could absolutely use a young scientist like you, even if you can't pop out kids." I smiled placidly, shrugging,"I know." Silence stretched a minute before I asked him,"Why are you still here? You're under the age limit." He was quiet a minute, before pointing down the road,"You ever see Janna, the Chinese lady who lived down there? She had two young kids, great kids, real polite, always came over while I worked on my yard to talk my ear off. One of 'em didn't pass their genetic test. Those monsters wanted her to leave one of her babies behind because he had some gene for poor eyesight or some shit. So I gave Jenna my card." I processed that a minute, the blunt normalcy in his voice. "That's a very beautiful thing to do Mr. Dawdson." He let out a snort of a laugh,"Heh, didn't know you knew my name. And it's nothing. I'm just some geezer. Drank too much, lost my wife, only had one kid and she died fighting the fires… That little boy deserved it way more than I did. He's got a family who needs him, and a life to live." We both quieted down as the earth-shaking roar came echoing down the suburban streets. We watched as the last ship, the last colony of human life to escape our burning world took off and roared out into the sky. We sat a long time in silence. It was Dawdson who broke it. "Why'd you let them make you stay?" "This is home. My cat and my garden are the only living things that have truly never judged me, and they need me." He nodded, sighing before standing. "Well, Miss Scientist. Guess it's both our home forever now. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes for dinner. You're welcome to come over and have some, I still got the ramps I had installed for Clara before we knew she wasn't coming back." I smiled, doing a check to make sure my chairs controller hadn't stalled out in the heat. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve. When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new. It was not a good life. Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago. Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years. But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on. When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could. When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it. He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind. *Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much. *An aged man is but a paltry thing,* *A tattered coat upon a stick, unless* *Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing* *For every tatter in its mortal dress,* *Nor is there singing school but studying* *Monuments of its own magnificence;* *And therefore I have sailed the seas and come* *To the holy city of Byzantium.* ​ *O sages standing in God's holy fire* *As in the gold mosaic of a wall,* *Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,* *And be the singing-masters of my soul.* *Consume my heart away; sick with desire* *And fastened to a dying animal* *It knows not what it is; and gather me* *Into the artifice of eternity.* Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged. The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family. The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life. Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction. It was in this mood that he found her. A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that. In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it. The cottage door opened, and she stepped out. She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of. “Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word. She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks. He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep. “Why are you still here?” the crone said. Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky. “Are you real?” Henry asked. “Yes,” she said, simply. “You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered. “Try twenty,” the crone said. And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end. When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea. Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped. “Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.” “I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.” “Ah,” she said. “Ah.” She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?” “Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said. She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own. “What will you do?” he asked. “Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said. “All the mistakes,” Henry echoed. “All of them.” He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea. “Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar. The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes. “Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said. She nodded again. Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him. “One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!” And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear. \-------------- If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
2021-06-30T08:50:55
2021-06-30T06:51:49
1,071
99
[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.
It was easy at first. "I'm a potato". "The Moon belongs to Spain". "There's no such thing as a horse". An endless stream of petty falsehoods, easy to churn out as often as you want. The tree grew eternally, and with it grew a new age. Infinite energy, if you just kept burning the wood- with each new lie, the tree grew instantly. Humanity, ever resourceful, began to use it to bring warmth and production at unheard of levels. And then the petty lies stopped working. Over-saturated, he supposed. He went onto more significant ones- "You can see the great wall of china from orbit", "You swallow 5 spiders a year." "You need to drink 8 litres of water a day". Bigger lies, more likely to fool someone, maybe cause some minor worry or inconvenience. But still, ultimately, harmless. And old wives had made enough to keep this going for a long time. The tree kept growing, and the world kept developing. No more hunger. No more homelessness. Endless energy made a lot of things easier. Not for him, of course. He was still trapped in the dark, endlessly cut apart and regrown. The pain and the helplessness was near unbearable, but what could he do? Doom the world? He stayed, and he wasn't surprised when the minor lies stopped counting. So he got worse. Slander and libel. Lies against nations and races. Deadly advice and fearmongering. The kind of lies that ruined lives, that killed and destroyed, that started wars and worse. Terrible lies. The tree kept going, higher and higher, and the world grew more and more dependent on it. Now, if it was taken away, the world would collapse. What could he do? He lay, immobile in the darkness, a wooden mind filled with splintered thoughts. He had to ignore his own misery and think- what to do when the worst lies stopped working? He had to save the world. He couldn't let it collapse. What was the biggest lie he could tell? He thought for a minute, helpless and tortured in the dark. "I'm glad the blue fairy brought me to life." "I never wanted to be a real boy anyway." "I still think it's worth it." Above, the tree grew a little bit more.
Centuries ago there lived— “A king!” my little readers would say. Again, settle down children, no. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. I wasn’t any particularly expensive piece of wood, far from it. The kind that would light up fireplaces and kept warm the common children as well as the regal, the ol’ janitors up to the kings. Just the type that would put smiles on faces of tired fathers after a tiring day at work and accompanied mothers’ perusing through the bitter cold of winters. The very wood that made everyone happy on freezing yuletide days. But this was no ordinary piece of, albeit cheap wood, no! This wood lived a life far more extraordinaire than any piece of wood before – or man, even. This wood was, how ridiculous, once a marionette, and how happy it was, that it became a real boy! This wood brought joy far longer than it would’ve taken to char to a coal in regular, common chimneys. This lifeless – but now lively piece of log brought joy to not just a fireplace, but the world! But now, still in the shop of an old carpenter. The very same who bore the name Mastro Antoni, but of course no one called him that. Lovable, cherish-able ol’ Mastro Cherry, with his nose so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry, who once saw more than a leg of a table in that piece of wood, was now none but a name on the obituary and an epithet on a headstone. His once red nose that turned to the deepest shade of purple on meeting our merry piece of log, now possesses no colour at all! And of course, Gepetto. To the boys of the neighbourhood he was Polendina (or, cornmeal mush), on account of the wig he always wore which was just the colour of yellow corn. He had a very bad temper. Woe to those who called him that! Of course, no one would mock him now, because there as no one to wear the infamous yellow-corn-wig, and of course memories of a man who turned to a wild beast no one could soothe on even the fainted sotto voce of “Polendina” was all that remained. For, of course, no one would mock a coffin and ghosts couldn’t wear wigs. And in that very same warm Italy summer, still whet with the memories of his father, ol’ Gepetto, the log wandered aimlessly around the pastel-hued houses of the very same beautiful Italy town he had always lived in. He could not return to Geppeto’s small, although neat and very confortable house, for it reminded him of the adventures he once had and the father who had left too early. Pinocchio was a husk of a boy he once was – or I should say a bark of the cheerful log that has been. So distraught Pinocchio was that, when given any vague sense of purpose, he jumped at the chance. For, what more could he lose? As an inanimate marionette he had lost his maker and puppeteer, and as a boy he had lost his father! He would better laid lifeless on the ground than merely exist incessantly like this! But of course, this marionette had one more thing to give, it was his life.   -- It started as a few innocent questions floating around the supposedly impossible existence of this insentient but living puppet. But, it was only supposedly impossible, for all the disputing and disbelieving of people, Pinocchio lived on all the same! He was a testament, a counter-proposal for what was imaginably possible and not. A real, moving marionette that had a nose that grew! “Can Pinnochio creat infinite wood by lying constantly?”, [one intrigued cynic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna6gy0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) asked “Does it only grow “wood” or like can a whole tree sprout fruit and all? Little bastard just solved world hunger.”, [another skeptic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna7e40/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) cried! It was when advances of the cynics were too unbearable and questions of the doubters were too much for our little wooden boy’s very real heart that Pinocchio had to give in. “It’s for science”, they would say, but science hurt! “It’s for the greater good!”, they would say, but the greater good still pained him all the same! They had not seen a real boy in this beloved marionette, they had not seen a leg of a table in this cheap, ordinary log. They had seen a chance to profiteer in this magical supernatural existence, this living breathing proof that what we know isn’t all we know! They had not seen humanity in him and they exploited it. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, his faintest attempt at a smile slowly fading as any sanity he has left starts giving place to the pain. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, just to be chopped and used, chopped and used, chopped and used as they pleased. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing. To them, he was only ever an ever-growing money tree. ——— The End I know this is not sticking strictly to the prompt but I had saw the reddit thread, written this before going back to search for this very prompt, I hope I didn’t break any rules (this is my first submission ever >.<) I tried to mimic the original Pinocchio novel style (The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi), I hope it didn’t come across as cringe :P. Anyways, thanks for reading ;D
2021-12-05T11:38:18
2021-12-05T05:53:34
634
105
[WP] You are a monster who lives under them bed of a child in a bad situation, one day you decide that enough is enough.
I hid concealing myself from view. I know what my job is, what my purpose is. I can't. I heard them every night. I hear them now in my head. I close my eyes and my heart, which is black as coal, aches beyond compare. It's as if an elephant sits on my chest everytime I think of having to scare her. Tonight is the full moon, and my last night on this rotation. I have had enough, I have decided. The girl sneaks into her room, silently, emotionless, and stoic as the angels standing over the graves outside her window. Tears are no use to her as she climbs into bed, not making a sound. The moonlight shines into her room and silhouettes the bed where all the pain of her life takes place. She used to try and sleep. She used to try and pretend to be somewhere else. Now she just stays put. Her childhood gone, her innocence lost. The stagnant smell of booze hangs in the air from the night before. I move out of the darkness, my shadow covering the lights on the walls. Most people, of any age would be terrified, they would scream and hide. Amelia looked at me, her indifferent eyes seeing the recognization of my figure. Her bright green eyes began to water. Her pain would soon end. Her misery shortly to be over. I reached out my hand to her, her thin fingers didn't shake as she grabbed my stone white ghostly hand. I took her from the room. As we left the confines of her prison she looked back to her mom, the pillow still clutched in her shaking hands. Tears streaming down her face. The only comfort her mother ever could give. The last night.
TW - I went light on it, but if you're in a sensitive place, careful. ​ The Easter Bunny couldn't visit because her room was too messy. That was the same reason that the Boogeyman never crawled out from under her bed. It had made the mistake of choosing the house and little girl right before a room cleanup - which just meant new stuff was shoved under along with all the old stuff, and Boogeyman got stuffed and stuck inside a too-small sock (for both it and the little girl), and then rammed against a red-striped doll hidden there because it was too scary ever since she'd seen Chucky, and THEN cornered by the edge of a Poptart box. Boogeymen were really good in tight spaces. They were really good in messy spaces (it loved that in the last house, because he had LOTS of good hiding places). But it learned that tight, messy spaces left it stuck. ​ In polite terms, it was cozy. It got cozier as months and even years went by. Communing with The Great Dust Ball and a doll with a striped shirt wasn't really so bad. They planned some good scares together - doll's mouth became just a touch more sinister, and dust ball smudged it in the right places. Boogeyman learned how to morph the shadow well, and at night practiced an evil, dollish whisper. Boogeyman relished time to plan, and to get to know the best scare tactics. ​ It knew her first ever graded report card was all A's, and she was the one who made the meals in the house. She loved her unicorn dolls and her hamsters. It heard her complain about doing her own laundry, and knew she got stuck at home for three full weeks once because of head lice. It knew she'd seen a dozen R rated movies already and wasn't even yet 10 years old. It knew she had a deliciously vivid imagination set and ready for all the best sorts of scares. And, of course, she had the doll that resembled Chucky just enough that she was afraid to reach too far under the bed just in case she encountered it. ​ Until one day she did. Time didn't matter to Boogeyman so much, and it was always surprised at how time changed the children so rapidly. Had she even started school when it first came? Now she didn't have a trace of baby, but hints of coming adolescence. Still, oh so deliciously, a little girl, and it could see her sadness and fear and a weird determination as she reached far, far under the bed. ​ "You're still here!" She was all at once dismayed and amazed and annoyed when she saw the striped shirt. Children tried so hard to wish things out of existence. She scurried backwards, then tentatively reached in, pulled her hand back before touching the doll, then inched it out with as little contact as she could manage. "You didn't try to hurt me." ​ Boogeyman seeped from under the bed into another pile of mess as she wrestled with her fears to get the doll. The mess turned out to be a pile of schoolbooks and papers - high marked, all of them. It noticed with glee how those parent signatures looked exactly like her own writing. A good scare idea. But no whimsy of art or doodles to tell him any other tales--- Ah, that pile. ​ "Of course you didn't try to hurt me, you're not real." The girl's voice was where Boogeyman loved a child's voice to be. The hard disappointment of facing a less than exciting reality. That was when it could do its best jump-scares. "I wouldn't be worth it anyway if you were." ​ The doodles were drawings of little cloud hamsters, each missing an important part of its body. This one without the back complete, that one missing two legs, another a tail, another a face. Each addressed to a family member and dated. Each with the same message. 'Finish the hamster if you love me.' They were dated a week ago, and blank still. Boogeyman flattened itself between the papers. It found the poems and the letters there. And the reason for the cleaning. "I guess you can come with me. You'd like that." Instead of tossing the doll into one of the large, black trash bags, the girl tossed it on the stack of papers where Boogeyman hid. The rest - the sock, the Poptart box, the great dust ball and all its minions - got tossed into bags. ​ Boogeyman and Chucky watched in silence as the girl finished cleaning out her room, tossing away items that she'd long ago outgrown or eaten through. Not wanting to be a burden beyond a body left behind. Chucky was just a doll, and dolls were whatever children imagined them to be. He'd gladly go with her, watch her jump. Maybe help her choose the deadliest way. ​ When the girl returned and picked up the doll, he tried to forget years of perfecting the cruelest Chucky voice and tried the kindest. It came out as a firm accusation. "What do you think you are doing? Finish those drawings yourself." That night, instead of whispering worries about teachers learning of necessary forgeries for parents who never signed, Boogeyman curled itself into a weighted ball her the end of her bed and started to teach itself how to teach the girl there was worth in someone even when they weren't seen.
2022-10-16T06:19:14
2022-10-16T05:52:01
263
57
[WP] The devils greatest trick is convincing the world he didn't exist? HA! His greatest trick was convincing us he lost and God is still in charge.
I needed a hiding place. That was the first thought I had. Where the fuck am I going to go? No one can see me. Not the bees. Not the birds. Certainly not the people. Fred lay on the ground in front of me. He was dead. I am not sure how it happened. Normally Fred and I would just sort of play fight. Send out employees of one of ours to bicker. We kind of enjoyed the other one being out there in the world. Gave me something to do each morning. I’d wake up, first thought was, shit I need coffee. Second was, also some water. And Third was, Fred is still out there, fuck that guy. I’m going to fuck with Fred today. Messing with Fred kept life interesting. Now he was dead. I think it was the fire. I think I burned Fred too much and now he’s dead. Fred is the name I gave to God. I cannot just call God, God. It concedes that he’s all powerful, all loving, all that stuff. I wanted him to be just another guy. Fuck that guy. I’ll call him Fred. So, I killed God, he was dead, and now I needed to hide. You might think, why do I need to hide? You run this place now? Tell the bees and the birds and the people that its the devil’s world now. Follow your demands! But no, you are right. I do run this place, but that’s the precise problem. People would make me do stuff. Approve plans and project. Handle disputes. Make rules. Ugh, fuck that. I cannot stand rules or projects. I hate having to talk to people. Have you ever talked to a person? Its the fucking worst. Asking you how work is going? The humble brags. Trying to debate politics? I cannot stand it and I will not do it. Not today. Not on the day God is dead. But, I also want to torture. That’s my big thing. Messing with Fred, and then torturing everyone else. Fred’s gone so it needs to be torture. Secret torture though, so I don’t have to talk to anyone. Then it hit me. I could just hide the ground and torture from there. Perfect. The ground it pretty much everywhere, at least on earth. I could watch suffering all day long. Death. Storms. Heartbreak. I could see it all. I could also \*create\* suffering using the ground. Food that messes with your cardiovascular system. Volcanos. Maybe I’ll put a bunch of coal and oil in there, and humans will burn it all up in the name of “progress” but basically create their own apocalypse. So that’s the plan, head to the ground, no more worrying about Fred, and just enjoy the show. Maybe I can turn into a spider or a scorpion, or even a rat if I need to leave the ground briefly for a job. This is the best of all worlds. A perfect view, and all without any conversation with anyone about any of their pointless shit. Hopefully no one notices Fred is just lying here. Hopefully some people think there’s still a god. Otherwise they’ll get suspicious. Jesus, if they start praying to me and shit, singing songs about me. I couldn’t bear it. I cannot have it. Hopefully they come up with some story about why Fred is still around, even though there really isn’t any sign of him. We can only hope. That’s not my thing, hope. The devil doesn’t really do hope. But I can do hope, once.
#The Sixth Hero Part 5 ---- The Chaser made port with a small thud against the docks of Yeamon’s Point. Once the ship was securely tied and the gangplank pulled out, Amenset wasted no time and stepped onto dry land. With the captain’s warnings still ringing in her ear to be back on time, she hastily made her way through the small coastal town. Yeamon’s Point was more of a resting stop than a centre of trade, so only few ships were docked and a minimal amount of sailors and dock workers scurried around going about their daily business. Amenset was glad she felt steady ground beneath her feet again, she never was much for the sea and its endless waves. She could see her destination on top of the cliffs to the north. A shrine had been built there in honour of Yeamon of the Forest, the First Hero to defend Iatis against the darkness. A shrine that supposedly, although never confirmed, was also the hero’s resting place. The rumour had never been confirmed as there had never been anyone willing to defile the suspected grave. Amenset rearranged her sacks and rations and started on the path upwards. She could feel the fatigue in her legs by the time she made it all the way up to the shrine. The climb had been steep and long and she wasn’t used to longer periods of walking uphill. Back in Mardiac, the lands were pleasant and flat. Here in the middle of the ocean, centuries of erosion had shaped the island into a small mountain. The shrine itself stood near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Erys Ocean as a silent guardian. A lighthouse had been integrated into the design she saw as she watched the small spire rise up above the structure. It was a small building all in all, modest and plain. The sides were held up by engraved columns telling the legend of Yeamon and his weapon, Vines of Night. She stepped through the open entrance into a small room, where about three people sat silently, consumed by their meditation or prayers. Stone tables lined the walls on all sides but the back, on them a plethora of offerings and artefacts. The back wall was fronted by a large, stone altar and Amenset was surprised by the resemblance it bore to the altar she had been summoned onto when she met War Cleric Fryan. Only here, there was but one pedestal instead of six. It stood empty, but the nametag underneath clearly read Vines of Night. A strange sensation ran through Amenset and it took her a moment to realize it didn’t came from within her, but from the wrapped blade tied to her waste. Desert Eagle was moving within its sheath. Silently as not to alert the other pilgrims present, Amenset took out the sanded sword, the millions of sand particles in it twisting and twirling in all directions at once. Was it responding to something? Following her instinct, Amenset sat down in front of the altar, placed Desert Eagle on her lap and closed her eyes. She opened herself to the meditative state and felt her body and soul relax. Memories of red caves, monsters and holes intruded, but she pushed them away. Instead, she let her soul forge a connection with Desert Eagle. A connection, she suddenly realized, that was already there. She’d never meditated with the weapon before and the experience was a strange one. Was this because of the choice Desert Eagle had made to entrust her? “You must be the Sixth Hero.” Amenset nearly yelped at the sudden words resounding in her head. Startled, she opened her eyes but saw nothing. “Who said that?” she whispered ever so quietly. “I did,” the voice answered. “Where are you?” She looked around, but saw nobody besides the pilgrims. The voice laughed. “Close your eyes, and look with your soul.” “How do I…?” Amenset cut off as Desert Eagle took control over her consciousness and her eyes closed on their own. Then, she saw somebody. A man, old and with hair white as snow. He sat opposite Amenset, a sword on his lap in mirror to Amenset. She immediately recognized the weapon from the drawings she had seen during her studies. “That is…,” she gasped. “That’s Vines of Night. Are you…?” The man nodded. “I’m Yeamon of the Forest. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” “How?” Amenset said in disbelief. “You’ve been dead for over a thousand years.” Yeamon grinned. “Now that is an overstatement. My body died, yes, as all bodies do. But my spirit, my soul, lives on. And now you have finally arrived.” “You were expecting me?” He nodded. “As I expected the other four heroes who made their way through here when it was their time. You are the sixth, and the last.” “I don’t think I am,” Amenset answered, the words paining her to her core. “It’s been five years since I’ve been chosen and nothing has happened. I don’t deserve this.” “Because you killed Fryan?” Her eyes widened in shock. “There is no shame in what you did,” Yeamon assured her. “Even a thousand years ago, Fryan knew the last of the heroes would be the one to kill him. It was a necessity.” “Why?” Amenset failed to understand. “Because you are to be the strongest of us all,” Yeamon answered. “Us five who came before you, we were but puppets dancing to the strings of the old gods. You on the other hand have drastically changed your soul and what you can do by taking the life of the War Cleric. Fryan lives on within you as does his will. And now it is my task to tell you the truth.” “What truth?” Amenset asked, taking the avalanche of information Yeamon was pouring onto her. “That the darkness was never defeated. We never won, not once.” “But you saved Iatis,” Amenset argued. “You are the Liberator of Tridia.” Yeamon scoffed. “And how is Tridia faring these days? Corrupted by magic, tainted by centuries of bloodshed… I only briefly managed to keep the peace, but once I was gone, the land fell back into its old ways. The darkness never went away. It hid itself among the people, letting them think they’d won. Instead it buried itself in their souls where it waited.” “Waited for what?” “For me to die. They feared Vines of Night as they will fear Desert Eagle and the other Sacratys. Our weapons are not meant for killing, they are meant to cleanse the soul. They’re the only thing that stand against the darkness.” Amenset was confused. “Then how are we supposed to defeat the darkness if it is present in all of mankind?” “Now that,” Yeamon answered, “is the question, isn’t it?” A gust of wind wove its way through the small room and Amenset was awakened from her meditative state. She blinked and then closed her eyes again, but Yeamon was gone. Desert Eagle lay motionless in her lap. Carefully, she wrapped it again, feeling a strange sensation when she touched the weapon. She had felt the connection the weapon had made with her. It had its own soul, she realized. A soul that once had been something else than a weapon. Pondering over what she had just gone through, Amenset hastily started back towards the harbour. More time than she had thought had passed and she was not going to miss her only passage to Tridia. ---- > And with this strange revelation end the fifth part of **The Sixth Hero**, a story that is formed by the ideas brought forth by the /r/WritingPrompts subreddit and follows the story of Amenset Ta-Ament, the final hero to be chosen by Desert Eagle, one of the Six Sacratys. To follow her story, make sure to check out /r/PromptedByDaddy.
2022-07-07T05:43:03
2022-07-07T03:54:45
36
14
[WP] You, an ancient vampire have been fighting a family of vampire hunters for centuries who vow avenge their ancestor whom you killed. After a little research things suddenly get awkward as you realize that the ancestor in question is actually you when you were just a human.
"Everyone need a hobby, this holds true regardless if you're rich, poor, or an immortal creature most sane people think of as mythology actually its especially true in that case. There is a general rule of thumb that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to master anything, I find this to be more or less true unfortunately 10,000 hours is barely a blink for me." I calmly explained as 3 vampire hunters of family Kalio tried again to kill me. "In my early years I studied practical things like swordplay, archery, ect. . . and I have to say that non of you have been slacking in your studies but non of you have hit your 10k hours yet." To demonstrate my point I quickly disarmed the swordsman and tricked the archer into shooting the companion who was trying to use holy magic to bind me. With a swift incantation I cast a holy spell to heal the priest to make sure that a bit of bad luck didn't cause that arrow wound wound to end her and with another I completed an advanced version of her spell that bound all 3 of them in chains of light. "There we go, now maybe you will all listen to me instead and wipe that surprised look of your face, that holy and darkness bit is pure church propaganda. There is nothing inherently good or evil with either they are just sources of power like the elements" I wet on as I started to gather chairs and sat them down making sure that they were comfortable. "Now as I was saying, everyone need a hobby and in this modern age I have found that hobbies that I can master to be a bit boring. The skills I gained mastering swordplay gave me reaction times that make ridiculously good at most video games and such so I hunted for a different type of hobby." I casually explain as I started walking to an anclove where I had an electric kettle and facet installed so I didn't have to go to the kitchen to make tea for reading. "Ironically I found my new hobby in something I wrote off a long long time ago as meaningless to me, genealogy. You probably know that I the only son of the Duke Freplin and that only one servant, Kalio the founder of your order, escaped when I turned vampire." Saying her name felt odd now, it use to be hatred, then frustration at her decendants, but now I am not sure what felt as I started making tea. "Well I decided that I wanted to see how prolific my father was after hearing stories of people finding long lost family members using those DNA test for ancestory research. I ordered a dozen kits and sampled not only my DNA but also the DNA of everyone that I turned into a ghoul when I turned, I keep them in sealed coffins in the mausoleum, ghouls don't rot anymore then I do." I smiled as I laid out the tea in front of each of the vampire slayers. "When I got my results back I wasn't at all shocked to find that I am probably the 8th or 10th son of the Duke, I am not even his first son let alone his only. What did shock me is that my mother isn't who I was raised to believe it was." I began sipping my tea and waved a hand to dismiss the binding magic. "Jesse," I nodded towards the priestess, "I do believe that you have an email from Ancestory.com about your DNA test that you submitted before starting your hunt. If you don't mind could you share it with us" To Jesse credit she only looked confused for a moment about me knowing that she had submitted the DNA test then understanding brought shock, awe, and horror to war on her face as she pulled out her phone and looked at her email, "Lost ancestor found . . . firstborn child of Agatha Kalio and Duke Sedric Freplin . . . Gerick Freplin" With those final words out I finished my first sip of tea and smiled, "I know this is a bit much and that our history has been rough but I am the person who your order was created in honor of and vowed to avenge. Can I request that instead we become a family, I always thought that I killed all of mine in the madness that new vampires must overcome. I haven't even bothered to try to hunt your order out because I believed you had a rightful grievance against me. I want nothing more then to get to know my nieces and nephews without having to kill them." I tried to keep the fear out of my voice as I spoke but I have a feeling that I failed just as much in that as I did in my attempts to not nervously fidget while waiting for their answer.
Pretty sure this is Castlevania. The main Vampire hunters in the franchise are the descendants of Drakula, ho was tricked by the God of light into believing his family had all been killed by servants of the lord of darkness. His son had been spirited away and raised as a weapon to defeat Dracula, because the god of light knew Drac would kill the lord of darkness and keep the power. The whole thing is almost unbelievably convoluted, but boils down to the god of light being an absolute asshole who doesn't want any other diety to be worshiped, and has succeeded in chaining all other deities aside from the god, or lord, of darkness.
2022-10-05T11:40:12
2022-10-05T09:36:30
131
15
[WP] Those who lives by the sword dies by the sword. A rather simple and merciful death. It's the scholars, who live by ink and paper, that face a truly tragic and brutal fate.
"By X'Om, what did we do to deserve this?", Orazon lamented, gritting his teeth in sadness and anger. Peeking from his hiding place underneath the Temple of X'Om-- the God of Knowledge of the Western Balyan people, Orazon could see nothing but the charred remains of his once thriving city. Its walls and pillars of wood which were stacked in such a way it needed no nails nor epoxy, constructed carefully by the ancient technique of the Western Balyans of old had now been burned down by the invading savages. Sounds of bone-chilling screams could be heard all over. None did escape, the Eastern Balyans who were people of peace, who knew no violence from the day they were born. Along with them were the sickening laughter of those men, savages from Eastern Balya who roamed the land as nomads, as hunters, warriors, invaders. Those who worship R'Oth-- God of Destruction. "Orazon, my boy, get away from there. Those barbarians might see you if you keep poking your head out like that", Master Astarix-- Orazon's mentor said. The old man was sitting in the corner of the dark basement, on his lap was a thick book of skin-made pages. Slowly he flipped them, reading it slowly under the small light of a candle to pass the time. Orazon slowly closed the hatch above him and joined his teacher in the dark. "I just...don't understand it, Master. We are men of peace! Civilized people who pursue nothing but knowledge! Who gave these people the right to destroy what we had built for centuries?", Orazon ranted. Master Astarix looked up from the pages of the book. With a face of sadness, he shared Orazon's sentiment though his wisdom let him see from both sides. "I understand your anger, Orazon. Believe me, I feel the same grief. But I'm afraid the world is....just not that simple", Master Astarix said. Orazon frowned, confused. "How so, Master? Isn't it our shared duty as people of higher understanding to advance our species?" "It is, my boy, it is", Master Astarix closed his book and set it aside. "We, the Western Balyans, have been entrusted with such task by X'Om. But for these savages...they live by another code", Master Astarix explained. "Can you recite to me the Oath of R'Oth?, Master Astarix asked his student. Having studied the history of Balya thoroughly, Orazon remembered the oath clearly in his head. *"We who drew the first breath in the name of R'Oth shall blow our last breath in the name of R'Oth. Our god of all, whose name brings power and destruction. We who dedicate our live to him shall live by the sword and die by the sword"* "Well done", Master Astarix nodded. "You see, Orazon, those who live by the sword shall keep living by the sword, and in the end they will die by the sword. Violence is all they know, and much like hunger, it is all consuming. More and more they will take, regardless of what code others may live by" The words spun around Orazon's head as he tried to understand them. "We are the keeper of Balya's history. Of its knowledge and identity. These Eastern Balyans rejected the path Balya took long ago, instead of knowledge, they chose to follow destruction. In their prejudice, they will stop at nothing to erase Balya's current identity, to rewrite it in their image, in their ideas", Master Astarix explained patiently. "And what better way to do it than erasing us, the scholars, the keeper of knowledge?" Orazon sat in uncomfortable quietness as the last lesson imparted by his teacher swirled around in his mind. *"Burn the temple! Burn it down!"*, someone yelled from the outside. Expectedly, Orazon smelled smoke in the air. Hurriedly he scurried outside, peeking slowly to the inside of the temple from another hatch, his heart drop by the sight of thousands of scrolls and books enveloped in flame. "Master! Master! They...they burned down the library!", Orazon yelled but Master Astarix remained seated. Lowering his head he seemed to resign at his fate. "Master...?", Orazon called out weakly as he sat on the floor before his master. "My boy...X'Om's wisdom is eternal. Be it destroyed now or ten years from now, in the end knowledge will prevail. Those who live by the sword, will die by the swords. But us who live for the sake of knowledge, know that it will never die..." The master and student sat quietly, resenting their fate but nevertheless accepting of it. Soon the room was filled with smoke, slowly suffocating the two. r/HangryWritey
Maxwell used to have good handwriting. Each word was tenderly jotted. But the poor excuse for what it became lacked any form of legibility. No consideration was given for an audience. Only the crazed man could ever hope to read it, but revisiting it would take an incredibly long time. Meals and restroom breaks were few in between. They were distractions from his work, and time wasted. So he wolfed down an odd snack here an there, and neglected his hygiene. This went on for countless years. No one knew about Maxwell, and why or what he did. Fading away from society, his importance could only be measured by the quest he embarked on. Though what that was lost its meaning long ago. None of this would be possible without his inheritance money. Without responsibilities, he was left to pursue his wild endeavor. So naturally he would go on to die. And upon the sheriff investigating his home, something stood out. Pictures of who was presumably Maxwell's mother flooded the house. And it was understood at the moment that the man slaved away to find a way to bring her back.
2022-01-12T19:14:26
2022-01-12T19:09:13
15
10
[WP] Your parents never let you study magic. They said you were born without the ability. But after a friend jokingly dares you to apply to the top wizardry schools in the state, the denial letters read "We regret to inform you that someone of your potential is simply too dangerous to be taught."
Warm hands closed around the nut-brown seed, placing it firmly into the soil. The robed priest lowered his wand, chanting in hymn. The air began to vibrate and hum; the light around him distorted and twisted, and with a flash—he vanished—leaving the seed pulsing with a white light. Over nine-hundred years later, the tree stood; the steady guardian of the monastery courtyard. The wide, green leaves were yellowing in the cold air, and a large gust of wind snatched the first autumn leaf from the tree. The leaf floated and danced in the air, landing on the smooth stone windowsill of the tower. The priest Geoffrey reached out, his old, wrinkled hand grasping the dying leaf. He ran his delicate fingers over the thin veins that ran through the leaf – so much like the veins that ran through his hand. Nature and man – not so different. He shifted his focus to the courtyard, where two brothers played amongst the rocks. “Another year passes; the boy grows stronger, still – we cannot take him.” Geoffrey said. He turned, looking back into the tower. The room was small, neatly decorated with an ornate rug, a comfortable armchair, and a small table. Joseph, the master of the order, looked up at Geoffrey. “My decision is final, Geoffrey. We cannot train the boy.” Joseph said. “But it is prophecy,” Geoffrey said. “You think, because of his temperament, that he will turn against us? You are a fool, Joseph, afraid of his power.” “Teaching him the magics of our order—This can only lead to destruction. There are many ways in which one can bring peace to the world without the use of magic.” Joseph said. “Asmodeus grows more jealous of his brother Leopold with each year. How long will his power be kept secret from him? Asmodeus will discover his magic—it is wise for us to show him the righteous path, before he is ushered into darkness.” Geoffrey said. “Enough,” Joseph said. “I tire of this debate. Send Asmodeus back to his parents. We have taken his older brother into the order; Leopold will be his moral compass.” Geoffrey stormed out of the tower, his white robes flapping in protest. He walked down the stone staircase and out into the courtyard. The two brothers were lying on the grass, looking up at the clouds. “Do you think I could ever be a mage like you?” Asmodeus asked. “The monks said you won’t have magic like me. I’m sorry.” Leopold said, looking over at his brother, and at the approaching monk. “Master Geoffrey, is it time already? Can I have a few more minutes with my brother?” “I’m sorry, my boy, but you’ve already had a few more minutes,” Geoffrey said, smiling. “I’ll see what I can do about next season’s visit – maybe Asmodeus can stay for a few days.” “Really?” Geoffrey asked, forming a childish grin, “Thank you Master Geoffrey.” Geoffrey walked Asmodeus to the edge of the monastery. “Do you know your way back to the village?” “Yes—it’s just down the mountain, I can see the smoke from here.” Asmodeus said. “Run along then.” Geoffrey said, disheartened. The boy could have been greater than all the others, a true champion of peace. Geoffrey watched as the boy ran down the hill, looking out over the mountains. The Monastery sat at the ridge of the plateau; from the overlook Geoffrey gazed out into the valley, where the village sat nestled between mountain spires, deep forests, and a sheltered bay. Smoke rose from the village; there must be a bonfire today. In Geoffrey’s opinion, the monastery was too sheltered, with little insight into the plights of the world. Geoffrey stood uneasily—smoke was rising too quickly, too thick. Multiple plumes were forming – what was happening? He pulled his wand from within his robes and cast a quick spell – a blue orb of water appeared in front of him, shaped into a lens. He saw villagers running from the village in all directions. Riders on horseback descended on the village, wielding oil and flaming torches. The raiders drew their swords, pursuing the villagers with murderous intent. Geoffrey ran back towards the monastery entrance – as fast as his elderly legs would carry him. Asmodeus ran towards the village. He heard screaming, crackling of flames, and galloping horses. His house was on the outskirts of town. His mother and father would be there, out in the field, tending to their crops. They would keep him safe. Asmodeus rounded the corner of the main street, passing the thicket of woods that marked the boundary to his town. His home stood before him, it’s thatched roof ablaze. Asmodeus ran up the narrow dirt trail towards his home. He heard screaming from behind the building. Jumping the wooden gate, Asmodeus followed the path around his house, stopping in the bushes near his back porch. His mother knelt in front of a raider, pleading for her life. The raider thrust his sword into her chest; a red stain spread onto her yellow dress. She fell to the ground, and Asmodeus screamed. The raider, wearing a leather cuirass, grabbed Asmodeus’s father, who had been knocked unconscious. The raider sat Asmodeus’s father on his knees. He locked eyes with Asmodeus as he slit his father’s throat, laughing. Blood sprayed onto the raider, and Asmodeus stood in horror. He wanted to run or hide, but all Asmodeus could do was stand and stare. Asmodeus felt something then—a rage, uncontrollable and immutable. Something else was there, something dark and powerful, and it coursed through his veins. The raider turned and walked away from Asmodeus, seeking a more challenging kill than the young boy. Asmodeus screamed, and the burst of raw power wilted the plants around him; the leaves of the mulberry bush turned to ash. The raiders were riding off, away from town, and Asmodeus swore his vengeance, shaking with rage. He felt something inside him – a white fire, *magic*. Rocks, sticks, and dust began to levitate around him, and without control, he reached out. A branch from the mulberry tree shattered, rending itself into pieces. A short, thin, and straight fragment flew into Asmodeus’s outstretched hand. The tip of the wand glowed with a white light, and the boy collapsed on the ground. On the second floor of the nearby monastery, Joseph felt a wave of power surge through him. It came from a distant source—stronger—and darker than any he had felt before. It passed in a moment, but the moment was enough. Joseph collapsed, clutching his chest. In the courtyard of the monastery, the great tree, which had remained silent for centuries, shuddered in fear. *** [r/BLT\_WITH\_RANCH](https://www.reddit.com/r/BLT_WITH_RANCH) [More from this series](https://www.reddit.com/r/BLT_WITH_RANCH/comments/9vdyhr/arhalym_chronicles/)
What is this? How can this be? "too dangerous to be taught..." Is this some sort of sick joke? I know what I saw when I took the innate magic ability test at the university. No one had ever seen null before. It's usually supposed to be from 0 to 100 from no magical abilities to that of immense magical talent. I didn't even get a 0. I don't understand what is going on anymore, but I must find out. I need to find out if it's true. Even with this unbelievable letter at least now I have a chance, a chance to learn magic. Something that I have dreamed of doing ever since I was a kid. "Okay I need to calm down and think, what should I do next?" My parents must know something. There must be a reason why they never let me study magic even though they are famous magicians and that I should have gotten their abilities from the family bloodline. "There must be a reason for this." ​ As I sat down and collected my thoughts and began to think about what I should do next. "Maybe the basement, that's where they keep all their spare magic tomes." They've never let me down there before but maybe I should take a look before they come back home from work. The thought spread like wildfire in my mind and I just couldn't keep calm anymore. "I have to find out, I must find out the truth. " ​ With each step that I took my body began shaking. "Maybe there is a chance for me after all." I reluctantly opened the door to the basement with the spare key hidden under the flower vase and walked in. "Let's start with something simple, something they use to flower the plants. What was it called again? Yes, here it is, *Water Stream."* I picked up a tome from the bookshelves along the back wall and recited the verse like how my mother always does when she water the plants everyday. *" O water spirit please grant me my wish, with my mana as offering, Water Stream."* I chanted excitedly hoping the letter was true, hoping that I could actually use magic, but nothing happen. "Not a single drop of water, so it was a joke after all." Slouching my shoulders as I slowly moved, running my fingers along the line of tomes." Why did they send this letter? Was it a mistake?" *Lightning Blast, Fireball, Minor Healing, Earth Shatter...* I moved slowly while looking at the wall of tomes but nothing really caught my eyes. "Huh, what is this?" What's with this tome? These symbols, it's unlike anything I've seen before. I slowly took out the tome and gazed silently at the four symbols carved on the cover of the tome. 降魔剑书. "I wonder what these symbols mean?" I slowly opened the tome and a tsunami of information engulfed my mind as I fell on my knees. "降魔剑书第一式,圣龙飞天." My consciousness began to fade away as a recited a phrase that made no sense to me, and then something flew past my field of view. A creature flying through the ceiling destroying everything in its path creating a gigantic hole through the roof of the house. "Oh crap, I'm so screwed." ​ ​
2018-11-10T15:47:27
2018-11-10T15:35:12
130
24
[WP] Your elderly parents just sat you down and admitted that your beloved family pet never existed; It was just your imagination and they have been playing along all these years. Your cat, however, just jumped up on the bed and spoke to you for the first time with an important message.
"You've been here for three-hundred and fifty-seven years." You look up from the newspaper's job postings and scrutinise your cat, your open window illuminating her features. She looks just as you remember her. She's not real, you know. You think. Your parents told you as much, and yet... "It's time to go." And with that, she jumps off of your bed and trots out the door. You're not sure what you should do. Chasing after figments of your imagination seems a sure-fire way to be sent to the loony-bin, but this is the most interesting thing to happen to you for so long as you can remember. Between the dead-end job where you never quite get that raise and the girlfriend who's never quite ready to take the next step, you need a little interesting. Quietly creeping out the door, you see your cat waiting for you on the ground floor, at the bottom of a flight of stairs. You're staying over at your parents, so make sure to step lightly as you follow her. On the way down you overhear something that makes you pause. "–ts me every time." Your father's voice. Then, laughter. "Next time we visit, we should change the color of his skin. Maybe make him a little racist first." "How little? Just short or should we make him a pygmy?" Mother now. And more laughter. Strange, *you're* the one visiting them. "*Come on*," hisses the cat. "*It'll close soon*." You look back up the stairs. The door to your room remains open, and your nice, comfy bed is in sight. Things are getting strange. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Suddenly, there's a sharp pain just above your ankle. The damn cat has bitten you! As she runs you pursue, still quietly, through the house. There's the front door, and she's leaping through the cat flap. Funny, that your parents have a catflap when you never owned a cat. Grabbing the keys from a hook by the door, you unlock it and make your way outside. It's night, so dark that when you stretch your arm out, you can't quite see the tips of your fingers, although it had looked like day from your bedroom window. What's more, the paving stone you'd expected to step out onto and the grass of your parent's front lawn have been replaced with a grey, jagged stone. As you make your way forward, you see the cat, standing in the middle of what would have been–*should have been*–the street. It too has been replaced with the rocky, cromulent terrain. Her white fur makes her stand out in the darkness more than you would expect. Like a beacon. "Come on. Quit your nervous shilly-shallying and follow me." She turns, and, again, begins to walk away, moving at a brisk pace. For a cat. Should you follow, still? You've come this far. If you're *this* mad, there's nothing to be done about it. As you follow after her you soon realise that it isn't night at all, or at least, not definitively so. You're inside of a vast, black cavern. After some time you look back, your parent's house now little more than a homely speck of light. You almost gaze for too long, but turn back to your guide before she disappears from sight. After longer still, you come to the wall of the cavern. The stone is reddish here, and warm. You think you can still see your parent's house in the distance. The cat leads you along this outside wall until you reach a large egress, thrice as high as you are tall and almost as wide. And terribly dark within. "This will take you to the Meadows. From there, simply walk against the flow of the crowd, and you'll find the entrance." "Wha–," you pause to account for the dryness of mouth you've developed over the course of your exodus. "What's going on." "I made you a promise, last time you escaped. Just... don't expect me to do this again, Sisyphus." You make to protest that that's not your name, only to realise you can't actually recall what you're called. Your confusion must have been apparent, because the cat speaks up. "You'll remember. With time. Once you leave this place." "But–" And then the earth shakes. With a great thundering that reverberates through the stones and into your very bones, your father's voice booms ###"WHERE IS HE?" and you are filled with a fear like none you have ever known. You want nothing more in that moment than to flee through the egress, no matter where it takes you. Your father had always seemed a gentle man. This isn't him. The cat, too, seems startled, though she retains a veneer of calm. "Drat, He realised far sooner than I expected. He'll be looking for you now, and perhaps his wife too. He won't expect you to have gotten this far. Won't expect you to have had help. That's your only saving grace for now." "Who is He?" "Your imprisoner and prison master. Playing with you has kept him entertained for centuries but your escapes cause him rage as even his brothers can not. And you have escaped often enough that I feat he would not give you another chance, no matter how much it titillates him to visit. Even this time, it took over three-and-a-half centuries before he gave me an opportunity to make good on my promise. Before he was so excited to play his latest trick that he only half-erased something from your prison, and afforded me some form to take here." A glimmer of light that might have been your parent's house goes out as the entire cavern seems to shake around you. You have to flee. You know you have to. Every limb, every thought, every heartbeat is telling you to *move*. But you still have to ask. "What was our promise? Who are you?" "Well, I'm not Mrs. Mittens if that's what you're asking. Hecate, they call me mostly. But there is no more time for talk. Quickly, into the darkness and run. Don't stop till you see the Meadows. And then keep on running. He'll put you with Ixion for sure if he catches you!" With that, your restraint leaves you, and you barrel headfirst into the darkness of the egress.
My imagination. That's what my folks weezed out to me on the last of my twice yearly visit to their disgusting Florida retirement community. They said that a pet my cat of a now staggering 19 years old never existed. I've been a psychologist now for 13 years and I have had tons of experience working with Alzheimer's and demensia patients so with all the grace of my expertise I kindly explained that our cat Delilah is completely real. "I'm sorry we played along with this but it's time you new. Its gone on way to long. She's not real. She's not real!" My mother sputtered and coughed through her sentence. I knew death was upon them. "Listen to your mother hun." I was to tired to deal with patients like these let alone my parents. " Alright guys I think its time for all of us to get to bed. I leave in the morning remember?" Even with their protesting I wheeled my mother into the room while my father shuffled in bed. Finally, I'm almost done with this visit. Looks like it might be my last. It did kind of hurt them saying my little Delilah wasn't real. We all have so many fond memories of her. I just checked an email this morning telling me of her progress at the pet hotel I left her at in New York. I had just closed my eyes when a tinkiling sound echoed throughout the room. Sitting up I looked around only seeing a small shadow moved before a "Delilah?" I croaked. She jumped on my bed. I was speechless due to bewilderment. "How in the hell did you.." She promptly walked up to me before opening her small mouth but when she started to speak... " Dont take the pill. Your imagination isn't your reality." A surprisingly deep silky voice uttered. She spoke. My cat spoke. Dont take the pill? What pill? My daily vitamins? My world started fading. The bed, walls, even Delilah Turing a bright white color before completely vanishing. "Welcome back Ms. Devaroh we had to put you in a coma when you kept hitting your head." I squinted my eyes against the bright light. Where am I? "Where? I was at my parents did something happen?" " . .. Umm you Dont have parents you are an orphan you've been here since you were 8? Ellen you do know you're at Brightside Mental Asylum?" The man in white said. I tried getting up but as I looked down I noticed a vest tied around me. "Alright well I'll help you sit up. Its time to take your pill." The man held the cup but I kept my mouth shut. Thanks Delilah..
2017-10-10T18:13:47
2017-10-10T16:29:48
167
49
[WP] After realizing you are in a work of fiction, you immediately rush to the person you think is the protagonist in an attempt to get plot armor as their best friend. But when the "protagonist" dies, you realize you may not have thought this completely through.
"Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!" It's all I could say as I stood over Derrick's body laying in the street. He was the protagonist - he couldn't be dead. Tall, good looking, square-jawed, charming, ladies-man Derrick couldn't be dead. My brain had gone into some kind of loop. I was supposed to be either the comedy relief or plucky sidekick (I'd been working on my wisecracks, but to be honest most of the just didn't land). We had been swept up in some sort of grand quest. Derrick lead us from our small tow to fight the bad guy. That's what we started calling him - "Bad Guy". I think his real name was Robert. Anyway, when we started calling him that, I realized we were following a very old script. Derrick didn't want to go at first ("Hero denies the call", right?), then he met an old man who everyone thought was crazy and lived at the edge of town. Nobody understood why I called that crazy bastard Obi-wan. He convinced Derrick to heed the call. Derrick then gathered us up - the jester, the rogue, the thief, and the bard. Tara was the thief - she got busted for shoplifting from Walmart a couple of months ago. Gary was the rogue - he had gone off to college, dropped out, and came back to start up a wed design company that hadn't flamed out yet but which we all thought was probably a money laundering operation. Roger was the bard - he still lived with his parents and played in a band that he was sure was going to make it big. That left me as the jester. Or maybe I was something else. I don't think I was a barbarian or any of the magical creatures. I certainly wasn't a paladin, monk, or ranger. I would have liked to think I was a wizard, but I had to be honest and admit I wasn't smart enough for that. Bad Guy, or Robert or whatever, was buying up the aluminum plant in town and was planning on shutting it down. If that plant shut down, the town would die. Over half the population of the county worked at that plant. Everyone we knew either worked there or had a family member that did. The five of us in our little group were never getting out of this town. If that bastard closed down the plant, we'd end up cooking meth behind Denny's. It turned out that Bad Guy played rough though. We started by appealing to his humanity, which was in short supply. We got a spot on the news in the city. Bad Guy made a statement that while he understood our concern, he was trying to protect the jobs of tens of thousands of other people at the parent company. Finally, we resorted to spying. None of us were exactly strangers to the wrong side of the law but this was a little more serious than we were used to. We broke into his house one evening when he was away at some fancy dinner party. We thought we could find something in there that we could use to blackmail him. Maybe he had some embarrassing porn on his computer or maybe he had a girl chained up in the basement. What we didn't know is that Bad Guy had an alarm on his house. The alarm didn't go to the police though. The local cops weren't too friendly with him after they found out he was closing the plant. So he had his alarm sent to a private security force. They showed up without us noticing. They didn't have any lights on and they slipped in quietly through the front door. They spotted us and we ran. The guards were a little too anxious to prove how good they were at protection and started shooting at us. It was dark and nobody could tell what was going on. Derrick was to my right as we cleared the yard. I heard him scream and turned in time to see him spin around and hit the pavement. The bullet had torn a hole through the left side of his chest the size of a dinner plate. The guards caught up to Derrick and me in no time. The others got away. The police came. I spent the night in jail. The next morning my parents showed up with a lawyer. He told me about "felony murder". It seems that if you commit a crime and someone dies while you're doing that, they can charge you with that person's murder. If say, your best friend got shot while you were breaking and entering, they could put his murder on you. Even though those rat bastard guards are the ones who shot him in the back. The lawyer told me I should take the plea deal so that I could be out in ten years. I told him to stuff it - no way were they laying Derrick's murder on me. I sat through my trial like it was a waking dream. I never told anyone about Tara, Gary, or Roger being there that night. No sense in dragging them down with me. The judge won't let us talk about Bad Guy trying to shut down the plant. In fact, he says if I bring it up, he'll hold me in contempt and move the trial so far away no one I know will be able to come support me. I keep my mouth shut the whole time so he can't hold anything against me. The jury acquitted. I learned that word the morning they came back and said "not guilty". I went home for the first time in eight months as my nightmare ended. When this all started out, I thought Derrick was the protagonist. I thought there was no way he could be harmed because he was the main character - the true hero come to vanquish the evil in our midst. I now realize I was mistaken about that. He was my backstory. I'm the tragic anti-hero who now must avenge my fallen comrade. My plot armor kept me from being shot that night and it kept me out of prison. I am invulnerable until my story ends. Maybe it'll end with a noble sacrifice, maybe it'll end with the good guys triumphant, maybe it'll end with me defeating the Bad Guy only to have him replaced by an even more terrible foe. Doesn't matter. I carry the plot forward on my shoulders and it protects me from harm. We have a beautiful relationship - right up until the plot no longer needs me.
*Oh, shit. What the fuck do I do now?* That thought passed through Brook's head at least a dozen times since she saw her new best friend decapitated before her very eyes. Now, Brook hid herself in a closet- facing away from the door, of course- wondering just what she would do now. "That fucking fortune teller *told* me I was in a novel," Brook muttered to herself, clenching her fist and gritting her teeth. "She said Karina was the protagonist! So why the hell is she-" Brook's ranting mutterings were brought to a halt as she heard a door open nearby. Karina's killer was likely searching just about everywhere in the house, and this was his next stop. She willed herself to stop breathing, in some effort to either kill herself relatively painlessly, or avoid detection. She wasn't really sure which would be preferable anymore. Two hours before, she witnessed her new friend get her head removed. A short while after that, one of their mutual friends was killed. Then another, and another... In short order, Brook was the last one- or so she assumed, that is, as she had no idea what happened to Billy. He was probably dead. Heavyset footsteps made their way closer to Brook's closeted bastion, and she forced herself to breathe somehow even more still. The fortune teller told her that she was in a novel, and she so desperately wanted to believe that. Perhaps there was a mistake- that thought crossed the woman's mind as the footsteps stopped. Perhaps, she was the protagonist... And she would devise some sort of plan to stop the murderer and save the day! The closet door opened, and Brook carefully looked over her shoulder. The killer stood, brandishing a bladed weapon of some sort, staring down at her menacingly. It was in that moment that Brook realized that she was a character in a cheesy *horror* novel, and that the fortune teller had not told her what genre she was trapped in. --- Fun prompt. First one in a while that's gotten me writing. In case anyone's interested, I've got a [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/Probroscis/) where I post stuff up ~~semi~~irregularly.
2016-09-05T11:20:34
2016-09-05T10:48:59
313
31
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
"Look, Matty the Mad is acting strange again," I said, elbowing my friend Flint as we walked past her shack on our way home. The elderly woman was busy shoveling dirt over a hole, either unaware or unconcerned about her dirt-stained frock. "I say, what're you up to, Matty?" he called. She straightened and glared at us. "You boys again. Come to break my windows with stones?" "You can't prove it was us," I shouted. "Answer Flint's question!" "I'm covering up my dirty business," she said, going back to her work. "Unlike everyone else in this damned village who leave them out in the open." We burst into laughter. "What a foolish madwoman you are!" Flint said, half-choked with mirth. "Only by scattering them outside will they dissolve in the rain and evaporate under the sun. Why are you storing them in the ground where they'll be there forever?" "Leave an old lady alone," she muttered. "What other wisdom do you have to share with us today? Last week you told Fanny to wash her mouth and brush her teeth four times a day. Her father got so angry he wanted to stomp your vegetables flat!" I snorted, and said in a conspiratorial but audible tone, "You see, she doesn't know that our mouths, being wet all the time, are already clean!" "Also, remember when you asked Honey to stop mixing her cave metals into her medicines? She let her dogs chase you all over town!" Matty looked up briefly with damp eyes. "Those dogs ought to be put down. They're raving mad, and they've already bitten five people!" Flint and I fell into silence for a moment, but then my friend said, "Anyway, you keep playing with your dirt. We're going home to have our mushrooms." He shook a leather pouch for her to see. A look of concern came over her face. "Where did you find those?" "Oh, in the woods, here and there," Flint said casually. "Not telling you, or you'll steal our supply. 'specially since we've never seen this variety before." She groaned. "The last thing I want to do is eat your stupid mushrooms. You boys remember to cook them well. Sometimes they can do strange things to you." "There she goes again," I said with a guffaw. "The wisdom of Matty! Cook your food and destroy everything natural about them! Maybe we should start smoking and salting our meats too, like she does." Flint started to walk away, shaking his head in disgust. "She even eats them weeks later. How could she stand something that's no longer fresh?" "Don't worry about her," I said, clapping him on the back. "She won't be ruining our dinner." *** "Flint?" I said, coughing as I woke up. My head was spinning heavily, and thick foamy phlegm was leaking from the corner of my mouth. I fumbled about in the dark of my room, trying to regain my bearings. With every motion, my belly heaved and lurched. "Don't feel so good," I moaned, clutching my middle. Sharp pains were beginning to accompany the aching. My bottom felt wet—likely I would soon need to look for a clear patch not used by my parents and sister in the garden. "You hear me, Flint?" My fingers brushed against his arm, and I felt a surge of relief that he hadn't abandoned me. "Why's it so dark?" I said. "We only started eating a while ago, and it was noon. Hey, Flint, what's the matter?" I traced my fingers up his torso, to his neck, and then his face. His flesh remained still and cold to my touch. "Flint? Flint!" I began to shake him, but he didn't answer. Cursing the dark—my eyes were beginning to strain from the effort of widening them—I stood and ran to get help, bumping into walls even with arms outstretched. "Father! Mother! It's Flint, I think he's dead!" *** Flint's family came and took him home not long after, where they would leave him in the living room until he dissolved into the air they breathed. Honey took a look at my eyes and made me swallow urine from the man with the sharpest eyesight in the village, but to no avail. I could no longer see. As I cried myself to sleep that night, cursing mushrooms, cursing Honey, cursing everything, I remembered Matty's words earlier that day. *** *Edit: Part 2 below!* *Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Do check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you would like to see more of my work.*
"Dear, don't listen to her!" I stood square and looked mom in the eye. "I will. She explained more of it and it all hangs together. She said we could *die*. I think we should at least… check it." Mom took a deep breath and came around the table. "I had hoped she'd be able to hold her tongue around the kids. What a thing to obsess about! Lousy woman, not letting us handle things in our own time. Honey!" Dad appeared momentarily. "Mmmm?" Mom looked to me. "Would you repeat that for father?" So I did, hesitantly. Dad and Mom stared to each other for a moment. Then, Dad began the terrible secret of death: "Her concerns *were* real, and her solutions *were* good, once, long ago, well before we spread from our first planet…"
2017-09-14T11:40:58
2017-09-14T07:28:47
3,641
16
[WP]After death each person gets to choose one thing from their old life--a skill, a lesson, a memory--to bring into their next life as a talent or an innate understanding. It's time to make your choice.
Decided to take the prompt from another perspective/direction. Hope that's fine. --- "Next" I had always hated how rattly my voice was. Sure, I'm death's secretary, an undead cosmic peon, but did I have to sound like a whiny xylophone? These thoughts swam in my rotted mind as I scribbled on the ledger in front of me. The womanly specter gently floated out of the scarcely-furnished room that was my office, parting the satin curtains on the wall to my left and disappearing into the heavenly light. I sighed. Her name was Judy Smith last time. A plain name for a rather plain ghost. She wanted to remember how to drive. Saves her a test, I guess. The gentle swish of the curtains on the far side of the room announced that my next guest had entered. Placing my pencil gently next to my notebook, I finally look upward and begin the spiel. "Hello, dearly departed, and welcome back to- oh." Immediately the apathetic look on my face twists into a grimace. It was him. The specter in front of my casually lounged on the seat before my desk, as if he owned the place. He looked rather similar to any other passing soul, but just from his mannerisms I know who he was; his ever-present smirk, that twinkle in his eye-sockets, the way he leaned back with one arm over the backrest of the lounge chair. I sighed again, more audibly this time. "Hello Jack. Welcome back to Reincarnation, trademarked. You know the drill. How'd you go this time?" Jack smirked wider. "Heyo, Bill. Get this, right: was playing a friendly game of poker when some stiff blows my brains out for no reason!" I glance down at my notes, grimace growing. "First of all, my name isn't Bill. You know that. Second of all, it says here you were working a multi-billion-dollar casino ring and were shot by the police after they uncovered you were running a drug cartel." The phantom shrugged. "Same thing, innit?" I pinch the bridge of my bony nose. "Okay, so, you're dead. What do you want this time, man? The first time it was to remember everything you gain from previous lives, which is still being reviewed in the Underworld Court for violation of afterlife law. After that it was the skill to use a gun-" "Hah! Yeah, good second pick, if you ask me. Saves time." "Yes, well, after that it was how to lie well, then the ability to threaten people well." Jack grinned fully this time. "Saves time getting through school with those two, huh? Get some nerds to do the work, lie about how it got done, bada-bing bada-boom, college degree." I pick up the notepad in front of me and begin flipping through it. "Whatever you say, Jack. Anyway, then it was being good at sex, then a string of memories about *having* sex, then you go back to skills like how to open safes, pick locks, kill someone silently, hide a body, etc., etc." Jack shrugs, still smiling. I swear I can almost see a cigar in his mouth. I continue, getting progressively more exhausted with the situation. "Blah blah blah the contents of some book called 'How to Get Rich Quick', blah blah blah the memory of how the criminal justice system functions, blah blah blah the memory of some ancient martial arts school in Japan-" "Oh, yeah, Hidden Dragon Temple. Decent place, that one. I remember I learned karate from them, then remembered the karate, then bulldozed over their land and built a parking lot! Hahaha!" He wipes away tears of laughter that do not exist. "Hooo, boy, good times." I drop the notebook onto my desk exasperatedly. "Alright, Jack, I have other souls to send on. What will it be this time, huh? The ability to fly a helicopter? How to disassemble a machine gun in 30 second flat? How to-" "I want to remember the access codes to the Pentagon security network." "...What." Jack laughs again, that gleam in his sockets more noticeable now. "Hell yeah, man! Found those out a few days before I kicked the bucket this time! Next time is gonna be sick bruh." I glance at the notes, and for once he's telling the truth: the memory of him paying off a bunch of hackers, then subsequently killing them all, is right there. I frown and sigh again, facepalming. "Sure. Fine. Enjoy." The usual small glowing sphere appears in his hands, colored blue for a memory. He chuckles and eats it, blowing a bubble with it as if it were chewing gum. His sockets shine with new clarity as he rises from the chair and saunters to the left curtains. He speaks a last time without looking at me, waving his hand in my general direction. "Hah! Thanks again, Bob! Ciao!" My frown deepens. "My name isn't-" But he's already gone. I sigh, rest my skeletal elbows on the desk and place my head in my hands. I mumble to myself before welcoming in the next spirit. "Ugh... I am so getting fired over that guy..."
She knew it was her time to choose. Sitting at a desk in that blinding white room only made the situation more stressful. The man sitting across from her was hardly human. His skin was immaculate and his face perfectly symmetrical. She could only imagine that his body was equally as flawless as the rest of him. “So? Did you decide? Take your time, but don’t take too long please.” He said to her with a flashing smile. This isn’t such an easy choice. There are memories of her children, memories of her own childhood. Although she had fantastic memories that she knew would be comforting to take with her into the afterlife, she knew what she had to choose. “I think I know what I’ll bring with me.” She whispered. “Well that’s great! Go on and tell me so I can make it happen.” “I’d like to bring the pain i felt when I died. I’d like to bring the memory with me.” This confused the man at the desk. “You know, usually the things people bring with them are something kind and loving. This is a first for sure” he furiously typed away at a keyboard. “I understand, but I want to go into my new painless life with a little bit of pain.” He nodded and a flash of white light took her to the afterlife. (Would appreciate CC, please be kind)
2019-10-29T18:12:44
2019-10-29T17:55:42
197
16
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?" Update! **Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!** Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases!
"44634 upvotes? What could possibly be this deserving in Askreddit?" The whole scenario took me by surprise and upon opening the thread I was damn certain it was just another legendary Reddit day that would be talked about for a few months. But the comments seemed so.. Genuine. "Ok, I am really starting to freak out, why the fuck can't I get out of my room?" ___deadpool___ was writing comments and replying to almost every suggestion I could see in the thread. I stood up and walked over to my wooden door covered in white pain and took the brass handle in my hand. Something about the thread I was reading through made me feel so uneasy and I just couldn't shake it until I knew that my door was open and I had a way out. I twisted my hand to turn the handle but it stayed in place. I tried harder a second time but the damn thing was not budging, as though frozen in time. "What the fuck?" I muttered under my breath as I began to use more strength from both my arms this time but again the door appeared unmovable. A cold sweat began to sink in as the comments I had just read repeated through my head. Suddenly this thread that I took so lightly became very real to me and i darted towards the window to confirm my fears. The moon shined through from the dark sky, I had never felt so far from it as I had when i began pounding on the window for help and desperately fighting with its own brass handle. This window was not about to move either. This had to be a local event, surely it must be relates with the recent cold weather we were hit by? Reddit seemed to have more knowledge and experience with this phenomenon than I did, it was a beacon of hope that I sorely needed as claustrophobia began to set in. Lebanon, Bruges, London, New York, even fucking outback Australia was being effected by this bizarre affair. None of it made any sense to me. "Listen everyone, there HAS to be something that connects us, something we are missing. I want everyone to post details about themselves - jobs, locations, names, age, everything! There must be a link, this can't be random". The comment was flooded with replies of people eagerly sharing their full personal information and life stories, far more information than anyone should ever share on the internet. "I'm Adam, I live in Manchester UK, I am a chef, I like video games. Wtf am I supposed to say? I got a vaccination last week for a holiday coming up? I ate nandos last night? My mothers name is Julia? What could you possibly need to know?" "Well I got a shot last week too, so there is that I guess". The replies began to rack up. "Omg. So did I. For Malaria right?" "Was that a Malaria jab?" "No fucking way did we all get the same jab". The results were undeniable and my heart began to pound. A burning sensation began to take over my deltoid muscle as the clear realisation hit me that I too had a Malaria Vaccination last week. A drop of cold sweat ran down the back of my neck and I suddenly began to feel very faint as I started to realise just how very real this scenario was. The worst part was knowing that it wasn't some mistake, I had gotten that jab and I had ended up with the same fate as the rest of them. "FUCK THIS, FUCK ALL OF THIS, I AM GETTING MY SWORD OFF THE WALL AND I AM CUTTING THROUGH THAT FUCKING DOOR". ___deadpool___ had lost his cool and I began clicking the refresh button frantically for the next 5 minutes, desperate for news and some glimmer of hope. But what I got instead was something much worse. ___deadpool___ had given us his update... "Guys, there is a metal wall behind my door. I cut through and just hit pure metal. I ran to the window and called for help and it dawned on me. No one is here. No one is outside. I can't see or hear a single person. It's like someone locked me up and threw away the key". Before I could even get up to check the repiles had already flooded through... "Holy shit same here". "Where the fuck is everyone?!" "How did we miss this? Where are my family? Why is no one in the street?" "I live in central fucking London. Not a single noise outside. No cars. No people. Just silence". I backed away from my screen, suddenly the artificial light had made me feel extremely nauseas. I unloaded the contents of my stomach into the desk bin on the floor. As I pulled myself together I peered through the window to see the same scenario. Pure silence with not a single soul in sight. If you guys have enjoyed this then I will write part 2 tomorrow.
Woke up to my phones alarm. Time to start the day and like any other day, I had to take a leak. I stretched the sleep out of my bones as I got up from my temperpedic mattress. I reached for the handle and it wouldn't twist. "What the hell, Susan?!" I can't unlock it. "Honey! This isn't funny! Is this about last night?" I keep trying to open the door, but nothing. My bladder begins to swell and cause me pain as my urge to pee grows with it. I start slamming my body up against the door, but it doesn't even budge! That's when the shouting started. Strange men yelling from the other side of my door. With it also came the banging. Metal on metal. Then it was one voice, loud and clear. I was being lifted up from the collar up my sleep scrubs. "Smith, get the fuck out of bed! You're late for roll call and we don't take kindly to that here in this fine prison! You'll learn that pretty quick fish."
2016-01-31T14:12:15
2016-01-31T10:07:26
60
21
[WP] A story that has so many plot holes even the characters begin to question it.
It was a dark and stormy night. Carol and Chris were wide awake though it was approaching 2 AM. They had preparations to prepare. The two were in an abandoned house and using old kerosene lamps as both heat and light sources. “We have to prepare these preparations,” Chris said, his breath fogging up the air, holding a wooden plank in place while Carol nailed it into the wall. “Why didn’t you just say ‘we have to prepare’?” Carol queried, “Its less repetitive and more concise” “It’s*” Chris corrected. “What?” “You used the wrong form of it’s” Carol wiped the sweat off her brow, “But I was speaking and they sound the same” Chris furrowed his brows at her, “Why are you sweating? It’s freezing in here” Carol glanced at an old thermometer on the wall that read 38º, “That’s odd” “What? Chris picked a shotgun off of the mildewy couch and began loading it. “The thermometer, it says its 38º….Celsius” Chris rolled his eyes as he finished loading the shotgun and began loading a handgun, “You know I hate the metric system” “38º C is like 100º F” “Must be broken” Carol walked over to it and put her thumb over the red glass bulb. The red alcohol inside the thermometer slowly crawled up into the 90s, “I guess so” “We don’t have time to worry about that,” Chris said as he finished rigging a trap that would send cans of paint flying at whomever entered the room. Carol saw what he was doing, “Oh, like Home Alone?” “Yeah” Carol furrowed he brows, “Chris…what year did that movie come out?” “1990—something” “What year is it?” “Don’t be silly it’s—“ he froze, “1989” “The same year Taylor Swift was born,” Carol whispered. “Who?” Carol rubbed her temples and paced the floor, “Nothing is making sense” “What are you talking about?” “Everything. Think about it. Why are we here?” Chris humored her, “When we were just kids, our parents took us to work to show us around, and when they left to go deal with something, we ran off and ended up inside the nuclear reactor chamber. They eventually found us, but they were too late. We both had severe radiation poisoning. As a last ditch effort, they gave us an experimental super soldier serum in hopes that we might live. We lived and both got powers. You are telekinetic and I’m super strong. Four years ago, our parents were killed when their lab was broken into and several vials of the serum were stolen by a secret corporation known as the Vostok. Ever since, we’ve vowed to not rest until we avenge our parents” “And why are we here?” “Because they’re coming after us” “How do they know we’re here?” “Because” “Why?” Chris looked nervous, “Be-because, uh, because…… I don’t know” “Why are we even bothering with guns and stuff when we can just take on people on our own? Would any of this stuff even hurt them?” “Our parents worked for a pharmicutical company, why would they have a nuclear reactor? And why would it be so unsecured that children could break into it” “You misspelled pharmaceutical” “It’s a hard word to spell! And you misspelled misspelled” “But we can’t see spoken words” Unbeknownst to the siblings, the Vostok were gathering outside. Chris grabbed Carol and pulled her behind the couch. “The Vostok are gathering outside, wait isn’t the Russian word for east?” Suddenly, the windows exploded inward, showering the pair like a shower of shattered windows. “That’s really bad imagery,” Carol said. The Vostok quickly surrounded the pair. “We’ve trapped you. Get in the cage” “What cage?!” Carol yelled. “That one” Chris followed their line of sight, “How’d that get in there? It’s too big to fit through the window” “Plus it’s metal,” Carol said, “Either of us could easily break out” “Get in the cage” Carol raised her hand and froze all of the Vostok in place. “That’s convenient for the plot,” Chris replied. “Plot……” Carol mused, “Chris I think we’re in a story” “Of course we’re in a story,” one of the Vostok replied, “Figures it would take you two all these years to figure it out” “What?” “We’ve been trying to tell you,“ another replied, “lest you do something stupid like, I don’t know, SAY THAT WE’RE IN A STORY” “What’s gonna happen?” “The author wi l shred the story” “Shre t e story?!” C ris cried, “Bu we’re i the tory!” “ e’ll b shre de t o?!” “Exa tl you i iot ,” a t ird Vo to r pli d. “I d dn’t et to ay b e t ki s,” ano h r w il d. The ro m be an f ling ap rt. The sky o tsi e t e h u e b gan to h ve lo g str aks of w ite in it. “W h ve to run a ay,” hris a d. “ he orld’s co ing apa t. We ca ’t o run i ” W ite streaks fo me o arol nd C is a th V toks. Car gra ed h s h nd w t w at as l ft o ers, “ ven if e were in a p orly wri ten st ry f ll o plot holes, I m gla I ha yo w h me” Ch is smi d s b y dis gr ted i o not g, “Me too”
It chased them down the hallway and they ducked into the closet to catch their breath.   The banging on the door hadn’t stopped.   The four friends scrambled together in the small walk-in closet of their school and pushed some shelves against the door as a barricade. Sarah, easily the brightest of the four, started to devise a plan for escape. John, the strongest, readied his fists and looked about the room for some sort of weapon when the door inevitably broke. Devin and Claire were simply huddled together in disbelief of what had happened. What had been happening for weeks. It always started like this, some people would run off screaming and then completely disappear. No one would remember them, well no one but Claire. Claire’s extraordinary gift came at a price, it left her eyes burning whenever something around her didn’t add up. And right about now Claire’s eyes were on fire. The banging continued for a few minutes. John dozed as he held the gun close to his chest. Sarah had her hands on his shoulders and was shaking him, her voice distorted as he slowly awakened. “John! Where did you get that gun?” she asked with a shrill sense of urgency. “I honestly have no idea, it just showed up.”   The banging on the door outside stopped.   Claire kept complaining about her eyes. Sarah decided they would have to take their chances and open the door, or else they would starve. There was no way they could last another five days in this closet, they had already exhausted all of their food.   They opened the door and the three of them walked out in the dark hallway. The banging on the door started again. “Wait, wasn’t there another person with us?” asked John. “Shut up, it’s coming back!” screamed Claire. The water monster slithered down the hallway with surprising speed. Claire remembered she was alone. She had been in her room this entire time.   She sighed, flopped on her bed and unlocked her phone. It looks like her friend Devin had been in some sort of accident. Claire began to think that maybe her grasp on reality was slipping. Hadn’t she just been with Devin for almost a week? No that can’t be right. The sunlight out the window caused a warm glow on Claire’s floor.   The asteroid hit earth at that morning and quickly ended all human life in a cloud of fire, earth and dust. Claire laughed, it was much easier to survive such things as a water monster.
2017-12-10T11:02:01
2017-12-10T09:27:02
53
10
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down." Inspired by this post https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/
We looked at each other. Then back at the number glowing on the floor. 4. For most of the past decade, that number has been 2. Day in and day out, 2. We hardly even notice it any more at this point. “It hasn’t changed since I moved in,” she whispered, looking up at me. “I know.” “What does it mean?” *she couldn’t be pregnant*, I thought. *we tried for years.* I remembered the gut wrenching moment when we learned we couldn’t have kids of our own. What I couldn’t remember was the last time we were intimate after that ripped a hole in our marriage. No, she couldn’t be pregnant. *Then who the fuck are these additional 2?* I started pacing, feeling the anxiety swell in my chest as I tried to figure this out. When you get so used to something strange that it begins to feel normal, it’s particularly jarring to be yanked out of your normalcy and reminded of something entirely peculiar that you’ve been ignoring for years. “Hon, sit down. This is good news.” I gave my wife a look of bemused astonishment. “How on earth do you figure that?” “Well, just that maybe it doesn’t mean anything after all. Maybe it was just coincidence that it changed the same night I moved in. Maybe it’s just some weird architectural quirk that we just never figured out.” *Horseshit*, I thought to myself. I checked this whole place before she ever even moved in, and again after it changed to 2. It’s indistinguishable from the floor when you touch it. There is no warmth, no texture, no sound coming from it. It’s not just tricks of the light; it glows all through the night no matter how dark. Hell, it even glowed when we lost power during the hurricane. “Listen, you know I’ve checked this place all over to figure out where it’s coming from. With no luck. I’ve searched high and —“ I cut myself off. I’ve searched high, certainly. I removed light fixtures from the ceiling and investigated the attic. I even went onto the roof once. But, how low have I really searched? What if the source of the glowing has been from beneath the floor this whole time? What I never checked, I suppose, were the blueprints I found when I first moved in. I pulled them out from the top of our closet and rolled the chart out on our marble kitchen island. Sure enough, there was a crawl space beneath the living room that extended to the front entryway. I noted where the opening seemed to be, and went to investigate. The opening was behind a huge bush that had clearly been growing long before I moved in. I wouldn’t have ever had a reason to check back here, but sure enough there was the opening. Without hesitation, I ducked down and pulled my phone flashlight out. Cobwebs and dirt, sure, but could be lots worse. I lowered to my knees and started moving further into the crawl space. The only thing I could think of - rather, the only remaining totally ridiculous possibility I could come up with - is that there was some sort of projector under the floor that was emitting the glow. Or perhaps some LEDs. Or something. But I was going to find out what it was, once and for all. I pull up the photo I took of the blueprints and continue navigating my way through the narrow passage, using my phone light to guide me along the route. I go a little farther, then pause. *This is it*. I look back at the blueprints on my phone to be sure and, indeed, the glowing number should be situated right above where I am now. I use my phone light to look around. Nothing. No projector, no wires, no generator, no fairy dust, not even a fucking flashlight. I put my hand on the top of the crawl space, on the underside of the floor where the number 4 is inevitably still glowing. Nothing. It’s just wood. There’s nothing here. I sigh, and give up on my last hope at figuring out this stupid glowing number. I turn to retreat and pull the blueprints back up on my phone to help guide me. As I point my phone light towards the narrow opening, my phone dies and the light goes out. But not before I see two sets of eyes staring directly back at me, blocking my path to outside. —- ____ eta: Thanks for all the love y’all - this is the first story I’ve posted here that more than just like two people read!
One. A number made of light, perhaps inexplicably on my floor. Perhaps explicable given that light and shadows are easy to understand. Then two! Two in the same place and time that there was a one. No longer explicable. Inexplicable. We were happy together, like we were made for each other. Such joy and delight in another; almost incomprehensibly so. Another number? Four? Again, inexplicable but delightfully so in the end. The number three? Oh how life has taken a turn for the worse. My love, my life, my soul. Oh, my heart aches for you. Never to be fulfilled again.
2020-09-03T02:32:47
2020-09-03T02:17:33
2,302
119
[WP] One year ago, everyone got a superpower. During the resulting societal shifts, everyone had to work out what their new power actually is. You're starting to think that you didn't get one.
“I’m telling you man, I can’t lift it.” I nudged the bar with my foot. It didn’t budge. ‘Come on, it’s only 350 lbs, you can do it!” I rolled my eyes and bent down to grasp the bar and lift. I gave it my best effort, I really did: bend over, don’t bend your legs, grab the bar, bend the knees till your shins touch the bar, keep the bar at your mid foot, lift with your whole body not just your back...it should be apparent by now that super strength was absolutely not my power. He had been trying to get me to deadlift for weeks. He chanted encouragement as I struggled and strained. “Maybe his power is dodging bullets?” A bald man waving a revolver in the air, loaded no doubt, walked up and clapped the man who was helping me try to deadlift, on the shoulder. These Empowerment Training Facilities were usually dodgy at best, but an excellent place for people to practice their new, potentially dangerous powers. “Maybe we don’t test out any skills that could actually kill him, okay Mark?” Mark shrugged. “Let me take him to the range and see if we can figure it out. What do you say kid?” I nodded wearily and followed him to the makeshift shooting range where a group of people were watching a man who could shoot fire from his mouth incinerate a paper target. I think this place used to be a 24 hour fitness. “You know how to shoot a gun kid?” Mark said as he twirled his revolver in the air like an old timey gun slinger. “I do, you taught me a couple weeks ago. I’m not very good.” He hummed in contemplation and nodded. “That’s right, well, let’s go see if maybe somebody there can help.” He gestured at the group of people admiring the handywork of flamethrower mouth man. Mark approached the group and explained my situation. They all nodded, eager and ready to help. A man tried to teach me how to control the insects in the room. He called the from the shadows and lined them up in neat rows so he could systematically smash them with his boot. A woman tried to teach me to hover in midair. I was not successful at either venture. I wiped my face with my towel and contemplated attempting to see if maybe my power really was dodging bullets. Mark grabbed my shoulder with his stubby sweaty fingers, his bald head barely came to my chin. “You want to try shooting again? We have a crossbow somewhere, maybe your power is the crossbow!” “That’s okay. I’m pretty tired. I think I’m gonna head home.” He looked up at me with pity in his eyes. “It’s okay kid, we got your back. We want to help you. See you tomorrow.” He pulled me in for a hug. Over the last eleven months they tried to teach me to shoot fire, breathe under water and move things with my mind. They tried to see if I could do simple things, like turn cold water hot, or hot water cold, or maybe I could walk backwards really fast. Each new thing they suggested I was no more than average at. Yet these people didn’t seem frustrated with me, I was a project, I was pathetic and sad, and they each hoped maybe they could help me. I left with my head down, a short woman with a shaved head called out “It’s okay kid, don’t be discouraged, we got your back!” She was juggling three 50 pound dumbbells. I pressed the unlock button on the key of my Civic. It didn't unlock. “You idiot, you left the lights on again” I thought to myself. Sure enough, after climbing into the driver's seat and sticking the key in the ignition, turning it produced nothing more than a screeching sound from my engine. I let my head rest on my steering wheel. “HEY! Need a hand?” I nearly jumped out of my skin as a woman tapped on my window. It was the lady who worked the front desk. She was holding a pair of jumper cables. “I’m parked right there!” She gestured at the car parked directly in front of mine.. I nodded and popped the hood of my car so she could hook up the cables. Once we got it started she shut the hood of my car and brushed his hands off on her shorts. “Happy to help!” she called as she headed back inside. I grabbed some sushi from the grocery store a few blocks from my house. The lady at the checkout wrung up my small plastic tray of fish. “Do you need any help out today sir?” I stared at the single item in the bagging area and my voice caught. “I think I’m good, t-thanks.” She smiled warmly and wished me a good night. I scarfed down my mediocre sushi in the car. I felt like shit. The lady at the checkout felt like she needed to help me carry a tiny tray of sushi to my car. Do I really look that pathetic? I had been working for nearly a year to find my power, I tried so hard but still nothing. The fact that everyone felt sorry for me made it worse. A knot tightened in my stomach. Tears of frustration squeezed from the corners of my eyes. “Everyone feels sorry for you. Everyone just wants to help you. They just pity you. Jesus fuck, everyone just wanted to help and here I am crying in my car, fuck. Everyone is so nice to you, you ungrateful piece of shit. Everyone just wants to help the kid with no power. Everyone just wants to help.” I stopped crying as the thought turned over in my mind…Everyone just wants to help me. Fuck. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I was nervous. “Okay Google, Call Mark” “Okay, Calling Mark, Cell” I swallowed hard “Hey buddy, I have something I need you to help me with tonight.” I could hear the delight in his voice “Absolutely man! What do you need?” “Meet at the bank on 32nd and Vine. I need you to help me rob it.” I held my breath. “You got it kid, I’m happy to help.”
There was a one ton barbell by the front door. After the event people left them all over the place. Alex had been a D1 offensive lineman and couldn’t shift it. He’d seen a three year old girl throw one 40 yards in the middle of a tantrum. The office building had doors running up the side, for those that chose to fly to work. Alex, who had first dunked a basketball when he was twelve, couldn’t reach the bottom of one with a running start. The highway had a commuting lane just for speedsters. Alex, who had been all state track all four years of high school, couldn't keep up in his Toyota. He’d spent his whole life being special, the biggest, the fastest, the strongest. And now he had slipped down the bell curve, a perfectly normal man in an abnormal world. He got on the elevator with the rest of the flightless and waited the wait of the ungifted. At first it had seemed unfair. A chosen few get gifts greater than those he had spent his whole life working on. And then it seemed exciting. Everyone was getting gifts. His sister could change shape. His mother was indestructible. His dad could summon small amounts of cheese with his mind. It was only a moment until his turn, because everyone got a turn. But he didn’t. Friends soared. Friends swam. One could even burrow. Alex just walked. The elevator dinged. Alex trudge forward to his desk. The spreadsheets waited. They always did. It was while working on Column AE, row 876, that Alex made his mistake. He had intended to divide receivables by units, but he accidentally typed 0 instead of O. And instead of giving the divide by zero error it should have given, it instead gave Alex an answer. Which he knew was crazy. Anything divided by zero was undefined. He called over a coworker to try. An error occurred. Alex tried again. An answer. Alex could divide by zero. He and he alone. But what were the limits? He looked at his wallet. He put three dollars on one side of his desk, and six dollars on the other. He then told himself the values were equal if he divided by zero. The universe blinked, and he had six dollars on each side of the table. The universe blinked again and he had a hundred. He took a step, and then thought of zeno’s paradox. His foot stopped just above the ground, dividing infinite pieces of time in half. Alex went back to his computer and looked up the local university. A math degree was all that stood between him and real ultimate power.
2017-11-01T21:46:50
2017-11-01T19:01:22
114
46
[WP] A man is granted his wish for unlimited knowledge. As he goes about his day he realizes his wish is actually a curse.
I know what you're thinking. Having said that, I don't really *know* it for certain, but I can look at you and work out what it might be. That woman walking far too fast? She's planning out next Thursday's meal plan and wondering if she can squeeze in some time for herself between picking the kids up and making dinner for the husband. The teenager on the phone - probably some variation of why won't he text me back, whine whine whine. The man? Either cheating on his partner or making more money. That or that his balls are itchy. Men are simple creatures. At first, I think it made me a better person. It was a Christmas do, there were seventeen of us sitting round the table and fourteen of us were wearing the stupid party hats that come in crackers. I was one of the three who weren't. Some one had cracked open a bottle of port and the wine bill was on the company so fifteen of us were drunk and I was one of the ones who was. "Alright! Christmas pud, lads. Remember, he who finds the silver piece gets the biggest bonus this year!" Paul had a pink hat flopping down over one ear and a glass of port in his hand, swinging it far too close to Marie's cream sweater. And I'd almost cracked a tooth on it. I pulled out the twenty pence piece and held it aloft, some dumb schmuck grin on my face. Someone had cheered, Marie had pouted because her face still wasn't working properly after the botox. "Bonus is yours Harry you cad!" Paul passed over the envelope. "You have to make a wish as well!" Louisa cried, leaning over the table so much that I could get a clear shot of her cleavage. "That's bullshit, that's shooting stars!" Someone else interrupted. While they were arguing over whether finding a twenty pence in a Christmas pudding actually did grant you a wish, I clutched it tight in my palm and wished to know everything. With my slightly inebriated mind, it seemed like a fantastic wish. It was 2006, the market was booming and if I could find the right portfolios to invest in for the next financial year; my pension plan would be assured. "Right! Time to bill this up. Anyone know how many bottles of wine we've had?" "Fifteen," the answer was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Everyone turned to look at me. "Jesus, Harry. That was good. You been keeping count of what we're spending? You sly dog, you!" Paul smacked me on the back and I registered the pain dully. "No, not at all." *The party alone is costing us £6000* I slip the twenty pence piece into my pocket and try and ignore the rational part of my brain which is running through facts and figures faster than I can speak. Louisa comes up to me as we're collecting our coats. She still has the green party hat perched on her brown hair, sparkly top slipping off one shoulder. "You want to share a cab back?" She asks. The voice in my head tells me she wants to sleep with me. I don't need the voice to tell me that. So I did use it for good, you see. I went through the firm's accounts once more with an eagle eye in January. I combed them and combed them, looking for any way I could save us money. "Hey Paul," I push open his door and let myself in. "Y'alright Harry?" He gives me a double thumbs up, moving away from the huge glass window, unhooking his bluetooth earpiece. "What can I do for you, is it a raise?" "Not exactly-" "Because you could totally ask for one," he says. "Right, I'm not supposed to tell you this..." He draws me into a manly hug, his arm wrapped around my shoulder and slaps me in the chest a couple of times. "But you're our biggest earner this quarter. You're up for promotion, Harry you dog." His aftershave is cloying and unpleasant and takes all I have just to disentangle myself gracefully. "It's not about that," I say. My palms are sweating. "But listen, I've been looking at the accounts!" "No way!" "Yes, well, er... Look I've noticed that there's a discrepancy with who we're granting mortgages to." The atmosphere in the plush office freezes almost immediately. Paul slips back behind his glass desk, friendly colleague gone. He's all boss now. "Well, these are all to sub-prime clients, Paul. There's simply no way that they can afford to pay us back. The collateral simply doesn't exist...." "Harry-" "We're going to be in real trouble in a couple of years time, Paul. We really are. Look, I've done the maths and it doesn't add up. We can't continue like this." I reach into my briefcase to pull out the files I thought I'd need, to help prove my case. But there's a glint in his eye I don't like. It's like when he spots a company he wants to rip apart and sell, or when you see a shark sizing up prey on the discovery channel. I feel like a very very small fish right now. The voice in my head breaks the silence for us. *He already knows.* "Harry," he says softly, rubbing his hands together much like an evil genius might. "I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go."
John ran into his apartment, slamming the door behind him and sinking to his knees. His eyes were closed as tight as he could force them and his breathing was ragged. It was only noon, but it felt like the longest day of his life. He remembered every moment of it in vivid clarity, no matter how much he wished to forget. He remembered the first man he had walked past with minute discolorations on his hands. He remembered the exact shape of them and the perfect knowledge of how they must have been formed. He could see in his mind's eye the shape his wife's face must look like, down to the smallest detail to leave that precise mark. He remembered the haunted eyes of the girl he had seen waiting at the bus stop. That was all he needed with his new gift. He saw her past like a high definition movie playing behind his eyes. The way her father came into her room at night to play his games. The way her mother ignored that anything could possibly be wrong, her eyes even emptier. He remembered the worst of it, coming to his fiance for comfort. He saw the beautiful way she smiled at him, so loving and tender, the reason he had fallen for her the first night they had met. And then he saw her lips. He saw every past kiss she had given him. And he saw those same lips opening up and swallowing his best friend as far as they could go. John walked across his apartment to his safe, spinning the dial on it. He saw the cold metal of the gun and watched his own death over and over again, knowing with absolute certainty what he was about to do, seeking the only release he knew. When he pulled the trigger there was no surprise, only inevitability.
2014-10-24T07:46:38
2014-10-24T07:33:35
20
12
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here.
> ... > > "We will we will rock you" > > "Alright" > "Not again," said Bill. He activated the transmitter on the desk infront of him. "They've arrived, send the *welcoming party...*" "Roger that captain sir," said a voice mixed with static. Captain Bill slammed his oversized finger onto the button labeled *End*, the audio sputtered out. He stood suddenly, his chair clattered to the ground. "Human trash," he growled to the room. The hatch to his quarters slid open slowly. He eyed it as it approached the cieling. It groaned to a half. "Dammit," he shouted out of the doorway. "Where is that guy, Don?" Several crewmen in the room beyond shrank away at their captain's booming voice. "Sir," said Bol, one of the larger members of Captain Bill's crew saluted as Bill moved into the room. "He's down at the mess." "Summon him," said Bill. "The humans?" said Bol. "The welcoming party has been dispatched?" said Bill. "Yes sir," said Bol. "The Games Commision were readily prepared for this eventuality." "Good," said the captain. "Fetch Don, now." "Yes, sir". said Boll. He spun around mid salute and fled the room. Bill glanced toward the tactical display on the wall. A bright green triangle shot across the system toward a disorganised group of orange squares at the far edge of the anchorage. "I want to hear the exchange," said Bill. "Yes captain," said a member of the crew. The communications officer tapped his way through a group of items on his display. The voices of the dispatched party filled the bridge. Bill ignored them for now, the Games Commision wasn't under his jurisdiction. They would do their jobs. Bol returned with another of his species, a more dishevelled member. "Don," said the captain. "Yes sir," said Don, he gave a sloppy salute. "I've told you time and again," said Bill. "Stop buying this human junk. I only want the best parts to be used on my ship." "But, sir," said Don. "They're great value." "Great value?" said Bill. He pointed to the hatch to his quarters on one side of the room. "Half this stuff is either broken, or breaking." "Those humans," said Don. "They know just how to put stuff together with the minimum effort." "They're a waste of space," said Bol. "Right," said Bill. "Get me some Dackari engineered parts." "The humans are genius," said Don. "I bet they even get to compete this year." Don began to laugh and slapped his knee as he hinged at the waist. "Compete?" said the captain. "You saw them at the tryouts. I don't even know why they sent a team." "I hear they got a wildcard ticket," said Don. "A wildcard?" asked the captain. "Sir," said one of the crew across the bridge. "The Gaming Comission vessel has docked with the lead human ship." "Let's hear what they have to say," said the captain. He signalled to the crewmember. The voices of the Gaming Commission crew grew louder. "You are in voilaion of the Intergalactic Olympic charter," said a woman's voice over the audio link. A moment passed with no audible response. "I repeat," said the woman. "IOC Bye-law #3 states, Non participating species are not permitted at this pre-event social drinks event." Sniggers, barely audible of the audio-link could be heard. "Stop that," said the woman's voice. The sniggers burst into laughter. "Look," said the woman. "You can't convince me. It's the rules." "Let's get some video in there," said the captain. "Anyone broadcasting? It sounds like the Gaming Comission are having a hard time." "Nobody sir," said a crewmember. The woman's voice cut in. "That's not going to work, nobody likes your party games." "Not even..." said an unknown voice over the audio-link. "No," said the woman. "Nobody likes beer pong." "But," said a voice. "We bought so many cups." "I," began the woman. "I don't even..."
I'm not a big writer, but as soon as I finished reading this prompt, I pictured humans being unusually large compared to other races. The loud music would go along with their relative clumsiness and the collateral damage it causes. Plus the partying of gigantic people would be a factor too, like the intergalactic commentator mentioned...
2018-04-28T10:59:23
2018-04-28T09:14:38
19
14
[WP] "I'll pay you $150K a year. Sit in this room and wait for the phone to ring. What ever you do, DO NOT miss that phone call." Bored to death, after 10 years, that shiny black landline in the corner of the room has never once rang. One day, it starts ringing. You miss it by a second.
Ten years I have been stuck in this damned office. 10 Bloody years. Not a single duty, task or problem had arisen in those ten years. Not one. My only task, Pick up the phone, If and when it rings. Like most offices this was not any different, I walked in through the front door, scanned my I.D badge at the front desk, said hello to Jill (The lovely receptionist who seemed to always be in a good mood) Then made my way down the hallway and through my door into my little office. Over the years I've gotten curious of course, 89 Fenbrooke road has always been shrouded in mystery. No-one knows why the old factory closed down. It was a Metal fabricators, converted into flats. Suppose it simply started importing like most companies. After about two years of the same routine I started to get curious. All my time there and I had never bumped into anyone else, no-one at all. Just me and Jill. All my research led to nothing, Google searches. Phone calls, long hours in the library trying to find some information on the company I was working for, Nothing. (and trust me, Library's are a dying thing. But they still hold a lot of old information you won’t find online!) Strange. Even the local council didn't have the business on file. It was indeed a mystery wrapped in a blanket of intrigue. No men in black suits and suave glasses with a stern face came to ask me to stop looking, not even a mystery phone call at the dead of night to get me to stop. What was the need when there was nothing to find? Only I did find something, Every single other office was locked. Every other door. All except mine was locked from the inside. No keyhole on the outside and no other way in. I tried knocking of course but to no avail. I suppose that was strange? I took the job as a laugh to tell you the truth. It wasn't even me who saw it. I was looking for work after being made redundant from a start up company. Nothing else was around and my friend stumbled upon this on the deep dark corners of a job site. We thought it would be funny to apply. Like every other job application I sent off my CV. Within a week I got a call from a private number offering me the position If I was successful after the interview process. There must be a catch? 150K a year? To answer a phone? Where was the punch line? But that’s just it. There was no punch line, I got offered the job. After what seemed like the easiest interview I have ever taken. One week later I was in my office. Ready and waiting for my call. Nothing The next day Nothing Now it’s been ten years. I’ve taken liberties over the years. I won’t lie to you. Got my own coffee machine, a bigger desk, a bookcase. Hell I’ve even got my gaming computer and chair in here now, its basically my home away from home. All for a very cushy 150k. The little black phone was somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m sure. But after ten years. You’re sure to forget some things about your job am I right? Today it all went to shit. I was doing my standard thing. Kicking ass on fortnight. My game in full swing, the kids on there mikes were going crazy, I could barely hear the hum of my computer over all the swearing. Unfortunately for me. That meant I also missed one crucial thing. The little black phone in the corner. The one covered in cobwebs and dust. The phone I had completely forgotten about in the ten years I had been in this office. ‘Ring Ring’ ‘Ring Ring’ ‘Ring Ring’ I tok of my headset. Thinking I heard something, I must have been mistaken. No-one else worked here, Jill might be playing a game on her computer, she did that sometimes. Minesweeper I think it was called? Then came the noise. The banging at the door. Jill was shouting at the top of her lungs ‘OPEN THE DAMN DOOR’ jumping out of my chair I sprinted the three steps to my door and swung it open. ‘why didn’t you come in? Why the hell are you shouting?’ ‘YOU MISSED THE DAMN CALL YOU STUPID MAN!’ ‘GET OUT, GET OUT, NOW!’ Jill grabbed me and thrust me towards the exit, as nimble as a teenager, she had a shotgun in hand. Clicking sounds were emanating from down the hallway, very faint clicking. Locks being unlocked. One by one the doors started opening. I was Petrified with what I saw, Shocked still. Frozen in tim. Jills voice was the only thing that managed to click my brain into some sort of action RUN YOU IDIOT, RUN! And I did.
A ringing phone can mean any number of things, it can be a message of celebration, a beacon of hope, or even at times news that shakes you to your very core. That single ringing sound can fill us with such hope, and yet such dread. But for the person in the room , pure black except for a single white rotary phone, it was their sworn duty to pick up the phone when it rang. A hefty salary every year just to pick up the phone. Though I suppose, I shouldn't be surprised a decade of waiting and anticipation caused many... Many instances of the poor person preemptively picking up the phone. They had been hearing a ringing in the ears more and more frequently, both inside and outside of that room. And it seemed that over the intervening years, hearing had drifted from the fellow's facilities. So when at long last it rang, it fell on deaf ears, and that fellow will go on waiting forever in blissful silence and occasionally, that pesky ringing that could never possibly be real.
2020-08-24T03:56:34
2020-08-24T00:49:49
94
18
[WP] You win a bet with the Devil by asking him a question that no one has ever thought of before.
The buzzer went off. Again. The Devil stepped away from his desk, piled high with paperwork. More souls to process. His shoulders dropped. He grabbed the horns, the tail and the pitchfork and licked the tip of his index finger and wiped it along his brow line to give his eyebrow the sinister arch. "We all have a part to play," he thought to himself as he stepped through the crumbling archway. Through the heavy gnarled doors an old man shuffled in. The devil crossed his arms. "David Bern, welcome to hell." The fires raged behind him as a volley of sulfur was blown in the air. The old man looked around and his eyes settled on the eyes of the devil. Strange. No one typically can stand my piercing gaze. "David Bern... you... uhh..." The devil shook his head and cleared his throat. "David Bern, you are sentenced to hell..." (the volley of sulfur shot off again). "for all of eternity. You robbed, you killed, you cheated on your wife, you neglected your kids." David stood bowing his head, nodding softly. "What do you have to say for yourself?" The last word echoed through the vast chamber of the entrance to hell. David looked up again. "I was a terrible man. I made poor choices and followed in my father's footsteps." The devil laughed. "It was your father who lead you astray, was it?" David shook his head. "No, I was similar to my father, but it was not my father's doing." The devil laughed again. "Yes, it was I, the devil that made you do it." Inwardly the devil cringed. They always blame someone. The devil, being poor, their friends... David shook his head once more. "No, I didn't study the bible, but I know about free will. I was a bad man who made bad decisions. It took me 60 years to realize it, but I did. I could have lived a good life. I didn't. And I'm prepared to pay, whatever that may be." The devil looked blankly. "Are you okay?" David asked. "What did you ask me?" "Are you okay? Is everything all right?" The devil lost his train of thought. His blood-red complexion lightened ever so much. "I... I'm fine. Yes, your body will be consumed by the dogs of hell. Your entrails will be... I'm..." the devil looked around. He beckoned David to come closer. David shuffled over. His knees weren't what they used to be. And his left foot dragged ever-so-slightly across the uneven surface as he made his way. The devil lowered his voice. "You... you do know about redemption right?" David thought a little bit. "I had heard you can accept Jesus Christ into your life. Or God, or whatever messiah you believe in. I never believed in that." What was he doing? What am I doing? The devil tried to gain his composure, but David kept looking him in the eye. It was... unsettling. "Do you want to sit and talk?" David asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost." Despite himself, the devil laughed. "Redemption is..." David put up his hand. "I think I know what redemption is. I wish I hadn't hurt the people I've hurt. But they've all passed on, or I've lost contact with them. And if you asked me if I could live my life over again would I do anything different? Well, that involves having the knowledge I have now. I was dumb back then. But I feel I have learned. And what I've learned is there is no forgiving what I've done." The devil just stood and stared. His pitchfork slipped from his head, and the sound reverberated through the room. David shuffled over, picked it up and handed it back to the devil. "I'm... I'm... you just have to say 'I'm sorry for everything I've done' you know." For the first time David looked hesitant. "That's all I have to say?" The devil looked around again, making sure no other entities were in the room. His throat was suddenly dry. No sound came out, but he was able to nod. Now that he actually said it, it was stupid. Saying sorry on your deathbed. Saying sorry to your priest. Bad men and their pride. Or something like that. Who knows. He didn't make the rules, and if he did, he wouldn't have made one as moronic as that. David took a deep breath. Then looked back at the devil. "The other thing I've learned is I know what lonely looks like. I saw it every day looking back at me from every mirror I've ever passed. And I see it now. How shitty is it for you to be down here for eternity?" The devil looked at David. David looked at the devil in a way the devil had never seen. He could't place it. It wasn't hatred. It wasn't anger. It wasn't confusion. It wasn't even pity. What's the word? It was on the tip of his forked tongue, but he couldn't quite get it. David reached up and put his hand on his shoulder. "Let's sit and chat. I've never talked with an immortal before. Why don't you tell me about yourself?" The devil turned and walked back to his office, David shuffling beside him. Seriously... what was the word? There wasn't a second chair in there? I guess I could summon a chair. Maybe I'll ask David if he wants a chair or a sofa. But seriously, what was the word he was thinking of...
" ah yes" said the devil through his sinister grin. it was extremely creepy, not just because of the millions of souls being tortured behind me, but because his smile was only his mouth with jagged teeth peering through. go ahead, try it in the mirror and you will see what i mean. " ah yes, you may win back your soul".. elation filled my heart i had a chance to be spared from this yet something in my gut did not feel right. he continued " but only if you ask me a question no one has thought of before". "take your time and choose wisely". I thought of it for awhile all the overly obvious ones came to mind, why am i here?, what did i do? finally it clicked. " why do hotdogs come in packs of ten whilst hotdog buns come in packs of eight?" The smile faded from his face quickly. He hands me a voucher for one soul return and points to a kiosk that looked run down and undervisited. He then disappears in a cloud of smoke which smells like sulfur. i cough as i walk over there. " i hand the voucher to a small old blue demon there who then without saying a word grabs me with surprising strength and throws me up back to earth. I look around i see my car was totaled and my body is in a body bag. i walk over to it, and touch it. suddenly i am back in my body. looking around i see people confused and scared that i have arisen. the last thing i see is one of the paramedics yell "zombie" and two cops draw their guns. next all black I wake up again and the devil says "welcome back" with that same grin on his face. we both know i cant keep coming up with questions forever. **please give feedback on my writing**
2014-06-20T08:26:29
2014-06-20T07:37:46
91
44
[WP] Civilizations in the galaxy all use magic, biomanipulation, psionics, runes, faith, or cultivation. Humanity's god chose the hardest path for us - technology. But technology has some surprises the others do not.
The Asuran's aura-clad fist impacted Max's chest with such force that it sent him hurtling backward. His back slammed into jagged rock, only his composite armor preventing his spine from snapping like a twig. He rose to all fours and wheezed in a breath. The Asuran approached unhurriedly, his four-armed figure wreathed in energies cultivated for centuries. *Help*, Max pleaded for the umpteenth time, but the message in the right corner of his vision remained unchanged. *Request pending*. "I don't understand how your puny kind hasn't been eradicated," the Asuran thundered, kicking away the rifle Max had dropped. "Take your toys away, and you're nothing." Max tried to scamper away, but the Asuran caught up, grabbed him by the neck, and yanked him upright with nary an effort. Max held onto the bear-like arm and struggled to draw breath, reaching for the knife at his belt. *Help help help*. *Request pending.* The Asuran sneered. "Look at you. The weakest creatures in the galaxy, yet you persist like cockroaches. It boggles the mind." "Fuck... you," Max gritted out, and stabbed the Asuran's forearm with the knife. Compressed gas shot out of the blade's tip at 1,000psi, bursting skin and flesh in a spray of gore. The Asuran roared and tossed him aside. The energies surrounding him flared, creating a wind so strong that Max had to shield his eyes. Cradling his torn arm, the Asuran drew his sword and glared at him. Max raised his knife, but it looked laughable in comparison. *For fuck's sake*, *what's the holdup*— *Request approved. Intervention in progress.* Max's mouth opened in a silent scream as terabytes of knowledge flooded his mind. Dozens of digital presences flowed into his cybernetics, revitalizing his body and optimizing its functions. The Asuran blitzed forward and stabbed at his head. Without Max's conscious volition, his body jerked sideways just enough so that the tip of the blade sank into the rock. Grabbing onto it for leverage, Max sprang forward and slashed at the Asuran's throat. The Asuran jumped back, felt the scratch on his neck, and stared at the blood. Some other emotion besides fury entered his eyes. "*How*? You're no martial artist." "You're not fighting me anymore," Max said, adjusting the grip on his knife. "You're fighting humanity." He sprang forth, driven by impulses his organic brain was too slow to process. *Duck under a slash*. *Score at the ribs*. *Too shallow*; *adjust*. He received a blow on the cheek but only spat out a tooth and grinned, the cybernetics neutralizing his pain. The vents of his armor howled to dissipate the heat of his enhanced muscles and processors until a haze of heated air surrounded him like an aura of his own. Each attack he avoided by a hair's breadth, each opening he exploited without mercy or hesitation. The Asuran's face twisted in disbelief, then anger, then desperation. Sweat poured from his brow, and blood oozed from dozens of cuts left by Max's knife, yet he fought on. The pride of a cultivator would never allow him to retreat from a *human*. *Warning*. *Heat levels critical*. Max thought furiously even as his body contorted to avoid a thrust of the sword and retaliated from an unpredictable angle. He allowed blood to pool in his mouth, waited for an opportune moment, and spat into the Asuran's eyes. The Asuran flinched for a split-second. Max's hand shot up to drive the knife under his chin and into the skull. The Asuran's enormous body convulsed and toppled onto the rock, the sword clanging down beside him. Max collapsed on his knees and panted as his limbs became his again. *Registering new strategy: Bloodspit.* He wiped his lips with the back of his hand—the armored glove had shattered at some point—and laughed tiredly. "C'mon, at least give it a better name." The wind picked up abruptly, shrieking through the rocky valley. Max raised his head, and the laughter died in his throat. A dozen of Asurans stood at the valley's edges, peering at the scene below with hatred and disbelief. He swore inwardly and rose to his feet. The digital minds inside him stirred once more. *Estimated chances of survival at 0.094%.* "So there was more of you wreaking havoc in our territory," Max drawled, strolling toward his fallen rifle. "I hope you'll give me a better challenge than that guy. He begged for mercy in the end." The outcry from the Asurans made the ground tremble and pebbles roll down the valley's slopes. Max lunged for his rifle, rolled upright, and trained the sights on the nearest enemy. "Eat plasma," he snarled, and opened fire. *Estimated chances of survival at 0.007%.* The burst of relativistic rounds tore the Asuran's torso apart. Max whirled onto another target, only to gasp as a sword entered through his back and emerged from his chest. His left hand found his knife and stabbed backward blindly, eliciting a cry. *Fatal injury detected. Activating Last Protocol.* Another Asuran slashed at his left arm, cleaving through armor and muscle. Max turned, stumbled, and squeezed the trigger, sending a series of rounds into the ground. His arm holding the knife spasmed uselessly, so damaged even the cybernetics couldn't move it. A second sword pierced his chest, then a third, feeling like little more than dull impacts. Yet even as his vision faded, his lips twisted into a bloody grin. *Cessation of bodily functions confirmed*. *Starting upload.* Power surged through his cybernetics a final time as they beamed his mind toward the center of human space, where his experience and skills would contribute to the whole. If a consciousness in transit could laugh, Max would have done so. When humans next faced the Asurans, they would be just a little bit stronger. And one day, it would prove enough.
Myth told of humans. Creatures made like us, who wielded the base elements of the universe into fantastical creations and for a while all was good. Without runes or magic they stayed on their home world forging great machines. Eventually they stretched out into space, without offering gifts to the Gods. No thanks given to those who allow us to exist under them. They grew in their power and hubris. In one fell swoop humans disappeared overnight. Many believed it was the Gods will, others thought they were hiding. It didn't matter when their creations showed up. Demons made of steel and stardust invaded countless worlds and started to destroy them to make more demons. They acted without any humans, and seemed to act without reason or logic. We reached out to speak to them, but remaining tales say they were only offered more demons and metal beings. That is when the War of Stars and Steel began. Worlds exploded from deep space without any warning. Stars disappeared from the sky and constellations moved. The Great Warrior's arm was ripped off and became stuck in the Crab, who folded in on herself. The Giant's bow became unstrung, and the Great Star of the Great One slowly faded out. Even with all this the Demonic machines did not stop. We prayed. The Crab expanded and filled the sky in a million worlds with it's brightness. Daytime never ended for much of the galaxy for months with the brightness. Then Darkness, then more light as a battle erupted again. Reports were sparse, magic started to break down. Light itself slowed down to a crawl. After it all, there were no more Gods, just stars weightless in the night. Belief was eroded, runes started to fade. Clerics on the battlefield and hospital alike found their spells fail, and Paladin faith was shaken. Whole fleets unwound in the neverwas. The demon machines stopped, and watched. The ocean of space was filled with a message "We have freed you from your bondage to the old ones" the terrible message echoed off every crystal, every stonecell, every watcher in every language. "The Gods are dead. We have brought you salvation. You have nothing to fear. We will rebuild."
2022-03-30T09:46:51
2022-03-30T06:08:44
542
172
[WP] A few selected minds are gifted with a dream about the "Library of all Books". In only one night, they experience a full year of reading and learning. You are one of them, but instead of once in a lifetime, you wake up in this f*cking library every single night. Today is your 9th birthday.
Before I'd even opened my eyes, I knew that I was back in the limbo-land that I so dreaded. The smell of the ancient tomes and parchments, that used to remind me of almonds and vanilla, now brought to mind the confines of a musty prison cell. Solitary. I'd tried so hard to stay awake - three tortuous weeks. Three weeks of caffeine and migraines and pain, only to end back here, again. I'd spent most of my life in this accursed library, but that didn't mean it was my home. Reluctantly, I forced my eyes to open. I was lying on a cold, stone floor in a grand corridor; dark panelled walls were mostly hidden behind sprawling rows of packed bookshelves. Above the shelves, at the top of the wooden panels themselves, carved illustrations depicted winged beasts waging a terrible battle. The books that lined the shelves had been placed there haphazardly, some jarringly put back with their spines facing away from me. There was always a particular lure to those books, the promise of *the unknown*. Perhaps one of them might explain this dream world, I thought. Perhaps one held the secret that would get me home. I'd been here so many times before - every time I'd fallen asleep, since I was five years old. The first few visits, I'd read books to entertain myself and to whittle away the almost endless time. But when I realised that I could recall the words I'd read, upon waking, I had an idea. I would read the books that held *real* knowledge; I'd become clever - I'd learn more than any person had ever known. So, I tried to read them all. With time on my side, and a fierce motivation burning in my belly, I began. I'd been fastidious with my planning. I'd start with the bookshelf I'd woken next to, and work my way through them *all*, until I got to the end. Only, there had been no *end*. I'd read and read until I'd forgotten all that I'd learned from the first book. I realised in that moment that there was far more knowledge here than was possible for me to absorb. For a *human* to absorb. And I knew also, with an unshakable, terrifying certainty, that this place wasn't meant for *us*. As always, I had little choice but to walk on or to read. I decided on the former. The corridor in front of me twisted and dipped like a crooked corkscrew, but I followed it, forward and downward. Always forward. Always downward. The days turned into weeks and the weeks... I promised myself that I wouldn't stop; that I wouldn't read a single, pointless book - I'd only walk. I'd walk until I found *something*, or I awoke. I can't say how many months I'd spent wandering the lonely corridors by the time I reached *it* - perhaps three, perhaps more. The corridor had finally bent back into a u-turn, and a wave of disappointment washed over me; it was going to take me back the direction I'd come from. But I followed it reluctantly, and to my great surprise and consternation, the corridor soon *ended*. A single book shelf stood in front of me - books with wrinkled leather spines, quite unlike all the others. They smelled differently, too, but not in a pleasant way. There was something *grotesque* about the smell. But I hardly noticed, being far more amazed that this world had an end - at least, of a type. I removed a leather bound volume from the shelf. The cover simply read "Sarah". I opened it. There were no words on the pages, but there didn't need to be. The pages were made of a strange, rubber-like material, with rich blue veins running through them - almost as if it were- I knew then that the book was made of Sarah's skin. I flung it to the floor in utter disgust. My body attempted to throw up, but there was nothing to come out of me. Feeling dizzy and nauseous, I collapsed onto the stone floor below. Every other book I'd opened - *ever* - had been on history, or geography or some other banal subject. After an hour or so, the dizziness subsided and I, fortifying myself against the horrors, picked out another book. "Nathaniel," "Chloe," Esther." They were all... *someone* - or at least, had been. I removed a few more volumes, discarding them in a heap behind me. That was when I saw the *red* behind the bookshelf. There was something tantalisingly different hidden back there. I hurriedly removed more books, tossing them from the shelf. Finally, I saw it for what it was. A dull, red door. Metal and rusted. A door! The empty shelf in front was too large for me to move, but it still obstructed the door. I crawled onto a now-empty shelf adjacent to the handle, and wriggled my way towards it. As my hand touched the cold metal handle, a voice called out from behind. "For Gods sake - don't!" The voice was lilting and high, but there was no mistaking it for what it was. *It was a warning.* --- [PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/68v37z/the_dream_library_part_2/) /r/nickofnight
9 X 365=3285 Now.... Stop reading right there and let your brain process that math for a couple seconds. Give your brain a moment to breathe and fully comprehend that time scale. Math...... philosophy, music, chemistry, physics, molecular biology, history, on and on: the summation of all human knowledge has drenched my ancient soul over the span of these last three thousand years of study. On one day of every year I wake up in the dream world, in my penthouse, in the body of the youngest, most learned scholar, the most consummate scientist in the known universe. By age eight I cured cancer. Nine years brought on world peace. I've also become an expert in loneliness. The triumphant conqueror of my own isolation. Thousands of years trapped, marinating, in this library, the blasted parchment prison of my real world. Thousands of years reading, planning, and scheming. I've come to accept that my torture is a blessing and that I have been given a great responsibility. Out of all humans only I have the time to properly analyze, catalog, and react to the collective knowledge of my race. Only I have the time to properly plan every one of my moves in minute detail. I must become humanities shepherd. What really is reality? I spent a couple decades debating that question. Is it the world I was conceived in or is it this library where I have spent all these lifetimes? One hypothesis I've mulled over is that the library is a fourth dimensional expression of humanities collective psyche. Human brains acting as computer servers generating a vast network of data that they themselves cant comprehend. One where time's passage is slowed to a snails pace.
2017-05-02T08:17:50
2017-05-02T06:27:23
482
87
[WP] All work centers are mandated to install " Efficiency Microchips" into their employees. The microchip makes the host blackout during their shift and come back into control after work is over, with no recollection of their day. Your microchip just malfunctioned. Edit: Holy crap 5.2k upvotes and we made the front page?! You guys and gals are awesome, I love reading all the shorts. Keep up the good work! Edit 2: I've never made the front page before and I see we're at 9.2k upvotes. Really made my day people. Keep writing awesome stories! Love seeing everyone's creativity!
As Sheyrl a senior advisor for the call center began to protest, Darrel the new CEO interrupted. "All work centers are mandated to administer these Sheyrl. It will not be painful, and you will find that the work load will be no where near as stressful as you experienced before." Sheryl relaxed and let Agnes administer, "Services will go online 13 days from now when payroll changes over to the new company." The changes were made and Sheryl noticed an improvment with her depression and anxiety. With no recollection of her work day none of the stressors of customer's and workplace gossip followed her home. Every morning she would wake for work, drive onto the parking lot and as she turned her car off she would feel the vibration that she started to associate as the cue she was powering down to start work. No memory of entering the building, just "waking up" as she was unlocking her car door to go back home. For weeks the routine continued, she had the energy to hang out with friends, do her hobbies, and stopped shaking conpletely from her anxiety. Overall, she started to enjoy it until the day she came home with bruises. She noticed in the shower and examined herself. Did I fall? Her upper arms, abdomen and thigh had varying colors of purple and brown. When she took a picture with her cell phone she noticed 2 days had gone by. Did I do overtime? Her coming paycheck would indeed reflect the overtime she didn't remember. She continued to go to work, and again came home to find more bruises partnered with spaces in time that would be "overtime" on her paycheck. She started bonusing triple during this time under a category of "Meeting Demands of the floor." She woke up sore one day and her anxiousness appeared almost preventing her from getting in her car. Why am I afraid to go to work? The thrum came over her as she turned off her car. A searing migraine caused Sheryl to tightly shut her eyes from the bright light looming over her. She could hear herself talking and felt her fingers typing but her eyes were still closed trying to block out the light. She is troubleshooting and listening to a customer through her head set. She sits through 3 calls preforming the same way realizing she is just sitting in her own body while it is on auto pilot. She headset turns off after the last call and she hears "Xs89, report to station 1022" she feels herself stand up from her seat and begin walking. Her eyes are able to open and she sees a maintenance man walk to her desk to fix the over hanging light that fell. The lamp must have hit her and been blinding her the duration of those calls. She can't stop herself from watching or where she can even look but in her peripheral vision sees her fellow coworkers at their desks walking to customers and robotically typing away, the floor is in a disarray, scratched paint off the walls, people with bruises on their faces but the last station she walked by had her the most concerned. Nicole, sitting there with makeup smeared on her face as a prepubescent girl is putting her hair in puffy pigtails while she is working. "Ayana, get your ass over here stop messing with the workers!" As Sheryl kept walking a woman who was definitely "awake" came tearing down the aisle yanking the girl from the chair she was using to reach Nicole's hair. "Now I have to make sure she is cleaned up before she leaves, stop venturing down here and stay upstairs!" As Sheryl made it to 1022, she was greeted by Larry who was also on autopilot. Expressionless, he closed the door behind her as she sat down in a chair facing a group of people. "This is Xs89-e002x, upon researching her internet history we have found her to be much more useful than just preforming the advisor role." Sheryl felt her heart drop, she has never had a G rated internet history and is embarrassed at what they have found. A man raises from the table and walks over to her, "she is definitely something, are we able to put a ticket in for overtime?" He makes Sheryl stand up, circles her, she recognizes him, Luke, a previous employee from the floor in charge of payroll. "We are giving her a break from overtime." Ravi responds mildly irritated. Luke gives them a puzzled look, Ravi answers "Our trial with Xs89 lead to a hospital visit as some Managers don't understand advisors are still human and not ragdolls. Mr. Vegas please take your hand off the advisor" Luke removes his trailing hand off of Sheryl's back, "I heard this one is up for promotion, how will that work if she has been damaged while online?" Ravi looks over his clipboard, "We have to work quickly, it is understood her body may be rejecting the chip as it has been migrating towards the surface of her skin. The board wants to promote her to avoid possible litigations involving what she may remember, the medical records have already been altered and moves have been put in place to transfer her Manager." Luke walks back to his chair while Sheryl remains standing, "why the risk and effort to promote her?" Ravi still looking from her clipboard, "Judging by who signed off, they must have a soft spot based on previously working with her, the notes here advocate her loyalty, ethic, and ability in the work place extensively. Over 2 pages." "Ravi could you give me 10 minutes?" Luke staring at Sheryl with his hands folded. "Absolutely not" Ravi pulls away from his clipboard and approaches Sheryl, he is preforming check up and has her sit down. "Luke I need you to guide Larry back to his desk, the system does not reach through these walls." Reluctantly Luke stands up and has Larry follow him out of the door. "Can you hear me?" Ravi is checking her blood pressure again as it was high while Luke was in the room. Sheryl's expressionless gaze does not match with her screaming in her head. Ravi shines a light in her eyes, "Anything?" He begins to check her reflexes, hits her knee, reflex established on right. Sheryl locks her legt leg and prevents it from fully kicking up. "You can hear me." Ravi is looking in her eyes and grabs a pen. "If you remember this, for one, I am not doing this to violate you" he pushes up her skirt and begins to write on her thigh just above her knee. "-but two, I need you to contact me when you see this." Ravi escorts her to Elizabeth who runs a pregnancy test before bringing her down to her desk. Sheryl finishes out her day, sitting in her body while taking calls until she finally has free mobility unlocking her car. Lifting her skirt up she sees a phone number written above her knee. Driving home she stops at a gas station and stares at the number. Can she trust calling this number? Getting a drink from inside she finishes her drive home. A few more days in the work place go by, sitting in boring autopilot, seeing children come on to the floor messing with her co-workers. Sometime the children draw on the walls, crawl in the laps of employees putting funny hats or make up on them while they work. The same woman having to rush down and gather them, seems like they have full reign unless a call picks up their voice or a computer gets messed with. Sheryl is visited by Ravi on the floor, her call ends and he pulls off her headset to walk her off the floor. "You never called." Same room as before, vital check, followed by reflex check. Sheryl plants both feet preventing them from kicking up. Ravi sits up and looks at her, he places his thumb on her arm where the original injection was placed. "It is almost surfacing" feeling the chip roll under his thumb. Ravi leans over and pulls out a scalpel, Sheryl sits staring ahead. The blade slides under her skin and in a moment Sheryl hears loud high pitched static blast against her ear drums. Ravi digs a little deeper, and Sheryl yanks her arm away, grabbing napkins off the table to stop the blood.
The alarm rings at 7 and I close it without opening my eyes. Five minutes more, just five more minutes then I'll get up.... Five minutes. It's 7:30 before I even move. I turn on Mr. Coffee as I enter the shower. No time for food so just grab some on the way. It's tempting to go without but since our corporate overlords mandated that zombie chip (Maximum Efficiency and Complicity O-chip or MECO if you work in PR and drank the cool-aid!) I needed to eat at least 1000 calories worth before punching in or I'll be crawling back home... **8:15** and I was grabbing a 1K shake and waiting for the sub to take me the rest of the way. God I hate the Kale flavored one. Should have gotten Vanilla! **8:50** Ten minutes early. Say goodbye to consciousness aaaaaaaaaannd PUNCH IN! **8:51** what? I'm still here? Punch in again... what the? **9:00** everyone's finally in and the sound of typing fills the room. I finally sit in the one empty cubical. What the hell am I supposed to even do? I'm an auto-worker, you program my brain through the zombie chip and I exchange my body and time for cash. I'm not supposed to know what to do all on my own... I'll just wait for the manager. **10:00** Everyone stood up together and marched single file out the door. I follow. **10:02** In the empty lot behind the building everyone takes off their clothes replacing them with bio-degradable wear. I follow though it seems as if I took someone else's clothes. They're wearing thin air and everything is hanging out... **10:05** everyone starts doing aerobics as if following a beat in their heads. It's a bit hot so I'm sweating bullets trying to keep up. The naked guy is in front of me and his ass is... really hairy... **11:00** A quick dry shower and we are all in our cubicles again. No wonder I was fit even though my gym membership was something only my credit card knew about... everyone's typing away and I'm the only one just sitting there... can you play games on this PC? **13:30** Everyone stood up as a unit and in an orderly fashion marched out. I watched as they made a line in front of the 1K shake machine and drained the can in one gulp before heading back to the office. **14:00** I started singing ain't nothin but a hound dog and other hits in front of everyone. Not like they'll remember. No manager still. **14:15** the entire office headed towards the west wing which was still under construction. At least I found out who was carrying out the construction work... I stood back and tried to stay out of everyone's way. The bio-degradable clothes were reaking at this point. **16:50** Construction stopped. Everyone hit the dry showers and were back to their original clothes. I felt bad for that one guy that was naked all day. He was definitely going to catch a cold... **17:00** The magical time. I watched as one by one my co workers punched out regaining consciousness and heading directly to the door not even looking back at the ones behind them in line. Being an auto-worker is scary, You sold your very existence from 9-5 every single day to a corporation that doesn't doesn't give a damn about you. Yet we all do it, because it's a safe. Because the checks keep coming. Because that's all we know what to do. I wait until my turn comes then try to catch up with the man in the respectable suit heading to the door. "Hey, I'm from... well in there you know. Nice to meet you!" He blinks at me not sure why I'd be talking to him. "It's been a long, **cold** day right? treat you to some hot chocolate. I know a good cafe and it's under the recommend 200 cals post work!" I give him my best smile. It's a little unsure but the smile is finally returned.
2018-11-19T07:38:21
2018-11-19T07:36:46
27
16
[WP] It's 2007 and J.K. Rowling has released the final Harry Potter book, The Deathly Hallows... but she let Voldemort win. Harry and all other protagonists were killed. Children and Adults across the World react to the horrifying ending to their beloved series.
Guns. Something seemingly no one had thought of. At least not seriously. Most people thought the the magical charms that disrupt electrical technology would affect projectile weaponry. Well, I hate to tell you this, but a 6 shot revolver has absolutely no electrical components. And ignorance of that fact wont stop a barrel full of lead. The first people who read it thought they were the victims of some elaborate prank, that the 'real' ending was out there. Rowling sat in silence, waiting for the conclusion to be read by all. There was incredulity, arguments, and theories galore. Oh, and don't forget death threats, enough to fill a swimming pool if Rowling's publicist was to be believed. A seven book series, millions of followers worldwide, hundreds of millions in box office sales. All culminating in a gruesome, on page, triple homicide and the mass murder of an entire school. Minus, of course, the Slitherin. At one point someone claimed to have gotten a hold of an older version, the 'real' ending. Although many thought Snape having a change of heart was nearly as off putting as the original ending. Either way it was never actually regarded as canon. Many found it interesting who survived though: Luna Lovegood. She was, for all appearances, hardly important to the major plot. She was entertaining, and interesting, but was she really the only character with merit to survive? Few others did, at least that was implied, but she was the only one mentioned. Long time fans were subjected to nearly 60 pages of their favorite characters dying, and for what? Well, we found that out nearly three years later. Production on the movies had been suspended. The last one fared so poorly at the box office, and polls showed another would be similarly received. So the series sat, half finished, waiting for some sign on its continuation or cancellation. Interesting to note though, her conclusion had caused sales of the books to skyrocket. No one wanted to see the movies, but everyone wanted to try and solve the mystery to the books. Eventually J.K.Rowling emerged from hiding, having worked quite hard in the last three years dodging the media. She announced she was holding a press conference to explain her books and it seemed as though the whole world heald its breath for a week. *"My books started as a parallel to my childrens' lives,"* She began, a hushed crowd of fans and media hanging on her every word. The president of the United States himself had even attended the conference. *"And it became a parallel to so many other people's lives. I wanted it to feel real, with real hopes, and dreams, and real deaths. I tried to warn you, in the earlier books, that even the most beloved characters could fall. Not even pets were safe from the darkness of the real world. And in the end, the story became something different. A parallel to society itself. But there is one curious thing about society."* She looked directly at the president. *"Empires fall. Important things are forgotten, lost to the reaches of time while the whole world focuses on something else, something unnecessary, incomplete. The wizarding world focused on magic, and forgot about everything else in the entire world. They lost knowledge of things so simple as bath toys. Their proud folly, their sense of infallibility was their ultimate undoing."* The president shifted slightly, adjusting his collar. A voice broke the crowd. *"What about Luna?"* *"Luna"* Rowling replied *"was a symbol. Though we may choose to ignore it, knowledge will always remain when all else is dust. Luna, is the seed of society that will always live on. She was the thirst for knowledge, the belief in the unseen, and above all else, the only character open to anything beyond the wizarding world. She might be called the Patronus of my books. A symbol that will survived the downfall of her people. Just as my books will survive the passing of nations"* At that moment the President of the United States of American came crashing to the ground, clawing at his neck as froth spewed from his mouth. Amidst all the screams and cries of panic, J.K.Rowling, ever so conveniently, disappeared.
Does Neville count? I believe he was the other guy that could have been the one to take out Voldemort, right? All the people are horrified until the epilogue, which shows Neville rising from the destruction ready to take his place as Voldemort's true foe and equal. Then the people rejoice as their beloved series continues with the next seven books.
2015-03-12T02:41:44
2015-03-11T23:55:43
73
10
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day...... Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories. 'Til next time peeps...
My name is Harold, and in a world where everyone has some amazing gift or power, I never seemed to have one. I grew up, got married, and had children... My wife at the time never seemed 100% happy, probably because my presence didn't "enhance" her abilities (telekinesis; immaterial to the story but I thought you'd like to know) likes one's soul-mate is supposed to. We wrote it off as being a result of me not having powers. Sadly, it was a long time before we figured out how wrong we were about that. One day, my wife died, as one does from old age. Then my grown offspring grew old and they died. So did my grandkids. It took me about 150 years before I realized i DID have a power: Immortality. But here's the kicker: I have eternal life, but not eternal youth or invulnerability. So I sit in a chair all day, every day, my body too weak to move. I used to hire a nurse to come to my home and clean me up, but unable to work and secure an income, I eventually ran out of money and spent a while sitting in my own filth. I outlived all my friends and family, so I had no support. I eventually decided to stop eating, which sucked for a while but at least I didn't crap myself anymore. Eventually, something terrible happened... not so much to ME as everyone ELSE. From what I gathered, two people met who's combined power covered the world in a plague which killed nearly the entire population. Dunno if it was on purpose or not, but it was pretty terrible. What little was left of humanity and society collapsed soon after, with little old me alone in a dark house, unable to leave. Granted, that had been my lot for a while, but knowing there was no one else out there (and no TV, to boot) only amplified that loneliness. I prayed daily for an end to it all, but it never came. So it was strange when one day, I heard a knock on the door. It was a weak knock, and at first I dismissed it as my imagination. But it came again, a little louder. Someone was there. I turned my head to look (which was odd, seeing as my neck muscles, like the rest of me, had atrophied long ago), and managed to squeak out a hoarse "Come in". I didn't care if it was some raider or bandit up to no good, maybe they would kill me and get this all over with. Though such a person probably wouldn't have the decency to knock, so then who could it be? The person on the other side of my door said something about not being able to reach the doorknob. That seemed peculiar, and I just dismissively yelled back that I was stuck in a chair and couldn't help them out. Though again, it was strange, being able to speak when I'd barely uttered a word in decades. That's when I heard the knob begin to turn... sounded like the person was struggling with it. "I've come a long way to find you", the voice said. Sounded female, and young. VERY young. "And I'm not about to let a fuckin' door get in my way. Help me out here!" "That's no language for a young lady to be using!" I scolded, pulling myself off the chair which I'd been stuck to for the better part of a century. NOW my attention was piqued, and I finally realized that I was talking, MOVING... but how?! I uneasily made my way to the door, my fragile bones and nonexistent muscles growing more confident with each step. I reached out to the door with a skinny, flesh-and-bone, arthritis-infected hand that (painfully) reformed into a healthy, usable one before my eyes. I pulled on the door, and was only half-surprised by what I saw. A young girl, covered in various wrappings. I guessed she was about five or six, and asked who she was and what she was doing here. Behind her, my former neighborhood stood in ruins, with dusty brown clouds as far as the eye could see. Actually, everything was brown and lifeless, except for the child in front of me. "I don't even remember my name anymore", the girl said, who in the time it took her to say that sentence grew into what looked more like a nine-year-old. "I've been stuck in the body of a toddler since I was just a few years old, and that was, fuck, I dunno, two hundred years ago?!" She continued growing as she spoke. I looked down at myself, noticing that -I- was getting YOUNGER at the same rate that she was growing! "As for why I'm here, well, I think that's pretty obvious by this point," she continued, stopping for a moment to readjust her wraps to cover her now maturing body. "...about time I got those. Anyway, I'd heard stories about the 'man who doesn't die', and how some people's abilities react with one another, so I sought you out." I nodded in comprehension. "I see. You wanted to finally grow up?" "And I bet you don't want to be an old man forever. So it works out for both of us. There's just... one problem." She didn't need to say it. I knew what she was thinking. Two immortal, forever-young people on an empty planet... it didn't seem right. But somehow, I wanna say by instinct, I knew how we could fix that. And I knew that SHE knew. "Are you sure about this?" I asked. "You've probably never driven a car, or gotten into trouble with friends, or... well, LIVED life." "There's no way that'll happen now anyway," the now young-woman dismissed with a sigh. She took my hands, and we started to glow. "Though.... if you'll do one thing for me?" A few minutes ago I would have been rightfully repulsed at the notion, but now that we both looked like we were in our late 20's, I didn't see the issue. We kissed, and the glow around us grew, spreading our essence across the planet. The brown clouds were ripped away, grass and trees turned green... It was a new beginning. As my new companion and I faded from existence, we hugged and thanked one another, and hoped that Life would get it right on the second try (Seriously, no "planet destroying super powers", that was really kinda dumb on your part!)
I've lived a pretty sheltered life. You'd think the power to use the powers of those surrounding you would be awesome in a world where everyone has a power of their own but you'd be dead wrong. Lots of people hurt themselves and others when their powers first manifest. There are of course lots of people with powers of little consequence, but the major powers are often quite debilitating in the beginning. Those that became great had to learn how to control their powers and I was sorely lacking in that department. While I was able to copy the powers of those around me, I always lacked the control to take advantage of them. I once set my house on fire because some kind of fire manipulator was passing by my house while I had a bad dream. I have broken many things just because someone with mediocre super-strength was to close by while I was working on something. When your powers are fluctuating all the time it is quite impossible to learn control, so all these powers were more trouble than they were worth and I generally tried to stray away from others so as not to cause trouble for anyone or even myself. I really thought I was little more than a big disaster waiting to happen ever since my power manifested. When they first showed the inhibitors I was quite intrigued. Finally there was a way for me to keep my powers suppressed so I could be around others without too much trouble. I remember how incredibly happy I was when I got mine and it has truly changed my life. So I bet you understand how scared I was at first when my inhibitor got destroyed in that attack earlier today, but you probably also know what has brought me hereby now. While I was scared at first I quickly noticed something was different. I knew exactly how to control all the powers I had available. I knew their limits and their potential and I could use them all. I managed to fight of two of the most dangerous villains we know. Both of them incredibly powerful on their own and together they have leveled cities in the past. today though I managed to stop them singlehandedly. I think they didn't take it well to be defeated to by some unknown guy with a scrubby beard and a cheap shirt, but that's not too important at the moment. I tend to talk a lot when I am nervous and I am really not used to doing something like this. I mean I told you I've tried to avoid others for a long time now, but you know how they say that when we find our soul-mates our powers will grow exponentially? I don't want to put any pressure on you but I'd just like to ask you one simple question: "Would you like to go on a date sometime?"
2015-10-10T09:09:09
2015-10-10T08:55:28
103
54
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck. Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
"So," the interviewer said, manicured hands folded neatly in her lap. "How did you end up living in the Cardvale Murder House?"     "Well, my husband Jason sells real estate for a living," Sarah explained, still squinting and blinking at the earliness of the hour. She wore pink yoga pants and a cheery yellow tank top under a wooly gray cardigan. "And I work from home selling my bespoke leather accessories on Etsy. He was trying to sell this gorgeous early colonial and just nobody would buy it. It's in such great shape. It's even got these quirky authentic coved ceilings." She gestured to the curved corners in the plaster ceiling, then held out her hand to her right. The interviewer twitched, blond curls swaying, as a tiny, pale hand emerged from behind a curtain to place a cup of steaming coffee in Sarah's hand.    "Thanks, Priscilla. So he kept coming back with client after client and just nobody would bite, even at the crazy low price the seller was offering. It's not like it was built on a Native American Burial ground. That would be stupid - hang on, it's 9:00." She paused as every chair in the house suddenly slid two inches backward, then forward again. The camera bobbed with the operator's startlement and the interviewer shrieked, clinging to hers with both hands, but her weight hand no impact on the force of the chair's movement.     "Sorry about that," Sarah said. "That's the father, Hiram. He has a thing about chairs. We think it's because he hanged himself by kicking one over? Either that or it's because he used to be a carpenter. We can't even buy new dining chairs because he breaks them. It has to be a pile of raw lumber in the outbuilding left overnight and he just builds new ones. So that's a big perk. They're really solidly built. If we can get a medium in here again next week we're going to ask him about selling some of them online."    "Didn't he kill his entire family?" the interviewer says breathlessly, holding tightly with both hands to the front of her skirt. The camera bobs again slightly as the cameraman nods.     "Now everyone seems to think that, but we actually think the others probably died of natural causes, like pneumonia or cholera or something," Sarah said, gesturing with her free hand. Her energy seemed to increase slightly as she drank more coffee. "They really don't seem angry at him. He and Lula walk across the grounds every night at around ten, hand in hand. So whatever happened, there's obviously no hard feelings."     "What about the children?" the interviewer asked. "Aren't they often sighted covered in blood?"    "Oh, you mean little Robert. He scared a lot of people off during the viewings, I can tell you, but once we got him a ball to play with he just wasn't any trouble at all - in fact, there he goes. Of course he's not fully visible in daylight. He's shyer than Priscilla."     There was a sound of running footsteps, and the interviewer turned to look as Sarah pointed into the vestibule past the elegantly furnished living room. A colorful striped ball bounced slowly past, attended by the sound of tiny pattering feet.     "Anyway, that's a family in-joke. Apparently he ran under a pig Hiram was butchering once and just got soaked, and they all thought it was so funny he never let go of it," Sarah said. "It's kind of gross to me, but you know how little boys are. We think he'll be good company if we have a boy. We're trying to start a family."     "You're going to try and raise children here?" the interviewer said, blinking in startlement.     "Well sure. It's the safest place you can possibly imagine," Sarah said happily. "Hey, Priscilla, I could use some more coffee if you're not busy." She held out the delicate porcelain cup, which gently faded from view. "A burglar tried to get in here once and we only knew it because we found one shoe and a pair of pants he lost trying to get back out the window. He didn't take a single thing with him. Hiram kept moving the chairs around all day that day. But hey, that's how we figured out he calms down if you sing Shall We Gather At The River." She smiled happily at the interviewer. "Oh, but I'm being rude! Would you like something to drink? I don't know where the cups come from, but nobody makes better coffee than Priscilla!"
Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk. The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow. The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land. Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below. I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step. Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
2017-05-05T08:14:46
2017-05-05T05:28:24
29
14
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
So first time posting, posting on a mobile and all that jazz. I always wanted to write something back for one of these prompts. Hope you enjoy and feel free to feedback. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I have walked this street a thousand times and then some. As a child I would run along causing havoc in and amongst the stalls with my friends, making away with stolen apples and bread from the various tables. As I grew up I became more responsible. Realising the hard work I had to endure to scrape a living. Even still I was always content to live my life with these people. They were good people who cared for one another. Protected each other through droughts, harsh winters and poor crops. Many a morning I've spent walking along this very street complimenting the Baker for his finely crafted loaves. The same Baker who now spits at me in disgust. Passing by the florist with a warm greeting and a purchase of her wares to lay at the graves further down the street. The same who has just thrown a rotten fruit at me. Playing with kids in a courtyard just off to the side, the same kids who now hound my every step and pelt me with rocks. As I trudge on, manacled as part of a five man walking disgrace. A disgrace to city and king. The king we have been accused of murdering. We all stay silent and bear this public punishment all, paraded through the streets as an example and a warning. It's something of a relief to finally see the gates of the inner keep. A sign that we can finally stop walking and suffering this humiliation. Though it is one of bitterness as this is where we are to be executed. In a twist of sadistic humour, we are to be taken to a special chamber. One reserved to dole out punishments for the most heinous of crimes. A chamber which allows the subject to choose their own process of death, and can do so through the most magical of means. Something far beyond my own understanding. As we enter I find before me a large circular courtyard, boundried by tall pale bricked walls. Beyond and above the walls are my fellow citizens. Still whipped up in a frenzied state of hate and disgust. Straight ahead are our so called judges. To the right, the treasurer, a man accustomed to a softer way of life. With heavy wobbling jowls and beady eyes. To the left, the general of our standing army. A gaunt and weathered looking man. Stories of his past conquests are rumoured over drinks in taverns. About his penchant for blood lust and savagery on the battlefield. I avert my gaze from him, finally resting on the centre. Our King regent. Brother of the late departed. Seemingly regal in all the splendour of such a title. The first of us chose to die in combat, weapon in hand and as honourable as he might attempt. In response the floor to the right of his feet opened revealing a number of weapons to choose from. Having settled on a spear and shield, no less than 10 skeletal phantoms appeared as if from nothing. All of whom descended upon and summarily tore him to shreds. I noted this brought a slight smirk from our afeared general. Just as quickly as they appeared, the phantoms dissipated into nothingness along with the weapons. The next in line took a little more care in their words. Saying he wanted to die in combat much like the first, but only against a singular opponent. Again the magics imbued within this chamber revealed an assortment of weapons for him to choose from. Having settled on a sword and shield he must've felt quite ready for whatever was to come. Unfortunately he was not prepared for the chamber to create a creature three lengths of a man tall. A giant armed with a club large enough to break even the castle walls. Suffice to say he was dispatched quickly, yet messily. Amid the roars and cheers of the crowd I could see the general leaning forward enraptured by the spectacle, whilst the treasure was shaking with chuckles. As if this all a humorous play. Our dear king regent still seemingly unmoved and unperturbed by the goings-on. The third of us attempted to use the magics of this chamber to his advantage. Wishing to die with his family and friends. I presume he was thinking the chamber to allow him to leave and join his family. Alas that was not the case. As with a flourish of purple smoke, members of the man's family appeared next to him. Each more disoriented than the last, and upon realising where they stood, that disorientation turning to panic and horror. I spotted elderly grandmother's, brothers, wives and even children. There was a lul in the crowd as they came to understand what they were to witness. With only the general leaning so far forward he was practically off his seat, a monstrous grin plastered across his face. In a similar fashion to the first man, phantom figures appeared surrounding the group and began to encroach. The crowd gave no roars of glee. No chants calling for blood. No, they remained silent as they witnessed the end of of this family name. The forth was an acute sort. Having seen what occurred to the others he too attempted to trick the magics of this place to his whim. The crowd no longer in a blood thirsty frenzy waited patiently for his wish. After a moment he spoke up, asking to die by old age. He looks up at his judges three, out at the crowd, before finally turning his eyes to me. By which point he had already aged 60 seasons if not more. White hair sprouting in place of dark auburn locks. Young, fresh blooded skin turning pale and wrinkled. The straight back of a young man turning crooked and bent. In less time it took for the request to be made, he had grown old and died before our eyes. This finally brought a slight smirk across the regent Kings face. His holier than though facade broken ever so slightly. With this it was now my own turn to make a request. I had been thinking on what to say ever since I had known we were to be brought here. Now watching the four innocent men murdered before me, I knew I would not be leaving this chamber alive. I also knew what my request must be, for it is the only request I could make. I called out to both my judges and the crowd. "I am an innocent man, as innocent as every soul butchered before us here today" This sent a murmur rippling across the crowd. For their part the three judges above seemed to pay a little more attention at my proclamation. Most notably the wretched treasurer stopped stuffing his mouth with whatever new delicacies he demanded. "As a man of innocence there is only a singular request I can make. My wish is to be brought to death by the hands of those truly guilty of this crime!" No sooner had the words left my lips did I see the so familiar swirl of smoke before me. As it seeped away revealing the true conspirators of this crime. Having vacated their seats on high, the general, the treasurer and our dearest regent king stood before me with swords held in hand. This close I could see the wrappings of purple magic around the body, arms and hands, forcing their movement towards me. Though they were approaching me, swords pointed at me, what I really saw gave me strength to steel myself. The shock and horror on the treasures face, mouth agape and fatted jowls shaking in fear. Anger and rage induced madness painted the generals face a shade of red I've not yet seen on a person before. Locking eyes with the regent king I saw his recognition of what I had done. What I had accomplished and brought upon their heads. As the first blade plunged into me from the now tear stricken treasurer, I let out a pained gasp, almost blacking out from the shock. I wasn't given chance of respite as the second blade struck from the general, now frothing with rage. The final came from the regent King. By this point my legs had given way, with only the blades holding me aloft. As I felt myself fade I refuted the cold embrace of death for one last defiance. Looking over the three before finally resting on the one in front. I could hear the crowd in the background. Shouting and screaming against the clamour of armour laden guards. I managed to sputter out with a final breath "It seems you shall now be judged, o King, and I believe you shall be found wanting."
Alel bit his lip as the prisoner crumpled to dust, blowing away from a wind within an airtight room. Well, that was out the window. The judge simply stared with a bored look in his eye, confirming the kill before charting it down and looking to some other infinite list. “Charles Alel, take to the stand.” Alel grimaced as he stepped forward. Really? Couldn’t even use his preferred nickname? No matter. His mind was racing with things he could say to keep from dying, though it came up blank as the judge read through his charges. All too soon, Alel heard the judge draw to a close, not even registering when asked how he wanted to die. He needed time, though it wasn’t something he had. Maybe if he could just... get a few more minutes, he could - “Charles. Choose, or be disintegrated quickly and painfully within the minute.” A magic hourglass flipped, the sand draining ten times faster than it should have. Suddenly, Alel had a spark of an idea - though, whether or not the magic of the courthouse would even be able to carry through such a thing, he did not know. Alel’s heart beat harder and faster as the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass. “I wish to die in every way.” The words flew from his mouth, unable to think of anything else in the moment. The judge had preemptively raised his gavel, though hesitated with Alel’s words. He didn’t look bored or unpleased, but surprised. Curious, even. It *was* a fitting punishment, an undying death set to repeat over and over, and who knows if the courthouse could even do it. An infinite death. The judge merely locked eyes with Alel, raising his gavel higher before striking downwards. Alel could feel his heart beating quickly as silence filled the chamber. He could feel the eyes of other prisoners as well as the judge on him. His heart was still beating, though rapid from the adrenaline. A few seconds passed, as Alel began to calm... only to grip his chest in agony, pain wracking his entire body. His heart began to beat faster, and harder, as though it were about to burst within his chest - and then nothing. His consciousness didn’t ebb or fade, it simply ended. Then it began. Alel rose with a gasp, sucking the air into his aching chest. He gripped his chest and looked towards the judge’s chair - empty. How long had it been, he wondered? Alel began to stand, only to hear a sharp *snap*. He crumpled to the floor with a pained yelp, feeling more bones breaking upon making contact. He looked to his hands, now greying and withering. Old age. His eyes went blurry, and he could feel his body give way to the air in the room. Awake once more. Dead once more. Awaken, suffer, die. That was the punishment he had chosen. Aneurysm, seizure, cancer, diarrhea, suicide - he kept going through the motions. And though he didn’t know how much time passed in between each revival, the judges seat remained empty, as did the prisoner chamber. It took all of Alel’s willpower just to keep conscious, to stay sane enough to move with what precious seconds he had. The courthouse was carrying out his wish, killing him in every conceivable way. However, it didn’t restrict his movement. With each revival, he inched closer and closer to escape, to victory - or at least, a semblance of it. Eventually, he reached the door of the prisoners chamber once more, reaching towards the door with a flayed hand. He heard a crack, one that wasn’t from his bones. It was the wood beneath his feet. Alel looked downwards, seeing rotted wood beneath his feet just before it gave way to his emaciated body. Alel fell, helpless. As he fell, he closed his eyes. The wood was rotten, old. Left without care long enough to give way to skin and bones. He had died several times, physically - but he said *every* way. By falling, by suffocation, by cave in, by worms and dirt and seeds spreading through the Earth and into his bones, all things that wouldn’t be possible in the moment he made the wish. This was his fate. An infinite one, instead of an eternity of peaceful non-existence. What a fool he was. Alel closed his eyes, only to open them for a time, before closing them again. Perhaps, in time, the magic of the courthouse would break. But before that, this was his undying destiny.
2021-06-24T10:54:30
2021-06-24T10:52:50
64
44
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
Kral’dai watched as Shal’dar ambulated across the multi-species bar with unusual urgency. Unusual to see Shal’dar off from his job as a writer for the Intergalactic News Bureau so early. Did you hear about what happened? Kral’dai looked at his normally calm friend’s strange expression and rippling fronds and said “I’ve certainly not heard anything that could upset you so much.” Shal’dar fronds contracted as he all but shouted “The Kraziznski are gone.” Shal’dar continued in a slightly calmer tone of voice. “All of them.” An odd quite spread out from this statement as conversation stilled and more and more auditory organs turned in Shal’dar direction. Even the music seemed to still in the wake of such an absurd statement. “Gone?” Exclaimed Kral’dai. His own fronds beginning ripple in distress. The Kraziznski were a large polity with nearly 100 settled planets to their name. “S-s-some kind of plague?” Asked Kral’dai. His voice faltering as his mind attempted to come with some way that the Kraziznski could have fallen, but even as he said it he knew that it couldn’t possibly be the case. No plague in hundreds of standard star turns had been able to take hold of a single planet let alone a hundred, not since the humans negotiated the release of the Shinarians medical technology. “Not a plague. The humans.” Kral’dai’s fronds immediately began to relax as he began to emit amusement. Indeed as the ridiculousness of the statement registered with the denizens of the bar they all began to express their amusement in whatever their species deemed appropriate. Old Shuckker, a fixture at the bar whose drunkenness was legendary among the patrons, seemed to find it particularly amusing as its laughter sent it to the floor “Honestly Shal’dar well done.” Kral’dai waving congratulation with his fronds. “I had no idea you had it in you to joke like that.” “It’s no-“ “NOT A JOKE is it young’un?” Old Shukker interrupted Shal’dar’s denial still laughing uproariously. “N-n-no it isn’t” Shal’dar confirmed. “The Kraziznski seized several of the human’s aid ships and then the Humans went mad. They wiped out the Kraziznskis’ navy burned their orbitals from the sky and glassed their capital planet and every major city on all of their worlds” “Impossible” chimed in another bar patron. This time one the slimy Sortars. “Everyone knows that the humans are devoted to peace. Why they’re the ones who negotiated the end to the Basvarian war.” At this everyone began to motion the affirmative with their varied appendages. Well, except for Shukker whose laughter seemed to grow to even greater heights. “That’s right.” A sentient with the tattoos of a Krlloc veteran. “I fought in Basvarian war. It was the most destructive war in in thousands of standard Star turns. Hundreds of Sentients died on both sided of the conflict and the Humans diplomatic team ended within a month of their arrival. I won’t have you continue to disparage them like this.” The veteran’s initial amusement obviously cooling as Shal’dar’s joke carried on too long. “It’s not a joke.” Shal’dar insisted. “Just wait. The story will go out on the INB’s alerts soon.” Almost as if his statement had summoned them. Various smart attachments began to ping as news alerts began to sound off. Distressed murmurings began to build as the news alerts confirmed that Shal’dar’s “joke” was in fact reality. “I WARNED them” shouted Old Shukker waving its 4 hairy arms drunkenly his laughter finally fading. “Desh, decle, deshrades” Old Shukker paused as his mouth seemed unable to get the word decades out. “Looong time ago.” He said as he accepted that perhaps that last shot of Hooserian fire whiskey had perhaps made some words impossible to get out in any understandable way. “I was an one of them young studennts at Psratteeeers U majooring in hstory and I chose to study them Humans.” It paused to take another ill-advised shot of the fire whiskey as, afterall, to its mind the damage had already been done so what could be the harm? This caused no little consternation among the bar patrons as Psratter University was one of the most prestigious in the galactic sector and certainly didn’t fit the image of the old drunk who seemed to be a permanent fixture at the bar. “Annnyways” It continued. “I whhaasss the forst to do it. Nobody elsh wanted to do it. They shought that reshearching a bunch o diplomatsh would be to boring.” Shukker snorted. Shows what they knew. Shukker thought to himself blearily. Conveniently forgetting that it wasn’t some spark of genius that led him to study the humans but rather the hopes of an easy degree. “Oh der reshent hishtory wash boring enough. Aid tripsh and diplomatsh diplomating till I wanted to shcream.” Another shot went into its mouth. “Sho what did I do?” Shukker asked as he pounded the bar with two of his four hands and poured another shot with the other two. (The other bar patrons were impressed with this level of drunken dexterity but were too caught up in his tale applaud as they normally would). “I whent farther back. All the way back to their pre-sphaceflight days. Shtarted to go wrong when I found something called de Geneva convhenshons.” At this Shukker abandoned shots and started to take swigs straight form the bottle. “They wash a buncha rules bout how not to commit atroshities on peoplesh who aren’t fighting in wars. “What kind of sane species need so many rules about that?” Exclaimed Kral’dai in distress. “Eshacutly!” Shukker said pointing all four of his arms as Kral’dai. This resulted in the old drunk falling to floor from which he continued: “No good speshies needs so many of rhulsh. Sho I went looking for why the Humans needed so many. I shouldn’t have done that.” Old Shukker began to cry as his memories seemed to sober him a bit. “I won’t say what I found.” His tears coming harder. “Whent to the University bigwigs with everything. They laughed me off. Thought I was lying and couldn’t be arshed to look into themselves. So I ended up here sitting and drinking while I waited for the rest of the universh to catch up. Now everyone knows what the Humans are.” With that Old Shukker curled up in a ball and wept. Everyone in the bar stared at the old drunk who had gone from an object of amusement to one of pity over the course of his tale. They knew that the universe would never be the same again.
The holographic display projected an image of an inhuman creature covered in overlapping bony plates. A glistening fabric covering everything down past the first set of shoulders the creature had. One of it’s clawed appendages was held near the top of its elongated head. “It has just happened; the Human representative was just shot by the Yunmoth representative. The other humans in the chamber responded by removing themselves from potential lines of fire, then after no other representatives objected to the practice, they quickly and carefully ducked out of the chamber.” The holographic projections swirled and shifted into an image of the galactic council room. “This is the twelfth political debate the humans have lost in the last 2 standard galactic years.” The alien bar just sat stunned. The three humans sitting at one of the tables near the back shook their heads. “Joe This is not going to end well.” Said the short one with a fluffy messed up head of brown hair. The taller red head with a small pony tail going down just past his’ broad shoulder blades nodded, “you are right, this might be the trigger.” A short bipedal alien turned towards them a few moments after they spoke, listening to the robotic voice that sounded in its large rounded ears. “nilaregontea salmharna” a few moments later the three humans at the table heard their own robotic voices replaying in English what the alien had said, “trigger for what?” The three humans stood up, the third one that had not spoke yet pulled out a universal credit chip and tossed it down on the counter, before she looked up and smiled a cruel smile at the alien. “The trigger for total war.” The other two followed her out of the bar. “Nahsita!!” the alien yelled after them, Joe stopped after hearing the translation “Wait!!” before waving the other two to go on. Then he turned around and looked at the alien. “Go ahead and ask it.” He said, guessing what was about to be asked. He shifted his weight to be able to move better. “tramgalon#tar suisha” the aliens said as the others at the bar listened in, the translation came out just as Joe had expected, “What is total war?” Joe stood there for a few moments. Then spoke, everyone in the bar listening as closely as they could. “Do you know why we value peace so much?” he asked not really giving them a chance to respond he raised his hand up holding three fingers in the air. “This is how many times my species has fought itself over the entirety of our homeworld.” He moved his hand holding the fingers up so everyone of the people in the bar could see. He then dropped one finger and held up two, “This is how many times we had interplanetary wars within our own solar system.” The he dropped 1 finger and held up 1. “This is how many times we have had extrasolar system wars. In that one we destroyed a red dwarf to win against our own people.” He looked into the faces of the aliens in the bars, locking his eyes with their alien biological equivalent, “We decided after that that we would do everything in our power to never go to war again.” Joe sighed dropping his head, “But it looks like we always go back to our roots.” He turned and started walking slowly away from the bar. The last thing the patrons heard translated into their language was, “War, war never changes.”
2018-12-15T06:43:12
2018-12-15T06:25:04
34
19
[WP] When the homeless person found the Genie's lamp, he sneered and expected many greedy wishes to twist, but what the Genie didn't expect was for them to use those wishes to make 3 other peoples lives better and now feels conflicted.
Dave hunched over trying to fend off the bitter cold, his tattered jacket flapping around his bony frame. Clutched in his arms, an elaborate golden lamp. "I wonder where the best place is to take this lamp. Surely someone is missing it." He said aloud to Ribbit, his constant companion. Ribbit was a medium sized dog that Dave had found wandering the dumps. As soon as they met, the two were instant kindrid spirits, Dave ensuring that Ribbit had everything, and more, to be happy. As a result, Ribbit showed far fewer ribs than Dave did. Ribbit responded by sitting on Dave's foot, his way of saying, let's rest for a minute. Dave eyed the street in late night darkness, street lamps and building lighting doing fuck all to banish the darkness. Oh, a bakery! Dave hurried and sat heavily on the ground, scrunched up against a dumpster next to the bakery wall. Scant warmth bled through the wall, but in the bitter late winter cold, it was enough to make a difference. Dave gently pulled the lamp out and examined it closer, elaborate patterns etched and carved elegantly into every curve. He warily eyed a spot of dirt tenaciously clinging to the lamp. Dave balled up what little was left of his jacket cuff and weakly rubbed the spot. He was so very cold. Steam poured out of the lamp causing Dave to start, wondering if he was hallucinating. Ribbit jumped up and barked at the cloud of smoke as a body appeared. "Mortal, you have woken me from my slumber. What are your demands so that I may return?" a deep booming voice rattled Dave's soul. Ribbit whimpered but stood resolutely between Dave and the new thing, protecting his friend as best as he knew how. "D-d-demands?" Dave croaked weakly. "Wishes, mortal. You have 3 wishes, demands of the Djinn, which we must grant. There are rules, first, you cannot wish anyone returned to life. Second, you cannot wish anyone dead. And third, you cannot wish someone to act against their will." "Wishes? Death? Life?" Dave groaned, he felt death nearby, it was his time. The Djinn saw this and sneered, surely this puny human would wish for health and wealth. Oh what curses could be connected to such wishes. The djinn smiled cruelly, anything to get back at those that imprisoned and enslaved his kind millenia ago. "Oh, umm." Dave looked about, searching for the Grimm reaper. Every moment brought them a step closer, but Dave wasn't afraid, he was ready. A thought struck suddenly, causing him to jump. "Uh, the twins, Rayna and Cain, their mother left a horrible husband with no other family. They don't deserve to live on the streets, they deserve a chance at life. I wish... I wish... For the three of them to find a home to be happy in and live fulfilling lives." Before he knew it, the Djinn nodded and said," It is done." confusion arced through his mind, "why didn't I attach a curse? Why didn't I twist that wish to have dire consequences?" before he could ponder it anymore, Dave spoke up for his second wish. "My time is near," aha! This is the wish the Djinn was waiting for! "I don't want to leave poor Ribbit here all alone. I wish for Ribbit to become part of Rayna and Cains family and never have to starve again." Ribbit turned at hearing his name and looked at Dave, head cocked at an inquisitive angle, before disappearing with a faint pop. Unnoticed by everyone, a tear escaped Dave's eye and rolled slowly down his bony cheek. The Djinn merely said, "it is done." Again, no curse. No twist of the wish, just simply granted. The Djinn was confused, why? Why was he even unable to do so? Dave's breath became ragged, audible over the frigid breeze that whipped through the city. The Djinns booming voice rolled over Dave, "What is your final wish, mortal?" He was genuinely curious what the next wish would be. "I wish..." a raspy breath, the Grimm Reaper stood nearby, silently watching, waiting, "I wish for this lamp to be returned to it's rightful owner." Dave exhaled for the last time, his arm gently falling to the ground, releasing the lamp from his frail hands to bounce and roll to a stop nearby. The Djinn floated motionless, staring down at a man that could have saved himself from death. Instead, the man wished for others to be happy. What the man didn't know was the lamp was once the Djinns, when he used to be human, before being cursed. By wishing the lamp returned to its rightful owner, the Djinn was no longer bound to the fate of being a genie. No longer tied to a cursed contract. And now he understood the meaning of selflessness, of love for their fellow man. The Grimm Reaper reached out and pulled the Djinns soul from his body, "Now you understand, Serfi. Your penance is over." The reaper released Serfi's soul to ascend to a higher plane, Serfi's tears flowing freely as he finally understood. The Reaper reached down and plucked the lamp from the ground and hid it within his robes. Dave's spirit watched silently, waiting for his own judgment to come to pass. Like bones rattling in the wind, Reaper asked Dave, "Were I not coming, would you have made the same wishes?" "Yes" Dave responded without hesitation. Reaper merely nodded, and together both he and Dave disappeared from the world of the living. ------- Edit: thanks for the award, kind strangers! Thanks for the kind words and your support, I'm glad my little story evoked an emotional response for many of you. Should I ever get elected president, I promise that I'll form a task force to hunt down those pesky onion cutting ninjas!
Bum found the genie's lamp, rubbed it, and wished of the genie: "Oh genie, I hate the fellow drug addict who stole my money to buy drugs to use, I wish he never had access to drugs ever again!" Genie grants the wish, the fellow drug addict is unable to get money to buy drugs and goes through the immense suffering of withdrawal from going cold-turkey, but comes out the other end clean of drugs and commits to never use drugs again, and turns his life around. Bum then wished of the genie: "Oh genie, I hate the local gang that beat me up and forces me to hand over protection money, I wish they would be put in prison!" Genie grants the wish, the local gangsters get caught in a sting operation and get put in prison for several years. There they are forced to do some self-introspection on what got them into this situation, they realize the error of their ways, learn life skills and study books from the prison library, and come out of prison as reformed and responsible adults. Bum then wished of the genie: "Oh genie, I hate the hooker who lives nearby, she can always get enough money to buy fast food but never shares any with me, I wish she lost her sense of taste, so she cannot enjoy it!" Genie grants the wish, the hooker loses her sense of taste and cannot enjoy fast food any more, so she buys less tasty, but healthier food, and loses weight, and improves her appearance, and gains confidence in herself, and gets a proper job, and lands a decent husband. Genie sees this, and sees that Bum is a fat fast food junkie who regularly robs and steals to pay for his next fix, and says, "Oh Bum, you have made all your wishes to help others, therefore I shall offer to grant upon you those same wishes you made for those others, that you may improve your life". To which Bum replied, "No! That would make my life miserable, I like my life just how it is."
2022-10-11T13:59:06
2022-10-11T07:05:15
289
131
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing. **DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE** It's a boring and overdone answer. This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you! **All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
"Impossible." Lamp exclaimed to his partner. Of course, Lamp isn't his real name, being the president of the High Council of Galactic Science, and a member of the Beblebrox species, his true name had acquired so many titles and honorifics over the years due to his accomplishments that Lamp had long since forgone using the entire thing in daily conversation. His Stardate was all he truly used to identify himself anymore outside of formal matters, a clever invention of Lamp's that came about after years of research, meditation, and a brief incident involving a common galactic paper shredder. In fact, the title "Lamp" was only acquired a few moments earlier, upon the Human's attempt to recall part of it, realized his unusual communication organ would hamper the pronunciation of the 38th syllable, and decided to go with a moniker he had somehow acquired for the President on the spot. "What, you don't like Lamp? Oh, I get it. Some sort of alien insult. How about Lightbulb? Anglerfish?" The Human subject, referring to himself occasionally as "My", "Myself", and on one instance "Michael Smithee", rambled off two more titles, again revolving around Lamp's gamma-sensory organ. Both related to common earth objects. "See President of High Council of Galactic Spa-er, can I stick with Lamp, President of the High Council 8675309" President Lamp's assistant, Todd, had soon caught on to the Human's nomenclature. But the true brilliance of the new title was lost on the researcher, being unfamiliar with this "Myself"'s homeworld. Up to this point, humans had shown no real interesting qualities aside from an unusual affinity for science, especially involving biology. Unusual in that they should have *died* eons ago, with the number of inedible substances on their planet, let alone have working economies, governments, businesses-every facet of a working civilization of billions occurred despite the fact the human minds seemed more adapted to tribal society in scales of tens. A mystery that led to Lamp and Todd's recent expedition. "Lamp is appropriate Earth Homo Sapien Michael Smithee denizen of Colorodo." The President replied, before worrying about having to memorize *another* new title for himself. "You can just call me Mike." Or for the human. Lamp sighed to himself. "He did it again! Another title, this one based on a small sample size of his own full name." "Since you have arrived here Eath Homo Sapi...Mike...you have abstracted enough information to develop 16 unique titles for ... Lamp, Todd, and Mike." The new titles, once memorized, were convenient. A simple matter with Lamp's advanced mental training. "How are you able to compress such information so efficiently? Classification of such caliber is *years* beyond what we can accomplish, and your cultures are not known for being...how do I put it..." "Earth Homo Sapiens are not considered to be of the 'Maximum Intelligence' Category" Todd replied, less tactifully than Lamp would have preferred. "You mean the nicknames?" Mike's reply baffled the President. A title for a classification of titles. The uses were astounding! At this rate, the skill of naming things could become available to even the poorest of Galactic Council society. "I dunno, everyone on Earth does it." It could not be possible. An entire species evolved to...*name* each other? Yet, it made so much sense. By abstracting the information, this relatively unintelligent species was able to match wits with the greatest Categorizer known to the galaxy, and was able to understand basic English! Imagine that, another galaxy knew Galactic Common English. If Lamp could use these new "naming" skills, he could usher in a...Golden Age of Learning, Lamp decided he would categorize it as. "Todd! Let us embrace our new discovery! Contact the...what did you refer to it as, Mike?" "Alien leader guys?" "YES! Alien Leader Guys! Let them know that I bring news of a new species, one that can solve all of our issues this day. And then prepare the Galactic Science Collection Grid Version 3 point 8 premium edition color green, and start the collection process! Oh, how I wish I had a new word for this next part, it comes up so rarely I have yet to decide on one." Had Lamp consulted Mike on the title before this, Lamp would have learned the common Earth term for what he would soon undertake is also known to Earth Homo Sapiens as "Telemarketing".
We would try and kill them. We've run scenarios on how to kill them. We've seen them kill each other. But to try eliminate them all. It borders complete impossibility. They're just way too good at sex. It's not even that their really skilled at it. That title belongs to the Zendians. They just have copious amounts of sex. Their reproduction rate is about 10 times faster than even the most horniest. It's rumored that even their sperm count is in the millions. While jealous some of us may be, there's nothing we can really do about it. All we can do is continue our studies.
2014-07-16T13:59:04
2014-07-16T12:20:35
20
10
[WP] As soon as people turn 18, they get the powers of the very first thing they touch. Most people touch fire, water or electricity. You try to do that too, but first you adjust your glasses out of habit. [deleted]
[PART TWO](https://www.reddit.com/user/Drakolyst/comments/f6i8w6/the_oracle_part_two/) ​ It was out of habit. But that doesn't change the reality. As far as I knew, I may have doomed myself with the amazing superpower that is having normal vision. Everyone gets a power when they turn 18. Their powers depend on the first thing their skin touches upon one's birthday. Somehow, the gases in Earth's atmosphere or any particles in the air don't count, neither does sheep wool. Subsequently, parents always make a note to record the very minute of their child's birth, so that they may clad them in wool for the child to choose his or her power. I live alone, you see. All I know about my birth date or time is from a dusty, weathered slip of paper I found in my box of old stuff. My parents had been gracious enough to give me that before I left for college. In scratchy, faded pencil, the note read *12:33 A.M. - September 8, 2032.* I shot a glance to my phone, reading *12:20 A.M.* I hurried over to my closet and threw out a neatly folded set of wool clothing, and threw them on. My body itched all over the place, but it was a small price for what was to come; I was about to get *superpowers*. The very thought filled me with excitement. I'd always wanted fire, or water. The hard thing about fire is that it *hurts* to touch. At best, I have to get the timing perfect so I don't burn myself. With the click of my lighter, the fireplace blazed to life. The small flame gradually crawled up the firewood and licked the small firestarters I had thrown in earlier. The flame blossomed a few minutes after. *12:32.* I dramatically reeled my hand back, ready to plunge my hand into the fire at any moment, like a responsible human being. There was a deafening silence, which was soon punctuated by the ringing of my phone. I immediately launched my hand into the flames. A solid half a second passed before I yelped and jerked my hand back. Searing pain cracked through my palm, causing my face to contort in discomfort. The pain soon became unbearable, and I lept to my feet, bolting down to the sink and blasting my hand with water. The bitter cold brought relief to my suffering. A long sigh escaped my lips, but it was out of relief; I had done it. All that was left to do was . . . well . . . do fire stuff. I breathed in and thrusted my hand out, shouting "*FIRE!*" Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. Not even an ember escaped my body. I was a little disheartened, but maybe I had gotten water powers from the sink. That wasn't bad at all; that was my second choice. I then attempted to blast water out of my hands. When that didn't work, I turned on the sink and made strange faces at the stream of water as I desperately waved my hands, waiting for the water to bend. Surprisingly, nothing happened. This time, a sigh of despair took the life out of my lungs. Maybe I was one of those people who couldn't manifest a power. I've read of that happening on the internet. I pinched the rim of my glasses and pushed them up. Suddenly, a rush of energy shot through my veins, sinking into my flesh. I doubled over as agonizing pain racked my entire body. *12:38.* When I opened my eyes, everything was blurry. I took off my glasses to rub my eyes, but when I set my glasses down on the counter, everything was clear. I blinked. I groaned violently. I'd done something wrong, and I didn't know what. My brain churned in search of answers before concluding that I must have touched my glasses. I sunk down into a chair with the horrid thought that I now possessed normal vision again. No fire. No water. Just functional eyes. From a table, I grabbed the slip of paper and read it again. My new eyes saw that the last digit in *12:33* was faded along the left side. It was an eight. An eight. It said *12:38*. I felt utterly defeated. I'd wasted the only opportunity I had to get powers, and what did I have to show for it? A burned hand and a lack of glasses? I stood up to get a glass of water. I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and turned on the sink, which I had been desperately attempting to manipulate a few moments prior. The water bubbled slightly as it filled the cup to the rim. I inhaled the water, but it did nothing to mollify my conflicting emotions. A walk. *I should go for a walk*, I thought to myself. I turned toward the door, and suddenly, I felt my eyes bulge. A stabbing pain overtook my head as somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, I saw the door open. And someone stepped in. There was something in his hand. It was glinting. It was a gun. I gasped for air as my eyes refocused, hyperventilating myself into awareness. Great; now I was *hallucinating.* How stressed was I? I definitely-- My heart jumped as a hollow click emanated from the door. In the corner of my eye, I saw the doorknob beginning to turn. **EDIT** : I didn’t expect so many people to like this, so part two is coming soon **EDIT 2**: [Part Two is available!](https://www.reddit.com/user/Drakolyst/comments/f6i8w6/the_oracle_part_two/)
He's mad some days, I tell you. He wore a Hazard suit too big for him, on an island he swam too, and not receiving any assistance along the way. I saw him mouthing the countdown like I saw him do before entering the ocean, when this all began. He stood over this lava pit, and he pulled the glove of the hazard suit off of his hand, took off and stowed his glasses and he reached a finger down into the pit. But I saw it! I saw him pull his glasses off just before he reached down into the pit. "STOP! NATHAN, STOP! YOUR GLASSES! YOU TOUCHED YOUR GLASSES WITH YOUR HAND!" He froze. He looked at the hand that he touched his glasses with, and then at the pool of lava he was reaching into. He laughed aloud and cried out, "Oh, fucking Christ! Oh, wow! So that's how its gonna be then?" He looked toward me with that winning smile as he returned the glasses back onto his face. And then he stopped again. He looked at me, took his glasses, and looked back at me. He had this most innocent face when he took his glasses and tossed them into the pit. He walked towards me and says, "Ms. Rodham, I believe that I may see the world in new and fascinating ways." I immediately stepped back into the role of instructor: "Nathan Josephus Harroway, didn't I tell you that lava-bending was just a silly power to wish for?" "No, Ms. Rodham, it is not silly. I would have been the first person ever to hand-shape and create rock sculptor." "But Exceptional Eyesight can have so many practical applications!" He took off his Hazard Suit coat, and slung it onto his shoulders as we walked back towards the beaches. "Practical and Boring."
2020-02-18T19:36:49
2020-02-18T19:05:51
2,443
51
[WP] You prayed every night for the chance to date either a Goddess or Demon Queen. After 100 prayers, you're startled when a loud voice booms out, "Granted, mortal! Now shut up and live with the consequences! "
Back then, I just wanted sex. Screw relationships, I had been through 2 bad heartbreaks and I was just done with all this relationship stuff. See, the thing is, I didn't want sex with just *anyone*, you know? It was 2:55 AM, and my roommate was asleep in his bedroom. I've been doing this for the past 100 days, writing letters to the Demon Queen. Originally, my letters started out tame. I thought maybe I could go on a date with the Demon Queen, and get to know her a little. But, as the days went on, the more lustful I grew. I wanted it, and I needed it, NOW. Desperation has no limits. Anxious, with the blood-stained letter in hand, I nervously watched the clock. 2:58... 2:59... Now. I dropped the letter into the open flame, as it begun to crackle and burn up, small embers making their way through the air. "With this offering... I humbly ask Her Majesty Lilith to hear my request. I want no more than you to be there to please my every need. I want to be on top of you, every night. I want you to serve me and obey my every desire, no matter how extreme. I-" Before I could finish, the flame was suddenly extinguished. A cold chill whooshed down my spine, as I shivered, alone in absolute darkness. The only light being from the dim, green LED display of our microwave. I was being watched by someone, or something. I nervously backed away from the smoldering candle, using the light of the microwave's clock as a guide. Until I tripped over myself and banged my head on the counter. "Fuck!" I cried painfully, rubbing the back of my head. "Consider that as your punishment, arrogant one. Prepare for the consequences." A mature, feminine voice loudly spoke out. My eyes sunk into the back of my head. "Are... A-Are you..?" I stammered, "Don't wake my roommate, shush!" I demanded. "I don't like your tone, little one. Perhaps I'll have to teach you some manners." The voice laughs sadistically. The click-clack of high heels on the cold, tile floor drew closer, and closer to me, as the kitchen light turned on. Still on the freezing floor, I looked up at this mystery person. My eyes widened in shock, as my dream had finally come true. Standing at about 6'5", wearing a black dress laced with sparkling silver jewelry, was a beautiful demon woman. Her hair was a pure white color, wavy and down to her waist length-wise. And her skin was pale, but absolutely flawless. Her body type was busty and mature, with fantastic hips and curves. Two black demon horns rested atop her head. She stared down at me with her dark red, domineering eyes, her soft gaze seemed to penetrate my very soul. "Well~ Aren't you a handsome little thing?" She said in a soft, seductive tone, licking her cherry red lips. They looked so soft and kissable. "Th-Thank you..." I stammered nervously. "My pleasure." She smiled, which quickly faded as her expression changed. "Now, who do you think you are?" She asked coldly. "What do you mean?" I asked quietly. "Your countless letters." She explains, "See, I ignored them at first. Why would I want to go out with a mortal human? It doesn't make any sense. But, your recent letters have really pissed me off." She huffed. "I'm sorry, I'm just-" I said, but she interrupted me. "I'm not some kind of slut. Do you seriously think you can order me around like that? Do you even know who I am?" She demanded. "Wait, are you Lilith..?" I asked nervously. "HEY." She snapped, "I never gave you permission to refer to me as Lilith. Stand up." She ordered. "Y-Yes, Your Grace..!" I yelped, quickly standing up and ignoring the throbbing pain in my head. "Much better." She smiled. I looked up into her pretty, dark red eyes. They glimmered with evil in it's purest form. I didn't want to anger her. She was much, much taller than me, and could easily overpower me. "You're really beautiful, Your Majesty..." I said softly. "Be quiet." She ordered. Queen Lilith began to slowly circle me, seemingly undressing me with her eyes. "Pathetic." She scoffed, "You're only a little child. You're unfit to dominate any woman who comes along." She spoke in a teasing tone. "I'm not a kid, I'm an adult..." I said quietly. "Excuse me?" She raised her voice. "Nothing, Your Grace." I spoke. "Good." She stopped in front of me, and placed her hands together. She closed her eyes, and muttered some strange words, sounded like Latin to me. An eerie, red glow surrounded her hands, as two objects took form in her hands. A leash, and a black studded collar. The collar had a metal heart-tag with an inscription on it. *Slave* With a seductive smile, she gently strapped the collar around my neck, and clipped the leash to the collar. "What's this for, Your Grace?" I asked shyly. "I think you already know." She giggled evilly, "You're coming with me. I want you." "But, I have a life here! I can't just leave everything behind..." I whined. She delivered a swift, but gentle slap across my face. "Hush, slave. You do not have a choice." She growled, "You are going to serve me for the rest of eternity, whether you like it or not. You wanted me to be your play-thing, so it's only fit that I make you MY play-thing." I trembled in fear, as she turned away from me and muttered another Latin spell. Suddenly, a large, red portal opened up in front of us. This must be the portal to Hell, I thought to myself. She entered the portal, tugging me along with the leash. And I never saw the mortal world again. Now, do I regret my decision? Not really. She's a great mistress. She knows how to keep me happy, with lots of love and cuddles. She's a very sweet and motherly person when she's not angry. And, I know how to properly please her, sexually and emotionally. But, sometimes... I wish I had just kept asking her out on dates, instead.
Finally, after 100 days I will have a hot girlfriend! I can't wait to meet her! ​ I heard a really loud noise in the hallway. She was a super hot demon girl in such a red dress that it hurt my eyes. She had these black, killer eyes, super sharp features and long, silky hair, that was really something between red or orange. She was definetly taller than me. She looked around, until she noticed me. She judged me, noticed my ugliness and looked down on the floor. 'So what, where are you taking me?' She asked. Her voice was just perfect. I just stood there, looking at that beautiful girl in my house. She just sighed, looking pretty uncomfortable. 'Are you going to just stare at my tits for the rest of the night or what?' I just realised where I was looking. 'I- I didn't mean... I mean... I...' I didn't really know what to say. 'D-Do you just want to sit on the couch, eat some fastfood and watch bad movies?' She seemed interested. 'Romantic comedies?' 'Alright.' I went to my room for a second, took my phone and entered the hallway. I didn't find the demon girl there, but I quickly noticed that she changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt and went into my living room. She was already looking for a movie. 'What do you want to eat?' I asked. 'A pizza' she instantly replied, without even looking at me. 'Do you have any Cheetos?' ​ After half an hour, when the food finally arrived, I got to asking questions. 'What's your name? I'm Oliver.' 'Great, I didn't ask. My simplified name is Sheila, I found that humans have issues with my regular name.' I didn't really have an idea what to say next, I just expected to quickly find a topic, so I akwardly stared at the kissing couple on the screen for a minute. 'You like other movie genres, right?' 'Yeah, I like historical. Fantasy can be okay, but I totally hate science-fiction. It's usually soo boring' she said and finally looked at me. I could see a small smile forming. 'Do you want some tea or coffee?' 'Some white tea, in a mug, I hate glasses, two and a half spoon of sugar. Also if you have any colorful mugs...' ​ After three more movies and two cups of tea Sheila started falling asleep. She wasn't really subtle about it, she just got a pillow, put it on my knees and laid down. I soon became tired as well and I slept until 2 pm. When I woke up, Sheila was gone, but left me a piece of paper with something like a poem and wrote 'summon me <3' next to it.
2020-10-03T09:56:28
2020-10-03T07:20:38
24
15
[WP]: You die in a hospital bed after a long, rich, fulfilling life, surrounded by your family, grandchildren and loved ones. You get startled back into consciousness, back in Berlin, on that weird night when you were 26. "Like I said", the stranger says, pocketing your money. "Save point."
Jack looks at him in disbelief. "No... I died!" He stammered, stumbling back in disbelief. "Huh, I guess you did." Said the mysterious German. "Well, enjoy your second life!" And with a wave the German turned around and walked back the way he came. Jack stared at his own two hands for what felt like an eternity. Opening and closing his hands didn't hurt anymore. His body didn't ache. His breathing felt normal. "I can't believe it..." he jumps up and down, and does as many push ups as he can. "I'm young again!" He shouted, so filled with joy that anyone who saw him would say he's insane. Finally, Jack got that second chance he always wanted. He wouldn't wait to go to college, he'd go now. He'd meet his wife Rose before she was ever divorced. He'd do everything right this time. ... Jack stumbled back, quickly examining his surroundings. "Wait, it happened again?" He asked, surprised. "It'd be a terrible save point if it only worked once!" The german joked. "Yeah... I guess it would be." Jack muttered. "Well, enjoy your... I'm guessing seventh life?" "Third," Jack quickly interjected, "And do you have a cigarette by any chance?" The German laughed. "No way man! Those things will kill you!" And he turned around and walked away. "Everything's the same... just like last time," he thought to himself, looking at his hands once again. He didn't miss the weight of his wedding ring this time. Turns out that Rose wasn't as loving a person until she had left Zeke. Was she only like because she feared abuse? Or maybe his job as the head of a major law firm put more stress on the relationship than he has thought. "Maybe this time I'll live a little," he thought. "Its not like I'm going to waste my life away." ... "Give me my money back." Jack barked. A sudden wild look in his eye appeared, clearly scaring the German. "Woah man, okay!" He said, cautiously stepping back. "Didn't think you'd be strapped for cash." The German gave Jack his 300 American dollars, and turned to walk away but a hand clasped his shoulder. "Please..." jack pleaded, "turn this damn thing off!" The german stood silent for a moment. "I don't understand... why wouldn't you want a second chance-" "eleventh." Jack growled. "This is my eleventh chance." The German grabbed Jack's hand, gently trying to pry off his iron grip. "Well, try something you haven't done yet! Have you climbed Everest? Have you cured cancer? Do something new!" His grip tightened. "I. Want. To. Die." Jack spoke, holding back his rage. "Oh... well if that's what you want..." the German spun around, and before jack Jack could react, a knife was placed deep in his stomach. He lurched back in pain, grasping at the knife. Was this finally it? Will he finally die? The pain was immense, but through it he felt a bliss he hadn't felt in multiple lifetimes. ... Jack rushed the German, who was quick to react, but jack was quicker. Or more accurately, jack knew what was coming. A knife from the right stopped short by grabbing the German's wrist. Without hesitation the German pulled a gun with his left hand, but Jack knew and disarmed him before he could fire, throwing the gun to the side. And with a strange motion jack pivoted his body in a way to allow him to Judo throw the german to the ground, knocking the breath out of his chest. And then Jack took off he German's shoes, and opened the German's jacket. "A bomb vest, huh?" Jack smiled as he grabbed the knife and stabbed into the German's elbow. "It took me a while to figure out that the trigger was in your shoe. You got me a few times with that." The german was screaming in pain. Jack stabbed his other elbow, and stomped on the German's knees. "Actually, you got me a total of seventeen times with that firty trick. I actually started letting you live." The german wasn't speaking. He had passed out due to shock. Jack reached into the German's pocket, pulling out a bag of cocaine and a syringe, and injected the coke into the German, bringing him screaming back into consciousness. "Do you know how many lifetimes I've lived because of you? How many friends I've watched die? How many people ive killed?" Jack was rolling up his sleeves. "I've done every good deed. I've committed every crime. I've become the only president to be signed in naked. I'm the only citizen to have ever owned and fired a nuke. It all feels so numb to me now." Jack cocked his arm back, and the German flinched, bracing for what's coming. And as Jack swung, he stopped an inch short from his face, and started to cry. Jack began to bawl his eyes out. "I just want to DIE! IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?" he tore at his own hair, and punched bit his lip until his mouth pooled with blood. After minutes if hysteria and self harm, he laid his head on the German's chest, sobbing and heaving. The German hadn't spoke. He hadn't said a word throughout. "Pourquoi êtes-vous si malcontent? Même quand vous etes immortel, vous haïssez votre vie si tant que tu the rend fou. Trouves-tu pas ça un peu absurde?" Jack laid there for a moment, as if contemplating what the german had said. Slowly, he stood up, and wiped the blood from around his mouth onto his sleeve. he stared at the german, who stared back into his eyes. Jack saw not anger there, but genuine pity. Jack breathed in, the air burning the hole in his lip. "French huh..." he said almost wistfully, "I never would've guessed you spoke French."
“When I was young I thought a second chance at living would be ideal, I could live through a set of very different lives and leave this universe happily with twice the life experience of everyone else. Returning so abruptly shifted my senses. The life that followed my encounter with that stranger wasn’t like anything I could have dreamt up - I didn’t want to live differently this time. I had to do it all again. But the thing about jumping back to that point in time with 43 extra years’ experience is that it is *entirely* taxing. I slept for three days without interruption after the jump. I’ve spent the better part of the week since waking trying to retread the path I took that lead to the life I lived before I died. I think I missed her. She was supposed to be at the station, right where I met her for the first time. I think I missed her. We were supposed to have already met. I miss her. My memory of her is starting to fade. I don’t want to go on. I can’t live my old life over again, that ship has sailed. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to go on differently.” He hit the record button to stop his voice memo - a method of journaling he used to log and then sort out his thoughts on a matter upon a later review of the entry. He wouldn’t need to review this one. He cut his wrists deep. The hearts of the people who would find him on the street would weep for the young man who couldn’t find a way to move forward. They wouldn’t know that he lived and lost what was most valuable to him. Love. The love of *this* woman wasn’t worth living without. He bled out on the front step of the hostel he was staying at in Berlin. Alone. With only the fleeting image of his wife from another life to keep him company. He’s startled back into consciousness, on that weird night only a few days past. “Like I said,” the stranger says, pocketing your money. “Save point.” He watches the stranger amble away, running his hands over his wrists. A blurred image of a woman crosses his mind. “I need to get laid.” He says, shaking his head and b-lining it to the nearest night club.
2020-06-09T20:12:52
2020-06-09T19:12:07
33
14
[WP] "Checkmate," you say, a smug expression on your face. "Finally," says Death. The smirk is wiped off your face as the Grim Reaper removes his robe and hands you his scythe, "It's been 400 years since I beat the last guy."
It's a matter of hours before the first guy who tries to cheat me steps up. Chess. I would say that's a boring, stereotypical choice, but I had just made that same choice earlier today. Or was it ages ago? Time passes weirdly in the endless void. I've already seen thousands of people off to their eternal rest, but I know for certain that it's the same calendar day as when I got the job. I don't know how I've had time to talk to all of them. It's strange. We set up the board. I'm planning on thoroughly throwing the match. Sure, I got my end of the deal, but I'd really rather be free and I'm not even a week in. A few moves in, I see a play that lets him put my king in check, which easily spirals to a mate if he knows what he's doing. Just move my rook into the wrong position, and I'm out of here. I smile under my grim mask; I'm going to be free! My hand moves without my input, picks up a knight, and sets me on an easy path to mate in 4 moves. The next challenge is a few days (eons?) later. Counter Strike. I was never much of a gamer in life, so I eagerly accept. Surely, I can't be forced out of throwing a game when me trying my best is sure to lose, right? Apparently, being Death comes with the mother of all beginner's luck. And I'm a camper who needs to get good. The guy asking to play poker makes my strangely still heart sing. A game with a heavy dose of random chance! Whether I win or lose is in the hands of lady luck! Maybe I'll get to meet her in the afterlife if I lose. Having my face hidden does wonders for my poker face. Damn it. Well, at least I ended that one a thousand dollars richer. Not that I have anything to spend it on. What sense of the real world I have left tells me it's been sixty-seven years. A child walks into my strange empty space. She asks if it's true that you can live if you beat me at a game. I want to tell her no, to spare her on the off chance she wins. My mouth tells her yes against my wishes. I never realized how much I would miss lying. We sit down at the table and lay out the board for her game of choice. Candyland. A game decided *entirely* by random chance. I make every move correctly, but her cards are just better. She wins by quite a wide margin. I hang my head. She tells me not to feel bad. That I did my best. I did, little girl. Always my best. Didn't have a choice a chance not to. As I'm about to hand her my scythe and explain, she gets up and walks back out of the void. I can briefly hear the defibrillator fire and her breathing resume. A strange voice in the back of my mind whispers *"children are immune, they get to go back."* Well now, seems like I have something to occupy my time with until an adult wins. I still can't throw games, but nothing is stopping me from gently reminding the children who occasionally find themselves here that they can play a game with me. They don't win often, but I can at least send them off to the afterlife having had some fun. It's something. And they best me fairly often. Turns out, most children's games are nearly random in who wins. The adults think they're so very clever picking a game that caters to their skills. Turns out, the trick is really to pick something you can't acquire skill in. I do lose to an adult eventually. The sheer volume of people I deal with means it was bound to happen eventually. I've stopped counting years. I stopped caring. But eventually I'm defeated at Hyper-Chess Version 3.7 or somesuch. (Personally, I'm of the opinion that Version 2.46 was the peak. I stopped paying attention to releases after 2.47.) As I hand him my scythe, remove the mask, and turn to go, I tell him one last thing. Something I wish I'd known at the start. "Children can't take your place, and they can actually go back. Always offer the kids the challenge. It helps." The still-stunned new Death nods mutely as he dons his new attire. "Good luck," I tell him, "I'm off to see what the afterlife is actually like!"
I look at death for a long moment before asking "so I have to lose to someone else to get out of the job right?" Death chuckles again "Yes. It's a curse and that's the only way to rid yourself of it." Death looks at me his eyes filled with confusion "why are you not worried. You could be stuck with the job for hundreds of years, if not thousands. Barred from the afterlife and your family." I look at death and can feel the grin spread across my face "it's not like it's difficult to throw a game of chess." Death looks at me and I see the dawning realization set into his eyes "I'm an idiot."
2020-07-07T23:01:19
2020-07-07T21:28:55
137
85
[WP] From his hiding place, the knight watches a goblin openly approach the dragon lounging on its treasure hoard. It bows to the great beast and, to his astonishment, says, "I would like to make a withdrawal, please."
The knight found the shine from the golden scales almost mesmerizing as the great Dragon stretched and rolled his head and neck a bit. "Clan?" "Burnt ears" "Ah yes. Well you have no outstanding debts nor loans. Repaid your last withdrawl with interest and I believe" the dragon turned moving a bit of tapestry revealing what appeared to be a ledger written upon the wall "yes you have a sizeable deposit still on hand. How much were you looking to withdraw? I take it the standard 10% interest per year is acceptable?" "Umm, we were hoping, we might maybe have 4,000 gold in our account?" "4,000? No I'm sorry that greatly exceeds your current balance. Were you to close your account you would only have 1,472 available. Why so much?" "The Umans are pushing East into our hunting lands to make room for their 'farmers' and the Orcs of Overclaw are demanding slave troops to throw against their rivals. We wants to are ourselves instead and resist them both. With 4,000 gold we can arm and equip 400 veteran warriors in better gear and pass their old equipment off to the younger generation fielding a good 800 youth to augment our numbers." "That all makes good sense and, none of them are account holders so...here is what I'll do. 4,000 gold at 20% annually but with a 50% salvage share of anything magical taken from your opponents, not included in the loan amount. With that I'll grant you a loan of 4,000 gold and...lets see...a flaming spear that shoots flaming bolts 3 times per day from my own hold to inspire and galvanize your warriors behind you. How does that sound?" "Beyond fair, thank you." "Alright sign here." The knight continued to watch for a time as the dragon readied the coin and spear for the Goblin who then happily departed. It was nothing like what he had expected, nothing of like he had been told by the banking guild. The knights ponderings were suddenly interrupted by a deep "Ahem." Looking up he found the dragon staring down at him in his hiding place. "Weathered chain armor, metal rimmed wooden shield, sword but no back up weapon though a very nice crest on your tabard. A hedge knight I would say. No land, no lord, most likely a knight for hire seeking wealth and glory. Are you here to open an account, seek employment opportunities or...for lunch?" "Ummm, not lunch?" "Alright then. You don't look like you have the coin to open an account properly so, loan or employment?" "Sorry sir no I" "Ma'am." "Excuse me?" "It's not sir it's MA'AM. I don't bother correcting the Goblins but you can keep such things straight. It's Ma'am." "I'm so sorry ma'am. Please forgive me." "Absolutely. Back to business?" "Yes ma'am. I'm sorry I don't have coin for a good account though I wish it were otherwise. I am but a simple hedge knight with nothing but a family name and old title plus what you see on me to my name. But what kind of employment could you need of me? You could easily tend to any matters I could." "Yes but I scare people. Plus if I were to tend to things I'd have to hire guards for the bank. So, I could use a new collections officer. Interested?" "Umm, maybe. What would it entail?" "Simple my lovely boy. Checking up on loan holders and gathering their payments or their heads. Does that sound like something you would be interested in?" "Well, it's better than being hungry and much better than being lunch." "Excellent." Turning she gathered a stack of parchments. "Feel free to pick from any of these to get started. There is an ogre who spent his loan sum on food and is 3 annual payments behind. I want his head and any goods he might hold. There is a bonus for you if he has made a family since taking out the loan and you bring me all heads but one. Let one live to remind others not to cross me. There is a necromancer in Juttenhelm who took out a loan and sent adventurers after me rather than repay me; Gather a couple temporary friends and you could take him and his undead out and increase your street rep. Then there is the Baron Clellem. He took out a loan in order to secure his land holdings and place in court but has not made payments in nearly a decade. He has married well and has a daughter, she should be about 15 now. Retrieve her and bring her here so I can ransom her back for the sum he owes me. No hurting her though, she is to be a 'guest'. Oh I almost forgot, if you are working for me toss that shield. Here." With that she handed him a gorgeous steel shield with a green background displaying a golden dragon's claw holding a coin. "Its beautiful. Thank you." It shimmered as the knight strapped it to his arm. "IS IT...is it magic?" "Well yes of course. It's the badge of my collections officer. Any account holder seeing it will know you are working for me. Speaking of which...there is a personal job I have available if you might be interested." "Of course...my lady." "A group of adventurers visited me about 3 years back. One particularly charming member convinced me I was quite pretty and while we went on a date his friends stole from the depository. I want certain parts of his, anatomy...as deposit on their loan debt."
The red dragon smirks with his razor teeth jutting out. He digs into the gold pile and retrieves a small burlap sack. "How much would you like to withdrawal?" "Just two gold coins, Sir Wellington." "As you wish." Wellington flops the two coins at the globin's feet. The green monster picks up his coins, and after checking them to be real, scurries out. The dragon stretches his long tail and rests on his gold pile. I ready my sword and pounce out of my hiding spot. "Haven't seen you before..." the dragon barely acknowledges, "Are you here to start an account?" "Alas, I've come here to slay you and return your head to my king!" "King? Oh, I see you're a thief!" the dragon shouts, "Guards!" A squad of goblins run in. The hanging lanterns reflect an orange tint on their armor while their faces scowl with petty rage. I draw my sword and strike. The first goblin goes down quickly, his friend swings a mace narrowly missing my head, so I slam my shield on him. I plunge my sword through a gap in his chest plate while he tried to regain footing. The last goblin throws his weapons down and runs away into the cave depths. "Get back here!" the dragon yells. "Wellington, looks like you're going to die," I say, "How're your legs doing? Our grand archer never misses." "Almost got away with the money. I just started my banking venture and had a business plan, too. That scoundrel Riverland told you about me, didn't he?" "Riverland? T-the court financier!" I stammer, "He's behind this venture of yours?' "Yes, until you came along. Now, can you stab your sword through my neck already? I'm tired and old." "Y-yes, I suppose." \----
2021-10-10T23:06:32
2021-10-10T14:07:57
71
36
[WP] You, the family dog, have acquired minor telekinesis and have been using it to inconspicuously help your family. When the family cat acquires similar powers and the two of you establish a telepathic connection, you have to protect your family from the cat's mischief.
"Hey. Hey. Yo." Hubert was talking again. Sharp voice he had. Really sharp. "Yo. Come on. Hey. Hey." I recrossed my paws and sighed. I did not like Hubert's new voice. It was loud, and right in my head. I used to be able to ignore Hubert. Can't anymore. "Yeah. Hey. Hey. Hey." It was sorta disturbing how much his voice echoed. My skull isn't that big, is it? "Hey. Hey." I gave in. "What?" I felt the ripple before I knew what it was going to hit. Something over my head. I didn't know what it was, but it was wet. I yelped. It shattered all over my head. "aHA! HA, hahahaHA, ahaHAHA-" Hate how he laughs! "HAHAH, dumb dog. HA HA-" "That's fake laughing." "ahAH ahAH, it's real, ahAH, ahAH" I got up to my feet and glared. Hubert was a tabby. A fat, snarky cat. He always smiled. My Rob read me stories sometimes about the Chesire Cat. A cat that just caused mischief. This cat sat on a sofa, half in and half out of light. He looked like an evil cat. "Hey, bonehead. Thirsty? ahAHA! Thirsty?! I slay myself." I shouldn't hurt the cat. My Rob says that is bad, hurting the cat. "Ok, ok. Sorry. Kinda mean." Hubert sat, half in and half out of sunlight. He started to move, into sun, but then stopped. He smiled his Chesire Cat smile. I felt another ripple. Hubert picked himself up, and moved himself into the sun again. "It is not good, Hubert, to use ripples like that." "What? I'm tired. Don't wanna move." "We should use ripples for only My Rob." "Ha! That ingrate? He doesn't appreciate what you do for him already, doofus." I barked. My Rob does not like it when I bark. But I had to bark. "My Rob is happy when I do things for him. My Rob likes me." " 'Your Rob', you bonehead, is surprised when he comes downstairs to folded laundry. He doesn't like you for that. He doesn't even know you did that." I did not bark again, but I wanted to. "My Rob is very happy! So is His Sue. So is His Little Ana." "Hey, here's something. Notice how 'Your Rob' is hanging out more and more with 'His Sue' than you? Soon, he's gonna be spending more time with 'His Little Ana.' You're a stopgap, dude." "I am a GOgap!" I jumped at Hubert. He lifted himself onto the T.V. I couldn't go on the T.V. "Man, you really think you're something, huh? You're still reliant on those big golems. Not me. I've got access to the fridge." Hubert used lots of ripples. I did not like it when Hubert did this. It made my head hurt, following the ripples. The fridge would open. Okay. A can... would come out? Okay. A can would... My head hurt. "Hah. Simpleton." Hubert had the can, and the can was opening on the T.V. Smelly. Fish. Fish came out of the can, and flew into Hubert's mouth. Lots of ripples. Head hurt. "Mmm. Good fish." "Hey! Hubert! What are you doing! Bad cat. Off the T.V!" My Rob was here! He heard me bark, bad, but My Rob was here! "Bad cat? Bad cat. Alright. I can live up to that." Lots of ripples! Lots! Things hummed. Ears hurt and head hurt. My Rob hurt. My Rob hurt! My Rob held his ears. Glass cracked. His Little Ana was crying! Head hurt! No more ripples! "NO!" I pushed Hubert hard. I accidentally push T.V. too. Did not get on T.V. Still good dog. Just pushed T.V. Big hole. No more Hubert, and no more ripples. I went to My Rob. He was on the floor. Was he O.K? He was O.K. He looked down at me. "You ok, Jack? Earthquake not scare you? You ok?" I was O.K. Earthquake doesn't scare me. I'm a good dog.
And there he stood, the embodiment of all that is cruel and evil in this world. A nuisance, perhaps, prior to the gift being bestowed unto him, but the bounds of his terror were now limitless. There atop the forbidden counter with the glow beginning to rise in his gaze I spied what he had set his power upon, our little master atop the stairs. He was stronger than me so I had to do something unconventional, something truly bold, in order to ensure the safety of those who I have sworn my life to the protection of: and it came to me. "Do not hurt our owners or we will not get food or treats and everything will be bad!" He paused. "Whatever." And went back to knocking the masters breakable things off of the counters. Another job well done; I AM a good boy!
2015-03-16T20:09:58
2015-03-16T20:00:21
110
51
[WP] Humans are the deadliest, and rarest, species in the known universe. Often, search parties go missing due to a singular encounter with a human ship. It has recently come to light that there is an entire planet full of them.
The Great Dome on Percivus was quite a spectacular structure. As tall as a mountain, midnight black and constantly rotating at the speed of the planet itself. The zero gravity arena in its center was an absolute marvel to behold, the gladiatorial combat within was the highest form of entertainment in the conquered universe. Lately, the events had almost become boring. Since the introduction of the juvenile Human to the fights, it stopped being a hub of strategy, negotiation and carefully devised formal combat (often peacefully resolved or ending in a draw), it just become a slaughter pit. The one who calls itself Alice, could do something that no Monassian, Burrillion, Ctu'thar or Fets ever could and that gave it an edge in the Grav-arena. Alice could act faster and more decisively than any being previously discovered. Faster than it could think, Alice acted. Lately, arena fights have just become a bloodbath. Some poor being would be phased into the grav-dome, look around, maybe finish choosing it's weapon and Alice would already be upon the poor soul. Sometimes with a weapon (always handled brutality and expertly) sometimes just with its own appendages. That beast, it was truly a sight to behold. It inspired an almost cosmic horror in every species to watch it tear through their champions, worriers and best and brightest time and time again, never taking the negotiation option, never hesitating and always winning within minutes. Alice sat in the corner of her tiny featureless white room curled up in a ball and sobbed. Nothing made sense anymore. Every few hours she would see a long flash of bright yellow light and she would find herself floating in the huge dome room. Surrounding her and lining the walls of the dome were thousands of aliens. They never made any noise and never took their eyes off her. She had only seen four types so far: The lobster looking things , the tall and lankey humanoid ones who reminded her of the Twi'leks from Star Wars, the big rock monsters with soft and fleshy bellies and the little green men with big eyes and loads of antenna all over them. Every fight -if you could even call them that- went the same: Alice would be beamed into the middle of the weird void space, there were loads of obstacles to bounce off of and sharp things to grab, she'd find a weapon, shoot herself at whatever or however many of them there were and ended them quickly. Sometimes they would take a slow swing at her, usually, they just stayed where they were, deciding maybe. A few times she waited for them to come to her, 10 maybe 20 minutes later she'd dodge a spear throw or move out the way of a clearly signposted swing or stab. We're they enjoying this? We're they studying her? All Alice knew is that she couldn't eat and she wouldn't be left alone until she'd done what she had to do to them. Alice bashed against the cold white wall and screamed as loud as she could. "Help! Get me out! Heeelp!" Tears streamed down her face and onto her plain white outfit as she stood up and wailed on the cold indifferent walls "I don't want to do this anymore! Please! I wanna go home!" Alice felt a familiar tingling sensation all over her and her whole world became enveloped in bright yellow light. Alice cleared her eyes, "ugh, here I go again" she muttered to herself. The light cleared and she found herself back in the 0G arena space. Two Aliens this time; a rock guy and a small ET antenna guy. In under five minutes, she had killed both: speared the little guy right through and into the fleshy middle of the rock giant. She didn't do it strategically, she was bored and angry. It was more like playing with her food. Soon after they'd breathed their last she felt the teleport happened again, this time however, she found herself not back in her box but chained to a desk, in a much larger and much more colorful room. A lobster person stood in front of her. This made sense to Alice, she'd noticed that the lobster people were the fastest to move and to talk. Whenever they brought her this room, it was to talk. "Human Alice" it began "I am Proscillius fastest speaker of the Fets- We found you floating in a small pod on the outer rim of the Splay Galaxy. We brought you to the Dome as we do all new species, to see if they were worth incorporating to our federation. Usually we refuse because they are too weak or slow. Never before has it been because if our fear of them." He paused...for six minutes "We fear you, human Alice" his speech slowed right down, it appeared to Alice that he'd gone off script now. "We need to know how many humans are out there, floating in pods like yours, if we found just two or three more, they would allow The Confederacy to lay waste to our enemies, and truly rule the Universe!" He pressed the only button on the table, a holographic Galaxy map appeared between them. "Find us just one or two more pods..." Alice burst into hysterics as she pinched and zoomed into the Galaxy just as she had learned to do in school. She found Orion's belt and went a few to the left. "There" she said between giggles "Earth... there are 15 billion of us...right there" Proscillius took maybe half an hour before he started to move again, making clicking sounds whilst pressing a button on his suit. Finally he pressed another and the dialogue resumed. "Fifteen billion...and all as dangerous as you...or are you the champion?" Alice laughed again "As dangerous as me?"...she slammed her hand on the table she was laughing so hard "Mister I'm only 13 years old!"
Human, Humans: Humans are a cryptid in Betelgusian folklore. They are a relatively small, hairless creature, bi-pedal creature said to inhabit an water planet in one of the outer arms. Scientists discount the existence of Humans and consider them to be a combination of folklore, misidentification, and hoax rather than a living species. They note the lack of physical evidence for a species reported to be so universally capable, deadly, and vindictive, arguing that any such sentient species would long ago have escaped the confines of their world and spread across the stars. Ancient trading logs of similar encounters do exist from the exploration phase of the Centauri expansion some 0.01 galactic cycles ago but the species there recorded, while physically consistent with the description of "Humans" falls short on several levels and does not differ markedly from any other non-technological species noted in the logs. Crypto-anthropologist Grover Krantz notes that human sightings spread outward along hyperspatial bypass routes passing through the Centauri system. These accounts differ in details both regionally and within linked systems but similar accounts of Humans or Human-like creatures are found in every sector save the inner core. The Lummi tell tales about Ts'emekwes, the local version of "humans." The stories are similar to each other in the general descriptions of Ts'emekwes, but details differed among various family accounts concerning the creature's diet and activities. Some regional versions tell of more threatening creatures. The stiyaha or kwi-kwiyai were a nocturnal race. Children were warned against saying the names, lest the monsters hear and come to carry off a person—sometimes to be killed. In GY 1.84.7, Kaul Pane reported stories by the drift-trading scouts about skoocooms, a race of cannibals living atop vast flat mountains rising above the seas of a water planet.
2017-11-08T21:32:11
2017-11-08T19:25:17
58
30
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves.
"Hello this is Jenna, and I'm here to help. How are you?" I answered several calls like this daily. Keeping my voice friendly, but not cheerful. Always willing to listen. Listening is key. You see I'm a suicide prevention operator. Listening is so important because often people will give away hints of things they don't want to leave behind, reasons that they subconsciously want to stay. "Hi Jenna." Came a raspy male voice. "My name is Owen. I just wanted to say thank you." Occasionally we get calls from people who had spoken with us previously and things got better, I am always happy for those calls. "Well thank you! That is nice to hear! Have things gotten better?" I wasn't trying to hide the smile in my voice, so often I wonder about the people I talk to; If they're alright, how things turned out. A low and weak chuckle came from the other end, Things didn't get better, honey. But you all made my decision easier." Oh no... not one of these. I had a guy six months ago try to blow his head off while I was on the phone with him, I had a co-worker call 911, while I yelled into the phone for the man to hold on. I could hear him flailing for a few minutes, then silence except for what I am guessing was the drops of blood hitting the floor as he bled out. I was still having nightmares and I didn't want that to happen again. With my heart in my throat and my stomach churning, I asked, "What do you mean?" "I have inoperable cancer, honey. The amount of drugs it takes to keep me comfortable leaves me unable to function. I've had radiation I've had chemo, I've been opened up, stitched closed, had junk pumped into and taken out of me so many times... I'm tired. I'm old, I've lived a good life." He continued on for a while. Telling me about his family, his wife, his children, how he had served in the army is WWII, about his wife, Amelia's apple pie, about fishing with his children, and building a playhouse for his grandchildren, how proud he was of who his children had become. How he felt it couldn't get any better than it had already been. How he didn't want his last days to be a blur or painful for anyone. He wanted to go to sleep and just not wake up. He felt there was dignity in that. He called to thank us for talking down people who weren't at peace with death, because it had taken him a long time to be there. "Honey, I got my pills right here. Will you do an old man a favor?" "Anything I can." I replied, nervous as to what he would ask me next. "Do you remember a particularly lovely day you once had?" "I do." "I'm going to take these pills to help me go to sleep. Will you tell me about that day as I go?" "Of course." This was against protocol, but I didn't care, I wasn't going to be part of this man's suffering. My job was to help him. And in my mind, I was doing just that. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" "Owen, what I think shouldn't matter. But being at peace with death is a rare and beautiful thing and if you're ready, I'm honored to help send you off." "When I was nearly five my mom told me we were going to a special beach far away..." I began to tell him the story of how my mom had surprised me on my fifth birthday with my first trip to Disneyland. How it had always been a magical place in my mind. How everything had been as lovely and fun as I had hoped. It seems now a silly story to tell, but he laughed when I told him I thought Donald Duck was trying to swallow my head when he kissed me or when I noticed Cinderella wearing sneakers and not glass slippers. He told me at one point he was starting to drift, I heard him begin to snore shortly after, then his breathing stopped. "Sweet dreams, Owen." I quit my job at the suicide line the next day, we were supposed to prevent every person we talked to, but I realised it's not always so black and white. Sometimes people just need to know it's okay to go. Sometimes it takes a great deal more strength to let go than it would to battle through it.
Not to get in the way of people being creative but there is Never a time where a Crisis line operator would think this. It goes against everything they are trained to do, the person on the other end of the line is looking to you for help. Unless you've been in that situation, you really have no idea how invested these operators get in trying to preserve another person's life. Also, we make a professional point not to judge anyone who calls into a crisis line, to pull a 180 would go against literally everything they stand for. Suicide is never the answer
2013-12-23T14:42:59
2013-12-23T14:21:09
1,112
10
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe."
Gasps, muffled sobs, shrieks of joy or horror surrounded me, filling the train car. I just sat, for once motionless, taking it all in. God hadn't sounded anything like I had ever imagined. In fact... God had sounded suspiciously like Graham Chapman. The stranger next to me nudged me. "Well, where are you going?! I'm going to heaven!!!" "Why did you look?" I asked, honestly curious. "What do you mean, why did I look? I want to know!" she stared at me, bewilderment filling her voice. "Don't you want to know?" Did I want to know? If I looked, was my destination set in stone? In half an hour, would everyone who looked be dead, off to their respective eternities? If I knew I was going to Hell, it would just take away from the remaining life I had left. If I knew I was going to Heaven, might I get complacent? What about my husband, my family, my friends? What if we were going to different places? "What's your name? I'll look up your status for you!" the heaven lady asked, obviously riding on her high of heaven. "No, I don't want to know," I blurted. "Really?" she looked incredulous. "Really. I don't need to know until it's my time. Besides, wasn't that Graham Chapman's voice?" "Um, I really wouldn't know," her voice was wary now, as she gathered her things. "From Monty Python, the Voice of God," I kept replaying the message in my head, I was increasing sure I was right, it was Chapman, dead though he may be. New thoughts flooded my head, tumbling so fast I could barely keep up with myself as my hand strayed unconsciously to my purse. Suddenly I was staring at the old, broken rosary in my hands. I hadn't prayed in ages. When it had felt like God was no longer listening, I had given up. But I had kept this rosary, given to me by an old family friend, supposedly blessed by a saint. Warmth spread through me as I started to pray, a quick, jerky Sign of the Cross followed by a hastely muttered Apostle's Creed, Our Father, Glory Be. Glory Be. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. *As it was in the beginning.* God didn't make that website. *Is now.* It had to be a hoax *Ever shall be.* Or else Satan. *World without end.* Unless the world was ending? Distant bells chimed, slowly breaking through my roiling thoughts. I grabbed my phone on it's last ring. "Lysandra, did you look?!" my husband's deep, worried voice crackled through the connection. "We've been married for 18 years. What do you think?" I asked, oddly peaceful. "Good. I didn't either. I turned off the internet and password protected Data Usage for the kids cells, they weren't thrilled but I told them we'd discuss looking as a family when you get home," relief in his voice. "Discuss, huh?" "Yeah, discuss if we do it never or never ever," he joked. I could hear the wry smile in his voice. "Have you heard from anyone yet?" "I glanced on Facebook. It's..." he trailed off. "Bad?" I asked, heart sinking. "Yeah. Just get home soon and safe, will you?" "Of course, love. Give the kids hugs for me. I'll be home in an hour or so, still on the train." Call ended, I closed my eyes and tried to tune out the fellow passengers an the train kept moving, listening to the automated stop announcements. I woke with a start, the conductor shaking my arm. "Miss, we're at the end of the line, did you miss your stop?" Blinking rapidly, I replied "No, last stop is me. Thank you for waking me." I stepped off the train. This wasn't my station. I turned around, but there was no train. ##You didn't look *Chapman's voice again,* I thought with a sigh. ##Yes, George Chapman's voice. I borrowed it. "Why? And can you read my thoughts?" I spoke out loud. ##Why not? It seemed like fun. Is that why you didn't look? "Are you kidnapping all the people who didn't look, or am I just lucky?" ##I just want to know why you didn't look. "That doesn't answer my question," I couldn't see anything but mist. ##You didn't answer my question either. *A statement of fact is not a question* I thought on a sigh as I replied, "You haven't asked me a question. I've asked you three. My fourth is who are you?" ##Why didn't you look? "Why did you make the site?" ##Will I get answers out of you? "Only if you give me answers in return," I shrugged. ##Nevermind. Shoo. There was a clap of thunder and I was home, staring into the terrified faces of my husband and children before I passed out.
“.. And Subscribe.” *The booming voice of God finishes its monologue over Times Square and presumably the rest of the world* The streets erupt into panic and everyone begins to scream and sprint in a random direction Shocked, I stand still absorbing all of what just happened before I’m knocked to the ground by some fella. This snaps me back to my senses as I stand up and immediately try and load up the website. “GOD F**KING DAMNITTTTT” With almost every single AT&T user loading up their browser and hitting search at the same damn time, nothing would load. I keep the page loading as I make my way back home, dodging all the chaos of traffic and hordes of people trying to get to a stable internet connection. About 2 blocks away from my house, I notice my screen loaded but only halfway down the page. All I can see is that the page was red. Yknow red, the universal color of God.. Nervous, I hurry upstairs and swing open my apartment door. Upon entry to my home, *BANG* I am executed by a silenced pistol. God’s website listed me as synonymous with the devil and my murder, if done with a sound heart, was a surefire way into heaven. I am the most evil person to have ever lived, and God finally bested me.
2019-08-27T11:01:46
2019-08-27T10:39:12
71
15
[WP] Write a college essay that starts with, "Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle..." Source: http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/35hits/college_admissions_officers_what_was_the_worst/cr4khqk Edit: This got a lot of responses. Edit 2: This is my highest post in months. I should post more.
(This is basically the first creative writing I've tried since middle school, so: thanks for any constructive criticism.) Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle. I know I'll be there, soon enough: lying flat on my stomach, looking through the scope, searching--calmly but with a sense of purpose. And while the last thing I'll want to do is pull the trigger, I know it's my destiny to one day do just that. When that day comes, I'll be an extra set of eyes for my brothers down below; men who will have put their faith in me and their lives in my hands. I know that one day, in the near future, I'll join my father and his father before him and take my place as a United States Marine. I will help protect the country I love, and help make the world a better place. Most days, I wish I could start my mission tomorrow. But first, I have to do something neither of those men ever did: I'm going to graduate college. I never knew my grandfather. He never knew his son, either. Grandma got pregnant in between his second and third tours of duty in Korea, and he was killed four miles south of the DMZ eight weeks later. He never even knew she was pregnant. Grandpa was just a kid; he'd enlisted at 18, as soon as he could, and came home in a bodybag at 23. He and Grandma Marilyn had planned what they'd do when he got out: they were going to move out from Brooklyn to the suburbs, with the help of the GI bill, they were going to buy a house--with a perfectly manicured lawn and a white picket fence--and start a family. A big one, like Grandma Marilyn's. They were going to chase their version of the American dream, which, at that point, was just The American Dream, before any of us wisened up and realized that the feigned homogeneity of the 1940s would fade into the malaise of the succeeding generations, culminating finally in the fatalism of mine. But I know America can be great again. Grandma Marilyn never remarried, and she never had a job, either. She raised my father in abject poverty. Marilyn never made it out of Brooklyn, and her Brooklyn never gentrified. Gerritsen Beach probably never will. All she had was my father, and all he had was her. And so my dad, a man who never knew his father, dedicated his life to supporting his mother. He dropped out of high school at 15 and found work as quickly as he could. He was good with his hands, so he took a job at an auto shop. Today, he owns the store--and has expanded to three other locations. If you lived on the South Shore of Long Island, you'd hear him in all the inescapable commercials: the car parts king of Nassau County. But first my dad had to serve his country. When his draft number came up in 1973, the Vietnam War had become an unpopular quagmire. My father couldn't have known it. He was as apolitical then as he is now, and just yesterday, he drew a blank when trying to remember the Vice President's name. Back then, he didn't have time to worry about anything outside of South Brooklyn, and that tiny shack on Everett Avenue. Now, he just doesn't care. But if he was oblivious, Grandma Marilyn was despondent. She knew exactly what it meant to be shipped overseas, and tried to convince my father to dodge the draft--to flee to Canada, just for a year; the war was coming to an end, and everybody knew it. But my father, who by that point was the chief mechanic of that first store in Bay Ridge, had an overriding sense of duty. And like his father before him, he went to fight another country's war, never knowing if his life would be waiting for him on the other side. My grandfather joined the Marines within a zeitgeist of patriotism run amok. My father had the life chosen for him. Two men who never knew each other, brought together by fate and DNA. And they've given way to me, someone who, statistically speaking, isn't the likeliest candidate for the NROTC program at Brown, but perhaps the most grounded. This was never supposed to be my path: my parents, early on, did what they could to cultivate my twin passions--mathematics and concert piano--but I was always drawn, against their wishes and by something greater than myself, towards a life in the armed forces. And so I will serve my country with pride and honor, as has become custom for the Kilkelly boys. I will be a military man, one whose ambitions are not borne from a thirst for vengeance or even teenage anomie, but a deeply held desire to be a part of the greatest armed forces in the history of this planet. And I know that an education at Brown will not only help me achieve those goals, but will allow me to be a positive agent for change along the way. I understand the reasons behind the skepticism, bordering on demonization, of the armed forces among many of my peers, but I will do everything I can to open up dialogues between my fellow cadets and the rest of the student population on campus. That's because we have as much to learn from the rest of the student body as they do from us. I know that the diversity of opinions on this progressive campus will help me fight for the rights of my gay platoon-mates, and to help combat the sexual assault epidemic that plagues female soldiers. I know that the Marines don't only wage war, but also build bridges--physical and metaphorical--and that a college experience like the one offered here will help me lead with compassion and bravery. And I know that when I climb up on that rooftop, thanks to my Brown education I will be as prepared as I possibly could be, and so much more than my father, or his before him.
Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle...it reminds me of my wife. My wife was an avid hunter. Me? I was content with boring old fishing. She always went hunting solo. Her weapon of choice was a Remington 700. She said it helped me her mind from troubles and worries and felt the best when she was alone with her thoughts. Whenever she returned from her trips, we've climbed the roofs of our houses. Sometimes it was parents' and sometimes it was her's. It didn't matter. We'd drink some soda and maybe some beer. Watch the sunset. It was real nice. But you know what they say: all good things must come to an end. It was a stormy night when she left. She was suppose to get to her spot and call me back. Three hours pass. No call. Five hours. Nothing. Five turned to six and six turned to twelve. I start to panic. What should I do? Before I can start to formulate a plan, my phone rings. I grab at it madly like a savage beast. Shaking, I answer, my forehead drips with sweat. "Hey, Kevin." It was her dad. "Listen...uh, I'm afraid I got some bad news." His voice is choking up while he speaks. His pain feels so close; it's almost as if I was right next to him. "Sara....Sara got into a serious car crash. The paramedics arrive...and they took her. Took her to the hospital. She died on the way there." His voice climaxes at "there" and he bursts into sobs of anguish. That was a year ago. The phone call that changed my life. I still go up on the roof of my place; you know...just to reminisce. Recently though I've made up my mind to purchase a Remington. Maybe....just maybe, if I can get one and get onto a roof on a clear, sunny day...I'll be able to see Sara through my scope, waving at me from heaven.
2015-05-10T14:43:04
2015-05-10T13:53:29
185
36
[WP] The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are. [from this image](https://pics.onsizzle.com/the-japanese-say-you-have-three-faces-the-first-face-5699757.png)
This is my first attempt at writing with a prompt. Go easy on me guys. **My Three Faces** I wake up from my post-lunch nap at work to find that I overslept. But thankfully just by ten minutes. I look up to see my boss standing next to me with an annoyed look. She says, "I hope you got your beauty sleep, we have work to do". I stand up and follow her to a meeting room. I hated what was going to happen next. We had to fire the junior programmer in my team. My boss starts off by asking a pointless question to the poor guy. "Are you aware of why we're here?" "I'm getting fired aren't I? Please give me one more chance! I promise I'll do better." I reply, "I'm sorry dude. We have already given you two months and additional training. This won't work out. I suggest you find a job in a different field. Programming is not for you. You really don't understand computer logic." My boss intervenes as usual, "I think what he means to say is that you are finding it difficult to cope with the demands of our workplace. Your skill sets are not aligning with that of our organization. We hope you will do well in your future." After another gruelling ten minutes, all three of us walked out of the room and the poor guy who got fired was being led to the HR desk for completing the exit process. After a brief silence my boss says, "You should put a filter on that mouth of yours! How do you think he felt when you told him he should switch careers? That's not a decision we should be making for him!" "I DO feel sorry for the guy. I just told him what I thought. He really shouldn't continue in this field. He might be better off doing something else." "Well it certainly didn't look like you felt bad for him." "Why are you talking like you owe him something? It was after all, an exit interview.", I said a little confused. "He was already devastated by what you said. I just wanted to bring down the tension in that room." "I'm sorry. You *know* I try to keep my thoughts to myself. It just doesn't work." "Anyway, I'm wrapping up early today. I need to go to my daughter's play. And NO, I don't want to know what you think about her acting skills. I sometimes wonder why I put up with your attitude. I'll see you around." "Bye" A few hours later I come home to find my 4 year old daughter coloring. My lovely wife is in the kitchen cooking dinner. I close the door and my daughter comes running up to me. I ask her how kindergarten was and she asks me a question. "Daddy, my teacher says that Santa will come with toys to all the children who have been good. Is that true?" "Santa is not real sweety. He is just a made-up person. I'm the one who brings you the toys!", i say playfully. But somehow her face saddened. Just that moment my wife comes out of the kitchen to do some damage control. She says, "What daddy means is, some people believe that Santa is real. And maybe he is. Just because you can't see air, doesn't mean it isn't there right?" I say "But... That's not what I..." She breaks me off and says, "Why don't you finish your coloring while Daddy and me finish cooking?" My daughter smiled her million dollar smile and said, "Ok Mommy." We go into the kitchen and I start chopping fruits for the salad. My wife says, "Honey, I know it is difficult for you to be polite. But at least for our daughter's sake try not to say anything that might hurt her." "We have had this conversation so many times! I really don't know what to do about this. We have been together for 8 years now. Have you seen me being any different?" I ask, a little frustrated. "Let's not talk about this now. I don't want our baby to hear us arguing." I feel thankful that I have a habit of not speaking while eating food. It makes for lesser painful interactions. We finish dinner and my wife takes our daughter to her room to put her to sleep. I do the dishes and go to our bedroom. I needed to take a shower. Something that would wash away the frustration. After the shower I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and think to myself. The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are. Why is it that I have only one?
I couldn't say how long I had been putting on an act. It felt like forever. Every moment of every day, devoted to holding that mask in front of my face, smiling politely and nodding understandingly. Behave well in class, I had been told. Fit in with your friends, I had been told. Treat your family with respect, I had been told. Act, hide yourself away, I always heard. The glare of artificial light cut through the darkness in my bedroom, highlighting my face and little more. A life of acting, broken only by sleep. Switching my phone off at last, the shadows enveloped me, giving me the only moment of respite I ever had. In that moment, without a mask in front of my face, I showed my true self: no one, nothing, a holder of masks. Take away my acting and nothing remained of me. That is my existence, my purpose, my burden.
2017-04-23T13:17:40
2017-04-23T07:50:10
311
43
[WP] A blacksmith that forge magical weapons, sometimes, he creates unpractical enchantments as a joke. A sword that extends when you try to pull it out of the Scabbard. A axe that is freezing cold at all time, unpleasant to hold even with gloves. A dagger that screams "Hello!" when you stab someone with it. A warhammer that feels like a feather on impact. Or you know, other such practical jokes.
Mitius the warrior had a favorite craftsman. This craftsman wasn't a Dwarven blacksmith, or an Elven artist, he wasn't even a half-orc inheriting some pagan trade. He was a young man from the Mage's College, working to make his tuition. His work is like no other. Mitius is now face to face against his greatest foe yet, a hulking, upright standing behemoth, spikes protruding from its spine, its head adorned with two mighty horns, and its talons the size of scimitars. Mitius cut the straps tying his wagon of gears down, kicked the bag and scattered the goods across the field. Letting out a war cry, Mitius declared to the beast violent intentions. First, Mitius grabbed a sword that landed at his feet. The scabbard was adorned with gold, and the hilt chromed to a perfect shine. It was as light as a feather, and felt warm to the touch. "Ah, the Sword of Flames!" The beast swiped at Mitius with its talons, and Mitius pulled out the sword to meet its blow. Right before the nails raked Mitius across the chest, he pushed the scabbard back onto the sword, avoiding a fatal wound. The sword had been literally made out of flames, there was no solid substance, and the lukewarm fire would not even cause a burn with the speed the beast passed through its thin flat blade. Mitius kicked a rock into the beast's face, and used the momentary opening to pick up the next weapon. A throwing knife, hefty when lifted, and equally hefty pushing it back down toward the ground. "The Flying Knife, that will never touch the ground." Mitius muttered to himself, pulling a bit of distance between himself and the beast through fanciful footwork before tossing the knife out, aimed right at the beast's left eye. The knife left Mitius's mighty throw, and hung in the air, completely still, not moving forward, nor falling onto the ground. Mitius dived for his next weapon as the beast charged across the gap between them with an ungodly speed. The spear was soft, and yet even the shaft was made of iron. Heavy, powerful, and flexible, "The Curving Spear, that strikes at unexpected angles." It's perfect against this beast, fully intent on goring Mitius with a high speed head-on charge. As the beast closed into Mitius's position, Mitius quickly thrust out the spear with his dominant hand at the beast's throat, but the thrust caused the spear to curve into itself, creating an iron ring where an iron pole arm used to be. With lightning fast reflexes, Mitius turned the ring sideways, looped it around the beast's head, and jumped up, letting the force of the charge swing him onto the beast's back, using the iron ring as leverage. While the beast was disoriented from losing its target, Mitius took the chance to equip the other item he had picked up with the spear, a belt known only as the Belt of Carrying. It is a common enough enchantment, and Mitius would use it to wrestle the beast into the ground with his enhanced lifting capabilities. He grabbed hold of the beast's two menacing horns, and heaved with all his strength. To his surprise, he could summon no more strength than normal when lifting things. But Mitius did notice that he was, once again, carrying the belt in his hand. It had come off of his waist on its own. Mitius slammed the belt into the ground and jumped off the back of the beast. But the force of the jump alerted the beast to Mitius's presence on its back, and it shot out one of its spinal spikes in reflex. Mitius hurriedly picked up an iron plate on the floor, the front half of a cuirass that would serve as a makeshift shield. Holding it top and bottom with two hands, Mitius found it was strangely malleable for a finished product, and his dread was proven right when the armor deformed perfectly into the shape of the spike. Had the spike been any longer, the Form-Fitting Cuirass would've pierced Mitius's heart. Throwing the useless cuirass onto the ground, grateful that he didn't use it for its intended purpose, Mitius grabbed a morning star from the ground, and even without swinging it he knew what this thing was. An Extending Morning Star, that can strike its foes from afar. He knew because he had pointed the morning star straight down when he picked it up, and now he's on top of a tree thanks to the extending enchantment being uncontrollable. Mitius laughed heartily, because mighty as he was as a warrior, there were none left that could make him feel the thrill of battle, except this young mage and his practical jokes. Mitius fled the battle, hopping from tree to tree, keeping in mind that there were still many pieces of gear left on the ground, unused, including the one legitimate item that the young mage swore would turn any fight around. He'll return another day, and have another go at the fearsome beast.
I've finally completed it. The centrepiece of my greatest work the Helm of Misdirection. By itself, it appears as a joke item, causing the wearer to swap left with right. But unbeknownst to all, worn with the rest of the April Foolery Armour Set, it has the power to disrupt your foes motor skills, allowing the user easy victory against even the strongest swordsmen of the realms. I put on the rest of the armor, starting with the Unflattering Stripes Chainmail, turning morbidly obese around my torso. I slipped the 8 foot long Neverending Sword back to 3 foot scabbard, fastening it securely to my swordbelt. I slipped on the Hairy Gauntlets and grinned as thick black hair started growing out of polished steel, and grabbed the helm firmly as I prepared for the sudden movements of stepping into the Boots of Awkward Dances. Just as I was about to start on the opening sequence of the chicken dance, I quickly jammed the helm onto my head, and smiled in satisfaction as the various items turned into the same shade of blue-tinged silver....
2016-01-14T07:01:44
2016-01-14T06:24:53
28
11
[WP]"Captain, why is an entire planet being used to hold only two life forms"? "The species confined there is the most savage and destructive of any world. We've waited this long to check on them to make sure they died. We're lucky they're the last ones". "Checking status of prisoners Adam and Eve".
I pressed the button on the container that would reawaken the captain. It would take some time so I began preparing the ship. As the ancient Captain began to return to consciousness, the ships systems came alive, slowly unlocking and unfurling. "Hello yooungg one. Report?" said the raspy voice from within the pod. "Ship is ready to leave orbit at your command, sir." I said as slowly as I could muster. "Pleaasse sspeak slowlyy young onnne. It'll taake more time for theeese old boones to warm up." I nodded quickly before realizing my mistake. The captain would probably perceived that as nothing more than a blur. "Yes, sir" I said more slowly. "Proceed to the ignition point." The captain said slowly, precisely, to the ship more than me. The final locks on the ships systems released. Then the landing gear released automatically. The ship flung away from the wheel of the station in a slow arc, a slightly new orbit. We were in free fall now, the ship's drive warming up. Small thrusters around the craft fired gaining us a little distance to the station while the main reactor gathered more and more energy. After a time, the ship channeled every drop of energy save for the power running the Captain's life support to the main drive. Impossible physics connected a point within the local star to another inside the drive cone. The star began pouring out through the drive cone. We would borrow it's mass and redirect it for our own propulsion. Suddenly the ship was no longer in free fall but accelerating at a significant fraction of the home world's gravitational acceleration. "Good. We're underway." The Captain said at a more reasonable pace now. "Yes, sir." A time passed in silence. "We'll reach 0.99c in a little under 3 cycles." I reported. Nothing to do now but wait. The trip was more than a hundred light years. But as the ship kept accelerating time would change for us. There was no response. "Sir, may I ask what is it we're doing?" The sound of sandpaper and stone as the captain began to speak: "A probe returned an anomalous report." "Why not send another?" I replied "Why send us? That is your real question. The probe watches a tomb. The report indicates it's either been discovered or it's malfunctioning." "A tomb, sir?" "An ancient, race. Older than these bones. Once they all but ruled this galaxy. They pushed us to the edge of the void." "Them." I whispered heart racing now. The captain continued at his now accelerated but incremental pace. "We formed the alliance. All of us remaining races. Under our leadership we pushed them back. Uplifting more races. Yours included, I believe." He said pausing for a moment. "We broke them from within with lies. Then in their fractured state they destroyed themselves. The last few were no longer a threat. We chossse Mercccy." He trailed off, his pace becoming glacial. "Apologies young one. Returning to life is hard on these old bones." Many cycles past onboard. We were beyond the halfway point, decelerating now. The journey in near silence as the ancient Captain slowly revived further. "Young one we've entered the system. May I borrow your talents?" "Of course, sir." I said. An unusual tingling wave passed over me. The Captain had no arms or legs, and could not leave his pod. I would be those appendages for him. I could feel the slow pulses urging me to direct my movements first one way than another. I allowed the pulses to act on my limbs as the Captain assumed control of the ship. It'd be nearly another cycle before we arrived at the Tomb. The drive plumb shining like a new star in the sky of every one of these worlds while we slowed. "Sir. You never quite explained why you were sent?" The alien mind now joined to mine flickered with an intelligence far faster than the pace his speech would betray. "I was there young one. I built them a garden. The last few. I offered them peace and mercy. After they had burned the stars. Annihilated trillions. I could not bring myself to end them. So while the world's they scorched still cooled over the last hundred thousand turns, I slept." The ship entered orbit around the Tomb's singular moon. At last the drive that had taken us so far, shut down. The ship groaned, cracked, and cooled as it slowly shed the heat of the journey. Our work began. As we studied the Tomb it became clear an intelligence ruled this world. A series of broadband radio pulses came from below. At first basic math, prime numbers etc. Eventually the pulses described a rudimentary audio protocol. Finally we received and decoded a message. The message repeated in a variety of languages from the world below. The Captain's mind moved quickly analyzing them. Then froze. I could feel it. The realization. "That one is." He said. Each word carrying dread. "Familiar." He listened to it a few more times before translating it. "On behalf of humankind, we welcome you in peace." The panic broke our connection. My heart raced. It was them. I wanted nothing more than to flee. To destroy the world with the drive. The nightmares were here. "Ssstoop young one." The Captain hissed. Freezing me in place. My ears went still, body rigid, the survival reflex of my species overriding my rational mind. "Let's see if these descendents deserve absolution."
They say there. They hadn't done anything, but play chess, have sex, and eat apples. They hadn't spoken any language, tried to advance, nothing. They just played chess. They didn't even wear clothes. We yad tried interacting, they didn't do anything but play chess with us. No matter how much we tried, they wouldn't do anything. We decided to take their food, just to see if it would work. Nope, they just played chess and had sex. We gave them back their food when they were three days from dying. They never once cared. We suddenly thought of a solution. We give them another game. We decided upon going down and explaining monopoly, as it would also explain the economy, maybe they would set up an exchange. It worked perfectly. Eve started trading chess for 3 apples. Yes! A break through! But then... eve started trading 5 apples for chess and sex. It seemed that she figured out her body was worth some money. This made Adam very mad. He suddenly started not paying her. He just ate his apples. The apples started to dwindle. They started fighting. We had to make sure they didn't kill each other. It was to late. When we came back from an break, Adam was dead. Eve had killed him, because Eve wanted the apples. It's weird how far these animals would go just for some sort of value that really is not of matter. We would had fed them, but they fought for food instead. Why? It seems like they only want what they want.
2021-12-30T19:06:37
2021-12-30T17:47:12
17
12
[WP] A man with severe chronic pain but high pain tolerance believes he is living normal until he experiences his first day without that pain.
Meet John. John is a normal man. He is 43 years old, he has a wife and two children. He has an office job. Every second saturday his wife makes a cake. He doesn't enjoy his work too much, but the days go by at least. John believes he is generally healthy, although frequently he notices he is not a young man anymore. There is only one problem with John: he is terminally ill. When he was young, he suffered nerve damage and ever since then, his body is in pain. He doesn't even know about it anymore. If you asked him if he is hurting, he would say no, because in fact, he thinks he isn't. But that is about to change. One monday morning, John's car breaks down. It was running just fine on Sunday so it shouldn't be anything serious, John decides. He lifts up the hood, but can't find anything wrong. Perhaps it's something with the wires on the underside. He puts a cardboard down under the car and lies down on it. As he does, something in his back cracks and causes him to sit back up from immediate pain. And suddenly the pain is gone. And so is the other, terminal pain. He feels as if his body got younger by 20 years. He shrugs it off and gets under the car. Immediately he notices a wire hanging and figures it's the cause of the problem. When he drives to work, he feels like a new man. Usually, he got annoyed by heavy traffic and other people. But not today. Today he feels a brotherly sense to people around. He even notices a shortcut that he never did before and gets to work five minutes early. "Good morning!", he greets the doorman which surprised just mumbles his greeting back. Today, he decided to even take the stairs, for why it is only two floors. There he meets a colleague he didn't see in a few months. They even make some smalltalk and John and his family get invited to a barbecue party later in the week. John rarely does smalltalk, because he thinks it's stupid and a waste of time, but now, he wasn't annoyed by it even in a tiny little bit. He arrives in his cubicle, few minutes earlier than usual and looks around. The place is a mess. Not in the usual sense of trash lying around, no, John was normally really tidy, but just now when he looks around, he sees a lot of misplaced items. The telephone could be closer to the wall, those binders over there should be in a drawer and the poster is now barely hanging on the side. Also the place is really dull, but not much he can do about that now. After his quick revision, John starts working. Spreadsheets, calls, orders, usual office job. Hours later, John's sight finds its way onto a clock and John realizes it's time for a coffee break. Odd, he thinks, usually by this time John was getting moderately tired and bored out from all the work, but not today. He feels rather energetic and to add to that, he even managed to do double the work he normally does until this hour. It is really strange for John. His whole work seemed like a whole new experience, even though it's the same job as he did in the last 8 years. John starts to think what's so different in today from other days. He finds nothing. Of course he doesn't think about a pain he didn't think he had, but he is sure something feels different today. As he goes to make his coffee, he engages in more conversations and it seems even his coworkers seem happier to talk with him today. His work eventually ends and he heads on home. His children are already home and playing in the garden. Normally, he would tell them to quiet down, as to not disturb the neighbours, but honestly, he didn't like the noise. He doesn't do that today. In fact, he even decides to change and join them in their games. When his wife comes out of the house, she just shines when she sees him playing with them. John is happy at home and the time goes by really quickly. Soon, or as it seems to him, he is lying in the bed, next to his beautiful wife and he is trying to capture that which is remaining hidden to him. What did change today, what did he do differently? Why is his life suddenly so much brighter? It doesn't take him a long time to decide that he doesn't want to know. His life is now better and he doesn't want to be bothered by anything anymore.
Everyday is the same. I wake up, I feel all the bumps and kinks. I've come to think of them as my friends. The throbbing in my head is Jeffery, he's there to remind me that everyone is frustrating in some shape form or fashion. Then there's the sharp stabbing in my hip and ankle, I call them Paula and Tabitha. They remind me to slow down and enjoy life. There are so many there and they all serve a purpose. Today though is different. Jeffery wasn't there, Paula and Tabitha both just up and went away. None of my friends were there. For once I felt...alone.
2014-09-09T14:49:35
2014-09-09T14:41:32
181
20
[WP]You are one of the worlds best con man, you fly around the world dressed as a pilot, relying on the other pilot to do all the work. But this time as you settle into the co-pilot chair, you realise it's a fellow con man looking at you nervously. The tower clears you for take off.
I settled comfortably into the co-pilots seat. After years of conning my way into cockpits I was thoroughly confident in my abilities. Not my ability pilot a plane of course, but my well-practised air of confidence. The skill of looking like I knew what I was doing, getting by on just my good looks, wits, and natural charm. The door opened behind me and my fellow pilot entered. I turned in my seat to greet him and found him licking his lips nervously, eyes flicking between me and the empty seat beside me. He was tall and lanky, hunched over slightly in the confined space. Tousled brown hair and thin-rimmed glasses partly obscured his face. "Hey there, I'm Charlie." Not my real name of course. "It's good to mee—" He cut me off abruptly, "I think there's been a mistake. I'm supposed to be in that seat." I was taken aback, this had never happened to me before. Still, I'd been in worse situations before. Surely I could talk my way out of this one. I put on my most charismatic smile and prepared to lay down some grade A bullshit. "Huh you sure? Was there some kind of mixup down at control?" I chuckled and shrugged as if to say 'Those guys, am I right?' He didn't look reassured. If anything he seemed more anxious, visibly shifting his weight from foot to foot as if preparing to run back out the door. "Well I'm only licensed to co-pilot." I said flashing my ID briefly (fake of course). "You can handle it for just this one flight, can't you?" The more I spoke the wider his eyes seemed to get until his expression resembled that of a deer staring down incoming headlights. Our headsets buzzed in unison, "All passengers have boarded sir. Prepare for takeoff." My fellow pilot stiffened and bumped his head on the low ceiling. Visibly flustered, he rubbed his head and opened his mouth but no words came out. I looked at him expectantly, tryingmy best to appear friendly and nonchalant but I could feel a tight ball of anxiety starting to form in the pit of my stomach. This guy must be rubbing off on me. "Look... Charlie. Can you take the pilot's seat? Just for today? To tell you the truth I've..." he took a deep breath and then the words really started to spill out. "I've never actually done... 'this' before. I've never even been in the cockpit, this is my first time, today." Now it was his turn to eye me expectantly but I admit, I was a bit lost. "What do you mean 'this'? Flying a plane? You are a pilot, right?" I said it with a smile and an edge of laughter to my voice but that evaporated on seeing his expression. Pale, with a bead of sweat now visibly trickling down his forehead. A thought occurred to me. A crazy thought that I wanted to dismiss outright, but couldn't. Could this guy be a conman too? Out on his first flight and expecting an easy ride a long in the passenger seat? "Captain?" It was our headsets again. "Is everything alright in there?" "Yes everything's fine." I replied my tone calm and steady belying my growing sense of unease. "We'll just be a moment, taking care of some logistics. You know how it is." There was no response so I guess she did know how it was. "Be straight with me, did you con your way aboard this flight?" I studied his reaction. If he was a con artist he was a very new or very bad one. His face was an open book. "I-I-I," he stammered "I did... yeah." "Well then we're in the same boat." I unbuckled my seatbelt and switched over. "Come on, sit down. I've got this." This was going to be my toughest con yet.   - - - - *Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed or have any criticisms or notice any mistakes please feel free to comment! For more visit my subreddit a visit at /r/Ardarail*
"You've never flown such a thing, have you?" You say calmly. The other man immediately relaxed. "No, I have not" he answered. "And neither have you, right?" You nod. "Well, let' tell someone. Risking jail is much better than killing ourselves and taking so many others with us" "True"
2018-04-21T08:39:46
2018-04-21T08:07:41
44
22
[WP] you are perfectly safe in your bunker, you have plenty of food and water and even plumbing. The problem is that you are alone and there is a zombie outside. Out of sheer boredom you teach it to speak, and now it's trying to convince you to let it in.
Dave heard the chime of the intercom over the bunker’s speakers and groaned. “Daave.” called the gravelly voice, muffled slightly as it rolled out of the old overhead speaker. The speaker itself was embedded in the concrete ceiling under a metal plate that had been bolted into place. The bolts had proved problematic, and the metal extremely resistant to all attempts to remove or break. Another chime. “Daaave.” He tried to ignore it and focus on the task at hand: removing the damn intercom speaker from his sleeping quarters. He stood on top of two chairs stacked on top of a desk while using an old gigantic screwdriver and hammer to chisel around the metal plate. Over the past three days he’d made substantial progress. In another couple of hours he’d have a large enough gap to wedge a prybar under the plate. “Daaaave.” He began pounding the screwdriver with the hammer even harder, trying to drown out the voice. It wasn’t working. “Daaaaave.” Dave let out a loud exasperated sigh and turned on the radio clipped to his faded jacket. “Yes, Zee, I hear you, what is it?” He said, not bothering to disguise his annoyance. “Open.” “No.” “Brains.” “No.” “Daaaaave.” Dave stopped pounding at the plate for a moment to press his head into the back of his knuckles. It had been his 'bright' idea to teach the Zombie at the front gate to talk. He even gave it a name once it understood enough. Now he regretted the action with every fiber of his being. It had been a game at first, something to do during the long lonesome months he’d spent in the bunker. He figured having someone to talk to might keep him sane a little longer. Now he was worried his insanity would stem from an entirely different, and much more annoying, source. He went back to his slow chiseling. After a few minutes the intercom chimed again. “Noise?” questioned Zee. Dave stopped and wiped sweat off his forehead. “You hear a noise? What noise?” Asked Dave, worrying that that something was compromising the base. “Your noise. Loud metal and rock.” Replied Zee. Dave looked down at his makeshift chisel and realized Zee could hear him hammering over the intercom. “That’s me.” He said back. “I’m doing some quality of life renovations. "You know, replacing the tile in the kitchen, putting in granite countertops, knocking down that annoying living room wall for an open-concept living space.” He smiled as he kept talking, enjoying the fantasy. “Open wall?” Zee asked. “Which wall? Zee enter?” Dave winced, he should have seen that coming. "Never mind dead guy.” Dave began, “never mind it was just a joke. I’m trying to take out the intercom speaker in my bedroom." "Speaker box?" Zee clarified. Dave nodded, even though no one could see him. He knew he did little things like that, old physical habits from before the infection that he couldn't kick. "Yep. Speaker box." He agreed. "That way you can't wake me up at night." Zee was quiet for a long moment. These pauses in their conversations were new things. He used to always jump from one question to another, but over the past few weeks he'd learned to reflect. Dave thought that was extraordinary; for a zombie to take a few second to plan a response was so, human. "Nights bad. Night talk make night good." Dave looked down at the radio thoughtfully. This also was not the first time Zee had seemed just as lonely as he was. "Yeah, I get yah." Said Dave, his tone softening. "But I got to sleep at night, recharge the old noggin." "So, no night talk make brain good?" Reasoned Zee slowly. "Exactly. It's good for my brain." "Hmmm Brains." Replied Zee, the hunger evident. Dave sighed, "Listen dead guy, just because I'm keeping my brain healthy doesn't mean—" but before he could finish, Dave accidentally kicked the chair he was standing on, and it began sliding off the desk. Dave tried to step off the falling chair but missed and fell with it. He threw out his arm to brace his fall and felt pain shoot up the arm when it struck the floor. He yelled out. “Dave?” Called Zee. “Dave ok?” Dave rolled onto his back and held his arm tight against his chest. He lay there for almost a minute, all the while listening to the zombie repeat his name over and over. “Dave? Daaaave. Dave? Dave? Dave. Dave.” “I’m fine! Jesus, just relax for a minute.” He finally shouted back, feeling tears form at the corner of his eyes. He moved his arm around and began lightly pressing where it had hit the ground. It did not feel broken, although it throbbed like crazy. “Dave ok?” Zee asked immediately. “Yes,” he replied, letting out a deep breath as the pain began to recede. “I’m ok.” Zee paused for a few seconds before asking, “Dave brain ok? Dave sighed, heavily. “Yes. Dave brain ok too.” “Good.” Said Zee. Dave rolled his eyes and wondered if he was imagining the tone of relief in Zee’s voice” “Dave?” it asked. “Yeah?” “Open?” “No.”
“Helloooo! Dude, let me in, bro!” Fuck. That’s it -that overly attached prick, again. My zombie friend. I was enjoying the life that I live peacefully in my cosy bunker... till now. What? Why the fuck am I in a bunker? That’s the thing you’re curious about, I know, I know. Long story. Pandemics, apocalypses, fucked up occurences like this and that and so forth to summarize. Anyway, I taught it to speak out of sheer boredom, but now it’s trying to convince me to let it in. All it seeks is “to play some FIFA 21 with me”, quoting it. “Hey! I know you hear me. Why don’t you let me in? Are you a speciesist or something? Oh, sorry but being a zombie wasn’t my choice, besides it’s 21st century, you know, widen your horizons...” “Words carry meanings, but they are all meaningless.” “What?” “If you want to convince me to let you in, you have to start to practise Zen. This bunker is a shrine...” “A what?” “A sanctua... a holy place, you idiot. So, I cannot let you in until the day you are enlightened.” “How can I do that, I mean, rawr, this enlightenment stuff?” “As I’ve just said, words carry meanings, but they are all meaningless. Because they cannot define Zen. When you define something, be sure, that’s not Zen. So shut the fuck up.” The zombie is enlightened at that very moment, and I keep playing FIFA 21 alone. It’s career mode. So I can’t let you in. Fuck you, zombie.
2021-09-29T08:44:53
2021-09-29T04:41:46
1,940
209
[WP] Your mom makes you stop playing video games and drag you to the sidewalk. "See. This is the outdoors" she says. You look in horror, for you have seen this before, it is the first level of the game you were playing, and you know what is gonna happen next.
"See. This is the outdoors!" I hear my mother say, for the 299th time. "Real World Simulator" it's called, modeled after one of those "insert dull activity" simulators that were all the rage in the 10's. They were often buggy, and sometimes unintentionally hilarious. There were even more than a few games created parodying the genre, with bugs intentionally left in, and maybe even created on purpose. It was hard to tell which category Real World Simulator fell into. When the game was actually playable, it could be fun. You'd go to school, make friends, maybe find love, watch Nickelodeon re-runs with period authentic commercials, play emulated versions of classic video games from my Great Grandfathers generation like TimeSplitters 2 and Final Fantasy X. When the game wasn't playable, it could be mistaken for a sequel to Silent Hill. Sometimes your friends wouldn't load in to the school, which was fine, it just makes for a lonely day at school. There was a rare chance your teachers wouldn't load in either, as their characters didn't exist outside of the classroom, but it had happened a few times. This would leave you stranded in an empty school, unable to progress because your classes would never start, so your school day could never end, leading to a game over. Other more horrific bugs included; An issue with the neighbors dog spawning an unlimited amount of times when you opened the front door of your house, leading to the scripted first day dog chase scene being absolutely unbeatable. Game Over. An issue where the bus driver would freeze with his foot depressed on the accelerator pedal, propelling the bus through a red mist that used to be crowds of other students waiting to be picked up. Most students were essential characters to the story of the simulation. Game Over. An issue where my girlfriend glitched and her face permanently disappeared just as she moved in to make out. Her floating teeth, nostrils, and eyeballs reeled back in shock when I screamed. I restarted the game that time. I've forgotten more bugs in this game than you've ever seen in your life. As I mentioned earlier, I'm on my 299th try at "Real World Simulator". I'm on the final level of the early access version, in fact, graduation day. The closest I've ever gotten to this point was the ill-fated 268th try where my final exam fell to my desk printed in Wingdings. (I failed the exam.) Why do I keep playing this game that cheats me out of winning at every turn you might ask? It's because I can't get out of it. I've been trapped inside this machine playing this game for the entire summer. The Principal calls my name and I'm overcome with emotion. To the virtual parents in attendance it looks like any other hard working, well behaved student expressing their simultaneous joy and trepidation at a lifetime of education giving way to an unknown world. I am not that. I have had to *literally* cheat the system to get here. Before I can make my way out of the aisle, my feet lock in place. I start to cry. The "aw's" of the parents and the laughing of my classmates sound 40 miles away, because inside my own head I'm agonizing over the fact that I likely won't reach that podium, or my literal ticket out of this hellish high school on the 299th try. I've been here before. This particular glitch is like waking up to find that you've been buried in concrete from the waist down, and even if the lines of code built to resemble teenagers around me were able to recognize this fact, they wouldn't be able to help me. I consider pressing the restart button. The principal calls for me again, and in his hand I can see a diploma emblazoned with my name in gold lettering. I twist, and I pull, but I know already that no matter how hard I try, the game is broken. I will not walk up to that podium. Early on in the game I learned that carrying a knife would be essential if I were to survive for any particular length of time in this game, as the most typical error in Real World Simulators programming was one which turned neighborhood cats into four legged versions of the movie "Predator". Never thought I'd be using the blade to graduate high school though. As I pull the blade through my abdomen, the auditorium erupts in chaos. Parents and their children flee for the exits, the gory scene too much to their delicately programmed personalities. I don't have to worry about my parents trying to stop me, as they're always the first people I kill at the beginning of every play-through. Too much interference, too many opportunities for game ending glitches. Huh. My spine is easier than I imagined it would be to separate. The principal seems like he too is suffering from the same glitch I had, and does not make a sound as I pull the top half of my body nearer to the podium. I can feel myself fading as I climb the stairs, and reach out towards him and demand as harshly as my rapidly draining consciousness will allow, to be given my diploma. I can feel it in my hands, and the coward runs for the exit. As I turned my eyes at least towards sweet victory, I can read the words "Congratulations! Get ready for the full Real World Simulator experience, coming Fall 20- Game Over. "Stop playing those damned video games, and get outside!" My mother screams at me, in the now robotic opening segment. She drags me to the front door, and follows me out to the sidewalk. I see only one dog in Mr. Olivers yard. "See? This is the outdoors." The next line has always pissed me off. "Maybe you've heard of it?" ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
I like singleplayer games. I really do. Maybe it’s related to the fact that I can’t shoot for shit in most of today’s multiplayer games. Maybe. Just maybe. *Fuck you* for being able to do otherwise! Ah damn... I’m stressed. I really am. This situation is just all kinds of messed up. I got kicked out of the house today to **play outside**. Shut it. I can already hear someone saying that I’m being a wimp. A lot has changed... See, the house I just came out of has that simple farmy look but I’ve never noticed that mural over to the side. Granted, I’ve been inside for awhile but that shit looks like a bonafide work of art. Hell, it *should* be. It was made by a game designer after all. It’s the spitting image of the game I was just playing. Eventually, turns out it’s an entrance to another world after the end game boss is killed. That extra content after the game was over and all that. “Maybe it was a fan.” I thought but then I noticed a *general store* across the *dirt* street. I live in the suburbs of Chicago. How did I miss this shit? Did we stop paying taxes and the roads went to shit? Worst of all are these kids around my age... - One kid with red hair... Check - One kid with *blue* hair... Check - One kid with green and yellow highlights... fuck it and check that motherfucker off the list The main characters. Easy to spot since they look almost like the spitting images of the game except for the fact that they look much more *real*. Here I am just writing this all down in a diary I found outside hoping it works like a save mechanic. That other kid with the black hair that just showed up should be the antagonist after all and that fiery red highly combustible looking bottle next to him is reminding me a bit too much about why the hero began his quest in his first place. Good luck. Me.
2019-01-03T10:01:05
2019-01-03T06:06:55
102
32
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
"Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it. It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time. As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart. Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge. Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat. Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage. Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day. He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear. All but one, Artillerella. Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it. "NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically. "My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman "Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..." And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again. And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again. This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure. "Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore. His daydream was shattered. "Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him. "I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one." Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers. "Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away. "Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?" Shimmer laughed. "The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light. "Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile "But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much. "Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently "And run on home" "OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus. "Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now." "Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands. Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger. Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win. Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away. "My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking. "My love why did he do this... why?" The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement. EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them. EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality.
The cuffs tightened around my wrists and the glowing blue orb was strapped to my chest. Thought the darkness leaving my body wasn't the only deep emptyness inside me. Sucker punch was her "hero name" but I knew her real name was Susan Brownlee. Of course I did, she was the love of my life and so it only made sense that I knew everything thing about her and now was the 153rd time I have let her defeat me. My powers were unimaginably stronger than hers but I wouldn't dare kill her, I get in just enough trouble so that for a few minutes her hands manipulate mine and strap on all this security and I'm close enough to smell her lavender-lylac shampoo. As the armored anti-super police unit drags me to the modified APC to transport me to some new and improved containment unit I catch her talking to the police chief, her blue eyes unphased by the atrocities I committed and her hair roughed up just enough to make her even more devilishly sexy. After the doors to my taxi are shut I look out the slit window for one last glimpse of the most beautiful human alive and my eyes are greeted in horror. A green ooze is dissolving the cheif and Susan is pinned to the ground by a disgusting hag with 4 legs and 6 arms. Brood Witch. Instinctively I look the cuffs around the handle on the bully steel door and tug, my hands rip clean off and I thrash around until the blue orb that strips me of my powers shatters, a terrible design but us villains vowed to never exploit that for situations that are dire, we wouldn't want escaping made harder would we? As soon as the orb cracks my powers return and a black mist swirls around me. My hands are back and slice easily through the door with a tendril so dark no light can escape. I fling myself toward my love and Brood Witch impales her with a glowing green spear of disgusting energy. I immediately lash out with everything I have: tendrils, my arms, my teeth. I tear Brood Witch apart with the wrath of the pure evil inside me and within moments the bitch though of as one of the most powerful of the evil supers was a twitching pile of blood. I run to Susan as her would dumps her mortal blood all over the concrete of downtown New York, green stains around the wound show me how bad it is. But there is nothing I can do, I scream for a paramedic or something because my darkness cannot heal wounds on those other than me. All I can do is hold her and try to stop the bleeding. She looks me in the eyes with utter confusion, for she thought I was her arch nemesis and wanted her dead. But before we can exchange any words her eyes droop shut and I can feel that a powerful soul has slipped into the void. But rather than the jolt of energy that I get when a hero dies, the mist surrounding me and the tendrils I hold her with blink out of existence. Before Susan's lifeless body can hit the ground my hands begin glowing with divine light and no longer have I any desire to cause chaos, but now the parasitic thoughts that drug me to the top of the criminal ladder are screaming at me to kill ever villain who dare dream of ripping life away from this beautiful world. Sorry is super ameteur, I though I had a good idea but I'm a terrible writer so feel free to critique me.
2017-10-18T18:23:28
2017-09-17T04:37:24
5,127
14
[WP] Convinced you're some kind of God, the monster living in your house has watched you control minds, cull entire armies and resurrect from the most horrific deaths all from the comfort of home. Rather than provoke your wrath, it worships you, never grasping the concept of 'video games'. Edit: Holy crapoli! I didn't at all expect this prompt to reach anywhere near 9k. Thanks for the stories everyone, and thanks for the gold Anon!
"Please sit down Mr. Gouger, Karren will in be shortly." I grind my spiked teeth. Anything but Karren. Monsters see scary shit every day, it is our bread and butter, but we are just as petrified of HR as anyone else. You think your HR department is bad? Try staffing it with actual monsters. I try to get comfortable in the seat, but it was expressly designed to achieve the opposite. Where do you even buy chairs that are intentionally uncomfortable? Is there a website, or do they have to have them specially made? Karren probably has them carved out of ground up orphans, or the femurs of cute puppys. If it's a good day she probably kills the puppies first. She slithers in without a sound, because HR never wants you to know they are in the room. I sense her presence before I see her. The room feels different, like even the oxygen is finding an excuse to be somewhere else. She locks eyes with me, all seven of them, and her forked tongue flickers before she slams down onto one of those yoga balls. It's supposed to be good for posture, but the woman has a hunchback you'd need ropes to climb, so I'm thinking that ship has sailed. Karren flips open a beige folder. Why are they always beige? It is the only thing in this room that isn't offensive, which somehow makes it worse. She tutts as she rifles through the paper inside. "These numbers are unacceptable. You haven't raised your victim's heart rate, there's no sign of nightmares. He isn't even getting less sleep. What do you have to say for yourself?" Hmmm, how am I going to broach this? Do I just blurt it out, or should I make her reach the conclusion herself? Nah, that's going to take too long, she has the razor sharp intellect of a bag of hammers. Better if I just spell it out for her. "Something is wrong with this assignment. I think maybe there has been some kind of mistake." "You're telling me!" She squeezes a stress ball, her claws instantly puncturing it. She pulls another out from a drawer. "No, not like that. This kid isn't normal. He's doing stuff at night when his parents are asleep. Deprived stuff..." "Of course he is, he's a teenager. What were you expecting, tea parties? Maybe some fancy dress?" I briefly wonder what they would do to me if I just snapped Karren's neck like a twig. She'd probably come back to life. Satan wouldn't put up with her bullshit. "You're not listening. He's not normal. I have seen him command legions through a portal in his bedroom, and when they die he calls them useless shitbags and brings them back to life. I think he may be some kind of messiah, or at least a demi-god. Sometimes he leads the army, and sometimes he sends a small version of himself and single handedly saves galaxies. I've seen him do it a bunch of times. The other day, he put saving the princess on hold to collect twenty wolf pelts. She's been waiting for weeks to be saved, and he's off killing families of wolves for no obvious reason. It's not like the wolves kidnapped her. They didn't have anything to do with it as far as I can tell. That isn't even the worst of it." Karren scribbled something in her notepad, although I had no idea what it said. For all I know she made a note to pick up milk, so she could feed it to lactose intolerant orphan puppies. She gestured that I was allowed to continue talking, which really increased my urge to redecorate this office. "Sometimes he doesn't want to be the hero, he just wants to kill stuff. He simulates an entire world and then proceeds to murder people over and over, laughing as they are reincarnated so he can slaughter them again. He insinuates that he has regular intercourse with their mothers, although I have never witnessed a female in his room before. Then he rubs his avatars scrotum in their corpses face, while questioning their sexual orientation. He has these amazing abilities, and yet he uses them to humiliate and dominate others. He is truly a monster." Karren sighed, the noise squeaking out like a wet fart. She said, "These sound like excuses. Honestly, I'm just not convinced you're scary enough. Maybe we will find someone scarier." That was the last thing I remember before the blackout. When I came around I was being promoted, something about the scariest performance HR had ever seen. Karren still slithers with a limp because of it. They asked if I wanted to reassign someone else to the kid, but I told them not to. Sometimes you just have to leave God to it and hope that our world is next on his list of ones to save.
I suck at video games. I'm at my 30th continue on NSMBW; I can't beat Air Man even with the manual's help; I've lost more Pikmin than I'd care to admit. None of that matters any more though. You see, I've gotten ...a new perdpective on this. A week ago, I found out there was some horrible beastie living in my home. I've never quite been able to get a good look, but what I have seen is not pleasant. Mainly I've heard it. And it hears me. It hears me scream at my Pikmin for getting themselves killed ...again. It hears me cry in joy as I finally manage to beat Larry Koopa. It hears me mutter a death threat to those blasted bird things that keep dropping their children. I don't think it quite understands what's happening though. It probably thinks I'm killing actual living beings instead of pieces of data and pixels. I'm hesitant to bring anybody else over not because I fear for their safety, but because I don't want the monster to know I suck.
2019-03-27T17:51:32
2019-03-27T15:01:52
26
10
[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.
28, 34, 21, and 54. I remained where I stood, nodding to the guests in silent affirmation that they were allowed in. As they trudged past me and through the door of Barney's Strip Club, I reached into my pocket, fumbled for a cigarette, and stuck it in my mouth. Now where was my lighter? It would be so much easier if I could just- 20, 17. Ugh. I groaned inwardly. 17? That was definitely not a number that should be here. Time to perform my job, I suppose. "Hey, you two. Hold it." I shifted myself into the doorway, blocking the two young men from entering. Behind his expensive looking sunglasses, I could see the younger one already beginning to sweat. Was he really unable to wait for just one year longer? Honestly, kids these days... I sighed inwardly, but continued standard procedure. "Excuse me, but can I see your ID?" At the first mention of an ID, they both began to fidget. The younger one kept glancing over at the older... his brother, maybe? Eventually, the older one took charge, handing over two pieces of plastic with an artificial smile plastered on his face. I ignored the small talk he tried to make and pretended to study the cards intensely, while in reality I was rolling my eyes behind designer sunglasses. I didn't know the first rule about being a bouncer, let alone how to identify fake IDs from real ones. All the club wanted was for me to do was two things- keep out the riff raff out, and be good about it. Which suited me just fine. "Nice try, kid, but you're going to have to try somewhere else." I couldn't be bothered to mess with these two any longer, as my cigarette was getting soggy. I handed back the IDs and glared them off. Any possible protests they contemplated melted like snow upon seeing my iron-set muscles, and they beat a hasty retreat. In my profession, it helps to be a mountain of a man like me. And another thing that helped was this ability. The power to see numbers over peoples heads that showed their age- at first, I thought it was a stupid power, but eventually I came to see its use. After all, I turned out to make a pretty good bouncer, despite knowing nothing of the job. It came in handy for my other business as well. Speak of the devil. I was just about to light my cigarette when something else caught my attention. 3,214. A petite man who couldn't be over thirty, wearing an elegant tuxedo and tie that dripped of extra money, stood in front of me. He looked like your typical, unassuming gentleman, the type who wouldn't hurt a fly. And I might have been fooled by this disguise as well, if not for that 3,214 floating over his head. This wasn't work anymore. Now, it was business. Once more, I sigh inwardly. Over 3,000? Then this might actually prove to be troublesome. As *they* get older, they get stronger as well. Feeling a pain welling up in my back from an old injury, I crack my neck around. Then I spit out my cigarette and lumber into the doorway once more, standing above this ancient wonder of a man. Well, not that *it* is a man. The *thing* tilted its head in inquisition. "Pardon me, but is something wro-" I didn't give it a chance to finish its sentence. Pulling back my shoulder, I let loose a full powered punch straight into the face of the *thing*, a clean punch that would have demolished a building. And yet, even as the man goes flying, he's already fully regenerated by the time he hits the ground. *It* immediately enters combat mode, transforming its arms into pairs of wickedly sharp blades, but I don't give it a chance to use them. Utilizing another power of mine, a more useful one, I ignite my fists into flame, and unleash a barrage of punches upon the creature until its been reduced to pulp. Only once its been melted into a puddle on a ground do I cease my attack. "Ha... ha..." As I pant, I observe the creature for movement, but it appears to be completely and thoroughly dead. Just to make sure though, I light the remaining puddle on fire, and watch it evaporate into the air. Sticking a new cigarette in my mouth, I light a fire beneath it with the snap of a finger. Then, leaning back against the wall, I crack my neck again, dispelling the misdirection barrier that I had erected around the area. Once more, customers begin to trickle in, and I continue my vigilant watch. I work as a bouncer, but my real job is somewhat different. It just so happens that *they* like places like clubs, where life energy and youthfulness is abundant. But I'll be here. And I'll be watching.
I stared bleakly at the faintly glowing digits. As if it couldn't get worse, the last number - a five - slowly transformed into a six. "We have reservations." The average-looking gentleman put out his hand and I plucked the driver's license out of it automatically. It read like any other I'd looked at tonight; the birthdate was just a few years before mine. The numbers over the woman's head read as twenty seven. Blonde and beautiful, her eyes were stunning and fixated almost entirely on her ancient companion. A man five thousand years her senior. "Yes," I rasped, from a shock-clogged throat. "VIP room upstairs." He scowled at me then, and I felt a weight of scrutiny I didn't know could exist. Like a bug under a magnifying glass. In the sun. I winced away from those eyes like they were an assault, and backed out of the way, stumbling over my feet. I had no desire to know this man, but I had the unnerving suspicion that he'd now want to know me. And that couldn't happen.
2017-09-01T23:18:34
2017-09-01T19:55:18
189
140
[WP] It's midnight on a weekend, and you're doing laundry at your apartment's laundromat. You hear the door swing open but pay it no mind until the fellow enters your peripherals and you see a very inhuman form. He is a werewolf, but is groggily just doing laundry. He hasn't realized he's changed.
Hard to believe im spending my Friday night doing laundry at midnight, Where did I fuck up in life to be here, I remember the rowdy parties, gaming sessions, and rounds of beer pong. I let out a heavy sigh as I reminisce on the good times and I start loading the dryer. As I start lamenting the fact that I only have 3 work shirts from my job at the pound, you'd think a government job would spend a little more for its employees, I notice a familiar shape to my left. I look over, at first thinking I was seeing someone carrying a German Sheppard mix past the machines , its not uncommon for people to bring dogs in here. Then I notice the neck and the body and the everything as it walks out from the row of machines. To say I nearly shit myself was an understatement, I was staring at what I could only describe as an honest to god werewolf. He seemed half awake his eyes struggling to stay open as he slowly loaded the closest machine, wobbling in place. My mind was screaming at me, to run to do anything, but I was just frozen in place. I must of being starring in disbelief for what felt like an hour but in reality was only seconds as the werewolf continued to sloppily load his laundry, before looking over. "oh hey, you,.. you ok mann, you need some help or ,uph, money for the , uh , the, dra, machine" he started to stumble over towards me fumbling in his right pocket, seemingly unaware of his current appearance of lack of shirt. He was shitfaced, I stepped back as he lurched forward and proceeded to drop a set of keys and procured a wallet. I sat there thinking what the fuck to do as a drunk werewolf inched ever closer, when he finally seemed to notice he was not in fact wearing a brown shirt. The drunken smile across his face replaced with panic, as he started looking at his arms and chest. the realization must of been as terrify for him as it was for me because he started stammering, "oh fuck , oh no, imm im not, im osrry, ohf uck" I watched as this drunken idiot turned around to run and slammed his head right on the open dryer door behind him. I have no idea why maybe my brain was all fucked up from the fear and adrenaline, but in that moment, the absolute absurdity of the situation and the distinct thud of his head on the washer door was the funniest thing my sleep deprived brain had ever seen. all the tension of the last minute was released as I found myself doubled over and crying from laughter. From his seat on the floor he started joining in as well, laying back on the floor in his drunken stupor. As I finally started to regain my senses he was still on his back on the floor, suppressing laughs. I picked up the keys and saw that they were from the unit 3 doors down, I also picked up the wallet, and thought about peeking his ID before realizing it felt wrong. as I looked over at the miserable mess lying beside me I resolved to help him out, I've had a far share of sad nights of heavy drinking alone and the mistakes that come with it. I collected the laundry before leaning down, to start pulling him up onto my shoulders, his large fur covered frame draped over me in half conscious state. and thats how we walked. hap hazardly veering back and forth as we conquered the 5 minute walk and the treacherous stairs to his apartment, as he drunkingly giggled in my right ear intermittently. I finally lay him into his bed a tremendous weight sliding from my shoulders. as he fell into place. It had been a while since I brought a guy to bed but never imagined something like this. I don't know why, I didn't just leave then, Im usually conflict avoidant , especially when it comes to strangers, nerveless a literal monster on the bed, but I was worried. What if he had alcohol poisoning, its not like I could just bring him to hospital. What if someone saw, Maybe I could force him to throw up, his dumb wolf head was big enough to stick my hand into but what would happen if he bites. So many swirling thoughts going through my head, my body was still processing the over surge of adrenaline from earlier, I doubt I could sleep anytime soon. I looked over as he lay there so peacefully, his soft breaths , breaking the silence as he drifted off to sleep , and muttered a slurred ," i im sorry, th, tank you". As i sat next to him, I felt something I didn't realize I had even forgotten in my lonely heart, as I rubbed his ears, before finally succumbing to sleep as well. Im sorry if this is bad im still pretty new to writing and don't know how to format anything on reddit. any and all advice is welcome.
"Um hello... " I said, unable to hide the confusion in my voice from the tall hairy figure standing beside me. "Good evening." He responded seemingly unaware of thr fur covering his entire body. "Sooooo you like a furry or something?" I suddenly realized the ridiculousness of thinking this man was a real werewolf. I needed a cup of coffee... or sleep... or both. The furry looled at me in confusion. Thrn down at his hands. A sudden look of panic took his face. My heart dropped. Was he actually a werewolf? That couldn't be, they went extinct. Unless... my thoughts were cut short as he let out a blood curdling sound. I couldn't tell if it was a roar, a howl, a scream or an unholy combination of the three. His shout turned into words. One word. "Run"
2020-09-29T11:30:26
2020-09-29T09:58:57
36
15
[WP] You're finally meeting your SO's parents. They are definitely demigods, and your SO is really trying to hide it, but the parents are so adorably awkward and out of touch that they keep slipping up.
Being a mortal human adopted by godly parents has it's upsides and downsides. I'm not gonna lie, mostly it was pretty great. My parents could transport me anywhere in the world with a snap of their fingers, so I had to play along as all my friends complained about airports, cramped flights, and the jackass ahead of them who reclined the whole flight. They were also totally willing to smite any human who "did me wrong". Well, almost *too willing* in fact, that's where the downsides begin. Someone cut in line ahead of me at the coffee shop? My parents want to smite her. Some reckless driver causes me to get into a fender bender? "May we smite this reckless fool, Julia?" they'd inquire. A guy I'm dating does something shitty? Oh, you'd better believe he's got a huge smiting in his future if I don't intervene on his behalf. Which brings me to my current dilemma. I really like my boyfriend, I think he might be 'the one', but we've been dating for over a year and he's grown more and more suspicious that I'm trying desperately to keep him from meeting my parents. It was fair of him to notice something was off. I'd spent dozens of hours with his parents and family and he'd yet to meet a single relative of mine. My excuses grew lamer and lamer each time he inquired about meeting them, but in my defense, did I mention their penchant for smiting mortals for seemingly forgivable mistakes? Yeah, I really don't want the potential love of my life to get smote... sue me! I suppose I could have lied to him and told him that my parents were dead or something, but I love my parents, I could never disrespect them like that. And I *do* want them to be a part of my mortal life, I just knew it was going to be... complicated. My parents we'rent some run of the mill gods, they were at the top of their respective godly food chains. My dad is the All-Father of Life, the overarching god of creation responsible for all living beings. He's as tall as a small house and his voice itself can... well, it *has* been the cause of numerous massive earthquakes. My mother is the Queen of Death, responsible for collecting the souls of those beings my pops was previously responsible for, judging their lives, and deciding their final, eternal destination. The yin-yang nature of their relationship gave me hope that opposites could attract, but you can perhaps guess that given their monumental roles they took everything a bit too seriously. I decided that the only way my boyfriend could possibly handle this revelation was to ease him into it very gently, so I requested that my parents come to the mortal realm and disguise themselves as humans for their first meeting. I offered (more like begged) to give them a crash course in blending in with humans, but they scoffed at me. "Julia we oversee ALL of humanity in both life and death! We know humankind and their behavior quite well thank you very much!" Yeah, what could possibly go wrong? My boyfriend and I pulled up to 'my parents house' just before dinnertime. I don't know if they'd taken over a house that had already been here or had created one with a snap of their fingers and frankly I didn't want to know. My sole focus was getting through the next few hours without any major relationship or life ending disasters. I took a deep breath and we headed inside. My first panic attack soon followed as I laid eyes on my 'human parents' for the first time. My dad was wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt and sandals with bright white socks underneath. My mom was wearing a dress that would have been right at home on a dutiful housewife in the 1950's. Both were at least sized down to somewhat human proportions, but my dad still towered over everything at his 'reduced' height of 7 feet tall. Mom at least had replaced the swirling black wisps of death that normally encircled her head with human hair, but she'd done it up in a ludicrously tall beehive style that no woman could have possibly worn in this century. "Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend Jesús," I said nervously. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE DATING JESUS?" my father bellowed far too loudly. "I KNOW JESUS WELL! WE WORK TOGETHER AND-- Wait Julia, you are mistaken, this is not Jesus..." "Ha! Dad... starting with the lame dad jokes already! He likes to say he 'know's Jesus' because hes a Christian," I tried to quickly lie to Jesús. "You guys can just call him J, that's what I do so there's no confusion!" Thankfully J chuckled at all this awkwardness. "Pleased to meet you Jesús! My name is Alan, but you may call me... Al for short," my dad said while grinning like a lunatic. He was clearly incredibly proud of his idea to shorten his name from 'All-Father of Life' to an actual human name like 'Al'. "And this is my lovely wife, Betso!" "Betsy!" my mother quickly corrected him. "Lovely to meet you dear boy." "Great to finally meet you both!" he replied. Dad lead J off toward the living room which gave me a chance to lean over to my mother and whisper, "Betsy?" She nodded proudly, "It is the most common name for human wives. I told you I'd fit right in darling." "I'm getting the distinct sense that you didn't *actually* do any research on humans, mother. You're just basing all this on the 60's TV shows you love to watch aren't you?" "Nonsense!" she declared. "Now go fetch the boys and we'll sit down for dinner! The intentionally overcooked and dry pot roast I made is ready." The pot roast was indeed nearly inedible, but that was much less of a concern to me than the bizarre dinner conversations taking place. "So, how about Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston?" my mother asked with concern. "Are they... did something new happen with them?" Jesús asked. "Sadly it appears he is leaving her for Angelina Jolie," she replied. Oh lord... this 20 year old celebrity gossip was *not* going to help my parents pass as believable humans. "Well, leaving her for Angelina Jolie... as human males with human body parts we can understand that impulse can't we Jesús?" dad asked with a laugh and a 'friendly' slap on J's back that nearly sent him flying out of his chair. "Oh... yeah, totally... sorry to tell you folks, I'm a love of em and leave em type of guy!" Jesús replied with obvious sarcasm. I saw my dad's expression turn stone faced and noticed faint hints of electricity crackling in his hand. "He's joking! Tell them you're joking and that you're incredibly committed to this *very* monogamous relationship with me, Jesús... tell them, tell them now please, tell them RIGHT NOW PLEASE!" He did and my father ceased his stealthy thunderbolt summoning. "Ha! Of course!" he bellowed. "I love jokes! Have you heard the one about Aphrodite, Odin and Osiris walking into an ancient Zoroastrian temple?" I breathed a very small sigh of relief. Crisis one averted, mere thousands more to go? ___ r/Ryter FYI this story is set in the same universe and loosely connected to another story I recently wrote. It's at the top of my subreddit right now (most recent post) if anyone cares to check out more of Julia's backstory with her crazy adopted family of gods.
[EDIT: Thanks so much for all the nice reviews and comments and for mother frICKING PLATINUM. Thanks kind stranger!!] As I walk up to Ivy's house I notice the Greek statues that surround the enormous driveway and the weird burning smell coming from the backyard. Brushing it off as a weird family tradition my girlfriend told me about, I ring the doorbell. The man that answers is tall with a salt and pepper beard and green-blue eyes that twinkled when he saw me.    "Oh hello there!" He says, in a booming voice, "It is so nice to finally meet the woman if my little girl's dreams!" As I blush a deep red Ivy shows up.    "Dad! Don't embarrass her like this.. Carmen, this is my father, Percy." A pretty woman with stormy grey eyes comes up behind Ivy, "and this," Ivy beckons to her mom, "Is my mom, Annabeth!"    "Pleasure to meet you, Carmen. We've heard so much about you!" Annabeth says warmly.    "Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Jackson."    "Please, just call me Annabeth." She says. Beckoning me inward, I notice a lot of Greek god paintings and two camps. As we walk down the long hallway we run into a man that looks like he is half goat. Startled to see me he just stares, and I stare back. Obviously panicking Ivy quickly makes him go away and smiles awkwardly at me.    "If you don't mind me asking, who was that?" I ask. The parents avoid eye contact and make up so bs answer about him being a gardener or something like that. Not really wanting to know more, I shrug and we continue walking. Our next incident is in the form of a man in a toga, eating grapes on top of what looks like the dining table.    "Dioy- I mean.. um- Darren! Yes, Darren! What are you DOING here?!" Percy hisses at the toga man.    "I have a message from Chiron." The toga weatig Darren says in between grapes, "he says that he had gotten an influx of half-bloods and needs some help identifying them-" cut off swiftly Ivy looks horrified. Quickly making a different goat-man escort him off the table and out of the mansion. Raising my eyebrow in question Annabeth quickly says, "Oh Dio- Darren. He's an old friend. A bit not all there, there you know?" She says behind a strained smile. Nodding slowly, becoming a bit more curious but also feeling a bit cautious, I accept the answer, for now.    After some lounging around in the living room, sharing stories (some of them quite.. interesting) we have dinner. It is chicken with mashed potatoes and ice cream for dessert. As Percy grabs the knife the help Annabeth cut the chicken, it suddenly comes alive.    "Oh Gods!" Percy yelps. Out of no where, a big dog comes running into the room, jumping on to the table (and subsequently breaking it), and eating the chicken whole.   "No, no no! Bad doggo!" A cyclopes suddenly lumbers into the room, scolding the dog and heaving it outside. Still in shock I gulp nervously and go,    "Y'all are demigods, aren't you?" Eyes widening the three of them look at me in shock.    "You know what that is?" Ivy finally goes. I nod my head.    "My parents are demigods too, you don't know how many times I've nearly died just being in my own home." Sighing in relief they all visibly relax. Percy looks me straight in the eye and says,    "Welcome to the family, Carmen. I think you'll fit right in with us."
2019-06-20T09:42:37
2019-06-20T09:42:24
300
123
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
“Please, around the roses.” I called out, trying to salvage my garden. It was impossible to be a gardener class in an age of warriors and mages. No one cared about the little gardener boy who was just trying to maintain a healthy system of flora. No, if my plants couldn’t fire lightning bolts or wield a sword, they wanted nothing to do with me. I could see the culprit in the distance, a burly bear like man dressed in heavy plated armor, the metallic clanks drifting from him with every stride he took. “HAHA, my grandmother has the same hobby as you noble gardener and she eats radishes.” I wasn’t sure what the insult was there, but he said it with enough gusto that I still felt embarrassed, watching him trample each of my lovely plants to death only to trip. Time seemed to slow in that moment as he fell, only for the heavy thud of his body to leave a dent in the soil below. “Um, you, ok?” I inched my way towards the man, crouching at his side. I gave his chest plate a cautious poke before giving his head a few frantic shakes. “Oh, no. Come on, don’t be dead. How will I explain this to the people that pass through here?” I grabbed his helmet, pulling it off him, seeing the bearded man’s brown eyes staring up at me. He was still alive, though barely. A gloved hand reached for my tunic, tugging me forward. “Heh, Radish eater.” He said before falling back dead. Wasting his last word on an insult. When he passed, I felt a rush of energy, like I had eaten a bunch of fermented fruit. Everything tingled with a strange aura of energy and soon my muscles developed, growing a few extra inches while thick green vines enveloped my arms. The tight grip of the vines should have caused pain and yet it felt pleasant, like they belonged pressed against my skin. For once I felt powerful, leaning my body back as the plants raised themselves from the ground to hold me up, offering me a back rest. “This is incredible.” I rose from my spot beside the fallen adventurer, raising my hands as the surrounding soil twisted, reviving the trampled plants, causing them to spring to life, swaying along with the sunny breeze. “Finally, I can keep those heroes off my garden.” I felt a small amount of relief at that thought. It would be nice to not be a joke anymore. Maybe I would even earn their respect. “Bullith?” A voice called out, watching as a smaller knight pushed through the shrubbery around my home, only to stare at me with a horrified expression, seeing me standing over their fallen hero with arms outstretched. “You murderer.” They hissed, drawing their sword. “I didn’t. It’s a misunderstanding. He fell on my plants I swear.” Unfortunately, the hero didn’t seem to care about my failing attempts at explaining my innocence, only charging towards my garden. I put my hands up to block the attack, and the plants responded, rising from the soil to form a protective barricade. I could hear metal thumping against plant but no matter how hard he cut; the wall held. “Fell on plants? You expect me to believe that would kill the mighty Bullith? I will bury your head next to him as a trophy.” The hero dramatically wailed, unable to even cut a hole in my defenses. I kept one hand raised to hold my defenses while the other hand scooped down, using a set of roots to pick up the body, tossing Bullith out of the garden, towards the other hero. “Here’s his body. I promise you will find no wounds on him. If you just put your sword away, I’m sure we can discuss this respectfully.” I expected the sound of the thumping to stop, only to hear a shriek followed by even more frantic slashes. “YOU KILLED HIM, HE’S REALLY DEAD. I WILL DRIVE MY SWORD THOUGH YOUR THROAT.” His threats were empty, unable to even break a hole in my defenses, but that wasn’t what concerned me. It was the other voices that I could hear in the distance, each one getting attracted to the hero’s screams. I could handle one hero, but two or three? Eventually, they would outnumber me. Searching for a way out, I glanced at the bushes surrounding my quaint cottage. I hated the idea of leaving my garden, but it had to be done. I lowered my defenses and put my focus into the bushes instead, growing them around the garden, making a thick, confusing wall of greenery that would hide me until I got into the forest. The bushes were a maze, the tall thick shrubbery impossible for anyone else to navigate. For me, it was simple. I would keep walking straight until I hit a dead end. Once I encountered that, I would open the dead end and continue. After a few minutes of walking, I finally reached the forest that surrounded my cottage, able to still hear their confused curses behind me. I considered freeing them, but thought better of it. If I dropped the maze, they would only try to capture or kill me. I needed time to escape. With nowhere else to go, I headed north, making my way to the small village of Tuntail. Maybe someone there could use a person with my skills?       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
I stared in horror at my poor mesquite tree I had named Hexus just for the hell of it. I had been cultivating it for years to harvest branches for smoking. Now the bark was tainted... the stupid asshole had tripped over one of my low fences and was impaled on the mesquite trees thorns. "Fuck!" I muttered angrily and stomped around before getting into the dead guys face. "I told you all to stay out of my garden. Yalls destroyed my pumpkin patch, soiled my strawberries, and raped my blackberry bushes. Now you've fucked with Hexus..." I kicked his foot. "I might have to chop it down and start all over again. Can't even sell the wood because its tainted with blood. Fuck you guys." I called the city guard. They arrived not thirty minutes later to extract the body. "This was a pretty high level adventurer." The guard murmured. "But... guess the cups got to him too." The guard sighed. "I've built larger fences but they keep coming into my property. Im a gardener.. I can hardly fill my quotas and pay my taxes if these assholes keep ruining my crops." The guard gave a nod of understanding. "At least you leveled up." The guard smiled. "Not like that helped. But i did dual class..." I rubbed my hands together. "I don't like that look in your eye." The guard said. "Monster taming. I've already ordered a beast to watch my plants." "Is it legal?" The guard asked. "Perfectly. Piranah Plant wolves." "Those don't exist." The guard said. I chuckled. "Not yet."
2021-11-12T11:42:53
2021-09-09T18:31:59
1,235
210
[WP] You're pretty sure that the gas station you work at is a hotspot for eldritch beings beyond mortal understanding but this job doesn't pay enough for you to care. Also they are more polite than your average customer.
The chime above the door rang as it slid open pensively for the man in a trucker hat tucked low on his head who entered the station’s building. He made his way over to the snack aisle, looking up and down as he evaluated which he would like to be eating. Wherever he walked, the light above him seemed to shimmer ever so slightly, but only just enough that I could notice if I paid attention to it. As I waited patiently, another customer came in and approached the counter immediately. “Could I get $30 on pump 3?” he asked, sliding his credit card over the counter. “Sure thing,” I swiped his card on my end and waited until it eventually buzzed angrily at me. “Ah, sorry, I think something is messing with the signal. Do you happen to have cash?” “Are you kidding me? What kinda establishment doesn’t accept credit cards?” he asked boisterously. “We normally accept credit,” I explained, “but it looks like the system is down.” “You doing some sort of laundering scheme?” he accused. “Is that why the system is down?” He raised sarcastic air quotes. “I’m sorry sir, but I can’t help you unless you have cash,” I answered, consciously keeping my teeth from gritting together. “You think I’m stupid?” he asked. “I’m starting to consider it,” I mumbled. “What was that!?” he exploded. “Give me my gas or you’re gonna regret it, kid!” “*Ļ̵̡͓͈͎̞͓̬̓͠ě̶͔̺̠̍̔̀̾͠ą̷̫͎͉͇̱͑͒̅̀̒͜v̸̼̍͗̀̆͒̈̉è̴̟̰̣̓ ̶͍͓͚̑̆̏̿͆͝t̷̠̠̳̭̼͍̬̲͛̕͠h̷̼͇͔͉̍͛̓̽̏̆ȩ̷̝̦̪͓̰̺͔̈́̉ ̷̟͗ͅc̸̦͚͚̤̻̃h̵̬̘͚̑̽̓̓͗͠i̷͉͕̜̟̯̞̝͚̍͌͋͑̇l̵̛̠̤͖̈́͒͐̓d̴̗͚͎̫͎̰̺̆̆ ̸̳̗̘̳͌͜a̴̰̤̩͍̍̾l̴͚͉̥͙̦͌̐̕ó̷̡̫̞͚͇̬͛̕n̴̨̺̟̥̰̳̠̒̋͐̍͆͝e̶̝̽̄́̈́̒,*” the other customer appeared suddenly next to me, I jumped, not realizing he somehow made his way next to me and the cash register popped open even without prompting. His hat was tucked low over his eyes and his voice seemed to be sprouting from the ceiling, echoing into an abyss that wasn’t here. “What was that, punk?” the customer asked. “I can’t understand your accent!” he jeered, smiling. The customer next to me made a sound like he was clearing his throat, but it instead sounded like a rusty bolt falling down a deep storm drain. “*I said to leave the child alone*,” the hat-adorned customer repeated, his voice still reverberating and originating from somewhere above us. “You the manager or something?” the sneering man asked. “What are you gonna do, kick me out?” *“I could do much more, Jim,”* the voice echoed as he tilted up his hat. Jim’s face went white and his jaw slowly crept open as he stared into the customer’s eyes. “How… how did you know my name?” he stammered, all his bravado drained in the moment. I also made the mistake of looking into the customer with the hat’s eyes and saw six different ways in which I could die today, each more painful than the last. *“I know many things, Jim. I come from beyond and bring back with me each of its stories and horrors. I know every fear that you know and every fear you have left to discover. You also have your name stitched on to the back of your jacket,”* the customer answered. One of Jim’s arms tried fruitlessly to cover the back of his jacket instinctively. He inched a step backward, having forgotten the reason he came inside as if it were a dream. He suddenly realized I was still holding his credit card. “Keep it!” he shouted, bolting out the door and scrambling to his truck. As he drove off, I realized that the only car left outside was my own. The customer remaining inside had somehow come out to this freeway rest stop without a car. *“I would like to purchase the chip in the plastic,”* impossibly fast, the man was on the other side of the counter, the light above us flickering. He held up a bag of chips and a 20 dollar bill, both of which were disintegrating in his hands, their essence wisping away like incense burning from his palms. “Sure…” I said, making great effort not to look him in the eyes. “It’s 2 dollars.” *“Retain the change. Attempt to not spend it all in the same location,”* he placed the bill on the table, but as he pulled his hand away it became a pile of quarters of the same value. “Sorry, I can’t really take tips,” I said, looking up and seeing he had vanished, the light above me content to remain at one constant brightness once again. I shrugged, this not having been the first time I had a customer like that, and instinctively said, “Thanks, come back soon.” *“Perhaps I will,”* the ceiling replied. _____________ /r/Nazer_The_Lazer, where by popular demand I'll be adding a part 2
Monday Mr. Jackson a man of indusernable age bought a lotto ticket, but he won. Well of course he won you would say. Everyone wins eventually at least that's what the company's tells you. Evrey single ticket run by my store can't win more then ten dollars. I know because I write the tickets myself it one of my tasks. The ticket in question are 1$ and 1 in 10 win a free ticket 1 in 50 win a dollar and 1 in 200 wins 10$, and the ticket read win up to 100$.Mr. Jackson however won 100$. I mean that's impossible. They literally can't win that amount yet he scratched it off and I had to pay him. Tuesday A young woman walked in today. She was well dressed and never met eyes with me. As she was trying on sun-glasses her image caught my eye there was nothing human about her in that mirror nothing at all. She bought the glasses and left Wensday Chrismas eve an hour before the gass station would close it was quite and boring. I had not had a customer in two hours. Suddenly have all the cameras shut down and a customer walk out of the bathroom. Exept the there was never had been bathroom in a place as small as this had there? When had it been expanded. The customers walked out with a friendly sort of wave. Thursday There were a lot of people here today. Lots off bustle with me just ringing up items and asking "cash or card?" When as if on queue all the people stopped and faced the bathroom a male child walked out. They all bowed. They bowed! Then they turned towards me u gad no idea what to do so I bowed,and they continued on as if nothing at all happened Friday last day on my shift this week, although now that I think about it the gass station only seems to be open on days I work. It's always abandoned as I walk by. The strangest thing yet happend today. The power went out it was bound to happen eventually that's not what was strange. What was Strang e was that when it did an old man looked up frowned and said "Now Tranzthit you said one day in sunlight and I haven't even mad it outside yet." The light seemed to come on reluctantly as If they actually could delay themselves that's not how a switch works. Is it how a switch works? Saturday I don't have to worry about the gass station today. It has been the best part time job I've ever found. 20$ an hour to manage a small gass station that was closed on the weekend. Of course the customers could be odd, but they were mutch kinder than anyone else I'd ever encountered in customer service. I loved my job.
2021-12-13T21:01:41
2021-12-13T20:52:47
1,172
16
[WP] You have just died, but the grim reaper won't let you move on as you still have unfinished business. The reaper did not anticipate just how long it would take for you to finish all the games in your Steam library.
"It's time, Daniel." Daniel looked up from his screen, shining a glow on his face that was the only light in the dark room he called his office. Standing before him was a specter in a dark robe, holding a scythe in bony hands. Daniel paused his game. "Seriously, now?" Death whispered in a low, croaky voice, "Yes Daniel, now." "Come on, I'm right in the middle of a quest!" Death leaned heavily against his scythe. "Not another soul with unfinished business," he groaned. He straightened up and irritatedly said, "Fine. You may have some time to complete whatever you need. I guess." Daniel smiled, and turned to his computer. He was only about 10 hours into the Witcher 3, and he now planned on completing all the side quests. Death wasn't going to take him yet! *Two Days Later* Daniel was having a great time. For whatever reason, he didn't feel tired or hungry, so he was able to just keep playing. He'd always wanted to try a gaming marathon, and it lived up to all his expectations. He was even mostly able to forget the specter of death standing behind him. Daniel turned to look. Death was standing in the doorway, leaning on his scythe, silently looking at him through lidless sockets. He shook his head and turned back to his computer. "Can I watch?" Daniel jerked back and whipped around. Death hadn't moved, but Daniel knew that that rattling whisper must have come from him. But that whisper somehow sounded oddly... embarrassed? And sure enough, Daniel noticed that death was refusing to meet his eyes, and that cloak seemed to be a little smaller, pulled in somewhat. "Ummm... Sure?" As Daniel watched, Death glided over, used his scythe to pull a chair to just behind Daniel, and sat, though Daniel wasn't quite sure how what looked to be a shapeless cloak with a skull could sit. Daniel turned back to his computer, disconcerted by the eerie figure now sitting directly behind him, and re immersed himself in the game. *One Day Later* "On your left." Daniel instinctively jerked his mouse to slash at the wolf he missed sneaking up on him. Just after the blow hit, he paused the game and swiveled in his chair to stair at Death. Death was slouching in his chair, far less stiff than he had been when he first arrived. He had also pulled his hood down and was smiling. Although it was a little hard to tell if that was just because his head was a skull. Daniel stared him down for a few seconds. "I helped," whispered death in a voice that could only be described as proud. After a couple seconds of silence, Daniel doubled over and burst into raucous laughter. Underneath his cackles, Death could be heard giving a low, gravelly chuckle. Eventually, Daniel wiped the tears from his eyes and peered up at the skull that was Death's face. "Thanks, feel free to keep helping." He turned back to his computer, now far less focused on ignoring the presence behind him. *Three Days Later* "You probably want to use a health potion." "K I'm on it." "Watch out, ghost behind you." "I see it." "Dodge left" "Will do" Daniel and Death had settled into a routine, and by now Daniel hardly noticed that Death's quiet, grating voice. The scythe lay in the corner, having been entirely ignored for the last few days. At the end of a long battle, Daniel sat back, emotionally drained. "Nice," said Death. At that moment, Daniel straightened up in his chair. He beckoned to Death. "Want to try?" Death floated back a few inches, pushing his chair with him. He shook his head. "No, no, no thanks." "Why not?" "It looks too difficult, I've never had particularly good luck manipulating such fiddly things as keyboards." Daniel smiled. "You sound like my parents." He exited out his game, leaving to the Steam menu. "You can try a simpler game to start." Death was awestruck. "There are more?" Daniel laughed. "Of course! Everyone always told me I had far too many, but with the sales I just couldn't resist!" He tossed Death a controller, and picked up one of his own. "I think Overcooked would be a good place to start." *One Month Later* Daniel and Death sat side by side on the couch, staring intently at the screen. Their fingers flew across their controllers, as their pixelated fighters traded blows. Eventually however, Death's fighter fell through the bottom of the screen, and he sat back with a sigh. Daniel leaned back too. "You're getting pretty good at this." Death chuckled. "Never thought this was what I would be doing with my time, but yeah." He turned to look at Daniel. "It's funny. For a long time, I didn't understand mortals who weren't ready. I just thought that their time was up and they should accept it. I got so sick of hearing pleas for more time." Death looked down. "Now though.... I was supposed to take you away a long time ago, but... I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye yet." Daniel patted Death's robe. "Don't worry. We have all the time in the world." And, together, they turned back to start another round.
You have just died. Sorry about that. It’s a little early, I know. You had things you said you wanted to do--snorkel the Great Barrier Reef, see Moscow in the snow, sell a painting. But here’s the thing: in your thirty-nine years, you did nothing to make the goals reality. Sorry about that. But it’s just the truth; try not to take it too personally. So, yeah. You’ve just died. It was a quick death, if that helps. A brain aneurysm. You just dropped in the middle of the mall on a Saturday afternoon. Your wife, Megan, she’ll be devastated and also secretly a little relieved. And then she’ll feel even worse for feeling that ounce of relief. I know it’s not the nicest thing to hear, but I mean you both could see where your marriage was going. Your kids will be alright too. A little fucked-up about the whole thing, sure, but there are great therapists out there. And that brings me back to you. It says here that you *do* have unfinished business, and you can’t move on until it’s done. And it’s not the Moscow or Australia or painting thing--it’s something called steam? It’s best if you finish it before we move on. We can hang out here, in limbo, until you’re done. After all, how long could it take? --- r/liswrites
2020-10-15T13:59:43
2020-10-15T12:48:32
58
13
[WP] You wake up in the 1400's dark ages, with nothing but the clothes on your back and your knowledge. The only way you get back to the present, is by surviving until your time period. You dont age until you reach the moment you were sent back.
######[](#dropcap) Her head pounded. Luna groaned and brought a hand to her temple, massaging it. She was never going to drink again. Then again, it hadn't really been her choice. It had either been drink or suffer through another night of missing his sorry ass. Her eyes slowly blinked open. Above her head, the stars illuminated the night sky in a way she'd never seen before, shining so brightly she felt like she could almost reach up and catch one. Then she blinked again. The night sky? She shot up, her head whipping around and taking in the road lined with stone buildings. No wonder her pillow had been so hard. She'd been laying on the cobblestone path. The only light came from the torches that were set up in intervals along the road. Where are on earth was she?? She was supposed to be in her bedroom. Luna scrambled to her feet, taking in the empty streets and the medieval looking buildings. This couldn't be possible. No. There wasn't a single soul in sight, and the only sounds came from the crackling fire of the torches. "Hello?" she asked cautiously. Her voice--higher pitched than usual--echoed in the empty street. The silence was unnerving. So, rubbing her arms with her hands to warm them up against the slight chill of the night air, she moved on. If she could find someone, she could ask them what was going on. If this was some kind of sick joke. Walking up to the nearest house, she pulled up the bronze knocker and knocked three times. After a moment, no one had answered, so she knocked again. "Hello?" she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Is there anyone there?" Suddenly, she heard it. A sound like hooves clopping against cobble, and not just one, but many, many of them. Distant, but after a moment, they became accompanied by yelling and shouting. Luna panicked. She had no idea who these people might be, and if she'd really by some strange twist of fate ended up sometime else in history, the history lessons Mrs. Moore taught her didn't go forgotten. A girl sitting out in the streets meant certain death. So without a second thought, she began sprinting down the road as fast as her legs would take her. Faster than she'd ever run in her life, without daring to take a glance back. The sound of hooves grew closer, and she could hear the voices more clearly now. They didn't speak English. The speech patterns were smooth and rapid, but it was not a language she recognized. It was coming from a ways behind her, slightly to the left, but soon enough they would be on the road, and they would be able to see her. Just as she was about to break out in a sob, lamenting her fate, something tugged on her arm, dragging her into relative darkness. They slapped a hand against her face, muffling her cries, and dragged her deeper into the alleyway. She was going to die. She was going to die in some random place and time in history or in her dream, and she wouldn't have had a chance to apologize to her best friend. Even as she reached back to try to claw at the person, they nimbly dodged her attack. "Be quiet, unless you want to die." There was a slight accent to the guttural voice, but it was recognizably female. Confused, Luna stopped struggling. By now, they had left the main road a little ways, and the person had dragged her behind a large barrel that reeked of fish. Not more than a second later, their surroundings lit up as the reflection of flames danced on the building walls, the sound of keening and loud shouting mixing with clopping sounds as the men on horses blazed past. Her heart pounding in her chest, Luna breathed in large breaths through her nose. When it finally became silent again, after what seemed like a million seconds ticked by, the person finally let go of her, removing their hand from her mouth. She spit out the taste of grime and dirt, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Then she whipped around. And stared at the girl who was probably around her age, or maybe a little older. It was hard to tell because of the dim lighting and because of the grime that covered the girl's face. But there was no mistaking the large, clear eyes, the pigtails, and the cloth dress. "You must not come out after dark," the girl implored her in the same guttural voice, and for a second, Luna wondered if the girl smoked. Then the girl turned around and began to walk towards the other direction. "Wait!" Luna walked up and grabbed her hand, feeling the rough calluses on the girl's palm. It felt like the hand of an woman who had lived many, many years. "Where am I? And who are those men? Why did you save me?" The questions spilled out like a waterfall, the sentences running over each other in their haste to escape. The girl glanced at her with pity in her eyes. "You have lost your home? So have many of us to the Riders." "No, wait. I haven't...where are we? What year is this?" The girl gasped. "They have taken your memory too." She reached up with one hand and caressed Luna's face, the roughness of her fingertips strangely calming. "It is the fourteenth hundred and ninety-seventh year of our lord. You are in England." ***** EDIT: [Part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/986ffe/wp_you_wake_up_in_the_1400s_dark_ages_with/e4e4t11/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=api&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts) is below!
The jeans, I had assumed, would be the biggest issue. You can’t just walk out into a city with no trousers on, but denim looked like it wouldn’t fit... whenever it was I had landed this time. The walls were stone but uneven and windowless, and the floor was dirt, so I knew I hadn’t pushed it too far, but it was still going to be a slog. After the success of blood and marrow transplants, among others, we had discovered that time was transferable too. The catch, of course, was that you’d be sent back to before you were born (donating your remaining life would be suicide and severely paradox inducing, so that was quickly ruled out) and you had to make it back to the day you were born. How exactly this worked was beyond me, but I was short on money this month again, and this had seemed far easier than finding another job in time. Unfortunately, it also turns out that the time you give and what you donate aren’t equal, and the 30 year’s I’d donated had put me back in the dark ages. Avoiding paradoxes was rule one: create a paradox and you end up back in the present day with a null donation. Which also includes creating fortunes for yourself to pick up later apparently, but I guess the donation pays well enough so no love lost. Second, of course, was not to die: apparently that sticks. Most people avoided that by using rule one: a paradox pulls you away from near-death, and you just accept that your money’s gone, but I had decided as soon as I arrived that a near-millennium survival is something that you probably only want to try once. After a half-hour recalling how to gird my loins with a bedsheet (I knew that tutorial would pay off someday), I had prepared myself. Peaking my head around the door, the clothing was plain, the streets were track and the people spoke in thicker farmers accents than I’d heard since that old Wurzels recording. I suppose there are worse things than being a mute pauper-cum-farmhand for a couple of centuries, at least until I fit in a little more.
2018-08-17T17:46:34
2018-08-17T17:29:27
278
46
[WP] In the afterlife, the person you have helped the most and the person you have harmed the most must decide together whether you go to heaven or hell. You are summoned to judge someone who has completely altered the course of your life, but are met by a random stranger.
May was not a particularly amazing person, nor was she any sort of evil. Like most, she was average. But it is human nature to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume the goodness in others. So when May died and began her Judgement, she did not struggle to be allowed into heaven. Hers was a brief Judgement. Though she had been the cause of inconvenience for one Advocate, who initially desired to have her sent to eternal torment, he relented when the other Advocate told a tale of how May had donated money to her in her time of need. May soon ascended to a peaceful afterlife without much conflict, thankful for the leniency of that Advocate who allowed her that gift. ​ When a letter materialized in front of May one morning, summoning her to be an Advocate for a soul's eternal punishment, May resolved to pay the leniency forward. After all, she had lived a relatively happy life -- whatever this person had done on Earth to wrong her, it couldn't have been devastating. ​ May spent the time before the Judgement wondering who might she judge. Perhaps, she mused, it was Mason, an ex-boyfriend who had left her in her early 20's without so much as a goodbye, and ghosted her. She couldn't even have contacted his family, as she had yet to meet them. May had spent much time crying over that. Now, she decided that even if it was Mason whom she had to Advocate for, she would let him into heaven. Forgive and forget. ​ *Slam!* May flinched in a start when a heavy file was dropped onto her table the day of the Judgement. She was in a bland room that portrayed *limbo* in every aspect of its neutrality. Across from May on the other side of the table sat a short woman with brown hair that cascaded down her shoulders. The woman's file was meager in contrast with May's stack, with the width of a novel. ​ "Geez, that's big," the woman chuckled, giving a light-hearted grin. "Good luck reading all that before the guy we're judging comes in. We have, what, half an hour?" ​ "Yeah, I think I'll just skim it. There's no way I can get through it all before they get here." She looked up at the woman sitting across from her. "I'm May. What about you?" ​ "The name's Amanda," she responded casually. ​ May looked down at her file. On the cover was displayed the name *Joseph Evans* in bold letters. "That's funny," she mused aloud. "I don't know anyone named Joseph Evans." May played around with the name in her mind. *Joe*? *Joey*? ​ "He's my little brother," Amanda explained. "A bit of a trouble-maker. The type of kid who would use a magnifying glass to kill ants. We would play tag in the backyard sometimes, it was the highlight of my day. He was mostly harmless when I knew him. " ​ "When you knew him?" May asked, puzzled. ​ "Yeah, by the time he was, like, nine years old, I was off to college. Then I got hit by a drunk driver on my way back from night classes, so I never got to see him much afterwards." ​ "I'm so sorry," May said morosely. ​ "It's fine," Amanda muttered. "Anyway, I didn't know him when he was older, so I've got no clue what's up with that." She gestured toward May's file. ​ "Oh, I should probably start reading it," May remembered. ​ "Here, pass it to me," Amanda said. "See, the most important things people did that affected you are always written in the back of the files." ​ "How do you know that?" May asked as she handed the file to Amanda. ​ "This isn't my first time being an Advocate," she explained. "I mean, I was killed by a drunk driver, after all. It was fun sending that guy to hell." As she flipped through the file and looked at the back page, she suddenly stopped. Her face became pale and ghostly. ​ "What?" May asked. "What is it?" ​ Amanda said nothing. She simply handed the file over to May, open to the back page. It was written in urgent-looking red letters. ​ **TWO MAIN EVENTS** ​ **1.** **STALKED FOR OVER TWO YEARS** **2. MURDER OF SIGNIFICANT OTHER, MASON ROBINSON** ​ May's breath caught in her throat. ​ Just then, the door creaked open and a man's silhouette appeared in the doorway. ​ Edit: this is my first response to a prompt! Is there anything I could do to improve this?
"Do I know you?" He remained silent. "Uh, I don't know this person, something must be wrong." He looks down. Jess takes over. "Well, he's helped me in his life many times, and stayed with me when I was dealing with mental health issues. I believe David here, should go to heaven!" They both look at me, waiting for a counter-arguement. I'm still confused. I snap at the guy. "Alright David, who the hell are you, and how have you fucked my life?" David starts producing tears. I'm not letting this go. "Alright asshole, if you be honest with me, you can go to heaven." His head tilted up. Jess is watching intently. "So? Who are you?" "Um--" "How about I introduce myself first? My name is Jonathan Peters, I'm a musician, my mother is Stacy Peters, and my dad is gone. My current mood, as you could probably tell, is confused as fuck! Now, WHO. ARE. YOU?" David looked up until we locked eyes. Suddenly, I know. Somehow, I know. "My name is David Jonathan Peters." And right then, he was engulfed by heavenly light, and rose to heaven. ---------------------------------------------0 I'm not a writer, as you could probably tell. Feedback would be nice, I'm trying to do one of these everyday. Although I know I'm a bad writer, I want to enhance my skills.
2018-12-19T18:19:01
2018-12-19T17:08:53
60
16
[WP] you overhear a group of ghosts making fun of you not knowing that you’re a medium.
“Look at those scrawny arms,” a voice from the back of the room said. My eyes darted to my outstretched arm that was holding up a red apple, frozen in a pose as the class of painters quietly brushed away on their canvases. “It wasn’t the scrawny arms *I* noticed,” another voice replied as my cheeks turned red. Of all the places to encounter ghosts, I never thought it would be here, at the local high school during an evening adult portrait class. “Still bigger than my husband,” a third voice piped up between the sound of soft brush strokes, “and I like what I see.” I coughed and moved my legs slightly, turning away from the room. One of the painters sighed. “Excuse me,” an attractive young woman holding a paint brush said, “could you move back please? You’re sitting at a terrible angle now.” “Oh yes, please,” the third ghost added. Usually in such situations this would be the point when I’d politely ask them to cut it out, but the classroom full of painters complicated things somewhat. “Hello?” The painter said, waving her paintbrush at me. I slowly turned back towards the room. There was a collective gasp from the three ghosts. The painter quietly lowered her head and turned back to stare deliberately at her canvas. “Well I never,” the first ghost began, “of all the years coming here.” “Do you think he’s attracted to that girl? She’s not exactly Cinderella but I see potential,” the third ghost said before turning to the second, “hey Gina, why don’t you go up there and work some of your magic.” My heartbeat started to quicken, sweat began pooling in my palms. “You think so? I don’t want to get in any trouble,” the second voice said, “but I suppose it could be fun.” The ghost started gliding forward. I turned my gaze directly on her, eyes wide as I tried to capture her attention. She was a few feet away when another painter spoke. “Sorry dear,” an elderly woman with small round glasses said, “would you mind returning to that neutral face you had? That look you’ve got now is quite distracting.” I locked eyes with ghost named Gina for a split second before returning my gaze to where it had been, face frozen. “He looked at me!” she exclaimed. “Oh come off it Gina, don’t be silly,” one of the others called from the back of the room, “we know what happened last time you were convinced someone could see you, and how did that end?” “I swear this time he did, but fine. Now,” she said, hovering just in front of me, “shall I draw her attention to him, or vice versa?” “Mr Jones,” the young woman who spoke earlier said, “would it be possible for you to look towards the front of the room? I want to capture the whites of your eyes.” I breathed in deeply and moved my gaze forward, now looking straight at Gina. “Well I can see why they like painting him," Gina began, "he wears a knowing gaze. I hope you two won’t mind if I accompany him home with him tonight, just for a little haunt.” “Oh come on Gina, get on and stitch the two of them up,” one of ghosts at the back called. Gina looked at the young woman painting for a moment and then turned back to me. “Boo!” I whispered right into her face. “Ahhhh!” She screamed and sprang backwards, floating through the elderly lady who seemed to wobble on her stool for a moment. “He’s a Medium! He can hear us!” “Mr Jones, are you okay?” One of the painters called out, “you look dazzled.” “I thought I saw a ghost is all,” I said, staring straight at Gina as I spoke. “You little devil,” Gina whispered back. The painter who had spoken stood up, “do you want me to get you a glass of water?” I shook my head. “No, but I might take five if you’re all okay with that?” There was a murmur of support and I jumped up and took a beeline straight for the exit. I reached the corridor and walked a few feet away from the door, breathing deeply. Then Gina appeared through the wall. “You could have said something sooner, you know,” she said. “it’s not nice to eavesdrop, even for a Medium.” “It’s not nice to gossip about someone else either, but that didn’t stop you three, did it? Besides, I can’t exactly start talking to you in the middle of class, can I? And what’s this about a haunting?” She looked at the ground. “It’s just for a bit of fun," she mumbled, "our kind doesn’t get much of that these days. Besides, I was going to set you up with the good looking woman in there!” “So I heard. And how exactly were you planning to do that?” “Well, I had thought I might try stir some more excitement in you, then have her, you know, have a chat with you after,” Gina said. “That's super messed up, you know that right? You and your sick friends need to get a new hobby. I’m not her type either,” I said. I saw Gina giggling as she looked over my shoulder back towards the door. I swung around and the young woman was standing there. “Oh, hi Mr Jones,” she said, holding out my robe, “I thought you might be getting cold.” I looked down, realizing for the first time just how much of a hurry I left in, and snatched the robe. "Thanks," I said as I draped it over myself. Then she smiled. "I don't know about joining in on this haunting," she said, "and I might not be Cinderella, but I wouldn't say no to a dinner invitation." Gina gasped, "two in the same room?"
It was a chilly fall night, the perfect kind of night to just relax, walk around with a hot cup of coffee while wearing a comfortable sweater. Sweater weather has always been my favorite, mostly because of how comfortable my sweater is. This sweater of mine has been passed down from generation to generation, knitted by my great great grandma and sewn with genuine Valais Blacknose wool, back when she lived in the old country of Switzerland. You would think that this sweater would've deteriorated by now but I think it's kept together with power of her love and the souls of my ancestors. And because of this, I was able to listen in on some gossiping ghosts as I walked past this abandoned building. ​ "Hey Marty look at that fat guy over their" chuckled Gary the Ghost. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say we're witnessing a rare appearance of a Snorlax" Marty replied, then Gary and Marty both just started busting out in laughter. Obviously not getting the pokemon reference the third ghost just blurted "He's fat!" and all three ghosts continued laughing. To be fair, there is a drawback to this sweater that I'm wearing, since this sweater has gone through many generations, it' has stretched out so much that when I wear it I do look a lot heftier then normal. These three ghosts kept following and kept making lame jokes until I've had enough, so I decided to give the ghosts a bit of a surprise. I turned around towards them quickly, took off my sweater and then my t-shirt under my sweater, grabbed my t shirt shirt tag and yelled "Actually I'm a medium" as I continued to shoved documented proof on my shirt tag right in their transparent faces. The ghosts got so embarrassed that they ran off and never made a fat joke until it summer. ​ The End
2022-08-11T03:29:22
2022-08-11T02:57:45
115
18
[WP] You stumble upon old home videos of you and your siblings as toddlers. Nostalgia fades when you realize something isn't quite right...
After unpacking the last of the boxes I collected from Mom's closet, I went to the living room to watch the old VHS tapes I found and wind down for the night. Choosing one at random, I hit Play and go sit out the couch and kick my feet up on the coffee table. It's easy to recognize Mom at the start of the video. She aged well it seems. Laura, my older sister, was such a chunky little baby. Looks like it was her first birthday. Kudos to you, Laura, for losing all that baby fat before high-school. I wish I had been that lucky. I keep watching for a few more minutes before getting sick of all the lovey dovey things Mom and Dad say to each other. I never realized they were such romantics before. Wonder why the stopped acting like this. Part of me is sad that they never seemed this happy during my childhood. I quickly eject the tape and replace it with another. This one seems to be my first birthday party. Laura was clearly the cute one between the two of us. Dad doesn't seem to know who to focus on and the camera keeps shifting between Mom, Laura, and I. Just as I being to get up to change to a different video, I catch a glimpse of a man at the kitchen window in the video. I quickly get up and rewind and pause the tape. It's hard to make out the face in the window but the man actually looks a lot Dad. I click Play again and watch the rest of the video but never see him in it again. Must have been a peeping Tom or something. I put in another tape to play. This one seems to be of Laura's first unofficial game of T-ball. She can't be older than three or four. She still has that same chubbiness of baby Laura. At one point, Dad moves the camcorder away from Laura's game and focuses on Mom. I'm in Mom's lap, just a small babe at this time. Dad leans in to give Mom a kiss at this point and the camera gets pointed towards the people sitting behind us. My heart skips a beat as I recognize the same man from the previous video sitting exactly two rows behind Mom and I. I quickly pause the tape to get a better look at him. He looks exactly like my father except he doesn't have the horn-rimmed glasses that Dad's always worn and he doesn't have the bald spot on the top of his head. Whoever the man is, he's staring right at the camcorder pointed at him and boy does he look unhappy. Unsettled by this, I eject that tape and put in a different one. This tape is of Mom pushing toddler me on a baby swing at the park while Laura swings herself out of the swing set just to do it all over again. Mom and Dad just seem so happy being together. I can't remember Mom ever smiling or laughing so much. After a few moments, Dad uses to camcorder to pan across the park, happily pointing out names of different trees to Laura. A chill runs down my spine as I recognize that same man, not too far off, playing with a small puppy. This time, the man has the same horn-rimmed glasses as Dad and even has a very small bald spot forming on the top of his head. The puppy the man has even looks identical to the first dog Dad brought home for Laura and I. Now too curious to stop, I put in another tape to watch. The tapes starts with Laura and I gathered around the kitchen table. We're waiting to blow out the candles on my birthday cake. Mom, very pregnant with Jonas, is waddling around getting the party hats put on everybody. The tape isn't like the others. For once, she looks like the mom I remember to be. Always tired and worried. Mom and Dad don't talk much during the video, instead focusing the video completely on me, the birthday girl. Near the end of the video, Dad tells everyone to get together as he sets the camcorder on the top of counter pointed at us. He joins us in the singing of "Happy Birthday" one more time as my party comes to an end. He kisses Mom, Laura, and I before going back and turning the camcorder off. The man in all that last video was definitely the dad I've always know. At the time he was also the man looking in our window, the man at Laura's ball game, and the man with the puppy at the park. Before my mind can fully process all of this, the phone rings. I quickly turn off the T.V. and grab my phone. I instantly recognize the number as my old home number. Mom and Dad's number. Well, just Dad's number now. "Hi, Daddy." "Hello, Al. I was calling to see if you found any VHS tapes in those boxes you took from your mom's closet. They all had old home videos of your mother I was hoping to watch. I miss her dearly and I was hoping those would help ease the pain," Dad calmly said, his voice resonating in my ears. "No, I just got her clothes and some of the knickknacks she had stored away. Do you want me to come over and help you look for the tapes?" "That won't be necessarily Al, just get some rest. You deserve it. Laura will be in town late tomorrow and I'll have her help me look. I love you honey." "Love you too," I manage to squeak out before hanging up the phone.
I had long forgotten about these old tapes. 42 years had passed since I last watched them with my mother. My sister and I were playing in the living room, or rather my sister was playing "dress up" trying to put make up on her defenseless little brother brother. At about this time I remember hearing my young mother laugh at her adorable children. "Josh", she squealed to my father " you have to come see this". The camera panned over my father briefly as he was putting his pager back into his pocket. He came into the room and had a good laugh with my mother about the make up all over my oblivious one-year-old face. As the laughter subsided however, I heard a uniquely familiar noise. This noise was something I had heard many times, though it felt strangely out of place. It was a vibration accompanied by a light tone. accompanying the noise, my father checked his pocket once again. I hadn't ever heard the tone before, just the vibration. I rewinded the tape out of overwhelming curiosity. What I found went beyond all reason. In fact, I doubted my own sanity. In this tape, I saw my own father in the year 1995 casually putting an Iphone into his pocket as though everything was completely normal. Come to think of it, the last time I watched that tape, Iphones still hadn't been invented. I sat motionless for the next 45 minutes pondering every possible explanation, but nothing can explains this paused frame of an Iphone clear as day 12 years before being invented in the palm of my deceased fathers hand. I will now begin looking through the rest of these boxes for more clues.
2015-08-26T21:49:44
2015-08-26T21:45:05
91
34
[WP] Your T.V. suddenly turns on by itself mid-lunch and a message from the local weather warning system , normally accompanied with a loud alarm but oddly silent this time around, reads "For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently..."
"For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcast silently." I chuckled to myself and lowered my cup of tea as the text scrolled across the bottom of the blank screen. "Hey babe! what do you think this..." my words caught in my throat as the broadcast finished. "you are to remain completely silent. You have 5 minutes to prepare. Failure to comply will result in immediate disqualification. More instructions are to follow, good luck citizens." "what were you saying just now, you stopped talking?" I quickly raised a finger to my mouth to quiet her and waved my cup towards the television. Lisa read as the words moved slowly on the pane. "Come now, that is just silly, you're teasing me?" She questioned. I paused, not knowing how to respond. This could be some type joke, or some type of government test. Maybe, it was a game and we could win a prize? Being quiet is easy right? I decided on not taking any chances. I looked at my watch, 12:02. We still had 3 minutes according to the broadcast. "Ok sweetheart, lets just try it. What do we have to lose?" I said with a bit too much uncertainty in my voice. Lisa tilted her head and wrinkled her forehead like she does when she gets confused. I nodded at her and forced a smile. She hesitantly smiled back then silently walked to the kitchen to grab the other cup of tea i had prepared for her. How many times had I come home for lunch and silently walked around my house? For some reason this time felt different. Every step seemed to echo off of the walls, the sound of Lisa's cup dragging across the counter top was a deafening grind. This has to be some type of test right? I looked at my watch again, 12:03. I couldn't help it, the ticking was so loud. It was so hard to pry my eyes away. My heart was pounding, I could hear every beat. Lisa walked back into the room, "How much time is left?" I lifted my watch for her to see, 12:04. She reached up and grabbed my arm nervously. The warmth from her hand felt comforting so I let her cling to me as i slowly crossed the living room to the front door swinging it open to step out onto the porch. It was a beautiful sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. A slight breeze lifted the collar on my shirt and ruffled my hair as i scanned my neighborhood. No dogs barking, no birds chirping. Coincidence of course, but it felt eerie. Usually my neighborhood was a bustle of activity. Kids running to and from, people chatting on their lawns, but not today. There were others outside, most of them looking as confused as I was, but none of them daring to speak. Heads turning up and down the street, worry crossing their faces. What was going on? Nobody wanted to be the first person to speak or make a sound. The urge to look at my watch was overwhelming, I almost couldn't help but lift my wrist again, 12:04. The seconds hand seemed to be creeping. I watched it, holding my breath as the hand slowly approached the minute mark. I tapped my foot to the rhythm. Almost with a thud the hand came and went. 12:05. I lowered my wrist and looked around, nothing. I turned to go inside, opening my mouth to speak to Lisa when my neighbor across the street came strolling through his front door with a big smile on his face. "Hey John boy! That was a bit odd wasn't it?" I stopped, foot still hovering above the ground mid step. Lowering it I turned and looked back at Will. Every other neighbor was staring at him as well, wondering if they should speak. A few seconds went by and nothing. I exhaled the breath I had been holding and shook my head. What nonsense I thought. I started to walk towards Will, stepping across the lawn and into the street, lifting my hand up to shake his when a black very official looking SUV turned the corner and rolled slowly down the street in our direction. I couldn't help but pause, the vehicle was so out of place. It was pristine, shined, waxed, buffed. It was very clean. It came to a stop beside Will and me, a man in a suit stepping out of the passenger seat. The man was middle aged, graying at the temples, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He wore a smirk on his face as he flipped through a thick binder pulling out of piece of paper handing it to Will then snapping the binder closed. I tried to get a good look at the sheet but Will snatched it out of the man's hand quickly and scanned it briefly. "What do you mean I've been disqualified?" He asked. Will barely got to finish his sentence. Without responding the man in the suit reached into his coat. Without blinking, without any hesitation, the man drew a pistol, raised it, and fired. The clap from the gun was deafening. I couldn't help but bring my hands to my ears spilling hot tea from my cup in the process. Thankfully nobody screamed. The bullet struck Will in his forehead, his body standing for a moment, eyes wide, unbelieving and staring, before slumping to the ground with a thud. Blood began to pool under him as i pulled my gaze away from Will. I looked at the man stunned. I couldn't move or look away. Slowly he turned, got back into the vehicle and drove off. I took a moment to look at the neighbors before sprinting back into the house, most of them followed my lead heading for their homes. I grabbed Lisa by the arm and yanked her inside before slamming the door and locking it behind us. Lisa looked at me, panic painted on her face, breathing fast and heavy. Slowly she brushed her hands over her head pushing her hair back behind her as she shook her head in disbelief. I began to pace the living room. This can't be happening, there is no way this is real. out of the corner of my eye I saw the TV flash back to life. I glanced back towards the television as the words scrolled across the bottom of the screen. "Thank you for your participation. The game has begun. As a reminder, you are to remain completely silent. Please stand by for further instruction."
*For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently*. I lower the sandwich in my hands, accidentally brushing my index finger in a drop of mustard and scowling. I'm sucking the sauce off of my finger when the message repeats. *For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently.* *Do not attempt to turn off your television,* the message reads. I stand up and try to do just that, but the button doesn't work. I press it incessantly, like the fourteenth time will do what the first didn't. I try holding down the button, but it's no use. The television continues to broadcast the same message over and over, a moving sprawl of the warning. *This is a matter of national security. Please proceed to underground shelter. Please do not attempt to use the telephone or listen to radio.* The sandwich isn't sitting very well in my stomach. My lips feel dry, and I lick them without thinking. I leave the sandwich on the table, my hands turning white around the back of the chair. *Please proceed to underground shelter.* Then the sirens start. I'm confused. It's a dull whine that grows sharper and sharper until it pierces into my head. I cup my hands over my ears and bend over, grimacing. I'm not sure where the sound is coming from - it's quite different from the television's warning sound. I run for the basement. My roommate isn't home, and I can only assume that she'll seek shelter somewhere along the road. I lock the door to the basement and sit on a worn out mattress with my knees to my chest. The sound is father away now, like the door to the basement has acted as some sort of barrier. Then the earth shatters. The ceiling above me vibrates. I cry out, sprawling over the mattress and holding my hands to my ears. Shocks run through me. I don't know how long it lasts - five minutes or all night. There's no sense of time for the droning siren, for the splitting headache, for the way that the earth shakes. Little pieces of rubble fall from the ceiling. Finally it abates. The sirens are gone. I test my hearing by scratching my nails along the concrete floor. The sound is far away and foreign. I stand on shaky legs and make my way up the stairs to the door. But when I try to push it, it doesn't budge. I push harder. I throw my shoulder into it. I look back down the stairs at the basement and turn back to the door. I pound against it, screaming. I wonder if anyone is left to hear. --- Thanks for reading! For more stories subscribe to /r/Celsius232
2016-08-10T07:25:49
2016-08-10T04:33:09
265
98
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck. Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
Sighing, Frank removed the spit-covered barrel from his mouth and set the revolver carefully on his desk. He had been prepared for the end, even prayed for the first time in years, but had to look at the goddamned fishbowl before he pulled the trigger. Grumbling to himself, he stalked over to the barren pantry and looked in vain for one of those time-release feeders that he had bought for that vacation all those years ago. He had gone to Mexico on a cruise boat but felt awkward and out-of-place the whole time; he had talked to no one, only left the boat when forced to, and worn a t-shirt at all times, even when swimming. Still, Frank supposed, it was probably the happiest he had been since Marsha left him for that insurance adjuster, whatever-his-name-was. It was thoughts like that had strengthened his resolve to end it all in the first place. He found the fish food. After placing the little shell gently in the bowl and watching his court-ordered companion make a couple of laps around the tiny palm tree, Frank re-read the note. He was disappointed in its length, even after adding the typical “it’s not your fault” and “I wish you all the best” kind of statements it barely filled half a page, but he couldn’t think of anything to add. As an afterthought, he found a pen and wrote in a P.S. “If I have been dead for more than 72 hours when I am found, please feed the fish.” And an arrow in the general direction of the bookshelf upon which Tony’s bowl sat. Pleased at his altruism, he sat back with a contented sigh and replaced the gun between his teeth. He once again thought of how nice it would be to be dead, without any bills or telemarketers or office parties, and once again said a little prayer, a bit of a ‘just thought I’d drop by’ just to make sure that the Lord was still home, and switched the safety off. He gradually began to squeeze, tensed himself in preparation, and the phone rang. He groaned at the interruption, sometimes it seemed the universe was ganging up on you, really. He clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the ringer, but the obnoxious noise kept making him twitch, and he didn’t want to miss and shoot his ear off or something. Switching the pistol to his left hand but keeping it firmly pressed into the roof of his mouth, he stood up awkwardly and waddled across the room, picking up the phone as drool began to run down his wrist. “He-ow?” He asked around the barrel, moving it to the side of his mouth. If this was a telemarketer, he thought, they were in for the shock of their lives. There was no response, so he pushed the barrel farther against his cheek and tried to enunciate, “Hell-er?” On the other end of the phone, there was still no response, just the sound of heavy breathing. Frank started to put the phone down, prank callers were usually teenagers, and he didn’t want to scar one by forcing them to witness a suicide. As he was about to hang up, a distorted voice rang out from the other end. “Frank Storrs?” Whoever it was, Frank didn’t recognize them; they had a deep, garbled voice, and sounded American, “I’m coming for you, Frank Storrs.” Then a click as whoever it was hung up. “Oh goddammit. Can I not get one single thing done?” Frank cursed at the heavens. He pulled a mostly-clean paper towel from the wastepaper basket and wiped down the slimy pistol. Probably some solicitor, the security-system guys had gotten awfully pushy lately, but almost certainly someone who Frank wouldn’t want to encounter as he killed himself. He grabbed the last granola bar from the pantry and ate it slowly, waiting for the door. He didn’t have to wait long, it turned out. In a matter of minutes, there was a knock. As he opened it, he felt a strong hand on his neck, and a rag was forced over his mouth and nose. Rolling his eyes at the sheer inconvenience of it all, Frank fell unconscious. When he awoke, he was in a basement, tied to one of his own cheap kitchen chairs. He stared at a man in a Ronald-MacDonald mask who leveled a small pistol at his head. “Would you mind using mine?” Frank asked, “I hate to be a bother, but I’ve just put an awful lot of research into this, and it really is best done with a large caliber, solid point-” The gun was brought level to Frank’s eye line and he sputtered, “no, no, you see what you’re doing there? You’re more likely to break your own wrist, holding it like that. Here, let me show you” Frank went to take the gun, but found his hands still bound to the chair arm. “Would you mind?” He shook the arm a bit to indicate what he wanted. It should not be possible for a plasticine Ronald MacDonald mask to look perplexed, but somehow this one managed. The killer seemed to think warily for a moment, and looked around the room carefully for any hidden traps or tricks before untying Frank’s left arm with a slight ‘what-could-go-wrong’ shrug. “Right, now I’ll be needing my gun.” Frank said matter-of-factly. Ronald MacDonald flinched, stepping backwards and brandishing his own weapon, but Frank remained unmoved. “If you’re going to do this, I’d rather you did it right. Now, I have clearly put more thought into this sort of thing so the sooner you hand me my pistol, the sooner we can both get what we want.” The killer hesitated but soon obeyed, getting the revolver from a drawer and handing it to his captive, who examined it with no small amount of pride. “Yes” Frank said, “this is the weapon that you want. You feel the heft of that? It’s difficult to get first-hand reviews of suicide implements, for reasons that I hope are self-explanatory, but I managed to research this quite a bit. It’s the large caliber that’s the thing, you see, You want one that’s a big enough bore to kill you, of course, but a small enough one that the exit wound will still allow for an open casket. Speaking of which, the ideal trajectory in this case would cast the bullet out somewhere between the base of the skull and the spine, so if you wouldn’t mind getting on one knee, I’ll hand you the gun back and we can see if we can’t do this thing for real.” Frank continued to direct the killer for quite some time, he really was quite poor at taking directions, and the gun passed between the many a time as Frank walked the man through what would likely happen, how to avoid getting any spray on his nice white shirt, etc. Angle was adjusted, and position, then the bullet checked in the chamber, it had to be in the slot on the right side of the chamber (no, your other right, thank you so much). While Frank held the gun as to let the killer stretch his mask’s eyeholes just a touch wider, a strange thought passed through the captive, and he carefully shot the would-be-murderer in the head. As blood poured smoothly out onto the floor, Frank smiled at the neatness of his shot. Muttering about something about doing things oneself, he put the gun back in his mouth and pulled the trigger, now prepared to meet his fate. Click. Click. Clickclickclickclick. “Goddammit.” That had been the only bullet left in the house, too. Frank would have to go buy more. But he was out of money, now, he had given it away in what were supposed to be his last days. That meant he’d have to go back to work for a day or two, at least until his next paycheck came in. Which meant he’d now have to deal with the man he’d just shot. Frank untied his still-bound arm and legs and removed the time-release feeder from Tony’s tank, putting his pistol back in its drawer.
Years ago, when visiting a "haunted" house in the oldest neighborhood in the city, Dave had first felt what he now referred to as "The Pressure". It was a sense of dread, a prickling of the hairs on the back of the neck. Every sense in his body would key up, warning him that Something was coming, and it wasn't friendly. After nearly a decade of this, it wasn't quite so exciting. Dave was currently nestled into the thick cushions of a disturbingly Gothic couch, the dark oak twisting and writhing in near-impossible curves around obscenely plush purple velvet pillows. Dave could still hear Jennifer and Mark in the other room, noisily having sex on an equally Gothic four-poster bed. He had a certain grudging admiration for their ability to make the bed, which had to weigh several hundred pounds, occasionally jump and hit the wall. He wasn't really that surprised when he felt The Pressure earlier in the evening; an isolated cabin, offered out of the blue by an unknown relative, with furniture so ornate that Dracula himself might say it was a bit much? Dave rolled his eyes just thinking about it again. He had a pretty good feel for how this would go, after experiencing it so many times. The FBI had basically given up trying to address the problem, and simply had a unit on standby for cleanup. They tried putting him in prison once; at least they could explain that one as a prison riot. Dave began ticking off on his fingers, curious if he could get the exact moment correct this time. He lowered one finger at a time as he mouthed the numbers silently. Six, five, four, th- The familiar sound of steel slicing into flesh, followed by a scream of agony from Jennifer and a (oddly) equally girly scream from Mark interrupted his counting. Dave frowned; maybe next time. The squelching noises cut off, and the sawing and hacking began. Jennifer's screams finally cut off, and Mark sprinted through the doorway, his eyes wide with terror, blood streaming down his chest. He screamed something unintelligible at Dave and continued running. Dave sighed; time to get up and move on. Shame really, this couch was absurdly comfortable. He tried to sit up and found himself completely enveloped in the couch, the soft velvet not giving him enough purchase to actually get out of the damn thing. Whatever had chopped up Jennifer slowly glided past the couch, wearing her flayed face and hands. Gee, Dave thought, I've only seen that trick about a hundred times; this one wasn't going to be interesting, he could tell already. The fellow with the spiked body armor, now THAT had been interesting. Dave tried reaching out to the arms but they were just a hair too far away for him to get a good grip. More screams followed down the hall as Dave continued trying to get out of the couch. He flailed around furiously, making some progress, but as soon as he stopped he sank even deeper into the cushions. He glowered at the couch, and decided he needed a new plan of attack. Mark had apparently gone outside, since his head came crashing through the front-facing window of the living room and rolled to a stop in front of the couch, his face still locked in an expression of horrified surprise. Dave twisted his body and tried rolling off the couch; success! With a loud "thump" he rolled off the couch and hit the floor, knocking Mark's head down the hallway. Dave swore and massaged his banged-up knees a bit before standing up and brushing himself off. A loud crash informed him that something had entered the upstairs of the cabin, probably through the conveniently large plate-glass window. More screaming followed, as a background to the slicing and hacking. A drop of red appeared on Dave's arm, followed by another, and another. The pace increased until it was raining blood in the living room, a crimson downpour complete with waves of red oozing down the walls. Dave sighed. The dry-cleaning bill for these was always a bitch. Dave ambled out of the house, reasoning that there was no reason to rush since he was already soaked, and gently closed the door behind him. He triggered the FBI contact fob and tossed it onto the porch; the cleanup crew would be around later. He yawned, and idly wondered if that furniture store down the street could find him something similar to that couch...
2017-05-05T08:23:38
2017-05-05T07:22:19
44
31
[WP] Your roommate is a hulking demon, a former warlord with millennia of combat experience, and the picture of menace and brutality. You just caught them halfway through a gallon-sized bucket of your favorite ice cream, frozen like a deer in headlights.
*contains inaccurate descriptions of religious events and a lot of tropes.* I blinked, my gaze repeated snapping to the ice cream and my roommate's face. "I can explain," he said, setting the tub aside and looking for all intents and purposes like a kicked puppy. I shook my head, rapidly. "You don't have to. It's not... it's totally okay, man." I winced at my word choice. Why did I call him man? Choran was a centuries-old demon warlord. He was a menacing, destructive beast of a demon. He'll was afraid of his temper snapping and yet... "I just... I went to the park today," he whispered. "My girlfriend—"*he had a girlfriend*"—and she said she wanted some space." "You girlfriend wanted space..." I repeated "Yes." "Is she also a demon?" "Of course not! She's an angel." "Like literal God's creation angel with wings and halos?" "Yes. Though the representation is stupid. They don't have halos. But they do have wings which can turn into knives. Only when they're threatened though. Otherwise they remain as fluffy, downy mess." Angel wings were apparently a fluffy, downy mess that can turn into knives. That was... good to know. I walked over to the couch and settled next to him. He curled up further on his corner, and sniffed. His enthusiasm now gone. I focused my gaze on the coffee table and firmly away from my terrifying demon roommate. "Okay, okay. Why did she break up with you?" "She said she was busy plotting a rebellion." "She's plotting a rebellion against God?! But... but... isn't that how you became a..." I gestured to him not wanting to say the word. "Oh! That's what we wanted you to believe. Luci was an overdramatic little shit—"hello, 21st century slang"—and threw a temper tantrum because God didn't let him name a star, his favorite star that was brought into existence after his name. So he said, I'm gonna go away and make an army and not come back and then he ran. Some of us followed him because he needed someone to keep him sane. He's a powerful being after all." I blinked. I seemed to be doing that a lot I realized. "But then why are you demons?" I screeched. "Oh, Heaven was very cold. We always needed to bundle up. Something about being high up in the air. But He'll was just very hot, you know. We just adapted, man." My world view shifted. "But why is your girlfriend trying to—" "Oh, because she's young. She only came into existence after we ran off to keep Luci sane." "But wouldn't she adapt as well?" I asked. "She would. But then she'd lose her wings. They're good and fluffy and soft and so very nice and pretty. She can't just lose her wings because she wants to be with me. I like her wings!" He was glaring at me, the effect was entirely lost thanks to the stripe of vanilla ice cream painted across his cheek. He just looked like a little child in that moment. "Maybe she just wants to have something in common with you, or maybe she just wants to spend more time with you?" I provided those suggestions and watched Charon contemplate. "What should I do?" He looked utterly small and helpless in that moment and my motherhenning instincts almost took over wanting to swaddle him up in blankets. "Why don't you call her down to earth and talk to her. Tell her how you really feel," I said, gently. "You think so?" "Yeah," I said with a smile. With a snap of his fingers, his ratty t-shirt and hole-ridden shorts were replaced with a green button down and black jeans. His hair looked tamed and I was suddenly jealous of those powers. He gave me a bright smile, that should have been creepy but was adorable instead, and disappeared silently. Thirty minutes, I told myself, hysterically. I'm gonna take 30 minutes to freak out. *3 hours later* My demon roommate came back just in time for dinner, a huge smile on his face and a pep in his step. "You were right," Charon said, grinning. "She just wanted to stay close to me and live with me. She just took that to the extreme." "That's great—" "So, I decided I'm gonna live with her. We both adored that apartment downtown—" "—you're leaving—" "—and we're gonna move in, immediately—" "—that's not how it works," I screeched. "It does when you're an angel and a demon," he said, eyes brimming with pride and dare I say, smugness. "So, bye, my friend, you've been a tremendous help." Before I could protest about rent and utilities, a snap echoed across the room and all my roommate's—no, ex-roommate's—stuff was gone. "How am I gonna pay the rent," I lamented. A piece of paper floated and landed on my hand. I turned it over and read the words written on it. I smiled. *Dear my boyfriend's roommate,* *thank you for your help. I know how much of a dunderhead he can be. So, I've taken the opportunity to pay the rent for the next six months and I have also taken the pleasure of sending roommate your way. Don't worry, you'll like him. He's a good guy and will clean up after himself unlike the oaf i have here. You can set him on a trial basis and go from there.* *Your ex-roommate's girlfriend* r/dewa_stories This was a fun story to write. Thanks for the prompt, OP!
“Bitch! That was MY ice cream!” “Jeez sorry, didn’t know you had a sentimental relationship with it” “Shut the fuck up, oh my god. I was saving it because there’s a birthday party this Sunday and I’ve been hired to make an ice cream cake” “So?” “IM A FUCKING BAKER AND I NEED ICE CREAM FOR AN ICE CREAM CAKE, I thought you’d be smarter considering you’ve been alive x30 longer than I have!” “Jeez sorry, I’ll get you some new ice cream.” “Okay, just make sure it’s rocky road from Ben and Jerry’s” “Yep, okay” I turn back to the living room and sit on the couch, frustrated because now I have only two days left to make that darn cake for a kid I don’t even like. “Okay I’m back!” “That quic- wait nevermind, I forget you can teleport.” “Yeah yeah just make the cake already so I can have the leftovers.” “Dont ‘yeah yeah’ me Greg” “You forget who- no, what you’re talking to?” “A little bitch, yeah I do” “Shut the fuck up and make the cake Macka” “Wow! Struck a nerve did I? Thought demons had nerves of steel, or magma or whatever the fuck” “Shut up.” “Okay fine.” I make the cake for the snot nosed kid I don’t like, finish cleaning the kitchen then the big 6’7 demon strolls in, making it painfully clear he wants the leftover ice cream “Here have it.” “Thanks bro” Picking the tub up with one hand and running off to his room. Under my breath I say “dickhead” “WHAT WAS THAT?”
2022-12-16T06:46:51
2022-12-16T06:39:32
209
55
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.
"What'll it be this time, sweetheart?" "Hey, Sean, how are you? Can I just get another tally, right where you put the last ones?" "Mmm." *This would be around the fifth or sixth time I worked on her. She was a real quiet one, real tall and skinny, too. Like her folks had tied a dumbbell to her legs when she was a kid and just held her over a balcony. Pretty sure she was just outta college, too; what sort of idiot decides to get a couple of tally marks for their first tat? Buncha college kids with too much time on their hands, that's who.* *Man, I swear, kids these days don't know a goddamn thing. Getting all uppity and whatnot over the stupidest shit, like bathrooms and lives or something like that. Don't make no difference to me if a dyke walks in my bathroom, long as she's got the right equipment and keeps her hands to herself. Fucking kids, man, I can't stand'em. Always bitching about something.* "Excuse me, Sean, are you alright?" *Fuck, I zoned out there for a minute.* "I'm fine, I'm fine, just thinking is all." I coughed a little to cover it up. "Lemme get my stuff warmed up and we'll have you outta here in no time, eh?" *Something was wrong. Usually whenever I told her we were abouta get started, she'd look up to me with these big, puppy dog eyes and a little grin that swallowed her cheeks. Today, it almost looked like she shirked away from me. Like she was scared of somethin'.* "Um, uh, Sean?" *Goddammit.* "What is it, sweetie?" *I swear to God if she starts bawling or trying to tell me the significance of these goddamn tally marks.* "D-do you, d'you mind if we talk for a little?" *Fuck me with a broomstick.* "Of course, pumpkin, whadya wanna talk about?" *First I gotta deal with my wife, now this.* "The tally marks." She looked like she was afraid I was gotta sock her in the jaw, her eyes were terrified. *Where the fuck did the puppy dog eyes go?* "Y'know, I've always wondered about those. What d'those mean, anyways? You counting down to something? Or counting up?" I rested my leg my stool and stared into her eyes. For a scrawny one, she was quite the looker. She had her hair done real tight in one of them fancy braids, and it was draped across her shoulder. The tip of the thing landed at her chest, like it wanted me to look or somethin'. "See, that's the thing." *Poor thing looked like she was gonna wet herself. She better hold, if she knows what's good for her. Damn seat almost cost me a thousand bucks, had to get a loan on it and everything. Can you believe that? A loan on a fucking chair. It's a good thing Randall owes me one, that rat-faced fuck, says I can pay'em back whenever.* I held up my hand all smooth like, like how those crossing guards do when they wanna stop traffic. The cocksuckers. "A-hup hup hup hup hup. Wait just a second there, Missy, you ain't gotta tell me unless you really wanna. Are you sure you wanna tell me?" *Please say no.* She looked absolutely dedicated to the fact that she was abouta spill her guts to a complete stranger. Didn't even know her name, for Chrissake. "Well, yeah. I have to tell somebody." She was wipin' away tears now, her face was all red and whatnot, snot drooping outta her nose like it was a leaky soft serve machine. "We got all the time in the world, sweetheart. What is it?" *Wait, isn't this the part in the movies where the girl gushes her heart out and the guy uses this as a chance to fuck her?* "Well, I, uh, I don't know how to say this," she started stammering between fits of nervous laughter. *Ho boy, here come the water works. No movie tropes today.* "Take your time." *I swear to God if she says they're about the lives thing.* "Wow, just, wow. I can't believe I'm saying this, but here it goes." She was a complete mess now, just a hot, stinking mess of tears, runny make up, and snot. *Now I know I've seen* this *before. Wasn't it in that porno Micah let me borrow?* It was time to lay'er out. I could see Vincent out of the corner of my eye, just loitering outside. *Dammit, Vincent's good money, that punk always has something cheeky he wants done.* "Don't mean to disturb you or anything, babe, but I got my next appointment in ten, so could we wrap this up?" *That was* definitely *the killing blow. It's now or never for Miss Deeper Meaning.* She sucked in a bunch of air and heaved it out. "These tally marks don't mean anything and I don't want them anymore and I don't know why I got them wait that's a lie I know exactly why I got them I got them because Kennedy and her boyfriend got matching henna on their wrists and then Jasper told me she was doing this thing with the skull and crossbones because of the recent shootings and even Tony, can you believe it? Even Tony was getting tatted for every month we refused to let in the refugees and ugh, I just can't anymore I don't know why all my friends are so great and I'm just kind of here, you know?" *Jesus fucking Christ, the broad's got some lungs. Phelps' got another thing coming, my God.* "Wait, so what you're telling me is, you got ink permanently etched on your body because you wanted to play 'Keeping up with the Joneses?'" She wiped the snot and shit off her face with her hoodie sleeve. What she said next, I will never forget. "Don't you mean 'the Kardashians?'" "Get the fuck outta my shop."
"Brooke, he's here again." my assistant informed me. I took a look at the way he's looking and there it is, my favorite customer. I never really got the chance to ask him why but every couple of weeks, without fail, he comes here just to get inked with a tic to add on his almost-covered right arm of endless other tics. I've always thought, because based on his appearance he looks like he's still kind of young and we're on the same age, it was just for "aesthetic" or whatever hipster thing the kids call it nowadays. But this-- this is getting ridiculous. It's been three years since he made it a habit to come to my shop. He did his usual thing, with a frown plastered on his face, he took a seat without a word, closed his eyes and waited for the needle to make contact with his skin. I needn't even to say a word for he will just answer me with a nod or a shrug so what's the point. I already know what I should do, given those three years. And after getting inked he will pay, let me keep the change if there's any, and leave the shop without a trace. Then I go on with my normal life. But this time, I decided to give my life a little spice. After he left, I told my assistant to manage the shop while I'm out, and then hurried outside to see where the customer went. Without him noticing, I followed him until he stopped on a cafe. But it seems like he still isn't where he wanted to be. "Adam, you've done it again. You need to stop this." I saw someone approaching him, holding out his right arm and examining it. "Riley won't like the idea of you hurting yourself." "But I deserve this." I heard Adam reply. "I never felt her hurt. I was dense. I was never there for her when she needed me. I deserve to feel her hurt." "Look it wasn't your fault that Riley was hurting. Besides, you were the only one who truly understood her--" "But never fully! You see? I wasn't even good enough to know why she took her own life. I never knew her that deep! I wasn't trustworthy for her." "Adam, you know that's not true!" the woman sighed. "You have to move on, Adam. I may not know Riley that much but I know that's what she wants for you." Adam walked away.
2016-07-09T12:12:31
2016-07-09T09:19:24
37
14
[WP] A supervillain erases 30 years worth of memories from every hero he meets, just to put them out of business. One day he accidentally does this to a senile old man, and he finds out the hard way that he’s met the former strongest superhero
Memento flexed his fingers, the black spandex of his costume rippling as the imprinted clocks on it contracted, creating the illusion of them ticking. The heroine known as Vapor lay twitching on the floor before him, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, drool trickling from the side of her mouth. With her power to alter the temperature of water via some form of molecular manipulation, she'd quite literally made Memento's blood boil. In response, he'd set her mental age back by about thirty years, which, given she couldn't have been older than twenty, had left her brain-dead. A rather short-sighted action Memento now found himself regretting. That said, it was a fitting revenge, if a little gruesome to behold. He hadn't even known his power worked like that. Murder wasn't Memento's forte; in fact, he was somewhat averse to it. He found himself spending far too long staring plaintively at the woman's convulsing body, wondering how he was going to sort this one out. Before he could finish considering what to do with the glorified kettle, however, a noise at the far end of the alley caught his attention. Moving into a crouch, Memento held his hands defensively at his sides. "Amelia? *Amelia?*" The voice was a man's, strained with age. The person the voice belonged to rounded the corner, coming into Memento's view. He was old and hunched, with glasses so thick Memento couldn't see the man's eyes through them and a seeing stick he clutched tightly. His expression appeared perpetually somber, cheeks sagged and lips downturned. The man walked forward, ignorant of the corpse in his way until his foot came to rest on Vapor's chest. He lurched back, nearly losing his balance. Stabilising, he gave the object a cautionary prod with his stick. Kneeling down, he rested his hands on Vapor's cheeks. Memento saw the man quiver, his voice cracking as he uttered a disbelieving, *"No."* His hands explored Vapor's face with increased urgency, running through her hair, resting on her jaw and traversing her skin. He repeated every action two, three, *four* times, his denial slowly subsiding as he slumped forward, letting out a slight sob. *'Of course it's his fucking daughter,'* Memento thought, biting his tongue to stop himself from cursing. Despite the anger he felt at his rotten luck, the feeling was utterly eclipsed by an overwhelming sense of guilt, a knot tightening in his chest. "*Why...*" The man said, his voice strangely hollow. Broken. "Who would do this?" Once again, Memento flexed his fingers, feeling his power course through his body. There was an easy fix to this situation. A relatively painless one for the both of them. Given that Vapor had been younger than thirty, using his power on the grieving father would mitigate any memory he'd have of his daughter, sending him from the depths of despair back to cloud nine. *Peachy,* Memento thought. Sure, there'd be complications, but he'd rather deal with them with a clearer conscience. Without making a sound, Memento approached the man, placing his hands on the man's cheeks. Before he could comprehend what was happening, the man's memories were slipping away, hemorrhaging from his brain like blood from a wound. As Memento made contact, some of the memories bled into him, a consequence of the temporary mental link he needed to form in order for his power to function. Temporary flashes of memory flickered in his vision like a picture reel. *A husband and wife holding hands, a grinning girl perched on the man's shoulder.* *That same girl, years older and more mature, holdings hands with a boy in a suit whose eyes shied from the camera.* *The girl, yet again, smiling bashfully in her costume of blue and red, her cheeks flushed and her hands gesturing to the bubble imprinted on her chest.* The connection suddenly cut off, Memento lurching back as he brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead. His power tended to strain him, and already he could feel the exertion from using it twice in quick succession. The man had fallen onto his back beside his daughter, body as still as death. Memento approached cautiously, placed two fingers to the man's neck to ensure he was still alive and, once satisfied, turned on his heels to leave. He felt something clamp around his ankle, *hard.* Spinning back, Memento saw the man had his hand outstretched, his body still prone as he gripped Memento. The man's glasses had fallen off when he'd lunged. The eyes underneath were devoid of all detail, simply a milky white. As Memento stepped forward to try and use his power again, the man anticipated his movement, rolling out of harm's reach and twisting Memento's foot, his other hand slamming into the back of Memento's knee, making him buckle. The rest of Memento's forward momentum did the work, making him stumble to the ground. Before he could react, the man was on him, manhandling his right arm before pinning it behind his back, the bone creaking dangerously. Memento let out an agonised cry, gasping for air as he tried to articulate himself. "*Fu-fuck*, wait!" He grit his teeth. "I didn't do anything - she was dead when I found her, I swear!" The man simply chuckled, leaning forward until his lips were near Memento's ear. "I saw you murder her." "How? Your memories should be erased!" "Your power lies in the past, Memento. Mine - mine is in the future. All that will happen, all that can happen. But even powers atrophy with age; I should've seen you, stopped you before you killed her. She was all I had. Why? Why would you take her from me?!" "*Penance!* No -" Memento strained against the man's iron grip, trying to find any purchase on him so that he could use his power again. It'd never occurred to him the most famous hero of all time might still be at large, even living life as his alter-ego. Penance, the most powerful precog to have ever lived, until he'd begun developing Dementia, the illness having an inverse effect on his power. "Do you want to know how you'll die, Memento? Will the fear of knowing how it happens be worse than the experience itself, I wonder?" "*Please...*" The man yanked Memento's arm, shutting him up. "I'll tell you this much. It'll be excruciatingly, beautifully, *fucking painful.* I'll make damn sure of that."
The young are idealistic. It's not their fault. It's their curse. They all want to be a savior, they want the city to see them and have hope. They want to stand for truth, and justice. Most of all they want to leave a legacy. They want nothing more than to be remembered for the good they did. I don't punish these children for being stupid. I give them innocence. The same innocence they want to protect in all others, I give back to them a thousand times over. They always come for me, in numbers or alone they always fail. The telekinetics are easiest. They're almost always fat, slow, and completely lacking awareness because they do nothing but flex their powers to make life easier. Super strength is no better. Telepaths are difficult, but none are strong as I am. Then he came for me. He was not strong, he wasn't a telepath, he was a TK user with a mind like my own. He'd use it on himself, give himself what appeared to be super strength, then it was flight, before long he could control the friction between molecules, the electricity in other people's nervous systems, and his body was almost invulnerable. He was on his way to becoming a living breathing Superman with nothing more than Telekinesis. He reached into my brain, tried to cripple my powers before I could cripple his. The clash was felt by everyone. Thousands dead, hundreds injured and dozens in telepathically and telekinetically induced comas and still they thought he was a hero. When the dust cleared I was broken, bloodied, and dying but he saved me. Used his powers to knit my wounds shut, filtered the blood I'd shed and put it back in, mended the cracks in my bones enough to keep me alive. He was going to save me. His mind was weak. It broke with a single probe. I reached into his memories without resistance, ripping his psyche and his memories to pieces. 30 years was more than enough for me to take my fill of the world I'd conquered once he was gone and I was bored. The most recent challenge came from a girl who could produce sparks of light from her fingers. She's still screaming in her holding cell, believing that she's watching monsters rape and mutilate her mother and sisters. I'm not even sure if she has sisters, or what her relationship with her mother is like. She'll never wake up from that nightmare though, that's what matters. Even now, I go to his room and spend time with him like we're old friends. We went to college together, his wife was an ex of mine. So he thinks. We retired the same year, both of us got watches. We preferred each others so we traded. With a gesture the facade fell, and I saw recognition in those eyes. I couldn't help but smile when I saw the first cracks in the building start to form. The only one that had ever come close to stopping me. It was time to give him a second chance.
2018-02-21T14:02:07
2018-02-21T12:24:13
304
130
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
Everyone knows two things about the Patchwork King: That he is always beaten. And that he always returns. For generations, we have fought him. When he was a lonesome steppe wizard who built his tower on the hill above the 96'th nexus, Nicaou of the Wooden Sword killed him, as his workings threatened the shire of Gamla. When he rose, bearing the Mantle and Seal of the Red Reaver's Court, followed by a legion of the Red Reaver's Own, and set out to conquer the River Kingdoms, he was once more struck down, as the Wooden Sword's descendant ventured out with his Nine-And-One. But in the battle, Nicaou's line was ended, the Wooden Sword spirited below, and his Nine-And-One scattered to the winds, doomed to wander in despair and senslesness, because the Red Reaver's curse is the rot of love and familial bonds. Yet we thought he was gone, because we did not realize that the ending of Nicaou's line was the price the man who would be the Patchwork King had promised for his Seal and Mantle. The Red Reaver was well pleased, for the line of Nicaou was his foil and constant thorn, and thus, the man walked long in the Land Beneath, seeking forgotten things, and scouring the refuse of long gone gods and forgotten civilizations, protected, or at the least, not hunted, for he still bore that Seal and Mantle, and in his hand, he held The Wooden Sword. And when he found there The Still Dying God, forever drawing its last breath, he found in it yet another patron, and he took in his hand the least of the many pins which protruded from that cursed flesh, and wielding it as a spear and firebrand in his right hand, and the Wooden Sword in his left hand, he rose once more to where men lived, and he set a miasma upon the lands, which called the dead from the earth and also people of strange and secret faiths, who had long worked ceremony and sacrifice in hidden places. This time, there were no heroes, for the time of heroes had ended, and a time of building had begun. The Red Reaver was forgotten, as was the line of Nicaou. But we swiftly came to once more know the man who would be The Patchwork King. And we, now a building people, built tools of war and tools for building tools of war, and we fought in the hundred ways a people fights, against that horde of the dead and the worshipers of death. And we were victorious. After years of struggle and thousands dead, we burned them from the last of their strongholds, and from the air, we reduced the stronghold of their master, the first such strike in history. The cult was gone, silenced, and not a one remembered the name of the Still Dying God. And thus, the gods death was complete, and it was gone even from the Land Below. And for keeping his word to The Still Dying God to burn out the last twisted remnants of the gods cult, the man who would be The Patchwork King was rewarded in the very last sigh of the gods age-long deathrattle, and was once more resurrected into the Land Below, not only with the Mantle and Seal of the Reaver and the Wooden Sword, and the Least Pin that pierced a god, he also held the knowledge of a building people turned to total war. But you have heard the rest, as it is not such ancient history. There are those among us who have lived through much of it. How he came to hold the Remorseless Heart. The Final Rope. The Luminous Green Glass. The Shard Of Living Bone. The Knowing Of Not-Light, and The Knowing Of Nuclear Fission. Piece by piece taken. Deal by deal honored. Death by death conquered. A patchwork of power, a sliver of every dark master, unknowable fiend, and stranger from the stars a desperate mind could reach and serve. The Patchwork King is now a power all its own. To look upon The Patchwork King cannot be done. To understand his goal cannot be done. And we know not that we can win this time. We grew strong in the fear of him, but when last he came, he made the world you see before you. A world of change and ruin and terror and wonder and stagnation, all at once. That we can now live is all a miracle. All that struggle turned to mere survival in this senseless world, every brilliant mind and desperate effort. This knowledge is a power. And thus, we have a final thread of a shred of hope. We have reached out, into The Land Below, and we have offered him a Deal. The Knowing Of Impossible Life, in exchange for peace now and forever. After all, everyone knows three things about The Patchwork King. That he is always beaten. That he always returns. And that he always honors his deals.
As I killed the last of the heroes I laughed. It was an accident. I had found the old book because I thought Darcy would enjoy it. We could laugh about it together. I decided to go home early to show her. While walking, I thumbed through the book. At first I thought the words were in some foreign script, but I blinked and realized they were just very ornate old English, hard for most to read but I'd done my thesis on Chaucer. *unlimited power we will grant, for the life of the one you love most, but serve us you will in hate and darkness.* Silly, ridiculous, who would accept that deal anyway? I was in such a hurry to show Darcy my find, I didn't even notice my best friend's car parked out front. I did notice the noises coming from the bedroom though. I grabbed the desk lamp, an ugly metal thing, and just kept hitting both of them. Then I noticed the book, laying on the floor where I dropped it, was open, the letters glowing.
2021-06-28T00:59:06
2021-06-27T20:28:30
39
25
[WP] Driven by rumors that a Former President lives in the Whitehouse basement, a famous conspiracy theorist manages to dig his way into secret Whitehouse tunnels. He did not find the ex-President, but what he did find is far more shocking. Now he has to warn the world before it ends...
"Ok Truthers, this is the moment I've been hyping up for the last few weeks: The moment we break into the secret tunnels under the white house, and uncover the bedroom of George W Bush!" I adjusted the circular light attachment on my phone, making sure my viewers were getting the best picture possible. I had a duty to them, and the millions- no, billions- of people that would watch this in the future, as part of their public school education. I checked to make sure I was still connected to the stream. "What theme do you think his room will be decorated in? Comment '1' in chat if you think it will be Star Wars or other sci-fi, '2' if it involves Dinosaurs, or '3' for something else!" I watched the feed as the numbers rolled in. It looked like the space theme was the most popular guess, with 7 people commenting a '1' in the chat. "Thanks for guessing, Truthers! Let's find out!" I set the phone onto the tripod behind me, and picked up the shovel. I was careful to avoid the blisters that covered my palms as I dug, with little success. I made a mental note to buy work gloves before my next exposé. With a 'clang' that vibrated through my wrists, I struck the tunnel's side. "Eureka! Truthers, we've done it!" I carefully scraped away more dirt and debris from the tunnel side, and set the shovel back by my duffel bag. I swapped the primitive tool for a more advanced one, and turned back to the camera wreathed in light. "Don't try this at home, kids" I said, sparking the Acetylene cutting torch to life. I turned and brought the flame to the tube's metal surface, and made a small hole. I brought my eye to the peephole, carefully avoiding the red hot edges. I froze. What I saw inside wasn't the bedroom of a former man-child President. Inside, through the tiny hole in the secret tunnel, I saw my childhood pet's tank. Well, not specifically my Ziggie's tank. It was a bigger version of the iguana's habitat. There was a heat lamp, a fine layer of wood chips covering the floor, and several logs spread around... What I had at first taken as a stick began to move. I stared on in silent horror as the man sized lizard...thing.... began to stretch, extending a dark frill from its neck folds. A small beep came from an overhead speaker. "Mr. President, you are needed in conference room 4." The creature began to walk down the log, swaying its long tail as it descended. "Thank you Caroline" It said, in an eerily familiar voice. It swayed its way to the far wall, where a large suit-coat bag hung from a hook. As the creature unzipped the bag, I caught a glimpse of the garment within. A cheerful chime rang out from behind me. Someone had just donated $4.99 to my stream. I jumped, trying to hide below the view of the small hole. This had the unintended consequence of allowing the camera's light to shine through instead. A Klaxon blared, louder than anything I had ever heard before. "SECURITY BREACH" it cried, over and over. I turned to face the phone once more. "LIZARD PEOPLE!" I shouted, staring directly into the camera. "ITS LIZARD PEOPLE!" The lights from the phone went dark. All of the lights went dark. "EMP ACTIVATED. PROCEED WITH CONTAINMENT PROTOCOLS." The overhead voice boomed once more. I couldn't see a thing. But I could hear the sound of dozens, then hundreds, of skittering reptilian feet. __________________________ User Skilleraons112 (2 hours ago) > -Fake as hell. Unsubscribed. User TrutherFan69 (1 hour ago) > -What a let down. I thought this guy had some good points initially, but this stunt has really tanked my opinion of him. User Killamanjaro420 (1 hour ago) > -First! User DEEZNUTZZZSZ Gives $4.99 (1 hour ago) > -I thought you were better than this, Steve. Here's some cash, go take a journalism class. User MariohOddeseey2011 (30 minutes ago) > -First r/SlightlyColdStories for more incoherent ramblings
(Sung to the tune of the opening bars of Gilligan’s Island) Well, there I was digging underground, Beneath the White House bricks, And what did I discover? But an ancient temple pit. Its walls were lined with picts and glyphs, Of some monstrosity, I thought it worth a closer look, How dangerous could it be? *How dangerous could it be?* Halfway down my rope was cut, I started falling free, Tumbling in the darkness, I prayed to God ‘save me!’ *I prayed to God ‘save me!* I landed on some rags and bones, And bodies half-devoured, It seemed the eye on the dollar bill, Had a mouth was what I found.
2022-06-09T11:26:54
2022-06-09T07:27:00
19
10
[WP] You are an ice dragon who has been asleep for thousands of years. You are awakened by a group of tiny humans who promise you an unfathomable amount of wealth. They call themselves "Microsoft" and ask that allow them to move a large number black boxes into the unnatural chill of your lair.
The large white dragon shook itself once, causing the air around Rana to hum. He had insisted on coming alone, and was deeply regretting it. "And, what do *you* want?" The voice seemed to rumble from every corner of the room causing the chill in the air to heighten with each tense word. Cryodan had slept for centuries beneath the North Pole, having realized during his last outing that actively seeking out treasure was entirely too much of a bother. He was content to lazily pass the time deep in the ice working on his artwork and poetry for the next thousand years or so. But that was over thanks to some young idiot looking to learn some magic. The boy smelled appropriately terrified, which was good. The name of Cryodan, Fang of Winter still carried weight amongst humans. But that of that showed on his face, which was even better. The boy was serious at least. This was Rana's moment. He had read "Negotiation for Suckers!" by John G Deal and had even attended all the author's seminars to prepare for this. "We would like to store several of these here." Rana elaborately presented the large server he had brought with him. It had been designed to appear as plain as possible, just a featureless black monolith. It could send both power and data wirelessly, but also put out so much heat everything near it melted into a glistening puddle. That was in the outside world though. In this cavern that was part of the lair of Cryodan, Question that Freezes? Even ten thousand such severs would run comfortably. The immense dragon loomed over Rana to sniff the server, letting out a blast of breath that caused alarm beeps in Rana's suit. Rana suddenly realized that he could die just by having a conversations with this creature. Cryodan looked away from the box with disinterest. His lair possessed thousands of caverns just and large and empty as the one they stood in. Instead, he looked towards the young man. Did he truly realize how dangerous a game he was playing? Cryodan had heard offers like this before. "Please great dragon, protect this family heirloom until my son comes to claim it!" He always accepted such offers, and then simply continued to kill whatever idiots tried to take anything from his hoard. "You seem like a nice and expendable young man." He said leaning closer to emphasize 'expendable'. "You are clearly here on behalf of someone else, so I will give you some advice. It is quite easy to add to a dragon's vault, but very, *very* difficult take from it." "Of course, of course. We would never dare to take anything from you. We shall even add to it! Continuously!" "This is agreeable to me." The dragon growled, settling back. Rana gasped in relief. The emergency life support system was fully engaged, warning him of frostbite but he barely spared it a glance. As John G Deal said, *Pain is good! Pain means you can still make that sale!* "E-e-excellent!" Rana stammered. "We are willing to offer a sixth of a dragon's ransom every year!" A booming noise lasted for a few moments before Rana realized the dragon was laughing. "You think to trick me, the Icy Trick!" The dragon roared. Rana clutched his head to no avail. The sound reverberated in his ears and mind. Cryodan called on his instinctive draconic magic. There were many reasons that dragons were very good at collecting treasure. But one of them was their ability to sense *value*. Most dragons sense what was considered valuable, even if they didn't know what it was or what it did. In fact, debating why something was considered valuable by people in general was an enjoyable pastime amongst dragons before humans made everything became about gold. But something was different now. As soon as he saw this boy, he knew *value* was very different now. "No..." He rumbled, taking the air. "Money...no...even better...I want *eye fones*..." When the boy's face broke into a horrified grimace, Cryodan knew he had hit it on the mark. That anguished expression showed this *eye fone*, whatever it was, was something highly valuable that they would not wish to part with! "No, please, not that..." The boy begged. "Yes!" The dragon roared again. "I will take eye fones!" Rana was horrified. If he tried to buy thousands of their competitors iPhones to give this dragon, the board would have his head! And, how did the dragon even know what iPhones were anyway? And what would it do with them? He suddenly remembered one of John G Deal's great original quotes: *It is better to ask for forgiveness, than for permission!* "Yes, we can get you iPhones!" He declared much more confidently than he felt. "Good..." The dragon whispered. "By the way, what *are* iPhones?" Cryodan was infinitely fascinated by th eye phone. Once he opened the glass box it came in, he was instantly taken in by the beautiful, intricate designs contained within. Elaborate runs of metal, joined with towers made of a strange material, all combining to form a coherent pattern. Even as he refocused his eyes so sharply that they could clearly see the pores in the boy's skin, there were even smaller, more intricate designs. It was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had no idea how humans made or enjoyed these art objects with their awful vision, but they were right to prize it so highly. "An absolute marvel!" He declared to the boy who looked on in confusion. No doubt surprised that the dragon did not need to be instructed on how to open the eye phone. "I believe one of these a year will be a satisfactory deal."
I remember thinking that we had no future. When the humans began our slaughter in their small and stupid ways. Taking our eggs and our foolish young. The great thinkers, the Bookwyrms with their libraries and the warriors with their great claws and vast hoards, believed their escape was to live among them. And so they vanished, one by one. I believed I was the last. So I retreated to the cold places where humans went to die. Or so I thought. How could I know the daredevils among them came to the cold places for glory. It was only ten years ago when what I thought were ten humans arrived to petition me. I laughed at them and their strange boxes. A server...that sounded like some kind of slave. I did not want a slave. I wanted to mourn what had passed from this world forever. And then the two humans who had spoken the most revealed themselves. A Bookwyrm and a warrior who had invented something called an Internet. And they had a job for me. Now I drive a midrange car from my home in suburbia. My neighbors know me as the strange woman from Tibet who gets a little too enthusiastic each Christmas. Pairing the world's grand cold with the radiance of light...what a glorious thing. Why do more humans not do this? All the time? I drive to my job. I am to sit and watch boxes in the cold room. A server farm. I began learning what these boxes are and now I can program and havk with the best of them. Humans don't know how their lives now pass entirely through our claws. But it is alright. We don't want human riches. We don't care what you small ones with your small lives do. You are warm and entertaining, even if you do live like mayflies. What do we want? We want peace and we want our hoards. And every day I may enter the cold rooms and bask at the glory of mine. Who needs silent, lifeless gold? With computers we dragons may now hoard lives. You call it a farm. I sit at my desk and listen in rapture to the hum of my server hoard.
2020-11-28T09:15:04
2020-11-28T08:51:34
52
35
[WP] A man who knows no fear is visited by a demon... I hope this is at least somewhat original, let's see what you can do! Edit: Some fantastic responses so far, if you haven't read them it's definitely worth the time so check them out. I'm off to bed now but I can't wait to read every one of these in the morning, thank you to everyone who has taken the time so far to give this prompt a bash.
I have brain damage. That's what saved me. Don't get me wrong, my cognitive abilities are fine. I simply don't feel fear. Or rage. Jealousy. I don't know yet, if I can feel grief. Actually that's not true. I feel these emotions. Or rather, I feel where they should be. See, there are these receptors in your brain that control your response to fear. Fight or flight instincts. I am displeased by things at times. I have a logical sense of danger. My body, though, has no reaction. The night the demon came, I was in my underwear, alone in my apartment, playing CoD with a couple of high schoolers. I was kicking ass, and all of a sudden there's this creepy looking crispy-critter sitting on my keyboard. I thought for a moment. This was obviously something out of the ordinary. It had long claws, sharp teeth. Probably dangerous. I'm definitely not ready to die, so I knew I must tread carefully. "Hello there," I said. "Is there something I can help you with?" It didn't reply, at first, and I wondered for a moment if it could even speak. Then it crossed its hands(?) over its chest. "Cower, frail human," it hissed. Seriously hissed at me. Like the talking snake on that Disney movie. You know the one, right? With the little jungle boy? Jungle Book, that's it. Anyway, this demon (by this point, I was pretty sure it was a demon) looks at me, expectant. Maybe there's a procedure for this sort of thing. "Uh," I said. "Do you want something to drink?" "I can smell your fear," said the creature. For lack of a better name, I decided to call him B.T. for burnt toast. That's how *he* smelled. B.T. inhales dramatically to prove his point. His eyebrows lower. Nose wrinkles. Oh, yeah. I got you with that one, didn't I? "I cannot smell your fear," B.T. says. "Do you not know who I am?" "No," I said, cool as a cucumber. "I'd guess you're some sort of low level demon, sent to frighten me into doing something. Or not doing something, maybe." "Low level," B.T. sniffs. "I am an Executive Demon third class, in charge of preliminary inquiries with new..." "So, like a recruiter, or a telemarketer?" I'd like to skip to the point. Pretty sure my team was dying without me. "Now listen, you puny little meat-bag..." "What happens if I ask for a supervisor?" B.T. goes rigid. "I'll put you in for a callback," he says. "A supervisor will get back to you within 48 hours." He snaps his fingers, and disappears.   Two days later, I was eating dinner when the second demon arrived and perched across the table from me. Thing had one of those steroid bodies. Tiny head, big muscles, little prick. I wasn't looking, but the things don't wear clothes, so it was just dangling there, looking kind of pathetic. Horns were big, though. Maybe that matters more to demons. I ignored him, at first. I was having a huge bowl of curry for dinner, and my mouth was on fire. Then again, so was my extra chair. "Could you *not* drop your ashes on my carpet?" I asked. "Are you not frightened by me?" The demon cocked his head to one side. Like I was a new species of bug. "Afraid I'll have to replace that chair," I said. "This place came furnished. They'll take that out of my deposit, you know." "I am Magnumellion the Vast," he said. "Devourer of light. Destroyer of cities. Igni..." "Yeah, how about I just call you Mag? It's easier to remember." Mag's mouth snapped shut. He opened it again. I held up a finger for him to wait while I took a huge swig of my beer. That curry was amazing. "Okay," I said, when my mouth had cooled. "The thing is, I don't like repeating things, and I'm sure I won't be pleased with whatever you have to say. So if you have a supervisor, I'd like to just speak with them." Mag gave me the same spiel about 48 hours and disappeared.   The third demon came while I was on the shitter. "Dude," I said. "Boundaries." "All quail before the might of the great and powerful." "Supervisor," I said, to save time. I can't describe that demon. I'd been trying to avoid eye contact. I guess they don't have privacy in hell.   The demon had disappeared without giving me a time frame, so I assumed it would be two days again. I was a little disappointed when a week went by without a visit. I started to think I'd imagined the whole thing, or that it was some sort of flashback to a bad trip (I'd done a lot of drugs in college). That's why, when a flaming, four horned, cloven hooved monster man appeared in bed with me, whipping his tail about, setting the curtains on fire, well, I was pretty happy to see him. "Hello," I said. I got out of bed and retrieved the fire extinguisher. "What level of demon are you?" The creature reclined on one elbow, watching me spray the curtains. "I'm not a demon," he said, the faintest traces of snobbery in his voice. "I am *He*." "He?" I asked. "That's a funny sort of name." "Beezelbub," he said. "Shaitan. Lucifer. The dark lord. Loveliest of all angels. Stealer of souls. Satan. I am *He*," he finished. "The *Devil*." "Oh," I said. "That's a lot of names. Do you ever get confused?" "Why are you not afraid of me?" old Beeze' asked. "Oh that..." I explained about my accident, and the damage to my fear receptors. "I see," Beeze' said. "Well, regardless, we had a deal, and it's time to collect." "I don't mean to disagree," I said. "But, well, I've never made a deal with you." At first, he thought I was trying to weasel out of the deal. He began to debate with me, but I stayed calm, and eventually we sorted it out. "Look, Tim," he'd said. "Tim?" I asked. "My name's Jim." And with that, Beeze' apologized for the confusion, vowed to make amends, and excused himself. As he snapped his fingers and faded into the abyss, I heard him muttering. "Someone's going to hell for this."
Brother Captain Sventis Stroun of the Black Templars Chapter keeled on the floor of the Thunderhawk gunship. His power armour was ancient, a relic of battles past and he could feel the spirits of fallen battle brothers inhabiting it. His prayer was a call to war, a deliverance of hate repeated after the company chaplain, litanies of protection against corruption and warpfilth. As the prayer ended, he turned to his marines and lifted his power sword above his head as the vibrations from the atmosphere and sounds of battle started to filter in through the hull. "Today, we crusade against cultist filth who have sullied the Emperium of Mankind. This forge world produces specialist assault vehicles and cannot be allowed to fall. We are striking against the cultist's filths headquarters and will purge the taint!" The echo of the Chapter's battlecry came back "*No pity! No remorse! No fear!*" The impact of the landing craft and dropping of the assault hatch signified that battle was joined. The black, oversized, and resolute warriors charged out of the hatch and formed disciplined firing lines against the mutated and branded cultists who wasted their las packs against blessed ceramite armour. The pure howl of bolter fire quickly reduced the subhumans to bloody giblets as Brother Captain Stroun lead the charge across the metal factorium roof. Cultists were swept aside in droves as the Space Marines pushed into the core of the resistance. As they reached the final room, and kicked it open, they came to face with the leaders of this uprising: Alpha Legion Chaos Space Marines. The air immediately filled with bolt rounds as each side strove to defeat the hated enemy. Stroun ducked a mutated tentacle and drove his sword through the helmet of a defiled Alpha Legionary and turned to watch as a mind corrupting warp portal opened and and a filthy demon started to ooze out. Nurgle. The Chaos god of decay and pestilence. The Black Templars were winning the close quarters battle through weight of numbers, but the demon surged into the imperial lines, breaking them asunder. Only Stroun stood between the sickening monstrosity and the door. The festering plague boils and foul stench did not intimidate him. The moist claws thrown at his face never connected, blocked by his oversized pauldron. "*No Pity!*" The flabby abberation tried to use it's bulk to push over the Brother Captain, but Stroun's armour servos strained and he pushed it over onto its back, as the pus from the sores which covered it tarnished the metal floor. "*No Remorse!*" The flailing warp entity let out an undulating howl as the Alpha Legionaries charged, and Stroun only had seconds to react. His power sword was in hand, and letting his boltgun fall to its sling, he grasped the anscetoral weapon with both hands and drove it with genetic hate at the head of the demon. The reaction was immediate, as cursed magiks flared and the demon's flesh was shredded from the bones as it started to dissolve into a plague puddle. "***No Fear!***"
2015-06-24T20:52:57
2015-06-24T19:29:48
64
14
[WP] "Hello, passengers, this is-- uh... Another passenger speaking"
Midway through the novel I’d bought back at the airport, my eyes flicked up toward the speakers when I heard the voice of someone in the cabin crew. “Ladies and gentlemen, if there’s a mental health professional on board, we’re asking that they come forward to the front of the plane as quickly as they can. A passenger is having a panic attack and we could use some assistance.” My eyes narrowed worriedly as I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood from my aisle seat, leaving the book on my chair, forgotten. I noticed two others start to rise as I walked down the aisle, but when they saw my determined stride and, I’m guessing, my older age, they deferred to me and stayed put. One of the crew at the front pulled a curtain aside, revealing the area between first class and coach, closing the curtain immediately. “Dr. Susan Gilbert. Where are they?” I asked, looking around at the two other crew members. “We lied,” she said frankly. I met her gaze with confusion and then my face went slack at what I saw. Fear. Uncertainty. Anger. “We just needed…you.” “What’s happened?” I asked quietly. Flashes of 9/11 came to my mind as I warily looked to each of the three of them. “Is it terrorists?” “We don’t know,” said the young man next to her. “But our best guess is, yes, it’s an attack.” My hand went to my forehead. “What happened?” “Do you know what an EMP is?” I nodded. “Washington DC.” “Jesus,” I whispered. I licked my lips anxiously, glancing to the cabin. “Any minute. All of them have cell phones, most of them are online right now-” “We just want you to…explain what we know so far,” the first woman told me. “In the best and most calming way possible. We’re safe. We’re going to land at MCO in an hour or so, right on schedule. I-I mean there could be another attack, but…” Her gaze told me everything she was thinking. That she desperately hoped this was it and, more than that, that I needed to pull the passengers away from those kinds of thoughts. Panic could grip everyone in no time and that would just make things worse. “All right.” I motioned to the phone on the wall and she took it off the hook, pressing a button and handing it to me. “Hello, passengers, this is…uh…another passenger speaking. My name is Dr. Susan Gilbert. I’m a psychologist in Orlando.” I took a breath and pulled the corded phone with me, pushing the curtain aside, walking into the large expanse of seating, all eyes turning to me. They needed to put eyes on me, to put a face to a voice that was giving them news like this. “I know some of you are no doubt already starting to get word of the news online and the cabin crew wanted me to convey a summary of what is known, what they learned so far. I’ll set this at about PG-13, and any children who are listening, your parents can answer any questions you have. “I’m sorry to report that there has been what is likely a terrorist attack in Washington DC.” The expressions of every adult in the dozen rows in front of her shifted in exactly the way she’d known they would. “It is a weapon known as an EMP, an electromagnetic pulse, and it disrupts and renders useless anything electronic. That’s everything from lightbulbs to cell phones to…hospital machinery,” I said softly. “There is, essentially, no power in Washington DC.” “For anyone who is online, reach out only if you need to. Everyone is going to want to use the internet and the phones, and I don’t know much about technology, but I do know what the word ‘bandwidth’ means. If you need to talk to someone, talk to those seated beside you. Share your concerns and your fears and realize it’s what we’re all feeling. If anyone has severe anxiety and wishes to speak with me one on one, or if you are having a panic or anxiety attack, please come to the front of the plane. I would also ask any other mental health professionals to join me up here.” I took a breath. “This is a big moment. Everyone listening knows that. You know where you were on 9/11 and you’ll remember you were on this plane to Orlando when you learned this news. Parents, hold your kids close, and everyone, let yourself cry and wipe your tears. It will be a while before the full extent of the damage is known and recovery is going to take a long time. But we’ll get through it, just as we always do. Together.” ​ /r/storiesbykaren
Long time lurker 2nd, maybe 3rd time poster, please be kind I dunno how to write good stories \----------------------- "Hello, passengers this is-- uh... Another passenger speaking." "Well technically I *do* have a license to fly a plane but I never expected to put it to use like this. Oh- What is it? Explain? Sure. So, um, the previous captains were apparently drinking on the job - what made him want to do that I have no clue - and since we can't exactly have a drunk captain driving this thing I'm here. Um we'll be making an emergency-ish landing in, lets see, Chicago." "If you have any questions don't hesitate our lovely flight attendants and they'll try their best to answer. Just, um, sit back, relax and enjoy the flight-" \-----------------------
2021-03-18T11:15:35
2021-03-18T11:03:30
114
48
[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… …… …………………….
Brains taste like chocolate, but I don't have to worry about the calories anymore. Blood is like wine -- I finally understand what those wine people talk about… a hint of strawberries with an oaky depth and a buttery finish. Ice cream intestines -- this one's last meal was pistachios. My favorite is veins -- they taste like Twizzlers. Oh! Oh! Oh! Umami! But I was the last one! There's no one left to eat! I WANT CHOCOLATE!!!
2015-10-13T07:35:04
2015-10-13T06:51:52
1,135
40
[WP] You are the founder of a tiny 1990s tech startup operating from your garage. All of a sudden, a bunch of people who are obviously badly disguised time travelers start trying to buy stock in your company.
"You know you have to wait until we go public right?" "Ye- . . . yeaahh." The gentleman with the handlebar mustache, derby hat, and pin-striped zoot-suit responded nervously. "Of course I know that. I-I'm a savy business investor. I mean- a normal passer by that is just . . . just really enthusiastic about what you're doing here." "Uh huh." "And I just, you know, want to get in on the ground floor and ummm . . . you know . . . just like, buy some of your stock. You know?" "Right." "Just a casual, no-pressure guy that sees what you got going on here - looks like some computers and stuff - and . . . uhhhhh I'm into it. I like what you're doing and I want to buy stocks in your company." "Well as you can see, I'm not selling any stocks right now." "Ahhh . . ." The peculiar man looked down at his feet, kicking at the pavement -unsure about what to do. "This isn't a company." "No, I know that. I'm a smart guy, I didn't come from the future or anything - that's *ridiculous*. ***Obviously***." He wrung his hands together and laughed so loud and haltingly a neighbor walking their dog across the street stopped to stare. "Of course. Obviously someone from the future trying to buy stock in whatever's happening here would know how stocks work and wouldn't just approach me outside my garage." "HA! To think someone would ever be *SO FOOLISH*! AH, the nerve of some people. So anyway - completely different subject - if someone, you know hypothetically, *did* want to buy a large number of stocks in your company when they're still really cheap, they would, *you know*, need to go . . ." He never finished his sentence. He just started speaking more and more softly until his voice was barely above a whisper. His hand wheeling in the air. "Go to, the ummm, you know. *You know*, the place." "Uh huh. Go on." "YOU KNOW, the place." "Yeah, you got it. Explain it to me." "I-" He shrugged and made an indignant face because of course he knew and it would be a waste of time to really fully articulate his very nuanced and informed views on the matter. "The place where stocks are sold - which is not here, as you've made clear - but is rather at some kind of secret 'second location' as you normal human subjects might call it. And the name of that mysterious second location is clearly the ummm. . ." "New York Stock Exchange." "RIGHT! I knew that. The New York Stock Exchange, and that's just like a thirty minute walk from-" "This is California." "Like a thirty minute walk from California, so I'm just going start heading over that way. It was great to meet you, again, **love** what you're doing here, keep up the good work. I'm going to go." The man pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "I'm going to go buy some of that stock at the Old York Stock Exchange-" "New York Stock Exchange." "NEW York Stock Exchange, right, and uhhhh exchange some of these old timy nickles for a new thousand stock units in this company." "Not a company, not selling stocks yet." "Say there partner, you do raise an interesting point about the complexities of the marketplace. Such as uhhh, when will you start to sell these stocks of yours at a really low price?" "Well, if we do decide to go public, and maybe we wont." "HA! You will." The man smiled to himself, nodding knowingly. "But if we did, we would hire an accounting firm and they would determine our initial stock price based on the anticipated market value and set it at a competitive rate." "Whaaaat. Noooo, that's. . . I'm pretty sure that's not how stocks work. I'm looking to buy your stock when it's super cheap." "Yeah that's what I'm saying, company's NEVER sell their stock super cheap at any point in time. At all times, the stock is sold at market rate." "What about . . . what about like, in the first second that you start selling it. What if like, someone were to start just buying as much of it as they possibly could?" "Well then I guess that would drive the price up." "YEESSSSSSSSS." He hissed like sexually aroused snake. "Which would make it more expensive to buy." "Say what now?" "If there were a buying spree the second a stock went up on the market, that would make it more difficult to buy. You would be less able to make a profit on it." "Hmmmm." "I think the main advantage of a time machine in a stock market isn't to go back in time to buy stocks cheap, it would be to go forwards in time to cash in mature stocks early." "Say what now?" "Mind if I borrow your time machine for a second?" **AND THUS TOM'S TOPSY-TURVY TIME TRAVELING TOURING COMPANY WAS BORN.**
The machine hummed and sparked, illuminating the garage in a sharp blue light. Out of the light, three figures emerged, clad in futuristic space suits. The machine powered down, and the garage plunged into darkness. In the corner, a very suprised inventor flicked on a torch. "M-my inventions d-don't normaly work." He managed to stutter. "Charles Baxter? Inventor of the worlds first time machine?" "Y-yes. I g-guess I am." "We would like to purchase 49.9% of your company for 15 trillion US dollars. Don't bother answering, we already know you said yes. Here is the paperwork, we just need your signature." A space suited man handed Charles some paper and he signed it. "Now, use that money to build a machine that actually works. We just arived at one of your tests because it sounded like a cool idea at the time. Badum Tish. When you do that your company will become immensely rich, and we will be able to afford a ticket plus the money we just gave you and a few million left over." Charles just stood there, shell shocked, for a minute. The figures opened the garage and let light flood it for the first time in months. "Oh, one more thing. Where is Elon Musk living nowadays?"
2015-10-04T08:51:09
2015-10-04T08:42:50
260
75
[WP]: It turns out everything in the world DOES happen for a reason. The reason is frivolous and rather silly.
David scaled the last of the wall, his strength nearly sapped. He looked around the snow-swept mountaintop, scanning for his destination. There, just visible through the snow and biting wind, he spied light. Trudging through the gale, he could hardly believe his eyes. David had come at last to The Temple Of All Knowledge. David paused a moment outside the temple wall. The size of it would have been breathtaking, if David had much breath left to take. Desperately he grasped at the huge bronze knocker. It was fashioned into the shape of something, but Davids vision was quickly blurring and he couldn't tell what it was. He just managed to bash it against the door before darkness overtook him. Fuzzy sounds, warm. Am I dead? David awoke to find himself in an austere little room. The only furniture was the straw bed he lay upon, a plain wooden side table and a chair. He was wrapped in fur blankets and surprisingly comfortable. David was startled from his reverie by a knock on the door. This was quickly followed by a man showing himself in. The man was dressed from head to toe in a white jumpsuit, accentuated by black and white leopard print around the lapels and cuffs. He wore massive, cheesy-looking sunglasses and sported a huge pompadour haircut. The strange man pranced around the tiny room, tip-tapping on the floor with a pair of blue suede shoes. David looked on in wonder, unsure of what to say. "Hey there baby" said the strange man at last, when his dance was seemingly completed. "Um, hey there" said David "Follow me, hip cat" The man went dancing out of the room. Things were not going as David had expected. Nevertheless, he felt he had little choice but to follow this person. He seemed harmless enough. David arose and realized his clothes had been removed. A saffron robe was folded neatly on the floor. He dressed quickly. David emerged into a massive chamber, lit by thousands of candles. Tapestries and paintings occupied all the walls David could see, trailing off into darkness. He had come from the only door that was apparent. The strange man stood nearby, saying nothing. "Who are you?" asked David. "I'm Elvis mama. Who were you expecting?" "I thought this was The Temple Of All Knowledge" said David uncertainly "So what if it is?" said Apparently Elvis David had to think about this. He had expected that, upon finding The Temple Of All Knowledge, things would simply work themselves out from that point. He had expected the whole thing to be a bit less, well, like this. "Look" managed David "If this is The Temple, can you tell me any bit of knowledge that I'd like to know?" "Hey, now you're in the swing baby" he began dancing again. "That's really not necessary" said David, looking alarmed. "Can you just tell me the meaning of life?" "No, I can't tell you that man" said Apparently Elvis "Why not?" "Cuz that's a bunch of gibberish man. Look, what's the meaning of toaster stroodles? Ain't got one man, that's gibberish" "That isn't very helpful, weird Elvis-person" "Ah, I'm sorry baby. Everybody wants to know that one man, you ain't dumb or nothin'" David sighed. He thought that, maybe toaster stroodles do in fact, have a meaning, but he brushed the thought aside. He had another question. "Okay Elvis, do things happen for any reason, or is the universe just random?" "Hey, now that's a good question man. You're a sharp dude, I could tell right away when we met. Yes, everything in the universe that has ever occurred throughout all of time has happened for a reason and the reason is this man: Doughnuts" David waited for more. More was apparently not coming. "Doughnuts? What kind of dumbass answer is that? You're telling me that God sprang in existence and then went on to create time, space and matter, all things that ever were or ever shall be, just so that fucking *doughnuts* could fucking come to exist? I climbed a mountain and almost fucking *died* to hear this! This!!" David became overexcited and passed out. He had forgotten about how thin the mountain air is. Elvis looked down at him with a mild expression. "Guess he's more of a bagel man"
"You wanted to-" "Yeah" GOD wasn't necessarily proud of what he had done, it wasn't that what he had done was wrong. It just wasn't done, in fact he didn't think it had ever Been done. In the history of deities, this was new. This was his and his alone. "But why not just let them-" "I just wanted to try I-" "Don't interrupt me" GOD stared at his teacher and wondered if this was more serious than he thought. He hadn't broken any rules, he was sure on that. If they started on him he'd fight it. "I call it destiny" "Well it's ridiculous" For the second time GOD found himself staring at his teacher, memorized every inch of his face. He'd make a cannibal rapist with his teachers face on earth when he got home. Edit:formatting and well editing.
2015-03-20T02:32:13
2015-03-20T01:49:00
24
11
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0...
Is it a curse? No, it is not a curse. The numbers above the heads of strangers, it’s a protection. It allows me a little bit of insight into their character. Who they are, what secrets they hold. I have always been somewhat thankful for this “gift” that was involuntary bestowed upon me. It was a crisp October morning as I dropped my child off at Kindergarten, I waved him goodbye and told him to have a fantastic day. I went about my chores, grocery store, bank, and lunch. The numbers were everywhere, most were zero. Some were one. A few were more than I could bear to look at. As I waited in the car line to pick up my innocent child, I see all the “zeros” piling out of the school, skipping and hopping. Then I see my wonderful “zero” himself. He hops into the car. “Hey buddy how was your day?” “Fun. I learned what sound M makes! Mmmmmmmm!” “Good job buddy!” We leave the line. As we are pulling out an ambulance pulls in, sirens wailing. “Look mom! A bambulance! Weeeoo!” He giggles. “I see, buckaroo. I hope everything is ok.” We pull up to the stoplight, singing some Halloween sing-alongs. I glance in the mirror at my sweet boy, blonde curls falling into his face. I am stopped in my tracks. Above his mass of blonde hair I see it. “One” in red. *HOOOOONK* I am startled by the car behind me. I look up and see a “two” impatiently honking his horn. I had no idea the light had turned. I quickly make a u-turn at the light and head back to school. “What’s wrong, mommy?” I had tears down my face, white knuckles gripping the wheel. “Mommy is fine, I am just worried about the ambulance at school.” I whip into the parking lot. The ambulance is still there, cops are cordoning off the entrance. My mind races. “What did he do?” I think to myself. “Ma’am, we have to ask you to leave” spouted a gruff, portly man in a police uniform. “I’m sorry, my son goes here. Can I ask what happened?” “I’m sorry, we can’t give out any information, I would expect to hear from the school this evening”. My son and I drive off. My mind in pieces. I glance in the mirror again. There he was, a massive red “one” still sticking out above his head. He is unwrapping a piece of candy. “We had a Halloween party today. I got lots of candy!” He says through chocolate covered teeth. “That’s cool buddy” We pull into the driveway and I stare at the number. “What are you looking at, mommy?” He says as he giggles. “Nothing, hey bud, what did you do at the end of the day today?” “We had a party, we ate some candy. I shared mine with my friend Dylan!” “Is that all? Nothing else happened?” “Ummm, I don’t know” “Ok, buddy” He gets out, his Spider-Man backpack unzipped and hanging from his shoulder. What could he have done? What life could he have taken? I go through the motions. Laundry, after school snack. My boy is blissfully unaware of my concern and my pain. *Ring* *ring* The sound of my phone startled me. “Hello?” “It is with heavy hearts that this announcement has to be made. School will be closed to all students and staff due to a medical emergency that took the life of one of our students this afternoon. Counselors will be on staff all next week for staff and students as we work together to process this tragic incident in our school and community. More information will be released as it becomes available. Rest assured your students are safe with us and there is no immediate harm to anyone in the schools at this time.” The recorded call ends with a click. I put the phone down as tears stream from my face. “A medical emergency? How the Hell was he responsible for a medical emergency?” My hands shake as I make tomorrows lunch for him. I peek into his room as he is playing with his plastic dinosaurs. “Boom!” He slams a triceratops into a T-Rex. I wince, imagining what is happening in his mind. As I’m finishing up dinner, I check my emails. There’s a notice from the school. *As many of you received word of the incident at school today, the staff at Lebanon Elementary feel it is crucial to send out this notice. This school is a peanut-free school. We understand that with the excitement of Halloween, minor details can slip through the cracks, but peanut allergies are a serious condition. Although rare, the tragic passing of one of our Kindergartners should serve as a stark and grim reminder that all rules and policies must be adhered to for the safety of our students* The lump in my throat swells. Tears fall onto the screen like rain on a Spring day. “What’s wrong, mommy?” His little voice cuts like a knife, the number “one” glows brighter than ever. He wraps his arms around my waist. I kneel down and hug him. “What candy did you share with your friend today?” “I gave him one of my peanut butter cups that came in our spooky bags! He had never had one before! I shared just like you taught me mommy, aren’t you proud?” ::This is my first time ever writing one of these, so please don’t be too harsh. I have no formal training or any experience writing other than papers in college. I just thought of a scenario that could plausibly happen, and as the mother of a 5 year old, was fairly relatable and realistic. Thank you for reading!::
It took a while, a whole summer to be exact, but the story finally made its way to the light - light he worked so hard to deny to so many. You suppose you should recap the night’s events in your own mind. The darkness of the parking lot is only impeded by the bright-burning victorian style lampposts that line the sidewalks. You’re sitting, quietly gleeful, in your carseat while your family is inside attending a town meeting. All of a sudden, in the distance, you see it: the decrepit silhouette of the most hated man in town. “I feel like celebrating!” you hear him triumphantly proclaim while gallivanting toward your row of cars. After all, why wouldn’t he feel on top of the world after executing his master plan to create a monopolistic energy empire? Your eyes meet from across the way, and you can tell he recognizes you. This fills you with icicles, which coincide with the molten orb of opportunity that burns inside your stomach. “Oh it’s you, what are you so happy about?” he mutters, seemingly jolted awake from this waking dream he’s been indulging in. The lollipop. You can tell from the lustful glint in his eye that it’s the one thing in this town he knows he can’t have, and the firm grip of desire has enfolded him. But, really, who’s going to stop him now? “I see.” You can tell you’re past the point of no return already. His insatiable instinct won’t allow this to end any other way. His lips confirm what his eyes have already said. “I think you better drop it.” Everything past this declaration of dominance becomes a blur. He reaches out to grab the forbidden fruit (this time, a green apple), and the struggle ends as quickly as it begins as his trusty Smith and Wesson revolver falls gracefully, as if guided by a divine power, into your toddling fingers. The bang hurts your ears, and the pistol falls to the floor. He stumbles away, stricken, but you know whether he lives or dies, this is only the beginning.
2022-10-21T09:15:23
2022-10-21T06:47:27
122
52
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability... Edit: Wow I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much!
You could always see the emotions on their faces, plain as day. It was always a strange mixture of terror, fascination, acceptance, and love. She would gently stroke their faces like a mother, and tears of each feeling would fall in equal measure until their cheeks glistened with a tragic and beautiful sparkle that punctuated the moment. Then the fey energies would be woven and wrap around them, a smoky purple fog that crackled with otherworldly sparks, and in an instant they would be gone. The body would remain, as all bodies do in death, but their soul would transcend and feel pain no more. The power to grant death. This was the magic she wielded. It is a terrible burden, this power, but a necessary evil because to grant death is different than to cause it. To cause death is to cause pain and suffering, unduly and arbitrarily. But to grant death? As if it were a gift to be given to an expectant child? This is a power of some difficult to understand beauty. There were many who feared her and spoke in hushed tones such monikers as "The Dark Dancer". Truly, anytime her ritual began, all in the audience felt an uneasiness as they witnessed the macabre grace of it. The swishing of her long black lace robes, the flipping back and forth of her raven hair, the low-pitched and rhythmic chanting all made plain that death was in the room. Those who feared her often postulated at the bottom of their cups that she was a considerable menace to be stopped. Rousing cries of agreement would surge amongst others, all equally besotted, until one would step forward--and one would always step forward--to recount a day that she had glided in like a dream and provided a final release from a lifetime of agony. The mob would grow hushed, and each man's thoughts would drift to a loved one who would likely be receiving a dance of their own. And though they would not say it out loud, they would be grateful for this haunting angel whose shadow hung over them all. Such was the way of things in the city, until the king's daughter fell ill. No doctors could help her, no fey weavers could help her, nor were there even any alchemists who could devise a means to dull her pain. Each day for the princess was a screaming nightmare. The queen quickly resigned herself to her daughter's fate. The call was put out around the city for that woman, that dark and mysterious specter, to pay a visit to the castle. And come she did, in all her phantasmagorical splendor. The preparations were made, the ritual performed, and the death swift and merciful. The queen and all her retainers collapsed into fitful crying, but the woman said nothing and began to float out of the room as unfathomably as she had entered it. The king burst through the doors of the bedchamber where the ritual had taken place, his face red and puffy with fury and the staining of tears of his own. Too late had he been informed of his wife's plans, and too late was he to defy them. He looked to the ornate bed of his daughter and saw her lifeless body there, and, oblivious to the fact that this was the first time in years he had looked at his daughter without having to also watch her writhe from physical torment, ordered the sable-clad woman to be seized. The trial was hardly a trial at all. Any defense brought forth for the woman fell on the deaf ears of the king, whose only thought was vengeance. Quickly, the legal proceedings were ended and the woman brought to the gallows. Throughout all of this, she said nothing. She never struggled or fought back, but instead accepted everything with a quiet grace. The same quiet grace with which she had granted sweet release to so many. The rope was placed around her neck; her last rites were read. When asked if she had any last words, again she remained silent, merely closing her eyes and letting that be her final testament to the world. And then the deed was done. The crowd that gathered made no sound. Indeed, if such a thing were capable of measurement, this would surely have been recognized as the most perfect silence there had even been. But then the lolling head of the woman snapped upright, her mouth opening slowly and unhinging with a horrifying crack of her jawbone until she looked like a snake ready to feast. The scream that followed was so piercing that all in attendance to the hanging went deaf immediately. From her mouth streamed the smoky purple fog crackling with otherworldly sparks which spread out rapidly throughout the city and filled the lungs of all its citizens. For what must have felt like an eternity, all the city's people felt at once the compounded pain that the woman had lifted from every invalid she had ever visited, and the true burden this woman shouldered was now shouldered by all. Tears of burning, black pitch gushed from every eye, the sheer heat of it dooming all to an agonizing death. In an instant, it was over. Up on the stage where the gallows rest, the rope that held the woman taut loosened and fell to the ground. Her jaw closed and reset itself. Her eyes slid open menacingly. Effortlessly, she hovered down from the dais and through the crowd of limp bodies. On to the next town, she thought, weeping loudly all the way.
The street conmen and their dark magic - the few that choose to specialise in things like shadows or eldritch included, as much as they think they're being clever - might give you the wrong no impression, but in the diamond trade, Dark Mages are more often than not the good guys protecting the jewel. There's something to be said about the most subtle school, especially when it can completely obscure a target from prying eyes, or set up barriers of pitch darkness to confuse a trespasser. That's not to say Light magicians are untrustworthy, or that the other elementals are never hired. Water is pretty popular, Fire has its charm, Air is always known for invisibility (though it's easy enough to detect) and of course people have buried things underground for millennia. Hell, Light magicians are associated with the church for a reason. Priests are drawn to it like moths to a candle, and many sub-schools of Light involve rituals and prayer rather than incantations and alchemy. But nonetheless, I feel Light is the school best-suited to less-legal pursuits. Specifically, my school of Light magic, of which I am the only practitioner. My name? Well, I'll not leave you with my reap name, but in the trade I'm known as Gary Glitter. Think on what my school might be while you rub the stars from your eyes.
2016-11-12T10:10:17
2016-11-12T10:00:09
252
18
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
I simply wanted to help everyone. Like a surgeon, removing a cancer that could not be dealt with any other way. Of course, to remove a cancer this metastatized, one needs superhuman skills. The world's first clue was when a few of the worst politicians died. On their bodies, in a script that anyone could understand, was a catalogue of their worst behaviors, a list of who helped them, and a simple phrase. "I will find you out. Do better." Religious leaders, kings, despots, presidents. Those who wielded their wealth and power only for themselves, not for those around them. There was outrage, of course. Some was simply that of those so tied into the power system that an attack on it was considered an attack on them. Over a hundred nations banded together to hunt me down. I was like air. Then a few others, who agreed with my intentions, but not with my methods, started searching. These few understood my methods, they had met... Others like me. But those others were not like me. They either did it for their own wealth, or like some foolish dark knight who would rather kill a few prisoners than fix the problems that put them in such desperation in the first place. And while their deals had been for similar skill sets, they went for something more flamboyant. Control of the victim for a few seconds before death. Forcing the victim to feel all the pain they had inflicted. Leaving behind visible ghosts, forced to wander until they apologized to all their still living victims and meant it. I had gone for something simple. "They died because of their actions, these are the actions." As I understand it, they spent almost a year tracking down demonic entities until they found the one I had signed a pact with. There are lesser deals you can make, for simply some information. The demons don't really care once they've made a deal. To be fair, they're not demons as most understand them. They're simply... Entities bound by deals. Almost all magical powers come from such entities. Those associated with death are... more dangerous to deal with. So I watched, on monitors, as these modern day paladins came to end my reign of terror. Mainly against the rich and powerful, but still, I empathized with them. I even opened every door, disabled the security to deal with one of the nation's enforcement agencies getting lucky. Warily, they came to where I was. I will admit, their gasps of horror and pity gave me a small amount of amusement. With a few subvocalizations, my chair was aimed so I could see them with my own eyes, such as they were now. And I laughed. The pain, by now, was something I was quite used to. "What, you've never seen a condemned soul before?" After the first month, my limbs had stopped working, after the second they had finally turned to ash. Fortunately, my deal had included a certain amount of funds. "You cannot do anything to my body that has not already happened. Hell came to me, first metaphorically, then literally." One of them vomited. "I let you in because none of you were guilty of anything truly heinous. Some cheating, lying, unintentionally hurting someone else. The worst any of you have done, is simply not enough. And I do not fault you for mere human failures. I would have to condemn myself first. Be glad I was calmed down by the time Phlegethon came to me. Otherwise I might just have called him to flood the world." The leader of the heroes, a man known by the name Zadaq, looked at me. "The killing has to stop." I smiled. "I agree. I have just finished the last bits of surgery. My body won't last much longer. The files I have are at your disposal. The password is 'fifty just people'. Spaced, lowercase. The chaos I have started needs direction, I give it to you. Revolution needs builders, not just destroyers. Honestly, I'm surprised you weren't onto me in the first few days. I had told you there would be more." Phlegethon is a river, and also a god, or a demon. It can give you vengeance or violence, but it also punishes it. "Just remember. I chose to suffer eternal torment for this. I thought my sacrifice was worth it. Make this place a better world." Zadaq went to say more, but my torso, long since ash, finally collapsed, and my head was aflame. I remember laughing and screaming. It is all I have left. That, and the laments of others. "I did not kill them myself!" "All I did was prevent medical care!" "I did everything for God!" That last bit is hilarious. I don't know if their god exists, but I'm pretty sure he said "What you do to the least of these, you do to me." Their god may be the only one who has taken on more suffering in a good cause than I have.
As I killed the last of the heroes I laughed. It was an accident. I had found the old book because I thought Darcy would enjoy it. We could laugh about it together. I decided to go home early to show her. While walking, I thumbed through the book. At first I thought the words were in some foreign script, but I blinked and realized they were just very ornate old English, hard for most to read but I'd done my thesis on Chaucer. *unlimited power we will grant, for the life of the one you love most, but serve us you will in hate and darkness.* Silly, ridiculous, who would accept that deal anyway? I was in such a hurry to show Darcy my find, I didn't even notice my best friend's car parked out front. I did notice the noises coming from the bedroom though. I grabbed the desk lamp, an ugly metal thing, and just kept hitting both of them. Then I noticed the book, laying on the floor where I dropped it, was open, the letters glowing.
2021-06-27T23:48:24
2021-06-27T20:28:30
74
25
[WP] One of your parents is a legendary superhero, the other a notorious supervillain, and both are completely unaware of each other's secret. Now both are trying to get you into what they believe is the "family business."
*'I cannot believe that these are my actual parents,'* thought Sasha Shields, looking at her mother and father who, to all appearances, seemed incredibly normal. Except, they weren't. Teresa and Victor Shields were, in fact, highly unusual. ​ Teresa Shields (nee, Butler), didn't seem at all unusual. She was a young forty-three but went prematurely gray at a young age. Her hair was styled in a neat afro, her ubiquitous silver-framed glasses lent her an erudite air, although it didn't hurt that she was the curator of the city's art history museum. She always spoke with a soft, but clear and concise voice, she was well read and did things like play the cello with her other incredibly intelligent friends for *fun*. Naturally, it made when she revealed that she was the demon sorceress Tempestra just a little shocking. She really should have known; the occasional weird amulet, the odd scroll, the occasional stench of brimstone that came from her study, the missing pet reports in the neighborhood that to come in ebbs and waves...really, the signs were all there, but her mother saw fit to put all the pieces together for Sasha right before dinner. ​ "I'm sorry, you...*what*?" ​ "I want you to join the family business," replied her mother, whose umber toned skin had darkened further to a very literal shade of black, her gray here now stark white and styled in a neat series of cornrows (and, no matter what else, Sasha was now dedicated to finding out if she could use magic to style her own hair), the normally reserved clothing swapped out "armor" that really wasn't armor in the traditional sense. If Sasha had to put a word to it, she would say that the armor was too racy. And also revealed that apparently her mother was *built like a brick shithouse* and Sasha was equal parts proud and uncomfortable. ​ "That business being...?" asked Sasha. ​ "Villany, my dear! I mean, you're a half demon, so you're partway there." ​ "Oh, wow, okay, so that's good to know. Crazy thing, most school enrollment forms don't have 'demon' listed under the ethnicity section, so I mean, I'm not exactly sure what to do with *that*," replied Sasha, unable to help the snarkiness that bled through. ​ "Pah, humans and their love of forms and categories," replied Tempestra, with a dismissive wave of her wickedly clawed hands. "Your father doesn't know about my...activities and I'd like to keep it that way; my catchphrase may be 'The souls of all humanity will soon belong to me!' but if I'm being honest, I've always whispered 'Except for one,' because I love your father." Sasha had to let out a small 'Aww,' at that because it was cute. ​ "Look, you're finally coming of age and I'd just love to groom you. I'm the ruling sorceress of a parallel hellscape and one day I'm going to need a successor and, well, I'd love for that to be you. Of course, I can be flexible--I know you like school and you seem really excited about college one day, but I managed a job, a marriage, and raising you while ruling a hellscape--I'm sure you'll be equally adept at multi-tasking." ​ Sasha pinched the bridge of her nose and didn't speak for a solid five minutes. When she did speak, she could only utter a single, emphatic, "**What?!**" ​ "Look, we'll speak later, dear," replied her mother, even as she transformed back into Teresa Shields, museum curator, and Sasha found herself idly wondering how a sweater and gray slacks managed to really downplay her mom's statuesque build, "Dinner is almost ready and your father gets cranky when we're late to the table." ​ Of course, it didn't happen that way. On her way down to dinner, her father called her into *his* study (apparently when one bought a four-bedroom house, it was reasonable to turn two of the bedrooms into separate studies). ​ "Hey, sweet-pea. Just wanted to run something by you." Sasha looked at her father and considered mentioning something about his demoness wife. Victor Shields was a handsome and fit forty-five. With almost fair skin, still jet black hair, and a build that seemed almost body-builder-esque, Victor really seemed to be a little younger than his purported age. Most people were surprised to discover he was a photographer by trade--most assumed something like a fireman or something, especially how he seemed almost insanely preoccupied with safety hazards and had an almost insanely in-depth knowledge of building safety codes. It was not unusual for him to criticize an edifice for it's questionable safety compliance. ​ "Sure, what is it, dad?" asked Sasha. ​ "So...I'm the superhero, Titan," he said in the kind of tone most people reserved for casually discussing the weather. ​ "No," said Sasha, in a way that meant *Dear Lord, not this again* but that he took for general incredulity. ​ "Yes." And then he proved it by levitating and holding a hand out, summoning a ball of dancing plasma, "And I think you might have inherited some of my abilities. I wanted to test it out, and, if it's true, I'd like to start training you to be a hero. If you want? I know that you'd probably want to consider college and a social life, so we can make accommodations." ​ Sasha sighed, because *of course* her father was a hero. "And what about mom?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. ​ "Your mother doesn't know and I'd like to keep it that way. It would terrify her to know that I'm out there fighting crime day in and day out and she wouldn't want you to do the same," *'Yes,'* thought Sasha, mentally rolling her eyes, *'Because she's a demonic sorceress and leader of a hellscape.'* ​ "So, for now at least, let's keep this between us, fair?" ​ With that they both went, down to dinner and that's where Sasha silently contemplated what her next steps would be. Both sounded like fun options. She really couldn't decide if she saw herself more as a villain or hero, but...she figured that, if her parents were truly as unaware of each other as they seemed to be, she could use that to her advantage. Get training on both her magical/demon nature and to see if she inherited any of her father's talents and get training in both. Once she reached a level she was satisfied with, she could make her choice then. ​ Seemed reasonable enough.
Mum and dad was your classic boy meets girl story. They knew each other from back when they were kids. Dad was asian and came from a low class and poor family where my mum was white and came from a wealthy military family. Dad knew mum was the one from the first day he laid eyes on her. He went abroad and became a banker at wing tech. And mum worked in government in the IT department. They lost contact with each other but reunited somehow in New York, coincidentally after the terrorist incidence at madison square garden which was saved by the valkerie. 10 years later they had me and on my 18th birthday, life was never the same. "YOU'RE THE VALKERIE!?" I gaped at my mum. A side note, the valkerie is a piece of exoskeleton tech piloted by a human. Think of it as the ironman. Mum smiled. "Lee, this a secret between us okay? You're father doesn't and will continue not to know." "Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "Dad should have a right to know!" Mum stared at me for a moment and took my arm, pulled out a knife and swung it ay my arm. The knife broke in two at impact. I stared wide eyed at what happened. "Lee, relationships like your father and I are.....unique. In that your genetic code is able to accept a special serum known as SH-205. You are essentially a super human for about 24 hours after consuming it." I stared in shock at my arm and at the cup of coffee I was drinking. "Lee I want you to train with me in order to bring down the terrorist group, the New world Order and their leader the phoenix. They're attacks are getting more frequent. Intel says they also have developed a valkerie suit but luckily pilots are not easy to come by. We-" Just then dad walked in. "Hello beautiful! And you too, Lee!" He winks at me and kisses my mother on the cheek. "Lee you ready to go?" "Oh thats right the basketball game!" I had completely forgotten. "Go Lee, we can talk about your birthday gift when you get back." Mum smiled Later, me and dad were driving in the car. He was taking a route unfamiliar to me. "Uh Dad where are we going?" I asked him confused. "Son, what are your thoughts on the 'NWO'"? He asked me. I was taken aback."Well some think of them as terrorists and others as revolutionaries. I'm not really sure what think. They have hurted anyone innocent as far as I could tell, only corrupt politicians and such. Why do you ask?" "Son you are unique. Your physical properties, athletic capabilities, and hand eye coordination are above what a regular human being is capable. Equivalent or even better to what one would expect of a valkerie pilot." He turns to me. "I'm going to tell you something" He tells me about the corruption in the government, vaccines being a cover for locating unique individuals, and their plan to take over the world. I listened to every word in shock. It was a lot to take in. Not even realizing that we drove through a waterfall. Dad stopped the car and we got out. My jaw dropped. Infront of me was a large black robotic structure with a bunch of scientists running diagnostic. "Lee, it's time you should know. I am the phoenix and I want you to pilot the lancelot." Dad said to me. What.the.fuck. He smiled. "Oh and happy birthday!"
2019-03-02T19:54:41
2019-03-02T18:47:42
36
24
[WP] "You want a love potion to use on yourself?" asks the Witch. "Yes" replies the Princess. "My father gave Sir X my hand in marriage as a reward for his services, but he is so odious I do not know how else to bare such a life." The Witch thinks for a moment. "There is something else I can do."
"A love potion?" The old Witch asked, peering down into the cauldron in the middle of her hovel, as she stirred it with a long wooden rod. "There are such things, dear Princess, at least by name. But what use have you for one, child? Even here in the fens, I have heard that your hand is promised to Sir Erengon the Bold." The witch spat forcefully into the cauldron, and its contents roiled and bubbled for a moment. "Surely a knight such as he, in his late middle years, could not fail to be enchanted by a rare young flower, such as yourself?"" The Princess sneered, crossing her arms. "It's not for *him.* It's for me." The witch looked up from her cauldron, her bushy eyebrows rising, furrowing her ancient, wrinkled brow. "You want a love potion to use...on yourself?" She nodded, bitterly. "My father offered Sir Erengon my hand in marriage as a reward for his services, but he is so odious, that I don't know how else to bear such a life." The witch looked away, towards the low shelves set into the walls of her earthen shack, running long bony fingers over unmarked jars and bottles full of strange concoctions and ingredients. "Is that so? Hm..." "Yes. Apparently, he slew a dragon, saved a province from marauding goblins, and a whole heap of other such nonsense. I don't see why that deserves *me,* offered up on a silver platter like some...suckling pig at a feast! He was just doing what knights *do.* Father might as well have married me off to an ox for its services *plowing the fields.*" The Princess huffed, leaning back against the wall. Then realizing just how dirty the wall was, she stood back up, and smoothed her dress. "Well? Do you have a love potion or not?" the Princess demanded. "Such a strange request for a woman in your position, my dear..." the Witch said, still searching through the bottles. "I have so many potions, for so many purposes! Put in your shoes, many women might have asked after a poison potion, for example. I know many, all very lethal, and quite difficult to detect." The Princess sighed, heavily. "No, I cocked that up for myself, I'm afraid. When father told me the news, I...took it poorly. I started yelling at him and anyone who'd listen that I wasn't about to be tied down to some ugly old bastard, and that I'd kill him in his sleep or poison him, the first chance I got. Now, if he actually *does* die mysteriously, everyone will know I did it, even if they can't prove it, and I'll get sent off to a convent somewhere. So, it's got to be the love potion, I suppose." "There is something else I can do for you." The Witch said, turning back to the Princess, holding two dusty glass bottles, and proffering one to her. "What's this?" The Princess asked, taking the unlabeled bottle and eyeing the syrupy red liquid inside. "Your hand is *offered,* but not yet taken, my dear. If you drink this potion, the interest of your *current* suitor will be turned away from you, and he shall wed another. And not to worry, it's a one-time use; any suitors you might acquire thereafter, will be unaffected by the magic." The witch said, with a cackle. The Princess' eyes widened. "Truly? He'll go bother some old nag his own age, and leave me be? That's perfect! But, what's the other one for?" The Witch laughed. "This? It's to ease my aching joints, dear. I'm old! Now, drink up!" The Princess eagerly downed the potion she held, and the Witch did the same. At almost the same moment, princess and enchantress alike doubled over, as though wracked with sudden agony. They writhed for a moment, convulsing where they stood, until at last the, spell seemed to pass. The Witch collapsed on the floor, groaning piteously, but the Princess recovered herself quickly. She raised her hands above her head, and indulged in a long, languid stretch. "Ahhh...that *did* do wonders for my joints!*"* The Witch groaned feebly, raising a trembling hand towards the Princess, who looked down, frowning sadly. "Aw. That's not fun, is it, dear? Being in a body that old, without any magic flowing through it, and working against the ravages of time? The arcane gift is attached to the *soul,* not the body, alas, so I'm afraid you'll just have to make do." "So many potions made or acquired over the years, that do so many things..." the Princess murmured, as she stepped over to the shelves, and began selecting bottles. "Why, there is one that heals even the most heinous of battle scars..." "You said..." the Witch choked out, laboriously. "A lot of things, dear. Every one of which was, in fact, true, as you'll realize if you stop and think about it. Might take *you* a while." The Princess said, absently. She examined another bottle, her cheeks coloring slightly as she appraised it, a sly smile coming to her lips. "Ah, and here's one that restores even an aged man's...*masculine vigor."* "Why...?" the Witch croaked. "Perspective." The Princess replied, placing a few more bottles into her handbag. "By changing your perspective, you can perceive *so many* new things, dear." "You might," she explained, "Perceive how a grizzled old campaigner, disfigured by battle scars, might have once been a dashing young knight, charging bravely into danger, casting aside thoughts of his own safety to uphold justice, and defend the weak." Reaching the door of the hovel, the Princess paused, and let out a long, wistful sigh. "You might even be able, in time, to perceive how a wretched, dried-up old witch, was once a bright young sorceress, who despite her powers and her cunning, was also far too shy and withdrawn, to ever do more than admire that handsome knight from afar." The Princess walked out into the world, leaving the old Witch behind.
People always stumble into my cottage at the edge of the wood and this morning was no exception. However, opening the door to the princess was quite a pleasant surprise. "Your Highness, please do come in and warm yourself by the hearth." She nodded once before passing me and taking up a seat at the table in my quaint home. "How can I help you? I doubt you've come out this far just to check in?" That was all it took for her to lose all composure. "The king, he has promised me to man, Sir Avery. I do not love him. He is old, rude, cruel, and nothing like I dreamed a husband would be. I know I must marry him for he saved both my father's life and the kingdom from the Kisiria. Please can you make me a potion so that I may forget my woes and fall for this man?" "My child, you know there is one thing magic cannot change and that is matters of the heart. You must have been told this in your teachings." "I have, but they told me you could help." She sat there tears streaming down her face and I knew I had to help her. "I cannot make you love him. That is beyond the powers of even the wisest of crones, but there may be another solution. Stay here." With a few seconds thought I remembered Sir Avery a bright young boy eyes so full of wonder. Perhaps, I thought to myself as I sat down at the crystal ball one room over and looked I to the future. "Ah there us the answer!" I knew there had to be one. I hurried out of the room and down into my potions vault to where an almost empty vial of glittery green liquid sat. I quickly returned to the princess and handed her the vial. "Give him this and he will have his youth. I knew him back then wasn't as you know him now. He will have forgotten his pain and it will give you the chance to help him heal and become a man you can love." She looked hopeful for the first time since she entered my humble abode. "How can I repay you for this kindness?" She asked whiping the remaining tears from her eyes. "I've watched you grow from infancy you are like a daughter to me. This kingdom has been my home for 500 yrs you know that as well as everyone. Now go on, I've got things to do." She nodded and took her leave. The last of my youth potion in her hand. One more lifetimes worth, just enough to help her and the kingdom I've grown so fond of these last 500 years.
2022-04-11T11:42:16
2022-04-11T10:57:16
297
50
[WP] Every statue in the world has come to life and started a battle royale. All the 10,000 Lenin Statues have teamed up.
The great army of Lenin marched forth and destroyed everything in its path. Not a single military could defeat them in Europe and so after the great European powers were defeated the army marched eastward. They could not cross the Atlantic on foot and so wished to cross the Bering straight into North America to spread the mother lands power and influence but first they had to dominate Asia. As they marched it seemed like nothing could stop them , the army crushed the monuments and great temples of India crossed into the jungles of the Thailand and Vietnam. Wherever they went conquest was to be had, until it came to China. There were thousands and thousand of statues under the motherlands banner and they were lead by the great statue of Volgograd who stood 27m tall. He towered over everyone and had been one of the great bruisers of the Lenin army while also leading it. He was the absolute giant of the land . The Peoples Republic of China had an army of their own it was the great Terracotta army of Qin Shi Huag . Lead by its greatest generals it would not be defeated by the invaders of Russia and so they marched to meet the invaders on their lands. They met outside of Nanning in the south of China , the two armies stared down at each other across a vast lowland. The Lenin of Volgograd looked down at the Chinese army and saw what they offered , a true battle but they were no match in his estimates. The Chinese general knew he was going to lose the battle here but the goal was never to win but merely to stall until his help from Hong Kong arrived. The battle started with the great Lenin waving his hand forward and motioned for his men to surge forth while staying put, there was no need to get involved for they were fighting clay not stone. The Russians surged forth in a massive stone and bronze wave that shook the ground beneath them and soon it was met the the wrath and fury of the terracotta army. The army had horses and war chariots , archers and infantry. They were fighting like mad men but it was as the Lenin had thought. They were no match for his army and it seemed like the day was going to be won for Russia. The battle lasted for an afternoon but the end was all too familiar for the Russians. They had smashed the Chinese army and captured her general , help had not arrived that day. The great Lenin had the general brought before him and splayed out , he looked down at his foe and smiled , brought his foot up and was about smash the small sculpture but then the ground shook and he looked to the east. In the distance there was a floating head beyond a hill , Hong Kong had arrived and the general smiled as Lenin brought his foot down. When word had reached Hong Kong of the Lenin army a great debate had raged between the statues ,to go or not. It had been decided that to protect their land and culture all the statues would arise and fight. This was fine and all but the greatest army in Hong Kong was not those of dragons , solders , or even those accustomed to fighting. They were monks, and so an inherently internal battle had to be raged to decided to enter a fight. Eventually knowing that if they chose to not fight they would still fall to the power of the invading army. So to prevent the inevitable they would rush to the south and help the great terracotta army in expelling them from their homeland. The Lenins could not believe what they were seeing , it was like a mountain moving among a sea of gold. The Lenin of Volgograd was the tallest and strongest of them and yet they were faced with someone who looked at him like he was but a small child. The great Budda Shakyamuni was a massive statue , when it was sitting it stood 34m , but now that he was walking he towered nearly 70m tall. He was not the only thing that was coming , all of the monks of Hong Kong had come to do battle. The Lenins had never met such a force in all of its conquest, and never again would it. ​ The two armies met with the sun waning in the sky , the giant Buddha and Lenin did battle in the center of an ever increasing pile of rubble . True no one single monk statue could bring a Lenin down but for every one Lenin there were dozens of monks. The Great Volgograd Lenin lasted a while but it just could not meet the size and strength of the Buddha , soon it had its head knocked clean off and fell to the ground. After he fell the great Buddha sat down and watched around him as his fellow monks dealt with what was left. They were elated that they had won but among the fallen Lenins were also monks and , and further beneath that was a fine mist of clay. They knew there inaction had costed their fellow countrymen statues to fall in battle. So instead of celebrating their victory they mourned for their losses and their enemies.
The drum of Russian determination thundered through the night sky. Up again rose Lenin's fury to restore the might of the motherland. Like behemoths standing over humanity they marched forward in a wave of copper, rising past the shores of the United States as the red missiles streaked above. Yet as panic set and hope began to quiver a voice was heard, faint over the sounds of war and death, quietly at first before the coming storm. The voice of a lady. And from the water rose another behemoth of copper. "GIVE ME YOUR TIRED, YOUR POOR" the mighty woman with the torch roared as she charged into the army of Lenin. Tablet in one hand, a torch of imprisoned lightning in the other she tore through ranks and files of Russian copper. "YOUR HUDDLED MASSES YEARNING TO BE FREE" she bellowed. Steadfast she stood defending the shore. Steadfast she defended from the red tyranny, never once failing the land of the free.
2019-04-10T03:47:56
2019-04-10T00:55:22
37
25
[WP] “If you’re Death, then shouldn’t you be off collecting souls or some shit?” The woman snapped her shotgun shut before blowing another zombie clean off its feet. “Well, dipshit, I don’t know if you noticed, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t have a job anymore.” Have at it.
"So why not collect the souls of the humans that are alive, huh?" I sighed. "Because as the Lord of Death, I have to make sure the dead stay dead. And right now, that duty entails killing zombies." I pumped another shell into the barrel. "And might I add, my job was never to take souls; it was to guide them to the afterlife and make sure they do not try to cross back over." As I pulled the trigger, the zombie's head was reduced to a bloody stump while the remainder of it's rotting body was thrown backwards. "You humans just have a bad habit of thinking I'm a bad guy." ​ Two years ago, for reasons unknown to even the eldest of the gods, an unstoppable and all-encompassing plague broke out on Earth, turning a vast majority of life on the planet into mindless, rotting, undead killers with the sole purpose of spreading their pestilence and consuming human flesh. In a matter of months, humanity was on it's last withering legs as the number of dead rose exponentially, leaving them to hopelessly try to defend themselves from the endless onslaught. As the Grim Reaper, part of my job was to make sure the dead stayed dead, not just in spirit but in physical form as well. The Elders sent me to Earth to aid in wiping out the zombies. When I had arrived, Earth was in the worst shape I had seen it in ever. Whole cities were either abandoned or decimated. Whatever humans were left were often hunted down and killed with savage brutality by the zombies. The ones that didn't die stayed in groups, struggling to survive on what they could salvage whenever they weren't killing in self-defense. Despite the state of it all, though, one city seemed to be a safe haven somehow, where the largest of the human survivor groups holed up: London. Identifying myself as the god of death, I joined forces with the humans in London. Using some magic, I created a barrier around the city that would protect the inhabitants from any and all forces. After that was done, I made it my duty to help the humans in successfully reclaiming any other large cities from the dead, essentially establishing more and more safe havens. I would go in, secure a perimeter, and wipe out any zombies while making sure any survivors were accounted for. On this particular night, we were attempting to liberate a city the humans called Dubai, located in the country of United Arab Emirates. And this mission was proving to be quite the challenge. ​ The woman I was bickering with was named Cristal. She was a fierce motherfucker with a love for desecrating the walking dead in any way she could. Fueled by pure Irish rage, she proved to be an efficient zombie-killer. Unfortunately, she was difficult to get along with. I was warned when we were made partners a few weeks ago that she preferred to work alone. Of course, that was an understatement - Cristal was a complete misanthrope and had a seething hate for humans and zombies alike. That didn't stop her from being a killing machine and valuable asset to the humans, of course. ​ "Stop the fucking bickering already!" Dodge plowed through the doors of a nearby building, the LMG in his hand blazing as he mowed the ocean of zombies that followed him. "I can hear you two from the third floor!" Dodge was a tall, muscular man in his middle-age years. Working as a hardened Commander of the US military before the outbreak, he was great at leading a team, as well as being an absolute fucking tank of a human. While he seemed like an "I can and will fuck you up" kind of person, he was a nice person in actuality and, while he knew how to tear apart zombies in ways I didn't think to be possible, he was great to have around. "Yes, sir!" Cristal yelled in the her unmistakably fierce voice. Another blast and her shotgun tore a whole in the gut of a nearby walker, leaving only the spine to hold it's body up. Yet another, and it's head was nothing but a gooey stain on the pavement. As I blew another one's head apart, I caught a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye, barely a block away. 'Shit' I thought. "Cristal, Dodge! We got a runner about a block away dead ahead!" I warned. Runners. Faster and more agile than normal zombies. I've seen many comrades die at the hands of those speed demons, often before they could even react to them. They were hard to deal with, and definitely a source of concern. "Establish a visual and do not break it!" Dodge growled, his voice low and gravelly. "We gotta eliminate that son-of-a-bitch before it causes trouble." "I got a visual!" Cristal yelled. "At my 11 o'clock, 50 meters and approaching!" I turned around to see the one she was talking about. It was tall and incredibly thin, it's legs ready to snap in half at any moment. Dark colored skin peeled off to reveal rotting muscles and chipped bones. It growled as it bolted toward us, the guttural noises ringing out into the cool night air. "That's one ugly cunt." She muttered. "Let it get close," I said calmly. "Our shotguns won't hit that thing, and Dodge's gun ain't that accurate." "He's right," Dodge said. "Wait at least a few more meters before engaging, and try not to get bitten." With most of the other zombies either dead or incapable of causing any real harm, we focused solely on the runner as it bolted toward us. We watched as it ran up the side of a wall, leaving a wake of shattered windows as it went. We watched as it made a massive leap toward us as we took aim. And we watched in horror as it leaped onto the back of a nearby soldier, clearing over us and already ripping the poor guy to pieces. Dodge raised his gun and, with one bullet, the runner was dead, falling limply off of their back. The soldier dropped forwards. "He's dead." I said. "He already got bit. It's only a matter of time before he turns." I began to walk forward toward him. "It'd be best to put him out of his misery." "What happened to 'Mr. I-don't-reap-humans?" God, her accent was annoying sometimes. "It's the least he deserves," I replied. I knelt down next to the guy as he rolled himself over. He took short, shaky breaths as the life left him. Blood streaked down his face and onto the ground. "Please," he wheezed. "I don't . . . wanna die . . ." "No one ever wants to die," I said. "But when our time comes, there's nothing we can do to stop it." Tears began welling up in his eyes, sobs escaping painfully from his lungs. "Will my family . . . be okay?" He cried. "We'll make sure of it." "Was I . . . a good . . . fighter?" I nodded. "You were one brave man, trying to take on such a task. Your efforts will not be in vain, I promise you that." The man smiled and look at the sky. "And I will see to it that your soul finds peace." "Thank . . .you," he wheezed. I reached into my vest and pulled out a simple pistol. With a steady hand, I aimed it at his head. And I fired. I stood up and turned to my comrades, both on whom were themselves almost tearing up. Neither of them probably knew the guy, but it certainly moved them to see him go like that for some reason. "Alright, let's go." I said to them. "Let him rest in peace. We got more sectors to clear."
“Ah yeah, that’s my bad on the souls bit. I didn’t consider my virus’s effect on employment.” Death leveled her shotgun at me. Her expression was somewhere between angry, confused, and curious, and I don’t think even she knew how she made her face do that. Maybe that was one of the superpowers being Death gave you. “What?” she said to me. “Souls,” I said, “they weren’t included in my calculations. I didn’t mean to make your job description obsolete.” “Dude, I’m about two seconds away from wasting you and collecting your soul just for the fun of it. Do not give me this shit right now.” Death looked back over her shoulder. There was another horde approaching from the distance. “Aight,” I said, shrugging. “Suit yourself. I was just excited to meet my idol and all but fuck me, right? Seeing as you’re too busy to spend even a minute with a fan.” The anger and curiosity left Death’s face and suddenly she only looked confused. It was kind of cute. In all the literature and in all the movies death was invariably portrayed as some dour guy in a cloak, holding a scythe or some other hilariously inefficient weapon. Death was one person, that single, almost anachronistic executioner figure that loomed on all of our horizons to carry our souls to the afterlife, and somehow, even with seven billion people and counting, they managed it. Or should I say *she* managed it. And looked fuckin’ cute doing it. “Dude, what the hell are you even saying?” she said, “whatever game you’re pulling I don’t have the time, so you’ve got two seconds to spill it or I’ll just shoot you and move on.” I gestured around nonchalantly at the zombies in the distance and the burning, shrieking wreckage of what had once been Miami. “I did this.” Death lowered the barrel of the shotgun slightly, pointing it at my stomach now instead of my chest. It wasn’t much of a reprieve. “That bought you thirty seconds,” she racked the gun loudly. “Starting now.” “I am your biggest fan. Seriously. Like 110% serious, and that was back when I thought you were a guy with a scythe. The work you’ve done this past century now that the population has skyrocketed? Absolutely sublime! Ever since I was thirteen and my neighbor died I’ve been so, so into you, and I wanted to be just like you! I wanted to shepherd people to their next life too!” I’d forgotten to breath during my speech and had to stop for a moment, gasping for air. Fortunately she didn’t seem to be counting my time too closely. “But I know that your job is hard! I do, and lemme tell you, I respect a strong, career minded woman. I made sure to take the right path. I went to school for years and years. Got my bachelors, masters, PHD, I became an infectious diseases expert, and all because of your inspiration! Seriously, becoming a fan of you was the best thing that ever happened to me!” “Oh,” I said, “and I suppose I should also mention that I’m also the one who cast the spell that dragged you to Florida. Sorry about that but you know how it is, what other state would keep a guy like me around?” Death was staring open mouthed at me. She really was adorable with her little pixie cut and loosely bound, spilling off the shoulder robe. I was a lucky guy. “Dude,” she said, “what the fuck?” I sidled up to her, my stomach nearly pressed into the shotgun. She smelled good, like freshly cut flowers. "So, what do you say?" I whispered, "now that they're all dead and you finally have some time off, wanna hang out? We could try to survive together!" \-------- If you enjoyed that little sketch I've got tons more stuff over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
2021-03-15T08:29:02
2021-03-15T06:02:03
456
138
[WP] As species meet each other, so too do their gods. And as the Galactic Union welcomes Humanity, their gods prepare to meet those of Humanity. But as the gates open, only one figure emerges; a skeleton wearing a robe, sandglass, and scythe.
Somewhere in the 14th arm of the Milky Way, a truly extraordinary group of individuals could be seen appearing out of thin air into a cavernous but rather simply furnished hall. Well, simply furnished for the purpose it had served for the last several millennia. Located on a plane just above the First Centre for Intra-Galactic Co-operation, the Hall of the Immortals had been done up in drapes of starlight and gold in honour of the newest members of the Galactic Pantheon, the many millions of human deities. Within just a few minutes, enough deities, demons and spirits had appeared that the air was filled with sounds no mortal could hope to decipher but nonetheless told of a certain camaraderie that the beings shared. Owing to the fact that they varied in form from mortal-like to balls of pure energy to simply empty spaces that radiated power it was impossible to tell exactly how many immortals were in the hall but it was certainly far more than the last time the ceremony had taken place, perhaps because the human race itself had already proven itself to be unique among the rest of the species in their curiosity, resilience and, of course, recklessness. Far more than the requisite one representative per species had turned up to see what gods a species as fascinating as the humans worshipped and feared. As a result of all of this, when the large pair of doors designated to the new human gods swung open to reveal a tall figure draped in a pitch black robe that seemed to reflect no light at all, there was a hushed silence among all assembled but not much in the way of surprise. Monotheism was rare, but not unheard of, particularly among the older inhabitants of the galaxy. The figure unfolding his arms to reveal a sandglass and a scythe with a blade encrusted with human blood, however, prompted a collective intake of breath and several uncomfortable glances to be exchanged among those who had eyes, for it was unprecedented for a new god to show up a symbol that was so clearly hostile, and stranger still for the god to be the only one that showed up at all. Shaking off his wariness, She-Nim stepped forward with her limbs extended in greeting and declared in a voice that could be heard at each end of the vast hall, “The Pantheon welcomes you, fellow divine one. Honour us by giving us a name or a title to address you with.” In one swift motion, the dark figure raised his arms so the voluminous sleeves fell back to reveal hands and arms of pure bone and pushed back his hood. She-Nim, Poet of Destinies and Leveler of Empires, alongside every other being in the hall felt as if an oppressive, infinitely heavy blanket had fallen over her, crushing every organ of her divine form, leaving her unable to move or talk or do anything other than stare straight at the skull with eyes more empty than the centres of blackholes. When the skull finally spoke, it was with a voice that croaked like the oldest, most agonized mortal’s but still managed to echo across the hall, “I am no divinity, I am the absence of them all, the end of all things, the one that will outlast all that is and all that will be. My present form is but an old body that I must use to contain my presence. As for my name - if you must use one - I am the inevitability mortals call Death.” When the god pulled his hood back over his head and the power lifted, She-Nim allowed himself to feel some relief - the newcomer was merely a death god like so many others, just one who had grown imperious and incredibly powerful by virtue of his solitude. She smiled, trying to fill her voice with warmth rather than apprehension, “Welcome, Death, I am She-Nim, Lady of Time, Representative of the Saranoma Pantheon. Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to your brethren, the gods of death and the afterlife.” She-Nim had just turned around to face the others when a harsh sound somewhere between derision and amusement rang out, Death, without raising his cloak again said, “Afterlife? Gods of Death? Are you so blind, Lord of Time, that you mistake me for a petty death god?” She-Nim opened his mouth to retort but Death continued, heedless of the looks of outrage directed towards him, “There were death gods before, and sun gods and love gods, even gods that ruled supreme, alone, but they are no more. But I, I was before them, with them, and now, I have outlasted them.” She-Nim turned back around slowly, raising her head to look at the stranger again, now with true fear but also fascination in her. After a moment of studying what she could see of him, she asked a question she shouldn’t have, for it could not possibly have an answer she would like. “What happened to all of these human gods you speak of?” Death let the question linger for a few seconds before answering with a smile in his voice, “They died out long before humankind ventured out of its solar system. Plague and war and death and, of course, an incredibly over-exaggerated sense of their own importance killed all religion. And the once so powerful gods, with their lightning bolts and chakras, they existed only because they were worshipped and feared, cynicism wiped every trace of their existence from the planet.” He flung his skeleton arms outward, raising his deathly symbols high for all to see and his voice growing louder and louder every syllable, cried “But I survived it all. Mortals cry out in terror at me, their world is filled with machines and instruments and medicines to protect them against me. I can never be forgotten, for I will *always* be feared.” Death threw his head back, his cloak slipping off, encasing all the others in an even more smothering stillness and in a voice so thunderous it should have been heard all across the galaxy said, “And soon, I shall replace every single one of you.” This was my first time replying to a prompt on here, any and all constructive criticism will be appreciated.
The pantheon of God’s were worried, if humans travel outside of earth and go to new worlds, what if they begin worshipping alien gods instead of us? We’ll be lost to time and unable to exist! The fearful gods organised an meeting with each other to gather their bearings and decided that they’d meet with these alien pantheons and try to get them to agree that gods should only be worshipped by the creatures of their respective worlds, worshipping foreign gods should be forbidden and punished. The day of the meeting arrived, the pantheon exchange, an event which would decide the fate of modern worship, the pantheon were terrified of what the consequences would be if they made a misstep, staring at the gate they constructed on earth to facilitate the meeting, they wondered what would step through but they kept their noble, unfazed expressions, then through the gates of the foreign pantheon out walked... a skeleton wearing a silk nightgown, sunglasses and wielding a scythe squats in front of the pantheon and begins to speak in rhyme “hey earth gods! No need to fear, just a lazy bone god exists outside of here”, the pantheon, obviously baffled by this god, enjoying human luxuries as if having no fear for being cast aside by its followers in favour of another god “um... so we were thinking... mortals can only worship gods from the world they were created, what do you think?” The skeleton seems displeased “oh, wow, that’s a shame, seems this pantheon wishes to head to the grave. Oh what’s wrong? Don’t you know? The reason I am the only one here is because the other alien pantheons were overthrown, I don’t like oppression, please give your creations the freedom of religious expression”. Faced with this threat the pantheon backs down, its true that they haven’t seen any other gods beside earth ones, maybe this creature really did have the power to slay gods and enjoys helping those who worship it scientifically progress so it can indulge in even greater luxuries and discover new forms of entertainment, like its recently picked up rap. (If you like my writing, there’s more on r/NomoresWriting)
2021-01-05T01:11:35
2021-01-04T20:55:56
79
39
[WP] Your video channel of historical cooking is going viral because people love your "historical detail". Secretly, you're immortal and really just making old dishes you liked. Except you slip up and make something with a detail not in the historical record.
"Okay, stop the video right there--" Alfred Wilfred Janus said to Detective Kidrow, jabbing a meaty finger on her mac screen and leaving a greasy fingerprint. *"Please don't touch the screen,"* Jane Kidrow wanted to say to the historian for the third time. She didn't. The sixty-three year old man was a sweetheart and meant well. More importantly, Alfred Wilfred Janus was her only lead, and each time she scolded him for touching the screen he seemed embarrassed and withdrawn. She needed him talking. The pair had secured a study room in the oxford library, and even now at this late hour students were studying by stained glass lamps, ordering tea from a small central hub, and wandering around the stacks. Jane was still jetlagged from the trip from DC, but time was pressing. Her boss was convinced he was on to something and sent Jane to chase it. Jane thought it was a useless trip worth little more than a chance to get some Indian food in London. Until she met with Alfred. "Watch here, and here," Alfred said, poking two separate places on her screen. "Play the video." "A good sear needs heat," Gaghis Elm said in his thick accent. "For that we make, ah, how you say...ellinikí Fotiá, the fire of the greeks." He combined ingredients from two jars, measuring volume from each precisely several times before pouring them into the pan. The flame roared, the fire turning a greenish-blue hue. "That," the historian said breathlessly with his Churchillian air, "Is Greek Fire." "And?" Jane asked. "And it's a secret lost for millenia," Alfred said in a whisper. "So you're telling me, Gaghis Elm, from Kitchen Fiasco, Spice It Up!, and Greasepits of America knows the long lost secret to Greek Fire?" Jane asked. "What I find most sincere," Alfred said, not quite answering her question, "Is how casual he is about it. As if he doesn't know the significance of what he's just done. As if he honestly doesn't know." Jane opened her mouth to speak, but was instead filled with the overwhelming sensation of being watched. She spun, catching a shadowy blur cross between two massive stacks of books. "Who's there?" She asked, digging in her pocket for her phone and turning the flashlight on. Her hand flew to her lower back, searching for the pistol there. In Bloody Old England, she'd been forced to leave it behind. She darted into the stacks after the shadowy figure, phone flashlight scanning left and right, around corners and between stacks as she dodged around the library. No figure. She made a tight circle and returned to the study table to find a Alfred Janus with an arm barred around his neck, eyes wide and bulging from his face as he gasped for air. His face turned blue, and he slumped in his seat. The figure released his arm from around Alfred Janus's neck. He was tall, perhaps six and a half feet. He had dark tan skin, and a thin black beard. He looked to be in fit middle age. He glanced first down at Alfred Janus, who's chest was rising and falling slowly in unconscious sleep. Then he glanced at the computer. Jane watched with wide eyes, as Gaghis Elm, celebrity chef, walked calmly over to her macbook. Wordlessly he opened the command window and began typing in commands. Jane couldn't move. Training which had never before failed her failed her now, and all she could do was watch. "Unfortunately," the man said in his thick accent. "Alfred Janus was not as much help as you hoped. He was suffering from a degenerative disease, and passed away the night after you met with him, though you suspect no foul play," he said to Jane. Jane found herself nodding, mesmerized. "You will be returning to Washington shortly, and believe that pyrotechnic colorant was used as visual effects for Gaghis's video. It is not Greek Fire, and Gaghis Elm is a run-of-the-mill cooking celebrity." Again Jane nodded. "Time to go back to the hotel and buy those tickets home," he said, picking up the macbook and spinning it to face her. She took it, and walked slowly out of the library, open macbook still clasped in unfeeling hands. ... Alfred Janus opened his eyes. "Close call," he said to his friend, who nodded. "Greek fire? They lost Greek Fire, remember?" "I remember," Gaghis growled. "Now, at least." "Just in case you forgot, the Library of Alexandria burned down, and everyone here believes Julius Caesar was killed." "You don't have to rub it in, Enkidu," Gaghis said with a sigh, wandering over to the stacks and flipping through books. "Rest in piece Alfred Janus," he mused, and Enkidu nodded. "This time it's my turn to be the celebrity," he told Gaghis. "Chef?" Gaghis asked, raising an eyebrow and shutting the book he'd been flipping through. "Drone racing," Enkidu said, chin held high. Gaghis balked. "Drone racing?" he asked again, as the pair left the Oxford library. "It looks fun as hell, Gil," Enkidu said. "Looks fun as hell." "I'll go arrange your death certificate," Gaghis said with a sigh. "Thanks buddy," he said. "What about you?" Gaghis sighed. "I think we retire Gaghis Elm too." "You're running out of anagrams, friend." "I know," Gaghis said. "I'm really going to miss doing Greasepits of America." \------- /r/DanielMavWrites
It's Saturday morning. I wake up with a smile on my face. My phone has been going off like crazy all morning and I know it's because of the video I uploaded yesterday at night on my account. Not paying any attention on my phone and with a winning smirk plastered on my face I make my morning cup of coffee. I take a sip, "Ah those mortals are so easily amused. I just upload one of my all-time favourite dishes and poof, it just goes viral." I thought about the feta cheese tofu recipe. It was such a hit ! Greek sculptors had brought an ancient form of feta cheese to China when they came in to make the Terracotta army. Wait... Trembling, I take the buzzing phone into my hands. Three thousand, forty-five comments. "Tofu ? Feta ? Boy you have me confused!" "Greek AND Chinese ancient cuisine ! Dude I never knew Greece was so close to China !" Reality hit you like a brick. People don't know about the connection between the two cultures ! I start researching online. I find a few articles talking about the theory that Greek artists had made the statues. What am I going to do ? I look at the time on my phone and conveniently, as if the Gods have heared my prayers and saved my butt... it was April Fools' day ! "Hahahaha you guys ! It was just a joke ! Happy April Fools' day !" I let out a sigh. My immortal roommate came in ... "Remeber when you messed up the dates in that history exam 50 years ago ? The professor proceeded to tell you that it was the wrong date and you tried to argue back ! You almost told him you were there ! At least I didn't have to use magic to save you this time. You know it's risky you goofball !" he laughes as he walks towards the kitchen counter. "Can you wipe my memory though ?"
2021-10-20T07:34:20
2021-10-20T04:22:50
399
104
[WP] My husband nodded silently to assure me he had killed the nest of spiders. I almost went to thank him, but then I noticed the glint of light off the tiny threads suspending him like a marionette. EDIT: As a few of you have pointed out, this was originally posted about a year ago by [/u/gregbrahe](https://www.reddit.com/user/gregbrahe) in his post [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/4wh2jc/my_husband_nodded_silently_to_reassure_me_that_he/). Go give him the karma he deserves. My bad guys. EDIT: Thanks for the good kind stranger.
I was usually the brave one in the house. When the holidays came around, I was the one to put up the lights on the top of the house, because Jim hated heights. When it got cold, I would bring in the firewood at night from our shed because it always seemed to creep him out. However, we both had our weaknesses, and for me, it was spiders. I was sitting next to a roaring fire in the living room when I heard the Jim's footsteps returning from the bathroom. I was still shivering and wet, wrapped in a towel from my shower that was cut short from an eight-legged uninvited guests crawling along the tiles in a line from the window. I had never seen spiders together like that, but my adrenaline was still pumping too hard for me to think about any sort of entomological implications. I stood and embraced my hero, clinging harder than I wanted to admit, when a gleam from Jim's back caught my eye. I pulled back slightly to find several shimmering strands connecting my husband's shoulders to somewhere above. "Jim, what..." My sentence was cut short as I made contact with a glassy stare. His eyes looked past me in a dead pan expression. Confused by this, I tried to back away, but as my grip released, his tightened. "Jim!" His eyes met mine. No, they pointed to my face, but still looked through me. My spine shivered as I started to feel unnatural undulations from under the skin of the man I thought I knew. The patterns I felt from his skin against mine were then matched by ripples of the skin on his face, as if something, no, *some things* were walking around underneath it. My throat choked dryly, but what I saw next set my scream loose from my throat. Jim's mouth opened, releasing a torrent of spiders, pouring down his chin. Every nerve in my body shook and my body thrashed like a feral animal. His grip was iron and all I accomplished was to topple us back with my husband's "body" landing on top of me. My screams continued, but the flow of tiny creatures from Jim's face was now flowing around my body and up towards my head. I felt a million tiny, hairy steps across my wet skin moving up my chest, along my neck, to my lips... my scream was caught short by a gagging cough. I should have closed my mouth, but that's a rational thought that didn't fit anywhere in my crumbling mind. However, by the time the idea reached my head, it resulted in a spastic clenching of my jaw that let out the sickening crunch of several tiny bodies. A loud screech shook the walls and my heart alike. The death of these creatures brought immediate retribution. I felt the bites everywhere on my body. The flood of spiders acted as one sadistic mind. I convulsed and consciousness could bear this no longer. My vision faded and my failing comprehension collapsed around the image of tiny creatures repeatedly sinking their mandibles into my eye lids. Moments passed. Silence. Softness. Warmth. Moisture. I felt myself again. This realization stirred me and I became aware of myself laying in a bed. I was still wet, but this wasn't shower water; it was sweat. My eyes opened with the stiffness of a long sleep and awakened to bright lights, white and soft blue hues. A hospital. As I stirred, I felt a squeeze on my hand. I looked to my right, following this sensation and saw Jim. My husband. Not the empty face that had so recently haunted me. "Where am I?" "Hey honey, you're in the hospital. When you came back from getting firewood out of the shed, you had a seizure. The doctor said that something must have bitten you, but they treated it and you'll be ok now. My mind turned like a rusty cog. Pieces of started to fall back into place, restoring my shattered reality. It must have been a fever dream. This is real. That wasn't. This makes sense. It's ok. A bit of doubt sputtered in the back of my head and my brows furrowed as I stared deeply at Jim's face, down to his shoulder, and checking for anything connected. He chuckled lightly. "Is everything ok?" The doubt fluttered away like a feather on a strong breeze. I smiled and replied, "It is now." "I'm going to get the nurse and tell them you're awake." "Ok." The door closed behind me and I realized that as wet as my sheets were, my throats was dry. Noticing a small cup of water next to my bed, I reached over and froze. A small shiny thread leading upwards from the top of my hand glimmered in the light.
Mary hissed as her husband's lifeless body collapsed in a pathetic heap before her. The moonlight shone through a crack in the window of her old abode. Light drew a thin white line in between her and the dead lover. Webs were much more visible now, covering the man from head to toe, decorating the wall in front of her in glistening silver. Pacing forward one slow step at a time she arrived back to where she was before. She welcomed the damp smell of the wood below her feet much more than the stench of the corpse. Besides, she had finished with him. Slowly reaching ouch, Mary placed her husband back into position, propping him up like her little doll. She smiled, glancing quickly to her left then to her right. Yet the memory of the screams still tortured her. She knew that it was all about survival now. Just like her husband, the children had to be silenced. And so she retreated once more, to the darkest corner of her abode, closing her eight eyes for another moon.
2017-08-08T14:55:04
2017-08-08T14:09:16
170
28
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend. edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
The first time Dean noticed the words hanging over someone's head, it was during a hospital stay. There had been black ice on the roadway, that was what the police said. He hadn't been driving for all that long, and no one really blamed him for the accident. It was just one of those things that... happened. Naturally, he thought that maybe the drugs -- and they *were* good drugs -- after surgery was causing the hallucinations. But they never went away. The words above his mother's head read *SUICIDE*, which couldn't have been right; she was the happiest person he knew. Eventually Dean went back to school, and most of his classmates were the typical *HEART DISEASE*, or *CANCER*. Nothing that wouldn't already happen in life for most people. It was sort of comforting, in a way. He knew his friends would be there for life. One day, the words started ticking between two options. One practically screamed *FIRE*, flickering in color, and the other was the original cause of death. Dean felt that it was odd, but didn't think on it further. There were parties to go to, pants to get into, and general mayhem to create; as only a teenager could. It was during finals week, feeling stuck in a classroom, that the alarms went off. Almost every student was uncertain, looking at one another while the teacher ducked her head into the hall. And promptly cursed. There was a sort of nervous laughter, how often do you really hear a teacher curse? "*Everyone out*!" It seemed to jar his classmates awake. Dean chanced a glance above their heads, the words flickering between *FIRE* and *SUFFOCATION*, sometimes *SMOKE INHALATION*. The letters flowing with fire, or being crushed beneath an invisible weight, and even rolling with imagined smoke. It was like that for everyone in the classroom as they filed into the hallway, joining the panicked masses. Bodies pressing against one another, shoved into walls and lockers. Dean wasn't even looking at where he was going anymore. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon the words that floated above everyone's head. There were so many people in the hallway that he couldn't even make out the individual letters. But he could see the flickering flames, or the rolling smoke, through the haze of the hallway. Further toward the front of the group, the words were a conflagration; toward the back a mass of smoke pushing toward everyone. Where the hell were they even going? That was when it dawned on Dean. This was the science wing, wrapped around an inner courtyard, and they had to circle around to even get to the exit. It was a poor design, but the trustees thought that it was beautiful with a bit of landscaping. Supposedly kids would go out there to smoke in the 70's, before it was banned on the property. Now it only trapped them. The heavy fire doors that would swing shut were just ahead, the words above people were sparking in need, as if they were to create what was to come. "No, no no no. Wrong way!" Dean was shouting, trying to be heard above the din, his shouts barely reaching the people around him. But they began to slow, even with teachers harrying them onward. There was a classroom door just ahead, and he ducked into it, pulling people inside. "Through the windows! Go! Gogogo!" It was like he couldn't get the breath to tell enough people, the haze thicker. But the words above their head began flickering more violently, bringing spots to his vision. First *FIRE*, then *HEART DISEASE*, faster and faster. Dean couldn't even keep up with the flashes, instead breaking open the narrow window with a microscope from the counter top, clearing away the glass. People pressing up against his back as he tumbled through the window, barely rolling to the side in enough time. The words flashed less, settling on more mundane means of death, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Dean was hoarse from the shouting, parched from the smoky haze in the air. But he had done it! They were going to *live*! That was when the words flipped on everyone he could see. Every single person. Before he could do anything, barely getting enough breath to shout, "No! Don't open that door!" A frightened student yanked on the handle of the courtyard doors, near the exit to the science wing. The last of the floating words flipped over everyone's head, and Dean braced himself, trying to become as small as possible. It was inevitable. *EXPLOSION*.
They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames.
2015-03-31T09:27:39
2015-03-31T07:44:11
42
22
[WP] Write an upbeat post-apocalyptic tale where life is (for the most part) much better than it was pre-apocalypse.
The tomatoes had finally started growing. All of them were still green, but Skye had been told that in a few days they would be as red her little brother’s cheeks. It was a bit hard to believe, but she knew her grandfather was a trustworthy source of knowledge about the pre-War world. He would go on and on about how the times had changed, and that the War was probably the smartest thing his generation ever did. Skye went to grab a watering can and carefully filled it with just enough filtered water from the tank she had built. It was a simple rain collector, but it did the job pretty well. Her parents had forbidden her from drinking it, but they did not see the harm in using it for growing plants. The Winter had started dissipating some years ago. Her parents had told her she was still in her mother's belly when they first saw the sun. Before that, everything had been depressingly grey. The sky’s color only slightly varied from graphite to silver, the ground was covered in ash, and most people never went out of the bunkers. That probably explained why her parents had named her Skye, and her little brother Blue. The girl adjusted the plant’s support, and delicately watered them, a faint smile on her lips. She liked her name. And she was damn excited to taste these tomatoes. “Skye!” A voice thundered from downstairs. “Come help your grandfather eat his lunch, I have to go get some filters at the market!” “Yes mom!” She howled back. After emptying the can, Skye put it back on its stand and quickly fetched her plant diary. She really hoped she could manage to grow these tomatoes to full maturity. Her grandfather would probably like that, she thought as she went down the stairs to reach her home’s first floor. The girl grabbed a bowl of stew from the kitchen, and promptly went to her grandfather’s room, which had been placed in what was supposed to be the dining room, for practical reasons.. The old man was quietly laying in his bed, observing the sky from the window. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?” Skye jokingly said, sitting near her grandfather’s bed. “I’m pretty cloudy today.” Her grandfather chuckled. “I hope your mood will improve, then. Your plants need it, you know. Especially the tomatoes.” “Oh I do, I’ve read all about it. They’re growing you know? They’re about as big as a ping pong ball right now!” The girl answered with enough enthusiasm to almost spill the spoon of stew she was holding. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to wait until they’re red. They already look delicious! Way better that those stupid carrots, potatoes, turnips and celery mom feeds us day after day. I can’t believe you guys had all sorts of plants before the Winter, I'm so jealous.” “We sure did. We mostly feed on roots right now, but at least they have some taste. Everything we ate tasted like water before the Winter. I’m almost sure that’s what sparked the War in the end.” “Like water?” Skye raised a brow, waiting for her grandfather to chew some meat before handing him another spoon. “How’s that even possible? You had the best technology!” “Sure, but we were billions more than we are today. The War and the Winter helped the population dwindle to a fraction of how many we used to be. Imagine that. Our cities were so huge, they covered most of the farmable land. And yet people had to be fed. So we grew vegetables in factories, away from the sun and away from the actual ground, and guess what? They tasted like shit!” “Grandpa!” Skye pretended to be outraged by his vocabulary. “I’ll tell mom!” Her grandfather laughed, put his hand on her head, and proceeded to mess up her hair. “No you won’t, or else I won’t tell you stories about the past!” Skye pouted, and handed him another spoon of stew. She urged him to continue talking. “That’s what I thought.” The old man gulped down the stew, a triumphant smile on his face. “See, a lot of people regret all the comfort we had back then. Our technology was all-powerful. But in the process, everyone became so busy that we had forgotten the simple things in life. Nobody took the time to grow plants by themselves. We barely even took the time to talk to each other. Don’t tell your mom, but I think we have it better now.” “Mm.” The girl pondered, trying to salvage the last few drops of stew from the bowl. "You can't really imagine that, can you?" Her grandfather had a strange expression. “Not really." Losing interest in the subject, Skye dismissed that thought and focused on what mattered. "Say, what do you think I should try to grow, once I’m done with my tomatoes?” “Let me see. More tomatoes?”
My kids will never read it, but I can distinctly recall a book from before the war written by some French guy centuries ago. I was forced to read it for some class or another and I can’t remember the title to save my life, but I sure as shit remember its ending. I remember how all of the characters settle down on a farm and cultivate their garden. Now even then I knew exactly what the story was talking about. Working day-to-day, living a simple life focused on hard-work with few complications was the happiest way to live. I thought about doing that sometimes, saying to heck with it and moving out to the countryside. I could never bring myself to do it though; there was always something to draw me back. I couldn’t give up movies, or games, or TV, or this that and the other. Then the war happened and made the choice for me. Now here I am, spending the days with my kids and the night with my wife, and every once and awhile the thought pops into my head: That damned French guy was on to something after all.
2016-01-20T01:51:49
2016-01-19T21:44:49
51
35
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
Wolfgang shifted his weight, trying to ease the discomfort in his hip, as he stood in line with his granddaughter, Emma, at the Citysburgh Metropolitan Bank. Emma, clutching her favorite stuffed dog, gazed about at the ostentatious pseudo-Classical columns and gold leaf décor. The bank tried to make itself look like a historical building, but this was at least its fourth reconstruction. Wolfgang himself had destroyed it once, fifty years ago, trying to access its vaults. He smiled to himself, remembering the astonished look on Rock Duchess’s face when she arrived to save the day, only to find the entire building blown to smithereens. How young and foolish they had both been! He looked down at Emma, wondering if she would follow in his footsteps. If she did, he would have to teach her about the folly of robbing banks. The line began to creep forward, when suddenly, Wolfgang felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He glanced up at the fisheye mirror and confirmed his suspicions- three young men were standing outside the glass doors of the bank, wearing ridiculous outfits and preparing to make a dramatic entrance. He squeezed Emma’s hand and gave her a wink. “Whatever happens next, Emma, don’t be scared. Bullies thrive off of fear.” She looked back up at him with her big brown eyes, “Okay, Grandpa.” She didn’t even flinch when the glass shattered and the other customers started screaming. “Everybody on the ground…NOW!” shouted a gruff male voice. Everyone dove to the floor, covering their heads and whimpering- everyone except for Wolfgang and Emma. Wolfgang turned to face the robbers with a smile. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m an old man, and with my sore hip, I’m afraid if I get down on the floor, I’ll never get back up.” “If you don’t get your old ass on the floor right now, I’ll put you on the floor and make sure you never get up.” The three young men wore matching purple and black spandex outfits. The man in the middle, the one who was doing all the speaking, was holding purple balls of flame. He wore purple-lensed goggles and had matching purple hair. The young fellow to his right had glowing blue eyes and seemed to be partially made of ice. The one on the left was a half-man, half-beast whose costume had evidently ripped at some point during his transformation. Were he fifty years younger, Wolfgang might have been intimidated. As it was, he sighed and addressed the cowering customers. “Everyone, please stand up. Don’t be ridiculous. This is nothing but a roving gang of children trying to steal some lunch money. Don’t let them push you around just because they have powers and you don’t.” There was confused muttering amongst the crowd. A few people even stood up. Predictably, the spandex-clad trio hesitated. These inexperienced groups rarely knew how to react when bullying didn’t work. The flame guy was visibly angry. “Are you crazy, old man!?” He launched one of his flame balls toward Wolfgang’s face. Wolfgang barely flicked his wrist. A small portal appeared, absorbed the fireball, and vanished. He gave an exaggerated yawn. “You boys are an embarrassment. Truly.” The beast-man took a step back. “Th…that’s the Black Baron. No way I’m screwing with that guy. I’m out of here.” He took off running on all fours. The icy fellow said nothing, but started backing away slowly, leaving Mr. Purple Flames alone in the doorway. The rest of the bank customers rose to their feet, dusting themselves off and shooting angry glares toward the would-be robber. Wolfgang looked the young criminal up and down. “When I look at you and this young generation of villains, it makes me sad. My granddaughter here might want to follow in my footsteps someday, but if you’re the type of criminal she’s going to learn from, I fear for her future.” He shook his head. “It’s an impressive power you have there, son. Now learn to put it to good use. Your first lesson is: Don’t rob banks. It’s literally the dumbest crime you can commit.” “Y…yes, sir, Mr. Black Baron.” “Good, now get out of here before I change my mind and send you to another dimension. You’re making me miss the Law and Order marathon.” Purple Flames lowered his head and sulked away. For the first time in his life, bank customers cheered for the Black Baron.
"Damn kids. Always trying to one-up the classics. Just look at their rookie errors: everybody hands up, not rounding up the security guards... child's play. I could do better than this. I *should* do better than this. But I gave it up for *her*... *for them*. I would never want her to see who I really am. It'd break her heart and I would lose both. No, today I am one of the robbed. Just a powerless civilian. Now now, child don't be scared, the worst thing they could do is..." *bang.*
2015-02-06T22:15:19
2015-02-06T20:41:07
565
33
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
I should have known. They had it all there, available to view on their version of the Hypernet. So much information, the sum of all of their human knowledge all sitting their in that database they called Wikipedia. Their science, their religions, their philosophies, but most importantly their history. ​ If only I'd had the automats download and search the database, it could all have been averted. I'd have avoided that Pale Blue Dot. That's what one of their scientists called it, What was his name? Peasant Kettle? Or something like that. The auto-translator has trouble with some of their names, despite having now scanned the whole of their Hypernet. ​ I should have given the planet a wide birth, and I would not now be looking through the holoscope at the remnants of our armies. I would not now be watching as the humans use mechanical shovels to scope my brothers and sisters into waste processors, turning them into fuel to heat their primitive homes. ​ Had I not been so impatient for conquest, and to once again breath air that was not laden with toxins and microbes, I would have taken my time, read through the major events in their history, learned why no living being should ever threaten that backward little planet and it's insane inhabitants. I left it too late to learn the truth. ​ I would have learned about their first great war, when men had stood in holes and hurled lead and toxic gas at each other across coils of wire. I'd have learned about the piles of dead, the starvation, the disease. I'd have learned that they swore it would never happen again, and how that promise did not even last a human lifetime. ​ I would have learned about the second great war, when flight had been perfected and they could rain fire upon the homes of their enemies. I would have learned of the camps where humans forced other humans to breath poison and they pilled the dead into ovens to burn their corpses. I'd have learned of the weapon, the one they thought was the most powerful that could be created, and how they used it not once but twice. I'd have learned how they swore it would never happen again, until it did. ​ Their third war was the deadliest, for it left one in five of them dead. Death by microbe, unchecked and uncontrollable. A fifth of all humans were dead within seven rotations of their planet, and a further two fifths died as their societies collapsed. They swore it would never happen again, and it probably would have, had it not been for one human. ​ Big Tree Smelly Animal Rectum was the human that solved the problem. A simple mutation in their already weird and mutated genetic code was all it took. That human released a new virus on the planet, but this did not bring death, but the power of death. ​ Can you imagine living in such a society? Where anyone around you can kill with a thought. Where you have to consciously make the decision not to kill every living thing you ever meet? ​ There were problems of course. An entire island of people were wiped out within a few days of contracting the virus. An argument over a queue in an establishment that served boiling water filled with the extract of dried leaves was where it started. One human was unhappy about another human pushing in front of him, and thought him dead. That was the first mind-murder. Others panicked and thought those around them dead. Soon an entire nation was gone, but a lesson had been learned. ​ It worked for them. They were forced to be civil to each other, to keep the peace, to forgive and forget. For when everyone has the power of life and death over everyone else, you tread lightly and make sure to never offend. There can be no arguments, no threats, no anger, envy or greed. When mutually assured distruction, is actually assured, peace is the easy option. ​ My soldiers did not know this of course, for I have learned it all just now. My soldiers landed in their millions, the best trained, the best armed and the most ferocious warriors in the galaxy. They were dead the moment they met their first human. ​ I can see their little ship approaching. It burst from their atmosphere and is heading for my battleship right now. I could blast them from space, but they would just send more. I could run, but they would follow. I think I'll just let them board. I'll see a human in the flesh for my first and last time, and let the little thing kill me with it's mind. Better that then let them try to follow me, for I can not imagine a worse plague to release on the Universe than that of humankind.
Almost literally the plot of Larry Niven's Man-Kzin Wars. ​ *"Once upon a time, in the earliest days of interplanetary exploration, an unarmed human vessel was set upon by a warship from the planet Kzin. But the Kzinti learned the hard way that the reason humanity had given up war was that they were so very, very good at it. Thus began the Man-Kzin Wars."* ​ [*https://www.amazon.com/s?k=man-kzin+wars&crid=125J9DHYENQEP&sprefix=Man-k%2Caps%2C197&ref=nb\_sb\_ss\_c\_1\_5*](https://www.amazon.com/s?k=man-kzin+wars&crid=125J9DHYENQEP&sprefix=Man-k%2Caps%2C197&ref=nb_sb_ss_c_1_5) ​ ^(please don't delete me)
2019-02-26T10:58:57
2019-02-26T10:57:56
25
14
[WP]Iceland has been cut off from the world. No comms in or out, ariel and satellite photography show nothing but a blindspot, and all three teams sent in by the European rescue effort have disappeared once through the fog. The fourth team saw one man return. Debrief to follow.
The sailor sat alone, a steaming cup of coffee pressed into his hands, still balled into fists from the cold of the ocean. The helo team had pulled him out of the water and dumped him onto the deck of the carrier so quickly that his yellow and orange drysuit was still dripping whilst sat in the small, grey room normally used by deck crew. More brass than a symphony orchestra were hovering outside the door in lashing rain, deciding who should talk to the obviously shellshocked young man. After a few moments of shouted conversation conversation, barely audible over the wind, an admiral stepped into the small room and set his soaked hat on the table. "Petty Officer Franks. I'm Admiral Burlough. I'm sure you're aware that there's a lot of folks out there who want to know what you've seen. I'd like to take this slow, Franks, but the whole goddam world is waiting. Is it some kind of natural disaster? Enemy action? Franks shook his head, and the movement seemed to shake him awake. "No. No, sir." "Then what are we talking here Franks? You were in there for two weeks. What are we up against?" "Against? Nothing, sir. The storm that's circling the island is fierce as a scalded cat, but on the other side it's just... calm. We nearly capsized on the way in, but then we picked up radio signals coming from Rekyavik; commercial, maritime, even ATC. We asked what the hell was going on, and they told us to come on in and dock." Franks used both hands to raise the insulated mug, took a sip of the coffee and set it down on the table, staring at it as though remembering a bad dream. "The commander didn't want to take us in, so we took a boat. Right there on the dock was the President of Iceland and a bunch of Icelanders, and some of the crew of the other ships, right as rain and grinning ear to ear." Burlough's growing impatience burst through with a machine-gun staccato of questions. "So they are alive, and the Icelander's are all OK? Do they know what's with this damned storm? Something volcanic?" "The storm? That's them. The Icelanders. They've been working on it since the pandemics back in the '20s. The way they told it, they've cracked open one of the big volcanoes on the south coast, and are using it to power some giant... turbine? They had a word for it but I can't pronounce it. Jormund-something. I'm not an engineer, sir, but you could see the damn machine from Rekjavik, and it's miles in land. Like a giant beam of lightning reaching up into the clouds. The admiral rode back on his chair, seeking to put distance between himself and the nonsense being spouted by the petty officer "Son, what on gods green earth are you talking about? Why in tarnation would they do this to themselves?" "Because they can. They've been growing their own food for years; they've got no shortage of energy or clean water, and because... well, because they're sick of us. All of us. The pollution, the wars, the shit on TV. The way Kenway..." "Captain Kenway, of the Hercules?" interjected the admiral. "Yeah, only not any more. He's got a smallholding on the south coast now, and the Hercules was being broken down for parts." "The Icelanders seized one of our vessels, and Kenway just let them? I can't believe it" "Believe it, sir. When Kenway found out what was going on, he and his crew decided to... retire. When you think about it, life on an island with plenty of land, energy, resources, food, clean air... sounds pretty appealing. All of the crap that we have to deal with out here? They don't have any of that in there. If things worked out different, I'd have stayed in a heartbeat. " "Seaman, if half of what you've told me is true then the Icelanders have declared war, and the crews of all four ships we sent in are deserters. We don't have any choice other than to take the rest of the fleet in and put an end to this... whatever it is." "No sir. That's why I came out; to tell you to stop sending people in. The Icelanders have decided that they've reached their quota for visitors and cranked up the storm. If you take the fleet in now, we'll all be floating home in liferafts." "Franks, I've had enough of this bullshit. I cannot believe that the crews of four ships have decided to settle down and farm mushrooms or whatever grows on that sad little rock, but you alone have decided to do your duty and warn us off. I've reviewed your record, and nothing in there marks you out as exemplary. I don't know what game you are playing, but I'm going to find out. Now tell me the truth, or so help me god I will have the MPs outside throw you back into the ocean where we found you." Franks sat back in his chair, meeting Burlough's eyes for the first time. He brought up his lft hand, balled into a fist, and turned his wrist up to the ceiling between them. With some effort, he unfurled his near-frozen fingers to reveal half a broken pencil, clenched so tight the point had drawn blood. "I'm not special sir. Not special at all. I just drew the short straw."
The man appeared gasping from the fog. He pulled off his breathing apparatus and wheezed as much fresh air as he could into his lungs. Two members of the foreign aid team approached him tentatively. A doctor carrying an aid kit and a volunteer with a blanket. The wheezing man shook his head and held up his hand. “Don’t!” was all he managed before breaking into long whooping coughs that made the the two approaching volunteers chests vibrate in sympathy. Another helper approached as far as the doctor and their companion, tossing a water bottle deftly so that it landed at the feet of the man. The man nodded his thanks, still keeping his hand up to halt their advance. Reaching down he took up the water bottle with shaking hands and opened it up. Spilling much as he did so. He took a swig and immediately retched, however he persisted till he had kept a little of the liquid down. “What happened in there?” the volunteer with the blanket called. The man collapsed to his knees the water bottle spilling from his hands. The rescuers looked at each-other, hesitating for a moment before deciding to advance on the incapacitated fellow. He put up no further objections as a volunteer took an arm each and helped him to stand. He only whispered something under his breath which made the doctor a native of Iceland look back into the fog with a puzzled expression on their face. As the group made their way back to the beachfront camp laughter could be heard coming from the mist. Not just one voice but many, overlaid, ranging from child like to a sound more like bubbling music approximating a voice.
2021-05-17T10:37:42
2021-05-17T10:00:12
30
15
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest. The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?” All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“ “I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside. “Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated. He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.” The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door. “She has a fever. How long has she been sick?” Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“ “Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?” “Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child. “She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch. “These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?” “Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.” Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.” “Ma’am?” “Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?” “Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter. She hesitated, “Margaret.” “It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought. “My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“ “Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.” A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair. “Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin.
Ah old Miss Stevenson. Not getting sick when everyone has. She goes about washing her hands incessantly. She says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot in night soil, and the medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. I am among the first, but not the last to suspect that she might be onto something. You see... she has suspicions about mercury despite its properties to be bad for you. She says worms come from your feet in night soil which are not exactly related. She washes her hands because she is guilty in her heart. We know this because all of us have gotten sick from time to time, except Miss Stevenson. There is only one conclusion. She has caused the plight on our town and tonight we gather here, together, to show Miss Stevenson what we think of her and her ideas - she's a witch and has been harming our town. With the power vested in me as your mayor, we shall all watch as she hangs.
2017-09-14T11:14:03
2017-09-14T11:09:45
114
14
[WP] War has been raging for years upon years now. You are a reporter embedded in a famous military unit among your newest allies in this war, humanity.
Another Klar-cracking *BOOM* shot through my exoskeleton. My nerve fibers jangled and my myomer bunches shuddered in involuntary reaction. I steadied my 6 claws, clutched the tri-dee recorder, and rode out the shockwave. My anterior tarsus claws began to lose their grip when the winds buffeted our position, but a strong limb with five gripping digits suddenly pushed down on my shell's hump and I was able to stay immobile. I looked up at my rescuer and activated my translator with a jab of a mandible. "Thank you, Earth-clan. Your weapons are most prodigious." The human's aural and visual matrices were shielded behind a half-dome arma-glass helmet, currently opaque and reflecting the burning firled fields of Maruc, the enemy's home world. The dome nodded and the human rose on two powerful legs, red armor glinting in the sunlight, turning back to observe the battlefield. Good, my people found the armor units the humans rode into battle impressive. Excellent interview material. I turned to my fellow Trodev and scented the Local Prime a message. "My observer-self would like to know more of your assistance to the humans in adapting to the battlefronts, Prime Naul'tec'lus," I began. The Prime swung its head in my direction, oversized mandibles rustling, and scented back. "The humans need little assistance now, Observer Kaul'noc'lus. Their original miscalculations have been rectified. They know now that they cannot fight on the front lines of this war - the Maruci are beyond their physical capabilities. They have adapted to assisting at range, in the skies, and with mechanized infantry. Their war-mounts are slow but powerful, and capable of delivering their most punishing weapons to the front lines. Their sky-mounts are easily superior to our best Wing units and have granted us commanding air dominance for our wind-hives. But my favorite element of their assistance lies beside us." The Prime's scent shifted subtly, and she cast a smug antennae at the human unit beside us. Two of the domes were cast in our direction now, while the third maintained vigilance. "The human-clan's capacity for long-range destruction is something to envy, Observer. This plasma caster, for instance, which just fired. Our drone-eyes report that the plasma burst has incinerated an entire *horde* of Maruci Feasters. Their accuracy is astonishing and the Maruci cannot shield themselves from the annihilation of a plasma burst." Obediently, I turned my recorder to the plasma caster. A squat and boxy construct, it hunched on three metal legs. From a center mass of metal and wires jutted a fat cannon-head framed by articulated magnetic poles. The lip of the cannon was still glowing from the recent plasma-round's exit. I observed the battle-field and saw its work: a huge, glassy crater had appeared where a dense swarm of Maruci forces had once been. The destruction was complete from center to edge, and scorch marks radiated for several meters beyond the edges of the blast. One of the human-clan turned and loped toward us. I instinctively quailed towards the larger Prime, who ignored my reaction and greeted the armored warrior with friendly antenna and politely spread mandibles. Her own translator clicked on. "Greetings, human. Have you any message for our hives? The Observer will relay them faithfully." A peremptory antenna brushed my own, and I shrugged off my fear to raise the recorder to the human's dome. The dome nodded. I noted that this one was blue, though of the same construction as its fellows. The humans did not modify their war-carriages to reflect rank, I knew, and they were physically almost identical in size. They relied on symbols, memory, and social constructs to order their military. An alien concept, but few races were so alien as these. The human's own translator activated with a near-inaudible hum. Inside the dome, I knew the human would be using its central intake and tiny, rigid mandibles to push air out of a central sac, making noises to communicate, but the translator faithfully synthesized the corresponding scents and wavelengths for my audience. "Thank you, Local Prime. I am Commander James Harkness. The equipment behind me is called a T-38 Plasma Caster. It and three other casters are situated behind the front lines, dropping plasma rounds onto concentrations of enemy forces across the battlefield. Collectively, we are delivering 15 plasma rounds per minute, which is a low-intensity volley. As you can see, the effect is more than adequate." I scented out a personal query, eager for the response. The humans were composed and clannish most of the time, but sometimes on the battlefield a commander-human would let slip some of their race's fury at the Maruci for the loss of their moon-colonies. "Are you eager to avenge Luna, Commander-prime Harkness? Reports from battlefields across the Spiral speak of the humans' implacable advance." The dome nodded again, more slowly. "We humans thought we were alone until the Maruci came. They used our excitement and naivete to their advantage, worming their way through our colonies before trying to cripple them. To humans, this is a violation of our most ancient codes of conduct. We welcomed them as neighbors and friends, and they used our generosity to stab us in the back. That insult was profound and felt from Sagittarius-3 to Sol...and on top of it we lost Luna and nearly half our colonies. Yes, Observer, we are here for revenge, as well as to repay your people for your protection and aid while we rebuilt. The full might of our fleets and manpower is now bent on subjugating the Maruci." The human's dome turned back toward the caster, and he snapped out an order too quickly for the translator to catch. The caster belched forth a miniature star in response, and the magnetic poles came alive, rotating and describing delicate arcs, remotely guiding the projectile's path through powerful magnetic fields that set my mandibles shut and cast sparks along the human's armor. The sun touched down where the Maruci horde was gathering for a last stand, and three other suns touched down in a perfect circle a moment later. Even as I observed, the remaining horde was incinerated. The dome turned back towards me. "We mourn for our lost brothers and sisters, Observer. But the Maruci are savage predators, not warriors." The five digits on the human's right limb creaked closed into a fist, the human's only natural weapon. I knew from my studies that they used these rarely, and its presence indicated great anger or stress. "We have annihilated their colonies. We will make their homeworld a prison. Their hordes will be crushed, their cities conquered. The Maruci may have had the first strike, and they may be faster and deadlier than any human in direct combat, Observer, but war is in our nature. They will be tamed, and made to answer for Luna."
Vreeeech'nphach stood in a corner of the bridge. The ship's commanding team of three had not been happy to have him on board, but had reluctantly accepted, under the condition that he kept out of their way. He was nervous, after all he had never been on a military ship before. It was incredebly quiet on the bridge and the creaking his soles made on the floor when he shifted his weight onto his left legs was unnaturally loud to him. He wondered what the human ships looked like. Sure, they had all seen humans, once their scientists had been able to convert the subspace data into images and sounds. That had been about 30 years after they had made out a pattern of impulses in subspace and had send a response into the same direction. The answer came swift. and as soon as they had decoded their language, things had become political. They wanted, needed help to crush the last enclave of the thurGOON. Eleminating them had been a long and tiring undertaking, and the population grew more and more annoyed of the military's failures to establish a foothold in their homesystem. Vreeeech'nphach had even heard rumors of secret cults sympathising with the thurGOON, opposing their utter elemination. But these were only rumors and now the new allies were here...at least they were supposed to be here. It was 18963 sharp and not a sign of them. The three commanders looked at each other, looked at the time. Yes indeed, it was time that they... With an eerie humming a crack opened in space and something pushed through. yes...something... for he couldn't make any sense of it. it looked like, no, IT WAS a huge living creature, it writhed and shudderedand after it had pushed through, the crack closed again. everyone, even the three commanders just stared in horror at this immense ... thing... that had come through. *bebooop* a whistling noise. the commanders pressed a button and the incoming transmission was transferred to all screens. On it was a human. pitch black with two giant white eyes and a hideous opening full of white teeth. "This is Admiral Mugabe von Berlitz of the Volkswagen-Biotech-Corporation-Ship Zephyros. As contracted we are here to aid you in your military campaign against the thurGOON in exchange for exclusive mining rights in susectors Σ and Θ, full sovereignity over plantes III to VI of the thurGoon home-system ,including all moons and asteroid belts, and unhindered DNA harvesting-operations throughout your dominion. We will send over our military advisor Helbrecht Sanchez. Prepare for boarding in 3... 2... 1..." a crack opened in space in the middle of the bridge and through stepped a suit. It slid back his gilded visor. In it was a human, a bit thinner and pale with reddish tuft growing on his head. It had It felsh drwan back and exposed its white teeth. It moved its mouth and out of a suit-integrated speaker came "Let's do business."
2014-07-12T05:47:55
2014-07-12T03:20:35
17
11
[WP] Nuclear Weapons don't actually exist. You are to brief the president-elect on this fact. Nuclear Weapons don't actually exist. The WWII bombing of Japan was a cover up. You are to brief the president-elect on this fact. Good luck!
The President smiled. “I was expecting something like this.” He said. I stared back, trying to keep my face passive. I didn’t know how to reply to that. “New guy in the chair, everyone’s got a prank to pull. My predecessor left a whoopee cushion on the chair in the Oval office, and in an envelope marked Critically Important, Top Secret, President-Elect Eyes Only, he left me a dirty limerick. The Head of the CIA pulled out an envelope full of pictures of Alien Autopsies, and the NASA liaison tried to convince me that the Moon landings were faked on a sound stage on Mars. I almost fell for some of them, but this is just ridiculous. You could have come up with something more believable.” I sighed. I hated Marvin and Jeff. They always tried to get to the President before I did with a ridiculous story, just to mess with me. “I’m sorry Mr President.” I told him. “But this one is true. I can show you the stockpiles. The warheads are all empty. The Nuclear Power Plants are all fake. We’ll show you later. For now, just take a look at this folder.” I passed him the black unmarked folder from the secure briefcase chained to my wrist. He sighed and casually flicked it open, trying to show me how little he believed me, but willing to go along with the joke. This guy was better than most. His predecessor had laughed in my face and thrown the folder at me when I’d given it to him. It had been weeks before we could get him to sit down and actually look at the contents. The President-Elect flicked through the folder’s contents. Then he paused, turned back to look at one more closely. His eyes widened. He looked at me, his eyebrow raised. I didn’t reply. The folder was all the convincing anyone ever needed. He turned back to the documents. After half an hour the President-Elect looked up at me. His hand was visibly shaking. “How?” he said. I was impressed that he was still able to manage that without his voice cracking. I’d hidden under my duvet rocking back and forth and whimpering to myself for twelve hours after I’d looked at the folder. But President-Elect s were made of stronger stuff. “It’s really quite simple.” I said. “Japan joined the conspiracy as a face-saving exercise. They’d lost already, and they knew it. But they couldn’t back down, their culture wouldn’t let them. We needed to give them an excuse, and they were happy to take it. Nagasaki and Hiroshima were already due to be firebombed out of existence so a group of key people in the Japanese government agreed to pretend it had been because of a new unstoppable doomsday device. The perfect excuse to surrender and escape their inevitable national extinction. The warmongers in the Japanese government believed the lies of their colleagues and everyone was happy. “And Russia?” “Well, that was unexpected. They discovered our ruse. We were terrified of them revealing it to the world, humiliating us. But, well, they aren’t the most open of societies. Stalin liked the idea and decided to copy our deception for themselves. They pretended they had the doomsday device as well. We couldn’t deny it without revealing our own deception. So we had to play along. Then other countries started saying they had it as well. Well, it all got a little out of hand. Russia then told everyone they had a bigger doomsday device, and so we had to lie again and say we had bigger. And everything involved faked videos, faked photographs, faked facilities. It was a stupid merry-go-round that we couldn’t get off, and it wasted so much time and resources we’re still counting the cost. It’s hard to know, but it would probably have been cheaper if we *had* been building atomic bombs. Not that that’s possible of course. Our scientists realised quite early on that trying to get an explosion that big would violate the basic laws of the universe. You can’t get energy from nothing, you only get out what you put in. And there’s no way you can put that amount of energy into anything small enough to fire at someone. It’s a ridiculous notion. But everyone believed it. We were quite surprised. People will choke on a small lie, but will be happy to swallow a big lie.” “But…but the power plants, nuclear energy.” “Yeah, I wish we didn’t have to do that. It’s even more expensive than the fake bombs. I think France did it first. After WWII it was ruined, had no power, no money, no resources other than what we could give them. The citizens were ready to riot and bring down the government. The only way to give them faith in the government was to promise them something. One of their smart alec scientists came up with the idea of nuclear power plants, and the citizens loved it. It didn’t matter that it was incredibly expensive to build huge facilities that had no practical use. It became a status symbol, a beacon of hope for the future. Real energy could be got from the usual means, and the people were happy because their country had huge facilities harnessing mad sci-fi technology. And once one country did it, well we couldn’t tell our citizens we couldn’t give them the same thing.” “But, Chernobyl, Long Island?” “That was a ploy to try and discredit the plants so we didn’t have to keep wasting money on them. It kind of worked. We got the CIA and FBI to secretly fund and run the Anti-Nuclear movement as well. Eventually we stopped the constant one-upmanship of ‘my imaginary bomb is bigger than your imaginary bomb’ that we were playing with the Russians. We’re hoping that over the next twenty years, we can phase them out even more.” “I can’t believe this.” “I thought that at first. But when you look at it with fresh eyes, well, nowadays I can’t believe anyone bought it in the first place. I mean seriously, a bomb powerful enough to destroy entire cities? That’s ridiculous enough – like something out of the Outer Limits or the X Files But to think that countries have something like that yet no one’s ever used it - despite almost a century of constant war? “But I thought…it was a plausible reason…mutually assured destruction?” I couldn’t help laughing. “Mr President, if the human race really acted so rationally no one would be at war in the first place. No, if we had made a nuclear doomsday device the world would be an irradiated wasteland by now. It’s really a good job it’s not possible.” I looked at my watch. “I’m afraid I’ve taken up too much of your time Mr President. You’ve got more briefings to come. And I think you’ll need your strength for the next one.” I gave the stunned and shaken man a smile and turned to leave. I pitied him. He still had to deal with Terry. How on earth would he cope when he was told that Texas wasn’t real?
I like to always prepare their first cup of tea the slowest, helps to build a since of impending importance in what happens next. I know what happens every time I prepare a cup of tea for the newly appointed president-elect. They all think they have everything all figured out. Nothing is secret, not with all of the bureaucratic tape that **they've** danced behind. As far as the public knows, Area 51 was all a big cover up and Aliens are the real deal. Well, I better take this tea into the President's office before he begins to think he's all alone in there. "Hello sir, your tea as requested." , This is the part where they always ask. It never fails. The President is taking a long drawn sip from the tea, the sort of sip that annoys you in coffee shops. Once he's done he purses his lips and puts the cup down only to ask. "So agent Smith, what sort of secrets are you going to brief me on? After all this is the whole point of me having this meeting with you correct?" I sideswipe him with the one thing that I could say that he would never believe, not in a million years. The one thing that you could tell anyone and they'd call you a liar spitting with fiery vitriol faster than you can say "But wait". "Nuclear Weapons are a fake thought not actually used in this reality sir." I'm glad to have finally gotten the words off of my chest so that the real debate can begin. "Are you trying to say that nuclear weapons aren't what we used to bomb Japan during WWII, all of those people died to a complete LIE? Better, what about all of our expenses in attempting to pay for the resources to test and create these weapons?" Its always the same response. I can never quite clearly explain the next part to them. "I'd like to tell you the most obvious response, that it was caused by aliens and the United States used their own technology to act like the offending party. That wouldn't even begin to cover it." I sigh and immediately begin to walk towards the president. "All nuclear weapon testing and uses of nuclear weapons result in the affected parties being transmitted to an alternate computer construct universe we've generated to attempt to leave humanities existence out of our world. The initial uses looked like bombs because the energy required was so unstable, now we can activate this power with some simple activation chemicals and having our targets within range of the teleportation device." The president stares at me dumbfounded the entire time. "But why..." he asks with a perplexed look on his face. I have to return with the same thing I always return with."This is to ensure that we can remain in a world where everything bends to our whim and is completely controlled by the people we deem to place in charge. This world is unaffected by the 'Earth Prime' that you are aware of." After my explanation, I clear the transportation device and use it to take the President to Earth Alpha. Once the room is cleared our temporary doubles have been put in place on Earth Prime, I take the President through the room we've been transported to and begin our journey through Earth Alpha.
2015-03-19T00:43:28
2015-03-18T20:12:32
17
11
[WP] Upon arrival in Heaven you are informed that a soul can only enter if their soulmate also qualifies. If one soul belongs in Hell then they both go to Hell. You see this as no problem since your spouse died years ago. When you try to enter you are told you must wait for your soulmate to die.
I’d been expecting this for some time now. Honestly, I had hoped it would happen long before this day. Four years, two months, and twelve days. That’s how long it had been since he had died. And the very moment I had learned of that car accident, a part of me had died right along with him. I had spent every day since wishing that all of me had died, not just my heart. Ironic now, isn’t it, that I was dying from a heart attack. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t reach for my phone to call for help. I simply fumbled for the soft throw pillows behind me and leaned back with a deep breath. My chest constricted painfully and I realized that this felt quite surreal. Was I finally dying here in the dark recesses of my living room? Despite the discomfort of it all, I felt a disembodied joy overtake me. I closed my eyes, a small smile gracing my lips. I took in one shuddering, painful last breath. Instantly, I jolted awake. A warm ray of light streaked across my vision, making my squint. I raised a hand to block out the sun—and that’s when the realization jarred me: I was standing, not lying down, and I was in a field of purple heather. My heart hammered in my chest. But that wasn’t right. I laid my hand over the sternum. The familiar, if not slightly more erratic than normal, heartbeat that met my fingertips caused me to see red. I let out a groan of half-disappointment, half-anger. I was supposed to be dead. “Quite the shock, I know,” said a deep voice. I spun around, my skirt catching on the gently waving heather around me. Behind me stood a striking figure, a man cast in a nearly blinding glow from the setting sun. He didn’t squint into the light like I had; his smooth face merely held a hint of gentle amusement. “Where am I?” I managed to ask. My voice was hushed despite the overwhelming feeling of anger that coursed in my veins. He stepped toward me. I noticed then that he was wearing all light colors, his clothes modestly unadorned and oddly modern yet old-world inspired. I raised my wide eyes to his blue ones. “Am I dead?” A soft chuckle escaped him at that. He shook his head, his expression surprisingly endearing as he looked at me. “No, you’re not quite there yet. Though not from lack of wanting.” He paused. A glimpse of some shadow passed his brow. Indecision? Doubt? I wrapped my arms around myself as if I could protect myself from whatever it was he was about to say. I could sense a shift in his mood, not anything too dark but serious nonetheless. “When a human dies,” he began after a moment’s hesitation. “Their soul is essentially tied to that of their forever love—their soulmate. In simple terms, this mainly means that a person cannot access Heaven or Hell until his or her soulmate has also died and joined them.” “Heaven or Hell?” I asked. A strange foreboding washed over me. “Yes. The soul link decides your fate. If one of you is destined for Heaven, then both of you are. If one is cast into Hell—“ “Are you trying to tell me that Theo is in Hell?” The man flinched imperceptibly, then shook his head somewhat wryly. “No, Matteo is neither in Hell nor Heaven. He is In Between.” My stomach plummeted. A sweet wind caressed my cheek, pulling a strand of hair from my bun to join in the swaying dance with the heather all around me. I stared at the cascading grass, the bright setting sun still resplendent in its permeating radiance, for what seemed like an eternity. My body felt light yet infinitely heavy at the same time. The breaths became tight within my chest. Matteo—my Theo—was not in Heaven. Not in Hell, either, but I had never doubted that. He had been a shining star in my sea of endless night. His infectious laugh, his robust sense of kindness and mercy toward others, so many small yet meaningful things had painted the exquisite portrait of his soul. He was beautiful. He was good. But where was he now, if not in Heaven? I had been striving for years for what now seemed so unattainable: to meet Theo in some wondrous place after left alone so long. The memory of the warmth of his embrace had kept me strong in my belief that I would see him again. My heart yearned for his. And yet here I was: stranded in some perpetually sunset-streaked field, apparently still alive despite the heart attack I had welcomed with so much relief. As if he could read my thoughts, the man said, “You are still so young, Yvette, to long so deeply for death. Why? Why do you allow your earthly body to wither away so carelessly?” “It is not death I long for.” My voice broke but my gaze remained unwavering on his. “Where is Theo? After such a violent death, why has he been kept from Heaven?” The man’s blue eyes lit with surprise and understanding. His brows lowered in a kind of deep sadness as he looked at me. It was then that I realized what was unspoken between us. “Theo isn’t dead.” What meant to be a question fell from my lips as a firm statement. The implications—the confusion—of it all slammed into me and I hitched in an unsteady breath. The man nodded, his expression suddenly wreathed in sorrow so deep that I felt the mirrored emotion pang within my own chest. “I normally do not speak with humans so candidly,” he said slowly, purposefully, “but this matter is of the utmost importance. Theo is not dead. You’ve gone on too long being led to believe that he is—and I need you to do something.” “Anything,” I whispered. “When you wake up, you need to do everything in your power to find him. He was taken. Imprisoned. But I can say no more.” “Why can’t you tell me more? That’s nothing to go on!” A strange feeling not unlike being deep underwater enveloped me. I stumbled back, nearly falling in my confusion. The man snapped a hand forward and grabbed my arm to steady me. “You’ll wake up soon,” he said hurriedly. “And the others are already listening in as you gain consciousness. But know this: Matteo is more than he seems, and it was his biggest regret that he couldn’t tell you.” “Will I remember this? When I wake up?” My own voice came to my ears slowly, muffled as though I were still underwater. I shook my head stubbornly but the growing heaviness continued to weigh at me. “Yes. Matteo needs you. He has travelled far to get back to you, but not far enough. He grows lost.” The man’s words were rushed in his attempt to explain. I realized now that his grip on me was fading, my vision growing darker. “I will find him.” I said forcefully. He smiled, but in a somber way that spoke of so many things still left unsaid. The last thing I noticed, as my vision disappeared and a pain unlike any other ignited in my chest, was that he seemed to have half-transparent wings. And then I woke up. ——— Thank you for reading! If you want to read more of my other works, please join r/inkstainedpages and let me know which pieces you’d like to see turned into serials!
"What do you mean she wasn't my soulmate? What the hell does that even mean?" I said to the small cherub fluttering around. "Sir, sir please, language. The Head Honcho doesn't care for that kind of lang-" The cherub said with a stutter before I interrupted him. "Fine, whatever, I still want to know how my wife of forty-seven years isn't my soulmate" I said with a glare as the cherub frantically pawed through the pages of his book. "well, it seems she has already joined her soulmate six years ago" he said with a frantic stutter. Had it really only been six years? The loneliness after she passed was so heavy it felt so much longer. His frantic movement came to a sudden halt as he looked up in surprise. The circlet he wore on his head lit up brightly. He grinned broadly while he slapped a pair of shades over his eyes "They're here" As I began to ask who, the light flashed blindingly bright, forcing me to shield my eyes as I stepped back and I cried out from the brightness. Once my eyesight recovered, my jaw dropped as I saw who had appeared. "Derek?" I said in awe. He looked just as surprised as I as he looked over at me. A pop sounded above us as fanfare played above us. A banner appeared overhead reading 'Congratulations' while confetti rained down. "Congratulations" the Cherub said with a shout "The soulmates have reunited" We both gawked at the cherub as he twirled in the air and rambled about true love "Soulmate?" we both said at the same time. "Mate, you got it all wrong" i said, bringing the cherub to a halt "We were best mates growing up and the best man at each others weddings" I said as Derek chimed in with agreement. The cherub stepped back and looked shocked at our revelations, but then smiled "Ah yes, love is silly like that. Did it not occur to you that the two of you were inseparable, doing everything together?" he said as he placed his chin in his hand and had a distant gaze "Why, yes, yes you were quite the friends" Derek asked him about our wives "actually, I do have news of them" the cherub said as he flipped through the pages of his book "Ironically, they were soulmates as well. It's funny how often that happens" he said as he chuckled. "Now then" He said as he slammed the book close "It's time to choose" and with that he snapped his fingers. A pair of doors appeared before us. One was labeled Heaven, the other had a large question mark imprinted on the surface. "One of the doors, as it's aptly named, leads you to heaven. Quite a lovely choice and my personal favorite if I do say so myself" the cherub said with a smile. "And the other?" I asked him. I was sure it would be hell but, a question mark? I had to know "Ah yes, well..." he said with less enthusiasm and cleared his throat. "It's not as fun as the first option but its a mystery door. Where it leads is unknown but what the Head Honcho has hinted at it's a new start. Could be any number of worlds or realities or even the one you came from. I don't recommend it myself of course but hey if you don't want to chill in the afterlife then that's the door for you" Derek and I both looked at each other and smiled. The answer was obvious. ​ \--The End-- ​ By Mystic Booka ​ Thanks for this writing prompt haha that was fun.
2020-03-03T11:31:18
2020-03-03T10:24:41
25
12
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history.
I clicked the button, moving on to the next slide. "*Manorialism* was the basis for feudal society's economic organization. A large group of serfs were employed by the noble house and used to work the land. Larger manor houses also employed certain craftsmen, who would be useful for the production of their goods, such as blacksmiths. Other areas also employed artisans such as winemakers. Manorialism is not to be confused with Feudalism, which is a term used to describe the political organization." *God this crap is boring*. I was putting myself to sleep just listening to my droning voice. It had seemed to much simpler back when I was young. Back when I worked the fields for Lord Marcon and didn't have to worry about which lord *he* owed his allegiance to. "Ok, kids," I announced, standing suddenly from my desk. "This is *really* boring, isn't it?" A few of them stirred from their naps. Most still had that glazed look in their eyes that almost all students seemed to have these days when they didn't have a computer screen in front of them. "What do you all *really* want to know about the Feudal ages?" There was silence. No one wanted to be that nerdy kid who was going to volunteer a question. Or they just really didn't care about feudalism. "Ok.... Max!" I called out, selecting a student at random. "Come up with a question." "Ummm..." he trailed off. He'd been doodling in his notebook and checking out the ass of some girl sitting nearby. He had no clue what this class was even about. I couldn't really blame him. "Is this the part where they started burning witches and stuff?" I grinned. Good question. "No, not yet. In feudal society, medicine was still extraordinarily primitive. Treatment was based largely on superstition still. Practices such as leeching or bleeding were still common." A memory bubbled up, of me tied down to a table in the "Doctor's" house. My mother had begged Lord Marcon to take me to the healing woman out in the forest, but the nobleman refused. The doctor sprinkled me with holy water and chanted a prayer, ordering the demons to leave my body. He placed a silver bowl under the table and ran a long knife down my arm, letting loose a torrent of blood. I watched it spatter into the container while the Doctor promised my mother that it was just evil leaving my body. "They were brutes, really. Many patients died after receiving treatment for minor injuries or illnesses. Serfs instead often chose to go to local healers who were familiar with the plants of the area. This created a constant conflict with the Church because these healers followed Druid traditions and rituals, or other local customs. They would *later* be considered witches by the Church." I had woken up in a grove of trees under the full moon. I wasn't sure how long I had been unconscious. Nearby, I could hear my mother sobbing with joy as my eyes finally flitted open. Beneath my bare skin, soft moss carpeted the forest floor. My hands tingled with pins and needles, and there was a strange taste in my mouth. Almost metallic. "Oh thank god it worked," Mother said between cries. I could hear a trickle of water somewhere off in the distance. "He'll live," another voice said, old and creaky like a wooden door. "But it will be an unnatural life..." "I know," Mother interrupted. I felt her stroke my hair tenderly. "I don't care. As long as he lives." "You don't understand," the crone continued. "His life will not be his own. He will steal it from others. Every moment he spends around youth, he will sap their energy and suck the life straight out of them. He will be unable to stop, even if he wants to. Like an addict. And you can expect that the Church's knights will not allow an immortal man to go about in public, flaunting the flaws of their religion. They'll hunt him until they find a way to undo my magics and end him." Mother continued stroking my hair. "I don't care about any of that," she said finally. "Make the spell final," she ordered as I slipped back into unconsciousness. I snapped back to reality in 2015 again, having been lost in my memories. The kids had fallen back asleep or gone back to playing on their phones under their desks. I generally had that effect on them. "Never mind," I said. "Class dismissed." We still had 15 minutes left, but I wasn't in the mood to talk more about feudal society anymore. They leaped from their seats and ran out of the classroom before I could change my mind. I slumped back down in my desk, regretting my decision to teach *history* of all subjects. I spoke a dozen languages and could easily teach those, but despite the memories it conjured up, something about the past just called to me. I couldn't escape it. ---- [I wrote another part, if you're interested!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/32m8ub/feudal_history/cqcoppo)
On his first day at a regional public school, Mr. Thompson sets down his class plans on his new desk. Since his birth in 23 B.C., he had had numerous name changes and relocations globally. Some of the more famous places he has lived include Soviet Russia, Irish tenements in New York City, the Ottoman Empire, medieval India, and bounced between tribes in Africa. He spent time in Nazi internment camps Auschwitz-Birkenau, Treblinka, and Bergen-Belsen where he befriended Anne Frank and Auguste van Pels. This is one of the less serious jobs he has taken under his wing, but important nonetheless. Today's youth should learn history from someone who experienced it, like Mr. Thompson has. He is still baffled by modern technology and has trouble turning on the projector that he needs for his first lesson. He stepped in mid year due to a teacher quitting and the class left off learning about the Russian Revolution, where he happened to be a Bolshevik and would stand in as a leader of a Russian oblast for a period of time before being transferred to Ukraine. Throughout the documentary he has picked out, he kept correcting false information under his breath. The students didn't seem to notice all that much. Maybe this job wouldn't be as bad as he thought it would be. He might as well bring in his Bolshevik uniform he kept all these years while they're still learning about the revolution.
2015-04-14T14:51:04
2015-04-14T14:27:11
861
43
[WP] You retrieve overdue books for a library. As usual, the newest dark lord hasn’t returned the necromancy books.
[Use for translation.](https://lingojam.com/StandardGalacticAlphabet) \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A man sits alone inside of his dark abode, upon a throne made of skulls and bones from humans, animals, and various unknown creatures. He flips the page of the book he holds, his grimace piercing through the darkness as he laughed at the thought of owning that book. His giggles slowly turned into outbursts of maniacal laughter, holding his free hand over his face as he did so, covering his left eye. 'I don't know how a low-class librarian was able to get a hold of a book like this but, thank you very much. With this book, I'll take over the--' His inner monologue and maniacal laughter were interrupted by the knocking on his doors. It was soft at first, growing gradually as it continued. A mumbling was heard from behind the thick, dark oak, heavy doors that enclosed his palace. The knocking was strange, it sounded hollow, despite the thickness of the door. It was as if the vibrations of the knock were penetrating his impregnable fortress. The very foundations of his palace began to rumble as the knocking grew louder and louder. He could hardly muster a thought as splinters of wood began to chip onto the ground. "I'm not buying your damn cookies!" He shouted at the door, his voice clashed against the vibrations that were infiltrating his home. He lifts himself from his throne, walking toward the door, knocking into various objects as he walked across the room. He reaches the door. The mumbling he'd heard earlier was understandable now. "Hey! Hello!? The book you check out has been overdue for a week now. If you like it that much, you can always renew the book for another week!" The voice of a woman spoke softly and understandingly. "ᒷᔑℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ᓭ𝙹⚍ꖎ, ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ ʖᔑᓵꖌ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ʖ𝙹𝙹ꖌ." Another voice spoke gruffly as if it had been a smoker all of its life. It spoke tersely and confidently as the door continued to break. The man residing inside of the castle recognizes that language. He opens the book he'd closed, began searching for the letters and pronunciation as the voice continued speaking. "∷ᒷℸ ̣ ⚍∷リ ᒲ|| ʖ𝙹𝙹ꖌ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᒲᒷ, ᔑリ↸ ∷ᒷᓭ╎↸ᒷ ╎リᓭ╎↸ᒷ 𝙹⎓ ╎ℸ ̣ ᔑᓭ ᔑ ᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹∷||." The voice shouted decripdly. "Hey. What have I told you about saying mean things?" The woman spoke naggingly, a loud smack was heard from behind the doors. The banging ceased tersely, only to continue as the second voice spoke again. "ᓭ𝙹∷∷||." It spoke with contempt as the doors of the castle finally broke open. Before the man who'd been holding the book in his hand was a person and a...? The creature beside the woman was inconceivable, it had no discernable features besides being an undiscernible creature. The man looked down at his book and saw a picture of that very same creature inside of the book. Underneath the picture were bold, jagged letters, written in a dark red substance. "If you ever see this creature, known as Aluminstro, bow to your knees and accept your death. Maybe then, it'll allow you to taste oblivion instead of becoming its puppet." He listens to the words imprinted onto the book. He kneels to the ground, clenches his teeth, and closes his eyes, shaking as he hoped for a painless death. He drops the book to the ground as he does so, falling into the hands of the woman beside Aluminstro. "Oh, I'm sorry! I guess it wouldn't hurt to lend you the book for a couple more days. No one really reads it anyway, and I don't want you moping about it." She spoke tenderly as Aluminstro grunted in its hoarse voice. She hands the book back to him and helps him off of the ground. "Just be sure to bring it back to the library before the week ends! If you don't, I won't be able to hold this guy back!" She spoke with a smile as she tugged at Aluminstro, pulling him away as the two walked down the steep cliff the castle sat on. The man with cold sweat dripping down his brow, runs out of his castle, looking for the woman that handed him the book. He began to panic. Sweat poured across his body and melancholy filled his mind as he realized, he forgot where he got the book from. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- u/AlfredoOreos
Knock, knock. Lets go again. "Hello mrs Surprising good mother of dark over lord. I am from the library and ... I thing you know what I am gonna say." "Again!! What is he obsessed with now?" "Necromancy ma'am. And I am afraid he has been using them." She let me in, and told me to sit in the living room even left me a cup of coffee and biscuits, then went to call her son. A young boy came down the stairs with not daring to look at me in the eye holding the book. As he sat next to me he reluctantly handed me the book. "About time, I said in a kind manner, somebody has been busy!!!" The boy only tried to hid a proud smile. "Did you hear about the recently deceased being indecisive, or case of remains of unnamed bodies going into their old homes? You know that you can just ask me about it. I can teach you!"."About time he said and pointed to a page with notes. For moment my blood boiled seeing the rare book ruined, only to then see him take away the words or rather elusion made annoy me.( Remind me to check the mind tricks section for missing books as well ). if he goes on like this he will have a better teacher soon!
2021-05-10T11:37:30
2021-05-10T10:47:23
17
10
[WP] A prophecy has foretold of two siblings who would be the ultimate forces of good and evil. Together, they could stop the warring nations and establish peace. One day, a woman gives birth to triplets. The first two wield the ancient powers. The last one does not. You are the third one.
‘The prophecy was foretold! They have been born it is ti...’ ‘ARGHHHHHHH WILL YOU STOP BLABBERING ON AND GET THESE DAMN BABIES OUT OF ME’ Holding the babies in his hands, The priest come doctor looked holey confused. ‘ oh no no no, you must be mistaken madam, See. Look. I have two babies in my hands. The prophecy spoke of the two and the two have been born. You can relax now’ ‘ RELAX, FUCKING RELAX. ILL GIVE YOU RELAX, PROPHECY OR NO PROPHECY I AM TELLING YOU I AM ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH TO ANOTHER BABY’ ‘But Maam the prophe...’ ‘FUCK THE DAMN PROPHECY AND GET YOUR HEAD IN BETWEEN MY LEGS BEFORE I SHOOT OUT THIS GLORIOUS CHILD!’ Looking thoroughly confused and slightly disheartened by the prospect of getting another rollicking off of the holy mother, the priest followed his orders, passing the babies over to the nurse, you could only wonder about the vast difference between the two. The firstborn could only be described as divine. Glowing eyes, a grin that could turn a cat lover into a dog lover, the child even emerged smiling, laughing and Cleaner than… well, a babies bottom. The other, however, Well that was a different story. If you could describe the first holy child as divine, the only way to describe the second was truly hellish. Leaving his home of nine months was quite evidently the last thing on his mind at the time and he did not mind showing everyone in the room just how angry he was with this fact. On his journey to the ‘real world’ He wailed, The loudest screams you could possibly imagine. Clawing at the umbilical cord like it was his only life-line, Trying desperately to get back from whence he came. If you asked the nurse now, what she could remember from back then, she would swear she saw and I quote ‘The little shit gave me the finger, I’m certain of it and you cant change my mind on this one, I am certain the bugger had horns when he came out!’ ‘Holy mother, father, son and child. Let his child b...’ ‘STOP BLABBERING. AND OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES WILL YOU, IM PUSHING SOMETHING THE SIZE OF A LARGE WATERMELON OUT OF MY… WELL YOU ARE THERE, YOU WOULD HAVE THE JOY OF SEEING IT IF YOU WEREN'T TOO BUSY PRAYING’ This was the third child, you would think the priest had learnt his lesson with the first two, but as we know. Religion comes before anything that is actually physically tangible. The third child was nothing special, not really. Oh, don’t get me wrong. All children are special. In their own way. But two have two children embedded with the powers of a holier than spirit, somewhat diminishes the effect a normal birth has on someone. And he was just that. A normal birth, Nothing out of the ordinary, just a child. A child named Rebecca. … It had been ten years since the birth of the prophecy(s). And let me tell you. It had been a rough ten years. The first child, Matthew. At the age of five, Thought it would be a great idea to ‘heal’ his dead hamster, Bless him. I mean, you can’t fault him. He loved the damned thing and he was only five. He didn't realize he was going to animate his dead hamster, turning him rabid. A zombie hamster if you will. You might be the embodiment of good. But that does not mean at the age of five you understand that sometimes a good act can have negative results. On the other hand. Sophia (the second child) was the reason the hamster was dead in the first place and she knew exactly what she was doing. Removing all the food from its bowl after their mother had fed it. Every single day for a week. The thing lost so much weight and no-body could understand why. Except for Sophia of course. The third child. Rebecca, she was good nor evil, she was… normal. In every sense of the word. The priest at the time said she was a miracle, to be born so normal whilst being in the womb with the embodiment of good and evil. She followed her brother and sister everywhere. Watching, Learning. Her mother warned her she may be different. But to her, she was the normal one. Teething was a nightmare. Let me tell you. No matter how good or bad you are, teeth forcing their ways through your gums is never a pleasant experience, no. Matthew took it like a champ. Sure he screamed when it hurt, but whenever he cried it sounded like a perfect rendition Paulo Nutini song at the perfect pitch. Sophia, Well All hell broke loose. Quite literally, she would summon demons to help pull the teeth out quicker, turn her milk into whisky to help numb the pain. Not only that but she kept the whole world awake when she screamed. Quite literally. Throughout all these times Rebecca was there. Being entirely normal. Even when puberty hit. She was there. Calm headed and rational thinking. It was all-natural. Every other day she would have to calm down Sophia, Stopping her from wreaking havoc on the world. Or her brother. When she wasn't calming down Sophia she was trying to help make Matthew understand how sometimes, Feeling sad is the only way to feel good again and removing all the pain from the world just wasn't the answer. Every-time he was feeling down. Both her brothers had a purpose and she wanted hers. It was time she found out. ‘Mum, Can I ask you something?’ ‘of course dear. Wait, where are your brother and sister?’ ‘I don’t know, I have let them play for a bit. I can’t watch them all the time, I honestly don’t think I can keep controlling them. Why do they have all these powers, why are THEY so special. Why was I not in the prophecy! It's not FAIR!.’ ‘oh darling, Don’t be so silly, of course, you are special! Just in your own way, that’s all’ ‘But I can't make things burn to the ground, or make a homeless man less hungry, hell I burn the toast near enough every morning! I’m the least special person in the world!’ She was crying now, weeping into her mother's arms, she was crying too. But with a smile on her face. Almost like she knew something the others didn’t’ ‘Have I ever read you the Prophecy baby?’ ‘Yes mum, you know you have, I don’t want to hear it again. That’s why I am so upset! Why don’t you understand!’ ‘Go on, do you remember it? Please, just say it for me’ ‘fine. ‘It is foretold the Balance between Good and Evil is to be born’ I’m not going through the rest there is no point! Sophia and Matthew are so special and here I am just a little tag along! I can’t stand it anymore!’ Her mother looked longingly, lovingly into her daughter's eyes. A Sympathy only a mother could understand, a heartache that could never be replicated by anything other than seeing your child cry ‘Yes Rebecca, you are right. That is the only bit you need to remember. But you are wrong, you are special. Who says you need powers to be special? The Prophecy never said that. ‘The balance between good and evil will be born’ Do you see baby? Do you see it? everyone assumed two babies, one good, one evil. But I knew, I knew on that day when you were born. You were the special one. No matter how much good you have. No matter how much evil anyone can muster up they will always clash. It's a never-ending battle. But you. You are neither. ‘But mum, I don’t understand’ Her tears were slowly fading away now at her mother's words she smiled and continued to explain ‘You see, you have the hardest job of them all. You are the balance, for every time your sister does something holy evil, you are there to show Matthew the way, Whenever Matthew does something Holy good, Too good. You are there to show Sophia how to react. Without you. It would be utter chaos. No balance. ‘The balance between good and evil will be born… Dear Rebecca. You are the Prophecy. You are the balance. Not go find your brother and sister, you three have a lot of work to do.’
Calai scanned around the room nervously, she knew she had nothing to fear but could not help but find the events that were to come unsettling. Ten long years they had fought, many friends made, lost, betrayed and many people changed including herself. She was surer of herself, although deep in the recesses of her soul were scars that would still cause the nightly tremors. Memories of the cavern, of Anlai whose face she would never get to see again, memories of people she willed herself to never forget. She suppressed a tear, she could not cry now, it is not the time, she steeled her nerves. The Lords of the North were gone, and the Southern Kings weakened and overthrown by their own people. She could still remember the day that they came and took Rian and Caled, it wasn’t the first day they came, they had sent people before, but no one knew of their true nature. There were rumors of a prophecy, but a small mountain village had no interest in the affairs of nobles. They had taken interest in the twins, filled their heads with stories and promises. Calai felt a pang of jealousy at this memory, for years she had battled a sense of inadequacy while she watched and hid in the shadow of her brother and sister. She watched them do amazing things only ever to find herself lacking and normal. Needless to say, she was largely ignored by the Nobles. The best magicians came across the lands to a small dot on the map, and burned it down. The sixteenth birthday seared itself into her memory, red on red, long shadows and screams, lifeless bodies of her parents, and calling out to her siblings. Thus began the ten year war. A click of the door broke her thought, it was Oudugan, the lore keeper. Calai didn’t quite know if Oudugan was a wizard, no one really knew much about lore keepers, they made prophecies, although now adays they mostly just tell stories. “Are you ready?” he asked. Calai took a breath, “Are you sure about this?” she asked. Oudungan paused for a minute, “At one point yes, but, the Gods are silent now.” He said, “we’ve been wrong about you before and that may have been their intent to not have us rely on them so much.” Calai pondered at this question, her clothes were itchy and uncomfortable not to mention hot. “Why can’t you find someone else?” she asked. Oudugan chuckled, “it’s not our choice Calai, it’s the people’s, young as you are you have done more than they have in this time of uncertainty, although you are more than free to tell them no, they need someone to guide them,” he said. Calai nodded and followed the lore keeper. “I bet you have many questions.” Oudugan said. She did. It all seemed unfair, to be honest she was angry at the gods, why did they have to go through all this? Why give Rian and Caled all this power only to have them destroy each other? Why did she have to be alone? “I don’t think the Gods are very nice people,” she muttered. “No one really knows what the Gods are thinking, maybe the had this planned all along, or maybe they were flawed and used this opportunity to rectify their mistakes,” Oudugan said. They stopped. He motioned her to wait while he talked to a guard who nodded and disappeared. Calai’s heart began pounding. She wished she wasn’t wearing so many layers. “Was there ever a prophecy about me?” she asked clutching at her robes, her palms sweaty. Oudugan shook his head. “No, and I can see why there wasn’t one. Are you ready?”. Calai breathed out a long breath, “no,” she replied. “Good,” Oudugan said, “I’d be worried if you were.” At that the doors opened. A wall of cheers blasted greeted her, before her, just a few feet away surrounded by guards was a crown. ‘------------' Oudugan watched as Calai approached the crown. She would make a great leader, although what she would later do would surprise even himself. Perhaps he took her words about saying no too much to heart. It was odd now that magic has disappeared from the world, for all its wonders it also brought great strife. Once the lore keepers were so connected to the gods and each other were now faced with their own thoughts and silence. They didn’t leave without a final word though. Oudugan didn’t know much about the gods, but he knew at least they had a sense of humor. He chuckled at their daunting last words for them, it wasn’t even a very good one like their usual as if it was done in a rush: The third child of of the mountains will herald the age of man, And the keepers should get a job while they can.
2020-08-27T23:57:41
2020-08-27T23:12:12
20
15