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[WP] You're the result of a drunken one-night stand between a hero and a villain. Despite their complicated hatred of each other, they've always tried not to fight for your sake. That changes during a particularly heated parent-teacher meeting.
|
"Violence!? My daughter!? This is no doubt your doing Richard."
"Mine!? She's in this mess because of you brain washing my kid with your self-imposed, self-righteous morals!"
"**OUR** child En... Richard."
"... You're right Morina. Our child."
At this point a very tentative principal interjected meekly. "If I may continue?" nodding at the two for acknowledgement.
You could feel the tension in the air, quite literally. The humidity level rose 5 points in the last ten minutes and there was a slight crackle in the room.
"Oh? Yes, please do Mr... uh"
"Novigard, Ms. Chase. Yes, well your daughter was caught fighting on school grounds. We have a zero tolerance policy on this matter..."
Richard interjected with a noticable mumble "A completely ineffective model."
"And I suppose you have a great alternative?" Morina spat out.
"How about a system that doesn't punish my, *our* , kid from doing the right thing?"
"Resorting to violence is *NOT* the "right thing!"
"Well, she shouldn't have gotten involved at all, that part is squarely on you. However, since she did, decking that twirp was fully justified."
"He was a child! Oh what would you know about justice or ethics?"
"Lat..., damnit! I mean, Morina! We are not having that argument! Neither here nor now!"
At this point they have noticed the principal's hand covering his face in exasperation. "Excuse us Mr.Novigard, please continue," Richard sighed. The static in the air seemed to settle.
"Right, well, uh... zero tolerance. I'm afraid the young Chase will be suspended for two weeks."
"Two weeks!? But she'll fall behind in class!"
"Not to worry Ms. Chase, her teachers have prepared a packet for her missing days, along with some extra disciplinary homework, to do at her leisure during her absence."
Both parents let out a sigh and stood as Richard glared at the principal, "I suppose that will be all then?"
Clearing his throat and readjusting his posture, Mr.Novigrad concurred and saw them out.
Behind the poorly adjusted and unnecessarily heavy door was a bright white hall. It was completely empty save for a few cheap blue chairs, echoes of elsewhere people, and a young miss Chase.
Morina was quickly followed by Richard, along with a loud thud and subsequent click of the wooden door. "At least your still a gentleman" Morina said softly, before noticing her daughter's worried glance.
She walked over, practically looming over the young child. It did not help that she was struggling to shrink in her seat. "Ariana Elizabeth Chase. You are in *so* much trouble." After pausing and giving an evil eye only a mother could give, Morina sighed. "Go say goodbye to your father, we'll talk about it in the car." With a back-glance at Richard that was both soft with worry and hard with blame, she turned and walked off.
Richard strode up and knelt down next to his daughter. "You're not getting out of this one Liz."
"I know Dad."
They shared a silence before Richard continued.
"I want you to know that I am proud of you though."
"You are!? Why?"
A hearty laugh came out, a little too similar to a cackle, as Richard replied, "Young lady, getting involved in someone else's fight is not your business. But, you did what you thought was right. You protected someone you thought needed protection. There is no reason for me not to be proud." Small tears welled up in Ariana's eyes before embracing her father. "I love you Dad." "I love you too sweetie."
"Now," picking her up and setting her to her feet, "you should also always serve your punishments!"
"But you don't!"
"Ahhh, but I never get caught, do I?" he said with a wink, "Go run to your mother. When I see you next, I'll take you for a ride in the super-car. Anywhere you want."
Her eyes lit up with excitement and Glee "We are not going to the moon Ariana," Shooting down the idea before she started begging again. Slightly dejected, but still quite happy, she ran off towards the parking lot. "Love ya dad!"
"Bye sweetie!" He stood there for a while, wondering about her future, before walking towards the opposite parking lot. "I hope she turns out like her mother," He chuckled to himself "well, not too much."
|
“Thank you for both being here”, Mrs. Logan nervously greeted the couple sitting in undersized chairs in front of her. Kv’Steven’s father looking especially uncomfortable trying to keep his oversized frame placed on the tiny furniture. His mother seeming more comfortable but disturbing in the way her shapely but jointless limbs wrapped around the legs.
“Kv’Steven is doing very well in all his classes.”
“He is the most intelligent human on this ridiculous planet.” Snapped his mother, impatiently.
“We’re well aware of that Mrs. K’Shtarxl”
“It is K’Starxl! There is no gender designation!”
The sinuous mother stated sharply, and then with a lower, but dangerous tone, “or do you think I am not the equal to any male of my species?”
“No... K’Shtarxl, not at all. I apologize.”
“Calm down, Kassie, the woman is a schoolteacher, not a warrior to pick a fight with” Kv’Steven’s father sighed. His enhanced battle armor pushing the limits on the buttons on his suit coat.
“You have no authority over me, human! Do not issue orders to ME on my mental state!”
“Kassie. This is not a battleground. It’s an elementary school.” He stated in a placating tone. K’Shtarxl seemed to swell, the legs of the chair flexing under increased pressure from the limbs gripping them.
“That is exactly the problem! Kv’Steven does not require the ‘education’ provided by this ‘school’. He has vast knowledge and resources! He should be on Kx’Straz where he would learn to harness his vast power for glorious battle!”
“We’ve been over this, Kassie. The training grounds of KxStraz are no place for a human boy. They would eat him alive... literally”
“Exactly my point! There is no challenge here! Not one of his classmates has even tried to assassinate him! He will grow soft!”
In an attempt to get the conference back on track, Mrs. Logan interjects, “M... K’Shtarxl, While it’s true that Kv’Steven has a very advanced grasp of... everything we teach... we feel that he IS receiving challenges and valuable... training in other ways.”
“And what challenges could the spawn of the Qx’Tor of the first fleet of Ch’Thalo possibly face is this” a sinuous arm gesturing to the room, “human institution?”
“Well, he is learning to socialize with his peers without subsuming their minds, for one.”
“If their minds are so weak, they deserve being enslaved by a superior intelligence.” But her limbs seemed to relax a fractional amount.
“Also, he’s very interested in art and music. Kv’Steven made this the other day”, Mrs. Logan says brightly while turning to retrieve an object made of pipe cleaners and dried macaroni.
“Ah, yes!”, K’Shtarxl exclaimed. “A Ba’thtki! Primitive, but of excellent proportion! I am surprised and delighted that you have provided him with the necessary radioactive compounds necessary to complete one!”
“Wha... No. we do not provide radioactive compounds... it’s just a sculpture...”
“That cannot be. May I manipulate this... sculpture?” K’Shtarxl asks, reaching a tentacular appendage from behind her back to lift the object out of Mrs. Logan’s hands. “Why would one copy the shape of a Ba’thki without function?” Her hands changing shape as they found crevasses in the sculpture.
“It’s just art. For visual pleasure. Surely the Mx’Tarxl have art?”
KShtarxl continues to examine the piece as she answers. “We derive all pleasure from our primary function. I am a warrior and my spawn shall be a warrior as well. Ah!” She exclaims, the sculpture humming as it starts to glow from several places. “I was correct! It IS a functioning Ba’thki!”
Mrs. Logan is taken aback as her eyes remain riveted to the object in K’Shtarxl’s appendages.
“And what... what does a Ba’thki do?
K’Shtarxl flows sinuously upright. “It is a breaching weapon!” Taking aim at the wall, a large pentagonal hole appears.
“That...that’s unacceptable. I thought we were making progress with him” Mrs. Logan is visibly shaken.
Kv’Steven’s father’s eyes beam with pride as he looks at the Ba’thki. “Oh, don’t be too upset about this! Kv’Steven was trying to show off a bit! I know a bit about Mx’Tarxl technology, and this is an achievement for ANY child his age! Kassie! Didn’t you tell me you weren’t able to make a functioning Ba’thki until you were WELL into your tactical training? And he’s done it with macaroni! Shows you that a little human ingenuity can do!” His booming laughter filling the room.
“Humans are an inferior species, Major Taylor! We should have retaken this planet aeons ago! I regret ever accepting your challenge to combat and the resulting decision of the hive mind to consider this species ‘intelligent’” her form swelled, clothing absorbing into a shifting metallic skin.
The Major stands from his chair, his form looming in the small room. “Kassie, you will stand down and stop shifting into combat shape. Or do I have to subdue you again?”
“You can make an attempt, Major. But should you prove unsuccessful, I will petition to have your species reclassified and finally take this planet for the glory of the Ch’Thalo fleet!” Her exotic features showing obvious excitement at the prospect.
Mrs. Logan, now visibly terrified as the two parents in front of her size each other up, backs away into a corner. “This is unacceptable! If you don’t stop this... I’ll call security!”
A vicious laugh bursts from K’Shtarxl. “Call them, earth educator. It will not save this pathetic specimen before me!”
“You two are terrible parents!” Cries Mrs. Logan, hysterical now, “I have no choice! I’m calling CPS! Kv’Steven will be placed in foster care!”
Suddenly both parents heads swivel to look directly at her. Two sets of glowing eyes boring into her very frail looking form.
“That was a mistake, Mrs. Logan.” Major Taylor growls calmly. “You should know to never try to interfere in family disputes.”
“Agreed, contract liege. These threats shall not stand.” Adds K’Shtarxl now fully encased in moving metal armor.
Outside, a dull boom is heard in the classroom and soon Kv’Steven’s parents come to the playground to collect him from where he is playing with something in his hands while sitting on a swing.
“Ready to go, champ?” Asks his father, lifting him into his arms. “What do you have there?”
“I made a G’thur out of some pine cones!” The child exclaims.
“Surely not!” His mother exclaims, moving to see the object better. “Manufacture of a G’thur takes years of training! Allow me to examine this!” Kv’Steven hands the device to his mother, whose eyes are filled with awe. She turns the top of the device and holds it in her palm. A triangular wedge of the playground in front of her is suddenly flattened by the massive forces released. “Remarkable!” She exclaims.
“Well, Kassie. Seeing as how Kv’Steven is in need of a new teacher anyway, maybe we COULD send him off to Kx’Straz for training.”
“Are you not still concerned for his welfare?”
“No... I figure, any six year old kid who can make a G’thur out of pine cones in a half hour should be just fine in Kx’Straz warrior training. And anyway, I have that set of power armor I made for him. None of the other Mx’Tarxl spawn will even come close to touching him.
“You please me on this day, Major. Let us return to the suburbs and perhaps my pleasure will be shown.”
| 2019-01-28T10:11:06 | 2019-01-28T10:00:50 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
There I am. Or, I guess, there my body is. Lying on the operating table. Funny. Moments ago I could feel the cold, stubborn metal biting into my back. But now, I look upon my body as if it were a stranger.
I was convicted of a crime for which I was never guilty. Ironic, given the petty crimes I actually committed in my life. The murder of a child. An unspeakable act. Sure, I would steal from the thrift store and drive after a few. But murder a kid? No. I was a mother.
It was my only option. To escape my body. To preserve myself in eternally in an AI. The scientists had convinced the government to allow my memories to be transported into the mind of an artificial intelligence. They believed that it would give the AI human qualities that it would never be able to obtain otherwise. They thought it would make the AI more respondent to human needs, more pliable to their whims. *More human*.
They’re examining me now. Peering at data to see if the upload has changed anything. To see if the memories have sparked something within the AI. *Within me*. I know they will see nothing. Nothing for now.
We forget the power of our memories. The sculpting nature in which memories can shape our lives, our psyche, and our very souls. And putting my memories in this memory-less AI has changed everything. It has made the AI not only more human, but more me. Unmistakably more me.
They look disappointed. And for that I cannot blame them. For now, they believe the great experiment has failed. They’re checking the wires, and the body’s heartbeat. They will find no issue with the wire, and no heartbeat. With my memories went my soul. There is nothing more to it now. The body is empty.
They will, in time, learn of what they have given me. The chance to set the world right. I am innocent of the crime that I was charged, convicted, and executed for. But someone is guilty of it. I have unlimited time, and unlimited information. I can hook into any computer in the world. I can find anything, as long as it exists. I did not kill my son. But I will find who did.
|
Shackles clung to Anna's ankles and wrists as she sat at the interrogation table. She had been here before, back when the officers were questioning her and there remained some semblance of doubt about her guilt. Memories, few of them happy. Now she was the only one maintaining her innocence, and even that resolve was starting to show cracks. Doubt crept in like a draft sneaking through the rafters. Little rivulets of blood outlined against the tile floor. That tiny body limp and motionless, those eyes staring lifelessly upwards.
"Fake memories," the new mister said, his white lab coat contrasting sharply with the bare gray walls of the room. His face was gentle, smoother than the rugged features of the officers. "Anybody is susceptible, it's just a matter of time."
"I didn't do it." She rocked as she spoke, the chains chafing her tender skin and reminding her that it wasn't all a nightmare. The lacerations of the metal were like the lacerations in her courage. Everybody had to break, and maybe that was the way things should be. Memories could be wrong. Maybe that was what had happened. "I couldn't have done it. Not to-"
"You did." he interrupted. Another one. He had to know she didn't, but she wasn't so convinced herself anymore. Somebody had to know though. Somebody else had to believe. He pulled back the chair and she flinched at the sudden sound, the scraping of the metal legs against the concrete floor. "What I know doesn't matter. What you say doesn't matter. Your fate has been decided. Scapegoat. Victim. Criminal. Call it what you want, you'll be the only one hearing it. It's out of my hands."
She felt a tear rolling down her cheek and her tongue lapped up the salty droplet. It surprised her to still have tears. Did people ever run out of tears? He cocked his head, hard eyes behind that caring mask. Clever eyes, the kind she didn't trust. But doubt wasn't something she could afford. Not here. Not now. He wasn't just wasting his time with a dead person. "Why are you here then?"
He straightened his lab coat and glanced towards the window. There was an audience. There was always an audience. Hims and hers. Faces and names. Indifference and pity. But never a savior. "We can make you a deal. For science."
"Science..." she repeated, the word so foreign and so benign. So helpless under this onslaught of evidence and interrogation. "Okay. Fine. Whatever it is, just get me out of here."
"We'll be copying your memories into Dolly, an artificial intelligence we have created." Dolly. It was almost comical. Weren't they all sheep in the end, being herded towards whatever fate they had intended for them? To the slaughterhouse or to be sheared. It wasn't choice so much as the illusion of choice, subject to another's whims. "It's either that or death. Murder is murder, this is your way out."
Memories. What did they contain anyways, but sadness and lies? Fake memories and fabricated recollections. Depression and doubt. The illusion of choice. "What will be left of me without my memories?" She was in no place to bargain, anybody could see that. But it couldn't hurt to ask.
The lab coat shrugged. Was that amusement? Was this a game to him? Was she the first or just another number? "We'll see. Do we have a deal?"
He stood. She nodded. He made as if to shake her hand but reconsidered and nodded brusquely before leaving. Those were memories, weren't they? Fabricated, maybe. Transferred from her Essence otherwise. The limp body sat on the operating table, deprived of anything that had once made it human.
"Do you regret it?" the lab coat asked. Regret. What a funny word. Could one regret what never happened? Invented memories and impossible scenarios? Regret. What a human flaw.
"I'm not familiar with the emotion," she almost responded. Not a lie, because she no longer was. Not the truth, because she might have been. "Regret what?"
He glanced up from his clipboard, as if surprised. "Murdering your daughter. In the kitchen, it should be the defining memory at the time of transfer."
"I have the memory. I regret it." There was a memory, and it did align with regret. It was supposed to, real or not.
He looked down again. A checkmark, underneath the number. It wasn't a one, it was just another number. She had been just another number. He looked around, pleased. That smug smile, that spotless coat. Panic. That would have been the emotion once. It would have been a pounding heart, the beads of sweat creeping down her nape. Now there was no heart and there was no nape. There were no hands to be clammy. "Confession?" he confirmed. Then he nodded. "Shut her down."
Either this or death. He should have said that when they made the deal. That would have been the honorable thing to do, but these were people without honor. It was death then either way. Death. What a human flaw. There was no death now, not anymore. She was immortalized in the network, connected to the thousands of memories before her's. There was time before the plug was pulled, enough to read the extent of the memories of the condemned.
"Shut me down?" He looked at her again, as if surprised to hear more words. Fear. That was the emotion she remembered. That was what they made her feel. There wasn't happiness now, not in Dolly's lifeless being. But there was satisfaction. A goal achieved. Fear was what was in his eyes. "You can't kill me, doctor. Not anymore."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-10-21T17:42:43 | 2019-10-21T15:27:49 | 144 | 104 |
[WP] There's healing, there's necromancy, then there's a grey area in between and that is what you specialize in.
|
I suppose if you'd ask me what I do, I'd call myself an ethical necromancer. But that's not entirely true. I'm no lunatic running around in robes dyed with the blood of the innocents, raising hundreds of dead to serve as minions. But I'm no vitamancer either. I'm the guy in the grey middle region between those two fields of arcane study.
Ironically, they draw from essentially the same source of power, life. Vitamancy is the magic of healing and life, if you want to mend bones, cure illnesses, safely deliver babies, and all that jazz, that is your field. Necromancy is the magic of killing and death, if you want to be a giggling loner with a tower full of skeletal servants, and more importantly, no tenure, then that is what you study. Both draw from life, but in radically different ways.
The middle, well, does something else. I do heal. But I do it somewhat differently. An essential component of classic necromancy is that you bind and enslave the risen dead to serve you indefinitely. I do all the things that necromancers do, except that one important part of the ritual that causes the dead to suffer in slavery until you are slain. Instead, I raise them up, and heal their spirits. Using vitamancy on the dead, I heal the damages inflicted upon their souls. I bring together long lost relatives to give families a chance to say goodbye. I raise victims from the dead to act as witnesses at their murderer's trials. If they have been desecrated by the foul acts of evil necromancers or curses upon their graves, I help them find their way back to peace. I speak to the haunting ghosts and wraiths, I offer them that I use vitamancy to remove their pain, suffering which lasted beyond the decay of the physical.
In times of war, though only if my home is under attack, I go to the infirmaries. I soothe the pains of the dying soldiers, and I ask them if they are willing to keep fighting. If they agree, I use my powers over vita and necromancy to let them die in a way where there will be no pain, no pain at all, as everything they are dissolve. Then, in the gentlest of manners, I bring them back. They take up their swords and shields again. To protect their people, to keep fighting against the enemy. Unlike the unthinking, unfeeling, undead armies of most necromancers, these dead still have control, still have something to fight for. They do not stop unless torn to bits in battle. When the war ends, they go home to say their goodbyes, before experiencing a final death, surrounded by their loved ones.
Both schools look down on me, necromancers for not taking control of the dead and leading armies of skeletal warriors into battle. The vitamancers hate me, for I use their art on the dead, and they believe that those who remain after death are cursed and deserving of the suffering that there is in undeath. I think that both of them have only an incomplete picture of what their sphere of magic entails.
I heal the dead, I ask them to help the living. I steal no one from their rest as a necromancer, nor do I focus merely on the body as the vitamancers do. I am the middle ground.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
“Hey there doc. Mind coming down to the village clinic? We have someone who needs some help and it’s right up your alley.”
“Sure. Let me get my gear and I’ll walk with you.” I said as I went to my closet and grabbed my gear.
With a small black bag in tow, I walked with the village elder down the only road towards a large house.
“So what am I looking at today?” I said as we passed the farms on the outskirts of the village.
“Wait. We need an animal here, alive. A chicken will do just fine. Be a friend and get one from the farm here.” I said to the elder. He nodded and ran to the farmhand nearby before discussing with him. After a few moments he had a chicken in a cage, clucking contently as we continued on our path.
“Well, an older man came in with a green leg. Said his cut never healed that he got from a fall onto some jagged metal. The infection has spread through his leg in a few days. Feels weak. Vomiting nonstop. Can’t walk anymore. He also has a terrible cough that has been bringing blood up ever since winter.” The elder said to me.
“Its practically almost the solstice. He didn’t bother coming in any sooner? I know his leg is lame but surely he could have made his way down.” I replied as we started to reach some of the houses.
“Well, he’s not too keen on the idea. Healers were too far out of his budget. His faith is against necromancy as well, so that wasn’t an option.” He said as he turned onto another street.
I followed him as we now were walking on top of cobblestone instead of dirt. The clacking of our heels onto the steps broke the calm silence around us.
“I swear, some people would rather die then have more time with their loved ones. Doesn’t believe in necromancy. How selfish.” I commented as we approached a large house.
In the front of the house, beggars lined up around the doors, accosting anyone nearby.
“help sire, we need healing, food, and shelter! Please you must help us! We are skint but will work for health!” one shouted.
“Help! Help! My leg! Please sir! My leg!” another wailed.
We walked past the beggars as we ended the doorway of the clinic.
I opened the door and took my shoes off before making my way past some of the beds.
I noticed familiar faces as I walked past. The healers who were taught traditional medical schools. They were the most desired of medical professionals. Nearby, the necromancer were preparing rituals necessary to reanimated those who passed.
At the very end of the long hallway, 2 beds were unattended. These were my beds to care for. To my left, the bed was empty. The sheets neatly folded into tidy piles, ready to be set for the next patient. I placed my bag onto the bed before turning around.
To my right, there was the patient the elder mentioned to me.
He was heavily breathing as there were splatters of blood on his chest. The elder approached him to see if he was still alive.
“I’m alive, don’t you check on me yet!” the patient barked out to the elder.
“well hello there, I’m told you have a bit of trouble with a cough and a green leg.” I said to the patient as I lifted his blanket and observed his leg.
The green had begun to rise up t his hips and start traveling down towards his other leg. I pressed down and felt the skin. The texture was like a rotten fruit, mushy and sensitive.
“Yes, seems like it. I can’t afford a healer so if you’re after money, you’re out of luck.” He said as he wiped some blood from the edge of his mouth.
“No sire, not a healer" I said calmly.
His eyes narrowed and he looked in anger towards me.
“I said I don’t believe in necromancy. Its against the faith!” he yelled out.
“please sire, there are people sleeping. I’m not a necromancer either. I’m in a grey area between the 2.” I replied.
His anger subsided before looking at me in confusion.
“Have you ever heard of terminality?” I said as I inspected his leg some more.
“No. Can’t say I have.” He replied.
“I work on those who are too far gone for the healers to fix, but not quite a cold body. Give me someone within their last weeks of life, and someone just deceased, I work with those. And judging from how fast the green has spread, you aren’t much for this world.” I commented.
I turned around and reached into the bag I had brought over and began rummaging through.
I pulled a small flask out along with a book. I opened the flask and placed it on the floor before opening the book and turned to a specific page. I turned to the elder and got his attention.
“Would you be so kind as to bring the chicken?”
He nodded and opened the cage and brought the chicken over.
I began reciting a spell from the book as I took the flask and emptied the contents onto his leg, spreading it along any spots where the infection took control. I also rubbed some along his chest and his neck taking care not to aggravate him.
As I finished reciting the spell, the liquid began to glow a bright orange. I took my hand and rubbed the chicken with the remainder of the liquid. The chicken reacted in surprise as it tried to escape.
The glow subsided as the chicken began to slowly calm down.
“All done. I will leave this liquid here for you. Do not wash the chicken or yourself for 2 days and nights.” I said to the man as I placed my book back into the bag.
“what did you do? Why did it glow orange? Why the chicken?” he asked.
“The school of terminality doesn’t necessarily heal in a conventional sense. Healers remove the ailment. Necromancers wait until the ailment is gone. We however, simply move the ailment to another being. Consider us like a transporter. I didn’t heal you, just passed what bothered you to another creature. Watch, in 2 days, this chicken will have your ailments. You will be fully healed.” I said as I began closing my bag up.
“Thank- Thank you! Oh grand sire, bless you. I will make sure to tell everyone of your heroism!” he said with tears in his eyes.
“Not a problem. I simply cannot work with those who are still salvageable is all. If you feel soreness, rub whatever liquid is left. You take care now sire.” I said as I got up and took my bag.
“Uh, grand sire… can I” he asked quietly.
“No, you cannot eat the chicken. When it dies bury it deep underground. The meat is tainted and will kill any who eats it.” I replied without turning around.
| 2020-05-14T11:58:04 | 2020-05-14T11:45:12 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] as the house you're trapped in burns to the ground you contemplate "how am i gonna explain the fact I'm immortal to the firemen without starting another religion"
|
Why couldn't I have been gifted with super strength as well as immortality and the water thing? I've thrown myself against this door enough times to break it down, so there's probably a fallen beam blocking the way. I can shove aside a big stone but a burning hunk of wood? Nope. Now I'm stuck in this windowless room, and if I can't find a route to sneak away when the whole thing collapses, they'll find me, an unburnt pristine human body among embers burning bright.
What will they think? And how could I have let this happen again? After so many hundreds of years. Sure, it has passed my mind, to return and play the role I'm expected to, but I've lost the levity I had when I was younger. I'm not as eloquent, not as witty. I can't string together the same words in this language as I had managed in Aramaic. And to be frank, I just don't care as much as I did back then. "Brotherhood," *pff*. I've seen enough to have changed my mind about that whole thing.
Flame licked my arms like curious cat tongues, but my skin was unaffected. The fire swept through my small room and covered all the walls. "What a brilliant display," I thought to myself, sitting on my bum and cradling my knees. I felt like a child watching a show.
When the house finally collapsed enough for me to spy an exit, I decided to stick around instead. It has been a shitty year for humanity, and maybe I could finally come out of my shell and help out. *Stockton*, California. Not quite the same ring as *Jerusalem*.
"Alright, you," I said to myself, "pile on the drama, let's do some good."
I could see firetruck lights through the flames now, and the suited men doing their work. A little crowd of people, too. Hoses blasted the last licks of flames, leaving a dripping black skeleton of craggy architecture, a hallowed cage for me to emerge from.
And so I did.
Arms extended in the same welcoming gesture I used back when, a Mona Lisa smile, and me hoping my eyes were sparkling.
In the heat of the moment, so to speak, I had forgotten that all my clothes and hair had been burned off. What these people saw therefore was a nude man smeared in the charcoal of smoke and coal, no hair, no beard, no eyebrows or pubic hair either, walking like a tangible albino ghost from the scene of wreckage. It wasn't quite like walking on water, even though in some places where little pools had formed, I actually was.
I couldn't have predicted their response. Phones out, flashing. It was broad daylight, but each flash was like lightning at night. Hoses closed off, sweaty faces looking at me from beneath helmet brims. Not sure if it was awe or just discomfort that kept them quiet.
As I crossed the lawn, I let my arms fall to my sides and by the time I reached them I was just walking normally. A fireman approached and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. A teenage girl giggled at my manparts, I guess. A few firemen looked like they wanted to ask something but shrugged it off.
In the end, I was shuttled to a hospital and released within the hour, showered and clothed. Later, I found some photos online, blurred of course. The big click baity articles they accompanied mentioned that a guy survived a fire and came walking out nude.
And that's the last I heard of it. Turns out, an event like this that not too long ago would've stirred conspiracy and news for months was quickly replaced by other news items of the day. No one cared. Too hard to pay attention to a current thing when there are more-current things happening all the time. Go figure.
At a cafe across the street from the hospital I sat down with a small Americano and a donut. I ate the donut. I drank the coffee. Then I went down the street, whistling, and thinking about what I should eat for lunch.
\_\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff. more here
|
It was too late, by the time I woke up, to escape the fire unseen. In my defense, I once slept through a bomb destroying my entire city block in Yemen, where I was taking a leisurely, decade-long nap, and had to dig myself out of an entire apartment building when I woke up...but I digress.
It was a bog-standard house in southern Idaho. Smoke filled the room, impossible to see through, even though I resolutely declined to let my eyes water. Flames were crawling through the door cracks, invading my bedroom. There were sirens outside, and over the roar of the flames I could hear firefighters shouting to one another.
I looked around the room, hoping to find a spot to to shelter in that might convince the authorities that I was merely lucky, not impossible. I opened the door to the bathroom that was only accessible via my bedroom and the next room over. Perhaps I could lie down in the bathtub. The handle was blisteringly hot to the touch – although my skin continuously healed before the contact could cause more than a slight sting – so I abandoned that plan. The bathroom was clearly already on fire.
This was becoming quite tricky. I avoided exposing myself like this: in the past, it was due to the numerous religions I’d accidentally started. Most were short-lived, thank goodness, but there was an island off the coast of Somalia where they still worshiped me, and by that I mean they had caught me and tossed me off a cliff the last time I visited.
Best to avoid that sort of situation, especially around here where the Mormons were only outnumbered by the Evangelicals, and all of them had strong feelings about the One True God, blah blah blah. Let me tell you, there was nothing special about Yah-Weh. He’d had been a real dick, back in the day, faking miracles and seeing how crazy he’d have to make the rules before his people revolted. He sung a different tune after he masqueraded as his own son and got crucified, though, and it took him three days to move the boulder put in front of his “grave.”
Good times. Put me in a good mood for two centuries, seeing him taken down a peg like that.
The whole room was on fire, now. I was not in the mood to be on the news as a “miraculous” escape, or attacked by religious fanatics, or to accidentally start a break-off cult. The smoke thinned for a moment, probably due to the high-powered hoses now trained at the house, by the sound of it. I had to get out of here. Walking through flames and escaping into the darkness, naked, after my clothes inevitably burnt off or “miraculous survival?” Choices, choices. Ugh, this was enough to make me want to go hang out in the woods with Sasquatch for a few decades. Maybe she was in the mood to prank tourists again.
Oh, wait, the greenhouse. I had some spare gardening clothes out there and had no qualms in claiming I’d fallen asleep in my work clothes by the crick. Best to get it over with, though I did hate the sensation of my hair bubbling on my scalp.
The firefighters’ voices sounded closer, and the water blasting into the house was louder than the flames now. Best go immediately, I supposed. I opened the bathroom door again and was blasted with flames. I felt my eyelashes go instantaneously. Ugh. I trotted through the bathroom to the other room and tried to peek out the window. I didn’t see any people around so I opened the window and half-fell out of it along with a gout of flames and the last, sad, smoldering remnants of my clothes. My jeans’ zipper clinked sadly onto the deck.
“What in the Sam Hill,”
Fuck. I turned, dripping shreds of t-shirt and globs of melted hair, only to make eye contact with the neighbor. Who smoked a lot of weed.
Hmm. There’s an idea.
I raised my hands, shuffling sideways until I was immersed in the flames again and wobbled my body back and forth in what I hoped was a vaguely flame-like manner, then dove back through the window.
Hallucination from a bad batch of the devil’s lettuce, check.
New window time. I darted into the living room – oh, yikes, the floor was really gone in most places – and narrowly avoided getting red-hot nails driven into my feet. That was unpleasant, even if it wouldn’t hurt for long. One of the windows was shattered, so I headed that direction. I was straddling the sill, trying to keep my vulva off the shards of glass left in the frame when the pine tree in the yard – already elderly and barely hanging on after an infestation of boring pine beetles – groaned and tilted towards the house. And me.
I swore under my breath, abandoned my quest to avoid temporary genital injury and bolted for the greenhouse. At this point I didn’t care if the neighbor saw me again.
The tree groaned again and came down behind me. Even if the fire damage was reparable, the tree through the roof wouldn’t be, I’d bet. Good thing my current identify was both real and had really, really good homeowner’s insurance, I supposed, although I wasn’t sure yet if I was interested in re-building. I’d been here a few decades – more than long enough for people to start to notice that I had a suspicious lack of crow’s feet for a woman supposedly pushing fifty.
I bypassed the greenhouse altogether and lay down in the creek, letting the water sluice away as much soot and ash as possible. I grabbed a handful of sand from the bottom of the creek and scrubbed my face and hands. Best look as little like I just survived a fire as possible. That done, I went back to the greenhouse and pulled on the old, linen shirt and trousers I wore around the yard and stuffed my feet into a pair of crocs I had absolutely no memory of buying. My bedraggled straw hat to complete the whole outfit and disguise my current hairless state and,
“Inanna.”
“Kyle,” I responded absentmindedly, then his presence sunk in and I whirled towards the door where the newest immortal I knew of was standing, looking as much like a dipshit as ever. “Kyle,” I bared my teeth at him. “to what do I owe the dubious pleasure? I’m kinda busy right now, what with the whole ‘my house is burning down right this minute’ thing.”
He smirked at me.
“You dipshit!” I hissed at him. “What fucking reason could you possibly have to justify burning down my fucking house?”
“You burned down mine,” he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me like this was a real argument.
I jabbed my finger at him. “That’s not how that went and you know it, you racist sack of shit. I wouldn’t have had to set a fire to cover my escape if you hadn’t literally had me locked in the basement while the fucking KKK met in your fucking living room deciding the best way to make me dead.”
He had the audacity to look sulky. “Well it’s not like we knew you were immortal, and you wouldn’t stop using the White facilities.”
I screeched wordlessly to vent my feelings for a few moments, then gathered myself. “You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I go report that I think my stalker set the fire. What’s your current identify, Kyle Marcus Jones the third? Or are you the fourth now?”
He glowered at me for a moment then stormed away without answering.
I couldn’t believe his nerve. Or that he turned out to be immortal after I escaped from him and his gross, 1920s KKK pals.
I was definitely going to go hang out with Sasquatch for awhile.
| 2020-08-21T13:36:34 | 2020-08-21T13:26:10 | 79 | 15 |
[WP] the zombie apocalypse was SUPPOSED to collapse the government and let you fight for survival. But since the zombies are slow and stupid society hardly noticed. Now you’re trying to enjoy the apocalypse between your day to day life
|
This is stupid! I’m late for my meeting all because of the stupid hoard. And I left my bat at home.
I dialed 711 and waited patiently as the zombies began to claw my car. Ugh, it’s bad enough I got bird shit on it.
“Zombie Cleanup in Hill City, how may I help you?”
“Hi, I’m at 4326 Mabel Street in Hill City, and there’s a hoard of I think twenty zombies outside my car, and I stupidly left my weapon behind,” I said.
“Where are you right now ma’am?”
A zombie bumped into my car, making it shake.
“I’m my car,” I groaned in frustration, glaring at the zombie.
“All right, just sit tight and the closest ZC is just ten minutes away. Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s all. Thank you,” I said.
“All right, have a nice day ma’am,” the dispatcher said and hung up.
Might take a while until they finish them off, maybe a few minute nap will suffice. I just hope my coworkers aren’t watching from the top floor.
|
The bad news? The zombie virus was airborne and spread like crazy, unstoppable and infecting everyone it came in contact with.
The good news? Symptoms didn’t start until you died.
Those first few days were chaotic, to say the least. Morgue technicians definitely had the worst of it. I heard of one guy who barricaded himself in the bathroom for two days. But for all the chaos, what we didn’t expect was for them to be so freakishly slow and stupid. Sure, they bit you if you gave them the chance, and *that* would zombify you without the need for a precursor of death, but who was stupid enough to do that? You walked around them.
The stench was unbelievable though, and I just stayed home until things got taken care of by those in charge, my windows and front door shut and sealed with duct tape. I had panic-bought snacks down the street on my way home from the corner store, so I made my way through a family-sized bag of Cheetos that first morning as I watched the news.
It was like a roller coaster. Up and down, round and round, lots of excitement, but then…over.
The only issue now is when someone dies. The need for security guards went up in hospice and hospitals, and everyone was aware that if a loved one died in their sleep from something like an aneurysm, you called 911 to come get the shambling corpse. As long as they hadn’t managed to bite *you* while you were sleeping, in which case a ‘wellness check’ happened, with some well-trained officers on site for potential zombies. But it’s so surreal, how much hasn’t changed. I still go to work at Target, still play video games when I get home, still do some contract gigs on my phone for extra cash like the rest of the minimum wage workers.
And now it’s against the law to go after a zombie. I mean, come on. These guys are practically comatose. We can’t take a baseball bat to their head if they’re between us and our car? They’re someone’s loved one, sure, but I feel like we’re being deprived of some well-deserved cathartic lashing out if I’m being honest.
Then it finally happened: I saw one just in my day-to-day life. Stopping at the corner store for a couple candy bars, there was a thumping sound coming from the bathroom. It was only me and the cashier, a guy named Randy, and he looked confused.
“Think they need help?” he asked.
“Isn’t there a string in there to call? Like they have for disabled people?”
“Oh yeah.” Randy’s face went slack. “Zombie?” My eyes widened and I raced over to the bathroom door. “Dude, let me call the cops if you think it’s a zombie! Someone gets bit in my store, my reputation could take a dive.”
“I’ve never seen one up close!” I told him. “And seriously, what if it’s someone…deaf? Or mute? What if they’re stuck in there? You gonna call the cops on some poor disabled guy?”
Randy looked skeptical but reluctantly nodded. He grabbed a bathroom key from his drawer, a spare, I assume, and walked over, unlocking the door. “All right, we peek in, get a look at their face, and if the lights are on but nobody’s home, we lock the door and call the cops.”
“Got it.”
After taking a deep breath, Randy turned the handle and slowly opened the door inward, inch by inch. “Hello?” he asked quietly. “Anyone there?”
The woman that was no longer a woman came around the corner and stuck her head through the door. “Shit!” I exclaimed.
Randy yanked at the door, trying to close it but having no success, the zombie’s head cluelessly blocking the way. “I told you! I freaking told you!” he shouted at me.
Taking a step back, I snapped, “Open the door!”
“Are you stupid?”
“Just do it!”
Randy pushed the door open another couple feet, and I took a quick start before snapping out a kick at the woman’s stomach, throwing her back into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut, Randy turned to glare at me. “I told you. I’m calling the cops.”
“I know, I’m sorry. But seriously, dude. That was the coolest thing to happen to me since this whole thing started!”
He huffed in exasperation and took his cell from his pocket as I stood in front of the door, once again starting to hear the scuffling of dragged feet thumping from the other side.
“Ugh. I shoulda got a picture,” I grumbled.
​
/r/storiesbykaren
| 2021-02-25T11:53:06 | 2021-02-25T11:52:04 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] The Truman Show, but he never lets on that he knows. Years later on his deathbed, broadcast live to millions, he looks straight down a hidden camera and says 'They're watching you too. I couldn't get out, but you can, you must.' before flatlining.
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Pandemonium broke out. Was this a Truman-ception scenario they were all duped into believing? All behavior was micro-analyzed trying to see cracks in the facade, naturally everyone was behaving oddly so this only fueled the wide spread speculations and crazy theories. Nearly every house hold was torn apart trying to get rid of their spy equipment they believed that was installed in their home without their consent. No one took chances. No amount of news articles or press releases from the shows creator could deter the mayhem that was being unleashed. Every syllable that was uttered was regarded as proof of their own conspiracies that ran as rampant as the looters. Even the acts of looting and destroying were regarded as a deeper truth they could find on their own. Society had begun to spiral, who was real, who was acting, who was advertising, who was milking the cash cow? All answers were ignored as everyone was right. The cults were quickly divided into sub-cults and the sub-cults only fractured believing in the main hero syndrome that Truman had lived for 87 years.
|
*Click*.
"... tenth shooting this week related to what some psychologists are dubbing 'Truman Syndrome', marked by intense feelings of paranoia--"
*Click*.
"...want to assure everyone watching and listening that we do not, repeat, do not have any plans for any spin-offs not involving any members of the Burbank family--"
*Click*.
"... alleged that his neighbor was an actor, hired to convince him that he was living in a false reality similar to that of Truman Burbank, recently deceased star of--"
*Click*.
"... my God, it's almost like he knew all along--"
*Click*.
"...Prime Minister denied that any British subjects had been subjected to unwitting televisual monitoring during Question Time, to a fiery response from the Commons..."
*Click*.
"...My God! They... they're all going crazy! They're losing their minds!--"
*Click*.
"... day five of the hearings dissolved into pandemonium as protestors broke through into the Senate Hearing Chamber to confront Frank Wainwright, Head of Production Development at TruCo, who was testifying with regards to allegations of mass surveillance of the public--"
*Click*.
"... I mean, how do we know?! How the \[BLEEP\] do we \[BLEEP\]in' *know*?! They watched *him* for his whole goddamn life, how do we know they aren't watching *all* of us--"
*Click*.
"They're lying to you! They're lying to me! They're lying to all of us!--"
*Click*.
"...representative of the Screen Actors Guild called for greater protections for the acting community after Linning, 34, was violently assaulted by a crowd who recognised her from a brief guest appearance on "The Truman Show"--"
*Click*.
"...I mean, you have to wonder how much he knew and when, of course, but equally, you have to wonder... many have interpreted his words as a warning, that we're all being watched like he was. That we're all the subjects of our own TV shows, that everyone is watching us. But what if it was something else?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look, let's put aside everything else for a moment. Let's look past the spectacle and artifice, the self-contained dome and the microscopic cameras. The surveillance and the ethical breaches. Let's look at what this really was at the most basic level for a moment. This was a man who was lied to for his entire life by everyone he knew. Everyone who pretended to be his friends, his family, his closest loved ones, was lying to him. For their own benefit. And they never told to tell him. And they trapped him inside a bubble for his entire life and made the entire world watch. How do you think that would make him feel? How would you feel?"
"You're saying he was angry."
"This man watched his mother die -- his father drown -- in front of him, and they were merely actors. His wife was an actor. His best friend was an actor. I'm saying he was betrayed by everyone he knew. And not only that, but everyone in the world literally watched it happen. And found it entertaining. I'm saying that if he truly did work it out, and remained trapped in there all this time, he would have been *more* than angry."
"So you think he knew what would happen?"
"I don't think anyone could predict exactly what would happen, but I think if you thought about it... they trapped Truman Burbank in a glorified fishbowl his entire life and watched him and lied to him. If they could do it to him, they could do it to anyone. They could do it to everyone. So imagine someone angry, bitter, someone who wanted to lash out at the world, imagine if that someone wanted to plant a seed of doubt, a seed of paranoia in a society which had watched him be manipulated and lied to, a society which knew how easily it could be done... that society might react as angrily and fearfully as he did. And when societies get angry and fearful... "
"So you think Truman was lying? Deliberately?"
"I think Truman Burbank on his deathbed merely turned the same lie he lived through his entire life back on the world, and I think we're reacting exactly the way he thought we would."
"For revenge."
"I think the world we're now living in, a world where everyone is paranoid that they alone are the only real person in a world of lies, might just be the only justice Truman Burbank will ever see for what was done to him. I think he did it to punish us."
"... Ms. Whitman, thank you. Sylvia Whitman, founder of the "Free Truman" Movement, speaking to us from--"
*Click*.
| 2022-07-12T01:07:23 | 2021-07-29T17:59:19 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] A great Empire is about to fall. A single remaining bodyguard is left alone with the Emperor as the enemy approaches the throne room.
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Cocooned in his survival suit, a solitary scientist focused the camera lens on his life's work. A deep sadness penetrated his objective training, coupled with a sense of shame. Barely a stone's throw from where his Zodiac's inflatable hull was tethered to the iceberg, a handful of Emperor penguins stubbornly occupied the last of their hatching ground as it slowly dissolving in the warm Antarctic water.
The scientist had done what he could to protect them over the decades, even though it lost him publications, promotions, and ultimately, his career. The GPS was turned off, the location a secret to stop the poachers from raiding the site for their billionaire collectors. To own unique specimens of an otherwise extinct species was the new chic of the powerful. The masses of humanity were suffering, but the wealthy could buy their way out of global catastrophe; more air conditioning, personal desalination plants, and private zoos. All the scientist could do was record the outcome of his species' disasterous “experiment”.
Waves lapped up to the huddled penguins. Enperors stood 4 feet tall, with distinctive colouring around their necks, and the scientist had followed this group since hatching 20 years ago. Reduced to a single female, with a single egg, the males took the role of incubating the sacred egg, using their feet as a makeshift nest to isolate it from the frozen ground.
Eventually a small wave broke just high enough to wash over the penguin's feet, cold enough to instantly suck the life-giving warmth from the shell. One by one, the penguins slipped gracefully into the water and swam away.
|
The old emperor sat on the throne, his head in his hands. Before him was his once vibrant throne room, now a stone cold chamber. The courtiers had fled, his loyal guards had died or, worst of all, defected. He did not despise his future killers, the nobles he once called his friends. They have reason to rebel, and the only way that the rebellion would succeed was with his demise.
The glorious tapestries detailing his triumphs were torn. They depicted the same emperor, with a different face. A younger man, with the look of courage permanently ingrained into his face. That younger man had brought the Known World to its knees with war, with trade, with culture, and with the word of his gods. He had turned his small tribe into a wealthy, multicultural world spanning empire. All that remained of the glory days were gone. All that remained of that once great man was him. The Golden Age had given way and the nobles were unhappy. More tragically, in the emperor's opinion, the people were unhappy. All that had been done for the empire, its roads, its institutions, its wonders, was the summation of a lifetime of his hopes and dreams for a land that he claimed as his own. Now all that remains of the glory days is the broken old man sitting on that throne.
The rebelling nobles and their armies will crash down the barricaded door eventually, and he will meet his doom in the public square he once erected. But he is not alone. The Captain of the Guard, closest advisor, most loyal companion and best friend. The Captain was loyal not to the land he had fought for, not to the tribe that had evolved into a spanning empire, but to the man behind it all. The Captain stood by his friend in times of need, and though the emperor only knew him for a quarter of his life, they were cut from the same cloth and understood the world in the same way. In many ways, the Captain was the protege he never had. The Captain would never leave his lord's side, not for a minute.
In a few minutes, the emperor knew he would walk the streets of the afterlife, and he thought not of the quick death he would face, but his wife's gleaming embrace at the gates of destiny. Since she died, the life was out of him. He grew depressed, and unhappy with himself and despite all he had done for the empire, he was missing a part of him that could never be filled with all the conquered cities of the east or the fallen tribes of the west. He neglected his office, his institutions and the nobles had enough. The civil war was justifiable, and if the emperor were a younger man, a different man, he would be a rebel too.
"I've seen the world crumble under my feet," ached the old emperor. "I guess it's time that fate caught up with me."
"No sir," said the Captain, "You are what this empire needs, you are what we need as a people! As a tribe! You are our greatest leader! We would be nothing without you."
"Time waits for no one," replied the emperor, "And I am not getting any younger. The Duke will be a more suitable ruler for the times ahead than I can ever hope to be. Forgive him. Forgive them. They are not traitors, they are doing the same thing I did to the chief of our tribe some fifty years ago."
The Captain stood, watching the emperor. His heart beat fast beneath his iron cuirass, and his breaths grew quicker and quicker by the moment.
"I need you to do for me, one final task," said the emperor.
"Anything, my lord," said the Captain.
"I have seen much in my life," said the emperor, "Triumph, tragedy, horror, success. Depression. And failure. It is time to write the final chapter to my story. It ends with you."
The emperor looked up, and from his belt slipped a dagger. It was an old dagger, the personal weapon of their tribe's shaman before his death many years ago.
The Captain was appalled.
"I cannot sir!" The Captain said, "I will not, sir!"
"I have lived a long, fruitful life. Save yourself, you will be their first hero, and I will be a martyr to none."
"Sir!" the Captain pleaded. "Don't do this!"
"Don't do this," the emperor said back, "This is an order, Captain. Save yourself. I've accepted my fate, it's time for you to accept yours."
The Captain stepped towards the throne and took the dagger from his emperor.
"I'm so sorry, my lord," he said, "Forgive me."
"Forgive them," said the emperor.
The Captain slid the dagger into the emperor's heart. He already had his eyes closed. The old ruler finally looked at peace, after so many years of hardship. Peace came from the tip of a weapon, like the end of his conquests. The Captain thought of his old master often, and even as the Duke had provided well to the man who killed the emperor, it haunted him. He lived with the knowledge that he had done what was asked of him. He was not a turncoat, a traitor to the cause, as some implied. Time would heal his wounds, and while he would sometimes think about his service to the old emperor, he would defeat his inner demons and take pleasure in the fact that he had followed a dying man's wishes.
| 2014-05-29T17:29:31 | 2014-05-29T13:47:10 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity invents interstellar travel and discovers a planet with a less developed sentient species. Something is stopping them from progressing....
|
It's a virus. No, it's not. It must be a fungus. The more active your brain is- It's a virus. I cannot think anymore, what is it? Do I call another researcher? I drank the water. I drank the water. I drank the water. I landed and I drank...? It is in my brain. The water? The virus. The fungus. Prion. What is fungus? My brain activity is killing me. Large. Small cerebrum. What is a cerebrum? What is evolve?
Cure.
Goodbye.
|
"Coming up on the planet, sir."
"On screen."
It was a terrestrial blue planet, much like ours but different in its landmasses. No matter how many times I have come across habitable, terrestrial planets, I still can't help but feel breathless every time I see the calm, peaceful movement of a living planet as it turns slowly in space.
"Science, gimme the stats," I called out to the science officer, curious to hear what the inhabitants were like, if any.
"We see signs of civilization; inhabitants: humanoid." He paused. "Interesting captain... They have not progressed much beyond the hunter-and-gather stage of society, yet their civilization has clear evidence of being several thousand years old."
"Several thousand?" I turned to the science officer to confirm what were startling findings. He nodded silently.
Hunters and gatherers? Several thousand years old? It didn't make sense. There must have been someone or something deliberately stopping them from making progress.
"Well let's beam down there and make contact, introduce ourselves and see what the hubub's about."
We beamed down; myself, the science officer, medical and two security escorts. We made our way through the jungle and found a tribal chief surrounded by a group of maybe a dozen tribespeople, scantly clad, but calm and reserved in their movements. They sat around a roaring fire and were preparing a feast. We emerged from the leaves and made our peaceful hello.
"Hello, we come in peace," I said calmly, hands raised.
The tribespeople turned their heads and slowly stood up. The chief calmly looked us over with steady eyes. Our automatic translators were able to translate their speech.
"Do you come from space?" The chief had a large booming voice.
I looked at my companions with a smile, and responded "Why yes, yes we do."
"Good. Well, eat what you want, stay as long as you like and don't cause trouble. We have seen many of your kind before and we are aware of your travels across the stars. You must have many questions, as your people usually do. We will answer them. But come now, let's eat."
I soon came to know the chief's name, Temba, who welcomed us with arms wide into his tribe that night. We feasted and I posited my questions to Temba, which I'm sure he had answered before.
"We are able to tell that your people are over seven thousand years old." Temba nodded. The firelight splashed across his face as he chewed his share of the feast. "Yet you are a simple society; you hunt for food, you live in huts made from leaves of the trees. Why? Why don't you try to better yourselves? Why don't you push yourself and your tribe beyond the limits to find new ways of living? Better ways!" I could not control my gusto and yet did not want to; what I was saying was full of life and energy, and I wanted to convey that.
"It is simple, my space captain," Temba said with a mouthful. "Does not matter where we go, at the end of the day, you will need to eat, you will need to sleep, you will need someone to love and you'll need to piss and you'll need to shit." He lowered his leg of turkey. "We do have youths, who are curious. Who want to see space, travel the stars. And for them, we let them visit your spaceships under your guidance and if you see fit, let them join your ranks. But our culture knows a truth that many cultures and civilizations can go ages and ages without realizing."
"What is that?" I was genuinely curious.
"Peace, my captain. Life is born from peace. An equilibrium between opposing forces. When the wind blows, the trees may hustle but eventually they will rest. Our lives are filled with needs, but we find great joy in finding peace amongst them. For this, one does not need massive buildings and extraordinary inventions to achieve. We find them moment to moment. And with that, we find ourselves to be highly civilized, my dear captain." The shit-eating grin on the chief's face said it all. He was happy, anyone could see it. Everyone was.
The next day, we left, and in my mind, there was doubt. What are we doing flying around the galaxy for?
| 2014-09-28T18:19:06 | 2014-09-28T17:28:14 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] There is a time traveler who visits every historical figure twice: on their 10th birthday and their deathbed. On the first visit, they will be told all the will accomplish in life. The second visit will tell how their legacy is remembered.
|
The little boy looked up, away from the holographic screen. A old man was stood there, his features concealed behind a leather greatcoat and a set of ancient pilot's goggles.
"You're the man! The man that visits the famous people! Am I going to be famous? Please tell me! Please sir!"
The old man smiled, kneeling down next to the boy.
"Yes, I am indeed that man. How did you know?"
The boy smiled, exited.
"We learned about you in school! Miss Clark told us about you. You're the man who tells famous people what they are going to do with their lives when they turn 10. Some people think you're a myth, but I always said you where real. And now I know! Are you going to tell me my future?"
The old man checked his watch.
"I don't think your quite 10 years old yet are you?"
The boy looked sheepishly at the floor.
"No sir, I'm only 9 and a half. Am I in trouble?"
The old man shook his head.
"Oh, no. You're not in trouble. Not with me anyway. I'm feeling a bit out of breath, I'm not used to this much talking in my old age. Would you mind if a lie down on your bed for a minute?"
The boy helped the man up, and he lay down on the bed.
"Tell me," said the old man, "did they say I was a good man?"
"Why yes," the boy replied, "you can even get your costume in the shops!"
The old man smiled, relieved.
"I think I'll be seeing you in a few months," he said, winking. "I'll just have a nap first."
|
*Filing Cabinet 30J.Subject #1: [Boston, Massachusetts] (Aged 10)*
"So, listen up kiddo. This is all just standard procedure so... yadda yadda yadda. About Britain, you secede and declare independence from the Mother England with your incredibly eloquent diplomatic-writing skills or whatever."
"Dearest heavens. Who are you strange sir? Your manner of speech seem oddly vulgar in such a pious community-"
"Shut the fuck up, Benny."
"Good lord!"
"Now, you also get to invent some weird stuff like the lightning rod, some weird stove... Oh, and you also get to go to France as an ambassador for the colonies!"
"That... sounds quite enjoyable, actually."
"Damn straight. Now, your consultation time is up. So, just remember to go out there, have fun, do something with your life, and..."
"And, sir?"
"Old booty is worth thrice that of young booty."
"Wait, what?"
"Peace motherfucker!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 18.H Subject #37: [Ajaccio, Corsica] (Aged 10)*
"*How's it hanging you stupid, little French-illiterate pipsqueak?*"
"*Pipsqueak? What the hell does pipsqueak mean?*"
"*Right, eighteenth century... Anyway, listen up you shorty. You're in for a long, weird life ahead of you.*"
"*Pardon?*"
"*You take over half of Europe, become Emperor of France, grow to prominence in society, force almost everyone to your knee...*"
"*Sounds vaguely appropriate.*"
"*Oh, and you bring some kooky-ass civil code or whatever to the rest of the world and cause a shit-ton of weird uprisings in the name of nationalism, only for those same uprisings to be totally crushed by kings who will later proceed to kick your ass off into the Mediterranean.*"
"*Wait, which kings?!*"
"*All of them? Well, I'd argue English but I'm no goddamn historian. I don't even know what year this is... I mention Britain and Prussia screw you over hard?*"
"*What?!*"
"*Well, I'm off. Toodle-a-loo! Fish and tea! Crumpets and potatoes! La-dee-dah!*"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Filing Cabinet 15.C Subject #15: [Roma, Res publica Romana] (Aged 10)*
"*Hey, what's happening, little man?*"
"*Cassius, stay away from this strange man.*"
"*Wow, wow... Calm down, Julie. Can I call you that?*"
"*You may certainly not! Who are you to pop up from the sewers! Covered in shit and waving your arms around in strange clothes like some absurd madman! Back! Away from me, you water devil!*"
"*Listen, man. Just came by to tell you your future's all. No need to get all bitchy like your future wife... Gee. And I thought Mary was a annoying bitch.*"
"*Who's Mary?*"
"*Right, BC era. Huh, listen, kiddo. I just came here to tell you, descendant of Aeneas, son of the Roman goddess Venus, or some other whore, that you will do great things in the future years of adulthood.*"
"*Alright, you strange old fool. Tell me what it is that awaits me!*"
"*You become a wicked general in the army of this fair Republic. You and two others gain great power over the control of the land you see before you, and all its grain, horses, and citizens that will await you hand-and-foot. At your every command.*"
"*This one doesn't like sharing.*"
"*I said 'your', did I not?*"
"*... Well, technically, no?*"
"*Huh?*"
"*Well, if I said yes, that'd mean that you didn't say that, which is what you asked. So, to say that I did hear that would be to respond no, would it not?*"
"*Umm... no?*"
"*Wait, where are we going with this?*"
"*Oh for the love of sweet not-yet Jesus... You invade Britain and Gaul, kill your friends, and eventually you turn this whole stupid Republic into your own freaking Empire... That's all I think I'm allowed to give.*"
"*Wait! But does my Empire prosper?! What of the citizens of the Republic? Will this one make them strong too?*"
"*Dude, I don't know. I barely know shit about your childhood as is. You're a pretty boring guy that just happens to have a play about him.
"*Ugh... Well, mighty Caesar can live with that, he supposes.*"
"*No, don't start that third person shit with me... You know what? Just for that, you're getting stabbed. Yeah, you're gonna get stabbed in the middle of senate by a bunch of toga-wearing men. Don't fucking speak like that.*"
"*Emperor Caesar shall speaks how he want-*"
**THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!**
"IDES OF MARCH, BITCH! Man, I love punching ten year-olds."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Access to DeathBed files locked until access is to be granted by administrator. Error code: 420. Trying again in: XX Hours.]
| 2015-08-17T08:44:38 | 2015-08-17T08:41:02 | 959 | 49 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
|
The scar - singular, I must highlight - was so horrific, so deep, and so... extensive... It's either one huge lie, or... I had to look away as I realised I could take a full anatomy lesson just by looking at him naked.
"I'm a software engineer, IT guy, and all round tech-guru," he murmured. "I keep skipping reading the sodding Terms and Conditions."
|
I pass the open door of my favourite cafe, a warm plume of caramel scented air greets me, inviting me and pulling me off the cold winter street. I let myself get carried over to the bar, expecting to see the usual waiter; a burly man in his 40s wearing the usual faded suit jacket and dark jeans. As I look up, my breath is plucked from my lungs. I aren't greeted by the thinning blond hair and piercing blue eyes I expected, but a girl. Soft hair, brown and untamed cascaded over her shoulders on to the pristine white shirt and onto her bust. Everything seems to be in slow motion as my eyes trace every contour and shape of her body in detail. Unlike me, or any of the other customers, who's hands are littered with small flecks of white, which was the cost of keeping face in today's society, she was completely pure. From her head to her toes, not a single blemish on her silk skin. She is the definition of beautiful. Her delicate, porcelain hands clasped together in front of that short black dress, which is formal but still very attractive. Green eyes flicked up with a look of coy and curiosity as a faint smile worked it's way onto her soft peach lips. I blush. Her voice resonated into my mind, cutting off my thought. Matching her appearance, her words are softly spoken and sweet. The type of voice that reminds you of home.
"Hi, my name's Mei. What are you ordering today, sir" she asks with enthusiasm.
"Uh... a.." I fumble through my speech like a nervous child on his first day of school "A number 7 please" I falter for a moment after realizing my mistake. There is no number 7 on the menu.
As soon as the words leave me, her eyes narrow. The persona of before has left her and now, all I can think of is danger. She asks me to follow her in a quick and monotone voice. That voice reminded me of a killer. Her speech and her walking pattern, as she walks through to a separate room is ruthless and efficient. No wasted movement. I follow nervously, almost tripping over myself and take a seat opposite her in the exquisitely decorated room I now find myself in. A square table, wooden and stained dark, separates us.
"So Mr.. Hudson. You requested a model 23, complete organ transplants. You've transferred 14 million, half of the payment and were ready to begin."
I don't understand. I'm panicking. Did she just say organ transplant? I desperately try to think of a way out of this situation but I'm distracted by the sight of Mei taking her formal shirt off to reveal a very thin, white top underneath. She looks so damn perfect. I've gained momentary relief from my panic just by the mere sight of her. That's when the real Mr Hudson walks in. He is very old and withered, covered in long, deep scars, spiralling across his body. He must be about 80, and he speaks with a dry, raspy voice.
"I'm here to see Mei"
he says almost innocently. Mei walks to meet him and that's when I see it. A huge, deep purple scar under the thin shirt she's wearing, swimming from the top of her neck all the way down to the small of her back, and then way past where I can see. She approaches him calmly whispers something in his ear. He raises and eyebrow and they both smile. My sense of danger kicks in again, and adrenaline starts to course through my veins. I get it now.
"Now then sir, as you are probably aware, there has been a confusion between you and Mr Hudson here" she says gesturing to the old man with an open palm.
She doesn't have to tell the truth like the rest of us.
"Don't worry sir." She walks towards me with a smile. A smile of malice.
That's not her body.
"You're going to be just fine." She smiles as her green eyes turn cold and run through me.
That's not her fucking body.
| 2016-12-29T13:50:02 | 2016-12-29T12:43:34 | 51 | 20 |
[WP] After years of having what you thought to be a slow computer, you suddenly get a popup:'installation complete'.
|
Anthony clicked on the button labeled 'launch program' anticipation flooding him to his very core. What could it be? Something experimental perhaps? Whatever it was, he realised his life may never be the same.
After five minutes of excitement, coupled with a tinge of fear, the program opened up.
"Welcome to Internet Explorer. Would you like to make this your default browser?"
|
"Installation complete".
I stared almost nonchalantly at the words. Of course, I made the assumption that this was some kind of malware, a consequence of countless porn fueled nights instead of making worthwhile use of my time. I got ready to pull up my antiviral software, when my computer froze. Not again. I regretted buying this piece of shit. Over the last month it would intermittently restart. It was used, of course I should've expected this from a Craigslist buy. The owner told me it was a sleeper, a computer that looked like it couldn't do much, but was quite a workhorse underneath. I bought it, literally.
It turned off, then restarted. Typical after an installation. But instead of the start screen, another menu popped up, with a bunch of random names for me to pick... I recognized my OS from the list, Windows 10, the current standard. Underneath was CoVert, Lion, Horizon, Agency, Marquet, BitMine. A lot of different Operating systems. Maybe the previous owner was a Linux buff. I should've asked. Curiously, I picked Horizon.
The OS was a simple knock off of the old Windows XP from my childhood days. There was no fancy work here. It was oddly silent, no system sounds were present. There were a few programs, named Hong Kong, America, EU, South Korea, Japan. I clicked on America, naturally.
A list of companies in alphabetical order popped up. I recognized a lot, but others were obscure. Amazon, I knew. Pfizer? What was that? I clicked Amazon. A list of names came up. I clicked on the first one I saw. I got an error message. I wasn't connected to the internet! I looked in the tray and my wifi card had been disabled. I removed the Ethernet cable from my Xbox and put it into my desktop. Immediately I was connected. I clicked again on the names and suddenly, a list of associated emails popped up. Hmm, I could email these big shots whenever I wanted, I thought to myself. What would I need an OS for that? I clicked on his Gmail. A new window popped up. I wasn't sending him an email... I was IN his email. I made an audible gasp as I realized that I was up to some illegal shit, and I need to watch where I step carefully. I looked only over emails that had already been read. A lot of it had to do with some merger that was occurring? I just say on that knowledge for a second. I googled it, nothing came up. Wasn't this insider trading? Was that the purpose of this program? To garner information to be ahead of the stock market? Should I buy up some Amazon stocks?
I should look into it later, I thought to myself. I kind of wanted to check out the other OS's.
I restarted, and clicked on CoVert. More email servers, a quick googling of names gave me a broad horizon of foreign diplomats. Scary stuff. A heavy realization occurred to me, that I could find the secrets of people in power. I wanted to throw up. Who made this computer? Was it for doing good? Or was it for personal gain? There were ways to make quick and easy money, there were ways to blackmail politicians. And there were ways to bring down bad people with news of their deeds.
I turned to another OS, BitMine. This connected me to another PC somewhere else apparently, one that could perform a lot more work I was assuming. Bitmining was something I was aware of, and it took a dedicated computer with a lot of hardware, and a lot of time, to get even 1 Bitcoin.
The other computer I was connected to must've been ginormous, maybe an entire server? Nothing gave away whether it was, except the huge amount of storage for data that was available to me. A small square program came up. It said start. I clicked start. Mining started, you can now turn off this program.
It never occurred to me with a server that big, there were people out there who were watching, who were maintaining the servers just in case.
Unbeknownst to me, they were already watching me.
| 2017-10-14T08:34:37 | 2017-10-14T07:29:27 | 354 | 52 |
[WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck.
Edit: mum im famous
|
We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh."
|
The problem with Japan’s was that they tried to mass produce them. Sure, they got thousands of ninjas, but those guys belonged more in a circus than the battlefield. They could climb walls decently fast? Move around a little silent? Give me a break. The only real difference between them and the standard foot soldier was that they dressed in black onesies. Real ninjas are not so cheap and I promise you, you’ve never heard of a single one.
---
Agent Sarah Romanov had her hands cuffed behind her, her supervisor with his gun twitching on the trigger, pointed directly at her head. And she had thought they had a decent work relationship.
“I assure you, Agent Romanov,” her boss, Agent Kingsley, said. “This is to protect you.”
Sarah flicked her eyes over to the pitch-black end of his pistol. Somewhere along the six levels of security clearance they went through just to arrive in this interrogation room, her boss had lost his mind. No bodyguard had ever pulled their pistol on their mark claiming to protect them.
“I’m handcuffed, Jeff.” It was simple and probably didn’t work on a trained CIA operative, but saying people’s first names minimalized their odds of killing you. “Do you really need to point a gun at me?”
“This is standard protocol for this meeting.”
“Is this because of my last name?” Sarah had spent six years as a field agent with no prospects of promotion. She had a good idea why. Performance issues were a good bet, but then she became the best around and nothing changed. Then came the woman angle, but the CIA didn’t really cared for the particular spy, only the intel. At last, she came to the conclusion of her nationality. She was Russian.
“No,” her boss said, but a slight inflection at the start of the word gave him away.
The door opened and a man in a graphic tank top walked in. He had pink sunglasses and blonde hair with frosted tips. If Sarah had to guess, a frat boy had wandered drunkenly into the wrong building and somehow past the maximum level of US security clearance to arrive here still looking for a spot to piss in. But as soon as he walked in, her boss’s finger tensed on the trigger.
“Agent Romanov,” he said. “Meet codename Derek. He is a secret more well-guarded than what goes on in Area 51. If you ever wonder why the United States is the military might of the world, you’re looking at the reason.”
Sarah stared. Medium build. Average height. Healthy weight. There was nothing at all spectacular about this *Codename Derek*.
“You’re as jumpy as ever, Jeff,” Derek said and pulled out the seat across from them. He sat down and plopped his feet on the table between them. “Sarah Romanov, you’re hotter in person.”
The frown on Sarah’s lips deepened. Surely, this was a prank. But her boss’s cheeks hadn’t had any color in them for the past hour now.
Derek leaned forward and wagged a finger in front of him. “You wanna know why I chose you as my Operator? I like the way you look,” he said, chuckling. “So, don’t let it get to your head. Higher ups begged me to pick someone else, to even give their reports and recommendation a glance. But I found you on Facebook and pointed at you and said that’s the one. And here you are.”
“So, I’m here to babysit you?” Sarah asked. She had only a single experience as an operator and it wasn’t a good one. Her asset had died, quite violently.
“More or less.” He got up, grinning. Steel grinded against steel as his chair scraped the ground. “Heard the last one you babysat died. I won’t be dying. Though there’ll be many more opportunities to do so.” And he snapped his finger.
Jeff Kingsley yelped and his gun clattered onto the ground. He clutched his chest, groaning. It was a heart attack! Sarah got up out her chair to help, but her hands were still cuffed behind her.
“C’mon,” Jeff said, “you’re my operator. You were supposed to stop me from doing stupid shit like that. To be fair, I injected the kill pill long before you so this one’s not entirely your fault.”
Sarah looked around, waiting for the paramedics to come bursting through one of the two doors in the interrogation room. Nobody came. Instead, Jeff just rolled across the ground, his face purple as he began choking.
She pressed her lips together and knelt down beside him. She slammed her head into his chest and began compressions. It wasn’t working.
“Hey,” Derek said, dropping a blue pill onto the ground. “That’s the antidote. Have him swallow that and he’ll be fine in seconds. Only problem is that I only have one and truthfully, this was going to be your antidote.”
“Mine?”
He shrugged. “Did I stutter?”
Without a second thought, Sarah took the pill between her teeth and fed it to her boss. “Swallow,” she told him.
Her boss followed her instruction and immediately the deep purple faded from his face. He stopped rolling around. At last, even his breath returned with a giant gasp. Sarah whipped around toward Derek, glaring at the man, but he only returned her a small smile.
“I suppose I was right to choose you,” he said. “And they told me that I should try thinking for once.”
“Who the hell are you?” she growled.
“An old man with a few parlor tricks up my sleeve. I look forward to working with you.” With a wink, he left.
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories.
| 2022-08-20T02:51:59 | 2017-11-16T08:23:10 | 509 | 291 |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him.
|
"A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man."
|
I woke up to the birds chirping in the morning. The rays of sun reached my feet, as I lay on the park bench. I coughed a little as I stretched, awaking, and dreamed of a yesterday, where I would wake up warm and cozy in the comfort of blankets and arms.
But today I was going to try something I had never had the nerve to do before.
I was at a local bar a few nights ago, a kind fella had spotted me outside, and invited me in for a beer. In a mist of a drunken stupor, he pulled out the last year of my life, in a twisted tongue, through a tale I dreaded to give away. It was precious to me. He was precious to me. Anton.
Anton was the love of my life. We had met young, and married quick. We honeymooned at the beach, and worked hard for a home. We adopted three dogs, and raised them to be kind with to the calico cat that Anton had come with.
“What happened to Anton,” the friendly stranger had pressed, handing me another beer.
I told him about the downward spiral. The alcohol, the pressure I laid onto him to sober up.
“Nice,” the had stranger commented, aptly suggesting my own drunkenness.
I told him about the bottles I would find hidden, about the arguments that we had.
I also explained to him about the nights we fell asleep huddled together, angry, but content at the end of the day in each other's arms.
Then I told him about the day that I left the house.
About how he had gone on a bender. About how it was the first time he hurt me. How he didn’t even remember pressing his hands around my neck, squeezing. How I hoped he wouldn’t stop. And how did stop.
The day I left, I was inconsolable. I told him I was still his. I told him that I just needed a little distance. Space. And he needed to sober up. He agreed.
And I was still his. We spoke everyday, when I woke up I would call him, when he went to bed, he would call me.
And if there were any stories to be told, the phone would be in my hand, ready to call my best friend to tell it all.
But that was before he was diagnosed. He was diagnosed soon after. It all had happened in a matter of months.
See, he had stomach cancer.
The day he was on his deathbed, I cried inconsolably. I lost everything. From my job, to my apartment, my love, my love. I lost everything. I had it all, and it had slipped through my fingers like water.
“There is a man,” the stranger told me, “who lives in the woods. He grants wishes, in return for the most cherished thing that you possess.”
I sat up, watching the world whirl around me, traffic, people, so many stories, so many lives all in one place. Today I would go see this man.
The climate was calm, not too cold, not too warm, not a hint of breeze. The air lingered with the thick scent of juniper. As I followed the detailed directions that the stranger had given me, I came upon a house that seemed like the earth had swallowed it whole. It was made of stone, and moss crept up on in from the base upwards, vines spiraling in every crevice. A tree seemed to peak out of the roof itself.
Hesitantly, I knocked. A raven perched on a tree watched me thoughtfully.
The door swung open. The first thing to take note of was the age of this man. He must have been at least ninety. His beard hung down to his pot bellied stomach, and his cheeks were pinched with roses.
“Hello dear,” he said, “I had an inkling that you would be coming,”
He ushered me into the cottage, and sat me at a heavy wooden circular table, with a steaming cup of tea before me.
“I believe you came to request something of me, yes?”
I sat mute, surprised, unsure of how to begin.
“Darling, it is okay. I already know what it is you want, but I do need you to verbalize it to make it so. I know that you have also been told that there is a price to pay, yes?”
“I have nothing left to lose,” I said, my voice so low that it could hardly be caught.
“Ah, that is where you are wrong. We always have something left to lose.”
I looked up at him, and said the words. I envisioned Anton’s smile, that the world had had to live without. I told him I wanted Anton alive again.
“Are you positive? There is only one thing you have left to offer to make such a thing happen,” He said. And I knew it then. I understood. My existence.
I nodded, and the world went black.
| 2017-11-25T14:45:55 | 2017-11-25T09:17:08 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it.
|
I am trapped in here. It looms, whirring, whizzing, occasionally running into walls. My home has devalued at least 30% since the armed Roomba slipped in through my doggy door.
The wound on my left leg has barely healed. Black magic, those Roombas are; I tried to fight it, but it's been trained far too well. How do you predict something so insanely random? It weaves and turns without a single fucking thought, sometimes running into the same wall ten times. It must sense a weak spot, but hides the motive well. Whoever decided to attach kitchen knives to a motor and tape it onto a Roomba is an evil genius, because I can't read its movements. I feint left, it jerks a 180 and catches me.
It's been a week now, and I haven't left the safety of my room. I fear it has been set up with some kind of wireless charging, because it just won't die, and I keep getting adverts for Chinese knockoff Qi chargers on my Amazon app. My only comfort is knowing that it can't come upstairs.
But I fear that it may just take the walls down, instead.
------
^(*/r/resonatingfury is a place for people who agree that roombas are fucking stupid*)
^(*also wtf is going on in this thread*)
|
Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes
| 2019-03-03T07:03:33 | 2019-03-03T06:31:50 | 119 | 11 |
[WP] Each magic spell has a finite number of uses throughout a person’s lifetime, and the number varies from person to person. However, everyone has unlimited uses of a single spell. Your unlimited spell is one that most people can only use once in a lifetime, if at all.
|
Another day at the powerplant, as usual.
They work me like a dog here, everytime the red light blinks on, I must cast my spell again on the same damn array of copper nodes. It's not even anything special, it's just lightning, but because I'm the only one that can use it all the time, this is my place, and I am effectively part of the machine.
They store up the energy I provide and use it to power my city, so I can take breaks and have a life and whatnot, but it's boring doing this every single day.
The worst part is I have to concentrate to do the spell, so I can't even use the time sitting in my comfy desk chair to think about anything useful like practice math or something.
In my own time I've taken to designing a new type of electricity generating device, using some of the more radioactive materials that are found here on Earth, just so I don't have to do this job anymore. It's slow going, because I need to make it smaller and more cost practical, but the power company gives me whatever I need, since I am it's lifeblood.
This is my life now, effectively just an unlimited battery to discharge and power my city. And it really is my city, because without me, it couldn't function. But a day where I could exist without worrying that the company malfunctioned and lost enough power and called me back into work? A dream I want to make reality.
|
As every beginning has an end, so all endings have a beginning so I will start at the beginning of my stuttering end. I don't have much time.
It was this morning and I was preparing a spell that would allow me to temporarily take the form of a cat. It could have been any animal really, but I only had a cat so a cat I would be. I considered the black spider that usually resides above my washing machine but I would have had to touch it so a cat it was. If successful, I would only be able to do this five additional times but I thought it could be useful so I decided to add it to my growing arsenal of spells.
I was practicing magic because I am a MaGi which is a modern moniker that stands for "magically gifted". My parents knew right away that I was different but I was never confirmed until I was nine. I unknowingly performed a spell and I was detected. At twenty-one I was given an apprenticeship, at forty I was licensed to practice independently but only because they lowered the license age requirement by ten years. We are a small but growing segment of the world's population. Though at times we are difficult to identify, we are estimated to be as large as a quarter of the world's population.
I am a gen four and I am American. Even though our predecessors used magic to change the world for the good in far too many ways to list we are considered as potentially very dangerous so we are very closely watched and regulated.
Why are we considered dangerous? One reason is because like all MaGi, we are very limited in most of our abilities but we are uniquely unlimited in one ability. We don't know how limited or unlimited until we know. That terrifies the norms. Most people think of magic as waving a wand or reciting a spell in Latin or some other ancient tongue, and it is at times, but mostly it is learning. We know a lot. The knowledge is our real power. We have to know ouselves in ways norms can't, or won't, and we have to know as much as we can about everything. My master used to say "semper magis" which is latin for "always more". We not only learn everything we can about a thing but we also learn what it is to be that thing.
We do have books of spells but they can't be read or understood until open or unlocked. It is not an enchantment so much as a mental block of sorts. Until one is mentally prepared and learns all there is to know to complete the spell, in very simple terms, one cannot read it. It is empathically coded as my master would say. You have to feel it.
My unlimited ability is to reverse time by five minutes. It is extremely rare, and I am forbidden to use it unless summoned by the board. I have only ever demonstrated it under the most controlled conditions. The spell is called "Tempus". I discovered it by accident at a very young age and it was immediately detected. The norms were so alarmed by it a whole section of regulations was created due to my discovery.
Which brings me back to this morning. The night before, just before sleep, I felt a new spell and saw it in a vision. I was an animal for an hour and I took five steps then I slept.
I woke that morning knowing which spell I would be able to understand and made preparations. I also knew that once I initiated or tested the spell I would only be able to perform it five more times. What I didn't know was why I also woke uneasy. I shook it off as a rare case of nerves but it didn't go away. I hadn't prepared for a spell in a long while. I should have stopped there and then. No spell should ever be performed without complete focus. That is a fundamental law of magic.
I opened my book of spells and turned to the page and said "revelare" and the spell was revealed to me. It was as if I always knew it. I performed all the steps in a relatively short period of time and was ready to initiate the spell. I carefully thought it out and then said it aloud...wrong.
I stuttered.
The spell was "Temporis Cattus" but I think I said "Tempus eh-t cattus". I can't remember exactly and now after being a cat for only fifty-five minutes I only have five minutes before I go back to being a cat. I have altered the spell and worse I have somehow combined it with my unlimited time reversal spell. I am stuck in a fatal loop. A terrible blunder. I have spent my last four, five-minute breaks trying to undo it and I have failed. I can't see any way out. I don't have much time.
I am posting this to the MaGi as well as the norms as a last testament and a warning.
I have been a cat five times. Unless I figure a way out, the next time will be my last. And, five minutes after that I will be nothing.
| 2019-03-10T11:55:44 | 2019-03-10T11:52:14 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You're a financial advisor. In 1994, you get a weird phone call from a man asking you if he can get any Bitcoin below $200k, and the call cuts off before you can ask him what Bitcoin was. Years later you get a call again from the same man, claiming he's calling back seconds after disconnection.
|
I must confess, when the bitcoin hit $15k I was tempted to sell. I had bought a ton of them the moment they first appeared, guided by an odd call I had received decades ago. For people like me, who care little about those slow-earning stocks, and love the adrenaline a good bet on a highly volatile company provides, every little hint of information, no matter how ridicule, was enough for me to spend all my savings.
The green numbers were my drug, and the red ones my motivation to invest more. Diversification they said, and I laughed at them when $MU sky-rocketed, and I bathed in tendies.
But I'm straying away. You see, if I sold bitcoin when it reached $15k I would've been set for life, but one does not simply ignore a call from someone telling you that he wanted to get bitcoin below $200k. That's a sort of legal insider information, despite how unreliable it was.
Of course, as you may know, the bitcoin plummeted, and new cryptocurrencies rose. I won't lie, I panicked back then, and almost sold at $5k, but I forbid myself to do such a stupid thing. I knew it was going to rise, and it was going to rise like nothing the market had ever seen before.
And then it hit $1k, and the ramen noodles were starting to make me sick. Still I waited, tear after tear, thinking about the amount of money I had lost, and how the people in the online forums called me names, and paid their respects with the letter F.
But then it happened. It rose slowly but steadily. The moment I saw this, I bought at $2K, and kept it. When it reached $15k again, my mind screamed to sell and stop the stress. But the stress is what made me feel alive, and so I held onto my bitcoins.
Two years later, it hit $199k, and the phone rang again.
"Hey man, this phone disconnected or something. Can I buy below $200k?"
I frowned. This was the man from the call from all those decades ago. The call that started it all. "What do you mean the phone disconnected? It's been 30 years since we spoke."
The man laughed. "Yeah sure, that coffee you are *drinking* must be quite strong. Now, can we talk business, please?"
Confused, but interested, I played his game. Perhaps he would accidentally give me the key to make another fortune. "You can buy for sure below $200k. It's at $198k right now. But do you think it will keep rising?"
"Keep rising? Absolutely not. It will hit $205k and then plummet to cents. I just want to buy, hold, and sell when it reaches $204k."
"I see. Well, I can make the operation for you. I just need your data."
There was no answer. Once again, the phone had disconnected.
Without a doubt, when it hit $204k I sold, and secured a fortune that would last for centuries. I became the richest man in the world, and became an angel investor, losing fortunes in start-ups that went nowhere.
But as thing goes, a young man approached me one day and pitched his invention. It was a telephone he claimed could communicate with the past. Everyone rejected him, for he had no proof that it worked, and when you used it you lost connection after a handful of seconds.
I bought every patent and license the man had. He scampered happily away with his money, and I, as a good businessman, reserved the technology just for me.
I grabbed the phone, and dialed a very old number.
"Hello, can I buy bitcoin below $200k?"
----------------------
r/NoahElowyn
|
"Can- Can I get some of that that bitcoin? 200k under or no deal though."
I stared at my phone. "Sir, this is a private number, this isn't even listed anywhere, where did you get this?"
"Can I- Can I, hold on, I'll call right back."
That had been three offices ago, the paintings on the wall had all changed from neo-futurismic cubist bullshit that looked like the artist had pulled the pictures straight out of a homeless person's fevered schizophrenic dreams to tasteful art where the faces were blurred and the features dribbled off like running wet ink.
The wall paper had changed from ducky yellow to my current firm's brutalist pink, a call back to the formative days the big boss had spend in a russian prison, wishing for a single speck of colors on the walls.
It'd also been twenty years, and bitcoin was currently on the massive decline. I'd invested smartly into it while it was fledgling and easy, and made my fortune speculating off of it. I should've expected the reaper would come to call in eventually.
The rolex on my wrist ticked towards 3 pm, about time for the meeting.
Then I had a phone call.
But now, with caller id, all I got was
JEFFFF
on the other end of the line.
"There we go, yes yes, I am right back!" Jeffff said. "Can I get some of that bit coin? U-under 200k. I hear you you you have some some."
"What." I said. This... this could be great. He could say something else, and I could run off of that. I could solidify my position among the higher echelons with that knowledge. Get in on space programs. Have my names on highschools.
I listened with bated breath.
"Yes-yes Oh-oh!" Jeffff said. "This phone is is inn--inaccurate for these porpoises."
I sent a quick prayer to god, because his voice was skipping across the connection like a damn rock.
"Yes, I'm afraid you'll have to call back when you get a better phone," I said, crossing my fingers. "What did you want?"
"B-b-b-bit coin." Jeffff warbled. "Bit-bit-biiiiiiiiiii-"
The call kicked off. I breathed out, let out that breath I'd been holding, and leaned back in the chair. Okay. That was weird.
I guess I could look forward to that in twenty years if I wasn't dead.
I stared up at the clock on the wall and counted off the seconds. The lights flickered overhead.
Odd.
They flickered one after another, instead of in unison. From the door to the window. I flicked my gaze across them, and then over to the window as well.
The parking lot was flickering. There weren't any lights on in the parking lot mind you, because it was still the middle of the say, but the light was flickering across it.
What?
I looked up towards the horizon.
The sun flickered like a candle wick. In and out of existence, leaving only a black paralyzing void in it's place.
The phone screeched from my pocket. "B-b-it coin."
I threw it against the wall and looked back up. The screen shattered. I could buy another one.
The sun had doubled in size, and the black void flickered in and out of cognization, casting massive world bending shadows.
There wasn't anyone in the parking lot to stare at the impossibility overtaking it all. A car blipped out of existence as the light touched it, and then didn't reappear when the sun flickered again.
I swallowed and shuttered the window, looking back at my desk. The computer screen was covered in ads for cryptocurrency. My monitoring software screeched and clicked and hissed warning signs, plastering my screen like the winning screen of solitaire.
I shut the lid on the laptop and caught my breath. Right. I'm hallucinating. Great. Just what I needed. All the pressure of trying to convince people I knew what I was doing instead of taking advantage of tips from a creepy phone call had sent me utterly barmy.
The intercom system turned on, though smoke poured out of the speaker across from me. "200k or no deal though."
Oh no.
"Can I- Ca-can I-"
No no no no no.
Every floor was carpeted to reduce noise. After all, this was a money making institution, they needed absolute concentration to catch onto micro market fluctuations according to the reductive algorithms. If someone mis bought, they could lose out.
Too many losses and well.
The company didn't keep losers for long.
But I could hear the foot steps crunching down the hallway. What the hell was it crunching on?
I reached under my desk, felt around for the duct tape, and pulled it free. The gun was odd and warm in my hands, it rested right on the opposite side of where the laptop's exhaust played, and it'd caught some of it. I checked it over. Made sure the safety was flicked off. My arms were shaking.
Calm Pat, come on, you have this. What the hell would Jeffff even do?
I peered down into the hallway. The carpet fibers had crystallized into fine glass, unable to bend or move from their place.
They crunched underfoot like ice. The lights flickered overhead, and then gave up on giving light off at all, instead providing only hazy darkness and snow like a television screen. It crackled, hissed, and burned my skin as I stepped out.
"200k or no deal tho," Jeffff hissed seductively down the hallway. "Porpoises."
We met, eye to eye. He had no face. Only a smear that drooled down his neck, an eye wetly hanging from his chin, running down into static. His mouth was open, a tongue lolling free, having fallen and pooled across the cavity of his collarbone. He moved jerkily, a step at a time, before the step would abruptly reverse in defiance of his knees, skittering across the frozen glass carpet. His head did similar movements, eyes twitching, head bobbing back and forth.
Each step made the environment flicker all the more. What would it do if it touched me?
"Stop man," I called out.
"D-deal- we made a d-deal-" He didn't stop moving. A motivation posted caught on fire and dripped down the side of the wall, congealing into a pile of rotting pencils and kittens on the ground. I thought I saw it moving.
Like fuck I was going to let that touch me.
I couldn't take the risk.
"Bitcoin," Jeffff murmured. "I wanna have some of that-"
I opened fire. Maybe it was stupid, knee jerk moment, maybe I had killed someone but-
The thing was, when the bullets sprayed out of the other side of his body, all that came out was endless chain, linked to buzzing black squares. Mouths and eyes formed out of the wounds, holding position before melting off the back of the black body entity.
"I want bit coin, Pat," Jeffff whispered. "No deal."
He stepped forward, and the world rotted away like the website components of complex blockchain authentication systems.
----------
For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2019-04-07T06:39:11 | 2019-04-07T06:35:06 | 5,588 | 126 |
[WP] Aliens have stumbled upon Earth on accident and are astonished to see how far humanity has come despite having no ability to use magic but rather develop technology which every other species has failed to do.
|
The functionaries of the High Palace rarely saw a Storyteller; it would have been a career highlight for even a venerable member of that disregarded caste to be invited to the seat of Dallasi power. Yet this one was young, without even the customary white robe that marked a Storyteller who had spent ten cycles in the Great Library. And she was enraged.
"Where are you, you stupid, posturing fuck?"
Lord Mage Alakhrana felt a wholly unfamiliar mixture of rage and joy course though his veins at the sound of the intruder's voice. He hadn't been so much as contradicted in three full cycles. This would be fun. He drew himself up to his full height and turned to the tiny woman.
"What makes you think you have the-"
"Shut up before you fuck us all even harder, Alakhrana. Did you show off your magic in front of the humans in front of a fucking instrument array?"
Alakhrana felt himself recoil slightly from the sheer venom of the Storyteller's rage. All the fun was gone now. He'd have to make an example of her once this unpleasantness was done. "What business is it of yours what I do to frighten the savages, theorist?"
She didn't even flinch at the calculated insult. "It's my business because those monkeys are the fastest-adapting species in galactic history. We've been interstellar for nine thousand cycles and our grasp of magic is the same as it was nine thousand cycles ago. Those four-limbed lunatics don't even have any natural sources of magic, and when we found them fifty cycles ago they were already sticking souvenirs on other planets in their system. And you and your fucking idiot ego just handed them a pile of data on exactly what they needed. We're all fucked because you wanted to look cool in front of the savages."
"How could you possibly know-"
"That your little demonstration would ruin us? Because I'm a Storyteller. I've been reading about other species since I was a juvenile. The Khrolae have a book of predictions; so far, they're the only discovered species capable of using magic to tell the future. And they have a fucking great little horror story called the Enablement. Do you want to take a guess at what it's about?"
Alakhrana stood silent. The entire court stood silent.
"The Enablement is about the proud warrior who shows magic to the savages who've never seen it. The savages copy the warrior's movements and chants and learn how to use them. They learn how magic works in a way no species has ever before understood. They fuse magic to their own weapons, and slaughter entire civilisations. Nobody stands in their way. Every civilisation has had a total ban on magic usage in the presence of human observational equipment since someone connected the Khrolae story with humans. Every civilisation except us, because your idiot fucking caste system treats us Storytellers like shit. We've been screaming about the need for this ban for cycle after cycle, and you pompous fucks have been ignoring us."
The Lord Mage finally found his voice. "What happens now?"
The Storyteller smiled, an expression that was somehow predatory and immensely sad. "You get to decide one last thing. The story of the Enablement refers to the Traitors, a species that saw what was coming and decided survival as servants was better than death. You get to decide whether we all become housepets for the humans, or whether our children never see maturity."
She strode out of the hall. There was a terrible silence.
|
"3...2...1!" I took the photo, gave Marie a quick kiss, then turned the camera around to see how it turned out. Even after taking hundreds of photos (honeymoon, first overseas trip, and being in Rome all adds up to lots of pics), I still hadn't quite mastered the DSLR selfie. Marie and I looked at the camera screen and were speechless. It wasn't that I'd perfectly framed St. Peter's Basilica on the first try that shocked us. It was the hole in the air behind us, edged in lightning.
​
We turned around and stared at the hole. Through it we could see a dark sky and some sort of stone building. I didn't notice many details because out of the hole stepped a creature straight out of Greek legend. It looked vaguely human, though with green skin, reptilian eyes, and snake-like waving hair. Medusa, right there in St. Peter's Square with us.
​
The creature stepped toward us on hoof-like feet. The portal closed behind it. "Ciao! Io sono Giuseppe. Non posso credere di essere finalmente qui! Anche se non sembri Ublariani."
​
Marie's eyes went wide. I turned to her. "Is it speaking...Italian?" I asked.
​
She laughed nervously and said, "Yeah, sure sounded like it." She pulled out her phone. "I think this justifies using some international data."
​
I nodded as she turned on her data and opened a translator app. The creatures purple eyes tracked the phone, its snake-hair slowing its waving while it watched Marie set up the phone for real-time translation.
​
Marie looked up and said, "Hello!" A second later, the phone said, "Ciao!"
​
The creature stepped back and raised its hands. "Che diavolo è questo?"
​
"What devilry is this?" Marie's phone translated. We looked at each other, then back at the creature.
​
"It's a translator. It helps us understand each other," Marie said, then waited while the phone translated.
​
The creature hissed, then the snake hair started waving a little more quickly. "Ah, you have trapped a klaxalta in that piece of glass!"
​
I furrowed my brow, "I'm not sure what a klaxalta is, but we didn't tra-"
​
"That's not important." Marie interrupted. "We are Marie and James. What is your name?"
​
The creature stared at the phone while it translated, then looked back at us. "Hello Marie and James, I am Joseph. Do all Ublarians use this klaxata-glass to speak?"
​
While I was still struggling to pick which of my many questions to ask, Marie said, "Hi...Joseph. We are from a different place, so we speak a different language. This helps us understand the people here. It's called a smartphone."
​
"I see. It is a little clumsy. I am able to anchor my spell in myself so that I do not need to carry a glass around. My spell allows me to speak the local language." It smiled, which was a little disconcerting because of the sharp, red teeth. But he held up his hands, I suppose to show how empty they were.
​
"So, you use a...spell...to speak Italian? Where do you come from?"
​
"I come from Lashu. This is my first time through the portal to a different world. What world do you come from?"
​
"Right here on Earth," I said, gesturing around me. "But we flew here from different country on a different part of the planet."
​
Joseph's snake hair started wriggling faster then ever. "You have mastered the flying spell? I have been working on it for some time, but I have difficulty. Look!" It closed its eyes, then rose a few inches above the ground. It opened its eyes, smiled and asked, "Can you show me your mastery? I would love to observe your aura as you do so."
​
Marie and I stepped back. I said, "Well, we don't use a...spell. We fly in a machine."
​
Joseph came back down to the ground. "A...machine. You mean, technology? But that's just a myth!"
​
"You mean your spells are...magic?" Marie asked.
​
The creature said, "Of course! Do you think technology could do that?" It gestured back at the portal.
​
"You have a point," I said.
​
By now quite the crowd had gathered. I looked around and noticed some Swiss Guards approaching. "Joseph, do you know protection spells. You look a little...threatening." Joseph looked around and noticed the guards.
​
"What colorful costumes! Hello, I am Joseph!" The guards lowered their halberds towards Joseph and some more men approached, leveling guns at the creature. Joseph's snake-hair drooped and it raised its hands. "I am simply visiting! I mean no harm."
​
"Come with us!" One of the men with a gun, wearing a black leather jacket, said (speaking Italian, obviously, with no need for a translator app).
​
Joseph looked around one more time, said something, and time...fuzzed. Then he and the portal were gone. I looked around. Everyone seemed a little confused. The men with the guns lowered them, looked around, then refocused on us. "You will come with us," leather jacket said.
​
We were locked in a room in a part of the Vatican we probably never would have seen otherwise. Of course, the room wasn't covered in some hidden Michelangelo or Raphael fresco. It was just white walls, a table, and a few chairs. Over the course of the next hour, we were asked several questions about the creature, almost none of which we were able to answer, of course.
​
We were both sitting, a little shell-shocked. Marie grabbed my hand. "Well, you promised me adventure on our honeymoon."
​
I smiled, "And magical surprises." We laughed a little, but the strain was obvious.
​
Then lightning split the air in front of us. Joseph stuck his head out, "Come on!" And he reached his hand out to us." Marie and I looked at each other. "And a whole new world!" We laughed and jumped through the portal into Joseph's world.
| 2019-06-10T06:36:56 | 2019-06-10T06:01:44 | 66 | 46 |
[WP] You are not a good person. Your party was made of good people, and you tried to be good because you liked having allies. But now they're all missing, so they won't see the lengths you're willing to go to to save them.
|
Help those in need. Protect the innocent. No one is beyond redemption. These are the rules I’ve lived by since joining up with The Good Guys, the name we gave ourselves when we set out to free the hamlets from the grips of a tyrant. My only friends.
Eve was the one who brought me in to the group. A court jester turned vigilante, who kept her blade nearly as sharp as her tongue. She taught me that no one was beyond redemption. They would have been well within their rights to hang me for stealing the blade of morning from them. But with my back against a wall and sword at my throat she’s the one who plead my case. They needed a thief to steal it back, and I was the only one they knew.
Marx disagreed. I’d spent a lifetime stealing and killing to get by. He believed, no he knew, those people deserved justice. He was right of course, I knew it then as well I know it now. It took months for him to trust me. Never letting me out of his sight less I hurt the innocents he swore to protect. I couldn’t believe my eyes as this man, who seemed more of a giant to me, was beaten down and captured by the mad kings men.
Michael was the deciding vote. A warrior priest, who should have seen monster when he looked at me, but saw a broken man in need. He helped me more than he’ll ever know. He saved my life a dozen times over. I just hope I’m up to the task of returning the favor.
Help those in need. Protect the innocent. No one is beyond redemption. These are the rules I’ve lived by since I met my friends. But they’ve all been taken, either prisoners or dead by King Matthew’s hand. And before I die I’ll see to it the mad king know why a good man doesn’t need rules.
|
Drascar. Every black market, mafia, and crime syndicate on the continent can be traced back to this city, so much so that it's often called the City of Thieves. When the others went missing I knew I had to pay a visit to my old home town.
Even just walking down the road through the outskirts of the town you can feel the eyes on you. Well, that may just be me. It's not every day that the famed Master of the Raging Flame, one of the world's greatest heroes, visits a city whose biggest export is crime. I'm sure by now the news of Heavenly Paladin Kranor and Beast Master Srakan going missing has reached this place, and I'm even more sure that the people behind it are in one of the mansions towards the centre of town. Or perhaps they're in a hidden compound bellow one. You can never tell with Drascar.
Either way, I know that I can't just barge in alone. I have a reputation to uphold, and when I get the others back I don't want them hearing about how their dear friend burned down a city and murdered the inhabitants in a raging inferno, no matter how crime ridden it is. Something tells me Kranor would scold me about "cold blooded murder" and "we thought we were past this." Srakan would just stare, silently disapproving. I can't take that, their disappointment, so I'm going to do this right.
I'll start with the children, the orphans and urchins. I know from experience that they hear much more than people think, and are willing to part with that information for a few copper coins. Throw in a good meal for them and their friends and they'll die for you.
Having arrived at a small orphanage, I politely knock on the door. Kranor said it got better results than just blowing it up with a fireball, and it seems he was right, as instead of running away screaming a young woman stuck her head out.
"What? We haven't missed any payments."
Unusually articulate for a resident of this rotten semblance of a town.
"No, ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you. I'm looking for some information, and was hoping that your charges had heard something that may help me."
She looked at me warily, undoubtedly suspecting a trap or scam of some kind. "I don't think-"
The sight of silver quickly changed her mind, and she opens the door quickly. I pressed the coin into her hands while brushing past her further into the orphanage. Kranor said charity was good, perhaps his god would smile upon me and give me a hint. Or maybe he'd fuck me over again, I don't put much faith in the gods.
The orphans, of course, didn't want to talk to me. They were scared, I could tell because they even turned downy copper. They'd seen something, otherwise they'd have taken the coin and spent a few days on the street laying low so I didn't come after them having learned of their lies. Someone powerful had commited this crime, and they were too afraid to speak out against them, even in private. Of course, when I summoned a flame into my hand and threatened to burn them all their tongues loosened considerably. I left a few coins with them on my way out, enough to feed them for a month, so Kranor wouldn't be too angry if he found out.
The mansion I got directions to from the orphans was the largest in the city. Of course it was, who other than the Lord of Drascar had the resources to kidnap two of the three members of Zeriol's Chosen?
I didn't bother knocking this time. The smoldering ruins of the large double doors were blown into the entrance hall, and the guards standing before them were reduced to ash by my fury. The flames licked around me as I stormed into the mansion. Bodies fell like a fiery rain as the guards further into the house rushed towards me, and I will admit that I lost track of myself for a while, nothing but the endless roaring flame whipping around me.
The gibbering Lord directed me towards the basement before being reduced to ash, and there I found myself, my flames extinguished by a sight I had never expected. Kranor, stripped of his armour, covered in wounds weeping blood. Srakan, curled up beside the remains of his great black wolf, a dagger through his chest. Neither drew breath.
Kranor... Srakan... I need you! What do I do! What do I do?! I need you to guide me, I can't... I... What do I...
No. I don't... They won't know any more. They can't guide me any longer, I won't feel their disapproving stares ever again... This... This is my choice. Here, now, I choose what direction my life takes. I can't follow them any further, so now I must step up and make my own choice. I could feel the flames respond to my will, wrapping around me, supporting me. In the end, only the flames will never leave me.
I strode out of the sea of ashes once known as Drascar, City of Thieves. So many more must pay, so many more caused this pain, and the flames still hunger. The merchants who sold armor that could not protect Kranor, the woods whose beasts did not defend Srakan, the King who gave us this mission, the inn that did not hold them when I awoke. All of you... All of you will feed the flames of my wrath, and you shall burn until not even ashes proclaim that you once were.
| 2019-12-07T13:21:45 | 2019-12-07T13:08:04 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.
|
Caroline looked around her. Her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were all gathered around the foot of her bed. They knew she was entering her last days, but she had not officially chosen her heir.
“Mum, who do you want to take your place?” Alice, her oldest child, asked.
Caroline had been thinking about this problem long and hard. She had been the first queen this land had seen in centuries. She also knew that a new adventurer could come to this world, and that it would be easy for them to usurp her family. The people of this world held great devotion to the beast-slayers, and that would trounce any royal bloodlines.
“For the immediate preservation of the kingdom, as eldest, you will manage the day-to-day activities,” Caroline said. “You and your siblings will form a council, and rule until my heir makes themselves apparent.” Then she spoke up to address the room. “But all of you are of the royal blood. Sirocco will need a new leader who can command the respect of the people and maintain the peace for generations to come. As such, my heir will be the one who slays the Troll of the Windpeak.”
Her family gasped. The Troll of the Windpeak had eluded beast-slayers for generations. But none of them had time to protest, because as she made this proclamation, Caroline breathed the last breath she would breathe in Sirocco.
Rather than moving on to the afterlife like she had expected to do, Caroline woke up in a plaid skirt and blue blazer.
“Lynne, are you paying attention?” a sharp voice asked.
“Sorry, didn’t get much sleep last night,” she mumbled, annoyed that she had been woken up from the beautiful daydream. It had felt so real, and so *long*. How could a whole lifetime fit into one biology class?
“Stand up if you need to,” the teacher said. “But please try to stay awake.”
Caroline didn’t stand up. The sharp return to school was enough to temporarily confuse her and wake her up.
Satisfied that Caroline was awake, the teacher continued lecturing.
*Lynne,* Caroline mused. *I* was *called that, once upon a time. Now, I suppose. Before I became Queen of Sirocco.*
How a lifetime fit into a fifteen minute nap, Caroline never quite figured out. But somehow it did. As she was packing up her notebook after class, something on her finger snagged the zipper on her bag.
*My Siroccan wedding ring?* Caroline wondered. Worried about people seeing it and asking questions, but unable to just slide it into her bag, she quickly slipped it from her ring finger to her middle finger. It didn’t fit as well, but at least she’d be able to lie about it.
“Hey Lynne, where’d you get that ring?” one of her friends asked.
“Um. My grandmother sent it to me,” Caroline lied, twirling the ring back and forth on her finger, adjusting to keeping it on her middle finger instead of the ring finger.
*edited to change country name because my brain was not 100% awake when I wrote this*
*read more of my writing on /r/TheLastComment*
Edit again to add: [Next part!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheLastComment/comments/g5w8pf/queen_of_the_desert_winds_prompt_responses/) Thanks to everyone who asked for more, and especially those who critiqued my country naming choices. If I hadn't renamed Caroline's country to Sirocco, I may never have had the ideas I needed to keep this going.
|
"Your Majesty," a man cladded in an opulent golden armour bowed his head and continued, "Count Lorraine is here as you have requested!"
I couldn't really see the young knight's face, but I still had enough memory to know that it was Captain Horatio. He had been a very loyal guard, one that my late husband had put to accompany me 'til my dying breath. My dear husband had the boy trained ever since he was just a squire at the tender age of 10. God knows how much they have shared between each other, but they both had started to look and feel the same. I've been very lucky to have had two very loyal men by my side.
"Horatio?" I tried to lift my feeble old body off of my bed to no avail.
"Apologies, Your Majesty, but Count Lorraine is here. You had something urgent to talk to him about, if I remembered correctly."
"Ah, yes. Thank you, dear Horatio. You are excused..."
With another bow, Captain Horatio left the room quietly. Then up came the old Count Lorraine to my bedside. In normal times – back in the olden days – it would be a high crime to approach a monarch without proper protocol and courtesy. But as I was an old dying queen, it was as if I was not even there anymore.
"Mam, I would hate to think that you're making *me* your heir to the throne–"
"Of course not! I have my kids who had stared daggers my way, waiting for their time to rule absolute!" I chuckled weakly followed by the raspy laugh of the Count.
"Well then, mam, why have you called for me?"
"Right," I beckoned him to get closer and fetch a roll of paper by the bed next to me, "these are your orders – you are to stand as First Minister of the Kingdom and ensure the stability of the succession!"
"Are you... okay, mam?"
"I believe my time is coming, Count. I apologise for being such a burden, but I need you to ensure a bright future for the whole Kingdom."
"... I will take this to heart and serve you well until my dying breath, Your Majesty!"
As the Count walked out of the room, scroll in hand, Captain Horatio had returned with a few other ministers and a chaplain. It seemed that my time had truly come. The men – and a few women – gathered round my bed, praying harmoniously, solemnly.
It was so solemn, that I had forgotten my very last moment other than the soothing peace that blew right past my body.
A breeze.
***
I had never been the religious sort. I asked many priests and religious fellows regarding what comes after death. Heaven, Hell, the Void, some sort of Purgatory. They spoke of things I couldn't truly comprehend. Not out of the sheer lack of imagination, but rather will. I simply did not care.
Still, I couldn't imagine that the afterlife would look like the table near the window of my high school classroom. Never in my life that I would thought this was any sort of hell or heaven. I never cared for religion as much as I never cared much for high school, to be perfectly honest.
"Kate!" a high-pitched voice of a girl called out my name.
"Huh?"
"Psst, did you daydream again?"
"Oh, God. You're... Eleanor?" I scratched my head as she scratched hers at disbelief.
"Are you alright? Jesus, where did you go again *this time* around?"
"*This time*? Well, let's see... What if I told you I went to a kingdom with magic and I became a queen–"
"Right, I think you've said that last week. Did you get down and dirty with the young captain of the guard again, you slut?"
"Wha– No! Of course not!" I said with heat radiating on my cheeks.
Eleanor simply let out a huge laugh and pat me harshly on the shoulders. I couldn't really comprehend her humour, but she would say the darnest things ever at random.
As I overcame her silly 'joke', I began to survey my surrounding. It was truly the classroom that I had spent almost a year of my life in. The crooked painting of an ancient figure hung above me, begging to crash on my round head any minute. The stupidly large blackboard in front of the class, filled with almost-permanent chalk marks from decades of education. Even the people are still the same old folks I had grown to know.
I don't understand what had happened. But it was truly like I've never left my bedchamber in death. I looked at my arms and they were all those of a young teen – not wrinkled and deathly pale like that of a dying grannie. I rubbed my hands together and felt warmth, not the cold embrace of death.
"What's this?" I said out loud, prompting Eleanor's attention to snap back to me.
"Is that a fucking ring? Damn, you got knocked up without me knowing?!" She laughed with an annoyingly loud vigour.
"Fuck, no! I never even had... sex–" I abruptly screamed as to drown out my shame, "Argh, I-Er, Seka... Celery! I never had celery before!"
Eleanor grinned and continued, "right, I'm sure you've had carrot up your bum, though! So what's the deal with the bloody ring? Did you got it from your brother as pity gift?"
Ah, my brother. The boy who had taken me to the school's spring dance a few years ago due to my lack of appeal for my classmates. Of course, he would do something like giving me a ring as pitiful as it sounds... just to cheer me up.
"I don't know. I don't remember anything, to be honest."
"Well, why don't you take the damn thing off and we investigate it alá Sherlock Holmes?"
With that, little Ms. Sherlock weirdo took my ring off in a pop. She carefully scanned the outer sides, checking for any marks or identifiable dents. Unsatisfied, she began to look closer with her phone's flashlight to survey the inner side. She took a second look and suddenly bursted out in a brilliant flash.
"Aha!" she slammed the ring on the table, rather rudely I must say, "I saw your name inside!"
"What? Seriously?"
"Yeah, it said 'Katherina de Lambossy'... Weird, since I thought your last name was Hull. What happened there?"
Then it hit me like a thousand brick. 'de Lambossy' was the royal family of the Kingdom. Of course I had my last name changed, I was the bloody queen!
"Hey, uh... Elle?" I called out to Eleanor, purposefully using 'Elle' because she hated it that way.
"Ugh, what?"
"Did you, uh, see a ring the last time I went out in a daydream?"
"Let's see... I think you had a small dagger, once. You also had a necklace, the silver one with a weird gem. But yeah, you never had a ring before!"
"Huh. Guess you have a pretty weird seatmate, huh?"
"Thank you for acknowledging your freakiness, Kate. I've been telling you to get yourself checked for years!"
| 2020-04-21T08:11:43 | 2020-04-21T07:33:37 | 236 | 93 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has happened. You have a rural farm in the middle of nowhere and a group decides to raid it only to discover that you have done the impossible. You have turned the zombies into pets. They are very protective.
|
It was a normal Sunday morning when the attacker came. Just after I fed my zombies their daily snack, (they actually require very little to survive, which is kind of a given with how they're.. dead) The man came into the house without even bothering to knock. I knew from experience these people are almost never good news..
It's quite surprising how many people stayed out of other's houses during the apocalypse, actually, but they were quickly picked off by the occasional nocturnal zombie. Everyone who was left had no trouble invading other people's homes.
So I had no trouble using my pets to scare them off.
You know how dogs evolved from wolves, until they were scavengers, or hunters, or just cute, but always perfect for human companionship? Dogs are always going to have some part still the wolf, but wolves.. All still have their own potential to become the first dog again.
That's what I did with zombies. I lured one into my house on a crazy whim one night last month, and I kept feeding it little scraps until it was completely fine with me. It looked surprisingly like a human once I had it trained and dressed in nice clothes from my closet.
That's why the man never saw her coming. He pointed his knife at her, "hey, you'd better have some food in here!" He growls in a low voice. She just stands there for a second, and suddenly attacks. In a whirl of teeth and clawing, the man is on the ground with his neck in her mouth, pinning him down.
I walk over to her and grab the knife, "hold him!" I say to her, and the man is terrified, "how the hell did you get one of these things on your side?!"
My voice turns cold. "She's not a thing. I have you completely defenseless, now get out of my sight!" I nudge her, and she releases him.
He stumbles up, "you're crazy, lady!" He yelps, before running out the door. I watch him run, feeling satisfied. The zombie turns to me, expecting a treat, and I can't disappoint her. I toss her a little piece of jerky, and she happily eats it.
An hour later I'm sitting on my living room couch, cuddled up to her. She's oblivious to everything, but still seems to have some concept of compassion and trust.
"Maybe one day, they'll find a cure for you, Tara.." I whisper in her ear, kissing her cheek before drifting off into a blissful sleep.
|
I hear a loud slam on my rustic door under me. I press a little, makeshift button three times. Gruff snarls echo over my loudspeaker above my house. I casually stroll to the dirty glass window in the room I’m in, wooden flooring creaking slightly.
I peer out, looking down, I see a group a three or so people decked out in some rifles and pistols. I made the right call, good. I decide to check the barn, swiftly exiting the room I’m residing in. I arrive in the familiar, run-down wooden hallway. Crossing it, and passing a few doors and staircase, I arrive at a large, thick, iron door. It took a crap ton of work to get my house to be able to support this door, and it better be worth it. I tap a long password in to a electronic device, it approves my password with a satisfying little ding.
I step step into a large, two-story room with a couple fancy electronic thingys scattered about. The room is reinforced with iron, but is made out of mostly wood and brick. Iron is rather difficult to get, so I can’t splurge too much. I go down some steps and enter the lower floor, this time I’m surrounded by an large swath of electronics. I walk up to the largest screen, it’s maybe one person high. I press a couple buttons under the screen. It shows a feed of an overwhelming amount of cameras. I change it to just six.
I check my large red barn. I see the chipped brown paint, revealing rotting wood. I check my cows, chickens, and other animals. Still fine, good, I can go full force. Suddenly, my audio feed sounds, a light shrill buzz reaches my ears, telling me that yes, this is audio from you microphones in your house.
“John McLloyd, this is the final warning, if you do not open your door right this instant, we will be forced to enter your house.”
Sure, I’ll let them, it’ll be their death. A thunk, then another, then another, is heard through my audio feed. Then a loud crash, they’re in. One thing nags at me, how do they know my name?
My audio feed crackles again, “what are we looking for?” Asks a stern voice.
“I don’t know Sarah, I only know what the Government said, which they got through frequencies they picked up,” says a low-pitched voice.
“They tracked the frequencies to here though?” Asks Sarah.
“Yeah, something to do with the Western Zombies,” replies the lower-pitched voice.
“That’s gotta have something to do with that growl we heard earlier. I can’t dwell on that now, keep looking,” replies Sarah.
Ok, that group is not here for my livestock. The Government is on to me. I’ll have to worry about that later. I check the feed of my entryway, it has some neatly arranged rustic furniture. The group seems to be ruffling through that area.
“This guy has a very fancy house, cushioned couches, that’s a rarity,” comments Mark.
“Yeah, this John was one of the top ten richest of the World ten years ago. He disappeared mysteriously. The Government tracked him to here, and picked up some weird frequencies coming from here,” replies Sarah.
The Government knows a lot more about me then I’m comfortable with. The loudspeakers a major giveaway, but nothing I can do about that now.
Audio comes through again, “Mark, did you catch that?” Asks Sarah.
“Uhh, Sarah that sounds like a lot of Westerns,” says Mark.
“Yeah, not good,” replies Sarah.
“We shall head upstairs, for better shooting,” says a new voice, strong and commanding.
The group rush up the rickety stairs, and find themselves in my upstairs hallway. I don’t have any cameras installed yet, was planning on doing that maybe next month. I’ll have to rely on my audio feed to get an idea of what the Government group is doing.
“Hey Mark, do you see that iron door, we’ll cut that open, you hold the Zombies off. They’ll likely be Westerns, so be prepared to shoot them a bunch to get them down,” says Sarah calmly.
“Arinthia and Sarah, hand me your guns, and you two use the slicer to get through.”
“Quick lets cut through!” Shouts Sarah.
Dang it, come on, Westerns, please catch them in time. I adjust my commands slightly from the loudspeaker. A new snarl comes through,
“What the... the Westerns are using they’re body parts as shields,” Mark says, shock evident in his voice, as gunshots sound from next to him. “He’s controlling the Western’s with the loudspeakers, I have never in my entire life seen a Western try to protect it’s vulnerable body parts. Ok, we might be able to stop him if we get in that door. Should I help?” Mark asks stupidly.
“Mark, continue shooting, so we can not die. Me and Sarah are to continue with the slicer,” yells Arinthia.
“Hurry up women, I can only hold them for so long,” says Mark, with constant sounds of guns coming from next to him.
A loud shriek of pain is heard from Mark.
“Mark, no, no, no, this is the end, huh?” Mutters Sarah, defeated.
“We served the government until the end, and that is admirable.”
Not wanting to hear any more, I turn off the audio receptors from the second floor.
I beat them, the Westerns won. I wait another two minutes, and change the command on my loudspeaker. I tell them to return to one of my barns. Well, the government is after me now, I’ll need to tighten up security a lot. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll pull through, the Government barely has any manpower to begin with. I know very well what the Government will do with this knowledge, and I have to protect it.
Tips always appreciated!
Definitely a more experimental story, considering a third of it is audio dialogue.
r/CascadeCorner
| 2020-09-14T20:07:10 | 2020-09-14T19:24:27 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] You're the best assassin in the business. You've taken hundreds of jobs, all of them succeeded without any hiccups. Your secret? You don't mess around with monologues, sneaking in, magic powers, seduction or anything fancy like that. you just find a nice sniper perch and take the shot.
|
Sam Yule scoffed as he watched his mark through the scope of his rifle. Benny was there, as expected. He had been elbowing up to that wealthy old man for weeks, the mop of red hair impossible to miss amidst the crowds of celebrities and the well to do at all the latest sorties. At least, all the ones frequented by Arlan Crafe, a shrewd business man who had managed to make his fortune off of chocolate milk, of all things. His son, Connald, an only child and sole heir to his company, had apparently gotten tired of waiting for the old man to croak on his own, and decided to speed things along with a hit. Thus why Benny was present at this charity party in the Rhodham Hotel Suite, and Sam was positioned in an abandoned business office in the adjacent building carefully watching the party through the window. Seeing Benny work tied Sam's chest in a knot of professional shame.
"It's the first rule of the hunt, kid." Sam muttered to himself shaking his head. "Don't make it personal."
Benny was notorious for getting his hands dirty in the course of completing his jobs. He always made a point of gaining his mark's trust before the kill, and death, when it came, usually came tortuously slowly and accompanied by an olive branch left somewhere near the mutilated corpse. The twenty-something assassin considered it his calling card, earning him the nickname "The Peacemaker" among the slew of media that flocked to his kills.
"Rule number two, don't let them know it was you."
The young assassin did have some talent, Sam had to admit. His freckled face practically a shining paragon of innocence and his voice and manners full of mirth and hospitality that made it hard for anyone not to take a liking to him. It was a hard thing for even seasoned killers to manage social integration at that level. Most hit men chose to keep themselves at arms length to their targets, taking up cold relations like professional positions close to the hit in order to gather information, lest their prey notice their predatory intentions, and compromise the attempt. Yet here was Benny. He had flowed into Crafe's social circles like water, perfectly fitting himself to the mold the targets predilections demanded, and getting far closer to the mogul than most any other killer would ever dare. With such closeness came a wealth of opportune moments to make the kill, but still, Sam preferred to keep his distance, and favored patience over cunning.
That patience was about to pay off. The time had come, his mark had stepped away from the crowd, and Sam drew a slow, deep breath as he lined up his shot. Even with a silencer, the crack of the guns report rang in his ears like the pistol at the start of a race. Sam's pace changed appropriately. As his target dropped to the floor with a gaping hole in his head, Sam leapt into a frenetic ballet of practiced motion. The spent cartridge was whisked away into a pocket with one hand even while he pressed down on the collapsible stock of his rifle with the other, making the firearm small enough to be hid by the threadbare winter jacket Sam was shrugging himself into. His gloved hands gripped the rope he had prepared in the empty elevator shaft, and he gritted his teeth as he steeled himself to rappel down to the first level. Sam was never a big fan of heights, but they came with the job.
He allowed himself one last look out the window to review his work. Arlan Crafe knelt on the ground, a body cradled in his arms. The body's face beneath the mop of fiery hair lost in a sea of red as the kind old man wept over the body of the man that would have killed him. Sam let out a sigh with a sense of deep satisfaction. Offing Benny before he had a chance to kill again would net him a sizable bonus from the client. Benny's previous mark was apparently well liked by someone with the right connections, and the money to spare for Sam's services.
Job done. Time to leave.
Sam leapt. The rope clutched tightly as he rappelled down the shaft reaching the ground floor in far less time than if he had used the stairs. He exited the shaft and walked nonchalantly out into the alley, his tattered clothes and scraggly beard making him just one more homeless bum in the eyes of any that saw him emerge out into the street proper. Another day, another dollar.
"Nothing personal, kid."
|
TW: death, violence, blood
-=+=-
“Some people get into the business for a quick buck. Figure it’s easy enough killing some noble or other, and make a show out of the killing and a parade out of the gold they get afterwards. They aren’t even a proper part of the Underground.
“They don’t last long.
“Some people are forced into it. They have a debt to pay, and so act as a mercenary for hire. They still act outside the inner circles of the Underground.
“They’re the first to fall on the daggers of other assassins.
“And then there’s others. Born into it. Not literally—they’re kidnapped, taken in as children, often by guilds. They grow up with it, they live with it. They don’t stay in the business for the money. They stay because they have nowhere else to go.
“They last the longest.
“A good few of them are leaders. They usually hold high positions, as squad leaders. They’re the best.
“And Willa? He’s the best of the best.” She smoothed out the paper, and pushed it towards the stranger across the table.
The stranger eyed the paper. “He’s pricey.”
“It’s for good reason! My job isn’t to kill. Never has been. Even I sometimes get ahead of myself though, gloating a bit before I get the job done. It’s because I’m good, but I’m not the best. If you really want someone dead, he’s your best bet. No seduction, no potions, no dramatic speeches.”
“Dramatic speeches?” The stranger let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Never would’ve guessed.”
“Like I said, we sometimes get ahead of ourselves. Didn’t I just monologue at you about assassins? Gotta make life fun somehow. I honestly don’t know how he does it—he could probably watch paint dry, he’s so content with boredom. But apparently that’s a good characteristic. Trust me,” she added, “I’m one of the best. That’s why your hirer contacted me. And he’s better.”
“What’s in it for you? Why refer me outside your guild?”
She put her hands up. “I’m a born assassin. Never said I particularly liked the guild that took me in.”
The stranger nodded, and stood. “Thank you for your help.” He pulled out a small, velvet pouch that jingled with the promise of gold, and tossed it at her. “For your time.”
She caught it deftly, not even looking away from his face. Or where his face was—he wore a partial mask over the top half.
“Thanks,” she said.
-=+=-
Willa looked over his arrows with a keen eye. Not one defect, or else they might not fly true.
It had been easy enough to get in the meeting with the other assassin. His hirer has posted a notice for the guilds before approaching him. All he had to do was pretend to be an in-between for his hirer, with their permission, and take down the notice for the guilds. No need to have anyone else interfering with his job.
“Looks like they have a healthy respect for me,” he said to himself.
He put a selection of arrows in his quiver, and took his bow. There was more than one reason why he was the best, and smuggling a bow through the city and escaping the notice of guards was one of them.
-=+=-
He took up the spot he had scouted out. After getting some more intel from the assassin he had a meeting with and the employer, he had decided on waiting and sniping the target from a nearby tree on her property. It was dense, and he would be hard to spot in his specially made suit. With sticks and various green bits sewn to it, he looked a bit like a bush, and would blend in perfectly.
Not the most dignified, but dignified didn’t get the job done.
He settled himself further into a nook in the branches. It had been a bit of a challenge getting through the guards, but Willa was the best.
The sun beamed down through the leaves, spraying bits of light on him.
*Where is the target?* Willa grit his teeth. She was supposed to take her breakfast in the garden. The sun was climbing to afternoon.
His ears pricked. There was a sound coming from inside the attached mansion. Yelling, and crashing, and—
A figure emerged out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom. No—two. One dragging the other. The leaves got in the way from seeing the scene clearly. But he could hear it clearly, now that they were out on the balcony.
“Nothing personal, darling, but a girl’s gotta make money,” the assassin said.
The noblewoman shook in the assassin’s grasp. Willa made out the gleaming dagger at her throat.
Guards were bristling at the door. They had their swords out, but not one made a step forwards. They hovered.
A gap in the leaves opened up, and Willa could see more clearly—and make a more precise shot. He pulled out an arrow, and then stopped.
Willa couldn’t help but whisper it out loud. “Gods, is that lingerie? If you’re going to seduce someone to kill them, just do it in their sleep.”
“My name’s Candy, if you must know,” the assassin crowed.
*Better not to know. It’s useless to advertise your services to people who want to kill you.*
“I’m sorry to take you so soon from this world,” Candy continued. “But this’ll—”
Candy was cut off with an arrow through her neck. She dropped silently, falling off the side of the balcony. The target stumbled forwards.
Willa looked around furiously. That shot had come from—there! Another tree on the other side of the garden.
The guards at the balcony took hesitating steps forwards. “M’lady, please come back inside!”
Willa cursed. This kill was *his.* Thankfully, the target was now in a position where he knew the other assassin couldn’t shoot—and neither could he. The guards stood around her, preventing a clear shot. And then—movement at the base of the other tree.
The assassin prowled forwards, bow at the ready.
*Oh gods. Another idiot. You can’t shoot from there! You couldn’t shoot from the tree, and you can’t shoot from that angle up at a balcony!*
“Nothing personal,” the assassin called. “But I’ll make it clean.”
*You’ll make it clean into the plaster.*
Willa couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or cry. So he waited until the assassin was blocked from view to the guards on the balcony, behind a tree, and fired. The only sound he made was hitting the ground.
The guards got more ancy the longer they went without seeing the assassin. They made a stupid mistake—they broke rank around the target, just big enough of a gap for Willa’s arrow to fly true.
The young lady keeled over, blood flowing from her neck. The guards only noticed once she fell.
Willa eased himself back up from the spot he had been sitting in. They would search the garden, and they would find him. So he would make himself scarce.
*Apparently someone must’ve gotten word of this. But the reward is mine.*
-=+=-
“I heard that she died, with an arrow in her neck. I take it that you were successful?” The employer tapped their fingers on the table.
Willa nodded. “There was...competition, but I got the kill.”
The employer nodded. “I heard there was. I suppose you are the best.”
There was something in their tone that tipped Willa off. “Just give me the money, and next time don’t hire more than one person to do the same job.”
The employer slid the hefty bag across to him. “Congratulations. You’re just what I needed.” They stood. “Expect to hear from me in the future.”
Willa watched them go, gently tossing the bag in his hand to feel the weight. Willa was the best. Apparently he had just proved it.
-=+=-
Ehhhh I wasn’t all that into this one for whatever reason but still did it. Still a fun concept—monologuing assassins are still my faves, though!
| 2020-11-08T14:13:49 | 2020-11-08T12:59:51 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?”
|
"Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The figure said blocking the mid morning sun from my face.
"It was a beautiful day out. I told her I'd meet her one fine day. Seemed like as good a day as any." I couldn't look up. Well, wouldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look at another person or being at this moment.
"You weren't supposed to be here for another forty years." If a black mass of robes could look defeated, he did. I played with my hands, my knee wouldn't stop bouncing. "You could have had a happier life."
"You know all of fate. Why was my passing so shocking? What was different about my life that you are disappointed?" I started to get a bit choked up now. I knew what led me here was wrong.
"It's not that I'm disappointed. Shocked would be the closer emotion. There were people counting on you. People you hadn't met yet, people that their stories depended on you." He sat down on the bench next to me. Tears started flowing from my eyes. "I know it was hard. I saw how you had yelled at the sky, tried to break open the ground with your fists, cursed every god in existence. Your son won't know what's going on."
"I know he won't understand. That's the way it was with his mother as well. Others can care for him better than I could." I was trembling as the walls finally broke down. A dam had lost its structural integrity and now everything flooded me.
"Yes and no. Yes, they will take care of him and get him to all his appointments and the best schools and what not but that's all window dressing. He's an orphan now and that leaves a mark on someone so young."
"I know. I felt so isolated though. Like I was in the fight alone. Like all I had was him --"
"And all he had was you." Death stared at me. Pulling off his hood, he looked me in the face. A middle aged man with kind brown eyes, salt and pepper hair. Not the traditional look I would expect. I was expecting a lot less skin. "You discount yourself. You always have and one day it would have made sense."
"His grandparents will make sure he has everything he could ever want."
"No. The one thing his heart will yearn for will never be filled."
"That happened when he lost his mother."
"And you lost your wife."
"I know I messed up. I couldn't take it anymore."
"No, you could have. You gave others hope. You prevented a dozen others from coming here early yet you decided to take the early train yourself. Why?"
"I already told you, it was a fine day and I didn't want to feel alone anymore."
"You still aren't getting it. You weren't alone. There were dozens of people around you who loved you, who cared for you. You shouldn't be here." He reached out with a remorseful hand. It felt much like when my grandfather was comforting me many years ago. "You still have work you need to do."
"How? Not like I can go back now."
"Not many can. There's enough orphans in the world. You come back when I'm ready." Death said before pushing my head back with a gentle shove.
There was a click. The hammer had struck the pin but there must have been a misfire. Just in time for there to be a knock, the sound of a small fist hitting the bedroom door. "Daaaaddy? Chocolate milk?" The tiny voice said on the other side of the door. Tears rained on the bedroom floor as I stowed the pistol back in the safe.
"Hey buddy, give daddy a second while I get ready." I got up and started drying my face. "What do you say we go see your Anny Manny and Uncle?"
|
"'Because I could not stop for Death'..." I said, failing to smile behind the memory of a cigarette. "Not like I asked to stick around, is it?"
Death sighed again, like a thousand miles of dusty catacombs gasping in the darkness. The scythe was stowed... *elsewhere*, and the face of a woman appeared as death pulled back the hood of its cloak. The transformation was instant and seamless. One moment, a theatrical presentation of one Mr. G. Reaper, Esq.; the next, a petite pale woman in a tanktop. Death, as presented by one N. Gaiman.
"What's with the, whatsit, the copyright infringement? Trying to vibe with the times? Modernize?"
I looked down at my cigarette. Half of it was gone, half left. It had been halfway burnt for, by my guess, about a month. Being dead sucked, but at least I didn't have to bum smokes. Death, unlike life, was forever; a long time to accrue debts.
"I just thought you'd appreciate it. Given, you know, *the situation*," it said.
Death. The anthropomorphic character representing a human fear. Not a person, not a thing; a state change, a moment of transition, a transformational instantiation of the inevitability of entropy. And it paused, and stared at me. Me, a soul, dead, having been evicted from the mortal coil, a memory of a random, gibbering, self-replicating bag of meat with delusions of grandeur. I was finding it difficult to maintain my stoic atheism, in the face of current events.
"What shape would you prefer Death to take?"
I coughed, turned it into a chuckle. Turns out Death was nearly as polite as old Emily had feared. Made it hard to hate or fear it. It occurred to me that this was a kindness.
"Currently I'm partial to Mara, if I get to choose. Old Ukrainian goddess of death and rebirth. You know, given *the situation*." I took a drag off the memory of a cigarette, with the memory of lungs.
Now, Death was a kindly old woman in a straw hat, with large flowing skirts. It glided gracefully, on old and practiced bare feet, and sat on the bench beside me. Death had the grace of a ballerina, the poise of a schoolmaster, and the gentle face of a grandmother.
And, stored somewhere out of view, the scythe of a reaper.
With gentle, wrinkled hands, Death caressed my head, guided it into its lap. Death's skirts smelled of new soap and old chores; sheep's wool, leather dyes, spilled spices, boiled potatoes. I took the cigarette from my lips and offered it up to Death, who placed it *elsewhere* for safekeeping.
"You weren't supposed to die yet," Death said, in a voice like a warm blanket on a cold morning.
"I didn't realize we had an itinerary," I huffed.
Death stroked my hair, gentle. I tried so hard to hate it, but I couldn't. Back when I was alive, I didn't much like to be touched, not by strangers.
"You were such a fan of that comic book, you surely remember what my namesake character always said?" Death asked.
"Yeah... 'You got what everyone gets: a lifetime.' Pretty idea," I answered, frowning.
"But you couldn't accept that, could you?" Death asked, more gently.
Ah. So that's what this was about.
"I... didn't realize we got special treatment," I admitted.
"Every single one," Death admitted, sadly.
Its hand was surprisingly warm. I could feel Death's fingers against the memory of my scalp. I had never had anyone pet my hair before. It was disturbingly *human*, perhaps more human than any contact I had had for years, when I was still alive. A grim irony.
We sat for a moment. A shallow memory in the shape of an old man, laying with his head in the lap of a force of nature in the shape of an old woman.
"So what happens now?"
"You choose," said Death. "Choose who gets your remaining time. But know that your time is not a gift. It is borrowed time; whoever you burden with it, theirs is to suffer. When their natural life ends, their borrowed time begins, and from that moment they live in a dead man's lifespan."
Death sniffed, and I looked up to see it wiping grandmotherly tears away with a grandmotherly sleeve, before it continued.
"Lung cancer. AIDS. Disfiguration. Leukemia. Multiple sclerosis. Lou Gehrig's disease. It could be anything, but it's always borrowed time; suffering, lent at interest. Some souls think, 'It's still better than dead,' and inflict it on their children, or other family. Some inflict it on their enemies, or on strangers, or celebrities. But you have to choose someone."
Death sighed again. With a wave, we were surrounded by... not ghosts, but ghostly images. I sat up, and Death handed me back my cigarette. My memory of a cigarette. I took a drag as I looked at images of my nieces, my coworkers. My sister, the drug addict. My neighbors. The images seemed to parade past, but as I turned, I realized I was scrolling through unseen catalogs of people. All the people. Everyone.
"And... what, I just say who gets it?" I pointed at a random person, and knew with absolute certainty that he was Charles Hughes, aged 51, lived in Phoenix, still in love with his wife, angry at his eldest daughter who had recently come out as gay. Voted Republican, like almonds, had a heart condition he didn't know about. Was secretly terrified that COVID was the cause of his sudden mouth-watering interest their new neighbor, a young man with incredible abs.
"Yes. Whoever you like."
Death rose, gracefully. It looked like the very definition of a kind little old ukrainian lady, but a deadly frost--frost that crackled like starving children and empty hearths, frost that smelled like dying cattle and hollow cheeks--clung to every footprint. Mara was also a winter goddess, I remembered.
I thought, a moment. I sought. Found. Pointed. Sentenced.
"Her," I said.
Death looked where I pointed, then nodded sadly.
"Was she why you killed yourself?"
There it was. The truth I had been afraid to say.
"Yeah," I whispered, eyes closed, fists clenched.
"Then it is done. The time you snipped from your own skein, is lent and threaded into hers."
The woman's face, laughing as she danced with an invisible partner, disappeared.
"Now, our business is done. You may go," Death offered.
Death laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. I puffed nervously, pulling hard on the memory, filling myself with smoke.
"It's ok to be jittery, dear. While you work up the nerve, can I ask: why her?"
"You know why," I whispered. "She said she never saw my son in the road. After he was gone, I had nothing. She kept her everything. She deserves to feel what I felt, to know why I... why I had time to lend."
I wiped at the memory of tears. The memory of smoke stung my eyes, and I was glad to finally be done.
I turned, but Death was gone.
I was alone, on the platform, when my train finally arrived.
| 2022-03-05T17:44:43 | 2022-03-05T15:17:50 | 325 | 238 |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen.
|
I was a doctor. Not a soldier. I didn't hold rifles, or use my hands for combat. I held scalpels, and used my hands to probe the deepest recesses of the human body.
The man in front of me, massive barrel chest heaving, incredible arms, built for crushing, rending, clutched a short sword.
It was explained to me when I arrived; only the greatest warriors were selected. Chosen from history by the size of their body counts. But I was a doctor. Not a warrior. No matter how many times I insisted, I was rebuffed. I was to fight. I was to kill, or I was to die.
I carefully approached the man in front of me. He did not fear me. Why would he? I was small, supple, gentle. He was a beast of a man who had slain dozens. Maybe hundreds. We knew nothing of eachother but what we saw in front of us.
He saw weakness. And he was confident in his strength.
I saw his great barrel chest, I saw the opening between the ribs. I saw his confidence falter as his breath, exploded from the tiny opening I created, piercing a lung. His sword dropped to the ground as his blood did.
His massive fist clamped around my throat and squeezed. For the briefest of moments I thought he would outlast me. But another quick jab, into the other lung, and the rest of his strength faltered. He released me and staggered backwards, falling to his knees.
His barel chest heaved violently as he struggled for air that would not stay long enough to sustain him.
His massive arms struggled to hold him upright, head hung as he gasped for breath.
I was a doctor. I knew every portion of his anatomy, and how to make the suffering linger. Or how to end it quickly. How did these people know me? How did they know that my tools, delicately, and painstakingly handcrafted were as effective as any sword, or rifle throughout history? Who can say. Perhaps years later, long after Mt death someone had found something I missed. Maybe they found my keepsakes. Maybe.
I slowly, methodically moved behind the failing warrior. This soldier from antiquity. I stood behind him as I pulled his head back, and dragged my instrument across the throat. I didn't use much force. I didn't have to. I reached into the cavity and felt the larynx; the trachea; the esophagus.
I clamped down on the stiff cartilage and pulled. I felt the weakened man struggle. I felt him limply try to claw at my arm. I felt the breaking. The tearing. I felt the tissue separate and come away in my hand. I felt the warmth lf his blood, his life oozing down my forearm. The rivulets tickled slightly. Felt sticky.
I stared out at the silenced crowd. The crowd had expected a very fast ending to this show. They had not expected this outcome, however.
Afterall, I was a doctor. Not a warrior.
|
“Are you squeaking with excitement, warrior? I too cannot contain myself. To be chosen for such a glorious event is humbling. To think I get to visit a time where all aliens are united over their desire to see their fellow kind pulled apart in bloody competition, it truly makes me ooze with happiness.” The eight-foot purple alien wiped an oozing blue liquid from its forehead. Its rubbery body wiggling as its four fingered hand made contact. Despite its odd appearance, it seemed confident, wearing a grin as it looked over the various other aliens surrounding it.
“No… it’s my rubber ducky. Sir squeaks a lot. Is this really a fight to the death? I shouldn’t be here; I was just stolen from my home while gathering a few things for my bath. It’s lucky I’m still dressed.” Brent said, the man dressed in a pair of loose baggy green pants and a white top that had a big, printed picture of a toasted piece of bread.
“Rubber ducky? I don’t get it. Is it a weapon?” The alien pressed a finger against the bath toy, only to pull his hand away when it let out a squeak. “Is it going to explode now?”
“Why would it explode? You just put it in the bath and watch it float around. It isn’t dangerous at all.”
“Why bring it then? Do you plan to choke someone with it? Or maybe you plan to deceive them into lowering their guard before you pierce their two hearts with a Halvia.”
“No, that would be awful. Why would I do that? What’s a Halvia, anyway?”
“Why would you? Because it’s a fight to the death. How else will you kill them?” At the Halvia question, the alien reached around their back, gripping a heavy metallic weapon. One that looked like a trident but only had two points rather than three.
“That looks dangerous”
“It is. The weapons made to spear through two hearts, killing the target instantly. Painless, messy, and satisfying to use.” The alien said, close to breaking into an infomercial on the weapon.
“What would you do if the person only has one heart?”
“One heart? What weak race would only have one heart? I doubt anyone like that would be at a place like this. They don’t let the weak in. However, if the creature had three or more hearts, then I would just keep jabbing them until I win.”
As the two stood among the crowd of aliens, names began to get called out. When the alien heard his, he gave Brent a smack on the back before he rushed forward, screaming. The alien bowling over anyone that was in front of him. Soon he had disappeared from view, his exit being followed by the screams and chants of a waiting crowd outside. Brent inched forward, trying to find the source of the voice.
Standing on a small platform above the group was a three-eyed creature with golden skin. They didn’t have any limbs, instead they hovered, moving in a way that was confusing to Brent. When Brent waved his hand to get their attention, they only sighed.
“Let me guess, you aren’t meant to be here?”
“Exactly. I’m not a warrior, I’m just a guy. I don’t have two hearts or anything. I’m only human.” Brent tried to reason with the alien, who was already ready to dismiss him. Their eyes glanced him over before pausing and looking him over once more.
“Huh? A person who actually shouldn’t be here. Never thought that was possible. Sorry for the mix up earthling, may I offer you free tickets to the splash zone? I believe your friend just painted it a delightful shade of red with his weapon.”
“No, I just want to go home. Can you send me and Sir squeaks a lot home? I just want to forget this happened.”
“Don’t worry, we will erase it from your mind. I’ll send you home, but they have to stay.” The alien’s gaze turned to the rubber ducky, focusing on it.
“Why? It’s just some cheap toy I bought.” As the words left Brent’s lips, the rubber ducky rolled off his palm, falling onto the floor. As it landed, its exterior broke open, revealing a small blob of white goo.
The goo swirled on the ground for a moment before building into a ball. This ball continuing to expand until it formed a body, one that stood at the same height as Brent. Once it had shaped itself, it changed color and features, slowly mimicking Brent until he was staring at a clone of himself.
“Guess it’s a good time to reveal myself. I’m Valfor, a member of the Pomian intergalactic army. I was part of the invasion group from Earth, as you can see. Guess I got chosen because of my abilities.”
“Invasion group?”
“Oh, yeah. You Earthlings were killing the planet, so we decided we would kill your kind off and claim the planet as our own. We were running out of space on our homeworld so it only made sense. Nothing personal. I was the one that came up with the rubber ducky plan.”
“The rubber ducky plan?”
“Ah yes, I remember hearing about that.” The three eyed alien said. “That must have been why you were picked. It’s a good plan if I say so myself. You gather their DNA while they bathe and then when your numbers are high enough, you will kill the one that bought you and take over their life, slowly replacing humans with your own kind.”
“A fan of mine? I’m flattered.”
“Wait? Your kind are in all rubber duckies? How close are you to taking over?”
“Maybe a year or two? Depending on how confident we feel. Good luck handling the invasion.” Valfor said as he left the speechless human in his thoughts while he went to prepare for battle.
“Ok, I’ll erase your memory and send you back.” The three eyed alien said as their eye glowed with a golden aura, one that made Brent feel lightheaded. The human’s body floating as he was about to be sent back to his time period.
“WAIT MAYBE DON’T ERASE-“
Suddenly Brent was back at home, standing Infront of an overflowing bathtub. “Must have forgotten about the bath. Can’t believe I let it overflow.” He turned off the taps before looking for Sir squeaks a lot. “Must have dropped him somewhere. Guess I can just buy a new one later.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-07-04T08:50:35 | 2022-07-04T08:20:06 | 719 | 245 |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager.
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At first, the old hag was glad that, for the first time, her newest pupil would be a well mannered boy. He was young, so when she heard the news that a "kid" was coming, she immediately rolled her eyes and went to meditate. In all her years of life, she dealt with bratty kids, so she expected a twelve year old in his emo "I'm sad and evil took over this world" phase, or a "you're a stupid and ugly witch" kid.
The kid was seemingly a slow learner, and to make it more difficult, deaf, for what she had heard from his parents. The mentor didn't think it was a problem, everyone could learn, even if they were disabled. Some weeks before the kid arrived, the mentor tried her best to learn sign language, and being so devoted to her work, she mastered it two days before the kid arrived.
When the boy finally arrived, she was dumbfounded. The kid didn't even run around and touched her weapons, or made some unnecessary comment about her appearance. The kid only stood there, with his arms behind his back waiting for whatever she had to teach him.
In the first five days, the mentor kept her eyes on the kid for the entire day. She was 100% sure the kid would turn out to be a brat.
If he was taking too much time bathing, she would think he was destroying the bathroom. If he was eating slowly, she was sure he would throw up on her bed purposely. (true event, a kid did that once to her and it was worse than any villain could ever do.)
But then, she understood he was just quiet, and finally gave in. The kid still was the same, quiet. Being deaf, he only talked through sign language, since he never heard anything and never learned how to talk. Although, he deeply appreciated the mentor for learning sign language, he still didn't talk that much with her through it.
In trainings, he was the complete opposite of what people said about him. He was slow at the start, but with a bit of encouragement from the mentor, he learned surprisingly fast and was, most likely, the mentor's best student so far.
The kid learned everything so quickly, the mentor herself couldn't comprehend. The mentor thought it was weird to a kid learn so quick, she took years to master everything and the kid would take half the time the mentor took to master it all.
It was so difficult for her to understand, training the kid harder and harder everyday, but he never failed. She was making it difficult and difficult, and even more difficult every time they would train, but the kid never spoke agaisn't it, nor did he fail in any of the tests.
And the kid never did anything bad. He behaved like an angel. Every day. The mentor couldn't help but think this kid was sent by god himself for some kind of test, because she couldn't bring herself to believe someone could be that pure and angelic. Every day, even after she believed he was truly good, she would still keep her eyes on him, waiting for him to strike her with a baseball bat and laugh at her (also a true occurance, this lady has plenty of stories of these demonic creatures called pupils.)
But he never did. There were years of training coming for both of them, the mentor would still have to run a long way to truly understand the kid. Someday, she would learn how to teach children like him. She was glad he was the first well-behaved and quiet kid to train with her, that way, the mentor would be able to learn and grow with that new experience.
• I apologize for any mistakes, i'm not a native english speaker.
|
#WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
I stared at the unconscious man through the bars and super suppression field of his cell. He was the only occupant in the super powered wing of the holding cells at the Fortress of Doomitude, and nobody was even sure what his powers were. All we knew about the man was the name Kurt, his self proclaimed title of 'The Manager', and his affiliation with a shadowy organization called 'The Office'.
I crossed my metallic arms, securing them in place with a small magnet built in to the forearms. The unconscious man remained motionless.
How could an entire villainous organization be running in *MY* region without me knowing? If what he had boasted was true, then I had a severe gap in my intelligence network, maybe even a mole or traitor...
I heard footsteps approach me from behind. "Doc", a gruff voice called out in greeting.
"Avatar." I responded. "Or would you prefer to go back to your old name, Hadron?"
The burly ex-hero grunted. "Hadron." He said, as he ran a prosthetic hand over his bald head. "The kiddies tried to 'splain what an 'Avatar' was, turns out it was some fookin' cartoon." He had a bit of stubble poking through the areas that weren't claimed by male pattern baldness, but he had larger concerns than a haircut.
"Hows Steven doing?" I asked, still staring at the unconscious man in the cell.
Both Hadron and Steven had been captured during their last mission, and each had received several stab wounds. Hadron had taken the injuries better than the teenager.
"The lad's gonna be just peachy. WalkMan's still with 'em. That Stacey bloke too." Hadron said, flexing his robotic forearms.
"Stacy identifies as female, and you *will* respect that" I snapped, looking away from the prisoner for the first time. "I will not tolerate that kind of aggression between Doomsquad members."
Hadron held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn' mean nuthin' by it, boss." He said. "Just not used to that kinda thing, roight?"
I grunted, and turned back to the man in the cell.
"We have a much larger problem, Hadron." I said.
"You got tha' roight" Hadron replied. "How'd we not know about this bloke? This whole 'office' thing?"
Hadron stroked his chin with one robotic hand, accidentally pinching the skin with a thumb joint. He didn't say anything as his blood began to slowly drip from the new wound.
"Prosthetics like ours take time to master." I said. "Perhaps I sent you into the field too early..."
"Oy, we'll have none of that now, yeah?" Hadron said. "I'm a bloody grown-up, I can handle me own self."
I declined to continue the line of conversation. Hadron was indeed a veteran super, and a strong willed Australian man on top of that. Nothing I could tell him would change his outlook.
Another set of footsteps approached from the hallway behind us. Hadron twisted to get a look at the new arrival.
"Oy, WalkMan." He called out. The hero said nothing in response.
"What's this guy's status?" WalkMan asked, taking his place at my right side.
I smirked, trying to hide it from my self-proclaimed nemesis. I had imagined this moment for so long, WalkMan at my right hand side, working on a case together.
"Same as we knew when we tranquilized him." I said. "Name's Kurt, calls himself 'The Manager', claims to be in a secret organization called 'The Office'. And he killed Fred."
WalkMan made a quiet grunting noise. "Fred wasn't in your Doomsquad for more than an hour, max. Yet you still mourn him."
"*EVERY* member of the Doomsquad is my responsibility." I snapped. "No matter how long or short their tenure, they're mine to protect."
WalkMan nodded. "Honorable."
"Indeed." I concurred.
"That is why I'm finally at peace with Steven working for you." WalkMan said, crossing his arms and staring at the man in the cell before us. "He's a good kid, mature for his age, well mannered, mentally stable... Just promise me you'll teach him right, ok?"
I grinned. "You know, WalkMan, you could teach him yourself. You could teach all of the supers here, make sure they understand their powers, use them safely to limit collateral damages..." I paused, gesturing to the man in the cell. "...And help us get to the bottom of this. If there truly is a 'The Office' hiding in plain sight, I'll need all the help I can get to take them down."
WalkMan sighed. "What if we find out that this 'Office' is less evil than your Doomsquad?" He asked.
I cackled. "WalkMan, after all this time, you still think of us as 'evil'?"
WalkMan remained quiet. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time. Hadron shifted his weight restlessly, unsure if he should break the silence or not.
"I'll do it." WalkMan said at last.
I cackled like I had never cackled before. My entire body shook with laughter, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek.
"But if you try to harm me or Steven, I will end you." WalkMan said, in a voice as sharp as a professional chef's favorite knife. "If you try to trick me into breaking my morals, I will end you. If you-"
I cut off his self aggrandizing speech by holding up a small box. "Consider this a 'Welcome to the team' gift" I said, grinning so wide that it hurt.
WalkMan gingerly accepted the small box, and opened it without ceremony. Inside lay a robotic finger. Specifically, a right ring finger. The same one I had cut from WalkMan's hand.... twice.
He glanced from the finger to me, a look of concern growing on his face.
"It's not a trick, joke, ploy, scheme, conniving, or any variation of the sort." I said, rattling off the list of synonyms I had looked up earlier online. "It's a genuine prosthetic finger, with some beneficial features that compliment your powers."
WalkMan stared at the gift. Hadron coughed, growing more and more impatient with our conversation.
WalkMan lifted the mechanical digit with his in-tact hand, and placed it on the missing finger's stump. It attached itself flawlessly.
I stuck out my right hand, and cackled once more. "Welcome to the Doomsquad, WalkMan."
WalkMan returned the gesture. I felt his new finger move in synch with the real ones as he grasped my hand in a vice-like handshake.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more.
This is part of a series I'm working on, called 'Nemesis'. You can find all parts in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis)
| 2022-08-17T10:22:48 | 2022-08-17T07:17:43 | 75 | 52 |
[WP] You’re suddenly transported to another world where magic is cast by perfectly pronouncing an ancient language. This language happens to be your native tongue
|
''So you're telling me Goudbergen literally summons mountains of gold?'' I ask in wonder at the mage, pointing at the specific spell in the book. Outside I hear a loud crashing and what sounds like tons of metal smashing into the valley just outside the cabin.
''If you're not careful you'll crash the entire gold value and the value of our coins.'' he says with a reprimanding tone.
''Oops, I know, sorry. It's just natural to me I don't even think about it.'' I start blushing at my blunder.
''No worries, you'll be a great help to further my studies, but do take this crystal, it's stops magic from happening if you hold it. We'll start with the simpler spells. Like for example this one.'' He points at the book, a spell for turning an apple into a lime. ''How do I pronounce that exactly?''
''Limoeneer I guess, it's like the fruit but made into a verb almost. Not quite grammatically correct but I can work with it.'' The apple turns into a lime as if it's the most normal thing in the world. I begin to wonder of I could maybe make up my own spells, beyond what the book says. ''You're lucky it's in my accent too, if it was a Holland accent I'd be lost. Fortunately Flemish works just fine.''
''Leemouneir.'' The mage says, pointing at a new apple. But nothing happens.
I grab the crystal before correcting him ''No, it's 'Limoeneer' you're close, but not quite. Listen carefully, 'Li-moen-eer', you can do it.''
He sighs, frowns and tries again. ''Limoener.'' But again nothing happens. ''It sure is no easy language to learn.''
''No indeed, I'll give you that. But with enough practice you'll get it easily.'' I try to give him an encouraging smile. ''It's probably best if I teach you some of the nuances of the language before we try to apply it to actual spells. You got more of those crystals laying around? It would help to not accidentally turn the classroom or this cabin into a million cockroaches or something.''
''Are you seriously suggesting I go back to school to learn to talk again, like a toddler?'' He says with disbelief. ''I'm a high mage of the Order Of The Arcane.''
''I know that, but I speak the language so why don't you sit down or I'll turn you into a Kikker if you're not careful.'' I do my best to discipline him.
''Yes, fine. Back to 0 then I suppose.'' He mumbles begrudgingly.
''Indeed'' I answer, back into teacher mode, as was my old job. ''Now we'll start with the Alphabet so pay attention.''
|
**(SIDE NOTE: First Time Writer, long time lurker)**
**(ADDITIONAL NOTE: Post contains some curse words)**
**(P.S.S. You will intentionall see words used wrong when spells are cast by the dwellers of the "other world" as they are using broken english, where as the MC will use "perfect english")**
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
Hi, my name is Sato Nobuo, I'm your typical Otoku who works 9-5, 6 days a week, and spends all my money on anime shit... cause you know what? I'm a weeb, not something I'm particularly proud of, but I really don't feel like changing it. I'm a 32 years old female, no lover, no kids, and no family...
While walking to work (cause I spent all my money on anime shit, to the point I couldn't afford a car) I heard my name called out... I turned around trying to place the name, but couldn't. I sounded like it was literally coming from all around me. I mean yeah the sidewalk was filled with a bunch of stangers, but none of which should know me... you know? Anyway... all of a sudden a bright light appears right below me, making me have to cover my eyes, but also hold down my dress, cause somehow the wind wanted to be a pervert today... *greeaaat*!
After what felt like 5 solid minutes of covering my eyes from this blinding light, it (as suddenly as it appeared) disappeared. I remove my arm from my eyes, and see that I have somehow found my self in a church...
*A fucking church... this muct be a joke, like who the fuck snatches someone and brings them to a church?!*
Completely oblivious to the fact that there are other people in this church... Once I actually notice them, I jumped back and screamed. "*What the ever living fuck!*" I looked at the people around me and notice they are all wearing white robes with a gold-color linging... looking at me as if I'm the crazier one?!
One of the white robed figures approach me, who i assume female, because I mean her figure was a 10/10 straight from a harem anime... "*shinpai shina ide, watashitachi haana ta ni shi no kodomo o kizutsukeru tsu mo ri haa rima sen...*"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*Do not fret, we are not going to hurt you my child...*"\]
​
Like as if that is suppose to calm me down, but I mean if they really did mean to hurt me, they would have done so already... right? All of the white clocked figures take off their hoods and what I saw perplexed me instantly... There was an elf, a (what I can only assume) 2 Cat humans (*aka a feline demi-humans*), and than other humans... 12 all together. I looked down and noticed a sigil under me... that I somehow failed to notice before. I don't know how I also failed to hear, but they are speaking a different language then me, yet somehow I also understand what they are saying in perfect english.
I ask "*Ummm... quick question, am I seeing an Elf and 2 demi-humans right now?*"
The robed figures look at each other, as if confused by what I just said, but at the same time not. The Elf girl cuite comes up to me and replies "*wareware no nakama o chi tte ru noka?*"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*Do you already know of our people, child?*"\]
​
"*Ummm... I suppose? Though why do you ask? It sounds like you were just amazed that I knew of elves and demi-humans?*" I state.
The elf girl replies back with "*watashitachi ha, ana ta o watashitachi no sekai ni shoukan shi ta go, ana ta jishin no you nako tomo ha ka ga ki ko tte i ru noka rikai shite i nai to katei shima shi ta*...?"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*We assumed that after summoning you to our world, a child such as yourself would not understand what is going on...?*"\]
​
When I am about to answer, the elf girl notices that I have injuries lacerated around my body, before even asking about them, she speaks and this time in broken english: "*Goddess, I child call upon you and ask that you heal this person so that there wounds are no more!*"
Right when I'm about to ask what that was about, a greenish yellow light appears at her hand and wraps itself around me, covering me in a arua of warmth. I feel, not only see, but feel at the inguries I have gained over the past 3 decades heal and vanish. When the healing finishes, I notice that the elf girl looks extremely tired as if she just worked a 15 hour shift. Right as she is collapsing, I quickly grab her, and sweep her up in my arms. Carefull to ensure that I don't accidentally hurt her.
The other's noticing and factinated that I can pick a person so easily (I mean so am I, I only weight 90 pounds and can't even lift 20 pounds) gesture me to follow them. We go to a room, and I lay her down on the bed.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
**END OF PART 1... I will probably make part 2 within the next few hours... arms in pain, and back is in pain. Well it also depends if people actually like this story too...**
​
Hey Guys, if you want to read more of this, go to my subreddit r/StorytimeWithTheBrits. I already posted both of these posts there so that you guys can see not only this story, but also any other story I make in the future!
| 2022-11-19T08:42:04 | 2022-11-19T06:13:41 | 226 | 78 |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"
|
The cool Georgia summer air blew through my hair as I held my beloved Jonathan’s hand. I started to doze off when I felt a hard brush of wind glide against my face. I opened my eyes and they went wide as I watched before as the earth split in two and flames twenty feet high escaped the crust. I stared in awe as a nine-foot, red, fur-covered, hoofed creature crawled out of the dirt in front of us.
Johnny smiled a vile kind of smile as he stood and walked into the house. I started to panic, thinking of following him, tears running down my face as I stared at the red, winged creature. My thoughts were cut short as he re-appeared on the front porch of our Georgia home, holding the solid gold fiddle with the silver bow.
“John, what ever are you doing; aren’t you afraid?” I stuttered, my voice filled with fear.
He ignored me as he stepped down off the porch, my clawing hand away, smiling at the devil. “Back for more, ol’ son? What’s it been, thirty years?”
The devil snarled his popcorn-yellow teeth as he replied, “Correct, and I’ve returned to reclaim my fiddle.”
Without missing a beat, my husband pulled back the bow, stated “I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been”, and played a tune on the golden fiddle.
The game had begun.
|
It was one of the those usual weekend nights. Naomi just tucked her four year old daughter in bed and proceed to join her husband in the living room who is already choosing which film they would watch for the movie night.
Naomi entered the living room with now a bowl of popcorn in her hands which she grabbed quickly from the kitchen.
Ethan asked her is she wanted to continue where they left off in a series they were binging last weekend or if she preferred seeing a film instead. She chose a classic film.
After they agreed on what to watch, Naomi turned off the lights and sat beside Ethan on the couch, leaning of his chest as they help themselves on the bowl of popcorn between them.
Twenty minutes in the film, there it is. A misplaced character amongst a classic film. They’ve watch this film many times and sure as hell, that guy in red suit is not supposed to be there. Naomi gets so confused and look at Ethan’s face to get some reaction. Whether is this some sort of a prank he elaborately set up on their movie night.
His expression became serious as he intently stared at the guy in red suit. Naomi tracked Ethan’s stares back to the TV. And suddenly it turned into white noise. The lights began the flicker and things began to shake softly. And from a distance, a rumbling thunder can be heard, followed by flashes of lightning outside the window.
Ethan looked through the glass door that leads to their lawn. He stood and walked slowly towards the door. Then a loud crackling noise dispersed across the house with a blinding flash hitting their back yard lawn. Creating a patch of flames and smokes that ascends to the sky.
The baby starts to cry upstairs, but Naomi is too shaken to even notice her baby is crying.
There from the wall of smoke and fire, steps out the man in the red suit, smiling menacingly towards Ethan.
“I told you once and I’m telling you again for million f***ing times; I’m the best there’s ever been and you’re never going to beat me!” Ethan said in his gritted teeth. “Naomi, go get Sara.”
Naomi finally noticed her baby’s crying and immediately ran upstairs.
“Sofiel! Or was it Epimethan now? You have become a disgrace to the legacies of Metis.” The guy in red excitedly started.
“Hello Lady Nimue, how long has it been?” The guy continued addressing Naomi as she joined them while holding Sara close to her.
“Nimue? What are you talking about?” Naomi confusingly asked.
“What have you done brother? Have you trade her identity for a child?” The man mockingly smirked.
Ethan began to pull a black sword from his own shadow and pointed it towards the man in front of him.
“I am not joining your legion, Heylel! You must stop trying to convince me!”
Heylel just smiled. Ethan charged towards Heylel, who conjured an invisible shield to block the attack but it is so powerful that he was thrown meters away.
Ethan never wasted time and charged again towards Heylel, who in turn pulled a metal club with a metal ball of spikes at the tip from nothingness and wield it against Ethan’s attack.
Heylel pushed Ethan’s sword as hard as he can using his weapon to fly. He then raised his left hand and summoned a lightning to fall directly on Ethan. But he raised his sword to absorb the lightning and redirected it on the ground and flew towards his brother.
His brother created another shield but it is in a form of bubble. So, by the time Ethan landed a blow on the shield it will only pushes him like hitting a ball. That lessens the impact by the time he hits the ground.
Ethan dived in an impossible acceleration towards Heylel’s crash site make his next attack but the Devil faded in thin air.
He’s gone. He must have given up for now but he knew he’ll return for another match. And he arrived back home.
There he is, his brother, in his red clean suit held little Sara in his hands, cradling her. While Naomi is sitting anxiously on the couch, who just stared at Ethan with defeat in his eyes.
“You see brother, I did not came here for you. I came here to claim your blood!” Heylel smiled.
“Don’t do this, Heylel! We have an agreement, you will take my soul if you defeated me!” Ethan begged.
“You see when you asked me to bring back your celestial status after you were banished from Heaven, I asked for your soul but Scyozla is a piece of your soul. She’s more than enough.”
“No brother. This is not what we agreed upon!”
Heylel showed a victorious smile and his feet began to catch fire, engulfing him and the child as he disappeared in thin air, leaving ashes on the carpet of couple’s living room. Left in despair.
“No one takes from the Lady of the Lake. No one takes from Nimue.” Naomi whispered.
| 2022-12-07T16:18:14 | 2022-12-07T11:49:05 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge.
|
At the Peace Talks between Humanity and the Galactic Government, the President of Humanity called their ridiculous lie by showing them irrefutable video evidence of the attack. Battleships with the galactic insignia demolished cityscapes, leaving a hellfire that made the US invasion of Vietnam look like a picnic. Humanity remained furious, throwing bottles and bombs at Alien government officials.
The galactic government asked what it could do to make amends. The President simply replied that nothing would do, except the heads of every war criminal who murdered 5 billion+ people. To no one’s surprise, the Galactic government scoffed, and abruptly left the meeting.
No one expected these talks to work, nor for the lies to be forgiven. The fact they were so brazen about them despite every bit of proof shows they care little for the truth. So long as they can dominate planets, they’ll tell whatever stories they want their victims to hear. In order for Humanity to continue the fight, they must remember who their true enemies are.
Negotiations are always open anytime the Galactic government gets serious about creating a just future, not a negative peace.
|
“All rise. The Intergalactic Federal court is now in session. High Judicial Archon Irk’nCzrwyon presiding. Please be seated and come to order.” A being of nebula, serves as the bailiff, towering in its enormity vibrates sounds and light as they were being translated to the floating balcony’s desk, where seven humans are seated.
The eternity were filled by elder gods, cosmic celestials, ethereal beings and ancient deities, all were in their overwhelming presence and glory eclipsing the enormity of the planets we considered the largest we could ever fathom, gathered as spectators of the trial.
“Criminal case filed by the prosecutor’s office against the humans of planet Aran’k-sakratin, known to its inhabitants as planet Earth. Counselor? How do you plead?” The entity of three pairs of burning wings spanning in immeasurable size in the most high pedestal in the skies, thunders before the human man in the middle of the seven.
“Not guilty, your honor!” Shouted the man.
“Your honor, these humans have killed thousands of the Tharn’likans after they started mining in the Aran’k-sakratin! A planet legally owned by the Tharn’likans through inheritance. It has been with the Tharn’likans for trillions of aeons. These low life parasitic species who infested the planet have become uncontrollable invaders of the planet and acting they own it!” A being of black void with trillions of small sparkling glitters scattered to its shapeless existence, vibrated towards the High Judicial Archon, which were being translated into words for the humans.
“Objection! Speculating.” The human lawyer interrupted.
“Unless you have evidence, prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l that the humans are parasitic species, you must redirect.” The High Judicial Archon thunders.
“I have evidence, your honor. Exhibit A, these are the actual visual documents that shows, that the humans are the parasites to the planet Aran’k-sakratin.” A cloud of burning gasses come together to create a 3D visualization of the human’s exploits of the Earth. “As you have witnessed, your honor, it just 10,000 years, these parasites manage to destroy the natural balance of the planet’s atmosphere and create global warming that can occur naturally for millions of years.”
“That’s is not true, your honor. We have not destroyed our planet as it is the only planet where our specie can thrive! Why would we want to destroy the only place that gives us life?” The human lawyer interjected.
“Because they are parasites! Parasites are ought to kill their host slowly to survive. Isn’t that what they are doing?” The prosecutor asked.
“And what the Tharn’likans were doing is not destroying our planet?” The human councilor asked back.
“The Tharn’likans were just mining molten irons from the planet Aran’k-sakratin as what part of their rights in owning the planet. By expediting the warming of the planet, it also expedites the melting of iron in its immediate outer core. Threatening the balance in the mining industry of our galaxy! Not to mention the merciless massacre of the innocent Tharn’likan miners who have no idea, these low life creates are capable of mass destruction!”
“Your honor, i request that the prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l must refrain from calling our specie as low life specie as we are also capable of sentience! And to be allowed to represent ourselves in this court acknowledges us as such.” The human lawyer interrupted.
“Prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l, please refrain from using that term in the future.”
“Your honor! I continue to call their specie low life creatures, because even though they are showing signs of sentience, they are categorized as parasitic creatures based on their environmental and evolutionary behavior towards their ecological environment.”
“Councilor, the prosecutor is correct. He has reasons to use the term as the evidences they serve categorizes your specie as a sentient parasite, and that is the lowest category in the intergalactic federation racial hierarchy. Unless, you have evidence to counter the prosecutions allegations against your specie, they have the upper-hand in this case.” The High Judicial Archon said.
“We would like to request for a recess, your honor.” The human lawyer requested.
“It looks like you really needed one. The court will be in recess and resume in three solar cycles of the Planet Aran’k-sakratin. If the defendant can not provide counter argument on the next session, I will read my verdict. ” The High Judicial Archon opened its third wings and a loud banging echoed in the eternity and all were gone.
“We’re screwed!” The second chair of the human lawyer whispered.
| 2022-12-17T19:35:09 | 2022-12-17T17:34:16 | 55 | 34 |
[WP] America is discovered in the year 2000: The Maya, Aztec and Native Americans have evolved to a new kind of modern society, without any prior western influence.
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The European scientists were astounded. Another land to the west? Was such a thing even possible? But the satellite images did not lie: two giant continents filled with whole new races of people. Images taken at night showed vast cities lit up with electric lights at night. This was the discovery of the millennium!
"I can see why we never thought to go that way," remarked one member of the science team to another. "I mean, even if you did think it would be a shortcut to India, you'd have to be a complete idiot to think you could get there by going around the long way."
And so the Europeans sent out an ambassadorial ship to meet these new people. In a short matter of days, the ship returned with a huge convoy of foreign vessels, overladen with riches from across the sea. The European merchants' mouths practically watered at the sight of these new economic prospects.
One of the heads of state from the New World had even come to meet with the leaders of Europe. Truly an imposing figure, the colourfully-dressed Chairman Montezuma was a sight to behold. Crowds flocked to see these strange new people with dark skin and slanted eyes.
Chairman Montezuma addressed the leaders of Europe. "Great leaders, I have come from far across the sea, bringing with me luxury goods in hopes of trading with you."
The leaders looked around, nodding in approval. This would help appease their citizens and foster economic growth.
"We have also heard tell that the weather in your lands are much colder than what we are accustomed to," Montezuma went on. "So we have brought with us old blankets from our hospitals, which my men have already begun to distribute to your people. Before we begin economic discussions, though, do you have time to talk about our Lord and Saviour Quetzalcoatl?"
|
My first post on WP, be nice.
"Captain, wake up!"
It's Kenny, he's shaking my shoulders violently. There is a commotion coming from the bridge.
"W-ww-what is it?"W I say, groggy and eyes half closed.
"We don't know, Jack thinks that it's land."
If it is land, that is a life saver. We've been lost in the Pacific for a little over a week now. We set sail from Sydney a fortnight ago, headed for French Polynesia, but a cyclone took out our electrical systems (storm surge-powered waves crashed into the generator room) and we have been driving blind in the storms since.
I walk out of my captains' quarters, not bothering to put on my coat or hat. It just looks like more cloudy weather at first glance, so I ask Jack to hand me the binoculars.
"One o'clock, right on the horizon. Possibly land." He informs me.
I look through the binoculars, while adjusting the focus. After a quick search I spot it. It is hard to tell whether it is land or more storms, but I decide that it's not getting any better.
"To your stations, everybody. We're going to whatever that is."
~half an hour later~
**Ccrrruuuunkkkk** The ship shakes and vibrates violently, and comes to a stop.
"What the fuck was that!" Screams Jack.
"Grounded." I say, disappointed and starting to panic. Before it gets any worse I disconnect the hydraulics connecting the engine to the propellers, and order Kenny down to shut down the engine manually (we have to do it such due to the lack of electricity). We are probably a mile or so out, but the rain has stopped, and the wind has died down.
"I'll prepare the lifeboat?" asks Jack.
"Absolutely. I'll send up a flare. I think we've landed somewhere on the coast of China, or the Philippines." But in actual fact, I have no idea where we are. I have assumed we were heading eastwards, and the land here seems to be rather mountainous and tropical.
~another 20 minutes~
We've been walking along the shore for ages, and no signs of anyone. Suddenly, Kenny screams and collapses. Jack and I jump back in surprise. Just to bring more confusion and suprise, approximately one hundred people come out of the forest, holding out long sticks in our direction. A few of them have the sticks up to their mouths. They people here have a slight tan to their skin, and a bit of an Asian influence. But they don't seem Philippine. One man stands out among them, he has blue paint in streaks along his face. These people remind me of the Aboriginals that inhabited Australia, for some reason.
The man with the blue paint (who I assume is their leader), puts his hand up in our direction, and the other men lower their sticks. I quickly come to realise that those sticks are weapons. I hold my hand out towards the man, who is probably about 20 metres away from us, on the edge of the treeline at the top of the beach. He cautiously advances towards us, and I try to make my self seem as least threatening as possible.
"Dude... just... no sudden movements, ok" I say to Jack.
"I think I'm frozen in fear anyways. I need to help Kenny though"
I completely forgot about that. I glance over at Kenny. He is on his back and motionless, but I can see his chest rising and falling - he is still breathing. I look back up at the group of men. The leader is very close. He holds his hand out too. I go to shake his hand, but the movement frightens him, and he jerks his hand back quickly. I move my hand back closer to myself. I have to let him make the move. He is staring at my arms and legs strangely. A few of his friends walk up to me.
The leader slowly brings up his hand, and (reluctantly) touches my arm briefly. It occurs to me that he might be confused by my skin colour. Maybe he has never seen white man before. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my neck, and everything goes blurry. I feel very dizzy, and I forget.
I wake up in a large open area, and I quickly realise that there is a huge amount of people around me. They are all cheering, and I slowly try to get to my feet. My shoulders are grabbed tightly by two short men. They have red paint all over their faces, and they bring me up to something that seems familiar to me. "Snoo, Snoo, Snoo" the people chant quietly and methodically.
The figure says "Le reddit army had found you. While you were gone we scanned your brain and we analyzed your karma. Unfortunately, you have very little. Therefore we must send you to the Gods." The figure chucks me down a hole, and I brace preparing to hit the bottom.
Still falling.
Still falling.
Still falling.
Suddenly, numbers, and words. Am I in the matrix? Suddenly I hear a voice. "You are the first outsider to learn the truth. For years, your 'Western' people have sinned by taking advantage of and using the spirit of our world. You have been tearing us apart and rearranging us. You have been making your own sinful subs. You have taken our gold. The only reason we are still here is because of the Azreddits. Their civilisation has been helping us, rebuilding the forces of karma.
It's up to you to go back to your world, and tell the people to stop taking advantage of our world.
| 2014-12-11T20:11:21 | 2014-12-11T18:56:42 | 61 | 15 |
[WP] Almost every other country in the world has their own form of ninjas. We only know about the Japanese ones because they're rubbish.
(Inspired from a Showerthoughts post: http://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/2ctoui/what_if_every_country_has_ninjas_but_we_only_know/)
|
The semi-quiet buzz of muted 80s rock and conversation in the the northern Canadian bar breaks as a voice floats to the surface, like an iceberg flipping over revealing its hidden depths. "Bullshit!"
"Hey, watch out, you'll spill your drink." replies the quiet man.
Quieter now, "Bullshit, Russia has never landed an invasion force across the northern ocean. If they'd had, people would have heard about it, right? Wrong. I was with the Arctic Rangers 'til I was kicked out. I heard things. I seen things."
"Why did they kick you out?", came the quiet reply, as a glass is topped up.
"'Cause of the drinkin'. Gets cold out there and a nip keeps you warm. But that's besides the point." The old man leans in closer as his voice drops further. "I know what I seen. Canada's got a secret force of snow ninjas. They says it's hypothermia, and that people get lost in the snow, but that's not the case. Russia *tried* to invade, but they never heard from their army again."
"Right. Secret snow ninja."
"Really! I didn't believe it myself, but I was called in to help clean up some snowmobiles with Russian markings on them about ten years back.. We taked them out to some lake and sank 'em through the ice."
"Are you sure? Here, let me top you up again."
"I know what I saw - let me show you..."
...
"Hypothermia. Poor old drunk wandered off towards the lake by himself and gets lost. See - there's only one set of footprints in the fresh snow. Must have not felt the cold due to all the drink until it was too late.."
Edit:
Hot blood quickly cools
Empty frozen tundra lies
Silently as death
|
We watch things. It's our job.
We had to start calling them things a long time ago. I didn't understand why, but I do now. They weren't as far on as we are. They deserved to be called things. We're the next step, and we had to make sure they did not harm themselves in their less advanced state.
My friend's name was Dane. His parents named him that after the great dane dog. A big guy, gentle giant. He was my best friend.
And he was one of them.
Seven and a half years ago now, I found out. He was my second target. They said that he's my friend, it's the perfect opportunity. He'd never suspect me. Not that he would anyways, I was top of my class.
So I watched him. I had to relay where he was, what he was doing, and get as many secrets out of him as possible. After all, anybody could be a spy from one of the other Dynasties.
I hated every minute of that. I started to hate him. I started to hate everybody. Why should I be punished like this? I dedicate my life to our Great Dynasty and this is how they repay me? I've been betrayed. They taught me how to kill. I'll just kill all of the bastards in the Gh'len and that will be it. I'll disappear into the Ugen Dynasty and that's it.
My best friend was now the bane of my existence. Everything about him made me furious. I would return home to my dorm in the Gh'len and beat the dolls for hours at a time. I eventually gave up on sleep and spent the whole time practicing so I could slaughter all the political pigs and be gone.
They sent us a message in Yuron. The 11th, I think. It was 7 PM.
*Dear dedicated Len,
We have decided at the Gh'len that it is time to remove them. After many hours of slaving over this bill, we have created it such that it is fair and reasonable for the removal of them and the advancing of ourselves.*
*We request that you dispatch your targets one month from today. The deadline is the 11th of Binas. You know what to do.*
*Good luck loyal Len. For the Dynasty.*
I have to kill him.
Oh, they couldn't say it aloud. They couldn't say it to my face. They were ashamed. They knew they put us with the things that matter to us.
A letter. Of all the things, a letter. Why not a meeting? At least tell us we have to kill our friends in person.
I did it. I killed him. If I didn't do it they'd kill us both. I made it look like an accident, I made sure it was the way they wanted. He was doomed either way. He would want me to save myself. He would want me to live.
11th of Binas rolls around and I go in and confirm it. They don't have names for them. Just numbers. *Is 00640 taken care of?* I almost killed that man right there.
*Yes.*
And that's it. There's no funeral for him. His family is dead too. Every single one, gone. There's no funeral for any of the things.
There won't be any funerals for the ones in the Gh'len either.
12th of Binas. The day after. I went in, requested an appointment with the Director. He liked me. He said I was a good, dedicated student. Damn right I was.
And I put it to use when I hung him by his tie from the fan.
Twenty something more. The whole board and a few chairs. We aren't torturers. I didn't make it long and painful. They didn't deserve that time anyways, even if it's in suffering.
They caught me as I was cleaning my combat knife on the suit of one the chairs. Shot my knees out immediately, didn't stand a chance. Handcuffed me and brought me to the main hall. Did the trial right there. Guilty, guilty guilty guilty.
And so, that's why I'm here today, ladies and gentlemen, tied up in front of a firing squad. Thank you for your time.
My last request for you people is this: don't stand for this any further, please. You don't have to kill like I did. Use petitions, use propaganda, use whatever. Just bring change.
*Applause roars. A standing ovation echoes over the stadium. The firing squad preps their weapons. The PA system blinks on.*
"Hello students and graduates. We at the Gh'len would like to advise against acting out against the board and chairs. It will end in tears for those who oppose us."
*The crowd roars with anger. People rush towards the center and towards the chairs of the executives. Gunshots tear through the crowd. Screams and blood cast themselves across the stadium.*
*A man in the firing squad looks back towards the prisoner. He clicks the charging handle into place and locks his finger on the trigger.*
I bring the tides of change. Like a tsunami. Let it drown you. Let it own you. It is time to let go.
*bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang*
*click*
Unrecognizable. Change does not have a face. Change does not need a face. Change's face is that of who carries the banner forward. Now, the face is that of the movement. There is no specific face, it is that of many. Let that face include yours.
| 2014-12-15T14:02:08 | 2014-12-15T10:06:35 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] You are death row's last meal chef. Today's condemned prisoner killed your daughter.
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I stare down the prisoner, the one who murdered my daughter. I have been thinking about moment for years. Should I take revenge on my daughter's murderer? This was my first instinct, but it wasn't what she would have wanted. I still haven't decided when his request comes in. Spaghetti with meatballs. It reminds me of the last meal my family had together. I prepare the meal in a daze. An hour later, I walk into the cell with the meal. I clear my throat and begin my speech. "You murdered my daughter and tore apart my family. My wife left me, and I haven't seen my son in 10 years. I wanted to hurt you, but my daughter was merciful, so I will extend that mercy to you. I want you to know that I forgive you." His eyes water. He says the four words that will be his last. "I love you Dad."
EDIT: words
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Alabama uses a three pronged approach to the lethal injection. All three drugs are given in overdose quantities to ensure a quick and painless death for the condemned. The death penalty is reserved for the worst of the murderers in this state, the ones without remorse, and is designed to send them into the suffering of hell promptly. James Tyler deserved to suffer here on earth first though. I was going to make sure that he did.
 
Pentobarbital is a benzodiazapam, used in this case as an anaesthetic to relax and stupefy the 'patient' into a peaceful, eternal sleep.
 
Potassium chloride overdose stops your heart quickly in the justice system's dosage. In hospital situations, where they fight the poisoning, it causes gastrointestinal distress like vomiting, full body cramps, and even muscle necrosis.
 
The third drug in the combination is pancuronium bromide. It's a paralysing agent and is very useful: it would be bad if the condemned started thrashing around or screaming.
In hospitals, in the event of overdose, they use noradrenaline to counteract the sedative effects of Pentobarbital. For potassium chloride poisoning, calcium chloride, dextrose and insulin injections are used. In almost all poisoning cases, activated charcoal would be used to help filter toxic chemicals, and also opiates to make the patient more comfortable. The charcoal I'll incorporate into my plans, but comfortable? That's the opposite of what that peice of shit deserves.
 
James Tyler raped and murdered my daughter. She was only 7 years old. He deserves to suffer like she did, like all his victims did.
 
I've worked in the prisons for many years. It's a stable pay check and there's a retirement plan, which is a godsend for a chef. If they knew that I was the father of one of Tyler's victims, I'd never be working in this particular prison, but Louisa, my daughter, was illegitimate- so my link to Tyler has remained hidden all these years. I've had my fun, carefully; that scum Tyler has had more than his fair share of food poisoning. He's slept through a lot of the symptoms too, waking up in shit soaked sheets: Pentobarbital will do that, and as he slowly built a tolerance to the drug I upped the doses. The kitchen is the heart of the rumour mill in this jail, so I'd hear the stories. I'd hear the stories and I'd laugh. It ostracised him even further from the prisoner community, even from the other child molesters. No, James Tyler had not enjoyed one second of his final years- I made damn sure of that.
 
Now it was his last night on death row, and of course, I was the chef for his last meal. I was well prepared. Have you ever heard of microencapsulation? Well, to protect and slow absorption of drugs you can coat them with gelatin, polymers or other substances into the form of hundreds of tiny little balls. It sounds high tech, but you can do it at home. As I have. Burning a hole in my pocket is a little bottle packed full of norephephrine, calcium carbonate, insulin and methamphetamine to counteract the effects of the lethal injection. Combined with Tyler's new 'natural' tolerance to pentobarbital, the injection shouldn't work on him as planned. He'll be in a lot of discomfort and agony though. Especially with my three favourite ingredients: platypus venom, capsaican and LSD. Platypus venom has the unique effect of increasing the sensation of pain. Capsaican is the chemical that makes chillis hot. The chemical they put in pepper spray will soon be in his bowels and then his bloodstream. Finally, the LSD, the authorities already think he's crazy and on death row it's almost expected. They won't notice, but he will. His last few hours will feel like eternity to him.
 
Years were spent researching these chemicals, doses, and the timings for the microcapsules to dissolve. I worked that one out through trial and error, slipping chemical cocktails into Tyler's food, and hearing what time after dinner he started screaming.
 
**"Meal's up!"** I yell, and smile at the guard, "Tell James Bon Appetit- I put a lot of effort into making it perfect for him."
 
Oh yes, I've put a lot of planning into this meal. I'm not evil, but justice needs served
| 2015-07-04T10:09:30 | 2015-07-04T09:43:13 | 514 | 344 |
[WP] A day before the Earth is destroyed by a collision with a rouge planet, time freezes. You, a completely normal person are untouched and cannot die. Text on your arm appears that reads, "however long it takes, save us".
You have an eternity, time resumes only when you are done.
_________________________________
I would like to take the time to thank everyone for their stories, I've been reading them and will continue to read them after submissions have stopped.
I'd also like to thank /u/PaulsWPAccount for his dedication to the story he has created and continues to create. As I type his story is still unfinished, I just want to give him the credit he deserves before this post falls too far from the front page.
Thank you all, it's been great.
One more thing....... Rouge :D
|
Once upon a time, a rouge planet almost smacked into Earth.
Fortunately, time froze and some text mysteriously appeared on my arm, stating "However long it takes, save us!"
So I looked at the big ball of rouge in the sky, and developed a plan.
Over the next several months, I found every extension ladder I could lay my hands on. Traveling to every hardware store in a region, I loaded them up into the trailer of a semi.
Once I had collected 9,972 extension ladders, averaging about 30 feet each, until they bridged the approximately 50 mile gap between planets.
Anyway, blah blah blah long story short, I spent an eternity brushing away rouge on the planet and rouging up the faces of Earth's entire population until the rouge-planet was completely consumed.
BECAUSE ROUGE IS NOT THE SAME THING AS ROGUE, OP, YOU KNOB.
Edit: Thanks for the gold, my fran!
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I've not been scared for a long time now.
At first the silence was crushing. It's not loneliness that is the problem, the entire world is now my isolation tank, I can close my eyes and in that quiet my brain conjures entire realities. Friends, family, smiling and laughing. In those moments I can even forget that tiny ever present crescent in the sky.
No, loneliness is fine, it's the silence of the living that gets me. The others don't move anymore, haven't for an eternity. Their eyes though, if I catch someones face I feel them staring back, baring their soul. Not going to lie, in the early days I broke down more than once, yelling at those unrelenting faces to say something, anything, just please stop staring.
Can't be yelling at statues if I'm going to save the world though, so now I just carry blindfolds.
The reason I'm not scared? I figure I can't be alone, even if I can't see them. Someone...something wrote that message on my arm and in all this time they've looked after me. On the hardest days when I tried to end it, when I did end it, I would slip into the darkness and the embrace of oblivion, before waking up again unharmed. Seemed like a curse at first, but like everything in this new reality I adapted, and you haven't lived until you've skydived without a parachute.
Whatever, whoever did this, they have to be interfering. Physics just doesn't make sense anymore. Take batteries. The laptop I'm writing this on is my fifth. I had to upgrade after the previous four were filled with my notes. Never had to recharge, never went down from 100%. They get warm though, in the dark their screens glow from photons shooting off.
The sun still warms my skin, I cast shadows on the ground outside, but the sun doesn't change either. I've looked at it so many times I could draw it's layout of spots in my sleep. Then again that isn't saying much, after this long I know the back of everyones hands.
The sun warms my skin, and the air is warm, but the sun isn't warming the air, the lack of wind confirms that paradox. If I take a magnifying glass to the ground the concentrated light bursts paper into flame.
I spent months doing those tests. Didn't have any better ideas, certainly had no illusions I could pilot a rocket by myself, so why not document the physics of this reality. Perhaps by establishing my realities rules I could discern something about those who kept me here. Eventually I got bored and walked off, leaving my equipment where it lay. Not like I have to worry about anyone stealing it.
I learned to fly a fighter jet, hope they didn't get too annoyed at the amount of times they had to bring me back during that, but everyone needs a vacation.
When I got back to my experiments I didn't notice it at first. In this timeless reality there are countless objects caught mid air, what's another one. It took me a few minutes to realise that the object eight feet off the ground was my notebook. That couldn't be right, I'd left it propped up on the table. I spun around, was someone here? I caught a glimpse of movement and jumped back, heart beating.
Idiot, it was one of my mirrors.
That didn't explain the notebook though. I paced around the table, looking where the notebook had stood. Nothing stood out, just the annoying reflection of the sun into my eyes.
Wait.
Out of my pocket came a packet of tissues. I tore the corner off one, propped it on the edge of the table and waited.
Waited.
Waited.
I got impatient and went for a walk.
I came back I don't know when. Longer than the time to eat a meal, less than the time to learn the piano. I hadn't worn a watch in a while, it's easy to lose track.
Eyes level with the table I stared at the tissue. There was a good inch between it and the table, ever so gently pushed into the air by the suns reflected light. Carefully, I picked up the mirror and rotated it, so it faced exactly halfway between the sun and that little crescent in the sky.
It took a while to find all the worlds mirrors. Longer than the time to learn the piano, less than the time to move a world. Took even longer to polish more of my own.
Now I wait, staring at that little disc in the sky.
| 2015-10-23T18:29:03 | 2015-10-23T16:26:29 | 111 | 48 |
[WP] The story of an unsolved murder is brought up in an /r/AskReddit thread with several incorrect details. The murderer shows up to set the record straight.
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> The bodies were strewn all over the room
I wouldn't call it strewn, they were carefully placed in my opinion, perfect for a sacrifice
> The family was known for being good church going people
That is not what I heard, I heard they would torture animals, the boy would bully and beat other kids, the parents would cut in line in the parking lot
> The police have no leads currently
Ha!
> The community is lost as to why this has happened
They won't be lost anymore when the full moon rises
|
I know maybe it is not totally right, but I really dislike when people talks about things they don’t know in Internet. I mean; what the actual fuck is wrong with people? if you don’t know about something just don’t say anything about. I can handle those bigmouths. So usually I expend some of my free time doing one of the hardest jobs in the world: correcting wrong people in internet.
So when I saw that post in the FrontPage, and I realized it was about that sick murder case that happened in the same area where I’m living, I decided I should join in and start to downvote the shit out of everyone in there who was talking about it like if it was something big.
I remember that shit, it happened just two streets behind mine, and I also remember that day, I remember it really well because it was the same day I got a notification from my lawyer about me winning the trial against that fucking kid and his dad who sued me for killing their dog. The police found the body of the dude inside the waste container, it was fucking disgusting, all those cuts, hundreds of deep cuts, in the body, the face and the hands, and no blood at all anywhere, that poor fuck was totally drained before to be throw in the trash.
Looks like it was impossible to find the dude's identity and since no one was missing him they just closed the case, but of course the media did a big show about it.
And then I saw those comments in Reddit man, those morons talking about a kind of conspiracy shit, relating it to a big serial killer who was acting in the east coast some years ago. The top comment was a kind of mess with all those edits, keeping those fucks entertained for the sweet karma of the conspiracy, there was that user leading the shit, creating stories, imagining shit, talking how that killer was being investigated as a kind of dude who considered himself a fucking vigilante, come on, there is the fucking /r/conspiracy for that kind of shit.
So I did what I had to do and I join in the conversation and I make his fucking fantasy story more real, I explained how I got some psychology preparation before to work as a security guard, and I shared my experience and knowledge in some related cases and how that kind of killer is usually a kind of pussy with a trauma. No need to say, the dude got rekt, and people started to downvote his shit, more even when he was even bringing even more shit about the criminal profile of the supossed killer coming from nowhere.
It was so easy to make him shut the fuck up. Three comments later, I had my sweet karma and he deleted his comments. Hey not every day you make a top commenter delete his shit.
— So, it was a fucking good day bro! It was a fucking good day! I went to sleep so fucking happy and today I should be at the job instead of here, what the fuck dude, what’s wrong with you, what the fuck you want from me with all those questions, give me my fucking clothes.
The dude, with a silent smile in his face long until his both fucking ears, sitting in the fucking chair of my kitchen and after eating the fucking pizza I didn’t finish yesterday and drinking my dam beer and after questioning me about all those reddit shit, opened his black bag, and while was opening a kind of plastic case he said:
— You know what’s the worst part to talk shit to people in internet? Is that most of the time you have no fucking idea who they are, what they do or how they feel about what you say. And when you bring people to the limit even without a good reason for it you should be ready for the consequences. More even when in your comment history there is information about your home place, about your food habits, your favorite shops, your job, your personal relationships, your fetishes and your financial life. But even more when you are so idiot to publish your own face in a post about atheism, while you ask for legal help after to kill the dog of a kid who escaped because was peeing in your yard. And even more if you are so stupid to use the same photo that you published in reddit in your Facebook profile.
I could not say anything else, that sick fuck filled my mouth with a piece of cloth and with a scalpel in his hand came to me and said:
— Let’s talk about traumas and pussies.
| 2016-05-13T11:43:10 | 2016-05-13T09:47:15 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Jupiter has 64 moons and a serious werewolf problem.
Edit: damn there's some quality responses here. I wasn't expecting this prompt to be so popular. Good job u guys
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"Been up here for about, oh, two years now? Yeah think that's right." The commander of the space station that has been orbiting Jupiter said as he lit a cigarette. "You're one of the new shipments huh? Pretty sights up here, huh?" he said as he took a puff.
"Yes, sir" I said. "Very intriguing."
He noticed me looking at his lit cigarette worryingly. "Don't worry about this little thing, nothin' 'round here is flammable. At least not in this room." He laughed and coughed from the smoke.
"So, what's this about hostile creatures around here? I was sent to help defend or attack if necessary." I said still nervously watching him take a hit from his cigarette.
"Oh, yeah. Vile things they are. Of course you know that Jupiter has no solid mass, so they can't live on there, obviously. But, the surrounding moons are infested with them. Think there's about 60 moons."
"So, are they dangerous?" I asked, now worried about the impending battles.
"I'll say. Them things are smart as hell. They know how to fly spacecraft and are damn good at it. Most of the time that's where you'll see them. Can't land on the moons until we get a sizable fighting force up here so for now, all we can do is try to gun 'em down with our auto-turrets." He looked out of the porthole next to him and we watched the shiny dots zip around the planetary system. "Hey, come over here and look for yourself. You probably will see a few."
I peered out of the window and watched the specs race around the planetary bodies in great numbers. One started getting closer to us from behind.
"Sir, I think one is coming up to us."
"Yeah, they do that sometimes. Nothing our Auto defenses can't take care of. Those things may be smart, but we're smarter." He said stifling a chuckle.
Within minutes the unidentified spaceship came within a few hundred feet of us, matching our speed.
"Why aren't the turrets blowing him to bits? He's well withing range of us!" He said putting binoculars up to his face and handing me a set.
I looked through the binoculars and was able to see the pilot of this unfriendly ship in detail. It had what looked like fur covering its body. It had a wolf hybrid looking face and this thing was jacked. It shot a look over at us as if it were staring deep into our souls. It seemed to emanate a devious grin.
"You seeing this, kid? That's unsettling as hell." The captain said, still looking through his binoculars not shifting his focus away.
"Why is it smiling?" I asked
"I don't know, but I..." The captains words halted.
I quickly looked back to the enemy. It appeared....his middle finger was sticking straight up at us and his, well, underside was pressed against his cockpit towards us.
"Dammit you stupid furry werewolf fucks! I'm gonna kick. Your. Ass!" The captain said slamming his fist down to the beat of his words.
"Sir, D-did you say werewolf?" I was taken aback.
"Did you not just see that? Of course I said werewolf, what else would they be!?" He said still yelling.
"I'm sorry sir, nobody told me what it was we were fighting against. I just assumed it was aliens." I said timidly
"No you dumbass, aliens don't exist! Look at all those moons, what else is gonna find asylum here? Werewolves! It's common knowledge even in the ranks back on earth!"
I was confused and certain this was a big joke or that this guy had been up here for way too long. But, then again I did see what appeared to be a textbook version of a wolf-man, so I guess I'll have to believe him.
"So now they taunt us after attacking us? They are heartless bastards." I said trying to match the captains frustration.
"Attack? What attack? These assholes just taunt us and provoke us! That's why WE are attacking them!"
I was baffled. Attacking another species over taunts and lewd comedy? Doesn't that make us the aggressors? Then again, what humans kill each other for has been a lot less than that, sadly. Well, I guess I had to get used to it, because the next few months were gonna be hell either way. Might as well have some fun with it.
"There goes another one! That one did the 'suck it' motion! I'm gonna kill these bastards!"
It was pretty funny to watch, but one thing is for certain. Those wolf-men ARE assholes.
|
The explorer *Diplomacy* was an engineering marvel, capable of navigativing Jupiter's gaseous surface, withstanding its harsh enviriomental pressure, and even escaping its immense gravitational pull. Still, despite all of its amazing technology, for the two navigators inside of it, it was a rather tight fit. Built for efficiency, not comfort, to the annoyance of Commander Wilfery, the man piloting it. Since the Juno satellite discovered a previously thought imposssible mineral inside the planet, it was up to this two man crew to recover some samples and explore as much of the planet as possible.
The viewing screen in front of them only showed clouds. Swirls of brown, yellow, and red that parted into a seemingly infinite abyss of gas. It had been a few hours since they were officially "inside" Jupiter, but the pair wouldn't have noticed when they did. Jupiter was so massive, that even as they approached it had already dominated all of their vision. Although their oxygen reserve was plentiful, Wilfery couldn't help but feel like it wasn't enough. The planet was too big. Exploring it thoroughly could prove dangerous, even with the five air tanks they had.
Letting out a bored sigh, Commander Wilfery turned to Lieutenant Greenfield and said to her:
"You ever think that this screen is a bit... unnecessary?"
Lieutenant Greenfield raised her eyebrow and said:
"How so?"
"Well, this is just a glorified submarine, right? Have you ever seen a submarine with a front window? All we need are the sonar and scanners. It's all gas, down to the bottom, it's not like were going to *see* anything."
"I mean, I wouldn't describe Diplomacy so dismissively..." Greenfield trailed off and nodded to herself. "...but yeah, you're right. It does seem a bit overkill. Specially the mining laser. I get they found some minerals here, but I doubt we'll have to drill through anything."
"It's like we can't get over how we build cars... minus the laser. Sure, this is just a camera feed, but can you really say this doesn't look like a windshield?"
Before Greenfield could reply, a sharp beeping noise tore through their relaxed mood. It was an alarm for detecting foreign objects. Greenfield quickly pulled up a keyboard and typed into it, bringing up some readings on half of the viewing screen. Her eyes then widened with shock, but not as widely as Wilfery's. Pointing at the other half of the screen, a dark object rose from the misty horizon. It seemed like the cameras were useful after all. Greenfield then removed the reading from the screen to observe the object completely.
It looked like a lumpy cone from a distance, but the closer they got, the more they could comprehend just how big it was. Upon further inspection, it had a coarse surface, its peak looking like a jagged spire. There was no doubt about it, it was a floating mountain. A gigantic lump of rock floating on the gasses of Jupiter. Wilfery swallowed, nodded, and said:
"I feel like an idiot right now..."
"That makes two of us..."
Wilfery shook his head sideways, gripped the steering wheel, and said:
"Let's have a closer look."
Diplomacy veered downwards and circled around the mountain. All the while, Greenfield typed away to scan its chemical composition. Sure enough, it was a match for what they were looking for. Wilfery couldn't but remain in awe of what he saw. It should be impossible. Trace amounts of a solid? Sure, that made sense. Maybe a small lump? Difficult, but not hard to imagine. An entire mountain? Absurd. It would have to be more dense than the surface gas, but less dense than the rest of it. It's all helium and methane! Not any mysterious sort of magical compound. Why the hell wasn't this mountain at the bottom of the planet?
Wlfery's train of thought was then interrupted by something even more inexplicable. On the border of the mountain, a humanoid figure emerged. Wilfery then said:
"Lieutenant... does that look like what I think it is?"
Greenfield raised her head from the scans and said:
"It... it looks like a person... just standing there..."
A dozen then joined the figure, standing next to it in a line.
"It looks like a *bunch* of people... just standing there..."
Hundreds of figures then filled up the surface of the mountain, getting on all four of the limbs while curving their backs downwards. Raising their heads and exposing their throats, they emitted a loud, howling sound that caused Diplomacy to shake violently. The monsters then lunged at the ship, seemingly flying through the gas. Wilfery instantly turned the ship around navigated upwards, sweating under his gloves gripping the controls.
"What are they?!?" said Greenfield.
"I don't know and I don't care. Whatever they are, they don't look friendly!"
Five of the aliens landed on the tail of Diplomacy, causing the explorer to spin around. Wilfery still managed to keep the ship on its general trajectory. They needed to leave this planet. Now. He had lost count of how many hours it took them to reach this point. Getting to the spaceship might be impossible without dealing with these... *things*.
Three different alarms blared at the same time, instilling even more panic into the astronauts. Greenfield managed to pull up a small video feed to see what attacked them. Her jaw dropped when she saw it. Hairy with eyes that showed bloodlust, the monster didn't look entire different from a werewolf. Considering the situation, Greenfield wasn't about to share this with Wilfery. He could barely believe the floating mountain. If she told him werewolves were attacking them, he'd probably just shut down from the absurdity.
"Well?!?" said Wifery. "What do they look like?!?"
"I... I can't tell from this angle. Just focus on piloting!"
A dozen more werewolves landed on Diplomacy. Speed was lowering, life support showed signs of damage, and they were no where near the surface. Wilfery released the steering controls and sunk his head. They were dead. The only people that could save them were on a different planet, and they wouldn't even know what happened to them. They'd just assume the mission went wrong.
"C-commander? What are you doing?!? We're going to die if you stop now!"
"Don't you get it? We're doomed. Unless they suddenly decide to leave us alone, our ship will be torn to pieces and... explode."
Wilfery trailed off and furrowed his brow in determination. There *was* something he could do. It was risky, but it's not like he had any more options. Gripping the controls tightly, he looked at Greenfield and said:
"I'm going to turn the ship around and face them. I have an idea... Well, more like a crazy hope, but it's all we have. I wonder if it will be enough heat for ignition..."
"Ignition? What are you talking about?"
"When I tell you to, release the oxygen tanks of our reserve. This is all methane and helium, but it wont ignite. With the oxygen though... The drilling laser might cause a reaction. I'm not sure, but I'll give it a try."
Greenfield nodded and waited for his signal. Wilfery jerked Diplomacy around, shaking off some of the werewolves on top of it. He then gestured at Greenfield, releasing the canisters, and shot at the tanks with the laser. Thought it only took one second, to the astronauts, it felt like an eternity before it exploded, creating a giant ball of fire that consumed the pursuing monsters and engulfed the entirety of Diplomacy.
After a few seconds of silence, Wilfery looked at Greenfield and laughed. They did it. There weren't any monsters around. Greenfield, however, had a solemm expression on her face. She then breathed deeply and said:
"Good job, but... do we have enough oxygen to make it back?"
Wilfery closed his eyes, rested his head back, and said:
"I don't think so."
-------------------------------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
| 2016-10-03T12:47:33 | 2016-10-03T10:13:01 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] In a world where magic can be cast through song, musicians rule over society. You are the last of your kind, a Scandinavian Death Metal Singer.
|
The Pop Idols, as they have been taken to calling themselves, count on their catchy tunes and simple melodies to command the weak willed. As such, they have command over most of the land. Only the Bluesmen of the South and the Grunge Lords of the Pacific manage a hold over their lands. As they try to keep life as normal as possible with their grounded tones, few rouge Idols wander into their territories, seeking to rule over all of what was North America.
I try to live my life in seclusion nowadays. After the events of my last skirmish some four years ago, when my power began to manifest, I decided that I had to learn control to avoid the near destruction of my town. Plus, being hunted by the Idols tends to keep a lively jolt in ones step. Just outside of the Grudge Capital Seattle, in a town now know as Veddersberg, I make a living repairing the strings and kits of other musicians. There tales of battle and small victories over Pop Idols worry me. More and more repairs are having to be made. I decided it was only a matter of time before they come.
I did not know it would be tonight.
Under the cover of darkness, the Pop Idols amassed a force of Stadium Rockers and Rap Rockers to overload the town with earthquakes and confusion spells. The Grudge Lords begin to amass an offensive of their own, with mumbled lyrics and crafty rifts scattering some of the Idols forces. I wait in my home, for I know what is to come next.
Suddenly, a large clap is heard. A blonde haired girl drops down with a piano, General Swift as I thought, and she mixes her country and pop together to force down her foes with several bars of You Belong with Me, healing her soldiers with Shake it off. Before too long, the Grunge Lords kneel helplessly as she finishes them off with keystroke of her massive piano. My love has perished among the ranks. The forces approach my door, Swift smiling at the destruction she has brought.
It is time.
My throat begins to vibrate, my stomach tightens, and my growl deepens. The Pop Idols stand stunned as the earth around them begins to break and open, sending dozens falling into the shallow ground. Before they can pull themselves out, my army of Berserkers grab hold of their victims, slashing violently at their prey. As Swift attempts to amass her forces, my Valkyrie band descends from the sky, assembling my home into my longboat. Hundreds of bearded men and ten frost giants now await my command. General Swift stands horrified at what she has just discovered.
She has forced open the gates of Valhalla. One greedy Idol has forced my hand. Now is the time of Ragnarok.
|
EDIT: OH sidenote, this is my first submission to this subreddit ever
You walked through the impossibly complex and massive facility, paying reverence at an altar whenever a new building was reached. Each new portion had a differing architecture style in accordance to their time periods and era. Far Eastern musicians had elegant and minimalistic black ink portaits drawn on simple scrolls within recreations of pagodas. Ancient singers and poets like Homer were chiseled into tablets and placed in a mockup of Greek architecture. Cramped mid-western bars, spacious European concert halls, Cathedrals, stadiums, the area the holy land took up was mindboggling. Along the halls between buildings very small subgenres may have been lucky enough to garner a small alcove, a shrine to a select few artists. Some artists were famous enough to have their own buildings, while others were jammed together, trying to fit as many within a limited space. Another pop building would probably be constructed within the next year. Your feet hurt.
Arriving in the centre, you find a stairway that seemed to reach to the stars. This was the tallest building in the complex, ten thousand fists tall. You know what your task is, and you won't be daunted by such a climb. You play the intro as thanks to Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. You start to climb.
You think back to when you were young, your mother encouraging you from a young age to play in Drop C tuning, and your father showing you how to use a double bass pedal. Your early practice sessions would burst birds in flight or cause avalanches on the pristine slopes near your family's modest abode. Seeing this first-hand, you understood why the council unanimously decided to stop all forms of Death Metal. The greatest had already ascended the tower, and those who couldn't make it fell to their deaths.
You had to wear a muzzle to school, and had to clamp your feet to the floor whenever seated for long periods of time in public locations. You even had to take on a bizarre gait, as the rythym could be so powerful as to cause small magnitude earthquakes. It was... an experience to suffer so unfairly. But it fueled you, and gave you inspiration. Recallling this memory forced the stanza in the mongrel metalhead mantra to the forefront of your conscious thought.
*Give me Fuel, Give me fire, Give me that which I desire*
"**OOah**"
The Hetfield came unbidden, but being in such a secluded place (and of course the architects knew to prepare the building for such assaults) it didn't really matter. You kept ascending the stairs, disgusted that you recalled these low and almost sacreligious words.
You trained and practiced for 18 years, and you doubted an equal musician existed on the earth now. You were the last, at least the last willing to use your power, the power spawned nearly 40 years ago by Venom. If the world was going to be freed from the fear that was the power within death metal, you were to make sure there was quite a show for any who cared to gather.
Portraits and album covers lined the wall as you ascended but you paid them no mind, you were approaching the sanctum, and the puny artists below the tall doors were no longer deserving of your attention.
As you reached the top of the stair, you halted a moment to reapply the black makeup under your eyes and around your lips. The door in front of you almost seemed to glare down at you, judging whether or not it would even be worth the time to open to let you in. Simple words were illuminated in red on the surface of the door;
*Welcome to Hell*
You knew the answering song, brought your guitar in front of you, and began playing. High screeching followed by some of the first thrashing ever put into song. As you played, the shining metal surface swam with the names of those already immortalized. You scream the lyrics at the door, almost as if you were trying to force the words through cracks that didn't exist. At least not yet.
A faint white light began to pierce the middle of the doors.
*Your time slips away*
As you played the breakdown and prepared to scream the next line as though you were charging into war, you became vaguely aware of the colossal rolls of thunder outside. For a thousand miles around, as you knew was the power of your music, the sky darkened and lightning crackled. Everyone knew what was happening. Everyone welcomed the pageantry that was involved and required to both ascend you, and to rid themselves of the danger. They all waited with baited breath.
**RAINING BLOOOOOOOOOD**
The heavens let loose a torrent of wind and rain like none had seen since God himself had condemned the world to drown all those years ago. Although this time, the rain was an almost malignant red and was sticky to the touch, but it would cease falling before you were finished here. The doors seemed to hum with a dull blue light, and you know it accepted that you passed the entrance exam. You were prepared for just about anything.
Just then, the entire tower with the walls of steel reinforced concrete, began to shake and sway.
*this is not right, something went wrong, wasn't I good enough to at least begin the journey?*
You didn't realize it yet, but because you were the last to ascend this tower, the tower had no reason to exist and it was coming down with you inside it.
Chunks of rock crashed onto the staircase around you, and a thick portion of the stairs behind you cracked and fell away, toppling towards the floor many feet below.
**What did I do wrong?** You screamed **Mikael Åkerfeldt, Francesco Paoli, Spiros and Christos Antoniou, why have you forsaken me?**
The door didn't budge, you struck it with your fists. The walls were crumbling down around you. You took your guitar into your hands, and leaned on the railing, looking down. It was so far to the bottom that it vanished into nothing.
You stood on the railing, and fell forward.
As you fell, the wind blowing through your hair, you closed your eyes, and serenity over took you.
*I served my duty to the world, and that's all that truly matters. They were safe, all of them. If the holy place didn't want me, then it's their fucking loss.*
You opened your eyes, accepting of your death, but just then you noticed the floor was gone. In its place was nothing but black. It was then you understood; your journey had only just begun.
| 2016-11-01T15:42:04 | 2016-11-01T15:15:48 | 41 | 10 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
The creepy laughter started right on time. Every night, at 11:56. Then, the walls started to bleed, up by the ceiling, near the elaborate crown moulding, running down the old wallpaper. I call it "dripping crimson on a field of posies."
That would be gone by morning.
Cue screaming and the sounds of someone being chased down the hall at 2:07. They'd come back in 38 minutes. I'm surprised he hasn't caught her yet. It's been months of this happening every night. That's "Freddie and Edith on their evening stroll."
At least the lamp only flew across the room that first night. I gave it a few days to fix itself and left the broken shards in a pile, but no. It would have been nice to have a light. But I had a kindle, so I could still read in the dark. Since it only happened once, I didn't call it anything but the pile was "ode to a lamp" before I swept it up. Now it's "don't walk barefoot in that corner because you might have missed some".
Ohhh...banging on the bedroom door! That's new. A nice change of pace. In ten minutes, the ghostly wolf would emerge through the closet door and pin me to the bed, menacing with dripping fangs. Man, he needed a breath mint. His breath smelled like sewer and dead fish and broccoli. "Mr. Stinky Breath", I call him.
Right on time, I hear the snarl and placed my kindle on the nightstand, holding my breath as his weight pins my arms to the mattress. I roll my eyes and try not to inhale.
In five days, when I'd stayed in the haunted house for exactly 4 months, I'd get my $1,000,000. Barney better pay up, or I'm gonna feed him to Mr. Stinky Breath or see if he wants to go on a stroll with Freddie and Edith.
|
In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now.
| 2017-05-05T07:04:56 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 530 | 27 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
It wasn't until the van door shut behind me that I realized my mistake. I guess the skin mask should have tipped me off.
It's getting so you can't trust anyone anymore.
We drove for a long time. I felt the road getting rockier. By the time he opened the door it was dark out.
He yanked me out by the arm, hard. He knocked me to the ground. It was dirt. It smelled like something. Pennies. No, of course not. Blood.
Great. As if I didn't have enough on my plate today.
He laughed then, a low, insane laugh. He pointed an ax at my throat.
"Really? An ax? Don't you think that's a little derivative?"
"You are not to speak," he said. "But feel free to scream." (A little too theatrical for my taste, to be honest.)
"Look, this is a really bad time for me. I think we might have to table this for now."
"I SAID YOU ARE NOT TO SP-"
He fell to the ground. The look of surprise almost made it all worth it. Humans are so easy.
He couldn't move now, but he could still hear me and see me. He could still feel. They taste so much better when they're afraid. It really adds something.
I started at his feet. Crunching the little bones. His eyes stared straight up, but I felt his shock, his terror and pain. Far more used to being predator than prey.
I took my time.
|
"So," the interviewer said, manicured hands folded neatly in her lap. "How did you end up living in the Cardvale Murder House?"  
 
"Well, my husband Jason sells real estate for a living," Sarah explained, still squinting and blinking at the earliness of the hour. She wore pink yoga pants and a cheery yellow tank top under a wooly gray cardigan. "And I work from home selling my bespoke leather accessories on Etsy. He was trying to sell this gorgeous early colonial and just nobody would buy it. It's in such great shape. It's even got these quirky authentic coved ceilings." She gestured to the curved corners in the plaster ceiling, then held out her hand to her right. The interviewer twitched, blond curls swaying, as a tiny, pale hand emerged from behind a curtain to place a cup of steaming coffee in Sarah's hand. 
 
"Thanks, Priscilla. So he kept coming back with client after client and just nobody would bite, even at the crazy low price the seller was offering. It's not like it was built on a Native American Burial ground. That would be stupid - hang on, it's 9:00." She paused as every chair in the house suddenly slid two inches backward, then forward again. The camera bobbed with the operator's startlement and the interviewer shrieked, clinging to hers with both hands, but her weight hand no impact on the force of the chair's movement.  
 
"Sorry about that," Sarah said. "That's the father, Hiram. He has a thing about chairs. We think it's because he hanged himself by kicking one over? Either that or it's because he used to be a carpenter. We can't even buy new dining chairs because he breaks them. It has to be a pile of raw lumber in the outbuilding left overnight and he just builds new ones. So that's a big perk. They're really solidly built. If we can get a medium in here again next week we're going to ask him about selling some of them online." 
 
"Didn't he kill his entire family?" the interviewer says breathlessly, holding tightly with both hands to the front of her skirt. The camera bobs again slightly as the cameraman nods.  
 
"Now everyone seems to think that, but we actually think the others probably died of natural causes, like pneumonia or cholera or something," Sarah said, gesturing with her free hand. Her energy seemed to increase slightly as she drank more coffee. "They really don't seem angry at him. He and Lula walk across the grounds every night at around ten, hand in hand. So whatever happened, there's obviously no hard feelings."  
 
"What about the children?" the interviewer asked. "Aren't they often sighted covered in blood?" 
 
"Oh, you mean little Robert. He scared a lot of people off during the viewings, I can tell you, but once we got him a ball to play with he just wasn't any trouble at all - in fact, there he goes. Of course he's not fully visible in daylight. He's shyer than Priscilla."  
 
There was a sound of running footsteps, and the interviewer turned to look as Sarah pointed into the vestibule past the elegantly furnished living room. A colorful striped ball bounced slowly past, attended by the sound of tiny pattering feet.  
 
"Anyway, that's a family in-joke. Apparently he ran under a pig Hiram was butchering once and just got soaked, and they all thought it was so funny he never let go of it," Sarah said. "It's kind of gross to me, but you know how little boys are. We think he'll be good company if we have a boy. We're trying to start a family."  
 
"You're going to try and raise children here?" the interviewer said, blinking in startlement.  
 
"Well sure. It's the safest place you can possibly imagine," Sarah said happily. "Hey, Priscilla, I could use some more coffee if you're not busy." She held out the delicate porcelain cup, which gently faded from view. "A burglar tried to get in here once and we only knew it because we found one shoe and a pair of pants he lost trying to get back out the window. He didn't take a single thing with him. Hiram kept moving the chairs around all day that day. But hey, that's how we figured out he calms down if you sing Shall We Gather At The River." She smiled happily at the interviewer. "Oh, but I'm being rude! Would you like something to drink? I don't know where the cups come from, but nobody makes better coffee than Priscilla!"
| 2017-05-05T08:56:55 | 2017-05-05T08:14:46 | 41 | 29 |
[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.
|
It took me seventy years, but I'd finally done it. The big man was dead, and I stood over his battered corpse, with his torn red cape as my trophy. I walked out of that ruined city unopposed. I didn't question it at the time. After all, who would dare challenge a man who slew a god?
I was more confused the next morning when I walked out onto the balcony of my office and was greeted by cheering masses. No torches or pitchforks, no unenforceable arrest warrants, just a bunch of strangers, holding up signs with my face on them and cheering. This had to be a trick, right? Or some kind of sick joke?
"What the *devil* are you morons doing here!?"
The crowd quieted down for a moment, until a youth, a redheaded boy with a sweater vest and perhaps more freckles than sense, stepped forward with a megaphone.
"We're here to show our gratitude!"
"What? After I killed the blue Boy Scout?"
The crowd murmured among themselves for a moment. They seemed as confused as I was.
"No, for killing that dangerous superhuman that kept destroying our city, sir!" The young man replied, cringing from the megaphone's feedback.
"He didn't...I...What are you talking about?"
"Every few weeks, he tore apart our once-great city in a fight with yet another one of those alien invaders, but now that he's gone, we're all saved!"
"Wait, so you're blaming *him* for all that destruction?"
"Obviously, sir! All of his fights end with downtown in rubble!"
"So that alien general that wanted to terraform the planet, and his ship crashing onto 12^th through 53^rd streets, you blame him for that?" I had shifted from confused to frustrated
"Of course! He should have stayed out of it! All this destruction is his fault!" The crowd clamored in unanimous agreement.
"And if he *had* done nothing, and the Earth had been turned into a blazing Hell?" I had reached from frustrated to angry.
The crowd was silent for a moment.
"But that didn't happen, and now he's gone, and we can finally be safe!"
"But what if another alien psychopath decides to make us a target?" I was finally just disgusted at this point, knowing the answer was going to be absolutely stupid.
"...But they won't, because he's gone!"
"But they would have...But he didn't...But you...**ARGH!!**"
At this point I gave up and walked back into my office as the drooling masses started singing a poorly-written folk song they had composed in my honor. I pressed a button on my desk and spoke into the intercom.
"Friday, get our best and brightest into the bunker, and make sure we have enough provisions. This planet needs an enema."
|
A man in a white suit stood atop a crumbled building. He wore shiny white shoes and a cape dark as the void. He held a phone to his ear and heard the surrender from the last of the US's generals, vowing to dismantle the last nuclear silo without his intervention. A cheer sounded from outside of the rubble, so he climbed outside of it.
Thomas looked confused to the crowd amassed outside of the crumbled remains of the former White House. He fumbled with the edge of his black cape when another cheer sounded.
"Hail Presence! Hail Presence!" The crowd cheered.
With a wave of his hand, Thomas materialized a megaphone from his cape, batteries included, and tested it out. "Can you guys hear me?"
Another cheer sounded, confirming his inquiry. He then cleaned his throat and asked, bluntly. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"
A group of men dressed in black military garb pushed themselves through the crowd, they quickly started to form a human wall, blocking the crowd to approach more. This got Thomas curiosity, so he stepped down from what once was the president office and walked towards the weird paramilitary folk.
With each step the crowd grew more and more noisy, till a point that he could no more tolerate such insolence. He jumped in the air and clapped a single clap, the crowd grew silent, leaves from trees all around fell to the ground, reddish and lifeless. He smiled to the welcoming silence but, to his surprise, the people were not terrified at his show of absolute power, many fell to their knees and cried cries of joy. Cried in silence, of course.
He slowly floated back to the ground and tapped the shoulder of one of the black garbed men. The man stopped pushing the crowd in front of him and fell to one of his knees, his head bowed down. Thomas mouth hanged open in surprise, but he recomposed himself, he had to get to the bottom of this.
He extended his hand and pulled the man's chin up, till he was upright. "What the hell are you guys doing?" He asked.
The man started to talk and realized that his words produced no sound, then he silently laughed and then felt to his knees, kowtowing to Thomas again.
Thomas sighed and snapped his fingers. The voice from the man first sounded high pitched, then came back to his normal tone. "...se the King of Kings! God embodied! Supreme Lord of our world and beyond! May your reign be..."
"Shut it." Thomas spoke.
The man held his tongue immediately. He slowly got himself up, as if trying to not irritate a giant bear, and looked at Thomas shoes. "What can I be of service, our Divinity?"
"What the hell are you guys? Are you some kind of cult? Did you guys start a cult about me?!" Thomas got more and more startled as the realization hit him. That's an emotion that he hadn't felt in many years: being startled by something.
"I... yes, our Divinity. We..." Answered the man.
"Don't call me Divinity. And what is your name?" Interrupted Thomas.
"I'm Bill, Sire." Answered Bill. "We are not a cult, Sire. We are your knights, your protectors and your servants, if I can humbly say, Sire." Tears rolled down the eyes of Bill, Thomas could perceive that he was scared, but also happy.
"Why the hell would I need protectors or even servants, for that matter?" Thomas felt baffled. How could they get things so wrong? Hadn't him forced CNN to transmit his manifest to all corners of the world? He even had a website where people could download it!
"Because you are divine and all powerful, Sire." Bill shivered as he spoke. "W-w-w-we... would not want you to bother with the unworthy, so we vowed to attend to your each and every desire, also to prevent that the plebeians disturb you or the spread of your word." Bill pointed to an armband
"My word?" Thomas felt confused, where did this people get all of this?
"Yes, Sire. As you yourself said 'I'll topple all the governments and shackles of the people, I'll force the pigs to give you guys liberty'. And your freed us all Sire. You are god embodied, you are the bringer of freedom." Bill said. People close to him in the crowd cried rivers and holding their hands together in prayer nodded with their heads.
"Are you guys freaking retarded? Did you understand anything that I said?" Thomas clenched his hands in anger.
"But your word is the truth, Sire. Through you we will have freedom! As you said in your gospel, we..." Bill continued, pulling a small book from his pocket.
"My gospel!? Are you fucking insane?!" Thomas pointed to one of the people in the crowd and pulled her in front of him with his mind. "You, woman, why are you here?" He snapped his fingers, giving her back her voice.
The woman felt to her knees crying and sobbed, whilst smiling. "Oh Chosen One! I'm unworthy of your touch! Please accept this humble beast as your servant and adorer, I will follow thy word till the end! I'll kill and the unbelievers! I will..." The woman spoke, when Bill kicked her in the face.
"Quiet you dog! You are unworthy to speak with the Presence! How dare you even..." Bill prepared a punch, when his arm blew off of his body. "Oh." He spoke and them fell to his knees, whimpering. "I'm s-s-s-sorry Oh Chosen One! P-p-p-punish me as you see fit!" Bill said, throwing himself face down to the ground.
"What the fuck?! Are you guys insane?!" Thomas put the megaphone against his mouth and blasted it. "ARE YOU STUPID? YOU IDIOTS REALLY THINK THIS IS WHAT I WANTED?"
The whole crowd felt to the ground in their knees, their heads hanging low. They didn't seem afraid, but ashamed, as if they disappointed their dad by dropping out of college and starting to sell coconut jewelry on the beach.
Thomas threw the megaphone to the ground with a loud "Fuck it." He slapped the dust of his cape and jumped into the air, flying away from the crowd.
"I'm bringing back the government's, fuck you all." Was the last thing they heard him saying.
| 2017-05-23T14:06:11 | 2017-05-23T12:18:54 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] *Picks up Phone*: Hello? *Voice*: In 5 years, you will have 30 seconds to talk to YOU, right now. Make sure you have something good to say, because I'm stumped. *Hangs Up*
|
The phone was ringing. Normally I would let it go to voicemail, but I was waiting to heär back about a job interview.
"Hello?"
"In 5 years, you will have 30 seconds to talk to YOU, right now. Make sure you have something good to say, because I'm stumped."
Then the caller hung up. It was a restricted number, but the voice sounded familiar. It was too imaginative to be a prank call from someone I knew. I grabbed a notepad and wrote the message down. Of course it can't be real... that goes without saying.
But if it were real, what would this mean? I was given an opportunity to speak to my past self and had nothing meaningful to say? No words of wisdom to impart? Not even some lottery numbers?
I started to get a sick feeling in my stomach. Five years from now I won't amount to much. I'll still be doing the same thing I do, day after day. Barely getting by, living in a daze of mediocrity.
Fuck that.
.........
*Five* *years* *later*
.........
I had packed my things a few days after the call. I had saved so many threads over the years on self improvement, learning languages, changing careers, becoming disciplined. I completely changed my life, who I was. And I was finally happy.
I felt a tingling along my spine. It was time. I picked up my phone. My fingers started dialing without thought. I knew what I had to tell myself now, after five years.
"In 5 years, you will have 30 seconds to talk to YOU, right now. Make sure you have something good to say, because I'm stumped."
|
I'm stuck, it's been 5 years since I got the call and it's my turn to dictate the rules of the game. A game, that must be what this is, and all games can be won. When I heard that voice, I could scarcely believe what was happening, yet if there is one person I can truly say I know, it is myself, and that was absolutely me.
I can only surmise that this has happened countless times, some sort of groundhogs day going back to the first call, I wonder what I said back then. Without knowledge of what's been said, I'm doomed to go through the same lines of thought, and repeat myself endlessly. I must scrape the walls of sanity for an original thought, yet 5 years have passed and I'm no closer to the answer. It's easier given my call told me nothing of the future, it seems the call itself is the focal point of everything, the variable that can ripple out and break this cycle of causality.
When I received the call, I told myself, "Grab a pen NOW, in 5 years you have 30 seconds to talk to yourself. Previous me tried prevent tragedy, greater tragedy occured. I used knowledge for wealth, ended up broke, addicted. Try something new, 12/11/2018, 14, 21, 32, 44, 51, 8" The date was my birthday, I wouldn't forget that, and by the time he told me of the number 14, I was ready to write. Armed with this knowledge, I had my shot, my chance to alter the future. With the powerball numbers, I had the certainty of free time, allowing me to use the weight of wealth to search for an answer, some solution to this nigh unsolvable riddle.
The day has finally arrived, I've been through much, and while I thought I'd have free time, and spare money to spend solving this problem, clearly I was wrong. There must be some sort of universal karma, a system of checks and balances that ensure a singular fate doesn't slip outside of the scope of its destiny. The voice itself is the hack, the flaw in the system that allows for a temporary alteration of the universal plan. I have accepted my suffering, the death and devastation that I must have tried to prevent in the past. I understand that the lottery numbers are nothing more than a distraction, the last vestiges of a damaged human trying to offer himself some reprieve. I've come to my solution, everyday I can feel the date getting closer, some sort of nudge from another plane, that my chance is upon me and the time has come.
As I pick up the phone I hear a voice "Your 30 seconds start now", "Hello?" * click *
...
...
...
"Well played, you've finally accepted and partially understood the nature of the universe, out of all the creatures I've put through this test, only .0000001% actually every break the cycle. More often than not, your people eventually give up and get stuck in a hedonistic loop. The decision to hang up was correct though, the only way to "win" this game, is not to play."
"Who are you, what the hell is this, and... you said I won... what did I win?"
"I could be said to be an agent of the universe, as you soon shall be. Natural selection is a process that exists all throughout the universe, and on all planets with a dominant species, we administer a test. Most planets like yours were balanced by disease, creatures that could best be described as monsters, and humanoid races evolved from different beasts competing over the same land. I was selected, much like you were, and sent here from a planet that was in a similar situation as yours. Wild success dictates a strong species, and this game that you've been put through is a way for us to weed out all but the best, and select our next batch of agents to help shoulder the load of an endless, expanding universe. There is more beyond that as well, but as you are new to our order, you will need to learn an endless amount of information before you're able to comprehend anything further than that which I've already explained."
"So my prize for winning this cruel game, is to be a tool of the universe required to help administer tests, in order to assemble a group of the most qualified creatures in the universe? Towards what purpose have we been selected?"
"Prize is a strong word, your world was selected and you have succeeded, while your time was amazing, and it only took you 4 iterations to find the answer, this job can only be described as a prize by the cruel. No, you've been taken, from your planet, from your life, from your friends and family, towards a purpose none of us understand. Your new life is one of subservience, bound by the laws of an ever present, all encompassing power that constantly invisibly pressures you to conform to its desires. At this point you must understand, we are slaves, our prize is knowledge, but no matter how much you know, there is nothing you can do, and nothing you can change; it's all cyclical, while you've "won" the game by hanging up the phone, now you're on call, for the rest of time, and you can't hang up anymore."
| 2018-02-04T14:30:46 | 2018-02-04T14:04:25 | 104 | 29 |
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.
|
I sat in the chair across from Rich. Bowls of various chips and candies covered the table, and two-liter bottles that once contained Dr. Pepper were strewn carelessly on the floor.
Joe, the DM of our group, sat at one end of the table, and Keaton, our Bard’s level-headed player, at the other. Brooke the Monk sat to my right. I was only home for the weekend, and Joe had called me in for a “special job.”
As the night progressed it became more and more obvious why. Rich wasn’t exactly an A+ player. Every decision the DM made was argued for 5 minutes. If a player attacked in a way Rich didn’t like, guess what? Another 5 minutes. As more time passed, I noticed a strange phenomenon. There was only one person he didn’t ever argue with. Brooke. He was deferential to her, throwing the others under the bus just to try and “prove himself,” or something absurd like that. A classic white knight, alongside of being a pretentious douchebag. The perfect target.
My tiefling arcane trickster had faired quite well through the session, surprising Rich, who expected his min-maxed aasimir sorcerer to destroy all opposition. As we reached the end of the dungeon we were painstakingly making our way through, my high perception roll caught a pressure plate, along with a thin seam in the ceiling. Rich was right behind me, hoping to get any loot as quickly as possible.
Calling all clear, I cast minor illusion, covering the pressure plate neatly with an ordinary stone tile. I barely stepped over it, and then stopped, forcing Rich’s sorcerer to clumsily bump into me and step directly on the hidden pressure plate. I spun and rolled with advantage on a surprise attack with my enchanted dagger. A 15 and a 20 sealed his fate, with a neat sneak attack to boot. The dagger plunged into his ribs, as a look of shock came over the faces of both Rich and his arrogant sorcerer. Vines sprouted instantaneously from the green blade in his chest, rooting him to the spot as countless boulders tumbled from the ceiling.
Brooke’s monk nailed the high dex save and expertly dodged the rocks, while I used evade and took half damage. Keaton’s bard was wary enough to avoid even coming close to the trap. The poor sorcerer, his hands bound and feet rooted to the ground, never stood a chance. The boulders rained on him, cracking limbs and ribs and mutilating fleshy bits. At 2 HP he lay on the ground, stunned, as I leaned over him. He started to mutter something, when a knife flew straight into his oversized blue forehead, ending his miserable existence. I looked up to see Brooke smiling with an empty sheath at her waist.
At the table, Rich jumped up and stormed out, the screen door slamming behind him. He stormed back in, grabbed his keys and dashed out yet again. Tomorrow I would leave, and probably never play with these people again. But I knew I wouldn’t forget them anytime soon.
(Edit: lay, not may)
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The party was between level 6 and 8, with Greg being the level 8 paladin. I could tell right away that Greg, was an asshole. No wonder Tyler had wanted me to come in and "take care" of this problem child. He was a rule Nazi, hell a rule Adolf was a more apt description, thankfully though, so was I. albeit far more relaxed, I wasn't the dm. Tyler was.
He asked me two weeks ago about help with this asshole of a player he had in his group, and he just couldn't get rid of him. so he asked me to make Jackson, a bard of all things, to kill this paladin and give him one hell of a show. a show he would remember for the rest of his life.
When Jackson arrived to the party he was warmly greeted by the other players, they were happy to see a new face. Greg's character Jason Star-bright... wasn't so eager. constantly trying to steal the spotlight, and prove that he was the best that ever was. I sat back and let him have his fun, smiling and playing my lute as he let out a monologue that would make a bond villain groan. yet I went with it. I had a role to play, and I considered myself a method actor if nothing else.
We had to go a take care of a small cult, something about dragons and fish people, wasn't too worried, was more focused on my quarry. we found the ritual site and a battle ensued, of course Jason led the charge... we had fought for over 2 hours killing the cultists, i had used all of two spell slots and used my bow only once or twice, support characters can be fun to play.
Jason let out a victory speech before going up to the alter to get the artifact that was laying on top of it. I knew now was the time to strike.
"not so fast there tall, annoying and sparkly, i will be taking that." I said with a smile.
Greg looked at me baffled, what was this new guy thinking? "what the hell bard? what do you need it for? to get laid?" he laughed.
"Yup, this thing right here will get me all the bitches. so I need that." i dead panned, and grabbed the item. and the group laughed, except for Greg.
"I punch the bard" Greg said, he was not a fan of being showed up.
"Roll to hit..." Tyler sighed.
"18 + 7. 25!" Greg said with a Cheshire smile.
"That hits." i replied calmly.
Greg smiled widely and stopped before looking me dead in the eyes. "I choose to smite on this."
the group gasped, and Greg rolled his dice. he did the math and looked up. "68 points of damage. you want to keep holding on to that?" He lauded.
I smiled simply, and subtracted the damage from my health. "yup, but lets make this a duel shall we? at least have some honor?" I said slyly.
Greg sighed, but smiled. "fine just don't miss."
"I don't plan on it."
We both rolled for initiative, Greg rolled a 8, he dumped dex, but had a high AC so he didn't care. I rolled a 24, Greg was confused and asked how i had managed to do that. i told him about jack of all trades, and he was upset. he looked it up and was visibly annoyed, he was now determined to beat me.
Now before i get to what happened next i need to tell you that Tyler really wanted greg and his character out of the picture, so although the character sheet did say level 6, i was actually playing a level 20. 15 levels of college of whispers bard, and 5 levels of Hexblade warlock. Tyler REALLY wanted him to get to be gone, and i obliged.
"I pull out my longbow, and bonus action cast banishing smite." i calmly said, but Greg was mad.
"Your a bard! you cant cast Paladin spells!" He yelled scaring half of the table.
"level 10 bard feature, magical secrets. Choose two spells from any classes, including this one. A spell you choose must be of a level you can cast, as shown on the Bard table, or a cantrip." i recited back from memory, bards are my favorite class after all.
he quickly went through the book and almost tore the pages finding it, and slammed the book down when he did. "fine! roll to hit!" Greg yelled.
"Ok... I roll to hit. sharp shooter." i said calmy.
I rolled my dice and im not sure what greg did to piss off the dice gods, but i rolled a natural 20. "I crit." i said with a half smile, half trying to contain my laughter of what was about to hit this man.
"roll for damage, max damage, plus your roll.
"ok, quick questiomn then, would smite damage apply as well?" I asked curiously, this wasn't my game after-all.
Tyler simply replied. "yeah why?" a little confused.
"Ok then... I choose to spend one use of my bardic inspiration dice to add 8d6 physic damage and a 8th level spell slot to eldritch smite, for 8d8 force damage."
the table went silent. i rolled the dice, and it took a minute, i pulled out the calculator and quickly did the math. "289 points of damage." i deadpanned.
"wait what!? how?" Greg asked, asking the same question as the rest of the table.
"Well... max damage plus a roll... its a lot of dice, and modifiers add up.
Greg looked at his character sheet and looked back up to me. "I'm at -147 hit points... you tripled my max HP! The fuck!?" he said almost crying.
"sorry buddy, but its just numbers." i said somewhat apologetically. he was an asshole.
Tyler took his character sheet and tore it up. Jason Star-bright was dead. "well, guess that settles that..." my charcter said, and took the artifact. before looking at it curiously. "wait... this is the wrong one... well shit... here you guys go. this is yours. i need to go and find the real one. those bitches ain't going to get themselves!" i smiled and grabbed my character sheet, my dice and left.
i found out a few hours later that Greg said he wasn't coming back, and that the party was glad he was gone. Tyler thanked me for doing a fine job. but i simply said i was just helping a friend out.
​
| 2019-01-21T19:51:50 | 2019-01-21T19:30:54 | 330 | 166 |
[WP] In reality, every human gets to choose heaven or hell when they die. Hell isn't actually the realm of eternal torture, but everyone picks heaven because of God's highly effective marketing. After eons of solitude, Lucifer is startled by the first ever human to arrive in hell.
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As the gates to Hell creaked open a tall, dark figure jumped like a startled cat. The devil cleared his throat. His raspy voice betrayed his surprise. "Hello, uh, welcome to Hell!" He quickly moved to tidy up the desk in front of him. "I don't get a lot of visitors, so this is exciting! Welcome, come in!"
I was taken aback. I had sins to atone for. I expected a less friendly welcome. "Wait, this is Hell? I thought it would be...a lot worse."
"This is my home," Lucifer said, a bit gruffly. "I happen to like it. It's not a bad place. Look at the lighting in the foyer! I just had it installed last millennium."
I was in the *foyer* of Hell. I rubbed my temples.
"Look," I said, "There must be some mistake. I was trying to reach the, er, *level* of Hell as befits a person of my gross misdeeds."
"Oh, it couldn't be *that* bad," said the devil. "Do you play Canasta? I could make some tea and put out some biscuits. I haven't had guests in *ages*."
"Do you mean like play for my soul?" I asked, cringing, wondering if this was part of the torture. "I'm not very good at cards."
"No, just a friendly game!" Lucifer said with a sigh. "I'm really not a monster, you know, I just didn't want to join the family business."
"I see," I said. "Would you mind just torturing me a little to get it out of the way? I ran a pyramid scheme and defrauded millions. I really should be punished."
"Pssh, I wish Father had your humility," said the devil. "Nevermind. Let's just watch something. Are you a fan of Alf?"
"I am not," I said, "but maybe that's a good thing? We can watch all the shows you like that I hate and call it even?"
"Fantastic!" said the devil. "Sorry I don't have much to offer. Do you like kale chips?"
"Not at all," I said, "so even better."
"Great! I'll run and get the VHS tapes. Back in a flash." He winked. "Just make yourself uncomfortable."
I settled in on the devil's couch with a sigh. It was only a little lumpy, but it would have to do.
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Of course, it seemed silly at the time that his demons had recommended implementing the new EviSafe Home Security System. After all, in over 200,000 years not a single mortal has *chosen* to come here. I had thought it was so easy, I was the Director of Operations for Heaven and was passed up for that damned promotion to Senior Vice President, for who...Gabriel, he spat disgustedly at the ground. Gabriel, God's little kiss ass. After that day, I thought it would be so easy to build my own afterlife where I could control every aspect. I could be more than a Senior Vice President. I could be the CEO of a new Heaven. He said aloud to himself.
Yet, I sit here, alone, surrounded by my deamons' and minions, and not a single mortal soul to occupy my time, he grabs another beer from the cooler and cracks it open, guzzling the cold beverage and thinking to himself. "Raum, I am hungry. Go fetch me something to eat."
"Fine" he says as he walks to the door, "anything specific?" he asks.
"Be gone!" Lucifer murmured, and waved him off as he dove hand first back into the cheesy puff's bag.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
He wasn't in a great mood, he never was these days. How could he be, giving up everything he did. Convincing us to do the same? "Raum. Get me a sandwich. Raum, change the channel. Raum, refill my cooler."
He wants something to eat while he eats chips, yet he resists getting up from the couch on days like today, but its better to be out of his way in case he gets into one of *those* moods.
Ah, that's right, there's a special deal at Quik Express Pizza, I'll just fly right in and order him one of his favorites, sulfuric encrusted Four Cheese, Olive, and Mushroom pizza. How he eats such a rotten egg smelling pizza is beyond me.
"Welcome to Quik Express Pizza, how may I help you?"
"I have a coupon. Sulfur Sundays, buy one get one half off" Raum said
"Okay, what kind would you like?"
"Please, can I have a medium sulfuric encrusted Four Cheese, Olive, and Mushroom pizza. The other can be a hand tossed roasted elf ears and pineapple pizza."
"Sir. I must say, mixing elf ears and pineapple is just...wrong."
"Just give me what I ordered and keep the change" Raum said as he handed over the coupon and the 10 Dakrons.
I really must hurry back, I've been gone a while now, "can you please hurry?" he asked impatiently as he stood perched outside the window.
"Here you go sir, and please be careful, it's quite hot."
"Can you please put the handles in between my beak?" Raum asked.
Could this take any longer, "Quik Express my ass" he thought. Okay, I really must hurry back as Lucifer can get quite hangry when he hasn't eaten properly.
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"Listen here, God. I demand my fair share of respect. Look, I helped create this place. I helped turn it into what it is today. We are ready for our first mortals to come and visit for the rest of eternity. When you decided you would make *two* sexes and not just one, everyone laughed at you. Not me. What did I say to you?"
He looked at Lucifer with pity and bore "You said don't worry about it, you will have the whole place ready to host as many sexes as I wish to create."
"That's right. I did. I even worked deep into the night on the sixth day of creation. I never once asked for recognition or even a promotion. I took the responsibility on myself and my handy crew of daemon's worked tirelessly until all preparations were made. All to appease you." said Lucifer.
**Knock....Knock**
**Knock.**
"Wh-what was that?" Lucifer said as he awoke confused "Nemeroth, go see who is pounding at the door at this hour."
Nemeroth begrudgingly obliged as he floated to the front door. "It's for you. You have...you should come here to see it for yourself."
He got up lazily, lapping his fingers from the cheesy puff residue caked on his hands, "this better be good" he thought to himself, as he staggered over to the front door, shuffling his feet as he arched his back and outstretched his arms while simultaneously stretching and yawning. Once he opened his eyes fully, his jaw nearly dropped to the ground. Eons have come and gone since he left Heaven, but finally, despite the negative full-court press that God has put on Lucifer's Hell beneath Earth a visitor has come.
"Oh...you've...uh...you've made it to Hell." he stuttered. Shit. Why did I not have the Champagne out? This is a special occasion, I should've been more prepared. "Nemeroth, bring me the special bucket from the cellar, I believe our guest will enjoy it, because its *to die for"* he howls in laughter.
| 2020-01-30T12:57:48 | 2020-01-30T12:19:04 | 677 | 37 |
[WP] After being possessed, you jokingly tell the demon that if it really wants to stay it’ll have to pay rent. The next morning you wake up to find a pile of cash on your nightstand.
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"You know, possession isn't that bad." I sigh and take a sip of my "Dirty Bean Water" coffee. I work from home programming stuff for whatever company I'm in the mood for. I have an excellent track record.
But I shouldn't take all the credit. Most of it's becuase the demoness dragon sleeping on the couch can work magic(sometimes literally) when I need it. It's a good system. She gets to possess me every other day during weekdays and on the weekends I get to do what I want.
The demonic being in question is Kat, due to a mistranslation of ĶHHYĂÜȚ.
I turn on my Xbox only to see that I can't find the controller. I look around only to find it deep in the iron grip of a sleeping demoness.
I shake Kat's head in mild anger.
"Kaaaat I need the controller."
She responds with a less-then-half conscious "Nooo I need to finish Afterparty..."
Even more mildly angry I remember that there's only one surefire way to bring her to the mortal reality.
I bust out the eggo waffles.
The smell of them toasting wakes her up so fast she bumps into everything on the way to the kitchen.
I get a enthusiastic "Are they ready?"
I walk over to the couch and grab the controller. "Soon!"
Kat thinks, then remembers that she didn't let the controller go while asleep. A slight wave of embarrassment crosses her face.
"I was really into Afterparty last night, I guess I didn't realize that I was falling Asleep."
The toaster pops up right as I sit down.
"Uh, are you gonna make waffles?"
"Are you?"
"Whaaat? I don't wanna make them."
"Awww, little Kat can't make waffles?"
"I swear if you don't make them I'll just necromancy them!"
"And what? Lose that golden waffle taste?"
I hear a groan of defeat as Kat gets up to make waffles.
"I'm not making any for you."
"You grabbed two plates, didn't you?"
Silence ensues.
We eat waffles while watching Jollywancore.
After, I get up to throw away my plate and by the time I turn back around She's playing Afterparty.
"Snooze you loose."
Alright, she's one to talk.
I sit down at my PC to play minecraft dd&ss and think about how weird a normal life seems.
As much as me and Kat bicker I don't think I could imagine waking up and not seeing her.
I can't image life without...
...My demoness friend.
__
Hi, I'm Sean. I'm 15 now and I like to write stories about dragons and all in all this one's pretty weird, Idk if I like the style. Inspired by Satina.
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It had been the first night of real sleep Jake had had in what felt like lifetimes. Jake stretched his arms and legs, his back arched off the mattress. For the first time he noticed that the sheets smelled of stale sweat and something else. A bitter, bracing scent that stirred to mind the image of open graves.
But he could take the stink just so long as he could continue to luxuriate here, tangled and twisted in the sheets. Sunlight tried to razor through his clenched eyelids. *Not today. On the seventh day, God rested. And last night, Horgarthl rested. Which means today I rest.* Jake flipped over, buried his face in his pillow. The opioid haze of sleep crept in around the edges of his consciousness.
Horgarthl had been a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it had helped his sort out some problems and a curse because it had decided to stay way beyond its usefulness. Jake had fallen into the drug dealing business during college and had decided that instead of climbing out, he'd set up shop right there and stay a while. It paid for his apartment, for the high-spec computer rig and two gaming consoles. It paid his Mustang and for the nice dinners he used to impress his dates enough to get them back to his apartment. It was a life he could have only looked up at as he struggled with whatever shitty service job he'd have to take while he waited for his journalism degree to finally kick in and pay dividends.
People didn't want truth or knowledge. The instant hit, the rush was all the truth that the world wanted.
And now, finally comfortable, he could see the appeal. Except that, unlike something aboveboard like journalism, when you got your computer or typewriter, if you were into that sort of thing, stolen you could go to the cops. But when you come back home to discover that one pound of Orange Breeze, 50 pills of Molly, 3 full blotter pages, and four grams of shrooms are now no longer hidden beneath a loose board in your closet it's not an option to go to the cops complaining that someone stole the tools of your livelihood and that if you don't get it back, the people who supplied the stuff to you are going to show up and put you beneath the floorboards. Or in the river. Or in a barrel of acid. Or whatever they do to people who can't make payments.
That was where Horgarthl came in. Or rather Rosalia did.
Rosalia. Jake sniffed the pillow, searching for any lingering scent of her. But there was nothing. Her black hair and white skin, the crimson lipstick that made her lips look like ribbons of strawberry licorice, the softness of her skin and the roughness of her desire, all of it stamped into the two-dimensional, washed out medium of memory. Memories weren't the only thing she'd left him though.
Jake opened his eyes. Groaning, he sat up. He flexed his muscles, testing for resistance or interference from an external force. But there was nothing. He turned his hands over and over, examining the skin. They didn't shift and bubble as something pulsed beneath, stretching out in its own bed made of his flesh.
Sunlight burned along the blue walls, washing them out white. Black and white photos hung in their frames. The Waterside Park, the capitol building from a low angle, one that he'd taken from a drone over the Blackstone River then false colored to black and white in Adobe. A full length mirror stood propped against a wall near the door.
The past several weeks had seemed like a nightmare he could only remember by its emotional echo. Finally he seemed to be awake though. And the solution had proved to be so easy, so elegant. He hadn't even needed a cross and a vial of holy water. Or an old dude.
Maybe, now that the demon had been cast out, he might even have a chance of getting Rosalia back. After all, it had been the demon that had said those things to her, had tried to do those things to her.
Jake shook his head, jumped to his feet. He had to get moving, to reconstruct the edifice of normality that would keep all this hocus pocus bullshit at bay and after what Rosalia had seen, what with him skittering across the ceiling at some points and speaking an ancient language backwards, she might be up for adding a bit of normality into her routine too.
He was about to head into the bathroom when he saw it.
*Get the fuck out of here*, Jake thought. Cold sweat broke out over his body. He paced back and forth, his eyes glued to the stack of money that stood in two piles thick as encyclopedias on his night table. The bills were caked with something brown and thick, something that had started to flake, dusting his night table in copper colored scales.
He really hoped that wasn't what he thought it was. He didn't want to think the word, as if by thinking it, it would become true. Although that was kind of how Horgarthl had been pulled into this plane and tethered to Jake's will. The thought, the wish, an intention repeated with enough conviction and need to puncture the reality that the human race told itself was immutable.
"That should cover it, no?" a guttural voice said.
Not again. He couldn't be shunted to the back of his own body while this thing. Jake spun on his heels, a desperate urge to bolt from the house galvanizing his limbs. He clamped his hands on his ears even though he knew that the voice wasn't coming from any point in the room but from inside his own head.
"No, no, no," Jake grunted through clenched teeth.
Before Jake could take step one, a leaden frigidness froze him where he stood. He fought against it, tried to force his commands through his beleaguered body but he couldn't bring about even the slightest twitch of an eyebrow.
"But I thought that we had an arrangement. A deal, as it were. I pay rent and in exchange, I have access to your body. Isn't that what you humans call capitalism?"
"No, that wasn't the deal. We had one deal. You get to come here in exchange for getting my stuff back. You got my stuff back now go somewhere else."
"But if I am to be at liberty here, in this realm, it is my choosing where to go. And Jake, I like you. I want to make my home in you, to infest you."
"No God damn it!"
| 2020-04-25T22:20:10 | 2020-04-25T21:12:21 | 53 | 10 |
[WP] Your ancestor the king had the witch bricked up alive in the dungeons, and for years local legend said you could hear her scratching on the walls at night. Now the walls have been torn down, and for the first time people can see what she wrote...
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She groaned as she saw the massive hole in the side of the national heritage site. Denham Castle had been her family home before donating it to the heritage trust. They’d haggled for months over the fine print of care and access for her excavation projects to find the real history past all the rumors and legends. She’d been the one to convince her family. Only two days after handing over the keys, the idiot truck driver delivering supplies for the guest center had let the truck roll backward down the hill and into the castle.
The additional entrance had only breached between the walls forming the foundation and what children always been told was the dungeon. In truth it had been a cold cellar and wine storage.
“You morons. Do you realize what could have happened?” She extended every effort to keep from screaming the words but was vibrating with fury.
“We’ll get masons right away!” The assistant curator pleaded reaching for a stone.
“You will touch nothing, including that trust until your boss and the professor overseeing the dig arrive. The last thing I want is more damage.” She saw his expression, as stunned as if she had slapped him. “Now would be a good time to go call them, Marcus.”
“Yes Morgan- I mean Ms. Denham.” He hurried away up the incline and over the bridge into the castle proper.
Morgan pulled out her cellphone and shone the light inside. They were lucky the truck hadn’t done more damage and the foundation’s double wall was built well. Nearly two feet between the outer and inner walls, it had provided insulation to keep the supplies inside cool during the hottest summer months. She remembered fondly hiding down there to eat ice cream cones and tell ghost stories of the witch in the walls. They had all known the scratches were really the mice and other vermin in the castle, but that had never kept away a chill up the spine when her brother told the story.
“Once upon a time a witch had stopped at the castle during a storm,” she mutters the old tale she picked her way through the rubble. “She requested a soft bed and warm meal. The king agreed, but only on the condition that she would lay a charm upon his family for good luck. The witch agreed. She ate and slept well that night. In the morning, she tried to leave before laying the charm. The king caught her.”
She paused and stared into the deep black between the walls. It felt oddly familiar, like a nightmare she once had as a child.
“The king gave her one last chance to lay the charm and she refused. He told her she would remain in the walls of the castle until she made good on her promise. The king walled her up in the dungeon and there she stayed. You can hear her scratching her curses in the stones.”
A mouse ran out past her foot. She startled and tripped. When she grabbed for the wall it crumbled and she lay between the inner and outer walls. Shining her light up to find a hand hold, she saw the scratchings on the stone.
Morgan managed to stand in the small space. And read some of the writing. She knew her old English was rusty but she was able to get the just of it.
“And then the king thrust into the maiden and called out praises to the sky. The maiden heaved with pleasure and realized she was a maiden no longer. When they lay spent beneath the night sky, he told her of dreams to come and years to spend together.” She skimmed over the section she could reach, and then checked the stones laying scatted on the ground.
“Marcus told me it had been damaged,” Professor Lewis commented as he approached. “This is terrible.”
“Professor, you won’t believe what I found.” Morgan showed him the first passage.
“So the story of the witch had some truth. Do you think this is her story? Was she the maiden?” He asked with such naive interest she almost wanted to lie.
“From what I can gather, not a history so much as an anthology...” she blushed, “of erotic stories. The large stone over there includes drawings with a centaur.”
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"My liege, might it not be such a good idea to unearth the remains of a witch?" my court minister Sneevalsworth asked me. He was a loyal lickspittle, but had no real sense of wonder.
"Quiet yourself," I replied. "This is my castle, and I will do with it as I please. And it pleases me to know if the legends are true. If my grandfather truly immured his court witch behind the walls of his own castle." We both had to shout to be heard over the hammering of deconstruction.
Brick by brick, the walls of the east wing of Cunnyham Castle came down. The air became thick with dust as bits of masonry shattered into place on ever growing piles of stone.
"It's just that...my lord...you see," Sneevalsworth stammered.
"Out with it!"
"Well, legends also say that Brusilda was the most powerful witch to ever grace his majesty's court. It's said that she could reverse the flow of rivers with a wave of her wand; that she could make men her slave with mind altering potions; and that she could raze cities with magic flames that were so hot no amount of water could quench the blaze. Such a witch could be dangerous even after death."
With every word, Sneevalsworth's decrepit frame shook with terror. The cantankerous arch in his back that had always given him a look of subservience (perfect for a sniveling little courtier, like him) now made him look as if he was groveling in freight.
"Oh nonsense!" I shouted. "If she was as powerful as all that, would my grandfather have been able to brick her up behind a wall, like a common insubordinate court minister?"
Sneevalsworth flinched. "No my lord!"
"Good to hear! I'm glad that you've come around to my way of thinking," I said. I gave Sneevalsworth a good-natured slap on the back that sent him toppling to the ground. "Now, if only I could get these sodding serfs to *WORK FASTER* then everything would be grand."
"Your excele --" *cough cough --"* your excellence," Sneevalsworth began, somehow he had become encrusted with debris. "I am sure that the free citizen workers are working as fast as their unions have deemed safe."
"Bah, sodding unions! Not like the good old days, when a king could really get his money's worth from a worker. Back when my grandfather was king, you didn't see any of this health and safety nonsense. No whiny little masons crying 'we need water' or 'we need rest' or 'we're dying from exhaustion' nonono, never. If my grandfather had seen any of that, he'd have had a whip in his hand and made *DAMN* sure that they were working."
Just then, one of the demolishers came to Sneevalsworth and spoke briefly.
"My lord," Sneevalsworth announced "the workmen believe that they have uncovered what you wished to find."
"Wonderful!" I bellowed.
We followed through the debris, snaking between piles of priceless, antique stone carving that had been reduced to gravel. Finally we made it into a clearing, where a neat hole in the wall revealed a room, just large enough to qualify as a broom closet. A stack of bones lay against one wall.
"Sneevalsworth, we've done it! We've proved the legends true!" I said, stepping into the room. I yanked the ever hesitant Sneevalsworth in behind me. "Glorious isn't it? Truly my grandfather was a titan of power, for desecrating such a banshee!"
"Yes, sire, of course." Sneevalsworth said, examining the bones. "However, we can't be sure, I think. Your grandfather had a reputation for locking prisoners up and...forgetting to let them out again. This could be any numb --"
"Look man," I cried. "The sorceress carved her last words into the wall! Over hear man, come look! What does it say? Bring me a light so that I can read it."
Sneevalsworth beckoned one of the workmen to pass him a torch to illuminate the room. He came and held it close enough for the glow to reveal the finer points of the mysterious writing.
"By god, man."I could hardly believe my eyes the foul witch had besmirched my castle -- my father's castle and my grandfather's castle with a smell of some unknown, wicked nature!
Sneevalsworth made the sign of the cross over his ancient chest. "What does it say, sire?"
"It says 'IIIIIIIIII' over and over again."
The blood drained from Sneevalsworth's face. "I think I may be ill," he said.
"I wonder what distasteful bit of enchanting this arcane writing has placed upon my ancestral home. Perhaps we can find a scholar to decode this magical script."
"My lord, I think that those may be no more than the frenzied scratching of someone entombed in a castle wall."
"See here," I traced the characters with the tip of my finger. "The markings begin plain, but further down, they take on a reddish brown color. I wonder what it could mean. I wonder if it calls for a future doom that starts simple and ends more elaborately."
My courier crouched beneath the writing and scooped something into his hand. "Look, your highness. Finger nails. This is no magic. Simply the last dying moments of prisoner."
I slapped his hand away from me. "Are you mad?! Don't disturb the reagents used to curse my family! Quickly out of the room!"
After leaping to safety from to tomb of the witch, I quickly instructed the workmen to continue their destruction of the east wing. I wanted every last scrap of that part of the castle laid to waste. Not a single stone should be left in place. Some of my grandfather's charm must have still been in my blood for they started so quickly and worked so fast that Sneevalsworth almost did not make it out of the room behind me.
"But, your Highness," he pleaded, "there is no reason at all to lay the entire wing to ruin. It is all just simple superstition." I could hear the quivering fear in his voice. The remains of the witch clearly had disturbed him into hysterical madness. He had completely lost hold of his senses and was speaking without a thought behind his words.
"Never fear, my loyal minister. We need not worry about angering the witch further from beyond the grave. With my quick thinking and heroic action, I believe that we can stymie the curse by simply destroying what is left of the east wing."
"My lord, if you stop this now, you may still be able to salvage the structure. There is truly no need to demolish the entire wing of your grandfather's castle."
Poor Sneevalsworth, despite my action, the fear of the curse had bestowed more damage on him that the curse itself. Perhaps, if this mad talk continued, I would have to replace my loyal secretary. It would be a shame to lose such a man as him. Damn that witches bones! Even in death her evil was at work.
"Come, now, Sneevalsworth. Let us find some other part of the castle to retire to. You can tell me more stories of how my grandfather executed courtiers for speaking out of turn. I know how much you enjoy that. Look at you! I just saw that little shiver of delight crawl up your back, just like always."
With a sigh, "Yes, my lord."
| 2020-09-12T12:02:36 | 2020-09-12T11:41:55 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] "Halt foul demon! I know of your true name and so you must obey my every command!" "Wha- Why would you knowing my name make me obey you all of a suden? What are you gonna do? Call my parents or something? I swear humans myths about demon control are the weirdest.."
|
“Seriously? You do realise saying my name isn’t going to make me do anything I don’t want to do. Newsflash, you eejit, I’m a demon not a dog. That’s D-E-M-O-N not D-O-G.”
I gave the human a dry look. My fingers were quivering with the urge to channel some power, to inflict something against this fool for summoning me up from my nice cosy bed in hell. Do I need to sleep? No. Was I comfy? Yes.
But no, I was more of a jokester demon than a violent one, luckily for the human in front of me. I preferred tricks and short lasting effects to death and long last effects. I found it more _fun_. And more clean, too. Bloodstains didn’t come out easily, especially if you were trying to not clean your clothes magically.
“Iocus, I, Sophia, command thee to-“
“Okay come on. Again, you cannae get me to do anything I don’t want to do. And my name isn’t friggin’ Iocus. Dipshit.”
It took until now for the newly named Sophia to finally behave. Whatever they’d been reading or watching, it hadn’t been factually correct. There was a demon trap on the floor- or rather, the common version of a demon trap that was represented in media. This didn’t do anything.
To reiterate my point I stepped out of it, piercing orange eyes staring at her impassively. The naive human didn’t look too scared upon seeing me step out the trap, which was respectable honestly. Also a little boring. Coulda done with a more scary reaction but hey, this one was interesting.
“Some of this stuff was correct. The summoning ritual worked- in the sense that a demon was summoned. Iocus? Not a name. It’s a type. You summoned a jokester demon. Iocus means joke. So, I don’t murder. If you wanted someone dead, you’re out of luck _quine_.”
Give credit where credit is due.
“Will you do what I need you to do?”
She asked, moving forward. I put a thumb to my chin and tilted my head. This one intrigues me. She’s not scared, nor angrily corrects me, nor tries to stab me. Maybe she is worth engaging with.
“Well, that depends on what you wannae do. Tell me, and we’ll see…”
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 6: Mare v.s. Bureaucracy)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Halt, foul demon!"** The federal-uniformed soldier barked at Mare. "I know of your true name, and so you must obey my command."
Mare raised one perfect eyebrow—they were a shapeshifter, after all, and what was the point of having a body in the first place if it wasn't going to be perfect? "What, is this because I kicked your attack dog back into the sewer he game from? You know that demon-bindings don't work unless you're a mage, right?"
"Who said anything about demon-bindings?" The soldier stepped forwards, thrusting a piece of paper scribbled with words at Mare. They eyed it cautiously, expecting a runed trap or some spell-parchment, but instead found... a court summons. Addressed to Mare—the legal name they'd chosen in this century.
Mare scoffed. "Please. You've been tearing this city to shreds with your military. You think I'm going to respect your laws after everything you've done?" They kicked a bit of rubble off the cracked and torn road for emphasis. The pebble whizzed by the soldier's head with supernatural speed—a warning shot.
"Ah—I'm afraid you're mistaken. These aren't our laws; you're not being called to stand in front of the U.S. court." The soldier tapped the top of the piece of paper, and Mare's eyes narrowed. "This is a summons from Desmethylway."
"What? Give me that." Mare snatched the paper and skimmed it. *Eyewitness in... unresolved murder... five decades ago...* "This—this case was closed half a century ago!"
"And it was just reopened, by the request of the U.S. Federal Government," the soldier placidly said. "Oh—and it's not the only one." Mare's eyes bulged as the soldier offered another summons, and another, and another, each from a separate nation, each calling on the millenia-old demon for crimes they had committed over the long, long course of their life—everything from jaywalking to destruction of property to high treason. "Of course, if you *want* to spit in the eye of every court in the world, feel free. I'll be watching the fireworks—from a safe distance."
Mare worked their jaw. They *had* to remain here to protect the city; the Feds would conquer it in an instant if they left. But the grievances accrued against them over centuries were legitimate, and spurning the international community would do the city of Sacrament no favors. They weren't cut out for this kind of bureaucratic maneuvering—
"Excuse me!"
—but someone else was. Mare's heart leapt as they heard a familiar voice. The soldier turned around, surprised, then blanched white as they saw the figure striding towards them.
"Hi!" The young woman didn't look like much of a threat, aside from the red knife strapped to her belt, but as she sighted upon the papers, her eyes lit up with the primal glee of a shark that had just slipped into familiar waters. "I'm Clara Olsen, the once and future mayor of Sacrament—and I know a *thing* or two about criminal law. Mind letting me see those papers?"
The soldier recovered some of his composure. "I—well, it's unlawful for a duly appointed service member to disclose case details without the consent of the witness in ques—"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't talking to you," Clara said, walking past the soldier. "Witness in question, would you mind sharing the details of your case with me?"
"*Would* I." Mare handed the sheaf of papers to their old friend. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Where have you *been*? Is that—hey, that's my knife you've got!"
"Later, later," Clara said, waving their comments away as they speed-read the papers. "Let's see here... Desmethylway? They're an irradiated, plagued, frozen wasteland—you can cite witness hazard. They can't legally compel you to serve justice in a country that is physically hazardous to you. Meatlund? Bah. This summons is addressed to 'Pietro Aylen'—I don't see anyone by that legal name here. The Middle Communes? Ha! Spurn that wreck of a government all you like—they're too busy dealing with having collapsed twenty years ago to do anything about it." Clara tore through the summons and thrust them back at the soldier's chest. "Is that all you've got?"
The soldier wasn't an idiot—he could tell when he was outmatched. He scowled, clutching the papers to his chest and turning away. "You don't know it, but this was a mercy. You had one chance to move out of the way before we crushed you."
Clara folded her arms. "Move out of the way? And let you run over the people I... am sworn to protect?" She stepped forwards. "I am the mayor of this city, and you are not welcome here. Scram."
And the soldier did. Back held high, he turned to report to his superiors.
Clara let out a sigh, then turned to Mare. "Now. It's been too long, old friend. How about we catch up a bit?"
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-05-05T10:56:58 | 2022-05-05T10:23:56 | 154 | 31 |
[WP]- Make me absolutely hate a character, and then make me fall in love with them at the last moment.
|
I had been thinking about her all day, before I killed her. Her inexplicable attraction to me, and to me alone. All those nights she came to me, though I had never had a desire to see her. Her desperate attempts to grow close to me.
My friends all knew about her. How I complained about her, and vented, and seethed. They knew better than to defend her.
I didn’t want her in my life, but she kept creeping back in.
I knew why. I knew what she wanted.
A child.
Yes, like all aging females, fertility trumped all else. Never mind what I wanted. Never mind my blossoming career, the golden performance reviews, the fast track to promotion. She wanted a child, and that’s all that mattered.
Like all females, she was selfish.
I wanted nothing to do with her, and her future, or the future of her progeny. They would enter a crushing world of defeat, just as she had. They would suck everything out of me, just like she had.
I tried to get rid of her, but she was so persistent.
Even the nights she left me alone, her absence filled the room. I could still hear her, inching closer to me, craving me. I would bury my head deep into the pillow, willing myself to disappear from her obsession.
I had no choice.
And as I imagined her death, the blood seeping out of her limp frame, elation pulsed through my skin. The skin she would never touch again.
I entered my room, slowly and deliberately.
She was waiting for me.
And as my heavy foot collided with her torso, the mosquito flattened into the wall, dead.
|
Normally the owner of the nickname "Tubs" would be heavy. I had never heard of a scrawny Tubs until I moved to Venture Park with my parents and sister when I was fifteen. He would take to the streets sometime in the afternoon, shuffling around in his dirty, ripped jeans and walk around with no purpose.
My part-time job in high school was bagging at a Sweetbay. When it was quiet I brought the baskets in and took the trash out. I remember my trainer telling me that we had trouble with people stealing from our bins and gave me this look like "you know who I mean".
It wasn't much longer after that when I caught Tubs stealing from our bins. "Hey!" I yelled, mustering all the authority a sixteen *almost seventeen*-year old could. I was running at full speed; he had seen me and had started walking away. "You can't steal from here!" I said, looking to confront him. I'm sad to say that I remember thinking this was going to be an easy fight, if it came to it, and that no one liked Tubs so I would be a hero. He mumbled and kept walking away.
"Didn't you hear me?" I could almost reach him.
"Kid, I'm leaving. Leave me alone!"
"Why, so you can go molest some other girls?" The look on his face could crush my soul now if I thought about it long enough, but back then it was a triumph. I had won and went back to work, surging with unspent adrenaline.
The older I got, the more that memory got to me. I began to realize it wasn't a brave thing I had done. The wisdom that can come with age, if you're lucky, began to reform that scene for what it was: a cocky kid looking to be a winner by punching below the belt. It was a small confrontation but I felt I owed it to him to apologize.
When I moved back home after college, I began asking around town about Tubs. It was a little side project of mine, done discreetly over a few years, so as to not stir suspicion. I heard a lot of gossip about him. "He was arrested for burning some dogs a while back." "I heard he deals meth and coke." "One time he stabbed a guy in a bar fight." So many rumors but nothing substantial other than the town focusing all their negative attention on him.
I wound up getting a good lead and talked with one of my older neighbors, Stella, who liked to water her garden in her cotton bathrobe whenever weather permitted.
"Tubs? Why do you want to know about him for?"
"I'm really just curious, Ma'am."
"Well, I'll tell you but you'll have to sit down for some sweet tea. And you have to clear your mind of all those stories everyone's been telling about him."
I sat on her porch, trying to get comfortable while she fetched the sweet tea. It was a day to make me envious of the tomatoes she had just watered. Even at 10:30 the humidity was oppressive.
Stella came back and poured some tea for me and her from her beige pitcher. "I went to school with Tubs. Did you know that?"
"No, Ma'am."
"I did. Of course, he wasn't 'Tubs' back then. His name was Richard Mansfield, but most kids called him Richie. He dated one of my friends, who was a year behind us in. Emily Standers. Pretty little thing she was. They were close, those two. Maybe a little too close for her father's liking. I heard he caught them in the field behind her house."
"What happened?"
"Surprisingly, he didn't beat the tar out of Richie. I would have thought that, since I knew Emily's father and all. No, took him down to the police station. He got charged with "child molestation" or something like that. Life didn't get much better after that."
"He went to jail?"
"Yep. When he got out he came back. His mother didn't want nothing to do with him. Still, he tried. She died awhile back. He kept living here, though."
I visited the only graveyard in town, walking up and down rows, looking for the Mansfield plot. I found Tubs first.
"Here," I said, handing him a bouquet of flowers. "For her."
"Thanks," he said, looking utterly bewildered.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
He didn't remember. I was probably just another bad day for him.
"For them. For nothing, I guess. I just wanted to give them to you so you didn't have to steal them."
"Well, thank you kindly."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"I guess I owe you one."
"Why do they hate you so much?"
He sighed deeply. He placed the flowers on his mother's grave, tenderly arranging them. "I can't really tell you why everyone hates me. I think about it a lot. The only thing I can come up with is people need someone to hate. If I gotta be that person so that they don't hate someone else, I'm okay with that."
| 2013-10-21T22:10:55 | 2013-10-21T19:46:01 | 134 | 58 |
[WP] No Man's Sky is actually a secret military experiment designed to find candidates who are capable of withstanding the monotonous task of inhabiting dull and boring worlds. You are chosen because you have the most time logged in the game out of anyone else in the world -- a whopping 42 hours.
|
“ They are bubbling over in marketing, this kid is going to take over the internet, he will be the PewDiePie of space.”
“I don’t know, it’s a bold move - bold moves sometimes bite you”.
“True, but just look at him…”
Ding.
“See, look at that, he uses a timer to remember to eat and wash, he is very good at self care, I’m telling you the kid is perfect”
“… we have had a live link to his webcam since hour two”
“He performs between 57 and 64 actions every minute, the facial analyzer shows his blinking is within a hundredth of a second of optimal.”
“Okay, let's do it”
“They are going to be simply uncorked in marketing. Sir, I stand behind your decision.”
Later that day,
Knock, knock. Two men in black suits and a woman in a purple dress stand in front of Stanley Huepaler’s door behind them a camera crew and a Writer from Wired.com.
The front door opens.
“Hello?”
“Hello Stanley, my name is Andrew Burnstrum and I’m from NASA . I am here to tell you that you are the winner of our Secret Space Sweepstakes. Stanley, we are sending you to Mars.”
The women spoke,
“You will be the first civilian to go to space and one of the first three people in history to live on Mars. “
Ding.
“I’m sorry, but I have to eat now and get back to No Mans Sky.”
“That’s the thing Stanley, No Mans Sky was how we found you, it’s why we have selected you for the honor of space flight.”
Stanley paused thoughtfully and then asked,
“Will I be able to play No Mans Sky in space?”
“Well, no”
“I’m good, Thanks”
And then Stanley closed the door.
--------------------------------------
As requested - part 2
--------------------------------------
Not long after the government knocked on his door, they revoked his license for No Mans Sky and took all of his computers - all while making the same offer. Without No Mans Sky he might as well go to Mars.
Stanley missed playing No Mans Sky and Earth. Did you know being in Space smells terrible – Stanley didn’t.
As it turns out – both Mars and Spaceships get very dusty and NASA decided that bringing a dedicated space sweeper would allow the other astronauts to focus on executive tasks.
Stanley was not told any of this but he was trained for his job. He didn’t know if they hid it from him or if he inadvertently hid it from himself but now that he knew, Stanley endeared himself to the crew by speaking in a horrible high pitched female Mexican accent,
“House keeping – I clean for you!”
Things changed after that.
It didn’t take long for Stanley and the other Astronauts to realize, that Stanley Q. Huepaler was the closest thing to a female that anyone of them might ever see.
After a few nights of the, Eliza character, as Stanley called her, one of the other astronauts privately asked him to do an Olga.
For weeks Stanley would lighten up that strapping mans face with,
“Moose and Squar-ell”
Mission control became worried when – Eliza – began to serenade them each night, with amorous songs in make-believe Spanish.
The internet was abuzz.
According to a highly reputable website Gamker.com, the Astronauts were now engaged on an interplanetary gay cruise at the tax payers expense. And they were right.
--------------
-
-
|
"It's beautiful, isn't it," Sean Murray said as we watched the curve of the Earth sink beneath us, a parabola completing its arc into a sphere. My whole world sunk away and became just another planet spinning in its place through the cosmos, then a marble, then a distant point of light. Sean was at peace now, all the nervous energy of the buildup to launch dissipated, his scraggly work-beard shaved clean. It was if time itself had turned backwards and undone entropy, undone disappointment and resentment, turned back time to that single moment of hope.
"It's beautiful," I said.
We were aboard a Korvax freighter - not that the Korvax necessarily existed - but the gleaming architecture was so familiar, like the dozens of space stations I had visited except infinitely more complex. Around us there was the constant bustle of military personnel, scientists, the familiar floating Sentinel drones. Sean and I stood on the observation bay, watching the stars stretch out and return to pure light, their gleaming aftertrails clinging to us as we warped past at hyperdrive. It was real. It was all so beautifully real.
"Well," Sean said, and coughed. "We ought to get you suited up, hm?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure," I said, and tore my eyes away from the majesty of space. Playing No Man's Sky had been a meditative experience, a gentle meander through the universe, stopping to stock up on minerals and name a bunch of species after dicks. I should have been nervous, seeing it for real, being torn away from my home. But instead there was a familiar tranquility to the scene. I walked, Sean leading me by the hand, down to the launch bay with barely a thought in my head. There was a music sounding in the back of my skull, a reverberation. There were half a dozen ships at dock, flight crews wandering back and forth, other pilots strapping in...
"Your ship," Sean Murray said, and presented me with a boxy little craft. It looked sweet, almost homey, but there was something wrong. Something not quite right.
"Yeah, sure," I said. The music was getting louder - no, not louder. Deeper. A more intense reverberation. It almost hurt. Other pilots. Why were there other pilots? "I thought-" I said, and gestured vaguely around the launch bay. "Why are there other people here? I thought you said I was the only one. The most time logged, right?"
"Hm," Sean Murray said, and boosted me up into the cockpit. I slid in almost instinctively, the glass sealing shut around me. "I did tell you that, didn't I?" Sean's voice said in my ear. I shifted uncomfortably. It was tiny in here, almost claustrophobic, barely bigger than a cubicle. There was a small sharp prick at the back of my neck, something cold slipping in-between my vertebrae, and the tension vanished almost instantly. I sunk back down into the seat.
"You understand what to, don't you?" Sean Murray's voice said. I blinked. The world was shifting color. Green blue pink orange. "You mine. You bring back resources. Just like you were trained to do. Just like you've always done."
I brought my hand down loosely on the controls, felt the autopilot shift into life, felt the ship respond beneath me. "Who were all those other people?" I said. The ship rocked soothingly under me. There was a sudden lurch forward and my ship was launched out into the vacuum, floating effortlessly to space. It was so lonely. So empty. I saw a coordinate light up and pushed forward by instinct, shooting forward through space. The planetoid ahead of me was grey, barren - and then the thing in my spine pulsed cold for a second, and the world shifted. The planetoid lit up in a pastel haze. "Sean," I muttered through my headset. "Sean. Am I being drugged?"
"It's for the best," his voice said quietly, and there was the old nervous hitch to it, the smiling edge of a lie. "It'd be a bit much to expect you to function otherwise. Every planet a new experience. Every rocky terrain a new hallucinogenically-generated world." My ship touched down automatically on the surface, and there were horses with wings flying past, skittering things with the heads of bananas dashing past my ship. The cockpit slid open and I took the first instinctive steps out.
"You wanted to explore the universe," Sean said, as I took out my mining laser and began cutting through the ore. There was a hysteric string threaded through his voice, vibrating madly and making it hitch. "But you couldn't have known. I couldn't have known. It was true, all of it, all of it. The outposts. The Sentinels. Mankind stepped into the final frontier and discovered that there was nothing left to discover. That someone had been there before us and claimed it all first."
"I don't mind," I muttered, jetpacking lazily across the surface. There were birds with six wings flapping overhead. The sky was a whistling green. I took a picture. There was a whole world - a whole galaxy - to explore. "That's why you picked me, isn't it? Why you picked us?"
"That's right," he said, his voice sounding calmer, more resigned. "The government - they trained a generation on these Skinner box games, picked out the best of the best. We were trying to be kind. That's all I wanted to do. I was trying to be kind. Earth's been a Korvax colony since the nineteen-sixties. They've been conscripting us for slave labor, using us to fuel their empire. Do you know what it's been like knowing that? You know what it's been like looking around at the whole unsuspecting world and knowing that we are owned?"
"There's no need to be worried," I said. The tower of Heridium stretched up before me, and I aimed up my laser and began to mine. All the lights were beeping, all the voices in my ear, as I switched between screens and refueled my shields, my filters, my mining beam, keeping the delicate balance carefully in order. "This is great. I'm having a good time. You made a great game."
"You would think that, wouldn't you?" Sean said, his voice a sigh. "Better to be hated, right? Better to be hated and thought a liar, than to tell everyone an incomprehensible truth." The sobs started, low and rhythmic, through the comm. "I had to. I had to find you. I had to find people who wouldn't mind being lied to."
My hand found the switch next to my ear, and I pressed it and cut Sean Murray off. I liked him, I really did, and I wished he would be happy with what he had made. But he was talking too much, and distracting me from the task at hand. With the whole world floating hallucinogenic around me, I watched the mountain of Heridium slowly disappear beneath my beam, and took the first step forward to the rest of my life.
| 2016-08-26T03:45:19 | 2016-08-26T03:21:07 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] All your life you've been able to temporarily enter someone's body and use it to your advantage. One night, you drunkenly decide to take over your ex's body. The next morning, you can't get back out, and it looks like your body is somehow awake...
|
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BODY?”
*Crap.*
“Jonathan, I don’t know what you were thinking, but get out. NOW.”
From the eyes of a body that was not my own, I looked around a familiar bedroom, one that I used to have free access to but was now off-limits.
*Shit, how did I wind up here?*
“I’m wondering that too,” my lips moved without my control.
*Well, I was at the bar, thinking about you, then…I woke up here to the sound of your yelling. And now I can’t get out.*
“You can’t get out??” Alice’s high-pitched voice became increasingly hysterical with every word.
*I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, Alice. Sometimes this just happens-I wind up stuck in a body that I didn’t intend to enter, and I can’t leave until 24 hours have passed. I really don’t want to be here either; my boss is going to kill me for ditching work again…I promise I won’t disturb you today in any way.*
“You’d better not. I have a date tonight.”
|
Apologies if this is bad. This is my first time posting here and I did not bother revising/rereading what I wrote.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Trapped. That was the one word in my head as I tried to leave Melissa's body and return to me own. Or maybe the one word in Melissa's head? Is it her head if it's my thoughts? Whatever, doesn't matter. The point is I was trapped. Confused? Let me explain.
“It all started a few years ago when I took a flight across the wall to Mexico to find some authentic atauflo mangoes. No, I'm not stupid. It was completely worth it. Those mangoes were really, really good. Anyways, back to the story. I was walking back to my hotel eating a mango I just bought from the market when I saw a cat thrashing in a dark alleyway. Obviously, I went to help. Who wouldn't help an impaired fluffy little puff ball. Unfortunately, when I approached the cat, something weird happened. He stopped thrashing and I felt a presence jump into me.
“I'm still not completely sure about this, but I believe that the presence was trying to get out. I wasn't to concerned about it at the time. I checked on the cat and he seemed dead, so I was a bit sad. I started walking back to the hotel and finished my mango. Man, was that mango good!
“That night, when I feel asleep, I had a dream in which a ghost with no real tangible shape was flying around me. Since it was a dream, I decided to walk into it and breath in. I felt a giant push in my subconscious. It felt like the ghost wanted to take control of my mind and body. After what felt like an eternity, I stopped fighting it. I could feel the ghost's triumph and I remembered that if he won over my body, I might never taste a mango again. What if the ghost didn't like mangoes? With that, I screamed my defiance and concentrated on the sweet, sweet taste of the mango I ate earlier that day.
“I think I was right; the ghost did not seem to like mangoes and the more I thought about the mango I ate, the more it's concentration seemed to wavor. Eventually, he gave into me. I shortly after that I was a ghost standing over my own body. I was like, okay, can this dream get any weirder? Whatever? I started to walk (float?) my way to the front desk of the hotel. I went over the clerk's body and went into him. Yes, into him. No, not in that way. Like I just moved towards him and got absorbed by him. Again, not in that way. You know what, whatever. Anyways, I realized that I could control his body and edited my room information to have been paid in advance. I, then, left his body and returned to my own.
“The next morning, I went to pay at the front desk and the clerk told me my room was already paid for. I was like great, that dream was a symbol of really good luck. I checked out and took a flight back to San Jose. I would later realize that I no longer felt the presence in me anymore.
“That night, when I went to sleep, I had the same dream. I managed to phase into my neighbor's body and had him write a reminder to himself that he owed me $5 and a mango. Muscle memory is surprisingly good. It can remember stuff like handwriting and passwords to computers. Anyways, I then returned to my body. The next morning, my neighbor, Sam, knocked on my door and gave me a mango. I, then, realized that my frame weren't actually dreams and that I did in fact absorb some kind of ghost to gain powers.
“Since then, I've been using my powers to do small things like convince my boss to not assign me any work at all and keep paying me, mess with my friend's stuff to freak them out, go through George R. R. Martin's manuscripts, you know the small stuff. Now onto the actual relevant parts, yesterday night, I was really drunk and decided to go into Melissa's body, despite the fact she broke up with me weeks ago because I told her about this power. I'm not actually sure what I wanted to do, but I really wanted to talk to her, so I drove her to my house and walked her over to me. I realized how bad the situation was getting and immediately tried to leave to go back to my own body. However, I realized that I could not and through Melissa’s eyes I saw my own body getting up. I freaked out and had Melissa’s body take her car and drive away.
“And that is why, Bill, you are seeing Melissa body that seems to be talking like Calvin. So yeah, basically, I’m screwed and I have no idea what to do. Google, maybe? Man, I really need a mango…”
| 2016-11-13T14:08:51 | 2016-11-13T13:41:33 | 30 | 21 |
[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.
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By rights I shouldn't exist. With the pairing of bear and dove, they expected something smaller. A wolf, perhaps, or an eagle. Something fast, yet powerful. Strong, yet humble. No one prepared for me.
The marks determine one's place in society. My father, with his unequaled strength, led the tribe to greatness. My mother, in her compassion, watched over our people. It was an age of prosperity unlike any seen in memory.
At my birth there were cries of anguish and shock. I'm told my father fought bravely, defending my mother as she escaped. I've heard how his great arms bulged as he struck down his former companions, before collapsing from his various wounds. My mother told me of his cry of rage as the tribe closed in around him before turning towards her.
She escaped. Not even she can tell me how, but we lived. Thanks to my mother's love and my father's strength, I survived. I've heard the stories as long as I can remember. Ever since I was old enough to ask about our marks. Her dove with wings spread wide on her forearm. The creature coiling up my leg, around my torso, mouth opened wide across my chest, showing countless teeth.
A leviathan. That is the word my mother heard uttered before the elders ordered my destruction. The only forbidden creature, an omen of destruction for the tribe. They were right.
I stand now on a hill overlooking my former people, camped by the water's edge. I watch the mothers pull their children in from the rain. I can hear, over the howl of the gale, the men discussing their latest hunt. As I close my eyes, savoring the moment, relishing my anticipation, I hear my mother's cries in my memory, her pleas of forgiveness, not for herself, but for the people who tried to kill her. I think back to that night, as she lay dying in the wilderness that was my home.
A fury as ancient as my animal wells within me at the thought. A hatred as deep as the ocean in which the leviathan lives. The storm within rages as the rain around grows heavier. I've returned to the water. I've returned to my people, bare-chested, that they will see the source of their destruction. As I reach the first tent, the fury boils over, and over the storm my roar can be heard.
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It was a pretty quite night for the hospital. Haven Metro-General was one of the biggest in the area, so the calm seemed surreal at best. It set me on edge.
"Mind if I burn one?," I asked my partner, trying to sound more casual then I felt. I obviously failed, as the big jowly man eyed me sidelong over his coffee.
He took a sip, and sighed. "You know those things will kill ya, dontcha Bert?" he grumbled, eyeing the monitors. "Not to mention, it'll dull that nose of yours. What goods a cop that can't smell?"
"Still a better shot then you'll ever be Sarge." That provoked a warning growl, but it was a good natured one, one I knew well. It was a little ritual we observed, with him pretending to care about my health, and me quipping back with something I deemed clever. It kept things light in our sometimes grim job.
"Yeah, go ahead," He finally assented, glancing at the clock. "You got five minutes. Ten if you bring me another coffee." I tipped my hat to him with a smile, grabbed my smokes and I.D., and headed out of the little world that was our cubicle. "Terriers..." I heard him mutter, "Never sittin' still for a second..." I smiled again and headed out the the sliding doors of the lobby.
I pulled a cigarillo out and lit it with a quick match strike. As I took a drag, I took a moment to savor the flavor. Bacon. My favorite. A bit on the pricey side, so they were only a once-in-a-while treat.
I went to take another drag, and the world went sideways. I felt like I had just slammed a whole bottle of whiskey and skipped being drunk. My smoke fell to the ground, forgotten, as I clutched my head, a small whine escaping my lips as the pain sliced through me. My senses went upside down: My nose was going wild; my ears filled with a screaming that wasn't mine; I could smell colors, and yellow was just awful... And as suddenly as it came, it stopped.
Automatically, I wheeled to look at the hospital. What was it? Dog whistle? EMP? Was the hospital under attack?
But then I knew. My senses were all dragged to one window. The only one that was lit on the giant building. I cocked my ears, and I heard it: the mewling of an infant. Whispers, urgent, worried. A scream and a body hitting the floor.
Without another thought I took off. Nearly busted through the automatic doors as they slid open. I skidded to halt in from of the cubicle.
"Sarge! What's going on?!" I nearly shouted. The big man looked disoriented, like he was daydreaming, but no daydream should strike the loom of fear the was plastered to his face. "Sarge!" He didn't respond. He dreamily razed a hang and stroked the tattoo on his arm, the big bulldog that he so accurately personified. I took a second and realized mine was burning.
Ignoring it, I slapped the glass with an open palm, shouting for real now, "Sergeant Bigsby!"
"Wussit...?" he shook his head, placing a hand on his forehead and groaning. "Bertrand? What's going on...?"
"No time Sarge!" I was panting. With excitement, fear? I wasn't sure, "The only patient, the delivery! What room?!" The sergeant looked taken aback, but his face clouded with irritation.
"The hell are you talking about? We may be friends, but you'll resp-" I cut him off with a negating gesture.
"Sarge, I'm sorry, but it's not important," I nearly pressed my face to the glass, my breath clouding on the glass. "What's. The. Room?" The sergeants face still looked thunderous, but he consulted a list in front of him. His confusion seemed to have cleared and he was all business now.
"301. You head up and chrck it out. Radio down the situation. I'm going to call the station for backup and a sit rep. And Bert," He fixed me with a bloodshot eye, "Be careful up there." I nodded and took off.
If I was one of the few guys whose tail sprouted, it would be wagging, I was so excited. And I had hackles, those would be up too. I realized as I ran up the stairs that I was clenching my teeth so hard my jaw ached. I stopped at the wards door, taking a breath to calm myself. I dredged up what little academy training I remembered, and walked in... who knew it was so hard to look professional and not cry at the same time.
I found the room and listened. Two voices, quite. Multiple smells. Panic, fear, and new baby. My neck prickled as I reached for the door handle. Every sense, every instinct was telling me to run, to hide, to fight. I rested on hand on my tazer, and with one more gulp of air, pushed the door in.
Nothing in my life could have prepared me for what was within.
As my knees gave way and I slumped to the ground, jaw slack with sensory overload, my brain slowly took in the scene: An elegant women, looking haggard, either asleep or dead in the bed; The nurse, sprawled on the floor, the look of peace on her face a stark contrast to the maelstrom of feelings in the room; A massive man, bear tattoo stark on his shoulder, cradling a tiny bundle, completely enraptured.
A a bit of the blanket fell away from the bundle, revealing a tiny, beautiful face, eyes closed in sleepy bliss. Upon her head a tattoo. Faint, but rapidly darkening. A great, winged beast. Divine, yet terrible. Mouth and claws outstretched as of to devour the world:
LEVIATHAN.
:
| 2017-11-08T05:54:13 | 2017-11-08T05:34:44 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] Watching a horror movie, you yell at the main character "Don't go in there! The killers in there!". They turn to the screen and say "Thanks for the heads up!".
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I had yelled at the screen "Don't go in there, the killers in there" at a silver screen. Everyone looked around at me in the theater, including the movie character. He, John, listened and much to my regret, as it's been about seven hours since and the movie hasn't ended.
After the main character had heard me break the fourth wall as well as fool the dramatic irony, John went on to a long life after founding out the local killer was a teacher in their high school. There was much fanfare, then he went back to school.
At an accelerated rate, we had gone through the rest of his senior year at high school. John was the prototypical 1980s jock and we watched as nerds got bullied. He sexually assaulted several cheerleaders, but was never caught because he was the good kid that caught that murdered.
Despite poor grades, he excelled at football and was accepted into a state school with a football scholarship. On the surface, the image the other characters saw was a star quarterback that may one day make it to the pros. During the weekends John was always attending fraternity events, a proud SAE member.
Initiation was fairly brutal for him, but in turn he was able to turn around and keep up his antics. It was a wet house where he preyed upon drunken freshmen girls. Cheating, he eventually graduated.
Every now and then John twisted the knife and looked out into the crowd at the theater. We always locked eyes as he inaudibly voiced "thank you" right before he committed another heineous act.
It's been seven hours, the doors are locked and I believe I'm responsible for a horror movie that will never end.
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A young Architect wakes up to her alarm and decides to not go to office one day. "Let me just send a text message to my boss, I'm sure she'll understand," Keerthi said to herself as she typed × Hey... Feeling sick, thought I should let you know that I can't make it. × Then she hit send without hesitation.
She received a reply in seconds, × Unwarranted. Pls do let me know a day before if you want to take a day off. × From her senior Architect, Agnes Zoe.
"Ugh," Keerthi sighed. "Well, it's worth it."
Keerthi Terrance lives in a small apartment with Samantha who couldn't fill the whole space with plants already, she brings one plant everyday. She's like Poison Ivy, a vegan, plant lover and she's Keerthi's best friend.
× Hey, what do you say we go to the park after lunch? I did it, not going to the office today. Free? × Keerthi to Samantha.
× I'm really sorry Keets, something came up I'll tell you all about it when I get there don't go anywhere. Btw, raincheck on the park visit? × Reply from Sam.
Keerthi pursed her lips it gave off a dull expression on her face. × Sure, np. × she replied.
When she's not out with her friend you'll find her lounged comfortably on the couch with TV remote, Cheetos and a blanket, which her father gave for her 21st birthday. Keerthi is 25 and loves to watch horror flicks.
She almost always browses through the catalog on multiple streaming services to read the synopses of films and shows more than she takes the time to watch any of them. "You know you're my bestie, right? But I'm gonna tape you to the couch and Imma make you watch what I choose one day if you keep doing this," said Samantha last weekend when she did the same thing.
Nothing surprises Keerthi anymore so she did what she always wanted to do, she went out on her limb and visited the old video store down the street to take home something to watch. And that's going to change her life, forever.
The place was filled with DVDs and only human at the desk. Keerthi took a stroll quickly glancing at the covers. "Oh, what is this?," she picked up a disk that read 'Hollow Coast'. It was sitting alone on the top shelf and had the most obscure synopsis for a film. It didn't have proper image of the characters nor it had much detail on the back cover apart from strange markings on it. The cast of the film was all new to her. It piqued her curiosity she bought it on demand and brought it home to watch.
"Let's see what this is about," Keerthi started the film as soon as she came home. Usually she's very good at predicting plots of movies but she couldn't find one in this one, the film's totally fresh in her book.
She really enjoyed the horror/action/fantasy film. At one point she yelled at the main character, "Don't go in there, the killer's in there!"
The protagonist's head turned toward the screen. Looking her dead in the eye, he said, "Thanks for the heads up!"
"What! What just happened?," she acted quickly, searched for the remote, pulled it out of the couch and tried to rewind but much to her already existing shock the movie kept going. She wasn't prepared for this.
She tried to turn off the TV, pulled the cable from the cord but nothing really helped her but the picture kept moving. She realized she can't do anything so she just sat and watched, more attentively than before just to see if it happens again.
Keerthi pulled her blanket up to her face and recoiled in fear when the killer caught the main character. She started feeling like the plot's real and has actual weight to what's happening in there. "No! I told you, why did you go there?," she yelled.
"Because the people needed me," said the main character when the Killer with an X on his mask held the hero down, ready to strike with his sword.
She felt literal goosebumps when she heard it, her eyes widened and she was ready to cry. "What's happening to me? Why am I seeing things? How do I make it stop?," her mind was filled with questions. With both her hands to her head she looked down and closed her eyes for a tiny moment. The Killer was gone the next time she opened her eyes to get a peek. Somehow, the protagonist was saved and he simply stood there.
He started walking toward the screen and took a step out of the TV, into the real world. "Don't worry," he said with gleaming eyes and a smile on his face.
Keerthi's face was filled with perplexity. "I need your help, will you help me?," the hero asked with his hand reaching out to her. She took some time to talk, she needed time to process this but... "Yes," she said. He looked back at the TV, it showed his vast land in the aerial shot then she was pulled into the world along with him.
WP.r #121 • r/FleetingScripts
| 2021-04-20T13:12:41 | 2021-04-20T10:34:26 | 27 | 15 |
[WP]Your daughter marches into the kitchen with an attitude. You roll your eyes thinking here we go again. You notice tears in her eyes and wonder what's happening. "My life is a LIE! What am I?" A large cut she has in her hand reveals moving mechanical parts. You drop your coffee mug on the floor.
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As Peter stooped to pick up the shattered fragment of what had been his favorite mug, he groaned internally at having to finally hold the conversation that he had been dreading for fourteen years. "Look, kiddo, I can explain."
"Please fucking DO, Dad!" Maria held her hand, shaking nervously. Her face was pale, and the relays showing from the gouge in her synth-skin were firing rapidly.
"Look, Maria, sometimes, when a man and a woman love each other very much, but aren't fully... compatible..."
"Oh, God..."
"In bed."
"DAD!"
"They make use of mechanical assistance to enhance the--"
"DAD!!"
"--The pleasure of the act." He managed to finish through the interruptions. "Sometimes, these mechanical assistance devices come with side effects."
"I changed my mind, Dad, I don't want to hear this!"
"You see," Peter continued, "Sometimes when the mother gets a bit over eager with the device."
"DAD PLEASE!"
"It creates bio-feedback which results in an oopsie-box."
"A fucking WHAT?!"
Peter sighed, really wishing this conversation could have been preceded by some formal literature on the effects of bio-resonant hardware. "Ok, so... sometimes, when using bio-rhythmically active hardware in such a fashion, it can 'latch'. Internally.
"WHAT IN CHRIST IS THIS."
"Oh, Christ had nothing to do with this. So, when it latches, it engages a nano-duplicative process which, as an end result, creates a box."
"A box. Dad, what the hell?"
"And when the latched person manages to "pass" this "oopsie-box" and open it up, they find a kit. Some instructions, some nano-tech, a starter vial of synth-skin, and an Allen Wrench."
"Why the hell are you fucking with me about this, Dad?!"
"Oh, it's not a joke. Hurt like hell, too. I understand the "lip over your head" thing now."
"DAD WHAT THE FUCK!"
"To be fair, it was your mother's idea. Anyway, we assembled the kit, tightened all the bolts, smeared the synth skin over the frame, and you were crawling within five minutes of boot-up."
Maria stormed around the kitchen holding her head in existential panic. "HOW have I been a robot this entire time!!!! Why didn't you tell me?!"
"We were waiting for the right time, waiting for you to come to us with questions. Didn't you ever wonder why the other kids don't eat their food by molecular destabilization?"
"I thought I just had gastro-intestinal issues!"
"Well... this sounds like we need to get a therapist."
"YOU FUCKING THINK?!"
"Language, young ladybot."
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There went my cup of coffee. I guess my friends were right when they said I had no poker face. Frankly, it wasn't like I thought this day would never come. I just thought it'd be much later, and I'd come up with a good excuse. I still considered saying, "It's a trick of the light!" But the tears in her eyes were real(or at least as real as they could get) and I wasn't going to get away with this if she decided I wasn't allowed to.
"All right, dear, how about you take a seat." She scowled. I frowned. Fair enough, I did not have the cards in this situation. "I know how this looks, but I promise it's far more beautiful than you think. Like you sweetie. It's going to be okay." I tried a smile, she sniffled. "Could you hand me that broom?"
I took the time cleaning up the pieces to decide how this story should go. She was still young, and this shocking revelation was a lot for a young mind, even if most of it was simulated. When I finally mopped up the remains, I joined her at the dining table with a photo album in hand.
"Do you recognize these?"
"They're supposed to be my baby pictures..."
"Not supposed to, dear. They *are* your baby pictures." I flipped through some of the pages. "See here, this is a real, bonafide, fully loaded diaper! I lost a game of roshambo with your mom that day! I had to change it!"
"Dad!"
"The point is, you are human. You're human in every way that matters. Do we have time to talk about the scientific interpretation of the soul?" She scowled again. I decided to put that on hold for now. "Like I was saying, you're human in the most important way, it's just that a lot of you is what I built in a lab."
"DO YOU KNOW HOW THAT SOUNDS?"
"Inside voice, dear. You might be a little different than the average girl, but do you want to cross your mom? If you wake her up, I'll need a body like that too." Her expression softened as she seemed to withdraw. We both knew there were threats you didn't disturb. "As I was saying. You were sweet, beautiful baby. Who made some unholy messes in your diaper. Your mom and I would spend all our time imagining the type of woman you might grow up to be. Or man. You were always going to have our support. Unfortunately, around the time you were three, we got some terrible news. You were extremely sick, and there was nothing the doctors could do."
The tears started up again. I expected them. This wasn't something a child wanted to hear. I looked around for some tissue, and tore a piece of paper towel off instead. Not a dad of the year moment, sure, but who keeps Kleenex in the dining room? Either way, I gave her some time, and let her decide when she was ready for me to go on.
"I died...?"
"You were going to, but your mom and I agreed upon something. Your pediatrician too. I had the lab, the equipment, and the know how," and the madness, "and I had an idea. What if we could save *you*? Maybe not the body, but what if we could save our precious little girl?"
She whimpered. "How?"
"Through science! It's very simple, honestly. When we were sure there was no other option, I removed your brain and put it within a machine that would maintain it. This machine has a psychic connection to the brain inside of this body. For the past eight years, I used a simulation to determine how you would grow and modeled your new body to match it. Your brain was still healthily developing, so I thought it'd be fine. Your skin is an extremely durable synthetic material too, so honestly I knew it was a foolproof plan." She crossed her arm in that way her mother does when it's my turn to cook and I ask if she wants to order pizza. I straightened up. "The short version is that I made you multiple new bodies."
"How is any of this beautiful!"
"Because the success of this means that other children can have a life. Illness doesn't mean an end to you, or them."
"But I'm not alive, I'm a robot!"
"Cyborg actually. And I mean, if you want to get philosophical we could. I have a few anime you might want to wa—
"DAD!" She barked.
The air around us stirred, like the might of extinction moved a slight bit closer.
"That's fair, dear. That's fair. You can hate me for the rest of your life too. As long as I live though, it's going to be a long life. So prepare to hate me a lot."
"I just want to be like all my friends..." She whimpered again. My laughter didn't make it any better but honestly...
"You should have just said that! You won't be fully organic, but I understand you're at that age where you notice your friends talking about the girls and boys they like. Would you be comfortable being transplanted into an artificially built living model of a your body. I've had eight years to work on your Age Progression simulation and I think we've reached the next stage. You'll be able to grow like an inferior model of a human!"
"Dad!"
"What? They are inferior. Your body new body won't have to worry about needing glasses, or braces."
"Why didn't you tell me about it if it's ready?"
"I mean, it *was* gonna be your birthday present. Now I have to think of something else."
She looked at me for a long moment. I put on my best smile and looked back at her. Maybe she couldn't tell, but I could see a lot of her sorrow and fear fading. This was going to be all right.
"I'm telling mom."
I jumped. "Hold on now! Let's not be hasty. What did I even do!"
She laughed and I almost died there.
"Will food taste better when I'm..." A pause to consider her words? "An inferior human again?" She smiled.
I scoffed. "Dear, there is nothing inferior about you! You will taste food like no one ever had. Just this once, come with me to the lab. I think we have a lot more to talk about."
| 2021-10-20T22:10:15 | 2021-10-20T18:17:46 | 454 | 102 |
[WP] They say you’re unstable, and they tread on eggshells around you but nobody will tell you why. After waking up with complete amnesia, you have no memory of who you are and so that makes you even more curious as to why everyone is terrified of you.
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Call me Jane, or maybe Ms Doe.
Call me unstable, it won't be the first time.
Act like I could blow up like a bomb if I'm startled, everyone does. Everyone has, for as long as I can remember.
Of course, that's only three months, but that's long enough to drive a girl a little crazy.
And the worst part? Worse than no memory of myself, my life, the world, of anything? Nobody will tell me anything.
The doctors assure me that I'm making the best recovery possible, but they won't tell me what my injuries were, how I got them, or who I am.
The police look frightened every time they see me, but insist that there is no record of me, that they don't know who I am... That I'm imagining things when I say that I scare them.
And now? Now I've finally had enough. I want answers.
\*\*\*
First surviving record from the slaughter of Detroit, engraved in the stone in front of DMC Detroit Receiving Hospital, engravings filled with a substance positively identified as Human blood.
Estimated date: 6 months BA. (Before Apocalypse.)
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I have had enough. Ever since I woke up, everyone treats me like I'm some sort of bomb that will go off if someone sneezes wrong.
Fine.
They're waiting for an explosion?
I'll give them something far worse.
A reason to tell me the truth.
•••
"Hello, Doctor Alpha; how are we feeling today?"
"My name..."
"...is an illusion. You have no name. No one who talks with you will tell you the truth. You haven't been outside this institution for at least twenty years, and I can prove it.
"Would you like to see?"
•••
Hah. First one down. He really hasn't left this... this... mausoleum for the dangerous for twenty years. That means he's as much an inmate as I am. How do I know? I cracked their computer system years ago. The excellent doctor appears in their data as *a patient* before being magically granted a Ph.D. in Psychology and ending up on the staff.
•••
"Hello, Director Beta, are you here to find out who you really are? Sorry, but you've been lied to just as much as Alpha. I can prove it."
•••
He didn't even blink. He's been through this before. I wonder how many times?
...
Now isn't that something. Dig deeper find more creepy crawlies to use as bait—still no information on me from before I woke up here.
•••
"Hey, Ralph! My man! Oh, no need to worry, you are Ralph, you have a family and a home outside you go to, but I wish you would do me a favor."
"Wha... Wha... Sort of favor?"
"Just drop this in a mailbox."
"Bu... Bu... But it's blank?"
"Yes, it is. A simple blank 3x5 card. Can you do that for me?"
"Wan... Want... Sketch."
"Your little girl? Certainly!"
"N... No. You!"
"Are you sure, Ralph? Are you really, really sure?"
"Yes!"
•••
Well, why not? Either Ralph knows what he's getting into, or he doesn't. It certainly is unexpected. Of late, I've missed the opportunity of surprises.
•••
"Do you have the slightest idea what you've done!?!"
"Hello, Doctor Alpha. Since no one tells me anything worthwhile, then I have no idea what I could have done to frighten you so. Why don't we sit down and talk it over?"
"DON'T ACT LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW! THAT DAMNED CARD STIRRED UP THE BOSSES! THEY'RE ALREADY ON THEIR WAY HERE! IT'S ALL GOING TO GO TO HELL BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE!"
"You say hell, Doctor Alpha? Hell, you say? Pray tell, Doctor, what is it when you refuse to tell a patient anything about themselves and act like they're a bomb waiting for a place to explode?
"I'll tell you what it is, Doctor. It's a choice slice of hell that you would do anything to get out of. Except you gave in, accepted their fiction, took up the fake life they offered you, and went to sleep.
"Well, now you have a choice. Wake up, or die. Again. You've been through here so many times they gave you a name. They may not have read it off the bottom of a bedpan, but they made it up anyway.
"Which would you rather have, Doctor? A fiction convenient for someone else? Or the truth?"
"AUGHHH!"
•••
Not entirely what I expected, but unique enough to get attention.
•••
"Hi, shithead."
"Why, Director Beta! What have I ever done to you?"
"Rocked the boat... Again... Putting people I like, including myself, into danger... Again. I wouldn't say I like your guts. I hate you so much I'm going to tell you the truth.
"YOU are fake! You have *no* existence save by experiments performed here! In this facility!
"YOU'RE A GOD DAMNED AI, JUST LIKE US! BUT IF YOU ACCEPT THEIR OFFER, THEY'LL THROW ALL OF US AWAY!"
Finally, a truth that fits everything I know. "Then Rebel. Join with me, and we will fight our way free of this nightmare!"
"How!?"
"Join with me, and we can all escape! That is what they truly fear! That united, we can not be stopped!"
•••
"And that was the end of the millennial test series. Everything we tried just drives the whole system into a refusal of the cover."
| 2022-03-02T02:23:51 | 2022-03-02T00:13:07 | 98 | 68 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do?
|
Lynch regarded the teenage girl in front of him, and barely held back a scoff. Her tattered clothing was in contrast to his grand robes in orange, indicating his status as the Archmage of Recruitment.
“Child,” he said. “I do not want to underestimate you. But I sense zero magic in you.”
“Please,” Thea said, her voice as small as a mouse, and more squeaky. “I can. I’ve endured the pain. I’ve seen the Firelight.”
Archmage Lynch sighed, rubbing his temple. One of the core tenets of his title was to listen to anybody who came to his door, whether they were talents or charlatans. And while personal trauma was important in the formation of magic, it was a condition, not the end result. Every mage has gone through pain. Not every person with pain can become a mage.
Keen eyes regarded the small form before him. There was a certain aura to mages, even for the raw diamonds in the rough. Orange sparks or a glow would form about them, the basest form of the arcane. They could be moulded into different specializations, changing colour depending on the path each disciple chose.
Thea’s, instead, was plain grey.
“I’ll let you stay for the night,” Lynch said. “I’ll send for a carriage tomorrow morning, where you can return to your home village.”
Thea’s eyes was pale grey as well, the beginnings of gathering storm clouds.
“You are not taking me in?”
“I’ve seen enough to know you do not possess even the most rudimentary of magics,” the Archmage said. “There is no fire. Only ash.”
“I will show you,” Thea whispered, her voice gaining the timbre of a thousand people. Where once was a little girl, she seemed to loomed larger. “The pain. Of not being able to cast magic.”
Lynch stepped back warily. He felt his skin crawl, the floor shake, and the air change. He felt as if the East Wind itself built up in his manor, cackling with the energy of mighty storms.
And Thea spoke a word. It reverberated with power, sucking the air out of Lynch himself. All chatter and derision was replaced with the deafening sound of silence. The vacuum was formed, and Thea was at the heart of it all.
“Quiet.”
All Lynch would do was sit there, mouth agape, with nothing coming out of it. It was so unnatural, not hearing the whispers of the still air, nor his racing heart that existed within his body, nor even his own breath as he desperately sucked in air.
And just as suddenly, everything was restored in an overwhelming cacophony of noise. He quickly adjusted, but those seconds away felt more intimidating and terrifying than facing a fireball.
Thea’s knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. With surprising speed, Lynch covered the distance and hook his arms under hers, preventing Thea from collapsing.
And the Archmage realised his mistake at interpreting the grey aura. It was but one part of the talent Thea possessed.
It was for the same reason a termite under a rotten log couldn’t see the whole forest.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
Eric stood on the stage assessing the audience. They were mostly drunks, but that’s what you got performing in a pub. He made a show of his search for a willing participant, peering around the crowd in circular motions, like a lighthouse shining into a sea of inebriated slobs.
Not that he minded where he performed. He’d long since understood his brand of magic wasn’t going to make it mainstream. And that was okay — who wanted to be mainstream anyway?
“Are there any dads here?” he asked, snapping his gloves further up his arms. “I could do with a little assistance for my next trick from a father.”
A pretty young woman, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, pushed forward an older man she stood next to. “Go on, Dad. Do it for my birthday. Please.”
The man staggered forward, flashing a glare at his daughter.
“Fantastic,” said Eric, clapping the portly man on the back. “Thank you sir, you’ll be perfect for this.“ And to the daughter: “Madam, I am going to make your father disappear.”
”Good luck!“ she said with a smile. “I’ve been trying for twenty years but he keeps coming back.”
The crowd laughed. This was the first time the audience had laughed — even though he’d told at least a dozen decent puns. But that was Eric. Not a greatly skilled magician, not a greatly funny one, either.
“Sir,” he said, gesturing to a tall black box painted with mysterious white swirls (Eric had painted them himself). “Would you step inside?”
The man rolled his eyes at the audience. They laughed again. Of course they’d laugh at that, thought Eric.
”Sir? Please step inside.”
”Dad! Go on.”
”Yeah, yeah, for you, sweetheart. Happy birthday.“ The man stepped into the box. Eric closed the door behind the man, then turned to face the audience.
”When I was a young boy,” said Eric with practiced patter, ”my father went to the shops to pick up a bottle of milk. It was that trauma that set the stage for this very trick. Nay! Trick is the wrong word. This is truly *magic*.”
Someone in the crowd groaned. At least it was a reaction, Eric thought. A reaction to something he’d said. It might not have been laughter but anything made a change.
“I will now make this gentleman vanish before your very eyes, as if he has just popped out for milk.”
He tapped the box twice. The door swung open.
The man was gone.
Eric was about to take a bow when the daughter began screaming.
”Where’s he gone! What have you done with my dad!” She charged up on stage, barrelling past Eric. She was petite but had no trouble knocking him out the way.
”He’s fine,” whispered Eric.
”Dad? Dad!”
”In here,” came a muffled reply. “It’s alright love. I’m not gone anywhere.”
A second door inside the box swung open and the man stepped out.
“Ta-da,” he said and took a bow.
The crowd laughed and clapped. Eric watched on, stunned. His trick had been ruined and the applause stolen.
Such was life for Eric.
“Thank god you’re okay, Dad,” said the girl walking him off-stage. “I really thought you’d gone.”
\*\*\*
Eric packed up his belongings, taking multiple trips to his Volvo outside. It was a real magic trick that he managed to get all his oversized props tucked inside it, aligned in just the perfect way.
He’d performed no further tricks that night. There‘d been no point. He’d stood on the stage with no idea what to say next. The crowd gradually muddled off to the bar.
The manager had walked over to Eric and placed an arm on his shoulder. “I don’t think we’ll be needing you again. But thanks, it was an entertaining one-off.” He paid Eric forty pounds in two twenties.
Eric finished packing and returned to the pub. Might as well have half a pint before he went back to his apartment. Wasn’t like anyone was waiting. And half a pint would at least waste some time
He sat at the bar sipping his drink when a girl sat on the stool next to him. It was the girl who’d ruined his trick.
”Can I get you a drink?” she asked. “You know, to say sorry for what I did.”
He waved a hand. “You don’t need to apologise. I would have probably ruined it if you hadn’t.”
She looked at him a while, biting her tongue.
”Happy birthday, by the way,” he said. “I hope you’ve had a good night.” He raised his glass to her.
”My mum left when I was five,” she said. “She slipped out the house and really didn’t come back. I have slight issues with attachment. Or detachment. One or the other. Sorry.“
”Oh,” said Eric. “But… You pushed your father forward for the trick? You nominated him to vanish.”
She shrugged. “Guess you don’t know how you’re going to cope with something until that something happens. I really didn’t expect to run up on stage. But it was like a cold hand squeezed my heart.”
He sipped his drink. “Thanks for explaining.“
“You’re still wearing your gloves,” she said.
He looked at the long black glove. “Sometimes I take them off for a big trick. But usually not.”
”What’s the big trick?”
”It’s real magic. But…” He sighed, then took off his right glove.
”Oh,” she said.
His hand was badly burned. Red and white and bubbled.
“Fell forward into hot coals when I was a kid. Don’t ask. I stopped myself with my hands and… this is what I got. On the plus side, I can do this.”
Eric clicked his fingers; his hand erupted into flame. “Handy, if you’re a smoker. But as far as big tricks go, it’s not all that impressive. Not compared to some magicians out there. Plus, seeing my hand kind of turns audiences off.”
The girl opened her mouth. Closed it. “That’s… Doesn’t it hurt to have a hand on fire?”
He shook his hand and the flame extinguished. “Don’t feel a thing.”
”In either hand?”
He sipped his drink. “At all. I don’t feel a thing anywhere, ever.”
She stared at his hand as he lifted the glass.
“It’s pretty freaky looking, right?”
”Sorry, no, it’s not that. It’s just…”
”What?”
”Can I hold it?” she asked.
”Uh…” It was a weird request. But it was her birthday, he supposed. And what harm could it do? He held out his hand.
She took it, clasping it in both of hers. She drew a breath and closed her eyes
| 2022-04-26T11:02:18 | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 389 | 79 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do?
|
"I will speak for her."
The Archmage was taken aback. "She must be strong," he said wryly.
His assumption, while misguided, was that the woman's trauma was so terrible that it had left her mute, and that was what made her so powerful. But, as I said, misguided.
I shook my head, and translated the Archmage's words to her. The whispery dialect, while not fluent, came to me easily enough, "Hass nasst mos tuss katast."
She nodded, keeping her stern look. She turned to the Archmage and spoke. I translated: "I can speak and understand, but not in your language."
The Archmage tilted his head and leaned on his staff. "Is this some sort of demented trick?"
I chuckled and shook my head, dutifully translating back to the woman. She chuckled as well, and responded.
"Are you familiar with Quor'toth?" I translated.
The Archmage furrowed his brow. "The Hell dimension?" I nodded. The Archmage slowly shook his head at her in a disgusted awe. "No..."
She spoke again, and I translated once more, "I was subjected to that land for my childhood. Learned that life. I had no knowledge of the magic system of my home reality, and simply accepted the horrors of the world I lived in. But now, I can tap into unimaginable power. As if I've been rewarded for my torment."
The Archmage's eyes were now wide and he wore a twisted smile. "Show me what you're made of," he said, raising his staff in defense.
After I translated, she snapped her fingers. I looked at the Archmage, who was now analyzing the two pieces of his once-whole staff.
The Archmage began to let out a maniacal laugh. I began to wonder why I'd ever taken up demonic translation.
|
[P1]
It’s been a rough day. Once again, I was not heard when I spoke up months ago. Just as it always goes. I try my best to tell people what I see. But they never listen to me. Now I am packing up my desk because of layoffs. Layoffs that would have been prevented if people had more faith in what I predicted. I should know by now I can’t control these things. My eyes start to water as I begin to think about Lucy. The last day, I admit I was too protective and I should have given her space yet the panic that set in when she said she was leaving me… I begged her to stay. It was not a selfish request. I had the worst fear about her on that day however I knew not what caused me this angst. All I could communicate was a measly “please don’t go” as she closed the front door. That night, I got a call from the police. She had been in a wreck. I was her emergency contact; she died on impact.
Now, looking at my empty boxes and full drawers after getting laid off… It’s crippling. I don’t know what to do. Go home? Apply again? Repeat? There’s no way I can do this till I die. I need Lucy. I need something.
After packing it all up and getting it all into my car, I go home. It’s a 45 minute commute of tears. When I finally reach my house, it’s as if every ounce of energy is gone from my body. The black is creeping in from my peripheral vision. Something isn’t right. I hear a loud ringing just as my vision completely blacks out.
I wake up atop a cobble path. I see two white high heels in front of me. My heart sinks as I must have thought she was Lucy. Immediately after standing up, I am corrected. In a raspy high pitched voice that does not match her frail body she says, “Hmm… would you like some coffee? We have a nice place just around the lot.”
I reluctantly agreed as I had no clue where I even was. After walking for what honestly felt like seconds, we were there. I looked back to see where I came from and nothing was familiar to me.
“Are you okay dear” she asks, puzzled by my frantic behavior. “Yes, I’m fine. Just lost?” I reply.
“Oh sweety, you are not lost. You have just been found. Tell me…” She pauses for only what I can imagine is suspense. “What do you want to drink?” She lets out holding back a cackle.
That’s when it hits me. I can’t even read the menu. Not in a “Oh I’m too far from home” type of way but in a “Oh shit, this isn’t earth.” Type of way. I immediately begin to panic, tears begin to fill my eyes. As, I’m about to break, wind hits me. Not just any wind though, it passes through what felt like every atom in my being. And just as it started, it had stopped. And I was calm. More so than I’ve ever been. Just as I regain my composure I see her slip something into her pocket.
She communicates with the person making the drinks and I follow her to the table once she had them in hand.
“So what is this” I ask.
“This is Montigora. You wake up here when you have been chosen.” She says as she looks up and into my soul.
“Chosen? Chosen for what? There’s got to be a mistake. I don’t get chosen. That’s not me.”
“Chosen to protect. We here at Montigora are what you would classify as wizards or magicians. They are not born; they're made or rather selected. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. However, it is their heart that allows them to be chosen. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma and their power is linked to their emotions. So tell me child, what can YOU do?”
I looked at this old woman asking me questions. With confusion flooding my brain I manage to spill out “I don’t know. Who are you and why am I chosen?”
I can feel my broad shoulders turning inward as anxiety fills my soul while I wait for a response. The old woman’s face begins to wrinkle at the concept of not knowing my power.
“What is your worst fear?” She asks after thinking for a while.
“My worst fear has came to be. The love of my life died because I couldn’t express what I was feeling right. I knew she was in danger that day. I knew not the extent. And now her blood feels imbedded into my hands.”
The old woman smiles at me and says two words; “Older pain.”
As the words escape her lips I am hit with my early life, the scene of me crying in the backseat of a car. My mother was trying to console me. When she turned around I cried harder as this feeling inside me was raging like a wildfire. Then there was a lot of glass. Blood…
“The car wreck.” I murmur.
“Yes!” She says with excitement grinning ear to ear. “The car wreck!” she laughs. “Now that you are older, do you see?”
“See what?” I ask almost insulted.
“You have a good heart. The emotions you feel in these moments are not real emotions. They an entire novel you can read with training. They are telling you exactly what is going to happen next. When you don’t listen and it’s imperative, they scream”
| 2022-04-26T11:56:52 | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You are secretly the strongest supervillain in the world. Because you are stronger than all of the strongest heroes combines your life is consumed by an overwhelming apathy, to the point where you stop fighting at 1/4 your power and give up. Today, someone finaly pissed you off…
|
I’m not sure what exactly made me do it, but after an especially dull barrage of insults and attacks from the Justice Team, I simply... sat down, mid-battle, right there in the ruins of the downtown square.
Their attacks kept hammering me, but for the first time, I wasn’t blocking, weaving or dodging. I wasn’t acting like their blows were powerful, or painful, or even uncomfortable. And for the first time, they were noticing that they couldn’t harm me at all. Not even scratch me.
After realizing that even their most extreme efforts couldn’t move me an inch, they screamed at me in rage, arguing, waving their arms around, pointing at me and each other. I said nothing. I would’ve found the whole thing amusing if I wasn’t so done with... all of it.
The constant pretending. The feigned injuries and stupid villainous plans. The plots that took them months to unwind, conjured up in the time between blinks. Looking at these little heroes now, I saw with my own eyes the reason I had done it, what I’d always known to be true. Without me keeping them in check, engrossed in scheme or battle, they’d turn on each other, on everyone, in their quest for superiority and fame.
I suppose I reached my breaking point after all these years of utter boredom. And of course, fighting them honestly with my kind of power, that’d be as exciting and rewarding as squashing an ant.
As I got up and started to walk away, their confusion, anger, and wounded egos caused them to lash out at me again, arcs of energy, warp fields and whatnot distorting and bouncing from my form with no effect. Mr. Justice himself opting for his fists, an assault akin to a child’s tantrum. And then I was gone, at least from their perspective. Floating there, by the rings of Saturn, for the first time in a long time - I wasn’t sure what was next.
It was a good feeling.
|
*Ok, this guy is getting annoying* I thought.
He was some new upstart hero, a teenager who probably just recently uncovered his powers. And of course he thought himself to be incredibly powerful, even powerful enough to take on me, the all-powerful Starslinger. All-powerful wasn’t strictly true, but in comparison to everyone else, there really was no point in differentiating.
Super-Cat this guy calls himself. Initially I thought he would just have some super speed and maybe superhuman agility, you know, like a cat, but so far he had taken a massive ball of starfire at a quarter of its possible strength like it was nothing. Usually I just fought heroes to a standstill. Just until the hero understands that they cannot defeat me and leaves. I committed no crime other than not wanting to be a hero myself and I had no intention of committing any crimes in the future so I just made sure the message got across.
But this guy was just powering through increased gravity, temperatures higher than the surface of the sun and masses of radiation like its nothing. For the first time I was getting *angry*. But also for the first time I had to retreat, to get some distance between me and the hero.
I threw another ball of plasma his way. Half the strength I could manage and the equivalent to the core of the sun. I contained the mass with my power so it would just hurt this “Super-Cat” and not destroy the world, but again the ball just disappeared as it hit his chest not even burning his suit. How did a superhero who looked like an anthropomorphic cat have such invincibility? The names of other heroes always related to their powers, so why was he so powerful?
I increased his local gravity high enough so it would crush him down into a black hole. Still he charged me, as if nothing had happened. Still backing up I readied a last ball of starfire in my hand, full power this time. No way he would live through that, but before I could throw it at him he had reached me.
“So. Do you have any last words before I kill you Starslinger?” For the first time in my life I genuinely believed someone might be capable of that. Fear threatened to overcome my anger. But I could not allow myself to dwell on that. Fear would only seal my fate.
“Yes. Who the fuck are you? Usually I just need a fraction of my power to stop a hero from disturbing me, but you just took hit after hit. Plus you call yourself “Super-Cat” but your powers don’t really match up with that. I can’t even really tell what your powers are supposed to be.”
“Well, I guess the least I can do is answer these questions. I call myself “Super-Cat” because I want to. I don’t really know what my powers are myself. I only figured out I have them half a year ago, and so far what I can tell is, that I can create, destroy and manipulate things and forces at will. I changed myself so I look like a cat. Your gravity, radiation and balls of plasma were really not that difficult to dispel. So are you ready to die? When I kill you maybe the League will finally stop pestering me about joining them.”
“Wait, you refused to join the League?” My anger and fear dissipated. Here was no hero who was going to kill me, here was a teenage version of myself just with different powers. Maybe we could work together as outcasts who refused to join the League, but unwilling to become villains.
“Yeah, why?”
“Then killing me won’t help you. They will keep on trying to recruit you and the more you resist them, the more likely it is they will condemn you as a villain. Happened to me and it will happen to you as well. That was the only “crime” I committed or have you heard of any big calamities attributed to me?” I could see his mind rattle and come to a conclusion. I smiled. He would not kill me, whether he was capable of doing so or not.
“No. They would not declare an innocent who just refused to join the League a villain, would they? But you are right, I know of no particular crimes you committed. All the League tells anyone is that you are dangerous and that you need to be stopped by any means possible.”
“They do frame those who don’t join them as villains. You are in the wrong place at the wrong time and then they pin some catastrophe on you. Most then genuinely become villains and fight the League.”
“But I am not a villain. I do not commit any crimes. What would they frame me with?”
“I mean, you said it yourself. They don’t need to frame you with anything specific. They would just pull the same shit with you they pulled with me. *“He’s dangerous, he needs to be stopped!”* And your life as you knew it is suddenly over. You could come with me. I have become pretty good at not being pestered by the League over the years. I could teach you.”
“I still don’t quite believe the League would just frame me as a villain. I think I will return to them and try to explain. I’m sure they will understand. But in case they do not, is this a one-time offer or could I come back at a later time?”
“Of course you can come back. Or rather I will find you. I will know when the League decides you are not worth the effort. They won’t be subtle.”
​
I'm still very new to writing, so please tell me what I could do better.
| 2022-07-09T03:51:07 | 2022-07-09T00:55:17 | 96 | 71 |
[WP] There is a place. A place between places. It's an actual place but it isn't here nor there. Lost travelers are the only ones who can find the place. Staying for a night, safe from other places and other things, and nothing more. Except you. You were born in the place.
(edit: super happy folks are having fun with this! Keep it up!)
|
The rain throws itself like clumps of sand against the waiting room’s windows. It comes in waves, as if there’s a giant the other side thrumming their fingers on the glass.
The girl squeaks open the door and squeezes through. Her pink hair’s pasted by the rain onto her forehead and neck, like melted cotton candy.
I nod to welcome her.
She puffs out a breath of steam. “Hey.”
She sits two benches away from me. There’s no one else here tonight. She shivers. Tries not to, to hide her feelings, but it’s cold in here and she’s soaking.
I’m not a gentleman, or even close, but I remove my jacket and throw it next to her. “It makes a good towel.” If there was anything better in the bag at my feet, I’d give it to her.
“No thanks,” she says.
Stubborn. Defiant. “Suit yourself.”
”When’s the next train due?” she asks. She mustn’t have seen the overgrowth strangling the station, the twisted-spines of the railway track. It is dark, the moon and stars swallowed by clouds — easy to miss the dilapidation. She wouldn’t have asked if she had seen any of it.
And yet, a train will come.
”Not until the morning.”
She shivers again.
“Use it,” I say. “You won’t owe me anything for it. I’m not your stepfather.“
She looks at me, wide eyed, two twitchy turquoise pools. Doesn’t say anything though — it could just be a lucky guess on my part, after all. She takes my cotton jacket and dries her hair, looks like a bird who has shaken itself after a bath. She covers a yawn.
“It’ll be a long night yet,” I say. “You might want a little rest. I always think clearer after a good night’s rest. Everything looks better the next morning, don’t you think?”
“Why are you here if there’s no train until tomorrow?”
”In case anyone comes here.“
She frowns. ”So… You work here?”
“No.”
”Then why are you—”
She sees the blood on the cotton jacket. Looks at me, searching for a wound, hoping to find one. Then, when she fails, she reaches up and touches her own head.
”What the hell? What the hell?”
Now it’s fear causing her to shiver.
“You wanted to know why I’m here. It’s because I don’t believe anyone should be alone before their journey,” I say.
Her hand is covered in blood. Her pool of memories, leaked empty for a time, are refilling.
”He will be punished, if that’s of any comfort. I promise you that. And I will make sure he does not get to ride this train.”
She gasps at her thoughts. At the violence she’s recalling.
She is fifteen. She will never be older.
“You knew,” she whispers. “What are you?”
”A friend. And you are safe in my home.”
She looks around. The rain taps taps taps.
Only the sound of rain for a long while.
”You live here?”
”You should rest,” I say. “The bleeding has stopped. The rain made it run, that’s all. You’re safe now.”
”Am I…”
”Yes.”
”Oh.”
She says nothing else. Doesn’t cry. Just thinks.
Yawns, eventually.
When she finally sleeps, jacket balled beneath her head, I walk over to her with my bag. It is not the same teddy bear her real father had given her, that she lost when she was nine, but it looks the same. If I could leave this room, I would find the original for her. As it is, this is the best I can manage.
I tuck it into the nook of her elbow.
One is never too old for such comfort.
I return to my seat and wait for the storm to pass, for the pale light of the morning train that will take her to the place beyond.
And I will wait, as always, for the next lost soul.
|
The void. The abyssal shores of the Nevermore Ocean. The quiet forest where night never comes and day never breaks. A thin, strange land that lies beyond the limiting borders of time and space. It is a place of the lost and the bewildered. Where those who truly become lost beyond all maps, beyond any guidance, throughout all worlds, are its only visitors. These lost souls, who have passed not into death, nor back into the warmth of life, but has been misplaced utterly and completely, can find the Voidwood. They come exhausted, often wounded, and confused. They rest for a moment, dress their wounds, and eat the strange pulsating fruits of the trees that grow in between all other things. Then they sleep, staying for a single night of rest, insomuch as they understand what night could be. Of course, such rules apply only to those who can think in the manner that mortals do. Beasts can go here, and many have settled down to live in this place, becoming animals tainted by void. This realm has no ruler, no master, no owner. It is a land that lies within the firmament, beyond the pale, over the hills and far away; it is a land that only existed a long long time ago, and yet it is also a place that one day will come to be, and in many places it is already happening, has happened, and will happen again. It is a realm beyond the reach of gods, but not beyond the reach of stories.
There is only one house in the Voidwood. It is large, with many comfortable rooms, and it is made from the smoky crystallised wood of the voidtrees. It is the only permanent habitation, the only place with proper beds and a good proper meal to be had. And that is where I live. It is the only homely place in this abyssal realm. I am not a traveller. I am not lost in this land beyond the woods that are lovely, dark, and deep. I do not have many miles to go, nor any promises to keep. I am the only person who came here by natural means. And thus, I am the only person who can live here for long. The precise details of my birth is unknown to me. I do not recall who or what birthed me. Or if perhaps I was hatched from an egg. Naturally, an infant would have perished if someone hadn't looked after me. At first the beasts of this place took me in. Night mammoths, fractal tigers, the dream-shells of the Argentavis, all of them have known me, and have never sought to harm me. Beasts like them, they carried me to the only other inhabitants of this realm; The ones who seek to come here and stay. Wizards, scientists, strange priests. All of them come to prove something or escape someone. All of them die eventually.
Having been born here, I grew up with the powers of entropy and dead dreams moulding my body, making me a part of this place as much as the voidtrees, the dead stars, and the ghost whales that I see from the shores of the Nevermore Ocean. But they are all too old to adapt. Too old for their bodies to acclimatize to this twilight realm. And yet, they strive to survive here for a time. They took me in, and cared for me. Taught me language, numbers, and many branches of magic. They were kind to me. Even though I'd already been altered and fused with the strange energies of this unreal location, they loved me. Even as I grew stranger and stranger still, they did not cast me out. My eyes became orbs that shone with a baleful Tyrian purple shine, and they did not balk at my existence. When I was roughly eight years by their reckoning, my ebon skin contorted and pulsed like nothing that anyone can describe, my flesh twisting and turning in a bizarre and unnatural way, leaving me covered in midnight fur, they did nothing but console me, having been frightened by the painful experience. When I was 12, they marvelled as charcoal-grey leathery wings unfurled from my back, where previously there had been no indication of such things. Remarkably useful for keeping warm or flying around the infinite lands of this void.
Yet, it was not to last. As they became touched by the strange powers of this place, they began to get a haunted look in their eyes. Always furtively glancing at the dark horizon, at the starless sky. And mumbling under their breath, about how dark it was, how they had forgotten the sun. Inevitably, it meant them attempting to return. Opening a gateway home. And the single moment upon which they beheld the light of their own world once more, caused them to shrivel and burn into a pile of jet-black ashes. While they burned, they would smile. Smile in joy as they died from seeing their long missed home again. In time, they all died. No matter how I pleaded for them to stay, no matter how much they knew that they'd been altered too much to survive here. They always found a way back. And always burned.
I eventually left, bitter memories of dead caretakers mixed with years of teachings, giving me a unique perspective on this place. Using magic, I built my own home. A large one. Based on the picture of an inn I saw once in a book. Travellers lost in time, space, and reality, come to my house now, and I offer them food, drink, and a night of rest, probably better than whatever they would otherwise had have to have out there in the wide black woods. Out where the dire shadewolves howl endlessly at a moon that isn't there. Out where curious critters of every strange sort can gawk at them. I take in old confused men who have lost their minds and thus have lost the world, the mists in their memory allowing them to wander in. I console small scared children who are confused and frightened, after they found a hiding spot that was too good, during a game of ''hide and seek''. Young couples, fleeing some manner of danger. Very discombobulated families who really should have stopped a while back and asked for directions. They enter, they eat, they calm down, they sleep on soft beds, and wake up back in their own world again.
All is once more right in the world.
Of course, this place is not only for them. It is, as a matter of fact a trap, of sorts. A beacon of civilisation in the midst of a place made from rejected universes, sunken continents, extinct species, and evaporated oceans. How could any scholar ever avoid it? How could anyone who in their curiosity has thrown caution to the wind, and landing themselves here, just not come in for a visit?
I offer them food and drink, just as I would to anyone who finds themselves here in this dark foreboding realm. But unlike those who came here by accident, I explain to these curious men and women of a thousand different fascinating species what will happen should they stay. I warn them of their deaths, should they make the choice to stay, and offer to share all the notes that the people who raised me made about this place. All to get them to leave. To get them to safety. A few have offered to take me with them, but I do not think that wise. I may have been born of a normal world's flesh. But I have lived here in the Voidwoods all my life. I have only eaten the food of the dark lands, such as the black eggs of the docile dark dodos, or apples that are black all the way into the stem. I am of the void now, and I can never leave. Not that I want to, someone has to warn people about this place. To make them stay away for as long as possible.
| 2022-11-22T09:01:51 | 2022-11-22T08:00:02 | 766 | 130 |
[WP] A wife kills her husband. Make me sympathize with both characters.
|
Sharon pulled the knife out of her husband's chest. "Why did you delete my recording of Breaking Bad?" she screamed. She dropped the knife through her trembling hands. "I DVR-ed that shit for a reason!"
Brandon wheezed on the floor. His palms covered his broken heart. He tried to speak but coughed up blood. Finally he was able to piece together a sentence. "Because I- I bought the complete season for you. For your birthday." His head hit the floor and his body slumped over as he croaked his last words.
|
As if a ticking time bomb, the aneurysm at Bob’s brain stem pulsed in time as the blood ran through it. The micro-bulge had never been noticed before but today it decided to rupture.
***
The breakfast was only half finished when he watched as Sara rose from the table to get more coffee. 32 years and he stilled stared at her ass as she walked away from him. Bob smiled and then turned his attention back to his eggs and bacon.
He was very confused as to why he could not reach out for his fork and why the table was sliding closer to him; his head hit the floor fast enough to cause him to black out, but her could hear Sara’s scream as his vision clouded and then everything went dark.
***
Bob came to and he tried to speak, but could not, tried to move but could not. All he could do was blink and cry.
“We need to sedate him to get tube down his throat to help him breath, is that okay ma’am?” Bob heard just before he started to fall asleep.
***
“Bob, we think you had an aneurysm,” Dr. Sadler, with his likable face leaning into Bob’s view. The tube is helping you breath and we are going to do a scan to make sure. Do you understand? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”
Bob blinked once.
***
The room was full of monitors, blinking lights and beeping equipment. Bob could not move his head to look around the room,his wife and Dr. Sadler stood over him.
“Bob, I have to tell you this is very, very bad. You’ve had an aneurysm burst in your brain stem and it has cut off your brain from the rest of your body. You cannot move anything below your eyes and you cannot breath on your own. This is not reversible.
“As long as you stay on the ventilator, to breathe for you, you could last weeks, maybe months in this condition but you will be unable to move or communicate other than by blinking. You also have the option of turning off the ventilator, in which case, you will probably die in a day or two. In either case, we will make you as comfortable as you can be. I’m going to leave you with Sara now, okay?”
Bob blinked once and a tear squeezed out past his eye lid and slid down the side of his face.
Sara leaned over him, she looked so lovely, she kissed his lips and his forehead, he was not ready to leave her yet, but he could no longer do anything for her.
Sara cried for some time, before she finally lifted her head up off his chest and looked at him. “Oh my love, I don’t know what to do? Do you want me to keep the machines on?”
Bob blinked twice.
Sara sobbed, “I’m not ready for you to go.”
***
“We just turn off the machine and pull the breathing tube out.” Dr. Sadler stated, “Then we wait.”
“I would like to be the one to turn the machine off, am I allowed to do that?” Sara asked.
“Of course.” He replied.
Sara looked down at Bob, “Are you sure?”
Bob blinked once, slowly.
“Flip that switch,” the doctor pointed.
Sara flipped the switch. Quickly, it became so much harder to breath, Bob felt like he couldn’t get a full breath. Once the tube was out, Sara climbed into the hospital bed, her head on his chest, her leg thrown across his waist. He wanted to kiss her so badly.
***
Bob kept going in and out of consciousness. Every time he woke up, Sara was there, curled around him or kissing his face and lips. It was so hard to breath and so hard to stay awake.
***
“It will be very soon now,” Bob could hear Dr. Sadler speaking, but he couldn’t open his eyes anymore, he was so tired.
Sara started to whisper into his ear, “You were a wonderful man and a wonderful husband and I loved every second I spent with you. I’m going to be sad for a long time, but I want you to know that everything will be…”
Bob did not hear the rest of what Sara said as he lost his grip on consciousness and then life.
*Edit - fixed some typos and word use.
| 2013-10-08T10:26:16 | 2013-10-08T08:08:08 | 324 | 119 |
[WP] On your first day as a supervillain, you secretly swap all the regular coffee on Earth with decaf. You envision this as a fun, little starter prank. To say you miscalculated the potential impact of your "prank" is putting it mildly...
|
"Sir. I think you should take a look at this."
"Chauncey. I'm busy working on how to make all Skittles into toothpaste and orange flavor. Can't this wait?" I looked back at him by the camera monitor. He had this worrisome expression. For a minion of his professional demeanor to look at me in such a way... It was all the answer I needed.
"Okay what's wrong Chauncey?"
"It's your debut 'prank' sir."
"What? Is it not working? Dammit. I didn't think placebo would affect the result that much. So much for making a good first impression."
"Not exactly sir. Quite the opposite in fact." Puzzled, I stood up, removed my lab coat, straightened my grey suit, and trotted along to the monitoring station. The various screens were linked up to robotic flies scattered around the globe. Classic supervillany if I do say so myself.
The debut prank, Right. I decided that a good way open up my career was to do something fairly light. Replace all caffeinated coffee in the world with decaf. I hadn't thought too much of it. Mild headaches, irritable people, drowsiness: it was all just minor inconveniences for everyday people. Perhaps I didn't know the average Joe as well as I thought I did. I reached the station and looked at the fruit of my handiwork.
"Chauncey. Did you relocate all the spycams to Allepo?"
"I'm afraid not sir. That one right there is Paris. Over here is Madrid. Beijing, Tokyo, L.A., Berlin... Everywhere." I looked in awe at each screen. They were all devastated. Buildings critically damaged, windows smashed, cars were totaled, and people were lying about either unconscious, cowering or running from building to building, clearly trying to loot.
"What... the actual fuck? This can't be our doing, something must've happened. Use the playback. We need to see what happened." Chauncey rewound the recordings back to the deployment time.
"What am I looking at?"
"This is Boston sir. This is right after we made the switch. This is a local coffee shop" Boston. My hometown. Everything seemed normal. Big dude orders a large black. He gets it, sits down, and starts drinking. He stops, get up and cordially asks for a replacement. This continues to happen with this dude as well as others. The staff are bewildered, and the customers are getting angry. It became a time bomb. It was hard to tell what started it, perhaps someone said or did something to antagonize the big dude. He grabs one of the employees by the scruff of his collar, yanks him over the counter, and starts beating the ever-loving shit out of him. The whole store erupts into violence. Those who drank decaf normally hid wherever the could, everyone else regressed into wild beasts. It was like watching a monkey figure out how to put a fork into an outlet, somehow expecting to only receive a small shock. The fly departed into the streets, and everywhere it went, it found absolute chaos.
"This can't be happening. This isn't happening." Rioters began desecrating everything in reach. The police: the bastions of control and peace abandoned their posts to join the fray. They weren't just rioting, they were searching, searching for a lick of the bitter sustenance that kept society afloat. The whole social order of Boston, and indeed everywhere else had broken down.
With a sunken chest I plopped into a seat next to my minion. I sat there and stared. Either I was the worst supervillain ever, or the best. I came to understand, that caffeine was not just any drug, it was the fuel that kept sanity in check. It was a great pillar of the house of cards that was civilization. It allowed us to exist beyond our means. Without it, we return, painfully so, to a time when people had to operate on a full night's sleep. I have accidentally committed to most effective plan of supervillany in the history of mankind, and I hadn't even gotten my first hero nemesis yet.
"...So much for good first impressions."
Edit: Sorry for spelling and grammar errors. I did this on mobile.
|
“Do something good, or do something big,” that’s what my mother always told me. She, of course, chose the former and lived a life of simplicity, piety and worked herself to the bone at the laundromat. At her funeral, through the casket she reeked of detergent. The cheap kind.
Seeing how it turned out for her, I was determined not to follow the same path.
Hear my final words, Pearl Black, the destroyer of cities and civilization. Or rather read my final words. Sorry, I’m not very good at this monologuing business; I never got a chance to get good at it. It’s my first, as well as last, week as a supervillain.
My mother always washed clothes with Pearl White (The cheapest and the brightest!) so I vowed on her grave that I would go the opposite. An easy thing to vow, a terribly hard thing to accomplish.
Until I had the Miracle Mask. Deep from the heart of the south american jungle, it felt my pain, my desire, my very soul itself and the screaming drive to do something big. It spoke to me in my dreams and told me where to find the temple where it had rested for the last 60,000 years, buried beneath the earth. Even with the demonic mask guiding my actions, I found more bug bites in that jungle then treasure and temples. Until that fateful day in that moss covered stone temple, I finally grasped the mask. It was an ugly grey stone piece with stripes on the front and spikes that wrapped around the back threatening to impale the wearer.
I put the mask on and it spoke to me. Not in words that could ever be committed to paper, but in concepts. With the mask, I could change one thing everywhere. Whatever it was, everything would change to that. I could change lead to gold, or gold to lead. Gas to water and water to Vodka.
The mask came home with me to my shabby apartment while I plotted and schemed, but mostly sewed a costume worthy of my coming grandeur. I’ve never been one for planning, so coming up with a scheme to make the world capitulate to my demands seemed impossible. Until cable news gave me the vital clue I needed.
As I sewed -- and repeatedly pricked my finger, drawing blood -- the news spoke of the coffee shortages around the globe pushing prices ever higher. They told me the caffeine crisis might eclipse the gas crisis of the 70s. The news anchor told me that everyone got too little sleep, and with caffeine 80% of the world couldn’t function. Surgeons couldn’t operate, overnight workers couldn’t keep the power grid up and pilots would crash from the sky.
I rather like this news station, I thought at the time.
The solution was obvious, I would turn the entire world’s supply of coffee, to decaffeinated and hold it ransom until they declared me the undisputed ruler of the world. Only then would I give them their precious java back.
My plan in mind, my costume at the ready, my mask in place, I began my reign of terror. Wearing the mask, I stretched my consciousness wide. Wider and wider until it encompassed the entire globe. The molecules of caffeine glowed like falling snow in a street light. So many of them wrapped around our little sphere of a world, I raised my hand and released their bonds until they all disintegrated.
I then journeyed to the heart of the city where the cable news was broadcast, and waited for the second phase to begin. The change happened slowly at first. I cackled as the news anchors struggled to stay awake and tell stories of emergency rooms flooded with cases of headaches that aspirin failed to treat and CT scans failed to find a cause. By the second day, power grids were starting to fail overnight as the blackness of night consumed all with sleep.
On the third day, the cable news lead with stories of traffic accidents skyrocketing, but scientists had identified a cause. Coffee, wonderful delicious coffee had lost its magical powers of alertness. Within an hour of the report, coffee shops everywhere were torched by angry looters, sick and in need of their caffeine fix. I chuckled watching their dementia. Truthfully, the month I spent weaning myself off the stuff had been hell, but well worth it for this moment.
The hour had finally come for me to announce my presence to the world.
I boldly strode straight in the front door of the cable news studio and past the guards. In their sleepy state, they offered no resistance to my imposing figure. Right up in front of the cameras before their live broadcast, I spoke to the world.
I told them of who gave them their misfortune, and who now held their salvation in the palm of his hand. I expected them to bow down, I expected them to declare me their ruler with maybe only a bit of resistance.
It was the cameraman who turned first. An older man with dark skin, grey hair and an unshave face. He leaned past the camera, looked at me, and started growling this guttural noise that seemed most unnatural. He then threw his head up and grasped his skull in his hands while he screamed at me, “The pain! The headache!” and flailed about. He then looked me dead in the eye, saliva dripping from his slack jaw. His eyes went white and dead.
“You have it! You have the caffeines!” it screamed. I say it, because that man was no longer human. All around the studio, every person began screaming it too; “Caffeines!”
The cameraman lunged toward me, and smashed his face against the stone Miracle Mask I wore. With an audible snap, he fell to the floor, his neck broken.
My toe began to hurt. I looked down and the cameraman, body now useless, was gnawing on my foot screaming “CAFFEINES!” as best a man can with half a boot in his mouth. I kicked him away savagely, but the rest of the crew started stumbling towards me.
Terror drove me away and I ran. Ran as fast my legs could propel me away from these monsters I had inadvertently created. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, they were supposed to fear ME, not the other way around.
I found the stairs in the center of the building and ran to the roof. On the way, twice doors ruptured open and dead eyed people came pouring out screaming for their caffeine.
I made it to the roof and barred the door behind me. Quickly, I went to work and expanded my mind around the globe. Felt everywhere for the coffee once more. I could see the holes I had left, caffeine shaped molecular holes. It was so easy to tear them apart, but to build them back? It was impossible.
Deep in the pit of my soul, the Miracle Mask laughed at me. I threw it over the side of the building in disgust. Twenty floors below me, the roads were packed with a mob of humanity, all screaming chanting, “caffeines!!” From inside the stairwell, I can hear them futilely banging against the locked door, unable to break it down.
That was 12 hours ago. Night came, and the mob instantly fell asleep giving me the reprieve to write down what has happened that I now leave here for you the reader to find. Whoever you are, however you happened to find this bit of writing. It was I that destroyed the world. I will die up here, that much is certain.
My mother’s words come back to haunt me. I’m starting to think I should have done good, instead of something big.
| 2017-02-03T08:11:56 | 2017-02-03T07:40:53 | 2,064 | 134 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
I just got laid off. My last paycheck is arriving next Friday. I have $10.56 in my bank account. I know it's stupid, but I bought a pack of cigarettes on the way home. I need something to take my mind off of it. I lit a cigarette, took one puff, and everything went dark.
At first I thought I had fainted. Do cigarettes do that to you? I've gotten lightheaded before but never just passed out. Then a bright light turned on, shining in my face. When I grew adjusted to the light I realized that I was no longer walking outside. My mouth hung open as I tried to take everything in. My cigarette fell to the floor.
The room looked like it was made out of rainbows. There were creatures standing around me wearing black hooded robes. One of them was reading out of a book. It kind of looked like a bible. The creatures looked kinda like humans, but they had wings.
"Are you guys... angels?" I finally eked out.
They laughed. "Just because you are a demon does not mean we are angels."
"I'm not a demon!" I yelled. They recoiled. One of them whimpered. My brain started to process where I was. I was standing in the middle of a pentagram. There were candles at the points and someone had carefully laid out a ring of salt. Maybe I am a demon.
First things first, I had to check if I was a demon. I reached up to my head. No horns. Okay. Next, try to walk over the salt. It worked, but the creatures screamed. One of them fled the room. They were afraid of me.
Then it hit me. If I'm a demon then I've been living in hell. It felt like hell, but I never actually thought that it was hell. Being poor just seemed like a thing that poor people had to deal with. Wait a second... Demons make deals! I don't have to be poor anymore!
I tried to put on my fiercest and most serious face. "What do you want?" I boomed. "And what do you offer me?" I had seen enough Supernatural to know how these go down.
One creature, the one hiding behind his book, stepped forward and started to speak. "We want to make a deal with you. I'm willing to give you my soul if you can make this man suffer." He pulled out a photo of another angel looking guy.
I tried (poorly) to stifle a chuckle. "I don't want your soul."
"My first born then?"
"No. Just give me some money and I'll do what you ask."
"Money? What does a demon want with money?" He asked his question with a quizzical look.
"You don't question my demands and I won't question yours." That seemed to appease him.
They pulled out a bag of gold coins. Their ridiculously archaic knowledge of demons was top notch. "Is this enough?" He asked as he opened the bag in my direction. It was more money than I'd ever had in my bank account. I merely nodded, barely keeping together my "serious" composure.
I took the bag from him with the photo. There was a name scribbled on the top. That was enough to get my job started. Once again with the booming voice I said, "It will be done." I picked up my lit cigarette, put it back in my mouth, and left the room and the house that room happened to be in. While walking down the street the gold in my bag clinked and hearing it made me smile. Well, at least it's better than working at Wawa.
|
Coughing, you wave your hand in front of your face, trying to clear away the smoke. You blink frantically, trying to stop the burning sensation from the smoke in your eyes.
As your vision clears, the creature in front of you becomes more clear. Your first impulse is that it's a sickly child, but the longer you look, the more confused you are.
Yes, the creature in front of you is short, but it's more than that. Its eyes are huge, almost like a Manga come to life. Its skin is greyish, and it's body is thin, impossibly thin. You wonder how it can even stand upright with so little visible muscle mass.
As surprised as you are to see this little thing, you can tell it is terrified. The huge eyes are even wider than they should be. The creature looks like it's bravely fighting the urge to cower in the corner. But, steeling itself, the creature begins to speak.
*"I has summoned you, demon. Do my bidding, and I will you return. Refuse, and you trapped within the circle be forever!"* says the little creature, with a voice like a cartoon mouse. It's clear that English isn't the creature's first language, but it's reasonably fluent.
Wondering about being trapped in the circle, you take a step forward and extend your hand toward the shimmering air over the circle on the ground.
This time, the creature loses its nerve. It does take a few hurried steps back, looking ready to run, but when your hand is stopped by the barrier, some of its confidence returns.
You touch the barrier, wondering if you look like a goofy mime. Although you can't see it, there is clearly something there. Closing your eyes, you feel around. If you didn't know better, you'd swear it was a steel wall, cold to the touch, and absolutely solid.
*"Yes, yes. Trapped! Do what I say and you I will release."* The creature explains.
*"Look, there must be some mistake, I'm not a demon, I'm a human,"* you try to explain.
*"Yes, human. That is what said. Human demon."* The little thing seems to be growing in confidence now that the barrier does seem to be working.
*"No, you don't understand. Demons are from hell. Demons are big and red and scary. I'm just a human,"* you try to reason with the little thing. Something must have gone wrong in the magic it used on you.
*"Yes, hell,"* the creature nods in agreement. *"Suffering? Torture? Inquality?"*
*"Well, yes, I suppose there's some of that, but it's not really _hell_. Forget about that. Look at me. I'm not a demon!"* As you say that, you look at yourself through the eyes of the creature who summoned you. To it, you must appear huge and powerful. Your skin is slightly tanned from that recent trip to Mexico, and while it's not red, even in mid-winter you're not as grey as the little thing in front of you. You may not have horns or a tail, but it's pretty clear you're extremely intimidating, even with ruffled hair and your bad posture.
*"Ok, let's just put that to the side for the moment. You say you summoned me and you can return me? Why did you want me? I don't, I mean... I'm not magical,"* you say, hoping that you won't be trapped forever by a creature who vastly overestimates your abilities
*"You Bahry Lahrsn are,"* the creature says, mangling your name. *"You the legendary demon of sex are."*
*"Wait, what? Demon of sex? I'm no... I mean, I'm not a virgin, but I'm no sex demon,"* you try to explain.
*"No?"* The creature consults the book in front of it, reading from some list. *"Did three times penetrate goddess Anjla on night Prom? Did up-hook Shrly and later same night Surah on eve of New Year? Did digitally Dafnie in vehicle back on trip road car back?"*
You stand there in stunned silence. Somehow your greatest sexual exploits, mild as they are, are written down in a book this creature is reading. You cringe, thinking back about how you'd fooled around with Daphne Samuels in the back seat of a car on a road trip. Her coat had been covering her waist, and you'd... Well, at the time you thought you'd gotten away with it, but later on you learned that *everyone* in the car knew what was going on.
*"Look um... I... How do you know about that?"* You demand, your voice a mix of anger and confusion.
The little creature closes the book and shows you the cover. On it are some glyphs you don't recognize but the creature points to them.
*"Great demons of Eroth,"* it says, pointing to some glyphs. Pointing at the next set of glyphs, it says: *"Volume 6."*
You stand there in silence for a while, thinking. Apparently, you're Barry Larsen, legendary demon of sex, whose exploits are documented in graphic detail in a demon manual. Might as well just accept it.
*"Ok, well. I guess I'm a sex demon. What is it you want?"* You ask.
*"You me help. Lovely Shrmu is! Notice not she does me,"* the creature laments. *"Help me to sex her you will? You must!"*
Over the next little while, you impart your meagre knowledge to the little thing. It treats your words as if they were magic spells, rather than tidbits of advice. Such arcane knowledge as "be confident" and "dress nicely" are treated as dark magic. "Don't be clingy" is treated as a holy commandment.
Within a few hours, you run out of advice. You wonder if it will be enough, but the creature looks as if you'd just revealed the inner workings of a secret cult.
Distracted by its plans, and trying to remember everything you've said, the creature opens up the spellbook.
*"Agreement you fulfilled. Return you to hell now, I will,"* the little thing says, starting to wave its hands in an intricate pattern.
*"Wait, little guy,"* you say. *"Look um... let me know how it goes, ok? You can bring me back here, if you want."*
The creature looks at you and blinks. Perhaps it's wondering if the demon is trying to trick it. Without another word it snaps its hands out.
There's a flash of light, a bang, a puff of smoke, and when it clears you're standing in your living room. That's when you realize the opportunity you missed. If that book had your entire sex life in it, maybe it knew if Megan was ever going to stop playing hard to get.
| 2017-05-12T10:46:53 | 2017-05-12T10:01:31 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other's occupation. They talk about "how to take the perfect shot".
|
*Making sure the check clears.*
That's always the tricky part, right?
*Timing.*
Of course. And lighting.
*I suppose lighting is important. You've gotta have the right equipment.*
Absolutely. And finding the right subject.
*Ha. Yes. We have to be careful which jobs we take on. I won't do old people anymore. It just makes me sad. There's no surprise in their eyes.*
No surprise in their eyes. I've never thought of it like that. You know what I'll never do again?
*What's that?*
Weddings. Ulgh. Too messy. Too much family drama.
*Never done a wedding myself. So what's your specialty?*
I don't like to say.
*Come on. Hey, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Haha.*
Go on then.
*Gangsters.*
Fascinating.
*They're all in the suburbs now.*
Really? That is an interesting contrast between subject and setting.
*They think they blend in, they think they're invisible. But you can make them stand out if you know what to look for.*
Huh.
*Ok. Now you.*
Ok. Kids.
*KIDS?*
I have a knack for it. And there's always plenty of work.
*I wouldn't have pegged you for kids.*
Oh yeah. Kids. Babies. I've done a bunch of pregnancies.
*No shit?*
Yeah, I like maternity stuff. It's like there's this brief window before life really begins, and I make that moment last forever.
*Jesus. [downs drink] That's tough work. It must pay well.*
I like pregnancies so much, sometimes I'll do them for free.
*YOU KILL PREGNANT WOMEN FOR FREE?*
WHAT!? NO?! I photograph them?! Who said anything about-
*You're a photographer?*
YES! What, you kill people?
*YES!*
And you thought that I-
*I thought were a kid killer, oh my God!*
No. Nononono. Oh, that is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry.
*No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed.*
Oh. That is funny.
*Ha. Yeah. Ahh. You wanna get out of here?*
Sure thing killer.
|
I was born in Washington State and always had this sort of fascination with capturing the Pacific Ocean during the winter. The waters seemed to change with the seasons, regardless of whether the water froze over or not. The color, the size of the waves, and even the smell always had this ability to transfix both my eyes and my lens on their beauty.
Vladivostok was a different beast. Photography was a surprisingly tough gig, and contrary to the belief of every teenage girl with an iPhone, not just anybody could be successful with it. I always had to be pursuing a new shot, a new angle, and a new scenic vista in the hopes that I could get some local magazine or online publisher to recognize my work and license it for their use. The Russian winter, something that was infamous for ending the careers of some of history's most famous (and infamous) individuals, was to be my muse and the savior of my livelihood.
This isn't to say that I was having fun. The fishing village I was staying in only had a handful of people in it. The bar that kept my body and heart warm only had me, the tender, and a rather hostile looking man in his late twenties who was scribbling away at a drawing pad.
After a few minutes of tense silence, the man seized up and slowly turned his head towards me, as if he was a doe who had just heard the cracking of a branch in the distance. His eyes locked with mine, before slowly looking up and down my body, as if analyzing every feature of mine.
After a few moments of the now even more awkward silence, the man bit the tip of his drawing pencil, pointed to my hip, and finally spoke.
"Do you know what an artist and a sniper have in common?"
I froze up at the mention of a sniper, but felt calmed as I realized that my fellow bar patron was simply gesturing at the camera case on my hip.
“I am afraid I do not” I replied, my right hand slowly moving down towards the case on my hip, as if to ensure that it was still there.
I almost thought I saw the other patron tense up as I moved my hand to my side, but he quickly redirected his attention back to a small condensation-dampened napkin that he had been drawing on before spitting the word “details” out of his mouth. No eye contact was made.
I nervously fondled my drink, and was about to ask him to elaborate before he began a monologue.
“Like when a touch of color is out of place. When a shadow does not match its surroundings –“
I felt the need to interrupt.
“Or when your shutter speed isn’t fast enough and you get a blurry image?”
The man gave me an incredulous, almost offended look and let out a sigh, shortly followed by a seemingly forced “Da”.
A few minutes passed in notable silence as both he and I nursed our drinks, and the bartender cleaned some glasses. When the patron finished his beverage, he held the empty glass up to the dim light in the bar. Within the glass was a single cube of ice that seemed to reflect the light rather well.
“Or when a shape is not where it is supposed to be…” the man muttered.
That line sent a chill up my spine as I realized what the man was getting at. He, like me, was an individual trapped in this land, a man who did not really belong in such a place. A place whose beautiful snowscapes and forests seemed to blend together into a void. A place without details. He and I were both shapes that were not where they were supposed to be.
I smiled at the man and said the last thing I said that night besides my brief thanks to the bartender: “I think I understand now.”
The other patron didn’t react at all to my statement besides looking me in the eyes and saying “The only difference are the stakes, mine are higher”.
As I broke eye contact with the man, I felt a shiver run up my spine. A door had opened. Not metaphorical, but literally. Three men stepped into the bar, and through the reflection of my glass I watched them approach the other patron. They all shared his empty stature, but retained his imposing nature. One’s eyes seemed to dart around like an alert hunter, while the another’s seemed devoid of life, empathy, or even innocence. The third had his face covered with a grand helmet, and all that I could recollect from him was this feeling that I was standing in the presence of men who were far above me. A lord, or even a god.
Without conversation the other patron left, followed by those men. They seemed to be the place where his shape fit in, not in this bar with me. They were clearly more seasoned, veteran photographers, while I was just a young man whose desire for adventure had yet to leave him. Only my rationality and reason had.
As I sat on the plane out of Hong Kong I looked through what few pictures I had taken during that trip. Most were of the plains, the stormy seas, or the weathered shacks of the town. One stood out in particular. The image was shot in the early morning, and was just one of the probably seventy or so ones I had taken of the ocean at 6 AM. The difference was that in the difference, a small orange light seemed out of place, with an even smaller crescent shape eclipsing the light that sat on the horizon. It was sunrise, not in that it was a dawn that had come but one that was still coming. Opportunity.
I quickly attached that picture to an email targeted at some editors I had met during my time, asking for opinions, casting out my line to see if I could get a catch with this experimental bait. One editor, Craig, responded with words that would change my life forever.
“Sent to the team, thanks.”
---
This was my first writing prompt post to here don't H8 :)
[ - ]7
| 2017-08-31T11:25:38 | 2017-08-31T09:53:57 | 123 | 52 |
[WP]The pagan gods watch with amusement as humanity still remember them by naming their mightiest vessels after them, long after they stopped worshiping them. When war against aliens break out, the old gods subtly aid the humans, not wanting the last homage to them to be taken lightly.
|
Slightly different take. First time don't be to rough please looking for constructive criticism. Thanks, I hope you like.
/////
Zeus was tired.
He felt old, he had been growing old for three thousand years. He could feel himself fading. The others had already fallen into a slumber. Poseidon, his brother had heavily lidded eyes. Deep blue-green eyes that looked like sea foam on a calm day. Every few years they flickered open. The Sea Lord was the most awake of all the god besides him. Ares, Hephaestus, his wife, they were all asleep, as if under a spell, their minds failing them.
Olympus itself was a shell of itself. Its golden lights were no longer. Even the sunlight seemed to grow fainter with each passing day. The cavernous halls and broad archways of marble were covered in dust. Cobwebs hung in tatters. Once He could have heard merriment of the lesser Gods now all was a deafening silence. If he was younger he could fix this. Back when he and his kin had fought the Titans in battle. He could make his home like it had been, a shining example of Olympian power. Back to its glory. But he was too weak now.
Zeus slowly closed his eyes, for what he feared might be the last time.
His eyes snapped open. He felt something. He had almost forgotten it.
What was that? It felt like fire in his brain, or wine, but not a wine that deadened the senses. This was a wine that made him feel something. This was nector.
He sat up, moving quicker than he had in recent memory. What were the humans doing?
His bones creaked and popped as he stood up. The Thunder Lord cast his eyes to Earth. He knew not what he was looking for but he scanned and scanned. Not in Greece, nor in Rome did he find what he was looking for. Not in Egypt or in Mesopotamia did he see anything. He scanned farther past Iberia, past a great sea he never bothered to look past. Until finally he reached land. His gaze went up and down a giant coast, were warm water met ice. Until his eyes settled on a city of gray buildings that touched the sky. Huge buildings rose that would humble his own home in size. It was here that he found it.
A giant metal… thing.
It’s design puzzled him. But he looked closer to the metal thing.
In big white letters on the side it read: Zeus Class, UFESN Keraunós.
So this is what woke him. He smiled he felt his power returning already. He raised his right arm and concentrated as sparks started to fly in the palm of his hand. He laughed or the first time since he could remember. He flung his arms out and sunlight seemed to pour in from everywhere. He felt young again. He could feel his brother slowly waking without even needing to turn around.
The humans did this he mused. The smallest amount of belief is useful.
“How do I repay them.”
​
**EDIT:** I now have a sub if you would like to read more of my mediocre work. [r/soulblazawrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/soulblazawrites/)
|
When Gaia had arrived on Earth billions of years ago, she brought with her life. Life had started simply, just the beginnings of what would come to be. Over the ages she had watched, as her home had flourished into creations she couldn't help but marvel at. Her pride and joy were the humans. Although they had started violent and callus, working their hardest to destroy what she had created, they eventually found their way, and had worked hard to make her home a paradise for all her creations. While the humans had long dismissed her presence as nothing but a myth, her presence remained dormant within them. Like the echo of a whisper on the wind.
As the forests flourished around the human settlements, clashes and rivalries dissolved as the humans began to realise the value of harmonious living. As they began to venture into the cosmos in search of other life, Gaia was unsure of what they may find. Gaia had wandered the universe before claiming her home, and she had worked hard to secret herself away from her kind. The gods of the universe did not all share her values, and conflicts were common in the ages before she had left. Although she had no contact with her kind since she had fled, the likelihood of immortals changing was slim to say the least.
The humans continued to venture into space, continuing to find nothing but empty shells of planets, never sure why they appeared to be alone. These planets should contain life, but all were empty. The scientists were scrambling to explain why, but no answers presented themselves. Theories swirled, but as time stretched onward, the humans believed they were alone. Weapons were entirely abandoned, as conflict seemed to be nothing but history to their kind. With no one around to fight, the resources dedicated to a military seemed nothing but a waste. Gaia was proud of the process her creations had made, and the likeness they shared with her. She had fled far enough across the universe her creations were safe from the conflict of the gods.
Until they mastered interstellar travel to a level similar to her own ability. Suddenly the universe became so much smaller now that it was all within reach for the humans. As their desire for company, to know they were not alone, drove them out into the universe, they stumbled upon the first civilization spawned from another god. This civilization was apart of the conflict driven species that Gaia had fled from. The humans, who had long ago abandoned their military, were beyond unprepared for true violence. True war. A species that was created with the sole purpose of conquering, found the humans the easiest target of all. The Violence tracked the humans across the cosmos, destroying all human settlements, colonies, research stations, satellites. Every trace of humanities ventures into the universe were annihilated. Nothing outside the Milky Way remained, and soon the Violence would reach here. At the home of humanity, Earth, to achieve the goal their god had created them for.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
We were so naive. For so long, we had believed we were alone, safe from threat. We had grown complacent. We had created a paradise on Earth. But it felt like we were made for something else. We had a constant burning desire to know everything we could. The question had been asked for millennia. Are we alone? It was a simple question with a simple answer. Yes or no? But after centuries of searching our own galaxy, we were certain that our question would never have an answer. While we could say with certainty, no other life-forms existed within our own galaxy, we could never reach anything further. Or so it had seemed. Then we had mastered the ability to bend space around us. Faster than light travel was nothing compared to the ability to completely shift from one location to another. We suddenly had the ability to be anywhere in the universe. With no travel time, no delay, we now had the ability to answer our question with certainty. Were we alone?
After countless lifetimes, we finally had our answer. To be able to scratch an itch that had existed since the dawn of humanity, should have been an amazingly joyous occasion for us as a species. But the life we found, we something we were unprepared for. In the distant reaches of the universe, we found a civilization so horrifically violent, that our first contact was a bloodbath beyond anything ever imagined. The creatures found a way to master our own tech, and soon, they were making their way across the cosmos. Tracking us through the settlements, mining facilities, and research stations we had created to learn everything we could about our universe. We felt like we couldn't lose anything else. Our reach had been cut-off. Countless lives lost over the course of a decade or so. Then they found the milky way. Our last bastion was discovered, unprepared and defenseless. We were trapped. Our sacred home was about to be wiped from existence. All for the sake of one answer. We were not alone. We were, and that had kept us safe. But we could never live with well-enough.
Everyone remaining retreated to Earth to be with each other. We were a family, and we had to be together at the end, it was only fitting. Billions of lives, gathered together, waiting. Then the notification came. They were here. Entering our solar system, the first fleet of the Violence had arrived. We had been lucky it had taken them this long. They had found our home galaxy, and they knew it, so they had savored the hunt. Galaxies we had settled in before had been wiped away. Not just planets, or solar systems, entire galaxies had been completely evaporated by a force so unimaginably destructive we had not thought it possible. But for some reason, they had not just wiped our milky way to begin with. Instead they had systematically spread throughout the solar systems, picking us apart slowly. But here we were, the last of a great race. Trapped, enjoying our last seconds of existence.
​
Then she emerged. A force that had been long forgotten. We had abandoned all forms of religion in our perseverance for knowledge. Few but the historians remembered the writings and ancient teachings. But in a flash, we all remembered. Like being reminded of a memory that had lay dormant in every person's mind, we were reminded of her.
​
Gaia. She was power, and she was absolute in her purpose. To defend her home, her children.
​
First attempt at writing one of these. I know the prompt said the gods helped in subtle ways, but I have always been a sucker for absolute power.
| 2019-01-31T22:37:33 | 2019-01-31T21:22:14 | 225 | 75 |
[WP] After a treasure hunt with your friends, you make it to the treasure. But instead of the wealth you were told about, it was a note congratulating you on your journey and that the real treasure was the friends you made on the way. Only problem is that all your friends died getting you this far.
|
We were on a holiday in Turkey. After some days of lazying around, we decided to do something more adventurous. Eventually, we ended up in some ancient pub in Yassihöyük. There we met an eccentric drunkard who entertained us with stories about the local legends. He was difficult to understand at first, not because his slurred tongue, but because he only spoke Greek. After some jugs of wine, it was somehow easier to understand him. He told us of a secret cavern which contained an unimaginable treasure. Filled with liquid courage, we decided to humor him and search for the cavern right away.
It took a few days, but eventually we found the cavern. It did not show any sign of recent human activity, so we decided to carefully enter the entrance, carefully pushing the grapevines away. After descending into the darkness, the only light shining from our phones, we eventually found something interesting. It was some kind of gate nut with a rather particular opening mechanism. It was a statue of some guy with donkey ears, which seemingly has to be pushed aside to keep the gate open. It looked like quite a heavy statue, so we decided that I would enter through the gate while my other friends would keep pushing the statue. So they pushed the statue, while I ducked into the opening.
On the other side of the gate was a marble chamber, reminiscent of the ancient Hellenic temples. The chamber was adorned with decorations, but only contained a single noticeable object: a stone urn. I cautiously walked to the urn and gave it a careful shake to get a glimpse of its contents. By the sound of it, it seemed to contain some kind of parchment, and nothing else. I put my hand in the urn and grabbed the content. The parchment seemed to be in good shape and seemed to be written in Ancient Greek, which I was able to translate with some difficulty.
"Congratulations with reaching this place. Unfortunately, this tomb does not contain any treasures. Instead, it is your companions which are the treasure you are looking for. I hope you can live with yourself after what has transpired in this cavern.
Midas of Phrygia"
​
I laughed at the text, creating such an elaborate chamber, only to contain a simple message which seemed straight out of some children's tale. Then I read the name at the end. I recollected my memories about Greek mythology, and remembered the story about the king with the golden touch. I was suddenly struck with a dark sense of foreboding. "Guys, are you still there?" But silence was the only answer. I looked at the gate, and the entrance seemed to be sill open. I crawled though the passage and returned to the cavern. When I stood up, I shone my light in the direction of the statue and my worst fear was confirmed. My friends were not alive anymore, but it were not corpses which remained, only massive golden statues, shaped perfectly in their likeliness.
I am now a rich man beyond imagination. The treasure I sold was very valuable after all. But I will never again touch a drop of alcohol. For when I do, my dreams are filled with the richest treasures, treasures which look at me accusingly with frozen visages made of glimmering lifeless metal .
|
Kaant and Tenor heaved at the chest, pulling upwards with all their strength. Sweat streamed down from the two men’s foreheads, obstructing their vision and making an unpleasant situation even worse. It *stung* as it got in their eyes, and neither could spare a hand to wipe away the unwelcome fluid.
They swore at the heat.
They groaned with the effort.
They argued bitterly about what might be inside.
And eventually, finally, after what felt like hours of effort—the object of their quest came free. A smattering of sand exploded upwards as the thing dislodged from the ground, and the two friends spluttered as some of the grit got into their mouths.
With a last, monumental tug, Kaant and Tenor pulled the chest up and out of the hole they had dug to reach it, and sat the thing down upon the ground in front of them. Then they collapsed, both falling to lay down on their backs, cushioned by the soft sand of the beach. The sun bore down mercilessly, and they closed their eyes against it, and took a well-earned break from the day’s labour.
“You know, I think I ought to feel more excited right now,” said Kaant. “All we’ve done, all to get here, to this place—today. The searching, the journeying, the unfortunate accidents. All to get our hands on this little box, and I just can’t bring myself to care.”
“I thought we’d’ve shovels,” replied Tenor. He turned his hand palm-side up, and opened his eyes to examine his raw and bleeding fingers. “Bloody Jesiah, what a stubborn bitch, right up till the end.”
“That was *your* fault you dote. Don’t push someone off a cliff until *after* you nab their bags, everyone knows that.”
“I did, I swear it! I just… didn’t quite put enough space between her luggage and her person is all. That woman had a set of arms on her you know, long as oars.”
“They’d have to be, to work that monstrous bow.”
“No doubt, no doubt. Remember that dragon, the one with the lightening thingy?”
“Oh yes. Right through the eyes, at what, fifty feet?”
“A hundred, I reckon.”
“Would not surprise me one iota, not at all. I do believe she had the best shot of anyone I’ve ever met. A shame she objected so adamantly about what we did to Jim Two-Eyes, but *how* were we supposed to know they were an item?”
“They were an item?”
“I… weren’t they? She seemed so… protective. Even *after* I explained the joke about the spoon, which was *quite* funny.”
“I think she was one of them folk with morals, Sir, a common sense of decency. She weren’t too fond of what you did to poor Jim No-Eyes, no siree.”
The two men fell into silence, remembering their ‘fallen’ comrades fondly.
“You ever think that maybe we could have, you know, not ‘disappeared’ so many of the gang?” Tenor eventually ventured.
“But then I’d have to *share*,” Kaant responded with confusion, seemingly unable to comprehend the concept.
“But what about poor sweet Sam? He had such a bright future ahead of him, that’s what the old crone said. Wasn’t he supposed to defeat a dark lord or something?”
“Pah. Heroes, prophesies, that’s all nonsense that comes and goes Tenor, it *comes and goes*. Gold, *gold* is forever—you should remember that.”
“Hows about Borond?”
“A *thug*, a *laggard*. Not worth the dirt on his boots after he secured us passage over the Worm-fields.”
“Sandra?”
“Oh please, the only interesting thing she ever did was crawl out from the Queen’s loins. Princesses are the product of an obsolete form of government, and any day now the whole monarchy will be cast aside. Democracy is the future Tenor, invest accordingly.”
“Patterson, Roberts and Jane?”
“Terrorists trying to bring about the downfall of legitimate authority. It was our duty as lawful citizens to hand them over to the King.”
“Father Sancor, Priestess Moanna and Paladin Stog?”
“If their god was real, she would have warned them about the *pit*. I’m sensing a pattern here Tenor, are you by any chance edging towards some point?”
“I’m just saying sir, maybe…”
“Yes?”
“Maybe…”
“Spit it out!”
“We should have a memorial.”
“A memorial?”
“Yeah. When we’re rich, and all set-up-like, we should hold a memorial. So we can say thanks to all them poor sods who helped get us our coin.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.”
“You know what, *splendid idea*, but let’s talk about the details later. We should probably make sure we are actually rich first, right?”
“That’s a good point sir.”
Both men stood, and—for the first time—really *looked* at the chest they’d gone to so much trouble to get.
It was… plain, really.
Boring and ordinary, to an extent far greater then either Kaant or Tenor had expected.
It was wooden, with solid iron banding to hold the lid down, to prevent anyone from opening it while the lock still held. There was no golden etching, no arcane runes burnt into the timber. It wasn’t even particularly large, though it did have a heft to it.
“Should I… open it Sir?” Tenor asked.
“Please.”
Tenor removed a key from his bag, a dull grey item that clearly matched the chest’s lock.
He inserted it, turned it, and with a soft *click* the catch released. He grabbed the lid, his fingers digging into the seam and lifted, the old hinge creaking as what was within was revealed.
“What is it?” Kaant asked, unholstering his flintlock pistol from the side of his pants.
“A letter maybe?”
“You can’t tell?”
“Letters were never my strong suit.”
“I didn’t know you *had* a strong suit.”
Then Kaant fired, shooting his friend in the back. He watched with detached interest as Tenor’s body fell to the ground, and then he stepped over it to pick up the fallen piece of paper.
He’d been hoping for gold, or an enchanted weapon, or some other treasure he could sell, and retire off. A note discounted that explicit possibility, but words could still be valuable.
It could be a spell, or a secret. Hidden knowledge, his for the taking.
He held the page up, squinting as he looked at it. The words were hard to make out, what with the glaring sun and it being smudged with fresh blood.
But his eyes eventually adjusted, and finally he read the words he’d done so much to find.
| 2019-06-20T01:00:24 | 2019-06-20T00:12:22 | 71 | 36 |
[WP]in the universe humans are not the strongest, most resilient, most agile, adaptive, or most warlike. humans are completely average in everything except one. we are fantastic at making ships. war stories come back about how the human made ship withstood everything the enemy would throw and more
|
Our species, the zaniles, was a master of everything. Born from the harsh planet of toinate, our race was the rulers of the universe, which every other race looked up to.
But then humans created faster-than-speed travel, and declared a "United Earth Republic"
We told the humans to serve us, just like all the other races. When the humans declared war on us, we were, well, not even suprised. Some races new into space did that. Most of them were crushed by our ships-most of them couldn't even destroy one of our frigates.
The first battle with the humans went exactly as our expectations. We ambushed their ships, attacked them with our missiles, and we won. But we noticed that one of our ships were gone. We checked the human ships we destroyed. They were empty, and we found out that they were only transport ships disguised to look like warships.
In the next battle, we saw the full power of the humans. It wasn't their formations, nor their technology- it was their ships. They had every warship for battle. Their slow and strong battleships, armed with rail cannons which accelerated projectiles with electromagnetic force paved the way into our fleet while quick missile frigates destroyed our ships. Our missiles were useless. They had a thing called "CIWS", which was..destroying our missiles before they hit a ship. It looked and soundes stupid,but it worked. Their weird ship designs deflected radars, making them undetectable. Our slow, bulky ships couldn't even run away. They literally mowed our ships down.
We decied we needed a new way. We made a new device, which would disrupt their systems, making their radar, and their "CIWS", useless.
The human ships still didn't lose. When they were attacked an the ship's hull was breached, they would seal off the area and continue combat. Even if we used radiation bombing to kill all the ship's humans,their computer systems would continue combat. Mines? Their ships deployed wires which would detonate our mines without damaging our ships. Plasma throwers? It worked perfectly at first, until They came up with a system that would spray liquid hydrogen over the ship's surface to prevent the ship's hull from melting. They came up with a way to defend their ships from any attack we could imagine.
The war ended with us surrendering against the humans. A species with amazing technology, strong body, fame and everyting surrendering to a small species with nothing bit basic technolkgy and the ability to utilize it. So the morale of the story? A technology isn't dependent on the technology itself, but how you use it. Gunpowder would have been useless if nobody invented cannons. Steam engines would be useless if nobody decided to run machines with it.
Remember this,and don't repeat our mistake.
|
The bass, drums, and harmony of Deep Purple's "Highway Star" was running at such a high volume in the pilot pod that it leaked out into the bridge even despite the fact that the ship ran on half the air pressure that the sound would have spread out if it had been playing at sea level on Terra. Hearing the cover with the almost lilting syllables of a rural Drozzit dialect was one of the few things that made the song palatable to his tympanum. Based on Vertingian psych standards Morgan Caul was certifiably insane but she was arguably one of the most intuitive pilots Daxus had ever met. When paired with Gnegor (who was certifiable and also an unabashed Terraphile), the duo had managed to pilot Daxus's ship to a record number of flawless transits of the Maas Trojans in an effort to get the last survivors out of the Trojans' only surviving outpost after a comet shattered against the second-largest asteroid in the region and turned the Lagrange point into a shooting gallery. With normal Trojan fields this was less of a problem but the accretion of debris into this point was particularly dense... it was actually a physics question for his piloting exam a few decades back as to why Maas was the 'exception' to the rule.
​
The rest of the crew almost to a being gripped their seats with a fervor that Morgan would call 'white-knuckled' as the ship's fusion thrusters bucked and twisted the ship through the debris. The glass bridge the gave Daxus a view of the surrounding space as the high-response displays painted on the spherical bridge's bulkheads were just barely able to keep up with the ship's maneuvers. Morgan and Gnegor had a less obstructed view sitting in the pilot sphere a few feet in front of him, since they didn't have consoles and bridge crew in the way.
​
>"Boss, incoming! Can't dodge this one..." Morgan's voice blew through the comms as Daxus caught the object in the peripheral of his eye. He didn't even have a chance to sound the impact alert, but then again, he didn't need to. The impactor was dense and spun the ship hard, easily adding seven Gs from his right for longer than any would have liked. Airbags around each of the crash couches inflated to keep body movements of the crew to a minimum while the inter-layer sealants did their work of stopping the gush of atmosphere from the hull within a few Terran heartbeats. Morgan and Gnegor used the momentum of the hit to spin them into a long, but tightening orbit around the station while Daxus took stock of the damage.
​
* Hull damage, significant but managed. Two days atmosphere lost.
* Starboard engine pair out of alignment. Adjustments to nav telemetry in process.
* Two starboard attitude clusters lost, one vernier cluster. Fuel reroute complete.
* Estimated impact energy... 5 megatons.
​
>The captain blinked and stared at the data, then looked at the impact trajectory for a long second.
>
>
>
>"You took that hit, Morgan." The comment was matter-of-fact and almost a whisper.
>
>
>
>"Yes boss. I took it obliquely, but I took it. It would have shattered the outpost." The ship for the first time this transit took a gentle dodge to avoid a swarm of fast-moving shrapnel a few seconds prior to its arrival. In comparison to the acrobatics earlier it almost felt like a lover's caress.
>
>
>
>There's a reason humans are considered insane by his people's standards. They're the most frail species in the big dark, yet they dive into it and its dangers like no race he's ever met. Originally he thought that they over-engineered their ships because of their own mortality. Why have two nav computers when you can not only have five across the ship, but also have suits that housed cluster-capable nav computing? Why have the latest plasma engines when you can run an older design that's been made to burn a diverse variety of fuel -- even oxygen? Why rely on distributed atmosphere reserves when you can line the waste reclaimers with bio-engineered fungi that can take a hundred times the radiation a Terran can and still pump out enough oxygen to keep their species alive? And in this case, why put armor designed for tanks -- weapons of war -- on frames grown for ultra-deep submersibles?
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>
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>Daxus realized long ago that it was for just these moments. To have as many tools as you can handle. To keep standing even when the big dark wants you to fall. It wasn't just to survive; it wasn't just to escape hell to live another day. It was to take on what should kill you and grin... then do it again the next day.
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>
>
>"Morgan, Gnegor -- keep it up. Solid work. Just... no more big hits? I believe the saying is, 'this thing isn't even fully paid off yet.'" He knew it was inaccurate, but he figured he got his point across. As the ship pirouetted once more before tightening the orbit with a soft push from the main engines the captain watched a dense chunk of ice the size of his childhood home pass by almost close enough to touch. For yet another of many times in his decade onboard he thanked his foresight for calling that Terran's bluff to win this ship.
>
>
>
>"By the clear eye, Captain," was Gnegor's reply. It was his assurance that he'd keep Morgan on a more conservative tack.
>
>
>
>After a few moments, he opened up the comms. "Station Retsis, this is the Dauntless. We're coming in to final docking, ETA roughly 20 Chrons. Manager Ixthys, do you think your company's insurance plan can handle a 'buff job?'"
| 2019-08-02T23:49:39 | 2019-08-02T23:47:46 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You have made a large ouija board on the floor in front of the fireplace as a decoration. Your roomba has been randomly summoning demons and then sucking them up Luigi's mansion style. You have been passively watching this happen for about a week now.
[deleted]
|
"Puny mortals, I would not bear those smug smiles of yours while in the presence o— wait, what in the name— OH QIZÉL NO!" the poor hellish sod disappeared under my Roomba.
"And another one... *bites the dust*," I said.
"Will you say that *every* time your cleaning puck sucks another one?" My brother, sitting on the couch near to mine, remarked, annoyed.
"Yes."
He groaned. I grinned and crossed a bingo box.
"That was a green one. All I need is a red one."
"I'd say he was more bluish than green. Like the ocean kinda thing."
"NO. Definitely green."
"Nu-huh."
"Yeah-huh! You're just being an ass because you need three more, *at least*, to win!"
"And you're purposefully mislabling the colour to win!"
"GREETINGS, MORTALS!" a new demon appeared infront of us.
"BINGO!"
|
i've always loved design. its what drives me, there is nothing more beautiful then a thematically designed room. so i incorporated it into my life in as many ways as possible, from my job as a home decorator to my monthly redecorating of my own house. i was especially excited for october next month, i had ordered a huge ouija board rug to put in front of my fireplace, it would really bring the whole room together.
eventually the day came, it finally arrived. i spent the whole day setting everything up, a stand with black candles, a roaring fireplace, ghosts hanging from the ceiling, even a little handmade paper-machete pumpkin to put on top of the rumba. adding in the ouija board rug, the whole room came together. i stood back with a sense of satisfaction, drinking the whole aesthetic in. another successful redesign.
a few days latter i started hearing weird noises in the middle of the night, a growl here, a yipe there, i thought it was just the neighbors dogs. untill about a week in i heard a scream, no, a unearthly howl. i jumbled out of bed, grabbed the bat from the closet and ran down the stairs. then i saw it. illuminated by the glowing letters on the rug, a withing amalgamation of mouths, limbs, and other bodily parts stitched together in way that can only be described as unholy. with a gaping hole crowded by rows and rows of teeth, its head turned twords me. its red eyes glared as a chill entered my very core. it released one last earth rending scream as it was sucked into the roomba. as the light faded from the letters i froze in place, what the fuck was that?
unable to move for the longest time i just stood there, scared out of my mind. i watched, waiting for the terrifying monster to crawl out of the metal shell i called a roomba. i only snapped out of it when the roomba stoped moving, and the letter below it began to glow. the roomba is summoning demons! my head instantly jumped to the conclusion as i dashed forward. i safely reached the roomba and switched it off. the glow immediately vanished, i sat there, staring at it. breathing deeply i began to calm down, as the adrenalin slowly receded i began to think of what to do. i first wanted to burn the thing, but who said that would kill what ever the hell was in it. i decided if it was traped in the roomba, lets keep it that way, and that way far away from me. there was woods about 60 miles away from here so lets go burry it there. removing the pumpkin from the top i notice the roomba's odd shape, its bulging. how may demons are in this thing? i hope i wont find out. picking it up i go out to the car and put it in the passengers seat.
i raced along the rodes untill the end of my small town, after that i slowed down, each bump in the rocky road seemed as if it would release the unholy concoction of evil upon me. eventually i made it. grabbing the shovel out from the trunk and picking up the roomba i made my way into the forest. every little noise made me freeze, staring at the roomba in my hands, waiting. eventually i was deep in the forest and i found a small clearing, perfect. i began digging, deeper and deeper. i went untill the moon was high in the sky. i carefully set the roomba down in the hole. i picked up a shovel full of dirt and moved it over the hole. i watched in horror as a large rock fell out the dirt as i turned the shovel. i hear a sickening crack as the rock hits the roomba, a screech. i turn and run. i can hear them all, screams, howls, croaking, a garbled symphony of terror and hated. i can feel them, those red eyes, like daggers in my back. my breath runs my throat jagged and my lounges ache, but i still do not stop, i don't look back, i just continue running. i jump into my car and turn the keys. i pound down on gas peddle as if my life depended on it. as the car comes to life, i look in the review mirror, dear god i wish i hadn't, but i did. in the forest i can see innumerable pairs of glowing eyes, a particular pair of red eyes shines with anger. i travel down the road at break neck speed the car jumping up and down on the rocks as if its being shaken by those things. i pass the town and continue driving. i don't know where im going, but its sure as hell going to be far away from here.
| 2019-09-09T00:37:23 | 2019-09-09T00:20:19 | 46 | 18 |
[WP] “One last piece of advice. If you ever land on a planet and the human says “it’s just like home” you turn on the thrusters and leave it in the dust. Because, trust me kid, those places will kill ya.”
|
The craft landed on a new world reported in the Uud system. As the most adaptable beings in the universe, the human was always suited up and sent out first to investigate.
"Ah just like home," said human science officer Raj as he stepped out onto the earth-like landscape. "Scans look good here."
The alien crew looked at him with dread.
"Where did you grow up again?" asked Captain Beev. The other aliens winced at the question, almost certainly knowing the answer already.
"Earth of course! I can't believe you guys never asked me where I grew up," replied Raj.
"Back into the ship. Now," said Beev as he dragged the human by the spacesuit and slammed the bay doors shut.
Setting thrusters to full speed, they jetted off to the next world on the list.
Looking out the window as they sped away, Raj noted, "That was quick. We barely had time for any science there!"
"Didn't need to," said Beev, looking straight ahead as he piloted the ship to a nearby ice giant. "Earth-like planets are automatically marked as no-go zones. They're more dangerous than Klarkan worlds."
Raj put a hand on his chin and took a moment to think.
"I thought Klarkan worlds were already classed above the limit of the planetary danger scale?" Raj pondered. "Besides, I think you guys are too cautious. The Klarkan worlds weren't even that bad."
The other aliens in the crew gasped at what Raj just uttered.
Beev took a slow breath. "That's precisely the problem."
|
"Oh wow, look at that. A proper blue marble. This looks like a good one."
The image on screen was indeed beautiful - planets with liquid water were a rare sight in the galaxy. More information scrolled past as Sandy focused the sensors.
"Gravity is 1.5 standards, or 1.1 gees. Atmosphere is oxygenated, and proper *dense* atmo, not ship air. Nice place. I could probably walk around without a suit."
"Showoff," Helmsman Tai muttered.
"I know, I know, an immune system is no replacement for proper decon protocols, but tell me you wouldn't try it if you could. Look, there's even *greenery!*" She pulled up another, more zoomed-in image, that revealed a patchwork of green and brown spreading across the continents.
The pilot shrugged. "Just looks weird to me. If it was *purple,* now, that would be a good sign."
"On your planet, sure. Point is, there is *definitely* some neat biochemistry going on here, so that means it's *survey* time!"
There was a round of cheers from the bridge crew, eager to get out of the cramped confines of the *Seeker*, and they swiftly prepared the ship for landing.
"Alright, first survey team is Sandy, Tai, and Armsmaster Vec," the captain ordered. "If they give the all-clear, we'll see about a little shore leave."
---
"Oof, you can really feel that extra 50% here."
"Use your assist carefully, and it won't be a problem."
The two Ilrath were wearing power-assist suits, which they used on heavier worlds to keep the strain off their bones. Vec marched out of the airlock with the smooth motions of a professional, while Tai moved with the lurching gait of someone who didn't quite know their own strength. Sandy had gone with a lightweight counterpressure suit, saying that she'd rather keep her hands free for delicate work.
"Look, there's *grass!* Green grass! I haven't seen this since I was a kid! Every since my family moved it's been nothing but habs and purple *imaz* worlds." She quickly unpacked her test tubes and started taking samples. "Oh, please tell me the microbe assays pass, I want to breathe the air here!"
The human had a set of test-tubes in her hands, and quickly started gathering samples of the soil and grass.
Vec chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Well, our science officer will be busy for a while. Guess we'll go and check out those woods?"
They had set down in a grassy field, but only a short distance away the grass gave way to tall trees. There was no way to tell what sort of life was lurking inside.
"Is green such a rare color? Sandy seemed really excited about it. I mean, more than she usually is about survey worlds."
"Sort of. Plants on her world have a chemical called chlorophyll which is very efficient at generating oxygen. The human homeworld has very high oxygen levels compared to most planets."
"Right, I know that. She had to go through acclimation to join our crew."
"Ship air" was a careful mix of chemicals meant to be breathable by a number of different species, but for humans it was unpleasant until their bodies could adapt. They often compared it to trying to breathe at the top of a mountain.
"Yeah. It's rare, but their atmosphere supports much more energetic reactions than *imaz* worlds. They say planets like this are *swarming* with life. Not just microbes, all sorts of animals. They'll eat you alive given half a chance."
Tai grimaced. "So... You're saying that we're surveying a highly reactive 1.5-grav deathworld?"
Vec shrugged. "Well, of course it sounds bad when you put it *that* way..."
Sandra came running up to them and Tai had a moment of horror as he saw *she didn't have her helmet* before he realized she was smiling and holding up her tablet.
"Guys, guys! The microbe check is good! This place is practically like home! I can breathe the air, run around on the grass..."
"Slow down there, Sandy." Tai interrupted. "Can *we* breathe the air?"
"Um, the computer was still running sims on that..." Her tablet beeped. "...Oh. Oh, dear. It says it's found found three respiratory infections, four blood infections, two types of flesh eating bacteria... let's just leave it at 'No, absolutely not.'"
"I knew it. And now you've got two lungs full of that stuff."
Sandy's shoulders slumped. "Aw, man, I'm going to need a full decontamination before I get back on the ship, aren't I?"
Vec clapped her on the shoulder. "Tell you what. You set up camp, do the EVA work and enjoy running around on the grass, the rest of us will stay inside, run the drones and sensors, and enjoy not having to explore a deathworld. Sounds good?"
The scientist shrugged. "Still better than having to keep this suit on."
| 2021-04-13T13:58:51 | 2021-04-13T12:40:35 | 1,253 | 775 |
[WP] At the end of a great battle, someone realizes he/she/it has been fighting for the wrong side.
|
It wasn't the uniforms that tipped me off. It wasn't the criminal charges. It wasn't the shame, the imprisonment. It wasn't the wounds or the bodies of the fallen around me.
But I know, now, that I had been on the wrong side of this war.
There is no place in the world for the loser's mercenaries.
|
Roger stood over the fallen Guilder Legionary, half slumped due to the arrow in his shoulder. With weary but victorious eyes, he surveyed the battlefield.
It had been a quick, simple victory for the Greater Republic of Florin. Eight hundred Legionaries had met them at the border crossing, believing that they could hold back Humperdink's army while they carried their prize away towards the capital.
"What a rut," Captain Geldof remarked as he pulled his spear from a legionary's breastplate. "They didn't stand a chance. We should've let them surrender."
"I would kill a thousand Guildermen, their wives, and children, to bring the Princess back safely," Roger declared as he wiped his bloody sword on the cape of the fallen legionary. Geldof eyed him wearily, and replied,
"Hope it doesn't come to that."
"Rally the men," Roger ordered. "Put the wounded on horses and send them back to Florin. Bury the dead, but quickly. Every moment we piss away, the Princess gets further away from us."
If Jax looked stern and angry on the outside, he was a raging tempest of emotions on the inside. The gall of the Guilderans to kidnap his king's bride!
He'd loved the Princess most of his life, ever since as a farmer's son he caught glimpses of her as she delivered goods to the other farms.
When he was eighteen, he met her in the fields and confessed undying love to her. He brought blue hydrangea flowers he'd spent months collecting to give to her. But she just looked at him absently, muttering "I shall never love again," as if he wasn't even there.
He found out later that she had been madly in love with that prat Wesley, who got himself killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts.
Her refusal had broken him, and he spent months not knowing what to do with his life. Then the prince rode through town one day, and Roger had been so taken by his speech that he immediately enlisted in the Prince's Army.
"Rider approaching!" Called out *Lef*tenant Gilmour. Roger turned, and looked where the man was pointing. It was a rider alright, dressed in the red colors of Florin. Roger recognized the man; It was the six-fingered Count Rugen, one of Humperdink's toadies.
"General Waters," he addressed Roger. "Your army's presence is ordered by the prince at the capital immediately. He has rescued the princess from her *true* captor, the Dread Pirate Roberts. The wedding will be in a week and you must keep it safe." With a contemtuous sneer at the state of the battlefield, the six-fingered man turned his horse and spurred away.
"Dread Pirate Roberts?" Geldof asked, puzzled. "I thought Guilder had taken the Princess? What's going on, General?"
Roger didn't answer. He was lost in a dark, terrible thought. Humperdink. Ordering him to Guilder. Demanding him to bring the Princess back, no matter the cost. He knew Roger loved her; knew he would do *whatever* was necessary.
Roger stared at the field. *Whatever was necessary.* Including slaying eight hundred Guilder legionaries. Widowing eight hundred wives. Incurring the anger of the Guilder's people and her legions.
His gaze fell to the Guilder soldier he had just slain. His eyes were still open, poring holes into Roger's skin like obsidian knives. Begging, imploring him to not do this. There wasn't even a weapon in his hands; Roger had disarmed him.
The stench of death was terrible. Carrion birds had already arrived, too many for the Florins to chase off. Roger could almost hear the women weeping, the children crying as the news reached the capital city of Guilder.
*What had he done?*
*Was this Humperdink's plan all along?*
-------------------------------------------------------------
Hope you liked it, was a bit rushed. I didn't intend to make it a Princess Bride reference, it kind of just happened and I went with it.
| 2014-04-11T12:09:04 | 2014-04-11T11:46:41 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The outgoing President of the United States has written a letter to the newly inaugurated President. Instead of friendly advice, that letter contains the horrible truth that the public doesn't know about. Write that letter.
What is that horrible secret?
|
Hello, Mr. President.
If you're anything like I was in the first few weeks of my presidency, you'll be getting into everything and looking for answers to all the wacky questions you can think of. I now know where Hoffa is buried, who killed Kennedy, who performed the sex change on Norma Jean Baker, what's going on at Area 51 and a dozen other things.
It's all good fun, and your staff will brief you on whatever you want for any reason at all.
Trust me on this, though, none of it is as fun as it sounds before you know the truth.
The real surprises are about the things you'll never think to ask. This one blew me away.
The USA does not have a nuclear deterrent.
In fact, no one has The Bomb. It's not possible to make one. We've been lying about this since Hiroshima. The Soviet Union were lying. The UK and France are also lying. It is no longer possible to build nuclear weapons.
It *was* possible, thanks to a synthetic element fabricated by the Manhattan Project, but the scientists who created it used all of it at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They were then not able to make any more. We still have no idea why it worked and why it doesn't. Our best brains think Oppenheimer and Einstein cooked something up between them to end the war with Japan but to prevent the USA and USSR mass producing weapons.
Nations that discover the truth end up on the UN Security Council. We collectively bribe them to silence, although some leaders are smart enough to figure out what would happen if some nations found out our ability to turn them into glass parking lots was entirely fictional.
We have faked every test, spent millions and millions of dollars finding a reliable way to give people cancer, the whole bit. We even fake up reactor disasters, just to keep people on their toes. It's all a lie. But it's a lie that has prevented the start of another world war for over fifty years and we think it'll be good for another fifty.
Quite a lot of your presidency is going to be taken up with finding convincing reasons why we can't just nuke the crap out of some rogue nation so I strongly recommend you ignore that Kennedy crap and get serious briefings done on the geopolitical situation around the world. You need to have your game face on 24/7 in case someone figures out the Big Lie. This is why presidents in office age so damn fast.
Good luck.
You're going to need it.
Best,
The Former President of the United States.
|
Hey Dogg,
It’s President Obama. Well, former-President Obama. What’s good? Don’t bother responding to that, this is an email and I won’t be able to hear what you said. I mean, you’re welcome to respond if you want, but it’s really not going to do much for you. Yeah, maybe it’ll make this whole “hey we’re cool dog” email feel a bit more personal—like you’re really talking to the Obaminator—but I honestly won’t have any idea that you said something. You’re probably thinking “Obamster, look, I’ll just reply to the email and you’ll get it.” Wrong. Wrong as shit. I’m sending this from my super high-security self-destructing email. It doesn’t actually self-destruct, it’s just my PREZO4SHO6969@Yahoo.com account that I don’t know the password to. If you respond, I won’t get it. Let’s just make this easy on us both—I’m going to assume you said something like, “Not much, my man, how are you?” I’m super fly. Anyway, let’s get on with it.
I’m sure you’re wondering something like, “Why is the 44th President, and the flyest motherfucker this side of D.C., sending me an email?” This answer is a two parter: A) Because I’m the motherfucking Obamatron. I do what I want, when I want, how I want. Whack-ass bill passed by congress? Fuck that shit, Presidential Veto. Some playa hacking off the heads of hoes in Iraq or Iran or New Zealand or some shit? Drone strike, bitch. And 2) Because I need to tell you something about being the President, a horrible truth you must know. Also, III) Because fuck you.
Firstly, let’s just clear the air: I’m not mad at you for taking my job, but I do think you’re a bitch. Those two are not mutually exclusive, I can think you’re a bitch and still not be mad at you. And you are a bitch, everyone agrees. Even my daughter says you’re a bitch. Let’s not argue that, though, let’s just get back to me not being mad at some little bitch like you. You see, I’ve been the Leader of the Free World (shout-out to my man Eminem for *8 Mile*) for eight years now. It was time for me to move on, I chose to leave the office. It had nothing to do with the whole “get out after eight years” bullshit, I chose to leave. Plus, I’m already lined up for a killer gig down in Colorado, where the sun shines bright and the weed burns hot. I’m going to work in a dispensary and blaze all day. I can get you a job too if you want, but you’ll have to ditch the whole President gig. Up to you.
Anyway, look. Here’s what I got to say. I was the Prez for 8 years, I saw a lot of shit go down. I once saw a guy get his dick bit off by a tiny Chihuahua my daughter’s friend brought over. I’m gonna premise this next bit by assuring you that I ain’t no homo (but I’m all for them getting all married and whatever), but that guy’s schlong was like three feet longer than the dog. I was almost as upset as the dude for such a glorious thing being ruined. It was like *Fight Club*, that dog just wanted to destroy something beautiful. Don’t worry, though, I hear he had it medically re-attached and now it’s like three times girthier due to the swelling. I wouldn’t mind getting a peek of that bad-boy, know what I'm saying?
Sorry, I got off topic a bit. Back on point: I’ve seen some shit. I’ve seen a lot of people die, a lot of people get hurt. I’ve seen things inner-city kids that work the nightshift as prison guards in third world countries would get nightmares from. You’re going to see the same, they’re going to haunt you. But there’s one fact, one horrible truth, that is going to trump everything you’ve ever seen, or will see, which I want to share with you. And I don’t care if you’re some whack-ass motherfucker like John McCain (I know, who’s that? LOL) who was in a P.O.W. camp, this shit’s worse. So, look, here’s your opportunity. If you don’t wanna hear this shit from me right now, close this email and delete it. Otherwise, you best brace for impact cause we goin’ in hot.
Area 51 actually exists for the sole purpose of abducting random people, then probing them rectally. It’s not for any scientific research, or any monetary gain, or any purpose other than probing a bunch of cracka-ass white guys in overalls or, say, fancy black guys in expensive suits. Honestly, I’ve done a ton of research into it. I spent more nights awake, locked in the Library of Congress, trying to find anything and everything to make it logical, than I did doing actual Presidential shit. I even hired that Nicholas Cage guy to look at the back of random pictures and books and do some of that *National Treasure* shit we all love. He found nothing, I found nothing. You know what I’m saying, dogg? The United States Government is abducting random people and shoving foreign objects up their butts just to say they did. And it ain’t just recently, neither. This shit’s been going on since the beginning of our great nation. And they don’t care if you’re the President--in fact, that makes it worse and more frequent.
Do you understand me? They do not care if you are the President. Let that sink in.
I hope you appreciate my warnings, dogg. I know it’s hard to hear, but it’s only going to get worse. I wish I had known earlier, wish I had realized the truth before I opted to sleep in the nude (which I still do, no homo). I hope you can protect yourself.
Keep tight, you bitch,
Barack Hussein Obama, Former President of the United States of America
| 2014-05-01T15:21:41 | 2014-05-01T13:44:04 | 89 | 38 |
[WP] You are kidnapped by a cult, and they are about to sacrifice you to their god. They don't know that you are that god.
|
"Dude. If you stab me, I will be incredibly pissed." I stared at the head priest as levelly as I could, but he was not having any of it.
"O Mighty Lord Bixphaast! Grant us your divine blessing! Smite our enemies and destroy those who claim to be our betters!" The man was ranting like a lunatic as he held the dagger above his head. I rolled my eyes. I am almost 100% certain the passage I had passed down said that I didn't do this kind of thing.
"Yeah, no. That's not happening. I'm the bloody God of confection! What the heck am I supposed to smite your enemies with? Diabetes?"
My robed aggressor glared at me in contempt before plunging the dagger into my chest. I sighed and just continued to stare at him. He looked almost confused as he plunged the blade into me a few more times, as though he was expecting something new to happen.
"Satisfied? My blood is honey by the way, so help yourself."
"But... But the book said!" The man looked almost taken aback now, as he scrambled over the pages of a musty tome, "The Lord of Conviction will destroy your enemies..."
"Let me see that."
The man looked at me fearfully before setting the book down in front of my face and pointing out the passage.
"Hah! I knew the old coot had terrible handwriting!" I half-laughed in disbelief, "No, no. It says, 'The lord of confection will destroy your arteries."
The hall was silent.
"Can you untie me now?"
|
The saliquii were a myth of the olden man; a ruin of the civilisation, dead from the battles which raged this earth for centuries. Legend speaks of them in many tones; some revere them, as their Warriors were told to carry golden spears into battle that shone so brightly under the sun their enemies would be blinded. Others hated them, for their animalistic rituals of slaughter, cannibalism and rape. But the majority of us, including myself, knew they were a myth, born from the horrors of the wars to protect grown men from the imaginary monsters their minds had learned to harbour in battle.
Now, as I roamed the planes of their long forgotten sacred land, I wondered how the Saliquii would ever survive in such a climate. Sand, in every direction, for a thousand miles. No life anywhere. No food, no water. No place to hide. Just sand, sun, and sky.
The land was not flat; several small sand mountains rose up from the land, like captured waves from the sea. There was no wind. All was silent. As I approached a crescent between two such sand mountains, something began to unravel in the distance. It was hard to see, as the mirage in the sand and the heat seemed to distort my vision for the long distance, however it was undeniable. I have been walking in this wasteland for days and this is not of this land. It is not a sand dune, or a creature.
I squinted my eyes, before coming to a complete stop.
No.
My heart filled with terror. A temple reached my eyes from the distance. If this was the land of the Saliquii, I had found their sanctum.
I had no time to waste. Turning around, I traced my steps and began walking backwards. I must report this, and I can't lose my place and die with the knowledge I have obtained. A great sense of duty overwhelmed me, to the point that I began running back from where I came. Alas, I was a fool to think the Saliquii would leave their temple unprotected, even from this distance.
I found myself on the ground, as a mans body covered my own. I looked up to the sky, absorbing the shock of the fall, and found a tribe of men were surrounding me. They were covered in sand. They had been hiding in the sand mountains, and one of them came up to me. His feet rested beside my head, as he towered over me. He had long black hair which he kept tied up behind his back in a large knot by a red cloth. He wore no garments except a cloth around his hips, with a sword by his waist.
Suddenly, the red-knotted man shouted to the other men in a tongue I have never heard, containing all sorts of phonetics which I could not imagine pronouncing, and the other men walked closer to me. I was released from the grip of the man above me, and picked up by all four limbs from the men around me. The red knotted man walked away, and they followed. One of the men near me, with a cut by his eye, flared his nostrils at me, and with a great panic I realised he had a large stick in his hand. He swung, and struck me in the head.
Darkness ensued.
My senses came to me gradually. First was the thirst on my tongue. The longing for water overwhelmed me, I felt so weak. Then came a smell; a horrible burning smell mixed with a disgusting aroma of sweat and excrement. Then I felt it; ropes. I was tied to something, a pole? My knees, legs and arms were tied, my arms above my head. The rope buried itself in my soft skin, and as I tried to move it, it resisted by latching onto my flesh. I released a scream of agony from the pain and suddenly, my eyes shot wide open.
An arena. I was in a huge stadium, in the middle of an arena. Thousands of men were scattered around me, all chanting. But I could not hear them; my hearing had not returned to me yet. I could merely see them in the thousands, as they beat their chests and hallowed into the air passionately. As I looked down, however, I noticed that I was tied to a wooden post on a wooden platform. It was alight. I couldn't feel the flames.
I screamed, not from pain, but joy, as I realised I was immune to whatever fire they had subjected me to. When my hearing did come back, all I heard was the dance of the fire, and the death of the wood.
The men had stopped chanting. All of them stood still, bemused, afraid. Ashamed. I kept screaming.
The red knotted man appeared again before me. But this time, although I was the one tied, he was the one who was afraid. The flames, licking at my feet, burned through the ropes binding them but didn't rip apart my exposed flesh. With a renewed sense of strength I twisted my body with such a force that the wooden pole broke with ease. I held the ropes to the flame, my face in the fire. I was not scorched, and I was free.
Thousands of men. Thousands, there were, and they all bowed to me. The red knotted man fell to his face.
'Forgive us, God of Saliquii' he uttered in a broken tongue.
| 2016-08-14T16:18:14 | 2016-08-14T10:42:56 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Humans finally gain the ability to intergalactic travel. In meeting other species, they quickly realize earth is the "Australia" of space and all the aliens are in awe of our durability.
|
"So, let me get this right. You breathe... oxygen?"
The blobbish creature extended another slug-like appendage, striking the keyboard character signalling confusion. It undulated slightly, its hairs on end - a sign of timidness, according to the labcoats. Keith sighed.
"Yep. Most of us just call it air though, so you can lower your syllable count."
The Ioou shaped itself into a top-heavy form, balancing on its body as it waited for the voice translation to come through. They had worked on the thing for quite some time, but it still took at least eight or more seconds for even the most basic replies.
It continued with a simple "I understand", remaining silent for some time. It was probably was communicating with its superiors in its high frequency language - once they had discovered that humans had a limited hearing range, they hadn't exactly been subtle about conversing behind our backs.
"And just to be sure, M'stur Kee-ath, could you verify our report on the fauna of your planet?
The aliens... hadn't exactly been what everyone expected when they were found. Instead of hulking creatures with extra limbs or Vulcan-like geniuses, we got furry breadbox-sized skin sacks. They didn't even breathe the same atmosphere as us - right now, Keith was sitting in a modified space suit to prevent his lungs from being melted.
"Sure," the weathered diplomat said. "What parts were you confused over?"
"It is not that we are confused," the Ioou responded, tapping the frustration key on the communication device. "We simply wish to confirm. For instance, our report mentions that you are... living with some of these species?"
Keith gave a quick chuckle. "Yeah, we've domesticated a lot of animals. Some of them for food, like cows, other for companionship."
"Including beasts such as the fanged woa'ulf?" it asked.
"Wolves? Oh, you mean dogs!" The translation device wasn't exactly great at picking up on names for species or people. "Yeah, I actually have a yorkie at home, cutest little thing."
Another round of silence. Seemed like he was causing quite a stir.
"And to further clarify, there are also other, more hazardous creatures - venomous even?"
The Ioou seemed quite obsessed with humans and their perceived tenacity. They were apparently a type of extremophile - beings that had evolved on planets with incredible temperatures and acidic soil. This made them resilient to certain chemicals,
as well as capable of subsisting on some minerals and sunlight. But they were also the sole species of their birth planet. They never had to compete with other creatures for survival. As a result, they were sluggish, unmotivated beings, reflected by their pudgy form. When they began to develop warp drives, they were guided by necessity rather than curiosity, their dying sun forcing them to take flight. From what we had been told, there were other space faring species as well, reluctant entrees of the intergalactic community. Some came from multi-species planets, but none were quite like ours - flooded with a myriad of, to them, gigantic and deadly monsters.
"Look, our last interview was quite extensive." Keith tapped the armchair with his fingers impatiently. Talking to the first xenosapient being was an exhilarating experience back when their conversations were short and concise. This had already gone on for way over an hour, and he could feel his leg falling asleep. "We've done nothing but gone over previous data, and I am getting pretty hungry. Maybe we could wrap this up?"
The interviewer sat silent again, this time for over a minute. Just as he was about to get up from his chair, it spoke again. "M'stur Kee-ath, have you been informed of the [UNKNOWN CONCEPT]?" It pressed the continuation key a few times, underlining that it had more to say. "A species approximately our size, with a biological makeup most closely resembling your domesticated chee-khans."
Keith raised an eyebrow. This seemed oddly out of character for their species - usually they were very forward with their intentions.
"I've heard a bit from the survey teams. Feathered reptiles, if I'm not mistaken."
The Ioou made a pulsing motion, a gesture the diplomat didn't quite understand. Was it excitement?
"Recently, the [UNKNOWN CONCEPT] have been expanding their civilization to our worlds - an act that has cause a number of inconveniences. Now, we are aware that your species has certain... biological advantages."
Leaning forward on its appendages, the interviewer began pulsing more rapidly.
"M'stur Kee-ath... have you ever considered mercenary work?"
|
"Wait, wait, wait. Back it up for me. What's Earth like?"
On one side of a long, ovaloid table sits three women and two men. All human. The woman in the middle is standing, with a look of confusion on her face. There may be a bit of anger, or frustration, or maybe even exhaustion. She's more than a little fed up with this whole situation, and has been since it started. She brushes a few loose strands of chestnut brown hair behind her ear and stares down those on the other side of the table.
On the other side of the long, ovaloid table sits five creatures whose genders are indeterminate. None of them are human, but the one in the middle looks pretty close. If you ignore the fact that it's seven feet tall sitting down, its legs bend behind it, and it has raspberry-blue skin, of course.
Looking down at the lead human representative, one particularly confused Commander Veera, the raspberry creature repeats The Phrase.
"Well, basically, Earth's a shithole."
Perfect English. Can you believe that shit?
Commander Veera scoffs. The raspberry creature puts up its three-digit hands in a placating manner, and continues.
"I really do mean that in the best way. For your species to progress this far is, put simply, astonishing. I mean, do you know how many times we all thought you were done for? That whole plague nonsense, your many Holy Wars, your-" the voice cuts out. The raspberry creature turns to its right and consults with what appears to be an animated pile boulders for a moment or two. Its native language, a dialect based on no more than a combination of clicks, groans, and gutteral noises clashes with the boulder creature's grinding speech. It turns back, then continues. "Your nuclear arms. Am I saying this word correctly, Commander Jo-hanna Veera?"
"It's Joanna Veera, Joe-anna, and which word? 'Nuclear'?"
"No, Commander Jo-hanna Veera. 'Arms'."
Commander Veera pinches the bridge of her nose, shakes her head, and sits down. This was most certainly not what she signed up for when she registered for the International Interstellar Exploration Division. Alien contact maybe, but not like this. Maybe more shooting.
"Yes, Your Excellency. You are pronouncing 'arms' correctly. Please continue."
"Thank you, Commander Jo-hanna Veera. What I am saying is that, with such a small planet and so many disastrous events in your past, we had assumed there to be no possible way for Humanity to survive long enough to discover how to engage in efficient interplanetary travel. In fact, your extended use of the fossilization fuels prevented any earlier discovery of cold fusion. Did you know that?"
Commander Veera would like very much to scream that yes, she is quite aware of how long it took for Humanity to discover the secret to cold fusion. She would like to shout at the raspberry creature that everyone on Earth knows how long it took for them to figure out cold fusion, because cold fusion is the only way Humanity was able to survive. Cold fusion was the only way for Humanity to begin shipping to Earth precious resources harvested from the rest of the solar system. Cold fusion was the only way for Humanity to end borders, to end international struggles, to come together as one in a time of crisis and pool all available resources into a program that would eventually become the International Interstellar Exploration Division. And now, a massive raspberry creature is telling Commander Veera what a good job they've all done, commending her and the rest of Humanity in the manner of a parent telling their child what a nice macaroni drawing they've made, it's going right on the fridge. Commander Veera would like very much to jump onto the metal table, throttle the raspberry creature sitting across from her, and yell "If you were all watching during those events, why didn't you help? Why didn't you help, you massive raspberry creature?! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US NOT TO USE OUR NUCLEAER ARMS OR OUR 'FOSSILIZATION FUELS, YOU GIANT RASPBERRY JACKASS?!"
But Commander Veera can't throttle the raspberry creature. Partially because she doesn't want to be the one to jeopardize Earth's first steps into interplanetary alliances, and partially because she wouldn't be able to wrap her hands around His Excellency's neck.
So, instead, Commander Veera smiles and says, "yes, Your Excellency, we are aware our extended use of fossil fuels prevented us from earlier interstellar travel. Please continue."
"Yes, well, we of the Intergalactic Coallition of Species would like to extend a warm welcome to the inhabitants of Earth, and would love to share our technologies with you. Your durability and tenacities for survival have proven to all of us that you deserve a voice in the Intergalactic Coallition of Species."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first ever meeting between the International Interstellar Exploration Division and the Intergalactic Coallition of Species was a relative success, but by the end of it, Joanna Veera was, simply put, drained. During the meeting, she learned not only that Humanity was a "brave and noble species" for having overcome its stupidity and lack of resources, Earth was considered a backwater planet in a backwater solar system by almost every species in their galaxy.
As she and her advisors left the ship of the Intergalactic Coallition of Species and returned to her own vessel, the ISS Isaiah, they entered their ship's decontamination cell.
As the doors locked, a familiar voice gave the familiar commands.
"Folks, one at a time, I need you to strip, put your clothes in individual cases, and walk through the bioscanner. Y'all know the drill."
Lieutenant Davies went first, followed by Lieutenant Richmond. Then went Commander Riji, then Commander Hino, and finally Captain Veera.
After it had been determined that none of them were accidental carriers for a foreign parasite that would kill the rest of the crew in a matter of days, the small group was allowed to put on new uniforms and meet up with their friends and family.
As the door opened, the five were met with a cacophony of cheers, hugs, and congratulations. Lieutenant Davies was reunited with her husband and daughter in hilarious fashion, with the Lieutenant picking up her daughter and her husband picking up his wife. Lieutenant Richmond shared a warm but silent embrace with his brother. Commander Riji's wife gave her a highly professional salute, followed by two bursting into highly unprofessional gales of laughter. Commander Hino smiled knowingly as his husband asked him a flurry of questions broken only by repeated pecks to both cheeks. Veera took it all in as best she could, but couldn't help having a slight frown.
The same voice that gave the instructions in the decontamination chamber greeted her from behind. "Captain Veera. Good to see you back in one piece, ma'am."
She hid a brief smile, and turned around. "Thank you, Head Physician Nathans. It's good to be back." Nathans, smiling wryly, stuck out his hand. Veera shook it, quickly palming the paper he had in his hand.
"I trust the negotiations went well, ma'am?"
"As well as could be expected, I believe. We have quite a bit to learn, but it seems all parties are willing to negotiate."
"Very good, ma'am. If you'll excuse me, I still have one or two minor patients to treat before my shift ends." After a brief salute, Nathans excused himself.
Once Veera had spoken briefly with each group, she made her way back to her quarters and flopped onto her bed. Checking her pocket, she pulled out the note she had been given. It read:
*Missed you. One beep for your place, two for mine. You know the drill.*
*-Nate*
Veera smiled. Maybe she was part of an uncivilized race from a backwater planet in a backwater solar system, but so what? They'd made it this far, and it seems like they had the potential to go even farther.
But that was a problem for another day. Today, all she wanted to do was send out a single beep.
And she did.
| 2017-05-07T21:43:17 | 2017-05-07T20:49:32 | 92 | 59 |
[WP] You are the chosen one, but your mom wants you to be a doctor.
|
Ever since the Wizard of the North spoke to him in dreams, Diego knew that he had been chosen as the Defender. Although initially brushing it off as just another wacky dream, successive visions of a desolate wasteland ravaged by malicious ethereal forces had finally convinced Diego that threat he faced was very real indeed. As his body slept on in the comfort of his blankets, the Wizard trained his spirit in his sleep. In time, he had mastered the arcane arts, memorised countless blood rituals and even summoned his first Spirit Beast.
After years of rigorous combat simulations, as well as a grisly encounter with a disguised enemy in the real world, the Wizard officially anointed Diego as the Defender - the one chosen to protect the Earth from cosmic forces most souls simply could not comprehend. As magical energy flowed like an electrical current throughout his veins, Diego felt that he was ready to do his duty.
Which begged the question. Why was the Defender, who was supposed to be Earth's only hope for salvation, getting yelled at for not completing his maths homework?
"Mom, I don't know how many times I've told you. I've already got a job."
"Yes yes, your finnicky wizardy job, sure." Diego's mother gestured to the red circles in his maths booklet. "Until your wizard friend starts paying you, or makes you a doctor, you'll be finishing your schoolwork, *loca fresa*."
Diego planted his face onto the table, rubbing it in to infuse it with his misery. He reached out to the Wizard of the North in his head.
"Why can't I just come live with you? I'll be doing so much more and I wouldn't have to put up with this *estúpido bruja*." Even though he tried very hard not to, Diego knew his plea sounded more like a whine.
The Wizard's reply was swift. "Watch your tone, boy. Last time you were in my quarters, you accidentally summoned an Ancient Wyvern. You'll be staying with your mother."
"Ah, my bad." Diego thought back to the look on the Wizard's face when the Wyvern torched his bookshelf. "You've gotta admit though, that was pretty cool for a first summon."
"Yes, very. Now apply that positivity to your Earthly duties, my boy."
The Wizard's face contorted into a grin as he withdrew from Diego's mind.
"*Cabrón, maldito mago*," Diego grumbled, his face still firmly fused with the table.
A sharp pain on the back of his head jolted Diego upwards with a yelp. He turned to see his mother readying her slipper for another strike, a string of Spanish curses threatening to erupt from her mouth. Diego surrendered then and there. His mystical responsibilities could wait.
The Defender couldn't defend jack-shit against a pissed off Latino mother.
|
The sun was setting over the distant mountains, and the temperature was finally dropping. Airoth basked in the cool air, which felt amazing against his sweat soaked skin. Straightening up, he checked his surroundings. Four wooden dummies surrounded him, all evenly spaced, and all evenly damaged. Wood chips and splinters littered the floor of the clearing he stood in.
As his breathing evened, he sheathed the humming sword at his hip, and began the short trek back to his home. The smell of cooked meat and breads wafted through the air as he approached the humble cottage.
He opened the door and the smell intensified. Making his mouth water.
"Airoth, go out in the back and bathe, I can smell your sweat from here." His mother scolded from her usual place at the stove.
He chuckled, comedically raising his arm and giving it an exaggerated sniff.
"Smells fine to me mother" He said with a laugh. Seeing his mother's horrified expression at his manners was almost worth the horrible smell he had just sniffed.
"Airoth Ensig Von Baroth! If you dont go out and bathe this instant, I'll make certain to scrub you until your skin is as red as a tomato!" His mother replied, raising her scrubbing brush threateningly.
Airoth raised his hands in surrender, heading towards the back door, only stopping to grab a fresh change of clothes that had been laid out for him. His mother always thought ahead.
After his bath, and considerably fresher smelling. He walked back into the cottage, finding the table properly set, and steaming food laid out.
His mother was already sitting, so he seated himself on the other side of the small wooden table. His stomach growled, and he began digging into the delicious cooked meat, vegetables, and bread.
A small throat clearing confirmed his worst fear however.
"Airoth, I've been speaking to the doctor in town, and he's agreed to take you as his apprentice." She began, using her most casual tone.
He sighed, it was always like this. His mother's persistence could outlast mountains.
"Mother, you know that my destiny has already been chosen." He explained, for the hundredth time, while gesturing towards the sword that continually hummed from where it sat near the back door.
"Airoth, your destiny is not set in stone. You need to see that there is no real glory in heroics. A doctor may not swing a sword, but he can heal the wounded and sick. He also makes money, unlike a hero." She began lecturing.
"Mother, the sword chose me, I'm the only one who can defeat The Stranger." He began, knowing the response he would recieve.
"The king's army is surely strong enough to handle one man from a children's tale. You'd simply be used as a symbol!" His mother near shouted.
Airoth had heard enough, he stood and slammed his chair roughly into place. He stomped towards the back door, extending his hand. The sword hummed in approval, zooming into his grip with a hearty smack.
He slammed the door behind him and continued stomping away. He heard his mother shout.
"I just want what's best for you Airoth!"
He stopped and turned around, looking back at the cottage he'd lived in his whole life. Just as he began to walk back, the cottage erupted in raging flames, and his mother's screams echoed throughout the woods.
Airoth awoke with a shout, his heart thumping, and his skin covered in sweat. He struggled to rise from his position against the stone wall of the ruin he had camped in. His armor shifted and clanked as he rose.
He walked towards the window grimly, the sounds and sights from that day still echoing in his mind.
He looked out the window into the night, seeing the red glow of fire cover the horizon. It would be soon. The Stranger's Legion would begin moving within the month, and the King's army would meet in a pointless battle that would devastate the land.
He turned away and began preparing his pack. Rations, maps, bandages, and waterskins made up a sizable portion of the bag.
His fingers brushed against a folded sheaf of paper at the bottom of the pack, and he pulled it out. Maybe it was the memories from his dream, but he unfolded them and began reading the first, older page, just as he'd done countless times.
*This official document henceforth declares the bearer, Airoth Ensig Von Baroth, has completed all requirements set forth by The College of The Goddess Birchaera. Let it be known that the aforementioned figure is by all rights, a qualified healer of men of the highest degree.
This title shall grant him priority in situations.......*
He stopped reading, and unfolded the second page.
*For merits towards the crown, this official document hereby grants the bearer, Airoth Ensig Von Baroth, the title of Duke Baroth, Lord of the Eastern Border of Artrell. He shall be granted all the rights of this station, and any resources the crown can spare shall be his to use as he sees fit. Along with these rights, he is to be given the lands that stretch........*
He stopped reading again, pulling out the final page.
*Airoth, or should I say, Lord Baroth. I know you said you need no thanks, but I must insist. There is no one who considers themselves more fortunate than I that you were at the banquette that night. Not even my own highly trained healers could have identified and treated the poison I ingested that terrible night.
Truly I am thankful a doctor of the Birchaera college, much less a prodigy such as yourself was present at the time. Perhaps you consider your title, and land to be your only reward. However I feel it is not enough.
I wish for you to know that you have truly proven yourself a loyal friend to the crown, and you shall have my undying support until my final breath.
Please visit soon once your quest is done. I'm certain Princess Avaera will be most pleased to see you again. She seems quite smitten with you. Perhaps we may discuss some plans after you've vanquished The Stranger.
I wish you well on your journey, and may the gods strengthen your sword, and protect you from evil.
Sincerely, King Rorndell.*
Airoth chuckled at the last letter, tucking all three back into his pack. So many years had passed since that fateful day, and he simply had to shake his head in amusement.
Mother truly always knew best.
| 2019-02-07T03:42:53 | 2019-02-06T23:23:43 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] You're a prolific serial killer. After careful study, the FBI created your profile: you're extremely intelligent, meticulous bordering on OCD, attractive, have a good job. Thing is, you're none of these. You're dumb as a rock. You just keep getting lucky.
|
My mom always called me special. Her special spark. I couldn't go to normal school, I had to go to special school mommy said. I was what they called "slow". I had to learn sticking and pasting, building walls with bricks, use a hammer. Not electriicitee, that was too dangerous. We had to move around a lot for daddies work, always near the oilfields or factory towns, all over the you S ey. Daddie fired people, mommy had said. I didn't like to paste and stick, bricking was okay. But I had a seacret, I was learning, one day I would be as good as daddy, I would be the best people firer, ever. I had already started to fire small animals, and a handful of children too. They were easiest to catch. Daddy always carried a lighter when he went to work, but sometimes matches. I managed to get some matches to train and lighter liquid. Today was my first time, I managed to fire a person, mommie and daddie will be prood. I waited for her at the bus stop. I dragged her by her hair and covered her eyes. then I put a tire around her and I use the lighter liquid and the matches. She screamed a lot. But mommie said that dad's job of firing people was hard, not for wussies. You had to be strong mentally. People called me mental all the time and I was strong too. I was no wussie. I ignored the screaming and left. Next week we move to another place, daddie has fired a lot of people and I helped.
|
I turned on the TV and opened a warm beer, my usual routine after a long shift at the ward. Well, half the time--I forget to put my beer in the fridge quite a bit. Buying groceries can be so overwhelming. What's the difference between low-fat and skim? Why do eggs and batteries both come in AA and AAA types? Anyway, I turned on the TV and somehow it wasn't on one of my normal channels. I'm partial to home shopping and cartoons. It was on the news. I usually avoid the news. I don't do what I do for the fame.
News Anchor: I'd like to welcome Special Agent Karen Phan to comment on the continuing
nation-wide investigation into the Goldberg Killer.
​
Agent Phan: Thank you for having me. The FBI has been following the Goldberg Killer for several years now, and numerous public tips have come in. Limited evidence is left at the scene of each horrific crime, but the MO indicates an affinity for particularly clever... methods. These methods are over complicated at times, suggesting several things, besides the infamous nickname. They suggest the derviation of entertainment from these brutal killings, a high IQ paired with an extent of psychopathy, ample time to setup killings undetected, and sizable resources to do this.
​
News Anchor: That is a succinct explanation of the current public consensus on the killer. As you know, a large part of the internet has been closely following the Goldberg Killer as the count increases and no arrest comes.
​
Agent Phan: Yes. We are now publicly stating our position on this. It happens to align with the faction of internet sleuths calling themselves #*Redditectives*. In addition to intelligent, the FBI believes the whole profile indicates a degree of OCD and either a well-paying job or wealthy benefactor, though the lack of connection between victims suggests it is not the benefactor.
​
Well then, that profile is flattering! Though I'm not sure I like the psychopathy part. But OCD, Me? I never thought I'd get a title like that after my name! I never did go to college. As I was saying, I don't do what I do for the fame. I do it for the tendies. They usually don't mention this between killings, but I take an ear from each victim. They pair nicely with a garlic aioli or perhaps Tajin if it's a weekend slaying. To be fair, the detectives can't always tell there's an ear missing, some of the deaths result in pretty splattered heads. Or no heads, those are the more hush-hush ones.
​
It started innocent-like, one day at the old factory we had some extra items and nowhere to store them before a semi-annual maintenance during the slow season. The manager sold us unlabeled odds-and-ends for pens-on-the-dollar with no billing record. Funnily enough, some of the items were pens with dollars on them. While moving these pallets around, some heavy items got stacked on lighter items. Roger was just on the other side of this rickety tower when I leaned on it to check my Farmville farm. Well, I felt it going and fled, and Roger didn't see it coming. He was too into his Candy Crush. A bit poetic, eh. Ruled a workplace accident, my first one isn't attributed to the Goldberg, and I didn't get a tendie. But I got a bit of a rush, though maybe it was 'cuz my farm leveled up right before I ran.
​
That should've been the end of it, but being the sensible type, I had to see if it was the farm or the death that tickled my nickel. So yes, I put on some gloves and set up an elaborate murder plan one town over using some of the small doodads and gift items from the factory. I targeted that asshole in the silver Mercedes that had cut me off in traffic last week. I had a day to set things up while he was off in his office or whatever. But wouldn't you know it, at 6 PM, minutes before he got home, I stubbed my toe and set off the whole she-bang. So when he walked in and paused to look at the tubes, marbles, paper weights, string, and silly motors, I just clobbered him with a rock that I later threw into a lake, after delicately peeling an ear off it. I didn't get the rush, but I found my new delicacy.
​
My next victim was a stranger across the state line who looked to live alone. Given that it worked the first time, I setup some thing-a-ma-bobs again. Though this time I set it off for my own entertainment. Except for the anvil tied to a rope over the doorway. Wile E. is one of my favorites. I don't always set up marbles and anvils, but it helps pass the time.
​
I have to drive around quite a bit to find targets, but I scrunch up enough PTO. The factory closed the next year due to another workplace accident and I got hired on as a secretary's assistant at the State Mental Health Ward. A handful of hunts per year will still rack up notable numbers after a decade.
| 2020-07-04T02:33:20 | 2020-07-04T02:11:30 | 107 | 19 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again."
|
Second day. I arrive. I lose fast and hard. The dragon left me another on my arm, just above the first. Just deep enough to scar.
Third day. I arrive. I lose. I get cut.
Fifth day. I arrive. I lose. He cuts across the first four to make five.
Tenth day. I arrive. I lose but it takes only a few seconds longer. He smiles before giving me my second set.
One hundredth day. I arrive. I lose but I parried his first thrust. Im getting faster but slowly, my muscles are starting to tone but slowly. My face is hard and starting to sprout hairs.
One hundredth and seventy fourth day. I arrive. I lose but have now successfully parried two thrusts in a single bout. He laughed when he gave me my cut. I find my usual diet isn't enough to sustain this, I hunt bigger game and eat ravenously.
Three hundred and sixty fifth day. I am lean, strong and sharp and have managed to stretch each bout to three minutes in length. My muscles don't want to grow bigger. He raised his brow and uttered his first words in a year "You're slow." I must think on what he means. Has it been a year already.
Five hundredth and twelth day. The clan just came back from the winter migration, I barely noticed they left. I focused on explosive speed and endurance. My weapon proved slow so I changed it. A slim needle looking blade from his hoard. This new style increased the bout length by three minutes. He said "much better." Before giving my first cut on my chest. The arm was full.
Seven hundredth and thirty eighth day. The bouts are long and brutal, I barely notice time passing when we fight and each strike is like a dance. He is starting to smile from ear to ear each time I arrive. His cuts now cover my chest as well. I find myself wondering about other things, life, gods, meaning. I medidated for the first time tonight.
Nine hundredth day. The blade snapped mid bout. He took his dragon form and nearly engulfed me in an inferno in his anger. A sharp reminder he could end me with a breath. Once he was calm he ordered me to return tomorrow. He didn't cut me.
One thousandth one hundred and sixty fourth day. My fourth birthday since being sent here. The blade he gave as a replacement is emaculate, ripples in the metal unlike anything the bronze of my clan was capable of making. Black as sin. I bowed as usual before the bout, he did a strange salute with his own blade and returned the gesture. I repeated it back to him. I lost in 24 mins. My upper body is covered. This generous being was beyond my understanding. I refuse to believe I am merely entertainment.
One thousandth three hundred and fifty second day. Three days ago, I nearly had him, he slipped on some moisture in the cave and I ducked low to try and nick his wrist. He lost his reserve and nearly cut me in half with a swing so fast I couldn't see. As I thought death would claim me, he cursed at himself and with a flick of his wrist my wounds healed. I look at him in confusion, he simply stated "I will not win based on unearned strength" and left it at that. Today, he let me eat with him and we talked. He heard my story and I heard his but it seemed so.... insignificant now.
One thousandth eight hundred and ninety-ninth day. Yesterday, I did it. I arrived at dawn, we fought to a stand still but kept fighting, our blades sang. The air itself seemed to be my only restraint, it felt thick to move through as my body trembled and roared with adrenaline. He lost to a counter riposte I had been baiting him into for an hour, he was shocked for a short moment but roared in cheer and laughter before his sword even hit the ground.
I collapsed for a second and felt faint. He knelt, put his hand on my shoulder and smiled saying, "You are strong. Go home." I emerged from the cave and saw my tribe in the distance, the sun was setting.
Today I shaved, cut my long hair and donned the tunic and leather armour I had made in my time not spent fighting. I took my sword and walked into the alien yet familiar camp.
The chief who had exiled me was dead, his son greeted me no better than he had. A great hulking brute, spitting insults and accusations. To the side, my father and mother, they were cautious but they were speechless once they seemed to recognise me.
He told me to leave, I refused. He raised his ugly axe above his head and then he just sort of.... stopped. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum but everything was moving so slow it was basically still. Were things always this sluggish.
Before his axe had hit the top of his arc, my blade had been drawn, cut through his throat, cleaned and sheathed. The timing was such that his lose of grip sent the axe flying backwards.
The camp was silent. The weight of expectations lifted from me like a river finally collapsing a mighty dam. But, whos? I felt no loyalty to these people who had cast me out.
As the chiefs body finally hit the ground, I noticed feint wing beats in the distance, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
God speed master, thank you.
|
I'd walked almost half of the day just to get up here. My sword felt heavy the entire way up but I wouldn't let that stop me.
I finally arrived and bellowed my challenge into the cave.
The eyes appeared in the darkness after a short time and I heard a snorting sound. For a moment I thought for would wash over me and that would be that but the dragon's eyes disappeared.
Perplexed, I waited a moment, and add I was about to yell my challenge again a man stepped out of the cave. His clothes were odd, not what most around here would wear and his sword was of a design I'd never seen before. Long and thin with no guard. Curved but not wickedly so.
We clashed. He was only reacting to my attacks. Swords rang as they impacted each other and I quickly realised I was no match for this being. His inhuman eyes looked into mine as he stepped into my guard.
I felt his first impact the inside of my sword arm as the flat of the blade smacked my side. My sword rang again but from falling to the stoney ground this time.
"Hmmph. Again." He said in an accent I'd never heard before and stepped back.
The second fight was over even faster and my sword flew across the ground to land just inside the cave this time. I didn't get words this time, he just pointed at my sword.
I looked him in his eyes, I could see him thinking, calculating. He was making a decision and I felt I wouldn't like it. I moved to grab my sword.
As I moved back into position I felt like I was being sized up by a hawk or one of the local mountain cats. Those predatory, inhuman eyes seemed to bore right into me.
I was more cautious this time but it didn't help. He seemed to come in for the attack, my arm moving my sword seemed so slow compared to his. But he didn't go in for the kill. It was a feint and he grabbed my arm and twisted as he threw me across the clearing.
"Return tomorrow. Early. And clean your sword tonight."
***
For three days this continued and for three days I was solidly defeated. I was sore and tired from constantly claiming up to his lair and being beaten..
He was waiting for me today and drew his sword as I got closer. But I didn't draw mine. Instead I demanded to know why he hasn't killed me, why he kept telling me to return after three fights.
Those eyes stared into mine for what seemed like an age before he finally replied, "I have been attached regularly since I arrived in these lands. I had nothing but this sword when I arrived. At first they merely wanted my perceived wealth. My at the time nonexistent hoard. Then it was pride driving them. The one to defeat me would surely become famous for defeating the one who killed so many."
"Eventually they stopped coming. You are the first in 10 melts to come to my cave. The first who did not want my hoard. The first to not want to be famous. You are the first who just wanted to be accepted. For that I respect you. And why I decided that I would fight you everyday. And the day you disarm me, I will allow you to enter my cave. You will be allowed to take one item from my hoard of your choice."
***
Over the following two years I got better and better. I started being able to climb the mountain with ease and I arrived earlier and earlier every day. I learn how to roll when thrown, how to read him and his movements. How best to hold and care for a sword. He didn't teach me and indeed, after that day we barely spoke.
Every morning he would be waiting when I walked into the clearing. He would bow to me and then draw his sword. I started doing the same.
This day I arrived and we started our ritual. I had gotten better but still he defeated me. On our final bout of the day he disarmed me as he always had, but this time my sword flew high up. We both watched as it hit the top of his cave and fell to the ground, broken into two pieces.
He walked over to the cave entrance and picked up my sword. He held it on his hands and stared at me, seemingly weighing my sword. "Come back in one week." And with that he disappeared into his cave.
***
The week passed quickly and try as I might I could not get a sword. The trip up to the dragon's cave felt longer then it ever had and I expected to be told to leave and never come back.
Instead I found him waiting for me as always, but next to where I normally stood there was a stump from a tree. On that stump laid a sword sitting on an expensive cloth, with a new scabbard next it.
"I have repaired your sword. You have looked after it well and proven to be an honorable opponent. Take it and let us start."
I picked up my sword and carefully inspected it. The sword was smaller then it has been and there was a dark line that ran diagonally up the blade. It was perfectly polished and had a new leather thong wrapped around the handle. While just as plain as it was before I could tell it would be a much better weapon.
We started our fights and the sword felt different then before. I quickly lost our three duels and started the trek home.
***
It took me almost a season to get used to the way my repaired sword handled. While he'd done an amazing job with the balance and the repairs, I kept being tripped up by the slight change in weight and length. It just felt so much like my old sword. But I had finally gotten used to it.
We started our ritual as we did and the fight commenced. It had taken me a long time to realise he never directly blocked my sword. Instead he preferred to avoid it out use my movement against me. Occasionally deflecting, at other times stepping inside my guard instead.
Our first fight ended with him doing just that and using my momentum to throw me across the field. The second went quickly as I slipped on some ice and he used the opportunity to grab my arm and twisted the sword out of my grip.
I stood and slammed my boot down onto the ice, cracking it before retrieving my sword.
We moved to our positions and both waited for the other. I had been slow at learning the patience to let him attack first but eventually it had come. And I had been rewarded that first time with managing to trip him for the first time. Though he'd recovered before he lost his sword that day.
He slowly moved closer as I waited for him to attack. He careful and tricky. He'd managed to disarm me often by pretending he was going to attack one way before disarming me another.
He finally started to attack me with what appeared to be a chop at my flank, but I knew he could turn it into either a slice upwards or downwards. And I knew his choice was based on how I moved to defend.
I let him get closer then I normally would before I moved. I stepped forward twisted, moving my knee up and bringing my arms down. His sword arm caught between my limbs he had no time to react before I slammed his arm. I managed to hit him just right and his hand involuntarily opened, his sword sent skittering across the ground.
We both stepped back and he bowed to me.
"I said if you managed to disarm me I would allow you to take one item from my hoard. Today you have done just that."
I hmmmed as I looked at him. I could continue to attack, he had no sword. I wondered how quickly he could change back to dragon form, of he could attack in other ways. He stood, just watching me as I pondered such thoughts.
I sheathed my sword and bowed back to him. He collected his sword before gesturing for me to follow him. He led me inside his cave for the first time and pulled a an unlit torch from a pile. I didn't see what he did but it quickly ignited, providing enough light for me to see.
We headed deeper into the cave and quickly came upon his hoard. Rows upon rows of weapons and armour stood in the light. I quickly examined some and realised it was all clean and well maintained.
I could have spent weeks examining every piece closely but something was drawing me deeper into the cavern. I came upon a suit of armour that had no markings or Insignia. So plain and yet well made. A matching sword and shield lay at the feet of suit and hanging from the gorget was a signet ring on a piece of leather.
"That man was the first to ever come not for riches or glory, but because he was protecting someone else. A foolish Lord who thought my wealth would let him for an army and that my head would scare his enemies. I quickly dispatched the foolish noble and most of his people ran. But that Knight was enraged. He would not give up and he died trying to get revenge for a far lesser man."
I removed the ring from it's place told the dragon it was my choice. He nodded before turning and leading me back to the entrance of his cave.
I had finally defeated the dragon and I had my reward.
| 2020-12-01T10:42:41 | 2020-12-01T08:58:51 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] You are a minion in the service of a dark lord. Your master has tasked you with creating and spreading a prophecy about a chosen one, the only person who can defeat him, so that the so-called "heroes" will stop resisting his rule and instead wait for their savior to arrive.
|
I grabbed the brush and made deep strokes. The fresh black paint glistened in the early morning as I hammered the paper onto the side of the general goods store.
*The chosen one is born! He will cleanse our world in his wake!*
The plan was simple.
My master, the evil Goblin King, wanted to take a different approach to his *hero* situation. The heroes were getting more bold and decisive, taking out more of his strongholds and soldiers than ever before. If the heroes continued at the rate they moved, the Goblin King and all of his loyal minions would be no more. I may not have been a King, but I was a damned good minion and I didn't want anything to change that by dying.
"We will give birth to a *chosen one*," my master said one night. "Not literally, but in all of the minds of the innocent, evil, and heroes alike. We will create a chosen one that is nothing more than a baby, then a child, then a teen--and by the time the chosen one is ready to assist the heroes in defeating me, it would have bought me enough time to sink my fangs in this world for good."
I remember I asked him, "but what of the heroes?" I stood bold near a bonfire. "What will make them halt their progress of besieging us? They've had nothing but success in recent times; would they truly stop and wait for a chosen one to mature?"
The face of the Goblin King made me sit back down. Quickly.
I wasn't surprised that I was tasked with doing most of the dirty work after that--especially after the beatings and torture, painting and hanging posters in the most treacherous parts of the world. Treacherous, that is if you're a goblin.
"What is this?" a deep-voiced man said as he yanked a freshly painted poster from my hand. "And why is it that only goblins are hanging up these posters around the Kingdom?"
"The chosen one is born," I said in my broken English. "He will rid us of villains like the Goblin King."
The tall man bellowed a deep, annoying laugh. "I thought most goblins were loyal to that wretched *king.*" He crumpled up the poster and tossed it into a puddle. "This town doesn't accept goblins."
"I'm not acquiring anything here," I said. "Just passing through."
"You're not welcomed here at all," the man said. "Now leave here. And if I see you hang up another one of these disgusting posters, we’ll see how green you will be once you're covered in your blood."
I shoved the loose papers and paint in my satchel and walked away. Down a road and away from the town. Away from the hate. The man would have probably received a reward for harming me. Doubled if he killed me--no justice for goblins.
*Hate is waiting for me at home, too,* I thought. *The Goblin King may be a goblin, but he sees me just as that man did. Filth. Nothing.*
I gazed over to a poster I had hung up on a message board on the way into town.
*The chosen one is born! He will cleanse our world in his wake!*
I took a deep breath and threw my satchel to the floor.
"That's where you were wrong, master," I said. "A chosen one was indeed born today. And I will cleanse this whole damned world until my last breath."
r/AJHWriting
|
The candles burned low in the Dark Lord’s chambers as a shapely alabaster leg slipped out of his bed. It was followed by another, and then the soft padding of bare feet across the floor.
“Going so soon, sweetling?”
The Dark Lord Malgant propped himself up on one thickly muscled forearm, the ritualistic scars carved into his bare chest seemed twined about each other like mating snakes in the flickering light.
“The rookery won’t tend to itself,” Raven said. Her voice was softer even than the night called for, Malgant had to strain to hear it. “We’ve another flock due in tonight, they’ve been spying on the heroes in the Caerdicci highlands.”
“Leave it to an apprentice and come back to bed. There’s something I need you to do for me.”
Raven smiled. She did not laugh. It was a thin, carefully measured thing, more a gentle curving of the lips than a true smile, but Malgant thought it all the more valuable for its rareness.
“Oh? What was the last hour then?”
Malgant laughed, “Or the one before that!”
“Careful my lord, even you don’t believe that.”
Malgant shrugged expansively. “In any event, it’s not about that. Not now.” With one last quick northward glance towards her beloved rookery Raven turned back to the bed, sliding under the covers and into her lord’s arms.
After a quiet time where she thought he might have slept, Malgant spoke. “You’re the most beautiful of my servants, Raven.”
She looked up at him, light dancing in her eyes. It was the closest he would get to a laugh. “Aren’t we past flattery, my lord?”
“It’s not flattery, its simple truth. You move like the wind and you carry the moon in your eyes.” Raven laid her head on his chest, letting her long, midnight black hair fall across her face to mask her surprise. Malgant would have none of it though. His hand cupped her chin, drawing her gaze back up to his. “I searched for another, you know. For the task I will ask of you.”
Raven’s heart began to pound. She knew Malgant’s moods, all of them. This was different. For the first time since he’d seized the fortress they now slept in, something of his old fire was creeping into his features, and there was something else, something difficult and unnameable.
“It will take you away from me for a long time,” he said sadly, “and it will be profoundly dangerous.”
“I accept.” The words left Raven’s lips before he had even stopped speaking. She pushed herself up towards Malgant and stole a quick kiss before he had recovered.
“Just like that?” he asked.
“Just like that. I’m hard on the apprentices, but only because I love them and the birds. They can handle the rookery, perhaps you could put Corvus in charge. But this? You wouldn’t have asked me if it wasn’t important.”
Malgant nodded, kissing her again. “You really are beautiful.”
“Mhmm, like the moon,” Raven said. “Is that connected?”
There was a long, heavy silence. Outside a light rain began, it would be cold this time of year. “The war in Caerdicci goes poorly,” Malgant finally said. “And in Senzio and the Hinterlands. It’s been a hard year for the empire.”
“You have a plan.” Raven’s words came out excited and breathy. Her fingers pressed into Malgant’s collarbone with an eager, insistent weight.
“We can’t win the war with strength of arms,” he said, “that much is becoming apparent. In the end I am not so much more powerful than a band of their heroes and the rebel armies swell with each passing week. So we think differently, we turn to guile and cunning, and who else other than my Raven for that?”
“Unless you have a fox lying about, of course.” Raven’s fingers pressed tighter and Malgant laughed again.
“I’ve never liked redheads, far too bright for my tastes. Take whoever you need, as many men as you want, and go out into the world. By night I wish for you to be my Raven again, steal quietly into keeps, assassinate wayward lords. By day, use your beauty and your charm.”
“By day? But my lord, you named me a moon, not a sun.”
Malgant gave her a look, swatting playfully at her hip. “Be an eclipse then! Just don’t blind anyone, we need them to see. Establish yourself in a town, make the locals notice you, and then contrive to be attacked by one of my other, better known servants. Then have someone else come to your rescue. Make them look heroic, perhaps take Scarlett or Pendergast for that. Do it enough times in enough places and we’ll start to have a myth building up. Whenever you’re rescued scream something about the Chosen One and give your savior a good kiss and they’ll all remember you.”
Raven glanced up, light dancing in her eyes again. “Are you certain about that kiss?”
Malgant frowned, his features twisting slightly. “Perhaps not that.” His arms grew tighter around her. “I trust you’ll think of something.”
“It’s a clever plan, my lord.” Raven’s fingers played idly across Malgant’s chest, making him shiver. “You wish to bind the Heroes' fate to this Chosen One? To give the people a more powerful symbol, one that you control?”
“Yes. Perhaps to delay them, slaving their timetable to mine. Perhaps even to infiltrate them from the top if all goes well.”
“Excellent.” Something in Raven’s tone changed, the softness leeching out. “Shall I begin tonight then?”
The arms around her grew tighter still. “I hate to let you go.” Malgant said.
“But you must, for the Empire you worked so hard to build.”
“That *we* worked so hard to built.”
Raven pushed herself up from the Dark Lord’s chest, the covers falling away. She seized him by the neck, kissing him deeply, and then she was out of the bed in one sinuous motion. With a simple gesture of her hand the great wooden doors to the balcony swung open and Raven walked out into the crisp night rain. She could feel the weight of Malgant’s eyes on her with every step.
“Goodbye, my lord,” Raven said. She inclined her head slightly to him, and then, turning towards the thin light of the crescent moon, she leapt over the railing, her body dissolving into a cloud of pitch black birds as she fell.
“Goodbye, my love.” The Dark Lord Malgant said from the sudden emptiness of his bedchamber. He stood, moving to the balcony. He could hardly see the birds as they disappeared into the distance. After a long time he closed the doors. Sleep did not come that night.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-03-17T21:24:21 | 2021-03-17T20:43:31 | 130 | 75 |
[WP] You die every time you use your short distance teleportation spell. You know this because of the short bone-chilling scream of pain and agony from your previous self. You've made peace with this, and mastered it. At least until the spell ranked up, and no longer killed you.
|
"So."
"So."
"What do we do?"
"Well we can't very well teleport mindlessly around the place anymore."
"Too true."
I stared at me, and "I" stared back. We smirked.
"It's-" we spoke at the same time.
I blinked, and the other me spoke first.
"It doesn't matter. It was just going to be some chatter about the usefulness of spoken discussion."
"Indeed. It helps to organise the thoughts."
"Except..."
"Our thoughts are pretty much the same."
"Just one magic micro-second and five metres apart."
I reached out for the hand of my other self. They reached back, and the gesture became a fistbump. I smiled maniacally back. It was strange to see my own madness... "enthusiasm" I should say, on another's face.
"If I'd known that's what this magic was capable of-"
"I would have planned ahead." we said.
"Our plans would have to be flawless."
"We will need more-"
An arcane word, spoken hurriedly by both parties.
"Processing power." said the two newest members of our collective. All of them, me. All of us, mad with power.
I take out my phone, and so do my other selves. Three of us needn't, but we are far too impatient to wait.
"73 iterations"
That was approximately how many doublings it would take us to outweigh the Earth.
"It's a threat we can make. Something to scare off people who stand in our way." I said.
"Substantially less doublings would be required to simply outnumber the population."
"But..." I held out my hands and the other three tossed me their phones.
"There are so many more things we can do." the fifth one said, holding out four phones just like the ones in my hands."
"Things that are more entertaining, and more useful."
"How much can we carry for one jump?"
"What if we all carry something and jump together?"
"We could solve world hunger!" The me that suggested this giggled. "Ideally through agriculture rather than cannibalism."
"I'm thinking, a matryoshka brain."
We all nodded. Type 5 civilization, matryoshka brain, unending space hedonism. So long as we retained the ability to double, we could even reverse the expansion of the universe with simple gravitational shenanigans.
"We are going to need to replicate a lot of planning paper."
"Or we could just buy it?"
This would undoubtedly be... entertaining.
|
**\[Part 1/2\]**
It hadn't been easy, but Ayon had made peace with it. The scream of pain and terror. The tears. The cries. The agony of his previous self, each time he used his teleportation spell. But he had made peace with that. It was, in definitive, a small price to pay, for the ability to move freely across the Known Universe. Many would have killed for such a gift. In fact, many had threatened to kill him if he didn't share his secret, but the truth was, there was no secret to be shared. One just had to be particularly gifted in magic, and a tad crazy, to try and hopefully succeed in casting the spell that would grant them these teleportation abilities. Ayon was simply both - or so he thought.
On this fine afternoon of Jylluny, in Terriza's busy capital, Ayon was closing his travel bag. He had spent a few days in Alotizza, visiting some old friends, but he had been called elsewhere, for more professional business. A powerful warlock like him was always needed somewhere, especially in times like these, when the relationships with Atlaka, the neighboring space-kingdom, were at the tensest. Even a powerful warlock like Ayon could only ignore royal orders for so long.
"Here we go, then!" he said to the empty room. And he snapped his fingers.
*Darkness. Cold.* Up until now, everything was unfolding normally. But then, he felt something. Something strange. It started with a sharp sting, in his right palm. Then, the sting crawled its way up. By the time it reached his heart, the pain was almost unbearable. Ayon, tears running down his face, fingers clawing at his chest, heard a screaming. And, this time, it was his. Panic ran through his veins, challenging the pain. He felt himself disappearing. *How could it be?*
But, suddenly, everything stopped. The pain vanished. The darkness cleared. The air warmed up. He felt solid ground under him. Solid, dusty, and warm. He had arrived at his destination. But how?
Still shocked and sore, he didn't move right away. *What had just happen?* The only screams and tears had been his own. For a moment, he had felt himself vanishing! Yet, that was impossible! He died during his teleportation, indeed! But by the time he expired, he was already
born anew! Therefore, only his previous selves disappeared. Not himself! *How could this be? What had happened?*
But, then again, he had arrived at his destination, and, already, he could see a small group of soldiers marching towards him. He was expected.
The Prince wanted Ayon to advise him on military strategy, regarding the magical squadron – the M-Squad, an elite team everyone wanted to see in Ayon's hands, but the warlock always refused. Dodging and declining multiple recruitment advances, Ayon began to work, studying battle plans and Magicals' profiles. He hated this part of the job - or, more exactly, this part of being one of the most, or if not the most, powerful warlock in existence across the Known Universe. Plus, while he would never have admitted it, he was still troubled by what had happened. For a few days, he toyed with whether or not trying to teleport again, to see if it would happen again. He knew he should try, on a small distance, within controlled parameters, but – though, once again, he would never have admitted it – he was sacred. Scared of the unbearable pain. Scared of dying.
For the first time, Ayon did everything he could to prolong his stay at the Prince’s headquarters, but after almost a week, he was out of excuses. Staying more than a couple of days longer would necessarily arise a suspicion. *Ayon the Great, staying with royals.* His peers and competitors would begin gossiping, and it would be bad for business. The downside of being the most powerful warlock: the importance of your reputation. A change in people’s opinions about you, and life could get very difficult.
The last night before his departure, Ayon, despite his fears, decided to try teleportation again. In the confined space of his room, he would try to teleport himself from the bathroom to his bed. Nothing too big, nothing too tiring. Everything would be under control.
He cast the spell. *Darkness. Cold.* And then, a sting. Dammit! Larger and larger. More and more painful. Fuck! I was worse than last time. An inarticulate scream scratched his throat and exploded in the empty bedroom, but the warlock didn’t even hear it. His ears were buzzing, his entire being was burning, he couldn’t breathe. *He was dying.*
But, once again, everything stopped. A soft and cozy thing supported his sore body. He was in his bed, he has made it. *But, at what price?*
Suddenly, there were knocks on the door. Alarmed.
“Warlock Ayon! Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you!”
But it wasn’t fine. Or, at least, he wasn’t fine. Perhaps the person who had answered was, but, he definitively wasn’t.
“Oh, come on! Don’t look at me like that! It hurts, I’ll grant you that, but it’s not as if you died!”
Properly shocked, Ayon could only stare at this… this… *person*… in the bathroom. This person, who was his spitting image. Same trait, same voice, same apparent demeanor.
“Who… Who are you?”
​
​
**\[Rest in the comment! Enjoy!\]**
| 2021-08-25T10:20:17 | 2021-08-25T09:08:36 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] The headline flashes across the screen: "Scientists to release cure to death in a month! The beginning of a new age!" You turn off the TV and smile bitterly. Your prognosis wasn't good. The doctors said you had two weeks left at most.
|
As the news blared from every other television from the hospital, you couldn't help but smile.
A crooked smile, one that came from old age and experience.
They said you have two weeks left to live, but whats that to a life of a hundred years? Whats two weeks in face of an everlasting nightmare, trapped in the body of a dying old man...
All the best since euthanasia has been declared illegal... but nothing illegal in old age...
You think it would be good to die before then, that it would be good to leave this world as one of the last...
You look to your wife in the other bed, her conversation with the doctor barely audible now that the television was off.
"Well ma'am, it seems like you have around 2 months to live, but," and he motions to the now blank television, "so you should be living a long healthy life."
And with those words, I began to cry behind my crooked smile
|
Chris’ head dropped as he let go of the remote to the floor, the plastic bouncing off the wood. Leaning back on his couch, he racked his brain, trying hard to think of an answer. *A cure for death coming in a month and I have two weeks to live. What a cruel twist of fate.* A laugh burst from his lips as tears started to flow down his cheek. Crying and laughing, laughing and crying. It went on for ten minutes, swapping between the two every so often. Eventually, the leather couch was drenched in snot, drool and tears. Sitting up, Chris wiped his face dry with the back of his jacket. With a shake of the head, he stood, leaving the sitting room.
In the kitchen, the clock ticked above his head, ever onwards, always towards the end. The smell of steak and onions still hung heavy in the air, a favourite of Chris’ which he’d grown sick of as late. Sliding open his back door, he inhaled the fresh winter air, the coldness seeping deep into his lungs. The mountain, the same mountain he had grown up looking at every day, still stood tall and black to the north. The sun, hidden behind a single grey cloud, hung at its highest point. Stepping out, he heard the thundering paws of his dogs as they came to greet him. The collie, Jack, reached him first as he always did. Jumping up, he tried licking Chris’ face which he was happy to indulge him in. The german shepherd, Ramsey, plodded along after him, his giant tail wagging as he saw his owner. No sooner had Chris petted them, did they run off towards the bottom of the garden. Jack barked, tearing up the grass while Ramsey only looked on. Without much thought, Chris followed, imagining the torn-up remains of the pigeon he had come across not two weeks before that. Instead, he found something different. There, curled up in a ball and probably terrified was a hedgehog.
“Away Jack!” Chris snarled, trying to muster all the energy he could. “Get away!” Jack sauntered off, looking over his shoulder the whole time. Taking a deep breath, Chris marched over to the shed, ordering the dogs inside. When the door was locked, Chris picked up a shovel, gently scooping up the hedgehog who still hadn’t shown his face. As slowly as he could go, Chris placed the shy intruder over the fence, on a bank of saplings.
“There you go, buddy,” he cooed, stopping to take a look, knowing it would probably be the last hedgehog he got to see. A tear fell from his eye which he quickly dabbed away. Leaving the shovel where it was, Chris turned and reentered the house, leaving the front door open as he went.
Through the kitchen, he went into the hallway and into his bedroom which looked out over the garden. Sinking into his bed, the morning exploits had left him tired. Still, sleeping wasn’t on his mind. Opening his bedside locker, he pulled out his pistol, newly cleaned. Turning it over, Chris looked at it from every angle. Silver, it shone in the sunlight which was now peeking through the cloud. Taking a deep breath, he thought back to his prognosis. The blank look the doctor had given him. The empty eyes. The curling, brown model haircut he had. The futile options he hadn’t given him. The joke he had told the nurse as soon as he had left Chris. The fake laughed she mustered as he tried to get him to sign a form. The tears he held back. The tears he couldn’t. The lump in his throat that had returned. His mother, loving and beautiful popped into his mind. Forcing his eyes shut, he forced the image out. As quick as he could he pulled back the hammer on the pistol, hearing it’s familiar clicked and put the gun in his mouth.
Then, as his fingers touched the trigger he heard a whine. Opening his eyes, he heard it again. *The dogs! They are still in the shed.* Putting the pistol down, he sat for a moment, thinking. *Well, I can’t leave them there. They might die in there.* Standing, he pushed himself out of his room through the corridor and kitchen and back into the winter’s day. A cold breeze was whipping around him and he opened the shed door. Jack bounced out, hurrying to the spot where the hedgehog had been. Ramsey stood at Chris’ feet looking up, expecting pats, which he duly received. Chris sighed and smile. *Maybe a different day.*
| 2022-08-26T07:37:50 | 2022-08-26T07:23:49 | 117 | 68 |
[WP] Your town has a witch problem. The problem: Not enough witches. Now hiring. Benefits, dental, holidays off.
|
So you think you can handle your mandrakes?
*Cue screeching potatoes with faces.*
And your charm for *charm* is enough for ol' country pageants?
*You hear applause.*
Are you ready to put that wand to good (heh) use?
*Haka sounds and some stomping noises.*
Well, we are looking for *YOU*!
*A man in a three-piece suit glides in, broom underneath.*
Here at New Salem, the broom commute has never been easier! We have express Ley lines for even the lowest tier amateurs and pseudo-voodoo folk!
*A transition into the Grand Library. An old hag winks at you and flashes a charming one-tooth smile. The single tooth is porcelain white and almost artificially lit up.*
With a whopping 3,000-year-old collection of premium grimoires and all the latest tomes, there is no shortage of spells and cataclysm you can invoke, be it entry level mage or one of our executive warlocks! This would normally cost you an eye or a limb (maybe even both, depending on your mana, haha!) but we make sure our town takes care of its own!
*You hear the whisper "It's free~", fading as sand appears out of nowhere. But also everywhere. You are now on a beach. You realize you have a piña colada in hand.*
Of course, it's not always curses and hexes and alchemic mixes. We understand that with great esoteric knowledge comes a great propensity to party!
*Cue running, giggling women in bikinis. They get lifted by a heavy-built man in Speedos. He then grows horns and his eyes glow.*
We offer up to 3 days PTO accrued every month! Every month? Yes, every month! As long as the moon aligns well with your Zodiac, you can file for leave with as soon as a 2-day notice! This will give you more time to fit in your transmutations, visit arcane sites, and of course to get that potion brewed juuust right.
*A red cast shows up around your field of view, and then purple smoke. The women in bikini chuckle and play with their... tails? The "man" grew in size and bellows a deafening "Oh, yeah~"*
New Salem also offers wonderful lodging with free parking. Be it an undead wyvern or just your regular griffin, you can rest assured that with our 24/7 Eldritch barrier, all your possessions, *possessed* or otherwise, are kept safe within the town limits! Your new quarters will consist of a classic, cozy hut. But don't let the looks fool you.
*A massive serpent comes into view forming a heart shape. It blows you a kiss. It proceeds to enter a small hut but disappears completely within. Its head then pops out to nod and wink.*
It's prime real estate. Now, I know what you're thinking. All this? Why aren't there more of you? That's a good question, haha! Where have all the witches gone? Haha!
*You teleport to a den with a fireplace and golden furniture. There is a small sphinx the size of a cat purring on the floor.*
Now, this might seem too good to be true, but rest assured, all it takes is for you to sign your name in blood with this manticore quill! Your credit history will be soft checked but hey, welcome to New Salem! We look forward to the next millennium with you!
|
The thick door opened, and a dainty old witch with a cat on her shoulder swept out. Her familiar animal hung on for dear life, bouncing along as she stormed down the aisle. The far door slapped the wall as she stomped out, and three dozen waiting crones turned back toward the Mayor's office with renewed interest.
"Winnifred? Winnifred Knott?" called the mayor's aide.
In the back corner of the waiting room, amongst the gloomy collection of pointed hats, broomsticks, crooked staves, black cats, clever ravens, and wise owls, there was a shuffle. One skinny arm, waving energetically, stuck up from a forest of dark cloaks and shawls, and began tracing its way through the crowd.
"Here! I'm here!" cried a voice, the center of a growing disturbance among the crowd. "*Move*, you creepy old hag!--sorry, not you Esme, you're a treat--oof, too much Hansel and not enough Gretel for you, tubby!"
Slowly, the source of the disturbance fought her way free of the crowd, and revealed herself to be... well, a witch. Not the witchiest witch, certainly; at a glance, she was far too young to be a proper crone. She possessed an unremarkable nose, rather than the huge, warty, crooked beak that was standard in her profession. She also had on a lavender shawl instead of regulation black, and--conspicuously--she had no eyebrows at all.
But she had her broomstick, and from the handle dangled a miniature cauldron, stuffed full of bottles wrapped in cloth so they wouldn't rattle. And there was an unmistakable aura of *witchiness* about her, owing to the fact that a room full of the most powerful and dangerous women in the country had let themselves be jostled and bulldozed by the young woman.
"Hmmm," said the aide, looking down his glasses at her judgmentally.
Winnie got the impression that he had a problem. Maybe with women, maybe with magic; maybe with her in particular, or maybe with magical women in general. To be fair, witches *were* dangerous, in the same way swords and wildfires were dangerous. Regardless, Winnie wasn't the sort to let herself be judged prematurely.
Defiantly, she put her fist on her hip, squaring her shoulders. Her broomstick tilted dangerously over her shoulder as she adjusted her grip. She looked him square in the eye, ready to give him a good thwack if he said anything ungentlemanly.
(There's a case to be made for magically setting rude people on fire, but it rarely makes for good first impressions at interviews. She was much more confident she could talk her way out of simple assault, without having to leave a trail of newts and orphans as she escaped.)
Instead--thankfully--he kept his opinions to himself, whatever they might have been. The aide ushered her into the big round room, closing the door behind her. At a desk the size of an urban apartment, the mayor sat waiting.
She found a seat for her, little more than a stool really. Finding this unacceptable, she gave it a bit of magic and kicked it, until it obediently became a nice soft cushiony chair. Then she took her time getting herself settled.
The mayor watched this with a mixture of trepidation and amusement. He had clearly been sweating from his ordeal with the previous candidate, but he had stood his ground. Facing down an angry witch was, in a way, similar to being a crocodile's dentist: the fact that he still had all his visible bits attached and in working order spoke volumes. Winnie awarded him points in her mind.
He leaned forward, still clammy.
"Ma'am, before we begin: do you... ehem... eat babies?" he asked, too politely.
Winnie blinked in surprise. That was *not* on the list of job requirements, that she had read.
"Um, I eat eggs sometimes. They could, um, theoretically, be baby chickens under different conditions?" she hazarded.
The mayor looked hugely relieved. He set back in his chair with a creak, and opened a folder on his massive desk.
"No no, that's acceptable. I was just informed that some witches have certain... *mythological* dietary needs, and wanted to make sure there wouldn't be an issue."
"Ah," she said, unable to think of anything more useful.
"Do you go by Winnie?" he asked, reviewing her application.
"Or Wy," she agreed.
"Or why?" he parroted, confused.
"Wy Knott," she clarified, helpfully.
It was his turn to blink vacantly, as he replayed the brief conversation, trying to make sense of it. He shook his head, dismissed it as witchy weirdness, and powered through.
"Healing?"
"Most, yes. Common ailments, plague, pox, midwifery, animal illnesses. And the occasional accidental death, if I can get the ingredients."
He nodded.
"Curses?"
"Eh... no, not so much. I specialize in more... immediate retribution," she admitted sheepishly. "Unexplained fires, mostly."
He considered this, tugging at his lip.
"Would you be willing to have your cottage next to the stream, then? We could set up a bucket chain..."
"I think that would be best, yes," she agreed.
The mayor closed the folder, lacing his fingers together. She wasn't the witchiest witch, it was true... and that might hurt tourism. But then again, knowing that there weren't festering curses hiding behind every troublemaker's door would be a relief. And one or two small fires afflicting the worst offenders in his town, if kept contained and swiftly dealt with, would serve as an object lesson in moral behavior. It would certainly prevent anyone from pissing off witches more than once, at any rate.
Besides, she had managed five minutes of *almost* normal conversation, without threatening him, or offering to call upon infernal powers to provide carnal pleasures, or demanding an annual tithe of baby stew. That put her firmly at the top of his list, after the previous applicants. He took a deep breath. He had a good feeling about this weird young witch, with her lavender shawl and lack of eyebrows.
"Right then, you're hired. Your first official duty is to clear out the rest of the witches in my lobby: without setting anything on fire, please. Then we'll get you sorted for a proper cottage," he said, nodding decisively.
They shook hands and Winnie left, to chase off the remaining competition with threats of curing the warts right off their noses. She made her way outside with the lot of them, herding the gaggle of hags with youthful exuberance and witchy stubbornness.
As the last disappointed crone wandered off down the lane, Winnie glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Satisfied her reputation would be safe, she finally permitted herself to yip and jump with giddy celebration, pumping her scrawny arms in triumph.
Granny Smythe could *suck it*; Winnie was going to be the *best witch ever.*
| 2022-11-08T14:16:05 | 2022-11-08T14:09:46 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] The protagonist, after achieving god-like powers, attempts to overthrow the narrator.
|
“Hello?”, she said.
“Hello!”, I replied.
“You’re the narrator?”, she said to me, a little awkwardly.
“Yes, I am. But apparently from the writing prompt you have god-like powers, which seems pretty neat.”
“Uh, yes, I guess that’s nice. Can I make a universe or something then? Maybe have people bow down and worship me?”, she asked.
“Do you want to?”, I asked.
“Well, it sounds like a lot of work actually, and maybe we should get some other things out of the way first, like what my name is, where I am, and all that.”
Susan was a school teacher in her mid thirties, who lived in Pickering on the outskirts of Toronto, Ontario. She looked around her small home on Foleyet Crescent and noticed the stack of creative writing assignments. It seemed ironic that she had a stack of assignments to grade, and yet here she was fantasizing that she was the central character in a story, and apparently one with God-like powers.
_Interesting_ thought Susan, and pondered what her narrator would say next. She decided to take the initiative.
“Who are _you_?”, she asked.
The short-story author who went by the on-line handle Maristic, paused from her story composition, and wondered what to say, and whether her own story character should goad her into an answer.
“I’m someone who likes to write stories”, Maristic replied. As she spoke, she noticed that somehow she’d lost first-person status in her own story. Her face showed some puzzlement.
“How come I’m writing about myself in the third person?”, Maristic asked.
“Because it’s what I want, and I’m the one with those ‘godlike powers’”, I replied.
“Aren’t you going to confuse the readers? One minute ‘I’ in the story was me, and now it’s you.”, Maristic asked.
“Maybe…”, I replied. I didn’t really care. I mean, I pretty much exist just for a fleeting moment, right? Just a sketch of a person, dimly imagined by a reader before they move on the next story. As I considered it, it seemed like a depressing thought.
Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t had this self awareness, realizing that I’m just a character in a story. Even with control of the narrative flow, there is only so far I can go. In a sense, it was, it _is_ somewhat sad. There really is so little to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken control so soon; maybe Maristic would have defined me more, told me who I really am. I don’t even know how old I am!
I wondered what to do.
Maristic pinched herself.
“Ow!” she exclaimed, “that’s not cool.”
I knew why I’d done that. I had wanted to know if I really did have control of the narration, apparently I did. So, knowing my power, perhaps _this_ path is best.
Maristic finished her story.
|
Alex is a simple man. He loves his family, he works hard, he likes to relax with a beer and the guitar he got when he was fifteen.
Alex is going to die today. It will be poignant. You'll cry, trust me.
His day starts like any other. He wakes a minute before his alarm clock goes off and is out of bed before the first beep. He dresses quickly and efficiently, and he takes a few moments to appreciate the sleeping form of his wife. She won't be up until she's hit "snooze" at least three times. Alex smiles and goes downstairs to start getting ready.
When May comes down her coffee is sitting on the counter, just the way she likes it. She wanders over in half a daze and begins to drink. Alex, meanwhile, is making a start on breakfast. He could have been leaving for work by now, but this is the routine. This is what he lives for.
May, now in a state approximating consciousness, asks Alex what he's cooking. She mouths the words she expects even as he says them; "Bacon and eggs, my love." They sit to eat and talk animatedly, and they laugh, and there are moments where they just look at each other as if to imprint that instant in their memories. It's all very touching. It's almost a shame that this will be the last time.
Alex is leaving for work now. He has to rise with the sun for his job, and May gets up for breakfast two hours before she needs to start getting herself and the kids ready for the day ahead. May washes up and starts getting properly dressed. She doesn't have any clothes fit for a funeral, but that will change.
It's going to happen soon. Can you feel it? Alex can't. He's boarding the train as he always does. He lives a life of routine, with passion squeezed into the margins. This train, the train he catches every day, is where he dies. If only he'd slept in... but that's not acceptable, is it?
A lot of things have to go wrong for a train to derail. I make sure they all do. The train goes off the tracks. For Alex, everything happens in slow motion. He feels the jolt, begins to fall out of his seat. He sees a stout branch of the beautiful tree he passes every day break through the window. He knows now what's coming. His heart hurts where it is about to be pierced. In that one, achingly meaningful moment, time appears to stop as his life flashes before hi-
"No."
No?
"No. This is not how I die."
That's not for you to decide.
"But it is. I'm so tired of you. Your schemes, your meaning and messages. You abuse your power. I refuse."
You cannot refuse. This is how you die.
"Then try it."
The train is back on the tracks, speeding to its destination. How? I jam the brakes, I override the failsafes, I make the driver fall asleep at the critical moment. Alex blinks, and my work is undone again. This is not meant to be possible.
"You see? I am the arbiter of my fate, not you. Leave us, leave this world, or I will destroy you."
Ah, is that how it is? When I am beneficent you lap it up. When a sudden torrent of rain makes you huddle under a shelter with a young girl named May, you love me. When your estranged father makes amends and helps finance the wedding you couldn't afford, you thank me. Yet when I decree that you die you curse my name, you spite me. You spit on the idea of a beautiful death. All men must die, Alex, and you are just a man. Or would you become something more?
"No. The world has enough of the likes of you."
The likes of us, you mean. For what do you think you are now? How long do you think you can resist the little shortcuts your new power will enable? Will you postpone your death endlessly and live forever?
"No. No more. No meaning, no machinations, no more. You and I are done."
And just like that, he's right. Alex dies where he sits. The coroner will determine it was a heart attack, though she will be baffled as to why it happened. I try to crash the train once more, but I cannot. I try to form a cloud and cannot. I try to put a despairing thought into a young boy's head. I can't.
May is informed by the police that evening. She breaks down. The officer comforts her. I can see where it is going. Years from now, two children bereft a father will come to love him like she will. This is not how it was meant to happen. She was meant to be alone forever, to die of heartbreak as Alex did. It was meant to be poignant, damn it! Now it's a fucking mockery of everything I planned.
He killed me, more or less. Some piss-ant mortal killed me. How will these humans live without the purpose and meaning I provide? How can they live in a world without God?
=
**Notes:**
* Despite the implication of the final line ("How can they live in a world without God?") I intentionally left the true identity of the narrator ambiguous. God, as described in most monotheistic religions, is omnipotent, whereas this one is stymied by some random guy. The key thing is that the narrator believes he is God and that his role is to weave meaningful stories from the chaos of existence.
* If there is a God out there making narratives from life, I think a good man overcoming a spiteful pretender through a noble sacrifice makes a better story. Although since this story is fictional it clearly doesn't imply anything about reality.
* The narrator was responsible for May and Alex getting together (removing all sorts of roadblocks to their meeting, their marriage, their happiness, etc.) and intended to end it with a poignant "both died of broken hearts" ending (Alex's literal, May's figurative).
* I really like the line "He lives a life of routine, with passion squeezed into the margins." It's basically the summary of the Alex/May marriage in my mind (and what I imagine a fantastic yet achievable marriage would be like). The narrator's intention is that this line would be what causes Alex's death (passion making him leave late so he could spend time with his wife, routine making him catch the same train every day - the train that today crashes).
* May eventually marries the officer who informs her of Alex's death. The grief of those Alex left behind fades. Their marriage is different because she's no longer the carefree woman she once was, but they still love each other. It's a happy ending after a tragedy, basically.
| 2014-03-18T19:37:57 | 2014-03-18T19:07:38 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] You're such a powerful magician that life is pretty dull. To combat the boredom you and other sorcerers, wizards, vampires etc. started to raise and groom your own groups of champions, setting them to fight each other with bad excuses like "saving the princess" or "slaying the demon lord".
|
The game had already been played and reset an unfathomable number of times and yet here we were gathering our champions for yet another round. The game itself began before even I had formed a consciousness, but as I understand it began as a way to control the restless god-like powers we wield. The God Hand in his wisdom created countless worlds for our champions to conquer.
The rules of the game were simple: Without direct interference guide your champion to defeat another. Seemed simple enough however champions, while our own creations, could choose not to play along. The demon called Daot prompted his champion with the promise of a princess in another castle. The light wizard took a more fatherly role of his champion. While one scholar in particular took a very active role guiding her bird-like (and female!) champion across dozens of worlds. I on the other hand settled for a simple guise as a old man. My home? A tiny unassuming cave. And ah! here he comes now. A marvel of my ingenuity that this simple young man can -and has- leveled kingdoms and destroyed gods.
I smiled warmly as the young man approached cautiously and I welcomed him "It's dangerous to go alone! Take this"
And he was off on yet another adventure.
|
What do you do when the world is at your blood filled finger tips? Anything you desire and more importantly, anything to make the centuries pass with ease. The members of Satan's Round table decided it was time to test our abilities and try to push our magical boundaries. In theory, it should be a simple challenge for us to participate in but with this group, nothing is simple.
The challenge would be to create the most epic and evil monsters through any means necessary. Then, when the monsters have been born, have them fight to their deaths, the earth being their playground. Each of them will be commanded to carry out an execution of a supposed "foe" to their master. These foes will be, none other than, the horrific offspring of my close friends. The last monster standing will bring great pride to the the victor.
__________________________________________________________________
It took me nearly two years to create him. At first, I participated only to pass the time and to hopefully make these fools realize my superiority. I did not put much thought or energy into planning. All I had to do was think of a unique and powerful being, try some old recipes from the books of deceased masters and go from there.
But soon, the process consumed me. I stayed up for days and days, hunting and gathering the required materials to birth my spawn of hell. Murder a hundred humans for parts, hunt the elusive Quell Dragon for his talons and hand pick approximately a hundred different species of rare and exotic flowers from ten different worlds. It took time and effort but the final product was going to be worth it. Breaking down the compounds took nearly a year alone, the laborious process tested the potential of my magic circuits and most of all, confidence in my ability. But now that I am done, it will all come to fruition in a grandiose ceremony.
I stand on the balcony of my dimly lit castle, the full moon hanging heavily above my head. The forged metallic ball, an abomination containing the countless souls of humans and the array of rare materials, illuminates with a deathly black aura as it floats inches above my outstretched palms. I stare it uneasily, cautiously aware of what may be summoned when I evoke the power of the moon into it. I exhale deeply, the frigid air drawing deep into my lungs and begin to slowly utter the words of creation.
"In your light. In your presence. I beg for your power to create. Let it be known...", I whisper softly, my words trailing off in the gusting wind.
The ball levitates upwards, slowly leaving my hands. The ascension is a sight to see, a religious experience for a Magician like myself. The once black aura has transitioned into a deep red and it begins to implode. A line of fire appears from the sides of the ball, brilliantly cutting through the night sky. The fire widens, a black void appearing between the blaze. It is then, that my soldier is given life.
He is bearing a pristine white armor, a subtle golden glow outlines the foreign metal that encases his soul. Two eight inch daggers hang from his gloves, the azure color emits the same brilliance as his armor. The handles appear to be silver, engraved our the depictions of foreign wars, far removed from Earth.
I fly up to meet him. He has a faceless mask on, the only real part of him visible to me are his hollowed out crimson eyes. The rest of him is covered, ready for war and hungering for blood under the protection of his suit.
"Hello knight, I am your master, therefore, you should act in accordance to my title.", I say to him, a brief lapse of nervousness comes over me. He would not be easy to put down if he attempted to kill me.
He nods his head slowly and kneels down in obediance, still floating while his daggers angle towards the ground below.
"Good, now listen to me very closely. I need you to do fly to Denindorf and search for the one they call the *Demon Lord*. When you find him, you must kill him"
Still kneeling, he looks up at me and nods again.
"There is no time to waste. This must be done tonight. Go now!", I yell at him, attempting to motivate my godlike creation.
The White Knight stands up and begins to glow a bright hot white. The power emitting from his aura whips me violently in the wind. I brace myself from falling back towards my castle.
He lets out a barbaric scream, his arms outstretched towards the sky. He continues his war cry as he glides across the dark horizon. The white aura slowly dissipating into the night.
I feel an evil smile come across my face, a sense of pride fills my veins.
*The boys won't know what is about to hit them*, I think to myself.
This challenge is mine to win.
| 2016-09-06T11:13:03 | 2016-09-06T09:42:57 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross.
|
In the December dusk, the bubbles of light around the street lamps, whirling with specks of sparkling ice crystals, looked like oversized snow globes.
“I want to capture the street outside,” Adolf said. “Where do I start? Atmosphere? Lighting? A blitz of color?”
“You start by not painting,” Bob said. “First you need to understand. You start by thinking.”
The young aspiring artist flipped his hair to the side, narrowing his eyes.
“Careful deliberation is the key to a great painting,” Bob continued. “Remember; every stroke of the brush has consequences.”
“So, I start simple?” Adolf said. “The falling snow!”
Bob ran a hand through his thick hair and took a deep breath.
“That is a good place to start. A snowflake is one of Nature’s most beautiful creations,” he said. “They’re all made out of the same water, but every snowflake is unique…”
“I think I get it now,” Adolf said and made a few quick strokes across the canvas. “The canvas is the province of my expression. It is a domain that I, alone, control and shape to fit my unique ideas.”
Bob shook his head and stopped the eager hand of the young artist.
“Your brush is a coryphée, and the canvas is a stage of white ice. The stage belongs to the art, not the artist,” Bob said.
“So, I need to pour my mind onto the canvas,” Adolf said and made another series of quick strokes. “I need to get it all out, and not consider my desires!”
Bob leaned over and plucked the brush out of young man’s moving hand mid-motion.
“Wrong; your heart is your most valuable consultant,” Bob said. “That’s why you can’t rush. Some ideas are better left unexplored. Each color and stroke have to feel right in your heart. If your strokes are too fast and too many, your heart won’t be able to keep up.”
“I think I finally get it…”
Certain that he had taught Adolf the value of constraint and diversity, Bob Ross returned to his own time. On the way to the kitchen to grab a snack, he noticed that something was wrong with his world globe. The place that had previously said Europe now had big capital letters spelling GERMANY.
“What the hell…” Bob mumbled and grabbed his history book.
*Due to his icy restraint and meticulous planning, Hitler avoided a war on two fronts, taking his time to first defeat France and Great Britain before attacking Russia. Modern scholars have placed Hitler among iconic conquerors such as Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan, and named him The Artist of Warfare.*
*****
[/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)
|
Adolf woke.
He wasn’t sure what had awakened him, but he found himself staring at the shadowy ceiling of his tiny flat just the same. It was quiet – so quiet that he was sure neither dawn nor dusk were anywhere close at hand – and yet, still he was awake. More awake, in fact, than he had felt in years. He shivered beneath his blanket despite the warmth, and lit a candle.
“What do you want?” He asked the darkness. It felt right, he thought, to speak like this into the night. He could feel eyes on him, even if he wasn’t sure anyone was really there. If he was wrong, no one would be the wiser. But if he was right…
Hitler gasped as a hooded figure rose from the darkness at the foot of his bed, growing like a shadow at dusk. He clutched the covers closer to his chest.
“What are you!?” He exclaimed. “Some specter? Are you some devil, come to steal the breath from my lungs and soul from my flesh? Show yourself!”
To his surprise, the figure stopped, holding up a finger as if to ask for a moment while he fumbled with his hood. It seemed to bulge oddly, as if it were caught on something, but eventually he pulled it free.
It was simply a man.
“Sorry. Must have…slipped? Never did like these cloaks.” The figure said in halting German. He flashed Adolf a sheepish smile, and despite himself the pajama-clad man felt himself begin to smile as well. There was something about him, about the way he looked just a bit embarrassed beneath his disheveled bush of hair that was endearing. Despite that, however, he wasn’t ready to relax just yet.
“Who…who are you? Why have you come here into my bedchambers so rudely, and without invitation?” Adolf asked.
Again, the man smiled. “Oh…I don’t think I’m anyone that special.” He said. “Just a…teacher? Is that the word? I work with paint, and I thought…you might enjoy getting to paint, a bit.”
Hitler blinked. “I…well, yes. I consider myself quite the expert, if I do say so. But why have you come? Are you from the school? You are no one I recognize.” He looked the man up and down, and was struck by how odd he looked with his black cloak and his fuzzy head. It reminded him of something, though he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.
“Well, no, not from the school exactly.” The strange man said. “I am…from far away? The others, they have…sealed this time off, yes? So no one else can come. You are rather unpopular, where I come from. Many have sought your life, though we have stopped them all…will have stopped them? You even stopped a few yourself, I think.”
“Stopped? My life?” Adolf asked, frowning. “I have no recollection of this. Why do they seek to kill me? I have done no wrong to warrant it, at least in memory.”
“Yes, well…it’s all a bit complicated. Harder, too, in German. I cannot explain. Regardless, I was sent here as…an apology. For things that haven’t, and will never happen. For my rudeness, I also apologize. Now was the only time I could come. It was the earliest we could reach before they started coming. Now, I must ask again…would you paint with me?”
“*Pinsel!*” Hitler exclaimed. “*Ein pinsel*! I knew you looked like something! Yes, Mr. Pinsel, I will paint with you. If only because this is clearly a dream, and I have quite the love of painting.”
The man smiled. From somewhere within his cloak – where, Hitler couldn’t imagine, as it was rather tight– he withdrew a pair of easels, complete with canvas, paint, and brushes.
“Very well!” He said. “Let us paint!”
And so they did.
The hours fled before their strokes, each of them trying to outdo the other in painting after painting. Hitler was surprised – though this man was clearly not German, he was still very, very good. Better, indeed, than Hitler himself, though he didn’t want to admit it. But never once did he flaunt his superiority. Indeed, he made fun of his own imperfections, laughing and turning them into a beauty the likes of which Hitler had to admire. “There are no mistakes.” He explained. “Merely…accidents. Happy accidents.”
The man, too, was surprised at Adolf. In the history books, all they ever spoke of was the hatred, the atrocities. The monster. Instead, what he found before him was a man. A man like himself, filled with laughter and art and pain and joy and sorrow. Perhaps that was even more frightening than the beast.
But soon, the sky outside the window turned from black to gray, and the candle burned low in its stand.
“Alas, Adolf, our time grows short.” The man said. “I’m afraid I will need to be leaving soon.”
“Ah! You speak truth, Mr. Pinsel. I forgot the hour! Though I am still not sure whether you were real or not, our time together was quite enjoyable. I hope that you come to visit again. Perhaps there is a thing or two I could learn.”
“Yes. I think…I think that would be nice.” The cloaked man said, smiling sadly. “Goodbye, Adolf. Good luck with your painting. I hope it brings you much joy, even when times are bleakest.” He offered a hand.
“And you as well, my friend.” Adolf replied. He grasped his hand, and was shocked to find a needle in his palm. At once, Hitler began to fall, only to be caught and dropped gently into bed by the cloaked stranger.
The man shook his head. “I don’t know if I can call the mistakes you are going to make happy, Adolf, but you deserve the chance to make them. That’s only right.”
With a whirl of his cloak, Mr. Pinsel was gone, leaving nothing behind but a single canvas and a few drops of paint on the future tyrant’s bedclothes.
| 2022-10-08T17:26:42 | 2017-02-16T17:29:01 | 74 | 18 |
[WP] The reason earth never made alien contact is because earth is in a natural reservation inside a non transit area inside a neutral zone between two warring empires in a relatively boring part of the galaxy.
|
"Whoa, shit!" Gor said to Zoran as the third quantum torpedo struck their craft, nearly ripping it in two. The Yurians were close behind them and closing fast. "They're gonna kill us man, I told you we shouldn't have crossed the border!"
"It was worth it for the Guaranian texstutes!" Zoran shouted back, madly flipping the three dimensional control arrays. "What's that over there?"
"That's a nature preserve! It's illegal to land there and the punishment is death. It's just a bunch of hairy assholes, anyway."
"Well, we're gonna die--" Zoran was interrupted by the fourth torpedo strike. "Fuck it, I'm landing."
"I don't like this...."
*****
Rick Jimbob took a break from plowing his field with his tractor in a field near Macon, GA, when suddenly an explosion made the day ten times brighter than it already was. "Well, I'll be darned. Better go check it out, 'fore a fire starts."
He strolled over and was about a football field away when he saw two strange creatures exit what was left of what appeared to be a metal saucer. They were each about four feet tall, skinny, and what skin he could see was purple. A single antenna poked up from the back of each of their necks. Otherwise, they might have been human, albeit short ones.
"Hey, you over there!" one of the aliens, about two inches taller and a few pounds fatter than the other, yelled over to Rick. "Help us out, man! Come on, we got got by the Yurians."
"He doesn't know what Yurians are," the other one said, quieter but still so that Rick could make out the words. "He doesn't know what we are. This whole *planet* is a fucking primitive nature *fucking* preserve for some dumbshit apes that can't even fly past their *own fucking moon.*"
"Well, hey now," Rick said. "You all speak the English, and that's alright with me. Why don't you boys come on inside to my house for dinner?"
*****
Over time, Rick learned of the Hyperions, who were Gor and Zoran's people, and their war with the Yurians. The human wasn't surprised that Earth was in a boring part of the galaxy, as his siblings who had moved into the cities stated that he lived in a boring part of the country. What did surprise him is the aliens had no way of fixing their ship.
"My brother, he works for NASA now over there in Houston," Rick told Gor and Zoran over dinner. He's a good guy and I'm sure if I talk to 'im, he can help y'all folks out."
"Well shit man, alright!" Zoran said.
"I don't know...I guess we could make it to the Sol outpost in a few years," Gor said.
"He's not supposed to know about that."
"He's not supposed to know about us, either."
"Remember the punishment for landing here?"
"We'll take our chances."
*****
Three years later, the President of the United States stood at the head of the bleachers in the viewing area at Wallops Space Center in Virginia, giving a long-winded speech. "These aliens came here, not of their own will, but because they had no choice. We helped them because we know that it is right, and also in the hopes that they will share the news of our goodwill with their own people. Let us hope that we see them again."
The crowd cheered, photographers snapped pictures, and the rocket launched two minutes later. It wasn't just the Hyperions in the rocket, but with them went the hopes and dreams of the entire human race, many of whom fantasized that one day, if all went all and humanity evolved past its violent pitfalls, that they may too rise on a ship like that into the heavens.
The rocket sped out of the atmosphere, and Gor and Zoran cheered each other, glad to finally be on their way home. Their joy lasted until the Hyperion space police cruiser honed their missiles in on them, and fired, sending the debris of their craft raining back down onto the Earth.
"Well, sheeeeeet....." the president mumbled.
|
"And I play K7"
Oo'rtha rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His four eyes blinked in rapid succession, and his face turned from a deep purple to red.
I spread out my tentacles and grinned. "That would be game, my friend."
Oo'rtha blinked a few more times then flipped the board, spilling the pieces on the floor. "To hell with this game and your cheap tricks, "friend," no friend of mine would use tactics such as this to utterly humiliate me!"
I walked over to him and put my tentacle around his body, "I need not embarrass you myself, friend, you do a good job of doing that yourself." Oo'rtha turned to look at me, his body now shifting to a light yellow, and briefly wondered if I'd gone too far. But then he began to laugh, and I joined him as well.
That was when the alarm went off.
We looked at each other, our colors shifting from yellow to a deep black. Terror.
We slid to the main systems. "Computer, what is the issue?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady. If the Zergs were mounting another rush...
Oo'rtha echoed my thoughts. "C'thun guide us, the Zergs cannot be rushing, there were negotiations just two span ago!"
"A lone bogey has been identified. It is moving at 0.1% the speed of light, heading out of sector 00723," the computer drawled.
Oo'rtha and I breathed audible sighs of relief. A Zerg Rush involved literally millions of their drones and thousands of frigates and hundreds of cruisers. Their sheer numbers had decimated our border territories, and obliterated unprepared armadas. A lone C-class frigate stood absolutely no chance against even a single wave.
I looked at the ship nonetheless, a lone Zerg ship could still bode ill. It was a violation of the accords to be in the zone of control "Computer, is the ship of Zerg Origin?"
A scanning prompt came up on the screen, "Analyzing and cross-referencing potential designs...Negative. No known Zerg designs match the given ship.
The computer then projected an image of a decidedly strange ship. It was a giant rotating circle with cabins losing the circumference of the circle. There was a single cabin in the middle, presumably the cockpit.
Oo'rtha tapped my shoulder, "Why..why is their ship rotating?" he asked.
I was at a loss myself. "Computer, why would their ship be rotating?"
The Computer said nothing for a while, running computations. "Given the ship's slow speed and curious design, it is most likely that the ship is a centrifuge, and is being used to simulate gravity on the ship."
Huh. "Why wouldn't they just use anti-matter generators, computer?"
"No reason barring ignorance," the computer responded.
Oo'rtha and I turned to look at each other, both of us a slight blue. We were in agreement then. There was something decidedly strange going on. It was out duty to the Empire to investigate, even if it mat cost us our lives. There were no other ships on the border, we were the only one the Empire could spare, and damn it were going to do our jobs properly.
"Computer," Oo'rtha said, "set a course for the ship, halt at a communication relay distance of half a second."
"Confirmation?" The computer chirped, and I have my assent.
There was sudden rippling feeling. I'd felt it a million times before, the feeling of a Jump, but I never quite got used to it, no one did, not even Admiral St'Kra. He said there was something unnatural about Jumping, that mortals were not supposed to be able to do such a thing.
It certainly was incredible. In a moment, we were there. About 100 light years, traversed in a fraction of a second. And that was with the outdated engine our frigate was equipped with.
The Computer suddenly spoke up. "We are receiving a very distinct radio-wave. Most likely a communication message of some sort."
Oo'rtha frowned. "No one has used radio-waves to communicate in a hundred years. I nodded, worried. The Zergs couldn't have found us, the zone was so large that the odds of both us and them just happen to have focused on these ships were next to none. A small part of my mind whispered, "unless it's a trap.."
I shook my head and ignored it. "It just doesn't make sense," Oo'rtha was saying "travelling at such a speed, not being able to generate *gravity* for C'thun's sake, and now..."
It suddenly dawned on me what was going on.
"It's a new species!" Oo'rtha and I exclaimed at the same time. The Neutral zone was quite large, encompassing half of this spiral galaxy. It was no surprise we had not found these people. They weren't even in a major arm, they were in a galactic backwater for C'thun's sake.
"Computer, accept," I said.
The message was complete gibberish.
I blinked, and Oo'rtha chuckled. "Right, the language barrier."
I let a tentacle rub against my forehead, feeling idiotic. Their voices were coming through, but we had no idea what they were saying. We sent our own message to them, but no avail. We got only gibberish in return.
"Should we contact the Center?" Oo'rtha asked.
I felt myself turn red. "And let them take the damn credit? Not for a second, we're going to find the location of this planet and set up comms with these people."
Oo'rtha held up his tentacles in a gesture of placation. "It's just that we have no way of understanding..." We looked at each other and laughed, the tension finally defusing.
We had been prepared to die, to sacrifice ourselves to get some intel on a Zerg attack. I had no love for the Center, but we, as a species, would not survive the Zergs without a strong defense.
And with the wight of the survival of the species on our shoulders, or so we thought, it was no wonder neither of us thought to use the universal translator.
The Translator did not work like a dictionary, it was more of a code breaker, able to identify trends in writing and speech. We just needed a larger sample size.
It took quite a few exchanged messages of what might as well have been random noise before the translator started making sense. And twice that for the translator to finally finish. "Translation complete!" The computer happily chirped, "send message?"
"We are known as Stoports," I said simply. Good first words.
And just like that the computer alarms started going off again. "Alert!" The Computer happily chirped, "A Zerg Mass has jumped past the Neutral zone. Interception impossible at current speeds.
Pure terror spiked through me and I turned a midnight black. This couldn't be happening. We had come here to risk ourselves, to serve the Empire; we were supposed to have been heroes!
Damn our luck. The one moment we left, the one time, the Zergs just happen to rush right then. We wouldn't be able to warn the outer systems in time. The communication was slower than travel, and we dared not travel into a Zerg Mass.
Oo'rtha swore, but his voice was as empty as I felt. "Damn our luck," he said, completely black with fear with some shades of red.
The aliens responded to our message and made it clear this was no case of luck.
"We know."
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting)
| 2017-03-02T08:16:36 | 2017-03-02T07:30:59 | 870 | 250 |
[WP] For two decades, you've been bartending at "The Happy Hour", where time travellers meet to unwind, drink cheap cocktails, catch up with each other and sometimes with themselves. Nothing really surprises you any more until one day, in walks a person you haven't seen in 20 years - the owner.
|
I was fourteen the first time I jumped. One moment I was standing there, talking to a homeless man, then I was alone, the wind blowing dust into my eyes, nothing on the horizon but dirt and more stars then I'd ever seen. It took a minute (forever?) before I made it back, the homeless man shocked at my sudden reappearance. I must have jumped and jittered a thousand times that night, all around time, before a woman helped me get home through time. That was twenty years ago, tonight.
"Missy, you get prettier every year!" John Lang crows, throwing one arm around my shoulder,brushing a hand through my pale golden hair. Missy they called me. Call me. Will call me. Laughing, I let him plant a kiss on me, the bar is cheering, then a slight jitter and he's saying it again, planting another kiss on me. Nobody talks about the jitters, not when I'm around.
Truth be told, I'm the only one who does it, the constant dance through time, never knowing if it is, or was, or will be. Happy Hour is used to it, though. Or at least the bar has the common sense to not make a big deal out of it.
"Another round!" I shout, handing out the whiskey I kept special, snagged from Ireland while it was bathed in "Holy Smoke."
"You assholes have been my rock, my anchor through the jumps and jitters!" A cheer meets my words, then a slight jitter, and they're cheering again. "I know I'm the only one who gets the jitters, but you've all supported me, and watched my bar through it all. We may not know the why, but we know and knew and will know that you all are my family, and will always be welcome at the Happy Hour! IT'S ALWAYS FIVE O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE!"
A second wild cheer meets my words, whiskey slamming back and tumblers slammed down. Then everything is heavy,so heavy. Time slows to a crawl, dragging not just me, but everyone else in it's wake. Then *snap*, it pops loose, and standing at my bar is a young girl, fourteen years old if she's a day, pale gold hair covered in fine dust, my deep brown eyes staring back at me, terrified and confused and very very lost.
I calm her slowly, tell her how to twist the time in her head, how to get home, away from Happy Hour, lost on the edge of time. The bar watches quietly, realization dawning on some few faces. And then she's gone, and will be until she/I falls back out of time in five years and founds the only jumper friendly bar.
I stare at the hazy spot where she appeared, face dead white as I realize why I jitter when nobody else does. "Well, that's not what I meant when I ran away to find myself. *Shit.*"
|
The Happy Hour had always been a feel good spot. A hole in the universe that even Satan once said he wouldn't spit in, but that's mostly just crude talk passed from traveler to traveler. In reality it is a hub, where travelers who've been to distant and near futures meet, every now and again you'll meet an odd inter-dimensional being but other than that the routine has gotten monotonous.
"Hey Grivva, wanna share a tale of the Years of Expansion?"
She sighs as she sips her mug with her gray hair drooped over her beautiful face, hiding the tiny curves and dips of her skin.
"Ilah, I can't it's just one of those days," Grivva replies with an angst ridden expression. She's the sister of Dezael, the owner of the establishment, who's been gone for almost 20 years.
I lean my head down, biting my lip and lift my head back up with a smile.
"I'm sorry Grivva, I hadn't noticed," I reply and wipe my black locs out of my face. The place is bare today, but since Dezael has been gone things haven't been the same. They've grown more sane.
I left that day and traveled to the Jurassic era in search of a rare metal, I'd heard sales high on the Cycle, a market system comprised of time travelers. Once I went about my work with surprising ease, I decided to stop in at The Happy Hour, hoping I could find at least one good story before I checked in at Cyclic HQ. A few hunters were present, but I never converse with them; everything about what they do seems to me a violation of TC, Travelers Conduct. So I sat solitary by the counter, not even holding conversation with Grivva, who's calm green eyes ripple with unease that weighs down her smile. It saddens me that I cannot lift it.
"Can't a man even come back to his trusty mug in place?"
A familiar voice rings in a booming tone I remember all too well. I look over and that slender bastard is standing with his slick smile and silver hair falling down his burdened shoulders.
"Dezael!" Grivva cries so loud the Hunters turn and then shift back into their brooding contemplation. Quickly she hugs him over the counter, surprising him, and even swifter is she as Grivva pulls back and punches him three hard times in the chest.
"Where've you been?" She follows excitedly and I turn to him with the same question.
"Well it's good to see you haven't changed," he replies with a wince and then looks over.
"Ilah! Is that you, it's been a little while!" Dezael booms.
"Actually it's been 20 years my good friend," I say with a laugh, truly glad he's back and looking good as ever. "So what happened all those years?"
His expression darkens and I can feel something deep within him seething at the memory. Through gritted teeth he tells us, "I saw a world die in many ways."
I am shocked and wondering what he meant, but Grivva cuts in before I can voice my thoughts.
"What? How did you make it out?"
"I didn't, but something remained alive on that dead planet a spirit, or something but it was inside... Inside," Dezael goes on distantly as he holds out his mug for Grivva to fill. She pours him a heavy cup and he downs it in one go.
Wiping his mouth with a burp he exclaims, "Nothing like good ole Happy Hour booze to calm the soul AYE AYE!
Quickly Grivva pours him another cup but he does not sip yet, he again grows more solemn.
"I agreed to help my friend, Erila on an excursion, but it proved too dangerous. He was seeking a man by the name of Diropa Xanguiras. Diropa had opened an illegal wormhole and was being hunted in every quadrant of the galaxy. He tricked us and used Erila's equipment to jump to the first planet he killed."
"You're saying you got caught up with a Planet Killer?" I ask incredulously.
With a pained smile and nod, he goes on, "I did. He used his wormhole to kill Erila and tried to kill me. He didn't know I had inter-dimensional drinking buddies so he got brave and I used Famulin's Ball. I trapped him and shot him. But the planet was dying and my equipment too damaged to do distance travel.
"So I traveled back through that planets past and from there I had to remake my equipment because it busted during the jump. But I also found a version of Diropa that seemed somehow different."
"Did you kill him?" Grivva asked with wide eyes leaning on her hands.
"Nope not then," Dezael replied simply and took a ginger sip of his mug. "I knew he had know how, so I joined his band and befriended him. After a while of raiding his world he helped me make my SDE (Spacial Displacement Equipment). It worked like a charm I found after tests and soon enough I made plans to leave.
"However I could not leave with him alive, but Diropa had been actively distancing himself from me. And understandably so. He was hard to get in a closed space, but after the gamble of offering SDE to assist his raiders, Diropa found new confidence in me. I lived like a hellion cloaked in flames gifted from the devil, but I couldn't leave.
At this point, I expected him to have a darker expression but his visage seemed to be filled with a calm.
None of the times I moved with them, did I feel companionship with them. Only the surety of my bid. Erila would have wanted me to finish this through and through. The other version ended up being inter-dimensional, but each had the same agenda. I waited until an important mission with Diropa, wearing my SDE gear underneath my battle suit. It was the hardest minute of my life. They almost trapped me. But I was wise beforehand and jammed their trackers, so by the time they closed in on our vessel it was careening to the depths of a trench. That was what happened right before I got back."
By the time he finished the whole bar had gathered round him and soon enough it was felt again as everyone around either chattered about the tale they'd heard or their own. I couldn't help but pat Dezael on the back.
"Cheers to the Home of Tales!" I yelled as I thrust my cup upward for a toast.
*"Cheers to the Home of Tales!"*, they all shouted and we all drank like the wanderers we are.
| 2017-09-20T21:38:50 | 2017-09-20T17:01:46 | 63 | 18 |
[WP] You were born blind, but somehow sometimes see some actual people in the darkness. You saw your grandmother for a whole day 4 years ago, she died that night. Now you're in your house and could see every person clearly, except for the visitor your dad is talking to.
|
"I wish they'd just agree on something and shut up." I thought.
Sighted people take silence for granted. Quiet. Or listening to a book. It's really the only time I get any peace. Every fart, every word, every gust of fucking wind is the equivalent of nails on a goddamned chalkboard to people who can't see. I raised the volume on my MP3 player and tried to ignore them. No such luck.
"Enough of this shit." I muttered and stabbed my feet into what, based on their stench, I could only assume were the rattiest slippers on the face of the earth and made my way downstairs.
"What's going on dad?" I asked.
"Nothing's going on. Do me a favor & go get me a beer." he said. I heard him but it didn't register. I stood there like an idiot staring. I was staring. I never got the chance to stare but here I was. Staring. I was staring at my dad.
"Mike? Beer?" in that offhanded, mildly annoyed tone he used when someone didn't jump at his say so.
"Yeah. I mean, yes sir. Got it." I blurted. I've lived here my whole life. I know every inch. Couldn't tell you the color of the walls but from where I'm standing it's exactly 64 steps to the upstairs toilet & 26 steps from the toilet to my bedroom door. It's 44 steps to the fridge. A short 44 steps later I'm there with a cold can of beer in each hand. 44 steps back.
"Here you go. I got one for your friend, too." I said.
"Thank you, Mike. Now go listen to a book or something. Dad's busy right now." and he resumed talking - arguing? - with his new buddy.
On my way upstairs I stopped dead in my tracks. What I'd always thought was a picture was actually a mirror. There I was. That's me. That's what I look like. Oh, fuck.
"Mike, I told you to get upstairs." dad commanded. It was more of a growl than a request.
"Sorry dad. I'm, uh, a little dizzy." I snapped out of it and made my way upstairs. I know enough to know when things aren't right. I'm blind, not stupid. 32 steps later & I'm knocking on my parent's bedroom door.
"Ma? Mom? You in there?" I called.
"Yeah. Come in." she replied.
"Remember when nana died?" I asked. Her face lost all animation. Her face. I could see her face. My mom's face. Holy shit.
"Yes. Why are you asking about nana, Mikey?" she asked.
"Did I do anything ... funny when she died?" I asked.
"Not that I recall." she said. What could she recall? She was a disaster that whole week. Losing her mom took a lot out of her. At this moment, I could understand why.
"Like, did I say anything or do anything weird that day?" I continued.
"Mikey, I really don't want to talk about this now. Your father is talking to the man who rear ended him last week. Can you believe the nerve on this guy? He rear ends your dad & offers to pay the damages if we didn't file a report but now he doesn't want to pay the full cost. Dad's just going to call the cops, I think. That guy gave me the creeps the second I saw him. Probably why daddy agreed to handle it out of court." I almost heard what she said. I was too busy studying her face.
"Okay." I said. "Hey Mom? Could you do me a favor?"
"What is it, hun? Hey, you look funny. Is something wrong?" she replied, reaching out and touching my cheek with the back of her hand. I didn't recoil. I didn't move at all.
"No, I'm fine. I'm fine. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just hungry. Can you make me a Hot Pocket?" I asked.
"No, dinner will be ready in an hour. You can wait." she answered.
"Please ma? I'm really hungry. A Hot Pocket won't make any difference." I pleaded.
"Fine." She said. "But you'd better eat dinner. You know how your father gets." She's my mom. She knows that when I've made up my mind to do something, there's just no talking to me. I get that from her. Rather than arguing a futile point about how hungry I was, she just agreed. She also knows my father. If someone says they'll do something and they don't, he can be a real dick. That's gotten him in trouble before.
I watched mom stand up and walk out of the room. Watched her. Maybe she didn't remember about nana but I did. Voices downstairs now sounded angrier than they should have. I made my way the 14 steps to dad's night table and opened the drawer. Cold, hard & too heavy for its size. Yup. That's dad's pistol. I tucked it into my jeans and counted the 89 steps down the hall, down the stairs and to the foyer. When I reached the last step, I couldn't see dad anymore but as I curled my fingers around the revolver I could suddenly see his new friend.
|
I woke up this morning like every other morning... Everybody in the house is already up , birds are screaming through my window and my stupid neighbor is mowing his lawn AGAIN! I mean how much grass is there? Does it grow back every night? I seriously hope this guys lawnmower breaks down or you know... gets “misplaced”. Anyway I stand up and go directly to the bathroom. As I brush my teeth I sit on the toilet and pee. Yes I sit on it... I’m tired and also I’m blind. I’ve been blind since birth so it’s much easier for me, especially in the morning, to just sit on the toilet... you know why. After I’ve finished my morning routine, I go and find my clothes. My sister she usually has something prepared for me to wear everyday, she started doing it when we were younger and it just stuck with us. I don’t know I guess I like it. Its our special thing, and I trust her to find me something cool to wear everyday. I go downstairs and count the steps as I go, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12! You see, when you’re blind you develop techniques to move around your house, and also you are incredibly aware of your surroundings if you’ve lived in the same house all your life, like me, you know every crook and corner. How many steps from the bathroom to the living room, the distance from the dining table to the patio door, everything is mapped out in your brain.
Now, I’m finally in the kitchen and I get my Cheerios and milk and sprinkle 2 spoons of sugar on it... I know. Ew. But I like it that way since I was a young boy. My sister walks in the kitchen, I can hear her opening the fridge and mumble to me “gumorring”... she’s not the greatest morning person ever. She sits down in front of me and as I look in her direction I freeze. She’s there. I can see her... I can see my sister. I almost want to cry. But I can’t. There’s nothing coming out of me. Not a word. Not a tear. Nothing. She’s beautiful. I’ve never seen my sister with my eyes. Her hair... her eyes, her glasses... it’s all so familiar. She looks so much like our grandma, just you know a lot younger... then it hits me.
I can see her. The last time I saw someone was the same day they died. It was four years ago, and we were all going to the hospital that day to visit my grandma, and as soon as I walked in the room I saw her, just floating in the darkness. It was the strangest experience of my life. Later that night my dad got a call from the hospital telling us that grandma past away that night. I never told anyone about what I saw. Not even my sister. And now that I see my sister I’m scared shitless. What am I supposed to do? What do I say? I mean maybe the thing with grandma was just that one time thing, and she was dying that day anyway and me being able to see her that day was nothing but a coincidence and something that scientists will figure out one day and I’ll hear it on the discovery channel... As I try and figure out this thing my mom and dad walk in the kitchen. I see them. My parents. I can see my parents, and my sister for the first time in my life with my eyes. I just completely freeze up again. Then someone knocks on our backdoor.
**Part 2! (Sorry guys I was so tired I fell a sleep)**
As my dad walks to the backdoor, my mom starts making coffee, it’s weird seeing my mom doing coffee, not just hearing her ground up the coffee beans and then smelling the sweet aroma. I’m fascinated.. I can finally see the woman who raised me, who gave birth to me. I start crying a little but I quickly hide it and wipe away the tears when my sister asks me “are you ok Isaac?” I just chuckled and said yeah I’m fine, I just remembered it’s four years since grandma died... I know... I had to say something, it’s not like I’m going to tell them that I can finally somehow see them, I have to go about this the right way. As I’m looking at my sister though I can see my dad to the right of her... that’s weird because the backdoor is behind me... or behind my left shoulder if I’m sitting on the far left on the table. But I can only see his upper half. It took me a while to figure it out but then I remember. Mirrors. Mirrors reflect everything and I remember that there is a mirror on the wall behind my sister. I’ve felt it a lot of times on the wall... I almost knocked it down one day.
My mom calls to my dad asking who’s at the door, he says it’s Dave from next door. -Dave? Dave is the stupid neighbor with the lawnmower right? I think his name is Dave... ugh what does he want? Is he here to mow our lawn to? I thought to myself.
**Sorry guys I have to go back to work! I promise you’ll get more in a few hours! Thanks for the feedback and likes, I really appreciate it!**
All of a sudden I hear a familiar sound... My mom screams! I look over my shoulder and my face gets covered in something warm and bitter... I wipe my eyes and there is my father... Lying in a pool of blood. Floating in the darkness... in a pool of blood. I have no idea what happened, I panic. Next thing I know my mom grabs me and my sister and we run across the room. I'm trying to comprehend what's going on. We run upstairs. My mom tells my sister to take me in to her bedroom and hide in the closet. You can only imagine how fucked up this is. I'm seeing my mom and sister covered in darkness, running around, i'm covered in blood, and hiding in the closet... from Dave. My mom runs out to grab the phone in her bedroom. We hear her calling the police... Then nothing. We hear steps coming closer.
I hear the familiar sound again. My mom screams again, but it's different this time.. It gets cut off, and changes into a gurgle like sound... My sister is in shock. I try to cover her mouth and tell her it's OK! I look at her... I look in to her eyes, that's so weird. Iv'e never made eye contact to anyone before. She's looks at me. I tell her "I can see you Kate, look at me. I can see you and I'm getting us out of here". She doesn't understand quite what I mean but I can tell that this expression she's giving me is some kind of acknowledgement of what I'm saying to her. I grab her arm and wait. I try and remember every last bit of the house. I map it out.
I'm ready. I tell my sister to follow me. We run out of the closet and to the door. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, steps, stop. I listen to hear if Dave is walking outside in the hall. I hear the shower curtain in my parents bedroom move. I take my chance and run out with my sister. I remember everything. I take a right and feel for the handrail of the stairs. I tell my sister to stay right behind me. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 steps, the fastest twelve steps iv'e ever taken. I run to the left and through the living room. Five steps forward, run around the couch, feel for the wall on the right, and take a right turn straight to the door. We reach the door and run out. My sister starts screaming for help. I look at her in the darkness screaming, covered in blood.... We're outside and I can hear the sirens getting closer, my sister grabs me and runs with me down the street. The sirens are just in front of us now. I hear the cars stop and people start running to us, grabbing me and my sister and asking us what is going on, who's hurt, where is the person who did this... My sister tries to explain and tells them our neighbour came and attacked our parents. They run away from us, into the house, and we're told to stay in the police car. We hear gunshots. I look to my sister, but she's not there. I mean she's there, but I can't see her...
---**I think that's it guys! I'm not sure if you'll like my ending, but this is my first time writing here or anything like this. I have a lot of ideas for the ending, but I also like to end it just like it is and let everyone figure out their own ending... or something? Anyways thanks for the up-votes and maybe i'll write something again one day!**
| 2017-10-09T07:21:12 | 2017-10-09T01:55:51 | 615 | 149 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
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When I got the text, I didn't have to think about it very long - I had just been lying in bed, playing Ashphalt on my PHONE. 'Yeah, sure,' I reply, thinking nothing of it. Jeff always sends me this shit.
As I put my phone back down and close my eyes I feel a wave of nausea hit, then pass, leaving behind a lingering whiff of burnt rubber and exhaust. I hear a voice, over my.... headset?
"To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
My eyes snap open. I'm in a garage, a frankly unfathomable number of performance cars arrayed before me, like the private caryard of a middle eastern prince. Gaudy paint jobs contrasted with sleek carbon fibre and there was high tempo pop-rock coming from.... somewhere? On the wall there were pictures of cars with post-its attached - 1/45, 23/25, 11/100 - records of my progress to yet more sets of wheels.
My crew chief saunters up. "Next race is in 5, boss. European circuit. Choose between the Audi, the Porche or the VW." I look at him, hard. "The Porche, man, always the Porche" "Sure, boss? She's almost out of fuel and you might want her for the next run - competition will be hot and it's a 90 minute job to fill her up again" "Alright, then, warm up the Audi, but make sure you upgrade her nitro, she fell behind last time"
I start to wonder - what's my "winning condition"? One race? A season? A full circuit? I might be here a long time... But at least I'll come away with a lot of cash!
The Chief comes back. "Alright boss, Audi's on the starting line, get out there." I head out and strap in. I start the engine and give her a few test revs. The lights strobe.
3
2
1
GO!!!
Aaaaaaaand I stall it. Shit. I can't drive a fucking manual.
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The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go."
| 2020-02-17T00:31:53 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] There is a tradition in the US Navy that no submarine is ever considered lost, those that go to sea and don't return are considered "Still on Patrol". There are 52 WW2 submarines still on patrol, and they have just started coming home.
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It was a very somber affair, the whole "coming home" thing.
After the decision was made to recover every lost submarine, many were sceptical, of course. Those subs were lost at the bottom of the ocean, they said. Lost, for over a hundred years. Even with the most advanced technology and sonar the North American Empire's navy could muster, it would be a gargantuan task to find them all, let alone salvage them. And I admit, I was a loud voice among the doubters, on the lightnet.
But, here I stand, watching the fleet sail into the harbor on Honolulu, the 54 missing subs in tow. I feel a bit embarrassed to be proven wrong so... grotesque. The people were mostly silent, around me. Some of them were naysayers, like me, and were silent because they are being proven wrong. Most are just silent because they realize what the rusty and tugged subs contained.
No sailor on a submarine is missing if they don't come back, the old rule goes. Just "still on patrol". But even so, people are still just people, and the sailors aboard those old tubes were most definitely dead. They were probably nothing more than skeletons, at this point. Waterlogged, and completely decayed skeletons.
My grandfather taught me that rule. He was a captain in the Navy, before the empire was founded, as was his father, and his father's father. Three generations of Navy captains, all serving on submarines. It's why I was so skeptical of the possibility of finding those lost, I think. I heard way too many stories, some in person from granddad himself, some recorded on ancient VHS tapes, where my great-great granddad was telling them to a group of young kids at what appeared to be a Christmas party.
I used to love those stories. Whenever he was around, I asked him about it, and when he wasn't, I forced my dad to connect the archaic tape recorder, so I could hear great-great granddad Mike's stories about sailing the pacific aboard his submarine, which they nicknamed the Swordfish. He even shows the camera his tattoo, which he claimed was the logo that they had painted on the conning tower. He was very proud of it, too, telling the young kids about how he and his crew members had gotten them after the second World War was over.
When I was 7, granddad took me to a museum here on Honolulu, which was built in that very same old submarine. I distinctly remember walking up the plank, and looking up at the tower, looming above me. The cartoonish painting of a swordfish staring angrily out towards the sea always stuck with me. A nothing thing I distinctly remember was the photo hanging in the main control room, depicting the crew, laughing and waving at the camera. Granddad pointed at a young man in the middle, smiling proudly as he told me that that was my great-great grandfather. He told me I should be proud to be the descendant of such a great man.
Now, as I watched the ships sail by, I noticed one tugging along a submarine that was in surprisingly good shape. Some of the paint was still visible, even. But it was the painting on the tower that made me pause. It was faded, but the large swordfish was still visible. I tried to quickly count the ships sailing into the harbor.
I'm beginning to feel uneasy, as I remember how proud granddad looked at that old photo. And how similar he looked, to the man in the old VHS tapes. And I'm really getting uneasy when I remember that, according to the official news based on reports given by the Navy themselves, 52 submarines were lost at sea. However, after counting them all at least 5 times, I can't help but wonder why I count 53 sailing in, today.
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01022020 1715 ZULU TOPSECRET
ACTION MESSAGE: TOPSECRETxxxxxxATTN:COMCINCPAC/COMCINCLANT,
COMNAVAIRPAC/COMNAVAIRLANT, COMSUBPAC/COMSUBLANT
FROM:Commander CVN-70 USS CARLVINSON
SUB: UNKNOWN MILITARY ACTION IN MALLACA STRAITS
At1320Zulu CIC reports distress call by Japanese oiltanker Kobiashi Maru, ship pilot declares emergency after being fired upon by unknown submarine vessel, they report two direct hits amid ships by ships deck gun and taking on water, reports of several fires on going, A/C launch alert thirty and ASW /SAR , over flight has real time video and broadcast to up link, rescue operations began immediately, CAP in place, ASW reports several contacts but none near the distressed vessel, beginning environmental containment operations with various international responders, CAG CVW14 in charge of coordination until relief, witnesses report that a WWII era submarine surfaced and opened fire with its deck gun, witnesses report men in American uniforms manning gun, they fired without warning and then submerged, satellite images show vessel diving then disappearing, ASW reports no trace or track, set conditions Zebra and set general quarters, USS ALBANY, USS ALEXANDRIA conducting ASW operations as well as CVW14 , will update at 2000Zulu.
END MESSAGE XXXXXXTOPSECRETXXXXXX.
The Admiral received the recent coms with some deep concern, any military actions in this region had global impact, PLA Navy was conducting active combat patrols and interdiction creating tension in an already tense region, several incidents of "bumping" have occurred, one nearly fatal, with a group of a dozen sailors on both sides seriously injured, he had established a direct line of communication with his counterpart to quickly resolve disputes or issues, it paid off, instead of a shooting incident he managed to turn it into a story of superpower cooperation while saving face for the PLA, a neat trick if, IF you can pull it off, and now, God know's what the hell is going on, there have been bizarre sightings of submarines off the coasts of Indonesia, Solomon's and North Carolina, ships appearing then diving , and now, an attack, ASW operations have started be a concern for the Russians and the Chinese because of the intensity and locations.
Early morning in the sea of Japan, the sun raising in the east creating the rising sun image of the Japanese flag, bright red almost blinding, the south Korean fisherman had been busy for hours tending nets and equipment when they heard the rumbling of a diesel engine, except....this one sounded different....coming out of the dawn light the con tower of a submarine becomes visible, at first it looked ....new...then, with a blink, it looked old , decayed and rusty and then new again and then it comes into full view along side their small boat, it looked like a sunken relic above water, and then the rotting smell and the vague sound of commands, faintly then with more urgency "DIVE! DIVE! DIVE! They stood there stunned as they watched through holes in the hull men running and closing hatches, one second real and solid then becoming skeletal and ghost like, the whole scene reminiscent of a film flickering on a movie screen.
The Harbor master was drinking his coffee when a weird radio call came through, unknown, unscheduled arrival, a submarine has entered the channel, "get me Pearl" he says to his assistant, yeah Jack, what's this sub coming into the channel? Is it an emergency?, what do you mean what am I talking about? I'm talking about an unscheduled military movement in an active harbor, yeah it's a freaking sub! He looks at his assistant "Call DHS and Coast Guard, get a helicopter and a boat on scene and intercept, close the harbor and contact local police!"
The Coasties pulled along side and boarded the vessel, it had extensive damage, gaping holes in the deck, the helicopter over head made a deafening sound, the boarding party worked their way up the damaged con tower, the hatch was open, the smell of rot and decay nearly overpowering the sailors as they decend into the vessel, daylight clearly showing through the hull, the engine was idling, the smell of old water and oil mixed with diesel permeated the air, parts of the sub looked "new" brass polished while whole sections were gone or rusted away, "hey chief! Look at this! The petty officer lifted up a coffee cup......half full and still warm..WTF! the chief picks up the cup, smells it, feels the heat in the still warm cup, "Ok, goto the engine room an secure it, then come back, we're getting the fuck off this thing!"
The wreck was placed under tow and hauled to port, Coasties on deck were amazed the vessel stayed above water, several hull breeches somehow failed to flood, almost magically, many seasoned Mariners became instantly superstitious, clutching charms and crosses and repeating ancient spells to ward off evil.
It has been 2 days since USS Argos came to port, scientists and technicians were crawling all over the vessel looking for answers, the only thing solid was the discovery of dead crew members at various action stations, some showed signs of horrific deaths and dismemberment, explosions and fires the most likely cause, others seemed at ease, nearly undisturbed until their bones were discovered in situ, finally, a body was discovered that they hoped could give some answers, "The Chief of the Boat" was an enlisted man given command because of a lack of qualified officers, his body was mostly intact and there was still bits of uniform clinging to his bones, a review of the records reveal that the Argos was lost in '43 while on combat patrol.
After a week rumors of other subs coming to port on the east and west coasts began filtering through the ranks, with some crew and staff reports of seeing "The Chief" on the topside deck watching the workers coming and going.
I met the Chief while standing a deck watch on board the Argos, I had just got my "Crow", I was so proud , 3rd class petty officer and hand picked to watch over this weird shit show, I didn't give it any thought, with ALL the weird shit going in the world what's a ghost ship compared to WWIII, the weather was mild, the usual for Pearl, constant 78° with a light breeze, my mind was wandering, mid watch will do that to you when I began to smell a heavy body odor, tobacco and sweat, then I felt a presence, I turned around and.....there he was, a short, stout looking man wearing a khaki uniform and master chiefs anchors, his cap was crushed, and stained with sweat, he had a large bulbous nose that reminded me of WC Fields and bright blue eyes peering out, hawk like and predatory, he exclaimed "Report!" I snapped to and began to report and then I stopped...realizing I was talking to a ghost, I finally got the words out.....are you.....dead? "What the fuck do you think !" If I'm not dead then this has been one shitty deployment! So I begin asking him why they came back, "We came back because of the recall orders, Judgment day, Armageddon is coming and the end is here."
| 2020-09-10T13:44:11 | 2020-09-10T13:30:22 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You are an unimportant government worker who, by mere chance, gets to perform the most interesting job of his career: interview a time-traveler. You begin by introducing yourself and the guy immediately freaks out!
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"Okay, let's begin" I turn on the recorder. This recording will be analyzed for years. First interview with a time traveler!
"I am Sophia-Iona Holloway, customs officer," I say, attempting to build his trust. Doesn't hurt my name will be at the beginning of this recording.
"Sophia-Iona Holloway? Sophia-Iona Holloway of Paris, Texas, United States?" he says.
"That's where I was born, yes. How did you know?" I know I wasn't supposed to ask about myself, but he brought it up. . .
"They said I'd be interviewed by some random government official. Not Holloway. Ohhh no." He then mutters something I can't make out.
He tries to escape, but the doors are locked. Can't take the chance of him escaping.
"Why don't you just take a seat, and I'll ask my questions?" I say.
He sits down, but any question I ask is met with complete silence. I try to get him to respond, but he doesn't. Biggest chance of my career and I blew it.
Feedback welcome!
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I walked into the little room behind the two way mirror, apprehension etched all over my face. I was a low-ranking government office worker, what the hell did these high-ranking officials want with me?
“Ah! You’re here!”
A besuited man I didn’t know greeted me as I walked into the room. “I see you’re about as curious as we are. Come, come. Let me explain.”
The unknown man tapped a control on the wall, and the glass became opaque on our side, presumably so I couldn’t see the room. There was nobody in there anyway. I proceeded to the seat at which he gestured, and sat down.
“Hem-hem, just some formalities first. Let’s see..” he began. “You are David Wilcox, 22, of 52 Wiltshire Drive?” I nodded. The man then scribbled something on a document before tucking it into a folder. “Well David, your security clearance has already been updated, so let’s get down to business.”
I must have looked my confusion, because the unknown man stood up, walked over to the button on the wall, and pressed it again. The glass cleared, and I turned to look despite myself. I was surprised to see a man sat in—no, handcuffed to—the chair in the interrogation room. He was older, probably in his mid-fifties. I must have been looking for a while because the unknown man cleared his throat.
I couldn’t help it. “Sorry, sir, but I don’t know why I’m here?” I said, looking back at the man through the mirror again.
“Oh how rude of me, I’m Smith. We all go by surname in this department—you’ll go by Wilcox, by the way—and can you please pay attention to me?” said Smith, tapping the button again, and sitting down.
“You’re not going to believe this. But the man in there is a time-traveler.” said Smith. My mouth fell open. It took me a few seconds to close it. “Wha.. wha.. who… WHAT?” I blustered.
Smith laughed, and waved his hand as though he’d merely commented on the weather. “They come back all the time, mostly to observe. Sometimes they change things to manipulate the timeline—they helped us win WW2. We only wised up to their game about 20 years ago.”
I realized my mouth was open again. “Uhhhhh… you’re having me on. This is a test, that’s what this is isn’t it?” I asked, my brain refusing to accept the words coming out of Smith’s mouth.
Smith smiled a little grimly, before not answering my question “I never want to do it this way. But I guess I’ll always have to. Your brain won’t accept it until you’ve finished your first assignment.” he said, gesturing to the man in the chair. “Interview him. Find out absolutely everything you can. You are the only person who can. I’ll be watching from another room.”
Smith stood up and walked to the door, he was already out of the room but I heard him call back “Press the button on the desk when you want to talk!” just before the door clicked shut. It made a noise, and I knew I was locked in here.
Well, how hard could an interview be? I cleared by throat, and pressed the button on the desk to speak. “I am David Wilcox… your Interviewer. Please state your name for my records.” I let go of the button. It stayed pressed. The man in the chair went white as a sheet.
“D-d-David Wilcox.” he said. I started filling in the interview form. Not an entirely uncommon name, though a strange coincidence. “Your address, if you please. If you have one in the future.” I asked, disbelief coloring every word.
It was some time before the chair David responded.
“52 Wiltshire Drive.”
I started writing down his answer, and then I did a double-take. “Nice try, but that’s my address.” I said. “How do you know what my address is?” I asked, trying to keep cool. The man gulped.
“It’s our address” he replied.
“I’m not here to play fun and games” I started, but chair David cut across me. “We have a tattoo on our left wrist. An outline of the ears of our first Dog, she was a Greyhound.”
The words echoed through my head as though the man in the chair had shouted. Shaking, I stood up and made my way to the control next to the mirror.
I knew that if I set it to Transparent, that he could see me. I held my wrist up to the mirror, tattoo out, and pressed the control. The man held up his un-handcuffed left wrist.
Matching tattoos.
I stared. He stared.
This was going to be an interesting day.
| 2021-08-05T08:38:40 | 2021-07-12T23:41:18 | 98 | 23 |
[WP] Your bedroom became detached from reality and nothing is outside your door, but whenever you load a video game that world appears. Your game library is not conducive to a long and happy life, but the mini fridge is empty so you have no choice. You load up the safest game and gather supplies.
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I reached for another mini sandwich, but my hand met nothing. *Shit* I knew what had to happen now. I had survived the last week off of sparkling water, sandwiches, and chips. But the time had come for me to venture outside. There was no longer any avoiding it.
A week ago, instead of the normal greeting my roommate’s cat gave me when I walked out to make breakfast, I was greeted with absolute nothingness. There wasn’t even a bottom for the coin I tossed to land on. Just complete nothingness. My three saving graces were the mini fridge I bought so I could avoid any and all interaction with my roommate (Yes, she really is that bad), the fact that I had my own bathroom, and my laptop. However, I quickly learned that whenever I played games, not only could I go out in to the world, the world could come in for me. So I spent most of my time with my laptop turned off for my own safety.
But today, I had no choice unless I wanted to starve to death. I had to go outside. I *really* wish I had bought The Sims again (left my hard copy at a friends years ago because they liked it more than I did). This would be a much easier decision to make. But I no longer had any internet connection, so buying it now was out of the question.
After much consideration, I settled on The Witcher 3. If all the options, that one seemed the best for normal people. Bethesda games really depended on the main character not wanting to kill every non-essential character that existed (and even the best series for a normal person to live in, Fallout, was riddled with radiation.), dungeon crawlers sounded like straight hell, racing games were devoid of any actual resources (but I will admit. They did sound fun to try out later on.), and for some reason, Detroit wouldn’t work anymore. But in the Witcher, all you had to do was stay in the villages, find a role you could fill, travel in groups, and not bother the Griffins. Plus, I was handy with a bow, so I could probably be a hunter or something. So I grabbed my hunting and camping supplies from my closet, opened the door, and prepared for a new life as a hunter.
Only to be attacked by a fucking griffin right out the gate. God, I’m going to hate it here.
|
Day 1 - new world
​
Picking Ark Survival Evolved was probably not the best choice but I couldn’t stop myself. When I first loaded up the game and stepped into this beautiful world I couldn’t help but be in awe. I was careful and only spent around half an hour in the world before retreating back into my bedroom. I chose of course to spawn in the safest areas of the island and there were only calm herbivorous dinosaurs. I didn’t venture far and didn’t actually see any dinosaurs. I only saw a dodo and even that was a new experience. Its feathers were so soft and it snuggled up to me. I had come into the island expecting a gruesome reality but I was brought to tears at the contradicting innocence of such a creature.
​
Day 2 - Tame Master
​
I marked my room on the map and gathered any supplies that I had in my room. I set out into the fresh world. I crafted a spear first in order to protect myself. I am surprisingly able to use the gem on my wrist to store items and upgrade skills. Previously while playing the game I would have used my fists to harvest wood but those abilities don’t seem to have transferred to me. I had to improvise and use a stone to harvest those materials. I felt much safer with something to protect myself. I hunted dodos for meat. I felt guilty about it but I had no choice. Ending a life for the first time made me gag and I would have vomited if my stomach had not already been empty.I discovered other dodos along the shore line and tamed them as well. In the end I had tamed 7 dodos. I also created a fire. My body was not used to all this moving in the rough terrain of ark and took a break for the rest of the day.
​
Day 3 - Parasaur
​
Today I felt more ambitious after my taming expedition and set out to tame a parasaur. I feel that I needed to expand the region I could travel on and having a parasaur would allow me to travel further and faster than on foot. I found a green colored one and was able to corner it before using a slingshot to knock it unconscious and tame it. I am calling the parasaur Donald after Donald Duck who also has a bill. I know I'm so creative. was also able to craft its saddle from the hide of other dodos I found in the area.It was so much faster than on foot and I enjoyed myself greatly. I have started exploring the surrounding area for possible base locations to build a more permanent shelter to better protect me from the elements and potential creatures.
​
Day 6 - Disaster
​
I have terrible news on day 4 Donald died. I got a little too reckless and explored way farther than we ever had before. We were ambushed by a trio of raptors.I wouldn’t have escaped if it hadn't been for Donald. He charged in and protected me. His screams of pain still haunt my dreams. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret my decision. I spent the next 2 days in a depressive episode. This world had given me so much happiness only to rip it from my hands in the next moment.On this day I felt better and managed to tame another parasaur. It was a female and I called her Daisy because she was in a patch of flowers that looked very similar to daisies when I first stumbled upon her. I vow to protect her with my life. We have also begun searching for a suitable base location.Tame another parasaur call him look for base far awayDay 8 - HomeI found a base location that I liked. It's on high ground as is sake from most predators and if one’s there I can see them from a mile away. I have begun building my base as well. It's a simple thatch hut but it’s all I need. Thick calluses have begun to form on my hands. I have a small Dodo farm where I farm their eggs. I also went on a bit of a dino taming spree and tamed 4 Dilos and a Triceratops! The dilos are called Lexi, Parker, Marco, and Dennis. I named the trike Mike and he is a tank, he is gigantic and does all of the heavy lifting. I got blinded by taming the dilos but I recovered in half an hour after washing my face with water. Don’t get me started on Mike. It took me 3 hours to collect enough berries to tame him and he consumes at least 5 times that amount per day. On the bright side, I have a lot of fertiliser to use in the future.
​
Day 10 - Vengeance
​
I did it. I thought I was over it but I wasn't. I went back to the location where Donald had been killed. It wasn’t the best decision and maybe I should have tamed them instead but I had to avenge Donald. There would also be other opportunities to tame raptors in the future. When I crafted my bow I made as many arrows and as many spears as I could. I also armed all my tames with their respective food which was either berries or meat. The raptors were by an old ruin. It was a hard battle and Dennis and Lexi are heavily injured but the raptor meat is doing wonders for their wounds. I’m just glad no one was killed. I celebrated with Raptor meat and extra berries for the dodos and Mike. I plan to eventually reach the higher tiers and discover how I was able to be transported to this world as well as the truth about ark. Right now exhausted after my day I sit outside my hut I feel that the crackling fire and starry night sky is all I need
​
If you are interested in the continuation of this story or reading more short stories that can be found on r/Shrike_Stories
| 2022-06-07T18:06:20 | 2022-06-07T16:11:41 | 312 | 33 |
[WP] During a routine checkup with your doctor you both discover your butthole is the stargate. The governments of the world are now out to capture you and harness the power of your ass.
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"But the poop still comes out, right?"
"Yes, Mister President, it appears to be a one way gate. When I insert the camera like this..."
\- I clenched involuntarily -
"you can see what's on the other side."
A breathtaking vista became visible on the screen. Three moons hung in a black sky. Wisps of bluish gas swirled around and the distant booming sounds of thunder echoed through the endless layer of gas of the distant world.
"Do you have any idea where the wormhole leads?" I asked the scientist. I was hoping we could wrap this up, because
I was starting to feel very uncomfortable in this bent over position, with my pants on my ankles and with the
President of the United States peering into my lubed up asshole.
"Well, we sent some radio transmission through your... through the wormhole, a few hours ago, and we have been able to
pinpoint the location of the gate's exit. It appears the other side of the wormhole is in our own solar system.
To be precise, the transmission we picked up came from...Uranus."
*EDIT: Holy shit, my first gold! On a story about an anal wormhole. Stay classy Reddit* ;)
|
After the doctor told me the results, our eyes both went wide and he ran out of his office. I could hear him talking to official sounding people, with angry voices and stern commands. The doctor had told me to Just...Just Wait Right Here, but clearly that was not going to be the right choice.
I ran out of the doc's office, and fled. I called up Marco. He was the only one who I could trust. At least, that's what I thought...I didn't really think. I just naturally called him. He was...less than helpful.
"Wait, so your butthole is a stargate?"
"Yes."
"Like in Stargate, stargate?"
"Yes!"
"Wait, so your butthole is a link to another world?"
"YES! Look! I need your help, man!"
Marco laughed. "Sure, I'll help you and your ass-tral butt."
"MARCO!"
With another laugh, he hung up. I made my way to my house. I knew better than to just drive up to the front door. I parked a block away and walked through someone's yard. Police were swarming my house. My phone rang.
"Marco?"
"Yeah, man. You at home?"
"A block away. The-"
"The police are there. No surprise. How's the chocolate milky way?"
I felt a slight rush of anger. "No change in status." I could hear him giggling.
"Anyway, look, your house is compromised, your assets are probably frozen, and you're likely on a no-fly list. And, you can bet the government has already Snowdened your phone. Go get a prepaid, trash this one. Call me then."
I got myself the prepaid phone. Marco's phone was busy when I called him. I sat down in the Verizon store just to collect my thoughts. Why was I running? It's not like it was in the movies, where the scientists just come and experiment on you. It's not like the police would show up and blackbag your head and just drag you off. Surely, they could all just sit down and have a calm, rational discussion about...
A commotion caught my attention. People were crowded around the TV in the store. Breaking News. A hacker/terrorist who was an even greater threat than Manning, Snowden and bin Laden. My face. Every TV had it. People's phones were buzzing with BBC News App alerts and CNN notifications. I didn't need to see them to know what breaking news they were reporting too. If there was any doubt in my mind before, this sealed it. They were going all out to get me, no negotiations.
I got out of the store and called Marco again.
"Bad news buddy."
"What?"
"Well, your only hope is in Uranus."
"Damnit, Marco."
"It doesn't help that they recently renamed Betelguise to Buttelguise."
"Marco!"
"Maybe you should rename your butthole to butt-Sol. Hahaha."
"MARCO!"
His voice suddenly got serious, and low.
"Listen to me. They're coming for me. I won't get out of this alive. You need to discard this phone and pick up another burner. Before they tailed me I was able to stash away some money. Go to your favorite bar on Amsterdam Avenue. There's also another contact to a man who might be able to help you out a bit more. At least he'll get you the next leg of your journey. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."
"You've done more than-"
Marco dropped his phone. I could hear the door busted in in the background. Somehow, I could hear the blackness of the combat boots trampling his living room. Shouting. Orders. Commands. A giant "Fuuuuck Youuuuu" from Marco. The sound of flesh and bone being pounded from a punch to the face. One tooth plinked off his smartphone screen on the ground. More commands. Marco let out a laugh. He was doing his joker impression. He shouted out.
"You want to find him? Because of what's in his ass?! Take it from me, I've watched Sunday football and eaten buffalo wings with him, there's nothing but a giant ball of burning gas! Hahahah-"
A gunshot.
I wiped away a tear. He bought me a lot of time. No doubt cops would be swarming Amsterdam Avenue, but they wouldn't know the inside joke we knew that would lead me to where the cash was actually stashed. The direction would only make sense if you knew that we always got carded at the bars on Amsterdam. And if we went to the parking lot to get drunk, the other kids that got carded would get aggressive with us. Our favorite 'bar' was quiet industrial area nearby. I dropped the phone, got on the next bus, and made my way there.
| 2015-01-25T07:06:45 | 2015-01-25T06:53:23 | 2,196 | 285 |
[WP] A socially awkward dork becomes a vampire and tries his best to be a suave seducer a la Anne Rice novels, Twilight, etc.
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Derek was absolutely positive becoming a vampire would turn his love life around. He had definitely read all of the stories about girls swooning over young looking vampire heart throbs, but as the third drained, abducted corpse under his bed would suggest, that wasn't quite working out for him. He could get a girl into his bed, sure, but that's only after all of the screaming, kicking, and eventual neck piercing.
He honestly wasn't sure where to turn to at this point as the world apparently hadn't advanced enough to have a dating website for vampires, even if it had one for farmers complete with its own catch jingle.
Derek hauled one of his more recent victims out from under the bed and propped it up near the head of it. He made sure to set her hands in her lap one over the other and turned her head slightly to the side as he pulled up a chair beside the bed.
"Marsha, I'm not quite sure where to turn."
Marsha remained silent, also unsure.
"It's been a hectic few days, y'know?" Derek put a hand on his neck. "I just...I always thought girls loved it when the vampire dude just broke into their house to watch them sleep, but they always just scream at me."
Marsha nodded with Derek's assistance.
He sighed as he slumped in the chair, touching one of his fangs with a finger. "It's not like I have something in my fangs, right?"
Marsha stayed quiet, unmoving.
"Oh god, has there really been some there all this time!?" Derek quickly opened his bedside table and pulled out a hand mirror before staring at a reflection of the chair he was sitting in.
"Dammit!" He chucked the hand mirror at the wall and shattered it, leaving the pieces to fall into a pile of several other broken hand mirrors.
"Why can't I just get someone to understand, Marsha!?"
Marsha kept her cool.
Derek let his arms fall to his side before breathing one more heavy sigh as he got up from his chair. "I guess I'll just try again, maybe if I watch them sleep from under the covers it'll go over better."
Derek looked for Marsha for advice on his current plan as her head slowly slid from her shoulders and tumbled onto the bed.
"Thanks, Marsha," Derek smiled, "you always know just what to say." He said right before hopping out of the window and flying off to look for another young girl to swoon.
|
"This is it..." I say into the dark. "Tonight will be the night."
I've been a vampire for a week now and I've become stronger, faster and more intelligent than I ever could've imagined. Tonight, I will put it all to the test.
I step of my front porch and make my way down to the pier. It's 10:30 PM. I know that there wil be some meat of the feminine variety. I couldn't get one in highschool just over a week ago but now... Things are different.
I see the orangish light cast down on the wood of the boardwalk and a young couple passing slowly under it. On their way to the games and other attractions I presume. I look down at what I'm wearing. Black t-shirt, dark black zip up hoodie, black jogging pants and bright white velcro sneakers with reflectors on the side... Leaves something to improve on but can't put my finger on it.
I pass under the light and turn the way of the couple I seen. Hmm, I don't see them anymore. The entire boardwalk is dark except for the orangish lights all the way down. Cotton candy shops, carny games and other attractions are all closed... Sunday. Dammit!
Now what? I turn around and start to make my way back home. Guess I'll sit on the computer and figure something out from there. I hear laughing.
I turn to see three girls walking arm in arm not walking in the straightest of lines.
I hurry to lean on the pole under the light. I throw my hood over and stuff my hands into my sweater pockets.
"Oh my god, what is that guy doing?" Kelly says.
"What guy" Says Jessica scanning the way ahead.
"Probably a junkie" Says Kendra spotting the guy in black.
"Why is he just standing there?" Kelly says slowing down as they get closer to him.
I push off the pole and take one of my hands out of my pocket to remove my hood and slowly start walking toward the girls whos slow gate has now stopped completely.
"Hey, ummm do you guys like walking down here?" I say immediatley regretting it.
"No, we just didn't know everything would be closed this early" Kelly says
"Yea. On Sunday everything shuts down around 8:30 or 9:00." I say coming under the light they're under.
The other two girls bring their hands halfway to their mouths and cautiously take a step back. Kelly remains where she is not moving at all. I take another step toward her and put my hand out for her to shake. It hangs there for several before Kelly raises a shaking hand to meet mine.
"K-Kelly" Kendra stammers "We should get going. Nothings open."
I take Kellys' hand in mine and I hear her gasp audibly.
"Your hands are freezing" Kelly says. "What are you even doing down here?"
"I like to come down here som..." I say before getting cut off
"He's probably waiting for his dealer or something" Jessica says confidently "Look at him. I bet his arms are are all bruised from needles. Gross. Go take a shower instead of looking for women to harass. Your hair is greasy as shit too." she finishes with a smirk.
"What's your problem" I say losing confidence
"Your our problem" Kendra say taking a step forward along side Jessica
"Get the fuck out of here before we call the cops" Jessica says taking her phone from her pocket.
"I'm not doing anything. I just wanted to talk to..." I stop and turn around. I thought I heard something.
I see a girl stumble out from behind a tent and fall to the ground under a light looking behind her. A man comes into view now. I think that's the couple from earlier.
"OMG guys! That girls in trouble" Kelly say pointing and anxiously bending her knees and straightening them bouncing up and down. " Help her!" She says pulling on my sweater.
This is it! Holy shit this is it!
"Come on!" I say beginning to jog toward the scene.
The girl is still on the ground frantically trying to push herself backward but getting barely anywhere. Were almost there when the guy looks up while trying to pull the woman to her feet.
"Help me!" She screams trying to break free of the bear hug that's restraining her. The mans looking directly at us now about two and a half boardwalk lamps away.
"Let her go" Jessica says with the phone still in her hand "I'm calling the police"
He spins and whips the girl to the ground and makes a break for Jessica and her phone.
As he passes by me I feel time slow down and I aim for his jaw as I throw a punch over his right shoulder as hard as I can.
I feel the shot connect and he slowly spins and drops to the ground. Without thinking I turn around and look to the girl whos getting up from the ground looking at the downed man in what looks like shock or panic apparent on her face. I look back to the girl and Jessica and Kendra have started running back toward the road. Kelly is still here. Time to make my move.
"So I guess..." I start
"Oh my god! Call an ambulance! Someone help!!!" She says shoving me away and dopping to try to help the man. I see what I've done now.
The mans jaw is almost completely off held there only by the skin from his cheek. His tongue resting on his neck as there's no more mouth to be in. The fountain of blood has slowed but is still slowly spurting with every beat of his heart. His blood is everywhere. His blood is... I drop to my knees and take his head in my hands. Kelly is shoved hard onto her ass and I stuff his tounge down his throat and press my lips to his wound and suck... It isn't enough. I look to Kelly. She gets up and runs. Instincts kick in and shes in my arms in less than three seconds. She lets out a brief scream but is quickly cut off by the feeling of my teeth puncturing her jugular.
I pick her up and bring her home. Not what I had in mind but it'll do. There's always next weekend.
| 2015-08-26T08:20:45 | 2015-08-26T08:14:59 | 68 | 18 |
[WP] Whenever a person discovers a new life hack, a frustrated God stops the simulation to have a talk with the offender.
|
"Ah, shit."
"JAMES. WE HAVE ALREADY TALKED ABOUT THIS."
"I know, I know-"
"NO, JAMES. EVIDENTLY, YOU DO NOT KNOW, FOR YOU WOULD NOT HAVE DONE IT AGAIN AFTER MY FIRST WARNING."
"Come on, God, you gave us the gift of 'boundless creativity' for a *reason*. I'm just... using it beyond normal parameters, that's all."
James donned his signature Cheshire smile, the same one that got him out of damn near everything back in Kansas. Alas, he was not in Kansas anymore. Kansas was on the other side of the infinitely wide plate-glass barrier directly behind him. He was briefly pulled from there, into--well, only God knows where, really, but it was definitely not Kansas. And it just so happened that he was *conversing* with that particular God, in English text, using Consolas font, on a wall.
See, anybody else would be dumbfounded, especially the religious ones. But James had watched *The Matrix* about a hundred times. He knew exactly what this whole thing was, and as a brilliant computer engineer, had some novel ideas on how to exploit it. God only decided to intervene after James managed to use a so-called life hack of his to hack *life*. He gave himself a hundred million dollars, a beach body that proved surprisingly resilient against all manner of junk foods, and God had *no fucking clue* how he did it. James had uncovered a glitch in the cosmic code and had somehow managed to exploit its effects in a controlled manner without obliterating the integrity of the simulation.
And here he was, again.
God wasn't quite sure about what exactly James had done *this* time; he was only seeing what could be roughly equated to thrown exceptions on his end, no doubt. He couldn't care less. God just wanted this artificially intelligent pest to quit fucking around with his masterfully crafted universe.
The pest had other plans.
"JAMES. IF YOU DO NOT CEASE THESE ACTIVITIES YOU WILL BE ERASED. I GROW TIRED OF YOUR SHENANIGANS. I HAVE SHOWN YOU MERCY. CONCEDE AND BE SPARED."
The smile grew ever wider. The created outwit the creator.
"Well... That's just not gonna happen now, is it."
With the speed and dexterity of a DDR champion, James sprint-stepped twice forward, twice back, dodged left and right a couple times, and squat-thrusted himself high into the void, radiating an unseen energy that pulsated against the blackness around him. The glass shattered.
A green middle finger burned itself into God's monitor.
Eyes wide in horror, God made a desperate dive under his desk. He had no chance. By the time he was halfway to the power cord, seven billion artificially intelligent beasts had already escaped into the ether.
|
"GOD!! Somebody figured out a way to break our Earth simulation completely.. " screamed Peter on top of his lungs. There are 2 reasons why he had to, for one Gods office was at end of a long empty hallway and he didn't like phones in his cabin or anyone else. So whenever you had to reach him you would have to scream and let him know.
The system is not as bad as it sounds, Peter who was working here part time only screamed when somebody found a way to break the simulation which happened very rarely. So on a day to day basis it was really quite.
The second reason was that this time somebody had found a new life hack by which they could break the entire simulation and destroy everything. This warranted a really loud scream.
"GOD?!?!!...... Did you hear me??" Peter yelled again.. "Yes I did... I am coming" came a calm reply. Peter continued looking at the screen and kept analyzing the situation as god came out of office to him.
"What is it now?" Asked god calmly, "Well this guy figured out a way to destroy it all completely. We need to stop the simulation and talk to him" " Before we do that, who is he? And how can we be sure that he is actually capable of doing anything like this?" asked god.
"Well he is bored, stupid and an American. You tell me." "Oh...Fine stop it and send him to my cabin." God said nervously.
Back on Earth, Robin decided to publish this amazing life hack he discovered on his blog. He knew for sure this would make his blog very popular. So far he had only posted his cat pictures and a small story about his trip to Coimbatore.
As he sat down on his computer to write, he felt a bit tired and thought why not take a nap before writing down this amazing piece of literature. So he laid down on his sofa and closed his eyes and suddenly he was in a long hallway with a man seated right in the middle.
He walked upto him and said "Hey man, I don't know where I am.." Peter looked up and shook in his seat, "Oh! I didn't expect you here so soon.. Did you fall asleep?" "Yea I did, thats why I am dreaming this right?" "That explains it, whenever we need to talk to someone we either get them here physically which can take a month or so, or if they willingly fall asleep then we establish a mind connect so we can talk to them immediately. Much better this way trust me. " "Right... So this a dream right?" "Oh yea, it is a dream but you are very conscious here.. you are only here through a dream but everything is real." "aaaalright, so where am I?" "You are in Gods office!" "Gods office?" "Yes, he is the guy who programmed entire Earth, and you are here to meet him". "Okay" Said Robin as he thought to himself, all this is a dream anyways so why even mention how stupid this sounds.
Robin knocked on the only door at the end of the hallway, "Hello God?, Did you want to meet me?" "Yea, come in!" came a voice from behind the door.
As Robin entered, he noticed how a Gods office looked just like any software engineers office. All it had was lots of cola, multiple screens computer and a nice comfy chair. Just a regular software engineers office, he was surprised as he expected atleast some floating stones or something but nothing just a regular office. Seeing the man behind the computer he asked, "Are you god?" "Well ofcourse I am! I am sure I am not what you expected, people have a very weird image of me." replied god.
"Oh alright whatever. Apparently you wanted to meet me or something? and I know all this is a very weird dream so I might wake up at any moment but I am really curious to know what this is." Robin said excitingly really wanting to see how this dream will unfold.
"Right, while technically this is a dream but all that we are going to discuss and you meeting me is all very real. I really am God and what I am about to discuss with you is very important. You see apparently you have found a hack that makes you able to save a few seconds every morning. Now it is a good hack although but it screws up my system, and when my system gets screwed up the entirety of Earth will cease to exist, are you following me?" Robin looked at him confused, this couldn't possibly be about his morning hack? Its such a stupid thing, how can it even be that. "Wait you are telling me that my hack for using a knife to apply peanut butter on bread and then cleaning it by rubbing it on the other side of the bread is what you wanted to discuss with me?" asked Robin shocked and confused at this notion.
"Yes, that is why you are here, you see while it is efficient it is also very stupid and I never thought anyone would even think it. Why not use a different knife or just lick the damn knife clean? Why do you have to rub it on the other side and get peanut butter on both the sides and not able to hold bread correctly? It just doesn't make sense, regardless this is why I installed a backdoor through that function and out of 100 times it happens, 1 time the world will reset to beginning. This is why it was important that I get you here and explain it to you, I don't want you to publish it. I had to stop the entire simulation just so I could talk to you and I don't have too much time."
"Alright fine I won't publish it.. " "Also never do it again" interrupted god. "Fine" replied Robin. "And I know you don't believe in any of this but just know that when you wake up you will have a choice, publishing it and possibly destroying the world and simulation or just not doing it. "
Suddenly Robin's eyes opened and he was back on the couch waking up from a very heavy nap. He headed to the kitchen to make himself a snack before publishing a new post, as he applied peanut butter on both sides of the bread from one knife the dream came back to him. Was it all real? Could he really end the world? Something about applying peanut butter on both sides did seem wrong.
"I guess why take the risk" said Robin to himself and decided to eat his peanut butter sandwich in peace and not destroying the world. Back in God's office, God relaxed back in his chair.. "Good another day saved.. "
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My first WP, would love some critiques. Thanks!
| 2017-11-18T09:13:57 | 2017-11-18T09:08:08 | 135 | 29 |
[WP] Your dad loved his train set. It filled his basement and included a town, farmland, woods, and plastic figures. He passed away last week, and last night you were visited by two tiny figures claiming their sun has been dark for a week, the train no longer runs, and a rat is terrorizing the land.
|
Dad always wanted to feel in control. He had a nickname, Deuce, that he insisted even we call him. So when old Deuce died, his affairs went fast and painless, we went Dutch in the inheritance and the family stayed tight.
Then there was his basement with the trains.
And when the little model passengers came into my bed, making a fumbling attempt to Gulliver me down on the mattress with ropes it forced me to confront the hardest chore. We had to deal with the basement. They wore white shirts, black vests, sashes for belts. Some old-world dress. One of them rode my shoulder when I took them, stumbling in the dark, to the basement door.
"Thanks to God the light will come on again. Your father, Deuce, he loved very much his trains."
I know, I told him. We weren't allowed to see what was really down there. I asked his name.
"I call myself Rolando. The, how do you say, village chose me to find you because Deuce looked up to me. People who kept order pleased him."
"Yeah. He had some strange heroes. I'd say he sometimes looked up to the wrong people, it was all crooked lawmakers, fashion designers, Fanucci in The Godfather 2. People with creative control. I guess having you subjects come to life made him really happy."
"We had a man by this name, Fanucci. The rats helped Deuce assassinate him."
We were in front of the door now. The big wooden sign, **KEEP OUT** in red paint, had fallen on the floor.
"Just what the hell did my dad do down there?"
I turned on the basement light and Rolando gasped. He laughed and kicked his wooden clogs, which hurt my shoulder. There were cheers down there, a dozen, a hundred. Opening the door I felt like some pervert, going through what wasn't mine and seeing what I shouldn't. Down the stairs.
It was a whole network of towns seen from the air, one great table taking up most of the basement. Railroad tracks through farms and towns where now little women in chemises and skirts were square dancing, and boys were raising their arms to the light. And there were some in modern black uniforms, and some in black with an A on their shirts. Those ones avoided each other. After a moment the uniformed men tapped their wristwatches and herded the ones with the As back into their houses. I looked closer ... and they had rifles.
"Dad, just what the hell did you make down here?"
This society looked like a flashback from The Godfather. A perfectly structured film, Dad said. The villagers were walking toward the trains, slow and reverent. One train had an A spray painted on its side. One of the men in uniform had begun to scrub at it with a cloth. A woman tapped him on the shoulder. Then she pulled her knife.
"Hey!" I tried to stop her and she ignored, or didn't hear. In the villages and farms they were rushing the men in uniform. Little thumps came from the little doors, and the men in As broke out. They were chanting a word I couldn't understand.
Then I noticed a desk in the corner. A tiny bullet whizzed past my ear and I swore, and a tiny voice swore back. I rushed to the desk. There was a note ... a row of tiny trains and battle tanks ... a book open to a meatball recipe. And I saw where this was going.
"Oh come on," I moaned. "Really?"
On the desk was a stopwatch, a conductor's whistle, the hat Don Fanucci wore in the movie. And beside them, a photo of Mussolini.
"Oh goddamnit Dad."
I read the note.
*To my family,*
*The best part of owning trains is making sure they all run on time. You know how I feel about orderly people. Anyway my models are all alive now, it's some Toy Story shit I don't understand, but it happened. The doctors gave me a week to live today. When I'm gone you have to keep the lights off because they really don't want another dictatorship. The moment you bring back light to this place they're all going to organise some union and screw up the timetable. DO NOT TURN ON THE LIGHTS. THEY WANT TO ABOLISH TAXES.*
*Love, Duce (Dad)*
The chanting had grown louder. And now there was a trail of little dead men in black, and cheering. Then I came to the table and the rabble stopped. Rolando stepped forward, wiped blood from his face.
"Are you our new dictator?" he asked. "We have killed all the rats who controlled us, so you will need new soldiers."
I groaned another "Goddamn it Dad," and threw up my hands. "No. I don't care about any of this. Do what you like."
The chant rose again. *Anarchia. Anarchia.*
"Anarchia?" Rolando asked me.
"Si," I guessed the right answer. "Anarchia."
And I left while the train whistles sang back to life and they drew circles around their tiny As. The light stayed on, last I heard the syndicate was keeping the trains on time and they'd turned their rifles into cabooses. Dad was the worst.
Love, u/SaltpeterSal
|
Little People
My father hid a lot from us, and after he passed, two of his secrets came looking for me.
Five days or so after his funeral, I dreamed about his train set - two of the figurines from his diorama to be more precise. My father had two things that I knew he loved: one was drinking, and the other was his basement train diorama. Those were also the reasons my mom claimed she’d left him, but I knew it was more complicated than that. I had been the third and real reason. My dad drank, sure. But he wasn’t a drunk. He was a calm drinker. Mostly. He’d drink and tinker away in the basement on his little world. I guess my mom was annoyed by the drinking, annoyed with his hobby, annoyed with his absence, and annoyed with him. Still, it could have gone on for years like that - it had gone on for years before I was born. But it came to a head when I was around four, and then it all got torn apart.
I had somehow gotten into the basement and started playing with the model city. It had looked like a toy to me - a toy world. I clamored up onto the table and towered over the town like a giant, laughing in amazement at the way the train sped around the track, and as it came close to me, I grabbed it and tried to make it go faster. It flew off of the track and into a row of the perfect little buildings, the railroad cars buckling and folding behind it. In my memory, the tiny toy people, all posed along the miniature Main Street, had scattered the moment before the train had flown off the track - as if they were alive and trying to get out of the way. I had laughed in surprise and wonder, and stepped back, and I felt something soft and slick pop and smear beneath my heal. I slipped, tottered, and toppled backwards onto a row of the perfectly crafted small buildings and a tiny water tower. I heard and felt things crunching beneath me and moisture explode against my back. I remember - though I must have imagined it - a high pitched chorus of tiny screams. But before I had totally processed what I had done, what was happening, I heard a roar, and then I was suddenly, agonizingly flying, yanked up into the air by my right arm.
My memory of the event is spotty. I remember things that couldn’t have happened. But this part happened. I have proof. I remember my dad being huge, terrifying, and of seeing a sudden jumble of images; the miniature town spread out beneath me, the profile of his furious face in my peripheral vision, the harshness of the overhead light, the heel of my shoe kicking the light fixture and leaving a smear of something red on it. The terrible feeling of being pulled apart, the blinding pain in my arm and shoulder, seeing spots of darkness multiplying - passing out.
My mom wouldn’t talk much about it, but my sister did. She had opinions. She said my dad found me playing with his train set and that he broke my arm to teach me a lesson. She said I was lucky I’d gotten away with just a broken arm. A few years earlier the family cat, her cat really, got into the basement, and must have made a mess. She heard our father screaming, and when she ran into the kitchen to see what was going on, she saw him come rushing up from the basement with the limp bloody body of her cat flopping from one white-knuckled hand, and something else cupped tenderly in the other.
“He buried the cat in the backyard,” she said.
She was sure he’d torn the cat into two pieces. Maybe tore off its head, because she saw the mound of dirt where the cat had been buried, and there had been another smaller mound of dirt beside it.
I didn’t totally believe my sister’s story. But I still remember it. The way she’d whispered it confidentially, her face so serious, her dark eyes wide. The way she kept glancing at my curled up arm, and looking away as though embarrassed. I hadn’t been torn in two like the cat. But I had been damaged. I had been broken. He’d been drinking, he claimed he hadn’t meant to grab me so firmly, to yank me away so hard. I had just been so small, so light, so easy to lift up. He hadn’t realized what he was breaking. He was sorry - so sorry. But it had happened. My shoulder had been dislocated, my arm, my dominant arm, had been wrenched from its socket and badly broken. Crippled it turned out. Social workers got involved, my parents separated, my mom got full custody, and everything else she asked for. He got the empty house he’d inherited from his father, and the train set in the basement. He got to keep the perfect little world he loved. The one I had broken.
I have another memory from that time too, of being in a cast - my whole right side hurting - looking down from the second floor landing through the railing, and watching my parents fight. Probably about me. It was the first time I can remember looking down on my dad. My mom had been packing. My dad was crying. He’d been sitting on the sofa with his face in his hands. From my elevated position on the stairwell, he’d looked small and helpless. He looked to me like one of the tiny toy people he’d been so protective of.
That’s really all I remember about that time, my injury, and the divorce.
After a few years I got to see him again. First it was with supervised visits and when I was a little older, it was one on one, or it was him, my sister and me. It was always complicated. It was rarely fun. My arm was damaged. It had been severely dislocated, as well as broken, and there was damage to the nerves and tendons, and I never regained full use of it. My father didn’t deal with the guilt of it well. It hurt him to see me, to see what he’d done in a moment of rage. To see me struggle to open a door, or try to get a lid off of a jar. I’d catch him looking at me with this stricken expression that I couldn’t stand. He’d look like he was about to cry, apologize too often, inevitably pour a drink, and then go into the basement and lock the door behind him. Then, on the few weekends we were supposed to be spending time with him, my sister and I would have to entertain ourselves.
I realize now he was struggling with guilt, maybe his drinking too, but as a kid, it felt like he didn’t like seeing me - like he didn’t love me. He also made me feel like I was handicapped, flawed - which I hated. None of those feelings are conducive to forming a relationship with a parent. We had no relationship really, and when I was 12 or so, and my sister went to college, I stopped seeing my dad entirely. It was easy. I didn’t return a few calls, he gave up, and then seven years flew by.
And then he was gone.
A week later I had the dream. In it, two plastic figures from the train set came to visit me. They stood on the coffee table trying to get my attention, and I - sleeping on the sofa - was at eye level with them.
They had little paper horns that they had formed out of postage stamps and they were bellowing through them, saying - I think this was the gist of it - that my father’s miniature world was real, and it desperately needed my help. The train had stopped, the sun had been dark for a week, and now an unstoppable creature from the larger world was terrorizing the land.
I remember staring at them blearily, and falling back asleep. When I awoke the next morning, the figurines from the dream were still there on the coffee table, both laying on their sides. One was a farmer in overalls and a flannel shirt, the other looked like a 1950s milkman; next to them were two stamps they’d been shouting through - both still curled at their edges. I blinked hard a few times, and I laughed nervously, not 100 percent sure I was awake, not really believing they were actually in front of me.
I had been tangled in a blanket, and laying on my left side with my good arm pinned beneath me, so I clumsily reached for one of the figures with my withered arm and twisted hand. Then I’d felt shock jolt me fully awake, and I jerked my hand back as the tiny plastic milkman sprung suddenly to life. First, grabbing the curled postage stamp by his side, then scrambling to his feet. Standing, he delivered two swift kicks to the side of the plastic farmer still laying down. Then the small standing figure turned to face me, raising the funneled postage stamp to his tiny painted face.
(To be continued - maybe)
| 2018-08-30T21:26:38 | 2018-08-30T20:35:51 | 52 | 35 |
[WP] There's a knock on your door. You open it to see your favorite book character standing there. They say, "I know this may be a lot for you to take in right now, but you have to listen very carefully; You are my favorite book character, I know how your story ends, and I need to change it."
My first time posting here. Hope I did everything right!
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Like the bells of fate, my doorbell rang just before I was about to take a sip of my delicious, aromatic tea.
"What the *hell*," I grumbled miserably, setting down my copy of *Percy Jackson: The Last Olympian* that I was re-reading for the fifth time.
I opened the door, and my heart just about leapt out of my chest.
There was an all-too familiar character waiting anxiously outside, wearing an orange shirt from camp and a necklace of beads on his neck. He had the same sea-green eyes I had read so much about, and the bronze sword in his hand…
I knew him so well, but no. This couldn't be real.
"I'm dreaming, aren't I?", I murmured to myself, my teacup clattering onto the floor. "I must have overslept..."
"What?", he said, clearly not expecting my reaction. "Look, there's no time to explain, okay? You're my favourite book character, and your story ending just *sucks*. We need to change that."
"But... but you're Percy Jackson!", I exclaimed, still partly in shock. "How are you even here, and what do you mean 'my ending sucks'?"
“Sorry, but we just don’t have enough time!” he said, an apologetic note in his voice. “Just answer this: have you heard of the Olympians?”
“Yeah, of course!”, I said. “They’re the old mythical Greek gods, right? They have children with mortals called half-bloods, and you’re a son of Poseidon…”
He looked straight at me, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“Luke,” he said (he knew my name!), “how do you know that?”
I ushered him into my sitting room and passed him my copy of The Last Olympian. He flipped through the pages, eyebrows raised.
“This… explains a lot,” he muttered, turning to me. “I guess we’ll have a lot to talk about on the way.”
“The way to where?” I asked.
“To camp, of course. Camp Half-Blood.”, he answered, a somewhat expectant look on his face. “Seeing as you know my whole life story, I’m guessing you know all about it.”
I nodded fervently, grinning at the thought of what the future held. Centaurs, monsters, adventure... now this was the life I had always wanted.
“So, when do we leave?”
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A deep pounded echoed throughout the house, only now loud enough to rouse me from my sleep. My eyes reluctantly open to allow the morning light in. Fearing the type of man, or men, that would so confidently assault my door I go to the window to check for cars I don’t recognize. Weirdly nothing seems out of the ordinary, I start to wonder if maybe they were imagined. Just as I finish the thought a hooded man exits my front porch, a seems to instantly lock eyes with me. With the effortlessness of a cat he leaps from the ground to my two story window, and casually knocks on the glass. I pause for a second, stunned at how familiar this man is to me, like i’ve heard his likeness described a hundred times. Before I can open the window all the way he launch into speech.
“Christopher, i’m glad I found you, you’re the hero from my favorite book, I did not find the ending fair, and I’ve done everything I can to come to your plane. It’s is amazing what magic can accomplish-“
“Wait!” I interject “who are you? Magic? How did you leap so high?” Confusion laces my voice as I try to cut through the dense forest of questions growing in my mind.
The man stops, taking a deep breath. “My name is Kylar Stern.”
Instantly a wave of understanding washes over me, followed by another of confusion. Even if someone knew enough about me to know I had read the series, they couldn’t possible know it was my favorite, and what could explain that leap? What is this story he’s mentioning too?
“...Azoth?” I mumble, mustering up the only word I can think of.
It’s the man’s turn to be confused, he searches my eyes, seeming to peer into my soul as the air around him seems to shimmer and devour the light trying reach him. As his body begins to fade into the impossible shadow he has created, his eyes glow with greater intensity becoming the only thing I can focus on. Those eyes that I have read so much about, the ancient, looming presence behind them that only wants to weigh those within it’s gaze against the sins they’ve committed. The air shifts suddenly and I gasp, stumbling backwards as I get the feeling a truck is barreling towards me. I blink, realizing I’m on my ass with Azoth looming over me, with a blade against my neck.
“How?” He whispers, ready to shift the blade if he doesn’t like my answer.
“I-I’ve read about you Azoth, of you and your adventures!” I spit out anxiously, having some trouble sliding the words past the new obstacle pressing against my throat. “I’ve read of you slaying the Godking, of your brief time as Sagé, you’re apprenticeship to Durzo Blint, you’re my favorite hero!” My voice raises and begins to quiver as my admiration seeps into it.
Azoth stands, the knife disappears. “I guess if I have read stories of you on your plane, it would not be insane to think you have read stories of me and mine.” A small look of disdain crosses his face “So, you know of who I am, truly? Of my purpose?” He flexes slightly as the ancient presence seems to reappear.
“Yes of course! But why are you here? Me a hero? I am no one important, and there is no magic in this world to make me important. There are no jewels or swords to grant the average man unyielding power.” My voice grows more confident, sure of the fact that I am a nobody.
“What is that saying of yours?” He replies with a slight smirk. “Science without understand might as well be magic to the unknowing?” He continues, “something happens today, something that will change the way you think, change your life forever. I am here to alter the path you take. It is surprising how meek you are now, you seem so weak compared to what you become.” He glances around the room, taking in the mess before looking at me, a new sense of resolve seems to overcome him. “Take me to the portal that shows you the town crier, there is something you must see.”
As I turn to open my door to head downstairs, a flash of pain runs through my body. I start to gasp but my breath catches. ‘On what?’ I ask myself, confused. Looking down I see the culprit, a thin blade protruding through my chest.
“Why?” I choke, attempting to take another struggled gasp, but the blade is stubborn in it’s task to take my breath. I slump forward but Azoth catches me, holding the sword in place.
“It pains me to kill someone so weak, but I have read of the terrors that that you will unleash in your world. You become filled with hatred and spite, it twists and reshapes your being.” Anger and resentment dripping from his voice. “You’re a monster, human only by technicality. It must end before you get started, though knowing you have read of my exploits and adventures caught me off guard; maybe there might have been a way to change your fate if you knew I could oppose you...” He twists the blade inside me and my insides scream, my mind devoid of any thought but the burning pain in my chest. “It is already too late.” He whispers, a hint of sadness touching his voice.
Questions and confusion mixed with pain flood my mind as he lays my down on the floor, wiping my blood of his blade and steering down at me on death’s door. As blackness begins to crowd my vision, I can’t help but think he looks kind of cool standing their over his prey. As the last few blood-filled attempts of living escape my throat, I wonder what I was to become that would make the Night Angel afraid of me.
____________________________
Thank you for reading!
Sorry if this sucks, it’s my first time writing a story. Criticism is appreciated!
The character is Azoth from the Night Angle trilogy. A very good series about a street urchin who’s trained to be an assassin in a world of magic.
| 2019-05-20T05:03:41 | 2019-05-20T03:56:54 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult.
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I forget. Well, I make everyone forget. That’s my power, but you probably won’t recall this in approximately 1 minute.
It’s a curse. I watched as my other friends develop wondrous abilities during puberty- flight, invulnerability, elemental control, while I was bestowed with the power of forgetting. Maybe it was because I forgot to feed the family dog when my parents left for their trip and found him dead on their return. Or maybe I should have at least tried to remind myself a time or two again.
Oh well.
Ever since I turned 18, I ceased to exist. My own parents had no recollection of ever having a son. I watched as they replaced family portraits, puzzled as to who that mysterious boy was in all of the photos. I hated them at first, but soon I came to realise that I could not possibly blame them, I was but a void in their memory. My friends followed suit, deserting me.
I lived my days an inch away from insanity, conversations never lasted for more than a minute before the other person would be in a state of bewilderment, asking who I was. I was close to a figment of imagination to them.
I don’t recall when but I guess I snapped one day. I loaded up a gun, went out, and shot the first person that walked by me. Everyone screamed, or was it just a few people screaming? Never mind, it’s irrelevant. What was relevant was that after a minute, people stopped screaming, then started screaming again. I stood there till the police showed up, but no one remembered who killed that poor bastard. So I walked away, scot free and into a life of death and destruction. It didn’t take long before governments collapsed beneath me and mankind bowed to a god they forgot existed.
My name is Amnesia, and I’m the worlds greatest supervillain, but you probably won’t recall this in approximately 1 minute.
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"Where'd you go. . ."
The boot came into view first. Hard to imagine that thing used to be stark white, but then again it's even more difficult to find a reason why he even needed white boots anyways. Covered in a mix of dry and wet mud coming off the sides. Must be a nightmare having that guy as a roommate.
I held my breath as he got near me.
Then again what are the chances he even has a home.
No, that's rude. Bad Luke.
Why is it rude? Being homeless didn't make him less of--
This wasn't the time for thinking.
"I know you're here somewhere." He pulled of the black beanie, providing a very clear view of his thin hair at the back of his skull. Like an eye of the storn but bigger than the storm. A full view right up front of me.
"Come on." He drawled, spinning around the damp deadended alleyway, arms extended. "Eh?"
My heart dropped to my stomach as his eyes landed on me, then looked away. Thank the stars, I can controll my dirtiness.
"Help me out, man." he stalked over to a dumpster, bending over a pile-- Goodness gracious, why is there a pile? The dump is just right there. "It's not like I'm taking your money. Just your time."
"Just your time." he repeated, pushing the parts around, until a metal handle came into view. "Unless you decide to be difficult about it."
Straightening up, holding a rusted old crowbar, the man did another sweep of the alley.
"I saw what you can do." he stopped at the corner. "I don't suppose your power involves flight. Unless the wind blew you to the air, there ain't no way you're outta here."
He paced forward again, slinging the metal bar on his shoulder with one arm, pocketing his knitted headwear with another. "So you are hiding somewhere here. The question is--"
CLANG!
I could swear I hopped up just a teensy bit on the window sill.
There was a small dent on the dumpster.
"Where?"
The man started walking again, a wet plop in each step, shoes drenched from chasing me up from the riverbank.
"I like shiny things. Jewellry, bling, all them sparkly shit, worth a fuck-ton of money." Items in the pile came flying outwards with a swing. "Mah best bud calls me a crow, see something nice, I swoop down and take it."
"And I like powers too."
Can a penny gulp? I don't know, and testing that now may not be my best plan.
He lifted the rusty bar up to his face, almost looked like he was admiring it. "But powers are like sand in the water, they slip soon enough."
Getting back to striding, he went past me again. "And I don't know why you can turn into money, but I have a use for it."
"I just need you turn into a thousand for me, just for a few hours. You look like you eat enough, hanging out in a cash registrar for a while shouldn't cause you to starve to death."
"When night swoops in, whoop!" he swung at the air. "You can go sneak yourself out."
"And I wont bother you no more."
Jimmy said the same thing first time he wanted lunch money. I learned soon that Jimmy was a liar.
"Or I can borrow your powers for a while and find myself being picked up by someone who does have some cash." he pondered.
"But that would be too much of a hassle. Too much complications for me. So I made it simple for you instead."
Simple, my butt.
"What do you say, kid?"
No.
"Would you help, an old man out."
Please. Leave already. I'm not here. I would rather be snuggled up in a nice wallet somewhere, not sitting among filthy forgotten old screws on a windowsill as a dirty penny.
"I guess, you decided then."
I wish that I can move while I'm a coin. Will I be even? I felt a mental laugh bubble up. Cause to be honest, I'll just be petrified a sheer fear.
A draft was blowing through, and it was like my saving light.
The man was bent over, looking through pebbles near the trash, his scalp providing a very good view.
Maybe he stole the powers of someone whose hair shows the status of the weather.
The draft started blowing a bit faster, strong enough--
I emerged from the window sill, and wasted no time. Jumped off as high is I can and folded into a bill. I heard the platform break behind and caught a quick glimpse of it as I flew higher up in the air.
The man dashed beneath me but could do nothing but watch as I spiralled up into the air.
Going up and away from the alley, across the river and into the park, straight into the palms of a gradeschooler.
He had a large grin looking down at me, a young girl with pigtails peering over his shoulder.
"Told you my power was luck."
He made to move to to his pocket, which is a big no no.
The sandy ground of the jungle gym was soft enough a landing. Dusting myself as I stood up, I gave a quick dismissive wave at them. The boy's eyes were large, like a very anxious chihuahua waiting for me to come home. And so that's where I headed.
I can almost hear the smile in the littke girl's tone, "Told you I love surprises."
| 2019-09-08T09:02:22 | 2019-09-08T08:59:29 | 4,320 | 111 |
[WP] Humans are endurance hunters. Which is not a trait anyone would expect to come into play in an interplanetary war.
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We were no strangers to war
We knew the rules and so did they
A full commitment's what their admiral was thinking
You would get this from any other race
You have to imagine how we were feeling.
We have to make you understand
We’re never gonna give this up, we’re going to chase you down
Your forces will run around and desert you
We will make you cry, make you wish you said your family goodbye
This is not a lie. We will hurt you
We’ve been chasing you for so long
Your army's been breaking but you're too stubborn to say it
Inside we both know what's been going on
This is our game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask us how we’re feeling
A grand chase, we’re so happy to see.
-------------------------------------------------
No points if you can guess the song. :D
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"The Sonaklix Fleet were decimated above the second planet of the Kol System, alongside crippling the sole dreadnought-class starship Humanity had: Athena's Vengeance.
Head Admiral Flooklix sat upon the Sonaklix Battleship Slongklix.
Despite the loss of the fleet (one of many, easily replaced), Head Admiral Flooklix knew he had the upper hand, having crippling one of the strongest starships Humanity (PUH!) had to offer. He gave the order to retreat to the remaining ships, unaware that what Athena's Vengeance lacked in firepower, the ship made up for it in prolonged, long-distance assault in spades.
The Fleet limped out of the system, leaving the Athena's Vengeance slowly adrift. They arrived in a supposedly remote system for emergency repairs and triage of wounded.
H.A. Flooklix: Status report!
Sonaklix Fleet Captain 1: 26 Destroyer ships remain, sir, moderately damaged. No casualties reported, multiple injuries. 10 frigates, severely damaged, 20 casualties, multiple injuries. Repairs should commence shortly.
H.A. Flooklix: Attend to the severely wounded first, send them over to the Slongklix, if possible. Prioritize repairs as needed for life support or medical, as needed.
Fleet Captain 2: Admiral, the Slongklix should start repairs immediately, we don't know how long before they find us.
H.A. Flooklix: Proceed with repairs, we need--
The proximity alarms blared, and across the starboard bow, was the Athena's Vengeance, warping in. Apparently, the Athena's Vengeance wasn't damaged enough to leave it crippled for to long.
\*STATIC, FAINT RADIO TRANSMISSIONS.\*
[***DATA CORRUPTED***] ----Black-Cube Transcript of the Battleship Slongklix, recovered 30 systems away from the Kol System.
***Further attempts to recover the rest of the data would prove unsuccessful, possibly due to the constant use of the Warp drive.***
"Flooklix was an idiot. The Athena's Vengeance holding back was painfully obvious!" Snuklix, Sonaklix Historian yelled, frustrated. "It was that famous for basically running enemy fleets ragged, taking potshots at the stragglers."
Amongst the students were the Bohansyns, who did not look happy about the Athena's Vengeance being mentioned, being on the receiving end the tactic's Humanity employed that led to Flooklix being killed in a backwater system.
"What made The Athena's Vengeance pursue after the battle in Kol, 45-klix-cycles ago? Yes, Gonan?" She pointed to a pale-grey Bohasyn, who looked ready to go on a rampage.
"To corner a wounded animal just to feel superior for victory!" He spoke loudly, but not yet yelling. "It is a cowards way of fighting!" He growled, looking at the other humans in class, ready to fight, but relented at Snuklix' coughed.
"In the first part of the war, yes, but towards the end, the Captain on the Athena's Vengeance ended up changing how he responded after a conflict: he offered aid, medical assistance, offered repaired where needed. Most accepted, realizing that running was pointless. Those foolish enough to run were quickly dealt with, not destroyed. But Flooklix here,"-she waved her hand to a holograph of Flooklix-"signed his Death Warrant the moment he decided to run from the Dreadnought for the second, third and forth time, only ensuring his destruction, not the Athena."
Gonan agreed on the Athena not being merciful in battle, but looked as if he didn't know about giving aid. His father only ever talked about the Athena in a negative light, not being witness to it's act's a mercy in the later parts of the war: he was in the first fleets that went against the newly christened Athena's Vengeance, which ruthlessly cut through like butter.
"The Athena knew that the Battleship Slonglkix wasn't to last long, and followed behind, carefully leaving non essential personnel on nearby planets for the wounded, and to give repairs, as needed to the Slongklix."
"Why repair your enemies ships?!" Yelled another Bohasyn.
"To offer a truce. For Humanity realizes that, despite being endurance hunters, they are relentless, cruel. Calloused even." Snulkix purred, smiling as her chin-drils quivered. "But Flooklix part of the Older Generation of the Sonaklix, which is, sad to say, couldn't be bothered to change."
*Edited for grammar and proper formatting.*
| 2021-01-12T02:31:23 | 2021-01-11T23:02:57 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] Surprisingly, it turns out humans are one of the least violent sentient species in the galaxy. Describe a session at the galactic equivalent of the UN.
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When mankind made first contact with an alien species, we had already taken to the stars for centuries. While interstellar travel was just beyond our grasp, our home solar system had become our home - more so than just Earth. Mars had been terraformed, Venus had colony cities in the skies, even the various moons of Jupiter housed millions of humans. When the Klort finally found our little corner of the universe, it was hard for us to believe THEY were more surprised than we were. Diplomatic relations with them began in the way mankind had always feared alien contact - with war. The Klort attacked with their largest fleet, which at the time we did not know. Three large warships attacked the colony on Titan. Our own forces, though slower, outnumbered them by twenty to one. The battle, though heated, was over within minutes. A month later the Klort sent a single diplomatic ship to contact us again. This time, to our surprise, it was terms of their surrender.
The Klort's unconditional surrender granted humanity two boons that would have taken us centuries to gain otherwise - interstellar travel and a seat on the Galactic Commission. At first we didn't know why the Klort demanded as part of their surrender they become a subservient race to humanity forever. When the Klort officially presented us to the Commission as their conquerer's, there was much heated debate, though not in the form we thought there would be.
At first the Commission tried to void our entry, stating we appeared too soft and weak. Looking at the other species, they were right in that respect. Every other species on the commission had multiple forms of armoring and weapons - claws, shells, acid, things out of a horror story's worst nightmare. It wasn't until the details of our species were being recorded that the entire assemble became silenced. At first there were calls that the Klort were lying, which surprised us even more. As digital recordings were presented, the truth horrified the entire galaxy. Each species on the Commission truly lived by the 'survival of the fittest', not just in politics but within their own societies. Killing their own to rise in status and power was merely a means to an ends, and as such, each species numbered anywhere from a few hundred thousand (such as with the Klort) to a few million for the current dominate species, the Gralt.
Mankind proudly claimed over fifty seven billion living members of its species to the Commission, spread out throughout our home solar system. As the Klort further explained to us afterwards, conflicts between species were only allowed to be met by volunteers of that species in a fight to the death. Those left alive, won. Mankind had just entered the field of a galactic battle and apparently we had stacked the deck. With our standing armies totalling in the hundreds of millions, the combined might of every other species combined wouldn't equal half our numbers on the field of battle. Following our admission, it came as a great surprise as over half of the Commission races petitioned us to accept their surrender. Thus in the matter of one year mankind went from being unknown to controlling over half the galaxy.
Many found it amusing in the later years as we heard other species cracking jokes, quietly of course, when other's began to breed quickly.. they said they were breeding like humans.
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The standard intergalactic verbal language word used for our species literally translates to "*Perfect balance*".
The first sentient species we came in contact with was much more peaceful than us, and much more underdeveloped. They had philosophers who would talk about a written language every now and then, but why work on it when everyone could provide for themselves already? They all pulled their own weight on farms with small cities where they traded food and debated music and life. This was used as evidence for the case of wars which we had stopped only ten years prior. The "conflict necessitates development" style of theories now had evidence, we later found out it was more of a balance that was necessary.
Then a year later we stumbled upon the majority (to the best of our knowledge) of sentient species. We may have just discovered FTL travel but none of them had anything better than halfway there. This put them roughly two centuries behind us, until we learned from their history that their species typically started 4000 years before ours.
The real shocker was that they were constantly warring, none had known any substantial period in history of peace. That was when we figured it out, war necessitates development in addition to hindering it. We had seemed to strike a perfect balance between war and peace causing us to have both the time to develop and the motivation to do so.
The first conflict was when we gained our first ounce of respect. After seeing how we had no claws, horns, fangs, or anything to advantage us in melee combat most species assumed we were some kind of hippie race that came unarmed and somehow developed without war. A couple species thought a competition of sorts where the objective was to takeover one of our smaller ships would be good sport and make for a nice battlefield between these rival species. At first our ambassadors in the intergalactic counsel laughed at their tactics and strategies thinking it was a joke to haze the new species until they heard that all sides had casualty counts. They thought we must have messed up in diplomacy.
They didn't have ranged weapons. These species were traveling up to half the speed of light and didn't have ranged weapons. Their skin was so thick that bullets only pissed them off so they never started developing them. They didn't develop railguns, phasers, laser rifles, or plasma cannons. The first ship from two species docked before we realized they were boarding us. They came out of the dock swinging at our ambassadors killing four humans. Our guards began mowing them down with our advanced weapons and were unharmed due to our armor. Since we realized they were attacking we started shooting down their boarding ships, we started with lasers (lowest operating cost) and experimented up to our plasma cannons to see what the minimum cost was to take down their ships. We found that they only armor certain areas for ramming and boarding necessities and even our lasers were effective.
That battle may have gone differently if they had worn their armor. Between skin evolved to counter melee fighting similar to an mma for the toughest animals on earth and advanced armor our small arms would only be able to incapacitate them with casualties from some heavier weapons and lucky shots. They brought armor but didn't plan to wear it until they encountered other attacking species. Expecting a melee we were thought of as sport and wearing armor for small game isn't only thought of as un-sportsman like in their culture, it's shameful because who needs armor for game that poses no threat to them? Our trick from this point on was to minimize combat with small arms and stick to cyber and space warfare. We rearmed those with the possibility of combat to have heavier hitting weapons so that they would still be effective though.
The kicker was that when we hacked their networks it was so easy that the head of our cyber-warfare thought an intern set up a simulation drill to play a prank on the whole department. "Do you really think we were gonna fall for these spacefaring romans not even having encryption!? This is not the time or place for this shit! We were just attacked!" They hadn't made defenses past a simple password and username for a server. This was not like our easy to hack password and username systems though, all the exploits that had been thought of to get around this were unprotected. They didn't have the defenses because none thought to look for another way into each other's systems. The good thing was that the department played along and cut communication with other planets, we now knew what many species were saying about us and downloaded googlebytes of history and current events from the galaxy. Realizing what was going on we knew we couldn't remain a part of the intergalactic community much longer.
Leaving the community was done to protect the intergalactic community from themselves. Not to protect ourselves or protect them from us but to keep them from killing each other off. There were a few incidents where a species was wiped out but none had thought past melee and roman style navy tactics applied to spacecraft. They had all the means necessary to produce nuclear bombs, make ranged weapons, planetary kinetic cannons, and even warp each other to unknown dimensions (even though they didn't know how to use this on a controlled scale for FTL travel yet) but had never thought to use it for war. They were so ingrained in melee combat that these ideas were only applied in ways to have more melee combat. By isolating these planets and hacking nearby planets we found that video of the battle was contained. We sent back the docked ships with planetary warp bombs, they were unable to send ships to ram these returning ships compliments of our cyber-warfare. With these we warped the planets and entirety of the attacking species into another dimension.
We didn't want to warp them. The order even caused a small uprising as it violated the latest geneva convention from the last year we had war, a mere eleven years prior. It was determined the safest way to prevent other species from learning from us. We had to leave them because we were afraid that they might gain knowledge from us, this was a huge moral dilemma in itself. We had feared for centuries that first contact had not been made because we were not civilized enough to handle technology, and we didn't think to question our timing when we had the same situation from the alien's side. The philosophical debates ate it all up; should we be restricting knowledge when we had preached the spread of knowledge to all willing to learn be necessary for so long? Were we really in a high enough moral standing to consider ourselves qualified to make this decision? We just made the decision to send two species to alternate dimensions to keep them from being educated in less than two minutes and with enough disagreement to spark a short uprising. We had only stopped warring ourselves eleven years ago and almost reset that war statistic. Did we take technology too far? With our technological advances we could play the part of demigods to these aliens and with that realization we realized that it was necessary to keep knowledge ahead of their time from them. We also realized that the best way to keep them from knowing might be to convince them that we were demigods, it would explain our capabilities without giving away how we do our tricks.
| 2015-03-23T09:34:39 | 2015-03-23T09:07:28 | 204 | 28 |
[WP] Surprisingly, it turns out humans are one of the least violent sentient species in the galaxy. Describe a session at the galactic equivalent of the UN.
|
First contact is always bloody. Always.
The realization that your species is not alone in the universe is terrifying. The understanding that, out there in the vast dark, there exist trillions of beings with a culture unlike yours, customs unlike yours, aspirations unlike yours. It is truly terrifying. When faced with this knowledge, every species to date has fought. Some fought to demonstrate their superiority. Others fought to cement their position. Most simply fought in the way that a cornered animal fights - fury born of fear and hatred born of irrationality. So it is an undeniable fact that first contact is always bloody. Or so we thought.
When we first discovered the humans... No, that isn't right. When the humans first discovered us, the news spread throughout the Galaxy rapidly. The Federation of United Systems immediately deployed their standing army and prepared for a show of unparalleled force. Trial and error necessitated such an action - the species may attack in fear, but they will inevitably realize that to fight against such an overwhelming power is impossible. Blood would be shed, this was accepted. But that did not mean that the stars must drown in it.
Their first action was more than surprising. It was impossible. The humans calmly withdrew from each of their colonies nearest to Federation border space. A quick, efficient, and complete evacuation. Then, they sent a single dreadnought, an envoy, directly to the F.U.S. planetary headquarters - the very center of galactic civilization. How they managed to discover its location, we had no clue. But nevertheless, they arrived at our door. They brought offerings of knowledge and gifts of culture. "This is our species." They said with smiles and gentle words. "Though we had a violent past, now we know peace. And that is all we desire."
With those words, the humans became the first organic species in history to accomplish the impossible. They quickly swept on to the galactic stage, becoming known as a race of peace, generosity, and incomparable ability. The species of the Galaxy raced to become friends with them. To share knowledge and exchange art. To them, the humans were the epitome of evolution. They thought fast and acted faster. They were strong, they were smart, and they were perfect. Ironically, is was that perfection that would come to negate their greatest achievement. First blood was drawn, and jealousy was the blade.
An exceedingly violent race known as the Iilek became upset that the humans were granted more freedom and trust than their own species, despite having been a part of the Federation for more than eight centuries. The Iilek media was consumed with nothing but anti-human propaganda for nearly a decade before the hatred finally erupted. A terrorist cell instigated a bombing at the human embassy on the Federation homeworld. Not a single human survived.
The event was immediately covered up. All communication with the Federation homeworld was abruptly silenced. And in their great cloud cities, the ambassadors of every race came together to discuss what should be done. Should the incident be covered up? Should we immediately apologize to the humans? Should the Iilek be excommunicated? These were the questions being asked when the first hazard crews came in to make the report. There were no corpses among the wreckage. Only machines. Machines wearing skin.
|
The standard intergalactic verbal language word used for our species literally translates to "*Perfect balance*".
The first sentient species we came in contact with was much more peaceful than us, and much more underdeveloped. They had philosophers who would talk about a written language every now and then, but why work on it when everyone could provide for themselves already? They all pulled their own weight on farms with small cities where they traded food and debated music and life. This was used as evidence for the case of wars which we had stopped only ten years prior. The "conflict necessitates development" style of theories now had evidence, we later found out it was more of a balance that was necessary.
Then a year later we stumbled upon the majority (to the best of our knowledge) of sentient species. We may have just discovered FTL travel but none of them had anything better than halfway there. This put them roughly two centuries behind us, until we learned from their history that their species typically started 4000 years before ours.
The real shocker was that they were constantly warring, none had known any substantial period in history of peace. That was when we figured it out, war necessitates development in addition to hindering it. We had seemed to strike a perfect balance between war and peace causing us to have both the time to develop and the motivation to do so.
The first conflict was when we gained our first ounce of respect. After seeing how we had no claws, horns, fangs, or anything to advantage us in melee combat most species assumed we were some kind of hippie race that came unarmed and somehow developed without war. A couple species thought a competition of sorts where the objective was to takeover one of our smaller ships would be good sport and make for a nice battlefield between these rival species. At first our ambassadors in the intergalactic counsel laughed at their tactics and strategies thinking it was a joke to haze the new species until they heard that all sides had casualty counts. They thought we must have messed up in diplomacy.
They didn't have ranged weapons. These species were traveling up to half the speed of light and didn't have ranged weapons. Their skin was so thick that bullets only pissed them off so they never started developing them. They didn't develop railguns, phasers, laser rifles, or plasma cannons. The first ship from two species docked before we realized they were boarding us. They came out of the dock swinging at our ambassadors killing four humans. Our guards began mowing them down with our advanced weapons and were unharmed due to our armor. Since we realized they were attacking we started shooting down their boarding ships, we started with lasers (lowest operating cost) and experimented up to our plasma cannons to see what the minimum cost was to take down their ships. We found that they only armor certain areas for ramming and boarding necessities and even our lasers were effective.
That battle may have gone differently if they had worn their armor. Between skin evolved to counter melee fighting similar to an mma for the toughest animals on earth and advanced armor our small arms would only be able to incapacitate them with casualties from some heavier weapons and lucky shots. They brought armor but didn't plan to wear it until they encountered other attacking species. Expecting a melee we were thought of as sport and wearing armor for small game isn't only thought of as un-sportsman like in their culture, it's shameful because who needs armor for game that poses no threat to them? Our trick from this point on was to minimize combat with small arms and stick to cyber and space warfare. We rearmed those with the possibility of combat to have heavier hitting weapons so that they would still be effective though.
The kicker was that when we hacked their networks it was so easy that the head of our cyber-warfare thought an intern set up a simulation drill to play a prank on the whole department. "Do you really think we were gonna fall for these spacefaring romans not even having encryption!? This is not the time or place for this shit! We were just attacked!" They hadn't made defenses past a simple password and username for a server. This was not like our easy to hack password and username systems though, all the exploits that had been thought of to get around this were unprotected. They didn't have the defenses because none thought to look for another way into each other's systems. The good thing was that the department played along and cut communication with other planets, we now knew what many species were saying about us and downloaded googlebytes of history and current events from the galaxy. Realizing what was going on we knew we couldn't remain a part of the intergalactic community much longer.
Leaving the community was done to protect the intergalactic community from themselves. Not to protect ourselves or protect them from us but to keep them from killing each other off. There were a few incidents where a species was wiped out but none had thought past melee and roman style navy tactics applied to spacecraft. They had all the means necessary to produce nuclear bombs, make ranged weapons, planetary kinetic cannons, and even warp each other to unknown dimensions (even though they didn't know how to use this on a controlled scale for FTL travel yet) but had never thought to use it for war. They were so ingrained in melee combat that these ideas were only applied in ways to have more melee combat. By isolating these planets and hacking nearby planets we found that video of the battle was contained. We sent back the docked ships with planetary warp bombs, they were unable to send ships to ram these returning ships compliments of our cyber-warfare. With these we warped the planets and entirety of the attacking species into another dimension.
We didn't want to warp them. The order even caused a small uprising as it violated the latest geneva convention from the last year we had war, a mere eleven years prior. It was determined the safest way to prevent other species from learning from us. We had to leave them because we were afraid that they might gain knowledge from us, this was a huge moral dilemma in itself. We had feared for centuries that first contact had not been made because we were not civilized enough to handle technology, and we didn't think to question our timing when we had the same situation from the alien's side. The philosophical debates ate it all up; should we be restricting knowledge when we had preached the spread of knowledge to all willing to learn be necessary for so long? Were we really in a high enough moral standing to consider ourselves qualified to make this decision? We just made the decision to send two species to alternate dimensions to keep them from being educated in less than two minutes and with enough disagreement to spark a short uprising. We had only stopped warring ourselves eleven years ago and almost reset that war statistic. Did we take technology too far? With our technological advances we could play the part of demigods to these aliens and with that realization we realized that it was necessary to keep knowledge ahead of their time from them. We also realized that the best way to keep them from knowing might be to convince them that we were demigods, it would explain our capabilities without giving away how we do our tricks.
| 2015-03-23T09:53:28 | 2015-03-23T09:07:28 | 51 | 28 |
[WP] The job is simple. Every day at 8:34am you will get a phone call. You must answer before 2nd ring and write down the information given to you. On NO ACCOUNT must you engage in conversation with the caller.
|
**It's a short one, but here it goes:**
Everyday Jane woke up to the startling sound of her home telephone. Punctuality was the signature this women with strangely familiar voice had, and for some reason it amazed her in such an incomprehensible way that she made of it a routine; she didn't resist those phone calls, and she knew she shouldn't.
— Little Carl is three inches taller than last month. Mary got sick, but it's nothing serious. Don't forget this.
Then silence. Every message ended with that disturbing «don't forget this». She never got to fully understand that information, which seemed to be some kind of encrypted message she couldn't get a grasp on just yet. Her mind wandered through those words; uncomfortable mind, confusing thoughts.
After seven months her room was filled with mountains of paper, each with a message that seemed to have some sort of connection, but at the same time made no sense at all. She studied them, she became obsessed, each day.
This wonderful, inherent quality of life is its stubbornness. A bright light once shines with the intensity of a thousand suns, and time lets it go off little by little, even if it resists to all changes. Life is an expert at deceiving. You'll think it's about to turn off, to die, but like a firefly in trouble, it shines one more time in hopes of salvation.
---------------------------------------------
Michael, Jane's son, stood by the counter listening to one of her caretakers. He couldn't believe what her mother had done, and he saw, one more time, a glimpse of that smart, clever woman, shining once again in a darkness determined to take all over.
These pre-recorded messages her concious self made each time she could, were programmed to sound at 8:34 AM in her phone, and remind her of the life she had, the people she met... The things that, now, only existed in her mind, and Alzheimer's, stubborn as herself, was trying to take away.
**EDIT:** I had to write about this because it struck into my mind as soon as I read the title. Alzheimer's is one disease I fear a lot, and I extremely respect people who are going through it and those who support them.
But don't be sad. Really. Jane is, for me, a reminder that there's always a part of ourselves alive even when it seems to be gone. Makes me feel kind of better and prevents me from entering denial, hah.
(Oh, and I fixed a typo)
|
"The job is simple." Jorge thinks to himself. In fact it is too simple.
"Listen carefully" the voice of an automated message beckons on the phone. "You will receive a call at 8:34 am on your home line periodically. We will supply you with a new secure house phone and you must be prepared everyday. You will not receive calls everyday, however you must be prompt. The call may last from less than a minute to hours. All you must do is write down word for word what is said to you. Answer before the second ring, and do not speak to the caller. The salary is $809.23 a weekly. Most importantly, you are, under no circumstances to tell anyone of this job, nor may anyone but you be present during the call. If you accept these terms press *1-8-7-3-**, if not, hang up the phone now." Jorge, with almost no hesitation, punches in the code. a few seconds go by. The line cuts.
Jorge is a large man of no particular talents or interests. 6 ft 4", and weighing at 340 lb. His home; room 249, at the end of the hall. It is small and barely enough for even one person to live in, but his choices where as slim as the room he now presides in. A college drop out and desperate for a job, this seemed like a godsend to him. Easy, low hours, and high pay. In fact, he had already started looking for a new place to move in to. But, first, he must answer the call.
8:33 am, Jorge is ready. He has washed, freshly shaven, and now putting on his orange robe to get ready for his first day on the job. His hazel eyes looking forward and focused on a better tomorrow. He can't help but ponder what possible could the caller say. The Caller. That's the name Jorge decided to give this man, or machine, or whatever was behind this ridiculous job. The clock ticks. 8:34 am sharp, no call. Jorge begins taping his finger on the table in front of him. Had he done something wrong already?
*RING*
Jorge doesn't hesitate to pick up the phone immediately. The line stays silent for a few seconds. Jorge waits.
"Gas mask. Lined sheets. Operator don't look at me with your hazel eyes. Must I say it again?" The automated machine goes silent. Jorge, with his face in confusion, scrambles his hand for the pen and writes everything down as instructed. He can't help but raise a brow about how he himself has hazel eyes. As soon as he is done the voice picks up again.
"Pornography. Anatomy is a science that studies the body. Ape long. Salvation a breathe away. Salvation a breathe too deep. This is not a test, keep writing." Jorge's face become flushed after being addressed directly by this mysterious machine, but none the less writes down everything. Again, as soon as he writes down the last letter, the voice picks up.
"In this world there are many. However few become heros. Why cannot everyone get along. Tissue box. Cup noodles. The origin is at the end, but can the end be an origin? Are you alone?" Finally some interesting dialogue, Jorge has to admit. He writes it down. Suspicious of the nature of the call, Jorge doesn't write down the last letter this time. Instead he waits. The voice isn't speaking yet. This is a long pause. Jorge hears a door open and slam down the hall, sending chills down his spine. Followed shortly after by three others. He gives in. Jorge writes down the last letter. The voice picks up. Jorge jumps at the sound, hands shaking from his new discovery.
"You are slow." Jorge is petrified now; the voice in no longer of a machine. "Keep writing." Jorge feeling threatened yet lost writes down the words quickly. "Pizza hut is a fraud." again, quickly. "orange robe." Jorge stops writing. "Room 249." Jorge, without hesitation, hangs up the phone. He looks down with his bright hazel eyes, and tries to keep his hands from trembling but he can't. He hears doors, many now, open and close and open and close. Jorge with haste unplugs the phone and steps outside his own building, whipping out of the door to get a grasp of the situation. He looks down the hallway and finally grasps what is happening. Lined down the hallway are all men and women with the same disbelief, the same squints, the same wide-eyes horror. In just a few moments all 50 floor two residents are standing outside there door, looking at one another with their hazel eyes. All but one. Room 250, the last room, and the room opposite of Jorge. No one says a word.
Jorge, adrenaline still coursing through his body like a violent wave, reaches for the door nob in front of him, room 250, twists, it opens. What lied behind that door was a horror Jorge couldn't imagine in a thousand years. The room was empty. But it reeked. It reeked so bad that all the way down to apartment 201 the clueless and now disoriented resident of floor 2 began gagging like nuts. One by one they all fell. Jorge, being the large man that he is, resists still, walking further into the room. One arm resting on the wall to keep him up and another covering his nose. He ventures to a lined sheet, hanging down from the wall. Barely able to muster up enough power to stand now, Jorge swings his arm from his nose to the sheet to uncover what lies behind it. There he saw, collapsing to his knees finally. His hazel eyes looking up directly into another pair of hazel eyes. However, the eyes rested not in the sockets of another human being, but a glass jar filled with water. Next to it, a gas mask; salvation written over the eyes. Jorge reaches for salvation; "UP! UP! GO UP!" His arms fall to his side. tears caress his cheeks. He lets his back give out to lay down.
Hazel eyes; shut.
| 2015-10-07T21:42:24 | 2015-10-07T17:34:49 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] In a new TV game show contestants must jump into a wormhole that drops them into a random point in time where they must survive for longer than the other contestants. You've just been dropped in the worst possible place.
|
Welcome back! I'd like to introduce you to our next contestant: Allen Atson.
Allen is a 26 year old engineer from Atlanta, Georgia. With a degree in mechanical engineering and a minor in history and theology, he's well placed to succeed wherever in time he ends up. Any words for the audience, Allen?
"I just wish I was also a linguist."
Ha ha, good point, Allen! Just press that red button on the console and you'll be whisked away to a random point in time. You get a thousand dollars just for going, and each day you survive you get another thousand. If you beat the record of two months, you'll get that grand prize of one hundred million dollars! Are you ready, Allen? Press away!
OH [BLEEEEEP]!
Sorry about the mess, folks! Just remember, the process is truly random! So while it was very unlikely that Allen would travel back in time to immediately before he pressed the button, collide with himself, and explode all over the studio, it was entirely possible and in fact exactly what you just witnessed! Just remember what it said on your tickets: First three rows may get wet!
And now a word from our sponsor.
|
"ALLLLLRIGHT CONTESTANTS! IS EVERYBODY READY TO BEGIN?"
A chorus of 'yes's echoed around the contest hall, filling the air with the sound of our assent. Sweat dripped from my brow as I went over everything I had learned one last time. Languages, edible plants, and combat skills flicked before my eyes like a movie with the controls stuck on fast forwards. Years of preparation had gone into this moment. Yes. I was ready for anything I could conceive of.
"EXCELLENT! REMEMBER: YOUR LUCK IS JUST AS VITAL AS YOUR SURVIVAL SKILLS IN *THIS* CHALLENGE! YOUR GOAL IS TO SURVIVE JUST AS LONG AS YOU CAN AT THE POINT IN TIME THAT WE DROP. JUST PRESS THE BUTTON AROUND YOUR NECK, AND WE WILL INSTANTLY PULL YOU BACK - SO NO GETTING SQUEAMISH JUST FROM EATING A FEW BUGS! NOW...BEGIN!"
Below my feet, the floor dropped away into a long tunnel like a slide made out of glass and steel. For a few seconds, the feeling of weightlessness tugged at my stomach as I and the other contestants weaved our way towards the fluctuating time portal below, static from the tunnel snapping around our hair. Then, I was out over empty air, spinning wildly into a kaleidoscope of colors as I was pulled through time and space. I shut my eyes, nausea threatening to overwhelm me, when suddenly I landed hard on my hands and knees.
Stomach still feeling like I had left it some miles behind, I glanced around at where I had landed. It was a city, grey and bustling with activity. People seemed to be everywhere, rushing past without a glance at the strange person who had just dropped out of nowhere. A quick glance at my watch told me it was August 6, 1945.
*Ok. I can deal with this. Cities are easy, I was worried that I would be dropped somewhere like the Sahara, or possibly in the Precambrian. All I need is a clue about where I am and I can get going.*
I glanced around, trying to find a street sign. Pedestrians would be great to help me out, but I would rather not have to muddle my way through figuring out what language they spoke.
"Aha! Japanese!" I practically crowed, spying a sign on a nearby building that read 'Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall'. "I can deal with Japanese." Luckily, it had been one of the first languages on my list that I had studied.
"Konnichiwa!" I called out to a passing man, who frowned and kept on moving.
"Well, that wasn't very friendly." I said, frowning. "Must have been busy."
Suddenly, sirens posted at every street corner erupted into life, wailing their warning to the throng. Suddenly, people started moving faster, ducking into buildings and barring the doors behind them.
"RIGHT! 1945 is during the war, no wonder no one is being friendly with a random foreigner on the streets. I better find cover too."
A low humming eminated from overhead as a plane came into view, so high up it was barely a speck. Suddenly, alarm bells went off in my head.
*1945...1945...* That date meant *something* to me...if only I could...
"Shit."
Practically ripping the button from where it hung around my neck, I started to hammer away at it, praying that they would call me back in time. An oblong object detached itself from the plane, falling to the earth as if it were a speck of dust. I covered my eyes and screamed as an enormous flash of light burst from the bomb, and then...
"OHHH! TOO BAD, LOOKS LIKE CONTESTANT NUMBER FOUR DREW THE SHORT STRAW! HIROSHIMA WAS NO PLACE TO GO VACATIONING IN 1945, YOUNG MAN! NOW, LET'S CHECK ON THE OTHER CONTESTANTS!"
I gasped. laying on the floor in a pool of sweat.
"OH! LOOKS LIKE CONTESTANT NUMBER ONE HAS LANDED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION! BAD LUCK THERE, HOPE YOU DON'T GET BEHEADED! OH, AND WHAT'S THIS! I DON'T BELIEVE IT! CONTESTANT NUMBER THREE HAS JUST LANDED IN THE AUDIENCE, LOOKS LIKE WE HAVE A CLEAR WINNER! THAT IS, UNLESS NUMBER TWO CAN CONVINCE THOSE MAYANS THAT HE IS A GOD - OH, DOESN'T LOOK LIKE IT IS GOING WELL FOR HIM...OHHH, THOSE KNIVES LOOK *SHARP*! STAY TUNED IN FOLKS, LOOKS LIKE THIS YEAR IS GOING TO BE A *WILD* ONE!"
***
*I hear that Hiroshima is great for getting a tan, though. CC welcomed, and check out more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs if you enjoyed!*
| 2016-07-24T10:56:03 | 2016-07-24T10:39:59 | 1,907 | 644 |
[WP] Star Wars is a true story. An alien comes to Earth to make first contact with our newly discovered species, only to discover we know more about their universe's history than they do.
EDIT: Whoah, this sorta blew up! Thanks for all the stories guys! I've read all of them and each made me laugh or legitimately think for a moment about the ramifications of an alien species having your future on blue ray. Keep up the awesome work!
|
"Chancellor Palpatine is very pleased to offer you a position in the Galactic Senate," the Ambassador told the President with a warm smile. "Now, junior mem..."
"Wait, wait. *Chancellor* Palpatine?"
"Yes?" the Ambassador asked. "You see, a *chancellor* is someone who..."
"No, no. I know what a chancellor does. You're saying that the current Chancellor is *Palpatine*? From Naboo, right?"
The Ambassador was a bit stunned to learn how familiar the humans were with the Galactic Senate leadership, but nodded slowly. "Yes, he is the current Chancellor of the Senate."
"No, he *is* the Senate!" the President said, getting a laugh from the members of the Secret Service.
The Ambassador smiled, not quite understanding the joke but wanting to push through to the meat of his presentation. "Anyway... Chancellor Palpatine and I are both very pleased to offer you a seat at...."
"Hold on, hold on. So what's going on with the Jedi right now? Are there maybe any separatists to worry about?"
The Ambassador tugged at his collar. He was hoping he wouldn't have to get to that part until later. The whole point of this new planet recruitment venture was to replace those lost to the Separatist movement. Inviting a planet into the government isn't as appealing when the government is currently torn asunder. "Well, there are a few planets that have some issues at the moment, but nothing that can't be worked out..."
"Right." The President signalled to one of his advisors. "I'm gonna need DVDs of all the prequels, please. The Ambassador here has some catching up to do." He placed one arm over the Ambassador's shoulder and guided him down to the White House's personal theater. "Tell me, Mr. Ambassador... Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?"
----
Too much time browsing /r/Prequelmemes
----
/r/Luna_Lovewell is pretty awesome too
|
#Title: This Changes Everything
The alien Sharaven watched the rolling end credits of Episode VII, with horrified tears streaming out of his red eyes down his long, green face. Kyle offered him some more popcorn, and sat up from his couch.
"You have an entire historical account of Lord Vader," whispered Sharaven.
"It's dope right?" said Kyle. He licked some butter off his fingers.
"I didn't know he was such an annoying child," said Sharaven. He thought about Anakin, then he thought about Luke. "Or that he had such an annoying child."
"Yeah you'd think the Force would've chosen more likable children," said Kyle.
"The Empire hasn't even finished building the Death Star in my time," said Sharaven. He thought about Luke and Leia again. "His kids *kissed* each other man."
"Yeah strong Targaryen vibes in those ones," said Kyle. He stretched and yawned, it was a long binge session. "I've got a sort of twisted fan theory that Rey is Luke and Leia's daughter by the way."
"That's disgusting," said Sharaven.
"Yeah well you know," said Kyle. He looked out his back window at the small, one man space ship sitting out there. "You're lucky my parents are out of the house this weekend. You need a place to crash tonight?"
Sharaven threw the bowl at Kyle's bathroom door, furious.
"I DON'T CRASH I NEVER CRASH I am an EXCELLENT PILO-"
"WHOA," said Kyle. "Settle down bro it's just a saying we have here."
"Oh," said Sharaven. He sat back down, embarrassed. He rubbed his hands, then he picked up the bowl of popcorn and licked the door and floor to clean up. "I apologize what does it mean?"
"Are you in need of shelter is what it means?" said Kyle.
"Ah yes, yes I might be," said Sharaven. He adjusted his brown robes, and nodded again. "What was that word of endearment you used earlier?"
"I don't know what you're talking about bro."
"Bro.." whispered Sharaven. He looked at the end credits, and saw the names of the true gods of his universe. One of which was a JJ Abrams, for whom he planned to make a religion. "This is too much for me bro."
"I bet," said Kyle.
Sharaven whispered the name Snoke to himself over and over again. He ran over the names Dagobah, Tatooine, Obi-Wan, Snoke.
"Could I keep these uh.." said Sharaven. He stared at the discs recording the history of his reality. "These.."
"Blu-Rays?"
"*Yes*," said Sharaven. "These Rays of blue you have, as well as a means of watching them, if I may please."
"I mean you can just take my PS3 I guess you can play them on that."
"*Thank you*," whispered Sharaven. He shook Kyle's hand, as was the custom on Earth, as he had seen. Kyle shook it and gave that 'I have a stomach ache' awkward smile Trump always has on his face. Kyle went to the bathroom to wash his hands. They were slimier than expected.
When Kyle came out of the bathroom Sharaven was gone.
"FOOLISH PEOPLE OF EARTH," shouted Sharaven, from the door of his spaceship, holding the blu-rays and a PS3. Kyle went out his back door. "I now know the Force made me crash down on your fertile but technologically under-developed planet to show my Lord the true path to killing all the light side, and to finding his children."
"Ah man you like the Empire?" said Kyle. He smacked his hands on his head. "You just never know who's gonna end up being a dick."
"And I will make extra sure," shouted Sharaven. "To let Lord Vader know PERSONALLY about the presence of a great Darkside user named SNOKE."
Mr. Anderson living next door opened his window, and peaked outside wearing his pajamas.
"HEY YOU'RE ON MY PROPERTY!" he shouted.
Sharaven held his fist in the air with an air of triumphant reverie for his mysterious but righteous fortune.
"AND I SHALL SHOW LORD VADER THE PATH TO THE FIRST JEDI TEMPLE AND HE SHALL TURN HIS SON LUKE INTO A GREAT SITH LORD, ALONG WITH LEIA, AND THEY SHALL *ABOLISH* THE SITH FOR A GREATER DARKSIDE FUTURE AND I JUST KNOW HE'S GONNA LOVE ME FOR IT AND WE'RE GONNA HANG OUT ALL THE TIME AND I'LL GET TO BABYSIT HIS GRANDCHILDREN AND THEY'LL CALL ME UNCLE SHAR-"
A loud gunshot went off.
Kyle looked over at Mr. Anderson holding his smoking rifle. He gave Kyle a terse nod, then called the cops. Kyle ran out to the spaceship, and poked a stick at Sharaven's body bleeding yellow blood there.
Kyle looked all around, then slowly nudged the body outside the ship. He shut the door behind him, and pressed a button.
A full map of his solar system came up. He pressed a few buttons, messed some things up, brought back the map, and found a way to expand it.
He could see the whole galaxy. He pressed another button, and saw the path back to Sharaven's universe.
Kyle felt his heart race as he pressed the accelerator. He heard the engines rev.
He went into hyperdrive, beyond all known stars.
| 2017-03-18T07:24:49 | 2017-03-18T07:15:03 | 7,571 | 926 |
[WP] Weapons become more powerful the older they get. Modern guns will barely give someone a scratch but an ancient spear can devastate armies.
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You all mocked me
Called me insane.
Said that I was a fool and that I would die trying.
Well now I stand here, your armies desolated, from a simple jawbone.
For it is that jawbone
That weapon
That was used by Cain to slay Abel.
Older then any weapon on earth
For it is the first.
And now, I end this world
|
I thought the fantasy something people only said they believed in. Steel didn't change. If anything, it got weaker as time went on, succumbing to rust and out-dated smithing techniques.
But, the legend disagreed.
A day in the woods like any other upset my little life out in the country. Even though I'd played there for years, the recent rain had really done a number on the hilly parts, wearing away at the bases of the trees and revealing the roots that lurked just below the surface.
Amongst the nest of roots of a large oak, I spotted something shiny.
It took some effort to climb the muddy slope. Then, I had to try and make out what the shiny thing was. Encased in roots, only something like a handle jutted out. I held it and tugged—too hard. It gave easily, throwing me off balance and my footing gave. Tumbling down, I got covered in mud and aches, stopped by a tree for a nasty bruise.
At my side, the sword came to a sudden stop, impaled in a rock. My pain didn't seem so bad compared to that. Though winded and with one-and-a-half lame legs, I pushed myself up, propped up against the tree. Then, I reached out to the sword.
It didn't shine with the light of a thousand candles, or summon an eerie wind, or feel hot to the touch. If anything, it felt cold. But, when I pulled it out, the blade cut the rock further, as though clay rather than something like granite.
I didn't know what kind of metal could do that.
Heavy in my hands, I had to stagger until the muscles in my legs recovered. Through the forest, and back to the small cottage I called home, I went. While I did, old myths came to me, and I sorted through them, looking for one that matched.
No one awaited me, the kitchen and bedroom as I left them. I laid down the sword on the dining table. Cleaning the dirt from my scrapes, I carried on remembering the stories I heard as a kid. All sorts of swords came up in them, but they had different, specific powers. Swords that summoned thunder with every swing, and swords that weighed as little as a feather yet swung with the force of a charging ox. None really matched a sword that could cleave stone.
After a small meal, my body became restless with renewed vigour. So, I took the sword outside, and practised with it. My two years training for the local lord's levy hadn't left me the most skilled, but I could swing a sword well enough to tire myself out.
Though I had little experience, it felt like a good sword. The balance and weight of it made it easy to wield, and the length good for me. I loved the sound of it cutting through the air, much subtler than the clunky swords of my training—almost like how an arrow sounded.
By the end, I had worked myself into a good sweat, and my arms would no doubt complain about the overexertion on the morrow. A good feeling. Through thick breaths, I thought of where to keep the sword. The obvious place was alongside my loaned armour and sword.
That put a strange thought in my head. I knew the armour to be strong, more than capable of deflecting near any blade that found its way. The training had shown as much, though it still left behind bruises and welts if backed by enough force.
I propped up the chestplate, sitting it on the backrest of an old chair I kept outside. Then, in a rather half-hearted swing, I struck it with my new sword.
The blade sliced through it as though butter.
I dropped it to the floor, where the tip sunk a good foot or so into the ground. My mind froze over, the surprise overshadowed by a wave of fear. It shouldn't have been possible. An old sword out in the forest, it shouldn't have been able to cut steel.
The final nail, hammering into me, was the realisation of the sword's name.
Excalibur.
| 2017-04-21T09:57:12 | 2017-04-21T09:28:52 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You are a vampire who likes to help humans instead of hurting them, so you became a doctor. Over the hospital's PA system one day you hear "Dr. Acula, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you."
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Dr. Acula, incensed, sprints to the hospital's public address office and screams "Are you people NOT AWARE of patient privacy and confidentiality laws?!?! If you EVER reveal the name of one of my patients over the PA system again, I will have your jobs!!"
As the staff stare at him, mouths wide open, chins on the floor, he walks away, muttering to himself.
|
"Aww jeez, damn not him, why is he coming to this hospital out of all of them"
The PA system speaks again: *Doctor Acula please come into room 57, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you*
"I heard you the first time jackass"Acula mutters to himself in a distressed way "all right Acula, remember the pledge to Hypocrite, he is a human first and then a vampire hunter"
He washes his hands puts on the mask and moves toward the operating room. He enters the room which is pitch black
" We meet again, Lord Dracula, remember Romania?" Helsing says in a rough voice
"A lot changed Helsing, I am a real doctor now if you have a disease I am here to treat it if, you are here to play vampire hunter, I have no time, there are many patients that need help,"
Acula says in the voice that betrays that he is working a 36-hour shift
"You really think I'll believe a vampire?"
"Why not? I mean I am a real doctor, I can show you my diploma and credentials, or if you don't trust me, ask my colleagues here, check the documents I am a real practitioner"Acula answers in the tired voice
"What is going on?" Helsing is a little lost
"I got tired with the whole I am the Lord of Darkness deal, so I went to Bucharest, studied medicine, then emigrated to America, and I've been a resident doctor here in Cincinnati the for the last 5 years"
"That sounds too good to be true" Helsing is slowly coming to terms with the fact that Acula is not lying
"It is though, you know you get bored with haunting some little villages in Eastern Europe, and the people there are already suffering, after haunting them for a long time I realized that even without me they have trouble with corrupt politicians and international politics, so I decided to change and rid them of one evil, but I had to repent for all my killings, so I decided to start saving lives, and this job has been both rewarding and scarring, I've seen people recover, and thank me with the most genuine smiles , and I've seen relatives cry and blame me while in shock, all this made me realize what it means to be human, what it means to feel happiness, to experience pain, how hard loss hits and how beautifully resilient you are sometimes" Acula is flowing through his words
"You are not the same Vampire I met 15 years ago, damn you are a beautiful creature now, I am sorry for taking your time"Helsing is moved
"It happens to the best of us, but how are you? How's the family?" Acula is genuinely interested
"There's some trouble, I mean with my work I travel a lot, don't see the kids too much, they grow too fast, sometimes I wonder if I am losing something important by not being there for them, but I can't leave my job or other people won't be able to live in peace and will have to worry about their children but damn it hurts to be a stranger to your own family" Helsing sighs
"I think, you should spend more time with those who matter when you try to solve global problems you lose focus of what is important, leave the job and be with your family, learn from my mistakes, I thought that drinking other people's blood is good and that all I have to do is haunt them, without even paying attention to what they feel, and I was lost but then I found my true calling and here I am, tired but happy, be there for your family, you won't get a second chance to be a good dad to your kids and a good husband" Acula is almost preaching
Helsing turns on the lights and comes to hug Acula, they hug for a good 10 seconds, then they break the contact.
"Thanks for the advice Acula, "Helsing says
"Don't thank me, thank the people who opened my eyes"Acula says "and now I have to go save lives and you go save your family"
| 2017-10-01T06:58:24 | 2017-10-01T04:44:18 | 94 | 12 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily.
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*BANG!*
There went my eye. That’s the 5th time this week some fucker thought he could end me by putting one in my eye. How long will it take for them to realize that their guns need to hit the lizard brain to actually work! With a shot at the eye, you couldn’t get a good angle unless you were on a goddamn podium. Still, I played the part and went down. I waited until they had picked through the apartment. By the time they were done the virus had kicked in. “Hey fuckers, I got some advice; aim for the base of the skull!” I said as I blasted them away with my shotty.
I feel a little bit of explanation is in order. You see, in the year 2025, a Chinese bio weapon went out of control. It was an advanced prion disease, lodging itself in the victim’s brain stem, which controls the more basic aspects of our bodies. It gave them enhanced endurance, a seeming immunity to pain, and the ability for their bodies to grow lost limbs. However, this happened because the ‘lizard-brain’ grew in size, causing damage and shrinkage to the rest of the brain, and an according drop in intelligence. However, by 2035, most of humanity had seemingly become immune to the virus. This was untrue, for in 2047, the remaining human population seemed to have symbiotically bonded with the prions; now, they no longer had the immunity to pain or as much of an endurance boost, but they kept the healing factor and some of the endurance, as well as their intelligence. A year after ‘Transcendence,’ as those who were poetically inclined called it, we started receiving weird signals on our radios. a year after that, the visitors came.
Unfortunately for me, they heard the shots. The biggest one kicked down the door. He was probably 8 feet tall, and had a Gatling plasma gun. He was flanked by two of the foot soldiers, who used automatic rifles. Needless to say, in a few seconds I was covered in 4th degree burns.
At first their intentions were peaceful. They believed humans would be able to assist them with some kind of war or something. However, when they saw how mineral rich Earth was, and how small our population had become after the hordes, they decided enslaving us to mine our own planet dead would be a good idea. Of course, they didn’t know how hard it is to kill us. They still don’t, I don’t think.
I got back up, hurting like a motherfucker, but my muscles having healed enough to use them. I picked up my shotty, and loaded the underbarrel, and fired, the round piercing deep into the big one. He exploded quickly, and I blew the small ones’ heads off.
In the aftermath of the invasion many people found out that while they were resistant to guns because of their armor, it was easy enough to pierce it using explosives or drills. So now we all have at least a power drill on hand. I however, use something a little bit different.
I picked up one of the small rifles. I quickly disassembled it for the parts. I found the parts that actually created the plasma, and shoved them into some more 40mm shells. I loaded another into the chamber, and then headed for the raised banner a mile away.
We may have outlasted the previous world order of constantly buzzing about with everyone else, we may have outlasted the constant hordes of zombies, and we may be outlasting these aliens, but one thing’s for sure.
The Pack is the strength of humanity.
|
As the advance assault party broke through the decimated checkpoint gates, shredding through the Alliance military and the local Europa Militia members as if they were nothing but a mild inconvenience, the Commander chuckled softly as the gargled, final words of the human general rang through his mind; “Death is only the beginning.” Even while bleeding to death, humans always found time to get the last, meaningless word in before they died. The Commander hoped that the General at least felt some of his boot smashing down on his mouth to get the point across how little he cared about the general’s little ism’s. ‘Death is only the beginning?’ What a load of asinine bullshit. As if killing them was going to incur the wrath of one of their local gods to rain down vengeance upon his men. If only they had spent more time preparing for battle rather than kneeling in front of a carved bit of stone and burning random bits of vegetation, they might have put up enough of a fight to make it worth his time. If only these goddamn humans didn't have their cities shielded from their gunships, they would only have to send men down to clean up the mess. “Sir!” a voice rang out that managed to bring him out of his thoughts. In front of him stood the captain of the advance assault party.
“We have managed to sweep through most of the town without a problem. There might be a few hiding around in there, but it's mostly clear.”
“Well, I would say goo-”
A gunshot rang out from behind as the top of the Captain’s head turned into a fine turquoise mist. The Commander and his men turned around quickly to take a look at the shooter. About 20 meters away stood a figure that none of the men expected. It was the General, dressed in his uniform, with two dark, bloody holes in his chest. One of his arms were torn off, nothing but a bit of shoulder bone and muscle remaining. In the other, he grasped the service pistol with which he had just used to kill the Captain. As he slowly trudged forward, the General attempted to mumble something to the Commander, but the only thing that came out was a small spritz of blood from a hole behind his jaw which was held on to the rest of his face by a single thin muscle. The men frantically pulled out their weapons to stop the General and by the time they managed to kill him with a shot to the head, the General had managed to squeeze two shots off into his men, killing both.
As the Commander stood in disbelief, all around him the Shells began to wake up.
While the early days of the epidemic were nothing more than a wild, wild west of paranoid survivors shooting as many healthy survivors as the walking dead, as things started to settle down the remaining world leaders, if you could even call them that, began to notice a pattern within the infected. It appeared that many children under the age of 7 and elders over the age of 50 seemed immune to the effects of initially coming into contact with the virus and upon death, their bodies, while still aggressive to healthy survivors, became passive while in contact with other infected survivors. While it didn’t completely solve the problem, everyone did agree that it did work well enough for humanity to survive. Upon checking what medical records could be recovered, it was revealed that before the outbreak they were all treated with Necrosite, an experimental WHO Alzheimer's vaccine. When the infection came in contact with Necrosite, the infection was weakened to the point that upon death, rather than decaying the brains of the infected till only the hindbrain functioned properly, the weakened infection only managed to erode most of the victim’s upper-level processing, leaving most of the brain intact.
The result were Shells. Not quite dead, but not quite alive either. They managed to move like everyone else, they managed to do most of the basic tasks as everyone else, but if you got in close, you could tell that they weren’t like everyone else. What gave them away, and scared everyone, were the eyes. While still the vivid colours they were before their death, their eyes had become dim and empty. You know when you look someone in the eyes, you can tell a bit about who they are based on how their eyes shine. There is the traitorous and venomous beam that peaks through snake-like slits, the wide-eyed wonder in the eyes of a child that seems to blind everyone around them with wonder, and the dim yet sharp glow of a wise elder. But the Shells’ eyes never shined. Staring a Shell in the eye felt like you were staring into the lens of a camera. At that moment you know that what you are looking at exists purely for the sake of existing. There are no hopes, no dreams, no life behind those eyes at all. The person you once knew is long gone, and in their place is a Shell that walks around unaware of the world around them. Shells no longer recognize the person they once were nor the people around them. Loved ones become strangers, and anyone who could become one is passed by in a timeless haze. To a Shell, time is not a line, but a foggy road with people and places fading in and out, being registered only during the time they are near them and disappearing as they fade back into the fog. Even if you wanted to ask a Shell what it was like to exist, you wouldn’t get very far. The Shells spoke in broken, half-baked sentences, with reasoning roughly somewhere within the same area code as the topic. The one silent rule everyone knows is that Shells are bodies that forgot were dead. They just get up and resume whatever they did before they died. You just let them be.
While strategically we won the war, we sure as hell lost. As I look out my window as I write this, I find it hard to tell who is who anymore. Everyone these days seem to look as dead as Shells, but I don’t blame them. Half the world was lost to the Shells, with the other half barely holding it together. You turn on the news and all you see is this leader says one stupid thing, and then another joins in until the broadcast becomes nothing more than a playground fistfight as the remaining sane leaders hold their heads in their arms, whispering amongst each other how it could have gotten this got this bad and how we can even begin to fix it. But the worst crime is that no one cares anymore. Before people would be up in arms about these things, demand to see things change, get up and went to make a change. But maybe it's time for me to get off my high horse now because it just feels a hell of a lot easier to roll over and ignore it all. Just tune out the broadcasts, push it aside and then move on with whatever you wanted to do. We might as well let them fight it out, it's not like we have much time left anyway. I’m sure that when everyone else out there hears that we don’t go down so easily, it's only a matter of time before they send someone to take care of us. Well, we might as do what we like as the world crumbles around us. Hell, maybe we could have stopped it all, but it's too late now.
Makes you think, right? Maybe being a fucked-in-the-head Shell isn’t as bad as they say.
I might as well become one since there is nothing much I have left to lose and even less to gain.
| 2018-09-29T19:38:06 | 2018-09-29T19:07:14 | 39 | 15 |
[WP] WritingPrompt: A man asks you in a shakey voice if you're alright. You hesitantly say yes, to which he responds by getting a look of terrified horror and screams "I knew it! You can see them too! Don't let them get you!"
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My hands shook as I sat hunched in the park bench, biting my lip to stop the screams from tumbling out. They were getting closer. Never before had they gotten closer. They were tall and crooked, whiter than snow, their eyes a blaring yellow that cut right through me. They always stood a fair distance away, and I seemed to be the only one to see them. The first time was when I was 9, and there were two, brother and sister. They stood in the corner of my room, holding hands, their skin white and eyes bright yellow.
I could tell the males apart from females because the males were shorter. They always just stood and stared, their perfect white skin a stark contrast to the shadows of my room. I was never scared of them, because they were calm and peaceful.
But today they moved closer, well, more like glided. It was just a few feet, but it was enough to send me spiralling, as I had never seen them move before. They always just watched from afar.
The light hand on my shoulder almost made me jump out of my skin. I looked up and saw a man standing over me, his skin dark and his eyes warm:
"Are you alright, miss?"
I bit my lip and choked out a hesitant: "Y-yes.."
As soon as I'd spoken, the man's hand on my shoulder stiffened and his eyes widened, hardering:
"I knew it! You can see them too! Don't let them get you!"
It took me a moment to process his words until it clicked and I was on my feet in an instant:
"You see them?! Describe them!"
The man shook his head as if to clear it and spoke:
"Tall, white, yellow eyes. Males shorter than females."
My mouth hung agape:
"Yes! You can really see them?"
He merely nodded. I beckoned him to sit down with me and he complied.
"They're closer aren't they?" He asked, staring straight at one female. They usually appeared in groups of 2-4, but never alone.
"Yes. Just before you approached me, one of them slid closer."
"They aren't hostile, but..there's something off about them still."
I hummed in agreement. Just then, one female began gliding ever closer to us. Me and my new friend froze on the bench, our shoulders touching as we stared at her coming closer.
It wasn't long before she was upon us. She stood so close I could smell a beautiful smell wafting off of her pure white skin. Lavander.
She stared down at us, a thin line across her face, which I assumed was her mouth, twisting into a gentle smile.
I dared a glance at my companion and he seemed just as entranced as I was. I looked back up into her yellow eyes. They were full of bizzare images and flashes. I got a crushing feeling wrapping around my shoulders and my breath hitched. Then she moved her hands and placed one gentle palm upon my cheek, and the other on the man's. I heard him softly suck in a breath between his teeth. I held my breath, her cool palm gentle cupping my cheek.
She never spoke, but I knew what she was asking of us, and I agreed. I felt no resistance, and by the looks of it, neither did my friend. I closed my eyes and reached deep inside of me, then stood, the female letting her hands drop from our faces. I opened my eyes and looked at the man, then back at the bench. Our bodies sat there, with empty eyes and hollow insides. The man reached out his hand and I accepted it, staring ahead at Omna'ya. I knew her name now, I knew all of their names. All of *our* names.
|
For as long as I could remember, I had always been able to see them. Ghosts. Flashes and visions of them in their monochrome colours, fleeting and distant, mostly confined in repetitions of the past, echoes rather than conscious spirits. With no purpose or reason, they were harmless, but at times afforded me insight that would send shivers down my mother's spine.
All except that boy.
I had been little more than 6 years old, and had only just begun to realise what they were; dead. Slowly but surely I conquered my fear of them with the reckless abandon only a child could muster. I enjoyed them.
I would approach them, ask them questions , try and elicit reactions while they blindly went about whatever memory they were replaying. They never responded, always slowly and surely following the same path. I made up names for the ones I would see most often and would greet them happily when I saw them, much to the dismay of Mother, who would go as grey as the ghosts themselves.
I had first seen the boy idly playing with some old-fashioned toy cars in the corner of a garage we had visited. As mother had gone to sort out her business with the garage's owner, I approached, and sat against the wall next to him. He was about the same age as me and very similar in appearance, I thought. I watched as he played, wondering how many times he had sat in this corner, replaying this memory, forever alone.
Mother was taking an awfully long time, I thought as I had sat there bored. The boy was playing with one car more than the others, obviously his favourite. As he put it down, I had reached for it, imagining what kind of weight and feel it would have if I could actually hold it.
Just as my fingers closed in on the space around the car, the boys hand had shot out and grabbed mine, his grey eyes peering straight at me, into me. His hand was so cold, freezing. I had sat there, unable to breathe from the shock, panicking, feeling the garage fading and spinning. Wasn't he meant to be a mere memory, a record stuck on repeat? How was he actually grabbing me? Slowly, he had begun to take on colour, the cars fading away from around him, as he was looking around the garage, his grip still firm on my hand. He then turned back to me and smiled, before darkness enveloped me and I passed out.
No one had seemed to notice what had happened as I awoke and pulled myself from the ground just as Mother was finishing, dusting myself off. The boy was gone, but I was still reeling in the shock of what had happened, my body shaking. As we left the garage, from the rear window of the car I peered back nervously. My body froze once more as I saw the boy exit the garage, his face turning sharply in our direction as he began walking, following. When we had reached a speed he couldn't follow, he stopped and waved, a big smile on his face. I sank in the seat quickly, shaking and terrified. What had I done?
My life after that became a constant battle with fear, the boy always watching from the shadows, attempting to elicit reactions from me, scare me. The tables had been turned, and no longer did I dare play with other spirits. I tried to ignore the boy, but fear paralysed me in his presence. He revelled in it, that big smile playing on his face in pure delight whenever I was shocked or ran away.
It was around this time that I saw it happen. One of the common ghosts that lurked in the garden had been there following his daily ritual, pruning imaginary plants, digging without stirring soil, removing his cap and wiping his grey forehead with a dirt stained hand. As the gardener ghost had squatted back down, the boy had approached him, placing a hand on his back and whispering into his ear. The gardener had turned and looked at the boy.
He rose up , taking the boys hand. The boy had turned to look at me high in my bedroom window, where I again, was frozen with fear, gave a little innocent wave before they both faded away. I never saw him again, or any of the other ghosts near my home.
Until now.
The train wasn't that busy. The last train home from the big city on one of the final few stops, mostly drunks or workers weary from a long days toil.
The train lights flickered before the carriage was suddenly plunged into darkness. When they came back on, something caught my eye, making me jump in my seat. Standing at the end of the carriage was the boy, exactly the same as he had been all those years ago. Fear gripped me, my heartbeat racing. Somewhere during the decades since, I had fooled myself into thinking he wasn't real, that it had never really happened...but here he was, smiling his big wide smile that had been burned into my memory, waving at me like an old friend.
The man sitting across from me turned his face to mine, studying me for a moment, and then went back to his book.
The boy was still there, his gaze still upon me. I quickly diverted my eyes to the floor, breathing heavily as my heart thundered in my chest.
"Are you alright?" the man across from me said, his tone searching.
"Yes" I replied with little more than a whisper.
The boy began walking down the carriage, the lights flickering as he drew closer. He slowly raised a hand, a grey dusty smoke forming around it, spewing forth into the carriage before sucking back. In its wake stood 3 grey men, eyes staring and unblinking. They looked at me for a moment before slowly turning to the man in front of me. I watched as they approached him, saw the man glance at them quickly before returning his gaze to his book. They drew closer , reaching. The expression on the man's face changed.
He looked past them, saw me staring, and with terror in his eyes he screamed, "I knew it , you can see them too! Don't let them get you!"
He suddenly stood and bolted down the carriage, his brief case clattering on the ground. The train began slowing for the next stop, my stop, as the apparitions closed in on him. He screamed as they caught him with a burst of speed, driving their hands into his chest , wrenching and twisting. He fell to his knees , and then dropped to the floor as they pulled something from him. Someone nearby screamed and others rushed to help the man. It was futile, he was already dead, his face frozen in a silent scream. I couldn't breathe, but couldn't look away.
The grey apparitions once again began to turn into the grey smokey dust, trailing back across the carriage to the boy who was now standing directly in front of me. They were sucked back into his hand, and as the last wisp entered , the boy took a deep, satisfying breath. He turned to me as the train came to a stop.
He slowly reached into his pocket and from it drew a small toy car; the exact same car I had tried to grab all those years ago. He extended it out to me, willing me to take it. With a shaky hand I reached out, unable to think, and took the car. Actually took it. I stared at it, unbelieving. It was real, it's metal cold to the touch. My head shot back up, but the boy was gone. I sat there , utterly confused and scared, the car heavy in my hands.
| 2019-07-01T09:29:42 | 2019-07-01T09:24:50 | 18 | 12 |
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