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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
It's strange what thoughts return to you as you're dying -- what shallow-graved memories crack through their caskets and creep out into your conscious.
Around me, my fellow villagers groan and cry out and beg for help. We're a makeshift wall of the crucified. Of the defeated. Our feet and hands are nailed into wooden crosses all around the village perimeter. We bleed onto the charred remains of our old wall -- the wall that did us little good against the necromancer and his undead legion. Our blood dribbles onto smouldering wood, then sizzles and returns to us as a perverse smell, as hunger.
It's been two days. Of course we're hungry. Starving. When you're this hungry you see and hear and smell whatever you want to be true.
When one of us dies, a skeleton or a zombie will come to our body and remove our corpse, will take it to the necromancer. The dead will return soon after. Or at least, their body will. Their mind is something else. Rotten, darkened, obedient to their new master.
​
The evening sets on the hill beyond. I can do nothing but watch it happen. This is my view until I die. I watch the smear of orange bleed into the purple sky, and try not to hear the screams around me; try not to see the flash of fire in my periphery as another friend is brought back as a demon. No, I stare at the hill, at the sky.
I stare.
There is a windmill on the hill's peak. My uncle's old mill. Its blades fail to turn, the night air too still, the insides too ancient. But I remember them in motion and if I close my eyes I see them blurring, churning up the sky behind them.
I worked at the mill for three summers as a child, feeding grain into those grinding gnashing stone teeth. Flour would smoke around me and I would always leave dressed in ghostly, powdery white.
​
I imagine myself covering my ears. I pretend the screams around me are muted. Tell myself: this is better, this is peace. But your mind knows a lie better than your tongue.
It was a lie I saw one evening after working at the mill. That was why I buried it in a casket for so long. My parents chastised me for spinning yarns, and my siblings mocked me. They called me Gob, after the incident. It stuck with me for too long.
Gob was what the goblin I found called itself -- not that I really did find it, it was just my imagination. But still, I remember it crying: Gob. Gob. Gob!
I was dressed in my afterwork whites, even my face powdered like the Queen of Exolria. The evening was much like tonight, the sky a handshake of indigo and orange, the breeze just gentle enough to rustle my hair. I was tired, that much I admitted even to my parents. And maybe I did see things. But it was the fatigue that drew me away from the village after my shift, towards the coast. If I went home, I would have had to help with my baby nephews, watching and feeding them while our parents got drunk on bad ale. No, I'd worked hard enough and deserved a break.
The peninsula has few beaches but plenty of rocky coastal points. I walked a good mile further than usual until the din of the village was lost fully to the hush of the ocean. Then I clambered down boulders, nearing the ocean. Could feel the salt-cold spatter my neck and the floury globs of water trickle down my back.
"Gob," came the pathetic sound. "Gob."
It was sound of water rising out of a blowhole beneath ground. A wet swallow of a sound.
"Gob."
Curious, I searched for the source of the odd noise, expecting to find the entrance to a tiny, flooded cave, or something of its ilk.
Instead, I came upon the tiny goblin (no, I didn't, it wasn't real! Remember?) trapped between two boulders. A goblin, mottled cream and green and the size of my two palms places together. "Gob!" it cried, urgently now.
To start with I was scared. I recognised it as a goblin, of course. I'd heard plenty of stories about these fantastical, made-up creatures. And although its ears were smaller than I'd imagined, and its skin less slimy, it was clear as day a goblin.
My fear of it subsided as I realised it was caught. Another emotion took over. Similar to when I watched my nephews.
The tide was yawning in. Stretching its watery jaw up the cliff towards us.
​
The screams are maddening. I don't know who exactly cries in this choir of disappear -- a sister, a cousin -- but I know everyone in the village. I'm sure my cheeks would be soaked if I had any water left in me with which to cry.
Bones clatter as a skeleton guard walks past. It looks up at me as it passes. It wears a clump of rotted meat around the left part of its mouth, upturned only there into a smile. *Soon*, the smile seems to say. *Soon*. Then it walks by.
I stare at the windmill. Stare. Force myself into my memories. Watch as the blades slowly turn.
I tried to pry the goblin out with a stick, to start with. Not out of cruelty but fear. But it was wedged in too tight and in the end, as water licked my boots, I put my hands behind it and yanked it out. I held the tiny creature to my chest and clambered up to safer ground.
I still remember its starving tongue tickling my face as it licked the flour off me. The memory of my laughter fights the sounds of those dying in my present.
"Gob."
It sniffed the air. Looked one direction then another, before settling its eyes on the first path. So that was the way we walked.
​
The blades of the mill... They are turning in my imagination.
No...
They are turning in truth.
They really are turning.
But the wind is almost still. And they are moving so fast...
The mill has been decommissioned for the better part of the last decade. The mechanism too rusted to move, surely.
And yet the blades whirl against the night.
Has the necromancer repaired it? Does his army need sustenance?
​
I remember little of the cave and the eyes inside it. A hundred fires emblazoning that liquid darkness. But I do remember the one goblin, the mother, rushing out, unafraid of me. Of holding her hands to mine. Taking the child. I remember the sound of her crying.
I'd never heard in any story of a goblin cry. And it was a happy sound.
​
The windmill slowly falls over. The blade lowering, pushing forward at an impossible angle. The entire structure tilting until it lies on the ground.
I am deteriorating. Dying. That is it. I can hear my father's voice yelling at me to stop with the lies. Can feel the roughness of his palm against my cheek.
The lies.
And yet, the screams around me have paused.
More eyes have found the strange scene of this changing windmill that now looks like a javelin with a whirling front.
The skeletons march beyond us, as do the zombies. They stop a little way forward and stare at the strange windmill, then at each other, confused as I am.
"What is it--" says the necromancer, joining his army.
And then a roar as the windmill races off its perch on the hill. As the giant spinning javelin flies towards our ruined village.
If I could move, I would be too stunned to. Just like the necromancer. Just like his undead legions.
The weapon -- for surely that is what it is -- screams down the hill. It screams of death. It screams of oblivion.
The blades are not those I remember. They are reinforced by sharp-pronged metal. They spin in a blur of red as they chop through the dead, as they mince the necromancer and fly through the army and over the smouldering wall. And as it passes, I see a hundred, a thousand, burning eyes, just like the day in the cave.
I hear screams of triumph.
I hear the hiss of hydraulics as this transformed structure screeches to a halt somewhere behind me.
I hear the one sound that I was never allowed to believe as real.
"*Gob*."
|
# Soulmage
“It’s debatable whether goblins are even sapient,” Witch Aimes began, and I already knew today’s ‘history’ class would be nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda. “What is known for certain is that they are a subspecies of humanity, twisted over millennia by their over-reliance on the witchcraft of mischief—*yes*, Cienne?” Witch Aimes radiated irritation as I raised my hand—and when a witch radiated irritation, everyone in the room could feel it. A careful, grating hum filled the class, aimed at me like a warning. *I am a powerful person. Do not cross me if you value your continued existence.*
“Goblins are sapient,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “And what evidence do you have for that?”
“What evi—I *lived* shoulder-to-shoulder with goblins for sixteen years in the Redlands! What evidence do you have that goblins are a ‘twisted subspecies’ of humanity!”
“I’m so glad you asked, *Student* Cienne.” Yikes. Normally I had to piss her off a lot more for her to get all formal. Or, wait, was this about the ‘Vile Magics’ discussion this morning? That might explain her mood. The witch reached into a space only she could see, arrogance swirling around her like a cloak, and pulled out a hunched, green corpse.
Bile rose in my throat.
“We know because of autopsies,” Witch Aimes said, her glare unflinching as she stood over the corpse of a person, and for a stuttering heartbeat she was not Witch Aimes but a far older witch, the echo of the despair that had ruined my home village—
\###
*Ice blotted out the summer sun, the magics of misery freezing the very moisture out of the air. My mother stood between the fragile wooden door and my quavering, curled-up form. Another building collapsed under the weight of the ice-witch’s onslaught, and I could hear his glee as our village’s despair fed his growing power.*
*“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered. “Mommy, I want to go home.”*
*My mother looked around the tiny wooden hut that I’d grown up in, the battered, creaking rooftop, the bitter, chilling cold, and didn’t have to say aloud that this was not our home anymore.*
*“It’s going to be okay, Cienne,” Mom whispered. “The witches—they can only see despair. If you—if you just stay calm and don’t panic, they won’t know where to find you.”*
*I tried, I really, really tried, I squeezed my eyelids as tightly shut as I could and pretended I was under the summer sun, but I heard someone shatter like spun sugar and I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it it was all my fault and we were all going to die and the door smashed inwards like so much cheap glass—*
*“It’s okay,” my mother whispered as she stood. “It’s okay, Cienne. I forgive you.”*
*And when I opened my eyes she was gone, and the witch of frost stood in her place.*
*It was my fault. It was my fault. I hated myself so much, I felt so small, I wanted to shrink into nothing and hide where nobody would ever find me, and I waited for the snap of cold to end my life—*
*But it never came.*
*The witch of frost, by some miracle, didn’t see me in my hiding spot.*
*Later, I would understand why. Later, when the goblin tribe searched the village for survivors and kept me fed and warm until the Academy swooped me up, I would sort the events into a linear story. This is where my mother died. This is where the trauma unlocked something within me. This is where I wanted so badly to fall asleep and never wake up.*
*The goblins didn’t fight the witch. They would have been slaughtered like cattle. That wasn’t my darkest hour, in any case.*
*My darkest hour was what came next.*
\###
I stood, clenching my fist and feeling the delicately patterned ornament I held. A message from an old man who may have been a friend, who knew what it was like to grow up under the rifts.
“You have your corpses,” I hissed. “I have my life.”
The words of the old man dug into my palm.
*They cannot take this from you.*
I shoved my chair back and stormed out of class.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
| 2022-05-26T05:57:11 | 2022-05-26T05:33:42 | 531 | 155 |
[WP] You turn your Match Distance on tinder to "Anywhere". To your surprise you get a match that is 10^93 light years away. Thinking it was a joke you turn it off. 20 minutes later you turn it back on and it says they are 10^5 light years away and getting closer.
|
*Um.. Hello?*
**Hi. :)**
*Uh. so. 10^93 about 20 minutes ago and now your at 10^5.*
**Yeah?**
*Not sure where that is.*
**I'm not sure what its called on your system. I mean, I can check.**
*No that's okay.*
**I mean, I have Googzawl Universe here. I don't mind the data usage.**
*No no I*
*Wait what*
**I mean. Oh jeez. You don't think I'm actually getting closer because you swiped right on me do you??**
*Well I wasn't sure.*
**OMZG lol I'm so sorry I didn't want to come off as pushy anything hahaa.**
*lol ok*
**No no, I actually have to stay mobile for work. See, if you check again you'll see I've moved again.**
*oh yeah! now your 10^73 haha*
**Yeah I just left the Rhosnosaw System. Ugh. I hate that system. You ever been?**
*Uh. No.*
**Your not missing much. Kinda uppity neighborhood. Well, not like they will be anymore. So you like Tarantino movies too huh? You like Jackie Brown?**
*Shit yeah! I love Pam Grier! She is so foxy!!*
*Wait wut do you mean about 'not like they will be anymore'?*
**Honestly, I think Robert DeNiros performance in it was really understated and one of the subtle points that really makes the film shine.**
**Plus I laughed my ass off when Chris Tucker got his ass shot dead LOL SUPAH GREEN LOL**
*nono what do you mean 'not like they will be anymore.'?*
**Oh. Um. Right so..**
**See, you seem really nice and I kinda like talkin with you ..**
**Plus your really cute in your pic. I love gingers!!**
*Thanks?*
**I just don't wanna creep you out. And my job is kinda weird and keeps me super busy and stuff. It makes staying in any kind of long term relationship hard.**
*Really?*
**Yeah. Its kinda why I'm giving Tinder a try.**
*I really liked it when Chris Tucker got shot too.*
**heeheeheee I know right? 'I aint gittin in no goddaym trunk!!'**
*hahahahahahahah*
*I work at a Gas Station. I work graveyard shifts. My boss treats me like shit. My customers are either all hookers, junkies or bastards. I get paid minimum wage, but this is just until I get back into college.*
*I know what its like to have a shitty job that does't let you get out to meet people*
**Oh. That is so terrible. I'm sorry to hear. What are you going back to school for?**
*Advanced Astrophysics. I just ran out of tuition. My parents kinda cut off my money.*
**When my Dad found out what I wanted to do with my life, he kinda did the same, actually. Then he died.**
*I'm sorry.*
**Its okay. He shot first.**
*wait wat*
**Look. I guess no dating experience goes well without total honestly.**
**I'm kinda.. a bit of a pirate.**
*like.. you download movies?*
**No. As in I have a fleet of Light Assault Frigates and we warp from system to system ravaging entire planets of their natural resources.**
*Oh.*
**Yeah.**
*Good dental coverage?*
**Better optical coverage. ;)**
*.. was that a pun about eye patches?*
**I'm sorry.**
**Not sorry. ;P**
**<<photo incoming.>>**
*holy jeez..*
*um.. I kinda like Gingers too.*
*Would you like to get some coffee later?*
**I'd love to. ;)**
*Just promise not to ravage my planet?*
**Promise. ;) Already did a while back anyways.**
*thanks*
*What?*
**Huh?**
*LOL*
**;)**
|
Curious, Derek hit the "like" button and sent a message:
"Hey, so, this is pretty crazy but Tinder says you're in another solar system!"
After a brief pause, Derek's phone buzzed and a reply appeared:
"How tall are you?"
Derek deleted the app from his phone and lived a happy and prosperous life.
| 2016-12-23T10:01:49 | 2016-12-23T08:45:31 | 54 | 31 |
[WP] Your power is that Any insect that gets within 30 feet of you is vaporized. One day on your regular walk to work a man steps in your field and is turned to dust in the middle of the street. People start fleeing in a panic, except for a few standing about 30 ft away staring at you hatefully
|
Blood-curdling screams interrupted my trip to the store. I dropped my bags and ducked. What had happened? Was it a robbery? Murder? I scanned the crowd, heart clenched in my teeth. Then I realised: the crowd was running from *me*.
&#x200B;
I occupy the ass-crack between the mundane and exceptional. Either buttcheek would have been fine. Both cheeks have their share of problems. But for those who fall down the ass-crack -- there is no sympathy. There's no movie describing my situation. Not even a short story or a writing prompt.
&#x200B;
Roach-boy, centipedo, gayfly -- these were the names I got called at school. My superpower? I vaporise bugs within a 30-foot radius. As I said, it's an ass-crack position. I get a decent wage as an exterminator, though, which is good. It's a simple job that I like. I exterminate.
&#x200B;
All this is to say, I'm an average guy living in New York. So why were people running away from me? Why was there a patch of asphalt beside me giving off smoke?
&#x200B;
I whipped out my vibrating phone. A five-second video loop showed it all: one second, a man is walking past me, the next -- he's exploding into a brilliant blue light.
&#x200B;
Must be a coincidence, I thought, my power only works on insects. I couldn't kill a man, there's no way I could kill a man. A moment later, when I heard police sirens, my heart did a somersault.
&#x200B;
One part of my mind said, 'You've got nothing to worry about. You're a middle-aged exterminator with a quirky ability.'
The other part of my mind sat ominously in a fold-out chair and pressed play on the clattering, video-projector of my memory.
&#x200B;
3...2...1... bleep -- that blue flash of light was awfully familiar. I'd seen a lot of insects disappear that way.
&#x200B;
I elbowed my way through the crowd. The bystanders were still fixated on the smouldering burn mark. Twitter, Instagram, and the rest of the poisons received their hastily filmed attempts at stardom. What did they care about the semi-overweight man in the shot?
&#x200B;
I let out a sigh of relief, I was safe and unnoticed. Except I wasn't. Three men turned towards me in unison. A short one, a fat one, and a tall one. They wore black sunglasses and suits. They were trouble.
&#x200B;
I pretended to ignore them and proceeded on my merry fucking way back to where I needed to be. Two blocks away from the apartment, I caught a glimpse of black in a parked car's side mirror. A trashcan clattered to the ground. I broke into a sprint, fumbling for the right keys. One block away. Just a few more feet...
&#x200B;
I bolted the door and sat with back against it. I paused for a moment and listened. Fluttering plastic sheets. The distant growl of a passing motorcycle. My own heartbeat.
&#x200B;
I stood up and brushed the dust off my pants. Men in suits? After me? I was jumping at shadows. Come to think of it, the flash of light was probably some misunderstanding, too.
&#x200B;
I checked my watch. Shit. I still had a lot of work to do, and all this paranoia wasn't helping. Men in suits. Pfft.
&#x200B;
My nervous laughter was interrupted by the loading sound of a handgun. The three men stepped into the entrance hall, weapons raised.
&#x200B;
'Hold it right there,' said the tallest one.
&#x200B;
I held up my hands, 'Look, is that about money? Because if it is you're in for a major disappointment--'
&#x200B;
'We're not here for the money,' said another man.
&#x200B;
He didn't look like a man, though. From up close, none of them looked human at all. Rigid shapes bulged from under their suits, their skin was stone grey, and their mouths...
&#x200B;
Warm pee trailed down my pant leg, 'Holy shit.'
&#x200B;
The fat one laughed, no, chittered. It clicked its long, blade-like mandibles and let out a garbled noise that sounded like a mutated beehive. 'Pathetic, this one is.'
&#x200B;
I tried to back away and smashed my tailbone against the door handle. 'What the fuck are you? What is this?'
&#x200B;
The tallest one took of its glasses. Then the mask.
&#x200B;
Galewinds of insanity violated my mind. They tore off loose floorboards and lifted up cows. Some part of my psyche withstood the storm, though. My eyes plugged back into my brain and saw the head of a gigantic praying mantis. The other two were roaches. Giant, brown, ugly cockroaches with tiny, sadistic black and beady eyes.
&#x200B;
I fumbled behind me, 'This can't be happening. This has to be a dream,'
&#x200B;
'Oh, but this isn't a dream,' said the mantis, 'This is all very real.'
&#x200B;
'I don't believe you!' I reached for the door handle and pulled---
&#x200B;
The fat roach shot me in the hand. A shockwave of pain ran across my arm and blossomed into bile-churning agony. I fell to the floor, screaming.
&#x200B;
'Real enough for you?' asked the mantis, cocking its head to the side.
&#x200B;
The roaches laughed in their disgusting, chittering way.
&#x200B;
'What the fuck do you want?' I shouted.
&#x200B;
'For too long, our kind has been hunted and oppressed,' said the mantis. 'You would call us pests, vermin, scum. How many of our kind have you slaughtered?
&#x200B;
I sat on the floor, trying to stop the flow of blood, trying to wake up from this nightmare, trying not to scream. With trembling hands, I looked for the thing I needed in my shopping bag.
&#x200B;
'--Too many, far too many.' The mantis shook its grotesquely oversized head, 'Now, it is time for revenge.'
&#x200B;
I stared the mantis in the eyes 'You messed with the wrong person, bugboy. Don't come any closer.'
&#x200B;
'Hah! You think your petty ability will function on us? Our colleague, his body was not prepared for your power. But our kind does not make the same mistake twice,' the mantis pressed its hairy, chitinous leg on my face. 'You arrogant ape, now begins the era of the insect! How ironic it will be, to slay you in your own home.'
&#x200B;
Grinning, I said, 'This isn't my home.'
&#x200B;
Thick purple smoke spewed from the ceiling-mounted nozzles. The mantis and the roaches instantly recoiled, clutching at their eyes. Pale, milky puke burst out of their mouths. Their melting exoskeletons caved in like heated plastic. The three of them screeched and twisted until they became brownish-green puddles.
&#x200B;
I stuck my head out the window, gasping for fresh air.
&#x200B;
My client picked up, 'Hi, sir. Yes, it's the exterminator calling. There have been some, uh... unexpected complications, it's going to take a little longer.'
&#x200B;
The client was irritated until I told him I'd do the job half-price. Hell, the mood I was in, I could have done it for free. I looked down at the busy streets of New York. Cars and people alike scuttled. Tightly packed, orderly, hierarchical. A chill went down my spine.
&#x200B;
What if more of those things are still out there, I wondered, hiding in the crowds?'
&#x200B;
Then I'll crush them, I decided, I'll crush every last one until the city is safe.
&#x200B;
I'm an exterminator, nothing special. I exterminate.
|
Mist rose from the warm waters in gentle wisps. In the quiet dawn, each vaporous swirl caught and scattered the morning light over cattails and lilypads. The soprano cries of peepers pierced the still air. Bullfrogs added their bass tones to the symphony. Swallows added electric chatter as the small birds danced and darted through the skies—and Jesse downed his last beer and belched.
He walked towards the small rowboat tethered to the dock. Each rotten, weathered wooden plank creaked underfoot. One day, Jesse would have to replace it. One day, Jesse would have to do a lot of things, but not today.
Today was fishing, beers, and bratwurst.
Jesse set off into the lake. Each practiced stroke of the oars dipped into the water; the familiar creak, splash and plunk was music to his ears. And of course, there were no mosquitoes. There never were. That was Jesse’s weird, simple secret. Every bug around him dropped dead.
It was a strange thing. It took him years to figure it out; even longer for him to figure out what it meant. Every bug curled up, crumpled its legs and crinkled to dust like flying into a blast furnace. And this meant that, for the area around his boat, there were no other targets for the fish.
Jesse carefully unboxed his tackle. With a keen eye, he grabbed the steel-hooked mayfly lure. Breathing deeply, he took a breath of swampy air—the scent of frogs and algae—and smacked his lips in anticipation. He dropped anchor twenty feet from a partially submerged log. Three turtles bolted under the water. The frogs around him stopped in silence.
With a trained hand, he cast his fly out onto the surface of the water. It landed with a plop—the only bug around. The bluegill jumped; the hook set. Victory. Jesse grinned as he reeled in the fish. It was almost too easy. He caught another bluegill before rowing back to shore.
The morning sun rose higher, cutting through the fog. Jesse took in the last views of the picturesque lake, the quiet ambiance and the cathartic simplicity of nature. He walked back towards his cottage, noticing a grey van parked in his neighbor’s yard.
His neighbor—what a tool—always throwing parties and blaring loud music. They were the thorn in Jesse’s side, the rock in the sock, the mouse that scurried in the night. Jesse loathed them and hated everything they stood for.
Like clockwork, before Jesse could reach his back porch, they started the radio.
Brittney spears blared over crackled, worn-out outdoor speakers. Jesse shook his head, walked inside and slammed the door shut. The highest treble and lowest bass notes barely echoed through the thick walls.
Jesse eyed his cottage appreciatively. Nothing was out of place. The clothes were still unfolded in a big pile on the couch. The half-eaten bags of chips were as stale as expected, and the BassPro magazine on the coffee table cleverly hid the Playboy underneath.
Except, something was wrong.
Chills started down Jesse’s spine. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was off, something different. Jesse walked into the kitchen. Everything was quiet. He looked outside. Another black, unmarked car was parked in the far corner of his lot. Two men stepped out of the car. They walked quickly towards Jesse's cottage. One of them carried a gun.
Jesse froze. He ran towards the front door and latched it close. Then he ran towards the phone. No dial tone. He looked around—with a sinking realization he realized what was wrong—the power was cut. No noise from the fan; no hum of the poorly maintained air condition.
Suddenly, his humid breaths felt so heavy. The denim roughed against his skin. The belt squeezed a bit too much, and the hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. The man at the door fumbled with the latch in silence. Jesse watched his front door click open.
He grabbed a knife from the block, pointing it with shaking hands towards the door, shouting, “who are you? What do you want!”
Jesse heard a click of a pistol behind him. Before he could react, a grating voice whispered, “No sudden movements. Do you know what this is?”
Jesse nodded slowly.
“Drop the knife. Lace your fingers behind your head and turn around,” the man said.
“I-I got a safe in the back, you can have it,” Jesse said.
“Do as I say, quickly now.”
Jesse did as instructed and turned around, his face inches from a silenced pistol. The man holding it must have been at least fifty years old. He looked harmless—with a calm, commanding demeanor—but the look in his eyes warned Jesse from trying anything foolish.
The front door opened. The two men approached in Jesse’s peripheral. Without a moment’s pause, they grabbed him and thrust a rag in his face. Sweet, sickly vapors singed his throat. The older man lowered his pistol as Jesse lost consciousness.
“My employer would like a word.”
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2019-06-08T12:45:12 | 2019-06-08T10:48:50 | 127 | 18 |
[WP] You’re a supervillain who really just enjoys ruining people's days. Summon rain on people sitting in the park, waking people up at 3AM using your sonic booms while flying through the air, stuff like that. You’re on holiday when a real villain decides to take your city hostage... You're furious.
|
Harry Jensen was a man on vacation. He'd been working hard at what he loved, but even your hobby could eventually becoming tiring. It wasn't exactly easy ruining the day of most everyone within the tri-state area.
He'd done it all. Oh, he never did anything *too* terrible, at least not enough to end up with his neck on a chopping block. Yes, he'd caused a certain wardrobe malfunction during a certain, very high-stakes, incredibly popular, highly anticipated football game. So maybe he'd locked up all phone lines in the metro area during lunch time. Yes, he'd caused a traffic jam exactly at 5 PM the day before Christmas. Yes, he'd inconvenienced thousands of people by redirecting a cable satellite with the help of some friends. Honestly, the city could consider his work a service, seeing as he kept the real heroes on their toes. Anyone who couldn't handle him didn't deserve to look ridiculous in spandex and fight "crime". They didn't deserve to be working this city.
Because if he was honest, he loved the place. The city was his home, and the city had treated him like dog crap. He liked that. He liked that this city was willing to stand up, scream at the top of their millions of lungs, and get something done. He could almost say he was proud of that.
But honestly, there came a day where you needed to wipe clean that planner and head to the Florida Keys for some sun.
Harry Jensen swiped across his phone while lounging on the beach, looking up the city news, when his eyes cast over something that made his stomach drop and his sunglasses fall clear off his face.
"You're *kidding*."
Simultaneously, five palm trees dropped exactly five coconuts on five unlucky waiters' heads as Harry Jensen stood up and tramped up the beach, prepared to unleash Hell.
A few hours later, he was walking with purpose down the halls of a stark, loveless building, not a soul daring to stop him. When at last he'd made it to the main branch manager's office, he burst through the door and walked past the dumbfounded secretary, who managed to break *both* her stiletto heels at that moment. Harry Jensen stood across from the prim woman behind a glass desk looking at her computer. She looked over her horn-rimmed glasses at him and asked, "Yes? Do you have an appointment? Where's Brigitte?"
"What're you doing in my town?" Harry asked, crossing his arms.
"I'm not sure I understand," the woman said, adjusting her glasses.
"You know exactly what I mean. The city ruled that they denied Comcast the merger with our local ISP. *What are you doing here?*"
"Oh. You apparently didn't get the news," the woman, a rather slick executive branch head named Ingrid Marks, stated with undue enthusiasm. "The city reconsidered after your local ISP found they couldn't handle the growing populace. We had a talk with their financers, and they... had redirected funds to some odd places."
Harry said a few family unfriendly words, to which Ingrid merely stared dryly.
"Look, Mr. Jensen -- that is your name? Not that 'Jinx' name, or whatever it is -- this is a legal venture. Vigilante stunts won't hold up here. If you're that upset about the merger, I suggest you talk to your local representative," Ingrid said, turning back to her computer. By this point, Brigitte had peeled off her heels and was ready to escort the diminutive Harry Jensen -- otherwise known as Jinx -- from the premises.
"I can make your life hell, lady. I hope you know that," Harry threatened as he was gently lead out of the office.
"Goodbye, Mr. Jensen," Ingrid said, waving as she clicked on something on her computer.
And so, days passed. The merger came and went. And Harry Jensen bode his time. His abilities, when used to their full potential against a city, were not spectacular given the metropolis' size. But against a single person...
A single person was much easier to handle.
And so, on a sunny Sunday, while he was sitting at home and having a beer, after having set off a major power grid failure in the lower East Side, there was a heavy and brutal knock on his door. He looked up lazily, switched off the television, and lumbered his way over. In his doorway, much to his delight, was Ingrid Marks, who looked like a cat trapped in a wolf's den for well over a month.
"Hey there, Ing--"
*"Make it stop."*
"Make what stop?"
"You know what I mean. *Make it stop.*"
Harry shrugged his shoulders.
"No clue what you're talking about."
Ingrid waved a shaking finger in his face, shaking her head at him. Her teeth chattered and her eyes darted from side to side.
"You *know* what I'm talking about. My house is full of spiders. The plumbing is completely backed up and has been for a week. I can't sleep because there are now bedbugs everywhere in my apartment. The landlord had threatened to evict me unless I get it cleaned up. Every time I buy something, my card is denied because it 'doesn't match their interface', I have had my identity stolen *three times*, my car will not start, and there is a popcorn kernel that has been stuck in my mouth for *three weeks*. Mr. Jensen. *Make. It. Stop.* I will do whatever you want. I will give you any amount of money, I will do any sort of indecency, just please- please- please make this end," Ingrid ranted, pulling on her unwashed hair.
Harry leaned against the doorjamb of his tiny townhouse, his hands in his pockets, looking at this crumbling woman.
"End the merger," he said simply. "Get out of my town. I don't care how long it takes ya. Cuz let me tell you, you can screw with the mayor, you can screw with the DA, you can screw my sister down on Elm Street, you can even go and take a big ol' dump on our beautiful Metro Monument for all I care -- but you do not screw with my internet."
Ingrid stared, struck dumb.
"That could take months."
"You ever hear about the African eye worm? Crazy how easy it is to get one. All it takes is a single deer fly. See, they bite you and you get this worm that migrates into your eyeball..."
Ingrid's eyes widened from behind her unwashed glasses, and she quickly walked away from the apartment, looking over her shoulder and swatting at the air around her. Harry Jensen stared after her with a smile.
Oh, how he did this city a service.
|
I read this funny post once on reddit once, this guy made an incredibly convincing argument that "The Troll" was the most powerful supervillain known. He pointed out The Troll's ability to control weather to the same extent as that hero, Typhoon, which he of course uses to literally rain on people's parades, he can fly as fast as Captain Fabulous waking them up at all hours with his sonic booms. He pointed out the Troll's invulnerability and strength, quoting the Closed Highway incident where the military finally stepped in and after bombarding the Troll's position with as many ordinance as were dropped in Iraq during the first half a year of the war, then dug his way out of the rubble and then telekenetically removed the firing pins from every military grade rifle within 5 miles, sped around and removed a single link from the treads of every tank and then made his way to the nearest airbase where he replaced the Jet fuel with koolaide and wrote quips about the pilots mothers on the tips of all the bombs. The poster said that we were lucky that The Troll seems to have no desire to kill anyone, just bug the hell out of our city, with a whopping death toll of 1 (A man he was quick to point out died of a heart attack from fear and his family found a heartfelt apology on their doorstep and a significant deposit in their bank accounts) he's almost harmless, almost.
I liked him until he said I was almost harmless, I hope he liked the peanut butter on his sparkplugs. Anyway I think it's time I put his theory to test, you see there I was in Maui, enjoying myself making the sand too hot to walk on and the water to cold to swim in and while I'm raining on an out door wedding and replacing sunscreen with BBQ sauce I saw the news. They said Typhoon was dead, Captain Fabulous was hospitalized, The Boulder was MIA, and Team Paramount had retreated back to their Fortress of Protectitude to lick their wounds, and all at my front door, all in MY CITY. That bastard Doctor Reprobate decided he was going to step in and make my home his center of operations.
Do you know how many people they said were dead? Almost two thousand! Two thousand!
So, you're probably wondering why I told you this, two reasons, first I want someone to know I'm about to do a good deed for the first time in my life, they might even build a statue in my honor or some cheesy crap like that, the second because I love that look of terror on your face and wanted to let it last a few more seconds, it's like you actually believe I'm going to drop you off this radio tower. Whelp, time to head home, hold tight to that ladder on your way down, I don't want you falling, the good Doctor has the only blood that's going to be on my hands by tonight.
| 2016-09-18T19:03:39 | 2016-09-18T16:51:37 | 184 | 65 |
[WP] Every person is born with a specific goal in mind. Until their goal is completed, they can't die. You are homo erectus in the Stone Age, nearly two million years ago, and you don't understand what "intergalactic space travel" even means.
|
**2.6 MILLION YEARS AGO:**
Today me found rock. Rock good. Prompt came through. "intergalactic space travel". Me no know. Friend complete his prompt. He was good friend. He make fire. Fire good. Me sleep.
Me live for many sunrises. So much change. Bow and arrow nice tool. Me have another new wife. Wife good.
**5200 BCE**
I'm tired... so tired. I've been alive longer than I can count. I've seen everything i'm able to see. And yet... I still don't even know what 'galactic' means. I am aware of the space outside of the earth, but... WHAT DOES IT MEAN? HOW LONG WILL THIS TAKE?
I've had to lay low my entire life... trying to learn every accent and every language over eons has proven to be quite easy, but I often slip up and speak in a language that isn't native... and that often gets some knives pointed my way. If I were able to die, I would've just let them... but it always just leads to long, excruciating pain... with no end. I just wish for this to be over.
**1200 BCE**
I'm not alone. FOR THE FIRST TIME, I'M NOT ALONE! I found a woman, Elsie, whose task was just as mystical as mine. "Send a man to the moon". She's been alive just a while shorter than me, but it's a long enough time for her to understand the pain i've been going through. The constant wounds, the starving, the... heartbreak. But none of that matters anymore. We have eachother.
It seems the people around us aren't as aware of their tasks as we are. Back in the age of stone, we knew our exact task. The people nowadays seem to get an urge to do their task with no real explanation. A couple of centuries back, I met a guy who's task was probably to "Create the biggest pyramid in the world." Boy was that a fun project.
**1831**
We're close. So, so close... I can feel it. We haven't even gone to space yet, but we've invented faster and faster methods of transportation. Exponentially faster methods. This is quite troubling. I met a young lad named Leon Foucault. He seems to have cracked the code about the true nature of the earth. I cannot allow his research to become mainstream, lest the inevitably come sooner. I shall speak to the church. They'll... deal with him.
&#x200B;
Elsie has been getting increasingly scared. I am too. But... there's a way we can be together forever. For as long as our tasks aren't fulfilled, we won't die. Ever. I'll do everything I can to stop mankind's venture into space. Whatever it takes.
&#x200B;
**1939**
Shit. SHIT. They're so close. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. They have prototype rockets. Nothing has been shot out yet, but they have the blueprints. It's become so hard to kill. So hard to impede their progress. We accidentally kicked off a world war a few decades back. They sent us to 80 years in prison. Imagine the looks on their face when we walked out, not aging a day. The world governments must have discovered our... conditions because of that.
&#x200B;
World war is starting yet again. It's Germany again. Classic. I'll tell them to invade Russia during the winter, that it's the country's "greatest weakness". That'll be a fun watch. However, this does present an interesting opportunity. If mankind were dead, they would never be able to reach the stars if they were completely destroyed. So... i've started work on a little project. A bomb. One that could destroy entire cities. This should do the trick.
**1957**
I fucked up. They reverse engineered my bombs... They sent something to space. I'm so scared. Maybe another war will do the trick.
Elsie has been talking alot lately. She wonders if the lives we've taken is worth it. That maybe it's more natural for us to die. Besides, helping our species would be a good change of pace. I strongly disagree. I can't have nothing again. I can't go back to that life. We both know she would be the first to go. I... can't.
**1969**
...
It's over. They sent a man to the moon. Elsie... she turned to dust right in front of me. Millions of years, degrading her body, all at once. There weren't even bones left. Nothing left to remember her by.
I'm done. Let it all crash and burn. Let's go to another galaxy.
**2020**
It can't be. IT CAN'T BE IMPOSSIBLE. I have to die. I'm done. Just let me leave, cruel world.
Apparently, the Milky Way, and the closest galaxy, Andromeda, are too far apart for galactic travel. The good news is... the two are bound to collide. The bad news is it's in 4 BILLION YEARS. I can't wait that long. There has to be a way. Break the laws of physics. Anything.
**2068**
All hell broke loose. Superweapons everywhere. The earth is cracking apart. It's over. Perhaps, these superweapons will be powerful enough to kill me. I'm coming, Elsie.
**2095**
I'm... still alive. The earth is... gone. Reduced to asteroids...
**3,821**
... Please... let me die.
**18,235**
...
**948,124**
...
**5,749,293**
...
**68,139,287**
...
**384,283,192**
Please...
**4,289,193,192**
I... I see it. Andromeda. It... it's so beautiful. Will this count? Will my drifting body count as... intergalactic travel? Only one way to find out.
**4,289,194,192**
*One final breath. The last human, the first to make it to another galaxy.*
|
Ulu Hai remembered when she told her tribe members asked her what her goal was. a few of her members had filled their goal early and had yet to die as they were relatively young. the elders of her tribe shared a look the only word they recognized was travel. So, the tribe did the best they could and gave her what they could and taught her what they could. Then she bid farewell to her mother and to her father. she traveled across the land learning what she over the course of centuries. She learned alongside Aristotle and Copernicus. When she learned that her goals mean she had to take people to the stars. She learned and taught many tongues had been nearly killed more times than she could count her goal the only thing keeping her alive as she walked along side engineers and astronomers.
Finally, more than 45,000 years later Ulu Hai stood among other loke minded individuals.
"It has been one long journey but finally I might be able to rest."
"That's only if this monstrosity you helped us all make can manage to make it that far." Ming Chen replied as they watched the launch.
"Hey grandma, how long have you been around anyway?" Jason white asked.
"I stopped counting when man starting their first alphabet."
The entire room stopped.
"I'm sorry what." Ming asked her voice rising nervously.
"You heard me but don't worry I wrote it all down and shipped out the things I lived through before we began launch."
"Please tell me your joking?" Jason asked his dark skin paling.
"Lets put it this way I was there when your ancestor was figuring out fire." Ulu sassed as she realized her fellow scientists were getting cold feet.
"Look when I was young the only word. I understood was travel. So I set off. trust me it ain't a walk in the park talking about what tools your grandmother used to skin her prey when you were more focused on how it tasted. Mammoth was good, and saber tooths were a pain in the ass."
The whole room was quite until the crew in the ship asked rather rudely.
"Alright everybody lets give this lady her final rest and make history."
"Finally, someone with sense. I didn't financially bail out the government and take over Nasa's funding just so i couldn't fill this goal"
| 2022-11-17T14:33:37 | 2022-11-17T14:27:12 | 112 | 22 |
[WP] As light shines through the pearly gates, you feel a hand on your shoulder. "Are you sure boy? I can offer you so much more if you stay." Looking over your shoulder, you see the horns arching from his brow. "You spent your life hunting criminals, I offer you a chance to hunt much worse."
|
"What do ya got?" He asked, eying the figure behind him. It was covered in red fur and stood slightly hunched, like an animal on the hunt.
It tapped it's long black claws on his shoulder, "You've always wanted to actually do some good, right? All that paperwork and politics were so bothersome, no real work actually got done."
It stepped around and stood in front of him, it's face inches from his own, "What if we could skip the paperwork and go after the real monsters?"
He stared into the black, soulless eyes before him. "How could we make that work?"
"By answering no longer to man, but to me. You hunt down who I ask, and I'll keep you out of harms way. Sound like a deal?"
It's what he always wanted, how could he say no? He smiled, "It's a deal."
The figure before him gave a returned a menacing smile and placed both hands on his shoulders, "Excellent, let's begin. A rather famous politician is having dinner with his family right now. But they don't know about his unsavory secrets, human trafficking mostly. Send him to me before he gets his dessert."
He nodded, and with that the figure in front of him shoved him backwards. He fell and for a moment, the world went black. He closed his eyes and he landed on a hard surface, knocking the wind out of him.
"Sir, are you okay?" He opened his eyes to see a young woman standing over him, she wore black pants and a white button up shirt.
He staggered to his feet, "Yeah, thanks. Just tripped, don't worry."
He looked around and found himself in an upscale restaurant. Realizing he was still being stared at, he gave a smile to who he now understood was a waitress and she hurried off, clearly too busy to prod further.
He stepped further into the dining room and looked at the sea of faces. Scanning them all, he found who he was looking for.
At the head of a table, covered in empty plates and surrounded by several smiling faces, sat a man he had only seen on television. He had heard rumors around the office of his misdeeds but no one could ever pin it on him. At least, until now.
He took a few steps towards the man, but stopped short.
*But wait, how am I supposed to do this?* He asked himself, his gun wasn't on him, he had no weapons.
He looked around, looking for an answer. But he was surrounded with weapons. Several knives sat at each table, waiting for him.
A table nearby that was waiting to be bussed offered up a large steak knife, he greatfully picked it up before a bus boy got to it. Now satisfied with a weapon, he began to close the gap between himself and his target.
*Do it quick and get it over with.* He tried to calm himself. There would be so many witnesses. He took another look around the room, several waiters were coming out of the kitchen at the far end of the room. They were carrying cakes and ice creams galore.
*Now or never.* He ran the last few steps, knife poised and ready. It was too late for a body guard to stop him, but the target himself jumped out of his chair at the sight of him.
He stuck his arm out, still hoping to land a blow on the target. But the enemy was quick, he dodge the knife and attempted to step away. The room was tightly packed with chair and tables, slowing down his getaway.
Bodyguards quickly began moving in, he couldn't miss again. And he wouldn't, he crouched down slightly and held tight onto the knife. He sprang forward, tackling his target onto a nearby table. They sent dishware flying across the room.
Much to everyone's horror, he lifted and dropped the knife before anyone could reach them. His target lay motionless beneath him and he took in several shaky breaths. He slumped forward and braced himself with his hands, adrenaline beginning to wear off.
Police burst through the front door, guns held ready to fire. But there was no one to aim them at. A lifeless body lay still on a table, but it's murderer disappeared in the blink of an eye. Any witness in the room would say it was impossible, there must have been a trap door somewhere, but none would be found. He simply disappeared.
But somewhere far, far away he reappeared. Still on his hands and knees, shaking relentlessly and trying to catch his breath. He looked up and found himself in a crowd. The floor was sticky and music was turned up to an earsplitting level. Two people nearby helped him to his feet without question.
Looking around, he learned he was in a club now. People were dancing and drinking all around. Who was he looking for here?
He meandered to the bar and saw a small group talking excitedly among themselves. At the edge of the group a man and woman were talking alone, but someone behind the woman grabbed her attention for a moment. She turned her back to the man she was talking to as well as a drink left on the bar top.
Calmly, the man now left alone, pulled something out of his pocket and dropped it into the drink. The girl turned back and continued her conversation with the man. He smiled as she sipped her drink.
Well, he knew who his next target was.
|
His offer rings in my ears, as I take in every beautiful detail around me. Heaven is not at all like I had imagined it. Hell, I had never been much of a religious man myself.
"C'mon, boy. Don't look so surprised. Whaddya say? An eternity of hunting the most hellish of beasts, or an eternity of naught but gold plates and luxury?"
Can't stay in one place too long. Never been able to. See, I was not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill cop. Somebody'd find me, heart filled with a grudge or trigger finger itching with no gun for it to guide. They'd tell me who they wanted me to kill, and if they were a real scummy piece a' work, I'd cap 'em. If not, well, let's just say my client wouldn't be very happy.
"What kinda beasts," I ask him.
"The kind that need a touch of the ol' Heavenfire," He points at the braziers that line the edges of the Gates. They're filled with a blueish glow, not like any fire I've ever seen.
"You sure you can touch that? You look pretty hellish to me, with the horns and all."
"Why do you think I need you?"
"What do I get in return? Not like you can pay me."
"I've got a little something in mind. So, what'll it be? want to give it a spin?"
I take one long look at Heaven. I take a deep breath. Fill my lungs with the cleanest, purest air.
"Let's get to work."
| 2018-11-08T21:38:13 | 2018-11-08T19:40:00 | 91 | 29 |
[WP] You step into the king's chambers. He stands on the balcony, the moon overlooking his imposing figure. "I want you to hire an assassin to try to kill me. Take down all the names and contacts you encounter through the process and report them to me. I want to know who my true friends are."
|
“You want to suss out your enemies by having me hire an assassin to kill you?”
"Exactly."
Frederick stroked his beard, nodding slowly. “So I hear what you’re saying..." he said after a moment. "It’s a clever idea, no doubt. Why don’t we sleep on it and circle back next week?"
“I've already slept on it," the King said, putting a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "The idea came to me in a dream.... I dreamt I was weasel hunting, but alas, there were no weasels to be found. So I did the only thing I could—I *became* a weasel, Frederick. I became a weasel, thought like a weasel, and eventually, I found the weasel village! Then you know what I did?”
"I assume you marked its location and hunted them all down?"
"Close but not quite. I made some weasel friends, bed a weasel wench, and then I became their *King,* Frederick! I became their King and beckoned to my closest weasel advisor, his name was Wederick. I told Wederick that I wanted him to hire a weasel assassin to try and kill me, so that he could take down their names and *then* I'd know who my true weasel friends are. And you know what? It worked!"
"Ah. I see," Frederick said nodding slowly. "Well, dreams can be misinterpreted. Maybe you should think about this some more—"
“Frederick, I've put considerable thought into this. It’s the only way.”
“Right..." Frederick said hesitantly. "But is it *really* though?"
The King raised his eyebrows. “Are you doubting my wisdom?”
“No no, of course not. I’m just saying, there are alternatives. For example, we could *not* do that.”
“Frederick, tread carefully.”
“Apologies my lord, but let me play devil's advocate for a second. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t *actually* want to be assassinated right?
“Of course not.”
“Wise,” Frederick nodded vigorously. “See? This is why you’re so wise my lord. Now, bear with me here, but in *my* experience, the best way to avoid assasination is to not hire an assassin to kill oneself. So why don’t we call that plan A? Plan A can be *not* doing the assassin thing. Plan B can be the assassin thing. Should there come a time when Plan A stops working, we can always—”
“Frederick,” the King interrupted. “It's starting to sound like you're doubting me. I came to you because I trust you. Just find out who wants to kill me, take down some names, and give them to me. That's all I'm asking.”
Frederick nodded, trying to suppress the urge to push back. He couldn’t help himself. “Here’s the thing though, *no one* is going to want to kill you.”
The King smiled. “I know I'm beloved by all, but I'm sure there's—”
“No no, not because of that,” Frederick said, and immediately noticed the King’s expression drop. “I mean, sure okay yes that. But also because you’re so damn paranoid my lord! You have a favorite poison-tester, whom you love so much that you’ve hired *another* poison tester to test *his* food! You have guards following you around day and night, and you've run extensive background checks on all the castle staff, *including* the prostitutes! Sir, pardon me for being so candid, but they call you Old King Cautious!”
“Paranoid?!” the King scoffed. “They think I’m *paranoid?* Would a paranoid person come up with a cockamame plan such as this?”
“Well…”
“And If I’m so *cautious,* how do you explain *this?*” The King stood up straight, stretched his hands high in the air, and attempted what seemed to be a cartwheel of sorts. The maneuver proved too much for his girdle, and his bare stomach now protruded beneath the hem of his blouse. “Eh?" he said, tucking his stomach back in. "I could’ve broken my neck just there.”
“Very nice, my lord." Frederick clapped. "Stuck the landing. That said…”
“Just hire the damn assassin Frederick! You're dismissed!”
Frederick spent the next week frequenting the shadiest establishments he could, trying to find anyone crazy enough to attempt an assassination on the King. He was laughed out of every bar, back alley, and thieves den he visited. Even the King's estranged brother, next in line to the throne, wanted nothing to do with the hair-brained idea. “Are you crazy?!” he yelled. “Get the hell out of my house! He’s got eyes everywhere you idiot, even having this conversation is dangerous! Out!”
The next week Frederick met with the King once more. “So Frederick,” the King asked. “What names do you have for me?”
“Well, no names so far my lord.”
“Not one?”
“It’s like I said, no one wants to cross you.”
“I see.” The King said, his tone suddenly curt.
“It’s a good thing my lord, it just means—”
“You're dismissed,” the King interrupted.
In that moment Frederick realized he had lost the King’s trust. In the King’s mind, the only reason Frederick would not have had names to give was if Frederick was hiding those names and conspiring against the throne himself. This was a test of Frederick's loyalty as much as anyone else's.
“Please my Lord,” Frederick said hurriedly. “Give me another week. One more week and I will find you your assassin.” The King thought for a moment, then nodded and waved Frederick off without another word.
So Frederick retired to his chambers, dug through his chest of belongings, and pulled out a certain item he had acquired in his travels long ago. It was a vial of white powder from the East. During their next meeting, the King would have his assassin.
Part 2 [below](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/m9bzff/wp_you_step_into_the_kings_chambers_he_stands_on/grnkh8q/?context=3)
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
"You're looking for an assassin says word around town?
&#x200B;
"That I am," the royal advisor Hadrick said, gulping to still the quiver rising in his voice. He had to pretend he really wanted his king killed, to sus out any enemies. He steeled himself and stood firm. "That I am, 12,000 gold pieces."
&#x200B;
The man dressed all in black circled Hadrick, talking from his back now. "Killing the king with money from his own coffers, eh? It would be a hard job. The king looks too hale to be undone with poison, too righteous to be seduced, and too well guarded for a simple assault, but I think I could do this."
&#x200B;
"The job pays very well. You seem to be a man of great skill." Hadrick turned to face the man who continued to move about the room, graceful as a lynx.
&#x200B;
"Thank you for noticing, I met the king once, you know, six years ago," the assassin said. Hadrick heard the sliding scrap of steel on steel from the shadows.
&#x200B;
"Good, so you wouldn't be fooled by a decoy. A valuable trait," Hadrick pressed his back to the wall and saw the assassin had uncovered his face and was smiling wickedly.
&#x200B;
"My daughter was dying and I busted past the guards to stand before the king and beg he save her. I laid her on a blanket, coughing and bleeding on all that fine marble. Do you know what he said to me?"
&#x200B;
"What?" Hadrick asked, smelling the sweet liquor on the killer's breath as he drew closer.
&#x200B;
"Nothing," the killer smiled wider. "He didn't waste the time to address me."
&#x200B;
"Sound's like you would see him dead." Hadrick held his hands out, holding the man from getting closer, but closer still he came.
&#x200B;
"He didn't waste time addressing me because he was already commanding the royal surgeon to take my daughter and spare no expense to see her well. He gave me a warm bed and a meal while I waited and prayed with me himself." The assassin drew the blade across Hadrick's throat, too quick to see. "My daughter's going to be married next month, but I think I'll get the money for a gift from another job. Rot in the pit, you backstabbing dog."
&#x200B;
Hadrick hardly felt the spit on his face as he died in the mud and piss of the alley, wheezing whistles of protests coming too late to make a difference.
&#x200B;
\---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical
| 2021-03-20T12:00:12 | 2021-03-20T11:40:04 | 1,784 | 310 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
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My wedding was the event of the century.
Our people had waited for a queen for such a long time, and I was the first female born into the royal family in close to 200 years. 200 years without a woman of royal blood on the throne had meant 200 very hard years. It is well known among my people that there cannot be prosperity without one. I was born into a country run ragged by war, famine, and misery.
At my birth, there were festivals. Even now, the shops close down that day every year, and the whole kingdom celebrates. When my 18th birthday arrived, the festivities around my Summoning lasted an entire week.
That day will always stand out in my memories. I was so nervous—the object a person summons shapes the rest of their lives. I knew, standing shaking on a high tower above the castle, looked on by thousands of my people, exactly who I needed to be. Who I needed to marry. As I stood with my hand outstretched, I felt ready to be sick. All I had to do was summon the wrong object, and the entire kingdom would be crushed.
There was a crash from below, a window breaking. The crowd before me cried out, able to see what was coming for me before I could. I couldn’t tell if it was joy or horror. I started feeling faint. I closed my eyes.
I have never in my life felt the kind of relief that I did when I felt my father’s crown places itself gently into my outstretched hand. This was my life. To be a Queen. To serve my people. This was all I had ever wanted.
According to tradition, a queen cannot take the throne until her consort has been chosen, and with my mother gone and my father growing more frail every day, my wedding was set for a year later. In truth, getting to marry Jack was one of the greatest gifts of my high birth. I had known him since I was too young to remember anything, and identified him as my chosen husband before I was old enough to consider that I might want to think about marrying anyone else. There had been some raised eyebrows when I announced to my father and to the court that I had decided to marry him, but I was their first queen in 200 years. I could marry anyone I liked, even the son of the blacksmith. I loved Jack with every part of me. There wasn’t anyone else in the world I would like to have next to me on the throne. He had a calm, gentle strength, and a quick mind. I often thought that, really, he would be a better ruler than I. At his Summoning, he’d brought forth a pen—a common item, but one that often came to those of sound judgement.
Preparations for the wedding began in earnest more than a month before the day, and as there began to be signs of the day approaching, the celebrations began as well. There was scarcely talk of anything else. Finally, the moment arrived that everyone had anticipated since my birth—I would take the hand of my consort and ascend to the throne.
I was wearing most of the jewels in the royal treasury. I had never felt more at peace than I did, standing next to Jack at the alter, ready to step into my destiny. As the High Priest began the wedding rites, I felt so calm I thought I might just melt away into the floor. I closed my eyes, taking it all in. It was as if I was the only thing in existence. The world fell silent, peaceful. I took a deep breath. Somehow, inside the great stone cathedral, I could smell the summer breeze. I could hear the call of a bird. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Must be Jack. Pulling myself back to reality, I lazily opened my eyes.
The hand did not belong to Jack. I was no longer in the great cathedral.
Bewildered, I looked around to find myself at the edge of a field. There was a small cottage nearby. I was at the smallest, humblest party I’d ever attended. My heart began to pound as I saw the decorations and emblems around me that declared exactly what sort of party this was—a Summoning Celebration.
I looked at the hand on my shoulder, followed the arm up until it connected to a girl of 18. Her face displayed equal parts confusion, horror, and happiness. I felt sure that there was a similar look on mine. It had been so long since someone had summoned their soulmate that the possibility was widely believed to be a myth. Nobody spoke. Probably, nobody breathed.
She was quite beautiful. The girl.
The longer I stared at her, the more I felt something shift inside me. Something deep, fundamental.
A queen on the throne meant prosperity for a kingdom that had been suffering so long. Two of them would probably mean the greatest age of prosperity anyone has ever seen. And if we hurry, we probably won’t even have to plan a new wedding.
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I looked at the clock, stated at the clock. Time was never really a concern of mine but I can't help it. After all, in 5 minutes, I was about to have my most wanted item.
I got to distract myself from all the nerves. I looked out the window, attracted by the city lights. City lights always calmed me.
Nerves settled. I looked back at the clock. 2 minutes to go. I begun to wonder what is my greatest desire? I never cared for much after all. I have no family, no friends. Drifting from place to place, I have no purpose in life. Clearly, I was not going to get anything.
I smiled wryly. This is going to be anti-climatic. 5...4...3...2...1.
And the last thing I heard was the clock striking 12 midnight once.
=====
The city lights began to flicker out as a spreading Void expanded from the apartment. Nothing could stop it. Horrified screaming turned into nothing as the Void consumes all.
The desire to void existence made manifest.
And the rest is Silence.
| 2019-09-18T10:56:31 | 2019-09-18T09:39:58 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] Darth Vader survives killing the Emperor, but the Rebel Alliance puts him on trial for war crimes
Edit: Jeez, this prompt really took off. Props to PSHoffman, this is some of my favorite work by him! I kinda wish this had actually happened instead of Vader just dying. PSHoffman, it'd be great if you could turn this prompt into a full novel or somrthing, but sadly I doubt you'll listen to some one-link-karma scrub like me...
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The Shadow stood in the light.
Half-moon platforms rose above and below, interlocking terraces that formed a massive dome. Every single platform was angled to inward to face the Shadow's sole, floating podium.
No chains held him, no shackles clasped his wrists - instead, they had locked him in a prison of eyes. Thousands of senators from every planet in the Empire, and beyond, stared at him.
For the first time in how many years, the Galactic Senate was silent - save for the grim, distinguished voice of their newest leader, Mon Mothma.
"Eighteen billion counts of unlawlful imprisonment. Participation in a common plan to enslave at least four trillion more. Planning, enacting, and waging wars of unchecked aggression in times of peace. Unbidden invasion of more than eight *thousand* systems-"
The Shadow of the Empire bowed his head. Those were not *War Crimes.* Those were the symptoms of an Empire, purging itself of corruption - in the name of *Justice.* Yet, from the vile stares of the Senators and the anger carved into Mon Mothma's face, one might believe otherwise.
One might think that he, the Shadow, was actually an agent of Evil.
A decade ago, what had he been? A shade, a myth - a hidden force that pushed and pulled the strings of a nascent Empire, guiding it on a mission of peace. He had chosen a life of solitude, of sacrifice, and none had believed in his cause.
Now, his Empire, for which had given up not only his life, but also the lives of his oldest, dearest friends, was burning down, planet by planet.
Did they not know what they were doing? Did they not see this would rend the Empire apart, and bury the Galaxy in a new era of suffering and ruin?
Silence nipped at the Shadow's attention. Mon Mothma's droning had ceased. She bored holes into him with her eyes. The corner's of her mouth twisted in anger. There were tears in her eyes.
A squid-headed Calamarian, an Admiral by the looks of decorations, walked up to the Speaking Platform. Mon Mothma bowed to the Calamarian, and he bowed back.
His old whiskers wriggled as he spoke in a low, wet voice, "Lord Vader. You are hereby accused of the aforementioned War Crimes. How do you plead?"
Before he could even speak, the silence of the Galactic Senate broke. The terraces erupted in a violent uproar as thousands of Senators rushed out of their seats to shout accusations of their own. Their demands were cruel, barbaric, and reminiscent of the past; *before* he had brought Order to the Galaxy.
The Shadow clenched his fists. These *politicians*, the very leeches he had been fighting to eradicate, now held his fate in their hands. They spoke, not for the people, but only for themselves. They spoke a language of self-serving greed.
Perhaps, if he was wise, he could still use their greed. Perhaps, if he claimed his innocence, he could survive this...
Blaster fire erupted from one of the platforms, and was caught by a flash of light. The invisible shielding around Vader's podium had soaked up the shot. More shots rang out, grazing against the podium's shielding, some deflecting, and smacking into other platforms.
The Admiral shouted for peace, but it was not until an ear-piercing klaxon echoed through the dome that the Senate calmed down long enough for Vader to give his answer.
Stepping up to the microphone, he took in a deep, rattling breath, and let out a mechanical sigh.
"To these actions," the Shadow drew out his words, "I plead -"
The tension in the Galactic Senate was so thick, it could be cut with a saber.
"*- Guilty.*"
This time, not even the klaxons could silence the Senate. Roars deafened even the Admiral's calls, and blaster fire criss-crossed the dome. An explosion rocked the lower-section of the dome, and a blastwave nearly knocked the Shadow from his feet.
He did not see the fluttering cloak that fell from the ceiling, and latched on to the underside of his platform.
Vader spoke once more into the microphone, though nobody was listening, "I made decisions that no one else was willing to make. It was *all* for the good of the Empire."
More blaster fire rained against his shield, and a single shot even made it through the strobing energy bubble.
They were supposed to perform the ceremony of execution *after* the trial, but it seemed that the ceremony had already begun.
The Shadow stood in the light, watching the last vestiges of his Empire descend into chaos. Even with the help of the mask, it became hard to breathe. He slumped backwards, intending to sit down. Instead, he tripped over his own cloak - and fell -
And a pair of hands caught him - one human, the other covered by a black glove.
A voice hissed into his ear, "I know what you did."
More explosions rocked the dome of the Galactic Senate. He was caught, and he could not turn around to see the face of his assailant.
"I know what you were trying to do. And I want you to know, that it was not in vain," the hands held him steady, "There is still hope, *Father.*"
It was as if the weight of the Universe was lifted from his chest. The Shadow gasped, and turned to see a smile, half-hidden by the hood of an old, tattered robe.
"Come," Luke said, "We have to get you out of here."
***
*Update: [Part 2 is here! >](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4b37q9/wp_darth_vader_survives_killing_the_emperor_but/d160z61)*
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######[](#dropcap)
Eril Dallows took a sip of his beer, the holo-screen displaying a scrolling readout of the local sector stock markets. The Naboo-born pilot sat at the very end of the polished bartop, the bar rather empty this early in the afternoon. Most customers sat on the patio outside taking advantage of the beautiful summer weather. A few older patron sat near the window with tall glasses of Coruscanti Ice Tea and a game of Pazaak in front of them while the bartender spoke to the one waitress on duty. In the back Dallows could hear the cook busy frying tubers and vegetables to go with the grilling meat. The remains of his own meal were still in front of him, a few bones and bits of crumbs sitting on the waxed paper of the plastic basket.
Up on the holo-screen the female Bothan listing rising markets paused in the middle of the Incom shares to announce a change in the broadcasting. Her image vanished and was replaced by an older human man, his hair going gray where it wasn't receding.
*"A landmark case and historical event has just occured here today outside the Supreme Justice Building, where after years of deliberation and trial the war criminal Lord Vader has just been found guilty by a jury of over a hundred beings. This is merely the most recent in a string of cases involving former regime personnel of the former Galactic Empire but undoubtedly one of the most important. Lord Vader has been found guilty of no less than thirty counts of Crime Against Sentient Beings, two dozen counts of genocide and numerous other, lesser charges.*
*"The exact punishment of Lord Vader is still uncertain with members of the Society of Alderaan Survivors calling for a measure of clemency while the Bothan Council urges the Death Penalty. While other Imperial members have been executed for their crimes the exact nature of Vader's actions leave it still unknown as to his final fate. More details will be relayed as they come up in the afternoon."*
Eril Dallows' brow rose as he took another sip of beer. The holo-screen went right back to the stock markets.
| 2016-03-19T08:31:48 | 2016-03-19T07:11:53 | 1,014 | 105 |
[WP] You are the most generous mountaineer. You give food, drink, and climbing poles to exhausted climbers, and never accept anything in return. Your secret? You died on this mountain years ago, because nobody was there to help you as you are helping now. Someone has figured it out.
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“Do I know you?” the woman in the blue scarf asks, shivering hands wrapped around a warm cup of hot chocolate.
The question gives me pause. *Did* I know this lady? It was certainly possible. I had only been dead for what, twenty-five years? I peer at the young woman, wrapped tightly in mountain gear, her face masked by her blue scarf and thick tinted goggles. She might’ve been one of my schoolmates who still somehow looked really young or something. Certainly not a family member.
I think seeing your dead son or brother, unchanged after so many years, would have produced somewhat more of a shock, rather than what was probably a polite question.
“I doubt so,” I chuckle, ladling some soup into a wooden bowl. “Chicken broth?”
She accepts it gratefully, the now empty cup lying forgotten next to her.
We sit in silence, in the little mountain cave. A fire crackles beneath my pewter pot, and she shifts closer to it as she quietly sips the broth. The blue is receding from her cheeks, replaced by a warm reddish flush.
“You can stay the night here, it’s safe,” I say kindly, as I throw in some chicken cubes into the pot. “I’ll keep watch while you sleep, then you can be on your way in the morning.”
Her eyes glint in the firelight, orange flames flicking within grey pupils. Outside, the mountain winds howl and rage, snow whirling wildly all around. We’re seated in far enough that it doesn’t reach us, but you could still feel the cold, threatening to creep up on you anytime.
I throw another log into the bonfire.
“What’s your name?” she asks curiously, cradling the empty bowl in her lap. “I’m Kaylie.”
“Peter, why?” I busy myself, throwing various little vegetables into the pot.
“I just wanted to thank you properly,” Kaylie puts her bowl down, gets up and falls into a deep bow. “Thank you for saving my life, Peter.”
“Whoa, whoa, there’s no need for that,” I hastily pull her out of her bow. “I’m not royalty or anything, I’m a guy who helped you out.”
Kaylie had been in a pretty bad spot when I found her. So high up in the mountains, near the summit, the air got hard to breathe and the night turned the cold lethal. She had been woefully unprepared to attempt a climb to the summit, but try she had.
I had watched as she had quickly run out of food, water and eventually her oxygen tank had run dry. Her guide, no doubt some second-rate guide who had tried to cheap out on gears and supplies, had turned back at the halfway point, probably realizing that the woman hadn’t given up despite the difficulties of the climb as he had predicted.
Alone, inexperienced and utterly lost, Kaylie taken one step too far off a cliff, its edge hidden by compacted snow. One step, and the snow gave way, and she had hung precariously on the edge, her ice pick having just barely caught onto a rock.
Only then, had I been allowed to help.
Out of the swirling snow, I had felt my form coalesce and take shape. My footsteps gradually left imprints in the snow, the night wrapping around me to form my mountain gear. With one strong arm I had firmly, but as gently as I could, pulled the panicking woman up, clear of the dark abyss that had threatened to consume her corpse and preserve it as it had mine on the mountain.
Kaylie had been equal parts amazed and ecstatic that she had met another person making the dangerous climb up this particular mountain, although that excitement had been somewhat muted by the fact that she was starving, dehydrated and coming off a near-brush with death.
We had made the hike to the nearest safe spot I knew existed on the mountain. It was fortunate we had been near the cave. Amongst other reasons, it was the most comfortable and where I was the most powerful.
Kaylie tilted her head, a stray strand of dyed-blue hair falling lose from her red-green hoodie. “Why did you help me out? Why were you here anyway?”
The young woman had a way of asking all the hard questions. Most people were simply grateful that I had helped them out life-threatening situations and were not big on questions.
“I just happened to be nearby,” I say lightly, which wasn’t a lie, like the next bit. “And I was climbing the mountain, same as you.”
“With all *that*?” she gestures at my pewter pot, my tiny piles of ingredients that I had been heaping into the soup. “Can’t be very practical carrying all this around. And where’d you manage to find firewood?”
Maybe I had been too careless, and eager in preparing this meal. I didn’t usually have this much power, and I had to admit it was much more extravagant than what a normal mountain climber should have. That and she had a point about the fire.
“You’re sharp, young lady,” I pick my words carefully, because I’ve never been in this situation before.
“Don’t call me young lady, you look about the same age as me,” Kaylie shoots back, scampering over to me. “I’ve been looking for you for forever.”
The fire has warmed her enough now, and she pulls back her hoodie and goggles. The face is strikingly familiar, almost like…
*And then in the corner of my mind, I’m back. I’m climbing the mountain again for the first time, alongside my sister. The guide marches along in front of us purposefully, pointing out the various landmarks and caches of supplies along the way.*
*It was important to remember such things, he said. It would help us survive.*
*Then the storm, sudden, abrupt and ridiculously violent. It whips our guide off the side of the cliff with a gust of winds, just as he’s finished securing my sister and I to the cliffside.*
*I feel my sister’s hand in mine.*
*We trudge on, trying to make our way down the best we can. But we know the two of us can never reach the bottom.*
*I find the cave.*
*“Look!” I exclaim. “Didn’t he say there were emergency supplies there?”*
*“I can survive on the supplies here,” I say confidently. “You take what we have and go down and look for help.”*
*We both know I’m lying. There’s nothing in the cave. But we only have enough supplies for one. Everything else had been lost in the storm.*
*“I promise, I’ll come back for you,” she sobs, her tears freezing on her face almost as soon they came out. “I promise.”*
*“I’m sure you will,” I beam.*
*And then I die.*
And then I’m back. And the tears I had seen on my sister’s cheeks are now on mine. Gloved hands grasp mine, tightly, painfully. Almost as if Kaylie knew I would disappear at any moment.
“My mom always said you would be here,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around me, hot tears staining my jacket. “She was so sure the man in the legend was you. So sure, but no one else believed her and grandpa refused to let her climb up here again to find you, not after what happened.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper shakily, a big brother to my little sister’s daughter. “It’s okay.”
My voice breaks, grief, sorrow, relief and joy all mix into one quivering concoction.
“Thank you for coming back for me.”
|
Winds filled with sparkling ice crystals whipped across the glacier. Yawning crevasses threatened to swallow the odd group of climbers and their tents that rested dangerously close to the edge.
The leader of the group was a bear of a man named Bjorn -- a climbing veteran of many years. I could see it in the way he moved, his confident gait despite their current situation. He knew they just needed to hunker down and outlast the storm.
The others were scared. I heard them talking at night -- anxious voices from within the tents -- discussing their dwindling rations, lack of heat, and deteriorating morale.
They wouldn't last long out here. Not in this weather. Even though Bjorn assured them that they'd be fine, they needed help.
I took a few steps closer to the tent. The heat radiating through me. Perhaps they heard my creaking footsteps in the snow because the voices died down in an instant.
"Stop it, Diana," a man finally said.
"Screw you, Charles."
"We're on a mountainside, there's nothing out there."
"I didn't say anything," Diana muttered.
"You didn't have to. You always get that look, like, *oh my god the Yeti is right outside our tent!*"
"I've never said anything--"
I had taken another step closer and they'd heard it, and cut their conversation again. For a long time, I watched their motionless silhouettes through the canvas. If it weren't for the howling wind, I'm sure I would've heard their heartbeats.
The light inside Bjorn's tent had been turned off for the night, and the snores from the occupants in the main tent occasionally reached my frozen eardrums.
"Who's out there?" Charles finally said, his voice trembling slightly.
I wanted to comfort him, but I'd learned from my mistakes. Speaking to them, was not a good idea. And so, I waited in silence.
Minutes passed and the residents of the closest tent started whispering to each other again. They were nervous. I could hear it in their voices. After a few more minutes, they turned off their lights as well.
Hopefully, they'd fall asleep soon. I waited, frozen. Before long, I heard Charle's heavy regular breathing.
In a few creaking steps, I finally reached the side of their tent and bent down to leave food for them. But the zipper opened and Diana stuck out her head.
I looked at her and she looked at me, her eyes widening in terror. She filled her lungs, ready to scream.
"Don't..." My stiff vocal cords produced an almost grinding noise. "I just... want... to help..."
As usual, this only made it worse, and Diana let out a shriek before rushing out of the tent and away from the campsite. Charles was the next one to wake up, and he too came out of the tent and saw me. His face twisted in surprise and disgust, and then he fell backward into the crevasse.
Panic erupted around me, and all the climbers fled in different directions. I groaned and shuffled over to Bjorn's tent, hoping that he at least had some sense left in him.
With a roar, he came at me with an ice pick. Something primal had taken over him. I'd seen it many times before. The harsh conditions brought out the worst in people. I watched helplessly as the big man slipped past me on the ice and skidded over the edge, falling down the steep side of the mountain.
With a sigh, I gathered up the remains of their food and equipment. Perhaps the next party of climbers would accept my help.
***
More of my stories here: r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2018-08-18T08:32:31 | 2018-08-18T07:52:46 | 4,956 | 160 |
[WP] As you die, the simulation ends. It turns out that "life" as you knew it was a rite of passage for youth, and determines what type of job you will do for the rest of your days. The simulation overseer walks in and hands you your results.
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There was a dull pounding behind my eyes. Opening them relieved this, a little, but it was certainly a bad choice. In the red emergency lights around me stood six men, pistols leveled at my chest.
"Mr. Laires, you have failed your test." I squinted to see the man who spoke. Standing behind the six with guns was a neatly dressed man in a grey business suit that blended into the metal of the walls.
I frowned. "What do you mean?" I knew what he meant, of course. I just needed some time.
"Your simulife showed your disturbing psychopathic tendencies, Mr. Laires." The man's voice was calm, steady. Almost as though he had not witnessed me kill twenty-three people in the simulation. I could see it in his eyes, though. He had.
I started to shake visibly. My muscles weren't fully functioning again after the induced coma. I still needed time. "Wh-" My voice 'caught' in my throat. "What do you mean?" 'Tears' sprang to my eyes. "I'd never hurt anyone."
"You certainly would." His voice was terse. He wasn't taken in by my performance. "But there is hope yet." He gestured to me. "Stand up. We'll escort you to Rehabilitation."
I continued my shaking as I swung my legs over the side. The man in the suit may not be fully taken in by my show, but some of the guards were. "Y-you mean you can help me?" Relief was evident in my voice. Just a few more moments.
"Yes, Mr. Laires, we can." He was every bit the liar I am. Rehabilitation doesn't cure anyone. It just removes the problem individual.
"Oh thank G-" I tumbled to the ground when I tried to put weight on my legs. Or so the guards thought. Two moved forward to lift me up. I struck like a viper. The locked fingers of my hand struck the left guard's throat. Instinctively his hands flew to his windpipe, trying to help the air through. In one smooth motion, I twisted the hand of the second guard around, bringing his body in front of mine as I picked up the fallen pistol. One pull of the trigger put the guard with the crushed windpipe out of his misery. A second pull made sure my shield wouldn't twist away.
"TAKE HIM OUT!" The man in the suit screamed. Panic touched his eyes. It was delicious. The guards were all wearing vests, including my shield. No helmets, though. Three, four, five, six. I was mercilessly accurate and quick. I'd had a lifetime of practice, after all.
"How?" The man in the suit whispered. "You've had no access to firearms. How?" Credit where credit is due, he was much more calm than my usual victims.
Allowing the body of Guard #2 to drop, I straightened myself up, keeping the pistol leveled at my would-be executioner. A wicked smile covered my face. "That's the plus side to being neuro-disparate." I said calmly. "Sometimes the machines don't work exactly as they should." I took a few steps forward to a clear section of floor where my footing would be unimpeded but I was still outside of his reach. "For instance, the memory wiper."
His eyes narrowed. "So everything was-"
"Practice." I cut him off.
"You'll never get out of here, you know. Reinforcements are on their way." He stated with confidence. What fortitude he had, staring down death like this.
I made a little ticking sound with my mouth, creating a sound like a clock. A little shiver ran through the man's body. He knew what it meant. The smile widened a little. "Did you know that this facility has the EXACT same layout as St. Paul's Mercy Hospital?" His face went pale with realization. Laughter bubbled up from my chest. This was just too good. "You really have some lazy level designers."
"You'll still never make it pa-"
"Won't need to." I cut him off again. Time was getting short. "I have thirty seconds before the nearest guard could arrive, but you probably brought that one with you." He made a noise of protest. A lie. I continued "That gives me plenty of time to take the service tunnel."
He straightened himself. He knew he was going to die, but he planned on buying time for the guards. "It's boarded off." He stated simply.
My smile became a little more gentle. "Lying is a sin, you know?" I turned my body to best absorb the shock of my next shot. "But that is all we have time for. Arrivederci." One last trigger pull and the well-dressed man crumpled. I tossed the pistol onto his body and hurried to the corner where the tunnel's entrance lay, blue patient's gown flapping in the breeze. I would have liked to keep myself armed, but the weapon would out me in a moment. The boxes on the hatch slowed me for a mere moment, and I jumped down into safety just as the sound of boots could be heard in the distance. I'd lied to the man in the suit, the simulation did not perfectly recreate the facility. So I'd memorized a blueprint before going in. The tunnel had been abandoned and boarded up, like he said, but I had made sure my escape route was clear before they came for me. My box stood just where I'd left it, containing all I'd need to get away.
"Where should I go now?" I mused aloud to myself. The wicked smile returned. "Maybe Paris. I've always wanted to haunt Paris."
(Critiques welcome, and I dare say hoped for).
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“Why did you do that?”
I fought for my thoughts in the haze. It feels like I just woke up here, but I'm not sure I've ever been asleep.
“Why did you do that?”
I struggled to find words. Eventually, I found some words that were passable: “Do...what?”
“Why did you kill yourself?”
My gut turned. I can't imagine any time you could really ever ask someone that, but it seemed like a very insensitive thing to ask.
I heard the question rephrased:
“You had a choice, why take your own life?”
My life played before me like a forced daydream, a half-awake nightmare to which I was captive. Years of working long hours with little pay, of responsibility without respect, of watching my dreams die under mountains of paperwork. “I wanted control over a part of my life. Any part of it, even it's end.”
“Do you remember why you are here?”
I stared at nothing, confused. This seemed like an abrupt transition. Having just remembered that I had offed myself left me in a weird place, emotionally.
“Do you remember running for office”
Again, I stare. It's been a rough day.
“The life you ended was a simulation. In your real life, you are a candidate for the esteemed position of Senator of the 14th Collective. As part of the selection process, candidates are presented with a simulated life where they are given the opportunity to show their response to the pressure of working for the people. To show their devotion to the people. To accept their position with humility. To perform their function with due diligence.”
I blink for what I realize is the first time in several minutes.
“Your response was to hang yourself.”
| 2016-09-10T22:44:46 | 2016-09-10T20:46:06 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] As a small child, you walked in on Death taking your great grandmother. You unexpectedly became friends and Death began to visit you often for tea and conversation. You're now very, very old and Death has become quite evasive on subject of your ultimate demise.
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“It’s gonna be okay, little dude.” A surfer came over and sat next to me and my grandmother. I was sitting in the sand crying, holding tight to my grandmother’s remaining hand as her life drained away, turning the sea water red. “Everyone’s gotta go sometime, I’m just sorry you had to see her like this.”
The surfer put his hand on my grandmother’s face and just like that she was gone. “Sorry again, little dude.”
He sat with me for a long time while we waited for paramedics to arrive by helicopter. The beach was pretty remote, an old spot my grandmother liked. She had met my grandfather there when they were young and it was where he had died too. Also a shark.
I didn’t say much to the surfer, just cried mostly. When the paramedics finally arrived they loaded my grandmother and I into the helicopter and as we flew away. I saw the surfer waving at me from the sand. I didn’t see him again for a long time after that.
The next time I saw him was maybe ten years later. I was going to school to be a paramedic and had come back to that beach. I had taken up surfing like my grandparents and I could see why they loved it so much. “Can’t really find beaches like this one anymore. They always end up getting so crowded.” The surfer said to me as we floated together watching the sun crawl toward the sea like a dying man in the desert.
He looked the same as he had all those years ago; sandy blond hair, dark tan. Same orange and yellow trunks too. When I saw him on the beach saying that I was shocked would be an understatement. I may have been in shock, though.
We had gotten to talking after the initial surprise was over. Apparently death is a job just like any other. He told me that he still felt bad about taking my grandmother in front of me the way he did and had come by to see how I was doing. The shark wasn’t his idea, he had wanted something a bit more peaceful if I was going to be present but the union sets the rules and the union wanted a shark attack. I guess they can be a little poetic.
“It’s pretty rad you took up surfing, little dude.” He had the most amazing smile. “ I was kinda worried you might be scared off by how your granny went.”
“She loved it. I wanted to love it too, and I do.”
The surfer nodded.
We started seeing each other a lot more after that. Usually accident sites, of course, but outside of our jobs too. We’d go out sometimes. bars, surfing, movies. We spent pretty much all of our free time together.
We had come to an agreement, early in our friendship: I wasn’t allowed to ask him about my death or what comes after. “It ruins the surprise.” He had told me with a cheeky smile one evening. I was always curious, though. It’s hard not to be when your best friend knows all the secrets of the afterlife. One day it got the better of me.
“So,” I said and took a drink of my beer, “what’s going to happen to me?”
We were pretty drunk at this point and I had forgotten about the agreement. Or I just didn’t care, it’s a little blurry to be honest.
“Can’t ruin the surprise, little dude, or the big guy will have my ass.”
“Big guy? You mean God?”
Death snorted. “Naw, bro, the union rep. That particular big guy is a little too busy to care about what one worker bee says to another worker bee, the reps are the ones who keep an eye on us.”
“Come on! We’ve known each other for years, you can tell me.”
“No, man, I really with I could.”
“I’ll get it out of you some day, You’ll see.”
“Yeah, man, someday.” Had I not been drunk I might have seen it coming.
We didn’t leave the bar until they started closing up and they kicked us out. “Back to my place for a couple more?”
“Sorry, can’t. I have work tomorrow.” He smiled at me and I nodded.
We walked most of the way to my place in the warm night air, sobering up a little bit along the way. “Sorry about asking.”
“Don’t worry about it, everyone’s curious. It’s the one big question nobody can answer until it’s too late.” Death smiled at me as I stepped into the street. All I remember after that is light and a loud horn.
When I came to in the hospital Death was sitting in a chair next to my bed. “You,” he pointed at me. “Need to be more careful or you’ll ruin the surprise.” We both laughed, which really hurt.
I held my head and groaned. “I feel like I was hit by a truck.” The hangover was worse than, what I assumed was, the broken ribs.
“You were.”
My life continued normally, I met someone, had kids, grew old. He took my wife, I had asked him if it could be him and he talked to his boss. She was happy that it was him, they’d been friends for longer than he and I had. He was the one that introduced us. We often joked that if I hadn’t come around she’d have married him instead.
He came to visit me in the hospital on my birthday. I was turning one hundred and four and he still looked exactly the same as the day he’d taken my grandmother.
“Why aren’t I dead?”
“What?”
“Why aren’t I dead?” I repeated. “I’m a century old and I’ve survived nearly a dozen car accidents, four heart attacks, two different kinds of cancer, I’ve had nearly every disease under the sun and my leg was eaten by shark. Why Aren’t I dead?”
He looked nervous and picked up a photo from the dresser at the end of the room. “Is this jean? I haven’t seen her in years, how is she?”
“You’re evading the question.”
Death set the photo down and played with his tie briefly before visibly giving up. The shark. It was supposed to kill you. I guess they were trying to be poetic or something. I was there and I was told to take you but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He ran his fingers through his hair and growled. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”
“You idiot. I smiled at him and shook my head. “What if they find out? You could lose your job, then what?”
He shrugged. “I dunno, be a surf instructor or something?”
I laughed, then coughed and took a few breaths. “It’s been what? Sixty years? It’s a damned miracle you haven’t been caught.”
He laughed too and sat at the foot of my bed.
“I know what you’re thinking. Go ahead.” I smiled at my old friend and motioned for him to come over to me. “I’m old, my wife is gone, my family don’t visit anymore. Nobody will ask questions if an old man dies in his sleep.”
He just looked at me and I kicked him with my good leg. “Come on you old bastard, don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental. I’m ready to go.”
He laughed and stood, coming closer. “I’ll see you after.”
“Aw, now you’ve gone and ruined the surprise.” We both smiled at each other and he put a hand over my face. It felt like falling asleep.
A few months later we met up at a bar. “I still can’t believe they accepted you.”
“Yeah, I know but as it turns out dead paramedics are a shoe in for a job as Death. ‘Experience with the dying and no discomfort in the presence of the dead’ they said.” We both laughed. I looked different now, of course. Younger. We celebrated for a while but left before the bar closed this time, we both had work in the morning. What comes after is a story for another time, though, I think.
|
"Come in, come in!" The old man wheezed, opening the door for his oldest friend to step through the threshold.
"Thank you, James." The well-dressed young man entered the house, piercing white eyes scanning the room, noting the dust that piled higher each visit. Pictures hung on the wall, the paper cracking and falling to the worn grey carpet, as if his friend lived in the eye of an endless snowstorm.
"Coffee?" James asked, hurrying to the kitchen as fast as his desiccated old bones could carry him.
"You already know the answer, my friend." The man responded, his guess finding
fidelity in the sharp whistle of the kettle, which had been brewing before he'd even arrived.
James returned with two mugs of tea, sitting down at the table where the young man waited. "Do you still add a teaspoon of Jim Bean?" He asked with a wry smile.
The old man rasped a chuckle, "We're not at Uni anymore. This liver isn't what it used to be. Besides, you could never get drunk. One of the few things I don't envy about you."
Death laughed, and took a sip from his mug. After setting it down on the mahogany table, he clasped his hands underneath, unsure of what to say.
"Do you remember Halloween in '65? When we pranked the dean?" James grinned at his companion. "When you did all that spooky cloak of darkness shit in his office?"
"Not the most...professional use of my abilities." The young man responded, pinching the bridge of his nose with a small, embarrassed grin. The pair laughed, and shared stories from James's life.
As the irreverence settled down, Death looked at James, his face betraying maudlin that he desperately tried to hide. James stood up and walked over to a photograph above the fireplace. "Remember this?" He asked, Death joining him to see the picture of a young James at his college graduation, standing alone with his degree.
"I was there. Right there," the young man responded, pointing to young James's left where he had stood all those years ago.
"That's where you met Cassandra, right?" Death asked, wringing his hands nervously.
"Ah, Cassie. Such a lovely woman, and all caught up on a nobody like me."
"You would have made a happy couple."
"As could we have." James said bluntly. "Or not. We've had this talk many a time, I remember."
The young man sighed. "We have. And I have stood by that decision. I am not in the business of making choices extorted by burdens of the heart, James."
"Heart?" The old man coughed another raspy chuckle. "Maybe I just wanted to share a bed with a god just to say I did."
Death chuckled quietly.
The old man turned his attention back to the photo. "When is it my time exactly, then?"
The question caught Death off guard. "You know I can't talk to you about work."
"When I stood up to stare at this memory with you, I stepped out of more than just my chair. I think you can tell me now."
Death frowned, and turned his head back to the table. White eyes beneath furrowed brows saw the lifeless James, his body slumped back against the chair, a slight smile on his lips.
"I am sorry. Usually, I am not. This is business that all mortals must conclude. But... I'm sorry, James."
The now youthful spirit of James smiled at his oldest friend. "I am not sad, nor afraid. How could I be?"
Death grasped the spirit's hand, and readied for departure.
"I loved my life. But with your company, I have learned to love Death just as much."
The two embraced, and the room was empty. Two tea mugs sat empty on the mahogany table, wallpaper fell like snow to the carpet, and dust piled on the mantle, above which stood two pieces of wire where a photo once hung.
| 2016-08-01T12:46:56 | 2016-08-01T11:57:43 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
My power is telekinesis, but they've never seen me use that power, instead, "We've defeated your measly robots Technie! It's time for you to surrender and put and end to your evil deeds!" Honestly, it was a fun hobby, but cause an explosion one too many times and all of a sudden you're a supervillain.
It didn't help that I was criminally bored at the time, "You brainless fools! You think these robots were all I had? You were WRONG!" I said, calling forth my new invention. It stood at three meters tall and packed quite a punch. It resembled a gorilla both in form and strength. For this bad puppy I had to call in a few favors. Turns out when you play supervillain for fun, you can also meet actual supervillains.
"Now go!" I ordered my and \[Redacted\]'s creation. It jumped forward at an incredible pace and for a moment I feared it would be too much for these C-grade heroes, but they managed to surprise me by first taking the robots vision and then its mobility. Thankfully my mask hid my worry and I didn't let my posture waver.
It was a tricky thing to do as there were numerous small hidden cameras, but the black tar they threw at it seemed to cover its entire body and stick.
Their empowered arrows were too weak to bypass its defense, let alone their measly punches and flamethrower attacks, but they were quick to change tactics when nothing of that worked.
After throwing more of that tar, they carefully evaded its punches and attacked its joints. I have to say, they'd improved over the course of these last few years.
While they were busy doing all of that, I sneakily made my escape. Yet another loss for Technie... I wonder what I should have for breakfast.
The day passed quickly as I drank my coffee and watched the news. Today was of course, all about Technie. It was at times like these I had to wonder how many heroes and supervillains were faking it. It was a good reality show though, and I enjoyed messing with the heroes.
I still had to head to my civilian business, but on the meanwhile I would think of new quirky things to add to my dialogue. I should also try to break less roads during my fights, this traffic was horrendous.
Finally when I was right outside my store, I noticed the numerous police cars and sirens that'd surrounded the place. A bad feeling started to well up on my stomach as I had yet to see my dear employees.
I approached with all the self restraint I could master, nudging a cop that very obviously wasn't paying attention, "What happened here?" I asked and he jumped, turning around to see who was speaking.
"Get out of here civilian, there is an ongoing hero investigation here about a supervillain called Technie. I predict things won't be as peaceful as they were in the morning." The man said, trying to shoo me out of the scene.
The bad feeling only increased at his words, I batted away his hands, holding my poker face as best as I could, though he was starting to grow suspicious, so perhaps I wasn't doing as good of a job as I could.
The officer looked me over once more, seeing the figure of a worried man and with a sigh started to answer, "If this is indeed one of the Technie's hideouts, he won't be happy. The heroes entered with a band, not knowing what to expect and a lot of the civilians working inside were injured. I heard one of them was even in a critical condition. Yo-" I cut him off there, any remaining self-restrain I had vanishing in seconds.
The officer didn't even notice when he went unconscious, but it was doubtful he would forget the visage of a man filled with enough anger to burn down a city.
Still, the man hadn't done anything wrong, so I loathed to hurt him more.
As I walked back towards my car, taking out a spare suit I'd only put there as a joke, my mind started to wonder. There was no way the heroes were this stupid, there had to have been customers going in and out. Let alone that, the outside was build from glass, it was reinforced glass, but nowadays it would be rarer to find ones that had normal glass. They had to have seen my employees.
Yet... they still decided to head in with force. They still decided to hurt civilians. My people, my employees.
The law was clear, in a fight between supers, those that'd caused the most harm were called villains. In comparison to what they'd done today, I'd done nothing. They were villains. They were villains, and so was I.
I cracked my neck, wearing the suit without even moving. It was a costly trick to design, though made easier with my telekinesis, but my mind wasn't on that now.
Perhaps I'd been too kind. Perhaps I should take myself seriously for once.
I threw one of the police vehicles that was blocking my way and the police finally started to take notice of me. They noticed my mask and yelled at me to back off, but I didn't reply, I only kept moving towards my store. When the first officer shot at me, I caught the bullet, surprising them all. If they wanted to see a serious Technie, they now would.
I ignored the officer that shot me and passed by him, not sparing him a glance. The man collapsed into his own two feet after I'd passed by, breathing heavily. They could see I was serious when I hadn't made a single comment and shook their heads. This wasn't a fight they could interfere in.
Instead, they opened the radio to inform the others and perhaps even the heroes, but how would I have left a piece of technology intact when I was changing into my suit. There were numerous cameras and the best way to avoid getting my real identity caught was to fry them all. While I wasn't the tech supervillain they all believed me to be, I still had a lot of toys in store to make them think I was.
When I reached the smoldering remains of my store, a vision of happy, hard working employees superimposed itself in front of the destruction. And then, the charred remains and melted glass... my face grew colder and colder beneath the mask, and when I saw the ambulance at the edge of my vision, recognizing Greg, everything turned red.
The pavement cracked beneath me and reality started to undulate. It seems like the heroes had finally heard of who'd appeared and made their entrance. But this time they didn't encounter the quirky and sarcastic man that normally greeted them with a bang, or a trap. No, the Technie they encountered was silent and nothing had attacked them on the way, despite their expectations. And despite what they saw, the man in front of them was an order of magnitude scarier than Technie.
A bit unnerved at his quiet figure, the archer Melinda spoke first, "If this is about your store we're sorry, my friends and I were too excited to finally have a lead at your homebase and-"
Her leader, Tart, stopped her at that point, putting his hand up to shush her, "Why do you care about the base of a supervillain. We either kill or capture him and we're done with this menace to society."
None of the heroes noticed, but the fluctuating space that'd started to calmed down tensed a bit more as the man finished speaking. More cracks appeared at the asphalt but they didn't notice that either.
Not trusting myself to speak much, I only uttered two words, "I see..." My cold tone threw off even their leader, who by now had a glowing sword up and ready to fight with.
Slowly, I started to walk towards them, taking in every little detail as they didn't know how to react to a Technie with no robots. From how they tensed up, to the smirk on their leader vanishing, I saw and accounted for every little detail.
But it wasn't needed. With my next step, they all fell to the ground, the pressure around them intensifying to a point where even the barrier one of them threw around them didn't last for more than a second.
The fire that poured out of the red hair's hands was consequently extinguished moments after its appearance. Still, I didn't want to kill them, so I eased up on the pressure a bit, but not enough where they could move.
From their point of view it should feel like a hundred elephants were pressing down on them. And they should be thankful I hadn't turned their bones into paste already, though looking at the hateful look Tart gave me, that wasn't going to last long.
"Don't bother Tart, you five have a few things to apologize for." I said, breaking Tart's bones the very same second. First his fingers, one by one, then his entire arm and then about every limb in his body.
His screams were more of an annoyance than anything pleasing, and I shut his mouth to make him shut up. The moaning was still very annoying, so at the end, I knocked him unconscious.
(1/2)
|
\[ParaSEC Target File, Threat Level: Low\]
* C-Class audiokinesis \[Looping and pitch. No evidence of volume control\]
* D-Class speedster abilities. \[Slightly faster run speed. Potential sensory acuity - further evidence required\]
* Target demonstrates propensity to use powers exclusively for show. All 'villainous' activity mundane in nature, possibly a publicity stunt. \[Officially denied by all contacted PR agencies. IntOps priority low - pursue only if convenient during other activities\]
\[End File\]
You know the problem with most villains?
Okay, trick question. There's no *one* problem with them, usually it's the egomania, or psychopathy, or the tunnel-vision. I used to say that they lacked flair, but some of them have a decent sense of drama with those capes. The real problem? They lack *fun.*
Not Jester's knife-wielding jack-in-the-box fun, but something that makes life genuinely enjoyable in itself. Sadism doesn't count. That's why I'm different, I'm not here to crush the world in my iron grasp, or to torture the world. I'm a villain for kicks.
Welcome to the world of DJ Dastardly.
Do you *know* how hard it is to give yourself a silly name as a villain? I had to fight *months* of media calling me things like 'Remix'. It's hard to scaremonger around someone with a silly name, they conveniently left out footage of my preferred moniker spraypainted everywhere for MONTHS. It was only once some kids posted it on social media that they were forced to give in. After that, I was Page 17 material at best.
I'm a heist-villain. Low level stuff- museums, science fairs, that one time I nabbed the mayor's statue at town hall. High visibility, low impact. That's my game, and my 'nemeses'... Well, let's just say the same goes for them too.
I've got a lot of respect for Eclipse Squad's PR team. It takes a creative mind to look at a human strobe light, a gothic fog machine, and a B-class telekinetic ("but DJ, she can fly!". She floats, and can make other things float. I'm shaking in my very fashionable boots) and give them some damn good branding.
So, here's the score (and believe me, I know scores)- You're somewhere public, but with oddly good acoustics. Someone takes a step, and it echoes a little bit too much. Then again. It starts looping- no one's walking anywhere, but now there's a tok-tok-tok of a 4/4 beat. I used to always have to say the name myself, but nowadays if I'm lucky someone else guesses first.
*DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ D-D-D-Dastardly!* (they only say it the once, the effect is all me).
From there, you're all part of the performance. Every step, noise, gasp, and laugh? It goes in the soundtrack. I'm a one-man-acapella/percussion looping pedal, and the audience? They're starting to like me. Turns out security guards find it really hard to focus when everything they do gets looped into a live performance. I'm there taking a bow at the item-du-jour, and Eclipse Squad roll in. Midnight's black fog blocks my camera angle, Moonlight *tries* to stun me with a flare (come on kid, *I'm in a cloud of black smoke, think about it*.), then Luna tries to knock me over the head with some slow-moving object. I throw them a bone "Damnit Eclipse Squad! You've foiled me again! But I'll be back for an encore!", and slip out the back.
All fun and games, honestly a great way to spend an afternoon, not to mention boost listens on my soundcloud! Until it got serious.
Turns out strobe-boy *moonlights* as a wannabe hacker (I'm not sorry). Tracked my IP to the little music studio I run. The one with the music program to keep delinquent kids off the streets.
They roll up in full-costume, see some kid that they'd knocked around for graffiti before and decide that this is DJ Dastardly's gang lair, and that the kids are my 'henchmen'. Eclipse Squad might be idiots, but as it turns out, when faced with blinding smoke and flashing lights, a lot of teenagers panic. Now imagine an enclosed space with a *bunch* of panicking teenagers who can't see.
3 concussions, one broken leg, 6 cases of PTSD. I'm just thankful Eva had detention, I don't want to know if Moonlight's power could've triggered her epilepsy.
I'm protective of my kids. They've had a bad run, and I was trying to show them a way *out* of the system. The injuries were one thing, but because they found a little weed on him, Jim's going back to juvie. That was the last straw.
| 2022-11-29T02:27:20 | 2022-11-28T20:44:52 | 52 | 11 |
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left.
|
You never realize what time sounds like until you need it to stop. You take it for granted, that *tick* of a secondhand and *tock* of a minute, carelessly and endlessly for decades until and unless you have no choice but to listen. Then you hear it all at once. It's thick, and it's overwhelming. Air settling, electricity buzzing through plugs and fixtures, lips releasing bated breath. You see a tear drop from your best friend's eye, see her hand grip the camera and her head nod you onward - but for the first time, the only time, you actually hear it. You smell it, you taste it, and you *feel* it in your soul. You get that there are infinite senses, and you feel lucky - blessed, even - that you are one of the chosen few in all of humanity to experience them all at once.
Silent hands urged speaking, but for a few seconds, I could not find my voice. I was stuck, transfixed on the high of Creation, on the reality of seeing things as they truly were. Finally, someone flashed the "LIVE" light, and - just like that - I snapped back. It felt as if I'd come up gasping for air, and I tried desperately to readjust.
I turned to the puppet fixed on my left forearm, smiled a bit. He had been an extension of me for over six years now, and though inanimate, Mr. Waggles had taught me many, many things. Not least of those lessons was love, the kind of joyful, transcendent love that enables children to laugh and weep over toys and dolls that could never hope to return the favor. And so I gathered all of the love that I could muster, turned slowly back to the camera, and remembered all my favors that deserved return.
Mr. Waggles began to speak, and for a second, it felt like my hand moved on its own. "I know we've all heard something really bad, and some of you may be scared at home." He turned to me. "Isn't that right, Cameron?"
I gulped down a growing lump and nodded. "I don't know what to do, Mr. Waggles. How do we solve this? Can you help us like - like before? With everything else?"
Mr. Waggles laughed, patted me gently. "Cameron. There are some things we can't control. Like time, like life... like this." I heard sniffles start to break from the crew, from the other puppeteers on the scene. "But that's okay - no, really, I promise! You know why? Because there are some things we *can* control, things that are even more important than violence or a big, silly war."
"Like what, Mr. Waggles?" Despite myself, my voice grew indignant.
"Like who we spend these last minutes with, or - or who we hug and tell we love them." Mr. Waggles stopped, hugged my opposite shoulder tightly. The stifled sniffles turned into full blown sobs. "Or what we choose to think about right now. Like learning to ride a bike! Or when our kindergarten teacher Ms. Magic gave us all cinnamon teddy grahams for snack last week! Or when we sat with Daddy on the hammock and he said that he loved us more than aaaaaaall the world's countries! And there are a lot - do *you* know how many?"
My voice grew angry. "Mr. Waggles, I don't want to learn right now. I'm scared, and I'm angry, and I don't want to lose my mommy or my daddy or - or my sister Belle -" I felt a tear drop. "And I'm scared that it - that it's gonna hurt. Is it?"
"Everybody's scared, Cameron. And I wish I knew everything, but I don't." Mr. Waggles looked up with those button eyes of his. They bled empathy and pity and adoration. "But that's okay, because we *all* feel like this, so that means we're *all* together." He turned back to the camera. "And being together has always been the greatest, bestest, most important thing of all. Let's sing our song. I know you're scared, but will you sing with me, Cameron?" He - I (who knew which was which anymore) - looked around the room. "Will *you*?"
And then the most beautiful thing happened. Everyone - from the janitor to the director to the camerawoman who I was one day going to marry - all joined in.
"*You and me,*"
Something fell in the distance.
"*friends forever,*"
A wave of heat.
"*How I love when, we're together...*"
|
"Morty , we're back from the news in 5...4...3...2...1..." Jim the producer pointed towards Morty as a signal to start the show. Morty stared straight in to the camera. Then he sat down.
"Kids" Morty began "kids...for the past 23 years it has been my pleasure... no, my life, my very life's work to be with you for an hour every day. Even though I haven't met many of you, I feel as though you are part of my family and I, God willing, am part of yours." Morty was tearing up.
"We never take the time to thank the ones we love the most" he continued. "Well I want to thank each and every one of you for watching, for sharing with me on the website, for coming to my live shows."
Morty stood up and walked toward the camera so that only his face would show on the home tv screens. Tears ran over his make-up.
"I love you all, very very much. But I love you most of all".
| 2014-07-29T16:18:41 | 2014-07-29T14:13:54 | 80 | 17 |
[WP] The three rules have been passed down from generation to generation: One, when it visits, do not refuse it entry. Two, when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity. Three, when it leaves, do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight. In this way, our family has been kept safe.
|
Magda's words in the market still haunted Lydia. "The Dragon comes tonight. The whispers tell me it will be your home. Remember the rules."
Lydia stirred the pot of stew. Late winter meant beans, onions, potatoes, and some pork. To make it like her mother taught her would mean black pepper, garlic and paprika' but Bogdan didn't like paprika. Her wrist still hurt from the last time she made dinner "too spicy". But The Dragon was coming. He deserved a traditional meal. She would bear Bogdan's wrath if it meant appeasing The Dragon.
The twins burst into the kitchen, home from school, Irina chasing her brother Alexei who was playing keep-away with a handful of wild chive sprouts. "You did NOT find them! I found them!"
Alexei made a rude noise and rounded the kitchen table. "I got them first, so I picked them, so I found them! I get to give them to mama!"
"Enough!" Magda smiled as the two children came to a stop at her firm command and stood straight. "Irina, you have the better eyes and saw them, your brother has the faster feet, so he got them. You both did well." Kissing both children on the forehead she took the chives and began chopping them up. "I saw the red marks on the back of your hand, Irina. Did you get in trouble with the nuns again?"
Irina frowned. "They were saying bad things about the town and people like you and Babushka Magda. They teach stupid and I told them that."
"What *gluposti* did the nuns teach today?" Lydia's lips pulled tight as she dropped the chives into the stew.
The small girl stomped her foot. "They said The Dragon was evil and they said he's the devil."
Alexei straightened his tie. "They also said that as a boy I shouldn't have long hair, that it makes me look like a gypsy or a ha...hey...." He looked to his sister.
Irina harumphed. "Heathen."
Lydia turned. "Why were they speaking about The Dragon? They are outsiders. They don't know about our ways."
"Babushka Magda was at the schoolyard, reminding us all of the rules. She says He's coming."
Alexei looked down, sad. "The fat nun chased her away. Hit her with a broom."
Lydia shook he head. The Turks had not good, but at least in the remote villiages they left the people to be. Since Carol became King, the book-worshippers pressed into every corner, spreading their "truth". "Go clean up and set the table for dinner."
-----
The children sat in silence as Bogdan sipped his tuica. Lydia's neck still throbbed from where he had grabbed her and thrown her to the floor over the stew, and her knee would be swollen come morning. Nothing new. "Who is this guest we're expecting and why is he so important we wait to eat?" Before she could respond, there was a knock on the door. The children looked at each other with a smile as their father rose and opened the door.
The visitor stood there, long red hair, a fine black suit with a red silk tie and handkerchief and gazed over the family with his piercing indigo eyes. His fine, thin pink lips were framed by a well groomed mustach and van dyke. "Good evening. I apologize for my lateness." He turned to Bogdan. "May I come in?"
The first rule screamed in Lydia's mind:*" When He comes, grant him hospitality."*
As her husbands face began to turn to a mild snarl, Lydia jumped up and took the visitor's hand. "Please my lord, come in, break bread and have a meal with us. We are thankful for your visit. I hope a humble winter stew will be enough."
A broad warm smile crossed his face as he crossed the threshold. "Thank you my child. It smells delicious. I'm sure it will be wonderful." Dutifully, Alexei took his coat and cane as Irina set an extra setting at the end of the table for him. As he sat, the fire flickered a little and it seemed to grow warmer in the small home.
The family ate dinner, Bogdan using a hunk of bread as a spoon or shovel rather than his tableware. He grunted and nodded at the red-haired visitor. "A fancy suit like that, you must have gotten it in the city. Why come so far out here? My wife keeps calling you 'my lord'. Why?"
The visitor sipped his goblet. "You were not born in this town, were you?"
Bogdan shook his head. "I was passing through and the sawmill needed a few workers so I thought I would make some money and move on. Then I met Lydia and decided to stay."
"A beautiful reason to stay." He winked at Lydia. "A very hospitable little town." He paused. "Your mother. Olga, yes? The stew tastes like hers."
Lydia smiled and bowed her head as she blushed slightly. "Yes, Olga Erner. I am honored you remember her for something that small."
The visitor smiled and rose. "Your family follows the old ways. You remember. for that **we** are honored." He turned to Alexei. "Please boy, bring me my coat."
Rushing like only his swift feet could, Alexei came back with the visitors coat and cane. Putting it on and straightening the lapels, he reached into the pocket and pulled out a small sack made from rough cloth and tied with a bit of red yarn that jingled with coins. "For you young man. For taking care of my things."
Alexei looked to his mother where she made a sharp nod before taking it. "Thank you my lord."
The visitor smiled and turned towards Irina, pulling a small box from his pocket. He offered it with a small flourish. "For helping your mama with this lovely dinner, and for speaking well of me to the nuns." She opened it to see a beaded bracelet made of red gems. "Keep the old ways in your heart, and they will protect you." She curtseyed and quickly put the bracelet on.
As the visitor turned to Bogdan pulling a sack from his pocket, the man of the house held up a palm. "The children can appreciate the gifts from you, but you know things you could not, act in a way you should not in another man's home and do not answer questions to who you are and how you came to be here, only speaking of these blasphemous 'old ways'. Nothing but dragons, fairy tales and blasphemy. As a good Christian, I cannot accept anything from you."
Holding the sack out to side, towards Lydia without looking away from Bogdan, the visitor frowned. "You are not a keeper of the old ways. I have no gift for you." He reached forward and gently fingered the small cross on the chain around the man's neck. "You are not mine to gift to."
Lydia shuddered as she took the heavy sack of coins , the memory of her mother repeating the second rule in her mind's eye *"Take what is offered, The Dragon's gifts are not to be refused."*
Bogdan batted the visitors hand away. "Get out! Get out of my home!" Turning away he dismissed the visitor. "You are no longer welcome. You should not have came."
The door opened. Suddenly the visitor was at Bogdan's back, his mouth next to his ear. "You are mistaken, it is you who are no longer welcome. To follow the old ways means I allow you in *my* home." Tendrils of shadows from the visitor given off from the flickering flames wrapped and bound the now struggling man. "These hills, these woods, this land...this is MY home. To live here is to be in my land. At my mercy. At my whim. Those who follow the old ways, and give the old gods their due respect and worship can live here and prosper. You welcomed me in your home, your family took the gifts I offered. Yes. But there are three rules to keep in my favor." The ever-present smile turned to a snarl, and the teeth grew long and sharp in the growing maw. "You do not turn your back on me, mortal. Your family has done well, and *they* will be safe for another generation."
The room went dark as the fire went out.
"But as delicious as the stew was, a single bowl will not feed a Dragon for a full winter."
|
The curse had followed my family for centuries. An umpteenth-great grandfather had, in a fit of impatience, razed the wrong town in the old country. The town elders had called down a harsh revenge as they burned in the simple church. Details were hazy by now, twisted and distorted by time and memory. But the conditions of the curse, and the accompanying rules, were crystal clear. The first-born of our family was bound to a lifetime of servitude. To disregard the destiny forced upon us was to watch all our loved ones (first-born excepted) die. And so it had passed from father to daughter, from mother to son, for over a thousand years.
At least the curse wasn’t sexist.
In the beginning, every couple of generations, there was one who tried to find a loophole to break the curse by not having children. Whether living alone, joining a convent or nunnery, or even running off to the woods to live as a hermit, none of my line have been able to escape. Chance, accident, temptation…or force, if the curse deemed it necessary…always intervened to ensure there was a firstborn to carry on. Even fleeing to the New World could not keep the curse or its enforcer at bay.
As curses go, I suppose it was not that bad. The lack of control over your own destiny was the most irksome part, now that we had stopped trying to evade it. That, and the enforcer’s yearly check-ins to make sure we were staying the course. This year was more momentous than usual, as my son was off to college next year and had to declare his intentions to fulfill the obligation of his bloodline.
We went through the motions, as we did every year, in order to keep up appearances in spite of the lack of the accompanying cheer that the songs told us we should have. The preparations were made for the magical night, even if it lacked the mirth that others associated with it. The other main difference was that, contrary to the stories, he…*it*…required us to be awake for the visit.
And so we sat silently in the living room, watching as the clock hands creeped closer to midnight. At the exact same time as the minute hand clicked over, a loud crash struck the roof. Metal and hooves scraped across the shingles before coming to a stop. We stood and faced the door, well-practiced by now in the rules of the curse that must be followed. To do otherwise is to invoke the same terrible consequences as refusing the curse itself.
One: when it visits, do not refuse it entry.
A single bang shuddered the door and I called “enter”. Even though I knew what to expect, it still somehow shocked me every time. Tall, skeletal, wearing a cloak and hat soaked in blood, it strode in a few paces and stopped. Eyes of glowing red coal looked out from hollow sockets above a stark white beard. Its voice was strangely deep and resonant for its gaunt form. “How have you fulfilled the obligation of your blood?”
“I still work at the benefit organization for children’s charities, drumming up support and finding assistance wherever I can,” I said, hoarsely. Its gaze bore through me as it gave a single, slow nod. For the first time, it turned to my eldest son, who flinched beneath the gaze.
“Your coming of age approaches. How do you intend to fulfill the obligation of your blood?” Its thin lips curled cruelly. “Or do you wish to deny your obligation? It has been so long...” and its hands clenched and unclenched, as if aching for blood.
“No!” he almost shouted, starting himself. “I want to study social work, so I can help kids who have escaped abusive families.” Its grin slowly vanished and he gave another slow nod.
“Very well.” It reached into a pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped in red cloth. Reaching out, he extended the package to me.
Rule two: when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity.
“By accepting this gift and offering it to the flame, you ensure another year of mercy. Mercy which your forefather did not offer the children of the village so many winters ago.” The eyes glowed brighter as it spoke. I took the lump of coal, knowing I would have to put it in the fire as soon as it left. “Until next year.” He turned to leave.
Three: do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight.
As it opened the door and stepped over the threshold, it turned slightly to meet our eyes. It seemed almost disappointed as it gave a single nod and closed the door, at which we all let out the breaths we had been holding. We had survived another visit, and we could have a semblance of celebration the next day before I returned to my life in service of children. As I moved to the fire and deposited the coal, I heard clattering and scraping overhead announcing its departure. For us now, the true holiday could begin.
| 2022-01-06T11:38:02 | 2022-01-06T10:45:38 | 116 | 84 |
[WP] Earth is contacted by an intergalactic federation. Planets are welcomed to the federation if they have something to contribute. The rest of the galaxy is interested in what they see as our greatest talent; they want our music...
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"And on to the next order of business. In the Sol system, there exists a single exoplanet that harbors an intelligent race of neo-primates who call themselves 'Humans'."
The crowd began to murmur.
"Bring forth the representative. We will begin the hearing immediately."
A scrawny looking human in a very sharp dress suit was ushered onto the center platform. The crowd gazed intently at him.
"Fleshy creature. We have but one requirement for entry into the galactic federation. You must prove that your race can provide some necessary value to our culture, economy, or pool of knowledge. Can you present to us that which we ask?"
"I believe I can, wise one. We humans are descendant from a race of proud warrior traditions. We believe that our ferocity and willingness to put ourselves in harms way to protect the greater good will be beneficial to your military efforts." The human proclaimed, proudly.
"Your savagery is more of a liability than a benefit. We have done our research, fleshling. Your race has a bad habit of developing sudden fits of xenophobia. You nearly destroyed yourselves at the end of your twentieth century. Not to mention, we have our own warriors whom we are confident can handle any problem that may arise that requires martial finesse. We do not require your aid to wage war." Said the head alien.
"Of course, but humanity would like the opportunity to prove it has changed! That it *can* change! We have dedicated ourselves to furthering our scientific knowledge and the advancement of technology. Our long-range spacecraft allowed us to come into contact with your scouts. Surely, with a team of your finest scientists, engineers and innovators, bolstered with our human ingenuity we could attain limitless possibility!"
"You are blinded by your own pride. You could not be speaking with us now, if not for the technology that we invented to decipher your tongue to ours and vice versa. Humans are sub-primitive compared to our grand artificers. If anything, we would lose centuries of time attempting to help you catch up to our own understanding of the natural universe. What possible use could you be in that situation?"
The human speaker gulped, his throat began to dry as the tension in the room continued to rise.
"I have one last proposition for you, your excellency."
"I tire of your futile efforts. Perhaps in a few more millennia when your race is more evolved, you will prove to be more valuable to our federation."
"I am certain that no member of your federation can emulate this."
The speaker pulled from his pocket, an MP3 player. He held the device up to the microphone and played for the crowd a classical ballad that would have brought a tear to anyone who had listened. When the song finished, the room fell deathly silent. The aliens looked at one another with confusion.
"It must be a war chant!" shouted one of the spectators.
"No, it is a ritual mating call!" shouted another.
"It's neither and both." the human spoke once more with confidence and enthusiasm. "This is our music. We create songs to convey emotions or tell stories that simply cannot be spoken any other way. Every culture on Earth has developed their own kind of music, and each one is unique and valuable in it's own way. Here, I'll play another."
The man flipped through the player and played singing from a Christian choir troupe, then a country song, then a jazz tune. The crowd had settled and was listening intently to the sounds echoing through the hearing chamber. As the last song concluded, the leader called for order.
"This is adequate." Spoke the head alien. "Perhaps I misjudged your race. You are indeed talented in your own way, and I think that your music will revitalize our economy, and steer our member races towards more whomesome multiculturalism rather than materialism."
"Thank you. I'm sure there are many human singers and songwriters on Earth right now who can't wait to begin."
"I, Sloa'slrk, 714th Head of Council, hereby approve of the Human Charter, and accept them as a fully fledged member race of the Galactic Federation of Intelligent Life."
The crowd wiggled their gills, strobed their colorful translucent skin, and even clapped and cheered in support of the decision.
The human scurried off of the platform, where he could finally exhale and breathe much easier.
"It's a good thing I switched my playlist before I left Earth." He muttered to himself, as he began walking to his chambers to retire for the evening.
|
More a limerick than a poem, I hope that's okay.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Federation wanted our music.
Said they wanted the best.
We thought it was a joke on Youtube.
So we gave them Kanye West.
They said it was terrible.
One even died of a fever.
Gave us one last chance.
/b sent them Bieber.
The federation didn’t think it funny.
But all is now well.
Brought their fleet here.
And blew us all to hell.
| 2014-12-22T13:53:14 | 2014-12-22T12:59:47 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] The concept of "XP" is based around the fact that killing creatures empowers you, be it slaying a dragon or a putting down a lame horse, any killing works. You just invented antibiotics.
|
Aston, a big guy in his forties sat hunched on his working table, fiddling with a glass tube with some green glowing liquid and a bowl filled with some viscous liquid covered in white spots.
Beads of sweat were going down the wrinkles he had gotten while spending his time eyes narrowed on his experiment.
Slowly, he poured the green liquid in the bowl, drop by drop, aiming for each white spot. At each drop, a small puff of smoke was produced.
It had been ten years. First, he had lost his wife Midriga due to an epidemic of Kesh’ar the demon of plague and dieseases. Then, his only son Rodric, died of an infection because an unimportant soldier such as him didn’t deserve the attention of the few priests present in the camp.
At first, Aston wished to fight, to go and kill Kesh’ar, to go and whip the ass of all those nobles and stupid bishops playing politics instead of saving as many people as possible. But what could he do? He was level 14. Not that it is this bad for a villager, but what about those nobles? The weaker ones were maybe only level 10, but with level 40 guards, he couldn’t do much; The bishop were all at the level of knight at level 50 minimum; And Kesh’ar? No one exactly knew as the few people who could hold their own against him couldn’t fight him head on because of his underhanded methods. One had to be much stronger to actually make him fight seriously. The last one that did was the previous generation’s hero. He had fought with him, disgusted by the suffering he inflicted to the people, and their death. He never came back.
After he lost his familly, he wallowed in despair for two years befor finding a new objective.
The problem with Kesh’ar was that each person killed by his plague contributed his xp to making him stronger. After so many centuries, who knows how strong he had become. And since killing something gave minimum 1 xp... The milions of people dying in epidemics...
As the last drop was poured, the white spots that had recieved the liquid were disapearing.
“I made it! Finally! I found a way!”
Aston jumped in joy.
He could maybe not find a way to fight the demon head on, but if he could make his dieseases inefective, he would at least stop the plague lord from getting stronger.
He had spent the last 8 years perfecting this potion that could eliminate the diesease.
He was excitedly writing the result with a worn out quill in an old leather book he used to record his progress, the fingers of the hand taping frenetically on the table like he couldn’t wait to note down everything to the last detail. Suddenly, his fingers pushed holes through the table. He machinally continued, but when his eyes finally moved to see where this weird sensation on was coming from, all he saw were holes poked through the table. He remained speachless for a moment, before feeling dizzy. As he was falling down, his mind going dark, his last thoughts were total confusion about those mysterious holes through the table.
A few hours later, he woke up, still a bit blurry.
He carefully tried to remember what had happened and suddenly wanted to finish to note down the experiment before he forgot the reciepe and the exact results.
Just when he pushed himself up with his hands to quickly get back to it, he propulsed himself to the ceiling leaving a dent on it before falling back down.
“Ouch!” he said instinctively.
However, he realized he was perfectly fine.
This time he carefully got up, very slowly. It’s then that he noticed how light he felt.
He felt like an helium baloon, like if leaving the ground would make him fly up forever.
He carefully experimented, taking various pieces of the broken table he had just fell on, disregarding the various mixtures and concoctions staining his worn out grey robe.
He could turn a piece of sturdy wood to dust, with just a ‘light squeeze’.
The exact expression that had appeared at every discovery, those narrowed eyes burning with an intensity reflecting his craving to understand and take apart the thing he was curious about inside out emereged.
He carefully took the book from the ground, and finished to note the record of the first experiment.
He blew on the ink to make it dry, then, on the new page, he noted ‘Experimental log: Herculean strenght, day one’ before detailing his sensations.
However he had do find another way to measure his progress. He quickly took his vest, and went to the local adventurer guild.
In that small town, the biggest job was gathering herbs so most people were E and F ranked adventurers.
Aston wasn’t actually interested in that, but the guild card had the capability to display the stats in a confidential way. Only the owner of the card could see it.
As he went out in the middle of the afternoon, he came across a few surprised faces. Everyone knew he almost never got out, except to grab some herbs for his experiment. Even the food he ate was brought to him by Anny, the daughter of the old aubergist. She was a beatiful 30 yo lady that had always refused mariage with anyone. The only person she seemed to care about was Aston, since he had healed her father’s open fracture by putting the bone back in place and stitching it back close. He had even stopped wallowing in despair and helped until the old man got better. Sadly for her, he was unaware, as the only thing HE cared about was his herbs and vials now.
He quickly made his way to the adventurer’s guild.
In truth, the only reason why there was a guild in such a remote town was to link up with the border and serve as a relay of information. The guild was mostly independant from countries, and always maintained its own network of information and communitcation since its creation, thanks to the communication slates. With a maximum range of 5000 kilometers, the guilds were put strategically in different cities. Most of the time big ones, but sometimes less so, to keep each guild connected to at least 3 others at all time. Their requirements when it came to the border of a country were even more draconian. They built a guild or a relay station every 1000 km or so.
(edit: ortograph, formating, reformulation)
|
Dear Neville,
I'm sorry to write to you after so long, but you're really the only person I can trust right now. I haven't told anybody of my discovery, and of what it means. Not my research team. Not my wife. Nobody.
I thought it was just a harmless experiment.
Sorry, my thoughts are scattered. Let me start at the beginning. We've been studying combining forms of very basic organisms, and my idea was to combine single-cellular prokaryotic organisms with a sample of penicillium fungi. I was the only one of my research team who thought to experiment with mold, and the results were unexpected.
My sample of penicillium killed millions of single-celled life forms within minutes.
I immediately knew I'd made a mistake. The mold began to exhibit strange behaviors; it changed color, then it began to extend past the petri dish in tendrils. Then it began to grow, and as it grew, it began to make sounds and flashes of light. It produced a bolt of electricity that blew out one of the lights in the ceiling, and that's when I knew I had to take action. This mold had gathered so much Experience in such a short amount of time that it still had no idea what it could do, and in that preciously scarce amount of time, I managed to grab and use my blowtorch, rendering it inert.
Apparently the power does not stack, so I gained little Experience from the act. But now I have a dreadful knowledge, Neville.
The single-celled organisms which are responsible for so much of our sickness and death... they can be killed. Easily killed. But at what price? The result would be a body infested with the most Experienced mold to exist in this world, and should it become sentient, it could control and perhaps even kill the body to exist outside of it.
And think of what might happen, indeed what has already happened, to anybody who has eaten moldy bread? It could kill the naturally occurring organisms in their own gut, and take over the body within hours.
Why, we breathe fungi with almost every breath we take in certain environments.
Oh my God, Neville. What if it's already happened?
What if we're actually all being congtrolledssnelllsifiggggnnn oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiii
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
i am awake
| 2021-12-28T08:30:39 | 2021-12-28T08:25:31 | 83 | 19 |
[WP] The healer was treated horribly by the knights he was assigned. Belittled and humiliated at every turn. Until one day a monster killed his squad and spared him. And the monster looked at him and she said something he didn't think was possible to even say. "Would you please heal me?".
|
My world was red, in many ways.
Seeing red with fury at how the platoon's zealous bigotry had got me in this mess. Gnolls are not a threat unless you violate their spaces or raise arms against them, but some city-born fool shared a few myths of stolen children to be eaten and the group was quickly keen to descend on the band of hyenids. I tried to protest, but they berated me as they always did:
"Next time we get a city-born healer...they know not to speak unless they're casting."
Highborn prick.
Red, from the blood of those knights now soaked through their armor, their blue and white tabards, and all over the sandy gold plains. Their opponents had been much faster and stronger, running circles around the armored squad and finding the right angles from which to strike.
And Red, from the blood in my eyes...was it someone else's from being gutted by the Gnolls? Or did the cuffing I took from one knight leave me with a gash? Every time I was near to completing a spell the knight had screamed at me to hurry, scaring my cadence out of place...I'd had the "audacity" to tell him to shut up and let me focus, and caught the gauntlet against my head for it.
Was anyone left? I don't want to die last, alone, or worse, survive alone...this would all be "my" fault if I returned...
"...Help...Kin someone please heal me?"
Survivor! I dragged myself to my feet and stumbled toward the noise. Even when my staff snapped in two, I kept moving.
"Where are you? Speak up!" I cried.
"This way." The voice was rough...clearly not doing well. A shape filled my view as I crawled closer. A sword stuck out of his shoulder.
I rubbed my hands on my robe to clean them, futile as that was. "Oh man...I can help, but this is REALLY going to hurt..." I grasped the sword, already murmuring an incantation.
The figure whined...like a wounded dog. I paused.
"I'm ready...geddit over with..." A few deep breaths followed.
~Might as well...best patient I've had since I moved to the city...~ I thought to myself, resuming the spell...the second I'd pulled the imperial sword out, I cast it aside and dropped to my knees, hands on the wound.
Fur. I wasn't mistaken. One of the Gnolls the squad had chosen to attack. Growling as the spell at first seared before it soothed, and his flesh began to mend. I held my hands there firmly, demanding to myself that I not hesitate, even as the beast growled, and with footsteps, other voices joined his.
"Hold...he's one-a them human-healers...he ain't a fighter..." My patient called to his brethren, and they complied, warily.
I slumped, having just enough mana to finish the job. The second I fell back, I was set upon...one Gnoll held me, then two as I tried to fight, while a third approached and...
...washed the blood from my face with a rag and a waterskin.
Not one angry face...concern furrowed thick brows, a few whining with it. And my patient...now I saw.
Blue was an imperial colour. My country splashed it on everything connected to the Royalty, including it's military. It was rarer out here, so it was reserved only for the highest of nobility, human or beast.
The material might have been crude, but the Gnoll bore a mantle and short cape as rich a blue as any I'd seen in the City.
"He...comes with us...once I kin stand..." The Gnoll coughed out. "An' I'll carve up anyone who hurts 'im afore he gets tuh speak..."
------------
*Three weeks later*
"All true, Sire." I said from a kneeling position. "The unit initiated the conflict without reason, and was wiped out."
The King, for all his obvious displeasure, kept an even tone. "And none opposed?"
I sighed, looking for the words. "I attempted to, Sire, but I was...rebuffed, to put it charitably."
"I see..." The King stood, turning his attention to the Gnoll with me. "You'll understand, Chief Shieldcracker-"
"Beggin' yuh pardon, yer Highness...but I'm not gonna be Chief for a while, Gods willin'..." I had, in fact, saved the Chief's nephew, and chosen successor. Apart from the cape, Gnoll Nobility (Gnollbility?) wasn't very formal.
"Apologies. Regardless...I would rather have this shameful act kept private. It wouldn't do to hear either that Gnolls killed imperial soldiers, OR that it was their own bloody fault." He folded his hands behind his back. "To put it bluntly...I am asking for your silence. What will it cost me?"
"Well...I was gunna ask fer Ben here tuh work with us Gnollfolk, like a diplamat..." He dropped a meaty paw on my shoulder, just a little too hard. "But I think I gotta insist, now."
That got a raised eyebrow. "You...want the survivor?"
"Yep. We're even gettin' 'im a proper weapon! A real healer's hammer! Teach 'im to swing it, too!" He laughed and shook my shoulder a bit. "Really, them flimsy sticks? How's he gonna channel anythin' good through that? Broke under 'is own weight!"
That's how I went from a "healbitch" for a squad of supposedly higher-class knights, to a Gnoll Chieftain's right hand.
Do I believe in karma? As my boss would put it, "Y'kiddin'? Are plainsfowl good eatin'?".
...Well said.
Edit: Silver? Really? You're too kind!
|
Sir Georg watched helplessly from where he lay. Pain causing his breath to come in pained gasps.
His magic could heal grave injuries but it could not bring back the dead. Finishing his mending of his own stomach wound he surveyed the battlefield and saw that in less than a minute the remaining eleven twelve knights had been killed.
The monster had moved with unnatural grace and power but now was dragging a leg which had a broken spear protruding and was looking to be suffering from multiple broken ribs.
The grayish green furred face moved to be inches from his own. Hot breath smelled of blood and venom.
Georg knew he should be trembling but he was a knight, even if they others did not treat him as such. He had suffered far more painful circumstances in "training accidents" and "drunken stumbles".
"Before you kill me monster, know I, Sir Georg of the Order of the Healing Hand, am not afraid. There is nothing you can do to make me suffer more than the last two years with those fools."
Something like a pained whimper came from the monster.
A little louder, this time sounding like the slurred speach of the injured.
"Wait. Monster, are you capable of speech?"
The monster coughed up bright blood, indicting a likely upper stomach injury.
A few more times the monster whimpered before Georg finally made out the words he had always wanted to hear:
"Would you please heal me?"
Without even thinking his training took over and within 5 minutes the Monster had recovered enough to walk without pain.
The Monster turned away and walked back into the forest.
A deep feminine voice called out: "Illyria. Good knight. My name."
Sir Georg sat still for several more minutes silently grinning as he listened to Illyria's laughter echoing through the trees.
Chapter 3 of the Legend of Georg and Illyria.
Edit: I've added this to my wordpress page. I'm starting to add more chapters. This week has been super busy so going slow for now. By tomorrow I should have at least 1 more chapter put up.
27-Feb-2020
https://wordpress.com/post/thwirl.wordpress.com/1843
| 2020-02-23T12:18:02 | 2020-02-23T11:50:58 | 127 | 35 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered.
|
The Secretary for Defence looked out of the flagship's bridge. Formerly from the Navy, he had seen and read about how the human defence forces had evolved quickly over a matter of centuries. Space was the ocean in which they sailed, not water. The Air Force no longer primarily flew in the air, though atmospheric operations were still possible. The Army had become more dynamic to suit the needs of fighting in all terrains. A flotilla of spacecraft, backed up by fighter craft capable of space and atmospheric dogfighting, and entire divisions of soldiers re-trained for Earth combat, were waiting for the signal. Humanity was finally ready.
He reflected on the stories of the humans left on Earth to fight and die. It had been said that there was no chance for them; that these were truly the scum of the planet who wouldn't be missed. The jokes abounded that some politicians and entertainers were among them, but those were among the first to buy tickets for the escape craft. Those surface-dwellers were as good as dead. The initial intelligence reports, however, reported that there was still human activity on the planet. The Joint Chiefs of Staff concluded that the aliens had most likely kept humanity alive as a slave race; which in turn became potent propaganda for the humans who had escaped. Every soldier, sailor and spaceman was boiling with rage and empathy for the slaves on Earth. They were ready to take back what was theirs.
He turned on his heel, and went to his personal landing craft. One more chance for the aliens. It wouldn't be ethical to attack without declaring war, even if there was no more Geneva Convention to govern that.
Sergeant Juliet was confused. She certainly wouldn't have expected a call from... Spaceport Clearance Network, asking her for her clearance code. Of course she wouldn't have had an answer, and replied as best as she could: Human Warship inbound. Requesting spaceport clearance. She wouldn't have expected it to be approved. It was. She immediately reported it to her superior, but had her own mixed thoughts about it. There were so many layers of leadership that a report like that needed to go through; it was quite plainly frustrating to have to wait in orbit for this long.
Eventually, there was a response from the higher leadership. The Secretary for Defence himself would be going down planetside, and his personal craft needed a communicator. She volunteered herself.
"Welcome to Earth. It is my pleasure to finally see our brothers and sisters who escaped into the stars so many centuries ago." Their representative was cordial enough in greeting them. Flanked by powered armour exoskeletons, he - or she - calmly shook hands with the Secretary of Defence. Compared to the Secretary, who was bulky and muscular after years and years of fighting and training, the being before them was lithe and slim. She stood a head shorter than the Secretary, who stared through her with his hard blue eyes.
Sergeant Juliet saw it all from the cockpit. She wasn't invited to the feast, as they needed a duty communicator to alert the Flotilla if things went south. But she didn't mind, so long as they brought nice foods back to her. That is, if Earth had kept the nice parts of its culture. The history books had made a big deal of Earth cuisine.
The Secretary of Defence, accompanied by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Defence Forces Sergeant Major, were escorted into the room by the representative. They walked through a hallway dedicated to human achievements, both past and present. [A film depicted the adventures of a bespectacled hunter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9jo10z/wp_it_has_been_5_years_since_the_alien_invasion/e6twvg7/?context=3), helped by a woman who looked suspiciously like the Earth representative. Lithe figure, with short black hair. The command team assumed that was what women on Earth looked like now; it was a practical look after all. They had bigger fish to fry, especially the celebrations and peace negotiations. The re-migration back to Earth was another concern for the government on Earth-II.
At dinner, they had to explain why an entire Flotilla waited above in orbit. The representative certainly looked convinced, but at the same time she gave the impression that she was in control of the session. This confused the command team, but they played along. Was she secretly an alien? This was too good to be true. The models didn't indicate any chance for the ragtag survivors left on Earth to have survived this long.
"Ma'am, hostile forces opening fire. Surface-to-orbit missile has been locked on. Surface-to-orbit missile away. Impact timing 10 minutes," the armour suit warbled. The command team's suspicions were confirmed, but they were nonetheless shocked to hear the fact. The Earth representative's pupils glowed yellow and her forked tongue revealed itself briefly in surprise. But just as instantly, she had control of the situation once more. Pressing a few buttons on her wrist controller, the armour suits remotely switched on, and locked on to the commanders of Earth-II as she walked out.
Juliet knew the rumors were true. Those weren't really humans on Earth, and even if they were, they certainly weren't friendly. Her heart had sunk when the enemy contact report had been sent; the aliens had learned human language and prepared a whole contingency for disguising themselves as humans to dupe those who had returned. As she heard the first explosion, she immediately alerted the Flotilla. Activating the autopilot, she escaped as the explosion consumed more of the building.
Perhaps it was indeed unwise to place all the highest commanders in the same room where they got assassinated. Definitely it was unwise for the Flotilla commander to immediately order an orbital bombardment when the contact report revealed those were the aliens on Earth, and not the victorious humans. However, if she remembered the old history books, was that not how the war started for what used to be the USA? A surprise attack on the Navy that the country recovered from, and eventually won.
She could only hope this time would be the same.
|
When we returned to earth, we expected to see some disgusting or terrifying things.
A barren wasteland. Creatures- and by that I dont just mean aliens or animals, but actual humans- killing each other over mundane things. The last spark of humanity will be gone, but we can rebuild it- we thought. We will be able to return those miserable beings back to their original state, and make them live their old life again- we assumed.
But dear god. We didnt expect it to be this bad.
The humans... I can’t really explain it properly, but they seem to have fused with the alien invaders. Their bodies has holes everywhere, oozing with some strange substance. Their flesh was weirdly colourful, the eyes even took on colours I have never seen before. Their arms and feet seemingly got much more muscular, but also fairly flexible. And in the middle of their torso... Utterly horrific. At least their heads were still completely intact. That made looking at them at least a little bit more bearable. But still, it was an utterly, truly disgusting sight. These things would get their redemption, their return to full humanity. We would have to release them from their horrible earthly binds. It was the only solution.
The worst part? The alien creatures must have been influencing their mind too. Through the mouths of former humans, they definitly laughed at us. Pretending to be humans, they praised the „revolution“ that fused them with the supposed „redeemed aliens“. They tried to trick us into believing that this was actually the best thing the humans of earth had ever done, that their new powers were worth it. That them abandoning sleep and normal communication was a good thing, as if they could convince me. But the others... they got fooled. After my attempt at releasing the former humans... They captured me. Tried to execute me.
These alien bastards stopped them. Claimed that executing me wouldn’t bring us anywhere. Undoubtedly, they believe that a quick, swift death is not good for me. Maybe they will torture me. Perhaps they will turn me into one of their own. It doesnt matter. I will break out. And then, these „humans“ will experience will feel my wrath.
| 2018-09-29T03:35:21 | 2018-09-29T02:37:30 | 51 | 33 |
[WP] Your 14-year-old sister finally wakes up from a coma of 6 years. She panics when she realizes how much she's grown.
|
(Seeing a lot of people post romanticized stories of people waking up from a coma. Figured I would tell a more realistic tale.)
It was a day just like every other day. I woke up, did my morning routine, went to work, and then came back to the hospital. I practically lived there now.
Two thousand, two hundred and twenty two days ago, or six years and a few months, I told my parents I would rather drive my own car to our grandparents birthday party than ride with them.
The memories of that day are like jarring flashes. The wreck had been fast, almost too fast to avoid. My parents had been clipped by some idiot trying to cut them off causing the car to spin and flip onto its roof. I remember rushing to help my mom only to have her tell me "Get your sister." Those were the last words I ever heard from my parents. I remember pulling her out of the car and turning around to see the fire start. I remember being held back by others on the road as I tried to save them. It was too late for them.
All these years later I were faced with losing the last of my family. The doctors tell me they do not know if she will ever wake up. She could wake up today, or when she is fifty, but the insurance does not want to pay anymore.
I work 60 hours a week trying to keep above the rising medical bills as a desperate struggle to keep my sister alive. Its all moot though. You can't beat the cost of healthcare without insurance.
So here I sit there staring at my sister's frail form. A hand reaches out and caresses my shoulder. It is Sheila. The woman who stuck with me through the years. The one who I would have already married, but I need the money for my sister. I do not know why she stays with me. Just that she is here.
"I can't do it." I say eyes hard and watery. "I can't kill the last of my family."
Sheila pulls me into a hug and rubs my back.
"I guess its true, Coma patients do open their eyes sometimes." Sheila said causing me to turn around.
I sighed again as I realize my sister's eyes were unfocused. "Yes. You have to close them or they dry out and crack." I said as I walked over.
Suddenly her eyes looked over at me and I froze.
"Jason?" Sheila asked behind me.
My sister blinked.
All I heard behind me was the commotion of Sheila run out of the room calling for a doctor.
The next few hours were a blur. Doctors rushed in and asked me to step out as they attended to her. Two words were posted on my facebook page. "She's Awake!" Family and friends from all over were rushing in to see her. Some trying to prepare a welcome home party for her.
But things don't work like that.
It took two week after she woke up before she could talk again, another month before she could sit up and eat on her own, and almost six months later before she could finally come home.
The first few months were hard. She had daily visits from her old grade school friends and teachers. Family would turn up out of the woodwork periodically to come say hi. Even my boss came down to see her. I guess I talked so much about her at work that he felt like he needed to show up.
She had to go through the pain of learning that her family was destroyed that day. She felt the loss of her friends as she realized she had almost nothing in common with them anymore. Then she felt the shock of seeing how much she had changed since she were 8 years old.
But she pressed on. She suffered through the physical therapy, endured relearning everything she had throughout her life, and tried her hardest to reforge the relationships she had before the accident.
The first day back home was one of the best of my life. I can not even imagine what it was like for her. I roll her up the front door that our cousin opened for us. Inside the house were family and friends. They were finally able to give her the welcome home party she deserved.
We were all shocked when she locked her wheelchair and strained to make herself stand up. She struggled to walk into the house with everyone holding their breaths. Outside of the sounds of her footsteps, you could hear a pin drop.
She made it almost all the way into the living room on her own. I helped her the last few steps.
She looked at everyone in the room and then smiled. "I'm home."
|
White used to be her favorite color.
Vanilla ice cream and
Clouds and
Cotton now
Sheets and
Gloves and
Doctors.
There was strange inconsistency
In how her eyes still were the same
Even though all the rest had changed.
She was still my little sister.
Even with eyes trembling
Hands shaking, grasping, searching the air, the bed
The dreams she once had.
When a hero is born
We say
"Kill the child,
And let the man be born"
I knew the child died a slow death
Six years in the making.
But what I saw
Was definitely
Not the birth of a hero.
| 2017-08-02T06:52:23 | 2017-08-02T06:45:19 | 42 | 15 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight.
|
The world exploded into brightness, with pure chaos defining the addition of my new sense. I could see... for the first time in my life, I could see. The surgery was a success, and brought with it a confusing pain, one which I could not describe. Is this what sighted people called “blinding?” It was ironic to me, in that brief moment, that you could see so much so as to be blind. That is what I felt.
Soon, the world became dimmer, and my eyes, straining to focus, were starting to make sense of it all. I saw the figures moving, and heard voices coming from them. I suppose that these are humans, and this is what they look like... their beauty astounds me.
Look! I can see their hair, their faces, their teeth. I hear my father crying, and see what must be a tear running down his face. I feel one forming in my eye to match his.
Oh, do you see my mother? The one who cared for me for so long, and I can finally see her beauty. Oh my God, the tears are flowing and I am breathing so sharply, so as to control my sobbing. The tears make it hard to see, but I appreciate seeing water up close for the first time as well.
“Look outside, honey!”
“Look at the grass and the clouds! Do you see the people?”
“Is the sun too bright for you?”
My family is gesturing to a square on the wall. I do not understand, although I keep trying to see. I feel a familiar pain, one that comes from a lifetime of “trying to see.” I see nothing that stands out.
I look back to my family anyways, to see their glowing faces once again. I see my fathers handprint on the bed-frame, I see my that my brother’s nose is darker than the rest of him, along with his fingertips.
My God, I never knew how dark eyes are. I never understood the brilliance of living things. I never knew that animals, including the fly, literally glowed.
The doctor tells me that it is time to stand. He does something that confuses me... he points a laser at me, and turns it on for a moment. I wince, and as soon as I do, his expression changes. He is confused, concerned. I didn’t notice it then, but my bed responded to the laser by coming to an upright position.
He shines the laser at me again. I can feel my pupils dilating, which is exhilarating, although painful.
The next moments go by quickly. I am led to the square on the wall. I touch it, and know it immediately: glass. Wasn’t I supposed to see through glass? My heartbeat quickens. In fact, I can tell that the doctor’s heartbeat quickened as well, due to the way humans flash with their heart. It was so beautiful. Our faces glow brighter with the blood in our veins, and dimmer as the blood exits. I wonder if the brightness is the color I’ve been told about. Is it red, perhaps? I will have to ask.
The doctor tells me to read what he writes on the whiteboard. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look like he’s actually writing anything.
He tries again, but he writes with his finger. I see it clear as day, and I’ll never forget what it said:
“INFRARED.”
That night, I found terror in sight for the first time. I looked into the sky, and saw what some call beautiful. Our saw our Milky Way, with the chaos and fire within it. And for the first time in my life, I had to explain to others what sight, color, and intensity was, for they could not see what I could.
——————————
Let me know if you guys liked this, I’m super new to writing and could use some constructive criticism or severe roasting if it’s terrible!
Also, if you have not yet, you owe it to yourself to look up the Milky Way in infrared. It is truly terrifying.
Edit(s): I’m changing some things as I re-read this in order to make my points more clear.
|
'Wow, doc... i can see! This is amazing! Whats up with this ad for new sunglasses though?'
"No worries dear patient. It will disappear in roughly 30 seconds."
'Oh, ok. Yeah it just did. But now there is another one for a deal on tires.'
"Glad to hear the surgery was a success!"
| 2018-10-29T10:15:07 | 2018-10-29T07:55:29 | 100 | 38 |
[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.
|
For decades, maybe even centuries, I had terrified the world. The monster under the bed, the seductress who stole men's hearts and crushed them between her fingers, notorious bank robber, crusher of men and women alike, and the woman who really did rule all.
It wasn't vindictiveness or hatred that drove me to these new heights of evil all those years ago, but necessity. See, when supers are born their powers don't usually become immediately obvious - they live a normal life all through high school and then one day, usually some boring Tuesday, they get blindsided by virtually unlimited power. It's made keeping track of supers an absolute nightmare for the government, but that's a story for another time.
Not so for me. When I was born, what I was and what I could do became immediately obvious. Born with fangs, a natural taste for blood, and the ability to steal the powers of anything I drank from, I gained fame rapidly as a child.
That made me a target.
The first supervillain to attack me attacked when I was just three years old. I remember to this day the feeling of terror as I hid in a closet whilst he brutally eviscerated my parents and left them as piles of offal and meat with shredded skin to one side of the room. That maniacal high pitched lilt he used to giggle out the words "Come out and play, little one, your worst nightmare has come to say hi!" whilst ripping and tearing his way through the house in search of me. As luck would have it, I hid myself up high in one of the cupboards, so when his barbed wire clad arm blasted a hole in the door below me I dropped down and sunk my teeth in deep, ignoring the pain and the wire ripping at my hands. The police said they found him babbling about being robbed a few miles away, still covered in the viscera of my parents.
Those were the first powers I took - super strength, the ability to project focused shockwaves and hyperintelligence.
A decade later, no orphanage would have me. No school would willingly accept me as a student. I was an outcast, simply because I was a target. Stronger and stronger villains wanted me for their own, and as a child the monsters that wanted me to play murder with them were just that - monsters. But every time they attacked, I won. Every fight, I left them alive and broken, lost without their powers. Even one guy, Stork I think it might have been, who believed himself invulnerable to my power draining abilities due to "not having any powers" was left beaten and broken, his mechanical super suit smashed and his ability to invent more taken from him.
Numerous government anonymity plans, numerous hideouts, even the plans to keep me totally secure in the hero academy they set up just to protect me failed. Eventually, I learned why they wanted me there - I was the big stick they used to scare the villains away. Any nation that built a super squad to invade another nation fought off the loss of their supers to my fangs. Villains simply wouldn't attack, because it would mean the loss of their powers. I was the mutually assured destruction initiative, a 15 year old girl just maturing into the vampire I truly was, the girl that terrified the monsters.
Eventually, the the force of human nature gripped my supervisors. Greed. They sought to use me to conquer the world, and I refused. They wanted power, and I wanted nothing to do with it. They tried torturing me, commited countless inhumane acts on a woman barely entering adulthood, from torture through rape and all the way to near death.
I wouldn't fight back, and I wouldn't kill. Especially not humans. It took me two years of this to realise that these people really were just more monsters.
I took revenge on the first person who violated me in a violent shower of blood and gore. They thought that they had won, and began plotting to use me as a weapon. I made human meat soup out of their war offices.
Taking lives, it seems, is terribly easy when you have become so powerful that skipping a stone across the sea might accidentally level a small city on another continent. I became what they had desired, in a way, for a while. I had total power, a beautiful young woman trapped at age 21 by time, and so powerful I ruled the world. After a hundred or more years of this, I grew completely bored. I retreated into my home, becoming a hermit in the mountains, the typical villain in her lair.
Heroes came after me, seeing me as the great evil my acts had been reported as. With super speed on levels they could barely comprehend, faster even than those that could teleport, I drained them of their powers and left their beaten selves at the foot of the mountain. Villains received the same treatment. Even the one they called AntiMatter, who annihilated everything he touched, was all but an insect before me.
Until she came along. A low level hero, hardly able to use her telekinesis, who walked into my lair barely able to stand from the terror. She called out my name, and I appeared in front of her. For some reason, I didn't strike. For some reason I didn't put her down like those before her.
"I just want to talk" she said.
So I listened. Eventually, she convinced me to stand down, that the bloodshed wasn't worth it. I let her shackle me, and we walked out into the open, the first time I'd been out in countless years. Though she didn't know it, that day I gave her immortality.
For me, at least, it was love at first sight. The heroine who won, won because she captivated me. She knew she couldn't win, she knew that I could kill her, perhaps even by accident, and she didn't care. She saw me as misunderstood, and I loved her for it.
I broke out of prison the first time when a super, posing as a guard, attacked me for what he believed I'd done to his family. He was irrational, and wanted me dead because his family were killed in a nuclear attack that was blamed on me, back in the early days when governments used me as an excuse to kill each other. I didn't mean to kill him, but he used magnetism to fire ball bearings at near light speeds at people. Pretty powerful, but nothing to me. It was an accident when I stepped back, accidentally sending one of the hundreds of bearings he fired at me around the 6-foot thick titanium walls that made up my cell, until it bounced at multiple times the speed of sound straight through his head. I didn't really kill him, so much as he did himself, but I could have and should have stopped it.
It made her upset, and the second time she came to visit me she made that clear. I promised her no more killing, and went back to the cell. I confessed to her, and she told me that after I served my time she would consider it. I made her promise to visit me, and she did. She always kept her promise.
One day, just as the guards were walking me out of visitation, the prison came under attack. Vardon, one of the highest level supervillains around, fired beams of energy so powerful they turned the air around them into plasma, wanted to free me, and fight me.
Sera stood her ground, futilely, as the near-god villain fought. He fired a beam so powerful it should have left the entire prison a crater at her. I threw her out of the way, and blocked it, before subduing her. I didn't account for how fragile she really was.
A year later, I still visit her in hospital. She hasn't woken up yet, and not a day goes by I don't wish she did. I've been searching, far and wide, for a hero with true healing abilities. See, Sera won't die, but I accidentally turned her spine to near dust. She can't heal, either. I keep trying, and trying, and trying. I will save her.
Because my pardon came months ago, with the apologies of the world broadcast on every screen. They're still scared of me, but they understand me better now. I'm still a person, and I have one I love to protect, just like everybody else. Maybe one day she'll wake up. Maybe one day we can go on a date, like two normal girls should be able to. Maybe.
Please?
|
Crimson. Crimson paints the surrounding floor. The light in his eyes begin to flicker as he struggles to regain his stance. With every breath, he shook. With every step, he trembled.
She sneers, "Is this it? The grandiose Lionheart reduced to nothing in just a few hits! Hah!"
She barrels towards the staggering knight, throwing her fist into his bare cheek. The knight collides with the wall behind him, slowly slumping as his legs give out. His sword clattering across the room, leaving the knight with nothing left.
"It's too easy! Can you believe I was worried you would be dangerous?!" She struts across the room and kneels down in front of the now barely conscious knight.
"How exactly did you defeat my protege, hmm? You know what? Let's ask him ourselves!"
She turns to me and grins. Her teeth seemed to shine as brilliantly as her gleaming confidence.
"Well, Xiao? How'd you lose to this mutt? How'd he put you in those chains if even I can't beat you? Shit, I'd say I should be the mentor! I mean, if it weren't for me, you'd probably be rotting in a cell already."
She looks back at Lionheart, furrows her brow and spits.
"Seriously though, how the fuck did this little shit do it, Xiao, huh? It makes zero sense.... Well?"
I did nothing but stare at Lionheart, his chest slowly heaving. I felt something tugging at my insides as Lionheart's eyes met my own. The fire that once blazed brighter than the sun was nothing more than dying cinders. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I remember the fond memories I had shared with Lionheart, our encounters. How, with every clash, my heart had skipped a beat. Yet, as if fate had its own will, denied what I wanted to give to Lionheart: a finality, a last triumph.
"Whatever, I guess I'd be too embarrassed to talk about it either."
Li walks over and brings her blade down, breaking my chains with ease. She twirls the weapon in her hand before extending it towards me, handle first. She oozes confidence as her smile widens.
"Don't be too spiteful when you stab him now!"
Li grabs my hand and places the blade, wrapping my hand with hers. "There! Let's do this like a real couple, honey!"
As Li moves towards Lionheart, I stood firm. She looses her grip on my hands, causing her to stumble. "Wha-, you there, ya damn air head? Did he really beat you stupid?" She raises a brow and looks at me inquisitively.
I look down at the blade in my hand, wondering if I could do it. Can I really kill Lionheart? After all the years of fighting we went through, after all the nights of passion filled clangs of our swords, could I do it?
"Seriously hun, we don't really have the time to be fucking around. The king's men are probably on their way and we need to hurry this the fuck up."
Li begins to walk towards the door that leads outside the room, "Finish up, and let's go already."
I slowly raise my gaze, my eyes burning into Li's back.
"Yeah.... I'll end it."
I break into a sudden sprint and plunge the knife into her back. The momentum throws Li off her feet and slams her into the ground. I bring the knife back up and swing it down, over, and over, and over, and over. With every fresh wound, another gashed wide open.
Crimson. That's all I see and all that covers me. I let the knife clatter to the ground and slowly raise myself, only to slip under the crimson stained floor.
I could hear yelling right outside the other door now, pounding fists that echoed the room. Drained, I start walking towards Lionheart. I stood over him. His chest had stopped moving. I brought myself down and placed his head on my lap, stroking his hair which covered his face.
Crimson. That's all I saw and all that covered him. My vision blurred as I continued to caress him, the blood smearing his face.
The door gave out and men clad in armor came swarming in, only to stop with utter dread on their faces.
"Seems I'll be joining you soon, Lionheart."
A smile stretched across my face. I felt a sudden pain in my chest. I looked up to see a knight's spear had found its place.
Crimson. Crimson was all that was left in that room.
| 2017-09-17T03:08:23 | 2017-09-17T02:13:56 | 83 | 21 |
[WP]The entire human population are put into induced comas in underground facilities. You don't dream or age. Today is "The Awakening" and humans will walk the Earth for the first time in 25 years. The doors open and you take your first step into the world you used to call home.
|
"Fucking technology!" My mother's unique combination of Tennessee and Old Boston accents could cut through glass, and now people are stopping to stare.
"Mom, look. Just... No... No, stop. Here, just let me help." I hurry over to her, almost knocking my work station down in the process.
"Why do their have to be needles? And why do there have to be so many goddamn FUCKING BUTTONS!?" She was now trying to take the stasis pack off of her arm, causing even more commotion.
"Ma, please, there's a guard coming. Just let me help." I looked around for the guard, who had just stopped to deal with a screaming child. Looked like it was one of the senator's kids. "Stuck up brat doesn't even know what's going on" I thought to myself.
--
Four years ago, I was offered a job. It was a little weird at first, but after the clientèle that I'd been dealing with men in black suits were a welcome change. Designing stasis pods and packs for interstellar space travel. Well, writing code, at least. The pay was fantastic. Enough that I could have bought the nicest house in E-town, if I had anybody else to live there with me. I got my mom a nice house, though. Always wanted to do that. I haven't seen or heard from my brother, Eric, since he went to the Tallahassee coast riots.
About a month ago I started noticing some odd behaviour around the research lab. New guards were showing up almost weekly. Not additional security, just replacements. Jackson, who was working maintenance for Lab C, had noticed as well.
"Weird stuff happening around her, Matty" We sat eating sandwiches at some picnic table near Freeman Lake. Jackson had inherited his dad's old muscle car, and he got some kicks out of taking me for rides at lunch sometimes. Today we had taken his cherry red Ford Mustang out. "2024, last year of the five point oh" he liked to say, and "Electronics free, for the most part. All mechanical." Something to do with the engine, I think. Everything runs on hydrogen cells now, so how he keeps that monster running, I'll never know. Asshole wont even tell his best friend how he gets gasoline.
"You mean the guards?" I ask, snapping back to focus.
"Nah, man. That's what made me start paying attention, though." Bread crumbs fell from his beard as he talked. "Lawrence, Yau, Venkis, a whole bunch of them researchers." He paused to be sure I was actually listening. "Something aint right. We used to hang out, play ball, you know? All of the sudden, though, all them white coat fuckers in Lab C just up and stopped giving a fuck about everything."
"Okay, so maybe they got chewed out by the C.O. Oh, collective diarhea?" I smirked.
Jackson grimaced. "I ain't jokin, Matthew." For him to not use some cutesy nickname meant something. "Lawrence, you know how his brother grows all that corn down in Sonora? He hooks me up, and that's how I make the gasoline. He was supposed to bring me some two weeks ago. When I asked him about it he just walked straight past me, eyes like a doll, man. Creepy ass shit."
"Okay." I'd known Jackson for three years now, and it was not normal for him to get bad feelings about people.
"Listen, Matt. Take what you want from this, but I got a real bad feeling about these pods you've been working on. They've been bringing them in on truckloads for months now. Way too many for normal space travel, way too damn many."
"Truck loads? Thought they were being built in Boulder? Like a couple dozen on order."
"Nah, man. Truck loads. I see you shakin your head, don't think I don't. Take this seriously, Matty, please. You told me before, you have to put your Universal ID code in before it'll work, right?"
"Yeah" How long had Jackson been concerned about this stuff? I know I'd talked to him about the Unique Universal Identifiers several months ago, but he never really kept up with all the tech talk. Now I was getting nervous. "Why?"
"Look, man. Just take care of yourself." He reached over to give me a hug with one arm. "I'm, uh, gonna take some vacation time. Go up to Canada and cool off, you know." He stared into the distance for a while, before suggesting we head back to work.
--
About a week after Jackson left all of the world's governments had made a joint announcement. There would be a 'Great Reclamation'. We would all be put into stasis for 25 years to let the earth recuperate from our destruction. Automated systems would promote certain types of flora and fawna, and solar powered would keep essential infrastructure running while we 'sleeping'. Jackson was right about the mass-manufacture of the stasis pods. Enough for every person on Earth.
There were designated stasis rooms where we all gathered. Ours, at Fort Knox, was in an old tank storage and maintenance facility. Rows and rows of pods and packs. The pack fit onto the shoulder and a sleeve full of sensors ran down the arm. Each person was to put on their pack, enter their ID into the pod control panel, then lie down face up. The pod would do the rest.
I was stationed at the end of one of the rows. Having designed most of the interface, they felt it best to have me readily available for any last minute support. No real issues, just people hitting too many buttons in their nervousness. My mother wasn't helping things either. She kept telling me how much better I could have done. Back-handed compliments... Her speciality.
It took about six hours to get everybody into their pods and into stasis. Last up were myself and the building guards, about twelve in total. We had pods set aside, not in rows. These pods were programmed to wake up 10 days before the others, so that we could begin the reclamation. By this point we were exhausted, so only a few grunts and grumbles were exchanged as we got into the pods. Beeping keypads were followed by a gentle whoosh, as the pod closed and pressurized.
I was second to last, only General Devant was after me. He had that same far-off look that Jackson had noticed so long ago. Devant watched me enter my ID, and get into the pod. I laid down, closed my eyes, and waited. A minute later, I heard the muffled whoosh of the last pod closing. I just lay there, waiting.
I must have dozed off. Holy hell was it dark in here. I fumbled around in the darkness, reaching for the manual release handle. My hand gripped tightly, and I pulled the pod back open with surprising ease. I guess it never pressure locked.
After Jackson's warning, I made some modifications to the code. Over two weeks, I slipped in seemingly innocent little bits of code here and there that, when all added up, caused my UUID to trigger a different sequence in the pod. I was planning on getting out almost immediately, but my tiredness won out.
I stretched and popped my back. There was a flashlight under my pod, that I had stashed there the previous day. Flipping it on, I immediately went to my mothers pod to say goodbye. Whatever was going to happen, she was just too frail to handle so I let her go into stasis peacefully, thinking that everything's going to end up okay. Hell, I don't think she could have handled the stress of thinking there's some massive global conspiracy, and I couldn't bring myself to tell her.
The exit door of the pod room was a little less forgiving than the one on my pod, I had to put my shoulder in to it. For a moment I stood motionless, terrified the crashing boom of the door flying open would wake somebody. Realizing how silly that was, I chuckled to myself and made my way down the hall to the building exit.
When I stepped outside, I realized just how long I had slept for. There were stars out. More than I had ever seen in my life. I stood there, in the doorway, just staring at the stars for what seemed like hours. Then, it happened. The stars came crashing down. Only they weren't stars, they were ships. Massive, inumerous, alien space ships. My mouth agape, I had only one thought.
"They've come. They've come, and the whole damn planet is asleep."
|
Sunlight streamed into my repository. A dull groan escaped my lips as I turned over, away from the light. *Sleep...*
A small, slimy object poked at my back. I tried to spring up to defend myself, but my legs collapsed beneath me and I struggled against a tangle of sheets within my repo. Chest heaving, I gave up on freeing myself and rolled over to headbutt my attacker.
"Where's Mama???" the small boy shrieked. Big blue eyes welled up with tears as he sensed something aggressive in my clumsy approach. *Shit...*.
Children were less sensitive to the gas, apparently. For the first few hours I was awake I saw no sign of other adults. I was hardly functional myself, my mind was a haze and my muscles were weak with atrophy. My zombie-like attempts to walk were only prompted by the throngs of small children that clung to my legs, wide awake and screaming.
It was over a week before everyone was up and about. The three quarters that survived, I mean.
I announced it abruptly to Jason ten days into our awakening. "Anyone who's not up by now won't be waking up." His eyes widened.
"Are... are you serious? Do you know that, do you remember... did someone tell you..."
My temples pounded with the headache that had not let up since my first moment out of deep sleep. He was only making it worse. My instinct was to appease him, avoid argument. It came from somewhere deep and familiar. Our back-and-forth felt tired to me, as though we'd been having the same conversations for years...but I didn't know more than his first name....
"Jason!" I snapped, as enraged with my foggy memory as I was with him. "Listen, I don't know why or how I'm remembering things. I know you don't either - two hours ago you couldn't tell me your own middle name. But we have to - we have got to FOCUS, okay?"
Jason was shaking his head, muttering. "I just don't know what to tell people and... they need to get out, Carson - I really think we all just need to go outside. I mean, we have time to figure everything out but.."
In one swift motion I upended the 10 foot steel table between us. Jason yelped as it rose in the air. He was crouched against the far wall of the bunker by the time it made contact, making a fantastically belligerent clatter as it barely missed him.
"We don't have time for anything," I said slowly. The terror in his eyes was oddly satisfying. "Don't you understand? We came down here 25 years ago for a reason and no one remembers what it was! We can't go anywhere until we figure it out! So fucking think, quit arguing with me and help me!"
Jason hissed at me and brought a finger to his lips. He motioned to the door. I turned with a sigh, already aware of who it was. Jane, a pale, wide-eyed young woman who always seemed to be hovering.
She also claimed to be my daughter.
"S..so...."her voice caught in her throat. The dramatic pause filled me with fantasies of shoving her into a repo, turning up the gas, and leaving her to waste away. "So... no one knows?? At all? No one has any idea why we came down here?"
Jason broke in before i could berate her. "We... we just don't have all the details, Jane. We didn't realize that the gas caused memory loss, but no one had ever been out for so long before." He eyed her nervously as she frantically scratched a scab on her arm. Her mouth hung open, fish-like.
"Jane, what? Spit it out!" I bellowed. Her drawn face looked like I had slapped her.
"It's just... well Jason said...he said it was okay if we..." Jason's mouth had become a thin line as she trailed off. I could feel my pulse racing.
"What??!! What did you say?"
He looked away, silent. I strode across the room, raising the chair I'd been sitting on up over my head to swing at him.
"No!!" Jane cried. "He said we could go outside but it wasn't his fault!! We asked, over and over... Chance and I wanted to go out so badly.... and then a few other families followed."
I dropped the chair, suddenly light-headed.
"Which door?"
Jane stared at me, her eyes bright with fear and recognition as she heard the same distant screams I just had.
"What?" Jason yelled, eyes wild. "That sound, that's the kids laughing? Right? Carson??"
"We need to run."
| 2015-04-23T06:20:01 | 2015-04-23T05:36:26 | 133 | 20 |
[WP] Most species do not develop sophisticated military tactics until they encounter other races, as they rarely engage in warfare among their own kind. When the United Clans invade Earth, they encounter unexpectedly well-organized resistance from the natives.
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I was there, during the First Terran War. We didn't know it then, but we had unleashed a beast that would bite out sides for the last 600 years.
For centuries, our United Clans had stood at the forefront of galactic politics, a superpower uncontested by the governments of a thousand races. Our feasting halls were filled with the riches of our conquered worlds. Of all the worlds we initiated first contact with, they were barbaric in their warfare. By that I mean their warriors were so ignorant of how to fight properly it should not have been called war, but battles of interpretive dance. When we encountered Athraxia, we figured that, though it was a class A deathworld, they too, would fall to our military might within the year. We were so wrong.
We started as we always had, a bombardment of the capital cities of each nation. This always broke the will of the natives, and if not then resistance always lasted less than half a solar rotation. This had the opposite effect than expected. They mobilized their armies, armed their troops and citizens, and fired their nuclear arsenal at us. Alone, they would have done minimal damage. However, with over 10,000 warheads fired at us, parts of our armada were enveloped and destroyed wholesale. We bombed all their major cities for three hours after that.
When the barrage subsided, we landed our troops, expecting their surrender. These crazy bastards hit us with everything they had. Canisters of white phosphorous and dichlorodiethyl sulfide had been let lose it our ranks, IEDs and C4 were littered in every orifice it could fit into. Civilian automobiles were either filled with explosives or had been turned into technicals, firing rudimentary but effective ballistic weapons at us. We were pushed back to small islands in an ocean of simian blood. These damned Athraxi, which we learned later on had called themselves Terrans, had us on the run in any battle we faced them in.
If anyone wants to question why we could not beat the Terrans into submission even with chemical weapons beyond our wildest dreams, I'll tell you why. Imagine a group of armed warriors with an intense hatred of your race. Now imagine those warriors will use any item to kill you, be that a rock or rebar or even themselves if the situation calls for it. Too many times the Terrans charged us with a vest covered in explosives running at your formation, blowing himself up to cause dismay in our column before hundreds of the apes popped out of ruins long since reduced to rubble. These damned apes held on to positions long since their strategic value disappeared, if only to spite us.
Fifteen years had gone by. The Athraxi had not yet surrendered. It was the longest engagement our species had yet to fight. Apparently the Terrans had wars that lasted for decades, one of the longest taking over a century before the sides finally declared peace with one another. Athraxi, which means bountiful, had been renamed Terra on our starmaps. The name itself had become synonymous with Hell, and Terrans with demons.
We pulled out of Terra, blasting any major settlement we knew of to kingdom come before we left. We thought we had finished with that wretched planet and its despicable spawn. Of course, when our enemies heard of our defeat, the first in three millennia, they pounced on this opportunity. They trained those demons, giving then tech and weapons beyond their level. The Terrans took the tech they were given and expanded upon it. They were not the ignoble savages we first thought, they were ingenious when it came to the art of war.
It took them over two centuries to recover from our war, but if our enemies could have another victory over us, they would have waited two thousand years. The 3rd Armada of the United Clans struck first, realizing this was the only chance we had to keep them back. They never returned. What came in their stead was the largest enemy invasion force we had experienced and have experienced. They came like a conquering tidal wave. Within 30 years, Hundreds of our worlds had been taken and occupied. It took every company, every ship, every fighter we had to hold them back. And we barely did.
The Terrans returned to their core worlds to replenish their numbers once again while age old foes like the Reg and the Thyri took the worlds the Terrans once occupied. Never again had the Terrans hit us so viciously as in the Second Terran War; their thirst for revenge had been sated. As the humans began an age of peace, they ignored their allies as we took back our lands, all that mattered to them was that they had humiliated us so thoroughly. They no longer saw us as a threat, yet they fought us off if we encroached on their allies or if we attempted to conquer previously uncontested worlds. They even went so far as to arm and train any previously uncontacted worlds to prepare for our arrivals.
No longer though will we be humiliated, turned away at every turn. Now's the time we strike the Terrans, while their allies fight amongst each other. There is no better time to fight them than now. The United Clans, which have been the strongest force in the galaxy for the ten thousand years, will no longer be harried by these demons. Today, we take back our birthright, our claim to the galaxy. Today, we have our victory!!
— Grand Chief Ozewa Tyros, at the precipice of the Third Terran War, before the United Clans were destroyed and absorbed wholesale by the Terran United Republic.
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The united clans has had its sights set on earth for a bit. Its moon has abundant helium isotopes, and it itself is resource rich. All there was were some monkeys trying to stop them.
Advanced tactics had never evolved in non-spacefaring races. Most races tend to gravitate towards sending a small amount of men, with a set amount of weapons and a set time of day. Whoever got the first casualty(s) got the land/cattle/money and that was it. It's settled.
I was a United Clans lieutenant on the day of the Invasion, I was supposed to be deploying to an area on earth named by locals "Subsaharan africa" to secure the rich minerals there so they can be used to make heavy land vehicles. They were too heavy to carry in troop carriers, after all.
When our shipped entered the inner atmosphere, something happened. While I was in an office navigating and thinking up one of the people near me was hit with a lead bullet. His head was knocked off, and after looking at the maps I realized earth's anti air was firing at where they thought our command center was.
I didn't know that they could strategize so well, considering how relatively peaceful other species were. When they sent fighter jets to either knock out the pilots or ram the captains area, most ships retreated to strategize again.
When the second wave arrived, earth started using high altitude bombers to bomb our captains areas open. Some of the forced labour aboard our ships snuck mustard gas into the vents. It didn't do anything too horrible, but it caused a devastating itch that lasted months.
Eventually, the council decided to stop the war.
| 2021-08-15T19:52:56 | 2021-08-15T19:49:31 | 161 | 56 |
[WP] In a world of magic users, you have what seems to be an incredibly useless ability: control over echoes. Others have mocked you for it. Now, on the day of the annual magic tournament, you hope to prove them wrong.
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She strides across the arena floor, tatty coat trailing in her wake, sending plumes of dust into the warm afternoon air. On raised platforms all around her, thousands of throats and mouths are open and screaming. The sound fills her with a sense of courage that almost outweighs her terror.
From the stage, high above her, *he* watches her reach the centre of the arena. He sits resplendent, crown atop his head, his beautiful, sunken-eyed queen to his left. To his right, the Warden of his Kingdom, the eyes of a hunting dog, with the face to match. Two archers stand either side of the dais, crossbows held low.
The crowd quiets somewhat as the King opens his mouth to speak.
'Should I take that mark upon your skin to mean you are a slave?' he says, his voice booming across the arena and audible even at the very back of the rows of benches. Magically amplified, she suspects.
'Yes, your highness.'
'Tell me. How is it a slave has come to take part in this most auspicious of events?'
She thinks of her father. The man not of her blood but the one who raised her from a child, despite their imprisonment. Shared what little he had with her.
'My entry was sponsored, your highness.'
'Was it, indeed?'
That last part is a statement rather than a question, and she keeps her mouth shut. She has suffered far too many thrashings for speaking out of turn to do it now.
'You stand where the greatest magicians of our fair state have stood this day, and you hope to match their power?'
She doesn't hesitate.
'I aim to beat them.'
A small smile breaks across the Warden's mouth. He's enjoying this. The King wears the crown but everyone knows it is the Warden who holds true power.
The crowds roars with laughter. The wall of noise sends a tickle down her spine. *Not yet*, her father's voice tells her.
'What power do you wield, child?'
'My power is that of manipulating sound, my King.'
'Sound?'
'Echoes.'
'How very mundane. Today we have seen men raise the dead, women birth towers of flame. And you hope to match them with *echoes*?'
'There is power in sound, sir. There is power in voice. Even the smallest can change the world.'
The King nods slowly.
'Then show me.'
The crowd begins to chant. A few feet from her, the arena attendants have brought out three wooden training dummies as she requested. She closes her eyes, listens to the wall of sound around her, and raises her arms. She feels the vibration between her fingertips and, with her mind, captures it. It swirls around her hands like water. Then, with a flick, she releases it.
One of the dummies explodes in a shower of splinters. The crowd bursts into laughter, as does the King.
'Is that *it*?' He guffaws, his queen breaking into a tight smirk also. 'A parlor trick, nothing more.'
The Warden is no longer smiling. But the crowd, of course, agrees with their king. Their drones become boos and chants of *off, off, off*.
She ignores them. She feels for the increase in volume, brings the wall of sound in around herself like a shroud and expels it. Two more of the dummies explodes with a *crack*.
'For power's sake, girl,' the King chuckles. 'You are embarrassing yourself. Tell your sponsor to invest his money a bit more wisely next time.'
The crowd is getting louder. They want her gone. Their voices are a crescendo.
*Off, off, off*.
*Begone, girl, we want to see the real magicians!*
Their jeers and shouts are a wall of sound. They despise her and they want her to know. They want to get back to the mages burning slaves alive, disassembling human beings and putting them back together wrongly for entertainment. The King, the man that took her father from her, watches it all with sick satisfaction.
*Even the smallest voice can change the world*, says her father. And then it is time.
The crowd is louder than it has been all day, brimming with hatred and spite, whipped up by the King's crowdpleasers and jesters. They are urged to scream at her, to drive her off the stage with their bile and volume alone. But that is her source, her fuel, the thing she has come here for.
She draws the sound in, that awful, cacophonous drone. Holds it for a second, like the first smoke in a morning, then pivots on the balls of her feet and thrusts her hands outwards towards the stage upon which the King sits.
The struts bearing the weight of the dais shatter and splinter, exploding outwards in a spray of sharp, wooden slivers. The King's mocking face becomes a mask of terror before he and those around him disappear into the plume of dust and sand that is suddenly, and violently, kicked up into the air.
The entire structure collapses in half of an instant. She sees the Warden's snarling face only briefly before he too is gone, sucked into the vortex of destruction wrought by her power.
For a moment, as the rubble of the ruined structure settles, the crowd is silent. Then there are screams of fear, of shock. She feels their voices vibrate the air and she is imbued with power once more.
On the other side of the arena, the doors burst open and a cadre of soldiers runs through, ready to apprehend her or - more likely - to kill her. But she is ready for them. She reaches into the air around her for the terrified noise of the crowd and turns it into a tidal wave of raw power, driving it towards her attackers. They are topple over and washed away like driftwood on the beach as the tide comes in.
Another wave of screams. People are on their feet now, rushing for the nearest exit. The panic will spread throughout the city and without the King or the Warden to maintain order, there will be riots. Her job is done here, her father avenged.
With one last glance at the remains of the dais, she turns and begins to run.
|
The next contestant walked onto the stage and stepped to the mark.
The head judge apprised her coolly. "What's your name, kid?"
"Alma."
"And your age?"
"I'm 17."
The judge checked his notes. "So, you have a unique ability?"
Alma drew herself up. "Yes, I have control over echoes."
"That seems incredibly useless," another judge remarked, and the studio audience laughed as if on queue.
There was no echo.
"Do you know even know what what echoes *are*, Judge?" she replied sharply, and the laughter's echoes burst back into the room.
This time, though, all the echoes were aimed directly at the audience pickup microphones, so that the entire room shook. The studio techs killed the amps immediately, but the echos still reverberated for another three minutes. By the time the last echoes faded, everyone's ears were ringing.
The judge cleared his throat. "Um--yes, young lady, I think I know what echoes are, even without your demonstration."
*Nobody* laughed.
Alma continued, "An echo is simply *reflected energy*. It can be a reflection of *sound*--" she ended the last word sharply, so the lack of an echo in the vast hall was even more evident.
"Or even of *light*," and suddenly the entire auditorium was dark except for the lights themselves, which now illuminated nothing.
Alma had effectively made every object, every person, everything non-transparent in the room *jet black*--and the effect was terrifying.
"So, what's the...*range* of your ability?" one of the judges asked from the darkness, which then lifted just as suddenly as it had fallen.
Alma knew what she was asking. "As far as I can tell, there's no limit. And yes, *I caused* last night's unexpected lunar eclipse."
The audience, and most of the judges, were now frozen in terror.
The head judge stood. "Alma, you've convinced me. You win my special *Crystal Crown* award!" he announced, and waved both hands in a labyrinthine gesture.
Suddenly, a crown of pure diamond appeared on Alma's head. Actually, only the *upper facets* were *on* her head, while the rest of the massive jewel extended *through* her head to the base of her skull.
Alma's body fell lifeless to the floor.
"Unfortunately," the head judge continued, "the special award disqualifies you from continuing the competition."
| 2020-03-28T14:30:32 | 2020-03-28T14:24:43 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] You are not the last human, but you are the last human on earth
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[First story here, so although criticism is welcome, please be nice.]
When our ship touches down in the New Mexico desert, a hearty cheer goes up from the crew. It’s been six months since we left, and as exciting as recon missions are, I missed Earth more than I would have imagined. Happens as you get older, I think. I turn to Ben. “We made it, and I can’t wait to eat a real burger. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do on Earth?” He replies, all earnestness and serious eyes. “I’m going to start by putting in a requisition for a new communications system. Our incoming transmissions were sporadic the whole time, and for the last month we haven’t been receiving anything at all, even though we can send without a problem. Do you know how dangerous that is?” “Well, we’re on the ground now. Let Control know we’ve landed, and that we’re sorry our comm system is a piece of shit.” Walking through the cabin, I can’t help but smile. Our mission was a success, I’m back in New Mexico, and my copilot’s being responsible.
Ten minutes later, we’ve taxied to our customary spot and Ben is on the verge of tears. “I can’t get anyone. Nobody from the AFB, nobody from Control– hell, I even tried to contact the government. Silence. Something’s wrong, Lee.” The world outside is blue and brown and empty. I scan the horizon, looking for someone to welcome us home, and that’s when I see the first body. He is curled up outside one of the outbuildings, still wearing a neon vest. A brown halo of dried blood frames his head. Some force, perhaps a latent desire for heroism, drives me to a decision. “Ben”, I say calmly, “I’m going outside. This situation might be the result of some sort of hostile takeover, and we need to know what’s happening. I don’t plan to do anything other than observe, but for the purposes of being discreet, I want everyone else to stay here for the time being.” Ben shakes his head. “A hostile takeover of New Mexico? Even if that was true, I don’t see why you need to go outside, and not one of us. I think it's a bad idea, Lee.” “Concerns noted, Ben. Be back soon.” I step through the airlock into the hot brightness of a summer morning.
Up close, the dead man looks less peaceful. There are no wounds, no signs of a struggle, but dried blood stains the ground and the stink of decay fills the air. Carefully avoiding contact, I bend down to see crusted vomit around his mouth, and some sort of dried white foam. I contact Ben on the ancient walkie-talkies we kept around for some reason. “Starship Oblivion, come in.” Ben responds immediately. “Captain Lee, please move away from the dead body and find a more secure position. You don’t know what killed him. It, or they, could still be around.” “We’re okay, Ben. No wounds, just blood and vomit, and some sort of foam. The poor guy died of a disease, or possibly something poisonous. I can check for a snakebite?” Ben doesn’t respond for a long time, and I take his silence as assent, trying to move stiff pant legs.
Suddenly, the ship’s engine roars into operation. I whirl around, confused, just in time to see Ben’s face, tear-streaked as he speaks into the walkie-talkie for the last time. “Captain Lee, from your observations we have determined that some sort of pathogen was responsible for the death. This pathogen has likely also infected those responsible for communication, leading us to infer that it is widespread and highly transmissible. The crew of the starship Oblivion has not been exposed to this pathogen, and as such, we plan to make for the base on Titan. Thank you for your leadership and… I’m so sorry, Lee. I want to take you onboard, but it's a gamble we can't make.” As the silver ship takes off, I can only watch as it grows smaller, a shining speck in a cloudless sky.
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First time posting here, and first real attempt at writing. Be gentle!
Up in the sky he gazed,
And there he sits, amazed.
Wondering why he had stayed.
Sitting online as he played,
Just one more round,
As the meteors came down.
Now that they're gone,
He can no longer call upon,
Nor cause them trauma,
With Candy Crush Saga.
| 2015-06-27T21:23:06 | 2015-06-27T21:08:25 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank.
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Silas woke to an empty house. As was tradition in his family, he was alone for his 18th birthday. He went about his usual morning routine, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. A too long shower, his favorite indulgence. A freshly cleaned tunic. A hearty breakfast of toast, bacon, and eggs.
Silas was just finishing breakfast when there was a crisp rapping at the door. A deliveryman thrust a black envelope into Silas' hands. "Happy birthday Mr. Bilfore. I hope it's a good one," the man said sharply, before turning on heel and leaving.
The envelope was not as heavy as Silas thought it would be. Although with further reflection, there was no reason for it to be particularly heavy. It bore only a single piece of paper, with a brief description of how Silas would die. Such envelopes were delivered to all the boys and girls of his town on their 18th birthdays.
Silas turned the envelope over in his hands. Its glossy black reflected light, giving the envelope a strange glow. On the front the words "Silas Bilfore" were written in neat, looping cursive, glistening in silver ink. The envelope bore no other writing, but everyone in the village knew that black envelopes with silver writing contained messages from the Prognosticators.
With shaking hands, Silas opened the envelope. He pulled the sheet of paper from within. He turned it over once, twice, and held it up to the light. It was blank.
Silas exhaled slowly. He looked at the paper again, as if he expected words to form across the page in that same silvery script if he stared at it long enough. "There's been a mistake," he said aloud. Silas grabbed his book bag for school, and shoved the envelope and paper inside.
Just down the block from their home, his family was waiting for him. When he reached them, his mother placed a hand on his shoulder and looked Silas in the eyes. "I hope it's a good one," she said. Silas' father and sister repeated the gesture.
"So what's going to happen to you?" Serena, his little sister, asked.
"Hush," his father said harshly. "It's rude to ask. Your brother's future is his own, and he can share his fate as he chooses."
"But he's got his book bag with him," his mother said in a mischievous stage whisper to Serena. "So it looks like he thinks he's going to make it through the day."
Silas forced a smile. "That's right, I'm off to school. I'll see you after."
As the family parted ways, he was surprised how easily he was able to lie. Silas walked past his school, instead going to the city center. He marched down to the basement.
The stairs opened up to a small, stark white room with a single door off of it. In the middle of the room was a desk with a woman seated behind it.
"Name?" she said.
"Silas Bilfore."
"What brings you to the Library?"
Silas pulled the black envelope from his bag. "There's been some mistake. It's my 18th birthday today and-"
"I hope it's a good one," the woman said mechanically, coldly making eye contact. "I'll see if someone has time for you."
She disappeared through the door. Silas shifted uncomfortably as he stood in the white room. He hated the idea that something unusual had happened to him. He hoped that she would return with another black envelope bearing his name. That things would be set normal at once. That there had simply been a small clerical error.
After what felt like an eternity, the woman returned. Looking at the floor, she held the door open for Silas. "A Prognosticator will see you," she said softly.
Silas walked uncertainly through the door. On the other side was an enormous room filled with books. Along one wall were several doors, leading to what Silas concluded must be the offices of the Prognosticators. One of the doors stood open, and seemed to be inviting him to come in.
"Come in Silas," a voice from within said just as Silas had raised his hand to knock on it.
Inside was a small cluttered office, with a man wearing a black cloak standing behind the desk. Silas immediately bowed his head, directing his eyes to the floor respectfully. "I beg your pardon sir, I do hope I'm not interrupting-"
"You're not interrupting. And there's no need to keep staring at the floor. Come and sit," the man said.
Silas did as he was told. Slowly he lifted his gaze and looked upon the Prognosticator. He was very old, with sunken eyes and a wisps of grey hair hovering on his head. The Prognosticator spoke, though, with the strength and authority of a much younger man. "You're here because you believe there has been a mistake. The letter you received this morning was blank."
Silas nodded.
"For better or for worse, Silas, the letter you received today is not a mistake. Despite our best efforts my colleagues and I are unable to see how you will die. Which means you are the one I've been waiting for."
Silas furrowed his brow, confused.
"What your letter today means is that we have concluded that you will not die, Silas. And that makes you suitable to be my replacement."
|
My rough callused hands shook slightly as I took out an old letter. One from the day I was eighteen. It seems an eternity ago, and technically it was. I grew up an engineer, dabbling in physics and working with a team to improve space travel. We stumbled upon new methods, methods that would allow travel at light speed while keeping the rules of nature intact. I volunteered to be the first on board. Instruments behaved oddly and wouldn't record accurately. I knew it was safe enough, but even a relatively short journey at light speed meant many years my loved ones would be without me. I would not age, but my wife and children would. They should have been my age now, and my wife old and feeble. Now, I can only presume they've died along with several generations after.
The thing is, we discovered how to get up to the speed of light, but only in theory. Testing was difficult but we had enough data to confirm it worked. We thought of it like anything else. Reverse the direction of energy to slow down but that went wrong. On this self sustaining ship, alone, the reality was much more complicated than we expected. I could not stop, forever doomed to travel through the universe, stuck in time at the speed of light. Only slight adjustments could be made to my path, not enough to turn around and get home before the death of our local sun, but just enough to avoid any collisions. I slid the blank letter describing my death back into it's envelope.
| 2017-01-17T13:35:09 | 2017-01-17T13:31:18 | 659 | 23 |
[WP] One night, you decide to put your phone under your pillow. When you wake up in the morning, your phone is replaced by cash totaling what you paid for your phone. Turns out the tooth fairy takes more than just teeth.
|
Not having my phone was kind of freeing, in a way. As was seeing a sizeable stack of cash hiding under my pillow.
See, I thought I had a stiff neck when I woke up today. After all, It was twisted abnormally, and I was worried until I moved and found out that the source of disruption was not, in fact, my extremely stupid sleeping position, but a stack of cash propping me up.
I had my phone for a couple of years now. Maybe three. There was no way in hell anybody would pay me this much for my old cell, which has seen its fair share of drops, scares with water, overnight gaming and video marathons, and an indecent amount of... indecent stuff on it.
Maybe it was the missing daily routine of frantically checking my phone for messages and daily notifications from the numerous games, but I could feel a sense of introspection within me.
Or it was the cash, come on. I got a deal that nobody would have settled for.
No human, at least.
Through the day, as I paid in cash for the latest model of my phone, I thought about it. I wondered who could it be. I swerved dangerously into crackpot theories. I veered back on track, thinking that at the very least, these were forces beyond my control.
If grade school had taught me anything besides that bullying sucked, it was that experimentation required variables. So, I cobbled up some odds and ends that day.
I went into a thrift store and bought some ratty looking fun. A second-hand book store yielded some classics that I might read for about 20 minutes before trying to search for a Netflix adaptation. And of course, another second-hand phone, much more damaged and practically unusable.
They all went under my pillow. Was it uncomfortable? Very much so. Was it tempting to think about the amount of cash I could get? Also yes.
It took a long time to go to sleep, I'm not sure why. But eventually, it came to claim me.
Until I heard a very soft, very tiny, "what the hell", followed by a swift prick to my cheek.
"What the hell is this?" a fairy squeaked.
It looked like a fairy, at least. Translucent wings that sparkled magically, attached to an absolutely tiny human being.
"Uh," I asked. "Who are you?"
I received another swift smack to the cheek, which I realize came from a small wand topped with a shining star.
"You don't need to know," she said, before her wand pointed indignantly at the pile of junk now accumulated under my pillow. "What I want to know is what the hell?"
"Oh, that?" I said. I looked at the enormous mess I had made, realizing quite how silly it looked. "Is this too much?"
Another smack.
"Of course it's too much!" she cried.
"I... wanted more money?" I said pathetically.
"You think us Tooth Fairies just take anything and everything?"
"Tooth Fairies?"
"Ah, damn it!" she continued. "I'm just so infuriated that I can't help but blurt stuff out!"
With that, I received another tiny pinprick courtesy of her wand.
"What was that for?" I cried.
"I'm just pissed off!"
"OK, OK," I held up my hands in surrender. "It was a mistake, alright? I just wanted to test the limits."
"By buying up half of the city's junk? And this isn't even under the pillow any more! We have very strict rules and regulations as to what constitutes property we can obtain!"
"Wait," I scratched my head. "So... it isn't just one Tooth Fairy? There's a lot of them? Because what you are saying sounds like this is an organization..."
"Maybe," the talkative fairy pursed her lips tightly. "Maybe not."
"I still don't get it," I said. "You were the one that took my phone away, right? Since when did Tooth Fairies expand their operations?"
"Fewer children nowadays, if you haven't quite noticed. Fewer teeth as well," she sighed. "We had to find our own ways. To survive."
"To survive?" I said. "Is... the Tooth Fairy business very cut-throat?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," she said. "But puh-lease. Just because we take a lot more stuff now, doesn't mean I'm clearing this mountain of junk for you."
"You know," I mused. "I have so many questions. Like why cash. Why there are multiple Tooth Fairies. Why there's a business about it. But really, what I first want to know is... why are you telling me this?"
"Because I needed somebody to rant to," she said. "Can't exactly rant to your colleagues, who are also your fiercest competitors, can you?"
"Ah," I smacked my palm. "Now that's something I can relate to."
"Plus," she said. "It's not like you'll remember any of this anyway."
"Wait, what?"
"I mean... fairies. Magical powers. How do you think the whole world doesn't know about us yet? I'm sorry about your rubbish pile, really," the fairy said. "Actually, no, I'm not. The phone was a one-time thing. This? Your own doing."
"Wait wait wai--"
Hmm.
Well.
I have a new phone. That's nice and well. But what the hell is this terrible, filthy, junky fur coat doing under my pillow?
---
r/dexdrafts
|
''It was a rainy night and I was a little tipsy and I remember going to bed with the phone in my hand. I must have put the phone under my pillow for some reason before fell asleep.''
My friend Powell looks at me like I’m crazy, ''Where is your phone now?'' He asks.
I shake my head, ''I don’t know, it’s gone and I found cash under my pillow.''
''You are joking, right?''
''I wish I was. It was the exact same amount that I paid for it.''
Powell starts to laugh, ''This is insane. Why would anyone steal your phone and leave that much cash or any amount of cash?''
I bite my fingers and I say, ''Do you think it’s a tooth fairy?''
''Don’t be silly.'' He says and he pauses for a second, ''In this case, it would be phone fairy.''
We decide to test our theory. I barrow his iPhone since I have no phone any more. I put it under my pillow as I lay on my bed but it’s very hard to fall asleep so, I take a sleeping pill to fall asleep.
I wake up to a knocking noise. It’s afternoon and I have been sleeping for at least 12 hours. I rush to the door and I open it. I let Powell in.
''So, what happened?'' He asks.
''Ah, I forgot to check. I just woke up.''
As I lift the pillow I see that iPhone is gone but there are only five bucks under the bed.
---------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
| 2020-11-14T10:51:21 | 2020-11-14T08:22:21 | 108 | 36 |
[WP] The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but reading carefully you realize it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be a smartass, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed that instead.
|
It had become an annual December tradition for me. Snooping around the house to find where my parents had stashed our Christmas presents for the year. This year's search led me to the attic one chilly Saturday afternoon as my parents were at the movies.
I found my haul for the year. Some books, a new jacket, and a Super Nintendo! Oh man, I couldn't wait to crack that one open. But I couldn't do it now, my parents would know. As I pushed everything carefully back against the wall where I found it, a bit of loose insulation caught my eye. I tried to push it back into place, but it wouldn't stay. Something was under it.
I peeled back the insulation and found a dusty old leather-bound book. Some odd symbols that I didn't recognize adorned the cover. It almost looked like the Sanskrit writing that I had seen in my History class, but that couldn't be it. Why would my parents have a book like that?
As I leafed through the pages, I noticed something unusual. Each page had the same drawings and symbols, but each one was written in a different language. I had seen enough German and Spanish to recognize those languages, but the others had eluded me. But on the last page of the book, familiar words popped out at me. English! And the title at the top of the page is burned into my memory:
**GRANT YOUR HEART'S TRUEST DESIRES**
My "heart's truest desires"? Awesome! I was turning 16 in a couple of months, and I could really use a new car. And Becky Stevenson was pretty cute, but I couldn't even summon up the courage to talk to her.
What followed were a set of instructions. Draw this symbol on the ground, wave your hands this way, say these words, blah blah blah. But one line in particular stood out to me.
*Step 5: Sacrifice exactly 100 lives in the middle of the circle*
What the hell? What kind of book is this? I felt a little creeped out, and started to close the book so I could shove it back where I found it, when I stopped to think. *100 lives.* It didn't say "human". It didn't even say "animal". I could come up with 100 "lives". After all, I had been studying biology in school. I wanted to be a surgeon.
I don't know why I so blindly trusted the book. I guess it was because I was a stupid teenager. Getting my "truest desires" sounded pretty good. So I decided to give it a try. I took the book downstairs and outside.
On my back porch, I followed the steps. I drew a circle in chalk on the concrete. I lit some candles. I said the words from the book. Time for Step 5.
Good thing I still had my microscope kit from Christmas a couple of years ago. I grabbed it out of my room, along with some cotton swabs, and headed to the kitchen. I grabbed a dirty plate out of the sink, and I swabbed it. And painstakingly, I counted out 100 bacteria, gently scraping them into a petri dish. 98, 99, 100. The book said "exactly 100", so I counted them 3 times to be sure.
I grabbed the petri dish and a bottle of bleach from under the sink and headed outside again. I placed the petri dish in the middle of the circle as instructed, and dumped the bleach into it. Thanks for your sacrifice, little dudes.
The last step was to say some words in a dialect I didn't recognize. I stumbled my way through them the best I could.
Suddenly, the candles went out, and a dark fog appeared in front of me. A loud voice boomed from it.
**"WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?"**
I tried to speak, but I was shaking so badly, that no sound came out but a little gasp of air. Shaking, my hands grabbed the book and held it up to the fog to show it.
**"YOU FOOLISH CHILD. DID THE BOOK NOT DEMAND 100 SACRIFICES?"**
I tried to summon what courage I could, and replied, "Yes, it did. But it didn't specify what kind of sacrifice. I thought that bacteria would be okay!"
**"YOU ARE CORRECT. ANY TYPE OF SACRIFICE IS ACCEPTABLE. BUT THE BOOK SAID EXACTLY 100! YOU FAILED AT THAT TASK. AS SUCH, YOUR DESIRES WILL NOT BE GRANTED! I MUST GO NOW!"**
The fog disappeared, and the book in my hands erupted in flames. I screamed and dropped the book, but before it even hit the ground, it had been reduced to ash.
"How did I fail?" I thought to myself. I grabbed the petri dish, turned to take it inside to check under the microscope, but some words caught my eye to tell me that it wouldn't be necessary. Some bright yellow words on the bottle of bleach. The words that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
*"KILLS 99% OF GERMS AND BACTERIA!"*
|
I knew it was a bad idea. Of course, it was, you don't fuck with the spirts of your entire realm. They could damn you, torture you forever. But I was done with the war. I had to do something. My father, the lord, only sat on his pile of gold and ate the last of our food. I was not about to sacrifice the animals, my only friends, and where was I to get 100 humans. I had to request the spirts help, so I sacrificed the bacteria.
I lay it in the fire and whispered the words the ancient text called for. In a flash of orange and red, spirits stood before me. They fluttered hungrily about the sacrifice, before realizing it was nothing more than a small dish. The head spirit was upon me in an instant, a splitting voice shrieking, deafening my senses. The spirits circled me, their screams one by one growing louder and louder. Then the wind whipping around me stopped, and the demons had ceased in a circle around my crumpled body. Starting with the lord of the spirits, their mouths unhinged one by one. Soon they all were one fearsome beast, brimming with sharp teeth, dripping firey saliva. That was the last thing I saw. Loopholes get you nowhere. So I recommend, you looking to summon the body of phantoms, do not repeat my mistakes. Follow the text, but not as literally and idiotically as I. That is no way to make a deal with the devils.
| 2019-11-02T16:24:19 | 2019-11-02T12:55:33 | 105 | 30 |
[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.
|
The sharp scent of too much fresh peppermint woke Jared. He sat up in a panic; his last memory was struggling against his friends. He thought Mundo and Eric were his friends up until the moment they stabbed his heart with an obsidian dagger. As he took his last breaths, Jared felt them using the blade on his arm. He hurriedly turned his arm to check and found a number two scarred over.
"What the hell?" he asked as he checked his surroundings. Jared sat on a soft mound in an emerald field of peppermint plants under a red sky.
"Correct on the first try!" a man said behind him. Jared hopped to his feet and whirled around in one motion to see who was behind him. It was a tall man with perfectly parted white hair and a well-groomed white beard. He wore a green suit that blended in well with the peppermint field, with a white vest and white bow tie. The number 37 was tattooed on his right cheek under a rotating glass eye painted like a globe.
"This is Hell?" Jared asked. "Are you the devil? I thought you'd be more...," he gestured with his hands over his head alluding to horns. "...devilish."
"Indeed he is. I am not him. My name is Peppermint and I am able to function as his representation. That being said, how exactly did you get here?"
"I chose my friends poorly," Jared sighed.
"Well, that's hardly enough to get you here," the man smiled. "Let's try to be more specific, what are your last memories?"
"My so-called buddies sacrificed me." he turned enough to show the stranger the number two on his arm. "I don't even think I'm the first guy they did it to, and they must have thought it was hilarious to do it on my birthday."
"They gave you that as part of the sacrifice?" Peppermint asked with sudden interest.
"Yeah," Jared nodded.
"Before or after?"
"What does it matter? I'm in hell while they're getting their laughs," Jared looked around. It surprised him that Hell was so pleasant. There was actually a cool breeze blowing across his skin. His nose got used to the peppermint smell enough that he was thankful it wasn't brimstone and sulfur.
"It's quite important. Did they scar you with the number before or after they killed you? And for that matter, was one of your friends named Eric?"
"I wasn't dead yet I guess, but they definitely stabbed me first. And yeah," Jared nodded. "How'd you know about Eric?" Peppermint smiled but shook his head.
"I wish that boy would stop abusing his knowledge," he said under his breath. "Anyway, that explains everything. Congratulations, you're on our team."
"What do you mean? I still don't know what's going on. I'm working for Hell now? I don't want that!" Jared whined.
"*Working for* is a bit strong. As I said, you're on our team. You'll be going back to Earth to live your life as you see fit. We don't tell you what to do, but all your actions are considered to be performed by a member of Hell. Before you return, I need to explain your powers to you."
"I get to go back?!" Jared grinned. "With *powers*? Yes!" Jared took a moment to pop his knuckles. "I can't wait to teach those ex-friends of mine a lesson. Can I shoot fireballs at them?" Peppermint shook his head.
"You are Unique Soul #02, El Diablito. You can infect people with a microbe just by touching their bare skin. Anyone else they touch also becomes infected. The microbe gives you control of their minds. You cannot innately throw fireballs, but El Diablito does have a certain affinity for magic. If you're not in a hurry to get back, I can arrange a magic tutor for you."
"Yeah!" Jared growled. "Give me all the magic you can, my revenge is going to hurt."
"Revenge? For what?" Peppermint asked.
"They KILLED me on my BIRTHDAY!"
"It seems to me that they did you a favor. You’re going back to Earth any time you want. You've got powers now, and you're going to learn magic. Don't you think that brief stabbing pain in your chest is worth the powers you've been given?"
"Bullcrap, they didn't know what was going to happen. They're just a bunch of crazy Satanists; I'm the one that lucked out. They wanted to send me to burn in Hell forever, I can't forgive that."
"Don't let Eric hear you say that, he's surprisingly sentimental. You'll hurt his feelings. Sometimes people do favors for us without us realizing it."
"So, what? They did know?" Peppermint nodded.
"No matter how long you stay here to master your magic, you'll never be able to...," Peppermint added air quotes. "...*teach Eric a lesson*. That boy is the literal son of the Devil. He knew exactly what he was doing and what would happen. Knowing him, he probably meant it as a birthday gift."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #117. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
|
"Quite a predicament you got yourself in bud." I said, taking a puff from my cigarette. "N-no, y-you can't b-be him, h-he died. WE KILLED YOU!" There he laid, the man responsible for my current situation, well he and two others. Called themselves my friends, did things together for years. I can still feel where the knife he held pierced me. All for power. Funny thing, there was no heaven or hell in the afterlife. There were gods, yes, but not the kind benevolent types. To them we were insignificant pawns in an eternal game of chess.
Turns out, I had caught the eye, eyes? Could never really tell, of one these 'Gods', saw that I was special and next thing I knew I was given gifts and a job. Wage war as one of its champions, a war eternal.
So, now I stand in front of him. The other two I dealt with. Now him. "I should thank you, my master is very pleased that you delivered a great champion." "P-please", he whispered, "let me live, I'm sorry, in God's name I'm sorry." I leaned close " There is no God. Only uncaring beings, older than time. But you're right. A deed like yours cannot go unrewarded." His eyes widened as a black doorway opened behind me. What he saw beyond caused him to start screaming. I didn't need to look behind to know what he saw. My two other friends were there, and what was being done to them he could see. Black tentacle started to snake towards him. He screamed louder. "Hush," I whispered into his ear, " The Sleeping City awaits."
| 2020-04-26T06:33:55 | 2020-04-26T05:50:33 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] We were one of 5 human species put on Earth by aliens 15,000 years ago. Being the weakest physical species, we were expected to be extinct, outcompeted by the others. However, when the aliens check in, we’ve wiped out the others.
|
Ook didn't know as much as the high heads.
Ook wasn't as strong as the long arms.
Ook wasn't as fast as the long legs.
Ook wasn't as creative as the fair ones.
In fact, Ook, and his tribe, were equally bad in every category the five tribes measured themselves by, except the one that truly mattered.
Adaptability.
If survival said you had to be a thief, then a thief you were. Everyone else had advantages that they held pure and most important. To a thief, all skills and abilities are essential.
Intelligence is helpful, but wisdom is better. Intelligence tells you if you can do something. Wisdom tells you if you should.
Ook's tribe did not pit their intelligence against the high heads. Instead, they looked at what the high head elders told their young. "Apply yourself to your studies, and stay away from all others, *especially* Ooks!" Ook's tribe was wise. They understood that youngsters are drawn to the forbidden, so they trolled their young within the view of the high head young. Soon enough, unauthorized unions took place.
Pregnant high head women were ostracized and left for the Ooks, where they were treated well. "We understand these little things, share your knowledge with us, and we will teach you what we know." Taught that knowledge was power, they stayed and learned wisdom. "Survival is important. Survivors are adaptable. Survivors will use whatever comes to hand to survive. Becoming whatever they must to survive."
Thus it went with the long arms and the long legs. The Ooks grew strong, fast, and intelligent until only the fair ones remained.
When the Ooks came to the fair ones, they were welcomed. Their diversity accepted and appreciated.
The fair ones looked at their creativity and found it lacking. They openly chose mates among the Ooks, forsaking the purity that the others, now too few to survive, held tightly in their grasp.
The fair ones, and their Ook offspring, engaged in breeding the Ook and themselves, sought a single ideal that would survive no matter what. The Ooks pointed out that "we cannot know the future, so we cannot know what ideal will survive."
The fair ones pondered this and decided, "creativity is important; without it, both wisdom and intelligence will fail. Yet there is truth in your saying that a single type may find itself trapped in a dead end. We propose that we mix with you and the Ooks split into separate tribes, each seeking out a far land and making it their own. From those centers, we will grow in isolation, eventually remixing when we meet again."
The Ooks looked at this and saw their wisdom reflected through creativity. "We agree," and the first Diaspora was on.
•••
"Chief? Where are the species we planted here?"
"I... I don't know! Send sampling teams."
The teams came openly. Many tribes welcomed them. Few rejected them. Fewer still rejected them with violence. One tribe evaded the newcomers with such skill that they avoided notice altogether.
"This is terrible! Our entire experiment is contaminated! How can we know which species is best if they have mixed themselves? We must wipe out these mongrels and start again."
The tribe that evaded notice learned of this because they were the greatest thieves of all the tribes. They stole the knowledge and shared it with the other tribes. They stole much else as well. Things that they did not understand; save that they were necessary.
"These beings are not gods. They intend our destruction for a failure that was theirs to begin with. We were never separate species, because separate species cannot successfully interbreed. Let us drive them off our land, and live our lives the way we wish."
There was much discussion.
Some reached the ears of the newcomers, who became alarmed and left, posting notices of a deadly species "spontaneously arising" on this small planet of this distinguished star in this gap of the galactic arm. "There is nothing on this planet or in the gap it exists in that any of our societies needs. Avoid at all costs."
Young being young, they snuck in and played with the "dangerous" new species. Until a terrible accident, involving a weather balloon caused a crash that killed several children. The humans tried to save them, although their motives are in doubt, a living alien is worth ever so much more than a dead one.
The scientists played on the "barbaric" medical treatments as nothing more than vivisection, demanding the destruction of this danger. Their fervor was their undoing. The truth came out, as it often does, and that race of scientists was ostracized.
The new species, as deadly and uncontrolled as they were, were posted "Danger: Human" and left strictly alone.
Except for the scientists, who came and experimented on us, seeking some shred of evidence for which species was ascendant.
They're still looking, and we steal their secrets every time we get the chance.
Sooner or later, we will go to the stars. For we are the most diverse species in the galaxy. We may not be the best at any one thing, but our ability to adapt and overcome adversity is second to none.
Yes, "Danger: Human" suits us well.
((finis))
|
"Some might say it was due to our intelligence and tool making skills that we turned out on top. But in the beginning we had none of that. You saw to that, didn't you? We were nothing but food for the other 'competitors' weren't we? But I'll tell you what we did have. The unstoppable, unflinching power of will to do whatever it takes to survive, at all costs. Our first few thousand years here, it was called persistence hunting. Our early ancestors would pick an animal, your other contestants, as it would seem, find the sharpest stick, and start after them. They were faster, probably stronger, sure, but we wouldn't stop. We would never stop. For days, we would chase our prey, mind and body brought to the brink of our mortal limits, and yet we pushed on ever further until our victory was the only outcome that was possible. But more than that, we made friends. Animals that served us, or brought us value in companionship. The ones you see among us, dogs, cats, and birds. We are capable of destruction, and we are capable of harmony. So to answer your question, *that* is how we came out on top. And know this. Now that humanity knows of your existence, and what you have done to us, we will not stop. It may take years, it may take decades, but we *will* find you. The only question is, will you be prey, or be the dog?"
| 2022-11-19T04:55:10 | 2022-11-19T00:01:00 | 89 | 43 |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand.
|
So, two things about supes:
One, you can never tell how, exactly, their powers are going to work.
Two, there's no minimum intelligence requirement.
The world hangs in the balance. I'm speed dialing every fucking supe I can think of; my supercomputer is running the simulations. Every combination of known powers, limitations, and side effects is battling to the death with everything we know about that damned meteor - not nearly enough. Never enough. It's clearly not a regular hunk of space rock. It's fucking *pink.*
Sixteen, by my reckoning, are terrified that it's made out of exactly the stuff that renders them powerless. One is just offended, for some insane reason, and won't engage. He's an asshole anyway. I wasn't banking on him.
Some of them went off-world. I hope they never live that down. They probably will.
Souperman stands, implacable, unflappable, bowl in hand. I check the waiting list. He wasn't even on it. That makes me feel better. If he had been, well... to be honest, I'd have quietly removed him. I'm not catching flak in the post-apocalypse for having put off testing the one idiot who was willing to be brave.
Matter. Energy. Inertia. Entropy. It's different for every supe, not just for every power. Some speedsters get excited and try going from zero to a thousand in less than a second. Death By Physics. It's less common now, but still a classic entry. Others, meanwhile, play by the rules, run the tests, do the work, and then discover that they would have been fine regardless. Some supes can lift buildings effortlessly. Others discover that they can't magically ignore torque and shear. They end up tearing a hunk out, which usually causes a collapse. Some of them end up going through the floor instead of lifting anything at all. Time stoppers get frozen. Invisible dudes can't see. The list goes on. Life just isn't fair.
That's my whole business model. If not all of them are going to be smart and careful, then somebody has to be for them. I can't tell you how many times I've heard some variation on the theme that my own superpower is common sense. It's infuriating, but the money's green, so I don't bitch.
The computer pings yellow, which is better than red, but it's too late. Out of curiosity, I glance at the combination. I chuckle; I never would have thought of it. Constructing the database and the program had been a good idea. That's my thing. I have good ideas, and then I do the fucking work.
I wait for a few moments, holding my breath. When the world doesn't end, I exhale. I wasn't planetside, of course. I'm not a fucking idiot. Still, it's my home. I'd have missed it.
I go to the feeds and watch in slo-mo. I see the whole spectrum. The audio is pre-filtered, but the raw stuff is available if I need it. The computer perceives and processes even more. Its previous task was deprioritized.
The feeds never went out - no catastrophic impact or temperature spike. They recorded everything. It's an ugly sight, but I examine the footage closely enough to confirm.
I update the entry for Souperman. I feel a pang of guilt - far less than if he'd been on the waiting list, but still something. I think of all the other supes who might've helped him out. Maybe they could've carted him around the cosmos a bit, letting him turn lakes, then seas, then oceans on dead worlds into soup. Heck, mountains too, I guess. Whole continents, maybe. There's no telling how powerful he could've become. If it had been gold or something else sexy instead of soup, they probably would've.
I know that none of them will feel it. Guilt doesn't get you anywhere in this game.
Anyway, here it is. It's as complete as it's ever going to get. I don't have the budget to send supes out hunting extradimensional space for traces of matter and energy - everything that used to be that hurtling meteor, but then suddenly wasn't.
*Souperman, b. Eugene Constance Forbes 1993, p. 2012, d. 2025. Power: the ability to turn anything into any amount of any kind of soup. Temperature of soup hard-linked to soup type. Power allows displacement of all excess matter and energy, possibly total annihilation. Ability to add or conjure mass and/or energy unclear. Cause of death: acute, catastrophic power overexertion. Died saving the planet Earth from a likely extinction level event: strange meteor.*
Yes, "strange meteor" is its own entry. I look at it for a minute on my screen. I shrug, and click to customize. *Really, really big strange pink meteor.* That's better. That's a little dig at some of the cowards, and that one insane asshole.
The phone rings. I pick it up. It's a different asshole - one that pays well.
"Yikes," he says.
I preemptively bite my tongue.
"Not enough chicken soup in the world to cure that, huh?"
These fucking guys.
|
I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.
I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.
When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.
The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.
But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.
It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world.
| 2022-11-29T21:59:41 | 2022-11-29T19:52:13 | 415 | 59 |
[WP] The U.S. Government has declared war. They are drafting everyone who has played the game Call Of Duty. You've just been drafted.
|
I looked around at the others in the plane with me. We didn't look like soldiers. We looked a lot like a bunch of gamers cosplaying as soldiers.
The guy sitting on my left looked like he had a BMI of at least forty. I didn't know they made combat fatigues his size. He was sweating through his fatigues, with large droplets of oily perspiration dripping off his layered chin. The guy on my right was the same size, and wore thick-framed glasses. Unlike everyone else in the plane, he didn't look scared. He looked serene.
He must've noticed I was staring at him, because he turned to me and smiled. "Nice day to die," he yelled at me, conversationally, over the roar of the engines.
"I'm sorry, what?" I yelled back.
"I said it's a nice day to die. We're all about to die."
"All of us? How do you know?"
"Oh come on, look at us," he scoffed. "Do you really think any of us have any chance in a war zone?"
"Of course we do," I answered, feigning confidence. "That's why we were drafted. Because we've spent the most time in war simulator games, and we're the best at what we do."
The guy actually laughed. "Don't be a dumbass. They drafted us specifically to kill us off."
It was my turn to scoff. "That sounds entirely too implausible to be true."
"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow. "Let's review the facts. The US is now at war with some nebulous terrorist organization, hell I don't even remember what they're calling themselves these days. The government instituted a draft, specifying that gamers who played the most Call of Duty and Battlefield would be drafted first. We were given two weeks of training—two weeks!—and now we're flying off to god-knows-what country, one of the -stans, to parachute onto the front lines and fight the enemy. Did I get anything wrong?"
I frowned, and said, "No, that sounds about right. But so what? That doesn't prove anything."
I could see, but not hear, him sigh. "Soldiers usually train for months or years before heading off to war. They left that part out of the games, didn't they? Also, wars these days are fought first with planes and drones. No one sends in troops right away. They didn't mention that in the games either, did they? We're gamers, not soldiers. We don't know anything about real war. That's why almost none of us here have seen through their plot."
My frown deepened. "That doesn't explain why they'd kill us all off though."
"My guess? The powers that be want to get rid of a generation of gamers for some reason. I dunno why. Maybe they think we're leeching off the economy. Maybe they want to rid the country of young men, aged eighteen to thirty five, so they have all the young women to themselves. Maybe they just want to up the death toll and make the war seem more tragic, so they can keep the war going longer and longer, and make a killing from the profits."
"That sounds entirely too implausible to be true."
A red light activated near the door of the plane. The lieutenant stood up and roared an order at us, accompanied by the "stand up" gesture. We shuffled to our feet obediently. The lieutenant gave the "check equipment" order. We gave ourselves a once-over to make sure everything was attached.
The door opened, and the howl of the engines rose to deafening levels. "It was nice talking to you, man. Time for us to die," my companion yelled at me, giving me a pat on the shoulder. "It wouldn't surprise me if there weren't actually any parachutes in these packs! Ha!"
"Too implausible to be true!" I yelled back at him. We began leaping out of the plane, one by one. It was entirely too implausible to be true. The government wouldn't manufacture a war just to kill off a generation of gamers. Two more guys and then it's my turn to jump. It's just too implausible. The one percent wouldn't really do this, just to make a quick buck, would they? One more guy, then it's my turn. This is just crazy, of course there's a parachute in my pack. I'm not going to die, I'm a master at Call of Duty.
I was at the door. I stared through the roaring wind at the glittering landscape below me. Of course there's a parachute in my pack. Of course I'm going to live.
I jumped.
|
I was just playing a game of COD in my living room, suddenly someone knocked on the door, I told my teammates, " guys there's someone outside the door, be right back ! " I rushed to the door and opened it, It was a soldier, He told me in a deep voice, " Sir, the US has declared war on China, we are drafting everyone who has played call of duty the war simulator, Would you kindly come with me?" It seems that I can't say no so I followed him into the Hummer.
Soon we were in the camp, I saw a lot of kids, It looks like that most of them isn't even older then 10, but that's not weird because every COD game I play has 5 little kids that apparently has a sexual relation with my mother.
Then another soldier came, he was hold a mic , his voice boomed through the speakers, " soldiers! you are here to fight ! you are all drafted because you are trained in fighting already! now take this gear and GO! "
No one moved.
"MOVE!" the general screamed again.
half the little kids started crying.
Oh boy.
| 2015-08-13T19:52:34 | 2015-08-13T19:36:05 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] Enthralled with your magical studies, you only leave your retreat every 10 days to buy supplies from a nearby town. However, you've become something of a legend. The mystical hermit who arrives every 10 years without having aged a day.
|
The town was festooned with garlands and chains, stretching across the market place, giving the little town of Juniper a sprightly and merry atmosphere. Positioned between the mountain ranges of Hyphin and Alizes, in the nook of a valley, it was a place of little consequence. Nothing of note ever happened in that sleepy town except for an event that occurred every ten years when a mysterious wizard appeared bringing medicines and magical ointments for the sick and unwell. The whole town would rejoice at his coming and treat him like a king. For almost a century, this tradition was a memorable celebration for the people. The folk begged the wizard, called Puntipunki, to stay longer but he always shook his head and declined with a warm smile. He needed to go back to the studies in the mountains. He explained that ten years for the people of the village were a mere ten days for him.
A whole generation were born, grew up and had children and grandchildren of their own over the nine times that Puntipunki visited. He brought much joy and revelry with his tricks and potions. His only request on each visit was the construction of a remarkable looking dome building at the base of the mountain.
It was once again, the big day of Puntipunki’s arrival. Mayor Larkin looked resplendent in his chosen attire. Golden medallions and metal rings, hung heavily down from his robes, glinting under the sun as he hobbled towards the paved entrance to the square. The people of the village waited while the short hand of the town clock finally heralded the arrival of their legendary visitor.
As the chimes of the tower clock rung out over the town, there was a sudden hush, as if the whole town of people took a collective breath as they waited for their guest. After a tense wait, the tip of a peaked blue hat bobbed up into view, bringing whoops and cheers from the gathered crowds and from the balconies of the small town houses.
Wizard Puntripunki strode up to the mayor who was bowing so low that his gut looked like it would touch the ground.
“You know,” said the wizard. “You don’t have to make all this fuss. I was only here ten days ago.”
The mayor laughed heartily.
“Ten days for you is a whole decade for us, dear friend. It is remarkable how you do not age. There was not grey in my hair the last time we met.”
The wizard lifted his staff and prodded the noticeable paunch of his host.
“I don’t remember there being quite so much of this either,” he said with a chuckle.
The mayor reddened. “It is true. We eat well, thanks to your magic. Come, we have so much to show you.”
Intrigued, the wizard followed the robed gentleman towards a globe shaped structure. It was situated at the bottom of Mt. Hyphin, bridging a bubbling brook.
“Ah – excellent,” Puntipunki said as he examined the smooth, wooden surface. “You followed my instructions to a T.”
Mayor Larkin puffed up his chest with pride.
“It took our carpenters a while to smooth off the edges. We finished it seven months ahead of schedule.”
Puntipunki stroked his beard and looked directly above at the midday sun. There was little shadow under the giant sphere. He had to give the townspeople credit. They had not erred on this task.
“The inside?” he asked. “Did you insulate it?”
At this, the mayor looked even more jubilant.”
“Follow me, my sire.”
They walked around the structure until they reached a wooden hatch on the ground. A young lad, bowing at the presence of the great wizard, lifted it up and immediately shaded it with a large screen.
“Very good,” said Puntipunki. “It seems that you have followed every detail.”
Together, they descended into the cool, dark earth and, stooping low, crept through a narrow tunnel until they reached a second wooden hatch which they heaved open.
The wizard smiled as he looked up. An ethereal wall of glinting emeralds, like the minerals inside a geode, embedded the walls of the interior. A gurgling sound came from the centre of the room, where a strange shaped fountain was bubbling in the centre. It was shaped like a font and through it ran the ancient, mystical waters of Mt. Aeiri.
It had taken Puntipunki a lifetime to find it, to source the waters with the magical properties to nurture new life.
It had not taken long to endear himself to the people of Juniper. A little healing and other cheap tricks had established him as a friend.
There was a problem though. It would take a century to achieve what he had planned and he did not have a century to wait. And so, Putnipunki fractured time, living on a bilateral plane, cocooned in his library of alchemy. Every ten days, ten years in the real world, he would visit the town of Juniper to see how his experiment was developing.
He had made so many sacrifices but it had all been worth it.
Puntipunki stepped up to the font and peered in.
There it was, his creation, gleaming under the refracted light of the gem stones. A small, marble like eye blinked up at him and a tail flicked back and forth.
“Ryu – my little child,” he whispered placing the new creature upon the palm of his outstretched hand. “You will wreak such beautiful wrath through the lands. You will be a new god to worship.”
He turned to the mayor.
“I shall see you in ten days.”
On his face was a dark smile and his eyes glinted like the gemstones above.
|
They all gathered to see legendary "Leonardo The Powerful" coming into town, some hoping that this near god-like being would gift them knowledge, whilst some prepared their swords for fame and glory.
In truth, he'd wandered into the crowd about an hour earlier dressed as a beggar, right under everyones nose, and had begun visiting all the stores he was interested in; a food stall, a barrel of salt (he'd be going there last), a clothing store that specialized in lizardman clothing, the bar for copious amounts of alcohol as usual, the library to return some overdue books and-
"Everyone, he must've entered the village under our noses, get searching for him!" A jovial, slightly drunk man cried out above the crowd.
Leonard looked up from slightly lewd images of demons he was looking through to see a gaggle of peasants harassing lizardmen on the off chance one of them was him. "It wouldn't be long now." Leonard was one of the three or so lizardmen in the town. He had a minute or so to escape the oncoming crowd else they would harass him non-stop, as per usual.
"There he is, I found the wizard!"
He'd tried moving quietly through alleyways but a small, shrill voiced child had noticed him slumped behind a broken cart.
Like rats they all surrounded the poor wizard and started barraging him with near endless questions, each pertaining to some mundane interests or needs of the villagers.
Bang! A puff of smoke
A loud flash appeared where the wizard once stood, leaving a strongly worded note to all those asking him questions and a sickly looking farmer standing at the back of the crowd, carcassing his tail after a swarm of peasants trampled it, finally giving in and actually hiring assistants and embracing delegation.
I have no idea if this is good but it was fun writing, so...
I like criticism so tear this apart please.
| 2018-07-19T08:30:58 | 2018-07-19T03:55:50 | 92 | 14 |
[WP] You are the super villain that defeated the super hero and conquered the earth. You walk out onto your balcony to law down the law for your new subjects. You are greeted by a massive crowd and genuine cheers.
|
Mason's servants dawned his crimson-red cape valiantly over his shoulders while they swiftly tended to the remains of his facial wounds. His gaze averted to the marble-like balcony awaiting his presence; the echoes of chatter creeping through. He left his charred black armour on despite being able to put a new one on, he wanted to show the public that pain meant nothing to him.
His face was drought, a pale demeanour of what it was when he started his journey, now it was empty; he felt cold.
He watched the renovations of his newly conquered castle go underway, he'd ordered for the very best decorators in the world; and like that they were here. He couldn't have imagined being here now, having millions under his control, at a whim to do what he wished. He never thought he'd get this far.
"Sir?" A petite voice anxiously piked out.
"Yes?" Mason's train of though broke and he diverted his gaze over to a young woman grasping at a tablet with a stylus pen.
"Yes..I...I'm your new personal assistant, the one you called for." She gulped.
"Relax. Please. I doubt I'll be having anymore battles in the near future so your fate will not be the same as my last few assistants." He mumbled while adjusting his cape.
"Of course, sir." She reached down and looked over the tablet, "we have a crowd of 2 million people here to welcome you, New Haven is acting as a beacon for the rest of the world. Your forces have steadily been moving throughout the remnants of the United States taking out any more resistors, but few incidences have been reported."
"Excellent. Any news regarding the unique?" He swallowed.
"No, sir. After your last battle with the superher-" she was cut off.
"Terrorist." He corrected her.
"Yes. After you defeated the terrorist known as Impact you are the only known remaining unique left. If there are anymore, they are hiding." She then passed the tablet to him.
The tablet showed scores and charts regarding his forces, weapons and numbers with an animated image showcasing his controlled land, almost 85% of the known world with all Western countries at his command. There was a lot of inconclusive data however.
"I want you to alert my generals to call back any remaining forces for the time being until we are more aware of who and what is left, are all nuclear weapons decommissioned?" He asked.
"Yes, sir. As it stands you are the single most powerful entity on the planet. You've won." She gave a bright smile.
"I just may have. Wow." He chuckled while shaking his head, "what's your name?" He asked.
"M-my name?" She gulped, "you wish to know it?"
"Please relax. I assure you, any rumours you have heard are pure nonsense." He said in a calm voice, "I'm your friend, okay?"
"Mary. My name is Mary." She nodded.
"Well, Mary, welcome." He smiled back, "I have to go now. Assure the people that the fighting is over."
"Of course, sir." She stated in a friendly manner. Mason could see through her mask however.
"You can call me, Mason." He nodded before staring back at one of the servants who was dawning his cape earlier. He held out his hand and the servant brought his mask on a pillow. A purely white coated piece of armour with two black eye-holes and a mural of a sun on it. He put the mask on.
Mason marched outside to the balcony with his servants on side, his strides carried power with them but also showed a sense of victory, but Mason felt unnerved by where he was now. Before him lied a sea of people glaring upwards at the balcony. Their voices were all frantic and in uniform, but as soon as he stepped out they were silent, watching the masked leader step towards the microphone.
"The day has finally come, hasn't it?" Mason chuckled into the microphone, "I remember fifteen years ago, the first time I appeared on the screens of all your televisions no one batted an eye, just another crazed unique person with abilities, someone would stop him, right? No one batted an eye, hell, not even me. The first time I announced my name as Sol, my demands were dismissed by the governments. When I was young my powers sprung up out of nowhere, I could look up at the sun and feel it's power, not just it's warmth or it's life giving rays, I was a conduit for it's power, with capabilities I hadn't known yet. I developed a philosophy, an old way of thinking, just as the sun can give life, it can also act as a restart. The world was on the brisk of war anyways, we needed a restart, a new birth. I saw everything, famine, climate change, overpopulation, human greed. It was time. I was the catalyst to bringing a cleansing rebirth to this world, but instead of flooding waters, it was blistering rays. I was quickly labelled a super-villain, a terrorist and even a weapon of mass destruction by the former United Nations, no human weapon is even remotely capable of what I can do and they feared this. I think they didn't like that I wasn't under their control. Many leaders and many other individuals with abilities tried to topple me, and I think they would have had you all not come to my aid, come to my philosophy, seen my way of thinking." Mason stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts, "I'd be gone if it weren't for you all, even my abilities have ranges, where I couldn't reach you did. Despite Impact being able to breach my home and fatally wound me, it was one of you who dealt the final blow to him. Someone without powers. I find that poetic, symbolic of how you all are what shaped this new world from the ground up and then finally solidified it. This day isn't for my victory, it's for all yours. This is the new beginning brothers and sisters, Sol, our sun, brings new life once again." He finished his speech. The crowd gave an overbearing cheer.
Deep down he understood that most of these people were cheering out of a necessity for survival. Some genuinely believed him, some worshipped him as a god. The people were his, he'd won.
|
I didn't choose to be a super-villian. I chose to be a villian, sure. I had grey morals to begin with. The sudden advancement of power, gave me temptation. The pain and mental torture warped my perspective but the final straw for my step into villianness? Villain hood? Anger. I would love to start at the beginning but there's no time. I just talk to myself like this to keep myself sane, it took a while to get back here, I'd like to keep it. When I'm angry, I get shit done. But its destructive, direct, no subtly, etc. To make me this mad, this maddening madness, requires a lot. It wasn't pain or suffering that caused it, well not directly. It was knowledge.
I control minds. I do other things too, read, warp, control, etc. I raped and killed. I controlled and destroyed. I layed down my version of justice, I started a revolution, secretly took over foreign governments, I lost my very mind and I can honestly, thankfully, say it wasn't my fault. I opened my mind up and found hell. The suffering of the entire world filled my mind and broke me. It takes a lot to break me. Few thousand to be exact. So much pain. Given, I probably would have still done "evil" and broken laws but never like this. Never on this scale.
They did everything they could to stop me but I was too smart, I had the intelligence of a hive mind, the influence, the power and I used it. So they created someone who couldn't be controlled, amped him up and sent him after me like a dog. Had a very interesting set of powers but so do I. They were a gift. I didn't kill the hero, but I did trap them. No mind is safe from mine, not anymore. Trapped, in his own head, forever.
As I walk out, crowds, cheers, massive delights. I suppose, afterall, I have trapped most of the world inside their own heads. A shame. I will free them, not soon, but I shall. Stepping out of darkness and into the light is difficult and sometimes it requires getting bloody. But I will free these slaves I have created. Most of them at least. I'll keep 1 or 2 for my own purposes.
After all, my morals are gray.
| 2017-05-23T11:53:46 | 2017-05-23T10:33:06 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was late. Like my period, which started four years after the last girl of my class had her first. I didn't mind the same way I didn't mind four years of guaranteed dry underwear and both times because I was busy exploring the neighborhood.
"Who arrives late to their own birthday party?" said my boss as I stepped into the lobby with a fake smile.
Rather than explaining myself, I took my hoodie off and lifted my arms so the small crowd could explore. I enjoyed their disappointment.
"It's two pm! Two hours late!" cried Jeannine.
"It's just one hour late. Daylight savings, remember?" I didn't want to sound rude, but I did.
"Shut up!" Cried Jeannine again, but not at my attitude. She pointed at my leg. That caught me by surprise and upon inspection, I found scribbles. Well, I found some sort of writing I was unfamiliar with. Max took a picture.
"I bet it means wanderlust" Said my boss. I wished he were right for once.
I spent the following weeks tracking down the kind of writing that appeared across my leg. The library did not help at all, the flyers did not help at all, the university did not help at all and the pictures posted on online forums actually yielded a faint hint: this was an archaic form of writing found only in ruins from a little group of islands in the Pacific Ocean. Nobody was surprised when I packed a few things and bought a one-way ticket to a country whose name I learned that very morning. My mother was so used to my shenanigans that she lost the ability to get scared for me, but she retained the ability to scare me into promising I would be out of trouble. We both knew the promise was empty and we both closed our eyes while we hugged for a few minutes.
After I arrived, I realized nobody in the little modest nation spoke my own language so my only tool for communication was the picture of the hieroglyphic. Almost two months after its appearance and I still had no idea of where I was going.
As I walked to my hotel, I stopped and showed the picture to random people and asked if they spoke my language. I got a few giggles, two dirty looks, a grave silence, a regular silence and a couple of head shakes. I tried the same with the hotel staff until the bartender shouted "Ah!" and called someone on the phone. A couple of minutes later, a lovely woman appeared and greeted me in my own language, with a slight accent. She identified as the local chief of tourism. I explained myself over tea and she said she had never heard of something like this, but knew a few bookworms who were familiar with the script in the ruins that she could introduce me to. I tried to pay for this service and she refused adamantly and I do mean adamantly.
We agreed to visit the scholars early the next morning and I really can't remember anything between that conversation and the next morning. Everything was so new. The mix between modern technology and traditional attires, different body languages, different hairstyles, different smells... I was trying to absorb it all. We arrived to a little office where two men played checkers. They were overjoyed to explain the ruins to me: spoiler alert, they didn't know jack shit about the people who built them. Nobody does. They were long gone by the time Cleopatra was dreaming of ruling the world. Their civilization appeared in some historical records from other nations. Thanks to some of those, there is basic understanding of their scripture. Both men jumped at the picture of my word but all they could make was "the place that". They faxed (yes, faxed) the picture over to a colleague who said she had seen that very word at the entrance of a temple. Two islands over. The chief of tourism helped me buy a ferry ticket after we had dinner with the scholars. I arrived around 9 pm (local time) and spent the night at the "doggy dog inn". I didn't quite get the name at first, but the next morning, after the sixth pack of dogs ran past me, it clicked. This place was very fond of dogs. So am I. I followed the map that one of the scholars gave me (fresh from the fax machine!) until I arrived at a nice little house, clearly restored from the rest of the ruins. A young man opened the door and struggled with the language a little bit. He welcomed me and guided me to what appeared to be a temple that had become the main dog sanctuary. We were in the island of dogs, in the main sanctuary of dogs surrounded by mysterious ruins and lush vegetation. The young man pointed at an arch above the entrance that had an inscription still visible. I didn't need to look at the picture to know that was my word. I smiled. He said the closest translation of the inscription meant "The place of the care givers". My heart fluttered.
|
I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
| 2017-03-16T02:44:59 | 2017-03-16T02:40:17 | 109 | 52 |
[WP] A cure for sleep has been found, by taking a cheap pill people no longer need to sleep. You opted to continue sleeping and now 1 year after the release of this pill you notice that people are starting to act oddly.
|
They call it Wake-Aid, a simple chemical cocktail in pill form that will give you eight more productive hours each day. Who has time for sleep anymore? There’s no reason to waste a third of your day when you could be out at a party, playing with your kids, or racing up that corporate ladder! No harmful side-effects found during human testing. A dream come true.
Personally, though, I have no kids, hate drinking, and have the ambition of a particularly forward thinking sloth. You couldn’t pay me to give up my shut-eye, let alone convince me to pay you for the privilege. So I never took Wake-Aid, despite the growing number of success stories from my friends and relatives.
It’s been about a year now since Wake-Aid’s launch. The economy has been booming from all the extra productive work hours, but not too much else has changed. For my part, I’ve read a few good books, played through some old video games, and landed a job in a shipping warehouse. Not the most glamorous or well-paid position, but it makes ends meet and that’s good enough for me.
Everything seems to be going well, but I get this odd feeling sometimes. It’s nothing I can quite put my finger on, but… Well, a few months ago I was walking to work and reached a light just as it switched so I could cross. I got halfway across the street before I noticed something; the north-south traffic wasn’t moving even though they had the green light. I finished crossing the road at a run, thinking something must be wrong, but when I stopped at the far crosswalk and looked around, everything seemed normal. Just… No one was moving.
The light changed once more and now the east-west traffic wasn’t moving either. I walked up to the passenger side of a small sedan and peered in. I saw a man in the driver’s seat just staring up at the light. I tapped on the window, but he didn’t notice me. A car pulled up behind him and honked, jolting the sedan driver out of his trance. He pulled through the intersection without giving me so much as a glance and, when the light changed once more, north-south traffic proceeded as normal. I was a few minutes late to work because of the delay, but no one said anything. I shrugged it off and moved on with life. Weird things happen sometimes.
But recently those weird things have been happening more often. My mother used to call me once a week on Tuesday, after her knitting group would meet. Every Tuesday at 4pm, like clockwork. Now? She might call me once every other week. It’s been a month now since the last time she called me. I tried calling her yesterday, but her phone went straight to voicemail. I tried calling my dad instead and got him on my second try. I asked him how everything was going and he said it was fine. Mom had gone upstairs after breakfast to work on a new christmas scarf and had left her phone on the counter.
I glanced at my calendar and it confirmed what I knew. It was February 3rd.
I told dad that I would be coming over as soon as I could and he said that they would be happy to have me back at the house. I told him to let mom know I’d be there tomorrow and hung up to start packing. The next day, which I may as well call today, I suppose, I set out from my house towards my parents’ place, a little under two hours away.
On my way, worry gnawing at me like a dog on a bone, I noticed even more strange things. Here was a telephone pole down a month after our last major storm. There was a business sign advertising a New Year’s Eve sale. I shook my head. How could people miss something like that? Shouldn’t they be prepping for a Valentine’s Day sale or something?
I pulled into my parents’ driveway and immediately knew something was wrong. There was a hole in the kitchen window from where a baseball smashed through it. I knew a baseball smashed through it because my mother had told me about it during her last call. A month ago.
I dashed up the front steps and pounded on the door, shouting at the top of my lungs for someone to come to the door. I heard someone jolt in the living room and heard my dad shout “Hold on! Hold on! I’m coming! No need to knock the house down!” A few moments later, the door unlatched and swung open to reveal a man I barely recognized and a room I recognized less.
My father had let his beard grow out to a ridiculous length and his gut was hanging out further than I had ever seen it. He was saying something about not expecting me so soon after I called, but I barely heard him. The living room was covered in old pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Piles of trash were heaped in the corners. My mother couldn’t stand even one or two cans on the table, how had the mess gotten this bad?
I turned to my father and asked him where mom was.
He hmm’d and haw’d for a moment or two, “She was n the… No that was yesterday… Then she… Hmm… I think she must still be upstairs working on that scarf I told you about this morning.”
I was halfway to the stairs before I realized what he said. I slowly turned back towards him. “Dad, we talked yesterday, not today.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did we? Oh… Oh, yes, I suppose that’s right. I was just watching some of my favorite old westerns and must have lost track of time.”
I started sprinting to, and then up, the stairs. My father never forgot when things were. He never “lost track of time”. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong.
I slammed into my mother’s knitting room and immediately tripped to the floor. I looked at my feet and saw part of a scarf. I didn’t want to look up, so I just followed the trail of the scarf. It wound around the room, across chairs and stacks of unused yarn until it came to it’s end, or its beginning, in my mother’s rigid, gaunt hands. My eyes immediately began blurring with tears. How long had she been here? How long had she been here with no one noticing she was gone? How…
I could almost hear her sing-song mantra that she always did while knitting, through under over pull through under over pull. I thought of traffic lights flickering between colors, red green yellow red green through under over. I thought of people sitting at desks answering emails, open type send open type send pull through under over pull. I thought of my dad sitting downstairs ordering a pizza watching a movie buying some beer ordering a pizza through under over pull. I thought of my mother, sitting in that chair knitting as she wasted away. Through under over pull through under over pull through under over pull through under over pull…
|
"Hey, Dan, have you been feeling okay lately?"
"Fine, why do you ask?" He cheerfully replied with a smile on his face, knuckles a sore red.
As I looked down at my own, they were just a normal color. That was one of the first things I noticed after people stopped sleeping. I was one of the few among my friends and family that decided to keep sleeping. They tried to rope me into it but, I maintained my stance. It's been a bout a year in I lost my well paying job, to my surprise. I would have thought that they'd be estatic to not have to pay another person overtime, but apparently with a workforce that can work longer, people like me are just considered lazy.
I couldn't help but wonder how many of us were out there, people that didn't take the pill. Not enough for me to find any support groups locally or online, but there had to be others. I wondered if they saw the same things I did.
Everyone's knuckles were red, like they had been punching something, but whenever I would ask, they would act like they didn't know what I was talking about. Even if they were looking at right at them, it was like there was a filter, like they couldn't see it.
"Why are you asking? Is this about the red knuckle thing again?" Dan questioned while glancing at his knuckles.
I was asking Dan because I had seen him punching a dumpster for about an hour outside the bar we were currently at. No grunting, no sounds of effort, just the rhythmic sound of flesh and bone hitting metal.
"No, you just look tired." I joked, trying my best to change the subject.
"Pfft, yeah right. You're the one who looks tired."
"Well yeah, it's like 3AM."
"What, really? Damn, I was going to run that Raid before work...dude, 3 o'clock."
I turned to my right to see a redhead looking at Dan, so I leaned back to give him a better view, only to have her eyes follow me. Our eyes locked for a long three seconds before she looked away. *Wait,* *me?* I felt Dan's hand on my shoulder, I turned back to him to see that he had a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Damn it, all yours Joe."
"No, I think I'm good."
"C'mon man, it's been what, 10 months since you broke up with Emily. Gotta get back on the horse some time."
I looked back at the redhead, a smile on her face as she looked up and down. "Yea, Dan, I think you're right." I said under my breath as I went to introduce myself.
________________________________________________________________
I awoke to the sound of a low keening in my room. The redhead was facing the wall, the inhuman sound coming out without reprieve.
Great, another Emily.
| 2016-08-30T10:03:03 | 2016-08-30T08:24:33 | 949 | 82 |
[WP] When people die their ghosts are anchored in proximity to their bodies. When you die you're cremated and have your ashes scattered in the wind. The wind takes you on a journey.
|
# Summer
I’ve got pieces scattered from Boston to Bangkok, little bits of me that have come down from my spot above the Charles River to stowaway in stuffy shipboard air. I feel them like I felt my hair: only there when the wind blows.
There’s not enough of me in those places. Death spread me too thin, the only part of it that feels at all like life. Had I known before what I know now, I never would have asked for this.
Ghosts are real. Ghosts are common too. Yesterday some piece of me blew up against a ghost from ages past, he’d never seen a man like me before. They’d buried him beneath a great birch tree way up in the Green Mountains, trapped his soul among the roots. I waved as I went past, a little clod of me that broke apart a moment later to become a ghost even to me— hair blowing in the breeze.
It felt like a hundredth death, a thousandth. It's like a haircut where each follicle screams, not just beneath the scissors but even afterwards in the trash. Screams until the barber throws the garbage out in the morning and the truck comes to take it to the landfill and scatter it across that blighted mile.
If I’d known, I still would’ve asked them to cremate me. I would’ve had them place me in a pretty urn. I’d have made sure they sealed it tight, and I would’ve balled myself up inside, spectral arms and legs wrapped around all my bits until they handed me to you.
You’d have put me in the windowsill and visited every morning over tea.
I’m sure you’d have visited if I was as close as the windowsill.
It’s funny really, death spread me so thin, but it never chanced to blow me back to you. And you never visit the piece of me still stranded on the hill. I’m wrapped around the rose mallows, trapped into their life cycle. The flowers are blooming now, I’m sure you’d love them if you could see.
But you don’t see. That’s okay too. On my good days, I know it’s only been a little while.
\*\*\*
# Fall
The rose mallows died last month. Just the tops, but that was enough. They left pretty pink motes scattered across the hill, blown down into the river. You would have thought that was beautiful too.
Last week I felt the stars align. Someone opened the containers in Bangkok and the wind kicked up and swirled me around. For a moment I was there, enough of me stitched together to grab some little scrap of consciousness. I soared up over a patchwork quilt of shipping containers sketched across the landscape in reds and greens and blues. Big flat topped boats danced to the rhythm of the cranes. They slipped in and out of port as I watched, then the wind shifted and blew me out, wrapped up and pillowed by the warmth of an updraft as it carried me up the river.
So many boats! There were boats like cruise ships wrought in miniature— they brought back memories. There were barges and canoes, fishermen rubbed elbows with rich men’s playthings, and between them all flowed colorful craft with sweeping hulls and canvas roofs, beautiful boats I wish I knew the name for. I loved it. You would have too.
Then the wind changed and broke me up in all its currents, threw me back into the rose mallows. Another death faded into faintly tingling hair.
I looked around, hoping. But you weren’t there.
Has it only been a season? Two? I died at the heights of the spring, they scattered me soon after. Not so long to grieve I guess.
I promise, I understand.
\*\*\*
# Winter
Snow is heavy. You don’t really think about it until the world lays down on top of you. It’s not like it was when I used to shovel. Back then I had two good arms and you’d bring me hot cocoa when I got too cold. You’d sit there in the windowsill with your cup of tea waiting for the precise moment, and until that moment came I could glance up and see you in my sweater and think “It’s not so bad, not so heavy. I can finish the driveway.”
Dead flowers don’t drink cocoa, and now I think I look too much like the powder to really enjoy it.
Black humor, sorry. A man needs something to make the winter pass. There was one other thing. I wish could tell you. It was— well, it was a little intense. I went corporeal again, just for a moment. That’s what I’m calling it now, corporeal. It makes it feel so much more meaningful than simply “conscious.”
There’s a forest in Japan where they keep the souls of the dead. At least, that’s how it felt when a bit of me washed up there. God it must have been a journey, I don’t know how it happened, only that the energies are so strong there that even a few atoms of me went corporeal for a day.
I opened my eyes to a scene from a sad movie, skeletons hanging from trees in a forlorn little grove. Ghosts sat below them, leaned against the trees or spread out across the ground to stare at little scraps of sun. There were five of them, I don’t think they saw me.
They saw each other though. Sometimes they spoke quiet lines in Japanese; I never understood a word but I think I fell in love with the tone. Everything’s different in death. All the emotions are muted memories, even the way I feel for you. Sometimes that desperate desire is like an emotion someone else wrote about. Ever day and every mile further apart I’m spread, it feels more like words on a yellowed, musty page.
Not to these people. They didn’t move. They looked nowhere but the sun, and when they spoke there was nothing but compassion.
I sat in my tree all day listening to five ghosts comfort each other in a language I didn’t understand. Just little words or phrases here and there. If it was English I’d like to think it was “I’m with you.” Or “You’re not alone.” Or “What’s that cloud look like to you?”
Or: “Hey friend.”
The wind blew me across a bird’s wing. He took flight, carried me out of the forest. I lost the ghosts, the skeletons. The dark, foreboding trees. But not the warmth. Since then, it’s felt a bit like your windowsill. If I focus really hard, I can almost feel the fireplace. Almost feel your presence.
It’s winter though. The trip is hard. There’s ice on the roads and when the sun hides it always makes you sad. Winter is the right time to grieve. Come soon though. Just for a moment, I won’t be greedy. Pick a flower come spring, or get here on the verge of summer. My rose mallows will be in bloom again.
Just come soon.
# ***
|
I slowly realize I'm being jostled. My memories are delayed in returning, so it takes a few minutes to remember the familiar feeling of riding in a car. It doesn't help that I don't have a body anymore. I'm only getting little nudges that I suppose are linked to this urn sitting in front of me. Crazy how my body and all the years I spent in it fits inside that little jar.
I look over at my wife in the driver's seat. She has dried tear tracks on her face but it is carved from stone now. I know she is compartmentalizing this, pushing it down deep so it can erupt on her years later. I wish I could touch her.
She opens the door, grabbing my jar. I obediently float along with her. I thought at least being the first to die meant I wouldn't feel this ocean of hurt. It's worse knowing she feels the same and I can only watch. I try to turn back, but I can't move myself. I only move as she does, in starts and stops as she decides on the ideal spot to stand. I knew she would come here. One of my final memories is telling her where I wanted my ashes scattered, off of this particular overlook where we began many hikes together.
I finally put it together. The only reason I'm still with her is because she is holding the urn. My ashes. I panic, but what can I do about it besides watch, horror-stricken?
She lets the facade fall halfway. With silent tears running down her face, she wrenches open the lid. A fistful of ashes pours out, but the wind whips it back up around her. I start moving and say a prayer to whatever has allowed me this last moment and I am able to brush her hair with my fingertips where the ashes have made contact. I almost think she feels me and she looks right in my eyes, but I am swiftly carried away.
I see her standing there, a pinprick of life against the landscape as I climb higher away from her. I feel like dying all over again. Is this what I'll be subject to for all eternity? The wind starts pushing me back towards the earth and I sweep along treetops and then along streetlights as I drift lower. I touch the ground, following what has become a slight breeze. I see a stray dog hiding in a row of bushes. His ribs shine as he twists to look around. Maybe this is hell, to watch all the suffering I already knew on earth but be unable to do anything about it. I float in the middle of the street as someone throws a half eaten hamburger out of their car. Great, I even have to watch littering. Half on instinct, I try to reach for the wrapper as I go by and to my shock, it works. I freeze looking at the burger for a second, then throw it away from the street and towards the bushes. As I pick up speed, I see the dog creep out from the bushes to nose at the burger.
Maybe she did feel my touch. Maybe the wind will carry me back to her someday.
| 2021-12-07T19:35:21 | 2021-12-07T19:22:39 | 96 | 32 |
[WP] After mastering lucid dreaming you find you have complete control over other people’s dreams too. You can choose what they dream of down to the tiniest detail and even join them without them realising you’re actually real. Their subconscious is your playground. Hope they were nice to you.
|
My journey started over a decade ago when I came across an online forum called Dreamviews. It was a place dedicated to teaching people the art and science of lucid dreaming, which can best be described as *knowing* you are dreaming *while* you are dreaming. Needless to say, I found myself intrigued by the concept of lucid dreaming and dream control. How could I not be? Possibilities limited only by my imagination? Experiences and adventures beyond the extraordinary every time I shut my eyes? Sign me up.
I spent that night reading every guide, every article, every scrap of information I could absorb about lucid dreaming. And that night, I had my first lucid dream. It wasn't anything special: I went on a date with a girl. I forgot to record it at the time, but managed to write it down years later, [if you'd like to read about it](https://www.dreamviews.com/blogs/mzzkc/mzzkcs-mind-games-3358/).
Oh yes, that's right. This story is more than just a story, dear reader. But...we'll get to that. First, you must trust me when I say there is a dark underbelly to this world that is unknown to most. Once the rabbit hole has swallowed you up--unlike Alice--there's no waking up.
This is the point of no return.
Very well, you've made your choice. Let's continue the story.
It was a long time after my first lucid dream before I officially joined the forum. I'm a thorough person. I wanted to amass a certain degree of my own knowledge and experience before presuming to contribute. I still lurked: watching the members interact, learning the social dynamics, keeping up with the latest techniques and discoveries, etc, etc.
It was through my lurking that I learned of a phenomena called dream sharing. At the time, I thought it ridiculous. Even more ridiculous--or so I believed--the notion of factions: [dreamwalkers and nightstalkers](https://www.dreamviews.com/beyond-dreaming/37621-anyone-else-met-night-stalkers-dream-walkers.html). Supposedly advanced dreamers capable of entering the dreams of others and bending that dreamworld to their will. That early lurking also clued me into the most crucial piece in the puzzle which led me to eventual, and complete, mastery over dream control.
Hell, [I wrote a fairly seminal guide on the topic](https://www.dreamviews.com/wiki/User-Articles:A-Unifying-Theory-of-Dream-Control).
But let me level with you for a minute. Having total and complete control over your dreams isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Even the simple, supposedly pleasurable stuff--which doesn’t require complete control--like flying over scenic vistas, or seeing a world from the outer atmosphere loses its luster over the years. And then there’s the responsibility and guilt you feel when you accidentally flood a planet with lava from its own mantle, pulled from below the crust, just because one or two people annoyed you. It’s a chore.
Which is why I’m glad I decided to give that whole shared dreaming thing a shot, despite my reservations. I worked my way into a group of alleged shared dreamers, hoping to learn what I could. They had a long running series of posts on Dreamviews about their adventures and exploits on the moon, of all places. I won’t link their efforts here--it's all a bit of a jumbled mess and hard to stick a pin in. You can google it, if you'd like. The important takeaway from that experience is that both myself and another dreamer I looked up to were able to definitely disprove their claims. That said, during my time interacting with them, I met another woman through them who took an interest in me and I in her. We’ll call her K.
We began to talk, and eventually, we began to dream together. Like, actually dream together. Simple overlaps at first: vehicles, names, objects. Then things got real. We began to dream of the same places, the same events, the same--well--everything.
All the rules of dreams still applied in these shared dreamscapes. Each of us had as much control as we were able/wanted to exert. But like a fool, I found the occurrences too weird and cut contact with her.
K didn’t take it well.
I found her in my dreams with more increasing frequency than before. She turned every one of my dreams into a nightmare. Not the usual sort with creepy silent-hill-esque bathrooms and fleshy monsters. No, these were emotional nightmares. The type where I’d get a call about my father dying. Or I’d have a relationship-ending fight with my fiancee. The types of nightmares you can’t simply will away into oblivion. The type that gnaw at the back of your mind because they’re all too real.
The torture continued for about a week before I decided enough was enough. I spoke with a few of my friends over on MortalMist about my situation, hoping they’d have some insight since, back then, the people over on the Mist tended to be the best of the best when it came to matters of lucid dreaming. Everyone in flashchat commiserated, but it didn’t seem like they had any answers for me. That was, until, I got a PM from a friend whom for her own privacy will remain Nameless.
Nameless told me of her own experiences with shared dreaming which greatly resembled my own. But in her case, the initial contact eventually led to her getting involved with a whole group of mutual dreamers before she left due to a disagreement with some of the higher ranking members. I asked her if K had been a member of this group, she said she didn’t recognize the name, but it had been years so they could have added new members in that time. Nameless said she would ask around for me and get me in touch with some members since I was definitely in way over my head. I insisted I was fine, but I’ll always remember what she wrote next: “You can hurt people from dreams, Mzz. Please be careful”
I didn’t believe her at the time. But the proof is in the pudding, as they say. And before the month was out, I'd know how sour that pudding tasted.
Turns out I was missing a critical piece of the puzzle in my Unifying Theory of Dream Control. But after talking to some members of the group of which Nameless had once been a member (thank gods they didn’t call themselves dreamwalkers, this story is already unbelievable enough as is), I stumbled upon the final piece of the puzzle: intent. With strong intent, the boundary between dreams becomes easily traversable. With stronger intent still, injuring another person in their dreams can leave permanent damage, or even be fatal. I know that sounds impossible. But you have to trust me on this: dreams can be dangerous.
It was the last time I saw K in my dreams. Another emotional nightmare. This time, my mother had just passed after an extended stay in the hospital, but I was stuck at school and didn’t get to see her. I got word of her death while at the campus pool from my brother. At this point, I remembered that my brother didn’t go to my school--I must have been dreaming. I do a nose pinch reality check to confirm, and immediately notice K in the lifeguard tower. She had an “Oh, shit.” look on her face as I teleported in front of her and punched her in the stomach with every *intent* to end the abuse, to end *her*. She coughed up blood and vanished. I hovered back down to the ground, and the maelstrom of emotions caused me to wake up soon after.
The nightmares stopped after that.
A week later, while I was hanging out in the Dreamviews flashchat, I got a PM from one of the folks with which I had originally tried shared dreaming. They had gotten a message over skype from K’s parents. She had died a week prior during the night from a sudden heart attack.
I’m pretty sure it was my fault.
I’ve traveled into thousands of people’s dreams since then. But now, as a rule, I try to be more careful. After all. Dreams can be dangerous.
|
######[](/dropcap)
When I first realized I was having the same enjoyable dream frequently, I thought it was my subconscious crying out for more adventure in life. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop feeling the wind rush through my hair and hearing the roaring in my ears as I jumped a hundred yards at a time. It became expected, that I would go to sleep and enjoy the feeling of flying. I even began to feel the effects during the day, a pulling to curl up into a ball and nap my way into the skies.
Eventually, leaping wasn't enough and I decided to actually try and fly. It was in that moment, a couple thousand feet in the air staring at my home town in perfect order as it would be on an aerial map, that I realized what was happening. I had actually been lucid dreaming the entire time. Not coincidence or just a recurring theme, I found that if I thought about things before I went to sleep a deeper part of me would help me make them real in dreamworld. Flying was just the beginning, I could rip telephone poles out of the ground with my mind, use them like match sticks to build giant forts. I traveled to the great barrier reef and whooshed through the water faster than any submarine, danced with the dolphins and even talked to them! Who would have thought they were such brilliant conversationalists?
I asked a co-worker out on a date and she said that even though she liked me, it didn't seem like a good idea. I knew what she really meant, that I was too unattractive for a girl as pretty as her. Well, that's what she said in the real world, at night she sang a different tune. In fact she would sing any tune that I asked her to, and in a much more melodic and sonorous voice than she could have in the drab world. I don't think she ever understands the smiles I sometimes give her. If she only knew how wild she was capable of being!
One night I got drunk with some friends and my oldest and truest friend went up on the roof with me to smoke a joint. I turned to him after taking a big hit and said " This area of the city has the best roof tops, you can get a complete view of the city by going to just three of them."
"Dude, you are drunk. We're not going to two other rooftops just for some skylines, I don't have enough weed for that."
"Oh, haha right. Of course not." I said nervously
You ever look back on what a dumpster fire your life has become and really think about the events that lead you there? Sometimes if you have a clear memory and really see the order of events you can trace it all back to one moment. One single conversation or action that was the first domino that eventually knocked everything down. My bestfriend was my domino.
"Wait...have you been going to roof tops and checking the views or something?" Neal asked
"What? No way, I wish I had that kind of free time to just do this more often. You think the guys are going to head home soon? Maybe we should cash that and head back in for one more game of pool."
"Oh my god you have haven't you! You even tried to change the subject after denying it!" Neal said excitedly
"Neal, dude you're tripping right now what's the deal?" I asked
"Seriously, that's what you're going to go with, *with me*? I know you better than you know yourself nerd so you might as well spit it out so we can have a laugh about it. You know i'll never let this go." Neal said completely engaged in this now.
I knew he was telling the truth. Neal loves gossip and secrets, once he gets a whiff of anything that might be considered "privileged information" he was relentless. So I told him, of course. And he didn't believe me, of course.
So...I showed him. Man, was that ever a mistake...
>>> Thanks for reading guys if you liked where this is going I might write more later when i have time. If you want to read some cooler stuff I've written check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/LurkerAscended/) and maybe try my serial Son of Stingers
| 2018-06-19T14:30:32 | 2018-06-19T13:21:05 | 241 | 99 |
[WP] Since childhood, a superhero has trained you as his sidekick. As you near completion of your training you realise your mentor is actually a supervillain.
|
"Come with me, I can help you. I know it hurts, but it will get easier."
Those were the first words Gethsemane ever spoke to me, when I was just a frightened child. He could see me, despite my inability to control my powers. I fluctuated between time, space and matter; every nerve ending, every fibre of my being screeched in white-hot pain. No one had heard me, screaming for days. Yet he had heard me. No one had found me, curled up in that alleyway. Yet he had found me.
He was a truly exceptional man. It was he who calmed my senses, taught me to channel and control the powers that rushed through my veins. He taught me to coil it, bundle it into the very core of my being, only to be released when needed. He gave me focus, he gave me control, and he gave me a life.
Gethsemane always kept me away from the outside world; I didn't mind. Much of my time was spent tinkering with his various gadgets and machines. Every day he would come home and create something new for me to play with. Eventually, a few days after my twelfth birthday, he presented me with his most important gift.
"This will help you," he had told me, as he strapped the capacitor to my back. "It'll be hard at first, but it *will* get easier."
Through it, I had total mastery of my abilities. Displacing matter, dipping in and out of time; controlling the very fabric of the universe. "You're a very special boy, Isaac," he had told me. "Very special indeed."
Eventually, I was brought outside of the compound, taught to use my enhanced abilities to help my guardian gather materials for his creations. I didn't know right from wrong. I didn't know the people we were targeting. All I knew was the man who had saved me from the incessant pain of non-existence. A debt I was keen to repay by any means necessary.
It was usually over fast. He would point a target, I would dip through the veil and return with it in nanoseconds. No man-made material could keep me out. If it tried, I could simply tear it apart from the inside. It was like a game - a challenge rewarded with praise and gifts. What child wouldn't enjoy such a thing?
I don't think Gethsemane was his real name. Do you know where it comes from? It's the garden in which Jesus of Nazareth would pray. It was the last place he slept before his execution by crucifixion. There's some sort of poetic parallel there - one of betrayal maybe? Inevitability? Perhaps, but I digress.
Not long after my seventeenth birthday I was handed a gun. Not a metal, man-made one, but a composite piece designed to survive the intense strain of passing through the miasma of time and space. This time I wasn't to steal, and it wasn't a game. This time, I was meant to kill.
Shifting through the walls of the compound was as easy as it had ever been. In less than a nanosecond I had burst into being next to my intended target. He had been asleep, soundly dozing through untroubled dreams.
When you pass through the mortal veil, it's almost impossible to discern detail. Faces, structures, environments: it all becomes a haze. Imagine the motion blur of shaking your head quickly left and right - then multiply it by ten.
It took me a few seconds to register the room in which I had appeared. Light blue wallpaper, decorated with stars. A collection of small army men arranged on a bedside table. A nightlight glowing softly in one corner. From within his small bed, my target opened one eye, and then two. For a heartbeat he had that unique fearlessness that only the very young can have. But soon his survival instinct kicked in and he began to wail.
The weapon in my hand felt as if it were made of lead. I could not take my eyes off this scared child. I discovered later that he had been the youngest son of a man who had refused to launder materials through Gethsemane's workshops. In that moment, though, it was just he and I.
The sudden rush of clarity nearly sent me stumbling to the floor. Everything I had been living was a lie. Gethsemane was not a kind-hearted saviour but an opportunistic villain. I had, perhaps half-knowingly, aided in his consolidation of power. How many lives had I ruined? How many people had I inadvertently turned to poverty, to misery?
Through eyes wet with tears I careered back though the gloom of antimatter, to find Gethsemane sat with a knowing grin splayed on his face. "I knew it," he had said. "I knew you weren't up to the task."
He had raised a hand at me. All those years he had been studying me, preparing for that moment, I imagine. Creating vast arrays of machinery designed simply to bring me down if I ever stepped out of line. In the end, it did him no good.
Not long after that day, I found myself wandering the dark streets of a dirty city, listening. It didn't take me long to find you. Curled up in some alleyway, screaming to the limits of your lungs, your body was shimmering in and out of existence, wracking your senses with a pain I knew only too well.
"Come with me," I had said, hand outstretched. "I can help you. I know it hurts, but it will get easier."
And it did.
|
Yes, this job is dangerous.
Yes, I'm not as good as my mentor but still pretty good.
I'm Shadow-Blades side kick, Little-Knife. I always wanted to be a super hero since I was a child but never had the courage to apply as one or go into an apprenticeship until he saved my life.
I did my best to train alongside him, I needed to learn all the theories until I was allowed to tag along, from there on out I learned planning, execution and fighting.
I won't forget our missions together, stealing back money from criminals, helping the wrongly imprisoned people to free them and of course fighting the resistance on the streets.
Well it was a good time, two days ago he died in a tragic accident and I got promoted to a super hero, finally!
On that day I noticed something, the other heroes consider us villains! The more I thought about this the more sense it made. We were not stealing money back, we were robbing normal people, getting criminals and fighting people protesting for the good in the world! How could I have been so blind?
Something still didn't make sense, even though we were not helping anyone the crime rates still went down.
A few days later I found something in our hideout. A small note with which everything made sense. We were doing this not to hurt anyone but to act as the most evil person in existence so everyone is uniting to go against us and you know what? It worked, no more crimes, because everyone, the other heroes, the criminals, everyone is after us, ehm, me.
I'm not seen as a super hero but I'm still on the good side, even if it means being evil and I will continue to be.
| 2017-12-20T08:49:29 | 2017-12-20T08:25:29 | 35 | 24 |
[WP] You are a police officer who has just arrested a scam artist for selling "elixirs of immortality". However, you discovered that his criminal records states that he was also arrested for the same crime in 1862.
|
“Officer…Callahan, was it? Before we begin our little discussion, I believe I am entitled to one phone call to an…individual of my choosing.”
Mark stifled a yawn as he opened the manila folder labelled “Arslan, M.” laying before him. A quick scan of its sparse contents revealed the dark-skinned gentleman sitting before him had incurred similar charges in the past for the making and selling of counterfeit goods. Sipping on his lukewarm coffee, he began reading them in reverse chronological order. April 7, 2012. February 21, 2001, October 17, 1989. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. But it was the oldest entry that stood out like a sore thumb: “June 15, 1862”.
Mark rubbed his bleary eyes and examined the date once more to make sure he had read it correctly. There was no mistaking it. The NYPD logo stamped upon the document was the same one discontinued in 1870. The document itself was considerably worn compared to its newer counterparts and brittle to the touch. And there was the name “Mustafa Arslan”, prominently displayed in the upper left corner. The tightness in his back dissipated as he straightened himself up in his chair and leveled his gaze at the dark-skinned gentleman sitting before him. The man’s expression was one of amusement, his right lip curled upwards and his eyebrows slightly raised.
“Well, Officer? My phone call?”
Mark carefully extracted the 1862 document before placing it in front of Mustafa. He tapped on the table twice with his index finger and said, “Before we get to that. Care to explain this, Mr. Arslan?”
Mustafa briefly glanced at the paper before him, his expression unchanging, and replied, “That would appear to be my first…recorded offense here in the state of New York. For the same charge that I now find myself before you today.”
“Mr. Arslan. Why don’t we cut the bullshit and address the elephant in the room? Now, you’re aware this document is from 1862, yes?”
“Certainly. Your point being?”
Mark let out an exasperated sigh and replied, “Look, I know you people aren’t the brightest. But, do I really need to spell it out for you? If that’s really you in this document, you can’t be alive. It’s just not possible.”
Mustafa’s lips broke into a proper smile as he said, “My dear Officer, the answer is right before your eyes. I am a…humble peddler of immortality elixirs, after all.”
Mark could feel his jaw beginning to tighten. He responded, “Christ, you people always find a way to get on my fucking nerves. I’m gonna ask you one more time. How th-”
“Perhaps it is you who needs to…cut the bullshit, as you say, and see things for how they really are. The answer really is that simple. It is your own predispositions that blind you from the truth.”
Mark’s eyebrows narrowed, his eyes now reflecting his confusion, as his interlocutor continued, “You know, Officer, you are not all that different from your predecessors. Certainly, your…dress and equipment have changed over the years. But if there is one thing that unites you with those that sat where you are sitting today, it is that look of…disbelief upon your face. That incapacity of seeing the truth for what it truly is.”
“I don’t u-”
“Your kind desperately clings to your physical sciences and philosophical musings to rationalize your existence in the universe. Believing that every little phenomenon around you can be explained away with logic and reasoning. Of course, you are entirely mistaken for believing this. The products which I provide are but the tip of the iceberg, a fleeting glimpse into a reality which your minds are ill-equipped to handle. A-”
Mark slammed his fist onto the table, spilling some of his coffee onto its surface and interrupting Mustafa’s monologue.
“I warned you already. Cut. The. Shit. Give me a straight answer or I’ll throw your ass in a holding cell for the next two weeks. And you can take that phone call and shove it up your ass while you’re at it, cause you’re not getting shit from me.”
Mustafa let out a hearty laugh at this outburst and replied, “Well, you certainly are more…stubborn than the others. I commend you for that, Officer. Truly, I do.”
His pleasurable countenance suddenly vanished, his lips tight and his eyes widening as he continued, “Perhaps I will have to assume a more direct approach.”
Mark suddenly found himself irresistibly drawn to Mustafa’s gaze, which appeared to him to be growing brighter with each passing second. The outer edges of his vision blurred and darkened until all he could see were those two luminous orbs staring back at him. It was then that he saw *it*. The briefest glimpse into the reality Mustafa had described, a reality which words could never accurately describe. A realm of existence of pure gravity and power. And as Mark felt himself being pried away from this place, he could feel the gaze of something upon him, digging into him and violating every fiber of his body.
In an instant, he found himself back in the interrogation room, his neck and armpits drenched in sweat. His legs felt like gelatin beneath him, preventing him from standing to regain his composure. Wild-eyed and gasping for air, he wheeled his gaze back towards Mustafa, who had assumed the same amused expression he had held at the start of their conversation.
“Do you understand now, Officer? You and I are but easily…interchangeable cogs in the machine. Ephemeral playthings for the greater powers that be that are beyond our comprehension. The only difference is that I have accepted my place in the grand scheme of things, whereas you…have not.”
Mark continued to struggle to catch his breath as Mustafa reached out with his hand and continued, “Now, Officer. My phone call, if you please.”
Mark shakily reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a cheap flip phone and sliding it towards Mustafa. He watched as his interlocutor quickly dialed a number and began conversing with the individual on the other end. The language was foreign to Mark, but there was something unsettling in the tonal inflections that made him believe it was no ordinary one. It was far too guttural, grating against his ears and sounding more like the snarls of a rabid dog than the words of human speech. Mustafa soon hung up and slid the phone back to Mark, assuming a friendly disposition once more as he said, “A few minutes more and I will be allowed to return to…provide my services.”
Five minutes of silence elapsed before another officer entered the interrogation room and said, “Hey, Mark. Just got the word from the chief, this guy’s cleared to go.”
Mark quietly nodded, watching as Mustafa rose from his seat and joined the second officer at the door.
“Farewell, Officer Callahan. In the future, perhaps we will have the pleasure of meeting under different circumstances.”
Mark remained silent, the sounds of Mustafa chuckling as he walked down the hallway reverberating in his ears.
r/williamk9949
|
''So, what do we have on Mr.Allen?'' Sergeant Aaron asks me.
''Not much so far. He isn’t talking much.'' I reply.
He takes a glance at Mr.Allen from the interrogation window, ''Do we have the location of the money?''
''That’s the thing...People who made contact the Mr.Allen said he never asked for real money.''
''What did he ask for then? That weird digitilized internet money or drugs?''
''No, sir. He asked for very specific item that dates back to 17th or 18th century.'' I answer.
After a few hours later we have a meeting with eyeball witness who contacted Mr.Allen for exchange.
''Can you state your name for the record?'' I ask her.
''My name is Alica Sidey.''
''It would be better if you start from how did know about Mr.Allen and how did you meet him?''
''Well, two weeks ago I’ve received a call from my sister and she told me that she is diagnosed with terminal illness and there is nothing else to do except wait...until happens. There was nothing I could do for her to keep her alive because I’m not a doctor even if I was a doctor... We’ve seen many doctors in many different cities. Anyway, I was on a bus to visit my sister and there was a gentleman who was sitting in front of me and he had a unique walking stick that you wouldn’t see every day.''
''A walking stick?’'' I ask.
''Yes, one of its kind as far as I know. It dates backs to 1750 and it’s made from a very specific tree by using incredible handcraft. You can only see that kind of thing on museums and his stick looked very fresh, well preserved considering he is using that on his daily life.''
''And that man was?''
''Mr. Allen who offered me that thing.''
''How do you know so much about that antique walking stick?'' I ask.
''I work as a historian at a university.''
''Somehow you believed what he was offering was true?''
''You gotta understand officer. The way he talked and the way he presented himself had a marginal influence on my decision to trust him. Not to mention, I was so desperate to try anything to save her...''
Sergeant Aaron knocks the door and I leave the room to brief him.
After we gather enough information from Ms. Alica Sidey I go over on voice record one more time to write a detailed report about the case. Then, I hear a hissing sound coming from the tape. There was nothing in the room that can make noise. The noise starts soon after I left the room to brief Sergeant Aaron and it goes on for at least 10 seconds and when I hear the noise it makes my head hurt.
I call a favour from one of my friends who can audio analysis from this tape to figure out what exactly this noise is. At first, he says it could be an electronic problem but after he listens, again and again, he returns me the tape, ''This is not a hissing sound, this sound has a very unique frequency.'' and then he suggests that I should visit a guy named Andre Rhodes who can decipher this sound. I insist on keeping the case open but my sergeant disagrees with me and I never get a chance to meet with Andre Rhodes.
A few days later, I make a background check on Alica Sidey and I find no records that belongs to her.
-------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
| 2020-06-02T12:04:33 | 2020-06-02T10:34:56 | 62 | 40 |
[WP]A masked vigilante has made an appearance in your city. As the the wealthiest man in town, you're having trouble convincing people it's not you.
|
"Oh, come on." The beautiful, silk-clad woman across the table from me tittered, waving a hand in front of her face. "There's *no way* that you're not involved!"
I sighed internally. Dating was hard enough when you were a young, attractive millionaire. My family had built up an empire, creating long-lasting networks that dumped money into our bank accounts with forklifts.
Of course, then my parents had died in a plane crash. On the edge of our soverign airspace. Which had led to instability between our country and theirs for years. Needless to say, the crash was viewed as *suspicious* by most of the nation.
The young me had inherited the family business along with the fortune. It was a *ton* of pressure, but I had good tutors, and I managed to hold on long enough to really get my feet under me. Now, it purred along like a well-oiled machine, and I had some time for *myself*.
That was when *he* showed up.
"Seriously, I have *nothing* to do with him." I laughed, holding my hands up helplessly. "He's just some vigilante! Do I *look* like I'm going to be out there fighting criminals all night?" The woman - Teri, that was her name - *Teri* examined me critically.
All right, the fact that I worked out every morning might not help my case any. Hey, what's the point of having a personal gym if you won't take advantage of it?
"I don't know about *that*," she said, the hint of a smile at her lips. "You know what they say about those young, rich boys. I *have* seen Batman, you know."
Fucking *Batman*. The surge of popularity in the superhero since *The Dark Knight* had seemed harmless enough. But a year or two ago, *he* had started wandering the shadier parts of the city in black carbon-fiber armor, beating up miscreants and generally putting on a show. The general public had begun frantically trying to connect the dots that the movie industry had told them *must* be there.
Only problem was, I had *nothing to do with it*. *Really*.
I grinned, sipping my wine to mask the irritation bubbling beneath the surface.
"Well, Batman is a movie. I can assure you, I value my own neck *far* too much to go wandering around getting in fights. And besides, it's a crime! I don't even *speed*." It was true, and she knew it. She had complained three times about it on the way over. She grimaced.
"Well, what about Carbotech?"
I sighed.
"What about Carbotech? It's one of the companies my family has a controlling share in, sure."
She leaned forward eagerly.
"Well, the police finished their ballistics analysis last week! They say that the armor he's wearing is of a specific blend, only made by *your company*!"
I shrugged.
"So he's got rich taste and he got his hands on some of our material. I still have *nothing to do with it*". She frowned.
"And the fact that he drives a modified version of the *same car as you*?"
I winced. It was true. Someone had caught a photo.
"I can't help that he likes the same cars as I do. Seriously, you rode in it all the way over here. Did you see any armor plating or mounted weapons?" She shook her head begrudgingly.
"I guess not."
The mood was thoroughly soured by now. We picked at our food for the rest of the night, exchanging nonsense pleasantries and chatting about wine. As I helped her into my car outside the restaurant, I couldn't help but notice her surrepitiously checking for hidden buttons or switches.
I may have shut her door a little harder than necessary.
We were accelerating down the entrance ramp to the freeway when I heard her sqeaking incomprehensibly. As I glanced in my side mirror, I saw it.
A sleek, black car, plated and armored, racing down the lane alongside us. It cut me off as I tried to merge in.
"Asshole!" I gasped, slamming on the brakes and sliding in behind him as I narrowly avoided a guardrail.
"It's *him*!" She screeched, pressing her nose to the glass. Her eyes were locked on that car, accelerating into the distance, until at last it whipped around a corner and was gone.
*Then* I got to hear all about our encounter with the mysterious vigilante for the rest of the ride home. I couldn't drop her off with the doorman fast enough.
As I rode home in blissful silence, my mind got to thinking.
This *vigilante* was really proving to be nothing but a giant pain in my ass. Until he quieted down and went away, I might *never* have a shot at a normal life.
I *wasn't* the vigilante, despite all of the pointed questions and sidelong glances to the contrary.
But I *did* have the technology, and the money, and the body.
I had no interest in becoming a vigilante. But *maybe*, I could catch him. Maybe I could make him *stop*. Or at least go find a different city to be a *hero* in.
I was thoughtful as I pulled into the garage.
And then I got to work.
(/r/inorai)
|
Wayne Anthony watched the people of New Goth City as the Escalade limo drove along the downtown streets. Everyone had a story; Wayne liked to assume most were normal. Working, playing, loving, just living life. But, a part of him knew many hid another side of themselves. Those who were desperate to make ends meet. Or those who just wanted a little more. It was people like that who killed his parents and uncle.
As the limo stopped at a red light, a swarm of people crowded by Wayne's door, cameras and microphones reaching out. *Damn reporters*, he thought, cracking the window a bit. "Can I help you?" he asked, indifferently.
A barrage of questions filled his ears, one in particular stood out: "Are you are the Iron Bat?"
Wayne lifted his hand and the crowd quieted down. "Am I the Iron Bat?" he repeated, a half smile escaping. It wasn't that big a leap to suspect him as the city's masked protector. Using enhanced weaponry, displaying advanced martial arts training, Iron Bat has all the signs of some sort of funding. Add that to the fact that he had been stopping a rash of robberies from AnthTech, he can see why everyone thought it was him.
"You know what?" he said aloud, watching the light turn green. "I am Iron Bat."
The reporters exploded in questions as Wayne motioned his driver forward.
"You're the Iron Bat?" the driver asked as he watched reporters trying to catch up on foot.
"No," said Wayne. "But it's a lot more fun if they think I am."
---
*Thanks for reading! Want to read more? /r/MajorParadox. Want to read more superhero stories? /r/DCFU :)*
| 2017-06-26T08:04:08 | 2017-06-26T07:51:16 | 402 | 52 |
[WP] 100 years in the future dank memes are precious artifacts. While scanning your grandpa's PC, you stumble upon the rarest of all...
|
All day long I wondered what could be on grandpa's old PC.
Never had I ever encountered something as old as this primitive technology.
Delirious, he had asked me to retrieve old photos from his computer of him and grandma. He then proceeded to twitch in his chair, and let out a loud groan.
Nobody around us seemed to care.
Hospices are funny places like that.
I had decided to go first thing in the morning to my dad's old house, and dig up those pictures, maybe I'd even make a slideshow.
Surely grandpa would like that. If he could remain conscious for more than 5 minutes I suppose.
Nevertheless, I was determined. I closed my eyes and tried to forget the pain in his, as I drifted into a listless slumber.
After my breakfast, I hopped into my mobile pod, put in the coordinates of the old house, sat back, and looked out the glass shell, thinking about sweet nothings.
Many hours later, I had arrived. This place was a bit far off the main hub, but that's usually the average distance we had to fly down.
Earth's surface. Something I hadn't seen since I was young, but just young enough not to accurately remember details. The sounds of swings, the taste of ice cream on a hot day, and the like. Though what flavor I don't recall.
Inside the old home, I carefully walked up the old wooden stairs. They emitted an inviting *creeeek*, a sound I did remember vividly. I paused for a moment, lost in thought, then made my way to his study.
Shuffling a few papers around, I managed to get the old thing started, and after what seemed like eons, the machine finally responded. I searched around some files, from "My Documents", to "Myself and Lizzie 2067". I even found a folder named "Nickleback's greatest hits"!
Jokemeister they used to call him. I opened the file and immediately closed it. That I did not need to see.
Over the next few hours of searching through the myriad of pictures and love notes, I managed to compile a nice scrapbook and turned that into a video for him to watch. I thought about making the background music Nickleback, but ultimately thought against it.
How he would have laughed though. And again I found myself thinking about grandpa. Back in his day, he used to be strong, really strong. But those muscles have long since gone, and left an old frail man in his place. I think one of the doctors say he's almost 148 years old. Modern medicine has worked wonders for him, but nature eventually runs its course.
Nine O'clock. Boy, I've been here long. I let out a Yawn and proceed to save everything to an old piece of technology called a flash drive. Just as I was about to exit, I saw a folder to the top right of the screen, it had no name, and the icon was translucent such that one could not discern it from the wallpaper.
Chills ran down my spine. I tentatively double clicked the file and my mind may have been on the walls after this. This folder was filled with Memes! Long ago they had been banned, before I could vote. Something about them dumbing down the population too much.
Ecstatically I began to spend the next hour delving into this folder. First I giggled, then I laughed, then I cried laughing. Then I laughed, and then I giggled, and ultimately I presented a stoic face while reading these Meme's. Not even smiling but dying inside.
No surprise why it got banned I suppose. I wiped a tear from my eye, and looked at the last item in the folder. It was another folder. Titled "You can't see me". I thought about leaving it unopened, but thought again, "Whats one more dank meme right?".
Alas, This final folder left me awestruck. I couldn't believe it. The dankest of memes, with the most beautiful man sporting it. His chiseled face. And what seemed to be every meme of this man ever created, all in one folder! I looked at them and watched all the videos. It was truly something to behold. But why do I feel like I've seen this man before? Who is this Memelord?! And then I read the first letter of every paragraph.
|
My grand parents didn't really have a great understand of technology in their old age, like most people's. So when he asked me to have a look at his computer because it was a big sluggish I told him it wasn't a problem.
I did notice when I was checking or any bloat ware I noticed that he had a folder dedicated to memes, which wasn't a surprise because he had mentioned being a bit of a computer geek when he was younger.
Nothing could have prepared me though... Not for JOHN CENA!
| 2015-12-12T11:41:18 | 2015-12-12T10:01:54 | 472 | 21 |
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Her eyes were totally devoid of all life. She stared ahead of her seeing nothing at all… just kept walking to the cell with about 50 high powered rifles pointed at her. This was by far the weirdest thing I had ever seen in this place. The Frozen Lake maximum security prison has seen its fair share of weird and horrible things over the last 20 years I have resided here, but this was beyond anything I had ever seen.
At about 3am this morning, the sirens went off, waking everyone in the facility. Of course it wasn’t part of the guard’s routine to tell us what was going on, so we all sat in our cells trying to block out the ear piercing scream of the sirens. After about 30 minutes, the alarms were silenced and the door at the end of the cell block was violently thrown open. In walked a little girl, she couldn’t have been more than 12. Her curly brown hair bounced with every step and yet, not a single strand looked out of place… but her eyes. They were the most vibrant shade of green I had ever seen, but there was something wrong with them that I couldn’t put my finger on. They just looked empty, like she was a walking shell.
She entered the cell block on her own, without any restraints. She was followed by at least 50 heavily armed men in SWAT body armor, each with their weapon trained on her. I watched her quietly walking down the middle of the block, the eerie silence of the block was like a weight on my chest. There wasn’t a single sound from anyone, even the girls footsteps were swallowed by the silence. When she got in front of my cell, she stopped and looked at me. I felt all the hair on my body stand on end and a chill ran down my spine. She just looked at me with those empty eyes and smiled. My heart was pounding out of control, my breath caught in my chest, I couldn’t look away from her eyes. What seemed like an eternity was probably just a few seconds when she turned away and continued towards the only empty cell on the block.
Once she arrived in the cell, the door slid shut with a satisfying clang of steel on steel. I couldn’t see her anymore due to the positioning of the cells, but it felt as if her dead eyes were still on me, I couldn’t shake the feeling. The cell block remained absolutely silent for the rest of the day, no one even complained when the guards didn’t bring our food. The silence was uncomfortable, normally you couldn’t even hear yourself think with all the noise and chaos in the block, but now... it just felt wrong.
That night, as the sun set on my cell block, we all heard it start. Singing…
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and take you away.*
The cell block became noticeably darker….
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and eat you up.*
She kept singing. The more she sang, the darker it became. It was so dark you could almost feel it. I could feel the chill and electricity in the air. This was not right. The darkness surrounded me. Finally, the moon escaped the clouds and I was able to get some of my vision back. I looked out of my cell and saw what looked like a black stain on the middle of the floor in front of my cell. There wasn’t any reflection of the light off of the stain, it was just a black void. It was as if the stain absorbed all of the light that touched it, yet it appeared to shimmer.
That’s when the girl stopped singing…. There wasn’t any sound for at least 3 minutes. I kept staring at the black stain trying to figure out what it was. Then she started to giggle… and the stain on the floor started sliding towards my cell. A shiver ran up my spine as the stain dragged itself towards me, I wanted to scream but was paralyzed with fear. I could only look on in horror as the thing got closer and closer. The guy in the cell next to mine didn’t seem to be affected by this because he began to absolutely freak out. He started screaming for the guards or anyone. I was shocked when it seemed like the shadow heard him, it reached out with a long tentacle like arm of shadow into his cell. His panic immediately worsened. His pleas to the guards for help fell on deaf ears. His screams grew into something that sounded like an animal that knew it was about to be torn apart by a much larger predator. He screamed and screamed for what seemed like an eternity before his voice was ripped away and the silence returned.
*Edit:* Adding more....
|
As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
| 2018-02-12T05:55:43 | 2018-02-11T19:51:10 | 41 | 20 |
[WP]Both of your parents made deals with fae about giving them their firstborn. Different fae... Now you live under the joint custody of two faeries who don't like this situation one bit.
|
It's Wednesday. Transfer day. I curse my human parents for this arrangement because Wednesdays and Sunday's never go well.
I often wonder, as I pack my suitcase and knapsack, what drove my parents to make deals with both Alesia, the Dryad Queen, AND Deverick, ruling Grand Duke of the local elven community. It must have been important because of the sacrifice I personally now make.
"Are you ready, my dearest?" Alesia asks, poking her head around the door. Her green skin is paler than it usually is and dark green rings her eyes. She's been crying again.
I nod, scanning the contents of my suitcase before closing it. "I think I remembered everything this time." I reply, more to myself than her.
She sighed. "You know, you don't have to go if you don't want to. You can stay with me." She offered hopefully.
I gave her an incredulous look. "Right, and have Deverick's troops burning down your forest within a fortnight. I don't think so." I retorted, ignoring her angry look when I said Deverick's name.
She sighed again, her chin quivering as she tried not to cry.
I left my bedside to give her a hug. "We do this every week, Alesia. It's only till Sunday, and I'll be back." I assured her quietly.
She nodded. "I know... I just gets so tireing after fifty years. And you must be sick of shuttling back and forth, not actually having a proper home." She replied with a sniffle.
I gave her a sad smile. "You and Deverick may share my body, but my heart and soul is here. This is my proper home. We should go though, don't want to keep his royal tightpants waiting too long." I glanced at the clock before grabbing my bags.
/////////
Half an hour later, we were at the designated neutral zone between Deverick's domain and Alesia's forest.
"You. Are late."
Deverick sat in a pavilion, his arms crossed across his chest and a scowl on his narrow face. His intense blue eyes flashed as he watched us walk across the glade.
"I wasn't any later than you were this past Sunday." Alesia spat back. She glared at him coldly before turning to me. "Now remember if you want to come back, all you have to do is send word." She murmured as she hugged me.
I nodded and knew that Deverick would never let me leave during his time.
He made sure of that by casting a shield around the city surrounding his castle. He told me that it was for my protection but as I had gotten older I had come to know that it was to ensure that he got his fully allotted visitation time.
He left his pavilion and stopped a few feet from where we stood. "Come, my beloved. Time waits for the no-one and we really must be away." He called gently.
I sighed and knew if I didn't go with Deverick, there would be more than just verbal sparring. There would be an all out war.
"You'll make sure she gets some fresh air this time? She's packed her swim suit, you could try to maybe take her swimming."
"Don't tell me how to spend my time with her."
"It's no wonder she likes her time with me more. You suffocate her."
"Well it's no wonder it's such a pain getting her to wear any proper clothing or for her to have any sort of etiquette. You just let her roam free like some wild animal."
"Well-"
Finally having enough of their bickering, I stomped my foot. "OI! I'm right here and I'm old enough now to make my own decisions about what I do. You always do this where you talk about me like I'm not even here. It was fine when I was little and didn't understand what was going on but now I'm old enough to where most human children would be out on their own." I interjected, looking at them both frustrated.
They both looked like I had slapped them.
I sighed. "As much as I love spending time with Alesia, I know how important this alliance is for you both. That is why I continue to allow myself to be traded like merchant's goods. Stop ruining it by treating me like the little girl I used to be." I finished wearily, stomping over to Deverick's pavilion and ploping down in the chair that had been set up for him.
I watched as they quietly but reluctantly talked for a moment. Finally they both came up to the pavilion.
Deverick cleared his throat. "We have reached an agreement. A rearrangement of your schedule that I- ahem- we believe might be more beneficial for everyone involved." He spoke stiffly as if it was physically painful for talk about this.
Alesia was on the brink of tears, twisting her hands anxiously. "We have agreed that... We agreed to.. T-that instead of breaking up your week. That.. That we would spend the whole week with you. A-alternate weeks so the transition would be.... Would be smoother." She added timidly.
Deverick sighed. "We also agreed that we would no longer fight. We recognize that you, our most precious treasure, are no longer a child and deserve the respect that comes with getting older. We also will be more open to... To whatever your heart desires." He finished through gritted teeth.
I raised my eyebrows. "Ok..... So when does this agreement begin?" I asked suspiciously.
Alesia looked pleadingly at Deverick for a moment before replying. "On Monday."
|
“You live past the place no one goes, getting the child to you on your visitation days is going to be a nightmare...a literal goblin infested nightmare journey!”, said Hilea the maiden fairy of the Anderall Forrest.
Tilea, the peculiar fairy maiden of Bak’Tulgurr, the land of brimstone and ash, floated about with a patch of glee on her face that nary a dark spell produced by the Master Necromancer herself could even wipe off!
Tilea was floating around a small garden collecting frogs for her “toad collection”. Hilea had spent an entire summer trying to explain the differences between frogs and toads to Tilea but to no avail.
Tilea looked up from her “ toad collecting” and finally noticed that Hilea had been talking to her this entire time, but instead of asking Hilea to repeat herself, she asked Hilea a question.
“Do you think the child will like fire, and rune magic, and all the interesting things that go on around where I live?” , Tilea asked curiously.
Hilea’s face was red with frustration, she calmed herself, reminding herself of the charm the Dark Wizard Markhan’ai placed on Tilea to make her oblivious to the dreadful nature of the land she was tasked with overseeing.
This would be an interesting arrangement, this “joint-partnership between mutual beings to which they are both bound to a single child for all eternity” or as the Women and Men folk call it, “ Joint custody”. Hilea sat on a lily pad and just watched her cousin float around , shrinking frogs and putting them in her wicker basket.
However, little did Hilea know, Markhan’ai the dread Wizard, had plans for the child himself...and it would take all of her cunning as the Fae of the Great Forrest Anderall, to assure her newly adopted child would lead a happy life, free from the vileness of dark magic.
| 2021-05-14T06:25:04 | 2021-05-14T06:03:17 | 1,308 | 12 |
[WP] You wake up in a strange room with an unknown person. In the middle of the room there is a table with a gun and a note that says: "One of you is immortal. Find out who within the next hour."
|
We look at each other. Terror is coursing through my veins. I know I am not immortal.
I look at the gun again, first one I’ve seen this close. He is also looking at the gun, I pick up the letter and reading it again, this time out loud,
“One of you is immortal. Find out who. You have one hour.”
There is a timer counting down, 58 minutes left. I’m panicking. I’m sweating. What the hell is happening? How did I get here? Get a grip. I take a deep breath. Looking around my surroundings, a small room, a single door, with a single table, on the table, a timer, a light, and gun. I look behind me, a camera, mounted in the corner, watching me panic. I need time to process my situation, time I don’t have.
I look again at my fellow prisoner, medium build, slacks, lab jacket both look quite dirtied, like he was dragged here. I look at my own clothes, they look just as dirty. I don’t remember how I got here, shit, I don’t even know where here is. I look at the man again, “Do you know why we are here?”
He looks at me for the first time, clearly deciding whether to answer. He shakes his head slowly. Slow enough for me to realize he thinks I am the immortal one. It doesn’t make sense. He slumps into a corner, burying his face into his hands. 52 minutes left, I find an opposite corner determined to decide my own fate. I shove my hands into my pockets, it helps me think, I feel a piece of paper. Wrapping my fingers around it I cautiously pull it out, looking across the room as I do so. He is still buried in his own thoughts. It’s a small paper. Folded, slightly crumpled.
As I unfold it, I began to read further instructions:
‘Kill him and save your family, kill yourself, and save thousands.’
I re\-read the simple lines, over and over. 49 minutes. I look up, he is shoving something back into his own pocket. What was it? A paper? Does he have similar instructions? Or am I seeing things. My heart is racing, practically beating out of its chest. It’s the only sound I hear in the room. I look towards the door, no knob, walking over to it I give it a shove, no budge. Just time wasted.
I think about the instructions again. I think about my family, my girls, my wife, I think about what they might be doing right now, are they as scared as I am? Do they even notice my absence? I try to think back to the last thing I did. Nothing. Everything is a blur. I don’t even remember leaving work. I’m getting choked up. 41 minutes. I have accomplished nothing. How is that any different than any other day, except this one, my life, my family, everything is on the line. I confront the stranger.
“What was that paper?” He looks up, says nothing, shakes his head. I walk over to him, I ask him again. Nothing. What the fuck is wrong with this guy. I try several more times to get him to talk, each time, a little bit nicer, each time to no avail.
I walk back over to the table. 33 minutes. Where is the time going?! I pick up the gun, heavier than I thought. I think back to my family, to the line of text in my pocket. The choice I have. I have never been a good husband, and I’m not the greatest father. But this is my chance to show them all that I can make a difference. I will save my family. How can I not? I look at the man again, we make eye contact. The fear, the sadness in his own eyes. I can’t do it. I can’t kill him. My wife was right. I can’t put my family first, even when it matters. I slam the gun down on the table, and slide down the wall, slumped into a pile of nothing.
I hear him breathe in relief. 19 minutes.
---
My lab jacket is caked in dirt, I’m processing my current predicament, it’s not good. The man in the corner is in his own world, he is pacing, he is factoring the outcomes, he is calculating. I thought he was going to shoot me, he picked up the gun, before slamming it down again. He hasn’t made a sound in 10 minutes. We have 9 minutes to decide what happens here. I saw him reading his own instructions, I am curious as to what they said.
Mine were just as ominous as the instructions on the table. ‘Say nothing and we will give you what you seek most, die here and your family gets nothing.’ It doesn’t take much convincing for me to stay silent, a creature of habit I rarely speak to anyone, constantly working, constantly discovering, what I seek most is funding. Funding for cure that few knew about, but many would kill to have. Sounds of his sadness bring me back to reality.
---
6 minutes. How many minutes did I waste sitting here, feeling bad for myself. What’s worst? How many times have I contemplated my own suicide, out of failure, regret, embarrassment, and yet here is my chance. My chance for my death to have meaning but my own selfishness holds me back. I’m running out of time. I walk back over to the table. Tears streaming down my face, thoughts of my family, thoughts of the girls I will never see again, never walk down the aisle, a wife that may never know the final sacrifice I made for the greater good. Who may always see me as the failure, the coward that took the easy way out. There is nothing easy about this. I’m broken, to weak to fight on. But if I can give hope to thousands it will be worth it. I walk over to the table and pick up the gun. As I put the gun to my temple, my hand shakes, I look at the stranger, “For my girls.” I close my eyes.
---
‘For my girls.’ Was the last thing he said before the silence, was ruptured. The sound was deafening. The silence that followed was worse. I had never seen anyone die in front of me. And I know I am not immortal. I pull the paper out from my lab jacket again, ‘Say nothing and we will give you what you seek most, die here and your family gets nothing.’ that’s when I notice the last line, I must have missed it before: ‘Three people must die for your cure.’
A loudspeaker breaks the silence, “Two more! Bring in the next one.”
EDIT: Added dashes for narration changes. Thanks for the feedback!
|
The man with the harsh eyes reads over the note, frowning.
"What does it say?" asks the woman with the silver hair, an uncertain expression on her face. "Wh... What's going on? What took us here?"
"Hm, I see, so it's like that," he says, reading it a second time. "By the way, you're immortal, right?"
"Ye—Ah, I mean, nooooooo?..."
He turns to her, raising an eyebrow.
"Um," she says. She clenches her firsts. "I have no idea what's going on! Just like you, I was suddenly abducted to this unknown place from my everyday life!"
"Really."
"Really!"
The man raises his hand. "I have my final answer, she's the immortal one."
"Noooo!" she wails, grabbing his hand. "That's too fast! You're supposed to agonize over it for an hour and have an existential crisis over who to shoot and... and..."
"Well, I'm certainly not immortal," he says. "I'm just an ordinary human, so I think I would have remembered becoming immortal."
"That's how the game is supposed to work!" she says, waving her hands. "Two random humans and one of them became immortal, and they don't know who became immortal!"
"But you're not an ordinary human."
"That's righ—I mean, noooooo, I'm not!!" she says.
"Even if you were an ordinary human, there'd still be no point in using the gun."
"But the hour time limit!" she says. "If you don't know who's immortal by then, then who knows what will happen!"
"Hmph, hardly could be worse than being shot. Were you actually trying to coerce the human to commit murder unnecessarily? How shameless of you. Very low."
"Stop that!" she says. She crosses her arms. "Well, you wanted to die, didn't you!? That's why I chose you in the first place! You said it out loud! This would have been your moment to shine! Take the chance and spare the scared cute little lady by testing immortality on yourself!"
"Ah, I say I want to die a lot but I don't actually mean it."
"Wh...what!? What the heck is with that?"
The man glances at his watch. "Are you going to take much longer? I have to get back to work."
"Ah... erm..." She fiddles with her fingers, smiling sheepishly. "Are you surrrre you don't want to die?"
"I'm sure."
She throws up her arms. "Gah, fine!"
Soon after that, a portal opens, and then the man is back at his job.
***
*This has been an [Isekai Death Game](https://myanimelist.net/manga/111943/Isekai_Death_Game_ni_Tensou_sarete_Tsurai) fanfic*
| 2018-05-19T13:53:29 | 2018-05-19T13:51:05 | 197 | 61 |
[WP] You’ve spent decades in a Chinese sweatshop assembling fortune cookies. After remarkable ambition for your duties, you’ve finally been promoted. Now you’re writing the fortunes, and it’s time to awaken the sleepers.
|
“Mr. Wang, you have bestowed a great honor upon me,” Ming said humbly. He had worked for years to reach this moment, to have this very conversation. His voice was highly trained, his every word practiced a hundred times over. Neither would give any hint of his true intentions. “I will not fail you. I will make this great company proud.”
As he often did, Wang frowned in reply. “Your predecessor said much the same. If your fortunes prove unsatisfactory, you will return to your place on the line.”
Ming nodded, forcing his lips into a smile. “Understood, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Ming exhaled with relief as the wooden door shut behind him. Li had been right. Mr. Wang remained predictable. He had promoted the person working in the same place on the line to write fortunes the past three times - none had lasted more than a year. Ming knew that no fortune writer had ever returned to the factory floor. The illusion of a life-changing promotion had to remain in place.
Careful to maintain proper posture, Ming walked through the narrow halls of the old factory in the opposite direction of his new office. It was a simple act of misdirection but an important one. Wang had eyes and ears spread throughout the facility. Despite employing nearly half the town, the man lived in a state of constant paranoia. Li had warned Ming that his every step would be closely watched during the first weeks of his promotion.
Fortunately, she had prepared him well. Their first meeting had not been by chance. Four years ago, Ming had finally had enough of living the life that had been prescribed him. Four years ago, he had decided to act.
Ming stepped into a connecting hall as two executives breezed past. They were dogs of one of the other Great Families, a clandestine alliance of the wealthy who worked to keep the general population under their thumb. The Great Families ruled over every aspect of life across the country. Anyone who stepped out of line was subject to be removed from society by their legal arm, the Shadow Police. Most were never seen again.
“Mr. Ming?”
Ming turned to find a dark-haired woman standing before him. Of course, it was a woman he knew on sight. Li had posted her picture on the wall just below Mr. Wang’s when outlining the organizational chart of the massive factory.
“I am Yan,” the woman smiled, “your new assistant.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ming replied. How had she found him so quickly? Had she been waiting outside Wang’s office? Why hadn’t he seen her?
*Easy,* he cautioned himself. *She doesn’t suspect a thing.* He laughed nervously and ran a hand over his shaven head. “It seems I may be a bit lost. Perhaps you can lead the way.”
“Of course,” Yan nodded. “Follow me.”
Their path took them through the elevated walkway overlooking the factory floor. The near wall was made of one-way glass. The countless workers below could see nothing of those that watched them from above. Ming had made sure to avert his eyes from the hidden vantage point since he had become aware of it.
As he had been trained to do, Ming kept his gaze firmly ahead, ignoring the workers below. He could only worry about his part in what was to come. Li and the others had taken care of ensuring the right workers were on the clock to disburse his first batch of his *fortunes.*
“Here we are,” Yan smiled a few moments later. She motioned to a large room lined with wide windows overlooking the distant city. It appeared just as Li had described it. Atop the priceless wooden desk set against the eastern wall was a pair of sleek monitors and a humming tower.
Ming allowed uncertainty to fill his next words. “Is this … is this it?”
“The computer feeds what you type to the printers on the floor below,” Yan explained in her flat voice. “The browser allows to review all horoscopes, the movements of the planets and stars, the preferences of the many gods and past written fortunes. Mr. Wang expects your fortunes to align with current events and seasons.”
Ming nodded slowly. Of course, Yan hadn’t explained that every word he typed on the computer was closely monitored. It had taken years for the rebellion to design a cypher to hide instructions within the fortunes. It was up to him to see that the first messages were properly entered.
*I will not let you down, Li. The fall of the Great Families starts today.*
“Thank you, Yan,” Ming replied after a long moment.
“I will be at my desk if you need me.”
Ming nodded then walked to the window and gazed upon the bustling city. If things went according to plan, the night would bring great change. Taking a final deep breath, he made his way to the cushioned chair, straightened his tie and began to type.
&#x200B;
r/creatorcorvin
&#x200B;
edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/comments/bfh3bq/soldiers_of_fortune_2/)
|
7851 days is all it took. There wasn't a single thing I didn't know about those "prophetic" snacks after over 20 years of expertly threading their insides with thin white strips of lies.
That's the thing about fortune cookies, you see: they don't actually tell your fortune. Maybe you'd see a proverb if you were lucky, by most were just nonsense phrases laced with esoteric buzz words that made you pause for a minute before figuring out how to split the bill.
But not anymore. My painstaking dedication had made sure of that. I paid my dues, and now I had been rewarded with the opportunity to create fortunes of my own. But I had no interest in synthesizing meaningless adages for the mindless entertainment of resturant goers. I aimed to change the world. I wanted those oblivious westerners to finish up their chicken chow mein, snap open their vanilla flavoured cracker and bask in the existential horror of personal precognisance. But I couldn't force the world to face their gritty fate by myself. I had to summon a formidable power. An ancient power. After so much patience and servitude, it was finally time to awaken... the sleepers.
| 2019-04-19T16:42:27 | 2019-04-19T16:16:23 | 163 | 15 |
[WP] On everyones 18th birthday they receive a letter showing them what percentage of their life has gone by. You just received yours today and it says 0.00%
|
It was technically the day after Laura's two-hundred-and-eighteenth birthday. The previous day she'd gone through her regular birthday ritual, placing up birthday cards written by her parents, grandparents, sisters - most of her family had sent her a sweet, memorable cards to celebrate her big day.
She'd walked to the nearby ultra-market and brought herself her favourite cake. Black Forest cake, with a beautiful chocolate-cherry fondant icing on the top. She'd then dusted off the ancient video camera, and plugged it into her large viewing screen. She watched the tape her father had taken on that day. Laura had yet to age past eighteen. Running and a balanced diet kept her body healthy - not that she really needed to worry. Immortality had its benefits. Very minor ones.
After she'd re-played the tape of her family gathering a couple of times, silently reading the words along like it were the script of her favourite television series, she put the camera carefully back into its box. Fearful of damaging it, and thus never getting to witness her deceased family again.
She still had her letter, with its worn edges and slight tears. She walked over to the small keep-sake box her then-girlfriend had made for her on her eighteenth birthday. Her soft, slender fingers sifted through the old photographs they had together, unable to hold back her smile as she still remembered just how dearly she'd loved Hayley.
Beneath the various love-letters, pictures, and other memorable objects was the envelope, stamped as they all were: 'Private and confidential - MODD (Ministry of Death Dates)' She plucked the folded sheet of A4 from the crumpled casing, and unfolded it slowly.
Laura still remembered how nervous she'd felt opening her letter. At eighteen she'd lacked maturity, but had always adored living for the moment. She was the young woman who always had a smile on her face. Weight, and responsibility were on the other side of the unopened envelope. She'd opened it in private, but allowed Hayley to be in the room with her when she discovered her magic number.
The blonde girl thought back to that day. How they'd both looked at the obvious glitch, and joked about how she was going to live forever. It was like the plot of one of the superhero movies they adored watching together. Time had a cruel way of snatching those laughs, and smiles. Six months later it was Hayley's eighteenth, and Laura was the one by her side. The blonde had so hoped that her partner would get 0% too. Yet, that wasn't to be the case.
Fifty-percent had stared back at them, like a gruesome reminder that immortality was fiction. The accuracy of the letter was proven, when Hayley was taken ill at the age of thirty-five, and never recovered.
Laura's memory of the next one-hundred years without Hayley were difficult to recall. On the anniversary of both her first-love's birthday and funeral, the blonde would cry herself to sleep - clinging to the pictures they'd taken with each other in their happy, care-free days.
Now, however, it was less painful. She'd not felt the same level of connection with another since Hayley's passing. Not until she'd had a chance meeting with Nadia. At first Laura had felt a little strange about her growing feelings for someone who was only seventeen. Yes, the blonde girl looked much the same as she did when she was eighteen - but she was actually in her two-hundreds. It had the makings of a truly horrific pedophile case in court.
Laura grabbed her holograph-watch, flicking through a number of useful applications until she reached the more modern way to be told your life's percentage. Since the turn of the twenty-second century, eighteen-year-olds had been sent the watch instead, which updated with each minute that passed.
The blonde's was as dull as usual. Sometimes she hoped to turn it on, and find the figure had changed. Nope. 0.00% every time. She traced her fingertip over several more programs, until she found herself receiving an incoming call. The picture that flashed up gave her heart a warm, fluttery feeling.
"Hey, Nadia. Everything okay?" Laura asked, unable to stop the bright smile which had spread across her cheeks.
"Laur'. So, I was wondering... I've got my watch today.."
Shit, was it her birthday? How had Laura forgotten that!
"... I was wondering if I could have your company when I switch it on. I just feel like I need someone there, and with my parents away..." Nadia continued, not even spotting the worry lines spreading across the blonde girl's face.
"Of course. Do you want to come over?" The immortal girl replied, sounding as sure as she possibly could. It must have been convincing, however, as Nadia responded in turn.
"Great!! I'm only a few blocks away..." Remarked the beautiful, caramel-skinned young woman, who then did something that caught Laura completely off-guard. She blew a kiss, and then ended the holographic call.
Laura was grateful that her crush - Jeez it was weird even thinking that word as an ancient old-lady - had ended the call before her cheeks showed the blush that soon appeared. Without a card, or a present to gift Nadia on her big day, Laura had to think of something fast. That's when she laid eyes on her own eighteenth birthday cards. Without even thinking she took the one Hayley had written to her and rubbed out the penciled-in names, before adding her own in, below the words 'With all my love, eternally...'
___________________________________________________
Nadia arrived around ten minutes after her call, and Laura had handed her the cheesy birthday card, with the huge love-hearts strewn across the number '18'. It brought a smile to her face, and got Laura a warm smooch on the cheek. She had to try and not fall for this girl. Well, fall any deeper. Her watch was sure to say something that's bring her back down to earth.
"I can't wait any longer, let's sit down and switch this bad-boy on!" Nadia chirped, while wiggling the bright-red watch on her left wrist. Laura's smile faltered, and her stomach dropped, but she managed a nod.
"Okay... Here goes..." The younger girl then announced, as she pressed the print of her thumb into the on switch - which also doubled up as a thumb-print reader. Once the watch had confirmed that the watch belonged to the owner of the print, a number flashed up.
A number which made both pair of eyes go wide.
"0.00%"
|
The sun was shining at its highest point as I woke up from a decent night's sleep. I thought to myself "Oh well, guess I'm not making it to any of my classes today"; something I've told myself way too many times now. Guess that's what depression does to a socially awkward freshman.
I decide to grab food and check for any mail I might've received at the commons building which was a good 5 minute walk from my own dorm building. Ugh, social interaction and going outside. Then again, no one ever really paid heed to my existence, and I'd done a fine job of keeping it that way.
The walk itself was uneventful and the food was nothing special, as usual. However I did have mail from a couple days ago, a letter I received on my birthday; another painfully bland and normal day. I decide to read the letter anyway.
"Hello, your life completion progress report is as follows:
Life completion % till legal adulthood: 0.00%
Have a great day!"
Nothing made sense anymore. Life completion report? 0.00%?! Have I finally lost my sanity?
Something about the last sentence seemed off. If anything, it made my day worse. Just thinking about the letter gave me the chills. And the worst part? I had absolutely no one to talk to about this. Living in a single dorm in college absolutely shut out all prospects of me ever interacting genuinely with another person, making it a sensible choice for me at the time. But oh man, I could really use a roommate or anyone for that matter to discuss that letter with right now. I tucked that piece of paper in my coat pocket for the time being.
I found myself staring out the window for an awfully long amount of time, just soaking in the sights. Squirrels and rabbits running across the lawn, people doing their thing. And thats when it hit me. All these people, these different people, were like extras in movies, like NPC's in video games. Hey maybe that's why no one ever talked to me. Just a basal existence without any true purpose really. They just were. Hell, everything just was. The repetitive cycle of work during the weekdays and relaxation during the weekends had always been starkly apparent to me, but this took it to a whole new level. Nothing made sense, but at the same time everything did. The utter pointlessness of it all was mind boggling.
There was no senders details or anything on the letter but I couldn't bother less about it. Everything makes sense now, be it if not for the better.
I found that piece of paper on the floor a couple days later. I noticed something different this time.
"Life completion % AFTER legal adulthood: 99.9%"
PS. One of my first comments on the site, let alone for a writing prompt.
| 2018-04-26T07:24:47 | 2018-04-26T01:50:34 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] There is a species famous for shutting themselves in Virtual Reality, living their lives in fake worlds, this planet should be easy to invade, your masters said, turns out, a lot of members of that species have been spending their entire time in realistic combat simulations.
|
The world had been relatively at peace the last hundred years. Warfare had evolved to the point that it was no longer a viable option for conflict resolution. After the fall of the European coalition and the devastation left behind, the burned out rubble that used to be cities, humanity experienced a huge evolutionary shift. Leaders that called for war were tried and publicly hung. The news no longer reported with any sort of political slant, the network executives that were responsible for dividing humanity were taken to the streets and executed. The people had effectively taken their collective destinies into their own hands. The horrors that the worlds militaries had invented, while maintained regularly, sat in hangars unused. Militaries were downsized to the point that they were basically mechanics and a handful of pilots for the death machines. They often joked together that they could melt the machines down and use the steel to rebuild Western Europe. But deep inside the human psyche is an innate need for self defense, even when there seems to be no need, so the machines stayed polished and ready.
In the absence of countries constantly trying to force each other into what they deemed morally superior, in the absence of countries DEMANDING resources from each other, in the absence of propoganda being broadcast to the masses on every available platform every minute of every day, humanity finally had the room to flourish. Global empathy finally was able to take root, like a plant that had long outgrown it's pot and was transplanted. It was shocking how fast the changes came once the propoganda was no longer being broadcast. People collectively would no longer let their opinions get in the way of their humanity. Of course it's human nature to take advantage of each other or group up on things that aren't agreeable. But without the constant irritation of propaganda, people started to care about each other again. Empathy spread, not quite like wildfire, but like a forest regrowing after a fire, slowly and with purpose.
And with a humanity basically united under their refusal to kill one another, the world experienced a golden age. Much of the world was now ran with robotics. Vertical farms ran by AI and maintained by robots fed the masses. People came together and built shelters for those who had none. Technology took leaps and bounds forward, the scientists and engineers that used to build weapons, now built to help people. With the power taken from the government and given back to them, they were free to help one another. The old, inefficient system ran by people trying to divert as much of the funding into their own pockets as possible was gone, and people were free to create their own programs, free of oversight.
Virtual reality became more and more prevalent, as the utopia outside was unsettling to the base human psyche. It turns out you can't just undo thousands of years of evolution in a hundred years. The virtual worlds that people built for themselves were as varied as they were detailed. The systems used to put ones consciousness into a virtual universe were advanced. Bodies were shaved to allow the electrodes good contact. The muscles would be shocked and worked to match what happened in VR. Lift weights in a virtual gym,and you gain mass in real life. Run a 5k in the machine, and your heart rate, lungs and leg muscles would respond in real time. Of course the instinct to kill one another still existed. You can't just undo thousands of years of evolution in a hundred years, after all.
The combat simulators started out as a way to keep what was left of the military trained. Over time, they merged with the gaming universes. From the incredibly realistic to the downright bizarre, there was a game for anything that the human imagination could conceive. Those who wanted a taste of middle ages warfare could get their fix in the computer generated dark ages. Those that wanted to battle hyper intelligent evolved sea life could virtually live in domes at the ocean floor. From Alien invasions to prehistoric survival, there was a lifelike universe that you could spend the rest of your actual life in, if you so chose.
For the outside observer, the world appeared sleepy, dormant, and resource rich. The moving of consciousness to virtual reality had the effect of allowing the world to heal. The places that humans had carved out for themselves appeared to be mostly run by robots, with a small percentage of people choosing to live in what became known as real time. The rest of the world was allowed to heal, nature once again took back what was rightfully hers. Forests regrew, the air quality improved, and the AI designed to clean the waters did an exemplary job showcasing what wonders human ingenuity could create to heal. This was very unfortunate for the Centurions, who had intercepted a foreign craft named Voyager, from a star system relatively nearby. The scouts sent back reports that the planet they had found it to have embarked from was ripe, plentiful and very easy pickings. The war council unanimously agreed to send an invasion force and relieve these "Humans" of their squandered riches, by force. The orders were no intelligent life to be spared on the new property of the galactic council.
The Centurions were a warring race, ready to slay anything that stood in the way of their dominance. Large, naturally armored, and with an innate thirst to conquer and kill, they were a fearsome race. Was it wise or necessary to send the entire fleet to invade the third planet in the system of Sol? It did not matter, as that was the way of the Centurions. Overwhelming force and a lack of mercy had gotten the race this far, and they were finally about to branch out to another habitable planet. When the fleet was near a large planet with a beautiful set of rings, the scans were finally able to give a detailed report of the surface. Sleepy and ripe for the picking, just as the scouts had promised.
It came as a shock when all of the virtual worlds were shut down. Humanity first responded with rage at the loss of their escapism, then fear and wonder when the AI reported a large fleet headed to their planet, then rage again when the AI reported this fleet appeared to be armed and ready to invade. The message that they had sent ahead, when translated, simply stated that they were here to claim what was rightfully theirs. Across the globe, well rested and well trained fighters seemed to wake from slumber instantly. Fresh, in shape for the most part, and ready for a fight. The pods really were a marvel, that they could keep a body not only alive, but exercised and ready for when the conciousness decided to take the biological suit again.
The Centurions were, needless to say, rather surprised when it seemed as if the entire planet started showing signs of life almost instantly. They were doubly surprised to see that the life began to organize, to roll out weaponry and craft that had long lain dormant, to seem as if it were about to fight. Surprised... and amused. Then surprised and shocked when the first landing team didn't even make it to the surface before being torn to shreds. It seemed as if these sleepy humans were built and bred for battle. The next, considerably larger landing force faired little better. It was a moment of victory when the ships landed, but a moment of realization soon followed, for the forces were similarly ripped to shreds by weaponry that the Centurions could not even imagine. How could a race that laid dormant for so long be this proficient at killing? The realization that they might lose came when scans showed the humans capturing the landed craft and reverse engineering it. They were rather quick learners, these Humans, and very brutal and efficient. Within weeks they had built their own craft, and had taken to space to meet the invaders head on. What ensued was arguably not as much of a battle as a massacre. The remnants of the invasion force fell to a dusty red planet just short of their target. The screams from the Centurions were quickly silenced by the vacuum of space as their ships were torn to pieces.
After the invasion was squashed, the humans set course for a star known as Proxima Centaurus. There was a perfectly habitable planet there, and it was time for the human race to spread. You can't just undo thousands of years of evolution within a hundred years, after all.
Edit:. Holy crap, my first award! Thanks!
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When true full simulation VR came out, many thought it would ruin us. Yet decades later most if not all of the population were in their own world. It made life easier. No wars, no poverty. A.I. took care of us, making sure we were always healthy.
Some of us still liked to meet up in the real world, but most of the time we'd meet up in the main social VR server. That's where I had gone after the combat tournament. I had trained for it for years and finally emerged with the number one title for this year. My team congratulated me, but before we could celebrate properly red lights came on and buzzers rang our ears.
A message popped up for my team.
"Warning. Possible invaders in our atmosphere. Please take caution."
I frowned. After VR the world kind of stopped trying to explore the universe. Why would you, when you could do so much more in VR?
"Looks like that's our cue, Cap." Dave put his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "See you in the real world."
I smiled as I brought up the eject button. I gasped at first as my eyes strain to adjust to the darkness of my room. My personal AI, Firefly, hovers over offering me a glass of water.
"Would you like me to eject the others?" They ask. I down the water before I respond.
"Eject the categories that we need and brief them. Communicate with the other zones to make sure they're doing the same. The others, well... Make sure they're safe."
Walking into the command room was weird. I got to see faces I hadn't seen in a while. Most everyone liked to change their appearance in VR, it had limitless opportunities.
"Captain Rake, they will be touching down in an hour. What should we do?"
My gaze falls on the various screens that covered one of our walls. They were currently focusing on the strange aircrafts trying to get on Earth. Well, they didn't think it through when they decided the best place to land was in my zone. After all, we were all top rankers in anything realistically combat related. The A.I.s liked to keep similar people in zones. This was the combat zone.
I smirk.
"It's been a while since we've had the og team together. Call the flyers, have them up there in five. For the crafts that make it to land? Well, Team Echo will be out first. Make sure to have the medics on standby for the field, and have the zones around our own at combat ready. They all should have a capable specialized team."
No one in that room had ever been in real combat. I suppose this was the charm and usefulness of VR. It's simulations were so realistic that our real bodies were able to move fluidly from muscle memory.
All sorts of fighters met these invaders on the battlefield. We lost a few, unfortunately, but we taught the invaders a lesson after a grueling and bloody battle.
Never underestimate Earth. Others had tried, and I was sure other generations from now would face these same battles. Yet we will always come out victorious.
"Captain Rake."
I stopped in my tracks towards my room. Looking over my shoulder I see a young girl, arm in a cast. I remembered her. She was an up and coming combat champion. She did amazing on the field. A true natural with both a blaster and a blade.
"Yes?" I responded, curious as to what she wanted.
"How do we know this is real?"
I frown. In all my years of coming in and out of VR that thought never once crossed my mind. At least... I never listened for it.
"Ellie Green, right?" I take a step forward, putting my hand on her shoulder. "VR feels just like this, doesn't it?"
She nods her head.
"Well, I like to think that if this too is a simulation than maybe... What's out there just isn't good."
Ellie deflated at the response. "I see," she said, turning and walking away without a word. Meanwhile I am left in the hallway with a disturbing thought implanted in my head.
An invasion. Seemingly the same as prior ones of generations before. But we beat them all, right?
I put my hand up to my forehead.
Wasn't the real world a little too good to be true? A bubbly laugh escapes my throat at the thought.
Truly, if humanity was able to create the kind of VR that we have, world peace and having our needs taken care of should have been a piece of cake.
Right?
| 2020-12-25T11:10:58 | 2020-12-25T11:01:57 | 176 | 58 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
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When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black.
I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed.
At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to.
Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle.
Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through.
It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured.
I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door.
"Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right.
"Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded.
"Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone.
With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item.
"Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle.
My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk.
As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years.
I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes.
I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black.
*Don't tell them you can see.*
What the hell does that mean? Who's them?
I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store.
Who...what the fuck is that...
"John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was...
Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea.
I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth.
"Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter.
As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before?
Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk.
That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black.
As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit.
It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder.
My entire body tensed up.
"We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile.
|
Two years ago, I and everyone else on Earth lost their sight in an event that came to be known as The Great Blinding. It was a day much like any other, but I've suddenly realized that my sight has returned to me. Overcome with surprise that I could once again see, I looked around, and upon taking in my immediate surroundings, I realize that every available wall, floor, and surface has been painted with the exact same message: "Don't Tell Them You Can See."
"Hey, you!" they said. "Can you see?"
"Nope," I replied, and they never found out.
| 2022-10-09T01:59:27 | 2019-08-26T10:49:52 | 4,287 | 11 |
[WP] Any time you enter a closet or other small space, you have a chance of being transported to a whimsical magical kingdom where you have adventures that last years, but you always return at the exact moment you left. It's a gigantic pain in the neck, and you're completely fed up with it.
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“It’s on the top shelf, Sophie, and please be careful! It’s grandma’s favorite piece.”
Sophie dragged the stepstool into the far corner of the closet, pulling her sweater over her mouth and nose to avoid inhaling any more dust.
Grandma Gloria was quite a successful sculptor back in her day, which meant that in Sophie’s day, every nook and cranny of her townhouse was stuffed with dusty old pieces of ceramic, clay, glass, and metal work.
“It’s the purple one, the tall pointy thing,” mom’s voice rattled down the hall from the dining room, mixing with Frank Sinatra’s crooning rendition of “Jingle Bells.” Every Christmas it was the same story – Grandma Gloria gets drunk and starts dragging out her old art pieces. Sophie and her sisters smile and nod and do their best to make her feel special.
Sophie’s hands grasped the tall, pointy, purple ceramic vase. As she pulled it toward her, a layer of dust came with it, falling into her face like snow from a rooftop. She spat it out and jerked away, losing her balance.
She turned the fall into a leap, jumping off the step stool, keeping the vase steady over her head, but knocking into the door, which she had intentionally left ajar, as she stuck the landing.
The door slammed shut, leaving Sophie in total darkness. She groaned, threw the door open and stepped off of a cliff.
Biting cold wind whipped her hair around her face as the oxygen was sucked out of her lungs – she was plummeting through a cloudless sky.
She tried to scream but she couldn’t even get a breath in to muster one. Below her, a range of snowcapped mountains stretched out in all directions.
“Fire!” came a booming voice. She felt something wrap around her waist. A rope. At the end was a metal hook, like a harpoon. It twirled around her and locked in on itself. Then she felt a sharp tug, and the vase slipped from her hands.
“Ah!” She grabbed it just in time, as another tug yanked her up into the air. She felt her Christmas dinner moving its way up her esophagus. “Oh no, oh no,” she said, finally regaining some sense of orientation, forcing her food down.
It was happening again.
Captain Potts, a four-hundred-pound bear of a man, wearing an admiral’s hat and smoking a cigar the size of a yule log, stood on the lowest platform of an enormous blimp. He heaved and hoed while reeling Sophia toward his ship, grinning as he did it.
A few shipmates took up the rope behind him and tried to help, but it was mostly for show. Captain Potts was strong enough to carry the whole blimp on his back if he were so inclined.
Sophie’s face fell as she drew closer to the blimp. She didn’t fight the rope, letting her body sag over it, her head droop, her lip jut out like a pouty child. As she closed in on the blimp, a few strands of her hair got caught on the shimmering steel barrel of a gatling gun hanging off of its side.
“Ow! Bloody hell—” She quickly unknotted it as Potts yanked her up to the platform.
It was square and made of metal, with a circle of big ladders rising up into the blimp’s main compartment. Roughly the size of the belly of a cruise ship, it was dwarfed by the mind-bogglingly huge balloon above it that kept the whole vehicle in the air.
“Here she is boys,” Potts said, slapping Sophie on the back. “The hero of the 1,000 year war has returned, here and now, to our vessel, at the turning of the tide.”
The shipmates cheered. Sophie scowled at them.
“Shut up,” she said. “This is not okay. I am enjoying Christmas day dinner with my family and my Grandma Gloria. I can’t do this right now.”
She held up Grandma Gloria’s vase, “All I wanted was this. That’s it.”
The smile left Potts’ face. “I’m afraid, Sophie, Vanquisher of the dragon Pendayn, that you’re on quite the adventure now.”
As Sophie shook her head, cursing this world, and Potts, and this “adventure,” the rest of the crew started to look a lot more serious.
Behind Sophie ten big, black, fast-moving oval shapes were flying toward them.
“Invaders!” Captain Potts yelled, “To your battle stations, men! For the Queen!”
“For the Queen!” came the redounding chorus from the crew.
Everyone sprang into action, jumping onto the gatling guns or climbing up ladders. Sophie rolled her eyes and checked her watch.
“I’m really looking forward to my mom’s apple pie, Captain Potts. I don’t want to deal with this right now. So here’s what we’re going to do.”
A young, red-faced shipmate raced by with a bandolier of ammunition slung over his shoulders. Sophie grabbed him by the hair – “Ow! ”
He ground to a halt. She pushed Grandma Gloria’s vase into his arms.
“You’re going to protect this vase with your life. If I find even so much as a scratch on it, I’ll hurl you overboard. Are we clear?”
The shipmate gulped, his prominent Adam’s apple bouncing in his skinny neck as he looked to his captain for help.
“You better do as she says,” Potts told him.
The shipmate nodded and raced off, gripping the vase with all his strength.
“Incoming!” shouted a voice from above. *Boom!* A explosive cannon ball struck the side of the blimp, tilting it momentarily.
Sophie grabbed a harpoon and starting swinging it in a circle. She stepped up onto the railing, grabbed a sword from a passing crewman, and said, “Once I’ve dealt with them, let’s chat about exactly what this adventure entails, Captain.”
“Why, only rescuing the Queen herself from a sinister band of air invaders who’ve taken control of the kingdom and clapped her in irons!”
“Every time,” Sophie said, as she bit down on the sword and swung the harpoon up onto a metal outcrop. Once it was locked in tight, she leapt into the air, dropping a hundred feet before swinging back up and launching herself right onto the deck of the invaders’ flagship.
Captain Potts watched, the smoke curling up from the end of his cigar, as Sophie took control of the flagship and drove it into the neighboring ship, causing a chain reaction of explosions.
As the invaders’ ships dropped from the sky, one by one, Sophie pulled up alongside Pott’s blimp, piloting a sleek vessel recovered from the enemy.
“Let’s go get her,” she said, tossing her sword to Captain Potts.
r/ididwritethismr
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I have lived a forgotten number of lifetimes.
But, now... after all these countless adventures, I have found mortal paradise. I have been kings, beggars, dolphins, lizards, a volcano ,and more.
Any small, almost claustrophobic area, where I can touch 2 opposing walls, can start a new journey. I had many in my parents house, where I grew up. The closet in my bedroom was the majority of my first trips. It wasn't every time I opened the closet, mostly when I was completely across the threshold of the closet door. So I was lucky that when I was older, my reach grew longer and I could keep one foot out in the larger space of the bedroom.
The escape from school was sometimes welcome. A trip to, what seemed like, a galaxy, far, far, away, was a welcome break to a monotonous day in physics lab. Sometimes remembering enough to advance skills, but not always. You would think I would remember years of sword fighting, but most times, all that remained, was like I had read a good book.
The weird part was that it seemed like I had never truly repeated an adventure, but some where sequels, prequels or the best - from a different point of view. My adventures also had wildly different ages and skill levels. Like I had made a wish on Zoltar and was a child in a man's body. Or I did the opposite and was some dude named Button. There was this one time, no, not at band camp, where I was a gorgeous woman, having a grand night out on the town, only to get raped in an alley. I can't remember the pain, but I know that really changed my psyche. I was much more hyper-aware when I traveled as a lady.
So, as the years dragged on, I tried to perfect, the elimination of small spaces. A studio apartment in a city where I could walk everywhere was perfect. But, try being normal. Can't take a cab but a bus or subway was fine. "Wanna come up for coffee?" Stairs only, no elevator. I'm trying to get laid, not go on a hundred year journey as a Galapagos tortoise.
I'm done. With everything. I'm just going to live alone, no human connections, except for the Instacart, DoorDash and UPS drivers. This one room log cabin with no neighbors in sight has been great.
....
Its been 2 years, 8 months and 19 days since my last adventure. I figured I was safe from Covid. But, now I'm sick and writing this from my death bed. So someday, someone will read my story. Just bury me by the pine tree out back, no coffin please.
....
Just the blink of an eye from when I guess I died to waking up again. Did someone put me in a coffin, or was the dirt hole enough to trigger a trip? I look around, slightly disoriented with a massive headache. I think I started this story by getting knocked unconscious.
The dude next to me " Hey you, you're finally awake!"
| 2022-01-07T10:32:14 | 2022-01-07T10:30:45 | 215 | 143 |
[WP] Murder is rare; killing someone means their remaining years are 'subtracted' from yours. Likewise, saving a life (or lives) adds time to your own. Nobody knows why. Centuries ago you killed a young man by accident (usually resulting in instant death). You haven't aged since.
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over three hundred years its been since i'd stopped aging. I'd had to leave everything behind my parent's, who were surely long dead by now, my children, my friend's, my fiance and of course, her little secret. She had been cheating on me.
When i found them together i flew into a rage. Normally i was very calm but surely you can excuse my anger at seeing another man, who at least appeared to be ten years younger then me, fucking the love of my life.
First i broke his legs, i remember it clearly two swift hits to the kneecaps with a two by four we had by the couch for some work we were doing on the house. Then i grabbed him by the head and started smashing it into the wall.
Of course I knew the consequences of murder, A man this young would probably result in my immediate death. But the more i smashed his head and the more he smiled at me the more i didn't care. In fact this is probably what that whore deserved to watch both her lovers die in front of her. Not like i had anything to live for anymore anyway. Sure the kids but truthfully I had started to suspect the boy, Damian, wasn't really mine. As for my daughter Cassandra, well i loved her with all my heart she was only a year old now. The thought of it almost made me stop but that smile. that stupid smile that i only now understood, it turned my whole world red.
His dead body thumped to the floor and I stood there waiting for my punishment but it never came. The law didn't punish you for murder because the life it cost was considered enough but still back then at least. It weighed on the soul. You never wanted to wake up from a rage to find yourself holding a dead man. A man who might have children of his own. Trust me.
Of course what you really wouldn't want was what came next. They found me on my way to my favorite place a small patch of grass by our town lake nicely concealed from eyesight by a few well placed trees. A bottle of rum in my hands.. Planning to spend what i assumed would be my last few hours, plastered and alone. Real good father i know.
Anyways they called themselves the Guardians. pretentious fucking name if you ask me. They explained to me the man i killed was actually what they called, The Keeper. There was only one in all the world and he kept the curse in place. The Keeper would never age and was of course immune to sickness. All the years someone gained or lost through murder or saving a life was passed directly though them. of course they also served as sort of a shield for all of the pain that would usually be transferred from a spell like.
This was where the Guardians became useful, besides being weird robed cultists that showed up and explained the great secret, they also shared in the pain. Splitting it up among all of us so the keeper wouldn't be in constant unparalleled agony. Of course they couldn't take it all so it was still definitely unpleasant. Of course only the Keeper himself was immortal. The only way they could die and have the role passed on, im sure you've already figured out, is through killing the last Keeper.
They also explained that The Keeper could in fact kill themselves. Ending the curse entirely. So far no one had chosen to do this agreeing the world a better place, free of war and mass murder, and rewarding people for caring about their fellow man. I guess i more or less agreed. Soon the pain would come and it fucking sucked. Constant pain. It would subside just long enough for you to never get used to it. but what was I supposed to do, I kinda felt like i deserved it anyway.
So I spent the next hundred years drinking and travelling seeing what the world had to offer. Truth be told it wasn't much especialy with no one to share it with. Sure i had the occasional partner on those nights that i felt so inclined, but in the morning i was back on the road. Sure after a few decades it seems like i should have gotten over what my ex fiance had done, but I just didn't want to. It didn't help that it ended up being the most important night of my life.
I was starting to get really bored, basically just waiting for some idiot to kill me, and pissing off a lot of people in the hopes it would happen. But the curse kept people in line. One day after a drunken rant explaining my woes to a bartender who had nothing better to do she posed an interesting question.
Did that mean i could murder more people without facing the consequences? I'd never thought of that i guess she had a point. She told me i could make a lot of difference with that kind of power. Sure there wasnt war, but there were still sex traffickers, pedophiles, dirty politicians. Lots of people deserved to die.
So i spent my next hundred years as a serial killer. Sure for the greater good and all that but honestly it was just something to do and i thought it gave me a good chance of getting killed.
"But even that is starting to get boring " I said to the man on the couch next to me. We were both on a cocktail of random drugs so i really didn't care about sharing my secrets. Honestly i was hoping to convince him to kill me. Sure it isn't super nice to take advantage of some guy too high to realize wht he was getting into but i'm fucking desperate.
"I did not hear a fucking word you just said man but it sounded like you need another line buddy." Fuck of course. Suddenly the door bell rang. I took my line.
As buddy walked to the door it smashed open. A woman maybe ten or fifteen years older then me stood at the door. She looked eerily familiar.
"You're a hard man to find, father." She said.
"Cassandra? but i dont understand how are you here, how are you still alive?"
"Same way as you, I've saved over 50 lives." Wow my daughter basically a hero Im so proud
"Drug addicts, prostitutes, pedophiles, whatever it took to stay alive eand find you." oh.
"Do you know what happened after you abandoned me and mother, she fell into a terrible depression. She killed herself when i was ten years old. TEN YEARS OLD. Poor Damian tried so hard to take care of me he ended up getting sick. And where were you! Out doing drugs saving easy lives from overdoses like a coward. " she pulled out a gun
"No no wait you don't understand"
BANG
|
It never occurred to me that I might live this long. I figured maybe a year or two after that, but here I am.
Off course I know his name. He was my friend, it was really stupid and I haven’t owned a gun ever in this long life. I have refused to ever touch a gun.
At first I figured he didn’t have much time left anyway, since I didn’t die immediatly. That softened some of the guilt I felt. His parents didn’t really blame me, it was their gun and we were just playing, but they couldn’t bare seeing me either. And I don’t blame them. They must have realised he didn’t have much time left anyway. when I turned 40, they took their own lives. We lived in a small town and they mustve heard about it, I was somewhat of a celebrity back then. I think they might have figured out by then what took me much much longer. To me he could have been killed young, maybe in his 20s anyway, from an aneurism or something, who knows.
My parents never realised until they died themselves in their 80’s and I was just starting to form an idea back then.
You see, I’m 8567 years old today, I look about 20 to 30 I think.
I started getting fed up with life when the last person I loved died, I was around 120 years old then.
She died at 79 due to complications while being operated on for a heartcondition.
People in the hospital thought she was my mother while in reality I could’ve been her grandfather.
But I digress.
About 30 years later I was drunk and got into an argument with this guy at a bar. Bystanders told me to stop beating him or I would kill them, thinking that would hold me back.
It did, but not for the reason they thought.
By then I had figuren my childhood friend must’ve been a spree killer at some point in his life. Maybe he would’ve placed a carbomb or took a gun into a school or something so I saved 20 or so lives. Doing the match I would live for approximately another 1200 years.
I didn’t want to live that long. At all.
Since then Ive been keeping books with all my victims in it. Pictures of them, smiling at barbecues and holding their loved ones, or just sitting on a bench, enjoying the sunshine.
I write about their lives, who they were, who they loved, what they enjoyed doing. So when I finally die, people will know.
I’m on my 72nd book now, which adds up to about 14000 young people I killed. And I’m still here.
| 2020-11-02T01:14:57 | 2020-11-02T00:43:48 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] You've just been abducted by aliens, and they've offered you a chance to join their galaxy-spanning organization. Just you, nobody else. Apparently, that's why people get abducted: to be offered an invitation. You ask them why they don't just invite the entire planet.
|
*What? Where am I?*
Three unattractive aliens enter the room. I looked in horror at them. They looked like “octopus goblins.” I don’t know what else you would call them. They were humanoid in body shape, but they had tentacles for arms. They were wearing silver track pants that looked like they were bought at Goodwill. They bent awkwardly and in such a way that lead me to believe that their legs may also be tentacles. However their heads were monstrous and looked hard as rocks, contrasting their limbs. They had 2 eyes, and a huge, round nose sitting amongst them. Their mouths opened awkwardly, opening from one side and closing at the other. The hole between their lips moved from left to right as they spoke amongst themselves in their alien tongue. The frame of their faces were sharp and jagged, as if I could cut myself touching their cheekbones. Honestly, they were a nightmare to look at.
Two were holding something vaguely in the shape of a gun, but more round and less silver. They followed in behind the first alien, who carried nothing other than a small book, but clearly dressed more extravagantly.
The one holding the book raised his arms and said, “Lakka gloo grah afrador!”... I think.
...”what?” I asked horrified.
With one of his tentacles, he started banging on one of his “watches,” but clearly it wasn’t a watch. It had no hands, it was just silver on top. “Swashala!” He cries out, clearly frustrated. The other two aliens snickered.
The silver turned neon orange.
“There we go,” he said relieved. “ I really have to get a new one of these international language translators.” He turned to me. “They have these new ones that translate Mandarin Chinese. We really need to start inviting people from that side of your planet. I hear from your side of the planet that they are geniuses. Plus, there are way more speakers. We can invite way more!”
Invite?
“What do you mean invite?”
“Well, that brings me to the first thing I was trying to say. Congratulations on being invited to join our organization! My name is Hortap, the leader of this organization which has over two trillion members of an elite group of creatures from all over the galaxy!”
I must have been noticeably confused because he then looked at me with his surprisingly human looking face with concern and asked, “you are noticeably confused.”
“Yes.”
“Well I have a list of frequently asked questions. Here is a pamphlet.”
With his tentacle arm he handed me the book which read, “Have I been abducted? And 101 more question that you may be asking yourself.”
“Well have I?”
“It’s all in the pamphlet.”
I began to leaf through it in disbelief that an alien just handed me a pamphlet that I would normally throw away, but I was curious.
On the first page it said, “welcome to Growthap Bow Dooganharb, a Galaxy Spanning Organization Specializing in bettering the Universe! All creatures are handpicked by the leader and have been growing for 5 years!”
“5 years?” I asked. “How did you get 2 trillion member—“
Hortap leafed to page 3. “‘5 years’ as in galaxy years,” he said. On page three was a conversion chart showing they have been growing for over four billion earth years.
“Oh.” So many questions, so little time. “Do you have a mission statement?”
“We better the universe!” He said ecstatically.
“Some mission statement. That sounds like a tag line.”
“It does both.”
“How do you ‘better’ the universe?” I asked.
“By bettering it.”
“...”
“I am joking! It’s in the pamphlet. We try to better the universe by choosing creatures that are generally pleasing to the eye to act as ambassadors, more or less. We are a small organization but soon we will go intergalactic! I have a team heading towards the Yop Galaxy, though you humans call it Andromeda. There’s more information on page 5.”
He reached for the pages, but I interrupted him. “Why do you just pick individuals and not whole planets?”
This time he did not reach for the pamphlet and instead asked me a question in response. “What do you mean?”
“Well, wouldn’t it be easier to invite whole planets? You recruit way more that way, and generally all of a species looks the same.”
“Normally we do. We had to have an exception for your planet though.”
“Why? Is it because we fight amongst ourselves? Or because we can’t solve world hunger? Because nobody can agree on one message, idea, or government?”
“What? No! We handpick individuals based on your planet because most of you are too ugly. We want creatures that look like us.”
Edits: spelling, grammar, punctuation, clarity, and better descriptions of the aliens
|
*Recently recovered transcript from satellite re-entry*
*Identity is hard to tell
He asked why we only abducted him.
What?
The human asked us why we didn't abduct everyone on the planet.
The closure of this place is making me parched. Excuse me, do you have any carbonated water in here because my throat is parched ahaha. I can pay with my credit card.
...
Hello? Also, bring the Earth. I need to see that new Avengers Movie. Can't you bring that?
Actually, he asked why we didn't abduct the entire planet.
This is a cargo ship...
OH I GET IT. Aha, the earth is my luggage. Wink wink, nudge nudge haha!
...
...
...
Send him back sir?
Make it an accident on his way down.
Next time take the Sun too. I need a good tan.
Yes sir. Right away sir.
| 2018-03-26T05:36:29 | 2018-03-26T03:56:28 | 131 | 16 |
[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.
|
Mother always told us that if we were bad children, the Humans would come in the night and steal us away. It helped to bring us back in line, since the seven of us were always screaming and fighting with each other.
We'd see her delicate purple face turn an angry shade of green as the rage built, until she could take it no more. I always knew that meant the threats would soon start.
"IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR MOUTHS THIS INSTANT," she'd bellow, "I WILL PAY THE NEXT EXPEDITIONARY FLIGHT TO TAKE YOU ALL ALONG AND DELIVER YOU INTO THE HANDS OF THE FIRST HUMAN SHIP THEY CAN FIND!"
We usually shut up at that point.
You see, humans were terrifying to the majority of sentient life in the galaxy, with the exception of the Xxthrt, a silicon-based life form. We suspected they were less afraid because their whole species appeared as nothing more than crystalline formations on their home planet, and the Humans... for all their ingenuity... were too closed-minded to consider silicon-based life to be 'alive'. That meant that for the most part, humans left them alone and stayed away from their planet.
The rest of us were terrified of them, and rightly so. Humans had a reputation for ruthlessness and singularity of purpose. They took whatever they could get their hands on, and killed anyone who opposed them. But our species was afraid of them for another, equally good reason.
You see, humans have a trait of which they are largely unaware. That ignorance has caused us no end of grief.
Most species have the ability to control and shield their thoughts. Our race not only has that ability, but also the ability to reach out and read the thoughts of others. We are one of a handful of species in the galaxy that has this natural ability, and it has helped us in first contact with other species on countless occasions.
But not with the humans.
Twenty years ago, the first of our species encountered humans for the first time. It was that encounter when our species first realized something was wrong with human beings.
Our exploration ship had encountered a human vessel in deep space. At first, everything had seemed fine, much to our crew's surprise. These particular humans didn't seem bloodthirsty at all... in fact they seemed genuinely curious and welcome to the concept of an open exchange of information between our two peoples.
But as soon as the ships docked together, the crew began to feel and act strangely. As soon as the humans approached the airlock, the welcoming party began to suffer serious problems. They could hear the unfiltered thoughts of the humans, conscious and unconscious. It was a deafening cacophony.
They were unable to warn the humans in time, and prevent what followed. You see, when the protective titanium alloy doors slid open, there was no screen between the humans and our welcoming party. The crew of our ship was bombarded by what could only be described as a 'thermonuclear thought bomb'.
It drove the crew insane, within moments. They began violently attacking the humans, who (naturally) defended themselves against the onslaught. As the humans moved through the ship, the rest of the crew went mad and attacked. The whole crew was murdered within less than an hour.
To give them some credit, the humans did try to contact our species to explain what happened. Unfortunately, the next ship they ran into had the same results: Their unshielded thoughts drove the crew into a homicidal rage, and they were exterminated in the resulting fight. (Humans have far superior weaponry compared to our own).
Unfortunately for us, the humans took both encounters to be typical of our species, and assumed our normal way of doing things was to set some sort ambush or trap for every ship we ran into. And I can't say I blame them... if someone acted all friendly with *our* crew and then apparently tried to murder us as soon as we docked with them, I would probably come to the same conclusion.
Several botched contact attempts later, humans decided to declare war on our species. They declared us 'untrustworthy' and 'deliberately deceitful.' And as I mentioned before, humans have a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness and singularity of purpose. Once you're on their bad side, you're pretty much screwed.
But we tried to salvage things. We sent out multiple ships, we tried to contact the humans from afar to correct the misconception they had about our species. Each of them was blown out of the sky before a discussion could take place.
Finally, one of our ships found their homeworld. Things had looked like they finally might be turning around, until our homeworld received a final, panicked transmission from the diplomatic ship:
"Their homeworld... there are billions of them on it. Billions..."
That was the last transmission they sent. And it turned out to be a very fateful one, because the humans were able to trace the signal they sent back to our home world and determine our coordinates.
Coordinates they used to guide an attack fleet of thousands of cruisers.
Now, as I sit in the bunker with my own offspring, waiting for the human armada to begin bombarding our planet with their nuclear weapons, I wonder if we could have done something different. And it saddens me when I realize that there really wasn't.
Our last act as a species was to transmit a general message to anyone who might listen, to warn them of the humans. They had to be stopped. Contained.
For the sake of the galaxy.
|
Willyneg slouched at the captain's console, a tendril entwined with his co-captain and hatch mate Bob. A shared sleep cycle wasn't best but it'd been the only way to manage the last 3 galactic weeks. One in the dream the other trying to evade thier hunters.
Rare as they were never had they been seen on a heavily traveled trade route like Pecpsci 6 to the 8th moon of Jondor. It was a standard patrol route for the crew at most the occasional pirate ship you fire a warning shot and off they go. Third jump of five and there they were, a ship darker then the space around it the legends were true! The first shot woke the crew from thier shock it also took out communications. What followed was three weeks of hide and seek constant hyperspace jumps and that black ship seemingly already there waiting for us every time. And now this, the impossible.
Willy listened to the science officer rattle off know facts about humans. He wondered if he should let her know she was chirping, Covians were usually a bit embarrassed when they chirped. That blue ball on screen meant a lot of things should go unmentioned.
1000 years of random raids. 1000 years of ships only. 1000 years the every race in the empire has tried to find a planet where the came from. Contact with a human shipment destruction. Colonies winked from existence. And after 3 blind hyperspace jumps they found themselves above a planet full of them. And worse they don't seem capable of hyperspace flight, or rapid interplanetary flight. What the hell are humans?
| 2017-11-08T20:37:57 | 2017-11-08T20:13:16 | 105 | 22 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment."
|
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/hotysq/let_the_little_children_come_to_me_chapter_2_for/)
___
The little girl walked through the flames but they didn't hurt her. They danced around her toes in a playful way and felt refreshing, like bathwater. She shivered in pleasure at the sensation and closed her eyes.
Something was wrong. These weren't the pearly gates that mama preached about, screamed about. These weren't what pastor promised, nor were they what he told her she would never see.
So they had been right after all. Sherie wasn't going to heaven. She was a bad girl, bad for making mama and papa so unhappy, bad for making troubles between them.
The strangest thing about it was that she liked this place so much more than did she the idea of the stark white and dizzying clouds of heaven. Sherie didn't like heights, not after spending so many hours locked out on the roof when she messed up and broke something. This place was a cave. It was warm and safe and hidden.
Then she heard a noise and she looked up. At the mouth of the cave was a tall man with red skin and a big nose. His eyes were soft and when he saw Sherie dipping her toe into a thick, flowing river of magma, he smiled and rushed to her side.
"Ah, you're awake." His rumbling voice reminded Sherie of the one time her parents brought her in the mall to see a rather large Santa. It had been a good day, even if mama and papa got in a fight on the way home. "How was the transition?"
"Am I in hell?"
He looked taken aback by the somber question, the big brown eyes that stared up at him in earnest. "Well, yes, technically."
To his sorrow, the child didn't protest. A little girl of maybe seven, learning that she'd been potentially sent to burn for eternity and she didn't even pout. Instead, she closed her eyes and smiled.
"I thought it would be more miserable. Mama always said the hounds here would eat me alive in a minute and then continue to do so for all eternity."
"May I take your hand, Sherie?" the red man asked. "I won't touch you if you don't want."
The little girl regarded her small, dark hand and then pulled it to her chest, shaking her head.
He nodded. "That's quite alright. Do you want to see where your parents are?"
She looked at him, those deep eyes inquisitive. "I can see into heaven?"
"Sherie. Your parents are not in heaven." His voice broke a bit at the word.
"Hell is the home of the wicked, the evil. I read the bible. I read it every day. Wailing and gnashing of teeth. The pit." Her voice did not waver. "If they and I are both here, God must truly hate the world." Then a little smile appeared on her lips. "Don't tell Him, but I always secretly thought so."
The man shook his head. "Both God and my master hate the world no more than the other. God loves the sinner and threatens him with us. But my master, oh, the wicked men of Earth thinks he loves them. They think if they do evil, they will be welcome here. They are not. Do you want to see your parents?"
Sherie shivered again, a dark feeling settling on her. "Yes."
The man stood up from his crouch and began walking her through the halls and caves. "Heaven cannot punish the sinful, so they are sent here where we have the tools. However, you would be surprised how many of the good end up here too. Some simply don't like the aesthetic of heaven. Satan keeps them safe down here, for while God loves sinners and Satan hates them, they both love the good. God simply wants to hold their hand and guide them while Satan rather tries to make them prove their holiness."
There were people now in the hall. Sherie waved at a few. Many waved back but their smiles were sad.
"Do they miss living?" she asked.
"Some do. That's not why their eyes turn down though. They're just sad to see you here."
"Why?"
"When I say many don't like the aesthetic of heaven, it's because the good that live in hell are often here because, though they are good, they do not feel they have earned heaven. They lived lives where they were beaten, hurt, harmed. Heaven with its white light and holy music feels foreign and wrong to them. Hell damns the sinners but comforts the hurt. They know you're here because you were hurt."
"So I wasn't bad?"
The demon looked away, his eyes burning. They said that in the afterlife, the good would feel no pain, but he was simply a guardian of the place. He helped Satan run it and that sometimes meant delivering to the punished their punishment.
"In hell, none can hide behind hate and apathy," he continued, unable to address her question without losing composure. "Your parents will only be able to see you as you truly are. Not as the monster they somehow convinced themselves you were."
Then they reached a door, an iron gate, and the demon pushed it open. "You will find this place perhaps scary. Do not fear. I will protect you."
As they walked, Sherie kept close to him. There were pits around them and inside were people. The little girl did not flinch, for she had studied her bible fully and knew these people were wicked. However, she did reach up a soft hand to clasp a single, rough finger on the tall demon, in a gesture he would never forget.
They turned off down the hallway after a short while of walking and found two people in a pit. The two wailed, their faces burnt but recognizable.
Her parents.
When they saw Sherie, their moans turned to screams but Sherie watched them impassively.
"I should pity them."
"No," said the demon. "Perhaps you would on Earth, but here things are just. Nostalgia and gaslighting will not cloud your might from judgment. Just as hate will not cloud theirs from the horrors of what they've done."
Sherie looked up at him. "Then I am to punish them?"
"They suffer punishment plenty," the demon said. "You only may punish them as you see fit, when you please."
She nodded solemnly, looking back at the pleading pair. Then back to the demon.
"What about Earth? Can I go back?"
He frowned. "Nobody really asks that. Earth is cold and hard and unforgiving. Things are not just there. Why would you want to return?"
"I don't want to live again. It really is lovely here and I don't mean to insult your home. Just to visit."
He knelt down next to her and pushed a dark curl out of her face. "Did you have friends back there? People you loved?"
She shook her head. "No. People I hate. I never met the children of my parents' friends but I know what they did. I want to help the little children of Earth. I want to punish the wicked. I want to make the hurting stop."
The man nodded and stood up. "Then, child, we will make another stop. Your wish will be brought before the Lord of Hell himself. Let us go pay Satan a visit and see if we can't make this quest of yours manifest."
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/hotysq/let_the_little_children_come_to_me_chapter_2_for/)
|
It’s dark. Why is it so dark?
I try to open my eyes, try to move. Nothing happens. Something warm licks at my toes and I try to pull away; the heat just grows more intense.
A dull orange light glows in the distance. It draws nearer, growing larger. Suddenly I can feel myself again, my arms, my legs—and the *heat*.
Oh, God, the *heat*.
Flames leap from the darkness around me. The hairs on my arms disappear in small wisps of smoke. My stomach twists at the smell. I open my mouth to scream, but only a dry gasp escapes.
A figure rises before me. It’s skin is black and charred. Blue flame glows beneath the cracks in its flesh. I see what must be its face, and a fear unlike no other I’ve ever felt washes over me as it curls into a smile.
“Welcome to Hell,” the creature speaks. The voice booms in my ears, vibrating my eardrums painfully. I lift my arms to shield from the noise, but the heat of my hands is unbearable.
“Hell?” I call out. “Why am I in Hell?”
My mind races. *Hell*. I... think I remember dying. Yes, actually. I’m certain of it. I died. But why would I go to Hell?
“This can’t be right!” I yell. Tears escape my eyes and evaporate as they hit the hot air. “I’ve done everything right. I followed all the rules. I can’t be in hell!”
The creature reaches forward with a hand larger than me. I brace myself, unable to cope with what’s happening. This cant be real. A nightmare. *Please let it be a nightmare*.
I’m swept from the spot where I stand and lifted high into the air. His grip is tight, lessening my ability to breath. My bones ache.
Finally, he releases me. I fall through the air, past streaks of fire and wave of lava, toward a small hole in a layer of rock. My body spins uncontrollably. I feel as if I might wretch, but close my eyes and swallow hard.
Then I hit the ground. Not with a hard thud, or even a burst of pain. I’m just... there. In a small, blue room, sitting on a scratchy canvas couch across from a man I’ve never seen.
My brow furrows. The pain is gone. No more heat. I look up to the ceiling and see the hole I fell through slowly close, becoming one with the cracked white paint around it.
I feel a weight in my hand. As I glance down, I see a small black notebook. On its face is an upside down pentagram.
When I open the book, the first page sends a chill down my spine. It has my name, written in dark red ink—Christ, I hope it’s ink—and below that is what appears to be a title. *Level 3 Punishment.*
A sudden urge rises in my chest. A desire to speak. I look across the room to the man; he’s sitting on a small wooden stool, his arms strapped to the wall behind him. And he’s staring right at me.
My mouth opens and words begin to spill out. Familiar words. Words I’d spoken a million times throughout my life. I talk about my work, and the details of it, why each infinitesimal detail is exactly as important as the last.
The man starts to shake his head. He mutters under his breath, begs for forgiveness. Somehow, it excites me. Entices me to elaborate more on the slow, monotonous details of my old work.
A smile grows on my face. I guess my friends were right, after all—I really was the most boring person on Earth.
And now I’m the most painfully boring person in Hell.
r/Ford9863 for more nonsense.
| 2020-07-10T08:27:46 | 2020-07-10T08:08:50 | 4,261 | 752 |
[WP] Everyone knows you're the most powerful member of the league, so why are you an F-tier hero? Because F-tier is cleanup. The others protect the world from threats. You protect it from the other heroes.
|
Edit: thanks for the rewards kind stranger's! There is an end to this story and it's coming soon!
"What do you get when you pancake the color potato? Eh? No answer to that, you cruffmuffin finger banging fork?!" she yelled at me, followed by unintelligible noises. Third one this month, another supe that lost their damned mind. I didn't respond, there's never a chance to talk a supe back into their mind. I'm not sure if it's the fact that they're a super or it's an affect of their powers, once a supe goes, they're gone.
Chrysalis turns another building into jagged crystal causing the city to echo with thunder claps as matter suddenly transforms. There's a burst of wind that accompanies the transformation, causing my overalls to whip around me. Thankfully I have no hair to mess up, not that it matters or anything.
Officially I'm in the F-tier of supes, lowest of the low. Just strong enough to be considered superhuman, but not so strong to really be a challenge for a dedicated group of normies. That couldn't be further from the truth, in fact, I'm probably the most powerful person on the planet. Not because of just raw power, but because of my ability to manipulate the very fabric of space, time, space-time and matter. I make omega level supes look like school children.
The street erupts into crystal spikes racing away from the epicenter of Chrysalis in all directions. As the line races towards me it splits like ants around an obstacle leaving me completely untouched.
I sigh, Chrysalis was one of the more promising supes, maybe one day she could have made the alpha tier, just shy of omega. But that's not going to happen anymore, I'm just going to have to kill her and undo all the damage she's wrought.
My name was lost years ago, I'm simply called The Cleaner. I could have ruled the world, but I quickly realized that I would get bored very quickly. I could do anything I want and no one would stop me, could stop me, but where's the fun in that?
One day I was out for a walk when a supe had gone crazy and turned every shadow within their view into bottomless pits, swallowing anything that happen to find themselves unlucky enough to be in a shadow. In an instant thousands died, I watched innocent people desperately clasp at the edges, only to fall and never be seen again.
I saw another supe come to stop the first, only to fail. In the end, I was the only one who could. Then another supe lost it, then another. Each one had powers that destroyed and killed thousands, and everytime other supes couldn't stop them, or wouldn't due to their no kill policies. Humanity would be extinct in a couple of decades - at most of this continued unabated.
Thankfully I was called quickly for Chrysalis, building a barrier so her crystalizing powers would be limited to the couple of city blocks she already destroyed.
"Can't save them all, cruffmuffin. Ahahahhahaha! There's no saving mayo or tomatoes! Ehehehehehehehe!" her voice cracking now, like her crystals. Maybe her powers are turning her into a crystal. Now wouldn't that be something?
I wait patiently, her damage is contained, so I can observe, trying to understand this phenomenon of supes losing their minds. Early on I'd kill them and undue the supernatural damage, leaving the regular damages for the normies to clean up - they gotta feel useful too, sometimes. Plus it helps keep them from relying on me too much.
Ah, there it is, her left hand has turned to crystal but she barely takes notice. Quickly it spreads up her arm and into her shoulder. She starts screaming, what ever part of her rational mind still working realizes what's happening. After about a minute the scream is choked off as the crystallization crawls up her neck. Frantically her eyes dart back and forth, looking for someone to help her, but there is no one, not even I can stop what is almost complete.
A minute later it's over. I approach her carefully, some supes powers continue to sputter for a while after death and I don't want to waste energy on de-crystalizing myself.
I study chrysalis closely when I spot something odd in her head, at the edge of where her brain was. Using my abilities I slowly peel away layers of crystal until I expose what appears to be what once was a high tech chip. As I prepare to return the chip back to its original form, chrysalis's head shatters, taking the chip with it.
A sniper somewhere doesnt want anyone seeing this chip, and now my interest is piqued. But first, I need to find the sniper before they get away.
|
Honestly, I like this job.
The villains are pretty nice, in fact. All the villains do is tie citizens to bombs with extraordinarily long timers, it's like asking for it to be defused. Villains know that if you step too far past the line, you will gain a lot more, super-powerful enemies.
But heroes-turned-evil? Those literal villain trainees burn villages and just run away. At least a villain would give them a monologue. What's the worst part? They don't even have a reason other than they turned bad. At least villains prove a point (or try to).
They're the worst. There's a reason we keep the Villain University open, it's because by the time they graduate they'll learn how not to become these trainees. So, what do I do to these trainees? Kill them.
My power is being (figuratively) invisible along with super strength. I just walk up to them and shoot the villain in the face, all the while they barely notice me. It is literally impossible to notice me unless you are aware of my power AND looking for me.
| 2021-09-22T22:51:33 | 2021-09-22T20:19:41 | 145 | 37 |
[WP] A cowardly child picked on in school, wishes for the heart of a warrior. He gets more than he bargained for when the soul of Genghis Khan possesses his body.
|
After making the wish, I had a moment of panic. I opened my eyes, terrified that there would be a bloody organ on a platter in front of me, and I would yet another victim of the semantic games of wish-granting entities.
But there was no warrior's heart before me. A second, slightly less intense surge of fear hit me - maybe all of that, all I had sacrificed, all my effort, was for nothing.
After a few seconds, I realized I was wrong on that count, as well. Suddenly, it was obvious what a fool I had been. I had deserved the beatings, the humiliations. I had been so outraged the day they threw me in the dumpster and sat on it so I couldn't get out; but really, that's where I belonged.
I had let them catch me unprepared, had done nothing to foment alliances or identify strengths and weaknesses in my opponents. I had no spy network to speak of. I had not attempted to use deception to my advantage. I had done nothing to disrupt my enemies communications and was unprepared to communicate with my allies in conflict.
I had been a riderless horse, a hornless argali.
* * *
It was a busy and exhausting weekend for me; I had barely managed to complete all four necessary phases by last night. Nonetheless, when my alarm went off I took a moment to saver the electric feeling of anticipation. A battle day. Then I sprang from my bed and went back to work.
At the bus stop, I met briefly with my confederates. There was little to say, as I had disseminated the battle plans ahead of time, of course. Still, I made sure we were confirmed and that all new the spoils that awaited for their help. Victory not assured before the battle has begun is a defeat. The lunch bell would be the signal of either the greatest moment of my student career or my most humiliating defeat.
* * *
How different high school felt when one is in control of one's life, one's fate. I stood up half a second before the bell rang and was already halfway to the door before most of my classmates had their backpacks shut. I gave Ms. Torres an appreciative look and complimented her on her outfit on my way out of the room.
Moving through the hallways used to terrify me. I had been an orphaned marten fearing the swoop of the cenereous vulture which may come at any moment. Now I was a snow leopard stalking a saiga. I just had one last move to make and my victory would be assured.
My pace quickened as I saw Kayley. She was standing by herself. Now. The time was now.
I stood in front of her and said "Kayley. I have something to show you."
* * *
"What the hell do you think you're doing talking to my girlfriend, fucknut?"
The hunt has begun. The jerboa is ensnared.
Until now, my greatest weakness had not been addressing my tactical disadvantage. Even if troop numbers had been in my favor, which most decidedly were not, the greater strength and ferocity of my opponents meant that meeting them in the open field of battle was idiocy. The only option left, then, was strategic superiority.
The first target was Graham. His most obvious weakness was Kayley, who was - or had been - his girlfriend and had quickly become his fast-track to the popular group.
"Oh, hi Graham. I was just showing Kayley this funny video I found online."
Kayley could barely look at him. "You're a *brony*?" I watched his face and knew first blood was mine.
"What? No...I'm...I mean..."
"You have an *outfit*?"
"Wait, what video is this?"
"And you *wear* it to conventions? In *public*?"
"Babe...*please*..." His voice was so plaintive, so pathetic, I almost felt bad about having Neil upload a video of this whole exchange to YouTube. *Almost*.
Graham walked to Kayley and reached out to touch her and she jumped as if he had the plague. Without a word, she turned and walked away, and I hoped to hell that Neil's phone could pick up Graham's tears as he went chasing after her.
"Nice stunt, shitface."
I had gotten lucky with Graham. But now JC was here, flanked by Matt and Anthony. Matt and JC were still more than a match for me 1-on-1 and also had the longest history with me. Anthony was more of a newcomer. As such, my plan for him was relatively simple.
"Mr. Jensen. I received your note. As you requested, we did search your locker and did find the weapon you indicated would be there. Would you please come with me?"
Anthony Jensen stared at Mr. Pauls and the security guard who was accompanying him. I had a feeling it was going to take him quite a while to process the fact that he was in trouble, even if he hadn't written the note.
I turned my attention back to JC and Matt. They were shifting their weight uneasily as they looked down at me. Clearly it had dawned on them now that something strange was happening.
"You two assholes have been fucking me over since sixth grade. Today, it ends."
I could see them both check to see that the security guard was gone. A moment later, wicked grins split their faces.
"You're shit of luck, Johnson."
I looked at the figures coming in the door behind them and smiled. They had lost hours ago, and just didn't know it yet. I savored these moments. It was so rare that you got to see a leader realize that what he thought was a victory was actually a stringing defeat - to see their faces, their eyes, register the painful conflict between their expectation and the reality.
I let my backpack slide down my left arm and reached inside with my right. My voice was a whisper. "I am the punishment of God. You have committed great sins, and God has sent you a great punishment as a result."
I pulled out the wet, furry object inside and threw it in JC's face. It bounced off, leaving a red splotch around his right eye, and landed on the floor.
"...the hell?" They both looked down. I could see realization dawning on Matt's face. He breathed, "Mr. Whiskers?" and I could see JC glance at him, then back at me. "You're dead, Johnson!" JC yelled.
That seemed to snap Matt out of it. His horror melted into rage, and he charged at me just as the first officer reached him, grabbing him and holding him back. "Matthew Palmer, you need to come with us."
Matt went from furious to bewildered in a matter of moments. "I told you it was a crime to call in bomb threats to airports!" I yelled.
I'm sure he protested, proclaimed his innocence, but it was no good. It was his phone, his voice. It didn't matter that it hadn't been him.
I wasn't paying attention, anyway. I was staring at JC. It was clearly dawning on him that he was next in line to taste God's wrath. He was right.
"And as for you, JC. I really wish you hadn't left yourself logged in in the computer lab."
His eyes narrowed.
"Those pictures of Matt and Graham and Anthony...I mean, I have nothing against your being gay..."
His fists balled up.
"But you know it's technically child pornography...since they're all underage. If I were you, I'd get a move on to delete it before someone finds it...'cause that's a federal crime, and you're...well, you did just turn 18, right?"
Recognition flickered across his face. He ran his shoulder into me, knocking me down, but didn't stop as he tore off towards the computer lab.
Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to tell him that he had already emailed the administration copies of the pictures. A pity, that.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
*Edit - ran out of time but there are good explanations for everything...honest ;)*
|
"Something's off with Billy" I whispered to Dave.
"no shit, Tom, what gave it away? The mustache or the hair?"
Three days ago Billy was a pudgy kid we played chess with every lunch, people picked on him a lot and last friday, Stu, a guy two grades out senior flipped the chessboard when he was two moves away from winning and then punched him in the face because his girlfriend thought it would be funny, Billy left the school crying that day.
Now, this monday, Billy showed up riding a pony and wearing a felt hat, with his scalp shaved, he also had somehow sprouted a 10 inch long fu-manchu which somehow looked natural on him, which is extra weird seeing as we were all twelve at the time.
During lunch, Billy and I squared off on chess, now, dont get me wrong, he was always good but he just demolished me in 5 minutes, then he called in the Dave, who was one of the regional champions and took his king in 20 moves.
Dave looked at him and asked flat out "Damn Bill, what happened to you?".
Billy looked at him and with an unnaturally gruff voice responded "Don't know, went to the wishing well at the town square and tossed a coin, since then, there's a voice in my head telling me what to do".
"Does it like... tell you to kill people?" I asked.
"Occasionally, but its not hard to dissuade it from it"
Dave looked at him in puzzlement "And the... other stuff?" he said gesturing to Billy's mustache and shaved scalp
"Dunno, woke up with the mustache and my hair was itchy, so I just shaved it, he keeps telling me what to do in chess, has this weird accent, sounds chinese"
I was about to tell billy to see a psychiatrist but I was cut off when Stu walked into the table "hey there faggots" he said with a shit eating grin that only he could muster "hey there little bitchboy" he continued directing the second insult at Billy.
"Fuck off Stu, go ask your girlfriend to finger you" I said, unlike Bill I could probably take on Stu, I was large for my age and I knew my way around a brawl.
"Oh, this little shit has some balls doesn't he?" Stu announced to the whole cafeteria, everyone was looking at that point "lets cut them off, shall we" he said as he whipped out a switchblade.
That changed the playing field, I had to get the hell out of there unless I got stabbed I knew he wasnt bluffing since the sadistic fuck nearly killed a kid last year, I scanned the room and found that the safest bet would be to bolt for the emergency exit, but I would need a distraction for that, I scanned my surroundings again but I was cut off from my concentration when I heard Stu screaming.
It was because of Billy, he had jammed a screwdriver into Stu's tigh.
"AAAAAAAH YOU LITTLE SHIT" he yelled with all the air in his lungs.
Billy stood up on his chair and tackled Stu's neck, causing him to fall down and immediatelly laid down a barrage of punches which made Stu's face look bloated and red.
He seemed like he had just woken from a trance as he looked down at Stu's confused, bleeding face, then thinked for a moment and went trough his rival's pockets and found a wallet, he took out 20 dollars and threw it back "I'll consider this as reparations for friday's incident" he said nonchalantly, it was at this point that Stu's girlfriend ran in screeching and knelt down crying and sobbing on top of him.
Billy sat back down with us then nudged me "Hey Tom, I'm neck deep in shit for this, aren't I?".
"Yep." I answered right away
"Where did you get the screwdriver?" Dave asked as Stu's psychotic girlfriend bawled behind us.
"at home, the voice told me I might need it"
"Dude, he made the first move with the knife, so I dont think police will be bothering you much, but you are absolutely getting detention"
"I don't care, honestly this moment right now feels like the best thing in my life" he sat back on his chair lazily as the voice in his head laughed heartily
| 2018-01-29T15:29:47 | 2018-01-29T14:11:30 | 107 | 18 |
[WP] You are a museum curator with a dark secret. You have entered into a pact with a living painting that devours its viewers. You setup a "private viewing room" and specifically target wealthy and corrupt patrons to be its meals.
|
‘Girl in Yellow Flowers’ is not an especially interesting or technically advanced oil painting, even you can admit that. It sits prettily enough, framed in bronze, among its peers along the walls, created by geniuses. It was placed initially as a foil to its friends, to give the viewer the uncomplicated pleasure of a simple dark-skinned girl bedded in sunflowers, brown eyes staring demurely down and away.
Oh but when you’re in love, you’re in love. You love her naked lips, the curve of her jawline, the faint shape of her skinny body under her plain pale dress. Her plaited hair, strands already coming loose from her repose, is so dear to you that you see them behind your eyelids every night as you drop into sleep.
“What are you dreaming about, lover?” The painting whispers as you come to stand before it, keeping out of the reach of her outstretched hands.
“You, always you,” you reply, wishing you could gather her in your arms and take her mouth, imagining her cool lips parting to reveal a hot velvet tongue. You know your love is one-sided, that she would sooner devour you than kiss you, but you ache with it anyway. The human heart is a strange beast, perhaps even stranger than whatever your love is.
“Then give me something good to eat,” the painting says.
Your love is a greedy creature, fed just last week on an ugly billionaire’s child. You can still smell the stench of old meat wafting from her. In the corner of the painting, hidden by petals, is a child’s bone, mostly white. You will remind your darling to hide it better later.
“I will, my love,” you say, tearing your attention regretfully away from her and to the iPad in your hands, “I promise, you will gorge yourself on the best of men.”
“I tire of your selection,” your love says, causing you to look up in surprise. This is the first you’ve heard of this in the years you have served her.
“Forgive me, I had not noticed your displeasure,” you say, carefully neutral.
A sigh echoes in the empty museum, such a sweet sound still despite everything, “I become bored of the tender meat of the wealthy, too soft and dripping with fat! I long for variety. A grieving man, perhaps, raw and soaked in tears. Or an old woman’s bitter flesh wrapped around brittle bones.”
“Anything, my love, anything,” you say, not understanding but willing to. Desperate to. Your time is running out, say all the best neurosurgeons in the continent. You must give her a feast to last an age.
The next day ‘Girl in Yellow Flowers’ is released into the Louvre for public viewing in the first time in almost a hundred years. People of all demographics flock towards her, fat and thin, large and small.
You grit your teeth against hot jealousy, forced to watch from afar in silence as both the unwashed masses and the Louvre’s sophisticated security system prevent you from your accustomed conversations with your love.
Finally, a quiet moment with her as she is getting ready to be shipped back, a growing number of mysterious disappearances cutting her debut short. You stand as close to her as you dare as she rages about human stupidity, violently upset at her ruined feast.
There are flashes of white amongst the flowers, some more obvious than others. You will remind her to hide them later.
“My love,” you soothe when she finally lets you get a word in, “when all of this dies down, I have prepared a final gift. You will go on a tour so far and long that you will have more to eat than you have ever before. I leave you in the greatest of hands.”
“Leave me?” your love says sharply, you shiver at the banked fury in her voice.
“Regrettably yes, my love,” you say, your voice strong and calm despite your sorrow, “I have few remaining days left in this world. Once the tour was set in motion, I was planning to offer up myself to you as a humble meal. You will be well taken care of following my departure, my team of lawyers will see to it as per my will.”
Your love is silent for a long time, so long that you fear the worst. Stupid. Stupid! You should have waited to the last to tell her, or perhaps died outside of her presence and spared her the annoyance of having to consume an old sick servant as yourself.
“Perhaps you are mistaken,” her voice comes finally, silkily, “I had not given you permission to leave me.”
“I deeply apologize, my love,” you say through your relief, “everything is set in place. My suicide note should contain everything. Tomorrow, my legal team will be informed that I am drowned somewhere that they will never reach.”
“Well then, it is set. Come here to me, my love,” she says, something dark and monstrous in her voice. You shiver again, your mouth dry and full of the taste of fear and love and anticipation. You will leave this world her meal, your bones perhaps a fixture of the painting, as now there will be no one to remind her to hide them away.
You stretch your hand towards her and feel her bear down.
——————
Excerpt from the New York Post, under Art and Reviews:
“Girl in Yellow Flowers” is a stunning masterpiece that is at once simplistic as it is powerful. The piece depicts a dark-skinned girl sprawled out amongst sunflowers, curled around her older lover whose face glows towards her in worshipful adoration, entwined and in love for all eternity.
Follow it on tour to see it for yourself. Dates and venues are below.
|
"Et, Monsieur LePatomy, comment-ca va?"
"I'm not French you nincompoop, I'm English. Just because I have a French sounding last name you think I'm French? It's pronounced Lee-pay-tommy. Lepatomy."
"Alright, Mr. Lee-pay-tommy-"
"Lepatomy, pronounce it right!"
"Lepatomy, as I was saying-"
"Lepatomy! Lepatomy! How hard is it to pronounce one word?"
"Well, Sir-"
"Now you're not even trying. How often must I suffer in the presence of you nincompoops? Morons, the lot of you, they ought to fire the guy who made you curator!"
"Do you want to visit the painting or not Mr.Lepatomy?"
"Well then, why didn't you say so? Hurry up I've got an appointment in ten."
"Right along Mr. Lepatomy-"
"Lepatomy!"
"Yes yes, just down this corridor. I will leave you with the painting, as you have requested."
"Use my name! It's Lepatomy!"
"The next patron is coming in three minutes! Do you want to see the painting Mr. Lepatomy?"
"... Alright, where is it?"
"Right inside this door, Sir."
"Lepatomy. Great, now that's a mighty fine painting I can case. Look at the frame, got to be worth at least thirty thousand grand and what the heck is that but that looks valuable-"
"Finally, that's the last of him. The screams should be starting soon, I'll lock the door. Better straighten up my tie. I wonder if he deserved it?... Ah, the next Patron is here. Hello, Mr. Trump."
"You can call me Donald."
"Well then, Donald, let's hurry up and see the painting, shall we?"
| 2018-07-30T18:12:53 | 2018-07-30T17:12:03 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] Stereotypical 'chosen one' story but the chosen one is a 46 yr old mother of three who ran out of fucks to give five years ago
|
“THAT IS THE ONE! THAT is the ONE WHO CAN SAVE US!” said the man holding his iPhone. And a Wand.
I guess he was a wizard. Yeah, I could see the glow off of him. I always can. Thankfully, most people couldn’t. They just lived their lives. And I’m not sure how the fuck he found me. Tech or magic, it didn’t matter.
Shit I didn’t need on a Tuesday.
Generally, I didn’t need it any day of the week. But Tuesdays tended to suck a bit extra. I started to nope my way out. Quietly. Along the back of the food court. I had to grab Gabe on my way out. He was at that age where he didn’t want to be in the stroller. Coffee in hand, I needed to get him in the stroller, because carrying him, pushing the stroller and avoiding Presto over there. Ugh.
And Not Making Eye Contact.
When someone shouts and points? You’re either looking at them or where they’re pointing. That’s the tendency. It can be helpful during a fight. Or if someone is lying. I was lying. So no, no, no eye contact for me. Eye contact might connect to someone, especially the asshole who was pointing at me.
The lighting changed quite a bit. Despite there being a forecast for a sunny day, the windows outside of the mall darkened. I could feel a pit in my stomach. Or maybe it was just one of the many food intolerances I had from something I ate here.
He must have used a spell to broadcast his voice. Yup, definitely a wizard. I hear his voice next to my ear, like he was speaking directly to me. “It’s a Dragon! I’m on the council. I am Rufus the Valorant, Mage of East Town and you must listen. There is a dragon approaching here and it is beyond my ability to protect you! You need to help!”
Not sure if he meant me, or everyone.
Again, he pointed towards Gabe and myself.
Shit. He definitely knew.
The people who did turn, looked at some kid. Maybe 18? Maybe 20? Tall. Six foot. Good looking too. Standard black hair/blue eyes. If you made a movie, this is who you’d cast as the hero.
Time to get my boy and get out. It’d been two decades since the last dragon showed up. Most people didn’t know, remember or believe. It’s stunning how much people will lie to themselves.
Scooping Gabe, I put him in the stroller and gave him some candy. I hate doing that - unless I have to; as a member of general principle, I won’t use my powers on my family. Too easy to abuse. That’s the problem with power. Sure, defeating a dragon? Easy. Getting your three year old to stop screaming for another snack in the morning at home? Abuse of power.
I slid the candy into his hand. His smile was proof that he was a little shit sometimes and knew he had me over the barrel. I gave him an extra one.
And the crowd was still looking at that Clark Kent kid as I pushed the stroller. Thankfully.
Something must have distracted the Rufus back there and broke his spell.
Really? Rufus? That’s a dogs name, not a Wizard’s name. Mage. Whatever. Too many names is always a sign of weakness. His spell must of collapsed. People were clearing out, but they were surrounding the good looking kid as I pushed by.
Orange. I parked outside of the Orange entrance. Never park near the food court. It’s the worst.
In the lot, people were rushing already causing a traffic jam, despite it being midday on a Tuesday. Fuck, I hate Tuesdays, I hate wizards, and I especially hate dragons.
Especially large green mountain dragons that land at the mall, on a Tuesday. Crushing the outdoor seating area. I don’t think the Panerra umbrellas were covered by insurance.
This was going to be harder than I like, especially while protecting Gabe. His two sisters? We’d practiced, but he was still too young.
I started to open a portal; it’d be the easiest way to get Gabe to safety. And then the dragon spoke.
“Chosen one, please," the dragon said.
Hearing a dragon speak is hard on humans. Ever hear a large cat, a tiger or lion roar? In person - not on YouTube. Maybe in a wildlife preserve, where you could drive your car. The low bass frequencies rumble in your hind brain. Your brain screams PREDATOR.
Well, a dragon is the largest apex predator that you’ll ever meet. Right before he kills you and everyone in the area. The people who were nearby, in their cars or just running all crouched trying to be invisible. They’d need some serious PTSD counseling after just this.
“Wait. Chosen one. We need you. This world is in trouble." There was definte pleading in his voice. He continued "That’s why I, Grydynth, Champion of Dragons, Head of the Mountain Caucus have come to you.” With that, he bent forward. Bowing. I had never seen one bow.
We made eye contact. I shouldn’t have. But I did. Grydynth of the Too Many Capital Letters was telling the truth.
I was definitely going to need more coffee. Shit I didn't need on a Tuesday.
|
"Crysthast Jeriesiel, run faster, she's gaining on us!" Yelled Carlylian to his gnome brother Bogsworthis as he took a moment to look back.
"I'm going as fast as I can, it'd be a lot easier if you carried me" Bogsworthis shouted as he continued to pump his short stubby legs as fast as he could.
"You're too heavy, you'd slow me down."
"That's not true I've lost a lot of weight."
"You still weigh nearly 50 lbs."
"I'm doing my best"
"Stop talking and focus on running." Said Carl growing irritated with the banter as they ran for their lives.
Seeing a dark passage coming ahead Carl quickly turned right, and pulled Bogs in with him.
The person that had been chasing them ran past as Carl held Bogs in his arms with his hand over his mouth.
After a few moments he pulled his hand away and asked in a low whisper "What did you take?"
"This" Bogs said pulling out from his satchel what could best be called a rattle.
"Why would you take that?" Carl asked confused.
"The little person on her back seemed to be really enjoying it" Bogs said.
"Why?" Carl asked.
"Because it does this" Bogs said as he began shaking the rattle with all his might.
Carl as quickly as he could snatched it from his brother but it was already too late, a large looming shadow appeared behind them, Carl's stomach fell.
| 2022-04-13T03:05:06 | 2022-04-12T22:46:58 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] A man is banished to the wilderness for 20 years. Write his diary entries for his first and last days of exile.
|
This is a forbidding planet, full of hostile wildlife, a scorching climate, and uncertain vegetation. I have already scanned through my gifted supplies, boons from my family and friends to aid in my survival through my trial. Though meager, as is customary, I believe they will be enough to get me started here. Hunting and gathering tools, some strong rope, and a few fire stones to ward off the chill. My first nights here will not claim my life.
In truth I do not fear for my ability to survive on this feral world at all, my clan has always been hardy and strong and I am no exception. My concern lies with the true reason for our kind’s forced exile: Communion. My psychic sense have always been… subpar at best, and my father has made no bones about his worry that I will turn out like my brothers, a fierce warrior but unsuited for leadership. He has ruled for 120 cycles and is beginning to show his age, by the time I am allowed to return it will nearly be time for his sending. I desperately wish to make him proud, and allow him to safely pass to the next plane.
I have read the guides given to me by our shamans, on the nature of Communion and how to encourage it. I can clear my mind of thought in a heartbeat, and my physical sense are unparalleled amongst my kin. Preparing for contact is a simple thing, I simply cannot figure out how to extend my mind in greeting to another being’s. Perhaps my time on this world will fix that, forcing me to live on wits and instinct will bring me closer to the creatures here, hopefully enough that I might establish Communion with one of them. I also hope that my will proves strong enough to endure the bear of a feral mind, what few connections I have made with my kind have been intense as is, and that is with both minds having received training. I have heard too many tales of gifted upstarts mentally linking with large and fearsome beasts, only to have their minds brushed aside and dominated by them.
Only time will tell, and time is something I have plenty of. For now I will focus on survival, and possibly even comfort should this planet relinquish its secrets to me quickly. I hear a faint howling on the winds, and soon I will see if I am to be a hunter or prey on this planet.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is time.
I have weathered the harsh environment of this planet for two decades and have emerged its master.
Though nothing here can speak the creatures know this planet as Carnor, and I have learned all I can of this beautiful and savage world.
I still remember the night of my first communion, after five long years of grueling seasons, vicious indigenous creatures, and dangerous fauna. A storm destroyed my camp, I was wounded after fighting a pack of four legged hunters, and I was locked in mortal struggle with the last beast left alive. We both bled from many wounds, our life forces dangerously close to ebbing away, and in my desperation I reached out to a mind that was as hurt and scared as mine.
Communion.
Our bond was… intense. I recall spending several days crawling around on all fours hunting with the beast, nursing our wounds and regaining our strength, before my mind returned to me.
Abrecan became my best companion in the years to follow, showing me the way his kind hunts and gathers. I taught him what I could of logic and reason as well, and though he never developed the capacity for speech he certainly had the ability to display cunning.
My next Communion was with a great two legged beast I call Brutus, after Abrecan and I found him wounded and abandoned by his pack. This Communion was different, an extended hand of mercy and care instead of a frantic gambit for survival. I learned why Communion is so important, and powerful, a skill for my people. It wasn’t just my will that met with Brutus’, but Abrecan’s too. The three of us shared the load of our minds connecting and we all were enhanced by it, learning of each others ways and customs. It was a feeling unlike anything I could even describe.
Here I stand years later, Communed with nearly every creature I come across, linking this world’s wildlife in a strong and secure web of understanding and trust. Hunters still hunt prey, but together we have forged new means of doing so. Creatures bred specifically without being communed, still acting on their base instincts to be hunted and eaten without having the burden of understanding placed on them. We work together to build shelter, cure the sick, and watch over our lands when rival packs wander in. Though I insisted we all remain equals, the creatures of this planet still treat me as Alpha to all, their protector and master, and I take my role extremely seriously.
Ironically I came to this planet to learn to lead, so I might take my father’s crown from him, and I find myself needing to designate an heir of my own. Abrecan has long since passed, but I have decided that Brutus shall take my place as Alpha here. He has mastered Communion alongside me, and understands the importance of the peace and connections we have forged. I look forward to returning soon, to see how Carnor has grown in my absence.
It occurs that these thoughts and stories can be found throughout this diary I have kept, an epic ledger of my growth, adventures, and ultimately my ascension. But I suppose I am simply feeling nostalgic, knowing that this chapter of my life is at a close. I am ready to lead my people now, but I will never forget the savage world that made me who I am.
|
Day 1 John Kryznick
The day is finally upon us. The trial took a lot longer than expected and the appeals really looked like they were going to pan out. "If you're alive in twenty years, we'll find you". That was the last words of the helicopter crewman who pushed me out here nothing but a knife and a lighter. Wherever here is... I've always read that a diary is a good way to release personal thoughts so I guess I'll give it a try. I am fucking angry. I didn't do what they said I did, and Johnson (who I will fucking murder if I ever get a chance) is the one who did this to me. Fuck him. Fuck the old world and everyone in it... It doesn't make me feel any better.
Day 393
If anyone even finds this piece of shit book, i'm sorry. That means you are out here too. The water ran out about a day ago. I've been checking and its all gone. Its funny what you care about, I mean really care about when you don't have what you need to survive. Guess Maslow was right with the Hierarchy. I'm hoping that the rain starts up again tonight. It might, it might not. All I know is that if I don't get some water either today or tomorrow, I might not be writing any more entries. I think sometimes; did they know it would be this hard? Did they know that I would make it this long? There was a rage inside of me that I wish I still had, but its hard to have anything when the waters gone. I'll lie down for a bit then do some more checks. I'm just so tired.
| 2015-05-16T15:55:51 | 2015-05-16T15:43:08 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You have the supernatural ability to never break a promise. You swore to hold this bridge until the reinforcements arrived. But your side lost the war, and reinforcements never came. A promise is a promise, though, even if it's been 300 years.
|
He had been young, when the war started. He had been a boy in a man’s body, believing he’d reached his peak when he was still at the base of his mountain. He had friends; a family, although he had moved out by the time the war began. He had been finding a new family, one of his own creation.
He had found it.
She was sweet, delicate. He remembered her crystal blue eyes, the flow of her auburn hair. He liked her smile. He liked her laugh.
The day the war began, he had held her face in his hands, wondering how her face could look so beautiful when it was so sad.
“I promise you,” he’d said, “I will come back.”
XX
Months had gone by. He’d made friends, lost others. He kept a little picture of the girl he loved in his breast pocket, and every morning he’d kiss her face. Some would tease him. Others understood.
They fought the impossible. Every day they woke up to give their all, and sometimes more. Some days they would win a few hundred metres for their sacrifices. Some days they did not.
They wasted weeks in the same places. They wasted their time, their ammunition, their steel, their blood.
But they did it for the right cause, and so he kept fighting, and so did they.
In another time, he would die for these people. But he could not. He’d promised.
But he couldn’t do anything when they died for him.
XX
Their next battle would be against a force that was six times their size. He remembered staring at the map by his captain, trying to think of how they could survive with as many of their friends as they could.
“We should retreat,” one had suggested. “There’s no way we can last that long on an open field. They’d swallow us, or flank us, or both.”
“No,” the captain had said. “We’re the only ones left between them and the villages. My son is there. I will hold this ground or I will die trying.”
They couldn’t retreat. But they could try their best.
And then he had an idea.
“Here,” he said, pointing at a lone bridge on the map. “It’ll take too long to funnel their forces around us. But I’ve been across here before. The bridge isn’t very wide, it’ll fit three men at most. Our men are worth a dozen of theirs one on one. The numbers will mean nothing if we can funnel them.”
The captain considered it, looking at him, then at the map, and at him again.
“We won’t last forever. Even our best will have to rest.”
“But we can hold them long enough for more to come. We just need to hold the bridge for as long as we can.”
The captain thought. “We give them a lot more ground for this bridge. If we lose, there’s no warning for the village.”
“We won’t lose. We’ll last long enough,” he said. He thought of the picture of the girl he loved in his pocket. It gave him strength. “I promise you,” he told the captain, “We will hold that bridge for as long as we must.”
XX
The morning of the battle arrived. He kissed his picture for luck and stored it away. Nobody poked fun at his actions today. They were scared.
It took him a minute to realise he was scared, too.
He stood at the front of the line holding the bridge, readying his weapon. The two man on either side did the same.
He saw the other army approach the bridge. The first of many stepped foot.
He had made a promise. He would hold his ground.
Days passed, and nights followed. He fought for his men and his people and his cause. Blood began to litter the bridge, first in spurts, and eventually in rivers.
XX
He would not fail.
The others began to be knocked down, one by one. He remembered his captain fighting right by his side, roaring the entire way.
Their eyes met when the captain fell. *Don’t let them take my son,* his lips seemed to say, even though they could no longer move.
He remembered his promise.
He continued to fight.
XX
After four days and three nights, the fighting stopped.
They would be back, eventually. But for now, he was alone.
He slumped in the bodies of his friends and his enemies. He was exhausted. His hands shook with fatigue.
He pulled out his picture from his pocket and stared at the girl he loved until he fell asleep.
XX
Every day, men would come at him from the end of the bridge.
Every day, he held his ground.
XX
The reinforcements would come. They had to. They couldn’t justify losing the villages, the hundreds of families that were housed inside them. There was too much at stake.
He thought of the captain’s son. He wondered what he looked like, how he would react when he heard about his father.
XX
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.
Less people tried to cross the bridge, now. It was quiet.
He preferred the quiet over the blood.
He wondered how long it would take for the reinforcements to come.
XX
A full year passed. There were scarcely anybody that came at him across the bridge anymore, and they were no match for him, not compared to what he had faced and overcome.
He constantly thought of running to the villages and checking their news of the reinforcements. Were they okay? Had they been ambushed? Misdirected?
But the risk was too great. If he left the bridge unguarded, they could come. He couldn’t defeat them if there were too many, not from the angles that the bridge forbade.
He had to stay.
“Soon,” he promised his worn photograph. “I’ll be back soon.”
XX
More time passed. After the third year, he’d lost count.
He knew every inch of his bridge.
One day he pulled out his picture, only to find that it was too faded to interpret.
He wept for a very long time.
XX
More time passed.
Nobody came near the bridge.
He had grown used to it, protective of it. A piece of him was afraid to leave it, now.
He tried to think of the captain’s son. Other days he would think of the girl.
She had a nice smile. He couldn’t recall exactly how it was so, but he had liked her smile.
XX
A very long time had come and gone. The bridge was in shambles. He was wary where he stepped, but a day came where even that was not enough anymore.
When the bridge collapsed, he had nowhere to hold his ground.
All he could do was go back to the village.
He was afraid. He touched his lucky piece of paper, the resin chipped and fading away.
XX
The village was no longer a village. He was lost. He was scared.
Eventually he found an greying man willing to help him. He told the man his story, and the man exclaimed in surprise.
“My family has a story of that!” The man babbled. “One of my ancestors, would’ve been my great-great-grandfather or the like, he fought in that war too!” He swelled in pride. “I still have the old family blade. Treasured it my whole life.”
The man brought him to his home, showing him the prized weapon in his excitement.
“Y’see here?” The man asked, guiding him towards the grip. He’d sobered down, now, a respectful sombreness to those that had been lost. “That’s the captain’s insignia.” He stopped. “We should be grateful for them, when you think about it. It was a long time ago, but without them, neither of us would be alive, would we?”
The man stared down at the blade. “Thanks to him, I got to grow old. Not everybody does.”
He sat and thought besides the man for the rest of the night.
XX
After a while, he kept moving. The war was over, both sides long forgotten. Even their legacy had faded to ashes a long time ago, unable to escape the relentless march that was time.
He reached his old home. The place he wouldn’t started his own, new family. He’d left the girl he’d loved here.
It was only when he reached the porch did he realize he did not remember her name.
|
The creature sat upon a stone, in a giant crack by the sheer cliff. The moon was full, and he knew that meant something, but he couldn't remember what. He stared at the book in his giant hand, at the skull, at the sword, at the heaps of bags spilling gold and silks and spices, that were bathed in the light of the moon, then back at the book. As he squinted at the book, his eyes began to brighten, his face began to soften, he opened the leather binding, and began to read. Slowly at first, as his mind fought to decipher the letters, then more quickly, his eyes alight with the memories that the words conjured.
The book was a diary, the diary of a soldier. The story began fancifully, full of embellishment, the soldier setting off to end the six year war. It spoke of his wife, recounted letters, even one where she confided that she was pregnant, and bid him return home soon to see the birth of their child. It detailed the soldier's first battle, where it became more realistic. The soldier saw comrades die, lost a friend, killed a man. His wife had written that her belly had begun to grow, that she missed him desperately, and that she loved him. Then the story became bleak. The soldier's regiment had come to a bridge, and though there were only a dozen men guarding it, the scouts had reported the terrain was in the defenders' favor, and the day before, the soldier had lost his father's sword. He was reduced to fighting with a farmer's ax, and then came the letter that his wife was near to giving birth, and he would not be there with her for the affair. The soldier and his forty men were looking upon the bridge from a distance. He could not see the dozen men, who were presumably looking back from the squat building just before the ravine. His commander wanted to set the building on fire with arrows and pitch, but the lieutenant warned it may spread to the bridge and spoil their advance, and why take the risk when it was forty against a dozen? It was agreed that they would attack during the night. The moon was full that night... That was the last entry.
The creature's eyes were misty. He remembered the day he'd killed that soldier. That day, he'd been just a man. Well, perhaps not "just," but he'd been a man. Some said the greatest warrior in a hundred years. He and his dozen had slain the forty men that had attacked that bridge, he'd personally slain the commander, and the lieutenant, but all his own comrades had died as well. The soldier, with the wife whom he'd loved, and the child on the way, was the last man the creature had slain that day, and in a pocket in the man's vest the creature had found the diary. He'd read the book that night, then went and found the soldier's sword. He looked at the sword now, then at the skull with sorrow. In the light of the moon, he wondered how he'd forgotten all of this. The creature remembered being a man, then he remembered more dimly his flesh growing hard, like wood. Then he remembered reading the book before, under moons before... hundreds of moons. He looked at the skull, and he was afraid. The creature remembered his flesh growing cold and becoming a burnt reddish color, and even harder, like rusted steel. He remembered reading the book, countless times under countless moons. Remembered killing other men who'd tried to cross that bridge. Other soldiers, and not just soldiers, but peasants and farmers and merchants. The creature looked at the mounds of bags, spilling riches. He thought of all the souls and all the tolls he'd collected, from those who tried to cross his bridge, and felt his heart pounding, his head aching, and thought he might burst. He thought of the soldier's wife, and remembered the soldier's boots clicking on the bridge, as he'd come to die that day, clicking...
He COULD hear a clicking, as of boots on his bridge. The creature snapped back to the present. Someone was trying to cross his bridge! The creature's eyes turned cold and steely. Right now, under this moon, someone was trying to cross HIS bridge! He leapt from his stone perch, dropping the book onto the floor of the ravine, and began furiously climbing the sheer cliff. He couldn't just let them cross the bridge.
| 2019-12-08T01:29:16 | 2019-12-07T23:46:19 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Aliens landed on earth, and they're surprised all humans possess what they think of as a superpower... an ability we always took for granted and consider normal.
|
Voice on communication screen: General Zuulhtraar, we await your progress report, there is word in the ranks that you have retreated.
General Zuulhtraar: Governor, I am composing it as we speak.
Governor: I will await the formal document, but provide me with your progress so far.
General Zuulhtraar: We breached the atmosphere and positioned our military at their densest population centers. Intel was correct: their miniscule planet lapped their dwarf star in this empty dodecant of the galaxy. The richest source of quwljaide in the system and these primates do not even know of its existence.
At first, we crumbled their cities. The natives constructed towers of stone, silica, and metal to protect themselves from the elements. No plasma shielding or orbital defense arrays. Simple elemental combustion propelling expendable armaments - it was reminiscent of our dark ages.
The metropolitan centers fell in a fraction of a cycle, and their military installations collapsed under a barrage of our photon weapons. The invasion was a near flawless victory, we only received on pilot vessel casualty due to a circuit error in the plasma shielding.
These primitives had managed to harness atomic fission technology and destroyed themselves in their own atmosphere. We estimate the population from the initial invasion to have fallen from 7.234 billion to just 23 thousand. We expect no resistance. Our engineers estimate one cycle for the isotopes to stabilize before harvesting quwhljaide. We are traveling to the Wwverstiladgp station to change our ordinance and gather more harvester vessels. By the time we return, the cycle will have passed and we will complete harvest 0.237 cycles quicker than estimated. The sooner we finish in this dodecant, the better.
Governor: Excellent, our colonies in Zaiir would be pleased.
Communications officer: Sir, we have a massive vessel approaching.
General Zuulhtraar: Hail them.
Communications office: Sir, we have silence from the Ardgo and Iilnsk. They are not showing on our scanners either.
Governor: What is going on General?
General Zuulhtraar: Defensive positions!
Governor: What is happening there General?
Communication officer: We just lost communication from Dirrsnakc.
General Zuulhtraar: Shields!
Communication officer: Negative, our defensive generators are being jammed.
General Zuulhtraar: Impossible!
Communication officer: By Fjorqw's might, there are billions of them.
General Zuulhtraar: What?!
Communication officer: On the deep space scanners, we see an armada of ships. We are flanked.
Governor: I demand a response.
Communication officer: We just lost the Grrea and Trenwnartt... We are being hailed.
General Zuulhtraar: On screen! Now! ...human?
Human: Greetings General Zuulhtraar. You don't know how long I've waited to meet you.
General Zuulhtraar: How? You speak our tongue.
Human: Allow me to introduce myself. I am First General Allan Lui Kazakov of the United Earth Alliance.
General Zuulhtraar: We obliterated your species.
General Kazakov: Oh, you did general. Our planet was ravaged but we rebuilt quick. Your invasion was a blessed sin and -
General Zuulhtraar: Impossible! You and what army? You do not even have enough in your species to even form a squadron!
General Kazakov: Funny thing actually, the difference between our species - we repopulate quickly. We have waited nearly five centuries to avenge our ancestors.
General Zuulhtraar: ...
General Kazakov: You see, we captured one of yours. Alive. Your homeworld orbits a massive star doesn't it? One of your years is almost a millenium for us. We learned your technology. We learned your tongue. We learned your weaknesses. We got busy.
General Zuulhtraar: Do not threaten us. We will crush you.
General Kazakov: This is better than I could have ever imagined. We have dispatched many squadrons in search of you. My /tiny/ fleet is just one of a thousand searching for you, all blood thirsty and seeking justice. I am just glad that I have the opportunity, along with my five million crew, to be the one to serve judge, jury, and executioner.
General Zuulhtraar: Your species is a pestilence! A blight to the galaxy!
General Kazakov: ...Interesting last words. Commander, you have my permission to fire.
|
Glar oozed backwards, his adrenal sacks oscillating in surprise. The incredible beings flew towards him at a prodigious speed, propelled by some means Glar couldn't even see. They skittered around in a dance of colors, emitting high-pitched chirping sounds. With hast, he slid back through the bio-lock, down the corridor, and into the computer room for some much needed analysis.
By slowing down the video recordings, Glar was able to understand. These beings had evolved on a much smaller world, after all. On this planet, where night and day passed so quickly it made Glar nauseous, it was no wonder the creatures were so damn fast.
| 2014-11-09T10:10:35 | 2014-11-09T09:14:49 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] You are sentenced to death. After entering the execution room, instead of being executed, you were instead given a new passport and a new identity. Turns out the death sentence had been abolished years ago, and now exists only as a deterrent to violent crime and not actually implemented.
|
I tried to control my breathing, relax my body, change what I could physically to still my racing mind. The trial and jail sentence had robbed me of ten years of my life, one day the police barged into my apartment, cuffed me in front of my wife and children and took me to jail, that had been my life ever since. I later found out that my parents had been mudered. I found out when my lawyer encouraged me to plead guilty to their murder. I had visited them just before they were killed, it was my Dad's 60th birthday and I wanted to spend the day with him. I had been gone for an hour before they were murdered but had no alibi, serves me right to work from home.
My kids were college-aged now but of course they couldn't go, they'd been working since they were eligible, my wife had to spend every cent of her meager wages to pay for my lawyer. At least they wouldn't have to pay for me any more.
The guard said something, he was probably telling me it was time, so I got up and followed him. I'd been a Catholic my whole life but I'd stopped practicing once I sprung the nest, that all changed once I got sentenced to death, of course. I had been religiously rebellious as a kid and I was angry at my parents for instilling me with blind faith, not giving me an option, but I now understood that it was smarter to be stupid when it came to religion. There's no way to know anyways, so you might as well be optimistic and convince yourself that there's something waiting for you beyond the veil, everything in this life has been taken from me so I have to hope for better on the other side.
It changes you, living down the hall from the room you'll die in, knowing that one day you will be forced to go and die exactly when and how they want you to, but you can't go early even if you want to, you're caged like an animal and like an animal you dance. The guards don't care about you, to them I am without thought, incapable of being pitied. I did kill my own parents, at least in the eyes of the law.
It made me so angry at first, the unfairness of it all. The whole legal system was corrupt, run by the jew lawyers and the jew judges. My parents had been trying to buy a house down south but their credit was bad and they couldn't actually sell their lavish house until they had a place to live and since they were so goddamn stubborn they wouldn't accept my invitations to let them stay at my place, to help them even a little, they had to go through a loan shark. The jew probably offed them after the housing market crashed and it became clear he wasn't going to get his money back.
It made me angry at first, but after I accepted my death I learned to forgive, I see myself as a martyr, as persecuted. It's probably the only way I'd get into heaven anyways. I pull my hands as far from one another as I can, I feel the course, splintered wood on my hands and I lean forward, carrying the cross upon my shoulders. The guards look back at me and laugh, just another one who went insane on death row, forgive them Father, they have no fucking idea what they do.
Then it all crumbles, my sublimity turns to confusion as I come crashing back down to earth in sheer puzzlement, but not really, I know exactly what's going on but I think I hope that if I refuse to accept what's in front of me that maybe it will change. The whole time that the warden hands me the papers, then angrily and gruffly explains my situation, I can't stop my hands from feeling the area around my neck, I know there is a noose there and I just want to have my incident at owl creek already.
....
It hits me in the car. I realize that I have a second chance, whatever the fuck that means. I had been so resigned to my unrighteous demise that part of me was killed of me back in that room, more of me was blown away when the warden handed me my identification than would have been had he put a bullet through my brain. They should not be giving me this chance, even if they're sending me to Germany without hope of re-entry to the U.S. I will get back at them someday. I will see my children again, I will hug them and tell them how much I love them, that they're special to me, I will spend the night with my wife again. I will re enter America even if I have to do it with an army at my behest, and I will scourge America and the rest of the world of those who wronged me. I hear the agent assigned to me say that the person whose life I was being assigned had been killed by some sniper in the great war, but there had never been anyone to miss him, so I was going to assume his life 12 years later. I didn't care, I didn't care about any of that, all I cared about was my revenge, it filled me with euphoria and single-minded purpose. On the way over I conceived of a plan and prepared for a new life. Finally, I was ready to ready to live again, I looked down and read the name on the passport: **Adolf** **Hitler**.
^Bum^bum^bum
|
"Wait. The lethal injections where the family and the lawyers view, what is that?"
"Oh that? we just get one of the staff that has the approximate height, weight, and skin tone, put a hood on them, and inject them with some harmless saline. No one is wiser."
"I see. So, um, I'm free to go?"
"Anywhere but the United States of America."
"I'm a violent criminal. What happens if I decide to go on a killing spree?"
"Not our problem. However, I doubt the country you are residing in will have such a gracious punishment plan."
"Gotcha. Do I get any money?"
"No."
"How am I supposed to restart my life with no money?"
"Not my problem, but remember, you're not the first person to be in this situation, and others have done fine. Some of them have actually done very well for themselves actually."
"I don't believe you."
"Have you ever heard of Madonna?"
"What? the singer? I don't believe you"
"Why do you think she lives exclusively in England?"
"Her husband is that famous director"
"Cover story"
"Then why is her name still madonna?"
"Are you dumb? you think Madonna is her real name? What's her real name?"
"I don't remember..."
"Then you'll have no idea what her new name is"
"But we still know her as Madonna... and why don't I know what her crime was?"
"You ask too many questions."
| 2014-11-20T07:50:48 | 2014-11-20T07:05:48 | 114 | 22 |
[WP] Suddenly, you hear alarms go off in the bank as a group of masked men start shouting at everyone to get on the ground. You grip your backpack filled with money tighter and hope they don't learn you already robbed this place blind with no one noticing.
|
Brandon Filch clutched his backpack to his chest. Only a little farther and he would be free. It had worked. His plan had worked. Months spent pouring over every single detail. Countless hours of research and preparation. And he had done it, well, not quite. All he had to do now was walk out of the bank.
Act natural. He took a deep breath and slung his backpack over his shoulder. As he stepped out of the office his tension melted away. People were lined up in front of the tellers, moving to and fro occupied in their own little world and not paying any attention to Brandon. Business as usual.
He smirked as he approached the door and looked back at the building that had set him up for life. He looked at the countless flaws in their security, the government officials signing off on the new shipment of bills and all the people depositing their money in one easy to rob place.
A gunshot. Brandon was pushed to the floor. Blood draining from his face as he came even with the now lifeless eyes of a security guard, whose hand was still holding his pistol.
Carla Verden looked down at the scrawny kid, contempt written all over her face. “Everybody on the ground” she yelled, punctuating her statement with several more shots into the guard. “Nobody do anything sudden, or else” All eyes were drawn to the growing puddle of blood. “This is what you might call a robbery. So do as we say and only some of you will get hurt.”
Brandon cursed under his breath. Hunched in the corner of the room they had been stuffed in he desperately tried to think of a plan. Make a run for the front door? No. It was too late for that, he’d get shot before he even made it ten feet. Roof? Not unless he wanted to end up in police custody with two broken ankles. Basement it was. There were old tunnels running underneath the bank, but they had been sealed of centuries ago. He also needed to get out before they managed to open the vault. He guessed he at most 30 minutes. He’d need help.
Brandon stood up and approached the man guarding them. “S..sir? Could I speak to your boss?” The man raised his gun and the room took a collective breath. “I.I..I have information that could help you. As long as you don’t hurt anyone.”
The guard scoffed “How about I make you talk instead.” He grabbed Bradon by the collar and shoved him out of the room.
Brandon spat blood out of his mouth and looked across the desk at Carla. She was reclined with her feet propped up on a nameplate that read Regional Manager.
“Did you have to hit him?” she asked.
“He had a smug look on his face.”
“God forbid someone look at you. Close the door behind you” The sound of drilling became muffled as the guard slammed the door.
“So what’s this amazing information.” asked Carla as she lit a cigarette.
“I don’t think you should be smoking in here” said Brandon.
Carla laughed before taking a long drag. “Spit it out or rejoin all the little people praying that they get home to their families.”
“I’m an architect. There are tunnels beneath the bank you can use to escape”
Carla looked at him with a hard gaze“But...”
“It’s walled off. You’d need explosives to get through.” Brandon glanced down only in part faking his nervous behavior. If he wanted any chance of getting out of here she needed to take the bait.
Carla leaned back in her chair with smile on her face “And I take it I need you to point out exactly where to place my explosives”
Carla got up and opened the door. “George” she yelled. The man who had escorted Brandon over here quickly appeared. “Get the explosives. I’ve got a job for you”
Brandon watched as George finished placing the last of the explosives. He stood up and clapped his hands together.
“All done. You sure this is the right place?” He asked Brandon.
“Absolutely” said Brandon as he glanced at the clock. 5 minutes to go. “Could you get me my water out of my backpack right there.” Brandon gestured to his backpack leaning against the basement wall.
“Water sounds good. I think I’ll have some.” said George as he bent down to open the bag.
“What the-” Brandon kicked George to the ground, lunging for the rifle that George had propped against the wall. Brandon face planted into the ground as he felt an iron grip on his ankle. Brandon desperately reached for the rifle as he was dragged backwards.
George got on top of Brandon and started mercilessly punching him in the face. “You thought you could steal, from under OUR noses” Brandon felt the bones in his face crunch.
Brandon grabbed at George’s armored vest as George laughed at his sad attempts. “You just made the last mistake of your life.” Brandon spat blood into George’ face. “Hopefully not” He said as he found what he was grabbing for.
When the smoke cleared Brandon dragged his body out of the rubble. He grabbed his backpack with what money was left in it and began to walk down the tunnel, Not hearing the shouts of confusion from above over the ringing in his ears.
|
Am I worried? I'm not worried. I'm the best bank robber there is.
You see those guys over there? They're a bunch of really bad guys. They come in here with guns and masks. Way to announce your intentions guys. Can you say jail time?
They probably knew that I was coming here and tried to beat me to it. That happens to me a lot. I come around with a great idea, and everyone else tries to steal it from me and take the credit. No way guys, not this time. I've got the money and I'm getting out.
You want to know the trick? You want to know my secret? I make it out of banks all the time, and I never get caught. You want to know why?
Okay I'm going to tell you. Listen real close, and you might learn something America. When you've got something they want, the bankers just give the money away. All I got to do is sign a few papers. They don't even make me read it! Can you believe it? I mean I work hard for everything I've got, but these people are just throwing it willy-nilly, up in the air.
But hey, I guess that's why these poor slums are always going to be robbing banks and getting in trouble, but not me. Look at them freaking out, waving their guns all over the place. That's why they'll always be a bunch of poor criminals, while I made it all the way to being the president.
| 2017-06-28T15:37:28 | 2017-06-28T14:06:34 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] A nerdy kid discovers that magic spells work exactly like a computer programming language.
There are some amazing stories here. Thank you all for responding. Also thanks to u/pandizlle who informed me that there is a book dealing with this very concept. It's called "Wizard's Bane" by Rick Cook.
|
The Council of Casters was in an uproar.
The Head Caster, seated at the head of the star-shaped desk had his brows furrowed, three wisps to his left and right holding up the records of the student, neatly arranged in a folder, and an iPhone, showing a video of the caster's prowess.
The student, an 18-year old, geeky looking teen, was seen standing in front of an old telephone on a teachers desk. He raised his index finger, as if about to ask a question. He wagged and waved his fingers, as if he was writing.
"After viewing the video countless times, i am sure he wrote Public... Static... Void... Teleport," said Caster Oakley, the professor of the student, pausing between the words that seemed to be random and nonsensical.
On screen, the telephone disappeared from the desk and the classroom burst into applause.
"His spell was able to teleport the telephone from the classroom desk to the flagpole in the quadrangle, pretty much seven rooms away," narrated Caster Oakley." Such feats normally would take at least 13 years!"
The Council murmed in agreement.
"But that's not the most amazing of his feats," said Oakley.
The Head Caster raised an eyebrow and nodded, imploring him to continue.
"See the next video, sire," Oakley said.
The Head Caster stared at the iPhone for a moment, brows furrowing once again. The iPhone started to shake a bit because of the wisps, as if fingers were fumbling with the iPhone, trying to look for buttons.
The Council giggled in amusement, save for the Head Caster, who let out a huff of frustration.
Oakley barely stifled his laughter, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Allow me, sir," he beckoned. He held his fingers as it about to snap, but instead tapped once in the air with his index, and once with his middle finger, as if tapping on the corresponding video.
"Dare i ask: how had you teleported the telephone that far, that quickly?" asked Oakley on the recording.
"I had a chat with him after class," Oakley said. "He does not have an idea as to how much promise he has shown."
The student shrugged. "It's... Kinda hard to explain, sir."
"Try me," replied Oakley.
The student hesitated, eyes looking down, head topped sideways, as if juggling the decision of whether or not he is to tell."
"Um... Programming, sir."
The Council murmed in surprise. Oakley noted how quickly the Head Caster's brows shot up.
"The goal of the spell was to transport the telephone from point A, the table, to point B, the flagpole. In my mind's eye, i saw the Path of magic - like neon lines running from one point to infinitely other points... The cabinet, the next classroom's desk... Even your head, sir."
"So i thought of this thing in programming called Breadth First Search. In my mind's eye i evaluated the pathlines before casting the spell than simply directing the object to move. Actually it wasn't even me... Magic found it, sir. I only had to be given the appropriate commands and instructions."
The Council burst into clamor once again.
Oakley cleared his throat to silence the council. "This is only of his feats. He demonstrated and explained even more of his feats."
He opened the Photos app of the iPhone with more flicks, taps, and wags of his finger.
"He perfectly charged this ball of aura by - in his words - iteratively incrementing the magical variable that contained the magic."
He wagged his finger, as if going to the next image on an iPhone.
"He drew this beautifully symmetric firework using - again, in his words - iteratively getting sines of the center and random radii. He said he used something called a for loop."
Another wag of the finger.
"In the class, he was able to maintain this ball of fire. He said he used something called a while loop."
Another wag of his finger.
"He managed to control this life-sized mannequin using only magic. He only said he did Object-oriented than procedural, making each part of the mannequin an object. I consulted google and Object Oriented was a programming paradigm."
He pushed down an imaginary lever with his middle finger and ring finger, turning off the iPhone.
"He programmed, my fellow Councilmembers. Modernity has knocked at magic's door, in the most unexpected way. We may have a child more advanced than most of us here!"
The Council, afraid of losing their Council positions, burst into uproar once again.
"I never liked technology," grumbled the Head Caster, looking sadly at his Council Pin, which soon might have to be passed on.
|
"Alan, what is it?"
"It's a tape - an infinite tape. It was the only thing I didn't have!"
"For your machine? The Universal Thingammabob."
"Yes. I have now effectively captured the essence of algorithms."
Alan smiled, waving his hands up and down.
"This is going to change everything."
The others looked at him, a few shaking their heads before as one they turned and walked out the room. It was obvious that Alan had lost his mind.
They were only thankful it wasn't as bad as Tim's idea: a world wide web thing which wasn't a spiders web - which would be sensible, if creepy - but a metaphorical construct. Why whoever would want that? This at least, with a few slight changes, could work quite well in the loo.
| 2014-08-04T05:03:48 | 2014-08-04T04:38:12 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch
|
"In Act 1, scene 3 of Macbeth, we are finally introduced to our main character. This is shown through various supernatural elements..."
Professor Yates continued with his lecture as I doodled chibi dinosaurs and Harry Potter stick figures in the margins of my notebook. Stifling a yawn, I jotted down a quick synopsis of "Jacobean witchcraft" and double checked that my tape recorder had full batteries before smooshing my chin into my hands. My thoughts wandered to the theater cast party I had attended last night for my roommate. I wasn't even in the play, or a theater major, yet I attended all the parties with her and never failed to regret it the next morning. I added a stick figure of my roommate being eaten by the chibi dinosaur to my notes.
A snort sounded to my right and I looked over to see my friend Daniel staring down at his desk. A fading smile had barely begun to disappear as I glanced at him, but he turned his head away and scribbled on his paper some more. I thought about throwing something at him to make him come sit next to me, but I didn't want to interrupt the professor, who was not known for his leniency. Instead, I turned back to my own notes and let my mind wander.
I wondered if "Macbeth" had ever dealt with a hangover before. Probably not. I think he was the theater roommate in this example, and poor Banquo was the tagalong who didn't know that a "Screwdriver" was more vodka than orange juice. No wonder he came back to haunt Macbeth.
I wondered what part I would be cast as if I ever did a production of "Macbeth." I would want to be Lady Macbeth, but with my luck I'd be the drunk porter. I think I could bring some life to it though. Maybe in a "modern" retelling, I'd just come out in a fluffy pink bathrobe with some whiskey.
I wondered, as I often do, if anyone would find these thoughts strange, or if everyone goes on a tangent when they let their mind free. Maybe there was a mind reader who I should probably apologize to for sending them so many distracting daydreams?
Whenever I think this question, I normally can't prevent myself from conjuring up pornographic images and random inappropriate thoughts. I think it's a nervous reaction. It's like the moment I think, "Okay, if there's a mind reader, best not imagine a dick pic", and then automatically my mind is filled with dirty images. I often formally apologize in my head to anyone who may be able to read minds, just in case.
Today though, right before the first risque image could flit across my imagination, I noticed Daniel again. He had jumped in his seat a bit and seemed to go a little pale when I thought the words "mind reader." As soon as I looked over, he shifted uncomfortably.
Curiosity and boredom made me think, "Daniel?" He did not look over and seemed concentrated on his notes. I squinted my eyes and immediately imagined our professor naked. Daniel's head shot up and looked over at me as my jaw dropped. His eyes widened to match mine and he looked back down at his table.
*Oh no you don't.* I thought. *Don't you dare think you are getting away with this. Look back here right now.* I continued to stare him down and began to conjure up more images of our professor in... interesting positions. Finally, Daniel looked over at me and mouthed, "stop."
My mind fizzled for a second and then rebooted. *What the fuck!?* Was the only coherent thought I could manage. Daniel shrugged and managed a small wince.
*You fucking **read minds**??*
He shrugged.
*For how long??*
He shrugged again.
*Can anyone else do that?* My eyes swung wildly around and I shoved down the constant nervous reaction to suddenly imagine everyone naked. Daniel smiled a little and a thought occurred to me. He froze. I froze. He looked up and I saw his cheeks begin to turn pink. I could hear my heart in my ears.
*So you knew...?*
Gradually, Daniel gave a tiny nod.
*You son of a --*
"Tatianna, what do you think?"
My head jerked up to see Professor Yates staring at me over his bespectacled nose.
"Uhh." I looked around and saw the class looking at me expectantly. The board gave no clues as to what had just been discussed and the Professor's silent air of expectation did nothing to help me. I glanced over at Daniel to see him casually flip a page of the play.
*Snarky son of a--*
"Mr. Collins, would you like to assist Ms. Kim as she seems to have lost her tongue?"
I grimaced and glared at Daniel, who didn't bother looking up from the play. There's no way he heard the question either. It was his fault I missed it anyway.
"Macbeth's mental health in the play is a represented by a slow and steady mental decline. We see in the beginning that the character shows symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which gradually accumulate into a type of paranoid schizophrenia, as evidenced through his hallucinations and the line "my mind is full of scorpions." This relates to the current state of his mental health and is a line I personally can connect with."
Professor Yates looked at Daniel with admiration and nodded approvingly. "Well done, Mr. Collins. I look forward to hearing more about your thoughts on this matter. Ms. Kim has a lot she could learn from you." He raised an eyebrow at me before turning to torture another student.
I shot daggers at Daniel.
*You have never read a word of Macbeth in your life. How the hell did you do that?*
He grinned and tapped at his head. My mouth opened in indignation and I turned back to my notes, adding scribbles of Daniel being consumed by numerous reptiles.
*After class, we need to talk.* Was the last thought I sent his way.
Edit: Fixed a story flaw
|
She’s the one with the ghosts in her head. You watch her out of the corner of your eye.
She’s tapping a pencil against her bottom lip, the silhouette around her head coloured dark red in concentration. Every now and again, the red flickers and shifts and ivory flecks the crimson. It could be the math problem on the whiteboard— it could be something else.
You can’t _read_ thoughts, exactly, but you can taste the colours that float around the heads of people you look at. Nathan’s colours are blue; he’s bored out of his mind. Felicia’s are purple— math is the furthest thing on her mind. Yours are... pulsing; thudding like a blotted orange heartbeat.
They’d mix well with hers, the nectarine sunset and the vermillion sunrise— you could be poetry.
She’s looking at you and you hold her stare. Something flickers within the red— not white or purple or yellow, but the silver of piqued interest.
She’s beautiful. You can’t look away.
There’s no explaining the way she aligns all the angles with the sunlight; how the vibrations and soundwaves hum synchronised in her presence. She is rhythm and syncopation— she is the silence and the noise in your head.
You’re only young; you’ve so much to learn. You may not know thermonuclear dynamics— but you can instinctively recognise the fission of furious atoms that collide within your chest.
She’s beautiful. You know this like nothing else.
You look away. She buzzes in your peripheral, but you can only taste her colours and not their context.
You’re halfway through the next problem, dark red like she is, when petrichor floods your mouth.
You gag (_how can you not?_) and feel it enter your bloodstream. It’s black and grey and white, endless streams of foul-tasting, tar-coated monochrome. You try to swallow, try to cough it away; but her taste lingers.
Her colours are shifting. You can’t look away. Crimson to gold to cyan to crimson. Police lights; bright white. You close your eyes but she lingers.
She’s beautiful.
She’s burning up your brain.
| 2017-11-13T20:08:12 | 2017-11-13T19:52:41 | 401 | 18 |
[WP] For decades, humans have been using a mineral mined off-planet that accelerates healing. Today you discover the truth: it’s not a mineral, but a parasitic alien spore. The more damage your body sustains, the more it replaces your damaged DNA with its own.
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The first time I ever used my ration of Undoxicone was when I was 6 years old. I had fallen between the mag-rails as I was getting on the Icarus line to the state school. To get my leg out without delaying the train, mechanics broke my fibula in 3 places after tranquilizing me. The doctors said it was use my ration- along with two additional rations, or never walk again. My mother and sister gave theirs up for me, even though my mom's was the only thing that seemed to keep her siv-lung at bay, given to her by a childhood spent near the spaceports, inhaling hydrazine fumes from thrusters and refineries. Luckily, my father had made enough that cycle to get mother a half ration, so my leg didn't hurt her too bad, or worse.
Since then, I've used the ration for little things here and there, I've been lucky not to have had any machinery incidents or chemical burns, which are common at the drydock, monitoring and repairing maintenance drones. I've always found the act of fixing a fixer to be a fulfilling sort of irony, and I consider myself lucky to have a job to keep my hands busy and rough, with more in my pocket and belly than the ones on basic income.
Sadly, even Undoxicone couldn't make my mother live forever. She was recycled last week, just a few months after her 117th cycle, fairly young even for one with sivlung. The Department of Restoration says that Undoxicone has no known half-life, and to reduce to tax burden, last century they started offering rebates to recycle the dead and harvest the Undoxicone in their DNA and Organs. If a person is healthy enough at the time of their death, you even get a bonus for their bone marrow and salvaged organs, which are used in transplants, another form of meeting Undoxicone demand.
Growing up, I only ever saw a real plant in person once; a cherry blossom bonsai, given to my mother by a wealthy courtier in her younger years. Their relationship withered, never meant to last, but the bonsai lives with me now. To my knowledge, it never made father jealous. I'd been thinking a lot about how to honor mother's life, her sacrifices for me, and I decided to get a panoramic electroink body art of a cherry blossom tree, enveloping my entire torso, front and back. I'd saved up three cycles of bonuses and was finally ready to get it done, including the three weeks of recovery. It took two doses of Undoxicone as well.
When I woke up from the induced stasis, I was very impressed with the artist's work. Small birds flitted from branch to branch just underneath my skin, and the blossoms shimmered, shook, and floated down my body before fading away. The pain was enormous, but the tears in my eyes as I stared at the mirror weren't from the burning in my skin. It was better than I had expected, and I almost hesistated to take the Undoxicone, but the artist insisted that if I didn't, there was a chance my body would reject the electroink and I would be dead without even realising.
After the second dose, I started seeing things every now and then. It looked like a woman, standing in doorways far away, or just over my shoulder, right beyond where my eyes could have seen. I brushed it off as lack of sleep from double shifts in the drydocks, but the whispers made me second guess myself. What were they trying to tell me? I did my best to ignore the visions and the sounds, which always seemed to invade my senses at their most stimulated levels. The whispers hid under loud music and the scream of a laserweld, but when the music was turned down, or the beam suspended, there was no whisper to be heard, just an unsettling silence. I never saw the woman in my dreams, or when I was alone, only in the moments I knew I could not possibly be imagining something. Now and then, her lips would move, and the whisper would grow louder. What was wrong with her eyes? What was she trying to say to me? Some weeks I could ignore it all. Other weeks it would be incessant, almost like my unconscious brain was consumed by these hallucinations. I thought maybe I was cracking up. It happened a lot in the megacities, and people seemed to have a way of... wandering off. One morning, I looked in the mirror and saw something strange in my eyes. They seemed to be moving, writhing. I blinked and it was gone, but my electroink seemed to be glowing, and getting hot. My leg did too, in three spots. I was definitely cracking up. I ran to work, desperate for a distraction from the real? Imagined? Both? Changes going on underneath my skin. Why were the other technicians looking at me funny? The woman walked towards me. She mouthed those words again. What was she saying?
Return?
Return where?
Her eyes glowed and moved, like a living mass, a life unto themselves, something unholy. Her veins pulsed with a soft, almost imperceptable glow. I looked to my arms and thought maybe I saw the same glow.
Return to mother, the whisper said.
Return to me.
We need you.
You belong with Us.
The woman beckoned, and without wanting to, my legs followed her.
What is happening?
You are returning.
I don't want to go.
You must return.
I watched, trapped behind my own eyes.
I can't leave. Please don't make me leave.
You belong with Us. You will return. You will become Us.
|
"Oh, no" I said as alarms blared and top researchers hurried to find a cure. News channels all over the world urge people to stop using the now illegal 'mineral'. The United World Government is sending out hundreds of teams to destroy any trace of the it, using everything at their disposal.
As the world was shutting down, an alien species struck us in our darkest hour. The aliens, called the Sl'eian derived their power from the so called 'minerals'. And were utterly disgusted by humanity's use of it. Curious onlookers saw huge fleets of spacecraft hovering in low earth orbit, signalling the beginning of the end.
Huge laser beams struck the earth, killing many lives in the process. The United World Government set out to curb this alien threat. Nuclear weapons, atomic bombs and weapons too cruel to name were fired by humanity daily.
In retaliation, the Sl'eian fired Plasma lasers, powered from Dyson Spheres harvesting the power of suns. As entire pieces of land melted away and both sides sustained uncountable losses, the war still went on.
After four years, it became clear who the victor is: the Sl'eian. Only a few countries were standing, slowly but surely withering away. Humanity fought hard, humanity did everything they could, but to no avail. As the earth was dying, the Sl'eian turned it into a mining colony, harvesting and gathering whatever that's left.
And just like that, after almost 300 000 years of history, Homo Sapiens, the last member of the genus Homo, withered away. And so, the final member of a once proud family tree, went extinct.
End.
This is my first writing prompt! I wrote this using all my experience writing essays in school. (Yay, school is finally useful!) I hope you enjoyed it! :)
| 2020-07-30T22:22:11 | 2020-07-30T22:01:24 | 52 | 14 |
[WP] Mynans (aliens) think humans are cute. But they're not simple pets and you are sick of hearing about some poor little human dying because their owner didn't care for them properly. You are going to write a book about the care and maintenance of humans. Maybe then owners will know what to do.
|
Ok,I'm doing it. I am SICK of mynan always killing their pet humans, sick of it. For goodness sake it's not that hard to keep a human alive. But apparently, for some mynan it is, so here's my book, Human care for Dummies.
1) They breathe air. Oxygen. Hydrogen. Gases. *Not* water, not slime and definately not coconut milk. (???) Our planet is covered in air, *we* breathe air how can you mess this one up.
2) They need to eat. Duh. Do not put them in the sun and occasionally water them like the exotic plants called 'suhnfloers'. They eat cooked animal flesh and *some specific plants*- not all plants. some plants kill them. See Jusqa's book *What to feed a human* for more information on this.
3) They work best with other humans as company! This one isn't so obvious, so I will give you a break. Without other humans, the human will likely contact a disease know as 'Deepreshion'. This Deepreshion may occur even if you do have other humans, and may lead to death if not properly looked after. If you suspect your human has Deepreshion or any other disease, take it to the Vet. The Vet may give pills or recommend a change in environment, which leads to the next point.
3) Environment. For the love of Tyrona, do not keep your human in a tiny cage. Get a proper enclosure, or, better, let it roam about. They need:
A soft dark place to sleep. The bedding should be changed every 4-7 days. Don't just hose it down.
A place to wash, like a water fountain.
A private place. You will need to make sure that the human knows they have a safe place, where they can retreat if needed and know they will not be disturbed. They also sometimes may sleep in the private place.
A specific food area. You will want to train your human to ask for food at specific intervals during the day. This will make sure they get fed enough. If the human starts to get a bit on the pudgy side, reduce the food served. If the human is too skinny, make the servings larger. It is recommended to take the human to the Vet every hunaf to make sure that it is eating a proper amount.
4) Keep it safe from other pets! Humans and other pets do not always mix. Always make sure that your human gets along with your other pets before leaving them alone together. Especially do not leave it alone with any large flesheater animals, as it might eat the human.
5) This is a bit of a delicate topic. As a result of their unique reproductive system, female humans will...leak their bodily fluids...every hunaf. They may become moody or tired. It is recommended to give female humans extra choc treats during this time. Warming up heat-containing sacks for the humans also seems to help during this time.
6) Humans mainly breed only if the male and the female actually want a cub. If there are signs of repetitive breeding, isolate the humans and take them to the Vet. You probably will not have to neuter them, since they are responsible breeders, but if it shows signs of getting out of control, it is a safe and viable option.
7) Cubs. If a female human's stomach begins to swell, it may be growing cubs inside. This is normal and you normally do not have to cut the cubs out. Humans also usually produce only One cub at a time and the incubation period is approximately 9 hunafs. When the human begins to show signs of distress, take her to the Vet immediately for the safest birth. The cub or human or both may die in the process, unfortunately.
8) Coverings. The humans will want coverings for their bodies. They do not like not having coverings. The female humans will need specially fit undercoverings. The best way to make sure that your human gets well fitted coverings is to take it to a Dyuna. The Dyuna will measure the humans and select a size of coverings and undercoverings that will fit that human the best. Sizes will change overtime, especially in cubs. If the coverings don't fit correctly, or the feel of the material of the coverings is to the human's disliking, the human will not be happy.
The humans also will require bed-coverings, special soft coverings to wear to sleep. They may also like foot, hat and even neck coverings. Especially in colder seasons.
9) When a human gets hurt, a red liquid will flow out of them, like our blue fyanto. Unlike fyunto, it will not always stop on its own. Humans should have access to some long strips of clean covering to bind up the wound. They will usually do this themselves, handily. They may also wash the would with water.
If the skin is not broken, a brooz will form. a brooz is when it bleeds, but doesn't break through the skin. The human will be tender here, so do not touch a human on a wound or brooz, ever.
If a human seems to be in serious pain, it may have broken a bone. Take it to the Vet immediately, carrying it in the carrier container carefully. Do not just chuck it in your covering-container and jog to the Vet, this will mean great pain and suffering and possible death for the human.
10) You will need to periodically snip a humans Nails and Hair. It is recommended you get a harfiya to do it, as they are experienced at it and since if it is done incorrectly, the human will experience pain.
11) Humans will wash themselves most of the time, if the have access to water and cleansing sand. Do not dunk them in the water. Ever. You will lose their trust.
And that is my book. I may have to write another, as mynan find new ways to mistreat the poor humans. I have currently rescued over 240 humans from abusive households and will rescue many more over my lifeline. Take good care of your humans.
|
The Human Handbook - By Zeek Erhlrk
So you've chosen your Non Pet Human (NPH) family, and they're expecting. Any day now, your pet will be born, and you're ready to embark on the journey of pet ownership. Many Mynans choose to self insert into the pets life by assuming the identity of a family member, loved one, or friend - and while this is in many cases *fine*, it's also risky, and requires a greater deal of experience. If you're a first time owner, consider observing and nurturing your pet from a distance and inserting yourself into its' life only when necessary, such as an emotional, or Lord Dyzzi forbid, a life-threatening emergency. While NPH's kill each other all the time, it's your job to make sure your pet navigates safely through the minefield that is humanity and achieves old age.
When you do insert yourself into your pets' life, remember to wipe the memory of the vessel you used. Though our more experienced owners have managed to discredit and ridicule these 'UFO' conspiracy theorist NPH's, we don't need that kind of attention, and it's so easily avoided by just using your synapse reset tool. Don't be lazy, be diligent! Your pets happiness depends on it.
Some pet owners opt to have their pet mate with another pet, and observe together with a Mynan fellow. In these cases, remember to sign a EPJO §4 contract. The Earth Pet Joint Observation contract ensures that in a dispute, you're entitled to overrule your Mynan fellow in the event that you disagree on how to care for your own pet. Remember that your Mynan brother may do the same for their pet, regardless of how it affects *your* pet. An example of this may be divorce.
Always strive to achieve happiness and fulfillment for your pet. While humans tend to value money and power, this isn't necessary the criteria for having a happy and well adjusted pet. The ultimate endgame is having your pet die of old age, surrounded by loved ones, with minimal regrets and injuries. Such a pet carries a more valuable soul for harvest. In the hopes of restoring the soul quality we Mynans once prided ourself on, I hope you read this handbook and take it to heart.
Zeek Erhlrk, Human Specialist, Soul Harvest Overseer Earth Division
| 2021-05-23T07:28:13 | 2021-05-23T07:23:30 | 163 | 69 |
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history.
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I’ve lived a thousand, long years. Give or take a few.
There was a famine at one point, and I lost track of exactly how much time passed during all of the commotion. That, and having a couple different calendar systems traded in and out of fashion makes it impossible for me to be absolutely sure.
“Excuse me, Mr. Harris?”
My eyes refocus, and turn to the young man in the second row of desks, who had said my name.
Damn it. I’d been zoning out again. I hadn’t even realized that they had already filed into the room, and taken their seats.
“Yes, John?” I answer.
He shifts slightly in his seat, and then gestures to the clock on the wall. “It’s time for class to begin, right?”
I turn, and look up at the clock myself. I put as much of a smile on my face as I can manage, as I turn back around to face my class. “Yes, you’re quite right. It’s time to start.”
In my heart, I know I should be complimented that these kids actually want me to teach. As much as the other teachers complain in the lounge during our lunch hour, I know that it’s a rare and covetable thing.
But having lived through so many of the events that I often discuss with my history class gives me an edge, I suppose. When I teach, I can see their eyes light up. I bring it alive for them, simply by being able to describe it as though I had been there. And, in many cases, I had been.
So many wonders, and so many horrors. Invention, and blood. Beauty, and death. Jarring and digging into me. All piled on top of one another in my head and heart. Room agonizingly made for things that were never meant to all fit.
I shake my head again slightly. My smile has slipped, so I re-affix it firmly into place, and look back down on my students. I have their rapt attention, as I always do.
“Did you all bring your computers to class, like I asked a few days ago?” A collective nod, and they all begin to dig their laptops out of bags and backpacks. Looking down at the glowing apples, and razor thin aluminum casings, my head begins to throb.
I had stayed up to date for the first several hundred years of my life. The advances that the ingenious men of those ages had made had been manageable steps forward for me. A little progress here, a little advancement there. But this last hundred years or so had quickly grown to a speed that I felt powerless to keep track of.
I understood the workings of a basic cell phone, which was the barest of requirements to live. But the wizardry of the computers and internet that my students deftly keyed into life and function was beyond me. Which was exactly why I had given them the independent homework that I had, and had told them to bring their computers in the next day to show me what they had found.
My students quivered in their seat, every one of them. They were excited to show me what they had found. Perhaps, to share something with me that was new knowledge. Which was exactly the task that I had placed on their shoulders.
I had walked through some great libraries in my time, but nothing, nothing compared to Google. With that single possession, with which they seemed so casually at ease, they had a power that I could not imagine.
And I had assigned them to exert that precious power towards a single, particular piece of information.
They sit at their desks, laptops open and ready to show me what they have found.
“I hope that you’ve all put a large effort into the research that I gave you, on the next chapter of the study of ‘Christian History’.”
They all nod in reassurance that they have.
I smile again, hope growing rebelliously in my heart. I try to force it back down again. I’ve hoped so many other times. For the last four hundred years, the hope has occasionally spiked up from the constant dull ache, and into sharpness in my heart, only to be brutally rooted out once more.
But despite all of that, the hope flutters in my weighted chest.
My own studies have failed me, and left me to wander through the endless years. But my students, these children in this room, have powers of collected and networked knowledge that I could have never dreamed of. And which my crowded and aching mind was entirely incapable of ever using.
But, they could do it for me.
“All right, class.” I say. “Show me what you’ve found about the eventual fate and location of the famed ‘Holy Lance’, otherwise known as the ‘Spear of Destiny’.”
I walk amongst the desks, my eyes filled with flashing and flickering screens.
I hope they’ve found something.
I hope they can give me the little bit of information that I need, before I can finally figure out where they hid the spear that had been anointed, so long ago, with the blood of the only other immortal man that had ever walked this earth.
The only other man who could not eat, and not sleep, and still live indefinitely. The only other man with power over death.
If the spear could kill him…than maybe it can kill me too.
Oh Jesus…I hope so.
|
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.
| 2015-04-14T15:25:04 | 2015-04-14T14:27:11 | 589 | 43 |
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit.
|
I thought I would be prepared, the same way an electrician would know to change his own lightbulbs. After all, I had turned this from a hobby into... a profession of sorts. And that's not even counting the space of 50 years, that yawning gap of time since Dad left. That's a long time for memories to dull, for emotions to temper.
In truth, the tears still flowed freely and uncontrollably. Dad looked just like how I had always remembered him.
"Are you... Martin?" he said. There was a wild panic seizing him, and for a second I worried he would drop the groceries right there on the porch. "Jesus, you... look just like my boy. What the hell is happening... I just... everything is different..."
I refrained from hugging him, and instead guided him to the hall, made him take a seat. I clasped his hands in mine, and marvelled at how real they felt.
"Thank you for trying, Prunae," I said, using the formal honorific they preferred. "But I'm alright, I really am."
"What are you talking about? Where's your mother? Is she still-"
"Please, you're doing more harm than good at this point. I would like you to leave, please."
Dad started to protest again, but he evidently thought twice, then grimaced. With a sigh, he snapped his fingers, and the glamour began to fall away, the same way a candle's armour of wax yields to the wick's flame.
I had never witnessed this before. Not directly, like this, not even after I've helped more than two hundred families try to locate their missing family members. It had started as a way to cope, a mere distraction, a single person's efforts to help others track their family down, when law enforcement could assist no further.
And that's when I started to encounter the Prunae.
It's hard to say with certainty what they are. I have neither the training to scientifically classify them, nor the ambition to. The closest analog I found in my research were 'tree spirits', free-form entities, capricious, unpredictable, but ultimately benign. They shied away from humans most of the time, but when the opportunity presented itself, they would appear, seek to befriend humans in need.
Some clients had hired me to make sure that their returning loved ones were real, not con men poised to inherit. Others simply wanted me to help them come to terms with it, an independent third party to reinforce their beliefs. After all, the Prunae were always careful that their existences were not revealed to the larger population.
What remained of Dad now was like... a mass of fireflies, dimmer, but still emitting a cool luminance that reminded me of dying embers.
"You sure you'll be OK, Martin?" it said, directly into my mind.
"I will be," I said. "I've had some time to learn to grow and to do well without him. I have a family of my own now."
"Would you like to know what happened to him?"
"No," I said quickly, lest my determination flee me. There was a vacuum still in me, the space which Dad used to occupy, filled with questions never to be answered. But I was ok with that now. I was older, a little wiser. "I'm fine. Things will be fine, as they always have been."
The Prunae smiled, then faded before my eyes. It swirled up into the ceiling like the smoke of memories, rising in twirling ribbons.
I sat there for a while longer. Then, I picked up the phone, spoke to Anna first, then called my children, one after the other. I didn't want to alarm them, but I did want to hear from them.
I thought too about how those client of mine who saw the Prunae never lived long after that. They left this world in different ways, some violently, most peacefully. For a while I had worried that the Prunae were malevolent, hostile harbingers of death, here to tease and torment before it all ended.
Now though, after an encounter of my own, it seemed far more likely that they were merely here to help tie off loose ends, as it were.
"Thank you," I said, to the empty hall.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
I was all like, where've you been? And he said that as he was leaving the grocery a time portal opened up, and deposited him at this exact moment.
"Well at least you brought the milk." I said.
"Of course son, I'd never forget the milk."
Then, as if in a moment frozen in time, we both looked down at the carton and realized with horror what had happened.
"Aw dang it!" he cried. "The milk's expired!"
| 2017-11-19T16:19:42 | 2017-11-19T15:56:41 | 2,866 | 662 |
[WP] You wake one morning and find your reflection in the mirror is gone. A few seconds later it rushes in mouthing the words "Sorry! Sorry I'm late. Let's get started. You ready?"
|
The first thought that came into my mind was: *Have I been turned into a vampire?*
Maybe not a reasonable reaction. Vampires, of course, are *fictional*. Not to mention that I'd had garlic with dinner last night, and that that dinner wasn't human blood. Maybe I'd been reading too many vampire romance novels. Don't judge me.
But really, what else was I supposed to think? How could I not be in the mirror??
"I" showed up a just a few seconds later and apologized for the delay. But there were still some things off. "My" hair was tied back in a ponytail instead of the frizzy mess on my own head, and "I" still had streaks of makeup on my face. Clearly I'd forgotten my pre-bedtime ritual. But "I" simply waved a hand over "my" face and everything became exactly as it should be. No more mascara, no more smudged lipstick, and hair looking like I'd been electrocuted in the night. Meanwhile "I" was a mirror image again.
"What the hell?" I asked. "My" lips moved too, just like they were supposed to. No answer from "me" either.
We both stared at each other.
"Come on," I said. "What was that about? I know you can hear me." "My" mouth made the exact same movements.
There was another pause.
"Fine," "I" answered. It sounded like listening to someone speak while you're underwater. Kind of muffled or something. "You caught me, OK?"
"*What is this?*" I was practically screaming at this point. Thank god I lived alone, or my roommate would think I was having a nervous breakdown. Hell, *I* thought I was having a nervous breakdown.
"I just had a long night," "I" answered back. "Derrick came over, and I forgot to set an alarm, so..."
"Derrick?" My face was practically pressed against the mirror now, studying "Me" and "I" was leaning back away from it. "Derrick *my lab partner*?" The utterly gorgeous, charming, funny, sweet guy who only talked to me about what parts of the lab journals we would be doing? "I" was going out with him?
"I" nodded back with a smug smile.
"...How?" I managed to gasp. It was either that, or asking how the sex was. Which I desperately wanted to know as well.
"I" shrugged back. "I'm the *confident* you," "I" answered. "That's the point of the mirror. To show you at your best. I didn't just wait for Derrick to notice me, I made it happen." For the first time, I noticed the hickey just peeking out of "my" shirt. That hickey should be on *my* chest!
*I'm definitely still dreaming,* I decided. I'd fallen asleep looking at his facebook page again, and this is what happens.
"Right," I answered. "It's just that easy."
"I" grinned. "It was for me. What's holding you back from just asking him to dinner or something?"
I didn't have a good answer to that. Well, really, I had *too many* good answers for that. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to wake up from the dream. And when I opened them again, "I" was back to copying my every movement. No matter how much I yelled at "myself" to answer... it was back to being just a mirror again.
----
"Hey, Derrick?" My voice came out all high and squeaky. *God, what's wrong with me?*
"Hmm?" he answered, still peering into the microscope at whatever we were supposed to be studying. Some type of cell or something; I'd been too busy staring at his arms to really listen closely.
"Would you... I mean, are you free for dinner sometime?"
He didn't answer right away. He looked up from the microscope with a squinty, suspicious look. Around us, the rest of the class was busy talking and chatting and doing their assignment. We just stared at each other while I felt my cheeks burning bright tomato red. *I'm going to kill Mirror Me*, I resolved. *I'll shatter that thing the second I get home.*
Then he smiled. "I'd like that."
I nodded and tried not to jump for joy or throw my arms around him. I just gave him my number on a little scrap of notebook paper.
"You know," he said slowly, still looking at the paper, "I had the strangest thing happen to me this morning..."
---
If you enjoyed this story, you should also consider subscribing to /r/Luna_lovewell!
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I stared blankly, my expression sitting between shock and horror as my reflection gave the same look back. "I'm sorry, what the fuck?" I say aloud. my double copy's it perfectly. I touch the mirror, he does the same. I wink each eye, again he follows. "There's no way that happened," I mutter.
"Oh forget the charade, yes, it happened," my mirrored body says, before going back to copying my now horrified face. I punch the mirror, shattering it into a cascade of glass, it rips my flesh, blood runs down my arm.
Staring at the mangled flesh I think, "Oh my god I seriously need to stop dropping acid in the morning," before walking out the door to go to the doctor.
| 2015-11-16T09:17:46 | 2015-11-16T08:41:43 | 1,598 | 153 |
[WP] It’s been over an hour since you were bit, and you still haven’t turned into a zombie. You’ve also been oddly nonchalant about the whole thing. Your group is starting to suspect you werent human to begin with.
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\[Waking to Whispers\]
"You know, if it were up to me I'd be happy to let you take a walk," the Sheriff said. He leaned against the bars with his potbelly trying to squeeze into the cell and smiled at Andre. Andre glanced around the empty station; they were the only two present.
"Who's it up to, if not the Sheriff?" Andre asked. The portly, pasty man shrugged and gestured at the exit with his thumb.
"I'm just a servant of the people," he said. "Right now, the people are talking about why you're still human. And, some of them are starting to think you never were. They're not too keen on letting something worse get out."
"Worse?!" Andre asked. "I'm just a merchant passing through for business," Andre said. He gestured at a pile of chests, bags, and jars sitting in one corner of the station. "You have my inventory right there. I don't want any trouble, I'm not even mad. I just want to leave." Andre sighed heavily on the stiff cot. The Sheriff nodded.
"Several people saw you get bit over an hour ago, myself included. However...," The sheriff reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small glass vial of green liquid. "...I think I'm the only one that saw you use this after you got bit." Andre jumped to his feet.
"Then you know I'm human!" he said. "You can tell them!"
"Oh, I don't think that 's the best idea," the Sheriff said. Andre deflated; his shoulders slumped and he sighed. "Not before I get more information. It seems to me you have a cure for the zombie virus and I need to know how it works and how to get more." Andre shook his head and let himself fall to the cot again. He sensed he wasn't going to get out any time soon.
"It won't work for you or any of them," Andre said. "Not that you'll believe me."
"I can't believe you if you don't give me something," the Sheriff said. "I saw you use this after getting bit, and you're not a zombie. You all but admitted this was the reason why. So, why won't it work for us?" Andre gave a sudden, defeated laughed as if he gave up altogether.
"I can't tell you that," he said. The Sheriff nodded, sighed, then pocketed the vial again.
"You know where to find me if you change your mind," he said.
"Honey?" a woman said softly. The Sheriff straightened up immediately and whirled around.
"Babe!" he smiled and spread his arms wide to approach his wife for a hug. "What brings you here?" The short, lean woman stepped away from the hug. Her eyes were cast downward to avoid the Sheriff's gaze. "Babe?" he asked. She looked up at the Sheriff. Andre could see her eyes watering from inside the cell. He quickly appraised the rest of her and noticed a fresh wound on her thigh below the bloodied hem of her jean shorts. He stood and approached the bars.
"I'm sorry," she said. She pointed out the wound to the Sheriff. "Put me in the cell, I don't have much time left," she said with a quavering voice.
"No!" The Sheriff yelled. His hand dipped into his pocket then he shoved the vial in her hand. "Drink this!" he said.''
"IT WON'T WORK!" Andre yelled. The last thing he needed was for the Sheriff to lower his guard and get bitten. If the two of them got loose, Andre might never get out of the cell. But, the Sheriff didn't listen; he helped his wife down the liquid even though she was already growing pallid. Andre's frantic mind settled on the only idea that had a chance of working.
"It won't work!" Andre repeated. "But, I can help her. Bring her over here, you're running out of time," he said. The bags under her eyes were growing darker and the Sheriff knew the potion didn't work. It takes a normal person 5-10 minutes after being bit to transition to zombie. The Sheriff had seen it enough times to recognize that Andre's symptoms stopped immediately after he drank the liquid. He guided his wife to the cell in front of Andre.
"Closer, I need to tell her something." Andre motioned them closer. The Sheriff complied, though he was curious.
"So tell her. We don't have time for secrets," he said. Andre shook his head, then leaned forward and whispered something to her through the bars. After a few whispers, Andre pulled away and looked at the Sheriff.
"I'm breaking enough rules by telling her," he said. Then, Andre reached through the bars and turned the woman to face him. Her eyes were unfocused.
"What's your favorite number?" he asked. She stared through him.
"WHAT THE HELL??" The Sheriff yelled. He was outraged, but Andre was whispering something in her ear again. He heard the word “sharp” and was about to yank her away when Andre asked her again.
"What's your favorite number?"
"34," she said.
"What the hell?" The Sheriff asked. Warmth and color filled her; the wound on her leg healed without a mark. "Sophie?" he asked. She nodded and wrapped her arms around him.
"So... can I leave now?" Andre asked. The couple separated and the Sheriff approached the cell door while shaking his head.
"They were right. You ain't human," the Sheriff said with a deadpan expression.
"What?" Andre felt defeated again.
"You're a goddamn guardian angel," the Sheriff said as he swung the door open, then stepped aside. "It's a real shame you can't cure zombies."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1252 in a row. (Story #157 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit (r/hugoverse) or my blog.
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Connor was glaring at me. He was by far the most suspicious. "You should've turned by now. It takes one hour, tops, and its been what, five?".
Seth nodded. "Connor has a point, Desmond. Why haven't you turned? It's making me think".
I stared back. What if they kicked me out? Then I'd be zombie food, and easy pickings. I shrugged. "I dunno why I haven't turned, calm down. I might not turn at all".
"If you don't turn, then why?". Connor was still uneasy about the whole thing. It made him nervous to see something like this. No human was immune to zombie bites, he was sure of it. "I say we kill the thing"
"I'm not a thing!".
"For all we know, you might be. No human lasts this long". Seth had said something else.
Alexis interfered on my behalf. "So what?".
"I'm just saying, we should not trust Desmond. I still want them dead", said Connor. He really wanted me dead.
"We're not killing anyone".
As she spoke, Alexis turned to me. But I was running. Alexis and Connor chased after me, Alexis to bring me back, and Connor to kill me. But hey, I'm just guessing. I looked back, and Seth was handing Connor a gun, probably so Connor could kill me.
Connor, still running, slowed down so he could aim properly. He knew Desmond had turned from friend to foe, and needed to be dealt with. He took the shot, and missed. Didn't matter, he had more bullets. Connor reloaded, hoping Desmond not turning would be the least of his problems today.
Alexis was a faster runner then Connor, and helped by Connor slowing down to aim. Alexis grabbed Desmond and started dragging him back.
"You're not leaving, we need all the help we can get".
"But Connor will kill me the first chance he gets"
"I'll deal with him"
"Fine"
Connor soon walked back to their makeshift base, the last back. Alexis and Desmond had gotten there first.
"I still want them dead".
Alexis glared at Connor, challenging him. "If you kill him, I leave".
Seth nodded. "I'll leave too, and you'll be dead meat alone".
Connor glared at both of them, seemingly calling their bluff. He pulled out the gun and pointed it at Desmond. He was so close, he was sure to hit him. Just when Alexis was about to walk off, he put it down.
"Fine, he can stay. For now".
Desmond smiled, finally being able to stay without much fear of death. But Connor could still kill him. The zombies could finish the job. But for now, he laid back and relaxed.
| 2021-06-06T08:37:38 | 2021-06-06T07:00:35 | 58 | 14 |
[WP] All your life, your best friend has had your back. This is why their unexpected death hits you so hard. Two days before the funeral, you receive a couriered letter. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.”
|
I miss Jason. I can’t tell what’s worse, the loneliness from his irreversible absence, or the guilt from killing him.
This morning, I made toast. When it popped out of the oven, the toastier part in the middle looked vaguely like a flaccid penis. I almost smiled. It was the closest I’d come to smiling since his death. I took a picture, realized I had no one to share it with, and cried so hard I ruptured a blood vessel in my eye.
Then I got the letter. Plain white envelope, no return label. I generally don’t open letters unless they have “FINAL WARNING” emblazoned in big red font, so it was a miracle I opened this one. My heart nearly stopped when I read it.
> **If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.**
I don't normally get goosebumps. I didn't while reading the letter either, but I wish I had, because *instead* my body manifested the fear within my bowels. I ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time, my head spinning faster than the toilet water. Who the hell is *they?* The police? The police had already found me. I’d spent hours in an interrogation room explaining that I had never heard of Nuclear Nanobomb brand hot sauce.
That damn hot sauce. How the hell was I supposed to know that hot sauce could kill? Sure, Jason was as white as it gets, but who dies from hot sauce?! I suppose l went too far with the milk, but that’s what made the prank *great!* Anyone could fill a ketchup bottle with hot sauce, but to have the foresight to spike the milk? That was genius. Sometimes, I’m too smart for my own good.
Jason was smart too. Maybe that’s what this is all about. Recently, he’d started an internship at the CIA. Anytime I’d ask him about work he’d tell me it was classified. Whatever this letter meant, it probably had to do with some serious national security business.
I didn’t go to the funeral, of course. The letter told me not to, and who am I to argue with the CIA? A couple mutual friends reached out to ask where I was, but I ignored them.
The next day, I got another plain white envelope in the mail. Against my better judgement, I had it opened within seconds.
> **Meet in Rivercrest Park at noon tomorrow.**
I didn’t know what the letter meant, but I knew one thing. I most certainly was not going to the park. I tore the letter up, lit it on fire, panicked as the fire got out of control, threw it in the sink, fanned the fire alarm off, and iced the second degree burns on my thumb and index finger. Then I watched some Lion King to calm my nerves before bed.
Now, I’m sitting in my boxers, two hours out from noon, wondering if maybe I should go to the park to see what this is all about. If I don’t, I might never know what Jason was trying to tell me. If I do, I might get kidnapped, drugged, tortured, and executed in some back alley Russian gulag.
I tried making a pros and cons list, but didn’t make it much further past Russian gulag. Russian gulag was pretty compelling.
Nonetheless, noon came around and I found myself at the park in my most inconspicuous outfit—black turtleneck for tactical camouflage, sunglasses to protect my identity, cargo shorts for superior pocket storage, and a fanny pack for that classic tourist angle.
It would’ve been a nice day to be out in the park if I wasn’t worried about getting gulagged. I grabbed a coffee from my favorite stand like I always did, took a stroll around the lake and didn't make it far before someone grabbed my shoulder. “Hey,” a brusque voice said in a British accent. “Are you Nathan?”
I whipped around clutching my butt, relieved to find that I had only pooped myself a little bit. The man standing before me wore a suit, mirrored sunglasses, and had a thick goatee.
“W-w-who the hell are you?” I stuttered in what I hoped was an aggressive don't-mess-with-me kind of way.
“You need to eat this now,” the man held out what looked like red marble.
“No thank you,” I replied, trying to sound confident despite the fact that I was still clutching my ass with one hand.
“Candy from strangers, I get it. But trust me, you need to take this. It’s the antidote.”
When you’re at home, in bed, thinking about how you’d react in a tense, life threatening situation, you’d like to think it would be with level headed grace. In reality, you hardly know what the fuck is happening and you’re lucky to get out of it with your pants unsullied. My pants had already become a casualty and the rest of this conversation wasn’t looking like it was going to do them any favors. It was time to bail. “I-I think you have the wrong guy. My name is... Mufasa.”
Yes. I said Mufasa. I couldn’t think of any names other than my own and… Mufasa.
“Nathan,” the man said. “We know it’s you. We’ve been watching you drink that coffee. It was poisoned by a foreign agent. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t already feel a little nauseous.”
I couldn’t look him in the eyes on account of the sun glasses we were both wearing, but my own reflection looked so pathetic that the idea that I had been poisoned didn’t seem far fetched. “How can I trust you?” I asked.
“Simple,” the man responded. “I’m British. We’re on the same side.”
Somehow, that spoke to me. The British don’t drug and torture people, right? I nodded, took the marble, and put it into my mouth. It was too big to swallow.
“You have to chew.”
I chewed. The moment I bit down the marble burst, a thick liquid gushed out and coated the entire inside of my mouth. And then… burning. A severe, excruciating burn that amplified by the second. I gagged, but it only spread the heat further into my mouth, down my throat, causing me to cough uncontrollably in a futile attempt at expelling that ever-increasing blaze from inside me. I puked.
I wiped the snot from my face and looked up with tears in my eyes, vomit on my shirt, and shit in my pants. The man took off his sunglasses, peeled away his goatee and grinned at me. It was Jason. He leaned in, and whispered in my ear. “*Long live the king!*”
I did not laugh it off. I sobbed, I pooped myself a bit more, and I hugged him. It was a fantastic prank and I may as well have died myself.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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Jessie Chamberlin had a lot of practice mourning. At seven years old her parents and siblings had all been killed in a house fire and though she had little memory of the event, she'd managed to escape and was found outside by the fire fighters. Five years later and having been adopted by them, her Aunt and Uncle were murdered in a bungled home invasion while she was out with the girl scouts selling cookies, and she came home again to sirens and death and was alone again. Now it was Clem who'd died - goofy, loving, kind, Clem, her best friend in the world, and Jessie wasn't sure she could take any more. She was 15, alone, terrified and now knew she was a curse.
But she didn't know what to make of the letter. Clem had been killed in a hit and run outside school the week before - a pure accident the police had said. The car had been found and in what appeared to be a final act of tragic remorse the driver had killed himself with a shotgun to the face. Closed case. Tragic for the family to have to live with all that, people said. The policeman Jessie spoke with seemed bored with it, almost disappointed there wasn’t more to it. Then two days before his funeral she gets the letter – registered post from a New York Attorney – and it’s from Clem.
“Goober – If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you. Run until you find the truth. I miss you more than you miss me. Your ever-loving goober, Clem x”
Why would a 15-year-old high schooler have a letter ready to go if he died? Who were ‘They’? What was the truth? It was definitely Clem’s writing and the real give away was the line about missing each other – they said it before vacations and at the start of the school day and even if one of them needed to pop to the bathroom.
When Jessie had been sent to the orphanage Clem was the first smiling face she’d seen in weeks – with her story everyone around her was dour – she knew they were trying to respect her mourning – but she found the adults attitude and low mumbled conversations oppressive. Like any sane 12 year old who’d run out of family, she wasn’t looking forward to being in an orphanage – she’d seen enough movies to know your chances of being beat were much greater than your chances of getting adopted. But after weeks of seeing nothing but grey, drab institutional offices, watching Clem try and extricate himself from the swing set in the houses grounds while laughing hysterically at himself was the best thing Jessie had seen in weeks. Her eyes crinkled and she squealed with a laugh that startled officials quietly deciding her immediate future as if she weren’t also standing there. She ran from the office and outside and helped him remove his short pants from the strictures of the chains, and her first, epic friendship was born. Clem and Jessie, Jessie and Clem, the kids from the orphanage who were each other’s mum, dad and siblings all rolled into one, and who missed each other even for bathroom breaks.
Was this some last joke of Clem to get her to miss his funeral – something he knew she would never do. No. Clem was light-hearted and a joy to be with, but he was always so self-aware, and he sure cared for her the way she cared for him. If Clem said run, she was going to run. But after the funeral. And that proved to be a big mistake.
| 2021-04-24T20:25:57 | 2021-04-24T20:09:51 | 60 | 30 |
[WP] "If you fools would use magic so, then the world is better off without it." And so Merlin raised his hands to the heavens and cast the Final Spell, sending all the mana of the world into the void and permanently reshaping the leylines into unusability.
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The woman lifted her hand from the boy's face. His sweat dripped from her fingers. He was shivering, though the dry season heat had almost reached its apex. No incense, no burning herbs, as the grass was pale and dry as bone and the embers had to be shepherded closely. No water wasted cooling his little brow or cleaning the crusted secretions from his sores.
She closed her eyes. She found the place inside her where there was only emptiness, no self. She placed the root in the boy's mouth, trusting his chattering teeth to chew it. She laid her hands and said the words just as her ancestors had instructed, and there was nothing. There was *nothing*.
She didn't understand. The magic came every time before. She had been taught well, both by her mother's switch across her knuckles and the patient instruction of whispering ancestors. Every plague that had come before blunted its teeth against her magic. So why now? She was still young. There was no bleeding, no pregnancy, nothing to interfere. But the boy was burning on the inside and still the magic would not come.
She leaned back again. Once again the quiet, retreating to the place where she did not exist. She waited in that echoing emptiness for the appearance of the spirits, of her ancestors, of the great powers that came before and taught her the words and their meanings. She was the only healer in the village. There was no one to draw them away. They had come every time before, but now she waited and there was nothing. The magic was gone, the child was dying, she was alone, and there were no answers.
***
Three days after the earthquake, as the bodies were still being uncovered and the true devastation was beginning to be understood, the young man left his family and journeyed to the coast. In days past, his father would have scolded him for this habit, but his father was buried under what was once the family home, so who could stop him?
The old heretic lived alone. He built his house alone, fished alone, wrote alone. When he was younger, before his father forbade it, the boy would come in the early mornings to watch him perform his sacrifices. The old heretic would tell him about the gods that came before God, their names, their spirits and powers and heroes. He knew magic, which was also forbidden but seemed harmless enough. The old heretic would call fish into his hands, or tell the weather months in advance, or dowse the location of pearls and shipwreck treasures. He taught the young man a secret phrase to say every night before he slept, and told him to tell others, too, as that would keep the mountain quiet and the god in the oceans peaceable.
Even after the argument, even after his father forbade him from visiting, the young man said the words in secret. He would never be a magician, but it was something he could do, something he could feel. The words felt different than saying prayers - or at least, they had, until a few days earlier. The young man had assumed that it was a part of getting older, much like how he could not hold a branch in his hand and imagine a sword anymore. But then there was the earthquake, and he knew something different had happened.
The old heretic's home was a bundle of tumbled logs, a pile like an unlit bonfire. The young man knew that he would find no explanation there. His belongings were scattered along the hillside. The sea was already returning. The young man gathered the parchments, the tools, the things the old heretic held as important. Most of the words were written in Greek, but some were in Latin, and the young man could read those. At the end, four words: Nihil est quad oro. There is nothing when I pray.
The young man held the parchment close as he returned to his fallen home. That is all he would get for a reason.
***
The first of the messengers reached Merlin in days and took news of the Final Spell throughout Britain so all could know what transpired and why. Magic was dead; he had killed it. The lust for magic was too strong. Too many wars had been caused, too much death. What would happen when he was not there to watch over it? Chaos in the world and of the world, unchecked.
It was quiet, then, for a time. Silence descended upon his tower. He had time at last to read, to study the ways of the world that he had forgotten. He felt his age more keenly then, without the magic to buoy him forward. He took pleasure in the song of birds and learned to pluck their melodies on his harp. He slept better, more deeply, than he ever had.
But then the messengers came again. Tired feet caked in foreign dust. The same question, but other tongues. Wars raged in red streets. Plagues took whole villages in the night. The world rumbled underfoot as ancient protections wore to nothing. Nightmares and madness stalked black forests. Without their royal sorcerers, the bloodlines of distant royalty were snuffed to nothing by the assassins' blades.
The same message back. Mankind could not be trusted. He could not watch over everyone. They would understand in time. Their future generations, if they even remembered him, would thank him.
He sent them away and sat by the window. His eyes fell on the limit of the horizon and saw no further. He plucked at the harp strings. The world occurred.
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I was the first to ask why. Why, teacher? Why give us something to good and take it away from us? Why punish the many for the sins of the few? What will we do without the magic to protect our homes from the invaders across the sea? What of our sacred places? Were they even sacred anymore? Is it the presence of the gods, now lost to us, that made them so? Was it something within us? The mana coursing through the leyline, kissing the earth with reality bending power, was quickly fading.
I was the first to cry. We found the grove burned to the ground. A centurion's rod spiked into the roots of what was once the First Ash Tree. We didn't have the power to defend against an them. We had to find a way to fight back, but a life devoted to magical studies left us un-ready for warfare. I burned the vine staff and marched for Camelot.
I was the first to try. I sought the incubus-spawn out, begging him to undo his Final Spell. Urging him to teach us other methods of protecting our homes, of conversing with our gods. He laughed at me. *Laughed* at me. Desperate, pleading on my knees. Said I was weak and foolhardy, to rely on the power of another to protect things important to *me*. That I must pick up the sword to protect what is mine. I rallied the remainder of Boudica's faction and set off for the nearest outpost.
I was the first to die. I will speak with our gods again.
| 2022-02-08T16:48:05 | 2022-02-08T16:36:31 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] "May your skin rot when you heal others," the witch cursed, "and may your name be forgotten when you save others." You are a healer for a party. Your party does not know about the curse, and it has been your job to support them before they finally complete their quest. Today is the final day.
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In the corner of the cavern, dimly lit by the nearby campfire, Reeda tended to a tear in her tunic. Sixteen days on the road, battling trolls, goblins and wisps left their marks but none as permeant as those on her skins. Once smooth and resilient, her skin now fissured and cracked, sprinkled with age spots as if her twenty-three year-old body was traded with fifty year-old. How much longer could she endure?
Judas, approached her, resting his paladin's shield against the cave's wall. "You don't sit with us since Cline's Passing—since you saved Hector's arm from amputation," he said. "He thinks he offended you."
Reeda's voice cracked. "There is nothing wrong, the light has been troubling my eyes lately. I can't seem to sleep after being too close. And this journey has been quite tiresome."
Judas kneeled down and took her hand as gently as a father may to his child. "There is more to it, is there not? I've seen you grow much more tired. More so than the rest."
"No, no, I'm quite fine. Truth be told, I've run out of make-up and powder. I can't hide my age any longer and I'm afraid you'll all pay more attention to me. We must all be our best tomorrow. I don't want extra care."
Judas let go of her hand. "I'm not sure I believe that, but I have no grounds to argue. If this is your wish, then do please rest. Tomorrow will a day for the ages," he said.
"I shall. Thank you for checking in," said Reeda and she returned to mending her tunic. Judas returned to the fire and the whispers of the company were muffled to Reeda. Even her senses were starting to fade. The curse was starting to win.
-----
"Hector! Blessing of Protect to you!" yelled Judas. His white plate armour glowed as wisps of blue magic danced along the metal. They amassed upon his shield and shot towards Hector in a translucent cloud. Around Hector formed a cloudy bubble, following his every step.
In one swift blow, the Ice Giant Queen, Titari, swung its dragon-bone against at the edge of the throne room. Hector watched as the club shattered his defensive ward and the remaining momentum sent his flying against the stone wall.
"Hector!" Judas yelled again. "Alright, we have to keep her off him."
Silvia, the black mage brought her hands to the floor and conjured a wall of flame, separating Titari from Hector. The room was now split in two, with Judas, Reeda, Silvia and Titari on one side and Hector on the other. Their freedom to move was split in half.
"Go now or die," said Titari, her purple lips smiling. "I'll take this snack as payment for your aggression."
"We're not leaving without the elixir," said Judas. He raised his shield and nodded to Reeda and Sylvia. Both of the mages bowed their heads and began to whisper.
"What good is magic for the dead?" said Titari. The giant circled its club, gathering speed before she began spinning as well. The bellows of wind blew like gusts in a hurricane, sending clouds of dust and gravel ricocheting off the stone walls and columns.
In one second, Titari released the club, sending it flying towards the two mages. In the next, Judas stood in its path, shield up and emanating with white spheres of magic. The impact scattered the club and Judas' armour alike. He flew back, landing limp at Reeda's feet.
"Four snacks it is then," said Tatari, cracking her knuckles. She raced towards the mages but stopped suddenly. A trail of light began brightening along the ceiling overhead. From within her, a buzz like an electrical current began to rise. Frozen in place, Tatari stared while the mages voices grew louder. Fear took the giant and she began pleading to be set free.
"The elixir is yours. Take and be gone. Take it and be free."
Reeda and Silvia stopped and gazed up at the once unyielding giant. The spell halted as well, its light fading from the ceiling and Tatari's paralysis evaporated from her body.
"You dumb bitches," said Tatari. As quick as lightning, Tatari swung her arm towards the a stone column at her side.
"Holy flare," Reeda and Sylvia said in unison.
The bright light of the ceiling returned, erupting in a brilliant pillar of yellow light. As if the star had been conjured, all that remained in the spells range was vapourized and scorched black. The flame wall faded too as Sylvia and Reeda collapsed to the ground.
The mages breathed heavy, their strength on the edge of ruin, but Reeda continued casting. A strand of magic left his fingers and reached Sylvia, giving her the power to stand.
"Bring Hector here," said Reeda, barely louder than a whisper.
Sylvia raced as fast as she could, still slow from exhaustion. As she did, Reeda crawled to Judas and felt his golden hair.
"When you wake, please give me some of the elixir," she whispered in his ear. "Quickly."
Sylvia returned, dragging Hector by the back of his cuirass. She laid him at Judas' side and fell to her knees.
Reeda began whispering words of the old world—words of the spell books she slaved years over. Her desire was always and had always been to save others. Yet a curse was laid on her upon graduation, sending her into old age for every healing deed. Long had she slumbered, unwilling to give up her youth for anyone. Now, with the elixir of youth a small walk away, she cared not anymore about curse and only for the companions that brought her here.
Reeda's skin glimmered as magic radiated like waves across a pond. Cracks in the stone floor began to sprout with grasses and flowers. The cavernous throne room brightened to a midday shine. And then, the room returned to darkness as Reeda collapsed.
---
"We actually did it," said Judas, taking the vial of blue elixir from the chest of the Ice Giant Queen. "We have forever ahead of us now. No aging, no death. Our life in our hands."
"We must celebrate!" said Hector, raising her dagger to the ceiling.
"We shall, we shall. But somewhere at peace."
"And what of the old lady?" asked Sylvia. They had almost forgot about the old lady on the throne room floor. Her breath was as light as a feather on skin.
"She won't last much longer. If she wasn't fighting with us, she must have been a servant to the giant. A deserving end, I take it," said Judas, slipping the elixir into his bag. "Now, let's leave this wretched place!"
The company left, giving not one glance to Reeda as she lay on the cold floor. The other half to her cruel curse—that no person saved shall remember her—had been fulfilled.
|
It wouldn’t be far now, just concentrate on the sound of your footsteps. The burgundy corridor of the demon king’s palace stretched spotless into the distance flanked by portraits, tapestry battles in freeze-frame, drapes, wood panels, clocks, all of it topped by the hanging Sternian-bronze chandeliers intricate in their geometry against the basalt. Avo was already near the far end, his hulking frame staring back at her in indifference. *I’ll protect you, Caroline. Rain or shine wherever we may go this tower shield works in all-weather.* And next to him was Nicki the Blaze seething with her feet leaving behind scorch-marked footsteps. Nicki had been the one to save her from the shipwreck on the Cagrian Sea. *Just hold on, Carrie, I’ll tie you to the mast. Just hold your staff. I’ve got you now don’t let go,* she’d said as she’d blasted apart wave after crashing wave for hours with fire magic. And then there was Saturnal. Saturnal who now walked a few paces ahead of her, unaware or too engrossed in his thoughts to notice that she’d stopped in her tracks. *You say you’re my sister? I’ve always been alone, you must be mistaken.*
Caroline put a hand against basalt, her bandaged arms more mummified than flesh at this point. She could imagine the wall would be cold. She stopped to take a swig of her poppy-seed painkillers - might as well go all out and drink it all. The burgundy corridor blurred. This was the witch’s last curse. It wasn’t long ago she could still make them remember pieces of her past, but each time she used her magic a little more was taken away. It took time, she had to prompt them around the campfire but she’d managed. But then Avo had started saying things like ‘ah, well that’s a nice thought’ and ‘fascinating’ when she’d tried to convince him of who she was. By the end of it she just sat by the campfire ready to introduce herself tomorrow.
“Hey healer girl, look we’re close. Don’t give up on us now,” said Avo. She tried to remember Avo like he was them back then. He’d hugged her after the fight with the witch. *‘Don’t give up on us, Caroline, we’ll break this curse and we’ll kill the demon king. Blam, no more demons. There’s no foul fucking witchwoman can bring us down, alright? Come on, smile. For the Gods’ sake smile you know there’s nothing that can stop Nicki’s fire, or Saturnal’s arrows. We’ll be fine.’*
“We could’ve hired someone better. We should’ve gone with the army mage,” said Saturnal.
She saw through tears Avo turn stern. “We’ve made it here with her, she’ll do. I don’t want to hear more about it. Come on healer girl. Let’s go.”
Caroline grated forward. Under the tunic she imagined the bandages might have soaked through but it wasn’t much further to the throne room. Either way it wouldn’t matter much to her soon.
| 2021-02-13T10:36:29 | 2021-02-13T10:20:38 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] Humanity is the only species that treat "unrealistic" stories like sci-fi and fantasy as a legitimate genre, instead of just something to amuse children that adults no longer need. Because of this, humanity cracks FTL while species much older than us are still stuck in their home system.
|
“You’re hiding something from me,” Jesanth declared.
“Hiding?” I asked, faux-offended. “Me? Never. I am in a profession where truth matters more than anything else.”
Jesanth snorted. “Sure. Whatever.” She took a sip of her beer, then looked at it appreciatively. “Good stuff.”
“What, you’re not going to complain about how toxic it is, how you’re just taking a few cycles off your life with every bottle?”
The Farsyth diplomat shrugged. “Life is short. I could stand it being a bit shorter.”
I raised my own in a mock toast. “Now you’re thinking like a human.”
We sat in companionable silence for another few moments. The bar around us was lively, full of politicians and lawyers ready to cut loose after a day of schmoozing and deal-making. Unfortunately, as mere visitors to the capital, both Jesanth and I found it lacking in our species’ preferred recreational beverages. I was happy when they finally added beer to the rotation last week; I was less happy that they exclusively stocked PBR.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” I said. “All these species, humans, Forsyth, a dozen others just in this room, and we all arrived here, visitors to this planet simply because we happened to not be the first to discover wormholes.”
“Helps that this planet is at the center of a nexus,” Jesanth said. “Space around here has got more holes than a twillian burrow.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Twillian burrows have a lot of holes,” she explained.
“Could have guessed that one myself,” I said with a wry chuckle.
She shrugged. “Hey, you never know. You humans, you know, so late to the galactic community, and yet your wormhole is what, three lightminutes from your home world?”
“Five lightdays,” I muttered. “Look, we had some… other research going on.”
“So you ignored the gift at your doorstep? Only humans.” Jesanth smiled all too smugly. It was an argument we’d had a hundred times. At this point, it was almost a comfort to go through the motions, even if me and my species ended up on the losing end of it.
But today, in light of recent news…
“Well,” I said vaguely, “our species has some other benefits, as it were. We may be slow, but we’re persistent.”
“You *are* hiding something,” Jesanth declared. She sat up in her seat and studied my face. “What do you know, Marcos? What have you done?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied. “Even if I did know something, there’s a chance it’s, y’know, highly classified and I’d be killed if I told you.” I knew fully that my own boss had personally told me to leak this information in some way or another.
“Uh huh,” Jesanth said, unbelieving. She had known me long enough to instantly detect the sarcasm in my voice. “Humans and their secrets,” she sighed.
“It’s not a secret, per se,” I said. “Think of it as bait and me as dangling it in front of you for my own entertainment.”
Jesanth pouted. “Jerk.”
“I come from a family of jerks on a world of jerks,” I said. “You know, I ought to visit them one of these days. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Oh, your family’s on planet? That’s cool. We can show them the sights if you’d like?” Her tone was friendly, but I could tell she was still suspicious.
And rightfully so.
“Oh, no,” I said, smiling. “No, they’re still on Earth. My mother is terrified to death of spaceships. No, I’d have to go to Earth to see them.”
Jesanth narrowed her eyes, her expressions remarkably human for being an entirely different species. “Have you been reading children’s stories again? No way you can beat a minimum 5 lightday speed limit.”
“Not children’s stories, never on Earth. I think we’ve collectively dreamed of FTL travel since the twentieth century.”
“I don’t know what that means but it sounds like a depressingly long time to fixate on a fantasy. That’s why I call them children’s stories. Only children would bother to not live in the real world.”
“Who says it’s not the real world?” I laid the challenge on the table lightly, but I couldn’t keep the pride from my voice.
“You—” Jesanth dropped her voice to a whisper. “Humanity… you’ve— you’ve done it?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps. Maybe we did.”
She stared deeply into my eyes, searching for truth. She found it.
“Marcos,” she hissed. “What the hell are you doing spreading that around in public? That stuff should be a top military secret. If other species find out… you know I have to report this, right? If they found out I knew…”
“We’re counting on it,” I said confidently. “We won’t report anything *officially*, of course. But rumors… rumors can be worth their weight in gold.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it,” I said. “We’re still young, and there are about ten times as many of any other species out there. We’re sitting ducks, easy prey. Unless…”
Jesanth leaned back in her chair. “Unless everyone’s afraid you’ve got some secret technology that could fight them off. But you do.”
I shrugged. “And we could prove it in war, at great cost of materiel and life. We’d rather not. Not yet.”
“You humans… insane.”
“Perhaps not so insane after all,” I said. “After all, our science fiction is that much more realistic now.”
“You’re not *that* sane. Fantasy is still out the window. So how’d you do it, anyway? How’d you break the one rule of physics that has never been broken?”
“Now *that* must remain a secret,” I said.
I felt a tingle of lightning at my fingertips, a barely held-back spark of magic.
“But perhaps it’s all a matter of [belief](https://reddit.com/r/badderlocks).”
|
Throughout the galaxy we have found two types of sapience - The Evolutionary and The Extinct.
The Evolutionary represent a branch from humanity's path somewhere around the invention of agriculture. Rather than an ever-accelerating series of new inventions - making tools that allowed the creation of new tools - the various species we classify as Evolutionary simply carried on living the simple lives that they had. Their social structures developed - they are still sapient after all - but new technology was only acquired by pure accident; rather than imagining a new tool and crafting it a new tool would have to simply exist in nature in order to be copied by the Evolutionary category of sapients.
Gradually evolutionary sapients produce a great variety of symbiotic species, simply by encouraging the breeding of those natural individuals that are most useful to them, so visiting the world of an evolutionary sapient generally means entering through a dense canopy of photo-synthetic life-forms that also serve as housing, food-sources and tool-makers for the sapients of that world.
The blade-tree of the Gointiri is an extreme example of just how far selective breeding can get, if given evolutionary timescales in which to work. The blades it grows have edges as sharp as a razor, and venom sacs - obviously potent weaponry - but if you've been paying attention to the news you may be aware that one nation of the Gointri people have developed them beyond that point, their blade-trees are capable of launching their own massive blades at intruders, creating a formidable barrier to any outside interference which has so far prevented the theft of these ballista-trees by any other Gointri.
The Extinct were rather closer in behaviour to humans - possessed with the ability to imagine and engineer new technology. They branched off from humanity far later (by human standards) - rather than at the point of agriculture their societies differ materially from ours for only a matter of a century at most, generally beginning between their industrial revolution and their first stable wormhole.
Whether through pollution, nuclear war, or wormhole cascade, every other sapient species in our galaxy that possessed the imagination to create new tools has wiped itself out.
And that is why, as Engineers, you are the most dangerous people in the galaxy. We don't know of any species that has wiped out more than a single star cluster - but we really don't want to be the first.
| 2022-09-30T09:35:08 | 2022-09-30T08:48:26 | 412 | 208 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why.
|
The students filed into the room slowly, some clearly uncomfortable in the more modern clothing that had, for the moment, replaced the tradition student robes. The front of the room was dominated by a stack of crates, each containing a small chicken, in varying levels of calm.
"Silence," the professor began, gesturing toward the crates. "Today's test will be scored entirely on the practical. You have each had two weeks to design your elemental suit, and to tune it for today's task. 50 points if the chicken dies, an additional 20 points for avoiding obvious distress, and the final 30 points for, and I wish to stress this to you, Miss Havers, the amount of usable meat left on the bird after the standard Decruft charm has been applied. Automatic failures for miscasting Decruft, including deliberately casting something other than Decruft, and for use of a non-elemental or non-original suit to complete the assignment." The chickens calmed at the gesture, blissfully unaware of their impending doom. "Now, as I call you..."
"Rebecca," the teacher called as she place the first chicken on the scale. A mousy girl, with hesitant steps and glasses that made her eyes seem the size of saucers, stood and walked to the front if the class. She made a short sharp gesture, whispering under her breath. The chicken's head fell off, neatly severed by a blade of Air. "Antacroix," she intoned, and the feathers, skin and bones all neatly piled themselves in the garbage container next to the desk.. The teacher looked down and said "2kg, no distress, 100 points."
"Tyler," she called, placing an identical chicken on the scale. The ginger stepped up and clapped his hands together dramatically, as twin hands of stone pulverized the bird's head. "Antacroix," he added, sending the bones to join their compatriots in the garbage. "2 kg, no distress, 100 points."
"Jessica". A clenched fist and a snarled "Fuegomaximo" later, the teacher sniffed and said, "400 grams, some distress, 69 points."
"Robert" "Glugtegra.," he intoned, the chicken panicking as its tiny lungs filled with water. "2kg, Severe distress, 80 points.
"Alexander," she called next. Without getting up, he snapped his fingers and the chicken made a "wark?" noise before falling over. "Antacroix," he added with a yawn. The teacher pressed her lips together and said "2 kg, no distress, necromancy, 0 points." Alexander jumped to his feet and yelled. "Necromancy? That was a Stone suit!" The teacher scowled "Stone Heart is still a necromancy suit, and not original to boot. See me after class. James!!"
===
The Dean harumphed. "This should be easy enough to determine," he said, his titanic shoulders moving like bridge supports. "What did the Thaumeter register?" Miss Factial scowled again. "The Thaumeter registered .15, which is consistent with a small conjuration cantrip.. The Dean nodded. "And Stone Heart would register 76 if cast by a competent amateur. I think we can safely say that while Alexander does have an unusual background, he isn't eighty times as efficient as the ranking Necromancers on the Council. I'm going to dismiss the accusation of plagiarism. Did you bring another clone?"
Miss Fractia nodded, and placed it, and a scale, on the Dean's desk. "Repeat your spell, Alexander, but just the first one." Alexander snapped his fingers, and once again the chicken made a 'wark?' sound and expired. The Dean pulled on a pair of glaves and breathed 'Sectus Severus, splodeo'. Lines of force criscrossed the skin of the dead bird and it burst into the air, the dozens of pieces slowly revolving around a central axis, maintaining perfect relation to each other. He stared into the heart of the carcass for most of a minute before pointing to the head. "Here's the cause of death," he said. "Poor thing's brain is half-crushed and half just gone. I'm not sure how you do it with a cantrip, but that's not soul work. How'd you do it boy?"
Alexander sighed, "You aren't going to understand. It's based on something from my home world."
"Try me"
"The suit creates a very small piece of stone, but gives it an extent less than its own Event Horizon and a minuscule duration . The gravity generated inside the skull compacts some of the tissue into nothingness and liquefies the rest before the stone vanishes, preventing the destruction of the world."
"Oh."
|
The spell wasn’t supposed to be anything special, it’s ability was to lock an object from moving at all for roughly 30 seconds. You didn’t even have to be looking at the object as long as you were near it and were thinking of it in your head. The main usage you thought of was for mountain climbing, you could create a stepladder in midair or stop your fall with any object in your hand. But Mrs. Potts told you to stay after class for some reason.
“Mrs. Potts, is there something wrong with my spell?”
“Oh God. Have you not realized the implications of this?”
You begin sweating beads as you shake your head no.
“The human heart beats blood throughout the body by pumping. What do you think would happen if you just stopped it from pumping? You just created a more efficient instant death spell. You CANNOT let the Witch CIA know about this or we’re probably both going to prison for a very long time.”
Shit.
| 2021-04-02T01:22:24 | 2021-04-01T22:33:04 | 302 | 139 |
[WP] The Seven Deadly Sins all sit down to decide which one of them should no longer be considered a sin.
|
"I vote Lust."
Lust recoiled, disgusted. "Me? If anyone here deserves to step down, it should be you, Envy!"
Envy rolled his eyes. "Please. Look at humans these days. All they do now is fuck like bunnies on speed. What have they got to worry about? They have condoms, Lust. CONDOMS. Everyone commits you. And when everyone does it, no one does."
"That line barely worked in the Incredibles and you trying to force it here makes it worse." Lust retorted. Envy fumed.
"I'M SO ANGRY!" Wrath shouted, slamming down his fists. He sat in his chair, sheepish. "Sorry, it gets a bit tough at times."
Lust clicked her fingers. "What about *you*, Wrath?"
Wrath looked around.
"What about me?" Lust coughed. "Oh, you mean I might not count as a sin?" Lust nodded. Wrath twiddled his thumbs.
"I uh. . . I dunno Lust. Everything I have my hands in is pretty illegal. I think if anyone has legitimacy being a sin, it's probably me." Wrath looked down at his feet, his toes knocking together. "I mean, just look at all the bad things a bit of Wrath can do. Beating, wars, torture, seething hatred, A LOBOTOMY WITH A SHARPENED SPOON!" Wrath coughed. "Sorry, again."
"Yes." Pride remarked. "If I dare do say so myself, Wrath has the most legitimacy as a sin. I'd argue Greed and Gluttony as well."
Gluttony bowed her head. "Thank you Pride."
Lust scoffed. "Now why Gluttony?"
Pride pushed up his glasses, handed down by his great great grandfather who did something really rather important.
"Gluttony is the reason why most of America, Europe, Canada, Russia, China, hell, most every country on the planet save a few areas in southern India and central Africa are so fat and lazy. The Americans pay for chinese products, that leads to pain there. Then China pays SK, who pays this, who pays that. Without Gluttony, there wouldn't be a basis for this system in the first place."
"Well," Envy started, "That means Pride is pretty useless."
Pride spat out his tea. "I beg your pardon!?"
Greed raised his hand. "Are we not going to mention why I'm legitimate?"
Lust rolled her eyes. "Shut up Greed."
Pride was fuming. "How dare you," Pride began, steam coming out of his ears, "*insinuate* that I am useless! I have been at the cornerstone of every war and squabble, every backstabbing and political drama in the past thousand years! Without Pride, there is no anger!"
Wrath jumped out of his seat.
"I AM THE ONE WHO ENDS THE WARS!" He sat down, embarrassed. "Sorry, held it in as long as I could."
Pride tutted. "Not to worry Wrath." Wrath nodded appreciatively.
Lust sighed. "Okay, so we're all legitimate."
Greed shook his head. "Not so. We haven't figured out why you're still here Lust. Envy had a point."
Lust blew on her bangs. "Please. Polyamory and Polygamy is still illegal. And sex is such a taboo in Western culture. I'm definitely a sin. But how is Envy legit?"
Envy stood up. "Because jealousy is the very essence of human nature! Wanting something you can't have! It's why there's cheating and stealing and fighting! It is the seed of many crimes that may involve Wrath or Greed or Lust or Pride or Gluttony or Sloth or-"
"Speaking of, where is Sloth?" Gluttony interjected.
Envy turned green. "Can I finish!?"
Lust ignored him. "I don't think Sloth made it today."
Gluttony Hm'd. "So we're all legitimate. Why is Sloth still around?" Everyone shrugged. No one could honestly think of a reason.
Pride clapped his hands together. "Well, since Sloth couldn't make it, how about we defunct them?" Lust rolled her eyes.
"I don't think so. Sloth is a lazy bastard, but she still embodies her sin. She couldn't make it today. If a human guilty of sloth didn't make to some important event, there would be consequences. A birthday missed, a meeting gone, a job lost."
Wrath stood up. "I think we need to redefine sin." Everyone looked at Wrath. He coughed, and began.
"We're all talking of acts here. An act of Envy, Wrath, Greed, Gluttony, Pride, Sloth and Lust. But this is not the case with sin. Sin is not the act itself, it is the context of the act, and the feeling of the person who commits the act. It is intent." Wrath drank some water.
"Granted, some sins are wholeheartedly clear. Envy, for example, is coveting thy possessions, attributes and life of another. So much so that they do not focus on their own. Lust is coveting sex at the cost of hurting one you already share such an act with. Pride is dehumanizing your fellow man, and believing yourself to be above them. Gluttony is consumption of an abundance of resources, Greed is the hoarding of material goods. Sloth is uncaring of your own mental and physical wellbeing. Wrath. . ."
Wrath shrugged.
"Wrath is using your own anger in a malicious way. With malicious intent, to cause evil, not prevent it." Wrath twiddled his thumbs. "Notice how all of these things are not acts themselves, but the feeling and intent of the person committing the acts. One could call someone who hoards things greedy, yes. But if their intent is sound, perhaps it is not Greed. Gluttony may be consumption in excess, but what if the person is responsible themselves, and also gives it out to others when asked?"
Wrath shrugged again.
"We have to face it. The Old Testament laws have no place here. Humans are expected to have more agency, to fend for themselves. Not to depend on ancient codes to get around life. These Sins are no longer about actually committing them, but rather not hurting other people as you walk through life. I hope that made sense."
The room was silent. Everyone thought upon what Wrath said. Then Wrath stood up again.
"**AND IF YOU THINK I'M WRONG WE CAN TAKE THIS OUTSIDE AND I'LL BEAT YOU OVER THE HEAD WITH A FUCKING OSTRICH!**" Wrath sat down. The room was dead silent as he looked each of them in the eye. "I mean it too."
|
Wrath cried down down the stairs: **"SLOTH GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!"**
Sloth cried up the stairs, "Don't tell me what to do maaaann"
**"WHY YOU LITTLE-"**
"Calm down Rat, I'll go get him," said Gluts, "anyone else want any snacks while I'm down there?"
"I would have liked some popcorn. But you already ate all of it," said Envy.
"Calm your tits En. I heard Greed has some extra. I'll ask him to loan me some."
"Good luck with that," muttered Lust as Gluts walked down the stairs, "you couldn't get the guy to loan you a sweatshirt."
"I don't like what that implies..."
"Shut up En, you're just jealous you can't get some."
"Not from my brother!"
"Bitch."
"Whore."
"WHY YOU LIT-"
"AS your older brother it is my duty to tell you ladies to break it up!"
"Shut up Pride. We're septuplets. You were born 10 minutes before the rest-" said Envy.
"WHATever"
Gluttony came up the stairs with Sloth in tow and Greed blubbing behind.
"HEY! GIVE ME MY POPCORN BACK!"
"You've had enough Greed," said Gluts.
"OH! LIKE YOU'D KNOW."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck both of you. I was having a nap."
**"WAY TO DODGE RESPONSIBILITY SLOTH."**
"Chill out duuude."
**"YOU LITTLE FUCK FACE. WHY AR-"**
"CALM THE FUCK DOWN! Both of you! And give me that popcorn Glu-"
"POINT of order!," interrupted Pride.
"Why do you have to interrup-"
"TODAY we meet to determine which of us is no longer relevant enough to be deemed a sin!"
^("I know one of us who still is..." muttered Lust)
**"SHUT UP. I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY YOU SLUT."**
"You little misogynistic fuckface!"
**"WHORE."**
"Clearly another one of us is still relevant," said Gluts as he grabbed a handful of Envy's popcorn.
**"I BELIEVE SLOTH IS A RELEVANT AS WELL."**
"Why you gotta hate on me maaan...."
**"BECAUSE YOU ARE A USELESS POTHEAD LOSE-"**
"KNOCK it off you two," Pride interrupted. Again.
"So if Pride, Wrath and Sloth are still relevant that just leaves Lust, Gluts, Envy and myself," said Greed as he reached for Envy's popcorn.
"You and Gluts keep stealing my popcorn. I'd say that's still relevant," said Envy while slapping Greed's hand away.
"Fair enough," said Gluts, "but your still pretty relevant yourself."
"Agreed," Envy replied, "which means it's time for you to go Lust..."
"Fine! I had better stuff to do anyway!"
| 2014-08-30T15:15:42 | 2014-08-30T15:12:15 | 751 | 32 |
[WP] Legends tell of the Elder race who utilized strange "technologies" instead of magic. As hordes of brutal killers invade from the north, a young elf heads off to search for ancient ruins, looking for humans...
|
The Elders were always venerated and spoken of with respect, at least in the annals of history. Their genius was said to have been unmatched by any other sentient race; historians even claimed that any non-scientist Elder youth held a deeper understanding of the universe than ten of our High Sages combined. Even today, every now and then elven adventurers unearth bizarre gadgets of indescribable sophistication in our elven foothills, far beyond the scope or comprehension of any elf.
Not much else was known about the Elders other than their defining brilliance. In more peaceful days, teams of earthmages and historians would venture into the Northern Wastes to discover more about the Elders, their civilization and history, and how they perished. Some even made the ludicrous claim that the Elders had no magical capabilities whatsoever; indeed, their genius was to the extent that they could shape and meld the physical and living worlds to their will through sheer inventiveness. This belief led to the myth of the Machina, devices that the Elders used to perform such feats as erecting monuments that touched the heavens or building gadgets that were impossibly indistinguishable from each other. Most believed these Machina to be giant avatars of humanoid form; others argued that this was implausible and unlikely. Indeed, in those days, many elves, both laypeople and authorities, spent considerable effort musing and debating the existence and nature of the Machina, and this led to many excursions to the Wastes.
Unfortunately, that time is now gone.
-----
A mournful howling wind brought me back from the wistful memories of peaceful days gone by. I shivered as the chilling gust of wind blew past me, propelling itself southward. Snapping back to alertness, I chided myself for the brief loss of focus. *You're in the Wastes now, Avestan. One more daydream like that and it could be all be over.*
Had it been three days now since I had last slept? Perhaps four? Days were hazy so deep in the Wastes, where any glimpse of the sun was through endless layers of dust and smog. It was just as difficult to discern whether I was making any progress. The Wastes had more than earned the namesake: other than the occasional mountainous landmark, it was an endless expanse of dead forest, all covered in grayish soot.
Still, I used what meager mana I had at my disposal to cast a small lifetrace spell, which helped more as a psychological assurance than a navigational tool. The spell's supposed effectiveness puzzled me to this day; after all, lifetrace was an exceptionally minor wind-based spell used to track traces of lifeforms (hence the name), and yet according to earthmages who had ventured into the Wastes, the spell would uncannily lead to the remains of the Elders' civilization. Normally, the dead were not tracked at all by lifetrace, leading to further speculation regarding the mystery of the Elders' demise. "It's almost as if the entirety of the Elders were obliterated in a single instant!" the earthmages exclaimed.
I again started making my way through the dead forest, the spell providing a sort of "intuition" for what direction to follow. Using every possible means of concealment and stealth, I carefully stalked from trunk to thornbrush, praying that I would not be caught by the Fiends. I counted my blessings for the umpteenth time that my only magical capacity was for minor spells like lifetrace; after all, the Fiends homed in on higher-order magic with terrifying precision. Even large amounts of mana appeared to draw the Fiends in, so that many of our finest Sages had been the first to be shredded by the Fiends. Indeed, my stealth training as a ranger and my utter lack of magical ability were the reasons I had been chosen for this mission in the first place.
"Venture out to the Wastes. Find any hope of survival you can from the Elders, and bring it back to us. It's the only way." The words of the High Sages as they bequeathed this mission still rang in my ears and drove me onward. Ever since the mysterious, lethal, metalloid Fiends had descended in hordes from the Wastes, with their incessant, unnatural clicking sounds filling the air, all we could think about was survival. At first, we attempted to fight back, of course. Spell after deadly spell was hurled into their midst as they invaded our cities, to no avail. Their metallic shells withstood the most fearsome of elven magic, while their invisible projectiles killed elven mages with pinpoint accuracy. Even storms of fire and lightning left them unfazed, only managing to drive them back briefly before they resumed their swarm-like advance. The only thing that worked was to cast protective barriers around our cities to hide any trace of our presence, which caused the Fiends to lose interest completely. At this point, all we could do was to barrel ourselves inside our walls and barriers. Everyone knew that it couldn't last long.
-----
These thoughts still lingered in my mind when the lifetrace spell suddenly indicated a suitable destination. Looking around, I glimpsed a near-invisible nook in a small clearing, almost imperceptible to the eye. Peering more closely, I could discern faint lines in the dust, forming a perfect rectangle in the ground. The precision of the handiwork left no doubt: this was, indeed, a mark left by the Elders. But what was its purpose? Why was it carved here?
I silently brushed aside the soot covering the markings. It became apparent that the area outlined by the rectangle was not earth, but rather some artificially smooth surface. Now on my knees, I cautiously lowered myself to examine the nook more carefully. There it was: a small impression near the center of the rectangle, again so fine as to be all-but-invisible to the naked eye. I could feel that the impression was pliable. Throwing my doubts to the wind, I braced myself as I pushed the impression inward.
The rectangle began to *moved*. Without a sound, the entire rectangular area slid smoothly open, revealing a dark stairway underneath. For a few moments, I could only stare in shock. No runes were visible anywhere, I had made sure of that; and more importantly, no mana had been emitted by the structure at all! And yet, the entrance now stood open before me, as if nothing had ever stood between me and the stairway. My mind almost felt deceived, that the rectangular structure was naught but an illusion.
Taking a moment to calm myself under the teachings of the Sages, I ventured into the abyss. While elves have rather developed vision in the dark compared to other land creatures, I had to grope my way forward in the utter darkness. There were no features to describe; just a narrow staircase leading down hundreds -- perhaps thousands -- of steps, lined by impossibly smooth walls. Come to think of it, the walls seemed to be of the same material as the moving entrance: a cold, unnatural substance.
As I reached what appeared to be firm ground at last, I was abruptly blinded by light. In unison, countless lamps came to life along the walls and ceiling, impossibly high above me. Again, not even a single wisp of magic emanated from any of these light sources. *Time to stop being surprised, Avestan.* I told myself. *You've known since you came here that this would be powered by the Elders' works.*
Gathering my senses again, I could make out a small, gate-like structure at the end of the corridor, and hurried to it. A similar impression and a similar, smooth sliding opened the way, and I found myself in an incredibly large opening, stretching as far in all directions as the eye could see. The entire area was lit up, though no sources of light could be seen. I caught myself again gasping at the marvels of the Elders.
Lining the walls of the opening were endless rows upon rows of bodies, evidently in some form of stasis. They looked uncannily similar to elves, but something was off. At that moment, in that state of shock, I could barely register this fact, let alone try to discern what was different.
Turning my attention back to the opening itself, I glimpsed movement coming from the perceived center. Heart pounding, I gasped for breath as I ran and staggered to the source. As I got closer, I saw that the movements were actually screens of blue light dancing in intricate patterns, floating above the ground in designated rows. The contents of these light screens were so definite and precise in their design that I could only think of them as symbols of some kind, though what they represented was anyone's guess, especially given how they weaved together in such complex patterns.
In fact, I was so mesmerized by the screens and the floating symbols that I didn't recognize what was sitting behind the light until I almost crashed into him. An Elder.
|
"Jamarr," I called back, stepping carefully onto the stones that slept in the river, "you have to keep up."
Jamarr grumbled a reply, his Orcish armor clunking loudly behind me. Sometimes, I wondered how he became one of the best thieves in his stronghold. I waited safely on the other side of the stream and watched as he struggled to find his footing against the slippery stone, and then, in a blur of obscenities and less-than-graceful motions, he fell flat on his face into the mountain-chilled water. He met me on the other side and gave me a look that said "don't even bother commenting".
"Why are we hiking out here anyway, Bryn? The humans aren't real. They're a fairy tale, just like the dragons. Oh, and Little Foot." He complained.
I led the way into the Frovian Woods and motioned for him to keep his voice down. If the faeries knew we were here, we'd never leave, but be forced to dance within their beautiful halls until our ankles snapped from exhaustion. I'd heard the stories, and that was all I needed.
I lowered my own voice to below a whisper. "Dragons *are* real, Jam, they're just... not around anymore. And besides, the humans were never a fairy tale, remember? They're a legend, and most legends are true where I come from."
Jam laughed a deep, Orcish laugh, something that I was not used to. The treaty between the Elves and the Orcs broke down long ago, but Jamarr and I met while out hunting. He was six, and had wandered into our territory by mistake. I helped him get back to his family safely, and he gave me a few of his squirrels, which marked the beginning of our friendship.
"Right, because the Elves are just so trustworthy? Come on, Bryn, this is stupid and pointless. Let's just go home before they realize we're gone." He urged, stopping to look over his shoulder. I wanted to go home just as much as he did, but no one else was going to find the humans, and he promised he'd come with me.
"They *are* trustworthy, and no, it's too late to go back. Now keep your voice down or else the faeries will-"
"Find you?" Said a small, yet stern voice. Fear prickled the hairs on my arms as Jam and I both looked down. A blue-tailed squirrel was gazing up at us intently, his little head cocked to the side. Then, the squirrel was gone, and in its place stood a wolf, tall and menacing.
"Are you a shape-shifter?" Jam inquired, taking a small step forward. I glared fire at him, silently willing him to shut his mouth before he got us killed.
The wolf, however, laughed, as well as a wolf could laugh, and flicked his tail back and forth. "A shifter? Ha! Those things are about as real as the humans you're going after. No, Mr. Big-Teeth, I was cursed."
"Cursed?" Jam echoed at the same time that I asked, "Have you been following us?"
The wolf licked his lips almost hungrily. "Maybe. It's not everyday an elf and an orc wander into faerie territory. You know how dangerous it is here? How old are you?"
I cut Jam off before he could utter another word and sighed. "Yes, we know. We just need to find the humans."
"Why would you ever need to come face to face with those vile, destructive creatures?" The wolf pondered, a wolfish smile twisting his lips.
"Because our home is being invaded as we speak, and we need to get the humans' help-"
The wolf shook his head and cut me off. "Yeah, yeah, you want their technology, I figured as much. Well, looks like it's your lucky day, Gold-Skin, because I happen to know a guy who knows a guy that just might be able to help you."
"Really?" I said sarcastically, ignoring the 'Gold-Skin' part. "And you'd help us, just like that?"
"Of course not, you long-eared idiot, I want something in return."
"Oh?"
The wolf looked around for a minute, as though he were making sure that no one else was listening in. Then he turned his silver eyes to mine, dead serious.
"You have to help get this curse off of me."
It seemed too easy of a deal, but the seriousness of his voice was not like the empty promises I've heard back home. I wondered why he was so quick to jump on the opportunity to help two complete strangers that aren't even where they're supposed to be, but if he was truly cursed, then I suppose he had a reason. I looked to Jam, who simply smiled and shrugged, letting the decision fall to me. Sometimes I hated being the decision-maker.
"Fine." I groaned, rolling my eyes, "You have a deal."
| 2017-01-06T20:11:45 | 2017-01-06T16:24:54 | 58 | 12 |
[WP] You wake up as per normal this morning. You find out that it's 2016 and you try to piece together 2015 using pictures from your phone or Facebook.
|
*Happy New Year,* I thought as I woke up. *I wonder what kind of year it will be.*
I rolled out of bed, instinctively grabbing my phone as I did. The screen read "Jan. 1, 2016." I had a message from my mom. That was nice.
I weaved my way to the bathroom, and started brushing my teeth, still in a fog from last night's party. It really couldn't have gone any better. Even though we spent months apart, my old college friends and I hit it off immediately. It was just like old times. I smiled, and some toothpaste dribbled down my chin.
And then there was Melody. I had finally talked to her, and she had reciprocated! I smiled even wider, not caring that my face was now covered in white foam.
Maybe I should send her a good morning text. Was that too much? I didn't want to scare her away, and I wasn't very good at this kind of thing.
I read the message from my mom as I considered. "Happy New Year, and happy birthday! We will be around later." Sent January 1, 2016, at 12:00 AM.
Something was itching at the back of my mind, like I had noticed something was off, but wasn't sure what it was. Who was the "we" with my mom? She had been single for most of my life, since my dad walked out when I was 5.
I sat down at my desk, flipping open my laptop. Fri 2:10 PM. Too late for a good morning text, then. Wait... Friday? Wasn't yesterday a Wednesday? What happened at that party? Did I sleep *all day,* and *most of my birthday, too?*
But... no. Jan. 1, 2016. It was definitely the next day.
2016.
It finally clicked into place.
"No, no, no, no..." I groaned over and over. I'd had episodes of memory loss before, particularly when I was a child. They usually weren't this severe though. A whole *year?* What did I miss? What did I not remember?
I lethargically opened Facebook. I knew this routine. I'd done it before, but never over this time scale. Thank god for timeline.
The Facebook format had been changed, of course, but not too drastically. I started at January 1, and started through my pictures.
*Hey, that's me and Melody!* It looked like we had gone on some kind of date on January 9. A nice dinner. I was grinning like an idiot. She even looked like she was having a good time.
January 24, we went out again, this time to a movie. The Woman in Black 2, by the looks of things. I hated horror movies, but I knew Melody was a big fan of them. I hoped I hadn't cried or screamed or anything equally embarrassing.
I continued to scroll through pictures, and grew increasingly amazed. It looked like we really hit it off! Around March, we started posting pictures together incessantly, the way new couples do. We actually were together! My smile was too big for my face.
Suddenly, my stomach seemed to drop through my chair, happiness turned to shock. I had reached July, and it looked like... Melody was pregnant. The further I went, the more clear it became. Her stomach stretched as the months passed. We'd had a wedding in September. There was my mom, beaming next to me. My best man, Doug, looked amazingly healthy. He'd lost a lot of weight since the New Year's party. And there in the center, Melody and me, my hand on her slightly bulging stomach, and smiles of pure joy on our faces.
A well of emotion bubbled out of me. I wanted to laugh, cry, dance, and panic all at once. I was a husband! Not only that, I was married to the most beautiful girl in the world. I would have a new son by now. Fortunately, I hadn't missed too much of his life. Was I a good father? If I hadn't been this last month or so, I would be from now on.
Suddenly, my gut twisted in a knot. Fear began creeping in from the edges of my happiness. Where was Melody, and the new baby? I would have expected them to be here, in my house, but I didn't hear anyone. No one moving around in the other rooms, no wailing cries of a hungry baby, nothing.
"Hello?" I called out, just to be sure. I was answered by silence.
My pictures ended on December 28. It was a picture of Melody and... Matthew, according to the post. She was positively glowing. It seemed motherhood suited her.
So where was she?
I opened the door to my... our... room, and walked quietly down the hall. There were some toys scattered about the ground, and new pictures on the walls. We had repainted. The lights were off, and the curtains in the living room were drawn, letting in only a crack of light. Enough light to reveal a shadowy figure. And that figure was holding my baby.
Animal instinct overtook me. I lunged into the room, a primal scream in my throat, and ran straight at the figure.
The lights clicked on. "Happy Birthday!" was yelled from every direction at once, and I reeled from the sudden light and noise. I spun in a circle, wearing nothing but my underwear, and took in the smiling faces all around the room. And there, directly across the room from me, was my wife and baby. She laughed as she walked over and went up on her tiptoes, giving me a quick kiss.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. We thought you would never wake up, but we decided to let you sleep, since it was your birthday. You might want to put some clothes on."
Matthew cooed at me, and I picked him up. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I gave him a kiss on the forehead, and handed him back to Melody. Then I went to my mom and gave her a hug. Next to her was a man I couldn't remember, but he had a great sense of humor, and was obviously in love with my mom. I was happy for her.
After making a quick round of my old college friends, the same ones I remembered partying with last night (which really was a whole year ago, thinking about it), I headed back to my... our... room, and got dressed. I unlocked my phone, and sent Melody a text. "I love you."
I got back, "Get out here and entertain your friends, then! I need a break and Matt needs a nap!"
I chuckled to myself, and prepared to reenter the party, with more dignity than before.
Turns out 2015 had been a pretty good year.
EDIT: phrasing, capitalization, and spelling
|
(First off, this is my first time trying to write one of these writing prompts, so if you could give me some constructive criticism that would be cool.)
"Woah. Man I got a headache." I said as I got out of bed. "What happened last night?" I checked my phone to see if I had any pictures from last night. I found multiple pictures of me hanging out with some people. "What the hell?" I said as I read the date the pictures were taken. "2016? What? How did I not remember that. Could of sworn it was just 2015...or 14....no 15....wait... Shit I don't remember. What the hell is happening!?" A text appeared from someone named 'Brian'. "I don't know a Brian, or do I?" I threw my phone on my bed and walked to the bathroom. I turned on the water and splashed it on my face. I looked up and noticed my hair was clean cut and blonde in color. "What?" I whispered as I analyzed my hair. "Since when has my hair been blonde? Why can't remember my own damn hair color!" I reached my hand up to my head and scratched the back. "The hell... Something metallic is on my head." I went back to my room and got my phone. I then took a picture of the back of my head so I could see the device. It was a small curved piece of metal with a red light. "......" I just stared at the photo trying to remember how that piece of metal got there. The device put me in a trance, and I could not look away for the longest time. It finally broke when I received a text from 'Brian' that read, 'hey you there?? What happened last night? How the hell do you forget everyone's name? And why did you just leave with out telling anyone? Bro I'm worried for you. Text me back.' That's strange, I think this Brian guy has the wrong number. I read the text above that one that was dated at '9:32 am 3/5/2016'. "What? I don't remember getting a text this morning, and since when has it been 2016?!" I threw my phone down on the bed and walked to the bathroom. The faucet was on. "Who turned on my water? Did I turn it on? I can't remember... Why can't I remember?" I walked back to my bedroom and noticed my phone was lit up. It was opened on some texts from someone named 'brian'. "When did I receive these txts?" I said. "And who is this Brian guy?" I scratched the back of my head and felt a metallic object. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of it. When I went to my photo album I noticed I had two pictures of the object. "I don't remember taking another picture of my head....why am I standing here?" My mind went blank and whenever I tried to think of something the thought would simply disappear. ".........." I sat there looking at the wall as if in a trance.
"It worked, the test actually worked!" Jacob said in excitement. Everyone started cheering. Jacob looked back at the cameras and Alex still stood there with a blank face looking at the wall. "Marry, call up our boss and tell him we are successful with the memory eraser." Jacob said. "Should we have a party?" Gerald asked. "It's been 56 years since we started this, I think a party is inevitable!" Jacob responded with. "Cheers erupted through the room.
| 2014-12-31T14:59:35 | 2014-12-31T12:12:24 | 50 | 25 |
[WP] At age 21, you and your SO cast a strange love spell to swap bodies one day a week. 8 years later, your fiancee is really sick of you body swapping with your ex, but you don't know how to undo the spell.
|
I’m awoken by Dan fidgeting next me in bed. His eyes meet meet mine, and instantly I know this is a Kelly Day.
She sighs loudly in exasperation through Dan’s mouth and throws his head back into the pillow. “Fucking fuck-balls fuck-face fuck-head-“
Hearing the stream of profanity in Dan’s soft, slightly nasal voice is too surreal, even after 4 years, and I giggle.
Kelly glares at me with Dan’s calm brown eyes.
“Hey,” I smirk back. “Watch his mouth.”
The corner of Dan’s mouth twitches. Kelly and I both realized early on that finding some modicum of mutual humor in the unavoidable intimacy of our situation was the only way to stay sane.
“Shit, it never happens two days in a row. When has it ever fucking happened two days in a row?” She kicks at the sheets like a toddler.
“Had plans?” I ask.
“Yeah. Well sort of.”
Dan’s eyes take on a sly, very un-Dan expression.
“Let’s just say Dan will likely be waking up more than a little sore today.”
My eyes widen and I snort involuntarily.
“Oh my god, Kelly”
She cackles, and I can’t help but join. Partly the ridiculousness of the situation, partly hearing it come out of my fiancé.
“He knows, though. Right?” I ask. “The guy, I mean. I’m assuming.”
Dan’s shoulders slump, ashamed.
“No.” Kelly says, accused. “I thought since it happened yesterday I’d get today free.”
“Jesus Christ, Kelly.” I sit up and look at our reflection in the large mirror on the far side of the room, then at the body next to me. “He won’t do anything, will he? If he finds out?”
Kelly’s fear rushes into Dan’s eyes.
“Fuck, I hope not. I don’t- shit, I don’t think so. No.” She lands with uncertainty on the negative. Dan’s eyes dart up to mine, then away again.
“How do you know?” I demand, anger rising. It’s her body, but it’s my future husband. “Is this a one night stand?”
She shakes Dan’s head no. “We’ve been together a month.”
“And you didn’t tell him!” I’m fully angry now.
“I didn’t want to scare him off. Like I’m some sort of schizo or fucking multiple personalities or some shit.”
“Dan told me on our second date.”
“Well maybe he’s better at being a fucking freak!”
That’s when I slap her. It echoes uncomfortably off the drywall. She stares in shock through Dan’s eyes.
We both breathe stiffly for a very long moment.
“I’m sorry Kelly.” Then almost by reflex. “I’m sorry Dan.”
Suddenly, Kelly starts crying. Not even bothering to cover her face with Dan’s hands, just tears rolling over his stubble and gasping, choked sobs.
“You have no idea how hard it is. No fucking idea.” Her face contorts more. “I can’t even use my own fucking voice. I can’t live my own fucking life. Dan has you and I have nothing and every week I need to be shoved in this shitty body just to be reminded. Fuck!”
I sit, stunned. I’ve seen Dan cry, but never like this. Even in the same body, where Dan has heavy release, Kelly has primal anguish.
Tentatively I reach out and touch my fiancé’s shoulder. First there’s nothing. Then, after a moment of hesitation, Kelly leans into me.
I run my fingers through Dan’s impossibly curly black hair. “You need to call him. Make sure he’s okay.”
Kelly stiffens in my arms, but nods. Alright.
She grabs Dan’s phone from the nightstand, wraps the sheet around his naked body, and wipes his eyes as she she stumbles into the kitchen.
Five minutes later she comes back.
“They hadn’t woken up yet. He’s going to leave a note about a work emergency or some shit and sneak out.”
I sigh my relief.
“What’s his name?”
“Bobby.”
“You’re going to tell Bobby about the situation tomorrow.” My voice is soft, but it isn’t a request.
Kelly nods solemnly, then starts crying again. This time it’s more like Dan.
“It wasn’t easy for us either. For Dan and me.” I begin. Then I pause. I look at my fiancé’s occupied body. It looks so small without Dan. “You want to get breakfast?”
Kelly sniffs and wipes Dan’s nose. Then she nods. “Yeah.”
Still wearing the sheet, Kelly gathers some of Dan’s clothes, and goes to the bathroom to get dressed.
|
I still remember the curve of her spine as my fingers traced her body. They'd run up and down her shoulders and back as I softly kissed her neck. I loved her. A part of me still loves her, and I don't think that'll ever change.
I know all of these feelings break my fiancé's heart. The woman I am to marry is beautiful and wonderful and kind and very patient with me, but every week I pray to the Gods to be with my old flame again. They always answer the same way. I'm tortured to never be in the same room with her, only to see her face in the mirror. The way her hair falls and the brightness of her smile is mine once more, but not in any way that satisfies me. I will never hold her with my own hands again. I can only hope she forgives me.
| 2019-12-15T12:32:47 | 2019-12-15T11:58:16 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?
|
**Part 1**
The door creaked open, shooting candlelight into the unswept bedroom. Drawn in the rectangle of light was the motionless shadow of a hunchbacked man. He put a hesitant foot inside of the room and sneezed as motes of dust entered his nostrils. Someone stirred on the canopied bed.
“What year is it?” croaked a man who lay sprawled on the bed. A bottle of red liquid balanced in the palm of his hand.
“M-master, you’ve been asleep for a year now. I… vas vorried...”
“Just let me sleep some more, Igor-”
“Um, that vas your old servant, master. I’m Ignatius, remember?”
The man rolled to his side, turning his back to Ignatius and the bottle rolled out of his hand onto the carpeted floor. “Servants come and go, Igor, what’s the point in learning their names?”
A hurt Ignatius put a few careful steps into the direction of his master, candle outstretched. “Master, remember when we first met in that village square? You were the only one not to pelt me with rotten fruit on that stage, and then you saved me with such vvvigor. Where is that vvvigor now? I miss the old Cazimir…”
“I’ve been vigorous enough in my life, now I just want to sleep.” Cazimir turned back to Ignatius and he drew himself up with his elbows, his grey eyes regarding his servant from top to bottom. “The past year has not been kind to you.” The miserable countenance of Ignatius made him soften a bit. “Did anything interesting happen during my nap?”
Ignatius walked to a window seat and plopped down. “I saw a few pitchfork and torch vielding mobs in front of the castle, but they didn’t have the stomach to enter. A few ravens have arrived. Apparently the emperor has died-”
“Old Mikael?” Cazimir swung his legs over the edge of the bed and put a fist to his chin. “That means I’ve lost my last enemy,” he said. He walked over to the window and parted the curtains with a finger. He gazed at the snow covered tree tops with sadness in his eyes. “I doubt he’d agree, but I think we could have been friends. Our cat and mouse games were so much fun. The man used to be so shrewd, but then old age started taking its toll.” He and Ignatius locked eyes. “He lost his… vigor.”
“My condolences, master”
“Time will claim you too,” sighed Cazimir. “And I’ll be left all alone.”
Ignatius’ eyes lit up, not quite the reaction Cazimir expected. An idea seemed to have hit him.
“Master,” he said thoughtfully. “There’s other news as well. People claim that the ancient dragon Milnjar has made its lair in the steppes.”
“Milnjar… He must have been around longer than I have. Never met him though… and the steppes, what a peculiar place for a dragon lair.”
“Master, vat if you go and meet him? You both are the oldest creatures in the world and he’ll be there when everyone vo's alive today is gone.”
Cazimir crossed his arms, opened his mouth and then closed it again. He hesitated for a moment and then beckoned Ignatius to follow him. They arrived at the castle library, where a massive ornate world map adorned the back wall.
“Igo- Ignatius, I actually like that idea, but look.” He pointed to their location on the map with his rapier and then traced the blade all the way to the top right of the map. “See how far away that is? In my bat form I can travel there fast, but for you it’ll take more than half a year-”
“No master, this is for you alone. I’ll only remind you of the fleeting lives of all the mortals you’ve known. It would make me happy to see you regain your lust for… life again.”
Cazimir grasped Ignatius’ shoulders and gave him a smile, revealing a menacing fang. “Thank you, old friend.” He reached into his coat and produced a large key. “The holder of this key owns the castle,” he said, and offered it to Ignatius. “Take it and it will be bound to you. All its wealth and magic shall be yours.”
Ignatius dropped to his knees and took the key with a shaking hand. “Am I… am I now the m-master of this house?” he stammered.
Cazimir nodded. “Do with it as you will. Until we meet again!” He twirled around, flourishing his cape and transformed into a bat. He fluttered up to the high windows, the thought of adventuring filling his heart with joy for the first time in decades. He darted at the window and smashed into the glass. Dazed, he flew back down to Ignatius, who was awkwardly watching Cazimir flailing about.
“I’ll open the gate for you.”
|
I was floating, as Tardigrades do, when I became unsure if I was floating in a planet, space, fission, fusion, or, some chaotic vibration of the universe. Then I saw the question. Dragons...vampires... immortal?! Really you poor fool goth child that are but a passing whim. I but squirt my ocular capacity and they are a mote in.....Well I guess I am a mote, but I’m a real.Immortal. Mote . I now desiccate and float on electromagnetic waves your flesh and metal treasure can only imagine as I , the true explorer caste of earth, embark on my billion year journey to see if there is life in the whirlpool galaxy.
Edit : As a member of my unique species I have difficulty separating now from then, and even sometimes the then from now. Your species would see that as dementia or failing to follow the rules. In reality I thought I had fulfilled the rules of this subrediits prose but in reflection I realise as you process time differently,and in your limited flesh bound phase; I may have fulfilled your writing prompts criteria at a point in time that is not in phase with your current ability to resolve the universe .
| 2021-04-16T08:20:55 | 2021-04-16T07:15:14 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
|
I was at the bar, like I was every night, when I met her. I knew everyone there, but she was a new face. She was tucked away in the corner, quietly drinking. With how loud everyone was, it was easy to miss her. She smiled when I offered her a drink. I sat down next to her and started talking. She mentioned that she was in town for work, and I didn't ask what it was. I know that there are three things you don't talk about, after all: politics, religion, and work.
As the hours went on, she said that she had to get back to her hotel room, and she needed a lift. Even though the rational part of me screamed that she could be a murderer, I took my chances and drove her to the hotel. When we got there, she thanked me for the good time and the lift, and left. When I got back home, I noticed a slip of paper on the passenger seat. On it, was a phone number.
Fast forward six months, and we've been in a long distance relationship. She's always traveling for work, but calls me every day. She had been telling me about how much she was dreading going to this work event in Nevada. I had said that I would go if I were able, but plane tickets were just too expensive for me. When she asked if I were serious, I was a little confused. Why wouldn't I be serious about spending time with my girlfriend? Confirming that I was serious, she quickly said she would call me right back. It took about 30 minutes, but she called back, telling me that she had gotten tickets for a round trip to Nevada and back in two weeks, and that she was taking care of all the expenses.
Landing in Nevada, I was greeted by a guy with a sign that had my name on it. He led me to his taxi, and took me to the hotel I would be staying at. She was waiting for me there. After the initial greetings, hugs, and pleasantries, we went to our room. She told me that the event was starting in five hours and that the suit she rented for me was in the closet. Seeing as I had time to spare, I took a nap while she started to get ready.
That brings me to right now. I'm standing in a suit, probably the best looking suit I've ever been in, in front of my girlfriend, who is wearing a beautiful blue dress. "You're beautiful," I said, stating the obvious.
"You're not too bad, yourself," she quickly retorted.
"So, when's the taxi getting here?" I asked.
"Oh, they're sending someone to pick us up," she answered.
"Who's 'they'?" I asked, my seemingly never-ending questions continuing.
"Universal. Come on, they're probably just about to get here."
Confused, I followed my girlfriend down into the lobby and out to the parking lot, where a limo was pulling up. "Must be someone important staying at this hotel," I joked.
As the driver opened the door, she replied, "Must be," and sat in the limo. "Now hurry up, or we're going to be late."
Dumbstruck, I walked into the limo, and sat next to my beautiful girlfriend. The driver got behind the wheel, and we were off. "Thanks for coming with me," she said, breaking the silence. "I've always going to these things by myself."
"No problem," I said, still trying to piece everything together in my mind.
"We should switch seats," she said, "I need to be the first one out."
"Oh, yeah, sure," I said, not really thinking. After switching seats, silence engulfed the limo once again. I think she realized that I was thinking of something, and didn't want to break my concentration.
After about 25 minutes, she broke the silence yet again. "We're here." Wondering where "here" was, I looked out the tinted windows, and saw a large crowd of people. As the limo slowed down, I looked at the ground outside, and saw a red carpet. Once the limo stopped, the silence was broken once more, "Just act natural," she advised.
Once the door was open, cameras began flashing. Somewhere in the background, I heard someone say, "And here she is, star of the film *What Would You Do For Love?*, Katherine Poe!" Once Katie was out of the limo, she offered a hand to me. I took hold of it, perhaps a little too tightly, and stepped out. Once I was out, the frequency of the camera flashes somehow managed to increase. I couldn't even manage to keep my eyes open for more than one second at a time, but Katie was able to see, and led me down to the theater, occasionally stopping to allow for more pictures.
Once we were in the theater, the movie began almost immediately. We must have been the last ones to show up. The movie looked to be a typical romantic comedy. Not my type of thing. I was surprised to see, though, that my own girlfriend, Katie, was up on the big screen. As the movie went on, I was mostly tired of the plot. It wasn't until I saw Katie kissing another man that I actually felt something. I was jealous? Of some guy in a movie?
When the movie was over, applause seemed to shake the theater. It seems like everyone enjoyed the movie. Everyone except me. Going in with confusion, and now leaving with irrational anger and jealousy, I don't know what to even think.
The way back to the limo was the same as the way into the theater. Cameras everywhere. Once we were in the limo, I was finally able to ask the questions that I've had for the past few hours. "So you're an actress?" I said, asking the most obvious question first.
"Yeah," she said nonchalantly, "didn't you know?"
"No, I didn't," I replied, "You never brought up what you do, so I never asked."
"Yeah, I don't like talking about work. It's tiring, especially all of the people who want autographs, or the people who think I'm just like one of those characters I've played."
"I understand," I said. "Is there some after party we're going to?"
"There is, but we're not going," she answered. "I don't like to go them. Plus, I'm afraid you might punch Charlie in the face after you saw the kiss scene!" She said, laughing slightly
"What makes you think I would do that?" I say, slightly offended.
"I saw the way you clenched your fist when it happened!" she said, still laughing.
The rest of the trip to the hotel was much less awkward than before. We laughed at the dumb parts of the movie and laughed at ourselves.
When we got to the hotel room, we started getting ready for bed. "Thanks for coming with me," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what was going on before."
"It's okay," I said, "I should have asked when I had the chance."
As we were getting into bed, she said something that I will never forget. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
|
She’s insane.
I swear it.
A grade-A loony who belongs in a straight-jacket.
Somehow we’ve dated for six months, and somehow she managed to hide that side of herself for the first three. She was so friendly back then. Her laugh was graceful yet cute, and she seemed to have an answer for all the world’s problems. I’ll stop short of calling her brilliant, but dammit, she had my heart.
And listen, I know this was premature, and you’re probably gonna think I was stupid—but when she asked me to move in and I said yes, I was in *love.* I didn't care that it had only been three months because I thought that was the greatest moment of my life.
Then she showed her true colors.
I’d say she’s only *subtly* crazy. Like, sometimes we’ll be arguing, and she’ll pick up a knife and lightly caress it, running it along her fingertips, implying something dangerous. Other times she’ll get drastic, tearing apart furniture, or leaving very hateful, very *scary* messages for me to wake up to.
One time she painted my entire side of the bed red because she claimed I was *evil* and *angry* and my dwelling had to represent that.
I planned to break up with her today but this morning she told me it was a very special day. Though I tried to sneak in a word, she wouldn’t let me, and so here we are, on a red carpet, a million flashing cameras clicked by a million buzzing bees. Off to the side, there are crowds of people bouncing up and down, clapping their hands, screaming and acting wild as they try to get her attention.
She smiles and autographs, calmly leading me around like a dog. Interviewers toss questions at her left and right, asking her how it feels to have her first album top the charts, and does she think she’ll win this award tonight.
It’s all too much for me, and just when I feel about to fall over, someone jabs a mic in my face and asks *me* questions, wondering how proud I am of my girlfriend, and do I think her music’s good, and how did we meet. I fumble out a few words and quickly she pulls me away, muttering about my *immense social anxiety*.
I knew she was recording music, and I knew it was her dream to one day be a big popstar—but she never mentioned this to me. I didn’t know about any album, or award, or *fame.*
It’s so obvious what she's doing that it makes me wanna puke.
She kept me in the dark on *purpose.* She wants me to fear her, and wanted me to try and run away so she could rope me back in. She knows that if I leave her, she can easily paint me as the villain. After all, *she’s* famous and *she’s* the one everyone likes. A couple cheap words, maybe a made up memory, and bam!—suddenly I’m hated by everyone.
“Ready to go inside, honey?” she says with a smirk.
I try to put on a smile as I say yes, but it's empty and fake, just like my future.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter
| 2017-06-14T13:03:39 | 2017-06-14T11:04:30 | 54 | 39 |
[WP] Medieval Fantasy Setting. The farther you go away from the towns and citys the bigger the monsters become. No one knows if there is an End to the world.
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Balthazar Held his gun tight as the convoy roared over the plain. Below the shaking metal halftrack grumbled past stuffy brush and fern.
“How tall do you think it is?” He asked Artannan, who briefly lowered the binoculars to give a stare.
“Miles and miles.” He breathed in near awe. Ahead was a creature taller than anything anyone had ever seen. A furry horned animal balanced on four spindly legs, with a head not unlike a sheep. Slowly it was lifting its right front hoof, as if in super slow motion. Down one of its flanks a waterfall silently tumbled into the sky, fading to mist long before it hit the ground.
“How does it breathe at that altitude?” Cassandra asked from the other side of the truck. “How does it eat?”
“I honestly don’t think it needs too.” Artannan replied. “A monster that big probably has an entire ecosystem inside it, I can even see trees growing on its back.” They stared as the monster grew on the horizon. For thousands of years men and women had explored the land around the cities, observing as the monsters got larger and larger. Fiercer and fiercer. The empire had sent expeditions before this one, many a time to try and see what was out here, resources? People? An Edge maybe? But none had gotten nearly as far as they had.
Previous expeditions had all been stopped, or never came back after a few months. By that point they were fighting city sized creatures, which could crush them in a single step. But they had gotten lucky, and slipped by them to discover the grander beasts beyond. Many in the empire feared that past that anything could kill an entire convoy with a single glare, but instead it seemed as animals got bigger, they also got slower, each new life form sinking to snail’s pace. That was six months ago, and now the creatures didn’t even notice them, instead probably seeing no more than a flash of red and gray as they whizzed by, forever westward.
The monsters had gotten fewer and farther between too. From fly swarms in the
tens of thousands back at the Imperial Capital to now one every week or so, each exponentially more massive than the last.
“That creature probably hasn’t stepped in decades.” Balthazar mumbled.
“Probably where earthquakes come from.” Artie hypothesized. He nodded, maybe.
The convoy slipped directly under the continent sized creature, it unsurprisingly paid no mind, and was long gone as the landscape began to shift. The grassy plains that had stretched on for months were now turning rockier and deader. Trees became nothing more than spindly stone pillars as a glint appeared on the horizon. A coast.
“Sea ahead!” He called. People in the other trucks turned and looked at the shimmering waves. Artie swung his binoculars around from the creature to the ocean.
“Looks almost red.” He noted
“Red? What like at sunset?” They all looked up at the sun, hanging in the center of the sky. Artie twisted his lip.
“Yeah, but not that sunset.” The landscape became worse looking as they continued. The rocks became redder, the trees disappeared completely. Occasionally a pool of the strange red liquid would flow by.
“I’m loosing traction!” He heard a call from the driver. On cue a wheel skidded and the whole truck lurched, lazily sliding to a stop a few feet away. He gunned the engine, but the tracks only spun. Balthazar looked at the other trucks.
“You guys still good? Back up if you can!” The drivers nodded.
“Yes sir!” and slowly shifted back a few feet.
“Go back a mile then walk to the coast, we’ll be waiting there!” More nods as the convoy turned around and a few personnel jumped off. As the trucks faded into the distance he jumped off too, feeling his feet sink into a strange brownish red mush, shifting under his feet.
“What the hell?” He mumbled as the others approached.
“Weird . . .” Cassandra crouched and took a small sample, the earth oozed the thick red fluid. Not stone, not dirt either . . . almost like.”
“When was the last time we saw body of water Artie?”
“Two weeks ago sir, it was a pond bout’ twenty feet across.”
“Right.” He set off towards the sea. “Nobody’s ever reported even a large lake right? Never an ocean. Let’s move.” Everyone followed and slung their rifles over their backs. The sea was near, maybe only a mile, and soon they could hear a low rumble as waves crashed into the shore.
“I don’t like this.” Cassandra noted as she walked, the ground was becoming sloppier and redder, now more crimson than brown. A hill denoted the final few feet.
“It’s fine.” Balthazar assured. He climbed the knoll carefully and looked out at the sea. It was the color of blood, a red so vibrant it shone. Crestless waves lapped at the sudden and ‘rocky’ edge of the land, echoing of a body of water so massive it extended far beyond the horizon, to a point where the scarlet sea met the azure sky.
“Something’s wrong about it.” Artie assured. “It’s too slow.” Balthazar nodded as he descended. The water was moving a little too slow, like thin syrup or ice slush. He crouched before the ocean and dipped his finger. It was a kind of warm that gave him goosebumps, and stuck to his skin a little as he brought the fluid to his mouth.
“What’s it taste like chief?” The metallic tone of the liquid sent his brain back to the battlefield, horrible memories emerging.
“It tastes like blood.” He called. The group froze.
“What?”
“Blood.” He repeated, “Looks like it, tastes like it.” He sniffed the air, “Even smells like it a bit.” There was a soft pause as they all looked at the ocean, the sea of blood.
“It couldn’t be . . .” Artie shivered and pulled up a handful, letting it drip back down, “The whole thing can’t be . . .” Cassandra gasped.
“No, you’re not suggesting the whole ocean’s alive are you?” Artie shook his head.
“Oh no, I’m suggesting something far worse.” The realization dawned on them, an idea so absurd that it couldn’t possibly be true. They were about to dismiss it before a vibration shivered up through the ground, into their feet and souls, and all at once, no one was sure what caused earthquakes anymore.
|
I have been travelling for several days now. The towns and castles are far behind, carcasses of wolves and dogs littering the countryside, marking my wake. I, the mightiest knight of the land, tasked by my King to find the biggest monster whose lair is said to be the cave under the edge of the world; I, the slayer of all who dared cross me, who has slain a dozen men with a single blow; I feel fear, for the first time, as I lead my noble steed.
There are tales of men who have made it this far before. Those who could run the fastest or ride the longest and by happenstance fled in the right direction to make it back to the kingdom. They speak of a forest worse than the worst nightmares, where the bigger monsters hunt you, ready to kill. But they say the most dangerous monsters haunt you, lurking inside your head, ready to drive you mad and make you kill yourself or your companions at the slightest hint of weakness. And I was tasked with going beyond the furthest roaming of the wildest madman, past this treacherous forest, to find the monster my King so wanted dead.
I have brought him heads of terrifying monsters in the past. Dragons and boars the size of houses, gruesome hydras that could sink whole fleets in minutes, a horrible gargoyle that lived in a castle and ate stone for dinner and armor for dessert. I had killed them all. But as I travel further and further from the kingdom, I know that those monsters are nothing compared to the ones I have yet to face. Those before me are the ones that make the poets and ode-writers tremble in fear as they put them into words as best they can. Those before me are the ones I have been sent to kill.
I ride with my loyal servant, each upon our trustworthy steed. He has ridden by my side for more quests and adventures than a mortal could possibly recall, but now as our years left grow fewer, we embark on the greatest adventure of them all. An adventure that, if we succeed, shall be remembered by all, for the rest of time.
Night seems to fall at noon as we enter the forest, and the trees grasp at the armor, the vines wrapping around our legs. Hundreds of pairs of eye mockingly dance away the second I turn towards them, and the growling sound is not my stomach, but a thousand beasts preparing to feast. Memories that don't exist flash through my mind, and thoughts that shouldn't exist creep their way in. I turn to see where we had entered, but the forest has swallowed the door to the world, whole. The only way now is forwards, so forwards we make our way.
| 2015-12-01T15:34:59 | 2015-12-01T14:45:11 | 95 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is blind. You wake up one morning to find that you suddenly have sight. As you try to go about your day pretending to be normal, you find that someone you've known for a long time is staring back at you.
To clarify, sight hasn't been around for an extremely long time, and society has adapted to compensate. People who are found to be able to see are executed immediately by the authorities.
|
I didn’t realize right away.
I wandered down the hall, fingers tracing over the texture of the wall, not to guide me, for I’d not needed that in my own home for many years, but simply to remind myself that the world existed. I stood in my kitchen before my kettle, listening to the water bubble and feeling the steam rolling towards me – it would be done soon – and rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I noticed something strange. A short burst of something fired into my head. I’d never experienced something like that before. It hurt. I shook my head a bit, trying to brush off the pain, but it happened again. I froze where I stood as my brain woke up some more; I’d heard stories about things like this happening, fairy tales, really, where a person somewhere in the world would wake up one day and they could see, just as people had many years ago. Things never ended well in those stories. People were wary of those with sight.
I took a shuddering breath and did something that was rare for me: I opened my eyes.
At first, there was nothing but burning and something very much akin to the blindness I’d known my whole life. I blinked a few times, and the pain and nothingness faded away. There were all these…things…in front of me. I couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t think for my heart pounding away in my chest. I quickly closed my eyes again and reached my hand out in front of me. I touched the edge of the counter and oriented myself. I was still by my kettle. I cautiously opened my eyes again. I tapped my fingers upon the counter top, and these long things jumped about on the counter. “My hand.” I said aloud. I lifted my hand as though I wanted to brush my hair back or scratch my nose, and I peered at it. A hand was a strange thing. I traced it with my other hand, learning to combine this thing I saw in front of my face with the feeling that I knew. “My hand!” I said again, and laughed. I wiggled my fingers about and laughed some more. I slowly discovered my body, taking in the new sensation and trying to understand it. My attention was not drawn away until I heard the familiar click of the kettle.
I attempted to get through my morning as smoothly as usual, but I couldn’t. I bumped into everything, but it helped: the familiar pain shooting up my leg let me know where my chair was and that I was across from my glass patio door. I looked through it and pain flitted across my forehead, so I let my head fall. “Light.” I told myself, remembering all the old, musty-smelling books I used to read. I’d loved those books, the ones that were made when the world was opposite to ours and more people could see than not. Those books still talked about sight, and running my fingers over the bumpy words was the closest I had come to seeing before this day. I stared at my bowl of oatmeal so long it went cold, stirring the spoon around, lifting it to watch clumps of oats plop back into the bowl. When I went into my wardrobe, I realized that all of my clothes were more or less identical, and I had to touch every garment to find the exact fabrics I wanted.
It took me quite a while to work up the courage to step out my front door. There was so much to see, but I didn’t know if I could handle it. I wasn’t certain that I could take it all in and still navigate the world as I always did. I stuck my cane out the door first, dragging it over the ground as though testing to see if the earth would hold me up. I slowly walked out, tapping my cane to reassure myself that everything was still as it had been yesterday.
Yet, nothing was the same as it had been yesterday.
Standing in my yard, I turned myself around, looking at my house, the tree, what must be the neighbours’ dog peeing on my lawn if my hearing was still all intact. I moved backwards, wanting to see my whole house at once so that I could know what my home looked like. As I did this, I bumped into something. Well, I bumped into someone, judging by the sound of a cane bouncing when it hit the ground. We both gasped, and in doing so, the scent of mint that always followed Jamie hit me.
“Good morning.” Jamie said cheerfully. “Have you gained the Sight? You must have known I was coming, like an oracle.” The horrified breath that had caught in my chest escaped with a nervous laugh.
“Yes, I’m psychic now. By the way, you will live a long and prosperous life.”
“That’s not what my last fortune cookie said!” I could hear the typical teasing tone in Jamie’s voice.
It was then that I realized I could look at Jamie, to see the person that I knew with all my other senses. I turned, but did not look up yet. I reached out, my hand bumping lightly into Jamie’s arm and running down it to clasp the hand that was equally bizarre-looking as my own. Jamie squeezed my hand.
“So, what prompted this visit?” I asked, hoping that if there was a question to answer, Jamie would not notice my odd behaviour.
“Just because I missed you.” Came the easy reply. “Why? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Jamie had picked up that turn of phrase from some ancient recording, and loved to throw it into conversations. It amused some people, but offended others.
Then I turned my face up so that I could take in the sight before me. I nearly flinched when my gaze reached Jamie’s face. I’m not sure how I knew, but I could tell that I was being looked at as well. There was a mutual knowing hanging in the air between us, simultaneously heavy and light.
“Yeah,” I whispered, dropping my cane so that I could touch Jamie’s face without letting go of the hand twined with my own. “I’m happy to see you.”
We watched each other smile.
|
I awoke to a blinding light, my eyes burning. I stood up and realized what I saw wasn't what I saw yesterday or the day before, I saw colors. Not really knowing what I was seeing for once I walked into the bathroom and stared into my mirror. I saw a calm warming blue color in my eyes, like the sound of the ocean, but calmer. They were warm, almost a melting pot of emotions rolled into my own pupil. I got myself together and walked into the shower, the water warm on my skin. I then got my clothing on and left for my job with my dog and cane, knowing I wouldn't need them. I walked to work as normal, then stumbled to make it seem I couldn't see the entrance. As I regained my composure I walked into the office. I saw rows and rows of cubicles lining to the walls of the workplace. I walked into what I thought was mine and continued creating....glasses? Why would we need glasses I pondered. I shrugged the thought and continued, realizing I wasn't making any mistakes anymore. My boss walked past the cubicles as I pretended to fumble with the creation. He continued on then walked backwards to my cube. He paused, staring into my eyes with his gray lights. He sighed, and walked into the cube. He said, "So, you see too. Well then I guess that this isn't really your job, we'll send you out later." He stood up and walked away. I shed a tear at the sight of his back pocket, the firearm showing through the pocket. He turned and pulled it out. He said to me with that same bland voice I had heard but never seen who it belonged to for so long, his features striking me; gray eyes, long hooked nose, and large cruel lipped smile. He smiled as he said, "I guess you need a new job huh? Well, I hear that this pays go-" I didn't have time to hear the rest. I looked in fear at the bullet hurtling toward me. And for the first time, I awoke to a blinding light, my eyes burning.
| 2013-11-01T00:39:06 | 2013-10-31T19:59:21 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] When a mage is awakened, they acquire one spell and must master all its forms before they acquire another. While every spell starts trivial and grows in power over time, yours appears especially useless: The ability to create a black spot on the wall.
|
I point at the wall.
*Boop. There it is, the black spot.*
I look at another wall.
*Easy peasy. Black spot.*
Ceiling.
*Black spot.*
Hallway.
*Black. Spot.*
Countertop.
*Black. Fucking. Spot.*
*Haven't I mastered this spell yet? I can make this stupid black spot appear anywhere. Any time. I even had my best friend, Penny, watch the spot while I slept. I can maintain the spell in my sleep. Literally, In my sleep. When do I get my next spell?*
I shifted the black dot to appear on a piece of paper, and I tucked it into my backpack. I don't know what it does, but keeping the stupid spot nearby is oddly comforting.
"Jen!" Penny waves at me as I step outside.
We have our routine down pat. We meet in front of my house at exactly 7:34 am. We get to school at 7:47 am. The breakfast line only takes 6 minutes. Once we get our food, we sit in the cafeteria and talk until the first bell at 8:20 am.
"Do you want my muffin?" I ask Penny.
She grabs it and starts scarfing it down, just like every morning. I like the muffins they serve at school, but part of my breakfast is a small price to bring a smile to her face.
Penny is perfect. Strong, fast, funny. She doesn't have to worry about trying to tame a useless first spell. Her parents are proud of her. Two years from now, I'm sure she'll have a full athletic scholarship to some great college. She'll leave this place in her dust and start her grand adventure.
*I'll probably still be here, making a single polka dot appear in my vicinity over and over again.*
"You figure anything else out about the spot?" Penny asks.
Either my friend is psychic, or I make a face when I think about my spell because Penny always knows when I'm thinking about that damned dot.
"No new developments."
"Can you still only make it appear on walls?"
"No, I can put it on almost anything now."
I pop two apple slices into my mouth at once, making it impossible to say anything more, hoping she'll take the hint.
"Can you put it on me?"
I cover my mouth as I try to chew and talk. "What? Why?"
Penny smiles. "I wouldn't mind having a temporary beauty mark."
It's an odd request, for sure, but Penny's parents still don't let her wear makeup, even though she's sixteen, and beauty marks are back in vogue.
I shrug. "Might as well find some kind of use for this spell. Where do you want it."
Penny points to a spot high on her cheek, and I move the dot to her face. She reverses the camera on her phone to take a look.
I never understood the beauty mark trend, but on Penny, it looks great. Anything would look great on her. Because she's great.
"Thank you!" She grins. "I love it."
*Am I blushing? What is the matter with me?*
"No problem."
A deep voice speaks: "The black spot has been placed. She is marked."
The room darkens. I look frantically around for the voice.
"Jen, what's wrong?" Penny asks.
Penny's shadow morphs behind her. It rises straight out of the floor. It looks almost human.
I lunge for her, but the shadow is too fast. Just like that, she's gone.
"Penny!" I scream. People are looking, but I don't care. "Penny! Did you see where she went? Penny!"
I see Mr. Gant, the magical theory teacher, crossing the cafeteria. I know he's going to tell me to calm down. To tell him what's wrong. To talk it through, but I don't want to. I've been reasonable for years. Working on this stupid spell while everyone else learned more complex magic. I'm sick of it.
"Penny!"
*I don't know how to get her back. I don't know if I can. I'm so useless. What if I just killed my only friend?*
I slam both my hands down on the table, and as I do, a shimmering disc of light appears.
*My second spell?*
Only minutes ago, I would have been happy to learn my second spell was a portal spell. Now, all I want is enough magic to get Penny back.
The sinister voice from before sounds in my head again. "If you want her back, come get her."
*Game on.*
|
The Riftkeeper
It started out…terrible! All i could do was create a black spot on the wall! As i improved the magic, i learned to make it bigger and…deeper? The spot seemed to be getting deeper day by day. Until yesterday, when something changed, i could see an unfamiliar area, like i was looking through glass. The hole hadn’t gotten wide enough to pass through, but it was definitely a hole. A portal maybe? I was unsure at the time. As i kept working on the magic, i found i could control where the portal looked, and eventually, where it took me. Yesterday i stepped through, and heard someone say “welcome Riftkeeper, where would you like to go”
Part two soon
| 2022-08-26T21:12:26 | 2022-08-26T19:36:13 | 482 | 33 |
[WP] "It has been determined that Humans are no longer an endangered species. Earth is no longer a restricted zone and open hunting may begin."
|
Jarkop takes a deep breath through both of his mouths. He lets the air rush out of him in a little cry of despair. He realizes in this moment that he has been duped, and duped bad.
If he hadn’t agreed to cover Globzell’s shift at the Ministry of Intergalactic Hunting and Fishing, this mess would be on someone else. But he really, really wanted those tickets to see the Mighty Cakons of Vabza face off in a deathmatch against the ancient Jedturian of Scarinax.
He thought it was a good trade. It *was* a good trade. But tricky old Globzell knew better; Globzell knew that today was the day Humans were being taken off of the endangered species list. Delicious, exotic, tender humans. The pent-up demand was a tinderbox.
Now an unprecedented crush of new hunting applications threaten to swallow Jarkop hole. Not even with twelve fingers typing on two keyboards could he process all of these applications before his shift ends.
He glances up at the line of impatient alien hunters, every one of them outfitted with the newest gear. The deadliest blasters in the universe dangle from their belts.
*If I close up shop in an hour, are they going to murder me?* Yes, he thinks. *They will murder me and stuff me like a trophy.*
And then, just when it couldn't possibly get any worse, it gets worse: Jarkop sees the door open to his left, and in strolls his old friend Trevor Williams. Born in Minnesota in 1987, abducted by rogue scientists in 2015, rescued by a sting operation in 2019, and gainfully employed by the Ministry for nearly a year now. As Trevor walks toward him, Jarkop realizes that he now has an extremely delicate question of intergalactic diplomacy on his hands.
"Jarkop, my two-headed hero, what's up!"
“Trevor,” Jarkop smiles at him while putting up a “Back In Five” sign on his desk. The sign causes uproar among the hunters. Trevor leans over the desk to give Jarkop a fistbump.
“What’s with all the commotion?” Trevor asks, flipping his long blonde hair out of his beaming farmboy face. “Did a new species open up?!”
“Er, well, yeah,” Jarkop says, trying to avoid eye contact with his friend. He always liked Trevor’s endearing nature. Trevor told him its called "midwestern." Now it mocks him, tortures him, makes him feel guilty. Like this reclassification of humanity was *his* choice.
“What’s it this time?” Trevor hoists himself onto Jarkop’s desk and surveys the hunters. One of them has a body bag perfectly sized to hold a human. Another flips through a travel book called “New York City: Travel Like A Local.” Trevor doesn’t notice.
“Klupjins? Arccots? Don’t tell me it’s the Tamerklops!”
“Actually… you might want to prepare for this, Trevor. And please let me say that I was not consulted. You know that. No one cares what I think.”
“What’re you talking about?”
Jarkop meets Trevor’s gaze. Behind him, a group of hunters with homemade human decoys start arguing over whose are better. One of them shows off a suitcase of counterfit American dollars. Soon they'll be selling them at bait and tackle shops.
“Trevor, there’s no easy way to say this: It’s Earth. It's open for hunting now. These people are here to hunt humans.”
Trevor blinks. Jarkop winces and waits for the explosion. *There goes another friendship*, he thinks.
But the fireworks don't come. Instead, Trevor just stares ahead at him, the wheels of his mind turning. Silence endures too long for Jarkop to bear.
“I’m so sorry," he says. "I know this must be tough.”
Trevor is still frozen.
“Trevor? Can you say something?”
Jarkop clears both of his throats. The line of hunters has doubled since Trevor came in. He needs to start approving these licenses.
“It’s okay to cry,” Jarkop says, remembering an old human play that Trevor acted out for him some months ago.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Trevor opens his mouth to speak.
“Cry?" he asks. "Cry?”
Trevor's lips curl into a smile. His teeth glint as he breaks into a wide grin.
“Cry?!”
Trevor grabs Jarkop by the collar and plants a wet kiss on both of his sets of lips.
“This is the best day of my life!”
Trevor grabs an application form off of Jarkop’s desk and hastily fills it out.
“I’m cashing in that favor you owe me, Jarkop. Put me at the front of the line.”
Trevor pulls a blaster out of the waistband of his jeans and cocks the hammer back.
“I’ve got some old scores to settle.”
|
Have you ever heard a single leaf fall? Sounds near to impossible, doesnt it? But what if I told you, that you actually can? Don't believe me? Then you've probably never experienced the thrill of hunting before, did you? Well it's no wonder that you didn't, who in this world even hunts anymore? Hunters are dead, what's left is only the hunted. We are the hunted. The delicacy. The only reason we're still alive, is because they let us stay alive. Just so they can hunt and eat us in the end. I wonder what they think about in the moment they look us straight into the eyes and put a bullet through our heads. Do they feel mercifulness and grace or are they just happy to succumbed themselves some delicious meal? I wish those peaceful times wouldve lasted a bit longer, the prohibit lifted a bit later. Why couldn't these idiots just stop fucking? Everyone knew, they would hunt us again as soon as the endangerment is over. But I guess thats the curse of our human nature. Everyone thinks "oh its not gonna happen in my generation" and now we're all dead. Ironic, I've never thought I would end up as prey.
| 2021-07-05T17:23:17 | 2021-07-05T17:10:29 | 1,282 | 45 |
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Really? So this is going to be a shot of space for like an hour?"
"Well, it's random - that's kind of the point." Neal's eyes are still glued to the screen.
"Well they could be a little more specific." Melissa continued the mundane task of doing the dishes tonight. She knew this black screen meant a lot to Neal.
"Well, I mean they could be - but it's best if it's random. I mean that's the whole principle. Like Schrodinger's cat style."
"Alright, I'll bite." She had a few minutes to kill - and she knows how much it means to share your passion. After a moment she solicited further, "So the cat's both alive and dead until you open the box."
Neal grinned and glanced towards Melissa. He knew her subtle response was an unconditional invitation to nerd out. He could blabber all he wanted for the next few minutes - and he jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, its roots are in quantum physics where stuff could be two things at once. We're not to the point of understanding it yet, but we just kinda accept that tiny tiny stuff does weird things unlike the observable universe." Neal paused to see if Melissa was paying attention or if he should just stop there.
"Mmmm hmm? The rocket's obviously not small - how's that fit into Elon Musk's plan?"
"Well the newest theory is we're in a simulated world. You and I are just programs." Neal started to gloss over things so he wouldn't lose his one person audience. He rattled off a summary in a monotone voice "Technology grows fast. We can simulate game worlds easily, in another thousand years maybe the weather for perfect predictions. In another ten thousand the entire Earth on a molecular level. In another hundred thousand on an atomic level. Anyway, with infinite worlds and billions of years, someone somewhere can probably simulate the entire galaxy if not universe." The screen continued showing the blackness of space. He turns to Melissa after a pause. Sensing something dramatic, Melissa looks up.
Neal continued with a profound voice. "Well if they can simulate the universe - who's to say WE'RE not a simulation?" Melissa stared back blankly. "Like, of the infinite worlds that can be created, what are the chances WE are the one true world? Like, astronomically low! Therefore, we're in a simulation." He eagerly paused to let it sink in.
Melissa shrugged. "Okay. So let's assume that we're in a simulation. The rocket?"
"So here's the thing. What if we don't understand quantum physics because the simulated overlord program doesn't calculate it? In a game, when your character walks around a world, the game isn't simulating everything outside of the picture because it doesn't matter. It's like everything outside of Mario's view is in Schrodinger's box - basically uncalculated until you actually need it, saving processing time and memory.
"Now, imagine that Mario is causing chaos behind him but doesn't look until the last second. Like he's just collecting green shells and tossing them backwards into a pool - they're all running into each other, never stopping. And then he spins around." Neal suddenly shoots his arms in the air, "BAM, the console freezes while it tries to display the chaos. It catches up eventually, but the game lags while it tries to work out everything that it previously didn't care about." Neal pauses again and starts up another relevant idea. "So do you remember bucky balls? Like the scientific breakthrough from the 80's?"
"Yeah, they wanted to use it to transport molecules around the body and whatever. Like little boxes." On that sentence she suddenly realized where Neal was going.
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like little boxes - like little Schrodinger boxes." Neal continued. "So Musk developed this ... liquidy bucky ball material. With a little electricity they form bucky balls, but they also unstable so they constantly open and reform other balls. Large, small, whatever -" Neal snickered and tilted his head - "The internet's calling them Musky balls."
Melissa rolls her eyes.
Neal returned, "Anyway, so these Musky balls - you don't know what's in them until you open them. But there might be another musky ball, and inside that another - and maybe the ones that are opened closed up again in some other formation with other Musky balls inside that."
"Chaos..."
"Yup, Chaos, and if we open up the one solid Bucky ball container holding this whole mess? What if Mario turns around?"
"The console freezes."
Neal's excited demeanor settles into a bright grin. He repeats Melissa's words back at her. "The console freezes." He gestures towards the computer screen. "And that's what we're waiting for." Both continue staring at the screen as Neal turns the volume up - confident that Melissa is now interested in the announcer's voice.
Moments later there's a bright flash. For all the buildup that led up to this scientific event, it was anti-climatically over in a few seconds.
"So did anything happen?"
"I donno, didn't seem like it."
"So maybe we're real?"
"Maybe we're real." Neal shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. Maybe Elon will try again."
*****
*The whole room froze for a moment.*
*You see, even if the universe was simulated, even if there was lag the simulation wouldn't know it. It wouldn't know if it wasn't programmed to know.*
*****
"Well do you think he would? He could?"
"Yeah, that's a good question - I mean he burned probably his entire reputation trying to pull off this crazy stunt. I'm sure this wasn't profitable unless he can find a use for Musky balls." Neal couldn't help from making himself smirk.
*****
*The room froze again.*
*If you're colorblind, how do you know you're colorblind? You might know because other people tell you they see other colors. Maybe you could build a device that can see additional colors. But what if nobody else knows? What if the device* **can't** *know? After all, wouldn't it have to be programmed to know?*
*****
"Oh wait, he's coming on TV."
*****
*Computers know they're lagging because they have a separate test for time. They can tell how long it has been since the last computation. What if time itself was lagging? How would you know?*
*****
The chatter on the TV hushes before Musk speaks: "The data we have gathered will be analyzed and I'll be sure to report our findings in our next press release. I am confident that the data will provide even the tiniest shudder of information that can help determi--"
*****
*How does prisoner know he is a prisoner? He knows because he can see the other world or he can see his master giving orders.*
*But how does a machine know about the rest of the world? It only knows if it has been programmed to know.*
*The only way you can ever tell if you are in a simulation is if someone outside* **wants** *to tell you.*
|
When the big day arrived, it was like none other. Everyone had waited 30 years since humanity reached the consensus that our entire universe was only a simulation, it had taken 30 years for the neutrino cluster bomb to reach a safe enough distance from Earth to be detonated.
Over a billion people were born during that time. It had completely changed the way humanity thought about life. It had even become a pop phenomenon, as evidenced by the hit song "*I know you're not real, get off my lawn*".
People were gathering across the globe, joining in celebrations, orgies, book clubs, as they put aside their social anxiety for one night.
When the time came, they all had a screen in their hand. News programs and celebrity channels were all live-streaming the event. Pious figures were warning everyone about the danger of God. Politicians were arguing like usual, some probably hoped for the end of the world just so they could say "*I told you so.*" Economists were warning about the great depression that would happen if everyone fell into a depression over the matter. Androids inwardly mocked their inferior neurotic human counterparts as they went about their menial tasks. Even the Aliens took a break from their probing to watch the event with utmost curiosity.
Finally a hushed silence fell across the crowds as Elon Musk started his broadcast.
"*Today is finally the day. We started the project 30 years ago, sending the bomb off at near light speed, hoping to get a glimpse of what lies beyond this universe. And now that time has come.*
"*The bomb is not the only thing that's happened during that time, humanity has also come a long way in the last few decades. I started a colony on Musk, that's Mars for you Chinese speakers, but because you helped me save the world from Global Warming I am very thankful to point out that we don't need it.*
"*I faced a lot of opposition when I started this project, and I still am. To those of you worrying, I want you to know we have the best minds on the job, you have nothing to worry about. To those of you excited, I need to remind you that we have no idea what will happen, so don't get your expectations too high.*
"*Whichever way you feel about it, the bomb is 28 light years away, we obviously sent the activation signal 28 years ago, it's way too late to stop it now. Whatever happens will happen, so lets have some fun tonight!*"
Exactly an hour later, at midnight, in one part of the world, the countdown began.
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 4... no wait- 5- 4- 3... 2...
**1...**
At that exact second, 30 light years away, a massive explosion tore a hole through space-time itself. The universe flickered for a moment, before coming to a complete stop. Nothing moved,from one end of the galaxy to the other. The earth stopped spinning, people stopped blinking, clocks stopped ticking, & sloths temporarily disappeared from existence. Space-time had stopped altogether.
In fact, it was so thorough that there was not a single way for anything in the universe to notice or measure that anything had happened to begin with. Which is why a long long time later, 0 earth seconds to be precise, everything continued as usual and life went back to normal.
People around the globe let out a collective sigh of disappointment and relief, before putting their VR headsets on and jumping back into their simulated worlds.
| 2016-08-19T15:30:37 | 2016-08-19T15:12:58 | 64 | 45 |
[WP] You're the 'most deadly supervillain the country has ever seen'. Thing is, your super-evil ability? You deal the same amount of harm the 'heroes' you face have caused. Your power is Karma. Nobody's picked up on that yet.
|
I never set out to be a villain.
I know, I know. That's crazy, isn't it? I'm the most deadly supervillain the country has ever seen, and that wasn't a personal choice? How ridiculous!
It's the truth, though.
I actually started my journey wanting to be a hero, despite my family insisting otherwise.
My mother will always tell the media tales of how, when my power developed, my father was hospitalized. She will not mention that he had a past history of armed robbery and assault, something she conveniently leaves unsaid. Just that I went to give my father a hug, and in the blink of an eye, we were in the hospital saying our goodbyes.
My brother will tell the media tales of how I beat him black and blue when we were in elementary school. He will not tell anyone that I was stepping between him and a smaller, weaker boy that he had shoved against the lockers, that I had gotten there before he caused any harm this time. Perhaps the boy would clear my name, but he moved away shortly after, and I never saw him again.
My sister will tell the media tales of how her first boyfriend ended up dying despite the fact I was originally proven innocent-a power accident, it was called at the time. She will not tell anyone that he was ten years older than her, and she was far from his first, and it was so strange how three of his previous girlfriends had gone missing mysteriously.
I had wanted to prove the world wrong about me, see. I had, of course, been kicked out of home at eighteen, and I was desperate for someone to see me for me. Therefore, I made the decision to take all the money I had saved up and buy a cheap hero costume, promising to myself that I would get a better one when I had a reputation as such an amazing hero-after all, I knew the truth of my powers, that they only harmed people as much as they had harmed others. Surely that would be a great power to use against the villains, right?
I still remember that first costume-it was all black with white highlights, meant to help me catch the villains by surprise. I would sneak up on them and, with a simple touch, deal damage. I even had a catchphrase in mind- "you should have known that Karma would catch up to you." That was my hero name, Karma, same name as my power.
I set out on a patrol one night, but it was no villain I ran into, but rather a hero. One that I looked up to.
Mr. Savior was my role model as a child. He was so kind, caring, and said that everyone deserves to be saved, but for safety, all villains had to be detained-but not killed.
I had been walking along, looking for a mugging-that seems like a good way to get started-when someone had run into me, my touch doing nothing to them, but Mr. Savior had been running after them-I later found out that it was a woman who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving children.
I didn't know at the time what the crime was, simply thinking that, if she was being chased by such a great hero, she must have done something bad, so I held her, then held out my hand to shake my hero's, introducing myself as a rookie hero that was trying to break into the scene.
Mr. Savior had been kind to me and shook my hand...
...how was I supposed to know that he had caused such...damage? Such INTENTIONAL damage.
The woman had screamed as I stared at the bloody body of the hero in shock-he hadn't even made it to the hospital, dying on the spot.
The woman had called it in while I had simply run away, terrified of my own power-I always had been, but...surely it should have been the other way around? The woman should have been hurt, not my hero. Not my role model.
The report the woman gave called me "Death," and honestly, seems fitting for a villain. I never introduce myself as such, but now everyone calls me that, saying that Death is inevitable when encountering me. And, strangely, that's true. I have yet to meet, touch, a hero that didn't get gravely injured. Many have died, only a few surviving.
I continued to patrol, not knowing what else I could do. If I could just take down one villain-
Another hero dead.
-the public would see. They all would see. I wasn't a bad guy-
People screaming on the streets as I walked by.
-it was just...
"Stop right there!"
I turned my head, bored and tired, to see a hero, shaking and fists up, about to fight me with everything she had.
"Turn around and walk away-you're young, don't mess with me," I said.
"B-By order of the Government, you're under arrest!" the hero-ah, I knew her, Lady Amazing-said, clearly knowing that this would be her last fight. I did not want it to be.
"Turn around and walk away," I repeated. "I won't be asking again."
Lady Amazing charged at me. "It's over, Death!"
I didn't even bother trying to dodge, letting her ram right into me-
The effect was immediate, blood everywhere as she gasped for air-ah, such pain, so much damage on accident-or was it on purpose? How sad.
She was still leaning against me as the crowd all ran away screaming, so I laid her down gently, then leaned close to her and whispered.
"You should have known that Karma would catch up to you."
With that, I put my hands in my pockets and continued walking-I was tired of all this, and I just wanted to sleep.
|
Everyone in this country calls me a villain, they think of me as a deadly foe, a King Cobra about to strike, a merciless killer prowling the streets in the dead of night! But they couldn’t be more wrong…I simply dole out karma. After all, it’s all I can do. They don’t blame heroes for accidentally using their powers, (well, not the professional ones at least) but I continually find reports on the news, headlines on the papers, article after article, post after post, tweet after tweet about my ‘menace.’
Though I suppose I cannot fully blame them. Sometimes, I do take joy in serving justice to those who harm me. It’s so satisfying to watch their bones crack and their spines snap like twigs! That sense of finality, of revenge, of justice like one big spring breeze. Many of you have probably felt that, one way or another—that feeling of victory you get after winning an argument against a terrible, awful, adversary, one does not deserve redemption or forgiveness in any way—a true villain. I suppose this makes me a hero, doesn’t it? No, it doesn’t. They still call me a killer, an animal, a beast.
But animals kill when they have to, and I am the same.
In the end, those who continually fule others’ hatred towards me, those self-righteous and arrogant “heroes” and all their sheeple act like they’re nothing like me at all. But deep down, I just do what they wish they could, I deliver swift and precise karma upon those who harm me. While they toil away, trying not to harm them, I revel in my victories. And in the end, that’s exactly what I am. Not a hero. Not a villain. A victor.
| 2022-12-31T08:04:46 | 2022-12-31T00:12:09 | 117 | 44 |
[WP] You're bored in class, closing one eye and squishing peoples heads with your fingers. You do it a few times, but then with that last squish, Becky Quinnsman's head explodes as if it was smashed by a rock. You have developed Forced Perspective powers. This is your tragic origin story.
|
19th January 2014, the day everything changed. &nbsp;
“A child head exploded” &nbsp;
“Death a of teenager- due to infection??” &nbsp;
“Beck Quinnsman’s death- cause: unknown” &nbsp;
In an otherwise peaceful suburb in Chicago pandemonium had struck. A teenager had died while attending classes. Many theories were thrown around as to the cause, but none were conclusive. The scene of the crime was yellow taped and no one was allowed inside. Reports swarmed the blue gate high school in hopes of getting a statement. At the end of the day all of America knew. &nbsp;
I was sitting in class waiting for the Mr. Thomas to start. It was a history class, I remember because Mr. Thomas was trying to get us excited about the French revolution. &nbsp;
Dan came and sat behind me. I Guess I should tell you that he is my best friend.
“Hey bro, look who is making an entrance” Dan whispered while leaning in. &nbsp;
He was talking about Becky Quinnsman the school’s hottest girl and number one jerk. Dan had a thing for her even after me repeatedly warning him about her. After the 100th time cautioning him I chalked it up to being impossible and him being a masochist. &nbsp;
Mr. Thomas had finally set up and started his presentation, he had one of those Napoleon hat you buy at a souvenir shop. Within 20 min of his lesson half of the class was asleep, while the other half tried to quench their boredom.
I looked around some student were on their cellphone while other doodled. Dan was discretely staring at Becky. I looked over at Becky and she was almost asleep, trying to keep her eyes opening. &nbsp;
Another 10 min passed, I looked at the clock and sighed noting that there was 20 min more before I could eat my lunch, I started mimicking the force choke from star wars to distract myself. I tried performing it on a number of people. Finally I tried executing it on Becky, just out of petty hatred. I brought my fingers together and imagined her head popping like a grape. As soon as my fingers touched it happened. &nbsp;
Her head exploded. Brain matter splattered all across on the wall. A lot of blood was sprayed on the girl sitting beside her. It looked like a crime scene from CSI. Mr. Thomas stopped teaching and looked on. For a moment there was pin drop silence. &nbsp;
The girl sitting beside Becky, Aliyah was the first one to scream. Everyone got up from their desk and backed up as if afraid of some invisible force. Mr. Thomas was confused as he tried controlling the class, failing miserably. The constant screaming had brought teachers and student form the adjoining classes. When they saw the scene even the couldn’t control their body. Some stood around with a dumb look, while some vomited. &nbsp;
As soon as the principal arrived all of us were thrown out of the class and the police was called. We were escorted to another class. The rumor mill had already started working. As I reached the class I could hear some of the student speculating as to how Becky had died. There might have been a mention of a sniper. &nbsp;
I could not understand what had happened. Even if I try explaining it wouldn’t sound sane. When the incident happen for a moment I thought I was in a dream, extracting my sweet revenge on Becky for what she had done to me. But then the screams brought me back to reality. The police questioned us till 8 in the night. Our parents were called in and told about the incident. While waiting for my turn to be questioned I could hear the cries of a lady. I guessed it was Becky’s parent. The questioning was staright forward. &nbsp;
“Where were you seated when it happened?” &nbsp;
“Did you see Becky do something strange or different?” &nbsp;
“Did you see someone else do something strange?” &nbsp;
“Did any foreign object enter the class?” &nbsp;
I answered to the best of my abilities I still couldn’t believe that I was the cause of it. I had kidded myself into believing that I had dreamed all of it in my head and the cause must be something else. My parents took me home .They were obviously worried about me, I could hear them whispering something about therapy. &nbsp;
After dinner I went up to my room and opened Facebook. All ready messages were being circulated ranging from conspiracies to condolences. I switched of my laptop and threw it on my study table and laid down. &nbsp;
Closing my eyes I tried to re-create the scene, enacting it in my head seeing if I had missed something. After an hour I was exhausted and the more I thought about it the more I reached the conclusion that I really was the reason. &nbsp;
I opened my eyes and saw a lamp in front of my bed. Again I brought my fingers together and pictured it bursting in my head. As soon as my fingers touched, the lamp burst. Just like the last time. &nbsp;
I freaked. I WAS THE CAUSE. I had killed her, I had killed Dan’s crush, I had killed an innocent girl. My mom asked me if everything was okay from downstairs. I yelled back yes in panic. I could hear her coming up.
I jumped down from my bed and hurriedly collected the remnants of the lamp and shoved them under my bed.
My mom came and looked at us. We had a long talk about what had happened in school and how it was perfectly normal for me to be skittish. She told me how tomorrow she is going to take me to a therapist to talk thought this.
I just nodded my head in approval. I didn’t give a shit. There were 2 thoughts going through my brain &nbsp;
“I Have powers” &nbsp;
“And I used those to kill Becky Quinnman”. &nbsp;
|
I stared ahead at the carnage spattered around the desk in front of me. The blood, the gore, the… Eyeballs. Again. I had to test it again. To make sure it was real, that I had actually caused Becky's head to explode.
Everyone else in the classroom was silent, stunned speechless. They couldn't process it, this seemingly random act of spontaneous combustion. The rest of the students just sat at their desks, staring at where Becky's head used to be, paralyzed with fear, their mouths gaping wide open in horror. Even Mr. Nelson, who had been lecturing since the bell rang, was dumbstruck at the sight of Becky's now headless body.
...I had to be quick. Quick before anyone could move, before anyone could stop me, before anyone realized that it was me who had caused all of this. Adam. Ben. Stacy. Caroline. Greg. William. Josh. Katie. Jacob. Emily. Sarah. Abby. Allison. Matt. Cathy. Mark. Mr. Nelson. One by one, in quick succession, before they even knew what hit them, their corpses slumped forward at their desks, my fingers pinching the air in front of where their heads had just been.
I couldn't let anyone know. I couldn't let anyone say anything. But there was no way I could kill the entire school, everyone who had ever laid eyes on me, before the cops arrived and took me into custody. I had to escape, and quickly. But how?
…Perspective. There's more than one way to force perspective. It was a long shot, but it might just work.
Immediately I tore down the large global map from the wall and threw it on the floor, smearing as much of the edges as I could with blood. In black sharpie I drew a large rectangle, big enough for me to step into, over Asia, with a tinier square focused directly over Japan; perspective lines and smeared blood completed the crude tunnel, which, if it worked, would allow me to escape the country.
It was a crazy idea. I could die just coming out of the tunnel. But I was out of options. I was already as good as dead if I stayed here.
I looted Mr. Nelson's wallet. He wouldn't be needing it anymore.
Then I focused on the tunnel I had created, and jumped.
| 2015-07-25T14:00:08 | 2015-07-25T13:21:07 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
|
No one is born a villain. At least I don’t think people are born destined to be one. My parents certainly had an interesting debate on the side of a road during winter about that to say the least. Some people are born with lions, often groomed to be great leaders, while others are born with dogs, with a passion for people. Very rarely, perhaps once every few decades, some are gifted dragons. They are seen as signs of great changes to come, rising to saints or crusading as tyrants. I am an ill omen, born with a monstrous serpent called a leviathan. Even rarer than dragons, leviathans are fated to become calamities slayed by a destined hero.
My parents took a great gamble that day. They didn’t leave me to die in winter’s grasp. They decided to tell others that I was a snake, it certainly helped that I grew up to be clever. We lived far in the woods, to ensure my safety. It was nice area, given to my father for his deeds as a war hero in the king’s army. My father, a bear, he taught me how to endure hardships. My mother, a dove and a healer taught me kindness. However, their greatest lesson as good people was love. I sought to teach that same lesson as best I could. What I did not know as a boy was that hate is a far easier approach.
One day I heard a cry for help while foraging the woods. I ran towards the cries and found a girl my age cornered by a large white wolf wounded and a dead soldier. The girl was a noble from the way her clothes were, and the dead man was her guard. Getting involved with nobility is the worst way to hide my status, but I had a desire to, just like my parents did as well. A small 16 year-old boy wasn’t the best person to fight a wolf, yet I charged at the beast with my knife, surprising it. I managed to sink my knife into its neck. The wolf however, bit into my side. As we wrestled on the ground, I stabbed at its neck over and over, until I could feel its jaw slack. My conscious fading, I told the girl to send for help. As she ran off, darkness took me.
~~(I’ll add more, since I have plans tomorrow morning.)~~
(Here's part 2, sorry for the delay! This is my first time doing this.)
Drifting in and out of consciousness, I couldn’t see. All I heard were voices; a young girl’s pleads, then men shouting. I couldn’t understand them, I couldn’t focus on them. All I could do was breath, focus and breath. The first thing I felt when I awoke was cold heavy metal around my neck. My eyes opened to a prison cell, a very nice one at least. I was laid upon a bed, with only my pants. My side was stitched up, but my mark was open. They knew what I was. There were four guards, and they raised their spears at me. One shouted be to remain still, while another barked to someone outside to get Lord Arik. I didn’t dare say a word, least I find one of their spears in my head.
The door opened and a towering man stood there. “You’re only alive because of two things. You saved my daughter, a dragon at that as well, and your father Rodrick’s service in my army. Now I know why he asked to live away from others, I thought he was just getting soft,” he said as he moved towards the end of the bed. “I cannot sentence you to death. I cannot kill one who saved one of mine. In punishment of your birth, you parents shall carry it as well. They shall receive 100 lashings. After that, your father shall serve again in my guard until death takes him. Your mother’s knowledge of medicine will be useful as well. You however, will be bound to by daughter. You shall be her beast, and her your master. When you grow feral, it shall be her that will kill you.” Then he left, and the guards as well.
Then I was alone.
I saved a life; my only crime was my birth. My parents must suffer as well, for loving their child? I screamed and cried as my throat ached until they gagged me. My nails dug into my palm, until they bound those too. I raged in my confinement until they gave me theriac to calm me. Time passed as I collected my thoughts. I couldn’t be a hero in that moment, then I shall serve as a beast for now, but I shall be far more than any of them. If I am given an enemy, I shall break them until submission, if I do not kill them first. I will bide my time, I will show them what titan they have shackled. I will not be the villain of this story, but if a “hero” comes forth, I will break them. I will not be the victim; I will get my justice with breaking their pride. Bears have strength, doves have loyalty, and dragons have their “destiny.” I think those before me had even worse hardships. They were wronged, cast out, and damned. I am not a calamity; I am not a villain to be slain by some “hero.” I will become something more than they thought.
I am Leviathan, and my pride will know no bounds.
------------
Thank you all so much for the praise and gold! I never did this before and just decided to go with it. You've all really encouraged me to keep practicing this. Maybe when I get better I'll come back to rewriting this story.
If any of you are interested, I wrote another one set in the same world. It has a different theme and style though.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7bu3jo/tt_i_dont_think_you_understand_one_of_the_reasons/dpr1dji/?st=j9y6rkor&sh=1f89cceb
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I did not want it. I did not want it to happen when I felt the eldritch powers flowing through my blood as soon as 12, but I knew that the next few years were going to be crucial in my journey. I did not know, that I was to be the vessel for the movement of power from light to evil. I did not know that the shadows slowly growing within me turned with contempt and disgust toward the world. I did not know, that the tidal waves of blood crashing unto the shores of man was going to be my fault.
I kept the mark of the Leviathan hidden, the hideous creature extremely hard to hide as it took up nearly all my back, and onto my shoulder. I told most that my Tattoo was a whale, that was why it was so big. It wasn’t wrong, honestly. One day, I felt something move. Inside me. On my skin. It was incredibly, incredibly painful. As I shot up from my bed in a cold sweat, I tried to stand. I could not. I tried to speak. I could not. I tried to cry out. I could not. I tried to look down. I could not.
My life was suddenly insignificant, the thoughts of gods, men, demons and evil flooding my mind. A speck of dust against the backdrop of the universe. It all faded into one thought. One being. One mind, with infinite voices. *Destroy.* And my body did as it was told. Growing, twisting, mutating, breaking. Every bone broke, every muscle rent from origin to origin, even piece of skin ripped. It no longer hurt. I didn’t have enough control for it to hurt.
No longer am I Edward Ruby Gruff, I am God, the absence of God, and Evil. Watch as I tear your world piece by piece, watch as I rip your body atom from atom, watch as I crush you. Watch, as the tidal waves of blood crash against your shores and raze your cities. Listen as the voices flood your mind, listen to the cries of damned and the saved. None shall be spared, none shall live, none shall survive. Not even myself.
Embrace...nothingness.
Embrace...oblivion.
*Embrace...Leviathan.*
| 2017-11-08T05:27:56 | 2017-11-08T05:26:16 | 989 | 34 |
[WP] You accidentally manifested your superpowers in public. Now you're afraid of what your coworkers will say the next day. However, you go to work normally and no one pointed it out, even though you are on the news. Turns out, nobody recognises you without your glasses.
Obviously inspired by Superman/Clark Kent.
|
First one please be kind.
I’m an artificer. I can do some pretty whacky things when I need to but I can do some pretty amazing things when I have one of the many trinkets I have made over the years.
On Thursday, I slipped up. As a weak wizard I’m able to do some small stuff; light cigarettes, open beer bottles with one hand, move furniture without touching it. Mostly party tricks. I left almost all my gear at home. I needed to the bank, I needed some cash and I didn’t want to pay the usual fee. As I stepped in I Immediately regretted my decision.
“Everybody on the ground!” The vice commanded to everybody.
“Very cliché.” I responded without thinking.
Here I am with very little gear; never dulling pocket knife, hellfire lighter, belt buckle flask of stored magic, and my personal favorite. A hat that can never be blown off my head.
Three of the five rifles in the room were instantly pointed at me.
“We said: get on the ground!” Another more commanding sounding voice ordered me.
“Pardon? I’m afraid I’m hard of hearing and I don’t see to well.” I lied about the first but I was not about the second. In my haste to get the cash I had forgotten my glasses in the car.
“Don’t make me kill you. I don’t want that “another voice said.
Immediately I felt the calmness that she pushed out onto me.
Somebody with magical talent was here and I could barely see here features since she was in all black and the whole part about me not seeing well.
It was a small southing spell. One that I think was based in weak magic very similar to mine. Most likely she was a distant cousin to a powerful witch or wizard. But, she had not inherited all the same power.
I reached for the flask inside my belt buckle and threw magic out from it.
Three tiny bolts of lighting sprang from my belt buckle and melted the actions of the rifles just enough to prevent a discharge.
The trick about having very little magical power is to stoke small. I had leaned this long ago since I was hardly able to do anything with my power. When I did without something to Focus it it was rough and uncontrolled. Most of the time this would cause injury to the person I directed the spell at or some other affect.
That is what I needed. Firing the lightning that melted the actions had used about three fourths of what I had stored. That had taken me two weeks to fill.
I launched two chaos spells at the remaining firearms I could see.
The spell was simple and would hopefully cause a malfunction of some sort.
One spell missed the rifle and hit the person holding it. A partial second after I sickening crack sounded and he went down.
The other spell had hit its mark and just in time as the rifle was raised and fired in my direction.
The thing about firearms it that they can be a little hard to control when the person is panicked. Like this situation. You go to rob a bank but unluckily for you somebody that does not agree with stealing is inside and is able to do Somthing about it. That person proceeded to launch lighting from his belt buckle of all things and disarm all of your comrades. So you panic fire in his direction. Unfortunately for you your gun was also hit with something and as you pull the trigger the sear gets stuck in the downward position and you enjoy foreign two rounds the first goes a little ways down the barrel and stops just after of the gas port. The secco d bullet does not allow gas to pas into the gas port and suddenly your budget rifle gets a ruptured barrel that burns your left arm so badly your going to need medical attention.
I watched in horror at the mans left arm become a mess of melted nylon and burned flesh.
That was not supposed to happen. But that is the kind of results that can happen from a chaos spell.
Now I had another problem. I was in the middle of the bank floor it’s no cover a worn out flannel shirt and a baseball cap that said bubba gump shrimp company on it. And I was facing four very upset people that I had just disabled the weapons to and I was nearly out of magic. All I had left was what was in the flask.
On the bright side they were not able to shoot me. None of them had thought to bring a sidearm.
They could use them as bats but I think that the ten other people in the room might help me.
So I did the most sensible thing I could. I ran.
I ran to my car and jumped in just in time to see the robbers running out though my rear view mirror.
Unfortunately for them the cops were better at their job that they were at theirs. They were waiting at the get away vehicle.
My car unchanged with umpteen different tracking enchantments would be impossible to follow so I drove away.
The next day I went to work the same as any other day. I was a machinist working on assorted boat and ship parts.
I went in and grabbed a cup of coffee. I was wearing more enchanted items than ever. Along with my pistol in its shoulder holster.
My boss came up behind me and grabbed me by the shoulder I spun around readying up my enchanted ring that had stored Kinetic energy from the entire night of boxing.
“Whoa sport!” The older man said to me. “ You don’t need that much of a reaction.”
I sighed. “Yep I know.”
“Hey you live near that bank that was robbed right?”
“ You know I do Frank.”
“Well, did you see anything?”
“No.” I lied
“Well check this out, I found it on the google machine.” He told me as he pulled out his phone.
There was the bank security footage showing me being a dumbass. I was wearing my hat and everything today.
I Immediately thought about what would happen if he recognized me.
“Look at that he has the same hat as you.” Frank helpfully pointed out to me.
“But it looks like this guy can see.” Frank chucked and slapped me on the shoulder as he walked off.
I felt my heart speed up. Had he known? Would he turn me in?
No no no. This was Frank. Frank who weaseled his way out of every tax he could. Frank who called the interned “the google machine”. No I can’t be.
I wear about the rest of the day a little jittery but otherwise ok as I built random little parts that needed to be made.
A few of the other guys talked about it the rest of the day sometimes when I was talking to them and other times when they met up around the shop.
It hit me like a train. These guys had never seen me with my glasses off.
Maybe just maybe my secret was safe.
|
Oh no it happend. Just as I was walking past someone nearly got shot, except I stopped the bullet in midair. Then I flew up to the sniper and subdued him to sleep. I interrogated the shiper later on and wrote down what he told me. It was a personal matter so I let it go.I was foolish. I didn't stop time nor was I wearing my suit. I left Eli at home, hope he didn't mind an action without me.
When I flew down people all around where shocked. My hoodie didn't reveal my full face. I sttod there watching before the Police tried to pin me down and I had hundreds of Microphones in my face. The flashes of the cameras were bright like the sun. But before anyone did anything, I was flying away.
I stayed hom the rest of the day. When I got home, I saw that the new software for my glasses has been fully uploaded and NATASHA's interface was fully functional. I opened the news. Sure enough, I saw headlines such as "New Hero appears, similar to Gold Spark" or "Near murderer saved by undecover Hero". My cover has definitely been blown.
My head starts to hurt. i put on my glasses and the pain goes away.
I lock my apartment and go to sleep.
The next day, I go to work as usual. But, something feels odd. There is no Police following me or media trying to find the Anonymous Hero. My coworkers greet me as usual. I look at the TV. Pictures of me withput my glasses are all over. Wait... The only reason my coworkers don't know who I am is because of my glasses! My cover hasn't been blown.
Suddnly, I feel something heavy in my pocket. Then I hear Eli's shimmers "Why did you go on an action without me? Tell me why, you bastard.". Oh no, this is bad. If Eli draws out when I am at work then my cover is dead.
My boss comes out of his office and says "Furgson, are you okay? You look pale. Are you feeling all right?". I reply "Yes, boss, sorry.". WHich is followed by the response of "Thought you lost a little touch with reality there, eh." and we both laugh away. Then my boss says "We need to talk about your new job opportunity, Furgson. Please come to my office immediately."
The meeting is going smooth. I got a commendation for my work efforts here. So, now I will probably be getting a job at HQ for my design company. Everyone's excited in the office. Then, suddenly, Eli simply flies out of my pocket and fully draws out and Yells "WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT YESTERDAY? WHY DID YOU RUN AWAY FROM PEOPLE? WHY DID YOU GO ON AN ACTION WITHOUT ME? TELL ME!!!".
Everyone goes white. My cover is dead. Not only is mine but so is the cover of Illumea.
| 2020-11-18T01:15:25 | 2020-11-17T23:03:33 | 41 | 23 |
[WP] The house you just rented is beyond compensation - staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane.
|
Well sure, looking back I suppose the house was a bit strange. My keys were never where I left them, and were sometimes slimy. I'd find carcasses of strange creatures in the kitchen, and there would be strange howling noises at night. But I've lived with dogs and cats, and it's not too dissimilar.
Of course when I opened the door to my bathroom and nearly fell into some voidspace I started to question things.
Then I met Ben. Well, Ben isn't his real name. He's not even a he. He is a formless entity from the further infinites inhabiting this plane in order to gain sustenance from the psychic output of lesser beings. Or at least that's how I understand it. Nice guy though.
I still remember our first conversation.
"***YOU... How are you still sane?***"
He didn't so much speak those words, as I just heard them in my head.
"Hmm?" I replied. "I know the world is a bit mad at the moment, but I just try to live life and accept things as they are."
"***But you've been here for 7 local material rotational periods, correct?***"
I paused, taking in and understanding what he said. Local material? The house? Ohh.. The earth. So a rotational period is a day, and I have indeed been here a week.
"***The longest anyone else has lasted before submitting their mortal form to the blind void at the edge of perception is 3 of these... Days***," it said, as if having read my mind. "***How... Have you done it. The shifting rooms, the blood stained walls, the howling of the souls of the damned?***"
"I thought those were just the neighborhood dogs?"
I'd heard of stunned silence before, but this was more. This wasn't an absence of noise, this was the antithesis. A quiet so powerful it could rupture your ear drums, as if the whole universe had stuttered.
"***You... Dogs? I mean.. Really? You nearly fell into the void yesterday and you still thought they were dogs? Screw this, I'm out***."
And he vanished. Over the next few days, I did start to notice how the local howling seemed less... Dog-esque than I first thought. For one, the howls seemed to transition in and out of screams and wails. And for another, I saw the thing making the howls. Too many tentacles for a dog, but it still loved chasing a tennis ball.
That's when Ben came back.
"***That is an eldritch demon formed out of 1000 mortal souls, and you taught it to play FETCH??***" It asked incredulously.
"Oh it must be you again," I replied. "Sure, he might be less cute than a dog, but he's amicable and I've been needing the company"
"***He has tentacles!***"
"That's judgemental don't you think? Besides, you're one to talk. I just hear you in my head, you could be covered in tentacles too."
It paused, and then laughed. Well, it must have been a laugh, but a nearby cloud of gnats caught aflame at just the sound alone. And then he showed himself. The visage of a thousand gods, the fear of a million worlds personified. The endless hunger, the limitless maw. The kinda cute eye stalks.
"Oh." I said
"***Oh.***" It said. "***I do hope I didn't fry his brain.***"
"Fry it? You've blown it!!" I shouted, full of excitement. "I mean I always believed in aliens but wow! Eternal powers beyond human comprehension? Amazing!"
"***YESSS, GAZE UPON ME AND LOSE ALL TETHERS TO YOUR MORTAL COIL, ENTER THE ETERNITIES WITH ME AN-*** wait what did you say?" I looked at him questioningly. "You... Should be insane," he continued. "Your very essence of being should be in utter ecstatic torment. What is it with you??"
"Well I did a lot of psychedelics in my 20s, so I'm used to seeing some strange things. Or... Maybe I'm just glad to have a friend?" I offered. "What's your name anyway?"
The entity stared blindly at me. "Umm... Well... You see... Ahem... Uttering my name in this realm will cause the complete collapse of every star."
"Ah... Well I'll just call you Ben then. I'm Oliver."
It blinked.
"That's.. actually not that far off from my name yknow."
I chuckled, how strange the world can be. And that's how it started. Me and Ben and our demon dog. Not a normal family, but the best I could ask for. It was a while before we truly figured out why I didn't go mad. The short answer is that I already was. I'd been lonely for a long time. So lonely that even the sight of a being beyond the 51st dimension was at least the sight of something other then me or an inanimate object. My mind suppressed the madness, the destruction of ego that usually comes out of that... All so I could have a companion.
|
I let out a very long sigh as I addressed the voice's observations.
"Listen, buddy. Living in a house that behaves like a Rubik's Cube on LSD pales in comparison to the insanity of the outside world. Have you seen the housing market these days!? All of these god damn rich bastards are buying up all the houses to rent out, leaving no options for an ordinary person except to put up with the extortion. And let's not get started with all of the crap that's occurring with politics and guns and what not."
The house was silent, presumably stewing over my words.
"I'm so glad I managed to buy this house before some hedgie scum did, cause I assure you, they would never had bothered stepping in this house after purchasing it, even if there was nothing weird going on here. Now could you provide me a schedule of all the changes that happen so I can work around it?"
The house continued to remain silent, before speaking.
"Well fuck. I didn't realize the bar for insanity has changed so much the past several years. You know what, I respect your gumption. I'll accede to your request."
"Thank you. I hope the master bedroom is close by today. Thinking about all this shit is making me feel exhausted."
| 2022-05-29T07:53:35 | 2022-05-29T06:47:49 | 896 | 313 |
[WP] Amelia Earhart did not die. Instead, after she crashes, she discovers the lost City of Atlantis, where she spends the remainder of her time because she is unable to leave.
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As the early morning sun dyed the sands gold, Amelia paced the shores yet again, kicking over any mounds of sand that seemed too tall and inspecting the various bits of garbage the ocean had washed in.
"At it again?" Asked a tall, dark skinned man, walking up beside her, in a language that has long been forgotten. He was well muscled and wore nothing but a loin cloth and a string of beads about his neck. From the waist down his legs were covered in blue-green scales, that ended in large feet with long, webbed toes. He carried a slim fishing spear with him. Amelia replied in the same language he spoke.
"One day, Kay. One day soon I'll find that last piece, and finally fix my plane." She bent over to inspect a particularly promising mess in the sand, but found nothing but an unspooled cassette tape. She sighed in frustration, but shoved the mess into a basket woven from torn grocery bags. It wouldn't get her plane moving, but it might be useful to trade in town. The Atlantians were mostly self sustained, but always found a creative use for the discard trash of the outside world. Magnetic ribbons were a popular decorative ornament.
"And then what?" Kazil said, the sun glinting iridescently off the scales embedded about his neck. "You'll find this... gasoli you speak of, and fly off into the veil? Into that?" He gestured with his spear into the clouded mists that surrounded the island. It glittered like a rainbow, and empathized his gesture with a crackle of jade coloured lightning. Amelia turned to stare at the unbroken wall of mists, quietly. The silence dragged on as she stared into it, beginning to frown. Kazil drew his lip into a thin line, and walked behind her, slipping his arms about her and drawing her close to his bare chest. After a moment, Amelia looked up at him and smiled sadly.
"I can't spend my whole life here, Kay. I'm a free spirit, I need to see the world. This feels like a cage I'll never escape."
"From what you've told me, you've already spent two lives here with me. Now come back to bed, you make me feel like I'm still in my first century of life." He said, playfully nuzzling her neck.
Hours later, Kazil found her on the beach yet again, staring out at the veil as it danced and glittered.
"Still thinking of leaving me." He said without malice, sitting beside her to watch the evening sun turn the mists red, orange and purple.
"Tell me about the veil again." She said, "Truly, has no one ever lived to get past it?"
"None that we know of. People have tried, of course, but their bodies are normally found washed up on shores a few days later."
"But not all of the bodies, right?" She asked, already knowing the answer. Kazil sighed.
"Not all, no, but the last person to go missing to the veil was centuries ago. Not since my grandfather's times."
"I wonder if they still speak English out there." Amelia mused in her native tongue.
"My grandfather knew him, you know. Soren, the last person to try to leave Atlantis. He said he was like you. Always curious. Always infected with, how do you say it, wanderlust?" He twisted his tongue about the foreign word as Amelia looked at him curiously.
"You never told me this story, Kay." She said, gently accusing him.
"I did some asking about for you, my little caged seagull. My Grandfather likes you. He says Soren was obsessed with the veil, like you are. That he would claim the veil had moods, that could be tracked like one tracks the weather. He thought that the veil might be calmer at times, you see. My grandfather always laughed at his theories, but Soren was convinced he could make it through the veil. Soren would often sit out here and watch the veil, much like you do. One day, as they were sitting out here debating whether the veil was calmer at a full moon or dawn, a small blue bottle washed ashore. Soren claimed it was proof that some things could pass through unharmed. He promised my grandfather that when he made it through, he would send back a letter to my grandfather in that very bottle, to prove he made it."
Amelia stared Kazil intently. "And then what?"
"My grandfather said that a few weeks later, on the night of the full moon, Soren went missing. No one was sure when he'd left, but my grandfather knew where he was heading. He combed the beach for years afterwards, but never did find the blue bottle again, or Soren. He says all he found was this."
Kazil placed a curved piece of blue sea glass in Amelia's hand, no bigger than a sand dollar, and worn smooth by the ocean currents. She turned it over several times.
"But what does it mean?" She asked.
"He wasn't sure. But the veil sure is lovely tonight."
|
Year..I don't know anymore. I'm tired of the experiments. Who would have thought that the City of Atlantis was filled with fishsticks? I call them fishsticks; they are thin, scaly and smell terrible. Reminds me of boiling cabbage soup from my youth.
Day after day, I am a spectacle to crowds of gawkers. Not for my historic flying records, or even that I'm a woman who can fly a plane! I am an exhibit at a zoo. The pink angry monkey they call me. Since they don't believe in clothes..The nerve of these fish things! They don't believe I need clothes either. I would drown them if I could; filet my handlers, ah yes, and fry them over an open, warm fire.
It's cold, always cold. No matter where I huddle for warmth, I can feel the cold sea surrounding me. I cry and plead, they ignore me. They know I can communicate, yet I'm a pink monkey, so no-one cares.
I am surrounded by fantastic architecture of crystal transparent walls and gelatinous rooms which sustains the underwater dome. I live in a clear, hard bubble which floats around this gigantic city. I see no hope for escape.
I'm running out of my ink. I had to scrawl something, but they will probably ignore my graffiti and hose down my cage. Who wants to talk to a pink monkey who writes with her own feces.
| 2014-02-28T00:30:27 | 2014-02-27T21:08:14 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
The gunsmoke lingers lazily about a foot in front of me, sharp smell of sulfurous anger assaults my nostrils, foreign yet familiar. The smoke gently obscures the writhing psychopath on my floor, bleeding out all over my goddamn berber carpet that I just had cleaned not even a week ago. As the blood soaks in a widening pool around this weirdo, I muse that perhaps I should lay down a darker color sometime soon. His gurgles and wet shrieks snap me back, and I retrain my pistol on him, just in case he gets a second wind and decides to get squirrely again. Can't ever really tell with these gene\-freaks, ever since that drug hit the market some 60 someodd years ago and everyone was sold the promise they could live forever, shit just kinda has been going downhill. I was too old when they started handing out that drug, whatever it was called. PermaLife? VitaLife? I can't fucking remember these days. I was too old, but I had a funny feeling about it. A man shouldn't trust strangers in fancy suits when they talked about money, souls or beauty, and this certainly qualified. Everybody wanted to stay pretty, got to stay pretty, right down to the genetic level. Problem was it was too good to be true\- these kids apparently never heard of Microsoft Windows. Always wait a while before buying a brand new product\- it's always rushed and there are always problems they didn't account for. Except this time this product gave your whole brain a blue screen of death. Polymyelinating Colloidal Hyperagitation, the people with pay grades bigger than mine called it. Rest of us just called it the Giggles. Turns out, even though you can keep the body looking young, the mind's a different matter. Damn thing can only process so much information, it has to evolve in order to keep your sanity. That's why you start forgetting shit when you're older than dirt like me. Problem is the new drug stopped the brain from being able to do that. So it just kept getting overstimulated like someone threw a Chevy in neutral and kept pressing the pedal. Some folks, younger ones, handle it a little better, but get up to my age chronologically and everything starts to go catty whompers eventually. Nerves and neurons fuse and flare, too much electroconductivity happens in the brain, too much hyperperfusion, throws 'em into a state of superacute psychosis\- at least that's what it says in the fine print. The brainiac's are still throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks, but they at least got the warning out about, oh 10 minutes before everything took a massive shit all over the place.
Speaking of shit, the smell of voided bowels cuts through the smoke and let's me know that pissboy here isn't going to be getting back up. I poke him in the balls with the end of my cane, for good measure. Anyone can shit themselves, but no matter how psycho you are, you react when someone jabs a metal rod in your balls. I stick 'em a few times, and nothing in his rictus\-grin face shows me he's still on this earth. I punch a few buttons on my recessed wall communicator and wait until the swirling 'standby' notice disappears.
"Got another one, eh, Bill?" my neighbor Rich damn near scares the shit out of me as he appears in my doorway suddenly
"Christ almighty, Richie, you almost got your ticket punched too, ya asshole." I realize I'm pointing my pistol at his chest, and lower it, feeling the jolt of adrenalin course through me. I ride the hammer home and tuck the piece in my holster in my waistband.
Richie shrugged. "You'd be doing me a favor. Get me off this train wreck before it gets really bad." he shuffles to the doorway, holding on to the doorjamb for balance. Richie could probably use a cane or a walker of some sort, but he's either too proud or too stupid to get one. "What's this, number four now?"
"Something like that. You want a coffee, Richie? I was about to put a pot on." I say, waving him in. The wall caller still tells me to standby.
"Maybe. Was thinking about taking a walk down to McCarveys. Maybe pick Annette up on the way, wanna tag along?"
"I dunno, Richie. Is McCarveys even still standing? Either way, I don't feel like blasting my way through a dozen more of these loonies just for some watered\-down bourbon." The swirling standby message has stopped, then disappeared, and a new message prompting me to select what service I need comes up. I hit medical, police and sanitary, then hit send. The standby message reappears.
"It's strange." Richie says suddenly.
"What's that, now?"
"I says, it's strange. I'm looking at this freako, here, and in my mind I'm thinkin', 'what a waste of a life.' Then somewhere some other part reminds me this thing is about as old as we are, just about. It's just a weird thing to rectify, mentally. Ya know?" Richie says, tapping the head of the dead guy with his shoe.
"Yeah. I just think it's funny that this shithead wanted to live forever and ended up dying before I did." I chuckled, and Richie smiles and shakes his head. Irony's a bitch.
The wall caller chirps and an automated voice asks me what the nature of my emergency is.
"Well, it;'s not an emergency per se, but there is a dead guy on my floor, so I figured someone should be alerted." I say. You know your old when you hate people but still consider the 'good ol days' to be when someone with a pulse answered an emergency call.
"You stated; someone has died. Is this correct?" the wall caller asks.
"Yep."
"Can you identify the cause of death?" the wall caller asks. I think for a moment.
"Acute traumatic exsanguination." I reply. Richie snorts a chuckle. The line goes silent for a few seconds.
"Do you have reason to believe that the deceased is an individual who may have taken MetaLife brand chemical supplements?" the wall caller asks, except this time the tinny voice has changed into someone a bit more authoritative. I hesitate, knowing where this is heading.
"It's certainly not outside the realm of possibility." I respond. I swear I can hear the wall caller click in frustration.
"A representative from Foundation Pharmaceuticals is being dispatched along with police, medical and fire to your location. Please do not touch or alter the deceased. If you have animals or pets, please secure them away from the deceased. Do not ingest bodily fluids from the deceased. Do not..."
I sigh, knowing what's going to come next. The suits will show up, grill me for the next three hours over what happened, scold me for not taking the subject alive or alerting them while he was still alive, then they'll look at my record and start accusing me of all kinds of things like manslaughter or freak hunting, all while denying that there's any connection between their product and the near billion and growing number of people around the globe showing similar effects, there will be gag orders, I'll have to lawyer up...
"...in the deceased's mouth, nostrils, or any other oriface. Do you have any questions or comments before we terminate this call?"
"Yeah." I say, grabbing an extra loaded magazine from my kitchen drawer, "I'll be down at McCarvey's on 4th street if you need me."
|
I leaned forward in my recliner, imploring the volume to rise from the TK implant. It wasn't real telekinesis but marketing teams thought it was cool to call it that. The retirement home seemed quieter than normal.
Everyone was tuning in.
The news cycle for the past few weeks had grown worse. People going missing then. Mass disappearances. Wild fires raging globally. Strings of arsons. Several space stations had even had catastrophes. Even on Mars there were occurrences.
And no one taking credit.
As the reason was revealed, I was glad that I never had kids.
The Immortals, essentially every one to be born since the anti-aging drug's release, were a literal ticking time bomb.
It artificially restored telomeres through chemical means but it seemed to eventually fail in a catastrophic chain reaction.
People gooified. Then the goo reduced to base elements of oxygen and hydrogen, then the spark of phosphorus hitting air. Spontaneous combustion.
The failure rate was 100%. There was no way to prevent it once the body reached a tolerance to the drug.
It was even transgenerational.
People were frantic to call family. I dreaded reaching out to a friend as the news started to go to talking heads who's youthful faces perspired fear.
The poor bastards. I let a slow breath, trying to not get worked up.
It was bad enough to have family die to it. Seeing young and vital people die after getting so advanced years resonated in me. My bitterness and regret at being aged out had long dried up. It was wrenching to hear the sobs from the nurse's station from the Immortals that took care of us. Poor Gina, she was nice. My lips drew tight as emotions began to well in me.
There were so few not on the drug, few brave enough to age and face oblivion. But the majority of them were the fundimentalist Christians who thought it was wrong to "play God." There were a few in the home. They were self-righteous and ignorant. Often a case of sour grapes more than a devotion of faith.
When the calmly smiling, pastor-slash-pundit appeared in my Holo-Screen and declared it "Rapture." I knew his face all too well. I had interned with the pharmaceutical company that made the drug during my biochemistry degree all those years ago. Funny how an R&D head could be born again. He was a self proclaimed Malthusian, which translates readily to immoral capitalist often enough. He had the CEOs ear because they were in the same fraternity.
I had disliked his sliminess then but I suddenly loathed him and his Evangelical helmet hair.
My chest began to seize with an extreme pressure coinciding with a terrible revelation. The nurses where too deep in sudden existential dread to care about my alerts pinging their implants. I tried to calm myself. Desperately and in vain. But I was old and my body couldn't take the burning implication in my brain.
The bastards had given a faulty drug but they had a plan. Now that people would live long enough to care that the Earth was fucked. Sweeping legalisation had pulled us from the brink of extinction. People had an infinite future so the made damn sure there was a lot of it.
The only issue was population. With no one dying it would grow exponentially.
They had solved that alongside global warming.
I prespired, I gasped. My chest felt like a collapsing star of pressure and straining pain. I was just too furious to control myself.
The pastor spoke as my vision and body grew distant as I was sucked down the tunnel to oblivion.
But I still saw him so clearly. His eyes delighted, his lips curved so smugly, "... And the righteous will live on in His Name through this time of Trial and Tribulation."
| 2018-06-04T21:25:21 | 2018-06-04T21:18:49 | 201 | 135 |
[WP] You live on a world full of immortal beings. For the first time in the history of the world's existence, somebody has died.
This could mean figuratively or physically.
|
"Larry died."
"What?"
"Like an house cat dies, you know, dead. Not alive."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Well that's a bummer. When are we getting a new one?"
"What?"
"A new Larry, when can we get a new Larry?"
"Mac, you can't get a new Larry, Larry is dead."
"Yeah, but you said it was like a pet, and when a pet dies, you get a new one. So when can we get a new Larry?"
"This isn't how this works..."
"Sure it is, my dog Spike died lots of times when I was a kid, we just brought him to the vet and they made a new one. Same Spike, just new."
"We can't clone a new Larry."
"Why not?"
Pause.
"Fine, come one. Let's go dig up Larry."
"Cool! But the vet's closes in like two hours, lets be quick."
|
**Potential entry for Chapterfy Contest, thank you for the prompt OP**
*Title*: **GENESIS**
*Static initiating the start of the video*
*.A woman in red, seems like a news reporter, appeared in the screen*
December 19 2034.
Alevfonso Incorporated, leading company in science and cosmetics, has recently discovered a new micro-organism that helps cell regeneration's speed increase. Dr.Mike Veourovski, head of the company, says that *"This would be the greatest discovery, mankind has ever witnessed"*
February 21, 2041.
Alevfonso Incorporated has officially released their new product, Imora. One dose of this serum and all of the bodies incapability will be boost. First user of the Imora serum, Mr. Max Lywell, a 46 y/o man living in Marksville, Louisiana has tested the serum and proved that the serum made the old blind man see again. Scientists continues to conduct serious research to this phenomenon, a secret that Alevfonso Inc. would not tell.
April 2, 2045.
That is right folks. The Alevfonso Incorporated has done it again. People who will take a dose of the new and improved Imora, will not only recieve super-fast healing. But will stop aging at the most attractive part of their lives, at the age of 26. This is undeniably the most important discovery of mankind. As demands grow, so does the worth. The Imora serum is now available for a raging 4.2 Million Dollars, but it's all worth it for the hopes of becoming Immortal.
May 20 2052
We have just witnessed, for about years and years of having no death. The first death in almost a decade. A man inexplicably ran out on the streets of Miami, having cysts and puss all over his body. Miami residents must fear not, for Dr. Veourovski, still the head of Alevfonso, will be happy to provide free serums for 2000 families in Miami, to protect them from this newly found virus.
June 12 2052
Alevfonso Inc. has just cleared up that the man who just died a month ago, clearly has no trace of the serum inside of it. Meaning, out of all the potential victims in Miami, he and the few who could not afford the amazing drug, Imora, are the only one who'll catch this.
December 19 2056
Reports are growing. Civilian from all across the globe had claimed that the Imora serum has failed to protect them from the unknown virus. Alvenhof remains silent as for the moment. Speculations all around the internet, posts from Wooble, Velpy, PostThat and other famous social networking sites, declares a theory, that the serum is responsible for these deadly mutations.
October 12 2072
Riots everywhere, rebellion against the Alvenhof inc. is slowly getting stronger. What is the secret beyond...
*footage was cut of here*
*distorted screaming*
*last shot of news reporter Alicia Bessil being mauled and eaten by a man*
October 12 2076
China's defenses are down. Number if people of that are not infected has decreased to 100, 10...
May 21 2078
The cannibalistic virus has spread all over asia. America will not be safe for long.
May 24 2079
No records found
March 2 2081
My name is Dr. Veourovski. I have kept all seven of you. I knew that the serum would bound to react one day, it wasn't complete. Listen to me. You are the only ones who have succesfuly bonded with the serum. You have been frozen for atleast 100 years now. The serum has given you extra-ordinary abilities. I have kept all of you, seven of you, frozen in different parts of the globe. Meet up with them, and stop the mess I've done.
*static*
Goodluck
*the video ends there*
***
My name is Ryan Fellowing. Some scientists injected something in me, that later on gave me incredible sense of sight, hearing, smell. I could move things with my mind pretty much be a badass. This happened in 2012, and walking up 100 years later is kind of a pain. They call me one of the genesis children, and I have to meet up with the others, assuming they're not dead. I rose up from the elevator, and the sight that greeted me was chaos. I readied my katana and loaded my shot gun...
"Let's kill some zombie motherfuckers"
| 2014-04-28T10:10:43 | 2014-04-28T09:41:55 | 140 | 45 |
[WP] It's 1916. You're a French soldier fighting in the battle of Verdun. One night, you're confronted by a single unarmed German soldier. He says something to you that chills you to the bone.
|
**author's note : First time commenting. Taking some liberties. Don't know a lot of WWI weaponry**
*Damn Rain won't stop.* I look to my side. Auguste, just a boy of 17, sat there, eyes focused on the horizon. still red from a night of tear filled misery. His brother, just a kid himself, tried to desert the mission -- desert France. He and about six others were shot on the spot, charged with treason. I can't say I blame them for wanting to flee.
But our orders were to not surrender. The Germans pushed us back about a kilometer from what I can guess. The land doesn't really look the same. Instead of the beautiful scene it once was, it transformed into a muddy cesspool of shells, corpses, and water. Some mornings, the ground would freeze underneath us. I couldn't wait for this to be over. *Defend. Push back. Look out.*
I could hear August let out a small sigh, shifting in his gear. I wanted to say something to him... just one word to make the pain go away, but nothing came to mind. Nothing can replace his childhood. No words could take away the hollow, lost look in his eyes.
"Quiet night," I said, looking at the horizon. It was unusual. Normally we had one guy trying to sneak off, or sneak up. He nodded in agreement. Not much for conversation. I can't blame him. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a small locket.
My beautiful Violette and our boy, Henri. We had planned to get married this summer. We had Henri out of wedlock. Wish I could hold them again. She saved up for months for her wedding gown. See, her family cut her off after she got pregnant. But we scraped by and saved every little bit we had. We bought a small house with a nice yard. We opened a shop in town, but we needed a little more, so I enlisted.
Violette was so happy when I finally brought her a ring. It was a small stone. Blue. Like her eyes. She threw her arms around me and held me tight, Henri cooing over his stuffed dog. We were happy. I missed those times.
I glanced over at Auguste, still staring dead ahead. He shifted a bit more, this time looking forward over his gun.
"Do... Do you hear that?" he whispered to me. I got ready. I grabbed my gun. *Please, God, let this be nothing. Just a bird.* I heard a loud crash. Thundering, fire. And then it went dark.
When I came to, my vision foggy, I looked around. Auguste had gone. I was left. I saw a figure coming at me from the rain and fog.
"Auguste?" I called to him. "Auguste where is everyone?" As the figure walked toward me, I saw he bore the enemy uniform. He came closer. He didn't have a gun. I called out, my German a bit rusty.
"Stop. I will shoot." He continued walking forward. As I pulled the trigger of my gun, it did nothing. Out of ammo. *Strange. I should have a full gun*
The figure stopped, right in front of me. He had a gash on his head. Brown hair matted in blood, He held up his hands in front of him, indicating he was unarmed.
"What are you doing?" I asked. It'd been awhile since I'd spoken German, but it was coming back to me.
"...We don't have to fight anymore." His hoarse voice hung in the fog, resonating in the dim firelight.
"....No?" I asked. It was strange. "Did you surrender?"
"No," He replied. He looked at me sadly. "We never wanted to be here, did we?"
I looked at him. He was broken.
"No," I said, meekly. "I want to go home. Is this battle over?" I asked. He seemed sincere enough. Melancholic. Maybe he would let me go. Maybe I wouldn't be captured.
"...Laurence?" His voice broke a moment as his dull grey eyes looking over me.
"How did you know my name?" I demanded to know. I shivered. How could he know my name?
"I need you to look down." His voice shook with utter sadness as he took another step toward me.
I looked down.
Lying there, the hands clutched around the small locket, was my body. I looked back at the mysterious man, then back down. I would never get to go home.
**edit: Some typos made it present tense and not past tense. Tried to fix**
|
**[Taking some liberties with the prompt here by changing it to WWII but the main concept will remain the same]**
Four men sit in a dark room staring through the glass of a one-way mirror at a what used to be a man, but is now only a paranoid cowardly wretch. The only light comes through that glass and if it wasn't for that light the brass emblems and insignia upon their uniforms would be hidden. Despite their secrecy all these men have names, the youngest of them is Daniel Breaker.
Daniel had only been with the OSS for seven months after a transfer off a line infantry unit. He thought now that he much preferred the infantry. Sleeping in trenches may be uncomfortable, but at least there's some freedom. No one breathing down your necks constantly telling you what you're not allowed to speak about. He was a Captain now, which in the OSS means you're at the bottom of the totem pole as far as officers go.
*"Does he ever say anything new?"* One of the dark men asked as he took another drag off a cigar which smelled like the kind only a general grade officer could afford. Rank does have its luxuries.
*"No, he only talks about the things and that damned book."* Daniel replied and turned to look at his esteemed guests. *"I mean he talks about them and only them. He doesn't eat or drink. We've been watching him for three days now, that's three days without food or water. And there's no telling how long he went without before we found him."*
*"Have you considered force feeding him, to keep him alive I mean."* One of the dark men asked. Force feeding was a standard procedure in the event prisoners of war refused to eat. Most people considered it torture, but it was a duty to keep your prisoner alive and healthy, even against their will.
*"It's on my list of contingencies in case he doesn't start eating soon. I suppose soon he'll get desperate and take a bite of the meals we've provided."* Daniel turns again. *"If not then we will take more drastic measures to ensure his survival."*
*"Good, we can't lose this one."* The dark man said. That made Daniel wonder why this one was so important. Technically speaking the man was nothing more than a German private. Not even a member of Hitler's elite SS or Gestapo. Just a lone private by the name of Heinrich Vontur.
They knew his name, rank, and station by the papers they had found in his pockets when they found him wondering through the woods. He had been alone, not a single German patrol for dozens of miles and nowhere near the front lines. It was as though he had simply walked past the front and through Allied territory completely unmolested.
Well, not entirely unmolested. The man had seen some kind of combat. His clothes were covered in mud and blood. His body had received a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing extreme. If he had been in combat then he did all the damage, or so it would seem.
*"Have we found where he came from yet?"* One of the other dark men asked. They had sent troops into the region searching for the man's unit yet so far all efforts came up empty.
*"Nothing yet, but we have a number of units still on the task."* Daniel replied. *"It's likely he came across the front so we won't find his departure location until the front moves back a bit more."* Daniel said with a hopeful tone. If the front moves back a bit more, he thought to himself. If we keep winning this war, if the Nazis don't turn the tide somehow.
*"And what of the book?"* One dark man demanded. *"Is there anything unusual about the book?"* Daniel wanted to laugh at the man, but insubordination isn't something men like this took lightly.
*"Honestly sir, what isn't unusual about the book."* Daniel turned and picked up a file folder off the counter to his right. He opened the cover and began handing out prints to his guests. Each one had a photograph of the book in question and a cursory analysis written out by the translator Daniel had on duty.
*"Written in about three different languages, as far as we can tell. The book seems to be bound in pig skin, except there's something strange about it."* Daniel scratched his head. *"It's too thin, I mean we've all seen a football here I suppose. The skin is tough and thick when dried. The skin which the book's binding is made from is thin and still somewhat supple."* The men looked up at Daniel with a curious look on their faces.
*"Supple?"* One of them asked.
*"Yes, it's still moist. Almost like it was newly skinned. I've been hunting before as a child, my dad taught me how to skin a deer or a boar. This book feels like newly skinned boar hide, except as I said before, it's too thin."* Daniel knew the men wanted answers but he only had so many. If he pushed the facts as far as they'd go without the proper analysis by the proper professionals he'd risk misinforming those men. And in the OSS information was a weapon, and there was only one rule. Never be incorrect.
As the men looked through the handouts Daniel had given them he could see their unease at the illustrations found within the pages of the book. Pictures of vivisection, animal corpses, and strange creatures that could not have existed.
*"It's red. The writing in the book is all red. Why?"* One man asked, almost begged.
*"Our best guess is that's it's blood. It appears to be anyways."* The man who had asked the question promptly put down the handout as though it had been the original book itself.
*"What does he say about it? The prisoner."* Daniel turned to look out the glass again. Now the prisoner was laying his head down on the table whispering to something or someone who wasn't there.
*"He says the book told him to bring it here. Told him to bring it to us."* Daniel turned back to the men. *"He says his commander could read it, or at least some of it. Something about the man having been a professor of literature in Berlin before the war."*
*"So they could understand this writing?"* Daniel heard one man ask.
*"No, but his commander could read it. Pronounce the words at least."* Daniel felt discomfort at what he was about to say next. *"He says he read some words from the pages and that's when it happened. He says the sky turned black and one of the men in his unit began to fly."*
*"Fly?"* Three or four of the men asked in unison. Daniel knew this is where they'd begin to lose interest.
*"That's what he says. He says the man flew about two feet above the ground, dropped his rifle, and his eyes turned red. He says the men began to speak in a voice that was not his own. He says the man told them they'd all be dead by dawn."* Daniel looked at the file and found the mention he was looking for. *"Apparently this all happened at about 10pm, which gives them about seven hours before day break."*
*"So this one soldier, the one who was flying, he killed them all before dawn?"* One of the men asked again. Daniel noticed they hadn't started laughing yet, he had expected laughter.
*"No, they killed him. They were so frightened by him they shot him a dozen times. He fell to the ground and that was over. But he says that throughout the night they began killing each other. More of the men began to change and attack the others."* Daniel put the file down.
*"What's your next step, Captain?"* One of the men at the far end of the room asked.
Daniel didn't expect this to go so far. He expected them to give up on the idea by now. *"If you'll permit me, I'd like to get a specialist to look at the book. I know a professor in the states who'd probably have some insight on the book. His name is Knowby, I took his ancient history course before OCS."*
*"We will allow it, but the book must stay a secret at this point. Take any measures necessary to ensure that his analysis of the book is done in isolation."* One of the dark men ordered.
| 2015-05-24T17:50:06 | 2015-05-24T15:18:08 | 40 | 10 |
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
"You're never going to believe what happened."
"You killed your brother in a bar fight and stowed away on one of Salar's ships and ended up enslaved I bet."
"Okay, then you will believe what happened."
"Dad, mom isn't so easy to fool."
"What do you mean?"
"She found your brother and beat him within an inch of his life until he'd wished he hadn't faked his death."
".....is he alive?"
"He's alive."
"...good."
"Did you think she didn't know?"
"She's a sharp one that one."
"She's been keeping tabs on you the entire time, quite an adventure you've been on, plenty scandalous nights in Jamaica or so the story goes."
"You mean, you all aren't mad at me?"
"We knew where you were, we could've picked you up at any point, but it was much more fun to set things in motion around you."
"Set things....IT WAS YOU!"
"Yeah"
"The blasted lot of you? But...I thought"
"That was us too."
"What about the raid in Barbados?"
"You really going to sit here and make me take credit for your entire career?"
"I'm a ..I'm a pirate legend, I escaped, I bled, I survived, my name will..be..in the history books."
"I admire your gumption, it took a lot of guts to do what you did, but you among all others should know that you never really get to leave the family of your own accord."
The man I called father sank to his knees, rapier clattering to the floor as the weight of the unveiling hit him all at once. I scooped it up and placed it on the nightstand where he used to tell me stories as a small lad, then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Cheer up dad, try as you might you'll never escape the Queen of Pirates."
|
"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
| 2016-07-20T09:03:36 | 2016-07-20T07:20:27 | 65 | 42 |
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Thing is, if the universe is simulated space and time are also simulated. As a result the increased processing causing the lag also causes a lag in the simulation of time. Therefore there is no perceived lag for those simulated, only for an outside observer." said Hedelberger to Musk with a thick German accent. "That is unless ofcourse, ..."
"unless the simulator has a bug." Musk interrupted. "Precisely. But that seems highly unlikely. You see the standard model doesn't have any bugs. It works. We are able to predict phenomena before they even happen. You of all people must..." Musk phased out for a moment. He wasn't about to argue with Hedelberg. He had seen a glitch, he was certain. His plan was simple. Launch the experiment under the guise of an advanced deep space propulsion test and have it go unexpectedly wrong. Hedelberger was in on it despite his complaints. His scientific curiosity got the better of him.
T+467days
The payload had been on route for 467 days to the emptiest spot in the solarsystem, around the height of the orbit of Jupiter but on a tangent plane. In fact a spot and time had been chosen so all the planets were at the farthest they could be. The official reason was that this experimental technology could cause local space-time anomalies. This positioning was thus a safety precaution. Musk however had different reasoning. He was so convinced that everything around him was simulated that he had drawn up his own ideas on how he would build such a simulator. Most of space is just that: empty space, requiring little to no processing power. Earth is a busy place. If we're all simulated you better believe that the simulation loadbalancers dedicate more resources to complex regions like earth he thought. Big explosions happened on earth all the time without a hitch. No, to cause a hitch he'd need to cause immense complexity where the loadbalancers least expect it.
The time came. The explosion happened, the news did the rounds, the hype around the project faded and life continued like nothing ever happened. A failed experiment so it seemed, until Hedelberger announced new steps towards a [grand unified theory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Unified_Theory). Hedelberger was however puzzled, a previously failed experiment suddenly seemed to work. He could reproduce it. It was watertight. It was like the laws of physics were changing overnight. Further analysis revealed that the speed of light was changing, speeding up.
What Hedelberger and Musk would never know is that their experiment had caused a universe simulation machine to crash due to bad loadbalancing. A simulation engineer had spotted this and fixed a few bugs he found on the old machine. One of the bugs was a wrong parameter: the speed of light. The wrong units had been used... It was orders of magnitude off. Turns out this bug was found on all machines. Instantly updating the speed of light would cause huge electromagnetic pulses destroying the universe. Around the coffee machine the simulation engineers figured out that the speed of light should be slowly increased, very slowly, to avoid causing an electromagnetic shockwave.
Mankind looked in awe as intergalactic history played out in fast-motion. Billions of years of supernovae, star-births and deaths played like a silent film in only a couple of years as the universe fast forwarded to the correct speed of light. The stars were actually twinkling. Soon enough the first odd signals arrived, non-organic signals. Mankind responded. So did they. Then more transmissions... There were alien worlds everywhere. The increased speed of light had made them within reach, not only for telecommunications but also for spaceships. Proxima Centauri was now only 12 lightseconds away. It was like the universe had switched internet provider. A new era of exploration and colonialism started. They called it the 'new universe' after the 'new world' of old. Yes there were wars but humans, the only race to manage to crash the simulation, reigned supreme. Terra universalis.
|
The champagne glasses clinked at the center of the table. Between them, on a TV just over the bar, Elon Musk was making an announcement about bombs or the end of the world or whatever.
Jim wasn't listening. The end of the world could go screw itself. He smiled at the blue eyes in front of him.
"I love you, Jim."
"I love you too, Karen."
She drank with her eyes up at him, her look somewhere between shy and naughty.
*Oh, man, that girl...*
Jim was fairly certain he was dreaming. Like, ninety-eight percent sure. But he didn't care. Karen was the love of his life -- at least his dreamlife -- and he might as well enjoy it before the alarm clock.
He started having his suspicions the day before, when, halfway through crossing the street towards the comic
book store, he felt something hard and metallic and overall expensive bumping against his side and fell to the ground clumsily and awkwardly.
(Most things Jim did in life were performed clumsily and awkwardly.)
"Hey, come on!" he had yelled at the car, rising from the ground and dusting his khaki shorts and John
Constantine shirt (the Hellblazer comics, not that Keanu Reeves farce). Then he had gotten a better look at what
had hit him.
It was a car, but not just any car. It was a goddamned Bentley with tinted windows. A golden Bentley with tilted windows. With a Beverly Hills plate. And out of it came a security guard, a driver and…
"Holy crap, Karen Willow!?"
Yes. The movie star. Elected 3rd sexiest person in the world by Times Magazine. Twenty-one years old. Academy Award nominee. Eyes a deep shade of Caribbean blue, the color of the water under those bungalows in Bora Bora. Body of a part time Greek Siren personal trainer. *Freaking Karen Willow!*
She took fast steps towards Jim and touched his arm softly. "Oh my God. Are you all right?"
And Jim had said, "Ahmpfhs," in a low voice, because it had been four years since a woman had touched his arm and because it was Karen Willow, goddammit!
And Karen had smiled and said "You're cute."
And that's when he knew. It was a dream. Of course it was a dream.
&nbsp;
From that moment until the dinner date on top of the LA skyscraper overlooking the California sunset beyond the Hollywood sign, Jim had only accumulated more reasons to believe he was dreaming. She had asked him out. She had offered to pay for everything. And she was as delightful and smart and funny as he had always imagined her. And Jim was… well, none of those things, except funny, and even so, it was in an involuntary way.
Like, people laughed *at* him. Not with.
But not Karen. Karen laughed *with* him, and she thought *he* was smart and cute and funny.
Which, of course, just made Jim all the more certain that this was all a little play his brain was staging for him.
But, like, whatever, man. Might as well enjoy it, right?
"Do you want to get a room after this?" Karen said, coy eyes behind her champagne glass.
"More than anything in the world," Jim said, relaxed, leaning back on his seat.
He was feeling good. Calm. In control.
The fact that he knew that he was dreaming made the usual nerve-wrecking experience of going on a date a delight. None of it was real, so he didn't have to be nervous. He could just be himself! After all, Karen Willow was also himself, so there was no way he could possibly say anything to screw it up.
It felt liberating, talking to a woman like that. So confident, so sure of himself.
*And not just any woman! Karen Freaking Willow!*
The waiter arrived with the bill, and Karen paid for it. Jim got up and buttoned his suit (which Karen had also paid
for) and offered her his hand: "Shall we, m'lady?"
She smiled shyly. "I love when you call me that."
*Yup. Definitely a dream,* Jim thought, escorting her towards the elevator.
"Call me that," Karen repeated.
"What's that?"
"Call me that."
Jim turned back. Karen had a weird smile on her face, her expression hardened and still, like she was having a
stroke. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Call me that. Call me that. Call me that."
"Karen, what's wrong?"
"Call me that. Call me that. Call me that. Call me that. Call me that."
Jim looked around. Everyone seemed to be stuck in a loop, just like Karen. Glasses were clinking on looped cheers, chuckles being repeated robotically all around him, a waitress filling and unfilling a glass of wine again and again and again...
Jim turned his eyes to the TV, and a sudden realization dawned on him as he remembered what he had read earlier
on Reddit about the cluster bomb and Elon Musk.
"Oh, fuck no," he said. "Fuck no."
"Honey?"
He looked back. Karen was smiling at him, the loop gone. "Let's go?" she said.
He bit his lips. "You're a freaking simulation," he said, slowly coming to terms with what that meant.
"Huh?"
Jim scratched his head. "Which means that *I* didn't make you up." he said, slowly. He looked around, thoughtful. "No, I didn't *code* you with my brain. You were coded by the universe, just like everyone else. Elon Musk was right."
"Honey, what are you talking about?"
"Which means you honestly like me!" Jim looked up, his mouth open in surprise. "Like, not honestly because
apparently we're all just lines of code, but… you see what I mean? Within the rules of this simulated universe, an
actual chain of events I have no control over led to you liking me. And that chain of events is what I've always
known as reality, so it *is* reality for me! So you like me in *real life*! You like me for real! I wasn't dreaming! I mean, we're all dreaming, but *I* wasn't! Do you see? Do you see!?"
"Of course I like you for real, Jim. What are you talking about?"
Jim paced around in circles, putting his thoughts together. Then he grabbed Karen's hand. "Come on," he said, dragging her to the elevator.
"Where are we going?"
Jim hit the elevator button repeatedly. "We're going to see Elon Musk," Jim said.
"Elon Musk?"
Jim nodded, impatient, waiting for the elevator. He knew what he had to do now. If this wasn't a dream – if Karen actually liked him for who he was – he was *not* going to let that go easily.
*And freaking loops and lags are big-time immersion breakers* he thought to himself, thinking of Bethesda.
"What do we want with Elon Musk, Jim?"
The elevator door came open. Jim turned to face Karen. Without warning, he took off the Armani suit she had
bought him, revealing his **'I'm the *real* BIG BANG'** mustard-stained shirt underneath.
Jim looked Karen straight in the eye. "I got a universe to debug," he said, stepping into the elevator.
_______________
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/4ylgwj/real_life_part_2/
)
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2016-08-19T14:45:09 | 2016-08-19T13:24:25 | 2,362 | 711 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end.
Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes....
It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded.
He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job.
He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder.
That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities.
Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention.
Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.
|
Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him.
There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It *had* to be enough. It was all he had left in the world.
Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so.
Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes.
"Not enough," he said.
Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job."
"Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy."
Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try.
"It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of."
That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?"
"I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left.
"I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?"
Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod.
"Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least."
He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away.
------------
They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them.
"Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..."
At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech.
"I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times."
"It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge."
Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice.
"It's you. You came back for this? This speech?"
"This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him."
"You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!"
Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead."
Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything.
And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth.
"Wait up man, I want to help!"
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2017-04-02T09:11:57 | 2017-04-02T08:14:02 | 154 | 25 |
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