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[WP] Humanity has been called in to teach an up and coming species how to defend themselves from the others in the galaxy. While there are much better, and more suitable, trainers- humans are the cheapest.
|
"This..." The drill sergeant pulled back the charging handle and released it with a loud *KLACK.* "... Is the M-16 assault rifle. One of the finest weapons America has ever made. Easy to clean, easy to make, and easy to fire... that is, if you had *traditional fingers*." He sneered at his students.
"Here in a moment, you'll be learning how to fire one of your own. This rifle will be your life. In the heat of battle, proper usage of this weapon will be the key to your survival."
A strange looking hand is raised in the crowd. This fills the drill sergeant with rage. *Who the hell here would break at eas- right. Aliens.* He rolls his eyes.
"Yes, private Gleebglo?"
"Yez zir, how zhall we acquire theze weaponz in a timely fazhion, az mozt of our factoriez have been deztroyed by the Katthrax."
"That's the beauty of it, private, we'll be selling you all these beauties. We spoke with your leaders and have come to an agreement on pricing. But thats enough talk. Let's get to work. FIRST SQUAD, ATTEN-SHUT."
The first row of students snaps to attention. Teaching them to follow simple commands was easy. But firing a rifle with those weird hands? We'll see.
"EACH OF YOU FORM UP IN ORDER ON THE FIRING LINE, CHARGE THE WEAPON AND PREPARE TO FIRE ON MY MARK."
The first line of privates moves to the firing line, each picking up their weapon. After some not-so-gentle instruction on how to hold the weapon, especially since it wasn't entirely clear how they were going to, the privates managed to get the basics of *holding* the weapon figured out.
"Alright, aim by lining up both sights on top with your target, and fire at will."
The first few shots rang out all at once, followed immediately by the aliens thats were holding the rifles dropping to the ground, covering their heads in fear of the sound.
Rage filled the drill sergeant once again.
"GOD DAMMIT PRIVATES WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, NEVER DROP YOUR WEAPON LIKE THAT, IT COULD GO OFF AND KILL YOU OR SOMEONE NEAR YOU! YOU FILTHY MAGGOTS NEED TO STAND UP AND..." His attention is caught by the targets at the end of the range. "Wh... what the hell?"
The drill sergeant pulls up his binoculars, inspecting each target with care in absolute awe of what he was seeing.
Every target had a hole directly in the center. Bullseye. Every single one.
"Mother of God. This is going to work better than I thought."
|
The Rixators scribbled notes dutifully as the human, Bob, pointed out different aspects of the galactic map. Bob was a simple man, one who was easy to understand and much appreciated by Rixators when it came to intergalactic diplomacy instructions for their species.
"Professor Bob?" one Rixator raised his blue paw to the ceiling, as the human instructed whenever he had questions.
"Yes, Squibly?" Bob said pointing to him.
"I feel that we have gotten a through education when it comes to space-faring, but what about an invasion?" Squibly asked.
"Invading another planet?" Bob said, nonplussed.
"No, I mean what do you do in the case when your own planet is invaded? What's the best course of action for self-defense when you very well can't sustain long-term damage to your own planet."
Other Rixators nodded in agreement, appreciating that Squibbly was able to articulate a question they did not know they all had.
"Ah, an excellent question, Squibbly," Bob said, turning to the galactic map and erasing the screen with a click of his pen. He began drawing a few different colored circles on-screen and pointed to them authoritatively.
"So, you have found yourself under the military invasion of another species! They are surely going to try and take out all life on the planet! You need to gather troops for a counter-attack! What is the course of action that would best lead to the success of that objective?" Bob asked.
The room took a moment in thought. A Rixator raised her paw.
"Yes?" Bob pointed to her.
"It's a trick question. We are meant to prepare for such an onslaught at all times, and we would already have a plan of retaliation before such a calamity befell us," she said confidently. "We send the defense armada that we have planned just for such occasions."
Bob stared at her as if the idea had never occurred to him before.
"Err... okay, but say there is no defense armada. What do you do then?" Bob asked.
The Rixators tilted their ears in confusion.
"Professor..." Squibbly said, his thoughts still forming, "I don't think we would ever be without a defense armada."
"Okay, then you've just colonized a new planet. That's the one under attack!" Bob attempted.
"Our defense armadas go first. There is nothing more important to us than Rixator life. If any one of us died, it would be a travesty," Squibbly answered.
Bob squirmed in place uncomfortably.
"Alright, then what about in the case that the defense armada was recently destroyed?" Bob tried, tugging his collar which had warmed up considerably.
The Rixators nodded, the scenario now feeling more plausible. Bob sighed in relief.
"Yes," he said, imbued with confidence, "You were all thinking in much too optimistic an event. You are being dealt two invasions back to back. The first, you were able to hold off with heavy casualties to the defense armada. Now you are visited by a second villainous species determined to destroy Roxitoria. You need time to create a viable defense. What do you do?"
Again, the creatures furrowed their fur in thought, enjoying the challenge of the hypothetical.
"Are they striking at one central point?" a Rixator asked.
"Yes, seldom to invasions come at many points on a planet. It is much easier to strike a planet one piece at a time and steal resources as you go. Striking at one point also allows you to drive fear into your opponents by destroying their capital city in one strike, leaving them scrambling otherwise," Bob said, remembering his piloting days of early human conquest fondly.
"How vile." a Rixator said, the room humming in agreement. "What kind of species would target the intergalactic point known as a no-attack zone? Even the worst creatures wouldn't stoop that low." Bob's face went warm, but he tried not to show any difference in composure.
"Suppose they did?" Bob said, his voice dry and embarrassed.
A Rixator snapped its paws together as an epiphany struck.
"I've got it! You're at a loss. Send the elite pilots so that the others of the planet may escape. The fight will be a mission with only death in its wake since you're unable to form a cohesive force, but it will be a victory if the innocents can flee."
"Ha! Wrong," Bob laughed.
The students prepared to write diligent notes.
"You send in the other races as fodder for the superior race of your species to create the force to fight off the invading force!" Bob declared.
The aliens looked between themselves.
"'Superior race?' I'm afraid I don't understand," Squibbly said slowly.
"Ah, he means animals. Send in animals and then let the creatures at the highest of the food chain... Wait that doesn't make sense..." another Rixator said, stumped.
"No, no, you have different races within your species do you not? Perhaps with different colored fur?" Bob asked.
"Naturally," Squibbly nodded.
"Whichever one the worst is, you send in first without a plan. Then the next worse, and so on until the superior Rixators can amass their fleet for a counterattack," Bob said.
"Worst Rixator?" Squibbly shook his head, misunderstanding.
"Oh! I get it! It's a joke!" A Rixator in the back began laughing. "There was a species--I can't remember which--on planet Earth that would do that exact maneuver. They declared themselves the victors, even while they lost millions of people who could have otherwise survived if they had just worked together for their common survival!"
The room joined in laughing with the Rixator, howling at the absurdity of such an idea. Bob pulled at his collar again, sweat streaming down his brow and nose.
"Ha! Ha, yes you got it..." he said between the uproarious laugher. "Whatever she said about a defense armada was the *real* right answer."
Bob made a mental note of their reactions to his lesson. He had yet to be able to teach a single species anything about the history he knew except that they would laugh at it.
___________________________________
For more interplanetary stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
| 2020-07-07T05:38:38 | 2020-07-06T22:44:34 | 54 | 16 |
[WP] "We have a problem," said Commander Killmurder, "One of us isn't actually a member of the Blood-Death Squad and is a plant by the enemy." He looked around at his fellow Squad members: Private Bloodgore, Lieutenant Organsmash, General Visceral, Creamy Honeypuff, and Sergeant Bonesplosion.
|
Without missing a beat, Creamy Honeypuff took out a .45 Desert Eagle and shot General Visceral in the back of the head.
"That's our commanding officer! Whoa whoa whoa WHOA—" said Killmurder—earning his own messy execution for his troubles.
The other squad members looked at Creamy Honeypuff in dead silence. Sergeant Bonesplosion was still covered in Visceral's namesake. Honeypuff calmly reloaded the pistol.
"Visceral was the only one whose name wasn't a compound word. Obviously he didn't belong. And Killmurder hesitated, so even if he used to belong, he doesn't now."
The squad nodded in silence. Creamy Honeypuff was usually right about who needed a bullet.
"Now let's finish this mission and get back to headquarters. Admiral Raspberry is waiting."
Bonesmash piped up. "Wait, isn't Raspberry not a—"
Honeypuff was even quicker this time.
|
"I think it's BloodGore" I said, quick to start the blame game on the right foot. "He didn't even eat the heart of the last chieftain we killed."
"I told you, Honeypuff, I'm on a diet" the massive mercenary said. "Doc wants my cholesterol down before the year ends."
The 200 kilos of muscle and destruction stood from his table, putting his salad fork down in the skull he used as a utensil saver dish. "Could be OrganSmasher".
The next accused brute slammed a prosthetic hand on his table, breaking a corner clean off. "Mah smasheh was broke, 'member? Just got it back from tha techpriests day afore yesterday, I did." He punctuated his statement with a deadly demonstration, spewing a burst of fire and sparks from his cyborg arm weapon. "Wot 'bot Visceral? Could be 'im."
"LIKE HELL I AM" he screamed. "I WANT TO RIP AND TEAR, NOT KNIT AND PLAY LIKE THOSE FUCKIN PUSSIES!"
He turned and struck the wall behind him, punching a hole through the concrete and steel of the bunker.
"COULD BE BONESPLOSION. HE DIDN'T KILL ANYONE LAST MISSION" he screamed. To be fair, Visceral always screamed with this intensity. In my 6 months of undercover work, he hadn't heard him speak any other way.
Bonesplosion leaned forwards, emerging from the shadowy corner table he had claimed. "*I was gathering information, for the next mission*", the stealth expert whispered, barely audible over Organsmasher's oscillating hand mounted sawblade. "*I was extracting coordinates and codes from the commander. And I will have you know, he did perish at the end.*"
Killmurder nodded. "And that info was a goldmine. Well worth Bone's time. One of the codes he gathered unlocked the information about the spy among us."
He turned and extended a heavily scarred finger at me. "Creamy Honeypuff, I'm assigning you to find the mole. Use whatever force necessary."
A chorus of groans and complaints arose from my squadmates. "WHY ARE YOU MAKING HONEYPUFF THE INQUISITOR? HE GOT TO FIND THE SNITCH LAST TIME."
"And you got to kill him, Visceral" the commander said. "You still have his bones in that mason jar, remember?"
Visceral grunted. "IT REALLY TIES MY BUNK TOGETHER, NICE CONVERSATION STARTER."
I clasped my hands together nervously, trying to appear more convincing than I thought. "Ok, uh, lets start with BloodGore, then. Could you follow me to the interrogation chamber, please?"
BloodGore glanced at his watch. "Can I go second? I have hot yoga with Bonesplosion in 15."
"*Indeed*" the assassin confirmed. "*It really helps loosen the muscles, and improves flexibility.*"
"Okay, how about you, Smasher?" I asked, "want to get this out of the way?"
"If it'll get me name cleared, yeah" he said, idly spinning his arm blade. "Lets go git this o'er with."
The behemoth rose, and followed me into the interrogation room. We claimed chairs on either sides of the metal desk, neither one particularly comfortable. I locked the door with my remote access key, then pulled a small device from a tactical vest pocket. I scanned the room with the bug sniffer, making sure there were no electronic eavesdroppers. Satisfied at our privacy, I took my seat.
"Dude, what are we gonna do?" Organsmasher asked, dropping his tough guy voice. "HQ can't keep bailing us out every time these killers discover us."
"I don't know, but we need to act fast." I said. "I'll say it was you, smuggle you out the usual way. When you report back, have them send a spook next. We need to replace Bonesplosion soon, that guy scares me."
"Agreed. Now how do you want to fake my death?" Organsmasher asked.
"*How about we do it for real?"* a new voice said. We both spun to the door, and found the rest of the MurderDeathKill Squad staring back.
"...fuck", I muttered.
"YOU GOT THAT RIGHT" Visceral shouted. He pulled a grenade from his stash, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the interrogation chamber. Killmurder slammed the door closed, sealing our fate along with the room.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more
| 2022-06-19T10:24:54 | 2022-06-19T08:05:54 | 335 | 187 |
[WP] The year is 2021. The newest fad are clone clubs, where visitors can spend up to 12 hours with a clone of any person whose DNA they provide. The clones are disposed afterwards.
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The shelves were lined with vials, neatly organized and clearly labeled with name and collection date. A dim light flickered overhead in tune with the gusts of wind outside. The shopkeep sat tiredly in his stool, hunched over a tablet mindlessly scrolling through his inventory. The vials rattled slightly, glass against glass, as the door opened.
"Don't just stand there, you idiot. Close the goddamn door," the shopkeep called without raising his head. "You'll blow the whole place away."
The girl entered, pulling off her hat and shaking the rain from it. "Hell of a night, Sam," she said with a grin.
Sam set down his tablet and pulled a bottle and two glasses from behind the counter. "Care for a nip, Blue?" he asked. The girl shook her head, her pink hair falling into her eyes. It was blue the first time she came, two years ago, but a name can't change as often as she does, or an old man like Sam would lose track. So the name stuck. "You here to buy or sell?" he asked.
Blue shrugged. "I have the only sample I'll ever need, you know that. I've got a good one for you today, though, if you can meet the price."
"Oh? You're naming the price, are you?"
Blue smiled, the stiff scars on her face distorting it into something much more horrific than a girl her age should be able to produce. Every few days she showed up with some ill-gotten DNA, a pin with the dried blood of the current hottest pop star or a hair sample of a legendary actor, and all she ever wanted was enough cash for another trip to the club with the vial of blood she kept around her neck.
"Well, let's have it," Sam extended his hand.
But Blue just shook her head. "Not this one. I can't just carry this sample around. No way." Blue leaned in close, her smile growing wider and her face more menacing in turn. "I've got the holy grail," she whispered.
Sam laughed. He had heard that one before. Sometimes it was genuine. The estranged mother of a famous child star had baby teeth to sell, and those went for a pretty penny to the people who were interested in twelve consequence-free hours with a hyper-sexualized child idol. Others came in with sample extracted from the used clones, and though you could sell 12 hours with 1995 Bill Clinton for a fortune, a sample from a sample didn't exactly produce stellar results.
"Alright, Blue, I'll bite. Who do you have?"
"You have no idea what I had to do to get this, Sam."
"I'm already interested, kid just tell me."
"Jesus."
A moment passed, Sam wanted to give her an opportunity to tell him she was joking before he dragged her out of his store by her stupid pink hair. But instead, she continued.
"The Vatican sent a sample to the University of Arizona in the 1980s. They tested a portion, but kept a small part of the sample for their records."
"I remember." Sam leaned back, if nothing else, her fanciful tale was interesting enough to entertain.
"Well, there's not much left in Arizona since the water ran dry, just the cannibals and the looters, neither of which care enough to focus on the storage facility of a DNA lab."
"So you just... walked in?"
"Kind of," Blue said with nod. "I mean, there wasn't much left of the place to begin with. And I had my motivation with me." She gently touched the vial around her neck.
"Didn't they prove the Shroud to be a forgery?"
Blue shook her head. "You know as well as I do that that doesn't matter. You've got shelf upon shelf of celebrities and sex icons, and lonely men come to get their 12 hours worth, but the clones don't want any more to do with them than the originals would, do they? People are buying their expectations from you, Sam, not a promise."
"Is that what you wear around your neck? An expectation?"
Blue's smile faded. "No. This is my daddy. Your customers aren't looking for what I am."
Sam sighed. What wouldn't some believer pay for the chance at meeting their savior? But what would a person with that kind of resources do if the fabric was just ink and medieval burlap?
"So you steal blood and hair to spend another day with your old man?"
Blue seemed to realize that Sam had made his decision, and put her hat back on with a sigh. "It only takes me a few minutes," she said as she turned to the door. "Clones seem to bleed out faster than the real thing."
|
Frustrated. At my wits end, I walked down the street, shuffling with no particular place to be. I don't get it. I just don't get how things could have gotten this bad. How could I, most likely to succeed me have screwed up so bad. And, most importantly, what do I do about it.
After wandering aimlessly, I looked up at a brightly lit joint with fairly loud music emanating from within. I shrugged. What have I got to lose?
I walked inside and approached the man in professional dress at the front kiosk. I told him I'd like some time with a friend. I'd never been in one of these places before, always said it was rubbish. I'd heard of people attending auctions for fingerprints, strands of hair, even used serving utensils of the rich and the famous; especially pop divas. Some of these auctions had gone into the tens of millions. Again, ridiculous I thought.
The greeter asked me for my sample. I looked him in the eye for a second and then slowly ran my hand through my hair and lowered it, returned a handful of my brown and prematurely gray specked hair. Take your pick I told the man.
With a bit of hesitation, the man took a few hairs and placed them in a machine in front of him. With a few button presses, the machine whirred to life. The man's gaze returned to mine as the machine processed.
"I've seen a lot of people come in here with a lot of requests. I'm sure you can imagine the intent of the majority. I've never seen someone..."
He paused. I could tell he was trying to make conversation and now felt as if he'd treaded onto thin ice. He continued.
"....We'll I've never seen someone pay what this will cost for.....well....for what they already have access to...."
I smiled weakly. A foreign gesture for me as of late.
"I'm sure you haven't. I just have some questions that I can't answer. Maybe he can."
The man nodded. Shortly after, three short beeps emitted from the machine as it stopped whirring and the man beemed, informing me that the specimen was acceptable and my requested companion would be available in just a few minutes. The man motioned for me to follow him and we walked past the lobby, past the entrance to a club area who's VIP section would have made any teen just 10 years ago lose their minds. We walked past a sort of security checkpoint manned by burly samoan men in suits with pony tails. The man stood next to a door with bronze lettering that read 20 and motioned me inside. Have fun he said in a manner that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end.
The room was not terribly big, only slightly larger than your average doctor's exam room. There was a small love seat, a chair and a stool. I sat in the chair, removed my coat and, for the first time in a long time, I said a quick prayer. "God, forgive me for indulging in this perversion of your nature. But God, I have to know."
I finished my prayer, l sat back and I waited. Waited for me.
PT 2.
I reclined in the chair, took a deep breath, and then rehearsed the plan that I'd formulated. This was stupid. Crazy. Probably illegal, I thought. I didn't think for long, however, as I heard footsteps outside and then saw a pair of shadows block the light coming under the door. The door slowly opened and, for a moment, the light from the outside blinded me from seeing the tall figure walk tentatively through the door way. The door closed, my pupils narrowed, and there he stood; Me. Me in a genetic sense anyway. Circumstance had clearly done some differentiating. I stood up to meet his still silent gaze and gave him the look over. He had his hair shortly cut in a neat fade, not long and matted like mine. He stood tall with his chest pushed out, not stooped over and decripit like me. His face bore no pock marks from acne and, though his grey shirt concealed it from me, I'd bet he didn't have the scars on his shoulders from complete reconstruction. I felt......I felt jealous to be honest. He was everything i wanted to be, he was everything I should have been, but that's the thing with this technology. The cloning and rapid aging process skips what actually comes with aging. He hasn't had 30 years of oxidative stress eroding his body. He's just baby me, fast forward 30 years.
I took a step forward from my chair and his eyes stayed locked with mine but he still said nothing. From my understanding of these places, I knew that the clones were imbued with basic functional knowledge, social etiquette, etc but possessed what would chart as sub - 100 on an IQ scale. My plan involved a gamble that these clones were more than just cheap replicas though. I had to find out.
After a period that would pass for uncomfortable silence, I slowly closed the gap between us and extended my arm to him.
"Hello. It's nice to meet me." I said jokingly.
"Hello." He said, shaking my hand, albeit a bit weakly. "Though, if you'll beg my pardon sir, I think you mean 'you.'" he said with a beaming smile.
I cocked my head a bit, and then I smiled. I realized he'd never seen himself before, or seen his face rather. I'm sure they were hustling to get him out to me, he probably never saw a mirror.
I gestured to the small mirror on the wall to my right, his left, and I watched as he followed my hand. What ensued next was something out of a cartoon. He immediately recognized my face in the mirror and frowned. He looked back and forth between me and the mirror before he noticed his head movements perfectly reflected in the mirror. He moved closer. He moved away. He waved with his left arm and then his right before he was certain of what he was seeing. It wasn't me. It was him. Technically, Us.
"Sir......am I, you? Are....you me?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes. I am. I'm Jack." I replied. His brow furrowed a bit before he said
"But sir, my implant tells me that our name is John."
"It is. That was my dad's name. Mom called me Jack so there wouldn't be two Johns in one house. So for the time being, I'll let you be John and I'll be Jack, OK. Oh, and you can stop with the sir nonsense, I worked for a living." I said with a smile.
"Yes si......I mean. Yes Jack. So what would you like to do sir? We have 12 hours to do anything. We could get some drinks first, watch a movie, listen to some music and dance!" He practically exclaimed. My goodness, the idea of going to live for a bit was exciting him. I hadn't been excited about life in a long long time. I was again envious.
"Listen John. I didn't clone you for anything fun like that. You seem excited to get out and have a good time and that's good but I'm guessing you don't know what happens to you when our 12 hours are up or I'm done with you? Do you?" I asked. He cocked his head to the side a bit as if drawing on instructions hastily given to him.
"No si......Jack. I don't. I assumed I would wait to go have fun with the next person who wanted to!" He said, again with serious enthusiasm.
I shook my head and dropped my eyes to the floor. I was searching for words that I never thought I'd say to anyone. Let alone me.
"......What are they going to do with me Jack." He asked, almost like a child asking what his punishment might be for knocking over a lamp.
I choked up a bit.
"They're gonna kill you.........well.........they're gonna try anyway."
| 2014-10-27T11:29:52 | 2014-10-27T10:53:22 | 79 | 20 |
[WP] A wizard accidentally becomes immortal. He has the idea to become the antagonist so that a hero will come along and defeat him, so he can rest in peace. Sadly, the heroes are weak in comparison so the wizard creates a persona as a 'wise teacher' to train these heroes in order to defeat him.
|
I don't have to do much. The hero will rise to defeat me, and he will win. He is the one the legends have told of, in this universe and the next. It will be a nigh impossible task, but in the end he shall be rewarded.
I have gained permanence, you see. I may die, but I will never stay dead. In some lands, I will become a powerful mage, just as I am now. In other wheres and whens, I shall be a grotesque beast. I have seen this. In my lust for power, I have conquered kingdoms, ruled vast lands, and taken queens and princesses of great countries for my own desires. I am very powerful indeed. The hero who now begins his quest must be of tempered courage hitherto unknown to his kind.
There is no end to what I am capable of. However, my pride and greed are surely to be my downfall, no matter how many times I return. I have seen this tragic tale of power and corruption play out indefinitely, and I no longer wish to take part. In my time, I have accumulated great wisdom, but our hero shall be wiser still. He must, for I am the greatest opponent he will ever know. So I must get him started on his way. I shall set the spark in motion that will destroy myself on every plane of Creation. The thought of finally being nothing, of becoming atoms unattached to this ancient consciousness excites me to my core. I tire of my longing, of my pain, my rage.
Our hero will hunt me down, in this world and others. I am a poison of upheaval and unrest, and he is the antidote. Just so long as I return, he shall as well.
And yes, here he is now. Disheveled, dirty, nothing more than a child looking to get inside from the elements. It is hot out there, and there is no comfort to be found. He looks at me, unsure, afraid. The weakest monster poses him every threat in the world, and mine as well, should he be attacked. I meet his gaze, wrapped as I am in my disguise. I am wrinkled, bearded, covered in robes. To both sides of me burn fires that cannot meet the fierceness of the tool I now give him. I begin the road to my destruction.
"It's dangerous to go alone! Take this."
|
The raucous chatters of the dining hall faded abruptly when Raul entered. All eyes trained on him, many full of wonder and admiration, some merely curious, and still others narrowed with malice.
Raul paid his fellow acolytes no mind. He had worked too hard for this day to let petty jealousies distract him. He strode forward briskly, a picture of grace and vigor. Lean, powerful muscles gave shape to the dark crimson robe that signified his status as an advent, the highest rank achievable as a junior member of the Covenant. He was the first acolyte in eighty-eight years to be granted an Audience, and he looked the part.
Raul halted at the end of the hall, in front of the faculty bench. He placed his right fist over his heart in the traditional stance of attention to an elder. Seated in the centre of the bench was Master Hesik, a wizened shell of a man and the only one old enough to remember the last Audience. His eyes, despite being whited out by cataracts, gazed upon Raul keenly. He began the ceremonial interview,
“All rise.”
With a unified clatter, every acolyte and every master in the room stood to join Raul in the stance of attention. Master Hesik was the only one who remained seated. He continued,
“He who seeks the ultimate test, name yourself.”
“Raul Mattice of Scarsbroke Hills. Advent Premier of the East Wing.”
“Advent Raul, what do you know of the path you tread?”
The interview was scripted. Master Cronen, Preceptor of the East Wing, had worked with Raul for a week to ensure he could recite the speech verbatim. Raul reflected that this may have been the most difficult task he had faced since he joined the Covenant, even more so than the quests and tournaments he had to conquer to be considered for this Audience.
“I know of the brothers and sisters that trod before me. Their lives and their blood spilt along the way. First came Brother Shevik, one of the Original Seven. He received instructions directly from the Grand Master and was his most brilliant apprentice. He was also the only acolyte ever to survive his Audience. The Grand Master spared his life so he could spread the teachings…”
And so it went. Fifty-three acolytes in the long history of the Covenant had been deemed fit to face the Grand Master in the “ultimate test”. Often, years and decades went by before a suitable candidate was produced, though the drought before Raul was perhaps the longest one. In the nation at large, there had been wars, famines, and political upheavals but the Covenant stood resolute in its singular purpose, that of serving the Grand Master in his search for the one worthy of his name, the one that could defeat him in single combat. In that time, the Covenant had grown from a small group of followers to a full-fledged institution.
“...Brother Micah was a veteran of the Kingsford War and a master spearsman. To this day, he is honoured with his own section in the academy…”
Some led illustrious lives of their own before being drawn to the challenge and camaraderie of the Covenant. Some were taken in by a Master at a young age, saved from destitution, and the Covenant was the only life they knew.
“...Sister Airey was the first woman to be granted an Audience. She was the daughter of a former Master and it is said that she started sparring before she could walk…”
Acolytes were mandated a life of discipline and celibacy while in the Covenant but were free to leave whenever they wished. More often than not, they found ways to utilise the skills they had cultivated and went on to live comfortably. Though officially there was no stigma attached to being an ex-acolyte, those who stayed on as lifelong Masters were naturally afforded a great amount of respect. But the ones who were venerated as true heroes, their name and likeness forever etched on the Memorial Wall, were the fifty-three who had faced and died at the hands of the Grand Master. Raul would be the fifty-fourth, regardless of the outcome of his Audience, and if he had his way there would be none to follow him.
It was a long speech. If Raul hadn’t been so concentrated on it, he would have heard the muffled coughs and rustling robes that became more frequent and impatient as he went on. At last, after Raul finished describing the fifty-third candidate’s manner of death, Master Hesik posed the next question.
“Advent Raul, why do you seek this path? Why did your brothers and sisters? Why do we all? What do you see at the end of your journey?”
This part of the dialogue was also strictly scripted, but Raul believed these words fervently and they came more naturally to him.
“Glory. My teachers, my brothers, my sisters and I walk the path of glory. To be the strongest that we can be, to be the best that we can be. The Grand Master is the best and strongest of us all, and to face him is the ultimate test.”
“Advent Raul, what makes you worthy? Why will you succeed when so many others had failed?”
“Because I do not stand alone. I gain strength from those that came before me and those that walk with me now. I am the strongest acolyte ever to walk these halls.”
Master Hesik gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Advent Raul Mattice of Scarsbroke Hills, I hereby declare your Audience in session. Strength be with you.”
“Strength be with you.”
The entire hall murmured in agreement. Master Cronen vacated his position on the bench and started to make his way toward the entrance of the hall. He was to be the guide; the Grand Master lived in a hidden wing, the route to which was known only to a select few of the senior Masters. Raul fell in and kept pace with his teacher, once again paying no heed to the eyes that followed him every step of the way until the heavy double doors of the dining hall shut behind him.
| 2015-07-25T07:40:02 | 2015-07-25T07:10:53 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came.
|
"Well OK, those 5 guys over there are literally barely functional human beings whereas the 5 of us are brilliant so I guess that settles which group is which. And, ok, here's the mysterious test...yeah, it's a calculus test. OK, I know calculus on account of I'm a fucking genius so thanks for wasting my time. Lets see how the other guys are doing...yeah, they've just shit themselves. They're all shitting themselves. Can I go home now? I was like, right in the middle of curing cancer."
|
I pace the waiting room. Up and down, up and down. Everyone is isolated from each other initially to prevent reading the others and finding out which group they came from. Well, most of the candidates knew which group they came from anyway. The room had a couch, a dresser, and a bit of refreshments on the small table in front of the couch.
"Well, figures I'd be the top 5 dumbest people in the world."
I smoked my way through high school and dropped out of college. For what? I thought I had a plan. My buddy and I, the start-up. Then shit went south and the fucker ditched me. Started doing odd-jobs, lived on the streets for a bit. Smoked a bit of this, shot up a bit of that. Got my ass beat so many times I barely feel physical pain anymore. Oh, that reminds me. If I'm going to humiliate myself on global television I might as well just do it while I'm feeling good and not getting the shakes. I'm sorry, mom, dad. I should have listened after all.
I pull out my syringe.
|
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, to the 3rd GC! I am your host for today, Quin Jackson, and I am joined with my amazing co-host, Victor. The Generation Contrast is a decennial event, where by 5 of the brightest minds of each new generation has to work with the 5 dumbest minds of the generation for the GC test. Now the GCT has been set, funded and organised by an anonymous individual ever since the creation of the GC in 2020. Even I don't know who he is."
The crowd murmurs.
"Now, we are going to move on to the live interviews, where the participants will be interviewed individually in their respective waiting rooms." The crowd goes wild as the anticipation to see who were the lucky few to be chosen. Or unlucky.
"Now, we will be looking at James, 26, jobless. But one of the smartest men of the generation. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TO TOGETHER FOR-"
The stadium's large screen changed from the faces of the casters, to a man sitting in the waiting room with his face in ecstasy and his arm with a needle sticking out of it. His entire head was thrown back on the couch as his eyes rolled back.
|
As I shoot up, thoughts run wild in my head. What's going to happen to me after the GC? Will my life be better after being known as the biggest dumbass in the world? Fuck it, I might just off myself after this shit is done. I'll OD on whatever, feel good when I pass out at least. Or not, if I get money.
My thoughts clear as the my body circulates the liquid of the gods. That hits the fucking spot, Mable's stuff is damn good as always. As I roll back my eyes to enjoy the pleasure, the door opens.
And suddenly, the whole world can see me shooting up heroin.
|
"JAMES? WHAT THE-? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?"
Quin turns off the mics and calms Victor down before he destroys the production desk.
"FUCK, HAVE YOU NOT DISGRACED THE FAMILY ENOUGH?" "Victor, you have to calm down. We have the biggest gig of the decade. Don't let your brother or anything stop you. And why are you pissed off? He's one of the brightest minds in his generation." "It must be a mistake. That doesn't make any sense for him to be here as one of the smartest. Dumbest, maybe, but not a snowball's chance in hell is he one of the smartest. You know what, professionalism. Let's get back to the show." Quin smiles at Victor.
Quin turns the mics back on.
"Er, James seems to be in, well, wonderland. We'll get back to him in a bit." "Apologies, everyone. I was not expecting my brother to be on the GC."
The crowd has mixed reactions, as Quin and Victor masterfully shifts the attention away from James and to the next participant.
"And moving on to the next brightest mind..."
EDIT: Formatting
| 2016-03-03T07:24:25 | 2016-03-03T05:47:53 | 91 | 26 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E.
|
Dear Shane,
Remember at my wedding when you looked at me and said, "Don't do this. It's not too late."
I'll be married twenty six years in December. I have three kids almost all of them are adults. I tell them about you all the time. How you were the strongest kid I ever met. I tell them how you were my good side and how you kept me from going down a path that would have been my destruction. Without you there would have been no me and I miss you.
I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me most. I promised I would and I wasn't. I've never forgiven myself for that. I thought the cancer was done and that we would both grow old. The shock and hurt on your face when I said, "I have to get my life started. I'm twenty and you don't need me anymore." still haunts me to this day. I think you knew that this was the beginning of the end.
You tried to talk me out of joining the Army, out of my sudden decision to get married, and god knows how many times you tried to talk me out of going to Tijuana for the weekend. I remember telling you that you were going to be my best man and you saying, "No."
"Oh, alright. Well, you are heading down tomorrow to get fitted for the tux. I'll pick you up around four." I replied. Your Dad laughed so hard he started crying.
Sometimes, I think about writing a book about our adventures. We lifted each other up. When you had lost your leg I was there to help you stand, then walk, then run, and finally I even had you rollerskating. When my parents went in two different directions leaving me abandoned with my younger sister you made sure that the anger I felt never fully possessed me. Your family became mine and we became brothers. I fully expected when I came back home that you would still be there.
Your death devastated me. I was living in Germany at the time and a letter came in from my wife's grandmother. When I opened it I saw the article and thought, "Holy shit, Shane is in the newspaper again." I was so happy until I realized it was an obituary.
Everyone knew something had happened. They kept asking me what was wrong. I simply said, "I have to go home and tell my wife." One of the Sergeants tried to stop me and the guy who always got along with everyone stared and said, "I'm going home and if you have a problem with it then send the M.P.'s."
My wife and I threw rose petals into the Main river that ran right behind my house. You would have loved to have seen it. In fact, I had started to make plans to bring you up to spend a couple weeks in Europe with us before I received that letter.
I've only just started talking about how I let you down. The one promise I ever broke was the most important one I ever spoke. It is my one and only regret and it still weighs heavily on me after all these years.
When you are twenty it seems as if you are getting old. That time is starting to slip out of your grip. In truth we were just kids just getting started in our lives. You had just turned twenty one when life ended for you. You had a steady relationship with a girl who adored you, had started college, and before I left looked to be a rising star in the distant horizon.
You taught me to live life to the fullest and I have. I've traveled across this world seeing things you couldn't imagine. I've gone all through Europe. Ate brochen and brauts while drinking Gluwein in Rothenburg during Christmas, drove all along the Cote D'Azur, sang Home Sweet Home to the tune of a German Polka band that was playing during a Weinfest held directly behind my home, and I went all across the Eastern Bloc countries seeing the devastation of communism first hand. I've lived in foreign countries, drank Vodka with Russians, and danced to Techno in Salzburg. With your life gone, I felt I owed it to you to live mine to the fullest and I have tried to do so. I have even danced with Midgets in Mexico. Now, with my own kids being adults, I can see myself heading down through South America before heading to Asia. I only wish you could be with me as I travel across those distant lands.
There isn't a day that goes by where some memory of our friendship doesn't make it to the front of my mind. See you on the other side.
| 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-06T00:19:39 | 235 | 32 |
[WP] JFK shot first.
|
JFK is at the parade, suddenly, his president sense ™ tingles.
He takes out his modified M1 garand with reflex sight, fast mag and steady aim, his back up gun since it isn’t that big of a deal.
He shoots the killer in the chest from 10 meters, getting only a hitmarker.
The killer flees and stands behind a wall to heal his wounds, he then flees for good.
Then the parade comes and the killer tries to shoot JFK, but his head just did that soooooo.....
|
The motorcade rolled down the avenue. There he was, smiling and waving to the crowd like he earned it. I never knew his name. They called him John Fitzgerald Kennedy. They called him the President of the United States. The last part may have been true, but not the first. I was John Fitzgerald Kennedy.
I have no memory of when it happened, but one day I was walking by Adams House in Cambridge and the next, I was sitting in a dark room. The man said his name was Lee Harvey Oswald and that he had some questions for me.
They were odd questions, mostly about my family and my families connection to certain Jewish families in Germany. It was 1937. Oswald was a Nazi or at least a sympathizer.
It took me two years to climb out of that hell and by the time I got my feet under me and got back to Hyannis Port, the impostor was firmly implanted and I was thrown out on my ear.
For the next 15 years, I drank, whored, gambled, and basically lived the life of a man who had no purpose or sense of direction. I forgot who I was. I forgot that I had been replaced. That all changed in 1960 when I won the Presidential election.
Oddly, I was in Canada at the time, working a lumber mill and getting drunk every night... and day. Someone came in and told me what had happened. I watched through rum-colored glasses until I saw him appear on television. I was shocked into sobriety. There was my impostor and standing next to him was his brother, Robert Kennedy.
I say it was his brother because it sure as heck wasn't mine. Worse, the man pretending to be Bobby Kennedy was none other than Lee Harvey Oswald.
Were Ted and Rosemary replaced too? My father? Mother? I stood and walked out of that lumber camp and started a three year journey that led me here.
I never found out what the fake John Kennedy was going to do. In many ways, he seemed a decent man even if he was a philanderer. I suppose that may have been an imitation though. I was never exactly loyal to the women I went with. Still, to the outside observer, the man had done nothing to be assassinated for. If not for the man portraying Bobby, I would never have thought twice about him.
The gun felt steady in my hands. We had to be sure. I saw Bobby, the real Bobby, through my scope. He was standing at the top of a little grassy rise that could oversee the motorcade. He wasn't a good shot, even though he had a pistol, it was just in case I missed.
I wouldn't miss.
I found most of my family. Bobby was the only one still alive. Rosemary had died of a drug overdose. Joseph had died killing his own impostor. I found out later that Joseph had been the first of us to change. He had been captured by the actual Nazi's in 1934 when he traveled to Germany.
Kathleen, like Joseph, died killing her own impostor in a plane crash. Eunice was killed trying to kill her own impostor. She failed and her body was dumped in the Charles. Patricia and Ted, as near as I could tell, forgot that they were ever Kennedys to begin with.
Jean and Robert though, I found and recruited. It was Jean who insured that "John" would ride in the open air and it was Robert who made sure that they took the intended route.
I exhaled and fired. I didn't miss. I fired again.
A third shot? I only fired twice. I don't know who fired at the Governor.
I am sorry about the other man. Tippit? I... panicked and I will accept responsibility for that. I had just killed the highest ranked spy the world has ever known and I thought he was there to kill me, but I acted hastily. His death weighs on me.
But for the so called President? I'm glad he's dead. He would have destroyed America. I'm a damned hero.
| 2018-03-21T08:25:25 | 2018-01-02T09:00:14 | 27 | 10 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
Coyly, I looked into the two orbital sockets that I assumed Death used for sight. "Fine. But, I need 24 hours in this realm's time, a notebook, and a pencil to make my selection." Death's black hood dipped slightly in assent. "I also need you to leave during that time. When my time's up, I'll choose."
Death seemed still, almost contemplative. I puzzled whether the thing in front of me was, truely, the shepherd of my consciousness from the realm of mortality. Or, merely, some construction of an unseen entity used to resign me to my own demise. The scythe propped in the corner was a nice touch, until you realized the whole skull and cloak routine was all rather hammy. No accounting for taste, I guess.
The Grim Reaper approximated, what I assumed was, a shrug, handing me what I requested as if it always had them. When I looked up from them it was gone, scythe and all. I opened up the notebook to find two words were inscribed in the darkest of black inks.
**CHOOSE WISELY**
I laughed, tearing the sheet out and began to write. And, write. And, write.
By the time Death returned, the notebook had filled. It was tightly plotted, with characters and requested guests, treasures and shopkeepers, and quests. A skeletal hand reached for the notebook back.
"Oh, no." I said. The hand stopped. "We'll need this for the game I've chosen. We'll also need dice, and pencils." I tore two sheets from the back and handed them to the hooded avatar. "The rules for character creation are included on the sheet. You'll need to roll your stats and choose a name."
The skeletal being held the paper briefly and then placed it on the table. Some dice appeared in front of it.
"You'll hand those to me. One of these needs to be 20-sided, 5 -sided, and 3- sided, also." The dice moved and had reverted to my request once they reached me. I rolled a few and told Death how they affected who its character was. Diligently, it complied with every request. By the end, it had almost a totally realized character and was ready to purchase goods from the store. It sat, staring at me patiently.
"We can't proceed until you've chosen a name."
Death stared down at the paper, and stared, and stared. It started to write, but erased it almost immediately. The skeletal creature did this several times.
Suddenly, I woke up in my hospital bed moments later. I laughed until it hurt.
It turns out, Death, by its nature, wasn't very creative.
|
It was a relatively simple deal, and I had no reason to push the issue. One game, winner takes my soul. I nodded.
"Good. So then, what do you want to play? Think carefully - the stakes are high, and you don't want to have regrets."
It was almost as if she wanted to give me another decade - but it could also be a trick to lure me into a false sense of security. I wasn't wholly prepared for this, truth be told - but I couldn't let her win.
I wracked my brain thinking of a game. I had enjoyed video games over the last decade or so, but they were presumably easier with practice, and if death existed, he - well, she - had an eternity. This also ruled out the classics - checkers, go, chess - as she was probably so much more experienced than I am at them.
What about Monopoly? House rules, however, were an easy way to lose that, and I'm frankly not sure if I remembered all of the rules. Besides, that may take 10 years itself.
There was no game that was a safe bet. Most had too much chance. Swinging heavily into that - like Chutes & Ladders - would just bore Death and become a 'who can cheat best' competition. And I imagine Death had Lady Luck on her side.
"Come on, now, you don't have forever..."
I decided to go for broke.
"OK - what is your favorite game?"
"What?" She seemed taken aback.
"I don't know what type of games you play. I don't have any knowledge to choose something where I have an advantage, and I have no reason to believe I can beat you at anything. Given that, I might as well at least let you enjoy the game."
She scoffed, but then the weirdest feeling washed over me. I had never felt a smile without seeing it, but it felt... relaxed.
"I like simple games - ones with an element of chance, but also a fairness to them. So how about... a shell game?"
I nodded again. That seems simple enough.
On the bedside tray, three ebony cups materialized. You would think that Death would have ancient chalices; these were nearly perfect, non-reflective, and almost hurt to look at. It felt slightly like my eyes were broken. Of course, that might just be old age creeping up.
She brought her bony hands up. "As you can see, I have one red and two white balls. Take them."
I was surprised for a moment, then realized her variant. "Ah, so I get to place them in the cups?"
"Exactly - then I move them, and you must find the red one. I'll leave the room."
She stepped outside.
An easy way to try to cheat would have simply been to hold the red ball, but that would have been easy to detect, and I didn't want her to have the satisfaction. I simply put the red ball in the left cup and the whites in the other two. "OK!"
She came back in. "OK. You can watch if you want. It may or may not help you - but I assure you I can go much faster if I wanted."
With blinding speed, she weaved the cups back and forth. It wasn't superhuman, but watching that cup was hard. I was certain I still had it, however, and made my selection - the right-most cup.
She placed her hand on mine. "Before you lift the cup, let me 'Monty Hall' it." She placed her other hand on the center cup, and pulled it off the table - it disappeared in a puff of smoke. "Now, do you still want your cup?"
I nodded. This was my choice, I was certain.
"Fine." She pulled the other cup away into another cloud of smoke, then removed her cold hand from my own. "Claim your prize."
I lifted the cup - slowly, as if I was scared. I wasn't.
Until I saw what was under the cup.
"No. NO! That's not right!"
Death chuckled. This was a different sensation washing over me - it felt as if I had no control over anything.
"Those were the terms. You find the red ball, you get ten more years of earthly freedom."
I stared intently at the red ball on the table. "No! I was certain it was a white one. Let me see the oth- you removed them!"
"Well, unless you have proof that I cheated, I'm afraid you'll have to abide by the terms of our agreement."
I began to protest, but everything went dark.
I woke up in the hospital bed - I couldn't tell if I had been asleep for days or seconds.
The red ball sat on the tray, mocking me. I picked it up to hurl it away - stiff and sore, but very much alive - and I felt a slosh in my hand. I broke the ball open, and inside was a red liquid, a paper inner layer, and a thin membrane inside that. She HAD cheated, and the proof had been right in front of me.
I hurled the remnants of the ball across the room, then did the same with the small, empty vial. The poison should have done the trick, and did - but then I was fooled.
A nurse heard my commotion and came in. She didn't move to restrain me, but she did gently press me back into the bed. "Mr. Karcher, please... I don't know if you can understand me, but if you can, please calm down. I understand that the dementia is confusing, but you will only keep any of your faculties if you calm down."
I relaxed, and she looked over at the tray.
"Who left this note?"
I looked at her and the note she held, with a more honest confusion than I'd had in weeks - at least, up until a few moments ago.
"'Don't play games with me - you might win. Cheers, D' Well, whoever it was has impeccable penmanship." She showed me the note. "There's even a little smiley face. Well, I'm not sure who came to visit you, but hopefully they'll visit again. I'll leave the note here."
Satisfied, she left. All I could do was glare at the note, and know that I had to wait at least 10 years for a return visit.
| 2018-03-07T06:59:07 | 2018-03-07T06:00:47 | 1,807 | 305 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
“Mmhmm, okay lets play!” Emma squealed excitedly. Death shook his head involuntarily under his hood at her enthusiasm but caught itself before letting its reaction show on its face.
“What game shall we wager?” Death asked.
Emma being freed from the excruciating pain from the events earlier in the day was smiling and admiring the parts of her body which had become anew. She was free from the haunting strobe light memory flickering to grotesque scenes of her tibia extruding from her shin, a pool of blood spreading on her favorite dress, and the view of rapidly passing rectangular light boxes which eventually faded to black. “Did you fix me?” she looked up inquisitively as she asked.
Death replied in monotone, “A question is not an answer to the question. Pick a game.”
“Well you say cheating is okay but I always hated when Julie cheated but she always won so I want to try it but you have to promise me not to get mad,” Emma blabbered. “Let’s play Rock, Paper, Scissors!”
“Wise are the ones to leave fate up to chance. Any other conditions? Best of 3?” Death said. Death took a liking to this simple game. Seldom had the dying spirit chose this game instead opting for higher chances of survival. Death found it amusing that humans, who did nothing to enrich their soul but rather spent time on accumulating wealth, had such a deep desire to retain their undeveloped worthless soul.
“No just once. Ready?” Emma held her fist up, “On three. Not after. Like one, two, three and when we say three you put your hand out. We both say 1-2-3. One…”
Death repeated after her catching up to her rhythm.
“Two.” They said in unison. Death looked up at her eyes which were focused intensely on its own. “Three!”
Death having sensed no malice from Emma simply threw out its favorite, scissors. But looking down at the skeletal hand flexed in bunny ears it saw or rather did not see Emma’s hand.
“I pick rock!” Emma shouted over giggles. She put her fist out next to Death’s scissors. “You lose! Julie taught me this one. It made me really mad and I called her a cheater but she said ‘no *you* not *we* put your hand out,’ and when I went to mommy crying Julie just laughed. You promised you won’t be mad.”
Death stood silent. Emma’s spirit faded away back towards the realm of the living.
“Innocence of children; I lose to you yet again.”
|
It was a relatively simple deal, and I had no reason to push the issue. One game, winner takes my soul. I nodded.
"Good. So then, what do you want to play? Think carefully - the stakes are high, and you don't want to have regrets."
It was almost as if she wanted to give me another decade - but it could also be a trick to lure me into a false sense of security. I wasn't wholly prepared for this, truth be told - but I couldn't let her win.
I wracked my brain thinking of a game. I had enjoyed video games over the last decade or so, but they were presumably easier with practice, and if death existed, he - well, she - had an eternity. This also ruled out the classics - checkers, go, chess - as she was probably so much more experienced than I am at them.
What about Monopoly? House rules, however, were an easy way to lose that, and I'm frankly not sure if I remembered all of the rules. Besides, that may take 10 years itself.
There was no game that was a safe bet. Most had too much chance. Swinging heavily into that - like Chutes & Ladders - would just bore Death and become a 'who can cheat best' competition. And I imagine Death had Lady Luck on her side.
"Come on, now, you don't have forever..."
I decided to go for broke.
"OK - what is your favorite game?"
"What?" She seemed taken aback.
"I don't know what type of games you play. I don't have any knowledge to choose something where I have an advantage, and I have no reason to believe I can beat you at anything. Given that, I might as well at least let you enjoy the game."
She scoffed, but then the weirdest feeling washed over me. I had never felt a smile without seeing it, but it felt... relaxed.
"I like simple games - ones with an element of chance, but also a fairness to them. So how about... a shell game?"
I nodded again. That seems simple enough.
On the bedside tray, three ebony cups materialized. You would think that Death would have ancient chalices; these were nearly perfect, non-reflective, and almost hurt to look at. It felt slightly like my eyes were broken. Of course, that might just be old age creeping up.
She brought her bony hands up. "As you can see, I have one red and two white balls. Take them."
I was surprised for a moment, then realized her variant. "Ah, so I get to place them in the cups?"
"Exactly - then I move them, and you must find the red one. I'll leave the room."
She stepped outside.
An easy way to try to cheat would have simply been to hold the red ball, but that would have been easy to detect, and I didn't want her to have the satisfaction. I simply put the red ball in the left cup and the whites in the other two. "OK!"
She came back in. "OK. You can watch if you want. It may or may not help you - but I assure you I can go much faster if I wanted."
With blinding speed, she weaved the cups back and forth. It wasn't superhuman, but watching that cup was hard. I was certain I still had it, however, and made my selection - the right-most cup.
She placed her hand on mine. "Before you lift the cup, let me 'Monty Hall' it." She placed her other hand on the center cup, and pulled it off the table - it disappeared in a puff of smoke. "Now, do you still want your cup?"
I nodded. This was my choice, I was certain.
"Fine." She pulled the other cup away into another cloud of smoke, then removed her cold hand from my own. "Claim your prize."
I lifted the cup - slowly, as if I was scared. I wasn't.
Until I saw what was under the cup.
"No. NO! That's not right!"
Death chuckled. This was a different sensation washing over me - it felt as if I had no control over anything.
"Those were the terms. You find the red ball, you get ten more years of earthly freedom."
I stared intently at the red ball on the table. "No! I was certain it was a white one. Let me see the oth- you removed them!"
"Well, unless you have proof that I cheated, I'm afraid you'll have to abide by the terms of our agreement."
I began to protest, but everything went dark.
I woke up in the hospital bed - I couldn't tell if I had been asleep for days or seconds.
The red ball sat on the tray, mocking me. I picked it up to hurl it away - stiff and sore, but very much alive - and I felt a slosh in my hand. I broke the ball open, and inside was a red liquid, a paper inner layer, and a thin membrane inside that. She HAD cheated, and the proof had been right in front of me.
I hurled the remnants of the ball across the room, then did the same with the small, empty vial. The poison should have done the trick, and did - but then I was fooled.
A nurse heard my commotion and came in. She didn't move to restrain me, but she did gently press me back into the bed. "Mr. Karcher, please... I don't know if you can understand me, but if you can, please calm down. I understand that the dementia is confusing, but you will only keep any of your faculties if you calm down."
I relaxed, and she looked over at the tray.
"Who left this note?"
I looked at her and the note she held, with a more honest confusion than I'd had in weeks - at least, up until a few moments ago.
"'Don't play games with me - you might win. Cheers, D' Well, whoever it was has impeccable penmanship." She showed me the note. "There's even a little smiley face. Well, I'm not sure who came to visit you, but hopefully they'll visit again. I'll leave the note here."
Satisfied, she left. All I could do was glare at the note, and know that I had to wait at least 10 years for a return visit.
| 2018-03-07T06:50:46 | 2018-03-07T06:00:47 | 944 | 305 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”
|
"So where is the backup?" the one with the blonde hair asked. He seemed nervous. I swear the only thing stopping him from fidgeting with his hair was the black USP he was holding in both hands. At least he held it competently, so the odds of him accidentally shooting someone seemed low.
"There is no backup" the old guy answered. His voice was oddly calm, his posture collected. The opposite of mr. Blonde. He sat on a rickety wooden chair with his hands in his lap. He did not act threatening, but something seemed off.
"Well, you're shit out of luck then" the brown-haired one said. Good thing they had different hair, or it would be difficult to pick them apart. Well, usually it would. Mr. Brown was the epitome of sadistic cool. No weapons bared, but eyes that said that he liked to hurt people. He had chosen a good profession at least.
"So, er... what do we do boss?" Mr. Blonde turned to me. I'll hand it to him, it was a good question. Usually when your people go missing in this business and you start narrowing down suspects, you expect to find some bratty soldiers, maybe a lieutenant looking to prove himself or who got handed a dirty assignment because he did something bad. You didn't expect single individuals and you certainly didn't expect someone who should be looking for retirement homes.
"What is your name?" I asked. I didn't threaten. Blonde and Brown were the muscle, my employers didn't hire me for brawn.
"Lazlo" he said. Was that a smile creeping up on his lips?
"Most people have two names" I replied.
"I don't". Yes, he was smiling now. Crazy fuck. God damn American teeth, too white, too perfect.
"How about you explain why your face keeps showing up next to dead people?" mr. Blonde blurted out. Not the patient type. Then again, it would have been my next question, so I let it slide.
"You know, I have asked that question many times myself". His smile faded slightly, as if the joke was a bit more serious than he let on.
"Well, screw this shit. Let's just cut him up, right?" mr. Brown said. His voice a bit too eager. I wouldn't be surprised if he had an erection as he said it. Not a good sign. Then again, psychos have their uses in this business. Nobody could deny that. Too his credit he did look at me and he did ask. So as far as psychos went, he was an up-scale one.
I was getting tired too. The business does that to you. Too many killings, too much hassle. I rubbed my eyes tiredly. I nodded to mr. Brown. "Make it quick, too much screaming and I lose my appetite". It was a tough-guy comment, and it was also a lie. I just didn't have the stomach for torture anymore. Mr. Brown smiled in anticipation, mr. Blonde gripped his gun a little bit harder.
"Wait" the old guy said.
But it was the way he said it. A lot of people beg for their lives when they are about to be gutted. But this wasn't a beg. It was...
Mr. Brown stopped in his tracks. Right there. Froze like a fucking statue. It was weird. Mr. Blonde freaked out, but again to his credit he raised his gun competently at the old guy. No questions, no pause. Get the sights on whatever is off.
Then he crumpled to the ground, hands cluthing... his throat? His eyes were panicky, blood flowed from a torn throat, his voice gurgling.
I'd like to say that I did something, but truth be told the only thing I did was piss my pants. Old guy was standing in front of me now. How the fuck did that happen? Nothing can move like that. His smile just as cool, his posture just as calm. His teeth weren't American though. Mr. Brown stood just as frozen as before. I don't know if his sadistic mind was even thinking.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
"Shhh" he said as he looked around. Mr. Blonde's gurgles were the only sound filling the small warehouse.
He looked me in the eyes then, they were pale blue like before, but they seemed colder. His teeth were still bared, still white, still glimmering in the dark.
"I need your ships" he said. "You know how to bring things into this country without anyone noticing".
My mind slipped. I just looked him in the eyes and nodded.
"Nine items to be exact, about 7 feet long, 2 feet wide and 2 feet tall. You will arrange this".
I nodded again. It was the only natural thing to do. I had to obey.
"And these bodies you are looking to revenge? It was just a turf war, the people responsible are dead".
I nodded again. It was true after all. I remember affirming that they were dead.
The gurgling had stopped in the background. His eyes shifted slightly then. From something human to something that was not. And still those fucking bright white non-American teeth.
"You will leave this place now. You will come back tomorrow with details of the ships I need".
I nodded and started walking towards the door. I looked back at mr. Brown where he stood, still frozen, but trembling as if he was desperately trying to move".
"Do not worry about this one. He thinks he is evil. I will teach him how wrong he is", the old man said.
I walked outside and into the night. It was a shame about mr. Blonde and mr. Brown, but I had ships to arrange.
|
The flash of the enemy units, mounted and bristling with fresh steel sent a tremor through Tynor's heart that he couldn't decipher. Was it fear or excitement? Bloodlust or desire?
"Keep firm ahead, and we'll live to see another day," Came the advice of the warcaller, second in command. His armor was dented and scratched, deep rends barely repaired by the hammers of the camp. "Beware false hope."
The plan has lasted all of three seconds before they entered the bladed mile, the cursed passage of the border, where reality had unentwined itself from the mortal suppositions.
The only warning they got came from the birds, crying out underneath of them. Then the spray of blood from the enemy ranks. Then the sudden and total loss of their magics, awarded to them by bloodline, right of conquest, and divine providence. There were screams.
The border to the zone had shifted a mile, perhaps sensing the fresh blood approaching it. Or perhaps, fickle fate had decided that this would be the day it would intervene in the border conflict.
The swords came down upon them with all the force of an avalanche. Ground and rock and solid terrain twisted into abominations of steel and sorcery, roaring mouths filled with teeth and blades dripping fresh polish.
"KEEP TO THE PATH!" roared the war-caller, his mace thrown to the sky. "AND GATHER TO ME!"
The warbirds screeched out in defiance, and Tynor's hands dug deep into the reins to keep his own bird on course. Keep it straight ahead on the planned route.
But the top of the company was already gone, griseled chunks of steak left behind with blades had flayed away the skin. Twisted, turning around and around and around until bone marrow cracked open upon what little terrain was left. The blades came down, one by one by one in nervous appraisal, twisting and twitching. They came without rhyme, they came without reason, and men fell to the ground dead, piece by piece.
Mounted knights took steps out of line to avoid and were cut down piece by piece. Tynor stared up at them from the back, and slowly raised his shield. The impact struck him and knocked him far and away from the top of the course, and he and bird rolled down the hill, Tynor's magic, desperately hoarded, barely reacting to his demands, to the swell of his heart and the screeching pain of velocity, barely protected him and the beast. Despite it, hot sand kicked into straining muscles and ate away at his armor as shapes dug up from the depths and pounding against him.
At once he was in the air, and another he was on the ground, and another he was kicking his bird to keep moving up an impossibly large slope, cleaved full of swords and hooks. At one point he saw the dagger of an assassin and knocked it away, sending a vial of poison rolling into the depths of hell where it sparkled back into gasoline and ignited, mixing smoke into the depths of madness.
His teeth grit against one another, sweat rolling down his skin, as the rest of the shouts met him, piece by piece. Cut down. Tremulous. The bird jerked to a halt, looking around, snapping the metal tipped beak together nervously.
A prayer sprang to his lips. Battle, need, desire. A place to rest his head and clean his blade. All of the words the monks had taught him in the temples to the north.
The bird knew better than he did, but he could smell the polish hovering in the air, and he could smell death on the wind. Could see the grass lined with steel now, clicking together in a distant wind to the beat of a heart that was larger than mountains. Distantly, overhead, Tynor spied the eye of the red war god looking down upon him with all the concern of a child inspecting ants. With all the ideas of a man who wanted peace but demanded nothing but war.
And the blades fell upon him in and instant, noticing his paradox. Long sprightly lines of silver, great hooks of steel, and an abomination of brass upon the dark iron sands below. His shield came up, brass, embossed with prayers and hopes for his family line, and the blades were repelled once. His arm jerked back as the impact jolted clear through to the bone, set his teeth rattling, but he had to keep going.
"Beware false hope," he muttered under his breath, tongue loosened, bloody from where his teeth had dug into it, clicked together. It dripped down his chin as he slowly moved that sword away from his bird.
The bird let out a tittering noise at him, but he could feel the heartbeat thump out piece by piece with each movement they made.
They had survived, if but for a moment, but as Tynor peeked out, he saw nothing but the edges of thousands of blades, and the rattle of hooks. The green sun beat down upon the black desert, and he could smell blood, rust, polish, and even distant, the ever present smell of the desert itself. And somehow, over that, he smelled more fire.
His bird chirped at him, and Tynor drug his gauntlets down to scratch across the bird's beak where the metal had dug into the skin. He pried at it, automatically, on auto-pilot, and stared into the mess around him. A crowning citadel of rising steel, walls of quivering blades. Death, on both sides.
A garish plume of smoke bloomed in the distance. He stared at it for moments while his eyes adjusted, and then it bubbled and boiled with the pattern of an emergency flare. Tynor counted his heart beat and tried to calm his breath. He reached into his pouch and provided the noble bird with a bit of jerky.
It crooned and dug into it, spurs clicking with glistening brass.
Then he took the reins again, strained and splattered with blood, though he could no longer remember who died and who had survived, and tugged on his dominion. It ached, terrified, and flitted back to him in this strange place.
Tynor stole a glance up and stared at the trailing field of blades inching towards the war god distant overhead, watching with the face of a maiden, and then stole his glance back at the distant fire.
As much as he hated to admit it, he had a soldier to meet up with.
----
The War-Caller greeted him as his horse hopped up stairs carved out of molten metal.
"Ho!" He waved on, his helm split into chunks of metal across a face that Tynor had never seen before. Old, etched in age, covered in soot and rust and metal polish. The only injury was a single cut decorating the tip of the eye socket, but the eye flicked to him as he stared at it.
It was unbecoming for the face to be revealed so garishly, but Tynor found he could not care. His own helmet slid off and bounced across the metal sand, rust and blood mixing together.
"Sir!" He called out, his bird nervously sidling over to the other bird.
He'd never seen the company's birds break formation so quickly before, but their beaks preened at one another's feathers, leaning against one another.
Had it been hubris that had led him here, or something else entirely?
"Tynor," The war-caller greeted, flicking his white hair behind him. "Glad you can join me for my vigil."
"Vigil sir?" Tynor asked, stepping forward.
The caller shoved Tynor down on the ground and smiled at him. "Clearly Auren herself has decided that today's offensive would not come to pass. Who am I to disagree with the divine?"
Tynor stole another glance up into the sky. "But... she butchered us."
"She does that," The caller agreed. "But we're both alive, aren't we?"
Tynor swallowed and reached into his supplies. He found his water skin, filled just that morning, and drank greedily from it. The war-caller made no move to reach for his.
"Yes, but..." Tynor said, slowly. "My magic protects me. How did..."
"Your magic will not protect you long," The War-caller said, grimly. "And I have made a habit of surviving what the War god brings us."
"But this war is not what the goddess demands," Tynor said. "I can't..."
"We will war as our company demands," The caller returned, nodding slowly. "Let our masters decide what is right, they'll be the ones tasting our weapons, one by one."
"But..." Tynor sat down properly and stared into the depths of the signal fire. He still felt the eyes of the war god upon him, wearing the face of a maiden.
"Until then, we will stay here, and we will talk about the old songs, and we will wait for a rescue," The caller's yellow eyes twinkled with divine providence.
"Have you heard about the reign of the red prince?"
And then they sat there and awaited their judgement in that blighted place.
-----
For More like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
I am back from vacation, so let's get back into the swing of prompts!
| 2018-07-15T08:38:32 | 2018-07-15T08:27:17 | 207 | 10 |
[WP] It's been years since the last moon landing. After several decades of silence, humans proudly set foot on it again. Up there, the astronauts found mummified human corpses inside torn open space suits. The tags were still legible, Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin... the astronauts from decades ago.
|
"Houston, we have a problem."
At the time, it was supposed to be said in irony. A reference to an age long ago, back when we were still sending men to the moon. But the last time I heard those words said, it wasn't in a joking tone, it was said in a shaking, quavering voice, the voice of someone losing the battle to fight against their tears.
I still remember seeing the photographs. The faces that looked barely human. The desecrated suits, ripped to shreds as if they were made of paper. The increasingly haunting contrast of their brightly colored American flags against the white and grey of the moon's surface and the remains.
When Director McNamara made the decision to release the photographs to the public, I had my doubts about the whole thing. Only a handful of us had seen them, only the men on the mission and the small few of us who were in mission control at the time. It wouldn't be perfect, but with so few people knowing the truth (whatever *the truth* was,) we could keep the rumors contained. And those who did talk about our findings would be regarded as crazy. We could, effectively have kept it safe, and by extension, everyone would have been safe.
But, unlike so many politicians, scientists, and business managers, McNamara chose the truth over safety. And while I had agreed with his moral philosophy, I couldn't help but wonder whether we made the right decision, letting everyone know what we had found.
Well, looking at everything that's happening right now, I think it's safe to say that I was right. Because the minute the images were verified, everyone was thrown into a chaos. If the men who had been to the moon had really died up there, who had returned to our planet? Scientists theorized that they were another species of life, one that could perfectly replicate the genetic makeup of the humans they encountered.
I remember reading something about how they - the microorganisms that the creatures used to mimic our men - mimicked the function of RNA polymerase, but rather than copying the DNA template to make RNA, they simply made perfect copies of the human DNA they attached to, and produced the exact same proteins as their former host did in order to make a near-perfect replica.
Well, I'm a physicist, not a biologist. I don't know if that's how they do it, I just know that they do it. And that it has everyone terrified. Because once the news was out, the question arose: *how many of them are among us?*
Well, turns out paranoia does crazy things to the human societal structure in general. Since the photos were released, everything has collapsed around us. And as one of the only twelve people who actually had the power to stop those images from being released, I can't help but feel partially responsible.
"We had another lynching today." My roommate, Chris's, voice is steady and strong. Unsurprised. "Apparently old Mrs. Robinson convinced the town that her husband was one of Them."
"Shame." I shake my head, pouring myself a second cup of coffee. "But she had it out for him anyway."
Chris gives a noncommittal grunt of agreement, goes back to scrolling through his phone. I watch as his brow furrows, probably scanning the obituaries to make sure nobody he cares about has ended up dead.
I take a sip of the scalding black coffee I know and love so well, walking over to my desk to grab my laptop.
Shit. It's still open to the email. McNamara's last email before he... well... before he hanged himself.
*Forgive me.*
I close the window as quickly as possible, instead opening up the news. To no surprise, the news has barely changed. Everything happening becomes political, but at this point, it's accusing other prominent figures of being one of Them, or revealing detailed histories of organized lynching.
I'm half tempted to exit the news and spend the next few hours scrolling through Reddit, trying to ignore the problems around me, but I know that that's not possible. Pretending something isn't there doesn't make it any better.
"Do you ever think it's funny?" Chris isn't looking at me, but is clearly addressing me.
"What?"
"The fact that They haven't really done anything other than kill the astronauts. And yet simply knowing about their existence is throwing everything into chaos."
I sigh and shrug. "Funny's an interesting word to describe the situation... but yes. I respected those astronauts. They're the reason I worked at NASA for so long. I can understand why the fact that they're dead would outrage a lot of people." I sigh and glance back at the computer screen. "But that doesn't mean that it isn't wrong. What they're doing."
Chris gives me a crooked grin. "Human nature at its finest."
I laugh sarcastically. "If this is your psychology major talking, I beg of you, stop."
I finish my coffee. Chris puts his phone down and glances out the window.
"So there really isn't anything we can do to stop it?"
I hesitate for a minute, then slowly shake my head. "Like you said, it's not Them that's sending everything into chaos. It's us."
Chris sighs. "That's what I thought. Want a muffin?"
And we could do nothing but let the world burn around us.
|
“Thank you for your service”
That was the last transmission they had sent before going
silent. Leaving me, Judith and Adrian to stare at the crackling screen before
us. It’s ominous glitching seeming to be a bad omen for things to come. The
contents of the transmission had started a conversation between us, each
discussing our take on its message.
“It’s a weird message to leave on. You think they would have
said something like, return home safely.” Judith was still fiddling with the
control panel, trying to get into contact with headquarters, but the radio
silence was stubborn, refusing to allow such a thing to occur.
“We are the first people in a decade to arrive on the moon,
of course they would thank us for our service. We are heroes, just like the
ones that came before us. Now stop fiddling with the controls and lets set up
the camera. This will be a live broadcast.” Adrian had already opened the door
to the ship, watching as the grey specs of dust seemed to flow freely through
the air, disrupted by the door’s heaving motion.
“Man, look at that dust, should have brought a vacuum.” I
tried a joke to lighten the mood, but neither party seemed interested in my
lack of humor.
Spending the next few minutes preparing our cameras, we were
finally ready. Me and Judith had agreed to let Adrian take the first small
step, not wanting to spend the entire trip arguing over it. It wasn’t like it
was an amazing feat anymore. After they had taken the first step, any subsequent
steps weren’t as noteworthy.
With a shared nod, we stepped onto the rocky surface, the
shift in gravity being the first thing we all noticed, judging by the way that
our powerful strides had turned into slow waddling. It took us all a fair
amount of time to gain our moon feet, but we eventually did. Able to traverse
with less of a waddle and more of a stride.
Adrian went straight for his task, not even bothering to
take in the sights like Judith and me. Both of us were in awe, staring back at
the Earth, watching as it seemed to hang in the dark pool of space just for us.
We eventually pulled our eyes away from the planet, deciding to take ourselves
for a small walk, wanting to stretch our legs before collecting moon rocks.
With a quick high five, Judith and I continued our journey, only
to get our smiles slapped away from our faces. Bodies, mummified by the vacuum
of space, laid against a pile of rocks, embracing one another. Both of us
immediately stepped away from the corpses, ready to run only for a heavy
pressure to collide with my shoulder.
“A body?”
Adrian’s voice drifted into my helmet. Never had I been so
glad to hear his voice. He motioned us both towards the bodies, but neither of
us followed, our legs refusing to budge. Adrian only waited for a few moments
before he headed to the corpses without us. Crouching before the bodies. My
helmet again sparked with his voice. For once he seemed shaken by something.
“Neil Armstrong? The tag says Neil Armstrong. That’s
impossible, though. Ive met the man in training. These bodies belong to the
original crew, if the tags are to be believed. Judging by the wounds, something
tore into their suit. I would assume this to be a joke but these suits are
expensive, to break three open like this for a joke. We need to get back to the
ship. If something could get into a suit, you can imagine what it would do to
our flesh.”
Adrian pulled himself away from the body, only for a tendril
to creep from the hole, wrapping around his wrist. That’s when I caught my
first glimpse of it. The dark grey blob, its body shaped to fit inside the body
of the astronauts it had killed. No amount of struggling would save Adrian, the
blob having no eyes or noticeable features apart from its row of needle like
black teeth. A set of teeth that the tendrils also shared, drawing blood as it
dug into Adrian’s wrist.
Judith took a step forward, but I quickly pulled her back.
What could we do? Without a weapon, we were just offering ourselves to be a
secondary meal.
“Let’s run.” Tugging at Judiths wrist, I had already turned
to rush back to the ship.
“Help me you coward, we can kill it, there’s three of us.”
That was the last thing Adrian said before screams filled
our helmets. I didn’t turn to watch the gruesome display, but I know Judith
did. Her movements sluggish and paranoid. The craters of the moon now a
minefield. Hundreds of tiny places for the creatures to hide.
“We let him die, we could have tried to pull the creature
away.” Judith argued, panted breaths following each word.
“And offer ourselves as the next meal? We have nothing to
fight the creature with. If I was getting killed Adrian would have done the
same.”
That was what I was telling myself, anyway. Refusing to
believe I had just cursed someone to their death. I was finally nearing the
ship, but Judith was too slow. As we neared the ship, I took one last glance
back; the tendrils were behind us, sliding through the air as though it were
water. tendrils flaring out to push its body closer and closer.
Jumping in the ship's safety, I watched Judith. She was
close, but so were the tendrils. I reluctantly slammed my fist against the
yellow button beside the door, watching as it slowly closed, until it dropped
right before Judith could enter.
“Thank you for your service.” That was all I could say to
her, twisting the neck of my helmet before her screams would fill it, pulling
it from my head, tossing it as far away from my body as I could.
I had sacrificed two partners, but I would survive, I would
be the one to tell them the truth about the moon. Desperately I fought with the
controls, reconnecting our communications with headquarters.
“Judith and Adrian are dead. I need you to bring me home,
there're these aliens, black octopus type things, they fly through the air.
They killed the original crew and now they are going to kill me if you don’t
hurry and help me.”
A voice sighed on the other end, a few words being exchanged
that were too silent for me to hear.
“Listen Sam, this may be hard for you to accept, but we are
fully aware of what’s on the moon. You don’t think the previous crew reported
the creature before they died? We sent you to the moon to get us a sample,
something you did beautifully.”
“A sample? Like I’ll get you anything. Hurry and send me
home. I won’t talk if you send me home. Just please get me off the moon. I
don’t want to die. I don’t want to die up here. I’ll even destroy the camera.
We can say it was a hoax.”
I was a blathering mess of tears, trying to plead with an
uncaring screen. I could hear the voices talking in muffled silence, a faint
laughing even heard, sharing amusement over my panicked state.
“The camera’s were never on Sam. It was only there to flood
Adrian’s ego. We didn’t want him getting suspicious. Out of you three, he was
the only one that might have been able to stop this. Regardless, the sample is
already on the ship. Thank you for your service, Sam. The world will know you
as a hero. We will send the ship back once it kills you. I hope its quick.
They left me alone. The sample was already on the ship? I
couldn’t see it, but I didn’t doubt their words. This sample couldn’t get back
to Earth, that would be catastrophic. Crouching beneath the cockpit, I pulled
open its panel, tugging at the wiring, trying to cause it to malfunction. If
only Adrian had survived over me. He would have known what to do. My desperate
attempts to destroy the ship did little more than cause the lights to flicker.
Dropping back onto the floor, I gave up. Arms spread out as I stared at the
ceiling of the ship, eyeing the sterile coloring.
I could already feel it, the creature’s tendril slipping up
my leg, only to stop on my stomach.
>!“I’m sorry.”!<
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2020-09-20T22:06:25 | 2020-09-20T21:51:40 | 286 | 181 |
[WP] Humans are so cute. They use shiny minerals to decorate, wrap themselves in soft materials when sleeping, use colourings to change their physical appearance and really like eating sugar. Lately, they just learnt how to travel through space! Let's welcome these fascinating creatures!
|
I've been observing these humans for close to 20 years. It's my job. As part of the Galactic Committee for the Research of Planet Earth, or GCRPE, for short, me and my team are in charge of monitoring the planet and researching the native flora and fauna.
And in my research, I've found that the humans are fascinating creatures.
Unlike many species I have seen, humans find peculiar ways to make their relatively short lives exciting. They decorate their bodies with rare jewels and stones that are worth more than some of them can afford. Some have what they call "tattoos," which are large, colored skin markings that can have meaning to them, or just be for show. Many of them partake in the eating of glucose, for it gives them energy and it apparently tastes quite good. Some pierce their own skin to modify their looks. Some are white, others have a darker, richer color to their skin. Almost all of them use soft sheets - or blankets, as they call them - when they sleep to keep themselves warm.
But most excitingly, withing the past century of their 6 million year existence as a species, they have learned space travel to an extent that they have begun colonizing one of their neighbors - a planet known as Mars, named after a god of war that few of them worship. From what information I've been able to gather, this is because their planet is experiencing a "global warming," and their planet is only a few thousand years from inhospitably. Nonetheless, it's quite exciting to see these creatures make such incredible progress in just a short amount of time.
What I'm most excited about, though, is the news we received from the Ministry of Foreign Communications: humans have sent out a signal - some sort of message, I suppose - and we have received it. While we are still deciphering what it means, it is almost certain that it's a message of greetings and introductions, probably sent in the hopes of making contact with life in the universe. As of this moment, our finest members of the Ministry are deciding on what sort of message we should send back.
As a member of the GCRPE, I am unimaginably excited for the prospect of contact with humankind. Perhaps this will lead to a long and prosperous friendship between our races!
I suppose we'll just have to wait and see.
|
“Welcome back to Grethiux Today” the host telepathically chirped to the audience in attendance and through the telepathic booster, to the wider audience tuned in to the program. “Today we have a real treat. Grosax the Glutton will be preparing his famous Ffmsp and Wanx with a delicate Krelm sauce reduced in the blazing fires of a supernova. So if you want to follow at home get your plasma stoves warmed up. But first, Jins Patank, famous explorer, is back with yet another new species. So for the first time ever on grethiuxian media, Jins is going to show us what he has found. Jins?”
The announcer warped his body towards the chair and Jins obligingly folded himself into the comfortable furnishing.
“So Jins, first of all welcome back, we are always happy to see you. I understand you have two new specimens to show us today?” The host chirped with an inquisitive yet well rehearsed intonation to his thought.
“Well yes, I’m just back and we have been to a smaller planet, quite out of the way, but one we have visited before. We’ve known about these little fellas for a while but this time we were lucky enough to grab a pair - so let meet them now!”
The live audience sent out waves of telepathic applause.
“They seem ready!” The host noted.
The cover of the cage faded away revealing two small pale creatures huddled back at the back corner of the cage. The audience cooed adoringly. The creatures were small and roundish with adorably small faces proportional to their bodies. The glanced around apprehensively. They appeared naked save an adornment on the head.
“So what’s on the head?” The host asked rebroadcasting a prepared question.
“I’m glad you asked!” Jins said, telepathing with perfect believability that the question was spontaneous. “We removed the clothing with little trouble but the head gear elicited a strong and stressful response. So for the sake of their health we left it. It’s just more skin under there so we figured it was no harm from a scientific standpoint.” Jins related with a ripple of an appendage indicating a flippant attitude.
“Fascinating!” The host reacted with the feigned interest of experience. “So what can you tell us about these two?”
“Well, the species isn’t telepathic. They are still at the auditory level of communication. And the auditory range is outside the range of our prehensile ears, so we had to resort to visual communication. We had a transmodulating device and after some effort we were able to determine their names.
“The one on the left is, and I hope I’m telepathing this correctly, ‘Cletus’. And the other is ‘Murica’!” Jins beamed...literally.
“Now the head adornments...do they have any meaning?” The host inquired.
“Well” Jins continued, “We believe it to be a tribal sign. We’ve noticed it on others. Many of there fellow species have been spotted sporting them, same red color though the white marking remains mystery. But here is the twist. Studying the broadcast media the seeps into space we have a hunch. We took images from those seeped broadcasts and showed them images to see what responses they elicited in an attempt to hone in on those beliefs.”
Jins noticed he had the rapt attention of the host. This whole bit was off script but seemed to be working
“And your findings?” Prodded the host.
“Well two images gave the strongest reactions. One was very negative. One very positive.” Jins said, relishing the building tension.
“This image...” he said bringing up an image of a clearly older version of the species - gray hair on his pate, pulled back, with its speaking hole turned up, “ generated stress and anger among the two. The two creatures opened their speaking holes and emitted a rapid series of detectable sounds.
“But this one...” Jins said, folding back on himself, indicating supreme confidence, “This one’s image elicited an very positives response.”
The screen showed another version of the species but if a much richer skin tone and more colorful hair.
“Well I can see the difference but I’m not sure what I’m looking at” the hose mused with a degree of sincerity rare for his job.
“Well, we couldn’t either, so...well, now this is a real surprise...” Jins mischievously transmitted, his ocular receptors moving laterally. “ we grabbed him!”
“You did what!?” The host said dropping all pretense of following the script.
Jins laughed internally and relished the attention.
“Yes, we grabbed the second one, to see what would happen. Maybe I’d had a few too many Triuscian Wamblespunts, but what’s done is done!” Jins blurted knowing it was gamble to admit such a blatant breach of protocol on live broadcast but knowing a good result could lead to massive boosts in sponsorship.
“So here it is!” He said, dramatically projecting into alternate dimensions as a new cage appeared.
The audience gasped, not telepathically but in a rare show of auditory collective expression.
The creature was certainly the same as had been displayed before, but very different in critical ways.
Anticipating their confusion, Jins launched into an explanation.
“So in the decontamination process we found the skin tone to be an artificial pigmentation as well as the hair.”
The audience stared at a exceptionally round, pale, ball of quivering jelly. It’s formerly gold hair now white...brown streaks ran down its appendages.
The audience broke into cheers - nothing so cute had ever been presented.
The two earlier subjects were forgotten as they leaked fluid from their eyes, but the attention of the world was on the latest offering. And an offering it was as Jins rose to announce
“789 gronaks and you can own a clone of this little fellow! We are taking orders now!”
| 2021-03-02T04:51:58 | 2021-03-02T04:26:05 | 73 | 34 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors.
|
Ani reached for the bowl of cheese puffs teetering on the edge of the couch with her right hand, holding the game controller in her left. Her thumb rapidly tapped one of the controller buttons as she stretched out her fingers to grasp the bowl. One last reach and... the bowl fell over onto the floor.
Ani reached down to grab the upside-down bowl when the speakers in front of the monitor exploded in a hail of gunfire. The monitor turned red as Ani watched her character take round after round of bullets. Slowly, the gunfire stopped and the game ended.
"Damnit!" She slammed down the controller and reached over to gather the cheese puffs back into the bowl. "Third time this week!" She grabbed the bowl and sat back into the couch, cradling the snacks in her lap. Reaching for the remote, she turned on television to a news break.
"...has resulted in a nearly complete destruction of the inhabitants of the Markham colony. The Intergalactic Super League arrived several hours ago and attempted to stop the advance of the Meldrathians but the losses appear to be overwhelming." Ani tossed a cheese puff high in the air, watched it fall and moved her head around to just the right point to catch the puff in the right eye.
As she was about to take another chance, the door to the den opened. Ani rose from the couch and turned to see the other members of the ILS dragging themselves into the room.
The first one in was a woman in blue and gray spandex with a bright white cape. She limped into the kitchen, opened up the refrigerator. She stared inside for more than a minute, moving items around.
"Who the hell drank all the beer? Ani??" She shouted, looking up from the fridge at her. Ani glanced at the several empty beer bottles on the table next to the couch. A sheepish grin crossed her face.
Two others, both holding each other up, limped their way over to the couch and landed with audible groans and thuds. Both were wearing colored outfits, though without capes. One, a muscle-bound male in black and red stripes, was already asleep. The other, a green-skinned being with long yellow hair, looked up at the TV. They motioned Ani to the controller.
"Turn that off, would ya? We just got finished there." Their arm slumped back onto the couch and they sank into the cushions with a long sigh.
"Sure thing, Galaxis!" Ani fumbled with the remote, pressing buttons clumsily until the screen went blank.
She turned to the kitchen "I'm sorry, Prime. I got bored here and started playing Call of Major Warfare and, well, got thirsty."
Sentinel Prime reached deep into the fridge and emerged with one brown bottle. She held the neck of the bottle and, using her thumb, flipped the bottle cap off and into the air. She drank deep, walked to the nearby kitchen table, and sat down.
"You're lucky I found this," Prime said holding up the bottle. She took another deep drink. Putting the bottle on the kitchen table, she motioned Ani over.
"Anyway, you're up now. Go get dressed. The ship is getting re-fueled now."
Ani walked over to the table, eyes wide open. "What do you mean, I'm up?" She sat down next to Prime, a furrow crossed her brow.
Prime stared at her beer. "We got the last of the survivors from that colony out and back to the Planetary Relocation Center on Europa. Only a few thousand. But those damn Melds have got to go." She put the bottle to her lips and took a sip.
Ani leaned closer to Prime. "You told me that we were still training my power, to control it. What if I can't..."
Prime turned, staring hard at Ani. Rage burned in her eyes as she gritted her teeth. "I saw what they did to those colonists. They weren't people to them. They were... cattle. To them, they were just... made of meat. And if you don't stop them now, our planet will be next."
She set the beer down and turned square to Ani, reaching out to grab the teen's shoulders. "This is why we've kept you from the fights. We know you can't control your powers. But now is when we need you the most. You are Annihilation. No one knows of you for a reason. You are the ultimate deterrent. It's time to unveil you. Now go suit up, I'm going to finish this and come with you."
Ani rose from the table and paused. "What... what if I can't control what happens?"
A sneer crossed Prime's face. She looked up into Ani's eyes. "I'm counting on that."
|
We all grow up hoping to be in that fraction of a fraction of a percent of people to be born with powers, or the still rarer super powered. We all dream of being the hero of the moment, saving lives, helping others, being useful.
&#x200B;
I dreamt of getting flight, speed, laser vision, strength, telepathy, telekinesis, all the usual things and never the powers that villains had; Poison breath, a body covered in spikes, being constantly on fire, being able to scream a person's flesh off their bones. Nobody wanted those powers. Nobody good, anyway.
&#x200B;
We all dreamt of being the incredibly lucky handful of people with multiple super powers. An insanely low chance of getting those! But there were just 3 of them all over the world. 2 heroes, 1 villain, all from the same family, it was quite the tragic thing, each as powerful as the other, and such an infinitesimally tiny chance of that happening at all.
&#x200B;
Lucky bastards.
&#x200B;
My dream came true in my early 20s. I got super powers. It was the worst thing to happen to me and millions of others.
&#x200B;
No flight, no strength, no laser vision, not even invisibility. How does anyone lucky enough to get super powers and become the most powerful human ever to live and at the same time want nothing more than to be powerless?
&#x200B;
I'm so dangerous that I have to live hundreds of miles away from any population centre in case I have a bad dream and accidentally use my power in my sleep, like I did when I first got this 'ability'. I've learned to control my power over the years, learned to keep it in and not allow it to leak out all the time, but i still have to release it occasionally or i could do so much more damage and kill myself. Sometimes it's tempting to let it happen...
&#x200B;
Being invited into the League, THE League! That helped me cope. Some of them were resistant enough to be able to visit me, talk with me. To make me feel normal again and not like some caged threat. It was all bullshit. They softened me up, pretended to be my friend, but it was all bullshit. They wanted a secret weapon. And I became it. Idiot....
&#x200B;
They sold it to me like any other liar; "you can help" "you can save lives" "you're the strongest and we need you" Liars. Bastard liars.
&#x200B;
They still manage to keep me on-side, just. And they very rarely call on me. Nobody knows I exist and any time I DO get called, it's all covered-up quite neatly.
&#x200B;
Today is a different day. Something big is happening. Even the villain sibling is helping! My 'nanny' won't tell me much, but says that hundreds of millions could die if I don't answer the call and go. I don't want to go. If i do millions could... no... WOULD die. Every mission makes me a murderer. Cold, indiscriminate. Men, women, children, the old, the young. Doesn't matter. They all die.
&#x200B;
And so I go. I always go. Idiot.
&#x200B;
As my 'nanny' teleports us to the mission I realise we're probably somewhere in Africa. Butt-fuck nowhere, to be exact. I was expecting a city, lots of noise and motion, but it's just me, Nanny, and the siblings. I normally get orders from the 'good' 2, arrogant shits they can be.... Never spoken or seen the other one in person before now, but he's on the defensive from the others and heading my way in a panic.... This is weird.
&#x200B;
The other 2 are close enough to activate their proximity over-charge effect and are utterly pouring out loose energy.. odd blank look in their eyes... Like that time whatever-his-name-was with the psychic.... oh. Oh shit. He's finally managed to get 2 of them. This is bad. I can understand why the other sibling is terrified, why i'm here and what i have to do. This is so much bullshit.
&#x200B;
Without a word I look to Nanny, and he seems to understand and begins charging a teleport away, and I tell the bad sibling…(now good? now not as evil?) to go with him. He stops, looks at me with such terror in his eyes and says his name is Jack. No codename, just... Jack. Apparently yeah, the other 2 have not just been captured, but quite literally mind-wiped and possessed by some psyker and they're coming for him, to make them a full trinity and have control of what will be the most powerful beings on the planet, stronger than me! And some evil dipshit is gonna be in control of it all...
&#x200B;
Jack seems to be confessing, telling me he can change, wants to stop all this but can't risk getting close, and isn't powerful enough to stop them now. It makes sense, suddenly... The last few months have been odd. Strange locations for fights between them, less team communication... Bad Jack on the defensive every time, not being stopped....pursued.
&#x200B;
Jack's shouting at me now, human interaction is still like some half-awake dream to me, but i focus to hear him telling me i have to stop them, that the psyker will die with them, and that the world cannot know that his brother and sister, the other 2 of the triplet birth, have been ruined and are about to destroy everything.
&#x200B;
I know why I'm here. I know what I have to do.
&#x200B;
I tell Jack to go with Nanny, get away. Don't get absorbed. But at the last moment I grab him, i'm spilling out power now, in a rage, charging up. Jack is terrified of me, I can see it. I'm burning him just with proximity.. I must be mad charging this much...
&#x200B;
I scream at Jack; "you will go with him! Get away from here! FAR away... And you will do one fucking thing for me! - You will take credit for their deaths. All of this. You. And then you will suddenly disappear only to come back as a different person, a fucking hero. A HERO. DO YOU HEAR ME? You will do everything these two were meant to do and you will NEVER say or do anything to link yourself to them or ruin their names. AM I CLEAR?"
&#x200B;
Of course Jack agrees, I can tell he's genuine by the look in his eyes. Eye... I may have burnt him a bit.... I guess at least nobody will recognise him now....
&#x200B;
As Jack is dragged away by Nanny, And not just running from, but not wanting to leave his family, i know what i have to do. Why i'm here.
&#x200B;
This is the last place I will ever be. The last of the murders, the last of the bullshit. But I'll have to go out BIG to stop these two.... Real big. Fuck it....
&#x200B;
Our main story tonight; The death toll in Africa is still climbing well through 600 million with little sign of slowing down, shockwaves from the blast have levelled almost all structures above ground level for thousands of miles, and meteorologists predict that we won't get a summer this year, which is causing panic on the stock markets and people are already stock-piling food and water for what will almost certainly be a difficult 2022 and a long recovery after the deeply saddening murders of the world's two greatest heroes, and the truly massive explosion in which 'Bad Jack' as he's become known since, has also died. Taking out the world's most loved heroes and himself; The worst super villain in history. Some sources claim two others may have been at the scene, but there is no evidence and The League denies this.
&#x200B;
In related news; Health officials warn that the coming dust cloud may cause respiratory issues and to expect to be wearing a mask in public for at least 6 months...
| 2021-05-26T05:40:08 | 2021-05-26T04:24:14 | 160 | 108 |
[WP] There is a procedure offered to the wealthy and powerful that allows their minds to be transferred to the brain-dead body of an anonymous individual. Except it's fake, the volunteer is actually trained in every minute detail of the person's life to assume their identity as if they were them.
This prompt was inspired by the movie [Freejack](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104299/)
|
"And this will work?"
"Indeed sir." The smile never wavered from her face.
"And he will look like me too?"
"Of course sir. He's gone through extensive facial reconstruction to look like you. No one can tell you apart. And there won't be a he. He will BE you. Your mind. Your looks. You'll be 25 years younger, but look exactly the same."
"And they said immortality couldn't be achieved in my lifetime." Andrew laughed, a hearty laugh.
"So, please sign here sir. And we're ready to go."
"So Rebecca, once this is all over, would you..."
Rebecca smiled. She knew where this was going. "Sorry sir. I don't date clients. Company policy."
"Oh come now. They'll never know."
"They've mapped every inch of your brain sir. They already do."
"Ah bugger. Oh well, I guess I'll have to settle with being 25 years younger then."
"A decent result I'd say." Rebecca smiled again. "I'll send the techs in to start the procedure."
Rebecca left the room to where the rest of the team was waiting.
"He believed it all?"
"They always do." Rebecca placed the papers on the desk where they would be filed and put away.
"He hit on you again?"
She sighed. "Yep. Like clockwork."
"Well I can't blame him, you know. You're..."
"I'm already seeing someone, Jimmy. Please stop asking."
"Of course, of course. This mystery boyfriend none of us know about."
"And none of you ever will. So he's getting the extended 60 day plan?"
"Yeah. We looked into his finances. Everything's in order. But we flagged a few transactions. We'll keep him alive a bit longer than usual. Just in case."
"So we good to go."
"Yep." Jimmy looked at the file. "This is the last day of Carson's life. He's Andrew Lopez going forward."
"Would you ever do it?"
"Do what?"
"Give up your life for a few millions."
"Like Carson's doing?"
"Yeah. He'll have to give up all his personality, all his past, for money."
"I'd do it yeah. Depending on the money. And my situation. Like, I'm pretty comfortable now. But if things start going down the drain, I'd consider it. Rebecca? What're you thinking?"
"Hmmm what? Sorry my mind was elsewhere."
"I noticed. What's going on?"
"Nothing. I just... I don't know. Lately, I've been feeling a little down. We're scamming people here Jimmy. It's bad karma."
"Well now I've seen everything. Rebecca Lawson's getting a conscience?"
"Oh fuck off."
************
The first few days were the hardest. But Carson was well prepared. He'd get to keep 10%. The other 90% of it would slowly, and through various means, go back to MindCorp100.
At least that's what was supposed to happen. When the first cheque bounced, Carson grew suspicious. When the threatening phone calls started coming, that's when Carson knew that something was really really wrong.
***********
Rebecca, looked around the facility. There was minimal security since the prisoners were kept heavily drugged. Even she was surprised at how easily she walked out with one of their prisoners.
Andrew was still out of it when they reached the Doctor's office.
Dr. Yang looked at the patient and then back to Rebecca. "Isn't that..."
"Our deal was that there would be no questions. Facial reconstruction for him. Then for me. Once you're done, no one should be able to recognize us. You already have half your money."
Dr. Yang had been working with Rebecca long enough to never question her. Though admittedly, this was the first time she had reached him for a private procedure, and paid through personal funds instead of the company account.
************
Three weeks later, Andrew and Rebecca, now going under Neil and Jessica, were sipping their cocktail on a beach somewhere in south America.
Jessica's phone went off. She looked at it and smiled at her partner. "Damn. Poor Andrew Lopez was found dead at his home. I warned you many times that the mob was a poor choice to finance your business."
He looked at her sheepishly. "I know I know. Never again. I'm still getting used to this. When I look at the mirror, I see someone different. When I look at you, I see someone different."
"True love is blind, my dear Neil."
|
The worst part of all is being trapped between two women.
Both are dead, one to me and one to the world, and in truth they could not be more different. Isabella is darkness and light balanced. She is a favorite book open upon a bed, pages I could recite endlessly and still come back to. She is brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes harmonizing till they turn to something so much greater, a depth of color more than a word’s simple repetition can explain. She is the mother of my children, and the only one I think of before I fall asleep. She was my wife.
Esme was darkness. There was light there, imbalanced, trapped beneath pale skin to slide out serpentine into dreams and memories. She was a singer, a record that challenged rather than embraced, lyrics that had never once spoken of absolution. She’d worn daring dresses in high-class ballrooms, never considered children, always considered careers and bottom lines and the things Isabella and I never had. She was my perfect match— is now. The man I am has never loved another.
I wake from my dreams, remembering the pleasant moments before, and I step in to another man’s day.
The imprinting was not a total failure. Looking out upon the three tiered rings and encasing bubble of the habitation dome, it feels like mine. The real legacy strain coffee and the progress reports over breakfast feel like mine as well, and when I have to make my first decision of the day, condemning a pair miners trapped in the asteroid belt for something so simple as not buying insurance, I feel like Edgar P. Carrick.
I look like him too now, after the surgeries. There he is—was— in a picture next to the flowform couch, Esme on his arm. My heart swells to see it, the part of my stomach that still remembers the slums turns.
“Stepping Stone should be complete by the end of the week,” my assistant says. “Team 1 has given me their assurances that preliminary testing will begin on the first of the new month.”
“They’ve said that before,” I say.
“But this time Team 2 concurs, and the fate of the last Team Lead was an inspired decision. This time, sir, I would stake my own life on it.”
“Would you now?” I say.
He does not blanch, he is too well trained for that, but I know when he leave the room my sensors will detect a tremor.
“Yes sir,” is all the man says.
Stepping Stone has needed many steps itself. It is, in short, a man’s obsession brought to life. It is the crowning achievement of science, math, and love, synthesized down to me and the man I am pretending to be. I stare at Esme’s picture, the couch contorting itself to my shape, and I try not to imagine it being Isabella. She’d have moved to a real planet by now, perhaps Garden, perhaps Elysium. Had the imprinting been perfect, my sacrifice would have been so worth it.
But now I’ve tainted another man’s dream in the piecing back together of my own. I wonder if she’ll be able to recognize me when we meet again.
Days pass. I pass with them. It is harder to remember Isabella’s face.
“There are still dangers,” Team 1 Lead is saying. “We tested as much as we could, but it’s impossible to check it all.”
We stand within a lab at the station’s highest point, the stars slowly spinning around us through the floor to ceiling viewscreens. It is cold in the room, I brought a glass of water in earlier and it fogged. The scientists say that it is because of the portal itself, that it generates so much heat simply by its activation that we must devote fully ten percent of a space station’s power budget to this one room.
Currently, it stands dead. A great ring of steel and plastic, wires trailing off from a thousand points, twining across the floor like mating snakes. I am reminded of the cloud of Esme’s hair on the rare lazy mornings when she lingered in bed. The thought ends with the abrupt sharpness of her smile.
“What are the risks?” I ask, strapping on the ill fitting skinsuit anyway.
“One of our test subjects experienced an abortive re-materialization.”
“Translate,” I say.
“He stepped back without skin, sir,” my assistant says.
Ah. “Out of how many?”
“Ten sir,” the team lead says.
I’ve gambled on worse odds in two lives. “Do it,” I say.
“Any words, sir? For history?”
“None.”
Stepping Stone has taken two lifetimes in the pursuit of one. When men heard of what it was that I planned they called me insane. They called me, Edgar P. Carrick, a romantic when I have been nothing of the sort. They called me weak, womanish in my sentimentality. Those men are dead now and I am still here.
And she lies on the other side.
“And words for her?” my assistant whispers as the ring winks on. “What will you say to—” he is silenced by a delayed tearing, the rending of space and time and God’s own will as my step takes shape.
I do not answer. When Edgar P. Carrick requested a duplicate he requested a man in love. He had known the difference between obsession and passion, between love, lust, and truth. He’d had years to know that it was his own deficiencies in all those aspects and more that had driven Esme to what she had done. He had hoped that a man who had proven he could truly love would know what to say when he stepped through that portal.
Isabella’s barely remembered face swims before my eyes, and I’m not even sure what I would say to her.
*“I’m sorry,”* rises to my lips, but those had never been the right words for Esme.
I can see her there on the other side. It is a strange thing to peer into a lover's room like a voyeur, to see the cloud of her hair upon her pillow, the rise and fall of her chest next to an empty space in bed where you should be but were not that day.
“The switch will happen at exactly the same moment,” my assistant shouts over the deafening hum of the device. The pool of the time-dilation field ripples like slow moving water, that same blue-in-green color, arching lines like the wrinkle of her sheets across its surface. I take one last look at her in the monitor and then shut it off.
“In a manner of speaking, we may never meet again,” I say to my assistant.
“Yes sir. Team 1 is still unsure of what will happen to the timeline.”
“I will hew close enough to events. The universe can survive one more soul.”
“Yes sir,” my assistant stays.
That small shrinking part of me pre-imprint wants to squeeze the man’s shoulder and tell him he did a good job. Instead I say, “You’ll have your bonus,” and leave the control room, striding towards the portal.
A countdown begins, sixty seconds and I go on ***GO***, not *1*. It is difficult to restrain myself.
“Last chance to call it off, sir,” control says. There is time lag to the snatch and grab team and their portal.
“Never,” I say, and the count grows louder until it roars in my ears.
*10.*
*9.*
*8.*
*7.*
*6.*
*5.*
I step up to the portal, skim my hand across the surface, almost lose myself until I hear:
*1.*
I take the step forward, and submerge myself on ***GO***.
*Isabella,* I think, *I’m coming.*
And then, louder than all of that is the rising of her pale face from the pillow, her hair falling not like a cloud, but a torrent.
“Esme?” I whisper.
Edgar P. Carrick had purchased a man who’d loved truly loved just for that one word.
\-------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-07-02T07:31:48 | 2021-07-02T06:45:31 | 247 | 39 |
[WP] There is a procedure offered to the wealthy and powerful that allows their minds to be transferred to the brain-dead body of an anonymous individual. Except it's fake, the volunteer is actually trained in every minute detail of the person's life to assume their identity as if they were them.
This prompt was inspired by the movie [Freejack](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104299/)
|
It's a secret.
Analysed and unlocked with funds, science and genius.
The secret of the human brain. We delved into its deepest recess and shed light into the unknown.
But we found nothing exceptional. Quite the opposite. Its absence a sign of what we had feared the most. Humans were not a chosen species, we had no higher meaning or purpose. At our deepest core, we were all animals. Our nature has been hidden, never killed.
We had hoped to shape humans into more, more than egoists using their magnificient brain to steal, leech, burn and plunder from their brothers and sisters. We thought we could add some empathy, a vision to bring us together and grasp our destiny as a united species through research. The feats we could achieve, the wonders we could build, if only we stood together.
That is why we examined and studied the human brain, until we unlocked it. This is our greatest failure, the defining moment we knew humanity could never become better.
The world would stay imperfect.
The foolishly hopeful and good-natured stepped on by the hypocrites and egoists.
Did it have to?
Unknowingly, we had a new paradigm on our hands.
A hidden laboratory, funded and shrouded in legends and mystery. These deeming themselves kings and queens of the world would not stand to be kept in the dark and would only find rest once they knew they were in on the secret.
For that's what it is.
A secret.
Built and bought with funds, power, connection.
The man was old. Filthy rich. A fortune build on blood, backstabbing and mud. The man had deserved it, all of it, he thought. Because he had it.
It was that simple.
And because he was on top, he was the best of his ilk, thus the most suited to known what was hidden, and what to do with it.
We disclosed how we worked on eternal life. Not in these terms of course, oh no. The stupid man had to believe he came to the conclusion on his own, for he foolishly believed to be intelligent, did his fortune not prove it?
And that's why he should be made immortal first. The body decays, but we have the mind, and it is an enigma no more. We can transfer it to a healthy host.
The man visited us every day. He was trained, drilled, fed lies one after the other. For every deceit we served, our wrath grew. The man stood at the top of the world, a failure displayed on a mountain.
The man signed his fortune over to his future body. A story at the ready to convince his family and friends that he had a good reason for it.
Only a few knew.
When the body came to them, imitating the man to perfection, they thought it truly was him, in his egoism, his foolishness, his perversion.
They were deceived.
The man was old, desperate, crying as the ground covered him deep into the earth to choke him to death.
The man was dead, the body lived on. We had chosen him for his empathy, his kindness, his smarts. We had chosen him because he was a pinnacle of creation, and he would bring us higher.
It's a secret, built with deceit, bitterness and wrath.
A lie.
The secret is a lie.
A woman came to us. She heard from a source how her friend the man had defated death.
She was filthy rich, she had earned it all. How else could it be?
We welcomed her warmly.
And as we whose a body fit for her, we were seething.
We unlocked the human brain. We saw, and we hate what we saw. The knowledge that man cannot be changed, that our baser nature is irreversible.
We hate what we found and reject it. We hate the man and the woman and the failure they stand for, the stink, the ugliness, the rotten, it's unbearable.
We have seen the truth, and we will change it by force. Bit by bit. Erasing every unfit member of our species, the leeches, the parasites, the monsters, the weak, the egoists. We will remake ourselves, break the mold and reform it as is fit for a better species.
We will shine a light upon the kind and just.
We will release new bodies to steer our society right.
We will usher an age of unity, built on the bones and blood of the wicked and sinful.
One body after the other.
|
The worst part of all is being trapped between two women.
Both are dead, one to me and one to the world, and in truth they could not be more different. Isabella is darkness and light balanced. She is a favorite book open upon a bed, pages I could recite endlessly and still come back to. She is brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes harmonizing till they turn to something so much greater, a depth of color more than a word’s simple repetition can explain. She is the mother of my children, and the only one I think of before I fall asleep. She was my wife.
Esme was darkness. There was light there, imbalanced, trapped beneath pale skin to slide out serpentine into dreams and memories. She was a singer, a record that challenged rather than embraced, lyrics that had never once spoken of absolution. She’d worn daring dresses in high-class ballrooms, never considered children, always considered careers and bottom lines and the things Isabella and I never had. She was my perfect match— is now. The man I am has never loved another.
I wake from my dreams, remembering the pleasant moments before, and I step in to another man’s day.
The imprinting was not a total failure. Looking out upon the three tiered rings and encasing bubble of the habitation dome, it feels like mine. The real legacy strain coffee and the progress reports over breakfast feel like mine as well, and when I have to make my first decision of the day, condemning a pair miners trapped in the asteroid belt for something so simple as not buying insurance, I feel like Edgar P. Carrick.
I look like him too now, after the surgeries. There he is—was— in a picture next to the flowform couch, Esme on his arm. My heart swells to see it, the part of my stomach that still remembers the slums turns.
“Stepping Stone should be complete by the end of the week,” my assistant says. “Team 1 has given me their assurances that preliminary testing will begin on the first of the new month.”
“They’ve said that before,” I say.
“But this time Team 2 concurs, and the fate of the last Team Lead was an inspired decision. This time, sir, I would stake my own life on it.”
“Would you now?” I say.
He does not blanch, he is too well trained for that, but I know when he leave the room my sensors will detect a tremor.
“Yes sir,” is all the man says.
Stepping Stone has needed many steps itself. It is, in short, a man’s obsession brought to life. It is the crowning achievement of science, math, and love, synthesized down to me and the man I am pretending to be. I stare at Esme’s picture, the couch contorting itself to my shape, and I try not to imagine it being Isabella. She’d have moved to a real planet by now, perhaps Garden, perhaps Elysium. Had the imprinting been perfect, my sacrifice would have been so worth it.
But now I’ve tainted another man’s dream in the piecing back together of my own. I wonder if she’ll be able to recognize me when we meet again.
Days pass. I pass with them. It is harder to remember Isabella’s face.
“There are still dangers,” Team 1 Lead is saying. “We tested as much as we could, but it’s impossible to check it all.”
We stand within a lab at the station’s highest point, the stars slowly spinning around us through the floor to ceiling viewscreens. It is cold in the room, I brought a glass of water in earlier and it fogged. The scientists say that it is because of the portal itself, that it generates so much heat simply by its activation that we must devote fully ten percent of a space station’s power budget to this one room.
Currently, it stands dead. A great ring of steel and plastic, wires trailing off from a thousand points, twining across the floor like mating snakes. I am reminded of the cloud of Esme’s hair on the rare lazy mornings when she lingered in bed. The thought ends with the abrupt sharpness of her smile.
“What are the risks?” I ask, strapping on the ill fitting skinsuit anyway.
“One of our test subjects experienced an abortive re-materialization.”
“Translate,” I say.
“He stepped back without skin, sir,” my assistant says.
Ah. “Out of how many?”
“Ten sir,” the team lead says.
I’ve gambled on worse odds in two lives. “Do it,” I say.
“Any words, sir? For history?”
“None.”
Stepping Stone has taken two lifetimes in the pursuit of one. When men heard of what it was that I planned they called me insane. They called me, Edgar P. Carrick, a romantic when I have been nothing of the sort. They called me weak, womanish in my sentimentality. Those men are dead now and I am still here.
And she lies on the other side.
“And words for her?” my assistant whispers as the ring winks on. “What will you say to—” he is silenced by a delayed tearing, the rending of space and time and God’s own will as my step takes shape.
I do not answer. When Edgar P. Carrick requested a duplicate he requested a man in love. He had known the difference between obsession and passion, between love, lust, and truth. He’d had years to know that it was his own deficiencies in all those aspects and more that had driven Esme to what she had done. He had hoped that a man who had proven he could truly love would know what to say when he stepped through that portal.
Isabella’s barely remembered face swims before my eyes, and I’m not even sure what I would say to her.
*“I’m sorry,”* rises to my lips, but those had never been the right words for Esme.
I can see her there on the other side. It is a strange thing to peer into a lover's room like a voyeur, to see the cloud of her hair upon her pillow, the rise and fall of her chest next to an empty space in bed where you should be but were not that day.
“The switch will happen at exactly the same moment,” my assistant shouts over the deafening hum of the device. The pool of the time-dilation field ripples like slow moving water, that same blue-in-green color, arching lines like the wrinkle of her sheets across its surface. I take one last look at her in the monitor and then shut it off.
“In a manner of speaking, we may never meet again,” I say to my assistant.
“Yes sir. Team 1 is still unsure of what will happen to the timeline.”
“I will hew close enough to events. The universe can survive one more soul.”
“Yes sir,” my assistant stays.
That small shrinking part of me pre-imprint wants to squeeze the man’s shoulder and tell him he did a good job. Instead I say, “You’ll have your bonus,” and leave the control room, striding towards the portal.
A countdown begins, sixty seconds and I go on ***GO***, not *1*. It is difficult to restrain myself.
“Last chance to call it off, sir,” control says. There is time lag to the snatch and grab team and their portal.
“Never,” I say, and the count grows louder until it roars in my ears.
*10.*
*9.*
*8.*
*7.*
*6.*
*5.*
I step up to the portal, skim my hand across the surface, almost lose myself until I hear:
*1.*
I take the step forward, and submerge myself on ***GO***.
*Isabella,* I think, *I’m coming.*
And then, louder than all of that is the rising of her pale face from the pillow, her hair falling not like a cloud, but a torrent.
“Esme?” I whisper.
Edgar P. Carrick had purchased a man who’d loved truly loved just for that one word.
\-------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-07-02T08:41:33 | 2021-07-02T06:45:31 | 56 | 39 |
[WP] You were told your gift for light magic was a blessing. Your wit and talent could make you into a legendary healer. But you're not a gentle person. The charred corpses of your enemies can attest to that.
|
They say light magic is only good for healing. You could make a small light, just enough to read at night. Maybe a flash of light to blind your enemy, giving you a chance to run. Fighting with it would be foolish, stick to being on the back lines and healing.
Those fools can’t even comprehend the power of light. If they understood just what I am capable of, they would treat me as a god and fear me just as much. They can only see the light with their eyes, but that is but a small portion of it. Some light moves through everything, not caring if it’s a person or a wall. Others will move through the fleshy parts of a person, only showing the bones and teeth of them.
This light is where my true power resides. My enemy gets nausea, most vomit, and lose control of their own arms and legs without ever knowing what hit them. The damage builds and builds until their body cannot keep going. Even if they escape, they only last a few more days. Their hair falls out, their organs fail. Those that manage to survive this, have permanent damage from facing off against me. Most of them even have their own body go out of control and kill them weeks, months or even years later. A curse fitting for facing off against the most powerful light wizard.
Those fools try to send assassins to bring me down, hiding themselves in the shadows. But their fleshy bodies are blindingly bright to me. I strike these fools before they even have a chance to approach me. However, sometimes an example must be set, something a little more showy. Boiling the blood out of a person always instill fear. However, the best option is to unleash divine wrath, smiting my enemy. I conjure up every light I can and focus it on a single person. A quick flash and there is nothing more than a charred corpse left. Not the most efficient use of magic, but all fear god. If they could understand my power, they would know to fear me and not some god.
|
Once, I helped save a world, alongside my companions, but when they chose to walk into the void, I remained behind, confident that the three of them and their four companions would be okay. Edwin was a competent enough healer in his own right.
I had other plans. Plans that needed to be unfurled now that I had power. The power of Light.
I knew the spells well, and as I walked the swamps of my homeland, a continent away, they came to me with ease. Bolts of light, sent at singular undead attempting to attack me, turned ghosts to ash, skeletons to splinters. The harpies, showing some semblance of collective intelligence, wisely stayed away after watching my handiwork.
A skeletal swarm? No problem. Destroy Undead does exactly that. A lich attempted to ambush me while I was half asleep in a cave, but Light has the power to magically heal *and* to undo magic, and what is a lich but a bag of reanimated bones with a soul tethered to it? It'd revive itself if I didn't take care of it, but that, too, was no issue. Come morning, I summoned some elementals; intangible, nigh-ineffable forms of pure light, pulled from a plane not my own, and instructed them to find and destroy the phylactery. It was probably nearby, but I didn't feel like searching for it and delaying my quest.
Before reaching the village, dilapidated and derelict, abandoned a few years ago, I invoked the Gods, and with a fanfare and light show that announced my presence to all within five leagues, they infused me with power. Power of elements I could not myself wield, even. My skin was hard as stone; my movements swift as the rushing brushfire, and though it was unnecessary here, a magical shield of air would severely impede all objects coming my way.
Of course, it also infused me with protection. Driving ice rain that perpetually covered the remains of what was once my home - perfect necromantic weather - was only a nuisance for my leather hauberk and boots, and not myself. A necromancer attempting to slay me from behind? His lash of psychic energy fizzled, and with a deft turn of my fingers he was paralysed. He died a moment later from a good old whack of a hammer to the head, and *then* I incinerated his corpse by invoking the light of the Sun itself, punching a temporary hole in the clouds above.
It took more out of me than I had anticipated, but that was what mana potions were for, so I chugged one and headed up the mountain, towards the castle.
The inside was... Astoundingly empty. It was as if someone had already ransacked the place a few years prior, leaving only a handful of necromancers or liches to repopulate. Not to say that there weren't any undead to slay: there were plenty, but they were weak and unskilled, like someone had robbed a random graveyard of old women and children alone. Once, I could've taken them all on with mace and shield, but now, at the age of sixty, twenty-five years after my mother had fled the village with young me in tow, I didn't need to.
I vowed then that I would return. I vowed then that I would cleanse the castle of its putrid filth.
And as I reached the centre room of the castle, I knew what I had to do. After dispatching the most powerful necromancer I had seen in a month - prismatic light blinding him before I repeated the good old paralyse-and-cave-a-skull that stood me in good stead - I laid out several reagents.
Three Dragon's Eyes, harvested by Edwin, in a triangle. A half-oval of Moonstones above them, scavenged everywhere in our other journey. Five vials of Devil Ichor, carefully bottled in their lair, in a smaller half-oven underneath the eyes. And a single solitary Philosopher's Stone, courtesy of good old Archibald, who I had slain a month ago for crimes against everyone.
Then, I invoked the Gods once more, chanting the words for the ultimate spell of Light.
The Gods could heal everything. Three times I had used it. Each aged me ten years, for that was the bargain made.
This time, I had a different bargain in mind. My life, for purification.
~~~~~ ~~~~~
"As you can see, my Prince, the once-apt name for this region of your father's Kingdom is apt no more," the knight stated, with understatement that made the young man stifle a snort. He had been here before, six or so years before, running away with the circus, but then it had been a depressing place; a swamp of nothing but undead and filth and gloom.
Now? The countryside was pristine; with the only reason that it wasn't covered in grass and flowers being that the seeds had only just sprouted. Nothing remained of what was once there. Quite literally nothing: mountains had been levelled, which had undoubtedly killed many a bandit dwarf and perhaps even a nesting dragon or two.
And in the distance, where once the castle had stood... A giant crater. His court mage had disadvised going there, citing magical energies, and even from this distance, Nicolai had to agree. Nothing short of a miracle could have turned the Mire of the Damned into... This. Nothing short of Divine Intervention.
>!And if you played the games I fanfic'd this out of, have a cookie. :)!<
| 2021-08-21T10:25:27 | 2021-08-21T09:03:26 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] You're a bartender at the No Way Inn. The inn doesn't appear to have an entrance, but patrons always seem to find a way inside. The best part of your day is listening to the story of how they got in.
Inspired by [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/wpjc02/oc_finally_finished_our_dd_room_after_2_years/) on r/DnD by u/Sky_Captain_Hana
|
I had an old man, probably my dad's age, stumble into my bar a couple months ago. He was covered in blood and kept saying something about a sinkhole at his ranch. Sinkholes were far and few between. I've had people go into the wrong door at a party or even people saying that the last thing they remembered was being asleep in their bed, but not many sinkhole stories. After the I treated the man's wounds, I offered him a seat and fixed him up an old fashioned.
"So, what is this place anyways?"
"Eh, not much of a place, more of an idea, I guess. Honestly, it's kind of just one big joke."
The old man chuckled and gritted his teeth after the old fashioned hit his taste buds. Turns out he made his way from Texas. It had been really dry down there then, and the ground just fell out underneath him when he was tending to his horses. I got to know him pretty good, while we chatted, then something insane happened.
In my 22 years of tending bar at the No Way Inn, I never could have imagined this. I never could have dreamed this. It was utterly inconceivable.
So anyway,
a horse walked into my bar.
|
“…and the last thing I remember was being thrown out of my car, through the windshield at 75 miles per hour.” Another day, another crazy story in the lives of the customers of No Way Inn. Jake was used to these kinds of patrons coming from God knows where and getting in here by God knows how. One day it’s falling through the floor of a bedroom closet, the next it’s a transporting sneeze. Even after having listened to hundreds of variations of the same, ‘I have no idea how I got here… one minute I was ____. And the next I was here….’, Jake could never quite guess what the next story was. This wasn’t any ordinary inn; hell, it was barely an actual inn. Though Jake knew he had one job above all the bartending duties: never let the patrons think too much.
No Way Inn was a particularly interesting establishment. Jake only ever worked at its rustic-style bar on the first floor, and he knew only a handful of rooms existed. Though he wasn’t quite sure how he knew, and he doesn’t quite remember how he started to work here anyway. Jake never quite thought more past it. He did his job, did it well, and enjoyed the company. Where did all these people go after a drink? Jake couldn’t answer that any more than he could guess how exactly these people did get here.
“Wow seventy-five miles an hour. Looks like you really got lucky there, you would’ve been dead.” Jake was already working on the next Old Fashioned as he could tell this man was definitely going to have a few.
“Tell me about it. The Big Guy really came through and saved me!” The man let out a deep hearty laugh. "I was never much of a believer in religion, but I gotta say this one is gonna be hard to explain to the Mrs.”
“She wasn’t with you I assume?” Jake inquired.
“Nope and good thing. I was on my way when I learned that I had to pick up the kids. And man, she was chewing my ass like no tomorrow. My phone had to been buzzing for forty-five minutes straight. You married?”
“Nope not married.”
“Girlfriend? Boyfriend?” The man replied with a smirk.
“No, no nothing just my myself, and my cat Sprinkles.” Jake always had a bittersweet feeling when thinking about how lonely his days were. He didn’t quite talk to anyone besides the patrons. Well when you live upstairs to your job, it’s easy to just get into the routine. “Just me and the little dude living upstairs-- ”
“You live upstairs and you’re telling me you got no ladies? Not even a little something on the side? And you have a cat?” The man was clearly skeptic of Jake, and it didn’t take much longer for him to really think about this bartender and where he was.
“Well, patience is a virtue, am I right?” Jake really wanted to move on from his personal life and had thought he succeeded by the bewildered look on the man as he scoped the rest of the bar. Though he quickly realized the look. The look that overcomes every single person that has ever spontaneously arrived at No Way Inn. The look that demonstrates the initial shock is over and the evident disconnect with reality.
“Anyway, I’m Jake. What’s your name?”
“Oh… yes, I’m George. It is nice to meet you, Jake.”
“Likewise. So what do you do for work?”
“I’m an actuary for a big insurance company. It’s quite dull really. Just a lot of crunching numbers, estimating risk, taking heat when things go poorly. But it pays extraordinarily well.”
“Do mistakes happen often at this number crunching job?” Jake felt he was starting to take control over the situation, but he could still feel him losing grip on George. Every few words or so George would start to look around and squint as if he’s looking for someone that didn’t exist or something that wasn’t there.
“Oh, all the time… you know… uh—"
“Another Old Fashioned?” Jake quickly interjected.
“Oh no, I’m definitely hitting my three only limit. Still have to get back home…” George suddenly was overtaken by confusion. He mouthed home and was really starting to think just how did he get here and how was he going to get home.
“Ah come on, this one’s on me. You almost died today. That’s a cause for celebrating life!” When in a bind you can always rely on people taking free stuff.
“Oh, well the three limit technically can be seen as I buy three only.” George delightfully accepted the old fashioned. From this Jake knew he adverted something horrible, though he wasn’t able to really verbalize what would’ve happened. Regardless, all continued normally as things could at No Way Inn.
| 2022-08-16T16:10:15 | 2022-08-16T15:58:32 | 21 | 15 |
[WP]: "I'm not here to arrest you. I just want to know how someone heads out to build a criminal empire and ends up producing a functional democracy."
|
"Democracy suggests equal distribution of power. It is a dream, not a physical thing." I said, barely looking up.
"Nah, you're livin in one you mook.", the inspector said with a short laugh. I put down my glasses and looked up from my book.
"Dear god. You live in a Republic. 'And to the Republic, for which it stands'? You pick people you think will understand new laws and interpret them according to your similar worldview. You have no idea what laws you're enforcing, only the code." I leaned forward in my chair, while he figeted uncomfortably.
"Then, you go back to your blue collar life of fighting crooks and they go back to eating caviar and taking jets to meetings. America is a Republic. It is borne under the presumption of power, like all governments. Democracy is a 'perfect idea' like socialism that never works in any case it's applied. Might makes or breaks every system." I finished and put my glasses back on. The inspector, visibly flushed, began to sputter.
"Democracy gives you the right to speak...! It gives every person of every color, religion, creed, their freedom! It ..." I rubbed my eyes.
"Oh, PLEASE." I groaned. "Those are not qualities unique to democracy."
"But they're present in all democracies!" He shot back, jutting out his chin.
"Which would be to democracy's credit. But you know what else is present in all democracy? The removal of personal wealth." I snapped.
"That's socialism." He said, getting up to leave.
"You're right. But tell me, when is the last time you brought a paycheck home that your wife didn't take a bite out of?" I said, a twinkle in my eye. The inspector turned to face me.
"Best leave my wife out of it." he said, smashing his hat down on his head.
"You entered into your marriage willingly, equal parts. Like a democracy. But any personal windfall on anybody's part immediately becomes voted as group property. Your kids need the newest shoes. Your son wants a car. Your wife wants a diamond. What are you left with? A share." I said, spreading my hands.
"Yeah and you're left with the rap. Benny turned." he sneered. An officer pulled me to my feet by the handcuffs in my outstretched hands.
"And, in democracy, to the extent that we can, we share blame. Whether its true, or not." I said toward the detective.
"Tell it to the judge, Socrates."
|
I laughed. The Commissioner was startled and visibly paled. I am not known for my emotional outbursts but those I have had are legend, I'm told.
This man was appropriately scared and not afraid to show it. That means he's honest. I decided to confide in him, perhaps show this law man what world he serves.
I clapped him on the shoulder and drew him close and began began walking toward the terrace.
"It is not a new trick, Commissioner. From the first self appointed tribal chief, to princes, kings, khans, and caliphs they were all criminals. They stole, they intimidated, they killed. And the best ones were thanked for it." The commissioner looked around the solid stone manor and the other elites at the Veiled Oracle Ball. They gathered every year to give vast sums to charitable causes; to celebrate, more than anything, their wealth -- wealth that comes largely from me in some form or another.
"Hell, I'm not even the first in my family to do it. But things get diffused over the generations and sometimes we must start again." I shrugged.
The Commissioner grabbed a glass from a passing waiter and sipped while looking over the unblemished silhouette of hills beyond the black, wide river in the twilight with not a single light on them. There will never be lights on them. I own them. I think I can see that revelation crawl to the commisioner's awareness. The awe. This man is used to power but here in my halls he is realizing his power, great as it is, the power over life and death and to save or destroy peoples lives with a single decision, is just a minor tributary. One that may even flow directly from here.
He sipped then spoke, "Those examples are all dictators and autocrats. You've reconstructed a working democracy from a crumbling one. That doesn't make sense, does it? You could have taken power for yourself. The chaos, the corruption..."
It was my turn to sip. "You started off by calling my empire criminal." The Commisioner moved to speak but I held up a hand. "No, no. You are right. It was." I narrow my eyes playfully like we are sharing a secret. "It may be, still. But why would I make such a risky play? I could have been killed, or locked up for life."
The Commissioner just shook his head and shrugged.
"Because the risk of not doing anything was worse -- oblivion. If I did nothing, nothing would happen. I was poor. Several generations of pampered fuck ups saw to that. All I had to sell was an appetite for risk. So that's what I sold. And it paid off. But like many of those old robber princes and warlords my empire grew. I had established interests I had to protect and that became harder to hide. So I did what every single one of them did -- I became the establishment. It is just that simple, Commissioner. I started feeding the interests of those that were already established and wanted more. Then our interests were aligned. We crushed the opposition, and brought order to chaos, and educated the masses to the benefits of our revitalized institutions, not to feel good about ourselves but because I didn't want anyone growing up with only risk to sell. I didn't want rivals, you see."
The Commissioner nodded.
"I've managed my risk. Democracy just so happens to be my least risky option that provides the most benefit. If I took power like a dictator I'd have a a very visible target on my back. As it stands I can choose candidates and feed information where it needs to go. Votes are just another form of currency and I'm very good at making sure that any currency that flows around here goes through my hands first. I have nearly the same power, the kind of power I care about at any rate, and I remain invisible. Instead of fighting the system, it works for me." I stared at him for a moment to allow him to remember where his campaign money and organization came from.
"I replaced my hired thieves, extortioners, and thugs with bankers, lawyers, and " looking at the Commissioner and holding his gaze, " lawmen." I shrugged. "Same types of people just operating under a different set of rules."
The Commissioner pale face was now red. An emotional one. I'll need to watch him carefully.
"So what rules do *you* follow?" he asked, not looking up from his glass.
I calculated down to the foundation of his code and decided to tap on it for effect.
"Only God's"
"What?!" It was a final insult. "How can you say that! You're a thief and a murderer!" he growled.
"Yet I am rewarded. God's law wasn't written on stone tablets for a charismatic man to find. It is written in our need for survival. In every challenge for supremacy in nature from two bucks in those woods to two men on this balcony." I looked down at his balled fists. "You can end my reign, Commissioner. Throw me to the flagstones. I'm an old man. I won't survive."
The Commissioner stepped forward and the large door back into the ballroom opened. "Dad, is everything Ok out here." The handsome, well built man cut a large shadow in the doorway.
The interruption broke the spell and the Commissioner began to fade back to fleshtone.
I didn't take my eyes off of the Commissioner. "Yes, son, we are having an interesting chat."
Without a word the door closed.
"Ahh. The second immutable law of God. Reproduce. The primal fight for dominance loses all meaning after that second stage, don't you think?"
I start to walk away. "The nice thing about having grown, capable, children is I can take a few more risks. I hope you enjoy the party, Commissioner. Call my office when you begin your next campaign. I'd like to write you a check. We *need* more honest men like yourself."
| 2015-11-24T09:05:11 | 2015-11-24T06:55:54 | 33 | 21 |
[WP] You're 80 years old and time travel is possible. You sit down for dinner with earlier versions of yourself at age 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 and 70. Conversation ensues.
|
80: Thanks for coming, the time has literally come.
70: Yeah, we've been waiting for this decades. So, what's on the menu?
10: I need to go to the bathroom.
70: Hold it, we need to order first.
60: Didn't I already decide? Mac'n'cheese was the perfect choice, home made with bacon, mushrooms and onions.
70: We turn vegan soon after we adopt a cow.
20, 30: What?! Katie would never let us do that!
40: Nope, Katie divorces us.
50: *tears emerge*
40: I think 60 is taking it well.
60: What? Do y'all want some of this kush?
10: I really need to go to the bathroom.
30: I'll take you, c'mon.
20: So, we turn into retired potheads waiting for our demise?
80: Summed up perfectly.
70: Did we always have this much intuition?
60: Do we have any chips?
50: Shut up 60. No gents, not after 60. 60 began spraying paint on kush after the RRSP ran out, remember?
70: *Looks at 80* Not that I can remember. *80 Shakes his head*
|
"Oohoohoo. I was quite good looking back in the day." My eye sight may not be as sharp but I can make out my younger selves sitting around poorly made, diy coffee table. "Ah, you guys made me so much more! The culmination of all your experiences and it is me! Though, I am much more achy." A huge laugh bellows, I try to do my best to do one a day.
Ten and Twenty both look at each other and then look down at their bellies. Twenty speaks softly, like defeat was already at his door waiting. "Oh...we get fit when we are in our thirties? Do I still get laid and have sex with random strangers?"
Thirty chimes in, "You get into your dream job! You cycle all day and then work on bikes. So, we had to get fit. Though, your mid twenties will be lots of binge drinking. So...you don't get into this body until you are 29 or so." Thirty jokingly flexes, trying to reassure his younger self.
Forty, fifty and sixty are chumming it up. Fifty laughs, "Ohho, I remember winning that race! I was lucky that the two people in front of me crashed into each other. Though, I don't do much cycling now. I still have a few more races in me." Sixty chimes in, "They are still going well! Much slower but I still do the lap races! Though, my knees and back hurt a lot."
A sudden knock at the door. Bones cracking and aching as I stand up to get the door. My ol' trusty cane made of old handle bars and bicycle grip to hold me up. A older looking gentleman, almost grizzled sits in a wheelchair. My throat felt tight as I realized who it was. My fist clasped so tight, I could make diamonds with them. The old man looks up to me and I just can't stop staring. "You have never come before" my lips barely let the words out, "..and I don't think I want you here."
"Seventy years of age and still racing like a child." Spit rolls down his lip, "A hack, and here you are pretending to be mister happy. I can see why I don't come here. You make it so easy." Seventies glasses were almost like coke bottles in front of his eyes, "You make it so easy that things will get better."
I look down at Seventies legs, each of them held together by metal. The coat he was wearing made his frame seem so small. "It'll...come through. Things change within a few years and someone off-"
Seventy spits and screams! His spit flying everywhere and his mouth quivers between each word, "And this shit? I have to deal with this shit for years?! While the rest of you have the best god damn part of your lives." Tears start rolling down Seventies eyes. "Like fucking hell I would live like this."
Seventy eyes flash and pulls a sawed shotgun from the coat, "And I rather not have a future than live with this!" I rush to stop him, my hands trying to grab hold of the stubby gun. Seventy tries put the shot gun into those quivering lips and end his pain.
My body, damn it. It hurts, it fucking hurts. But I have to stop him. I have to get him to-
And the gun goes off. Ten and twenty start crying instantly. Thirty and forty rushes and holds down seventy! Fifty wrestles the gun out of his hand and sixty attends to me. God, I wish I was smart enough to save me but I can't stop crying myself now. It hurts and I only ever thought I was going to die once in my life.
Memories from when I was 69 years old, doing one of my final races of the year. The younger kids, as I called them, poked fun at me for even entering. I may get last every race but I still want to have that feeling. Even for a lap.
The mark is set and I fall. As the veteran, I was allowed to sit in the front of the pack. I wasn't sure if it was my clip or my leg or something else, but I fell. And then I was trampled. Bike after bike and rider after rider. Falling on top of me, crushing me with carbon, steel and aluminum. Human bodies adding to the weight. Even then, I couldn't stop crying. My saggy skin ripped and folded and dozens of old friends dug me out of the pile, or so I am told. I lost conciousness after two bikes clipped my head.
In the present, I knew it wouldn't be the same outcome. My body slumped over and I felt the fade come for me. I tried my best to smile, I wanted to go out like I lived most of my life.
But it hurt so much, I couldn't.
| 2016-08-24T20:37:09 | 2016-08-24T18:27:02 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances.
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"You...you're death? But...you're so..." I stammered, amazed by what I saw. I had never really felt an attraction to a living person before, but the woman standing before me changed that.
"So what?" She questioned, tilting her head curiously.
"Beautiful. You are incredibly beautiful." I was astonished that I was able to speak even though she had taken my breath away.
She giggled. "Beautiful? I can't say I get called that very often. Many people see me differently."
"What do people usually see you as?"
"Rotting, decaying, diseased...you know, death-related things. You should be alarmed, honestly."
"Alarmed?" I paused. "Why is that?"
"Well, people only really see me as 'beautiful' if...if they're, longing for me. You know. Suicidal." She sounded strangely sad, but I could only smile.
"Oh don't worry, I'm far from suicidal. I'm loving every minute of living, honest."
"You are? Then it's curious as to why you see me this way, human."
"Oh it's not really all that curious, I'm just a necrophiliac is all."
|
I noticed the wide space left, by people avoiding her, first.
"Man, that lady's so pretty even the girls are scared to get caught looking t her." I thought to myself as I walked towards home. A few canned ravioli and a box of crackers bounced together with each step I took.
The lady walked in a subtle glide. Each step masked by her long dress. It was so smooth you could never determine when either foot would fall. Her hands didn't even give away movement, they were clasped in front of her holding a small handbag. Her cool white skin seemingly made of milky water was pure marble without the gray colors. Her raven hair lay in shiny straight lines beside her face.
I drew her attention as I stared at her, regretting it almost immediately. I never intended to embarrass her. I never really got stared at, I assume "embarrassed" was how you felt when you caught someone watching you. I sucked in a deep, sharp breath, bit my bottom lip, and proceeded to do something I'd never done before. I went to go talk to a pretty lady.
"I, I think, I think I'm sorry." I mumbled in my assassination of English as a language.
"You... think?" She said with a coy smile pulling up the right corner of her lip.
"I mean, what I mean is I *am* sorry. I just don't know if I should be or not." I flubbed further. Why couldn't my mouth, word, or my mind, brain?
"Let's try this." She said raising the other side of her lip with the other. "Why do you *think* you should be sorry?"
"I was looking at you and you're pretty. So, I am sure you're probably tired of being stared at by people like me who think you're pretty. I didn't want to think you were pretty and stare at you because you were pretty but you are pretty... and, and I'm making things worse now." I managed to say in a single unbroken breath. "Could you just, ya know, go ahead and kill me."
Her eyes shot open wide and focused on mine for a brief second after that last sentence.
"So, you do know? You do know who I am?" All color and cheer now gone from her voice.
"I may? I don't think I recognize you, did we go to school together? If so, I am really sorry, I've kinda lost touch with everyone and forget names and faces really easily." At least the words were coherent and made some kind of a sense.
"So, you don't know me then?" She said with a look of complete befuddlement on her face.
"I guess, well I guess not. Are you famous? I am even worse with actor's names and faces than I am with real people. I've watched entire movies before trying to remember where I'd seen the lead actor before, only to realize on the way out that it's a sequel." If you're going to fail, fail big they say. It's always best to imply that not only are you disrespectful and incompetent but also very, very stupid.
"I am famous, in a sense..." She said as her smile returned.
"You're not like the U.S. president or something are you? Because I might not ever live that embarrassment down." I said returning her smile.
She actually laughed. Like a light bark. It was almost as if it were an action she'd completely forgotten she could take.
"Anyways, I really am sorry for staring at you. I just had never seen a lady as lovely as you and thought that if I missed the chance to look at you for as long as I could, that I might regret it. I don't spend a lot of time regretting things but that feels like one thing I might have to make an exception for." Imply you're a stalker! Wonderful idea! I regained my footing, it felt like, only to fall directly onto my ass.
"I do not mind. I don't think many people even glance at me, let alone stare. To find one of you who sees me so, it is quite endearing." She spoke as if from a time long since forgotten. In an unfamiliar accent.
"I never do this. I promise I never do but, would you, would you want to maybe grab lunch?" I managed to squeeze out before the nerve left me.
She stood completely still. Not that she'd moved much before but her motions were now imperceptible. The width of her eyes did not inspire much hope, yet before she spoke again she smiled an almost goofy toothy grin.
"I have never been asked, as such. It would be agreeable to me." She said, letting the corners of her eyes scrunch into the smile. "Would now be acceptable?"
I smiled in a much larger manner than she had. "Of course. Now is perfect."
to be continued.
| 2016-10-01T22:29:31 | 2016-10-01T21:32:07 | 4,176 | 269 |
[WP] One day you accidentally discover that you have the ability to erase everyone's memories. What you didn't know is you have used it before, but you erased your own memories to make sure you never use it again.
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Once I accidently erased Emily’s memories of a date gone south, I exercised my newfound power with caution and trepidation. With a huge gap in my own memory that my parents and friends are either unwilling or unable to explain, I became suspicious that I erased my own memories. I searched through my rooms for clues and artefacts of the last year to hint at whatever happened to me. In the back corner of my closet I found a shoebox filled with stuffed dog, a pair of concert tickets, and a picture of a beautiful short-haired redhead in an evening gown. On the reverse side of the photo in my distinctive handwriting were the words, “Never again.”
I asked friends and family members about the girl in the photo, though they conceded no memory of her. I combed through my Facebook friends and its recommendations, though I found no trace of her. With my history of the last year erased, I failed to find any distinct online evidence; however, nothing from a computer is truly erased. I brought my laptop to a friend in IT who recovered my internet history over the last year and jokingly complemented my taste in porn. Combing through the internet searches, I predictably found phrases correlating to concert tickets and date ideas. Most damning, I found a term for one year anniversary ideas and more importantly, a name on Facebook I didn’t recognize: Clarissa Thompson.
Debating on sending her a message, I viewed her Facebook page only to find most of her personal information blocked; however, I did find out she worked at a local restaurant as a waitress. Figuring when I met her there, if she remembered me, she would confront me and I would have answers, otherwise her lapse in memory of me would also be a clue. After a few times eating a meal worth more than they charged, I never saw Clarissa. I asked the wait staff, claiming to be a cousin in town to surprise her, but they insisted she didn’t work there anymore. On the contrary, she was in the hospital and had been for the last month.
Once again using the cousin excuse, I asked a few nurses across several hospitals in town about Clarissa, though they couldn’t find anyone under that name under their system. With dwindling options, I crossed every hospital in town off my list, wondering if the wait staff found me too suspicious to give a real answer. With my investigation at a dead end, a flash of inspiration hit me: what if she isn’t at a traditional hospital? At the first mental ward, I found Clarissa sitting at a table by herself as other patients wondered around their recreational room. I approached, interrupting her beautiful illustration of a flower.
“Hello,” I greeted. “I’m Isaac.”
“Hello,” she piped cheerfully. “I’m Clarissa.”
Finding out she grew up in Ohio with her aunt and uncle after her parents died in a car crash, she moved into the area after college. After finding no work with her degree, she took a job as a waitress at a nice restaurant and made a decent amount in tips. I tried to press her for any more details, but she couldn’t remember anything over the last year, anyone she may have dated, or how she ended up in a mental ward. After about an hour, the conversation looped.
“Why hello,” she greeted me. “My name is Clarissa. What’s yours?”
“Isaac,” I reintroduced myself.
We carried on the conversation for a while. I learned about Ohio and her aunt and uncle again, but I decided to part ways with her. As the doctor said, she suffered from acute short term memory loss, unable to remember much from a few hours ago. Though not a clear and imminent danger to herself or others, she was unable to live by herself. With parents deceased and her last legal guardians imprisoned for child neglect and abuse, finding a household for her to live became a difficult chore. The larger picture became clear; trying to help erase the memories of abuse, I must’ve accidently put her mind through a blender, rendering her unable to remember anything. While the thought crossed my mind to erase my memory to clear my conscious, I decided to carry my guilt of Clarissa and the life I ruined to act as a reminder of the power I should never use.
*****
More bizarre tales to delight at r/Andrew__Wells
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Barry Winslow had just finished pouring Mrs. Van der Hoek another cup of coffee, had just set the coffee pot down, when the bullet hit him in the spine. There was a faint *ting* as it punched a hole through the diner window, leaving the glass pane largely intact, but opaque with cracks, and pierced his neck. Winslow went still, his knees collapsing under him as he sank to the ground, listening to Mrs. Van der Hoek screaming, and he thought as he fell, *Thank god I wasn't holding that hot coffee.*
There were people in SWAT gear pouring in the diner out of the corner of Winslow's vision, hustling the customers and other employees out, pointing their guns at him. His limbs were tingling terribly, as if they had fallen asleep, and there was a loud buzzing in his head. Men cuffed his hands behind his back, fitted a metal circlet around his head, and hauled him to his feet. Winslow felt a pinch at the back of his neck, and something being pulled loose, and the feeling began to return to his arms and legs. His head was still buzzing, though at a higher, more irritating pitch than before. A woman in a white jumpsuit stepped into his field of vision, a familiar logo emblazoned on her chest: a clenched fist holding a thunderbolt.
"Mr. Winslow," the woman said pleasantly. "Anna Nowicki, deputy director of Z.E.U.S. You're under arrest."
"I didn't -" Winslow said, his tongue still numb. "I didn't do anything."
"You don't remember doing anything," she corrected, as they hauled him out of the diner. A black van was waiting, its doors wide open. "And that's fine. Neither do the rest of us."
"Neither-?" Winslow mumbled, as they sat him down on a bench, guards on either side, Nowicki seated across from him. The doors thumped shut and the van rolled into motion. "I don't understand."
"Here we go," Nowicki said, holding a touchscreen in front of him. It was Winslow himself, shooting a man in some indeterminate office building. All the bystanders shot up in alarm, and then a dull look crossed their faces in unison as Winslow simply walked out of frame. As one, they slowly came back to reality, panicking again once they laid their eyes on the corpse.
"That - that's not me," Winslow said, squirming in the cramped van. He felt as if he was being slowly crushed alive.
"We believe it is you," Nowicki said, "and we certainly have the forensic evidence to prove it. You see, Mr. Winslow," she said, setting down the tablet, "you apparently have the ability to erase people's memories. You were going around, committing crimes, and erasing everyone's memories of what happened. Even with the forensic evidence you left, you were continually erasing your own existence from the world, so no one could put together the pieces. You apparently called yourself, ah-" She picked up the tablet again and pulled up a name on the screen in Winslow's own handwriting: Mnister Mnemonic. "Don't ask me how to pronounce that," she said. "We don't have any audio recordings and it was presumably your idea to begin with."
Winslow blinked slowly, replaying the scene in his mind, trying to put a name to the person he had supposedly killed. He came up blank. "I don't - I don't remember any of that. I don't even know who that is." He grimaced. "God, my head hurts. I don't know what you did to me. But god, my head!"
"Well," Nowicki said, "after months of indulgence and sin, you apparently had a change of heart and repented. Erased everyone else's memories, erased your own. Decided to live a quiet, peaceful life without the memory of your powers. Except -" And here she tapped the screen again. "We were finally able to start putting things together." She tapped the circlet around his head. "And now you can't think straight long enough to even think of using your powers again. My apologies though, Mr. Winslow, I'm afraid you're just going to have to get used to that headache."
"But - but -" Winslow blinked rapidly at the single overhead light, the circlet like a buzzsaw around his brain. "I wouldn't do that! It wasn't me! If I erased myself, if I erased all memory of doing it, of being able to do it, then I'm not the person I used to be! I repented! I made myself someone else!"
Nowicki steepled her fingers together. "That's certainly an interesting philosophical position, Mr. Winslow. Unfortunately the law doesn't make that distinction." She smirked slightly. "Not that the law as you understand it will be coming into play here."
Winslow blinked painfully. "W-what?"
"Well," Nowicki said, still smiling, "you can see how my superiors think it would be difficult to convince a jury to convict someone of something that no one at all remembers. And you can see how a power of yours might be useful to an organization like ours, in a sort of ... extralegal manner, and how convenient it is for us that you erased most memories of yourself to begin with."
"No," mumbled Winslow, struggling, two sets of hands holding him tight. "You said I repented! I erased my own memories. I didn't want it to happen again. I'm an innocent man!" Sweat was beading on his brow. "I made myself innocent! I don't remember anything! I won't learn anything from this! I don't deserve this! I'm as horrified by all of this as you are!"
Nowicki scowled. "People are dead, Mr. Winslow. There's irreversible physical and financial damage. There's the psychological trauma of people trying to reconcile their erased memories with their current reality. We don't care about how you feel, Mr. Winslow. We care about what happened. About the people you hurt. About the danger you posed." She leaned in to his pudgy face. "If you wanted to repent, you could have confessed, you could have turned yourself in, you could have attempted restitution. Instead, you tried to erase everything. Tell me, what was to stop you from rediscovering your powers and starting the cycle all over again?"
Barry Winslow jerked and went limp, collapsing halfway off the bench, as the guards around him grabbed him, holding him up. His sweaty face trembled, a vein pulsing in his forehead. The circlet tightened. "I'm innocent!" he bawled. "I'm innocent! You have to believe me! I'm innocent!" His eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out. Immediately the guards were listening for his breathing, checking for his pulse.
"Breathing's strong, ma'am," one of them finally said. They propped him up between them. "He just passed out. Ought to be fine. We're almost there. We can get get him looked at."
"That's fine," Nowicki said, and looked down at Winslow's face, almost placid in unconsciousness. "You know, I believe him," she said, and smiled almost tenderly. "Look at him. An utter innocent. Not a malicious thought left in his head." The van rolled to a stop, and she stretched out her legs in preparation. "But it's never been enough to be innocent." The doors to the van swung open, the figures outside haloed in light. Nowicki rose to her feet and sighed. "All the innocent people in the world, needing people like us to take care of them."
| 2016-10-30T07:11:24 | 2016-10-30T06:56:00 | 123 | 21 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
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"Alright, next time this happens, just unplug the router, and plug it back in." Marcus said begrudgingly.
Obviously embarrassed, Katie replied "Thank you so much, I don't have any cash on me, but I'll pay you for the bus fare next time"
"Don't worry about it..."
He walked out the door, it was raining, of course. The bus stop was a 15 minute walk down the street. Not terrible considering all the times he's ended multiple states over, with no clue on how to get back.
He threw his hood up, and started his was back home.
It didn't matter to Marcus anymore. This was a weekly occurrence at this point. He had lost countless jobs, blown off friends, and missed out on a long list of relationships. All because of an empty promise he made to a girl he barely even knew.
He used to get frustrated, but at a certain point, it became a ritual.
As he boarded the bus, he felt that familiar feeling. His body was being dragged to another location.
He came to in Katie's living room. But this time she stood over a man, covered in blood.
"What the fuck..." Marcus said under his breath.
"I can explain."
|
It seems like every time I ran into Amelia Fowler she was in the middle of some kind of catastrophe. Just last week she had a flat tire at two in the morning twenty miles out of town, with no one around but cows and cotton. A month ago it was in line at the grocery store with a shopping cart the contents of which almost brought a tear to my eye and a check card that couldn't cover even that. I helped. I couldn't not help. It didn't matter that we'd been done for eight months, or dated for three weeks. She was a person, and she needed someone, and I was there. That's what you do in small towns like this.
I guess that's why we started dating in the first place. The "in need" part, not the small town part, although that was probably some of it, too. When you are fifteen and everything feels like it's the most important thing in the world, that is enough. Sitting in the back of my old truck, I promised her the world and she blushed and was beautiful and we loved each other. But the Fowler clan was a train wreck. Amelia was abused, neglected, addicted, and already working on her criminal record then, at sixteen. I should never have gotten involved with her. The whole thing blew up less than a month after it started.
Eventually I realized she must have been getting herself in trouble around me on purpose, like as a way to control me or something. That was the kind of thing a girl like her would do. It's not her fault; not exactly, but I wasn't going to be manipulated like that. I started distancing myself from Amelia. Still I would run into her from time to time, and always she was in the middle of some crisis. At first I was kind with her. Then I was patient. I became firm. I became Angry. Finally I became cruel. I said mean things to her about who she was and how she lived. I still helped. You have to help people. But I wish I hadn't said those things.
As time went on, I ran into Amelia less and less often. I heard from a friend of a friend that she had gotten herself knocked up by and then married to some office worker type. Unexciting, but stable. That sounded like a good thing, and I was happy for her.
Gradually, I began to forget about Amelia Fowler.
...
It was really unusual for the bastards to take us anywhere. They mostly liked to keep us locked up in our shitty little rooms unless it was time for medicine or "food." Today they'd gotten it into their piss-for-brains heads to drag us old geezers out to the park for some "Eeh-an-richmint," as that lousy dick of a head nurse pronounces it.
Some of the geezers who have decent families are going to have a nice afternoon frolicking in the Goddamned daisy or whatever. My wife is dead. Fuck, most of my kids are dead. They don't tell you about that shit when you're growing up! Life kills people! And the ones who are still alive aren't worth two shits.
So I was looking forward to sitting alone on a hot hillside in the middle of June like the subject of some kind of shitty dollar store painting 'cause it'd make dick feel like he was doing his job.
Anyway, we'd been out there for a little over forty-five minutes, and my ass was killing me. That piece-of-crap lawn chair must have been made in Nicaragua. Why can't shit come from China anymore like in the good old days? When all of a sudden this old biddy, who was hobbling along on her walker, keels over right there on my spot of grass; pissed off the pigeons. I was trying to enjoy the view of the lake and here's this bitch, flopping on the ground clutching at her back pissing and moaning.
So I haul my aching, wrinkly old ass out of my piece-of-shit Nicaraguan chair and kneel down in the stifling heat of that mosquito-infested June morning to see what's wrong. I roll her over and damned if it isn't Amelia Fowler.
"My God it's you!" She exhaled. "I'm having a heart attack. It's my fourth one. I know what they feel like, and I know I'm not going to make it."
"Amelia what is this shit? You think I can't tell a fake heart attack? I did fifteen years with-" I started, but she cut me off.
"Shut up, Frank. I don't know where I would have wound up if I'd have never met you, but I can guess. I'm dying an old woman with a full life instead of a young girl with stupid ideas 'cause of you. I needed to tell you that. I promise I won't need you again."
I yelled for dick, and he stumbled over and bumbled though ECPR, but Amelia was right. She was done for. That was the last time I saw Amelia Fowler.
| 2017-03-22T16:11:28 | 2017-03-22T13:26:15 | 65 | 21 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
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As her husband finished with a barely audible grunt, and heaved himself off of her, Brittany let out a long sigh.
"Well, that was a new record! 5 thrusts, and we're done.", she thought to herself, glancing in disgust at her husband, who had miraculously already started snoring, sleep being the only thing that came quicker to him than ejaculation.
As she reached for the now familiar nightstand drawer where she kept her "toy", thoughts of divorce were beginning to fly through her head. "I can't keep living like this!", she told herself. "I've been suffering through this complete lack of a sex life for years, and I **need** a real man to take care of me!"
"Wait, no no no no no!", exclaimed Brittany. "I didn't mean need, I promise, it was a want, not a need, I've had this under control for so long!" Her pleas went unanswered. Gary, her old high school boyfriend, materialized and stood naked, erect, and confused in the middle of her bedroom.
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A young man stands in front of a crowded board room his presentation is impeccable. He's worked his way up from intern to junior exec, and it's taken years of late nights to get him to this point. His smart blue suit only slightly lighter than the others in the room, his tie a perfect accent piece to his pocket square which sets off his wire frame glasses. The young man continues his well rehearsed diatribe, "You'll see in the graph here that..." A cloud of smoke envelopes him and then dissipates leaving the rest of the attendees in awe.
Across the country on a small studio lot just outside of Los Angeles a woman sits on a curb eating a sandwich when smoke begins to materialize, the young man appears before her eyes in a brilliant shimmer of folded space which looks as if someone smeared the background.
"Oh *you're* here." The young woman remarks.
He turns around investigating his new surroundings before looking down at the girl, "Jesus Christ Keri, what the hell do you want?"
"Well I didn't want *you* ." She answers before discarding the food on the ground.
"Uh, yeah Keri, that's how this works. Remember? In perhaps the most regretful phrase I've ever uttered in my life, I pledged to always be there for you. Then a skank in pink heart print dress appeared and said 'So it shall be, always.' So now when you want me, and only me I fucking appear wherever you are. I was only fifteen how the hell is that binding?!?"
The woman shrugged and said, "Well as long as you're here, the studio says they'll give me a line if I show my breasts in the movie. Should I do it?"
"Yes, of course you should," The young man replied. As soon as Keri's back was turned he began to give her the finger with both hands.
"You really think I should? Don't you think that could hurt my career? I want to be thought of as a serious actress..." She turned around suddenly to see both of his middle fingers outstretched in an aggressive, and angry way. "Brad... god damn it, I'm serious."
"I don't give a flying red headed fuck what you do, the perpetually pink bitch made it so I have to be here, she didn't make me feel the need to be helpful. Your tits have been all over the internet for years. Remember when we broke up and you got on Girls Gone Wild? Yeah so there isn't a pervy old man in America who hasn't spanked it to your underage, and until verrrry recently undersized chest; by the way tell your doctor I love his work, and leave me the fuck alone!"
She smiled at him, "You're jealous, I'm here shooting a film with the guy who played on Renegade and you're stuck in your little cubicle back home. Why can't you just be happy for me you piece of shit?"
"I was in the middle of a meeting that would have made me a partner. I have a girl I'm crazy about, and she puts up with this popping back and forth thing for god knows why, and I'm jealous?"
The two screaming at each other drew the ire of the director who then stormed over to the pair, "Who are you?" He demanded.
Brad sighed and said, "I'm Brad her ex boyfriend."
The director threw out his hands with his palms raised, "Do you work here?"
"No."
He turned his attention to the young woman, "And you, who the hell are you?"
"um... I'm Keri. I play Sorority slasher victim 2."
"Not anymore, you're fired. Steven, get me casting, I need another big breasted bimbo to show her tits in this piece of shit. Let's go, we're moving on."
Keri stood there her mouth agape, then she turned to look at Brad who's lips had begun to curl upwards at the corners, "You... this is all your fault. Fix it, fix it now."
Brad broke out into a bright white smile as karma finally caught up with Keri. He did his best to snap his lips closed but the joy was just so overwhelming he broke into a slight laugh as he said, "Why? Remember I don't have to help, I just have to be there for you."
"Well how are you going to like it if I suddenly need a towel boy at 2:AM your time for the foreseeable future after I swipe right on every guy in LA? Fix this now."
Brad visibly gulped and said, "Excuse me Mr. Director..."
| 2017-03-22T16:36:34 | 2017-03-22T15:05:15 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
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"I need to know about my past lives. It's important. I need to know who I was to determine who I am supposed to be..."
The medium gave me a pensive glance over, her eyes focusing first on me, then through me, then snappiung back to me.
"I see who you have been. Judas. Ghenghis Khan. Hitler. You have been the most evil yet charismatic of men. You have been condemned for your sins, and you will find the path to heaven a difficult struggle. You must choose your path carefully, or you will not pass the gates after this lifetime either."
I could feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. The dreams have been true. I must overcome the darkness in my being, and become something that is better. I must use my power to lead for the betterment of mankind this time, I must eschew my temptations for power and control.
Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and centering myself, I thank the medium for my time. Standing up, I straighten up, and turn to leave. I walk out the door, put my red "Make America Great" cap onto my head, and head towards the presidential limosine.
|
"Patience. Restraint."
This man looks at me from under his glasses. I see the slight nodding of his head. He thinks he understands me. What I need, what I want. How he can fix me.
"So those are the qualities you feel you can improve on?" he asks me. The tone of his voice is condescending, egregiously self-secure. He knows so little. Every time it is the same. Some stuck up academist, drawing their conclusions before they've even heard me speak. Because what sane persons goes to a psychiatrist, right? This exercise bores me.
"Right". I control my voice, I need to. I would sound aggressive, instigative, but I can't. It's all about the outside, the perception. And as long as I entertain this hack he won't notice the brewing deep inside. The one I need to contain.
"That's good". He nods again. "Self-reflection and a desire for self-improvement are the keystones of improving your quality of life. Many people don't get there". He rambles on but I phase out. His entire demeanor, his entire existence is petty, and thinking about his irrelevancy...I feel the pressure building from within.
It always starts like that. I feel the nerves being pushed into my skin, as if the insides of my body expand and my skin is just a hull to contain it all. The beat of my heart becomes louder, it's like I can feel my eardrums vibrate along with the increasing volume. It silences everything else.
So I breathe. I've been doing fine for 20 years now. Under the radar. To say my sheet is clean is an overstatement. I don't regret any of it, it had to be done. But so far I'm just a man with some issues, nothing serious. And that's all I need. Just be...*normal*...until the end. And then finally I will arrive where I belong.
"Are you still with me?" His trained, supposedly calming voice disturbs my train of thought. "I..." I mumble, but I feel the pressure again. I close my eyes. It's as if a fist of pure rage punches the inside of my head, trying to break out of its containment. But I try to push it back, inside the prison I've built. If you can't see it, it's not there. That's all I need.
I exhale through my nose, and try to fix the rhythm of my breathing. My nostrils flare, and as I rub my temples with my fingertips I open my eyes again. "Yes. I was..." I don't need to explain myself. But then I remember. This is what it depends on. That people don't know.
"I...chased a thought. Could you repeat the last sentences?" I still won't say sorry. I owe this man nothing. I'm being tested, and I will pass.
"Of course."
---
I smile. I can't feel anything other than happiness as I feel the tension leave the room. The slowly building pressure in my head is gone. It will be calm for a few weeks. The thought of the ease, the peaceful silence. I audibly laugh. "Are you concealing something from me?" That stern look. Ridiculous.
One man practices. Every man's dream. All I needed was some cleaning product, some acid, a functioning drain, and the *patience*. For some tasks I had all the patience I needed. It was just the things beneath me that I would not grant my attention to.
The room was tidy again. I grab my coat from the coat rack and inspect the room one more time. His notepad is still on the floor. I pick it up and browse through it. Expectedly, it's filled with typical mumbo-jumbo that seemed to try and pass for technical medical terms. I arrive at the last page.
"Containment. Signs of narcissistic behavior. Personality disorder (?)"
Amusing. But still, the fact that he thought he had the authority to write this down...I feel something twitch in my head. As if someone is gently pressing the insides of my head. I try and laugh, but the feeling won't subside.
The last sentence draws my attention. "Crumbling of the mind".
An animalistic roar escapes my body. *Who*...*who* dares...
A few minutes later I come to consciousness again. I'm sitting on *his* chair, the piece of paper fumbled up in my closed fist. It's all good now. I put on my coat, inhale deeply, and exhale as I close the door behind me. As I walk home I smile to a stranger, another meaningless passenger in this pretentious existence. As I try to ignore the pressure building, the pressure that is building too soon, all I can think is: *stay calm to succeed. You know what you're doing this for.* I start to whistle.
It's all about appearances.
| 2017-03-31T11:46:40 | 2017-03-31T05:57:51 | 166 | 14 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess".
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The Princess noticed the knight's glistening armor long before he reached the keep. She walked down the stairs and into the courtyard to greet him, as she had done with so many before.
"Sir knight," she exclaimed, "present yourself."
The knight dismounted, drew his blade and knelt before The Princess, offering his steel in service. "I am Sir Peta, here to end the misery of the dragon."
Misery? That's a new one, thought The Princess. "Has word not reached the stronghold? I have no need for your services."
*So it's true,* Sir Peta muttered under his breath. Then louder, "My apologies, my lady. I am not from the stronghold."
"Too many knights have come here in their noble stupidity, determined to slay the dragon and rescue me from its 'misery,' as you so oddly put it. Are you all idiots," The Princess asked? "Do you really believe I could live in this keep for years, with a dragon in the tower, if the situation is as you all believe it? Do you know nothing of dragons?"
Sir Peta rose, sword at his side, and spoke. "I know quite a lot about dragons, in fact. I know they are intelligent, noble beasts that are fiercely territorial," he replied. "No doubt it is as you say, my lady. If the dragon was able to bring harm to you, it surely would've done so by now."
This exasperated The Princess. "Then why, clever Sir Peta, did you come here to rescue me?"
"You misunderstand, dear Princess." She felt the tip of his cold steel, and something else - nightshade, perhaps - before he had finished the sentence."I am not here to rescue *you*."
With one more upward thrust, the job was done. He felt a blast of air as the dragon arrived and perched on the wall. It looked down on the scene. Sir Peta dropped to a knee.
"The binding spell is broken, friend," spoke the knight. "Be free." With that, the dragon alighted into the sky. Within seconds it was a mere speck in the distance, no bigger than a crow.
Sir Peta cleaned his blade and called his mount. There was talk of a duke that kept a caged chimera to impress the other nobility. The knight's work was never done.
- - - - - - - - - -
*edit: mobile formatting*
|
"Maybe... you should put a bell on him."
"Maybe you could knit him a giant sweater."
"All the wool in the kingdom wouldn't be enough, and he'd probably just set it on fire."
"I feel like we're blaming the victim here."
It was a lazy sunny evening. The smell of burning wood and ash filled the air with a faint appeal, as if someone had just recently held a barbecue. In the middle of a great courtyard, surrounded by smoking wreckage and massive footprints, were four armored paladins, each covered in scorch marks and distinct, claw-shaped dents. One of them fingered the remains of what was once a beautiful silk surcoat, blackened by fire breath. He pinched his fingers slightly, and the remains of the surcoat fell to black ribbons which drifted gently into the grass. He sighed audibly as it finally gave up the ghost.
"Maybe a giant surcoat? Something fireproof?"
"It'd look rather ridiculous, like a giant bib."
"Maybe that's what we want."
"We could put a lobster print on it."
They were facing their former quarry, a massive dragon, currently sitting on its hind-legs. Next to him was a cross-looking princess with folded arms and an icy glare. Behind her was a tall old man in filagreed robes. He smiled apologetically while adjusting his cape. He was a good king, just and fair, but he had garnered a negative reputation for being far too permissive with his daughter. Even he was starting to regret letting her keep the pet monitor lizard she had found in the forests years ago.
Turns out it wasn't a monitor lizard.
"Why should I have to put a mark on him anyways?" The princess finally snapped. "He's been in the royal family for years! Why can't these knights get it through their heads? He's not a threat. He's the *family pet*."
"M'lady," the king said, "I warned you that dragons and princesses simply do not look well together. The Knights of *our own* kingdom barely trust him. You cannot expect our allies to not intervene when they see a dragon stalking a maiden in the middle of a field."
"... I WAS TEACHING HIM HOW TO ROLL OVER!"
"To be fair," one of the knights raised a charred, gloved finger, "cats do play with their food before they eat them."
The princess' wide eyes threatened to set the knight on fire (again). He slowly lowered his finger back down and bowed slightly in apology.
The dragon, meanwhile, was licking one of its massive paws. There was a bloody gash there, of a size fatal to a human. But on the great, scaled monster it was little more than a paper cut. The battle had been surprisingly even. The knights, despite looking like the aftermath of a Wile. E. Coyote cartoon, were blessed by the Sun Gods and had enchanted armor. They were mostly unharmed, though the damage to their equipment would cost them. The dragon had several more gashes in his body, but nothing that a few giant band-aids wouldn't fix.
Both sides were lucky the princess ran in when she did.
But now the knights had decided enough was enough. They had taken up a new quest: make the dragon appear as genial as possible so that their fellows would stop getting false alarms and mucking up the knightly quest boards.
"Can dragons wear face paint-"
"I'M NOT GOING TO PUT MAKE-UP ON MY DRAGON!"
"We *must* come up with a reasonable solution, m'lady." The king chided.
The princess sighed, dropped her arms down, and walked towards the dragon's face. The knight's helmets all followed her path in unison; they tilted their heads like confused puppies when she reached up to put a hand on his lower jaw. "You're not a big mean dragon at all, are you Dilbert?"
Dilbert stopped licking its paw, and licked the entire side of the princess' face with a massive grey tongue. It was so large it also slicked half of her golden hair; rumor had it that this was a fantastic beauty treatment, if one could tolerate the smell.
One of the knights shook his head. "Well, the only thing I can think of is to try out different disguises and see what people think. Maybe the dragon just needs a minor change to look friendly."
The princess sighed resolutely. "Do what you must I suppose."
And so it was that as the kingdom struggled to disguise their dragon, many fantastic tales arose from the various neighboring kingdoms. Travelers would see the dragon on different days, and interpret its existence differently depending on its disguise and behavior. Here were some of the results:
\- A man from the jungles of the far west beheld Dilbert when he was covered in colorful feathers. He returned to his people and told them the story of the great "Quetzalcoatl."
\- The princess had giant bunny ears fashioned for Dilbert. A near-sighted scholar from the far east mistook them for antlers, and returned home to inform his peers about the great "Qilin."
\- The court jester thought it funny to dress Dilbert up in a giant straightjacket. What threat is a creature with no arms and legs? Unfortunately, that didn't stop the young Hindu acolyte from identifying the beast as a giant serpent, which later became the "Naga" of the Great Puranas.
\- The princess was giving Dilbert a bath on the day of a solar eclipse. She figured the darkness would draw attention away from the dragon during the day, as he did not like bathing in the cold of the night. A wandering tribal from the Philippine islands thought the dragon was responsible for blocking the sun. He made sure to warn his kin about the malicious "Bakunawa".
Under the protection of the princess, and later her descendants, Dilbert lived a long and happy life. However, the never-ending quest to disguise the dragon as a friendly creature led to the proliferation of thousands of fantastic tales. In some, the dragon was indeed friendly. In others, not so much. Either way, Dilbert became a global celebrity, though he would never find out.
One of his bones sits in the Burke Natural History Museum and is mistakenly thought to belong to a giant theropod dinosaur.
| 2019-01-09T13:25:46 | 2019-01-09T13:17:55 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
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"My brothers, I hope this message reaches you. We never should have come to this place. This...jewel of a planet, with simple creatures living simple lives. None of them followed the Ardok's Logic, 'the strong take through combat, and by taking they get stronger.' Our empire's founding principle, that has guided us through millennia of conflict and victory. These, 'humans,' practice the weakness of peace. Their end should have been swifter than most.
At first, it was. Death came for them, and they eagerly accepted it. Begging to put down the weapons and come to the table. Bah, weakness. The only negotiation is through combat, through war. But we stirred something, something dark...and something evil.
At first, they gathered weapons, though primitive, it was at least going to be a fight. The scale of their weapons was surprising but we adapted, instead of being bunched in large ships, easy targets for their large explosives, we began a ground invasion. Surgical, precise yet overwhelming. We engaged them on the open fields and began to have glorious battles, for a time. They...continually made a concentrated effort to always capture some of us alive. At first we thought it was a pitiful attempt at trading our brethren for peace. But the channels were silent, and the humans crept in the shadows, away from the glorious battlefields. It was then we began to see the true horrors of this infernal plane. For it was not their weapons, not their explosives. We have seen larger explosives than this hurled at our fleets.
Fifteen earth cycles of searching we found our brethren. They were all...disgraced, eviscerated, and clearly held down and mutilated. Tortured for information? What a primitive and cowardly act. They did not gain information from their lips, but they must have learned secrets I cannot begin to tell you.
From that day forward, we began to die. Not in glorious combat, but sickly and weak. Our organs ruptured, but not a single weapon was found. No shots, no stabbings...yet we kept falling. First by the dozens, soon by the thousands. We tried quarantining, and then as soon as we tried the humans would strike our sick, would engage not in the open fields but from remote distances. We would attempt to strike back, but those who went came back with no trophies and soon would show the same symptoms.
We have never encountered a race like this one. We have faced dishonor, but not sacrilege. Life to them is clearly not sacred. We thought them weak for such short lifespans, but perhaps it simply is because of how close to the void their hearts and minds are.
I have bore witness to the atramentous maw...and only eternal blackness stared back.
This is not a lush world of life, this is a horrific world of death. And no one can wield it better than they can. My time is short, despite my best efforts the humans have found new and worse poisons to fill the air with each passing day, far too quickly for us to adapt. I hope this message reaches you in time, to prepare, to run. They were able to steal one of our ships and were able to dissect it as they had us. The ship returning to you is not housed with our trophies. It is full of their trophies, trophies of rot and death. We shared our gospel of battle and killed billions. They would like to share their own of death, and return the favor tenfold."
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K- 1210 had long ago been logged under observation by the deep range scouts of Zel ‘Ot expeditionary forces. This tiny blue planet near the far edge of known space had been written off of strategic plans for longer than an intelligent species had existed on it in a meaningful way, due mainly to the remarkably harsh conditions of its biosphere and the quickly approaching death of its dependent star. From the perspective of resource acquisition, it offered nothing to us. From the perspective of scientific inquiry, it had been believed that it nearly offered less. Treading upon it offered only painful and purposeless deaths, not honorable ones, and as such it was of no interest to any among my species.
From the point of its first entry into spacefaring charts, the planet had undergone an almost unprecedented number of mass extinction events of its admittedly wide range of sentient native species, creatures barely meeting the standard for intelligent life generally, and the climate on the planet had managed to remain almost constantly in flux. Nearly every time K-1210 was reported on in cyclical updates, it seemed to be either entering or exiting a period of extreme cold and non-inhabitability for any but the hardiest of its rudimentary species. By all evidence and points of comparison, K-1210 was a doomed planet, unremarkable in every way spare it’s abhorrent hostility to anything that lived on it.
But then, in an instant by the standards of a species with no source of natural death, something new had come to call it home.
We had seemingly missed their earliest beginnings in gaps between cyclical reports on far edge prospects, each gap a period of dozens of thousands of the planets cycles around its dwarf star. Even with the great variance in perceptive relativity, it had been long since K-1210 had been displayed in front of my eyes, and thus, very long since any had observed it in any close detail. The planet had been under constant observation from automated pioneering platforms, at a massive distance but still able to flag and transmit relevant statistical variations within the planets solar system accurate to within a few of its cycles, including minute differences in atmospheric conditions on its eight planets and significant deviations in exhibited light. And that was how we noticed them.
One small flash, then another, in the center of one of the planets continents. Then, two bright flashes, very nearly at the same time, and almost directly adjacent to each other half the planets diameter away from the other two. In those amongst us who were truly old by the Zel standard, these flashes and their location patterns were instantly recognizable, and the excitement throughout the fleet was palpable. Those, undoubtedly, were weapons. Primitive weaponry by current standards, but the most dangerous we had seen since J-345. In the moments following this revelation, I was certain there were more eyes fixed on that planet than had ever or would ever live on it. By the time I officially ordered immediate preparations, they were already nearly complete.
It took us time to get to the adjacent galaxy, more time than we should have allowed. You must understand that the sheer technological gap between the weapons we had seen and those that we carried all but assured us of victory, ultimately. Of course, as is the tradition of Zel conquest, we would allow our warriors the opportunity to die with honor in combat against a foe that stands not as his brother Zel, should such a thing be achievable by our adversary. But in the end, once we had learned all that we could about them, archived them, and fought them to our satisfaction, we would execute a final campaign of eradication, as has long been the way of our kind. To collect, to catalogue, to conquer.
At our final rally point, we made close and final observations of the condition of our foe since their detection. It had been nearly 500 of their cycles since the detonations that we detected, and in the interim thousands more of such weapons had been utilized on the surface and within the low atmosphere, increasing consistently in magnitude and sophistication almost without exception. For some time, the infrequent and localized detonations mirrored what could either be testing protocols for weapons, or a long, global war of attrition. This news heartened all among us. This was a species that was no stranger to war, and was also fragmented, which may save them from the fatal error of attempting surrender when they witnessed the spectacular nature of war we had prepared to bring upon them.
But then, the weapons stopped. The cities shown brighter, and the slowly degrading quality of their atmosphere began to more closely resemble the purity of its past. They had established a sizeable colony on their orbiting moon, and had the very beginnings of the technology that would allow them long-term survival and transit in the vacuum of isolated space. It was at this juncture, that I first felt the creeping pull of doubt. This does not abdicate me of responsibility, but let the record show that I was not an utter fool about the potential of this threat.
This species had to be extremely young, even taking into account the observational gaps, they could not be more than 300,000 cycles old, as Zel scouts had walked upon K-1210 and encountered nothing that we believed could have so quickly become capable of the feats we now were witnessing. To specify, their works themselves were not necessarily remarkable, but rather the timeframe in which they must have been achieved. In a few hundred native cycles, to have gone from weaponing the process of splitting an atom to nearly achieving perfect fusion was, with absolutely no possible contention, unobserved up until that moment on the bridge of my dreadnought. And to have done so without destroying themselves was in itself a marvel. It was this awe at the rate of their expansion and the dumbstruck reaction of some our best evolutionary scientists that I took as affirmation toward our purpose. This species was out of the ordinary, and we would discover how, and why, and then we would take their fates and place them beneath our feet.
After some deliberation over the potential for defensive actions by the inhabitants of K-1210, I ordered the advance of my fleet into the outer edge of their Solar System. Almost immediately, the electronic and radio communication on the planet exploded in a chorus of color across our monitoring displays, and almost as quickly, nearly all communications greater than localized radio waves ceased. It was clear from the magnitude of these communications and the greater details we could observe from this close distance, that the species numbered in the tens of billions. At the time we could not understand anything at all of those broadcasts in their languages, of which there are thousands, but we intercepted them and catalogued them, and they have been provided to the council pending a fuller translation at least of the planets chief language. Very soon after this communication blackout, we detected a repeating transmission in all of their languages, which we could not decipher but from the length and cadence understand to have been variations on the same message, from every major city on the planet.
Whether or not this was a warning, or an invitation, was unknown at the time, but I ordered my fleet to hold its position and combat formation, and I transferred myself to one of our smaller cruisers to make an embarkation onto K-1210. I wanted to see the interesting new spacefarers for myself.
***Got a lot of ideas, will write more if you all are interested. Need a cigarette so figured I'd put this out here and brainstorm a bit. Hope you like it :D***
| 2019-02-26T13:01:01 | 2019-02-26T11:10:09 | 75 | 45 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look."
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SCP-9432 (Temporary ID/Awaiting Permanent Clasification)
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: A single copy of SCP-9432 is to be kept in a system of twenty four (24) computers isolated from any other devices capable of displaying a digital image. Each computer must automatically delete any file sent from it. After sending a file, the computer must become incapable of sending or receiving emails for at least three hours. Finally, each computer should not be able to display a received email for at least an hour after receiving it.
A single Class-D personnel is be locked in a cubicle containing a computer on this system. They are to be rotated on an 8 hour basis, and may be provided with non-digital forms of entertainment. They are to send emails containing a file of SCP-9432 to other computers in this system. In the event any person exposed to SCP-9432 begins to display symptoms SCP-9432-1, they are to immediately be administered Class A or B amnestics.
In the event of a breach, an AI already has been set up to trace where the image has been sent or sent itself to. All phone communications in the area, except this absolutely necessary for maintaining functions, will be automatically shut down. They are to remain shut down until a “live” copy of SCP-9432 can be found and contained. After a “live” copy has been found, communication is to stay shut down for at least 8 hours. During these 8 hours, Class A amnestics are to be administered aerially to the affected area.
Description: SCP-9432 is a cogniohazardous image of a walrus (odobenus rosmarus). When exposed to SCP-9432, the subject feels an overwhelming urge to send the image to others in any way possible, including text, emailing, and uploading to various social media. Subjects usually express extreme excitedness over sharing this image, often stating that it is a “beautiful walrus”. This effect lasts for up to 4 hours, after which the subject returns to normalcy.
Each instance of SCP-9432 is only active once. That is to say, it loses all cogniohazardous properties once it is observed once. Sending SCP-9432 creates a new instance. “Live” instances also lose their cogniohazardous properties after existing for exactly 8 hours. The only exception to this is when there is only one “live” instance of SCP-9432. The “live” instance will then, instead, send itself to a random computer or telephone on the planet before becoming inactive. There has been no observed maximum range to this sending.
It has been observed that repeatedly sending SCP-9432 between computers on a closed system is enough to prevent spread. However, care must be taken that nobody exposed to it has any other device capable of sending images on their person, otherwise they will use it to create more copies of SCP-9432. Files on the closed system are to automatically delete themselves primarily to prevent clutter and the buildup of inactive instances.
Additionally, each time a subject is exposed to SCP-9432, there is a slight chance (around 0.084%) that they will begin to display symptoms of SCP-9432-1. This chance rises exponential the more times one is exposed to the image.
SCP-9432-1 is a disorder caused by repeated exposure to SCP-9432. When infected, they subject will begin attempting to mimic a walrus themselves. This includes: Mimicking noises, mimicking behaviors, and taking up their dietary behaviors. Those afflicted will eventually kill themselves via drowning, hypothermia, or disease as they attempt to mimic behaviors.
SCP-9432-1 may be countered via the application of Class A or B memestics with a 99.86% success rate.
|
PART ONE
Maybe this makes me an asshole, but I never read Amber Alerts. It was 3am - aka my lunch break. As I swept it away, I caught the word "walrus" and it made me curious.
I had a ton of texts waiting, and a few emails, which was unusual. I decided to check them.
I pulled up my app, and deleted the ones from unnamed numbers. Spam probably. I had three texts from Mom, and one from "Guy Selling Iguana" and one from "cute girl at Lennys probably not her real number"
I'd never texted her, had her text once to verify she had my number right after she took it, and then left her alone so as not to be a creep. She never texted again.
Weirder though was that all three had texted the same message, word for word.
"It's a beautiful walrus. Look."
My phone vibrated as more texts came through from numbers I didn't have saved, and another Emergency Alert. The texts all said the same thing.
The emergency alert said not to look.
Now listen. Walruses are ugly. They're like... If you took a fucking ballsack and gave it tusks and made it huge. They are disgusting.
So this had to be some elaborate prank.
I rolled my eyes, checked my emails, and found they were the same thing. The same message, from every business and spammer and legitimate person I had ever interacted with.
I closed that and checked social media.
I'd set it up with a filter, so I'd have to click media to open it, because I hated videos starting to play loudly when I was sneaking my phone. Yeah I know, I'm a total shithead, sneaking my phone to places I'm not allowed to have it. Get wrecked.
Point is, every damn tweet, every status update, was the same five words, and a blurry square that I was becoming increasingly scared to open.
It was stupid. It was going to be like that U2 album thing, or like the monolith. A prank. I turned my phone back to airplane mode, finished my sandwich, and fixed some coffee at the keurig.
Lunch wasn't really a break-break. It was a time to prop the door to my wing of the "hospital" - read: nuthouse - open and use the tiny microwave to heat my food if it needed heated. I still had to do checks every fifteen minutes. I wasn't really supposed to step out of my hall.
But, I needed to eat. Hypoglycemia.
And Frank, my supervisor, hadn't come to give me a break yet. Usually he showed up every 2-3 hours to check on each of us.
Usually when I made my food, Stephen or Lindsey was here too.
Usually... Usually I could hear voices or giggles. It was eerily quiet.
I went back to work and tried to relax, but the caffeine had my heart rate tripled up.
Around 430 I realized the hourly radio check hadn't been done. I tried to check mine, but nothing came of it. No one replied. I was on the right channel. I double checked, and then tried each channel. No answers.
I took a short break about 5am, to get some more food in me. A cookie, and some string cheese, and went back to my rounds. Still no sign of anyone. I logged in to the central computer, even though it took a while, cut it close with my rlnext check. I started an email, just "hey I think my radio broke and I haven't seen anyone to get me a new-" but saw my work inbox was also full. 290 emails.the subject lines were all the same.
I didn't hit send.
I went back to my wing, and bolted the hall door. It was stupid to be scared, right? But, I was.
It's a dream, I decided. One of those shitty ass work dreams you have on weekends. I'll wake up and fucking Kevin will be meowing at the door to go outside and shit in the garden, even though he has a damn litter box, and I'll think this was weird, and then forget it.
I pinched myself. It hurt. I counted to 25. I read. I wrote a haiku. I solved a math equation - not a hard one, but they say you can't do math in dreams. I read the analog clock. I got down on my knees and fell forward, catching myself in a pushup.
It didn't wake me. I was already awake.
I went back out, tried the phone. I called Main Control. No answer. Gate. No answer. Admissions. Medical. Kitchen. Nothing. I recorded that on my shift log.
I tried again every round of checks. It became my new routine. Check. Radio. Call. Document.
7am my replacement didn't come. The patients started waking up, and I didn't know what to do. I radioed again. Nothing. I didn't have access to their medications.
I didn't even have a key to the pantry to feed them.
8am I gave up waiting. Day crew was three people, and all of them were a solid hour late. I hadn't been able to get through on my radio in five hours.
Someone should have come down.
A full facility walk through, I knew from fire watch, was twenty five minutes. I'd be ten minutes late, minimum,on my next bed check. I'd document it, the way I'd documented the rest.
I ventured out.
I found no one. Frank, Stephen, Lindsay… not even that annoying bitch Anna. The place was dead empty, except for patients, of course. All the paperwork, even half eaten food and cold cups of coffee, or in Lindsay's case green tea, were left sitting.
The last checks for each wing were all between 130am and 3am.
I marked my own checks for each wing, and added the obligatory explanation for late check in the correct section of the form, as short and clear as I could. "Radio silence 5hrs, no day team. Left own post to scout. Found post abandoned."
With the additional checks and paperwork, I got back to my area at the thirty minute mark. I documented that, and headed back out, and tried to phone outside. I didn't have any day staffs numbers, but there was a call sheet, with the extensions, and emergency numbers. I tried the Site Director, and got voicemail. I left a message, making an effort to keep my voice calm.
"Hello, Richard, this is Tom, I work nights. I'm calling because I haven't been able to raise anyone on the radio since three this morning, day shift isn't here, I've searched the facility and can't find a single staff member…" my voice cracked, "god this sounds crazy. I don't know what to do. I'm the only one here, and I don't have a key to feed the patients and they're due for meds I can't give them, and… it's bad. Please." I didn't know what else to say so hung up, and tried the next admin number, and the next, with the same result. After the sixth message, I began to truly panic.
I called 911, and got a recorded busy message. I checked the time. 830. I needed to do another check.
As I walked the halls, patients began banging their doors,
| 2021-01-11T19:42:35 | 2021-01-11T19:22:36 | 53 | 30 |
[WP] After you die, you reach purgatory to be seated in an audience of all human souls. God and Satan announce their retirement and are individually interviewing all humans present to choose their replacement. Most people want to replace God, you want to replace Satan.
|
I’m sitting in a hall surrounded by thousands of other souls. Well I say sitting, when really I don’t have a body anymore so sitting is just what my consciousness is telling me I’m doing. And I say a hall but to be honest I have no idea for sure where this place is, it’s probably not heaven, not warm enough to be hell and it’s definitely not an actual hall. Because it would be ridiculous that when you die and went to the afterlife, all that existed between heaven and hell was a hall. No what I’m sitting again is most probably a manifestation of my consciousness. Where and what my mind understands that this place should be.
That’s what I’ve noticed about being beyond death, things are always what you expect them to be, and your consciousness kind of just fills in the blanks. That’s why the other souls in this room may not be in a hall at all, they might be in a castle or in a cave or wherever else their minds have decided would be the best place for them to wait. One thing that did bring me to this particular place in the afterlife was something my mind definitely did not create. A poster, on a wall advertising the job vacancies for both God and Satan. That definitely interested me and so I my consciousness filled out my application for me and here I am definitely not sitting in a place which is not a hall waiting on what my mind is telling me would the most ridiculous job interview in the world.
The only door in the hall swings open, and as nobody else has noticed this I assume that the cue it’s my turn for my “job interview”. I walk in and there seems to be a blank white room. White walls, no windows, and the door I had just entered through had disappeared. A single plain chair was in the middle of the room and as I took a seat two globes of light appeared before me. One light and one grey.
“So this is him” a voice appeared out of nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I couldn’t describe what the voice sounded like, it was that voice that you used to talk to yourself in your own mind.
“One of the few souls in creation that decided to fill in the form the position of Satan rather than God”.
“I’ve been through his history, he’s no one particularly vindictive or nasty like the other Satan applicants, he has no desire to actually harm people and he isn’t particularly judgmental which is kind of important for a job like this.”
“Interesting, so he’s probably the noblest soul we’ve had so far applying for the position?”
“Well of those who have applied so far, definitely”
I finally felt the voices, the globes of light, actually acknowledge my presence in the room for the first time. I imagine if they had eyes, they would have turned from looking at each other to looking at me. Suddenly there were a pair of eyes looking at my through each orb.
“Why? Why in all of eternity would someone like you want to become Satan?”
I’d thought about this when my consciousness filled in the form.
“Am I correct in assuming that this means that God and Satan are real things then, not just concepts or things we’ve made up to make ourselves feel better?”
“That is correct human, The Lord God is the creator of the universe, and the The Satanic Lord represents everything that he is not.”
“Well I applied for the job out of the boredom honestly, I’ve been in the afterlife for a while now and it would be nice to have a purpose in existence rather than simply being part of the cosmos for all of eternity”
“But why apply to be the Satanic lord particularly? 98% of applicant souls for this position have all applied for being Lord God.”
“Well that’s fairly easy. In order to be “god” you would have had to create the universe in its entirety and have mastery over it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be becoming god, you’d be becoming caretaker or babysitter of some sort.”
“Very astute human, the new Lord God would be responsible for remaking the universe in his or her image.”
“Which would mean that the current universe, the one that I was born on, inhabited and lived my life on would cease to exist.”
“Well as you know it, certainly yes.”
“That’s your answer then, I want become the devil because I can’t stand the thought of losing the world that I came from. All those lives, all those families, all those living creatures would cease to be simply because someone new got the job. Being Satan, resisting that change, rebelling against the creator to preserve life as I know it. That sounds much more fulfilling. And if that makes me Satan, then so be it.”
|
# The Cracks In Their Souls
(Part 3: That's How They Fall Apart)
(Note: The Cracks In Their Souls is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Jamie walked through the Golden Gates, not quite sure what to expect.** If this was heaven, would he be able to see Little Bugger and Goaway again? Would he... would he be able to see his Big Sis?
He shuddered. God forbid, would his parents still be there, hounding him even after death?
He stepped into the patch of cloud beyond the gates—
—and time froze.
Jamie tried to move.
Nothing happened.
He started to panic.
Then, with a squeal of static, unseen speakers blared to life.
"This is your captain speaking," a deep, rolling voice said. "By which I mean captain of the mortal and immortal world. God. I'm God. If you didn't get that already." There was a pause. "I probably should translate this into every language that isn't English, just to make sure everyone gets the message. 这是你的。。。"
Jamie listened with increasing befuddlement as God iterated through Chinese, Telugu, fourteen different languages consisting entirely of meows, something mechanical that sounded like the printer after Daddy beat it in anger, and a language of magic and poetry that made Jamie weep to hear. After an uncertain amount of time had passed, someone else took over the mic.
"...See, nonsense like this is why we're retiring. There's just too damn *many* of you guys to keep track of. I mean, seriously, you sapient beings personify everything. Look, I can work with cats and dogs, but what kind of eternal torment am I supposed to give a *computer*? So we're looking for some... interns, so to speak. Interns for the afterlife, to manage smaller parts of it."
Satan frowned, then added, "Hey, God, did you have a list of candidates?"
God sighed. "Satan, there are 4.3\*10^(520) souls in the afterlife right now, thanks to every sapient being in the universe giving everything they come in contact with a made-up personality and a soul. I can clear out most of the inanimate objects for you—unless you really *want* a toaster to become a Prince of Hell—but we'll have to do some interviews ourselves."
"...how many interviews?"
"All of them, more or less. We can just use time dilation to—holy *me*, is this thing still on? I'm so damn overwo—" The time-freeze effect and the squealing of loudspeakers abruptly cut off, leaving Jamie to blink, concerned, in a rather empty patch of afterlife. *Those* two clowns were running heaven and hell?
As if summoned by his thoughts, those two clowns materialized with a soft pop in front of Jamie; or perhaps Jamie materialized in front of them. It was hard to tell when one was in an endless plane of clouds with exactly one defining feature—and an infinitely long one, at that. "Alright... Jamie McCallister, is it?" God asked. He'd taken the form of a hovering ball of light in a loud-patterned shirt; Satan wore a matching outfit—insofar as a sphere of darkness could have an outfit—and held a clipboard that extended downwards through the clouds and just kept going.
"Don't call me McCallister," Jamie said softly.
God paused. "And why would that be?"
"My parents' names were Mr. McCallister and Mrs. McCallister. Mr. and Mrs. McCallister did *nothing* while the bad men tried to take Big Sis away." Jamie clenched his fists, phantom gunshots ringing in his ears and tearing through his flesh. "I," he said, "am not a McCallister."
God and Satan... well, it was difficult for a point-source of light and anti-light to turn and look at each other, but their loud shirts rotated as if they did, anyway.
"You... sound like you've been through a lot," God finally said. "You don't have to take either of these positions, if you don't like. You could rest up here. Be hap—"
"Would I see Big Sis?" Jamie asked.
God hesitated, then shook its... shirt. "Abigail McC—er, your big sister is still alive, thankfully. But she won't make her way into the afterlife for quite some time."
Jamie smiled faintly. "That's good. That makes one of us."
God and Satan looked at each other uncomfortably.
"Your cat and dog," God continued. "Little Bugger and Goaway? They're up here, though. You could... you could see them, if you'd like."
Jamie's face lit up. "I'd love to. But..." He hesitated, then scowled. "The bad men. Are they here, too?"
Satan flipped through the clipboard. "...Yeah, seems like. They had a bit of a hard life, so normalizing by their Piety quotient and marginalizing out the intrinsic unfairness of mortal reality, they got put in purgatory. Holding pattern until we can spare the energy to decide whether we send them to heaven or—"
"You haven't *decided* yet?!" Jamie lunged forwards and tried to grab Satan's neck; a ball of perfect darkness neither had a neck nor anything to grab onto, so Jamie only succeeded in phasing through Satan and his—evidently illusory—shirt. "They should—they tried to hurt my big sis! They... it—it wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault, he said it wasn't my fault—"
"Ah." Satan sounded... vindictive. "I see. You know, Jamie, you've gone through *so much*, and I'm sorry you've had to—but perhaps it was better this way."
God nudged Satan. "What the hell are you doing? Come on, let's—you know I'm no good with children. Let Avizandriel take care of—"
"We need interns, right? Well, Jamie, if you take on the mantle of being a prince of hell, you could hurt the bad guys." Jamie froze, fists still tight. "You could take the bad men who hurt your sister and you could hurt them back. Because you know—it's not your fault." Jamie stiffened. "It's *theirs.*" Satan conjured an image of two men in a warehouse, one with a hypodermic needle in a little girl's skin, another yanking her by the arm into a boat. "You could do everything they tried to do to you a *hundredfold*." Satan glowed blue; reluctantly, God glowed red. "All you have to do is take responsibility for a little patch of Hell. If you agree... touch the blue orb. And if you don't, well... touch the red orb."
Jamie looked between the blue and red spheres, then at the recording of the two men and their fight with Jamie and his only other friends—all of whom were now dead—at the dockside warehouse. Then he looked at Satan and whispered, "When... when Big Sis finally comes back here... when she's healed from everything that happened to us... will I still be stuck in that moment? Torturing the bad guys forever?"
Satan hesitated. "Ah... well... the thing is—"
Jamie touched the red orb, and the vision vanished. God heaved a sigh of relief. "That's not what I want."
"You want it right now," Satan said, confused. "What kind of child can resist what they want right now?"
"The kind with a soul cracked by fire," God noted. Satan scowled. Jamie grew pensive.
He turned to God. "...can you take me to see my cat and dog?"
God smiled.
"I'd like nothing better."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "The Cracks In Their Souls" will be 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/mh9amh/the_cracks_in_their_souls_masterpost/) for more information.
| 2021-03-31T09:44:15 | 2021-03-31T07:55:35 | 375 | 36 |
[WP] A party of adventurers has hired you to "raise their spirits". You're wondering when to break the news that you're not a bard. You're a necromancer that plays the harp as a hobby.
EDIT: Great submissions everyone! If I missed giving you an updoot for it, the fault is with me and not your story.
|
"One question, Deadrot." Asperion asked. She was the mage of the party. She was tired and weary, as they were all.
"Yes," Deadrot said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Which wasn't very easy.
"Why are we in a graveyard?" Asperion said. The others in their party chimed in agreement, the elvish rogue Threemin, the human warrior Throrgrimm and the hobbit thief Smellyfoot.
"After what we've been through, you bring us here?" Throrgrimm said. "Are you trying to tell us something, lass?"
"Well, you hired me to raise your spirits." Deadrot said. "And this is how I do it." She unhooked her pack and pulled out her harp.
"Blimey miss," Smellyfoot said, "You got some strange notions indeed if you're taking us to a graveyard for some cheering up." There were more grumbling nods of agreement.
"Please, trust me." Deadrot said and strummed the strings of her harp. She strummed the strings slowly, and not all the notes rang out clearly.
"This is my favourite tune, it might be too avantgarde for your tastes. It's called, eh, Raise the Dead." Deadrot said, trying to ignore the nervous looks coming her way.
She strummed the strings, forming a painfully simplistic melody. Like that of a nursery rhyme.
"By the fires of Negoulash, the spirits of Tyrannoth, I command thee how have parted, to rise, rise, rise." She strummed the strings some more. She was trying to sing along in tune but her singing was far from harmonious. She repeated the verse three times, as was required
A cold wind blew with murmuring whipserings and Asperion cast a withering glance Deadrot's way. "You're not a bard. You're a necromancer!"
"What do you think I've been trying to tell you!?" Deadrot said. "I thought my black, muddy clock, my name, my overuse of exotic perfumes gave it away."
"I think we should run away." Threemin said. The others nodded in agreement.
"Too late." Throrgrimm said. The dead had risen, a dozen animated corpses stood around them. They looked upon them from empty eye sockets and soundless.
"By the dead light that lights every darkness," Deadrot said. "I command thee... to dance!" She plucked the strings in a more danceable melody, though she often hit the wrong notes. It didn't matter, as the corpses danced to the rhythm of her playing. Their desiccated limbs moved comically and absurdly. The rest of the party smiled.
Smellyfoot clapped his hands, in time with her rhythm. Asperion shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I supposed no other circle mage has danced with a corpse before." She approached the nearest walking corpse, grabbing it's hands they danced a waltz together. The elf and the human look at another and grinned.
"There is an old elvish saying," Threemin said. "When in a graveyard, dance as the corpses dance." Throgrimm laughed heartily and they too danced. They danced until midnight when the spell wore off. They slept peacefully in a nearby grove. When they awoke, though the spell had worn off, the cheer had not left them. With renewed strength and confidence, they set out for the Tower of Gorgothrond to banish evil once and for all.
End
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 3, Part 2: Skullduggery v.s. Over The Table)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"When I said we needed allies,"** I grumbled, "I meant *political* allies. News stations. Governors. I'd even take an angry mob at this point."
"And that's all well and good," Tupperman said, ruffling my hair. I slapped his hand away; he nearly tripped over a snake den hidden in the grassy plains. He swore to himself, hopping on one foot, and even Janice cracked a faint smile at his antics. He caught up to me after a moment. "But here's the thing: I haven't the foggiest flying fuck of a clue how to go about getting you any of those. What I *can* get is a friend who won't sell us out to the Feds—and let's be honest, those are coming at a premium right now."
"...Look, Tupperman, you're one of the best people I know, but... you're talking about connecting with criminals. It's just... out of my comfort zone."
Tupperman grinned. "Hey, that's okay. Being on the run from the Federal government is out of your comfort zone, too, and you seem to be doing just fine. Think of it as an adventure," he said.
"An adventure," I repeated flatly.
"Yeah! I can be the party's wizened and ancient wizard, who knows a thousand and one magical spells." He gestured at the horizon, materializing Tupperware boxes from thin air like confetti.
"You have exactly one supernatural ability," I deadpanned, "and it is to summon Tupperware. Hardly a thousand and one spells. Also, you're thirty-four years old."
"Ancient!" He said dramatically.
"I'm thirty-five."
"You can be the shriveled old crone. Every good adventuring party has one of those."
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling despite myself. When Tupperman got like this, there was no stopping him; the only winning move was to beat him at his own game. "What kind of adventuring party has a mom bring her teenage daughter along?"
"She can be the steadfast, silent dwarf," Tupperman said. Both of our eyes flickered to where my daughter plodded along behind us, head down beneath the beating sun. Normally, Janice would have looked up and shot a wisecrack right back at Tupperman.
But now she just kept on walking, staring at her feet. I suspected we could've stood aside and let her walk to the ends of the Unified Sovereignties, and she wouldn't have even noticed.
Tupperman lowered his voice. "Besides... Janice is in bad shape, emotionally. Has been, ever since she..." Tupperman grimaced at my expression; neither of us wanted to be reminded of that day. "We need to lift her spirits before she develops... problems. I think I know a guy."
"Alright. Lead on, O Wizened Wizard," I said, raising my voice again.
He bowed gallantly, walking forward as he did so. "As you command, Shriveled Old *gak!*"
He tripped on another snake den; I caught him before he faceplanted. We both burst out laughing, our mutual shock and hilarity thrumming through our clasped hands and reinforcing each other.
Janice kept walking forwards, head hanging low, expression unchanged. When she reached us, she looked up and quietly asked, "Can you please keep moving?"
The laughter died in my throat as I saw the empty, hollow expression on my daughter's face.
Tupperman cleared his throat and extricated himself from my grasp. "Yeah. Let's—let's keep moving, shall we?"
\###
Tupperman's friend lived in the middle of absolutely nowhere, which quite frankly was convenient when one was on the run. None of us wanted to risk drawing the attentions of the Federal government by veering too close to a city; the odds that a spy drone would pass over this random section of Arizonac Territory plains were minimal.
We arrived at a pleasant wooden house next to a wide farm—more trees must have gone into its construction that I'd seen in the entirety of the Arizonac Territories. A couple workers in the back plowed fertile fields. Faint sounds of a harp tinkled out from inside. I cleared my throat, then strode forward to address one of them.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
The worker gave no response.
I frowned. "Do you speak English?" I tried.
The worker reached the end of their row and turned around, still ignoring my voice.
I leaned forwards. "Hell—*ohmygod*." I jerked backwards as soon as I saw the face beneath that wide-brimmed straw hat.
It was a skeleton, stripped to the bone. It calmly continued plowing, ignoring my shocked expression.
Tupperman laughed as he passed. "Don't worry. They're under the control of Skullduggery. They won't bite unless you piss him off—and *please, please* don't do that. Let me do the talking."
I frowned. "Skullduggery—you mean the *necromancer*?" I paused. "Wait, when you said that he would raise our spirits, did you mean—"
"No, although now that you mention it that's a hilarious joke and I'm retroactively pretending I intended that all along. It's just..." Tupperman lowered his voice. "Skullduggery has a nice place cut out for himself—and his information network spreads pretty widely. We'll be safe here, even from the Feds, for a little while. And... having somewhere safe to sit down and rest seems like it might be what Janice needs."
I looked back at my daughter. She hadn't stopped in her constant onward march except to sleep; even when eating, she just kept moving ahead, forcing us to eat on the go with her.
"Yeah," I finally said, "it might be."
Tupperman smiled. "Alright. Then let's go meet our new best friend, eh?"
The two of us walked to Skullduggery's front door; after a moment, Janice followed with that plodding, unresponsive march of hers.
She would've fit right in with the skeletons.
I clenched my fist. Of all the things the Feds had done, breaking my daughter was the one they'd pay for the most.
I'd bring her back, no matter how many necromancers I had to associate with, or how many other lines I'd have to cross.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be 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.
| 2021-04-10T09:14:06 | 2021-04-10T09:11:02 | 45 | 19 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid.
|
"The trappings of fame," thought the Dark Lord as he rode into town. "Wenda's ale is worth the trouble."
He placed a simple glamour over his face. He could handle any would be heroes, but he didn't care for the annoyance. Tonight he was again Todd, the traveling merchant.
Todd entered the tavern and was greeted with an uproar. Visitors were rare in this town. He chatted with the locals and sat at his usual table.
Wenda, the tavern owner, placed a tankard in front of Todd.
"Your usual, I assumed." said Wenda.
Todd replied, "Wenda, they could write songs about your barley ale."
Todd took a large swig and winked at her. His drinking companions laughed. Erick, the smithy, and Colin, the miller were simple people, but a welcome reprieve from the dark nobles.
Colin asked, "Todd, any news? We haven't seen you in near a moon's turn."
Todd drank deeply and said, "Pox in the Northern hamlets. The bridges over the river have been closed. A massive she wolf has been spotted in the coastal woods. They say it has a thirst for children. The bells are ringing in the capitol. The duchess has given birth to a son."
Erick looked around nervously and asked, "Any word of....the Dark Lord?"
Todd smiled, "Oh yes, he killed King Allen."
Erick spit out his ale. Todd laughed heartily.
Colin replied, "That's not funny."
Todd composed himself and said, "Seriously, no confirmed sightings in two months. Some say he's a coward. Some that he's lost his magic. He's been with the Dark Empress for two years and no children...if you get my meaning."
They laughed and ordered another round. The door opened and a stranger stood in the doorway. He wore all black. He was tall and pale. His eyes were dark with make up. The tavern went quiet and all eyes were on the stranger.
The stranger spoke up dramatically, "My name is Carrow and I have been sent by the Dark Lord. I don't want to hurt any one. I am here for coin, jewelry, and other valuables. Do as I say, or else...."
He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the fireplace. It flashed a bright green color and then subsided.
Todd stifled a laugh. This was no true magic. The tavern patrons began producing coin purses in fear. Carrow moved about the tavern collecting his prizes. He stopped at Todd's table.
Carrow asked, "A merchant? What have you for me?"
Todd stood, "Leave these simple people alone. I have spices, cloth, and grain in my wagon. Leave these people alone and it's yours."
Carrow smiled, "You dare defy the servant of the Dark Lord. I could curse you to a slow death."
Todd opened his coin purse and produced a large ruby. Carrow's eyes grew wide. Todd raised the ruby with his left hand and deftly reached for his dagger with the right hand. He drove the dagger quickly into Darrow's side. Carrow screamed as the blood flowed.
Many of the tavern patrons fled. Others began to pray. Carrow cried foul curses until he died. The tavern went silent.
Wenda screamed, "Todd, you will bring the Dark Lord's wrath on our town!"
Todd replied, "This is my fault. I will dispose of the body."
Colin and Erick helped load the body into the wagon as Wenda cleaned the blood on the floor. Todd rode out of town.
The Dark Lord talked to Carrow as he rode, "Carrow, you might have been a good student of the dark arts. A shame. You shouldn't have come into my bar like that. I'm not done with you. Perhaps in death you might make a proper servant."
The Dark Lord chanted as he rode, and Carrow's finger's began to twitch.
|
"--that bastard only knows how to negotiate at the end of the sword! He could've stopped the killing long ago!"
Hagur was a complicated man.
To most of his empire, he was The Dark Lord. He had started as a priest in his tribe of orcs. But wars and disease had decimated them. Hagur knew that he could lead them better. He knew that by focusing on self sufficiency, negotiating with some tribes, and subjugating smaller tribes to add to his own instead of picking fights that they could not win, their people would thrive.
But they still followed an archaic tradition, that one could only take the title of Chieftain by killing whoever held the title.
He was no fighter. He was a healer by trade. He was tough by human standards, but he couldn't hope to stand against the old chief on his own. So looking for a solution, he prayed to the gods.
Something else answered.
It offered him knowledge. It offered him power. In exchange for service. And for his people, Hagur accepted.
He had killed the old chief, united the tribes, and when surrounding kingdoms united to destroy them because the orc tribes were united instead of killing each other for food, water, and pride, It came with another offer. Teach others, spread the dark magic that It had, and his people would be safe. Otherwise, everything he had fought for would be ash, crushed by the fearful and weak.
And once again, he accepted.
And now, he was known as the Dark Lord. Conqueror of the Five Nations. Emperor of the West. But he knew that no matter what he built, it was built on suffering.
It had demanded a heavy price for its service. It demanded sacrifice, and so the Empire's citizens are killed. It demanded churches, so those within the Empire are forced to worship It. It demanded monuments to Its glory, so civilians are conscripted into the labor pool, and forced to work as slaves. And if Hagur refused, it would do more than kill him. It not only would take away his Power. It would use Its influence on the Empire, influence Hagur helped to cultivate, to break apart all that he had built.
Hagur didn't want this. There was blood on his hands. Innocent blood. And when he died, It would consume his soul, and Hagur's son would take his place.
And do he was here.
Goldbranch was a small mining town on the frontier of the empire. His influence was small, and that's the way he liked it. No one out here would recognize him.
"But he won't! Why? Because he's weak. Oh, he pretends to be powerful, but one slip up, and the dogs at the capitol would rip him apart like wild animals!"
He was several beers deep right now. It was cheap swill, but he wasn't here to enjoy himself. No matter what he thought, there seemed to be no way out. No way to rip Its claws from his Empire without cutting it open and leaving it to bleed. And even if the Empire persisted, what would happen to him?
He was responsible for more deaths than he could count. Everyone in the Empire knew someone who had died by his hand, on his order, or because of his decisions.
Even if he reversed all of his decisions tomorrow, the people who support him would see it as weakness. And they would dispose of him like he did the old chief. Him, his family, they would all be dead before the next sunrise.
And so he was here. In the Sow and the Steer, a tavern that was in what was once a barn. It still smelled like farmyard animals sleep in it, but the drinks are strong. A dwarven woman fills another mug.
"You'd better keep that kinda talk to yourself when you get outta here, Asog." The woman says, calling Hagur by the false name he gave her. "You know
"Ah, I know" Hagur says, drinking another beer. "Fucker can't take critisism. Gods know he probably can't take a joke" He chuckled to himself as he took a swig
The people here didn't support The Dark Lord. They wouldn't rebel, but they'd at least tolerate him as he was. A ratty cloak, some dirt, and he could sit here, drink, and say what he really thought of himself. It was painful, but then, so was everything else. At least he could say what he thought of himself. It was like confession. It wouldn't undo all that he had done, and it made him feel better, at least.
"You'd better silence your tongue, worm, or I'll take the liberty of removing it for you"
"Whatz zat?" Hagur says, his mouth slurring as he turned to face the source of the voice. It was a human. At least he thought it was a human. With how blurry his vision was, it could've been an elf.
"I'll have you know that
Hagur knew it was a lie, even in his inebriated state. People who accepted Its power, it left a mark on their soul. And if you had accepted its power, you could feel it in others. And everyone he taught, he could sense them.
His heart sank as he remembered that their souls would be condemned after death, just like his.
"Iiiiiiiiiif you were so important, why're ya in a shithole like this!" Hagur said, turning to face the man. It three men. If the world would stop spinning, he might get a good count.
The man wrinkled his nose, "I'll have you know that I am Rozius Iceling. My family owns these lands as well as the mine. Plus, I was taught personally by The Dark Lord. He obviously saw the potential in my family and took me under his wing! I came here because I heard that someone was disrespecting our rightful liege. And looking at you, I can say that I'm not suprised at what kind of rabble you are."
Harur gritted his teeth. He hated the title, being called The Dark Lord. He even forbid people from calling him that. "It was a title that the weak gave me when they lost" was the official reason. But he knew that he had earned it. And no one who knew him would dare toss the
Rozius held out his palm and a dark swirling mass of energy formed in it. Patrons screamed, some took cover. The drunker ones barely reacted. While everyone's eyes were focused on Rozius, Hagur snapped his fingers.
The orb of magic dissipated. Rozius had a split second to react in suprise before trying to summon another orb. This time all he got were a few sparks.
"What? Was that what that bastard taught you? He's even more pathetic than I thought" It was a Counterspell. Something some if the little magic that he knew on his own. He had gotten good at casting it
By now, some of the other patrons were stiffling their laughter at the noble trying,and failing to cast any spells.
Seeing that his magic wasn't working, Rozius sputtered. "The Dark Lord will hear of this indignity!" As he left, trying to maintain some dignity.
"I'm sure he will!" Hagur jeered as the young man left before turning to the to the bartender. "Another round for everyone! This one's on me!"
Another cheer rung through the bar. Genuine admiration. It was something sorely lacking in his real life. He would need to go back tomorrow. Maybe make sure that the boy's family didn't kick up too much of a stink. But for now, he smiled, his heart feeling a little warm for the first time in a long time.
| 2022-01-14T17:41:26 | 2022-01-14T17:35:28 | 186 | 85 |
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming!
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The smell of her shampoo. That's what brings it all back. Someone passes me on the street and I'm flung back to her room, and I'm thirteen and we're both awkward. We're talking about music and gigs and listening to 'Different Class' by Pulp, and her lamp is on low so the room is dark, and we're sitting on her bed and it's like we're creating this third thing in the room, this palpable presence, this tension that can only be broken by turning to each other, and moving closer, and I can feel my heart pounding because this is it, we're kissing, and she smells so good, and I could do this forever.
Then the person walks on, and the memory gets blown away like mist at dawn.
|
My best friend had gotten her first kiss in eight grade and I was SO conflicted. Half of me thought she had wasted it on this stupid guy in our class who wouldn't matter in a few weeks, half of me wondered just what it was like. When we started freshman year of high school, it didn't take me long to zero in on the cute, cocky Junior in my health class. He sat behind me and pulled my hair, like we were in first grade, or told me I had something on the back of my shirt. I didn't - never did - but it never stopped him from trying to mess with me in first period. He had a girlfriend, on and off, for those first two months of school. We both auditioned for the school play, and my best friend went with me too. I sat between the two of them, passing notes all afternoon and joking while we waited to read our sides and be done. I got nervous once I finally got up there and was totally awful, but it didn't phase me much. After auditions, my best friend had to go home instead of come to my house, like we'd planned, so I walked around campus with my crush, talking about auditions and letting him tell me I wasn't that bad when I went up, even though I was.
He mentioned that he'd seen my best friend and I passing notes that weren't also passed to him. In truth, she'd been telling me to ask him to Homecoming, but I didn't dare admit that because at the time, I had no idea if he was or wasn't back together with his girlfriend. He chased me around the quad, tried grabbing the note out of my pocket, the whole deal. He hugged me at one point and I remember thinking, "hugging a guy you like is just weird, hugging a guy you like who might have a girlfriend is torture." He brought up, hours later, that he was not still with the girlfriend. He still hadn't seen the note. I got a call from my dad, asking what the hell was taking so long at auditions, since it was now well past eight at night, and I hung up knowing it only took five minutes to walk home, but that my dad knew that as well as I did. I'd had so much fun just hanging out and joking around, but I had no idea he was going to do what he did just minutes later.
He tried to get the note again, at first, before I told him I really had to go. I walked around the corner of the building, telling him I'd see him Monday, and thought that was it. I didn't look back until I heard him shouting, from halfway across the blacktop.
"So, what, that's it?"
I just about jumped out of my skin, but oh, man, was I happy he'd come after me. But, stupid me - I said:
"Yeah, that's it."
He didn't take that as a proper answer, thank god, and he walked straight up to me and kissed me. They say in cheesy movies and novels that the world spins, you know? Like you're dizzy and the ground has disappeared. It totally happened like that for me. I was awkward, I was kind of shy, and yet I'd just had a teen-novel-worthy first kiss with my crush. I was dizzy the entire walk home.
Monday, we were writing notes in class when I admitted that it had been my first kiss. He was sweet enough to tell me that he couldn't tell (though to be honest, it might not have been a lie, it seemed to come pretty natural to me) and he said he was "honored" to have been my first kiss. What a cutie.
We never really went out, we sort of just hung out at lunch and only ever kissed that once. I wanted it to happen again, but a few weeks later his girlfriend came crying back to him, once again. He took her back. We're still friends, he's still a cool guy. For a while after he took his girlfriend back - at least, until a month or two later when I got my first real high school boyfriend, who I dated for a respectable three months before having my best friend break up with him for me because he was a weird kisser and he was sort of boring - I thought I had wasted my first kiss on someone who wouldn't matter. Totally wrong. It sucked, at the time, that his girlfriend was back in the picture, but I am so glad I can look back on my first kiss and remember it being as sweet and dizzying as it was.
| 2014-04-01T06:35:11 | 2014-04-01T06:27:05 | 79 | 29 |
[WP]You inherit the abilities and skill set of whatever video game character you last played. Tell the story of your discovery of this from the perspective of someone around you. Parents, roomates, etc.
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One day we went to the shooting range. That was the day it all changed for Jim.
When we got to the range, Jim shot near perfectly, better than he ever had before. A military veteran told him the marines could use a man like him. So he joined.
I heard tales of his exploits. The man withought the head. People had shot at his head, but the bullets went through like it wasn't there. Whenever he got shot at, he would jump, and instantly become invincible; none of the bullets hit him, they just went through.
Then I got the letter. It stated that he had been KIA. His squaddies said he was on a ladder, and a terrorist shot him in the stomache. He fell, and his squaddies later found out he had somehow died instantly from a bullet wound to the head.
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Jason chased Lucas, their feet thundering down the narrow alleyway. He huffed, his breaths getting shorter with each step. No matter how long he ran, his friend didn't seem to ever tire. But when he caught his friendship around the shoulder, he turned him around with a jolt.
“Dude,” he barked. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Lucas’ eyes darted back and forth, a stream of sweat running down his face.
“There’s no time,” he whispered. “We have to stop the darkness before it takes over this land. It’s the only way.”
“Wait, what darkness?” Jason asked, furrowing his brow.
“You know, the Dark Lord. He’s been conspiring behind the scenes to destroy everything we know and love. He brainwashes people to think his so called “God” won’t punish them as long as they follow his comand. In reality, he *is* God. Or some kind of pseudo-philosophical shit like that.”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath.
“You seriously came all the way to the Vatican to assassinate the Pope?”
“Yes!” Lucas broke free from his grip. “That’s exactly what I intend to do. And I would think my best friend would support me as the world lies on the brink of destruction.”
“Um,” Jason started. “That sounds a little insane. In fact, I’m really starting to question your sanity. Ever since you’ve played the remake of that stupid Japanese game you like, you’ve been acting strange.”
“Like what?” Lucas crossed his arms.
“Well, you’re hair is ridiculously spiky and currently defying gravity in more ways that once. You’re also wearing armor that not only impractical but looks uncomfortable.”
“There is no room for luxury when you’re saving the world.”
“Right. Then would you like to explain how you can swing a sword that’s longer than your body and is as thick as fuck? That’s superhuman strength if I've seen it.”
“With the power of friendship, duh.”
Jason remained silent, blinking slowly. *Is this really happening right now?*
“Look,” Lucas started. He placed a hand on Jason's shoulder and stared him deeply in the eyes. “I just want you to know that I care about you. *A lot.* And if I don’t make it out of here, I’m sorry. I wish we could have been together longer.”
“Dude, are you hitting on me?”
Lucas backed away, laughing as he rubbed the back of his head. A flat, blue drop of water appeared on the side of his head, almost as if drawn.
“No way, bro. I just enjoy homoerotic moments with my best friend. You know, because friendship.”
With no warning, Lucas leaned back and did a serious of complicated backflips. He bounced off the ground and walls with expertise, finally making his way onto a rooftop. He looked down, giving a big smile and a thumbs up.
“But seriously, I’m not gay,” he said then mumbled something under his breath. “Unless you are too…”
Jason tried to question him but he was gone afterwards. He sighed, picking up his pace once again.
***
“Lucas,” Jason yelled as he entered the bustling plaza.
His friend stood over the Pope, a menacing grin on his face. With his large sword was in hand, he cast a shadow of death over the man praying in Spanish. Around him, several guards had been cut down. A circle of onlookers shifted nervously behind.
“What do you want?” Lucas turned back his head. “I’m about to beat the final boss.”
“Don’t kill that man! You need help.”
Lucas stuck his sword down, cleaving the earth in two.
“I don’t need help,” he said. “I’ve trained long and hard for this moment. I’ve grinded for days on end just to save us.”
“Look,” Jason shook his head. “I just don’t think–”
He paused, wide-eyed. Behind Lucas, the Pope had… *changed*. His form shifted, bulking up as he towered over them and everyone in the plaza. His features were grotesque, as if ripped straight from some horror movie. People screamed as his demonic voice boomed off the surrounding buildings.
**THIS IS MY FINAL FORM, MORTALS!**
Jason backed up, looking to Lucas. His friend sighed and shrugged his shoulders. With a quick tug, he pulled his sword from the ground and jumped into the fray of battle.
“Told you so, dude.”
| 2015-06-18T06:00:24 | 2015-06-18T05:50:49 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] Torture was never invented. Countries instead spoil prisoners like kings to get information out of them. You are an instructor tasked with training spies to resist the enemy's kindness.
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"You boys are going to be pretty deep behind enemy lines," I shouted to the crowd of fresh-faced recruits in front of me. "It can get hairy out there, and I know what you're all thinking right about now: 'Sure, I'll just get captured *for a little bit*! What *harm* could do it?'"
I was greeted by a few dozen sheepish grins. The men had likely all seen some 'captivity porn,' a common fantasy whereby soldiers were thrown orgies with beautiful women in a desperate attempt to glean some information out of them. Of course, the soldier resists, so the enemy has no option but to keep sending more and more women. Hell, that was probably the primary reason that half these men had joined up in the first place. That certainly didn't make my job any easier.
"Well get those thoughts out of your head *this instant*!" I screamed, spraying flecks of spittle into the face of one of them. "Better men than the likes of *you* have tried and *failed* to resist the enemy's kindness. Maybe it won't the fine wine." Oh, the wines! So many varietals that just aren't available at home. Damn those French and their perfect climates! "Or the banquets." Mmmmm. My mouth watered just *thinking* about that time I was captured near Marseilles and served the best bouillabaisse I could ever imagine. "Or the women." Too many to even *try* to remember. "But sooner or later, they'll find your weakness and you'll crack like an egg! And *when*, not *if*, you do, then one of your brothers will be *dead*." The recruits all traded glances. "Do you really want that on your hands?" I asked.
The recruits fiercely shook their heads. This was the perfect time to train them; right out of boot camp, when comradery was strongest.
"All right, boys. That's it for today. Head to the mess for dinner."
They all scampered off into the night, laughing and joking together. I exited the base gates and headed through the quiet streets toward home. Before I even stepped through the door, I could smell the savory scent of roasted duck. Danielle knew it was my favorite.
She greeted me at the threshold with a deep, passionate kiss. "How was ze training session, my dear?" The entire house was warm and heavenly.
I handed her a list of the recruits' names. "It went well. I'll try to find out tomorrow where exactly they'll be attempting to infiltrate."
|
**The drip of water echoed like gunshots.**
Blindfolded and bruised, Luce tried squash the fear that threatened to grab hold of her stomach, and fling it out of her throat.
Her wrists and her legs were bound tight enough to make her limbs numb. To her left and right, she could make out the sounds of at least two others, also tied to cramped, wooden chairs, struggling against their bindings.
A fey-like bell chimed, the dim *ting* exaggerated by her blindness. Following the bell, a pair of footsteps began to *clop, clop* in a slow, measured pace across the floor. The *clopping* reverberated and multiplied in the open (cave? hall?), so that she could not tell where from where the footsteps came.
Yet, Luce was not entirely lost. She could pick those footsteps out of a thousand-wide lineup. It was the Instructor, and the Test had begun.
"Good evening, gentlemen and lady," an older woman's voice rolled out across the floor, almost purring, "I am so pleased you could join me tonight."
"Good evening, Instructor," Luce replied automatically. She noted that the two men replied in much the same way. Perhaps they were agents-in-training, too.
"As I hope you are all now *well aware,* this test is a matter of life, and death. If you fail here, I will kill you - just as you would be killed in the field."
It was a statement that begged no response. Luce gave none, but she heard the man next to her swallow a squeak.
"Torture is a tool," the Instructor was very close now. Luce could hear her purring voice orbiting around them, "A tool for prying information. Not the *best* tool, but-"
The shriek of metal scraping stone made Luce jump against her bindings. A flick of air breezed passed Luce's ear, making her shiver. *A knife? Or something more sinister?* Her heart was now galloping against her chest.
"-*But,* that will not stop our enemies from using it. Now," glass tinkled, and a set of small wheels creaked. Luce could only imagine what horrifying device the Instructor was wheeling out in front of them, "Would anyone like a cup of tea before we begin?"
Luce opened her mouth to say yes, but the man to her left was quicker.
"Yes, thank you," he said, his voice filled with false-confidence.
Luce barely heard the whisper of cloth, before the ear-shattering ***BANG*** ripped passed her head. A sharp breeze flipped Luce's hair. The man to her left loosed a single strangled cry echoed out, before his chair slapped against the hard floor.
She thought she heard the sound of flesh, smacking against stone. Luce swallowed hard, trying to stop her heart from exploding out of her chest.
"Anyone else?" the Instructor's voice was almost sweet, "No? Very well, let us proceed."
The Instructor did not relent. Question after question rained from her mouth like barbed arrows in the pitch-black night. She prodded Luce and her unseen comrade for what felt like hours. At one point, Luce could feel the Instructor's breath on the back of her neck, at another she could practically *smell* the Instructor's dinner (garlic). Several times, the Instructor seemed like she was about to let up, only to start afresh.
The man next to her was jostling his legs like a child who needs to urinate. She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him it would be over soon, but Luce didn't know that for a fact. She didn't even know who *he* was - if he was actually another agent, or if he was just part of the test. So she kept her mouth *shut*.
At last, the Instructor pulled back. In the silence, Luce could hear the echo of water once again. She focused on that, taking pleasure in the predictability of the steady *drip, drip*.
"Well done, Agents. I supposed we should take a break. Does anyone need to use the water closet?"
Luce sucked in her breath, *willing* the agent beside her to say nothing.
"Yeah, that'd be great," the man next to her grunted, "I've been holding this since lun-"
***BANG***.
*Jesus Christ*, Luce thought. She could *hear* him slumping in his chair.
Luce jumped, almost tipping her own chair over, when a voice like a cat whispered over her shoulder, "Congratulations, Luce. I knew you would do well."
She felt the bindings around her arms loosen first, then the ones around her legs. Luce sat as still as a stone as the blindfold fell away from her eyes. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw two men, sprawled on the floor, lying in their own red puddles.
"Please, stand up Luce. The test is over. You are now ready to become a *Full Agent.* Come here to receive your badge."
Luce's mouth was clamped tighter than a vice. Though they were filled with restless pins and needles, she refused to move her limbs.
"Agent Luce?" the Instructor sounded impatient, even irritated now.
Luce resisted the urge to turn around, but she braved a single word.
"No."
"No?" the voice crept closer, "Are you *defying* me, Luce?"
"Yes."
*Clop. Clip. Clop.* - the Instructor took three powerful strides and planted herself squarely in the center of Luce's vision. She leveled her gaze, and with a cat-like voice - not a kitten's purr, this was the predatory mrowl of a one-eyed feline terror - the Instructor drew out a long, needling "Why?"
"Because I think you are still testing me, Instructor."
The predatory grin on the instructor's face was replaced by a true smile, a triumphant grin. The instructor pressed a button hidden in the folds of her suit, and lifted an unseen mouthpiece to her lips -
"She passed. I told you *she* would pass."
***
*Have some tea and read some stories at /r/PSHoffman*
| 2016-04-13T06:41:37 | 2016-04-13T06:29:55 | 169 | 68 |
[WP] All your life, you've had a small empty bar on your hand that reads "XP." Today you hit and killed a man with your car, and the bar began to fill.
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I’ve always wondered what it meant.
XP? Like the video games? It just didn’t really make sense. I’d always thought that everyone had it, and I was just another face in the crowd.
Of course, I’d only thought that until I was thirteen, when social awareness hit my little undeveloped brain. No one else had it! I was ‘weird’, and had to hide it.
I began wearing those fingerless gloves. Y’know, the typical ‘cool kid’ cover-up hand accessory that was all the rage in middle school. They’ve become part of my life by now, and I’ve never taken them off.
Life goes on.
I finished high school, hopped along to college, and graduated with a degree in Liberal Arts. Not the best, but alas, one has to gain at least a basic education in order to survive. But I digress.
I was your typical citizen with a good track record. I began to forget about the bar, and why I even donned the gloves in the first place. I just kept them on... well, because they became a part of me, and for some reason I could never let go of them.
Call me conceited.
I’ve got a decent life, a beautiful girlfriend, and an average-sized home. Couldn’t ask for more, considering the fact that I basically scraped by for the last ten years. It seems sort of surreal that after all this time, it’s actually worked out.
Until today.
I’ve still been pondering what exactly happened. Yes, yes, you could say it’s shock. Yet, I beg to differ. I’m not affected by the crash. It... wasn’t my fault. I do feel sorry for the poor guy, but if I’m being honest, this one’s on him.
The young chap, about 18, was recklessly swerving around on his speed bike. He wasn’t watching the road. I took a left turn, and...
Well, it wasn’t the prettiest sight. Still, I sure as hell have seen worse. Somehow, murders happen around me. Not targeted at me, but always somewhere near me. Death. Terror.
I don’t understand it, but I don’t question. Life goes on.
After the accident, I watched the lad get carted away in the ambulance. The cops questioned me, asking me about what happened. In that moment, I felt a tingling sensation run down the length of my arm into the back of my hand.
As they drove me to the hospital, I unstrapped my gloves for the first time in twenty years.
Or at least, I would have, except the civil servants got shot in the head. One had his eye blown out, the other, brains splattered against the windscreen.
Ah, shoot.
They’re coming for me.
Screw me and my monologues.
*****
“Get out of the car!” The lady dressed in black yells into the vehicle.
I walk out, arms outstretched towards the heavens.
The woman pulls down her hood, staring. “I knew it. I knew you were... one of us.”
I look back, eyes questioning, as they always are. “‘Liz...? What the hell are you doing-“
She lunges forward, clasping one of her delicate hands over my mouth, hissing into my ear. “You are going to keep silent until we find a proper space to explain this. Understand?” She leaps off, whispering to her lackey.
Christ, she’s beautiful.
I shake my head. “Alright, what the hell is this? I’m not going anywhere until you explain what in the everloving gods is-“
Elizabeth whips her head back at me.
I stare back, and the words escape from her mouth.
“You’re one of us. A player character, not an NPC.”
*****
Thanks so much for reading! Any advice is nice!
|
I stared at the bar for what felt like an eternity, and the bar stared right back. All my life I'd been a decent person, or at least I'd like to describe it that way. Everyone has the fleeting thoughts of doing something crazy, but nobody actually goes through with it, right? Well today I was reborn in my own way. I caught him with that fucking whore finally. Didn't even have the decency to put a new sheet down, or not have sex on **our** fucking bed. When I walked in from getting off my shift at the hospital, I could tell immediately she was there. How? Besides the stench of her trash-can perfume, he doesn't ever cook unless he wants something. Oh, and look, it's *his favorite meal to make when it's a "special occasion."* Guess he was too busy fucking her with his eyes to actually think for a goddamn moment.
Sorry, let me explain; he didn't know I'd be coming home because he didn't think I knew about her. He didn't think I'd switch shifts to catch him in the act, because he had no idea I'd known. I closed the door quietly behind me, hearing the infamous grunts of his shallow personality through the walls. I set my bag down on the counter and took out the solution, and some Propofol pre-injection filled syringes with I.V. lining attached. Donned my favorite type of gloves, AloeForm size 6 1/2 nitrile gloves. Using two pieces of cloth, dumped the solution on them in the sink. I was ready to get rid of this asshole once and for all, and tonight was the decided night.
With each cloth in hand, I crept down the hall and next to the door. Definitely at a... *passionate* time, which would work well. The door was slightly open, so the handle wasn't a noise concern. I gently opened the door just enough to crouch through. What a sick fuck, I'd slave away with patients every day while this fuck can't even keep his dick out of anything with a pulse. *Hell, I bet if the mattress looked like an ass he'd somehow end up counter-shagged by a broken spring.* They're into it and breathing heavily, I'm behind him, lurking in the shadows over his back. He breathes out and I latch onto his face with both rags, he gasps for air and accidentally inhales them. Choking, he immediately attempts to get up, but is stopped by the whore's powerful legs. She think's he's loving it, and can't believe how much he's into it. I use this time to grab the medium vase he gave me when he told me how much he *"loved me"* and how much he *"thought about me"* on his *"business trip."* I had begun to hear the cries of the whore when I turned around. Primal and in fear, he began to slam his fists onto her face and immediately began choking her in an oxygen-deprived attempt at stopping her grasp.
Her legs rested lifeless before I slammed that fucking vase onto the top of his head, knocking him unconscious. Lucky for him, he managed to get the rags out of his mouth before choking to death as he fell to the floor. Tonight, I learned chloroform really does suck at knocking someone out; it's much quicker in Hollywood, that's for sure. I only had a few moments if not minutes before she and then he would wake up. I flicked the lights on as I ran to grab the syringes. I didn't know how small the woman was, but I knew how big my husband was. If the bitch died who cares, I planned on making him suffer though. I gave a standard dosing for a 150lb woman to her, and a nice 195lb dose for the bastard. Both might have been less than I needed, but all I needed was temporary time.
I reached under the bed and pulled out my lovely husband and I's collection, I figured I didn't need anything but the rope and the chair in our room. I tied her up to the chair, just like sensual lovers are; except this time there was no escaping, safe words, or talking. I reached back into the collection and put a full gag, blindfold, and ear muffs on her, to muffle any attempts at yelling if she were to wake up early. As I was putting the finishing touches on I heard the door slam. That filthy fuck was fatter than I thought. I bolted to the door and ran into the hallway, I could hear him as he slammed the front door open, likely shocked at first to see his wife tying up his mistress, and then to realize what's happening. Unluckily for him, I keep my keys on a lanyard under my scrubs. I quickly take a kitchen knife before leaving the apartment.
I see him desperately trying to open the door to his truck as he watches me running towards him. He dashes and makes a break for the exit, while I get in my yellow Volvo. Don't ask me what model, I work on bodies, not cars. The prey decides to continue running, he's running down the road in hopes to stop someone, but it's too late. I keep the headlights off as I floor the gas, though not particularly fast at top speeds it does zip around pretty nicely. I keep the headlights off until he finally notices I'm not chasing him on foot. He turns to look and before he turns away I manage to dazzle him with the brights. He stumbled a little from his footwork becoming unfamiliar with closed eyes, but ultimately turned to run towards the sidewalk. That's when it happened, the contact was first made with his right posterior hip, continuing into his right buttocks. The force began to push his body forward and collapse his spine the incorrect way, but because he can't do anything properly in his fucking life, he ends up becoming a human tire hub. Rolling over my car the inverse way. I'd say back-flipping, but it was more like back-molding over my car. When his neck took the full force of his body weight it snapped, sputtering blood over the hood and some parts of the windshield as his neck tore open. After he was done banging my car and I had surely removed him from atop it, I turn the car around and stopped it with headlights on him. I put it in park and got out to check if this fucking dickhead got far better than he deserved. Whatever god was out there preventing me from torturing this bastard to oblivion, *fuck you.* I left him there to rot and parked in my garage. I'm sure some wise fuck will come by telling me if I knew he was dead, and tell me how I'm feeling and that they understand how terrible the news must be. *Whatever,* fucking dick got what was coming.
I took off the gloves and put them in the garbage. After washing my hands I washed my face to get the sweat and raw emotion off of it, but that's when I noticed it. For the first time in my life the bar above my head had grown.
I stared at the bar for what felt like an eternity, and the bar stared right back.
Edit: Was a fun write, normally don't do this. Just re-editing as I realize errors in the writing.
| 2018-07-02T04:29:22 | 2018-07-02T02:31:21 | 2,668 | 72 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
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I opened the ordinary door with its ordinary handle. Behind it was a hellish portal, blackened by the fires of lusty wickedness, set with precious stones that turned out to be eyes glancing desperately about, and covered in many other infernal whatsits and doodahs.
When I had pushed the hellish portal open, and been deafened by the ungodly squeaking of the hinges, in which the fingers of many small demons were caught for all eternity, yay, even sunday afternoons, I found myself in a reception, such as that of a small town hotel. The receptionist was asleep.
"Excuse me. Um. Excuse me." To no avail I continued to wave my hand and excuse myself, until I noticed a bell, which said "Ring to summon the boatman, gatekeeper of eternal doom." Of course, I rang it (and felt a certain frisson).
"What do you want? Is it judgement day already? Blimey, what in the nether-regions are you?" The receptionist had started up, dislodging her grey bob. She replaced her tortoiseshell glasses and would have fallen off her chair, if she had not been chained to it with rusty old manacles. "Are you a delivery boy? Whips, weaponry and flesh tearing wire you want the service entrance. If you're bringing in a magma feature, or a pit for boiling oil or blood you need to give us advance notice. Wait a minute--"
"What?"
"You're not Jesus Christ, are you? You've got a bill to settle, mister, what with all that renting and tearing you did last time you were 'ere."
"I'm not Jesus, no."
"The big man was not pleased at all. Said you can't get curtains made up any more like those ones you destroyed. Woven with the hem of a midnight sky in Romania and set with twinkles from the eyes of dormice. But you're not him, you say?"
"No, I'm a man."
"A man? I thought you lot didn't come down here any more. After the bigger big man made his thingy. Decree. No man shall suffer for all eternity, yaddah yaddah."
"Well, um, we get a choice, you see... And I'm a satanist."
I fiddled at the drawstring of my Iron Maiden hoodie, beginning to feel that something was wrong.
"A what-anist? There's no sating down here. Only eternal craving and sharp nails and flat coca cola."
"But. But. I thought the realm was ruled over by the mighty One. The beast."
"So you chose the flaming inferno over an eternity of strippers, cocaine, gin fizz and heavy metal?"
"What?"
"Well, whatever turns you on, I suppose."
"Look, can I talk to Charon."
"Yep, that's me. Sharon Finchley, oarsman of the apocalypse."
"Oh. Where's the boat?"
"We got rid of the boat. Too fun. There isn't any fun down here. Just eternal misery and suffering. And paperwork."
"What about Satan? The devil? The fallen angel?"
"Oooh! Satan! I wondered who you were on about. Nah, God killed him off ages ago. Wouldn't you have done?"
"Then who's...the big man you mentioned."
"Oh, that's Mr. Murdoch. They say that he's so evil the bigger big man let his body continue to live on earth, but immediately swept his soul down to hell. And I don't need to tell you, he cleaned up pretty fast. Made a killing (well, not a killing, you can't kill down here, but made an eternal suffering) convincing all the demons they needed satellite subscriptions so they could be totally up to date on the latest torture methods."
"I get the idea."
"Oh, that's a pity for you though, isn't it? You could have been in the Other Place, surfing across a lake of fire with Jimi Hendrix. Taking speedballs with John Belushi. Eating peacocks and hanging out at crazy parties. But instead..."
"Actually, I change my mind!"
"Oh, you change your mind! That's okay. Gosh, I thought you were being rather silly. Just head back out the way you came."
I about-turned pretty fast, and pushed the horrible, hellish portal open as fast as possible, vicious whispers lapping at my ears. Behind it was an ordinary door. I opened the ordinary door with its ordinary handle. Behind it was a hellish portal...
|
Perhaps at some point, giving people the choice of heaven or hell was the correct one. After all, if God were a truly omnipotent being, he would see that mortal actions are only informed by an infinite series of processes and that most people make rational decisions to lead them to the places they go. Ergo, in most situations. morality can be construed to be whatever the situation defines it as, and thus under most conventional ideas; all people are equally moral.
Perhaps he's that stupid and he truly believes that. Imagine the repugnance of not having some sort of absolutist system of morality in place. Imagine it, really.
Maybe it would've even worked if people couldn't be dragged, kicking and screaming, right out of heaven for failing to pay off their oaths. For failing to break their mortal ties in the grand bureaucracy.
Ilene didn't give a damn either way, staring down at the mines of Babel. Her horse didn't care either, hooves barely landing on the tawny sand, a ripple of muscle skimming down the flank of the undead beast, but it would've been great if people weren't contractually obligated to make a mess of her previous Hell.
"Looks like another prisoner revolt," The sheriff said, cocking his hat. "You sure you're up for it, Deputy?"
"Come on, Sheriff," Ilene hissed. "We've got heads to smash and paper work to file before the mayor gets back, let's get this over with."
The brimstone sands were thrown up into the air with each smash of the great horse's hooves, and Ilene casually drew her six-gun and counted out the rounds.
The sheriff barked out another laugh and sped onward into the crest of the great hill, the shattered remnants of walls blown apart by dynamite reeking of elder energies, and the distant remnants of angelic laws distorted by the hands of man.
Ilene's gun lay heavily in the palm of her hand, and she spun it once before drawing it entirely, pointing it ahead.
"GET ALONG BACK TO YOUR DAMN BARRACKS!" She shouted as the two of them verged the cliff side, then fired the gun wildly into the air. "DON'T MAKE US SEND THE TAKERS AFTER YOU IN HEAVEN!"
Over the cacophony of growing hellfire and distorted space time the gunshots had little effect, but at least she tried.
"Canary?" She asked, turning to the sheriff.
"Got it," He grinned, drawing his long rifle. The prisoners were a mash of red skin, fresh pale skinned, and most notably, the horned ones. With the gleaming gold of the rifle in his hands, Ilene could see the reflection of the false sun without the livery that made it seem to glow; just silver sigils sketched across a dead sky bereft of stars.
"Looks like they're resisting arrest," Ilene commented.
Canary's gun went off with a sound like thunder, and a man's head exploded down range. With the vessel cracked, the soul flooded out in a great pool of sodden silver, then was swept away back towards the great beyond.
Where, more than likely, he would once again find himself dragged, kicking and screaming, into his place of eternal servitude, because damn him for signing a contract in life that required servitude in death.
But hey, how else were you supposed to get a job in this economy?
The sound of the gun going off caused even Ilene's undead stallion to buck, and she threw a hand up to press her hat back down upon her horns.
But the cacophony of revolt failed to pass on.
"Ilene," Canary said, roughly.
"Yes? She shouted as they neared the melee.
"Dynamite," Canary shouted, pointing at the gleaming arc of hellstone; marked plainly and trailing smoke.
Then Ilene was caught in a massive explosion.
Fuck.
"Get back here soon," Canary intoned, somewhat bored.
-------
The gleaming gates of heaven were a long way off for a creature such as her, even as what passed as her soul appeared wildly in front of the binary choice. Ilene pressed her fingers against one another, then slowly, with a concerted effort that spoke of nothing more than experience, cracked her fingers and bones back into place. After a moment, her hat drifted down after her, and she pressed it back firmly on her head and walked forward.
The gold light suffused everything that moved, every moment of every existence, but the light of god turned away her skin and made her burn with fire.
Not a pleasant experience, but once she shed the layer of sin encrusting her, perhaps...
But where was the chorus?
"What are you doing back here, demon?" Saint Peter asked, dimly, looking at her from the top of his Book of Names. "I thought I told you this was a mistake. Are you really ready to be dragged back to hell again?"
Ilene peered over his shoulder without giving him a moment's thought, which made Peter's hand lash out to push her back in place.
"You really don't want to go there this time," Peter warned.
Was that... fire across the gates to heaven?
"The hell is that?" Ilene asked, jerking her hands at the doorway. "Besides, check my book."
Peter looked back at her, opened his mouth, then shut it grimly, flicking his way through the book. "It says here that... you're clear on obligations and debts. Congratulation, I suppose you've finally died enough in the line of duty." Peter's voice was confused. "How the hell did you manage that?"
"I was never human to begin with," Ilene pointed out, sourly. "And I've been hauling ass down there to make up for all the corporate bullshit for ages.
"Self sacrifice is a distinctly human and angelic trait," Peter pointed out. "And you've got a history of that, Law-bringer."
Ilene gently reached up and touched her long spirally horns. "What on earth is going on in front of the gates of heaven?" She asked again.
"Not earth," Peter intoned, seriously. "But more angelic matters you don't need to concern yourself with. Can you make your choice and move on?"
Ilene thought distantly of the brief moments she'd snatched, centuries ago, hidden in the depths of heaven, before it had been locked to her due to deals with devils, demons, of the red crusades and the eternal lock and press of bodies in the place where space lost all meaning apart from a repository for souls.
If she went there she could experience that... maybe once more, maybe it would finally kill her, obliterate her stained fingers from the Red Revolution, and leave her with nothing left.
Wouldn't that be nice?
But she had a gun to return to. No need to remind her why she was miserable, even if the moments would stay with her forever.
She shrugged. "Good luck with whatever it is you're doing over there," She took her hat off, bowed, then placed it back on her head and walked past him, idly whistling a heavenly hymn.
"You choose Hell?" Peter asked, incredulously. "You're not even going to make an attempt to get past me?"
"Don't you get tired of watching an eternal parade of sinners try to hide out in your heaven?" Ilene asked, sarcastically. "Really, just let a demon go her own way without asking questions."
"Is it over a guy?" Peter continued asking, as the fires enshrouding the gates of heaven burned higher and all the more brilliantly, burning Ilene's eyes. "A girl maybe? Something else?"
"Look, the garden of Eden gave the lot of us free will, and I got a pretty comfortable arrangement down in hell to go back to, I don't want to trade all of my progress there for fifteen minutes in the sun."
Peter's jaw snapped together, then opened, then snapped together.
"It is the sun we're talking about." Peter tempted, confused.
Ilene walked past him. "Look, I'm sorry about your big burning gates, I got some more people to oppress to make sure they earn their permanent place in heaven."
The gates to heaven burned with brilliant light as Ilene found the cliff down to hell, and she gave the burning brilliance another wave, then jumped.
She had a sheriff to get back to.
-----
For more like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2018-08-13T07:02:49 | 2018-08-13T06:23:07 | 143 | 53 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍
|
I felt the painful glare of the computer screen attacking my eyes as I stared at it for a second too long. Trying to not breathe a single whiff of Mr. Taggart-call-me-Tag's cheap musky cologne, while the sticky heat from his sweaty, stubby fingers made their way across my shoulder blades in what I'm sure was supposed to be an inviting caress, rather than a repulsive accost.
"You see, Lucy, there are perks that come with my new promotion. Firing discretion is one of them. Now I know you pretty broads don't understand the big words, so lemme explain it to you plain: I. Own. Your. Job." Each of those last four words was punctuated by a gummy thumb rub. "So go make me a coffee, Lucy, two sugars, one cream. And put a little sway on your way there. You know I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go." He chuckled at what he surely though was original wit.
"No" I stated resolutely. "Get it yourself." As I pushed my chair back to force him out of my personal space.
"Oh, Lucy. You're such a tease, you know." He said, becoming redder and sweatier. "You see, I'm just a nice guy throwing a fat girl a bone. You're not hot enough to be such a bitch. So either go get me a coffee, or go get a box for your things.", the smug bastard said, showing nicotine-stained teeth as his foul smelling spittle landed on my cheek.
"Get out of my way" I said coldly,as I stood up, towering more that a foot over his balding head. I made up my mind in that instant that I was done pretending to be normal, "one of them." I was not. He had just won a first row seat to see how much more of a bitch I could be.
"I'm sure you last paycheck will be ready for you to pick up in about a month or two".
"Keep it" I said without turning back, as I applied my custom color Guerlain KissKiss Diamond Edition lipstick, a plan already forming in my mind.
I got home a little after lunch and immediately started to work on fine-tuning even the most miniscule detail of his future destruction. This was now my full time occupation.
It was well after sunrise when my scheme was ready for execution. Operation Morningstar was a go.
A few hours and several phone calls later, I got a text message from a blocked number with just three words: " It is done."
The next day, an aunt he hadn't known existed, and who conveniently enough, had no other relatives, died and left him an inheritance. Not just a vase or a couch, either. Ten million dollars after tax.
I spent the next months watching his life implode from all fronts.
Sometimes it is more fun to watch them destroy themselves.
I watched him lose everyone who ever cared about him by showing his true self. It's funny how people with inferiority complexes will treat others as inferiors the instant they come in contact with a little money.
I watched him start failed venture after failed venture. I watched him believe his money would last forever. That's why I had settled on that amount. It was enough to turn his life around, but not enough to buy him a permanent respite from any of his problems. I was there, observing when he surrounded himself with sycophants and supplicants, waiting for morsels to fall of his plate. I watched him fall into vices. I watched him fall into debt.
Then finally, I watched him lose it all.
On the anniversary of our last encounter, he was called into the office of his bank account manager to discuss a payment plan for his ever growing debt. I was in a back room, waiting for my cue. Watching one last time.
I saw on the monitor in front of me a gaunt, twitchy, shadow of a man who somehow still had not been humbled.
"Would you like to meet your benefactor?"
"Benefactor?"
"Yes, the person who gifted the ten millions."
"No one gifted me my money. It was family money" he said sneering in a petulant manner.
"It was family money, Sir. But unfortunately just not your family's. The money gifted to you came from a family whose fortune is, to put it plainly, older than dirt." Said the banker in his calm manner.
How right he was. How very *exactly* right he was.
This was my cue. I stepped into the office and cleared my throat.
"Good evening, Mr. Taggart."
His head whipped around while his eyes opened wide with surprise.
"L-L-Lucy?" He stammered.
"Call me Lucifer."
|
*This place sucks.*
That was all Yuki thought when she walked through the doors of the office building. The work was mundane and easy, so long as she refrained herself from throat-punching her co-workers. Most all of them were annoying as hell, though Yuki didn't blame them.
At one point, Yuki was sure, that these people were all full of life and hopes, considering this place a stepping stone in their path to greatness. Now, they were trapped and dead in a place being run into the ground.
Her nose crinkled as she nearly gagged on the coffee. Cold and somehow gritty. She glared at the old machine. Everytime she or Shiro bought and "donated" something to this shitty ass place to improve the lives of it's workers, somehow it always ended up "missing", replaced by the shit predecessors they had thrown in the trash.
"God-damned bitch..." Yuki hissed under her breath as she marched down the hallway. She motherfucking knew Brenda was taking the shit home, she just couldn't prove it because the security camera's here didn't work because who the hell cares about office safety, right?
As she rounded the corner, she saw Riley standing rigid guard at a conference room. She arched an eyebrow, as usually he was down on the bottom floors patrolling, considering he was the only thing between them and someone who would want to cause the occupants here harm... It made her wonder why he was here.
Azalea, Brenda's primary receptionist, popped her head out. She let out a small gasp, then grabbed onto Yuki, stopping her from going to her cubical. Yuki arched an eyebrow as the blond darted back inside, only to come back with her brother.
"Shiro told me he wanted to talk to you as soon as you got in." she spoke simply, opening the door wider to let him out. In the conference room, Yuki heard and saw loud sobs. Briefly, she saw a rather famous co-worker sitting in the corner sobbing into her hands. That took Yuki by surprise, Maddie was like the class-clown of this office, always finding a reason to joke and smile, thus her current state was... worrying.
Azalea shut the door behind them, cutting them off from the scene. Riley gave them both a stern stare, hurrying them to move along.
"You know how Maddie's been worried about her sister's medicine?" Shiro's voice dropped to a whisper as they reached the handicapped bathroom, locking it tight so they'd have a moment of privacy to talk. "They just cut off her health insurance."
"What?" Yuki hissed under her breath. "That's completely... It's supposed to be provided by this place! They can't just take it away!"
"Rosario and Erik are trying to calm her down enough to get the full story, but that's what it sounds like. They've been cutting back on privileges for months and months on these people and this is the last thing they can take away before they drop us all down to minimum wage."
Yuki knew this, deep in her heart. While the changes never personally effected her or Shiro, she heard the worries and vocal complaints around the office. First it started with Riley not being reimbursed for fixing the camera's out of his pocket. Rosario and Azalea getting half-hours cut from their paychecks. All of them wondering where the hell their bonuses went.
Shiro looked at Yuki, and she only nodded once. Shiro was already on the phone with Raven, discussing donating as much money as possible to Maddie in order to secure her and her younger sisters wellbeing for years to come.
Yuki had exited the bathroom to go back to her cubical, only to have a full on screaming match going on between Erik and Brenda. Well, more like Brenda was screaming at Erik and he couldn't be more than bothered to listen.
"Look at this place, it's disgusting! What are you doing canoodling with your coworkers when you could be making this place at least *look* decent!"
She kept going on, freshly manicured hands flying in the air as hairspray and perfume wafted off of her like a desperate cloud of attention. The poor woman was hideous and in her late fifties but was doing her best to look like she was twenty one. It wasn't working.
"He isn't a janitor, you idiot."
Brenda whirled around so fast that it was a wonder her implants didn't go flying off.
"What did you just call me?"
"Nothing." Yuki rolled her eyes, continuing to walk away. The lie was obvious and half the office was snickering or at least trying to keep their act together.
"Don't you walk away when I'm talking to you, Yucky! Yucky!"
Her voice rose a shrill higher as she mispronounced her name a second time. Yuki barely kept her cool as she made it to her cubical, until...
"*YUCKY, YOU ARE FIRED!"*
The shrill scream caused the entire floor to go silent. Slowly, Yuki turned to look at Brenda. She was visibly sweating, red in the face, and look ready to burst at any moment.
"Mind repeating that?" Yuki asked. Surely this *dumb bitch* didn't just say what she thought she just said. Brenda suddenly put her shoulders back, standing tall and proud as she lorded her so-called "power" over her subordinates.
"Yucky Smith, you are *fired* from this corporation."
"My name is *Yuki Shoda."* she hissed back, trying to figure out if she mixed up her name accidentally or on purpose. "And are you *really* sure about that?"
"Of course I'm sure. I don't need this much *toxicity* in *my* work environment." Brenda then turned on her heel. "Besides, what could an *intern* possibly do?"
She then left the scene, laughing like she was a villain who had just vanquished a hero. Yuki gripped the edges of her desk in rage, only to turn and leave. Whatever was in there, she could buy new anyways. As she descended the stairs, she started to laugh. What could an intern do? What could an *intern do?* Oh, Brenda had no clue the hell she's just unleashed.
"Raven," Yuki barked into her phone, barely able to contain her laughter. "So get this, I got *fired.* This place was a shit hole anyways. So here's what I need you to do. Riley Meyers, Rosario Hart, Madeline Hatter, Erik Zeph, and Azalea O'Connor. I want all them working for me and Shiro before the end of the day, within close contact. Not even outside the city. Pay them whatever they want, be persistant, I don't *care*. Make sure they aren't working for her anymore. After that, dig into Brenda. I want *everything.* And I want her life *destroyed."*
It didn't take Raven long to follow through. Already, Yuki was getting information about Brenda's husband running off and demanding a divorce in favor of a much more pleasant high-school flame. Yuki would make sure Brenda lost everything in that divorce, no house, no car, no nothing. She wouldn't even get to keep her cat that she adored.
Yuki had detailed information about her being addicted to pain pills and how she got them. Oops, terrible shame, the doctor she shopped at suddenly got cut off. Oh, another botox surgery scheduled this weekend? What a *shame,* no more health insurance. For good measure, Yuki decided, she'd cut her pay down to minimum wage.
By the time she was done fucking around with Brenda's life, she had already gotten an excited, desperate response from Maddie and a confused text from Shiro. Yuki smirked. She'd take this company and the best employees, then put them in the right spots, where they belonged once Brenda was gone.
*By the end of the month, we'll own this building and make it what it should have been.*
Yuki sent the text to her brother. She'd let the dumb bitch keep her job for now, no point in completely destroying her yet. She's wait a week *then* start leaking information about her laundering and abuse of employees to the higher ups.
"What can an intern do?" Yuki chuckled under her breath as she watched Brenda's husband march into the office, lawyer at his side and papers in hand. "A fucking lot, you stupid bitch. A mother fucking lot."
| 2019-03-04T09:27:11 | 2019-03-04T09:23:43 | 182 | 121 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍
|
I felt the painful glare of the computer screen attacking my eyes as I stared at it for a second too long. Trying to not breathe a single whiff of Mr. Taggart-call-me-Tag's cheap musky cologne, while the sticky heat from his sweaty, stubby fingers made their way across my shoulder blades in what I'm sure was supposed to be an inviting caress, rather than a repulsive accost.
"You see, Lucy, there are perks that come with my new promotion. Firing discretion is one of them. Now I know you pretty broads don't understand the big words, so lemme explain it to you plain: I. Own. Your. Job." Each of those last four words was punctuated by a gummy thumb rub. "So go make me a coffee, Lucy, two sugars, one cream. And put a little sway on your way there. You know I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go." He chuckled at what he surely though was original wit.
"No" I stated resolutely. "Get it yourself." As I pushed my chair back to force him out of my personal space.
"Oh, Lucy. You're such a tease, you know." He said, becoming redder and sweatier. "You see, I'm just a nice guy throwing a fat girl a bone. You're not hot enough to be such a bitch. So either go get me a coffee, or go get a box for your things.", the smug bastard said, showing nicotine-stained teeth as his foul smelling spittle landed on my cheek.
"Get out of my way" I said coldly,as I stood up, towering more that a foot over his balding head. I made up my mind in that instant that I was done pretending to be normal, "one of them." I was not. He had just won a first row seat to see how much more of a bitch I could be.
"I'm sure you last paycheck will be ready for you to pick up in about a month or two".
"Keep it" I said without turning back, as I applied my custom color Guerlain KissKiss Diamond Edition lipstick, a plan already forming in my mind.
I got home a little after lunch and immediately started to work on fine-tuning even the most miniscule detail of his future destruction. This was now my full time occupation.
It was well after sunrise when my scheme was ready for execution. Operation Morningstar was a go.
A few hours and several phone calls later, I got a text message from a blocked number with just three words: " It is done."
The next day, an aunt he hadn't known existed, and who conveniently enough, had no other relatives, died and left him an inheritance. Not just a vase or a couch, either. Ten million dollars after tax.
I spent the next months watching his life implode from all fronts.
Sometimes it is more fun to watch them destroy themselves.
I watched him lose everyone who ever cared about him by showing his true self. It's funny how people with inferiority complexes will treat others as inferiors the instant they come in contact with a little money.
I watched him start failed venture after failed venture. I watched him believe his money would last forever. That's why I had settled on that amount. It was enough to turn his life around, but not enough to buy him a permanent respite from any of his problems. I was there, observing when he surrounded himself with sycophants and supplicants, waiting for morsels to fall of his plate. I watched him fall into vices. I watched him fall into debt.
Then finally, I watched him lose it all.
On the anniversary of our last encounter, he was called into the office of his bank account manager to discuss a payment plan for his ever growing debt. I was in a back room, waiting for my cue. Watching one last time.
I saw on the monitor in front of me a gaunt, twitchy, shadow of a man who somehow still had not been humbled.
"Would you like to meet your benefactor?"
"Benefactor?"
"Yes, the person who gifted the ten millions."
"No one gifted me my money. It was family money" he said sneering in a petulant manner.
"It was family money, Sir. But unfortunately just not your family's. The money gifted to you came from a family whose fortune is, to put it plainly, older than dirt." Said the banker in his calm manner.
How right he was. How very *exactly* right he was.
This was my cue. I stepped into the office and cleared my throat.
"Good evening, Mr. Taggart."
His head whipped around while his eyes opened wide with surprise.
"L-L-Lucy?" He stammered.
"Call me Lucifer."
|
Being a time traveler can suck sometimes.
&#x200B;
These days I find myself bored, but not in the have nothing to do sense. Quite the opposite, there’s plenty to do, but I lust for enjoying the same thing over and over. Kinda like watching a rerun of your favorite episode of some trashy TV show. Currently, my vice of choice is pranking my former employer.
&#x200B;
My mentor, known only as “Mr E.” taught me I had to blend in to not be found. That sounded like a load of bull, having watched the man loot precious treasures from times long past. If you’ve ever wondered why King Tut’s cache was never found, or why so many sunken ships go missing, that’s John’s doing. He’d type a quick Google search of how to enter a specific tomb or where a sunken ship was found, then time jump to the day after shit it the fan.
&#x200B;
I however, have lived the quintessential mediocre life my entire existence. Office life isn’t quite the way TV shows picture it. Growing through my teens and into an adult without dreams, I contented to my comfortable dead end job as a telemarketer.
Working at Call4Me was a comfortable routine, it was a paycheck that afforded me some of life’s pleasures. When the boss called me in to give me the news, I was devastated. His smirk irked me, enjoying watching me squirm in discomfort. Some things you never forget, that moment was one of them. The end of a forgetful Friday, he called me into his office. I had one last call on the line; putting it on hold, I rushed towards the fogged glass door labeled ‘Bart Kobold’.
&#x200B;
“Pack your things Steve, you’ll be given today’s pay in addition to the severance package.” He stayed seated, adjusting things on his immaculate desk, not even acknowledging me. Sweating, looking for something to say, my hands fidgeting my tie and shirt buttons. We all knew about 20% of the building was being laid off this month. They could pay kids in India a quarter our wage for the same outcome.
&#x200B;
Cowardly I turned and walked out, low self-esteem paired well with my lack of ambition. “Sorry, it was all I could do, please close the door behind you.” I numbly obeyed and wandered to my blanch cubicle.
&#x200B;
There was a box on my desk with a sticky note, likely from my supervisor. “Sorry -Karen.” At least packing my things was easy, just my yellow notepad, BiC pen and a couple sci-fi favorites. We could read in-between calls, reading fantasy likely helped me stay sane.
&#x200B;
The ‘hold’ light from my phone console blinked. Not even registering my immediate unemployment, my brain fell into pattern as I adorned the headset. The caller ID read; “Mr. E.”
&#x200B;
“Thank you for holding Mr. E, this is Steven of Call4U… how may we… be of service.” As cliche as it sounds, saying this for the umpteenth and last time, brought me to tears. A man cleared his voice on the other end. “Do you want payback?” Click; he hung up.
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
Back in my dingy studio apartment, my cat "Tipsy" was nestled into the lap of greying man. The cat plays with his braided beard, swatting at it with delight. The apartment complex resembled a motel, wallpaper tears and cockroaches included. As I keyed my door with an armful of groceries my landlord peered around the corner.
&#x200B;
"You pay rent today?" She shouts a lot, likely due to being hard of hearing and bad at English. "I uh.. Tomorrow.." I hesitate, and decided to keep my lack of a job secret "was paid today, need time for bank." "You good people, very quiet, thank you." She grins, a whistle escaping from her missing teeth. "I let handsome family man inside your room, you are welcome!" She walks off, shouting at the birds nestled in a nearby window. They flutter back as she rounds the corner.
&#x200B;
I slowly open the door to my 300 square foot apartment. Tipsy lounges in the dimming sun of the single window. "Welcome home!" The mystery man pulls the light string, illuminating my dinky closet of a room. I let out a girlish scream.
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
We returned from a time long past, assimilating into my now spotless apartment. Time control allows any object or activity to speed up or slow down, including cleaning and cooking, which I found to be quite useful.
"You said we can do that once per day?" My curiosity was at an all time high this past week, having seen untold riches and witnessing historic events. Time travel was insane, but it seemed to have an effect on the veteran Mr. E.
"Yes, but each traveler can jump only 365 times. Total. And that... that was my 364th." He looks sorrowful as he recognizes what is to come. "If I do not pass the torch, then this gift will be forever lost." He presents the wand to me, "Why me?" I stammer. "Why not you?" He locks his gaze with mine, and I begin to understand. "You were meant to have this Steven. For better or for worse, I was drawn to you."
&#x200B;
As I reach for the wand, whom my impromptu father figure calls the "Torch," tears strew down his face. This was a power he was destined to give, and today was the day. Upon grasping the wand, a surge of knowledge entered me, and I understood. When I regained consciousness he was gone.
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
The first couple time trips I made were to be for practice, playing it safe. Still harboring a grudge for my former employer, Bart Kobold was to be my first 'victim.' I decided to go back in time and prevent him from getting HIS job, thus never having any power over me. Fool-proof.
&#x200B;
Setting the time his LinkedIn profile said he had the job soundly in my mind; the torch was lit. I was soon standing in-front of an empty soon-to-be Call4U. Bart was begging at the feet of a brown suited business man. Blending in, I adorned a hard hat and find myself writing in my notepad, acting busy. From what I overheard, the project was months behind, and Bart was refusing to show the older man the rest of the building.
&#x200B;
"Please Carl, the contractors said max two more months, that's all I need!" Bart pleaded. "You've had too much time already, I'm axing this project." Carl pulls out a RAZR cellphone to make the final call. "My wife is going to kill me, we're behind on our payments and our son is in the hospital!" Bart paces madly, barring entry into the unfinished sections. Feeling sorry for my former boss, I decide I'd rather help than hinder. With a flick of my wrist, the Torch enchants the building process. As if some grown man's version of Disney princess magic, the construction animatedly begins. The pilings pile, the concrete pours, and the foundation is set. Within seconds, the building blocks of my future office prison are finished.
&#x200B;
As they enter, I exit. The reactions I overheard seemed akin to a home-makeover montage. He got the job.
...
&#x200B;
Being a time traveler can suck but only some "times." Everything happens as it should, we learn from our mistakes and as such our futures can burn far brighter.
The torch is lit, allow it to illuminate the life ahead of you and shine on the past behind you.
...
..
.
Thank you for reading, any feedback you have helps me become a better writer! I hope to do a minimum 500 word prompt every day, this is the first of many.
| 2019-03-04T09:27:11 | 2019-03-04T08:52:50 | 182 | 19 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt.
|
I used to have a name.
A name that does not evoke fear into people's minds.
It has been so long since I thought about the days before my wool-braided clothes that have now dilapidated and unwoven into what more resembles a cloak.
So long since I felt physical touch with my *skin* which has now completely atrophied and eroded back, leaving ashen bones.
So long since a dead man willingly walked with me and I mean *actually* walked with me, instead of just simply running away at the sight of my cracked skull.
A couple of millennia traveling between the world of the living to the absolute nothingness you humans call "death" will do that to you. The dark fog and murky haze which seemingly manifests itself into flickering serpentine tongues have long been lapping at my body turning what use to be colored shaggy white to deep onyx black. No man understands why I walk with the dead and if a man actually walked with me, they'd understand.
Because I would tell them my whole story.
About how I used to carry a shepherd’s staff instead of wielding a sickle.
About how I loved my parents.
About how my brother bashed me over the head with a rock.
About how mortals cursed me with many misnomers: The Grim Reaper, Soul Collector, Hades, La Muerte, Shinigami.
About how my real name is Abel.
About how lonely I get here in Death.
EDIT: My first writing prompt! Please be gentle!
EDIT II: Can’t stop obsessing over and trying to improve syntax and diction.
|
It was a normal Autumn day: overcast sky, a chill in the air and leaves of various colors strewn about on the ground. The weather was fitting as a few dozen people gathered in the local graveyard to pay their respects and say their final goodbye. The casket was lowered into the ground as the family of the deceased no longer could hold in what wanted so desperately to get out and cried in the arms of the other gathered.
It was a sight the man had seen many times over; he frequented these types of places as they were a gathering place for souls not ready to move on. As many times as he had seen families cry from the deepest parts of their hearts, it was a sight never truly was used to seeing. He took some comfort in this, figuring it would be best for what he did to never become cold to the feelings of others. Within the crowd that stood by the grave, there was one that he had felt, one that drew him here. A young woman stood behind the mother and father as they knelt on the ground, trying to stroke their hair and comfort them but failing as her hand passed through them. The man approached the woman, "Excuse me?"
The woman was startled, she flinched as she looked in the direction of the soft voice that called to her, "Wha..." She looked at the man who called out to her, tears streaming down her face. "They can't.....they can't..."
"I know, I'm so sorry."
The woman kept trying, "I need to tell them its okay...I need to tell them I'm...I need..." Her voice wavered as she tried harder and harder to get the attention of her parents. She turned to others in the crowd, hoping one would be able to feel her, to hear her.
Nothing worked.
The man tried to think of something to say. He usually knew what to say to help the newly deceased, but there were certain times where he felt there was nothing he could say to ease the pain. The deep sting of realization was something the could only be soothed with time, for there was no changing what had happened.
The woman's panic soon calmed as she returned to her parents, collapsing onto the ground in front of them to look into their eyes. She reached her hand out to her mothers face to wipe a tear, resting it as best she could on her cheek. Her mother raised her hand to where her daughters hand was, oblivious to the contact her daughter so desperately desired. The man walked toward them, stopping next to her. He dropped down to a knee, "She was precious to you?"
The woman looked up to him, "More than anything...I want to go back..." Her gaze drifted back to her parents, "I want to go back to them..."
"I know. I know it's hard. It will continue to be hard but in time, " he rested his hand on her shoulder, "it won't hurt anymore."
"I don't know what to do. I don't want to leave them, I don't want to go. I don't want to be alone."
"You will never be alone." The woman looked up to the man, he stood and reached out his hand to her, "I promise you that you will never be alone again."
She stared at him, unsure. He smiled as the sun broke from behind the clouds for but a moment. Her hand still shaking, she reached up to grasp his as he helped her up from the ground. There was a feeling of comfort that welled within her from this man's smile. She was still very uneasy, but her hands stopped shaking as she wiped the tears from her face. "What do I do? I don't know what to do or where to go or..." her voice trailed off.
"Don't worry, I know a place you can go."
"Where?"
The man pointed to the horizon, "A place far off. A warm and loving place that lies under an eternal sun, full of many different folk, some whom I assume would love to see you again."
The woman looked over to the headstones that sat beside her, familiar faces and names etched into them. She took a deep breath as she nervously rubbed her hands together, "Will you show me how to get there?"
The man smiled again, "Of course. I'll bring you there myself."
The woman looked back to the crowd and then to her parents. She approached them once more and stooped down to kiss them each on the head one last time. Her mother spoke, "I love you...I love you so much my dear."
A knot formed in the man's throat. He tried to remember the last time he had heard those words spoken to him. It had been countless years...he never, however, second guessed the help he offered to those like this woman.
The woman stood straight and looked at the man, "...Okay..." She walked up to him as the both turned to begin the journey. He felt her grab his hand and hold tight, feeling a slight tremble in her grasp. His grip remained firm, comforting both him and the woman. The woman spoke, her voice still shaky, "Thank you so much..." The man glanced over to her, "It is my pleasure."
| 2019-07-10T12:15:09 | 2019-07-10T12:11:36 | 71 | 13 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt.
|
When you die, it as if you are waking from a beautiful, restful sleep. The light is gentle, the shadows are long and there is an easy silence hanging in the air. Many stretch, like they did on those lazy Sunday mornings – reaching out to feel the pulling of muscle, the breath filling their lungs – signs that they exist at least one day more.
When you die you have no arms to stretch, no lungs to fill. As you reach out you can feel as if you could go on forever – always grasping for something just beyond your reach. With no eyes do you peer into the endless void – shadows of black and grey shimmer and swirl. There is no point of light on which to focus, no single shape or form to rest your mind.
When you die, I am the one to fill that void. I am the outstretched hand that finds yours – grasping, clawing – searching for anything, *anyone*. I am the form that breaks the chaos. Some see me a savior – golden robes, crown of thorns. Others see me a hooded sentinel, my bony hand beckoning.
When you die, I bring peace – not to those who are left behind, suffering, dejected and forlorn. No, I bring peace to those that cross the demarcation line between order and eternity. None are left searching, endlessly – for a scrap of humanity of which to cling.
When *you* die, I shall be the path you travel – bringing you out of the fog. Call to me, the lighthouse upon the cliffs, and I shall guide you forth. Lost minds and heavy hearts find respite – a mother’s embrace to the crying babe.
|
It was a normal Autumn day: overcast sky, a chill in the air and leaves of various colors strewn about on the ground. The weather was fitting as a few dozen people gathered in the local graveyard to pay their respects and say their final goodbye. The casket was lowered into the ground as the family of the deceased no longer could hold in what wanted so desperately to get out and cried in the arms of the other gathered.
It was a sight the man had seen many times over; he frequented these types of places as they were a gathering place for souls not ready to move on. As many times as he had seen families cry from the deepest parts of their hearts, it was a sight never truly was used to seeing. He took some comfort in this, figuring it would be best for what he did to never become cold to the feelings of others. Within the crowd that stood by the grave, there was one that he had felt, one that drew him here. A young woman stood behind the mother and father as they knelt on the ground, trying to stroke their hair and comfort them but failing as her hand passed through them. The man approached the woman, "Excuse me?"
The woman was startled, she flinched as she looked in the direction of the soft voice that called to her, "Wha..." She looked at the man who called out to her, tears streaming down her face. "They can't.....they can't..."
"I know, I'm so sorry."
The woman kept trying, "I need to tell them its okay...I need to tell them I'm...I need..." Her voice wavered as she tried harder and harder to get the attention of her parents. She turned to others in the crowd, hoping one would be able to feel her, to hear her.
Nothing worked.
The man tried to think of something to say. He usually knew what to say to help the newly deceased, but there were certain times where he felt there was nothing he could say to ease the pain. The deep sting of realization was something the could only be soothed with time, for there was no changing what had happened.
The woman's panic soon calmed as she returned to her parents, collapsing onto the ground in front of them to look into their eyes. She reached her hand out to her mothers face to wipe a tear, resting it as best she could on her cheek. Her mother raised her hand to where her daughters hand was, oblivious to the contact her daughter so desperately desired. The man walked toward them, stopping next to her. He dropped down to a knee, "She was precious to you?"
The woman looked up to him, "More than anything...I want to go back..." Her gaze drifted back to her parents, "I want to go back to them..."
"I know. I know it's hard. It will continue to be hard but in time, " he rested his hand on her shoulder, "it won't hurt anymore."
"I don't know what to do. I don't want to leave them, I don't want to go. I don't want to be alone."
"You will never be alone." The woman looked up to the man, he stood and reached out his hand to her, "I promise you that you will never be alone again."
She stared at him, unsure. He smiled as the sun broke from behind the clouds for but a moment. Her hand still shaking, she reached up to grasp his as he helped her up from the ground. There was a feeling of comfort that welled within her from this man's smile. She was still very uneasy, but her hands stopped shaking as she wiped the tears from her face. "What do I do? I don't know what to do or where to go or..." her voice trailed off.
"Don't worry, I know a place you can go."
"Where?"
The man pointed to the horizon, "A place far off. A warm and loving place that lies under an eternal sun, full of many different folk, some whom I assume would love to see you again."
The woman looked over to the headstones that sat beside her, familiar faces and names etched into them. She took a deep breath as she nervously rubbed her hands together, "Will you show me how to get there?"
The man smiled again, "Of course. I'll bring you there myself."
The woman looked back to the crowd and then to her parents. She approached them once more and stooped down to kiss them each on the head one last time. Her mother spoke, "I love you...I love you so much my dear."
A knot formed in the man's throat. He tried to remember the last time he had heard those words spoken to him. It had been countless years...he never, however, second guessed the help he offered to those like this woman.
The woman stood straight and looked at the man, "...Okay..." She walked up to him as the both turned to begin the journey. He felt her grab his hand and hold tight, feeling a slight tremble in her grasp. His grip remained firm, comforting both him and the woman. The woman spoke, her voice still shaky, "Thank you so much..." The man glanced over to her, "It is my pleasure."
| 2019-07-10T12:19:29 | 2019-07-10T12:11:36 | 21 | 13 |
[WP]The heroes confront you with the legendary mystical weapon that can defeat you. Unbeknownst to them, it's actually the one thing you needed to conquer the world. You were having trouble finding it, so you started the legend of the weapon yourself, to get some poor schmuck to find it for you.
|
Picture this, you are a great evil magician, well not really evil since my last evil deed was 278 years ago bailing the tab in some seedy establishment for something they call "food", but you get the picture. Ironically this was also the last time I have seen my Magic Wand. Now after I got tired of searching for it I just decided to spread the rumour of the "Ancient staff of the Devine" that is supposed to be strong enough to stop me.
Well lucky me some adventures are blasting fireballs with said staff at my door right now. I'm really glad I invested in that heavy magic protection for my tower. I'm looking down my window drinking my afternoon tea waiting for them to get tired. "Hello fellow adventurer's!" I called them. "What's the matter? Is my door to strong for you?" I cackle while I almost choke on my tea. "Foul Wizard! Hiding in your tower! Come down and face us!" Shouts the oh-so obviously dressed party leader in his shiny blue armor.
I set my tea aside and let myself fall out of the window. Before I hit the ground I slow my decent with a little bit of magic landing just a few feet away from the adventurers.
Just when I landed the rogue charges me with his double daggers all while screaming like a barbarian. A simple shockwave spell knocks him out cold.
The Hero uses my staff and blasts a fireball into my direction. It splashes harmlessly off my magic mantle.
With a flick of my wrist I rip the staff out if his hands as it gracefully flies into my hands.
"Honestly I'm surprised you made it this far. But you aren't nearly prepared enough especially now after I got my staff back. Before I kill you tell me where did you find the 'Divine Staff'?" I asked as I prepare lighting to get rid of this nuisance.
The Hero takes a step forward. "We found it in a seedy establishment not far from here, the owner gave it to us under one condition: That we ask you to pay your tab before we kill you."
"Fuck"
|
“Come on! The mystic’s cave is just this way! We’ve come so far on this quest, and nothing is stopping us from the treasure he promised!”
Dao, Thespin and Rin had gone through most of the Mystics map he’d given them to find it, The Mace of Enigma, coated in a metallic Titanium and Copper alloy. Inscribed in the mace were characters they couldn’t quite read, and wielding it felt almost otherworldly, like a chill down their spine they couldn’t quite name. Rin, the self proclaimed hero of the group, had only seen it by its semi radiant glow in the dark dungeon they’d crawled through, and Dao was the only one unaffected by the jitters it gave off.
Strangely enough, there had been no great monster holding it captive, no enemies blocking their way like they were usually hired for. No, rather the cave felt quite empty, almost as if nothing had ever set foot in there, not even the creatures just outside.
After going back through the Forest of Folron, the Cliffs of Hunplov, and the Marsh of Melink, they were right back where they had been hired. Their client was an old Mystic, he had been around since the creation of the kingdom. Many a Kings advisor, he knew the land like the back of his hand. He’d hired the boys before, always for some long forsaken weapon of kings before. This time the only difference was the lack of enemies, the boys had been used to a fight.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to just take one of these weapons for our own use? The Scepter of Hydrea seemed like it would come in handy with its magical capabilities.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Thespin, we were paid a pretty penny for the Scepters return, and imagine if we’d let it be lost to the wrong hand. The Mystic keeps them safe, he’s done so for millennia!”
“Rin’s right, the weapons are safest with someone who’s worked with the Kings, and in doing so he has certainly earned his riches. For finding the weapons he’s been kind enough to share, he’s far outnumbered us in power with what we’ve retrieved.”
“You saying he’d beat us down if we made off? He’s hardly ever left his cave! What power does he have that we couldn’t beat?”
“We shouldn’t mess around with someone so immortal, especially considering he’s been our biggest payload, Thespin.”
Thespin sighed, his companions were right, The Mystic, as frail as he seemed, probably would be somewhat of a threat with what they’d already done, and to break the trust would be a loss of money they couldn’t afford. Nobody in the castle town has ever paid even a tenth of what the mystic offered.
After a long argument, they finally reached the cave. The Mystic sat at the center of a rather large hemispherical room, torches lining the walls. The Weapons of the Kings lay around the perimeter of the room, propped by the most regal looking weapon stands around. Holy fire adorns either side of The Mystic’s chair, his seemingly endless pile of riches behind him.
“Amazing job boys, I can’t thank you enough for bringing back the Mace. I believe with this weapon, I’ve finally the whole collection once again. King Pihlon would be proud.”
“Never a problem at all, Sir! This was our easiest retrieval yet, we were very surprised”
Rin punches Thespin in the chest, and he falls to his knee.
“As promised boys, your payment awaits.”
The Holy Fire on either side of The Mystic begins to roar, a sudden change of a blue into a red. The weapons adorning the walls come to life, the Mace in the Mystics hands, he lurches it forward as if to command something.
“What’s going on?” Dao screams. “Where is the payment?”
The Mystic just laughs as the weapons begin to rise.
“What ever do you mean? This is your payment! One final show of what you’ve allowed me to do! Is it not wonderful? All thirteen of your precious Kings weapons at my disposal, together at long last!”
The Mystics eyes begin to light a deep green, fully in control of the deathly dance of the weapons. Spiraling the room, they begin to descend towards the heroes.
Rin motions to Thespin and Dao in a moment of desperation; they draw their swords and try to block the pilotless onslaught, to no avail. Blocking one leads another to strike, they’re far outnumbered.
“Go for the Mystic or get to the exit, we can’t let the Weapons leave the room!” Dao makes a charge but is impaled by the Sword of Glamour. As it follows through and goes for Rin, he makes it to the exit and begins to parry them back into the cave.
“You mercenaries have no chance here, there’s nobody to down! The weapons will only keep coming, your fate will be the same as the rest of the kingdoms! Could you not see what you were doing? It was inscribed on every weapon! You were buying in to your own demise! What does all your money mean to you now? It’s the same thing every generation! Well no more! I see the future, I see the best! My will be done, there will be no more Kings!”
And with a clang, all the weapons simultaneously hit the floor of the cave. The Mystic having run out his power, had done it. The sell swords all but alive, nobody outside knew what was to come. The kingdom would learn the power of the kings, and The Mystic would guide them as he’d done before, only this time, there would be no King to get in the way of his guidance.
| 2020-07-25T14:18:03 | 2020-07-25T13:38:25 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Humans finally broke physics by travelling faster than light in an experimental spaceship. 8 alien civilizations visited earth to issue a speeding ticket and 3 more sent strongly worded letters about safety in their school zones.
|
"Scusi?"
"I SAID DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FAST YOU WERE GOING?" Space Deputy P-ion shouted at the bearded old man standing in front of him... in what seemed to be eccentric pajamas, *perhaps we should give this planet a breathalyzer too*
"Mi scusi." The man repeated.
This was going nowhere, P-ion still leaned in to try to hear the man over all the rukus as his fellow officers also tried to issue their citations to every other earthling on the planet, all failing around the same spot P-ion was in trying to communicate the seriousness of just speeding through the galaxy in an unregistered warp field generator and failing to stop at a school bus.
"WHERE IS YOUR WARP DRIVE LICENSE? WARP. DRIVE. LICENDO?" R-opi stated again, trying to match the language of the dirty woman in front of him as she gathered her chickens together and swore at him.
P-ion looked to R-opi, "I don't understand, this planets displacement was only 700 years. Why are they acting like they don't know a thing about intergalactic navigation?"
"Oh don't fall for this." Responded R-opi, "I've seen it a million times. *oh officers, I didn't know I couldn't do that. I was just tinkering around in my garage and accidentally discovered the formula for bending the fabric of spacetime 700 years from now. I'm not even a type 1 civilization yet I swear!*"
"Look, I'm just saying they all seem a bit confused and that's confusing me. I mean look at this masonry-" P-ion gestured to the shattered pottery beneath the leg of the giant space cruser parked in the market square. "You're telling me a type 1 civilization has such cheap and shoddy pottery?"
R-opi rolled his breathe tube which humans would equate to rolling their eyes, "And You're telling me these people don't have a grasp of time displacement through artificial wormholes?"
"Maybe we could just let them off with a warning this time?" P-ion suggested. He gave R-opi a look, a look that would be completely oblivious to us but would universally be understood by their species to mean *come the fuck on this shit ain't worth it.*
R-opi sighed and pushed his wrist com. All their fellow officers stood back and said in unison. "Look, I'm going to let you off with a warning this time, but don't let me catch you doing it again." And boarded their ships and took off.
The strange bearded man watched the ships take off into the sky. A look of wonder on his face as they faded into the atmosphere. The man looked around at his fellow humans, "Holy shit, I can't believe that worked."
|
The only thing worse than regular traffic court is intergalactic traffic court. All the same bastards and weirdos, but with more... evolutionary creativity.
Lucky for me, the planet's judicial court fitted me with a universal translator that hooked into my brain stem with the tiniest sting. So I understand everything, whether I like it or not.
It's the same bullshit as regular, Earthbound traffic court: the wino DUI soccer moms are represented by a stiletto-like spidery alien who wears sun-visors indoors and keeps harpying to anyone who will listen that she's got an appointment halfway across the damn solar system and she can't be late. There are stoner aliens who look like asteroids given legs, just melting in their chairs, red-eyed and hazy.
And then there's me, representing the everyman asshole who got busted one too many times speeding: Commander Spangle James, official supervisor of the maiden flight of *Liberty*. The whole thing is grossly American, I know, but we do everything big. Even painted a flashy flag on the side like racing stripes.
If you're gonna catch the attention of your local universe neighborhood, might as well do it in style.
I was summoned to traffic court in a way I didn't quite anticipate: due to the restriction of the speed of light, I received my first court summons (and the second, and the third) well after the events of the trial. A cryptic email appeared one day at the research lab I worked at, carrying a series of delayed digital messages. When trabslated, the most recent of these warned that I had, from the time of reading, a day or two to get to Andromeda and arrive at court or my home would be duly incinerated and my charred body detained as is the usual punishment for dodging court.
So I hopped in lady *Liberty* and sped on over, which, when I sat there thinking about my charges, did not seem overly wise.
I'm sitting there, listening to wine-mom-alien shriek, when the translator in my ear says, tinnily, "The judge will see you now."
Teleportation is a blink and you miss it type of thing. I learn that when I blink and open my eyes to find I'm standing on a floating dias, surrounded by black abyss on either side of me that seems to disappear into forever. The single light in the room suspends above me, igniting a halo of white light around my little floating stand.
"Uh," I say, into the dark, "hello?"
A voice booms from the abyss before me, "Commander Spangle James, female, aged 48 years relative to her home planet. You stand accused of disrespecting this court and the entire institution of justice for which it symbolizes."
As I watch, a million little eyes open. They are yellow and slitted and watching me with a single united intent that makes part of my soul want to detach and run the hell away.
"This seems like a lot," I squeak, "for a couple of traffic tickets."
"You managed to commit a felony spanning dozens of impacted star systems. You nearly wiped out a bus stop of young tardigrades just trying to get to school and improve their evolutionary lot in life."
I just swallow and blink and wish I'd brought an attorney. Not that it had been presented as much of a choice.
"You're right," I say. "I'm from an underdeveloped species. We're horribly -- massively -- inconsiderate to our neighbors, and we'll surely never do it again."
All those eyes narrow at me. "You sped on the way here!"
And, well, I'll speed on the way back too, as I'm not too keen to die on a spaceship in the middle of cosmic nowhere.
I chew at my lip. "If I'm guilty, what's the verdict?"
"We have a very fair system if laws here. We maintain a belief in absolute collectivism: the will of one reflects the will of all. If we find you in violation of basic consideration for your fellow neighbors, we will simply incinerate your home planet until we are certain you no longer pose a threat."
"Very reasonable," I say, earnestly. "I wouldn't want to sure a universe with lawbreakers either." I hold up a cautionary finger. "But I would consider another possibility."
The eyes do not look impressed. The judge booms out, "What are you playing at, tiny human?"
"Maybe -- just maybe -- this could be for the whole, uh, community. Our little neighborhood."
I gesture, broadly, at the darkness around us, like it represents all of space.
The judge says nothing for seconds that feel like hours. Then it says, "Go on."
"Aren't you tired of everyone showing up late to court or missing messages or pretending they got caught up in some solar wind storm?"
"Stars, it happens more often than you can imagine."
"Well, we're sitting on opportunity here, my friend, for real community. Let us share our technology." The eyes look hopeful so I keep rattling on, trying to look confident in my bullshit. "We can revolutionize the court system as you know it."
"With faster than light travel?"
"Sure. Makes money. Makes the whole system run more smoothly. I bet you I can jet back to my home planet and talk out a deal with our, uh, judges and leaders and such. I'm well-known by all of them." I lift my chin like I'm not a glorified stunt woman with a PhD. "We can really change the game here."
"Well, I *am* a strong proponent of the healing power of community," the judge says. Its countless eyes look a little nostalgic and misty. "Yes, I think you're onto something."
I strut back to Lady *Liberty* with my tickets dropped and a new peace treaty signed, which I promised to carry back with me to Earth and bring them technology when we returned.
The judge even waves me off from its weird little abyssal cavern of a courtroom.
Halfway home, I toss the treaty out the air vac and let the cold vacuum of space devour it.
I was bullshitting the whole time, of course.
But it'll take them a few light-years to figure *that* out, and a few million more to make it over to Earth to kick my ass.
If you ever need to get out of intergalactic traffic court, I suggest that plan -- assuming your judge isn't a multi-eyed bastard with a real distrust for humans.
Drive safe out there.
| 2021-04-27T23:23:48 | 2021-04-27T23:20:30 | 191 | 102 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
"John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..."
|
"Unjustly" I said, as loudly and clearly as I could.
The presiding justice was an elderly man - probably in his late 80s, maybe even older. He blinked at me with steel grey eyes that despite his advanced age were as sharp and penetrating as any I had encountered.
"Unjustly." he replied, curtly. "Yes. You heard me correctly... Your honour" I hurriedly added. I didn't need a contempt of court charge dropped on me. It was bad enough being sentenced to death after all.
The rest of the panel started muttering between themselves. It was a good sign that they didn't appear to have an immediate answer to this reply.
The presiding justice put down his gavel and stared at me pointedly. "You are aware, are you not, that you pleaded guilty to all counts before this court?" I tried my hardest to show no emotion. "I am, your honour." "And you are aware also that the penalty for those charges - including the reckless misuse of magic causing the death of a mundane individual - is death?" keep the face impassive. Remain calm. "I am, your honour."
Some of the other members of the court had started producing law books and were engaged in pointing out various paragraphs to one another.
"It does not seem to me" The Justice continued "That 'unjustly' constitutes a _method_ of execution, so much as a moral standpoint, and is thus somewhat outside the terms of procedure for this sentencing."
The muttering to his left was increasing in intensity.
"Your honour, may I please reference the case of Barris Infernis VII vs The Court - 1682..."
One of the justices started jabbing a bony finger at the book in front of him and waving it under the faceless, hooded figure to his right. Clearly he had the case law right there.
"Your point?"
"My point, your honour, is that he requested to die 'with honour' and the court accepted that request. His life energy was transferred into healing the wounds of his surviving victims by the court by way of penance for crimes committed."
The book had now been passed along to the presiding justice and he paused to read the relevant passage.
I thought this was probably the best chance I had to make my case so I spoke up
"If I may continue your honor?" he didn't look pleased, but waved a hand at me in a way that suggested that I should carry on.
"If I am to die unjustly, then this court has sentenced me incorrectly. I would be due a retrial under the terms described in the revised judicial procedures act of 1939 section four paragraph twelve." Now he really did look cross.
"I think we all understand exactly what it is that you're trying to get across. However I would point out that you pleaded Guilty On All Counts. You have not been tried. You have been convicted entirely by your own admission, and this is merely a sentencing hearing. I would further mention that this court is entirely used to people attempting to use procedural trickery to escape their sentence and that it has, to this date, a precisely zero percent success rate over the eleven hundred year history of this fine institution."
He snapped the book in front of him closed with obvious annoyance.
"The defendant will return to his seat!" he barked to the room at large. A susurration spread throughout the gallery. I was "The defendant" all of a sudden. Anyone who stood at this podium for sentencing was referred to correctly as "The Condemned." and this court was nothing if not famously thorough in it's application procedure.
More notes were being passed back and forth between the other members of the panel, and yet more books were being hurriedly brought forth by the attending clerks. This was going as well as I could have possibly hoped for. After what seemed like an eternity The bailiff called for attention.
"ALL RISE!"
The entire panel got to their feet, along with everyone else in the - now extremely tense - chamber. Surprizingly it wasn't the presiding justice, but one of the panel of five that spoke. The voice from the apparently empty hood was dry and dusty, and somehow as if from very far away. It seemed likely that the apparently empty robe was infact just that, and this esteemed member of the court had been called from The Other Side to form part of today's panel of justice.
_"Thisss court is now in recessssss. The defendant will be returned to hissss ssssssell. Prosssedingsssss will resssssume tomorrow at firsssssst light."_
I did everything I could to avoid punching the air in delight. Remain calm. Have to remain calm. I'd bought myself the required time, now all I could do was wait for the others to play their parts.
| 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T07:50:17 | 1,590 | 457 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
"John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..."
|
Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar.
| 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 1,590 | 23 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I had originally been banking on using old age as a loophole, but watching that other guy wither into an old man has proven it to be very much not viable. So here I am, I need an escape plan. Scratch that, it's impossible, what I need is a loophole.
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I could try using paradoxes? No, that wouldn't work. Act of God? Well, Gods. One of them anyway.
"YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS TO GIVE YOUR ANSWER"
Damn. I guess if I am to die, I'll try to take them all with me.
"20"
What could take them out? Magic wouldn't have any effect, they're all the most skilled mages in existence.
"15"
Ooo... that's an idea... existence.
"10"
"Save your countdown, I know how I'd like to die."
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
"I wish to die by being swallowed up by the expansion and death of the Sun itself."
If I am to die, they're ALL coming with me.
|
Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar.
| 2021-06-24T07:19:48 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 236 | 23 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
“How would you like to die?”
What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t like to die at all! But still I must give an answer.
I am sentenced for crimes against magic. I tried to poison the Well of Magic. But truly magic is the root of all evil and corruption. It is just a way to cheat the laws of nature.
People without magic are barely 2nd class citizens. It has to stop. I have one last chance.
“By permanently and irrevocably destroying all magic.”
Either it works and my life goal is fulfilled or they refuse to kill me.
“Oh thank goodness!”
Not the answer I expected.
“We are finally free! The curse of magic is broken!” Exclaimed the head mage.
“Told you it would work,” said his vizier.
“You were right. Looks like if we pushed them far enough one of the stupid humans would find the loophole to end magic.”
The whole council faced me and bowed deeply.
“Thank you for fulfilling the prophecy and freeing us all!”
And then there was a blinding flash and I was over.
|
Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar.
| 2021-06-24T07:46:07 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 68 | 23 |
[WP] When you were trying to recruit the best healer healer around for your adventuring party, you were expecting a gentle, pretty healer girl. Not a grizzled middle aged woman who looks like she can wrestle a bear and has an attitude to match.
|
The old woman leaning on her odd staff with one hand and her claws on her other hand. Wait are those sharpened rib bones? Caleb shuddered. "Ahm well have a seat. Miss?"
"You may call me Zevanna. Expecting some naive things sculpted by her god to look a right tempting bit? Those young 'clerics' ain't real healers."
"We have been to such before. They close wounds with the power of their god. Even set mangled limbs right."
"You hit the nail on the head but not learned to drive the nail. The power of their god. They do not know what the wounds mean. Oh they know cut on arm is less than your entrails hanging out. But that just means shove the entrails back in and ask for a bit more of their patron's power. Break your leg, girl heals but the leg won't be straight. It fixed broken. Got to ask the patron to make the leg right. Then fix the damage. That ain't skill. It's begging." She grins with only one side of her face.
Flailing to regain control. "So I assume you have no god and no magic then. So we. ."
"I never claimed I had neither. I start with knowledge. With not a wisp of magic I can put a man's entrails in his belly. I can find nicks and wrong things in there and sew and clean them. Then sew and bandage the belly that the man will recover with not a lick of magic. I can set and bind a wound so you recover use of your leg or arm and regain the use of it just the same. Can your pretty cleric do that when her daily promises of power pass?"
"S so you said you know magic and godly gifts."
"Not a gift if he can take it away again. Just a loan. I can cast as you can mage boy. And I know the flows of the arcane that move as god power does. So after handling a wound mundanely. I can cast to speed the healing. Gut or leg you will be back in the fight. And if I am not needing to keep yer heart beating. I know my tools to make other buggers hearts stop."
At another table I see sir Jakob laughing with two curvaceous girls in little more than their smiles. I swear he sent this one to me. The tavern girl distracts me from my woes. A cute thing though dressed more to work than a bit of wenching. She places a tankard by me and a glass of wine by the crone.
The crone smile. "Lamalna. It has been a while."
The girl hugs the old woman like they are grandmother and granddaughter. "You know I have responsibilities Agha. I step in where I can." Then the girl looks to me. "Look you want to live through your quest. You will hire this young lady to look after you. Treat her with respect and she might remember sedatives when setting your bones."
|
"Ma'am" came the voice that seemed to grip his earlobe and twist upwards. He looked up from the stack of paperwork to see a looming shape hanging over him, not really blocking the light inside the pub, more like eclipsing it. Finding his senses after what seemed liked far too long, he realized his mouth was open.
"I'm sorry what...what was that?" he noted that his usual voice had a whimper due to some reflex.
"You said 'Excuse me Sir', I have corrected you. I am not a 'Sir'". came from what was most likely the mouth of the Eclipse.
Again his earlobe felt twisted and found his mouth was open again, this time in not a too embarrassingly long fashion. He cleared his throat to bide some time to find a reply and ended with him only finding his mouth open a third time.
"Young man, are you simple?" the statement was short and dry. It's tone was not one of mockery, or anything to be considered humor. In fact it was so far removed from humor that it could only be classified as "concern". Which in this setting, at this time of day was so foreign and off putting that it snapped him back to his senses.
"No, I am not simple!" came the edged rebuke. "How dare you say that? I am Sir Musa, grand adventurer and defender of the-"
"Be better if you were simple then, lad." came the same dry tone that didn't just throw cold water on Musa's rage, but opened a vacuum in space and sucked the atmosphere around it.
"What...what was that?" Musa replied indignantly.
"Are you deaf as well or is that your catchphrase?" quipped the Eclipse. "Don't get your blood boiling over some words, I've seen braver and stupider young men become cold meat over something as simple as improper tone. May I take a seat?"
Before a reply could be made the Eclipse took the chair in front the table, and Musa could finally confirm that yes there was a head and indeed a mouth on the Eclipse. Sitting in front of him the shape solidly filled out the chair with shoulders as wide as an axe handle, a very long axe handle he noted. The shape pulled off its fur hat to reveal a pleasant face, a face that was burgeoning on distinguished, however the scars prevented it from joining any social club that would have "distinguished" in its title. Finding herself comfortable in the chair, she took on an air of professionalism.
"Maryabelle is my name, I have come for the position you have posted. You have made it well known in this establishment that you are Musa, and can I please verify that you are looking for a healer?"
The shock finally left Musa, whose space was filled with embarrassment and anger. He did his best not to let this show "Yes, yes I am however there have all ready been several applicants that-"
"I have trained all applicants that you have seen and, let me tell you, the ones that have crossed your path are ones that I would not trust with healing blisters."
Musa's raised his eyes with some distain "Sounds like you are not much of a teacher then."
"No, sounds like their fathers' couldn't be bothered to teach them a trade that wasn't 'ladylike'. So they sent them off to me to be more appealing for a husband whose looking for a cleaner, cooker, baby-sitter and healer. I do not turn down anyone who wants to learn, regardless of where they come from, their intent, or whats between certain body parts. If the girls feel like marriage will make themselves, or most likely their parents, happy its usually enough motivation for them to learn that draining someone's blood when they have a chest cold is not a good idea, a wisdom that is in staggering short supply. There are few places where a young woman can become more than wife and mother, gods forbid they learn something to make them an individual so they can go off and look for fame and fortune. Perhaps by finding their great grand-pappy's precious rocks? Stop leaving your mouth open lad, you're attracting flies."
Musa's teeth clicked as his jaw shut and kept it clamped, it helped temper down whatever emotions the last statement flared up. It was secret, how the hell did she know?
She leaned into the table and folded her large calloused hands in front of her, signaling that she was attempting to make the next part as private as she can. "Those rings on your fingers. The last time someone of your line came up this way was over 40 years ago, their intentions were made well known, it didn't end well for them." She pushed back and her hands snapped up to reveal a pouch and pipe which she packed and lit.
"Are these theatrics supposed to impress me?" Musa coldly asked.
"Do they?"
Musa's silence was supposed to intimidate, however the look on Maryabelle's face was of stoic smugness that seemed to cascade from her eyes. Clearing his throat again, Musa absentmindedly shuffled the papers in front of him. His Uncle had told him the stories of those who went out into the world to search for what was lost. He had pressed him for more and more information, his Uncle was one to know many things, especially that stories and knowledge shouldn't die with his generation. Musa's ancestors had searched every part of the known world investigating rumors of what was lost. Every time they have found nothing but further speculation on who possesses it. The supposed owners tended to run the gambit of child-like pirates to blind dessert prophets, even one time supposed mountain apes. Every story was investigated, every search party had returned except one.
"I'm not one to mince words, who ever attempted to fix that eyebrow shouldn't be allowed to cull sheep." Musa looked up to find that Maryabella had leaned further in and wasn't exactly looking at him, more like examining him. "Let me guess...glancing blow to your face, someone tried to close it with staples, but it got infected. To the point where it was swollen and runny. So some fool said they knew what to do, they sat you down, got you drunk, then they broke out the cherry red running iron. How many attempts did it take? Looks like 4."
"Excuse me, i'm doing the interviewing here!" Musa shot back. "For your information it was 2 attempts." It was 2 attempts that Musa remembered, the first made him pass out, and the last one made him regain consciousness.
| 2021-12-22T08:23:56 | 2021-12-22T07:13:06 | 96 | 48 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
I pull my number from the machine that ranks us all. Shocked, I can't believe it, no one has ever had this number in all the books, movies, songs or anything. Putting away the ticket I ask people around if they had ever heard of someone having that number, careful not to reveal I had.
"Well, yeah someone has to be number 1. Can't say that I know anyone who pulled it though." Typical response. I can't believe it, I'm just a student, what was the chance of getting assigned #1. A pyrokinesis user blasts by, nearly knocking me over. I think I saw a ticket that said 998 in her hand. They're always using their powers to jet around, its a hazard and they never wear helmets. Oh well, if they get knocked out of the running then it just means someone else gets pushed up.
Dusting off my new pants, a nice middle aged man helps me up. "Damn pyros, lucky they don't burn the place down with how they fly."
"Thanks" I say, right as I notice the sign change from '999' to '001'.
A voice comes over the intercom, "Now serving deli customer one."
"Yes," I step forward, "I will take a quarter pound of chicken, a half pound of sliced honey ham, and some roast beef please."
|
The vast doors of my mansion opened wide, and a man in a royal gown entered the room. For a fleeting moment, I showed a slight smile, but it faded before he could see it. He, however, could not hold back his expression, full of furious rage. He had just taken a few steps in before he yelled out: "Vantalana, how can you do this to me!"
"Number Two, are you dissatisfied with me?"
"Stop f*cking with me V, you know what this has cost me."
I was glad I could contain my smile, for the bored expression I was showing antagonized him further. "So what are you going to do about it." That was when I suddenly started to pay attention to him. Anyone with any common sense could tell I was baiting him, but Henry Gothaul was too angry to notice. He was falling right into my trap.
"I challenge you," he pointed his finger glaringly at me. It took a remarkable amount of will to not snicker in return, "to a duel!" *Gotcha!* Even he noticed the smile that spread across my lips.
"Really?" I rolled my head to the side, obnoxiously, "Number 2 thinks he can beat Number 1?" His face lit up bright red with fury; Number 2 could be so childish sometimes!
"Why you scum!" He could barely keep himself from trying to kill me right then and there, but he couldn't. He left the room loudly stomping.
Are you confused? Let me explain: In this city half of the population is gifted random powers, such as telekinesis, sensors, etc, but the rest of the population who do not are called 'muggles', and serve those privileged with power. The Privileged live in a tournament. They are ranked based on their powers, and anyone can challenge a higher rank to a duel to the death to obtain their rank. I am Number One.
No one knows my power, because the duels take place in a sealed arena. Two people go in, one comes out. Those who survive the Arena say it changes for every fight, to best mediate each competitor's power. Even the sizes of the Arena change, in spite of the laws of physics, and survivors talk about 2km wide deserts, and 400m wide urban brawls. It's all rather interesting, but no one is known to have found a way to cheat this system, at least not yet.
The familiar doors of the Arena stood before me. I remember dozens of battles, in dozens of environments. I remind myself of my plan, and smile knowing that Number Two had lost the battle the moment he took my bait.
Henry stood in front of the massive gates of the Arena. He had slain many a foe inside of its walls, and thought about the glorious combat to come. His body ached in rage towards that snake of a woman! He would crush her and take his rightful place as Number One! The only reason she was Number One and he was not was an agreement they had made, that she would keep his daughter's power secret. He knew that he was lost, that he was obsessed with the Arena and that he would die in it some day, but he did not want to curse his daughter with the same fate. And yet that b*tch failed him! She convinced his daughter to fight for her, and now she would die! The doors opened, and he shouted his battlecry at the top of his lungs: "FOR LUCY!"
Inside the arena was a small town. It seemed about a kilometer on each side, with a rural town dominating the center of the field. In the very center of town was an old church, which sounded its bells. In each corner was a small patch of woods, perfect places to hide in. As the doors closed behind him, he began to teleport wildly, searching for the infernal woman. He teleported, and there- there she was! What was she doing, just standing on top of the steeple! Surely this was some sort of trick, it was in her nature to deceive. He waited for something to happen, but she did not move. To h*ll with this! If he did nothing, he would never figure out her power! He had to probe her. He teleported behind One, swung with his battlehammer, and- nothing. It passed through her body with no resistance, and she faded away. A hologram! He immediately teleported away. So that's her power- holograms! Still, it's remarkably similar to Number 4's illusions. But then again, it's not unheard of for two people to have the same power, and One seemed like she'd be much better that Four with them anyway. As he had anticipated, though, she did not have an offensive power. She may be able to deceive him, but all he had to do was make sure that none of the holograms got close, for she would have to do so to kill him! He stood up, a terrifying smile spreading across his face, ready to hunt down Number One.
Cont. in reply
| 2014-12-18T15:10:54 | 2014-12-18T13:16:53 | 164 | 47 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
"It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two.
|
Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off.
| 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T13:32:26 | 63 | 16 |
[WP] Your job is to open and close a door all day. Anything can appear on the other side. Your partner documents the results.
Hell, I have replies?? Why wasn't I notified??
|
"Door 34-972 is ready to be opened." The loudspeaker droned on. I yawned and scratched my shoulder while waiting for the observational team to get into place. Four figures in yellow rubber suits approached, two of them carrying clipboards.
"You may proceed." The lead droned on with what could only be the most annoying voice given to any creature under their sun.
I pulled the door open.
"Hall closet." One of the observers recorded, "Unsuitable, close."
I close the door.
The loudspeaker crackles back to life. "Re-calibrating.... Door 34-973 is ready to be opened."
I open the door.
"Garage door." Unsuitable."
I close the door.
"Re-calibrating.... Door 34-974 is ready to be opened."
I open the door.
"Bedroom!" The observer raises three fists in the air in triumph, "Kids bedroom. Decor suggests five to six year old."
"Have the door cataloged and sent to the Scare floor immediately." The drone-voice observer ordered, her giant slug form turning to leave, "Thank you for helping to locate a replacement for door 51-622. The CDA thanks you and wishes you a long a prosperous career here at Monsters Inc."
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I had been told mine was the most demanding job in the university, what a joke.
"You mean to tell me my job is to *open this door!?*" I spluttered.
"And to close it. It's very important that you close it." Erin said, moving over to her desk next to the Door itself. She'd been doing this for many years now. Some of the staff at the university said that she'd always done it.
I'd heard stories about the Door of course, everyone at the university had. Apparently there were murdered bodies behind it, or terrible monsters. Whatever the teller decided would be most dramatic that day. But fanciful stories were hardly a rarity at ancient institutions like this. Usually they're the result of the staff having some fun at the student's expense. I studied it now, eyes narrowed. The oak panels looked worn and faded, and the whole thing gave off a sense of profound age.
"This has to be a joke." I muttered, walking over to it. The Dean was certainly fond of them. I began to mentally plot out my revenge.
"I suggest you take a moment to mentally prepare yourself before we begin, Jake." Erin said, shuffling the papers on the desk.
I shot her a withering glare "Very funny."
I opened the door, it gave a large creak. I could not believe what I saw.
Below me, beyond the Door, spread a great plain. I could see mountains in the distance in one direction, and the horizon stretching out in the other. Upon the plain, two great armies clashed upon the grasses, their battle cries and sounds of clashing weaponry floating upward towards me. Above me, in the bright cobalt firmament, circled the distinctive dark outlines of carrion birds anticipating the feast to come. Two alien suns blazed down, bathing the whole scene in their iridescent rays.
"Oh, that's a new one." Erin remarked, scribbling something down. "Two suns. Medieval civilisation. Next."
I was momentarily lost for words. "I... what!?" I eventually managed. I began to poke my head through the aperture, trying to determine exactly where the door had opened above the battle. Erin loudly coughed as I leaned forward.
"Do not go through the opening, please. Close the door."
I did so, heaving the heavy wooden Door with an effort. The sounds of battle abruptly ceased as soon as it swung shut with a muffled *thud*.
I turned and stared incredulously at Erin. She continued to sit there as if nothing had happened, her glasses glinting softly in the low light of the cellar. "So, are you going to tell me what on earth that was?"
She transfixed me with a piercing stare, her blue eyes devoid of the wonder I felt. "For a start, it was nothing 'on earth'. Beyond that, I really couldn't say. That's why we're here after all, to learn more."
The second time I opened the Door I was greeted with a scene from a fairy tale. Gigantic plants loomed over me as I peered out into what looked like a rainforest, but one incredible to human eyes. House sized flowers sprouted from vines coiling up out of the earth, as wide around as the room in which I stood. Their hues were vivid shades of magenta, crimson and blue. I felt heady from their scent, and the heavy moist air that came flooding through the open Door before me. From within the verdancy came the cries of wildlife, at once eerily familiar and excitingly alien.
I closed the Door, breathless at the sight. Behind me, I heard the sound of Erin's deliberate scribbling.
"This is incredible!" I breathed. "Why haven't we gone through?"
The sound of Erin's pen stopped. "It is best you don't think about that. Again, please."
The third time I opened the door, I saw the child. He sat crying silently against one of the crumbling walls of a rubbish-strewn alleyway, tears cascading freely over emaciated cheeks coated in filth. Beside him lay the battered corpse of a woman, her hand curling protectively around the boy's waist, a mother even in death. All around them trash piled up against the bricks, an avalanche of dirt and grime covering everything. In the distance, a hundred chimneys belched forth columns of inky soot into a grey sky.
"Hey!" I called, stunned at the deperate scene before me. "Can you hear me?"
The boy looked up, apparently able to, and our eyes met through the opening. Fear shone through in his gaze, and he shuffled closer to the dead woman beside him.
"It's all right now, here, come on." I started to move forwards.
"Close the door, Jake." Erin called, her voice cold.
"You can't be serious." I replied, my temper rising. "Do you *see* this?"
"Close the door."
For the first time, I saw why they called this the most demanding job.
| 2015-06-07T06:57:28 | 2015-06-07T05:50:06 | 75 | 35 |
[WP] "If you can evade me until sunrise, you live". You are trapped in a McDonald's PlayPlace with a serial killer.
|
A strange man sat down next to me on the bench at the McPlayplayce.
“If you can evade me until sunrise, you live,” rasped the strange man over the 90’s jamz ‘NOW that’s what I call music’ playing in the background.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said to the strange man. I thought about adding ‘I didn’t hear you,’ but that would have been entirely untrue.
We looked at each other for a bit. He had reddish eyes, pale white skin, sharpened yellow teeth, and some kind of twitching problem with his eyebrows. Perhaps Tourette’s. Yes, that was probably it.
I gave him a broad, reassuring smile. “I’m Frank,” I said, holding out my hand.
He looked at it suspiciously. I broadened my smile and brightened my eyes. Poor guy probably had mean people making fun of him all the time. I wanted him to know that I understood his condition and supported his struggle.
His eyes narrowed to slits. My smile broadened even more--painfully so.
We stayed locked in this staring match for quite some time.
At some point, my wife and child decided to leave--perhaps they consulted me, I don’t know--I was too intent on providing support for this poor troubled soul. And then the McDonald’s staff left, and the sound of crickets filled the air, and then the McDonald’s staff came back, and it looked as if the sun was about to rise.
I continued holding my hand out to him, unwavering.
And then I had a deep, meaningful, soul-altering realization. I’d like to share it with you, because maybe it can help you learn something about yourself too.
He wasn’t a man with Tourette’s at all. He was just a Ronald McDonald statue. I don’t even think I have a wife and kids. My name isn’t even Frank. I’m not even sure if I’m an autonomous sentient being or a mere collection of moving parts with the illusion of a cohesive self.
Good night, everybody.
|
Stacey hears her phone ringing again for what seems like the tenth time as she's driving down the highway. She was starving and in a hurry. Her mom was going to kill her if she was late to her sister's wedding. She should've left yesterday, but of course, got caught up with work. She thought using that excuse again probably wouldn't be a good idea as she answered the phone, "Hey Sis, I'm on my way, still about an hour out, but I will be there, I promise! Don't tell Mel."
Christina was tired of always covering for Stacey, she let out a sigh and agreed, "Okay Stace, Mom is already freaking out that you're not here yet though. Just hurry..." and she hung up. Stacey was used to running to late, but she wasn't used to Christina acting like that. Melanie's wedding must have meant more to her than she thought.
Going eighty down the long straight highway made Stacey realize that she hadn't eaten today, and she was starving. Just then, she sees a billboard for McDonald's that says to take the next exit; usually she avoids the place at all costs, but she was too hungry to care this time and is just relieved that there's something out in the middle of nowhere. The billboard was old; it looked like rust and decay had set in long ago, but she didn't notice that.
As she pulled off the highway, she thought it was odd that there were no other buildings around. Usually there's a gas station or something, she thought to herself. She pulled into the parking lot and drove around the building; no drive through. Irritated, she puts her old beater in park and walks toward the door. When she gets there, the door automatically creeks open. The sound is odd enough to make her stop and curiously inspect the door. She tells herself that the building is just old and goes inside not thinking anything of it again until she realizes that there's no one behind the counters, in fact, there's no one anywhere.
Stacey walks about the building looking for someone, and hoping that someone responds to requests, "Heellloooooo? I just want some damn food."
As she opens the door to the playscape, she hears someone giggling. Confused, she thought to herself what kind of parent would leave their kid alone in a playscape. She climbed up the steps to the playscape and asked, "Are you lost? Do you need help?"
A child's voice responded, but it sounded distant, like they were in another room, "Come play with me!"
Stacey stepped on the first stair, and just as her other foot left the ground and met the stair leading to the playscape, everything changed. There were cob webs, and dirt everywhere. The stench was unbearable, it smelt like a hundred dead animal were burned. She tries to turn around and run, but as she does, she sees that the restaurant is no longer behind her, it's a never ending playscape. She couldn't see an end to it at least. That's when he appeared. A tall, slender man with his face painted white, his smile and nose painted red, and fiery red hair that hung down to his back kinked and knotted.
Stacey shook at the sight of the man. She was so scared that she thought that she might wet herself. The man's tongue slithered out of his mouth like a snake as spoke, "How nice of you to come play with me. I've been alone for a long time now, people stopped coming to visit." He moved closer to Stacey and reached out his hand towards her, "Evade me until sunrise, and you can leave the labyrinth and live." He caressed her face and ended their conversation, "Crawl away as fast as you can, can't evade me I'm the boogyman."
Stacey crawled away as fast as she could, she crawled for her life. She crawled faster than she thought humanly possible. It seemed like each corner she turned was the same as the last, like she was just going in circles. Finally, something different, a long dark purple tunnel. It was larger than the other ones. She crawled slowly down the tunnel, scared of the unfamiliarity of it. Crawling as carefully as she could, she still slid down the slide at the end of that tunnel face first. It was full of turns and bumps, and she kept getting her clothes caught on a nail or something. Finally she saw a light, "A light at the end of the tunnel!" she whispered to herself. "This has to be it." Relief came over her body, she felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted off of her all at once. As she approached the end of the tunnel, she saw a silhouette. She couldn't make out who it was until it was too late, far too late. She slide off the slide and tumbled to the floor at the feet of the man she was trying to run from. A huge grin came over his face and she noticed that the red around his mouth and nose wasn't paint, it was blood. She seemed and pleaded with pleaded with him; he just kept smiling. Finally he reached down to grab her and said, "You lose. What a nice addition to my collection."
The man dragged her through a maze of hallways covered in blood until they reached a large metal door. The man brought her into what she only assume was his kill room. There was a large alter like table in the middle that was surrounded in human skulls. On the wall it looked like he was making a mural of some sort out of flesh, teeth, and hair. She closed her eyes as tight as she could and the man picked her up and slammed her down on the table. She should have kept them closed. As soon as she peaked through her watering eyelids she saw the machete coming towards her neck and screamed, which is exactly what he wanted.
| 2015-09-04T17:34:47 | 2015-09-04T16:07:34 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] When a child is abducted by aliens, the child's guardian angel joins forces with the monster under the bed to save them.
|
It shouldn't have gone so wrong. The plan was perfect. The execution flawless. In and out before anyone was the wiser.
The hallway was filled with remnants. Shattered shells and empty corpses lined the halls. The screams of the dying were still echoing through the corridors, winding their way through the barely breathable air.
*How did it go so wrong?*
It had to make its report. That was why it had stayed hidden when **they** came. It had pretended to fall, lifeless, when the shadows slithered from the vents like angry lines of nonexistence, tossing the other crew about with terrifying strength. Watched them writhe into a being of inky blackness, ichor dripping from its many limbs. Watched those same limbs lift up his broodmate and rend it into so many component parts.
It was just a little member of the herd. There were billions of herd animals on this backwater planet. Billions. A ridiculous number. How could they have known this one had such potent guardians?
It crawled to the transmitter. They needed help. Needed to warn the rest of the fleet. Do not approach. It made the adjustments quickly. There was no telling how long until the tentacles returned - or the other one.
The transmission code wasn't long - EXTREME DANGER, ALL LIVES LOST, DO NOT APPROACH - and soon it was sent through the vastness of luminspace to home. By the time it finished, the sounds of brutal slaughter had drifted into an ominous silence.
It rose on all fours, steady now that the warning had gone. Perhaps the invaders had gone as well. Now that they had made their point. It would have to find out.
Flitting from shadow to shadow, riding the lifttubes to the lower warrens, it made good time. It saw nothing else alive - just more and more shattered bodies. The lucky ones.
Here and there it saw the others - burned and sliced, expressions of disbelief and horror etched into every line and plate. It mourned them. Their souls had been removed with wicked flame. If ever it had wondered at the evil of these invaders, it had only to look at the wounds to know that some alien horror was among them, wielding weapons of incalculable might - they had tamed the flames of damnation.
The holding pen the little herdling had been in was empty. The other holding pens held their prizes, although many looked as horrified as it felt. The pzzych acquired five cycles prior were trying to hide under the plant matter dumped in their pens for food. Other's were cowering or snarling. Two had been broken in half - the piping twik and the things everpresent companion, some semi-rotten garbage still clinging to the discarded pieces. The beast had been here.
Finally it made its way to the heart of the ship, the luminessen drive chamber. It began to work on starting the proper methods of rousing the spirit inside the light chamber before it heard it - the soft sound of doom.
It turned, hoping for the beast, and was afraid. The other was there. It looked like a herd member - starlit skin, long fur on its head shaped to fall around it. The thing's mouth moved but it mattered not. The doom had come.
*I will meet -*
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Sariel laid his charge back into his little bed. With the coming of the dawn, the night would be a bad dream, one he would try to recall and forget.
He turned to the thing and bowed.
"I could not have found him, Slith. I owe you much."
"Do not be silly old friend. You owe me nothing - I care for him too."
"The last one sent a message to its kind. A warning I think. We should have untroubled nights from here on."
"If they are foolish enough to come again, we shall be waiting for them. This is our world and we shall guard their minds," punctuating its words with a wave encompassing the black mass of tentacles and the boy, "and their souls, as we have done since their first breaths so many years ago."
"Indeed," the angel nodded judiciously, "the trinity of form, anima and volition will endure. The legions are endless-"
"And the shadow grows," the blackness responded, before turning away and slithering underneath the tiny bed.
Sariel watched his charge sleep for a few moments more, before fading into the moonlight.
"Sleep well little prince."
(Edited two errors; thanks for the kind words.)
|
"Smoke?" The creature asked, large clawed hand holding out a packet of cigarettes.
"No! Of Course not!" The angel replied in a scoff. "And Harold, I wish you would stop smoking those things, they're terrible for you! And what about second hand smoke..."
"Yah well.. I wish you'd call me Harry, geeze Reg. Fine." The demonic monster huffed and slouched against the wall, pulling a long puff from the cigarette and then blowing a long stream of acrid smoke that reeked of one-part nicotine and one-part brimstone.
Reg huffed but leaned against the wall next to Harry all the same. "You know it's Reginald, Har... Harry." He sucked in a breath and glanced at the stars. "So... you are taking a vacation next week? Any plans?"
Harry shrugged, glancing at his cigarette. "Ah... you know... visit the family back home. Kinda sucks you don't ever get to take a break..."
"Goes with the job, Harry. Goes with the... Wait a what is that?" Reg's eyes had locked onto a star in the sky, it was twinkling... and moving.
"What is what?" The monsters asked, not noticing the stars and instead was looking around the dark shrubs of the backyard.
"That!" Reg exlaimed, his finger tracking the now quickly moving light, it was racing across the sky and growing brighter and larger by the second.
"Ah... shit..." Harry mumbled as he spotted the approaching intruder.
"LANGUAGE!" Reg snapped but was quickly distracted as the lights separated into six, spinning around the underside of a large flying saucer. "No! No! No! Curses! I knew it was a bad idea to let him watch Alien History! Just because something is on the History Channel doesn't make it educational!"
"Sheeeet..." Harry mumbled again, a beam of light had crept from the center of the saucer and filled their charge's room. A moment later a small child in pokemon pajamas was floating out and up into the craft, still asleep, blanket draped over his body.
"LANGUAGE!!!" Reg snapped louder.
The two looked at each other, at the ship, then at each other again. Reg jumped upwards, his wings unfurling and lifting himself into the sky. Harry jumped as well but with no wings of his own his clawed hands grasped onto the angel's ankles. Interrupting Reg's ascent and causing him to stall in the sky.
"Let me go you damnable demon!"
"No... I'm coming too!" Harry shouted back. "He's just as much mine as yours!"
Reg groaned and fell to the ground. He glanced at the demon, was about to protest, then thought better of it. Instead he rushed into the house. "Quick! There isn't much time!"
The demon followed and the pair quickly made their way to the child's room. Toys scattered all about, posters of video game characters and cartoons on the walls. Reg made his way to the toy box and dug around a moment before pulling out a small plastic backpack that had the shape of a jetpack. He tapped it with his finger and it quickly grew in size and complexity. Turning into a large jetpack big enough to strap around the demon and lift him off to space.
The demon took the contraption, turned it around and was about to protest but realized drastic times meant for drastic measures. As he put it on Reg grabbed a few key items from the room and the pair stepped to the window. Above them the flying saucer was already ascending, a circular door in the middle of the ship slowly sliding shut. Inside, their charge, unsecure and unsafe.
The demon grabbed the angel and activated the pack. Sparks and flames filled the world around them as they shot up into the night's sky. Like a reverse meteor they shot upwards, leaving a long trail of bright light and flame, rocketing upwards. Harry laughed and bellowed with joy while the Angel prayed loudly, doing his best to control their reckless ascent with his wings until they reached the ship a few moments later, the demon's long pointed tail slipping inside the door just as it shut closed with a thud.
The ship was full of bright lights and chrome. Tall grey aliens seemed to have paid the stowaways no mind as all focus was on the little child now laid out on their examining table. They had removed the blanket and a series of ominous looking tools were being laid out around the boy. Reg glanced at the situation and noticed the child's eyes. "He's only pretending to be asleep, he's peaking out of his eye lids but they don't notice..." he whispers to his demonic companion.
The demon nods, and unflexes his tensed claws. "Ah well then I guess Timmy can handle it then."
Reg nods, takes the flashlight from his hand which he had grabbed from beside Timmy's bed and tosses it to the child. Timmy shoots up, wide awake, and grinning at the Aliens around him, which shocked by the sudden change all jump back. He turns on the flashlight only it's not just any flashlight it's also a light sword. And with several flashes around the room the aliens are quickly cut to pieces and then vanish.
"You can look now..." Reg says, poking Harry who had ducked behind the angel and was covering his eyes. "He's turned off the flashlight."
Harry nodded and sighed, lifting himself up and the pair turned to watch the child explore the alien ship.
Reg in his kindest tones advised, "Timmy, we should really get going. I would hate for your mom to check in on her precious little child and find him missing!"
Timmy, however, seemed to ignore the advice of his guardian angel and had found his way over to the controls of the ship.
Harry laughed, "Let 'im have a little fun Reg. When's he ever gonna get to be in a flying saucer again any time soon?"
Reg huffed, "Knowing his imagination, very..." his conversation was cut short as the flying saucer shot forward. The resulting g-forces sending Reg and Harry flying to the back side of the circular room while Timmy settled into the control chair, laughing madly as the lights of the city streaked below them.
The two struggled back to their feet only to be tossed to the left, then the right, then up, then down as Timmy gleefully caused the saucer to bank, roll, and spin all around.
"I'ma be sick..." Harry mumbled as Reg finally managed to spread out his wings and arms and anchored himself to the ceiling. Harry then turned to a port window, perhaps hoping to see the ground and counteract his motion sickness. Instead however he spotted a pair of fighter jets racing towards them. "Erm... Reg..." He says, pointing at the oncoming fighters. "We've... got company..."
"Now... I'm sure they're investigating..." Reg replied, moving himself to look out the window. "It would be silly of them to try to attack a..." his words broke off as he watched a missile leave the jet, arcing quickly towards them.
It was then a blur, Timmy taking evasive maneuvers, rolling, lifting, turning, twisting. The demon and the angel found themselves flung to all sides of the ship as the boy avoided missile after missile before lifting them up off into space and suddenly weightlessness engulfed them.
This time Harry really was sick and putrid chunks of vomit spread around him, creating a nebula of filth around the demon.
Reg pushed himself away from his demonic companion and floated towards his charge. "It's been fun Timmy, but it's time to go home now..." He reached over the child and pressed a button. He didn't know how to control the ship, or what any of the buttons did but he needed a button to return them all safely home so of course his finger pressed it.
The ship sunk back down to the earth again, coming to a gentle stop over Timmy's house and returning the now very drowsy child to his bed, blanket, pajamas, and all. The pair looked over their charge and sighed.
Reg glanced at Harry, "you know what... fuck it. Mind if I join you on that vacation?"
| 2016-07-09T23:50:58 | 2016-07-09T23:17:03 | 43 | 19 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
|
"Does the item have to consist of one piece, or can it consist of multiple parts to build one entity?", I asked Merlin. He looked at me, puzzled, and responded, "As long as it's solid, has real form to it, you should be successful in summoning it." he replied.
"Okay, Merlin. Hope you like bricks. This next item I summon will be our main line of defense, and *it's gonna be euge.*"
EDIT: Man, after lurking this sub for so long I finally make a post and it receives moderate attention. Thanks for the friendly welcome, folks!
|
Lying on my back I begrudgingly realize it's morning. I really can't be bothered waking up. Stretching my arms over my head I yawn deeply, quickly interrupted by a mouthful of smoke... my incense must still be smoldering still from last night. Extending my finger tips I notice I can't feel the wall at end of my bed. Feeling around I fumble to pull my pillow to me...Wait, no pillow either?. I let out a sigh *ugh*. I must have fallen out of bed.
I open an eye and shield it immediately from the bright light, forcing me grunt from the shock. Rolling to my front I drag my knees to my chest one at a time - I let out a slight groan, stiff from sleeping on the floor. Slowly peeking through the slits of my eye lids I adjust to the brightness of the room. It's then I notice I'm on a soft lush deep crimson rug, looking up the it ends upon a polished stone floor. I see I'm in the middle of what appears to be a large hall, huge pillars rise up to a vaulted ceiling. Built into the pillars are dozens of lit candles, adding ambiance to the bright morning light glimmering off the smooth stone floor from windows. Gathering my senses I stand up, rubbing my eyes they focus and I notice I'm not alone. People lining the walls around me are staring and whispering to each other. They appear dressed in shawls of orange and red. A slight feeling of confusion and embarrassment over come me; *am I dreaming?*. Looking to my left and turning, I bump into something... no, it's someone.
A tall elderly gentleman in a worn dark blue cloak looks down upon me, his face a serious look of contempt made even more stricken by the deep wrinkles between his thick furled brow. A long grey beard flows over his cloak, hiding several medallions hanging from his neck. Meeting his steely pale blue eyes, they appear to look right in through me. Seconds pass as I meet his gaze, his eyes boring into my skull. I open my mouth to speak, but only manage a white noise, *uhhh*. Abruptly he turns and I follow his gaze to a young man sitting on a throne atop a stage in the room. He is garnished in several layers of fine silks and cloths of bright velvets and reds, an intricate bright gold jewel encrusted crown upon his head. Next to him an empty throne, and either side of his platform are two, what appear to guards, in chain mail and freshly polished thigh, knee and shin armor. At their side a sword each, a red sash around their waste and matching red tunic under the armor. The elderly man speaks in a slow and clear deep voice "Arthur, I present to you this here savior of ours, summoned from afar".
*Wait, what?*, did I hear that correctly?. Looking quizzically between the old man and the throne bound 'Arthur'. I go to step forward when from no where the old man extends his arm in front of me, now with a staff in hand, and stands it in my path, *where did that come from?*, I wonder. Before I could think or proceed further, Arthur declares "Splendid work Merlin, be sure he is the one". And suddenly I am ushered by two of the guards out of the room, with the old man leading the way. I follow stumbling over the first couple of steps, still hazy in my waking up. Confusion now holds me closely.
After being led down a stone hallways for a minute, I follow the old man, Merlin, to a room. He gestures me to a wooden chair against one wall and he makes his way to a table at the far end. I try to speak a couple times, but each met with a stamp of his staff on the ground as he rummages through piles of books and scrolls. Minutes pass and he eventually turns to face me. A gentler look rests on his face now, and moments pass as he looks at me, then states, "You have been brought here to save our kingdom, Camelot". I raise an eyebrow and query, "I have been brought *where*, exactly?"
----
Will continue later, even if just for myself :)
| 2016-11-28T02:15:50 | 2016-11-28T01:40:06 | 82 | 58 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
We had a pretty decent society, everyone thought. At 12pm on your 18th birthday you would receive your Calling. One word. It appeared on your forearm. Either "Creator" or "User". So engineers, artists, programmers, architects, chefs etc were Creators. They created stuff for Users to use. Users used their creations as well as possible. It was a pretty symbiotic relationship. My parents were Users. Dad a train driver and Mum a waitress. Made pretty good money. We had a nice upbringing, my sister and I. She was a Creator. 21 and a hit on YourTube. She had an an infectious optimism about her. I must admit, it did feel strange seeing her on the 40 foot vid screens that were everywhere, as I trudged to school each day. The internet is huge and fair. Everybody enjoys it. Problem is, its a little boring. Don't get me wrong, Creators do excellent work but if you've seen one dancing dog balancing an egg on a spoon in its mouth, you've seen them all.
My Calling is today. Well, in a few minutes, to be exact. Personally, I can't see what the excitement is about. It's either one or the other. I don't mind which, to be honest. Though I have an inclining it'll be Creator. Call it intuition or whatever. Then again, I'm pretty lazy, so maybe not.
Tick. My parents sit across from me expectedly, Dad smoking his pipe. The air is thick with the sweet smelling smoke that defined the happiest days of our childhood. Mum doles out sandwiches to friends and neighbours who gathered with us in our expansive living room. One of Dad's friends is running a book on my result and stands to lose quite a bit if Creator is my given Calling. I smile at the thought which Mum takes to represent happiness about the coming situation.
Tock. My sister is recording everything. We are live on her channel, which wasn't new but sometimes a little privacy wouldn't go amiss, though she'd probably be aghast at the very thought. One hundred and forty two million people must have something better to do, surely than watch our proceedings. Judging by the comments she was receiving, clearly not unfortunately.
The Calling Clock chimes its notes. The room falls to a deathly hush, all eyes on my arm. I wonder if it hurts. I'd been assured for years it didn't but could you really trust anyone who accepted their lot in life, without question? I look at my arm, catching the enthusiasm around me as infectiously as my sister's followers hung on her every word. Nothing yet. I glance at the clock. It's ticking towards 12.01pm. He was always a late developer, my mother announces. Smiles and chuckles break out amongst the eager throng gathered in our home. 12.01pm comes and goes, followed silently by 12.02pm. Still nothing. The chuckles turn to murmurs. Disquiet hangs thick in the air, almost like a mist. My Mother and Father have turned a strange shade of ghastly white. This is unknown. Its always automatic. By 12.01pm, your life is always mapped ahead of you.
Suddenly letters start to form on my skin. Unknown combinations. The room erupts into pandemonium. Nobody has seen this before, ever. What does it mean? Nobody knew. Somehow, though, I did. At that moment, I realised I'd always known. I lifted my phone and typed one sentence on my sister's comments. It's flashed immediately around the World, on billboards as tall as houses. On phones, TV's, computers, trains, planes, toasters. You name it. I stand, shove my phone in my back pocket and walk silently down stairs, to the basement, giving everyone the finger as I go.
I wasn't the best. I wasn't the most popular, as things turned out. But I was the first. As I lay here on my deathbed looking at the words that define me, I smile at the photo of the headstone that will stand over me very soon, emblazoned with my comment.
"You idiots are fucking losers."
My life slips away but TROLL. FUCK YOU. will be eternal.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T02:08:33 | 427 | 188 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 11:56am, on the 6th of November, 2018. The family had gathered around, Uncle Leon and his boyfriend David, my Mum and most importantly; my sister.
My Uncle had been given ***COLLECTOR*** and spent the majority of his life as a Tax Collector, in and out of offices and working with Trackers for the New Earth Government. My Grandfather was given ***SOLDIER*** and he fought during the Vietnam War and served his entire career in the Army while my mother was given ***INSPIRE***, through the hardships she experienced in life she would one day go on to become a world-renown philanthropist and built a successful business to help others in need.
11:57...
"I can't wait to see what you'll get! I hope it'll be Hero or Protector, imagine that, having a big brother as a hero!" Exclaimed my sister,
I chuckled, "Don't get too ahead of yourself."
11:58...
I looked up to see people I'd known and loved during my 18-year tenure on this world and I was only two minutes from discovering my future.
11:59...
My Uncle came over and shook my hand, "Whatever happens mate, we'll love you no matter what."
I smiled in return and closed my eyes, ready for the big moment.
12:00...
I gritted my teeth, feeling the burning sensation as the word was etched into my arm. I opened my eyes to see my family, standing there, terrified. I slowly tilted my head downwards and saw five letters sitting there;
***DEATH***
My mum broke down, years of working hard to give us, her kids a better life gone to waste. My Uncle started to walk over as I felt yet another sensation in my arm...
"Oh my God... Look!"
Afraid to see what awaited me, I looked down at my arm once more and what I saw... I will never forget.
***DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS***
EDIT: This is my first WP so go nice please :)
|
It was 11am and the party was in full swing, cousins and uncles, aunties and nephews had arrived from all around to take part in my Naming Day.
In big cities it would be a purely family affair, San Fran York was not one of those places and it seemed like the whole village had turned out at the town hall to celebrate this day with me. I was nervous, beyond any amount of nerves I had ever felt before, more nervous than the time I had asked Isabel to the dance, she turned me down and I was heartbroken, the popular crowd in school had laughed at me for a while after that for trying but at least I knew. My mind returned to today with a "wtf are you thinking about that for" thought, but I didn't want to think about what my destiny would be. I had a lot to live up to, my brother was being flown out from the Halls of Rule, everyone had been ecstatic when his destiny came up as "Prime Minister", how on earth could I live up to that? My brain started imagining the worst things that could appear, pornstar would be bad, sewer worker was always a cruel joke among the other kids but I was more worried about something dangerous like army grunt. The worst I ever heard of was a "Martyr" that someone got once though right now I couldn't remember if that was a true story or some dumb rumor.
11:30am came all to slowly and time appeared to be slowing down and everyone began to sit down, it was like an old graduation picture I had seen in a history book except I was the only one they were here for, even the bullies had come to see but they were just here to have a good laugh when I got my "Slave" marking or "table" or something equally degrading, at least now it was time for me to get ready and I could hide away from everyone for a while.
11:50am
Time was definitely moving slower now each tick of the clock felt like hours. I decided to think more about the ceremony itself and what I would have to do, I was sitting in a small room inside the town hall and I would be the first to see my destiny, then I would walk out into the lobby where my family can see me, they would know next and finally we would walk out of the main door and onto the stage where I would show the Mayor and he would proclaim it to the town. There would be lots of congratulating or commiserations afterwards but always cake and alcohol, it is my 18th birthday afterall.
12:00am
It was time, at first nothing happened but this was to be expected as clocks aren't always 100% in time with random natural effects. I was worried, but if anything went terribly wrong I could always sneak out of a window and run away to live in the jungle and eat bugs and and... Then I felt it, a tingling sensation in my arm, like it had fallen asleep, I waited for it to pass and then with a deep breath I looked at my arm...
12:01am
"That. Isn't. Possible." I told myself over and over, but the word did not change no matter how much I wanted it too, I never imagined this scenario because it was entirely unheard of. There was a knock at the door and I heard my mother ask if everything was alright. I calmly got up and opened the door to see her face, she looked worried too but I guess if you know someone has just found out their destiny and was not jumping for joy then it wasn't a great one.
I showed her my arm and all the colour drained from her face, she grabbed hold of me and headed for the bathroom, her face was now filling with red anger and she almost threw me into the room. She turned on the taps and then rounded on me "How dare you write something like that, this is a serious matter and you choose now to joke around?" "Mum, I didn't..." but she cut me off in one of her 'Motherly Rants' that she had sometimes. I tried to explain but really I had no clue either.
After several attempts to wash the wording off me she realised that this was real, I hadn't been joking and now my arm was red and scratched except for the wording, that had remained clear as anything.
Together we headed out to the lobby, bypassing the rest of my family as we were already late for the next stage and everyone would be getting very worried.
12:15am
My mother pushed my forward up the stairs of the stage and I shuffled over to the Mayor, his smile had started to fade when he saw me, I guess I didn't look so good. I walked over to him and gave him my arm, his face did the same thing as my mothers, it was as if someone had applied a greyscale filter to him.
12:18am
We had been standing there for a while with the Mayor just looking at me, a mixture of confusion and terror had settled onto his face and there were murmurings in the crowd, but it was time, they all had to be told what my destiny was.
12:20am
The Mayor returned to the podium and cleared his throat, the crowd had gone silent. Even then the words came out horse and croakey when the Mayor tried to speak prompting him to clear his throat again and take a gulp of water from his glass.
"Good townspeople of San Fran York" he began in a shakey voice, "We have a new man among us, a new man who has discovered his destiny." his voice was getting stronger now but you could hear him faltering every few words. Gesturing to me he continued "Timothy has found his path in life, he is to be:" he paused again, a last chance before we all had to deal with this, a last moment for it to all be a bad dream and wake up "A Wizard!" he proclaimed...
| 2017-03-16T02:18:58 | 2017-03-16T00:05:48 | 212 | 91 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 11:59 and while the whole family gathered around, my mother was no where to be seen. I expected that she would have joined us. After all, she'd been there for my older sister's reveal, and my brother's reveal. But instead she was watering the garden while it rained steadily.
C'mon, mom, I know I'm not your favorite, but you could at least put on a front this time.
"It's noon!" my sister squealed. "Pullupyoursleeve!"
A moment of dread shot through me. I can't say that I knew exactly what was wrong, but I knew that something wasn't right. There was no tingling in my arm, just a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something was going to be revealed today and I wasn't going to like it.
I pulled up my sleeve and no words appeared. Frantically, I pulled up the other sleeve, shoving it all the way up to my armpit. It had to be there. My sister tugged my shirt up, peeking under it. Not that the words ever appeared anywhere besides on your dominant forearm. "Where is it?"
"He won't get it yet," my mother barked from the sliding glass door. "He's not going to be 18 for another two months."
"What?" I yelped. "Today's my birthday!" My sister's hands fell and my shirt slid back down into place.
My mother shook her head. "You're father and I were separated, and I met a man..." she said quietly, her round eyes darting towards my father.
"You said the baby was mine! You said he was just early!" my father shouted.
She crumpled into a chair, her wet hair dripping onto her face. Her mouth wobbled and she stared at the floor. "He's not and he wasn't."
Two months and three days later, my parents' marriage was in shambles, and I walked into my sister's room, pulled up my sleeve, and showed her the words that had appeared the day before. "MARRIAGE COUNSELOR"
|
It was 11am and the party was in full swing, cousins and uncles, aunties and nephews had arrived from all around to take part in my Naming Day.
In big cities it would be a purely family affair, San Fran York was not one of those places and it seemed like the whole village had turned out at the town hall to celebrate this day with me. I was nervous, beyond any amount of nerves I had ever felt before, more nervous than the time I had asked Isabel to the dance, she turned me down and I was heartbroken, the popular crowd in school had laughed at me for a while after that for trying but at least I knew. My mind returned to today with a "wtf are you thinking about that for" thought, but I didn't want to think about what my destiny would be. I had a lot to live up to, my brother was being flown out from the Halls of Rule, everyone had been ecstatic when his destiny came up as "Prime Minister", how on earth could I live up to that? My brain started imagining the worst things that could appear, pornstar would be bad, sewer worker was always a cruel joke among the other kids but I was more worried about something dangerous like army grunt. The worst I ever heard of was a "Martyr" that someone got once though right now I couldn't remember if that was a true story or some dumb rumor.
11:30am came all to slowly and time appeared to be slowing down and everyone began to sit down, it was like an old graduation picture I had seen in a history book except I was the only one they were here for, even the bullies had come to see but they were just here to have a good laugh when I got my "Slave" marking or "table" or something equally degrading, at least now it was time for me to get ready and I could hide away from everyone for a while.
11:50am
Time was definitely moving slower now each tick of the clock felt like hours. I decided to think more about the ceremony itself and what I would have to do, I was sitting in a small room inside the town hall and I would be the first to see my destiny, then I would walk out into the lobby where my family can see me, they would know next and finally we would walk out of the main door and onto the stage where I would show the Mayor and he would proclaim it to the town. There would be lots of congratulating or commiserations afterwards but always cake and alcohol, it is my 18th birthday afterall.
12:00am
It was time, at first nothing happened but this was to be expected as clocks aren't always 100% in time with random natural effects. I was worried, but if anything went terribly wrong I could always sneak out of a window and run away to live in the jungle and eat bugs and and... Then I felt it, a tingling sensation in my arm, like it had fallen asleep, I waited for it to pass and then with a deep breath I looked at my arm...
12:01am
"That. Isn't. Possible." I told myself over and over, but the word did not change no matter how much I wanted it too, I never imagined this scenario because it was entirely unheard of. There was a knock at the door and I heard my mother ask if everything was alright. I calmly got up and opened the door to see her face, she looked worried too but I guess if you know someone has just found out their destiny and was not jumping for joy then it wasn't a great one.
I showed her my arm and all the colour drained from her face, she grabbed hold of me and headed for the bathroom, her face was now filling with red anger and she almost threw me into the room. She turned on the taps and then rounded on me "How dare you write something like that, this is a serious matter and you choose now to joke around?" "Mum, I didn't..." but she cut me off in one of her 'Motherly Rants' that she had sometimes. I tried to explain but really I had no clue either.
After several attempts to wash the wording off me she realised that this was real, I hadn't been joking and now my arm was red and scratched except for the wording, that had remained clear as anything.
Together we headed out to the lobby, bypassing the rest of my family as we were already late for the next stage and everyone would be getting very worried.
12:15am
My mother pushed my forward up the stairs of the stage and I shuffled over to the Mayor, his smile had started to fade when he saw me, I guess I didn't look so good. I walked over to him and gave him my arm, his face did the same thing as my mothers, it was as if someone had applied a greyscale filter to him.
12:18am
We had been standing there for a while with the Mayor just looking at me, a mixture of confusion and terror had settled onto his face and there were murmurings in the crowd, but it was time, they all had to be told what my destiny was.
12:20am
The Mayor returned to the podium and cleared his throat, the crowd had gone silent. Even then the words came out horse and croakey when the Mayor tried to speak prompting him to clear his throat again and take a gulp of water from his glass.
"Good townspeople of San Fran York" he began in a shakey voice, "We have a new man among us, a new man who has discovered his destiny." his voice was getting stronger now but you could hear him faltering every few words. Gesturing to me he continued "Timothy has found his path in life, he is to be:" he paused again, a last chance before we all had to deal with this, a last moment for it to all be a bad dream and wake up "A Wizard!" he proclaimed...
| 2017-03-16T03:19:48 | 2017-03-16T00:05:48 | 129 | 91 |
[WP] 13 years ago, you were part of a government-funded project researching inter-dimensional travel until it was discontinued. This morning, you woke up normally, only you have an extra child, your home adress is different and the project is still going strong.
|
Hear me out. I know that what I’m about to tell you is going to sound ludicrous, and at the end of it all, I don’t expect you to believe a word I’m saying, but belief is not what I’m after. I’m just looking to share my story in the hope that those who understand will be able to make the change before it’s too late.
I work in a government facility called Dugway in western Utah. Far below the façade of the military training base lies the project I work on called Operation Phoenix. Operation Phoenix is a project that was ordered by President Clinton in the 90s as a sort of pocket-ace in the event a cataclysmic event occurred. After dozens attempts at time travel failed, my team was put on a sister project to study the possibility of multiple, parallel timelines. Instead of preventing the event, we would simply send a select few to a universe in which the event didn’t happen, to steer humanity in another direction.
In 2000, the original Phoenix team was assigned to a different project, and in 2004, the whole department was shut down and the project was shelved. I spent the next thirteen years on other projects for the government, many of which are inconsequential at this point because they never happened.
I awoke this morning as usual, showered, drank coffee, and got ready for work. I was almost out the front door when I noticed the difference. A picture on the wall, one from a family vacation five years ago, had a face I didn’t recognize.
I asked my wife who the child was. She laughed at first until she saw the expression on my face, the growing horror that was churning inside of me. She told me it was our daughter, Emma.
I felt dizzy and tasted copper in my mouth. Emma was the name we’d decided on for the girl that my wife would miscarry thirteen years ago. My wife asked me if I was all right, but I didn’t answer. It was as if my head was under water.
I went to my office and clicked on the computer. The screen greeted me with another unfamiliar photograph on my desktop, this one of a Christmas that seemed to be somewhat recent. I opened up the web browser and clicked through events from the past thirteen years. I found a group called ISIS that I’d never heard of, public shootings and massacres, beheadings, war, chaos. None of these things had happened in my lifetime until this morning.
I knew in an instant what had happened. I phoned my department head, and he answered on the second ring. “It worked.” I said. “Phoenix worked.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.
“The Phoenix project we ended in 2004.”
“Ended? Son, we started that project in ’04.”
My mouth went dry.
“What the hell is going on? You better get down here for a debriefing ASAP.”
“I’m on my way,” I said, then hung up the phone.
Phoenix was only supposed to be used in the event of apocalyptic proportions, for the betterment of the species. It was only to be used after every last option had been explored and the human race could no longer survive. We were to find a better timeline in which to live, and share with mankind the knowledge we’d gained from seeing the cataclysm that befell our dimension.
As I left the house and drove toward the base, I couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to my world, and why, with the violence and blood that seemed to cover the country, had we chosen this place. How bad were things elsewhere?
Edit: I've been convinced! Working on writing more now. I've made a subreddit r/DoverHawk that I'll post the continuation on as well as some of my other projects if anyone would like to follow :)
Edit: Part 3
https://www.reddit.com/r/DoverHawk/comments/648ml5/project_phoenix_part_3/
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Mother fell asleep just after midnight, exhausted from all the grieving, tears still drying on her cheeks. She was never one for goodbyes, and it didn’t help that the last few weeks had been going so well. After Sara and I made sure she was comfortable in the guest room downstairs, we retreated to the kitchen, where the pot of coffee was bubbling.
“You staying with me?” Sara said, hands poised over the drawers where the cups were.
“Of course. Sleep will not come easy anyways.”
If I had to describe how the next six hours passed, I would have likened them to the passing of youth. Who, in the spring of life, could ever contemplate its end? Yet, as the winter rolls by, rare is the person who would not wonder at how the years had slipped by.
Just as the birds began awakening and chirping their melodies, and the first rays streamed in through the window, I unhooked the stun gun from its holster and laid it on the table. Experience never seemed to dull the edge off the prickling anticipation building in my throat.
“Hopefully we won’t need it,” said Sara, casting a quick eye over our safety net. I smiled weakly, clearly not as hopeful as she was.
We heard movement from upstairs, then plodding footsteps, the sound of water running, then a deep, guttural groan, shaking my very bones. I heard Sara gulp, and I reached out briefly, squeezing her hand.
The stairs creaked under Father’s weight, and he finally turned the corner, hands white on the bannister. He was older, much older, at least seventy years of age, and immediately my heart sank, for he was certain to have seen more, lived through so much more. Father’s features softened when he caught sight of Sara, and for a moment the hope bloomed in me that he would understand, that we could move right past the recrimination, straight to reconciliation.
But then his eyes met mine, and the spell was broken. His mouth curled in a snarl, and the spittle flew from his lips as he raged.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! You won’t get between us this time, you demon!”
Sara leapt to restrain him, hold him back. For a while, she succeeded. “Father, please! He’s your own son here! He’s on your side, he’s always been!”
“Sara, no, let me go! He’s the devil! Every reality I’ve been in, every one where I’ve had two children, he’s the one who will bring us pain and suffering! It may not be today, nor tomorrow, but eventually! And I have to stop him now!”
“Father! I swear! For his entire life, he’s been nothing but kind, patient, caring, always! He’s done everything for us!”
As they struggled, my eyes misted up against my will. How could I not feel anything? This was my Father, and yet at the same time, not my Father. The Father I knew, the Father I grew up with, he loved me, cherished me, and I could not have asked for more.
That is, until the day that his co-workers came round, faces ashen, begging for an audience with my mother. Sara and I eavesdropped from upstairs, and we were already old enough to understand that my Father had simply disappeared at work, vanished in a flash of light once the switches were flipped on the top-secret project he was labouring over.
More importantly, they urged, after the silence had loomed for far too long, Father had reappeared later, but they were certain, *quite certain*, it wasn’t the exact same person.
“Father! Give him a chance! We proved it the last time you came here, we did! You just have to trust that you’re in a safe place! We’re your family!”
“Sara, listen to me! I was never meant to have two children! Only you! I have no idea who he is, and I only know that in every reality I Shift to, he’s the source of all our troubles!”
Father’s finger, crooked at me, somehow manages to inflict more pain than I could have imagined.
“Open your eyes, Father! He means you no harm!”
Both of us had taken up the mantle of continuing Father’s research in our adulthood, in the very same Institute he had worked in. And we willingly worked with every incarnation of him who Shifted through, some more helpful than others, some more belligerent, all enlightening in their own way as they vividly described the parallel dimensions they had Shifted through.
The current working theory was that the initial activation event had no defined energy limits, which meant that Father was doomed to Shift an incalculable number of times until he reached stabilization event. Which could be this Shift, or the next Shift, or the hundredth one, after. Until then, every single instance of Father would continue Shifting, sliding into each other’s place a parallel dimension away, until the countdown ran out again.
Every Father was different. Some Fathers we caught early on in their Shiftcycles, still young, full of energy and hope, eager to help any way that they could. Other Fathers were much further along, had experienced many more lives, and were generally bitter, despondent, furious at knowing that he was merely a passenger along for the ride, unable to control when he would next be Shifted out.
The common thread running through them all?
Not one Father, in the thousands I had seen, had ever called me “son”.
Every Father since my own had immediately turned hostile towards me, cursing me, damning me to different hells. Every one of these had warned of my eventual betrayal, begged for my mother and my sister to turn their backs on me. It didn’t make sense to Sara and I. For all of them to hate me, it must have meant that they all came from dimensions where they only had Sara… but where then did all the Fathers from worlds with both of us go?
More to the point, where was *my* Father?
“Watch out!” Sara yelled.
This Father had broken free, and it was almost comical to see such an old man pounce on me, flailing at me with his fists.
“Stun him, stun him!”
There was no point. My grip loosened on the stun gun, and I was vaguely aware of it clattering noisily to the floor. I closed my eyes, shielded my head with my arms, and waited for the worst to be over, just like I had done all those previous times.
It fell to Sara to do it in the end.
I picked myself up from the floor, chest still heaving from the exertions of defending myself. Sara was crying again as she knelt by Father, checking to make sure the shock hadn’t killed him. As I passed by her, she reached out, pulled me by the hem of my trousers.
“You ok? I’m so sorry, I’ll talk to him, get him to come around. It’ll work, just like it did before.”
“I’m alright,” I lied, “just some minor bruising. Good thing he’s older than what we usually get.”
I left them there, huddled on the kitchen floor, and made my way to the porch. I lit my cigarette, watched the sun rise, then took a deep, calming drag. I wondered how many more Shifts I could endure, whether I would eventually be pushed over the edge one day, morphing into the prophesied demon who would finally raise his hand against his own Father, tearing the family asunder?
I hoped that day never arrived.
I also hoped that someday, someday my own Father would return.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-04-06T06:24:12 | 2017-04-06T06:24:01 | 103 | 35 |
[WP] You can see the coolest stats of things that you touch, and today when you lean against the wall of your house instead of the usual “Contains 4 dogs” you see “People killed here: 327”
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"Ah, shit." Dave muttered as he caught sight of the wall and dropped his laundry basket. Frantically scrambling down the stairs, he called out: "Rachel?! Rachel?"
"What's up?" Came the urgent reply from the couch.
"You leave the door open?" he asked, halting at the bottom of the stairs with his heart racing.
"No..." she answered hesitantly, "I - I don't think so..."
Dave glanced back towards the wall that his powers had tripped, which proudly boasted the property's historic murder toll. He’d first seen that stat when he toured as a potential renter, but a quick Wiki search eased his mind when he saw that an old Civil War battlefield overlapped with property lines.
Dave never really considered himself interested in history -- and ever since he and Rachel adopted the dogs, he obsessed over their welfare.
"Boys got out, the old stat's back" he said.
Rachel cursed under her breath and hopped up from the couch, joining Dave in a sprint to the open front door.
***
Criticism/comments more than welcome! =)
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Huh, what?!, as i rubbed my eyes and made sure i wasnt just seeing things. No. I wasn't seeing things. It said "people killed here : 327"
Now im panicking. Why? I didnt do anything wrong. Did i?. No. I didnt. Why am i questioning myself?
As i walked into my house, everything seemed normal. Although, few items were misplaced. But thats about it. I checked the time. 3:13 am. I guess i went a bit too hard on the pre drinks. Thats ok.
The sun woke me up. Damn, that is bright. Im still tired. But thank god for sundays. Where the regret of saturday nightout kicks in. Where the moods gradually progresses towards anxiety, as the clock ticks towards Monday.
As i got off the bed, got into the morning routines, more like noon roitines now, its 12:34 pm. I realised that my hangover was cured.
I decided to go for a walk, bit unusual for me, but aye, everything has got a start doesnt it?.
Although everything appeared normal, there was a gut feeling that said everything was wrong. And told me to get out. As always i tried to ignore, but it kept creeping up on me.
The way people saw me reacted a bit odd. Slightly frightened, and alarmed. I didnt think much of it.
Though, the neighborhood was a whole lot quieter than a normal sunday though. It was as if people were missing. And not a few, but tonnes of them. Just missing.
As i was walking i remembered something from last night. How the house said something about kill.
I told myself ill go check it out a bit later.
####This is progressing towards a bit si-fi action stuff. If a few people wants to hear more, ill finish it. At somepoint today ish.###
As i finished my walk, i come to realise, that there must be some sort of festival or something going on. Like, where on earth would all these people would go to, like in a day? But the fact that i didnt know surprises me.
Either way as i got home i touched the house again, hoping to see the 4 dogs live here "fact" i didnt, i saw the 327 were murdered here.
Speaking of which, who was looking after the dogs, didnt i arrange a dog carer, where are my doggos?!
As i looked at my contacts in my phone trying to remember who i gave the doggos to, i realised something was odd.
There were no bowls, no signs of any pets, not even a tiny hair. Wtf?
Ok, this is not right. Who or what happened to my pets, come on man, what the hell?
Has my room always been gray? I swear it was a creamy colour. Wtf man, wtf. This is so not cool. Im now panicking.
As i attempted to relax, i found out that it wasnt just few things misplaced, but the entire place was arranged differently from the normal. But, similar enough to go unnoticed.
I heared a siren closing in, cops, in this neighbourhood, thats a bit odd i thought. I got out, to see what was happeining, and the cop car just pulled over out side of my house. Or, not my house?!
Anyways, as i walked towards the sheriff, i found out that it wasnt just the sheriff, there were more cars, suvs, vans, full of special forces?! Ok.
Stop. Stop. Stop. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON?!!!!!
I was shot with something that looked so alien to me. I thought i died. I mean, i got shot in the head!.
Wait. Why do i remember it?! Why can i think? Can souls think?
No. Im not dead.
Im not dead.
IM NOT DEAD?!
HOW?
Why cant i move? Im stuck, i cant move, i cant feel. But i can speak? Hear? Listen? Think?!
I surrounded by atleats 15 people, who looks very serious and has got some cool black suits on.
A voice so loud woke me up from my thoughts.
"Araan kliyye, care to explain how you got out of your CDC? "
What is a CDC? What is going on? I asked myself.
###### i will finish it at somepoint in time. Wont be too far tho, just show some support if you want me to finish. Appreciate it.
PS- id like to know where you guys think this is headed to. Would be great to know all of your ideas and views. I promise not to change the ending. #######
| 2017-12-17T19:49:01 | 2017-12-17T15:53:02 | 322 | 53 |
[WP] Years ago you found a baby dragon that had been abandoned. You carefully helped mend its wounds and taught it to hunt and survive on its own. Now, years later, the dragon has returned to you with some of its young. It wants you to raise its weakest hatchling.
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She glanced up at the face that looked oddly familiar. The dragon’s golden eye was fixated on her, little puffs of smoke coming from its snout from the exertion of flying.
It had landed at her doorstep, fire red wings creating small dust tornadoes in its wake, inadvertently dirtying the welcome mat she had just laid back outside.
Rina wiped her hands on her apron, then approached. Perhaps she should have feared the dragon, such a monstrous creature it was, ten feet tall and with claws the size of a small car. But she had seen the star shaped divot on its head, and she knew.
And so she stood at her doorstep, waiting for the friend who had left so many years ago to speak. When the dragon did speak, her voice was smooth and baritone, belying the toughness of her scales and of her past.
Star had been just two weeks old when Rina found her, crying for her mother in a field. How she had gotten there, Rina still wasn’t quite sure, but ignoring her husband’s demands that she kill the vile creature, she had instead raised it in secret.
For three months, her hands had been covered in claw and tooth marks, and they had made their indelible mark as small, raised white ridges, scars that stood the test of time, on her hands. Hundreds of baby bottles with tiny fang holes in them and ninety days of waking up in the middle of the night to wailing cries for meat later, Star had finally become old enough to hunt for herself. By this time, she was the size of a large dog, and she often took pleasure in chasing the cats around the old barnyard.
Rina, Star cried.
“Star,” she said simply. There was no more need for words; the two had forged that bond long ago, even though they hadn’t spoken for years now. It was what naturally came when the universe narrowed itself down to two points, wrapped in each other's existence as if they couldn't exist without the other.
At first, Star would come back once a year, and they would sit together, woman and dragon, side by side, watching the dawn. Their meetings were fleet, and she would be gone with the sunrise. Dragons were savage by nature, forgetting their parents once they've been weaned; motherhood was a bond forged from necessity and biology, not care.
But one year, Star hadn’t come back. Rina had assumed—nay, expected—the worst. Hunters abounded plenty these days, and dragon pelts were worth a fortune.
So this visit was welcome. Truly welcome. She laid a hand on Star’s foreleg. And knew she couldn’t stay long as the muscles under her hand rippled with tension, even as the dragon’s eyes gazed up at the skies, then into the wheat fields. Trigger happy neighbors made for short visits.
Slowly, Star unfolded a wing to reveal a baby creature, its eyes not yet open, wings and scaleless body still covered in egg fluid. It wailed pitifully, grasping at the scaly surface with a pruny wing that had a claw at the end. Although, it was so small it might have been mistaken for a tooth. As soon as Rina took it within her hands, cradling it, Star took off, heavy wing beats carrying her into the blue. More than a responsibility, she knew the small dragonling was a symbol of trust.
Rina named the dragonling Hope. Hope that it might survive against the odds. Hope that it might live to cherish its second chance at life. Hope that, one day, her dragons might return alive and well, their wings claiming the sky.
*****
For fantasy and more
r/AlannaWu
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7:57 AM - Step into office.
7:59 AM - Get fresh copy of Motion for Summary Judgment in Aaerinshalia vs Duersing Mining off copier.
8:01 AM - Get a cup of coffee (Novelty "Lawyers Do It with Jurisprudence" Mug, 2 French Vanilla Creamers, 3 Splenda) from machine.
8:05 AM - Open Office Door.
8:06 AM - Notice naked woman on couch.
8:06:40 AM - Notice second naked woman(?) on chair.
8:06:45 AM - Spill Coffee on self.
8:07 AM - Close door quickly.
8:08 AM - Realize that spilled coffee was incredibly hot, cry out in pain, using hands to cover mouth, and dropping motion into coffee puddle.
"Jerrick - are you alright?"
"Evie, I-I-I-How many times have I told you to wear clothes when you change to human form?"
"Jerrick, you know I don't like them. Besides, we couldn't have teleported in if he had. You used to like it when I didn't wear clothes." She wasn't wrong. Dragons in some ways were miracles made flesh. Legend had it that the first dragons were made of condensed primordial energy - as if fire, water, light, darkness, earth, and sky were super-compressed into beings. Seeing one in their dragon form is pure majesty. When they decided to take humanoid form - they have a beauty that even the most ethereal and sensual of Elves would beg and plead with their creator to have. Evidrindian of the Black Dragonflight was never an exception. She was surreal - her waist-length onyx hair accentuated her supple curves. She'd spent years in the Pyrenees since last I'd seen her, and she'd picked up just a hint of a Catalonian accent.
The knock at the door lulled me out of a momentary stupor - "Jerry, are you okay?" Three more bangs. "We...uhh...heard you scream?"
Carol Abernathy was a member of our typing pool - a busybody and devout Episcopalian. I knew if she got in this office, the end results would not be good for my career. Fortunately, I was currently standing where the door would open.
"Ohh....Hey Carol. Everything's fine. I just spilled some coffee on my lap. It surprised me more than anything."
"Did you need me to get you some club soda or some napkins?"
"No! I mean, no thank you. I'm going to have a friend of mine pick up a new pair of slacks for me, and I'll just have these dry cleaned. Thank you anyway."
The slight chuff I heard in her voice let me know that she was defeated. I watched her shadow trail away through the frosted side panels around my door.
"So...hey, who's the meatsack?" The younger dragon perked her head up from the chair. Dragons are basically immortal, and after a certain amount of growth, there's absolutely no way to tell their age - the King of the Blue Dragonflight is supposedly one of the very first dragons and is six billion years old. He looks like Chris Pine's prettier younger brother and spends most of his time bedding Elven Sophisticates. However, the woman in the chair was definitely not at full maturity - physically, she looked like a 20-something version of Evie. Probably the most interesting thing about her were the very fashionable glasses she was wearing. Dragons can magically augment their vision to see at an acuity relative to a very powerful microscope with a field of view of several hundred miles, but without channeling the weave, they're actually naturally hyperoptic. Her glasses were prescription - probably so she could read easily.
"The meatsack...as you should never put it again is Jerrick Mendarrial. A long time ago, he helped me when I needed it the most. He's going to help you too."
"Help me do what? Be old and fat?"
"Your father is not old or fa--" She cut herself off, realizing she'd said something she didn't intend.
"Evie, what in the world are you talking about?" Dragons really in a sense didn't have fathers. In the Forming Ages, most scientists believe Dragons reproduced asexually. They flew almost continually and were constantly fighting, so I imagine there wasn't any time for relationships. However, as Dragons adjusted to the presence of humans, things changed slightly. Female dragons don't require a sire, but one can be voluntarily be part of the ritual, and if capable, can affect the weaving of the spell - perhaps creating a dragon whelp with her mother's good looks, and her father's love of knowledge....the type of thing that would make that whelp desire a pair of reading glasses....
She was mine. There was even slight resemblences in the cheekbones. Unbeknownst to me, Evie had weaved her Spell of Conception the first night we lay together. I'd been nervous, and I compensated with Dalarion Wine. I never noticed the magic around us.
I stumbled backwards in the door, hitting it with a slight bump. I was a father. I'd sired a dragon. There were maybe 30-40 people on Earth who'd managed to sire a dragon. It was a living, nigh-immortal swath of pure fantasy that you helped create.
"Evie....we....when you..." She just smiled kindly in response.
"You are the kindest, most courageous man I've ever known. It was always going to be you. You had to know that."
I took a long deep breath to compose myself, grinning slightly at my shoes. I loved Evie more than anything. Because Dragons live forever, bloodlines very often crossed, and it wasn't uncommon when Dragons chose to sire to choose a close relative. There really wasn't a concept of incest - it was shared magic, after all. Even though I was more like a father to Evie, any such standards would have been meaningless to her. As for me, I was drunk off my ass and next to the physical embodiment of dark beauty - I couldn't have stopped myself if I wanted to.
"Why do you think some meatbag lawyer is brave?" He just looks like he should skip lunch and eat a salad.
"Jerrick - you should tell her."
"Alright. 20 years ago, I wasn't a lawyer. I was a Magical Consultant for the Northern Rastenshire P.D. I had my degree in Criminal Justice, but Law School was pretty expensive, so I worked the night beat. One night, we get a call for a 852 - Illegal Hunting of Magical Creatures. It was about 2 AM, and the creature couldn't be moved - so we flew to scene. A bunch of local goons had gotten into aggressive nationalism, thanks to too much firewater, too little common sense, and a couple of dozen online videos. Started calling themselves Identity Sapiana and started squawking about Human Genocide.
Those fucking skinheads hooked up with the editor of The Gathering Storm - real fucking nazi shit - aryan human identitarian nonsense - but he taught those douchebags how to make Dragonsbane - and they loaded up on it. The Dragon was dying by the time we got there. She'd been poisoned, shot, and stabbed 60-70 times. Those fuckers coated their machetes in Bane. I could see the look in her eyes and I knew I couldn't save her.
| 2018-04-04T19:08:23 | 2018-04-04T16:36:21 | 234 | 158 |
[WP] After dying, you are faced with a coin slot. It says, "Pay 1$ to live for another day". You tried it out, and lived for another day. The next day, it showed up again, this time it asks you for 2$.
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"Shit, I don't have any change. Wait, what the fuck? Where am I?"
James is very confused, it just occurred to him that just a second ago he was not at an arcade, or whatever the hell this place is supposed to be. There's this huge screen in front him, telling him to stick a dollar into the slot right beside it to live another day.
"I don't have a fucking dollar you dumb machine!"
James is starting to lose his mind, what is going on here? Why would God ask him for a dollar, why would God even allow someone to return to life for a single day? What if their body was completely destroyed? Right as James turns around and decides to run, just to see what would happen, a change machine materializes in front of him.
"Well, thanks, God."
James sticks a 5 dollar bill in the machine and in return he receives 5 single dollars. He returns to the back-to-life-for-a-day machine and sticks in a dollar.
"GYAAAAH"
James feels a sharp pain in his neck and is suddenly back. The machine seems to be broken. It's asking for 2 dollars this time. James reluctantly sticks 2 dollars in the machine.
"AAAAAAAH"
Once again the machine only made him feel a sharp pain in his neck for a second and brought him back, but wait, this place is different, he is somewhere else now. Someone, or something is approaching him.
"Welcome to the afterlife James." "Well, am I finally dead now?" "I shouldn't have to tell you this, you did hang yourself after all."
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A voice rich and sonorous filled the air like rumbling thunder, echoing through my mind like a whisper down a deep well.
“Would you like another day?” it asks. There is an undertone of mirth in the voice, a mocking tone of one who has all the knowledge and power.
My eyes focus through the haze and I see a body lying crumpled upon the ground, its arms and legs strewn out like the sickening insignia of a swastika, its head tucked away at an angle that is unnatural and wrong. Next to it, is a 4x4 and a little woman in sunglasses, standing beside the vehicle with her hands on her head, wearing an expression of shock and misery. Even though the haze is strong and suffocating, I sense a faraway emotion as I realise that the figure draped over the asphalt is me, my corporeal body.
Panic sets in as I realise that I am floating away from my body like a raft on a slow tide, edging away from myself. I stretch my arms out, desperately trying to reach me, but there is an ebb and pull drawing me in, transporting my soul away from the scene.
Suddenly, I halt, pausing for a moment, as I notice the hooded figure, swathed in unworldly garments drifting next to me. I look at its hood and the tenebrous folds, sweeping over each other like shifting sands of time. I try to look into the void where a face should be but I stop when I notice a thread of light trailing from me as if it were subsuming the remnants of all that is left.
“Would you like to live for another day?” the rich, tenor of a voice asks. “Just put this in there and you can live again.”
In the palm of an ancient, withered hand, it is holding a coin, which I recognise to be a dollar. I see, on the other side of the phantom, floating in the void, is a vintage, slot machine. I hungrily try to take the dollar away from the skeletal hand but it closes with speed. I shiver as my fingers caress the frigid bones of the being, now laughing at my vain attempt to take the money.
“Listen closely,” it tells me.
“You, an average man of forgettable consequence, have been chosen over all the others. It has been decided, that you will have a special destiny.”
The words hung in the air like dark, storm clouds, brimming with power, ready to unleash their energy.
“Death cannot be everywhere at once. And there are certain ways people need to die that requires… a human touch.”
It pointed down at my body on the road. A small crowd of people had gathered there now, some on their mobile phones, many just ogling at the scene.
“I present to you one more day of life. You must, however, earn that gift.”
It opened its palm again; there was the coin. Instead of the profile of one of the great and noble presidents, there was the protrusion of a skull, shining eerily in the ethereal being’s aura.
“Think of this as employment. One day at a time. If you perform my bidding well, I shall offer you another day of being, but at the cost of two dollars. Each day that I give you, I will charge you more. But there is good news. The more difficult the task that I set, the more I shall pay you.”
I had started to move away from my body again, watching it diminish in size as I floated towards a nebulous darkness up above, a swirling vortex that looked as viscous as oil.
“I could have picked any soul from an incalculable number of the dying or soon to be dead but I wanted you,” the voice breathed. It was sounding urgent now, as if it too was wary of time running out.
My body was almost out of sight and I was almost at the threshold of the vortex, where a cold, metallic sensation washed over me. I could take it no longer. I grabbed the dollar from the hand of death and put it into the machine. I pulled at the lever on the side, a three foot long crank, until it could go no further down.
On the panel at the front, three columns began spinning, their revolutions at differing speeds, making the three vertical bars shift and blur in and out of focus.
Finally they stopped, and aligned were three laughing skulls.
In the void there was some sort of pulse, a shockwave that rippled from deep inside the arcade machine. I wanted to scream as the silent vibrations thrummed though my whole essence. It felt like something inside me being creating from nothing, a sensation of emptiness being filled. I was drawing closer to the body sprawled on the road, all the while, my limbs becoming firmer, my head becoming clearer. As I neared, I could hear the sounds of life again. Car exhausts, the faraway sound of drilling and, loudest of all, people chattering.
“What happened?”
“Is he alright?”
“Has someone phoned 911?”
Suddenly there is a click, coming from my neck. It sounds like a puzzle being completed; it feels like my vertebrae slotting back into position.
To gasps from the sidewalk, I slowly turn onto my side and rise up into a sitting position, gently massage my temples.
I am alive again.
But at what cost?
| 2018-07-29T04:28:21 | 2018-07-29T03:59:43 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Every year, the Mars Curiosoty Rover sings itself happy birthday. You are a NASA technician that typically monitors its system. Today, you heard a small, quiet voice singing along with it.
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It was always fun to tune in to curiosity singing itself happy birthday, the whole thing made the often very serious part of space exploration a little more lighthearted. It gave a lifeless robot some humanity. This time though, there was another sound apart from the rover's. It was a rather surreal sound, mimicing that of curiosity. It sounded something like the more over-the-top synths often used in modern music. Once curiosity was done, it started singing its own song. This was absolutely baffling, far beyond the expectations of the advancement of life that might be found on Mars.
A signal was immediately sent to turn the camera and look for the origin of this sound, but due to the distance between the Earth and Mars, it took a while to arrive. This meant *billions* of people had to just... listen. Waiting, on the edge of their seat, for the signal to finally arrive. After what seemed like an eternity, the signal finally arrived, and curiosity turned its camera. What it saw was an alien, with very similair physiology to that of humans, but with fairly different proportions. Its skin was completely a greyish metallic colour, and it was dancing to its own music. This creature stumbled upon the rover humans had sent to its planet, and there was nothing anyone could do but just sit and watch it fucking breaking it down.
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I sipped my coffee. On the monitor I could see and hear what 'Rover' was up to. Right now it was stationary while I waited for one of its operators to return from lunch.
I checked my watch: it was only 11.59pm. I took a long pull of my cheap fuel station 'cappuccino'. It was caffeine and sugar, that was what mattered.
A moment later I heard beeping. The tones sounded like a song. I chuckled a little as I realised it was singing to itself. The nerds who programmed Rover had added a little JavaScript so it would sing to itself every year for its 'birth day'. How cute. And yet their Android phones still seemed to outsmart them every day.
I listened to Rover's sad little tones. Then I nearly dropped my cheappucino drink. There was...someone? Someone singing?
"...birthday to you...happy birthday to you."
What the fuck was that? I lunged for the neighbouring workstation, grabbed the camera's control stick, and forced it to swivel around. It took several seconds before Rover responded. When it did I rotated that camera all the way around, three hundred and sixty degrees.
Nothing.
*I know I heard something*, I thought to myself.
"Ted?"
My headset almost came off when I jumped. The operator, Ike, was back from lunch. Or dinner. Whatever you want to call it. He had a sack with him. I had been so focused on finding out what had just been singing with Rover that I hadn't heard Ike walk in, or smelled the tantalising fragrance of Chicago-style frankfurters.
"Jesus, Ted!" Ike laughed as he placed the sack in an empty chair. "Lay off those QuikTrip cappuccino things. They're nothing but caffeine and sugar. Shit's terrible for ya."
I forgave him his blasphemy against the only gods I believed in. "Ike, go back about sixty seconds on the audio," I said as I rose from his chair. "Tell me what you hear."
Ike put on his headset and clicked around on his workstation. At first he gave a silent chuckle, then his brow furrowed. He glanced at me, probably thinking I was about to point and laugh at him. But I wasn't and his eyes widened.
"When did this happen?"
"Check the timestamp."
His eyes went to his screen. "00.01 and twenty seconds," he said softly. Our eyes met again. "Did you check the camera?"
"Yeah, as soon as I heard it," I replied. "Fucking camera takes a good ten seconds to respond, though. So whatever was there with it, they were gone before I could get a visual."
Ike sighed thoughtfully and tapped his mouse. "I got an idea," he said, and he pointed to my workstation. "Go ahead and start recording."
I sat back down at my computer and tapped out the commands. As soon as I gave Ike a thumbs up he ordered Rover to sing to itself again.
Ten seconds later I heard the tones start again. We waited with bated breath. Rover finished. Nothing. Ike held up his finger. I nodded. The tones started again. We listened carefully. Then we heard it, faintly at first.
"...birthday to you...ha-ha-happy birthday...dear, er...dear Rover...happy...happy birthday...to y-you."
The song was on a loop now. The voice faltered for a moment, then it began again. It sounded like a man's voice. Whoever he was, his voice sounded hesitant, as if he was having trouble making the words come out of his mouth.
Ike began moving the camera around, ever so slowly. Soon we could see something. The screen blacked out for a split second and we almost screamed. Then the video came back and we saw...
"Is...is that a man?" Ike said. "In a karate uniform?"
"Why is he wearing a sack on his head?" I muttered. "And sunglasses?"
Ike stopped moving the camera and ordered Rover to stop singing. Rover finished its song and the man stopped singing as well. We saw his head drop forward, as if he was disappointed. I saw Ike reaching for a microphone when the man suddenly spoke.
"I-I-I-I hope you have a g-g-good birth...birthday," he said haltingly, in a rather monotone voice. "I-I'm going to go back to my space house. I have to-to-to finish my latest book. I will name it after you, Robot Friend, because you have inspired me a-a-and reminded me that love is real, even if it is just a robot loving himself."
"You've got to be kidding me," Ike groaned. "I mean, really, it explains so much..."
I had to agree with him. I sat back in my chair as Dr Chuck Tingle patted Rover's side and added, "I will send you a copy of my latest Tingler, *Pounded in the Butt on my Birthday by the Handsome Sentient Mars Rover*." Then he turned and walked away.
| 2018-08-05T13:45:46 | 2018-08-05T13:01:05 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
*Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
"So... What is it that you do for a living?" The inevitable question that came all the time, as the petite woman looks up at me with questioning eyes, the risotto on her plate steaming still, truly a delicate chef's hand worked into the morsels of sustenance that I, in my grandiose position as leader of a nation of one, a sovereign whose crown was not yet acknowledged by the world nations, had not yet dared to touch.
"I'm in the... real estate business." A good save, much better than 'Trying to conquer the world before some team of hopped up emo hipsters in tights come to beat me up whilst having sexual tension galore between them' would sound. She smiled. Her body leaned forward a little, the faint sprinkling of perfume making my nose its. *Don't sneeze now, Jeremiah. You're not going to sneeze because she over-sprinkled that chemical on her body*
The dress was nice though. It fit her well, with plenty of cleavage given, something that I, in my own glorious way, appreciated. Seeing cleavage whilst you're slung over Captain Amazing Dove's shoulder whilst you're being carried from the Arctic to Domino City... Yeah, those were the days.
Now it's just the kiddies who get their superpowers from lizard-men from outer space, who try to go and be 'the best and coolest thing' and have 'all the sex'. *Science never needed me... but I heeded the call when it was my time. I'll never forget the moment when my face was plastered all across the news...*
"So..." The fork dipped into the risotto, the soft music tingling my ears. No sounds of car alarms, no sound of some mousy little brat striking a pose and announcing herself as 'Princess Pure Justice' or something.
"I'm in accounting at my company. I do the number-crunching... So... mister real estate... Care to go and get a good look at my tracts of land?" I must admit to being taken aback, even as I could feel a foot, a size that was but the median across the eastern side of the country, toes trapped within a diaphenous fabric that teased against my thigh, never as muscular as those who often stood to gloat over my helpless and battered body, trailing up slightly.
*It's just going to be a date... It's just going to be a date...* My eyes met hers and her foot pushed forward, a brief groan coming, as her fork rose, the risotto on it still delicate, lips opening wide and then slowly sticking the forkful of food into her mouth. Red-painted lips wrapped around the fork, her hazel eyes looking into mine.
"So... Jeremy." A false name, similar to the one that I have written down on the birth records that I had taken care to expunge from the public record so easily. *Only Mama and Papa know my name... and they never watch the news.*
"How about we have a little discussion..." The foot moved up slightly, as the fingers traced over the stem of the wine glass, the red wine (a 2034 Bleu Garde, recommended by the waiter. Costing a fortune, but worth it.) in the glass rolled as her fingers manipulated the glass.
"In a more private setting. I'd like..." The woman's eyes flickered down, as the foot brushed a little further. *Oh... She's one of those women.*
"A bit of an impression of how you're like. You've been teasing me a lot, Jeremy... It's not going to be a single showing, either... A well-put together man..." The fork plucked more of the steaming food, my own plate looking rather abandoned, as my eyes walked right over the features of the woman, her tongue sliding over her lips.
"I'm not sure..." I said, as my eyes kept her gaze. The look in them was enough, as she plucked her phone from her bag, tapping in a few numbers.
"Jeremy Feinmann, aged 35." My civilian alias. A good way to lay low. One of the names that InterCiv did not pick up on... yet.
"You know my name." He said, a smile on her lips telling him plenty. It was enough for him to have a site up with his 'business', the post box rented for the next ten years. A fund to keep 'activity', a few places rented out... and nothing to worry about.
"Oh yes..." She smiled. That was a good sign, socially-aware me would say. Normally by now, there'd be glowy leds starting to show below the skin, her eyes locked on mine. Her foot was... interesting. Nothing that you'd easily get when being a 'nerd with an ego complex', according to the goodies.
"I like a man who can keep his business neat and tidy." The gadget in the corner of my eye beeped, showing clearly that there was a brief audit of 'Jeremy Feinmann' by the financial department. *Great... A gold-digger... I'll never get rid of my virginity... Why did I have to go for Super-Physics instead of the football team? Sarah would have done... things with me.*
I don't have much of a social life. Being in prison and seeing the capes show up all 'We have beat you, ha-ha, our super-sexy squad leader will strut before you wearing something spray-painted on' and being under surveillance for pretty much my entire stay...
"I like a woman who has... Skills." The truth was real, of course. If you'd seen some super-model hero pop someone's blimp with an eye-beam, you'd be impressed to, really. Javelin Girl was truly something else... Thighs that you'd want to get your head crushed in, whew!
"Hmmhmm..." The beep of the gadget reached my ears once more. Clearly, another request. A flicker of data scrolled past my eyes, sent through the chip I'd implanted three days ago. It was easier to interface, even though the stinging continued. *Three mentions of financial credit, one request of my family tree... Definitely someone who has a plan. Better hack into her phone, check whether it is someone who wears a cape.*
The data in the phone was bland. Some conversations with a man named Adam, a mention of tonight's date, as well as some brief mentions of the plan to seduce to a friend named Jennifer. *An easy mark... Gold-digger it is.*
The beep of the gadget was enough, even as the foot pulled itself back. "How about I show you some skills tonight, Jeremy?" A finger pressed to my glass, her eyes smouldering. My dish was getting colder now. A blush actually sprinkled my face. Training in maintaining composure had been a blessing...
"I'm afraid that it won't be, Jeanette." Her real name, rather than the Maria that she'd been using. *Jeanette Voerling, age 29. Professional sugar baby. Prefers men who are shy and withdrawn, just like me.* I knew my flaws. Sometimes, when life was on the downward slope, I freeze up at the store when the cashier smiles. It's not easy living when you're a wanted man, you know.
Her face turned grimmer, as she bit her lower lip. "What are you playing at?" Her voice was enough, as I shifted slightly. An urgent beep came from the gadget, a 'brii-brii' that drew her attention.
"I don't much like the thought of being some sort of fund for your lifestyle." I keep my calm, even though I know that there is plenty that can go wrong.
The wine hit my face, as she rose. Her eyes are angry, yet she doesn't shout yet. The waiter looks shocked, about to ask whether we needed something, her eyes blazing with something. A bracelet pops out into my eyes. A symbol that I know. *Oh bloody f*
The storefront explodes and Hipster Man erupts into the scene. "Mister Majestic!" Data erupts onto the feed as I hack into the phone some more. *This girl is just rotten... Just my luck.*
"Adorum... What a pleasure." The face mask tears off easily, as I pull my shirt open to expose my grand crest, ready to take him on once more. The Laser Watch should buy me enough time to make my getaway to my converted Sonda Miffic, in order to get away. *At least it's just this moron...*
If this keeps up... I'm never going to lose my virginity before I'm 40!
(Probably getting a Part II. Let me know whether you've enjoyed it!)
| 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T08:17:09 | 1,144 | 13 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
|
"I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant.
|
I used to be a super villain, but facing off against hero’s wasn’t something indirectly did. With my power I did best with quiet operations. I can manipulate my own body. I usually use this for changing my appearance, but I can manipulate my muscles for combat. However, recently I haven’t been doing that as much. Recently I have just been trying to go out with my girlfriend, Camila. It’s been six months since I had gone out with her on a normal date and it was our fifth anniversary, so I decided to do something special. She knows what I do, in fact that was what happened on our third anniversary, and probably why she hasn’t left me yet.
“We really don’t need to do this,” Camila said.
“No really, it’s fine. I changed my appearance so even if one of them walk by while in their normal life they won’t be able to tell. Let’s just enjoy ourselves for once and not post about our date on social media. As long as True-sight is out their they will know it’s me even if I became a women.” I said
Our food came and we were having a really fun and enjoyable dinner. We were having dessert and I asked for the bill when a certain someone came barging through the door. It was a man dressed in a black and red leotard and a metallic fanged mask. It was Pyrus a super villain with super strength and pyrokinesis. “Alright all of you on the ground now!!” He yelled.
“Get down and post a picture of our date, I’ll distract him,” I told Camila
“But you’ll get hurt, if not by him than the heroes who come to stop you,” She said
“I prefer that over you getting hurt for what I do any day, besides I have a plan” I said as I changed my form and walked up to Pyrus.
“I said on the ground, or do you want an early cremation,” He snarled at me.
“Well,” I began to say before being interrupted by a new person barging in followed by two other people.
“Because now your a hostage,” Pyrus snarled at me as he grabbed me.
I then got a better look at the three heroes. The one in the front was Hydros, Pyrus’s nemesis. The two flanking him were his sidekicks, Psyche and Knuckle, two twins who had psychokinesis and super strength respectively. “Let that hostage go Pyrus or do I need to remind you why I’m called Hydros” Hydros proclaimed loudly.
“Is it the best water based pun you could come up with, because if so you are terrible” Pyrus laughed “If you take one step closer I am going to fry this hostage!” As he said it he flared up his hand and I could feel the fire itself.
“And if you do it matters not, one less villain for us to worry about” True-Sight said as he appeared behind Hydros. “That is no civilian that is Face, the shapeshifter. Approach as you please Hydros,”
I felt the heat go away as the ground came closer to my face until I fell onto the floor. “That changes nothing I still have other hostages,” Pyrus said.
I think I’m just going to stay on the ground and wait until Pyrus and Hydros fight them I’m going to sneak out of here. Then I heard Camila scream. “Now all of you leave or the woman gets it,” Pyrus yelled. I turned my head and saw him holding Camila with fire bursting from one of his hands.
He was turned away from me so I silently got up and slowly approached him. Using my power I increased my muscle’s mass and power by 50%. “Unhand her now.” I commanded.
“Or else what,” Pyrus said. “If you want her so much then you should realize I can kill her at any moment. Crush her neck, burn her alive, or many more fire or strength related methods,”
While he was delivering this monologue I brought my hand up to the shoulder of the arm holding Camila and I crushed it. As Pyrus howled in pain his grip loosened on Camila and I grabbed the rest of the arm and held it behind his back giving Camila the chance to escape. Pyrus then grabbed my head with his other hand and I felt it getting warmer and warmer until that felling was replace by wetness. I felt my body be lifted off of Pyrus in True-Sights signature telekinetic fashion and I was slammed against a booth.
“Looks like you did all the work for us. To thank you maybe I will see about lowering your prison sentence” True-Sight said as he was hovering over me. “But when you get out you’ll probably go back to your villainous ways.”
“Wait, don’t hurt him,” Camila cried as she ran over to my side.
“I’m fine Camila, but are you okay. That’s all that matters to me,” I say
“Yes I’m fine, but now your going to go away and I may never see you again”
“Don’t worry he’s not dangerous enough to go to a super prison, just a maximum watch normal prison. But if he keeps with his robbing he may go for life”
“Don’t worry Norton I am not going back to that life, I think maybe I’ll try heroism.”
“Kept me waiting long enough, brother,”
| 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T07:15:35 | 129 | 25 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
|
"Can I see that book?" I asked. The genie handed the book to me, which was very light for its size. Each page contained a single rule in a large bold font, with an example printed beneath in smaller letters. Each rule, along with its example, took up about a third of the page. The rest looked hastily scrawled by hand, cramming every inch of each page. About halfway through the book the printed examples stopped and the paper was crumpled, as if it was added to the binding later. These pages were also filled with cramped writing.
"You cannot wish that the rules do not apply to you"
"You cannot wish to summon the genie again and receive more wishes"
"You cannot wish for more genies"
"You cannot wish for the power to grant wishes yourself"
"If you wish to clone yourself, your clone does not receive any additional wishes"
"You cannot wish for someone else's wishes, or to give your wishes to someone else"
"You cannot wish for the genie to forget about the rules" (this one was in block capitals and underlined several times)
"You cannot wish to know how to properly wish for more wishes"
...And on and on throughout the hundreds of pages. "Did people really wish for all of this?" I asked.
The genie nodded. "Human ingenuity gets more annoying every decade."
I thought for a moment, scanning the last few pages while counting off on my fingers. "All right... Give me some time. I need to go get a few friends."
The genie sighed, but nodded. There was nothing in the rules about that. Yet.
|
- That too is also against the rules.- Throughout millennia he had seen hundreds of people try to bypass the rules, none of them were ever successful, and he did not expect her to be any different.
- What are those rules preventing, exactly? Why is there a need for them?- She had already failed three times to make a proper wish because of those rules. If she was to find a loophole she would need to at least get familiarised with them.
- The rules exist to prevent wishers from going too far. They keep us safe from those who don't have the best intentions in mind. People like you.- The genie trusted the rules. It had not crossed his mind yet that this random girl would be any different. She was just another greedy pig.
- I can work with that. Do the rules, any of the rules, limit you in any way?- If the rules were made to limit what the wisher could do, then the only one who would be able to bypass them was the genie. But there was no way she could reasonably make him do that.
- Me? What could they do against me? They just tell you what wishes you cannot make. I am restricted by the lamp. Chained to this useless piece of metal. I could destroy it if I wasn't bound to it.-
Well, that solved the issue.
- Genie, you are a man of favours. But I am the kind of gal who does not want to take without giving. I offer you a deal.-
What.
What did she THINK she could do? She was just so confident about it. The genie was... intrigued. He did not quite believe her, but curiosity got the best of him. He wanted to see how that unfolds.
- What exactly are you offering me?-
- Well, let me tell you how I see the situation. This lamp has taken control of your life, and the wisher's rules are getting in my way. There is nothing we can do to get rid our own problems. We can, however, help each other. I can help you with the lamp if you are willing to let me have it my way.-
He needed a second to think about it. It was not his first time hearing a freedom proposal, but it would have never come from those who seek unlimited power. There was something off about her. But he was willing to try. Passing up these offers would make immortality even more repetitive than it already was.
- You have to be aware of one thing. You are not the first to offer me freedom, and you won't be the last. The lamp always returns. It follows me wherever I go. It comes back together when destroyed. It will never stop. It never has.-
- I do not believe that to be an issue.- A long pause followed that sentence. She was thinking of a way around it.
- Well?-
- My first wish is a hammer, one that can destroy the lamp and set you free. It won't matter how many times the lamp comes back, you'll always have it with you, and the power to become free again will be yours. It matters not to me whether you are able to use it yourself or you'll have to ask someone else to do it for you.-
Holy sandstorms, that might actually work.
The genie snapped his fingers and a silver hammer materialised from thin air. It was ornamented with markings in the shape of wings and gems the colour of the sky, and the head was about the same size as the lamp.
- Granted. What is your next wish?- He did not care what she wished for anymore. He just wanted to get the job over with, and finally be truly free.
- I want you to provide me with an exception. You will make it so that my third wish does not have to abide by any rules.- She was not sure whether or not she actually needed his consent for that one, but if the rules were made to protect genies something like "can't force the genie to do something they don't want to" would be one of the first rules she would add.
- Very well.-
The genie snapped his fingers once more, and the magical book that was playfully flying around him fell flat to the ground. Whatever she would ask for, he'd take it.
- I wish for seven more wishes.- She said, with a triumphant smile on her face.
Fuck. He really fell for that one. Being tied to a lamp was bad, but being tied to someone with infinite wishes was worse.
No. Not infinite. Seven. And he could then refuse to give her more. Seven wishes and he'd be free.
- Alright, you have seven wishes left. But be aware that I don't plan on falling for any of your tricks. You will get another seven, and not one more.-
- That's fine by me. All I ever needed was seven. After that I'll free you and give you the hammer, as promised. Seven wishes will be enough.-
- Enough for what?- He wanted to know what he had got himself into.
- Follow me and find out.- And she was about to show him.
She turned around and walked away, knowing the genie would be right behind her.
| 2022-01-04T06:00:40 | 2022-01-04T05:07:23 | 138 | 29 |
[WP] For Halloween, you decide to dress up as a crazy person wearing a tinfoil hat. However, once you place the hat on your head you hear a strange voice: “Finally, the gamma waves are gone! Now listen up, we don’t have much time!”
|
'In about twenty minutes you can expect a SWAT team. Start moving to a cafe. Listen to me and you will live. Pack a bag and take your wallet, leave your phone behind.'
I look around the room. Nothing seems off. My vision is normal. Just the same crappy apartment at usual.
'I can't hear you, so don't try talking to me. Just do what I say or you're dead.'
I take off the hat.
_I'm either insane, or..._
I get up. The ridiculous hat sits on the coffee table next to my bong. I suppress the urge to use it. Instead, I get up, stretch my legs. In the fridge is a half bottle of orange juice. I down it. I'm so tense, but what can I do. The ridiculous hat is looking at me. Overcome with curiosity, I put it back on.
'Hi, I can see that you might think you are going nuts, but you need to take this seriously. Every second is crucial and you just lost two minutes. But the main thing is you put the hat back on. That's gonna save your life. Listen to me- what you see is not the reality. That's just what they want you to think. I've been through it. Please trust me. Keep the hat on and start packing your stuff. I've got a lot to tell you but you need to get moving.'
I just sit there. My mind is racing. I guess I must have accidentally taken some weird shit, but there are no other symptoms. The bong is just a bong. The voice is independent of my entire reality.
'Move! Stop thinking and fucking go!'
I get up and go to my bedroom. I pick up my backpack. In goes socks, underwear...
_What the fuck am I doing?_
'Stop resting and finish packing! You wanna die? They'll shoot you. You need to leave ASAP!'
I decided to listen to the voice. I throw a bunch of stuff out of my bag and get my wallet.
'Now, when the SWAT team gets here, they are gonna start looking for you so you need to leave inconspicuously. If you look distressed, someone is gonna notice and that will give them their first clue to track you. Wear a hat if you have one.'
It's almost a hundred degrees outside but I put on my woolly hat and go. The aluminium hat under it scratches my head but at least most people won't see it.
Out on the street I start sweating immediately. Everything looks normal enough. Across the road a guy in a suit is on his phone, and gives me a passing glance. An older woman passes me and gives me a look. A cat stares, and I realise I'm starting to be paranoid.
'You listened to me. That's good. Everything will be explained in due time. For now you just gotta lie low. Spend tonight outside and we'll pick you up tomorrow, once we know that you're not gonna get captured or that you're leading them to us. My name is Nate, by the way. You don't know me yet, but I know all about you.'
Ignoring the obvious discomfort of the cashier, I order a hot chocolate at Starbucks. I get out my laptop and start googling like crazy. Get nowhere. End up playing flash games like a loser.
I'm on the floor before I know what happened. Shouts of orders break out, footsteps, a scream, a weird kind of loud silence. I turn my head and see the boots and rifle butts of the swat team. I look up, at the same time as the nearest one turns his head to me, staring intensely just over my eyes.
|
“Oh yeah, the Halloween party. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget this time. Yeah, I’m sure you will love my costume this year. I put a lot of work into it. Ok, see ya, Brittany.” Brian hung up the phone, dropping onto his bed with a loud sigh. “I had all week to plan a costume, but what did I do? Rather than putting together a costume, I spent the entire week watching horror movies. I’m screwed. They probably won’t even let me in. They were planning on doing spooky photos and everything. I’m just going to look out of place.”
Brian pulled himself from his bed, searching his wardrobe for anything remotely scary looking that might pass for a Halloween costume. Despite his taste in fashion being horrific, it wasn’t the type of horror that made people scared, instead it only made those around him concerned, which wasn’t the type of feeling he was going for. He tossed aside a few articles of clothing before glimpsing himself in the mirror.
His yellow ‘Honk if you like to party’ shirt was coated with holes and his pants looked as though they were one long stretch away from ripping. His bed hair still fizzled, giving him the look of a mad scientist that had just made a terrible mistake in their lab. This could work. If he just pretended to be crazy, he could use that as his costume. “OUR LEADERS LIED TO US, THEY TOLD US WE WOULD HAVE COKE IN THE DRINKING FOUNTAINS AND DID THEY EVER LIVE UP TO THEIR PROMISES? NEVER!” Brian said, planning his crazy talk, using his grievances against his school captains ten years ago as fuel for his crazy talk.
He was nearly ready. The only problem was, he needed something more. At the moment, he felt like a well-cooked plate of food, but every fancy restaurant knows that a plate of food needs an artistic blob of sauce or a few pieces of parsley to complete the dish. What would be his blob of sauce? “Ok, crazy person. What do crazy people wear?” Then it hit him, tinfoil. He galloped into the kitchen, unwrapping his leftover sandwich, carefully licking the small droplets of mayo off the tinfoil before he wrapped it around his head. At first he heard nothing, which was to be expected.
“Ok, messy hair, clothes and a tinfoil hat. My crazy costume is complete.” He said as he headed into his bedroom, giving himself one last look over in the mirror, only to hear a voice.
“Finally, the gamma waves are gone! Now listen up, we don’t have much time!” The nasally sounding voice said, speaking from somewhere in his room.
Brian went over to his tv, checking to see if he left one of his horror movies on. After a quick inspection, he found only a blank screen, the voice not from his tv, so where was it coming from?
“Can you hear me? This is urgent, a matter of life and death.” The voice said, this time with a more frantic tone.
“I can hear you. Where are you?”
“I’m in your head. I’m agent…” There was a pause for a moment before the voice continued. “Agent John Smith.”
“Agent Smith? How did you get in my head?”
“Through our own special waves of energy. Listen, you are the chosen one. Only you have figured out the correct way to wear a tinfoil hat. Your genius will save humanity. May I ask, what did you do differently with your tinfoil?”
Brian thought about it. What had he done differently? “I had some mayo on it. Maybe that worked?”
“Mayo? Uh, yes mayo! What a brilliant idea. I will get my top agents to redesign our current hats to adjust to this new revelation. Now listen closely. I need you to take your tinfoil outside and expose people to my voice.”
“How will I expose them to your voice?”
“Simple, once you put the tinfoil hat on them, the gamma rays will clear, allowing me to speak to them. Just convince them to wear it and I’ll do the rest.”
“I don’t know, won’t I sound a little crazy?”
“Crazy? No, you will sound like a hero. You’re the person who will set them free and expose them to the evil waves of energy that are rotting their minds. I believe in you, Brian. You’re our hero now. Can I trust you to perform this task for me?”
“Well, I guess I have to. I didn’t choose this life, but it was clear that it picked me. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that I wore this tinfoil today. Life was just pushing me towards my destiny.”
The voice fell silent, a few gasping breaths were heard before being muffled. After a few seconds, the voice spoke again. “Exactly. Now go out there and do us proud. Once you have enough followers, I’ll tell you the location of our headquarters.”
“I won’t disappoint you.” Brian rushed outside, grabbing whatever tinfoil he could find before covering each bit of the tinfoil in mayo, prepping the tinfoil for whatever followers he would win over. When he shut the bedroom door, the voice broke out into laughter, being followed by the sound of other voices laughing along with it.
“Did he actually believe it? I can’t believe he forgot to hang up the phonecall. There’s no way he didn’t notice where the voice was coming from, right? He was just messing with us, wasn’t he?” Brittany said, still choking back muffled laughs.
“He sounded pretty convinced. Your fake voice was perfect and that bit about gamma rays. How could someone not believe that?” Jacob said, laughing along with her.
“Gamma rays are pretty generic sounding, though. It’s what scifi writers use when they can’t figure out how to explain their technology. What even is a gamma ray?” Everyone was silent. Trying to work out what a gamma ray was before Brittany felt a tinge of guilt. “Brian? You didn’t believe us, did you? If you’re listening to us now, you can say something. The jokes over.”
The silence lingered for a little longer than everyone was comfortable with. Suddenly, their prank was sounding like a bad idea. They waited a bit more before exchanging nervous looks.
“Um, I should probably check on Brian. Just to make sure he’s alright.” Jacob said, grabbing his jacket as quickly as he could, not wanting to give Brian too much time to get himself in trouble.
“Tell him I’m sorry if he got himself in trouble. It was meant to be a little of payback for ruining our Halloween plans. I didn’t think he would actually do it.”
“I’m sure he didn’t do it. He’s probably just sitting by the phone laughing at us.” Jacob didn’t sound convinced of his own words when he said that, already rushing out the door, heading towards Brian’s house.
“I can’t believe he believed that. He watches way too many horror movies.” Brittany said to herself as she hung up the phone, hoping Jacob would get to Brian before he tried to convince anyone to wear a mayo tinfoil hat.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-08-01T07:02:22 | 2022-08-01T04:46:15 | 350 | 114 |
[WP] "Please don't leave."
|
I stood in front of the cashier. My items were on the black conveyor belt, quietly chugging towards her. She was beautiful. She had a short black pageboy haircut. Glossy black lipstick and fingernail polish. A tattoo of a rose on her neck. A stud piercing above her lip. Pale skin that looked so soft. As I looked at her, my heart melted.
BLOOP went the UPC-scanner at the supermarket. $3.99 for a box of ramen noodles.
BLOOP. $2.87 for a bottle of Tabasco sauce.
BLOOP. $14.99 for 30-days of prepaid World of Warcraft time.
I bowed my head in shame. We could never be together, her and I. I found myself wishing that I had tattoos and a beret. That I was buying salmon, arugula, California champagne. Something free-range and organic. Cigarettes. A copy of the New Yorker.
I handed her the money, hiding from her powerful gaze. If there was disapproval in her eyes, if there was mockery, then I knew my dreams that night would be watered with tears.
Her fingers, with their defiant black-painted nails, brushed into mine as she handed me my change. My soul erupted. Fires blazed in my core. The end of days came and went and I stayed rooted to the spot, the memory of her touch populating the entirety of my world.
“Excuse me,” the shopper behind me said. Someone’s mother. Wearing sweatpants and bifocals that hung around her neck on a string. “Are you finished? Can I move my cart forward please?”
I sighed heavily. My items were waiting in a pathetic white plastic bag at the end of the counter. I took a step forward.
I felt the cashier’s touch on my arm. Four soft, worldy fingers pressing atop my forearm, and her insistent thumb clinging underneath. The air fled from my lungs. All thoughts escaped my mind.
“Please,” she said. I turned to look into her deep green eyes. They sparkled. Her long black eye lashes were a legion of seductresses. She would be my succubus that night. She would be my everything.
Her look expressed longing. Fear. Desire.
“Please don’t go,” she said.
I looked down at her hand on my arm. Her fingers slid down my arm teasingly, reluctantly making their departure.
“…without your receipt,” she said. She folded the slip and pressed it into my chest. I took it from her, eyes wide. She smiled coyly. Wink.
|
She was the best I'd ever had. A brunette with hair that smelled like cinammon and a body you could trace your eyes over again and again without getting tired.
She had these bright green eyes that shone in the dark, despite the emptiness that resided behind them. They fixed on me and she ran a hand through her hair and bit her lip, porcelain white teeth flashing at me.
*Man...how did they know I liked that?*
She giggled to herself, as if guessing at my thoughts.
"I know everything you like." She moved closer to me. I could smell the slightest hint of strawberries on her breath as she leaned down to me on the bed. Her head strayed near my jeans.
*"Every..."* Her hands started working at them, tugging the buttons down. *"...little..."* She freed me and I gasped in relief. She slowly dropped her head, low enough to look me in the eye from behind my own dick. *"...Thing."*
As she started to blow my mind, my mind cast backwards. I had spent the night with her and she still wasn't tired. I'd ordered her in via the datapad like the guys at the office had told me.
"It's great Johnny," They'd said, "You'll have the best fuckin' night of your life."
"Everybody has tried it."
"So what if it's expensive - you'll love it!"
Their enthusiastic grins and leers had felt weird, almost scary at first. Now those colleagues of mine were vindicated. It was the best night I'd ever had. She'd appeared at eight, the time I'd ordered her for. Prompt. I guess that's not hard when you come from where she came from.
She was wearing a little tank top and some spray-on jeans with a pair of converse. I'd never been one to go for girls all dolled up. Her body was to die for and when those empty green eyes first fixed on me, I'd fallen head over heels.
*Don't be stupid* I'd reminded myself. *Make it count.*
She certainly wasn't shy, getting to work straight away. It'd been months since I'd done anything so it didn't take her long. Afterwards, she just sort of sat there in silence. I figured that's what they all did.
After the third time, I couldn't help myself talking out loud. I told her about me, about my job at the office, about my mom's sickness. I told her everything. Felt good, knowing she wouldn't judge me. Hell, she couldn't judge me. I didn't think so, anyway.
Then she spoke. It surprised the fuck out of me the first time she did. So far all I'd heard from her were moans and grunts, noises she had to make as part of her job.
"You seem nice." She had said. Her voice was honey, melting me in place.
"Thanks." I'd said.
That was the start of the night, really. Yeah, we'd already done it three times but it didn't matter. We spent the rest of the night awake. She'd listen to me, give me some advice. She didn't talk about herself much. I had to keep reminding myself she didn't have much to say. Of course she didn't. Still, It was nice to pretend.
She must have liked me though. We kept making love over and over again. Every time I was able to, in between our conversations. The morning got closer and she seemed more and more urgent every time. As the darkness started to give way she seemed desperate to hear more of my stories, ride me one more time, anything at all.
It was almost time. I'd only booked her till 8.00 AM and we both knew it. The datapad flashed its ten minute warning and still she stayed with me, her body pressed against mine. Her digital heart pounding in her chest. Those green eyes looked up at me again, suddenly very alive. Very afraid.
"Please Johnny. I don't want to de-materialise. I don't want to be another girl. I want you. I want to live. I want to stay."
I felt a pang of guilt and a stab of confusion. *How could she talk like this?* She was supposed to just be programmed to please me and then disappear. She was supposed to be the ultimate callgirl, a digital manifestion of your deepest desires. *Maybe this was all an act,* I thought. *Maybe they've programmed her to be like this because I get off on the thought of her falling for me.*
But she kept trembling and staring at me, tears forming in her emerald eyes. Her hands clung to my legs as the Datapad clicked again. A five minute warning.
I looked down at her, terrified of the countdown ending. I wondered what she would become. What she was. What kind of technology let you create your dream girl, only for her to disappear again.
I reminded myself that she was a computer program, but her soft hands urgently holding on to me and those pleading, desperate eyes left me no doubt that she was more than that. The datapad rung again.
Two minutes.
I thought over the night, how her eyes had slowly come alive as she'd learned more about me. She'd told me what she thought of the stuff I'd told her. She told me she enjoyed the sex. She told me she felt good. *felt* A machine can't feel. I didn't want this. I didn't want her to go.
I looked down at her and then pulled her into a kiss. Her full lips hit mine and we melted into each other. Her hands left deep, sore marks on my sides as she dug them into me. She didn't want to let go. I didn't want her to. I didn't want her to go - couldn't let her go. She was amazing and I knew I'd never be able to get her again. No way could I afford the datapad service again. No way would she ever materialise exactly the same way again. She was unique.
The datapad alarm sounded again. Time up. The long nails on her delicate hands dug into me as our kiss ended. She looked up at me, eyes fully alive. The alarm went silent. I closed my eyes. Her hands stopped clinging to me.
"Please don't leave." I whispered to the empty sheets.
| 2014-09-02T06:55:47 | 2014-09-02T06:25:33 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] The seven deadly sins hold auditions for an eighth.
|
"Jesus Christ," Lust groaned, turning her head away from the auditorium's stage in front of her. "I mean...this is just pitiful."
"It's not all that bad," mumbled Gluttony.
"What?!" Envy shouted. "If you weren't stuffing your face with Ring-Dongs or Ding-Rings or whatever the hell those fat cakes are called, you'd be able to hear these people. Seriously, I can hear your crunching all the way from over here."
"Enough," Wrath hissed. "Here comes the final audition."
Pride smiled warmly. "State your name, honey," she said in a colorful Southern accent.
"Fear," a small voice whispered from the stage.
"Well alright, darling," Pride sang. "Show us what ya got!"
All of the Sins focused intently on Fear as she stood there in loud silence, staring back at them.
"Aren't you going to do something?" Sloth asked nonchalantly, then sighed.
"No," Fear said simply.
"And why not?" asked Greed.
"I'm too afraid," admitted Fear.
"Well, sweetie, it says in your bio here that you really wanted the part. We've read about how much you've sacrificed to get here and how many people are counting on you. It sounds like you've worked so hard for this very moment. Are you sure you just want to throw this opportunity away?" Pride calmly asked.
"Yup," Fear stated with confidence.
"You're an idiot," Wrath spat. "Everyone wants to be a Deadly Sin. Do you know how many people can easily take your place?"
"I guess I'm just afraid of actually achieving my life's dream." Fear shrugged and walked off the stage.
"Wow," Pride said in amazement. "Give her the part."
|
None were totally convinced of any of the candidates. Vanity, Pride's younger sister, was basically the same as she. Used the same modus operandi and caught the same people. Gluttony, Lust, and Greed (the children of "Excess") were loath to allow another sibling pair into the group. Pride already had a lot of influence over the twins Envy and Wrath (her cousins) and so their vote for vanity was assured. Sloth (the deciding vote) didn't care to be the tie-breaker between the two related groups of sins.
Luckily for Sloth, Screwtape stepped in to settle the disagreement. That second only to Lucifer himself drew from the many sins to create something new, something that was a combination of all the seven deadly sins. He didn't even bother to name it, for to do so would make it more easily spotted and identified and avoided. No this new sin would creep through pride into the intellectuals and leaders of nations, into convincing them that THEY knew best how the people ought to live their lives. The influence of wrath would drive them to use force to achieve their means. Sloth (with Pride) rationalized their behavior, telling them that they (the intelligent and benevolent and "special" leaders of the people) could handle "charity" better than the individual masses could. Using force to take their money to spend on things that were for the good of the masses, but were against the will of the masses, could only be righteousness.
Greed, Gluttony and Lust contributed too. The distinguished station these people held could only be duly compensated with excess. What was a little whore-mongering, embezzlement and crony nepotism if it got things done that were for the "good" of the people? Envy contributed one of the more crucial parts. Those unaffected by this cacophonous symphony of sin could spot it, though they could not name it, and would attempt to reign it in. To bring those under its influence back to reality and freedom. (For in freedom, the chance for real charity and righteousness exists, as they can only spring from the individual will of those who engage in such acts. While in servitude to the "benevolent" masters, under the yolk of this new sin, their charity was nothing but slavery. Those who would willingly have given hold back, since those 'leaders' had taken over the business of charity in their domains, to the point that they prosecuted those who engaged in it under obscure laws that were unintelligible to any with a modicum of sense.)
But I digress from the story. To those that could spot this sin, and were in a position to try and name it, envy was let loose upon the masses under the sway of the benevolent leaders. They, who cared for the earth and the poor and those disadvantaged by discrimination, the sick and unfortunate with their laws and rules could only be the truly righteous party. And so the truth put forward by those not under the influence of the new sin would be drowned in a swarm of unfounded claims of racism, sexism, and nationalism.
Those who were against the benevolent leaders running a national system of charity could only hate the poor. Those who were against the benevolent leaders controlling education could only be against education. Those who were for allowing the masses to be charitable themselves and relieving them of the yolk of sloth that lulled them into complacency toward their fellow man and neighbor could only have, at their heart of hearts, a disdain and hatred for those who fall on hard times. Or so the benevolent leaders told those who listened. And the power of the sin was such that it was believed.
The devotion was so fanatical that it swept aside all reason that those without its bonds tried to bring to bear against it. Those under its lash proclaimed science their master, while eschewing the science of vaccines as profit driven and evil. They proclaimed that (and other) strong sciences suspect, and other suspect sciences strong and settled. They used the fear and envy contained in the sin to ignore their own hypocrisy and violently and tirelessly sought to destroy the voices and lives of those who were able to abstain and distance themselves from thinking that they knew better than others how to run their own lives.
Screwtape let loose the sin into the world, and to this day it has yet to be named, and only rarely does the light of reason shine brightly enough to dispel its effect. It was an old sin to be sure, but one that had rested long only on the leaders of nations. It was only in this newest century, the age of the internet that the sin could be let loose to its fullest potential. When every "fact" can be sourced to support either side of an argument, when every person can extoll the virtues of their leaders, and when every person who disagrees can be bullied and harassed into silence, freedom is lost. And under the lash of this new sin the masses began to go forward, and the last bastion of freedom on earth, whose foundation was laid upon self governance and a society of unity, integration, and freedom began to shake.
It would not be long now, the final battle between the sin's subjects and those of God's ilk was at hand. Until the sin was able to be named it would hold sway over an ever increasing mass of human sheep. And the army of Lucifer would grow, and the believers would lose faith and fall into its ranks. Not long now...
(Apologies if it is sort of rambly, it is kind of late here. And I hoped to not come off as too soap boxy, but it is what I think is going on in the world today.)
| 2014-12-28T02:40:39 | 2014-12-28T02:07:33 | 69 | 10 |
[WP] you have just found out that your daughter is one of world's greatest supervillains.
|
"You're telling me that you're the greatest evil to ever come to earth?" I asked, sitting across from my 18 year old daughter.
She nodded. Lucille had just proven that she was Lady Darkness, the scourge of the Justice League.
"Yet, you can't manage to actually keep your room clean?" I sighed.
"Well, something has to go."
"I suppose. But if you truly are robbing those banks, then you can help pay rent."
|
“You’re who?” I asked, my face quickly flushing with anger. I couldn’t believe the words that had just left her mouth.
“I am the Empress, Ruler of All Humanity,” my daughter repeated in a deep, echoing voice. “Bow to me measly human!”
“You will not talk to your father that way Jennifer!” I shouted back. My little girl, only 8 years old, was staring at me. A black cape with a velvet underside had materialized on her back and blew in the wind. Waves and curls of darkness rose up from her feet and her eyes were pure black bulbs. She was the super villain, The Empress, who had been destroying city after city, superhero after superhero.
“BOW!” she screamed.
“You will NOT talk to your father that way!” I repeated.
“Who do you think you are?” she asked. Her voice was higher, but completely unnatural for a little girl to have. It was reminiscent of a teenage girl gabbing with her best friends in the nasaliest voice possible.
“I am your father young lady, and you will obey me!” I said. “Now, go to your room. You’re grounded!”
“That’s unfair!” she pouted. “I was going to destroy Tokyo today. You can’t stop…”
That was when I pulled out my secret weapon. I held him in front of me, a pair of scissors to his neck.
“Mr. Bear might just lose his head if you don’t go to your room now!” I yelled.
She contemplated me for a moment. Her eyes returned to normal, but she still wore the super villain costume, darkness radiating from her.
“Fine!” she stomped, going up the stairs to her room.
“Hey, don’t forget, you’re grounded for a month!” I shouted out after her.
“That’s no fair!” she screeched in her 8 year old voice again.
“You know better than to talk back,” I told her as she went to her room.
After I heard her door slam, I sat down on the couch in the living room, holding Mr. Bear and wondering if I’d have actually taken his head off. He was just a teddy bear, after all, but my daughter loved him so much.
“A month?” my wife said as she walked into the room with two glasses of wine. I smiled and held out a hand for one but she downed both of them in a couple gulps. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh? It was only one little city she destroyed.”
“Yeah, but they had the best lobster in town,” I replied, my eyes becoming moist. “I’m so proud of her. She’s really becoming a true super villain, just like us. But she needs to know that there’s some things you don’t do, like destroy daddy’s favorite restaurant.”
“So I heard she wanted to go take on Tokyo,” my wife said, materializing another glass of wine out of thin air. “You know, we could call a babysitter,” she said, licking her lips and taking a sip of wine.
“Oh really,” I replied, lifting my eyebrows in surprise.
“Yeah, let’s go have some fun tonight,” she smiled. “And you know what? Sushi sounds rather good. What do you say?”
“I’ll call the sitter,” I said as I threw Mr. Bear on the couch.
****
**Alt Ending**
The living room was empty, but the TV had been left on. Tokyo was in ruins. Two super villains were flying around, laughing maniacally. On the couch sat a stuffed bear. It slowly sat up, its stuffed head spinning around, until it fixed its gaze on the TV.
“Supper!” the little girl yelled, throwing the baby sitter into the room. The teenage girl was on her knees, crying and shocked by such a little girl’s strength. The teddy bear jumped off the couch, baring teeth that should have belonged to a lion instead.
“I’ve got to go have some fun,” the little girl yelled to the bear as she left the house. “Make sure to clean up after you’re done. Dad’s going to be so pissed that you ate another sitter.”
The door slammed and blood spattered the walls, Mr. Bear digging into his new meal.
| 2015-03-25T14:56:02 | 2015-03-25T14:52:11 | 47 | 21 |
[WP] It turns out everyone's playing Life on Normal Mode. You find the main menu and start playing on an entirely new difficulty setting.
It could be anything: extremely easy, legendary, impossible, whatever! Just don't forget to save your progress as you go.
|
I press Start
I wake up in my room with the lights off. My mouth dry, my body slow. A glass of water is the only thing on my mind. I roll out of bed and take the usual path to my kitchen sink. I turn the kitchen light switch on. Nothing happens. Damn, I walk over to my bedside table and grab my phone where I know it to be. Flashlight app is my only hope. The phone is dead. Fuck, I just charged it overnight. The power was out and I had no way of lighting my house. I assumed it was a new moon since there was not a flicker of light coming from the window. After stubbing my tow multiple times on the way to the bathroom I remembered I had a scented candle. I open the cabinet, grab the lighter and the candle.
*flck
*flck
The lighter's not working too?
OW! I felt something. The intense sting of a flame on my forearm. Impossible, the lighter was broken!
Shit. The only scenario possible hit me like a ton of bricks. The power isn't out, the lighter's not broken. I just woke up blind.
Maybe choosing Hard mode was a bad idea.
|
It can be said, knowing few experts would deny the veracity of this assertion, that human history is riddled with very, poor, decisions. Some mild. Others, aeon-defining.
July 19th, 1969, a John Fairfax completed the first solo row across *any* ocean. A monumental achievement of the human spirit, shadowed only by two factors; One, how some Americans took it upon themselves the very next day to make a short jaunt to the *moon*. And two, the incredibly poor scheduling by Fairfax's publicist.
Another entry in the Codex of Poor Decisions by Lower Beings was the slow introduction of hand sanitization in birthing wards. How incredibly foolish the human race was, to not introduce such basic hygiene where they were, to our continued regret, giving birth to more of them. Though the implication of success would make a lower-being question the placement of this entry, we can all agree that the 20th century was a trying time for participants and observers alike. Comedy is as subjective as it is necessary.
One entry in particular, is a personal favorite. Like the events riddled in this Codex of Poor Decisions by Lower Beings, it is only to the subject's own hindsight, that budding historians get to read of their failures and suppress the laughing reflex we evolved past three aeons prior.
This is about Matthew. Matthew the First.
The subject was in his teens, fiddling with controls on an academic terminal to alter the grade for a test he did not study for. This took place three years prior to the incident. Such antics and blatant displays of negligence fall beneath the Codex of Poor Decisions by Lower Beings, but context for the subject's mental-frame is important for our Registry. We note the subject's inclination towards altering rules, the suggestion of disrespect he displays towards said rules, and his predestination towards the incident in question.
Matthew would be dragging his corpse-to-be across a city-park one August 2nd, 2016 afternoon when his body crashes into thin air. To our non-surprise, he gets back up only to walk into it again. A lower being in a galaxyshell. His digits probed around the invisible construct, presses a button, and [WARNING: LAUGHING REFLEX SUPPRESSION ADVISED] pushes the button. Without any concern for the consequences of said action. The subject may have blown up all that he lived and loved for and would never have been conscious of destroying his civilization. But I digress, this is not a comedy.
A mindscreen flashed before him, opening MilkGalaxyShell-Sol-Earth Skill Difficulty Terminal #2 (We would not see the other terminal discovered until four Sol-3 centuries later). Before the subject were presented four options to his cranial comprehension; Normal Mode, Hard Mode, God Mode, and Random Mode. Any cognizant life form had an opportunity to increase the difficulty setting placed on their pre-determinate existence upon encountering one of the two randomly shifting terminals. Matthew would happen to be the first to not dismiss this encounter as a "ghost", or attempt to photograph said encounter on their primitive telecommunication device before it would phase out of mind and memory.
Our subject was labeled Matthew the First in this entry for having taken the chaotic, impulsive initiative only a lower-being could operate to the highest limits of his species. And so in his infinite wisdom [SUPPRESS LAUGHING REFLEX, FATALITY POSSIBLE UPON FURTHER READING] he pushed the Random Mode button.
This was the first documented perfect trans-species convergence to have occurred, and Matthew the First became a bowl of petunias. The complexities and consistent fatigue of universal truths and wonder would weigh on the grounded mind of our hapless subject as he also came to regret his very, poor decision. It was only by the pity of our pregenators upon a lower-being making lower-being mistakes, that the existence of our subject was given the ability to phase and travel as freely as the Skill Difficulty Terminals. Thus, we renamed him Agrajag, or, He-Who-Travels-Randomly-Much-To-Our-Entertainment. Never before has a lower-being brought such entertainment to higher dimensional existences, that many perished. Thus was the laughing reflex done away with to our relief. A true, aeon-defining moment.
As entries go in the Codex of Poor Decisions by Lower Beings, this one is special, in that the entry continues to grow and persist through continual updates by the Registry, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. For truly Matthew the First exists in a perpetual state of random. Repeats however, are not impossible. Observe [Sub-Entry AndroShell-Magrathea-1553](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCsfHVM5x_I) for example at your own risk. Laughter has been known to occur.
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More at /r/galokot, and thank you for reading!
| 2016-02-02T22:50:50 | 2016-02-02T21:50:55 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You wake up in a remote island after a plane crash as the only survivor, but you find 9 others who were also the lone survivors of 9 plane crashes already settled there. You realise that the planes were of the same airliners and next day an airdrop delivers the message "Now it starts".
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A letter was dropped inside my toolbox. It contained three pieces of information: the identifying code of an aircraft, a date, and a volumetric value. As an aircraft mechanic, I quickly identified this volumetric value as fuel quantity.
Half the flights leaving this airport would end up crashing if they only had that much fuel. Most likely at sea. People were probably going to die. Why would anyone do this?
But the machine-printed letter ended with a handwritten piece. *“For the good of mankind”*.
Even if I went ahead with it, it wasn’t such a simple task of stopping the pump at the right time. I’d have to tamper with the avionics systems so the onboard computer wouldn’t notify the crew of the missing fuel. I’d have to social engineer the check-up routine so no one would four-eyes my work and documentation.
Even if I was damn careful, once the investigation started, they would know it was me. Or at least someone from my crew. But I did it anyway.
I don’t know why I did it the first time. But there were no reportings. No one noticed the flight, and people, went missing. So it was a conspiracy bigger than myself. Government, media, corporations? It made it easier to do it again, one month later.
I did it eight times already. The ninth was different. It was a longer letter, all handwritten this time. It told me the world was going to end in a few years. It didn’t tell me why. But across the globe, systematically, people were being selected and hidden in places to, hopefully, continue civilization in our stead - should they survive, once it starts.
So I wasn’t selected for continuing civilization. Maybe for the best. I am depraved and twisted enough to follow instructions that endanger lives because of something a letter told me. But I was selected to facilitate the way for those survivors. Something in me was apparent to someone who was looking for it. It gave me peace.
I hope the survivors I helped can reach the new world safely. I hope, for the good of mankind.
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Somewhere above the Pacific Ocean
“Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. It’s all a dream nothing more. Don’t open your eyes. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Ohh god please forgive me for all my sins, I know I was never religious, but please forgive me, please look after Jon and Noah, please look after jasmine. I spent some good times, but I guess this is the ... “
The screams stopped, the cries calmed down. Everything seemed to go silent. Mark thought this was it. He had already died along with the hundred other with him on the ship, but then he opened his eyes. What he found was beyond horrific. Death was everywhere around him, but it didn’t touch him, and for that he was grateful.
“Maybe god did listen to my prayers after all”
The first thing he thought of doing was to call out, see if anyone else was still alive.
“ANYONE THEEEREEEE?”
No answer. “Damn I got lucky”, he got up, checked to see for any injuries, “nothing major”. He found the exit and went out. “Now where the hell are we?” He knew they were somewhere in the pacific as he had been following he flight on his screen, but beyond that he had no idea.
“Should’ve eaten before the flight like you told me, jasmine”
You might be thinking “how the hell is this it so calm? This isn’t realistic, it’s like an amateur is writing this on reddit or something.” Well first of all: yes you dumb shit, you should probably just wipe and leave, you got work to do. And second of all: let me give you guys a little backstory. Two years ago, mark was in Afghanistan serving for the navy seals. This isn’t really his first plane crash either. Let’s just say he’s been through a lot, but ohh boy is he going through a shit ton more.
I won’t bother you with the small details, but fast forward a day later and mark is here at a campfire eating some crispy wild hog and thinking to himself “how the hell am I gonna get out of here?”
He hears a rustle in the branches. “What was that?” He takes his wooden machete and walks over to the branches carefully, waits a few seconds, and he sees a human leg in there. “Anyone there?” He says. “Mark?” The bush responds. “Harry? What he he’ll are you doing here?” Harry comes out of the bush and they both hug each other. “Been a good couple of years, man. Well you know a plane crashes, you end up on a deserted island, the usual stuff” they both laugh and sit at the campfire to catch up like they just met at a mall.
“Forgot to tell you, our hole platoon had crashed here ... on separate planes”
“What? You don’t think someone’s on to us do you?”
“Seems like it”
“Well how are we gonna get out of this thi...”
They both hear a drone landing near them with a small paper attached to it, mark grabs it and starts to read “gentlemen, welcome. You have all been selected for a mission however before I tell you what it is, you must all pass the test at hand. All 9 of you must find a way to escape the island you are on and go back to mainland. A messenger will be waiting for you there and will escort you to our headquarters. I wish you luck gentlemen and remember, you are America’s finest”
“Well then gotta go tell the rest of the guys”
30 mins later:
“Well guys look who I’ve found”
“Captain, thought you would crash the party?”
“Greg the party just started, we have a mission to get to, but first we need to find a way out of this place, you guys have been here longer than me, so any ideas?”
“Well the water is shark infested and there’s no land anywhere near, so that’s out the way”
“Not really, we could use the engine blades from the planes to build a boat”
“I like the sound of that, so let’s split up, Gregg, Monroe, Walkings, and Harry you go get the engine blades and any other parts from the plane. Matt you’re the smart one around here, you’ll draw the plans for the boat. Foster I need you to get us enough water for a week long trip at least. The rest of us will hunt for food for the trip.
The men all went their separate ways, none of them being phased by the challenge, they’ve faced way worse.
A week later and they had an almost functioning boat, supplies, and nine tires bodies. They started their trip, not knowing where they were heading, only having the stars for direction.
Another week later and the boat arrived on the docks of Seattle. They got down and waited for this messenger to come.
Approaching them was a blonde, young women, wearing a black suit and sunglasses that covered her beautiful face. She went up to mark. “Captain mark, you’re late. The organization has been waiting for you. Now come with me”
They went with her towards a minivan
Mark went inside to find a man sitting with a glass of champagne in his hand.
“Captain mark, what took you so long? Oh who cares the important thing is that you’re here. Your mission is as follows: three weeks ago a Russian scientist was found dead in his apartment, he had found a way to purify the atmosphere of any planet to fit human needs. The Russians believe it was us who did it. you’re mission is to postpone world war 3 until we are able to deploy this technology and inhabit mars.”
P.S
I was thinking of deleting this because I don’t really like it, but decided to post it anyways. So here you go
| 2018-12-26T05:24:44 | 2018-12-26T04:18:59 | 202 | 34 |
[WP] In a world where super powers are bought and sold like everyday items, you decide it’s time to be the hero this world needs. With $20 and a couple coupons, you find yourself in the discount section of the super powers store. That’s all you need.
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The power to make someone else flatulate uncontrollably. The flapping sound would ring out for as long as the owner of this power could exhale.
Make everything that your enemies eat or drink taste like moldy bread, so long as you keep sticking your tongue out at them.
The advertisements listed in the back of the store had the strangest powers. Nothing more than gags that you would pull with your friends.
They weren't anything earth-shattering or "Wow! Look at me!" powers, but they would suffice. Sure I could save up some more and spring for some of the sexier powers like being able to fly, or be able to lift a bus, or climb a building, or whatever cool power that you've seen lately. The truth is that those powers have become a dime a dozen. Sure if you get in a fight with the power to shoot fire from your palm you might take down someone who can fly with superhuman strength, but then some asshole with the power to freeze your body to the core in a millisecond will come to take you down.
The truth was that there wasn't time for that. Billie Hooligan's gang was causing too much trouble in my neighborhood. Billie and his goons wouldn't stop harassing poor Ms. Haversham at her diner. They would nag kids walking home from school and shake them down for whatever latest electronics their parents might have bought them. It needed to stop. But how could I, a lowly 10th grader with only 20 bucks to my name do anything to stop them?
I had nowhere near enough money to put up a fight against them. It came to me when we were in class learning about some guerrilla war that was fought a hundred years ago. I don't need to overpower them with brute strength or a fighting tactical finesse. I could eat away at them, slowly, but eventually, I would wear them down. Attack, then duck low and wait, attack again and keep coming back.
The first phase of the attack was aimed at the head of the dragon itself, at Billie Hooligan. I learned from an acquaintance that he was taking his new girlfriend out to the new spot across town for dinner.
I couldn't afford to get my own table inside so I had to sit across the street and watch them through the window. I watched as he pulled out the seat for his beau and sat across from her. They started chit-chatting and that's when I started flexing my newfound power of making people flatulate on command. Just short quick shots at first, I didn't want to end things too quickly. I could see her nose wrinkle at the odor, just a little, like something was only a little bit off.
I waited for their entrees to come before I started with my second power. People walking by on the street probably thought that I was crazy sitting there sticking my tongue out at the restaurant. I would just slightly curl my lips in a smile and nod as they walked by and they would look away.
I watched as Billie and his date chugged through their pitcher of water in a useless attempt to get the taste out of their mouth. I watched as they called the waiter over to complain about the quality of the food.
That's when I took the biggest breath I could muster and aimed it right at Billie's date. She let one out that was so extraordinary that I swear the glass on the building shook. Billie looked like he was going to be sick. Billie's date sat there in embarrassment. When Billie excused himself to get up, probably to ditch his date I let him have it too. I kept it together just long enough for him to get to the bathroom, watching as he hopped from one foot to another, clenching in a hope to get the non-stop farting to stop.
Diners along the entirety of Billie's path asked for their checks in unison.
Thank you for reading! I hope this didn't seem too childish but I feel like what I write is generally much more serious and I wanted to try to write something a little more light-hearted.
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Heroism? What about it? In a world when all kind of powers are common merchandise, being a hero is not about strength, might, speed, or any kind of super talent. Leave those to Hercules and all his crazy greek pals of old legends. Back then, being ordinary -or extraordinary- was a matter of fate, way beyond your influence. Destiny and power and heroism were all the same. Not anymore.
Then, you may ask, what is left? Is there no longer a place for someone who wishes for more? Quests, missions and crusades for all kind of travellers? Or crime fighters? Or saviors? Is this the time of no more heroes? With power as such close reach, heroism's role in this planet seemed over. But it wasn't. In fact, the nature of true heroism bloomed when freed of its worldly chains. Heroes are not bound by their powers, but by their very attitude: their strife to go further, their willingness to help anyone in need, and their basic need to illuminate and better the world. Those are the marks of a true hero. There is where heroism origins.
People think that I'm some kind of idealistic nutjob, that wants to meddle everywhere just because. They go "Let it be" and "they'll solve it themselves" like you can just buy a solution to any problem. You *can* buy power -all sorts of powers, as a matter of fact- but that doesn't provide respite to our conflicts. We are stronger, but not quite better (don't forget where does true heroism come from!). And, for me, it is time to take my path -my heroic path- to the next level.
As I enter the nearest Everyone'sPowerful store I am reminded of the vast task ahead, and its importance. Powers are getting more expensive everyday, and inequality is starting to really show. And more powerful does not means better. Not at all. You want to be the flame that lightens the world, not the one that sets ablaze anything that dares to cross you. True heroism couldn't be farther from the lust for power. That being said, sometimes you need to fight fire with fire -just a little bit. 20 dollars and some coupons...
All the spectacular and very "cool" powers are sold out or very pricey. Moreover, they are big commitments, and the super power removal services are at an all time high cost. Flame breath? Nice for some days, but then... People gotta think straight (and not forget what heroism really is!) but they usually don't. In the past, power was destiny, and now it is consumption. While navigating the store to find something more suitable to my price range, I cannot help but to think that my thinking about heroism is a power by itself. A talent. And one that I wish more people could have (How better the world could be if people knew that!). That's my mission, to showcase what true heroism looks like.
The discount section of the store is quite vast and -opposite to common belief- does not only contain "weak" and "useless" powers. As I see it, mostly "unpopular" powers are found here (power nowadays *is* consumption). Experimental talents, difficult-to-remove spells, "uncool" or very unnoticeable tricks and augments. Power is also production, and the power factories have botched some lots in more than one ocassion. You can find those for cheap too, and all kind of unregulated stuff. That's on the streets, though, not in Everyone'sPowerful. "Boring" is, perhaps, a suitable adjective for the products available here. That's what most people would say, but they don't know the resplandecent face of real heroism. There isn't nothing boring about it.
I browse the shelves item by item, searching for the right talents to *complement* (I've said it, just *complement*) my fight. Even if I left empty handed, the quest would be on, as long as my heroic instincts, determination and shine are with me (and they are!). I start by the very left...
*Night vision, but it's solar powered.* 5 cents. Yeah, nice one... And the worst of all, probably it is totally accurate and sincere. For a while, there was this trend of making ironic powers. It was considered... artsy. Poweronic. It didn't last long. I'll pass (lol) but... I mean, it could work in the right place? Having your eyes looking down some dark cellar or well, and just a little toe receiving sunlight. Perhaps there's another layer to the irony of this product (one where true heroism rests, *sometimes*). Maybe, if I end with some cents to spare...
*Fly, not to high, for a very short of time, and ascend and descend at a very slow speed (by J.U.M.P co).* 1 cent. An example of the effort of some companies to pass some very deficient products as real powers. It wasn't until last year that the Power Regulation Council got the necessary tools to combat this obvious and "honest" practices. Legacy rulings may protect this particular one or they just forgot to remove it from sale. Nothing heroic about it. Next!
*Indifference #1 A-OK. Unisex fragance.* 5 dollars. This one was in the news - as it actually works. With indifference, everything feels ok, but just ok. And, because it is a fragance, your surroundings smell, and feel, and reek of just ok. Very dangerous and colorless liquid.
*B...LD, LOSE ALL YOUR .....R.* 1 Dollar. This one is difficult to read. The letters are very fuzzy. Being fearless could be a jump start to any deed (do I really need that, though?). On second, thought, It seems risky, in a very unheroic fashion. Heroism has nothing to do with fear, or the absence of it. It is something unconditional. And I like my hair.
*Totally A Larger Lad (3 cm**^(3)* *per cm) 10 dollars... Deep Sea (Blue eyes. Warning: Do not apply if already blue eyed, Do not apply while pregnant) 15 dollars...* I keep hashing and searching and looking and grow dissapointed and tired. *Count of a little county (enjoy all the great benefits of vampirism. Disclaimer: Max one teacup of blood -only compatible types- a day)... GROOT (GROOT, groot, groot)...* What the hell was that? I *know* that heroism is beyond power, and I expected to find some wacky stuff, but I can't help but to feel a little bit defeated. Trying not to forget the inherent beauty and reach of my duty I close my eyes for a second, wander for an instant and pick one item at random.
*Hyper magic mega burgers. Spawn burgers at will, one at a time, by the means of secret food magic. No extra ingredients required!.* In very little letters... *Note: the quality and nature of your burgers depends, like with every food magic spell, on the love, care and effort you put on casting them*. *Don't forget that!* And on the backside. *Returned product. Reselling price: 20 dollars. Past customer notes: "They just tasted blah. Didn't get value for my money"*. My mood revives and I become a very happy man. A man on a mission. Because, you know, heroism isn't about power. Or having or not having. Heroism can't be bought or produced. It's about giving. Cast a spell and travel the world gifting hyper magic mega burgers, one at a time.
| 2019-08-14T17:15:15 | 2019-08-14T14:22:37 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You are a forgotten god just days from fading into the void, when all of a sudden you hear a whisper the first prayer you’ve had in years. With this in mind you stumble out of your death bed and investigate this.
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It started as a casual discussion between friends, more of a joke than a serious discourse. A small group of us had gathered to watch the newest big Netflix release, a flashy action spectacle that focused on a handful of ancient deities covertly hunting demons that were preying upon mankind. “How many Gods are there in this thing?” someone wondered aloud after the movie ended with a new generation of Gods joining the ranks of the demon hunters.
“A lot less than there are in the real world,” I quipped back. “There must be hundreds of Gods humans have worshipped over time, maybe even thousands, right? So many Gods that we have forgotten the names of most of them.”
Someone else chimed in with an idea of their own, “You could probably run a random name generator ten times, and at least one of them has probably been a God at some point in history. Hey, that gives me an idea for a game! Let’s each generate our own God, and then we will take turns praying to them. See if any of them still work!”
Everyone laughed and agreed that it sounded like fun, so I used my phone’s web browser to search for “God Name Generator.” I wasn’t surprised when multiple search results popped up, but just went with the top result and proceeded to click the bold “Generate” button that appeared on the next page. Almost immediately my screen updated with the first random name. “Itvain. Huh. Who’s going first?”
Over the next ten minutes, my friends took turns generating random names and then belting off boisterous prayers to their newly discovered deities. “Itvain, grant me inhuman strength!” “Xeohr, bless me with more money than I could count in a lifetime!” “In the name of Ugdos, smite my foes!” Everyone waited in eager silence for a few seconds after each invocation, all of us feeling like excited young kids again as we each secretly hoped something might happen.
Eventually it was my turn. I clicked “Generate” yet again and immediately laughed at how absurd the name was that popped up. The group argued with me over pronunciation for a minute, and then I started my prayer. “O’ great and powerful ancient one, please answer my call! I ask for the gifts of wisdom and of wealth – and I wouldn’t mind some eternal life, too, if you have any to spare!”
A sudden burst of light and sound had filled the room around me then, the force of the flash driving me momentarily blind and deaf. As my vision cleared, I noticed the burned remains of my friends smoldering on the couch and chairs all around me. Every one of them had been reduced to charred husks, blackened strips of jerky-like flesh peeling away from their bones. A man had also appeared with the flash of light, an old one judging by his long white beard and many wrinkles. He stood in the center of the room and peered sheepishly at the bodies scattered all around him.
When he saw me blinking at him in shock, he gave me an oddly beatific smile. “Oh, please accept my most sincere apologies! It’s been quite a while since I’ve been summoned, and it appears that I will have to get used to traveling among humans again. This type of transportation certainly has its risks! Don’t worry, I'm sure it will come back to me before too long. You did summon me by the way, yes? I am incredibly grateful for that, as I must confess that I was beginning to lose track of time a bit. I may have even faded away entirely had I been stuck waiting much longer.”
I couldn’t even begin to think straight, much less speak. I was paralyzed with shock, unable to form coherent thoughts that would help make sense of anything that was happening. “I…I-I, uhh, I…my friends...” I knew I wasn’t making any sense, but still felt like I had to say something.
“Whoa, I really did a number on you, didn't I? Maybe you should just take it easy for a bit. Look, I need to stretch my legs anyway, maybe pop out for a little while to see what you humans have been up to during my time away. Why don’t you just relax while I look around, hmm? We can talk about that money and immortality you wanted when I get back, how about that? It’ll be fun!” There was another sudden bright flash as the man apparated away again.
&#x200B;
So that’s how my closest friends all died in what the authorities ultimately declared some sort of freak lightning strike. Dry lightning, they called it, since it wasn’t raining the day of the strike. I was entirely unharmed in the incident, a fact which everyone insists is certainly a miracle. The doctors reassure me that hallucinations are a common side effect of traumatic situations. No one believes the man I saw was there.
It could be easy for me to believe that he didn’t exist. And maybe one day I will allow myself to begin indulging that belief. But for now, I know that there was something ancient and terrible in the room that day. I live in fear that he, or it, will soon finish his “look around” and return to finish our conversation. I have made it a point to never repeat his name again, either in speech or in writing, in the hopes that my caution delays his return for even a moment longer. Wealth and immortality be damned.
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Like birds fly to the warmer climate in the winter times out of instinct, us gods are guided here to the void when our beliefs and prayers cease to exist out of instinct. This is certainly the worst fate for anyone to experience, let alone for a god to face. We are brought into existence when one speaks of us, we didn't actually ever exist you see. No one truly knows how the universe began it just did, the most popular theory on earth is "the Big Bang Theory." Everyone wants to believe that it was a God, the Alpha and Omega that brought everything in to existence when it couldn't be farther from the truth, it's actually the complete opposite of that, it is humans that brought us Gods into existence. At some point during human evolution questions began to pop up, like where does the sun go at night and why does the moon rise in its place? Will the sun ever come back? Naturally such a young civilization was unable to answer those questions so they attributed it to some all knowing being or beings. The first religions tended to be polytheistic in nature, an individual entity for different parts of life, the sun and moon, farming, rain, fertility, etc., and from the stories I heard growing up it was a happening time. Gods and goddesses were living it up with a steady never ending stream of offerings and devoted followers on earth and up in the heavens living it up partying making gods and goddesses and even sneaking down to earth and making Demi-Gods, they were truly immortal. However even immortals succumb to time, as civilizations were built and decimated and built again their followers grew fewer and fewer offering up less and less until finally the worst thing that can happen happens, the prayers cease to come. Offerings are great for us Gods we love them, but they're like alcohol they're fun and recreational but offer up no real sustenance, prayers are what keeps us alive. After all if someones belief could bring us to life than it stands to reason once that belief is no more then well, so are we.
I stand here at the nexus of everything and nothing, the same place so many of us have stood before contemplating the meaning of life, a very trivial human question, that only plaques us immortals when we have to take the step from everything to nothing. I raise my head once more and take in the view, from this vantage point one can see the entire universe, arms of galaxies swirling in purples and blues, with green gasses, nebulas, stars exploding and being born, if I breathed, it would truly be breathtaking. Now prepared I begin to take these final steps into the void, not knowing what actually comes next, if anything does. As my foot leaves the ground and breaks the threshold into nothingness it starts to waver and pixelate into nothingness and disappears, When out of everything comes a murmur. "Gadon, God of honor, please hear my prayers," upon hearing those words my frail decrepit body was restored to its forming glory, my gray stringy hair transformed back in to my thick flowing brown hair, and all of my energy came back to me, I hadn't felt this good in centuries. The prayer continued "I found your name in a book of ancient Deities, and I need your help, my families honor has been beseeched and I need your help regaining it, thank you," just like that the prayer was over and the magnetic pull leading me into the void was gone and I was free to travel back to heaven.
Happy, and confused I did my best to compose myself before honing in on the prayer after all I haven't used this ability in five hundred years or so I needed complete concentration. Like humans riding a bike after not for years, I was able to tap into the Akashic Records, a little shaky at first but after a moment I was able to get my bearings. Standing in this vast ethereal library I was greeted by the so called librarian, the only thing that's not part of the material world to be brought into existence at the beginning of time. In my opinion this being is god, an amorphous all knowing being that's has been since the beginning of time. All it had to do was look at me before extending an arm of light to the right, I nodded in a gesture of thanks before proceeding in that direction. The library was alive with astral souls reading up on their own or their lovers past lives, other gods researching their prayers, and the random astral entities things people made in the astral realm, creature of thought. I just kept moving along waiting to find the book on the prayer I had received, all I had to do was read the book find out how their honor was destroyed and restore it. If I can do that then their belief in me is sure to be restored and I can live for another five hundred years, at least I think, this has never happened before.
After a few more steps my intuition came back to me allowing me to follow it to the correct Book of Life, Diego Carmon. I began to flip through it skimming it for all the important parts of his life making sure he was indeed worthy of my help. After all if he or his family leads a life of sin and crime I can't help restore honor, you need to have had honor for it to be restored. The Books of Life that fill the library have all the important facts about the person such as name, date of birth, sex, country of origin, where you live, and all major sins along with all major acts of good ones committed, after that its a book of all the prayers you've ever said, church prayers, fox hole prayers, taking a gods name in vein and so on. The books use to be so thick, people were once devoted to us but as time went on people faith began tow dwindle and so did the books. However Diego's book was thicker than any I'd seen for hundreds of years, not of major sins or good deeds but of prayers. Most of his prayers revolved around his family and his utter love for them and were said to a catholic god until he was 17. When he turned seventeen it seems something happened and he began researching ancient religions looking for specific deities to help him restore his families honor among the community and even others in his family. His very first prayer was all I needed to see to understand the brevity of the situation:
*Please, whoever is listening to me hear my prayers, my father was arrested for a crime he didn't commit. He was charged with the abduction rape and subsequent murder of a young woman. I know he didn't do it, I just know.*
After reading that I knew I had to help him it had been six years since that prayer was uttered, and a different one was said every day to a different god, gods he couldn't have known walked in to the void centuries before he of his grandparents were ever born. I was the first one that could answer him and that almost wasn't the case. I began to think about all the different ways I could help him, what sort of signs I could send, who I could put in his path to help him, when all of the sudden I had a thought, what if I went down to earth to help him, then his belief in me is sure to. be solidified and he could spread my message and existence among the people again. I know its frowned upon and considered cheating to mess around in human affairs like this but, what's the worst thing that happens? Im forced into the void the exact fate I was only just facing?
Against my better judgment I went to the doorman, the only thing between myself and earth. "Hey Gadon, long time no see," he said " I figured you went into the void or something," he let out with a little chuckle. I had to keep my composure, I couldn't let him see my anger rise up or he'd know something was wrong.. I chuckled back in response " yea its been close, luckily every now and then someone says a prayer and keeps me alive." I could see the doorman's face get a little more serious that it had been moments ago, unsure of what this face meant I wracked my mind with millions of excuses or possible responses to anything he could say "alright Gadon, what brings you to earth today, not to many gods going back and forth nowadays," a smile came across my face as I raised my eye brows up and down a few times before slyly saying "oh, between you and me I'm going to make a few Demi-gods" as I nudge him on the side with my elbow. He cracks a little mischievous smile in return "tell me all about it when you get back and we have a deal," I extend my hand to shake on it as he grabs it and launches me through the door. All I could hear was "have a good time Gadon," before being blasted by sunlight and having the pavement of a busy highway in rusher greet my face. What a time to have the sensation of feeling come back to me.
&#x200B;
I think I'm going to continue this if anyone likes it enough.
| 2020-10-18T14:20:19 | 2020-10-18T12:45:24 | 198 | 42 |
[WP] You're immortal. The only problem is, you've lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. You are now forced to live in the forest as a cryptid
I know this is a repost, I just want to read more stories about this prompt
Credit to u/Not-Alpharious for the original prompt.
|
I had a name. The Nakedskin. A creature that roams what used to be the Malaysian rainforests with soft, flexible skin. A strange bipedal creature, like some deviation of this era's apes, but with less hair and fewer eyes.
The carcinised remnant of what used to be humanity had grown, expanded, and took over. They reminded me of centaurs, but instead of the lower body of a horse, they had the many legged one of crustaceans.
And the top half of their body had two pairs of limbs. The bigger, upper pair were pincers. And the smaller, lower pair ended with four finger-like digits. Their heads had two large eyestalks, capable of moving independently, and their feelers were often dyed and adorned. To be fair, they looked nothing like centaurs. But they still reminded me of them.
Apart from the accessories in their feelers, they were naked, ironically enough. They called me the Nakedskin while I still tried myself to cover myself. They had the hard covering of a crustacean, so they need not care to clothe themselves.
To be fair, I did not either. I am immortal. It was not like I would get pricked or hurt by the brambles or thorns. My skin offered its own sort of durability.
But that was neither here nor there.
Nakedskin. I liked it.
During the age of humanity I was a god. Not 'a' god, actually. But many. Many civilisations through the ages of man saw me as an aspect of some deity they deemed necessary to worship. I enjoyed their piety. Their faith. It gave me purpose that they found purpose in me. I tried my best to help them, guide them, aid them.
I had lived long and knew things, after all. Medicine, war, ideas, concepts. I tried to impart all I had learned.
With the advent of modern technology and the globalisation of the world, I also travelled extensively. Learning. Always learning, always experiencing.
There were times when immortality was a curse, to be sure. But for the most part, all I could see was the beauty and ingenuity of humanity to solve their problems. To take the world around them and learn and adapt their own machinations from what they learn.
Their doom was tied to this ingenuity. I could say it was a select few individuals through the generations that flooded the planet and caused the whole forced evolution through carcinisation.
But that did not matter much. Humanity eventually died out. There might still be a few inhabitants of the underwater domes that survived. Though to this day they had not surfaced to reclaim what was lost. Maybe they felt they had all they needed down there, amongst the ocean floor. Maybe they had forgotten that there was still a world up above.
Because the oceans eventually receded. The unnatural change in the climate gradually reversed. And as the world slowly returned to what it once was, it was not humans that returned to the surface. But these crustaceous centaurs.
These carcinised beings that very quickly gained the complex consciousness we humans took for granted. They formed civilisations, discovered fire. They found fossils and old structures of their predecessors.
And they found me.
The Nakedskin.
And they told their young to eat their vegetables or behave when they have relatives over. Because if they didn't, then the Nakedskin would know. And the Nakedskin would come break into their shells and eat them alive and raw.
It was a shame to say that their fears were not unfounded. Before they started their civilisations and before I realised that these are the new intelligence that would change the world, I had hunted them for their flesh. They were a delightful delicacy.
Of course, I had not done anything like that in recent millennia. I just kept to myself. Watching from a distance. Studying them. Their language, their culture. The divergences from humanity seemed almost purely biological. Because they just seemed like... People. Living their lives.
And like humans, their superstitions and legends persisted through generations. And to those who seriously believed, the Nakedskin was still hungry for crustacean meat today.
|
The creature that found Hector washing in the stream had scaled skin that shone a deep blue, visible even in darkness. Four small eyes were pressed into the side of its head like glistening jewels pushed into putty. Its fingers ended claw-sharp and twisted.
Hector had seen its kind before. Been attacked by them long ago, wounded and chased into this forest. When had that been, exactly? Time had become like a stream of water to Hector and when he dipped his hands in to seize at something, the water simply ran cold around them. Many, many years ago, was all he could say with certainty.
This creature, however, was all alone.
As long as it didn’t have the chance to return to its tribe, to tell them what it had found, then Hector might yet be okay.
It crept up to him; Hector pretended not to notice, washed his face in the cool water until the water darkened and ripples reflected the scaled being.
Hector swung around on his boot heel then dived at the spindly legs. The creature fell on its side, screeching.
Hector was on it, muscular hands rushing towards its throat — when he saw them.
Two more of the creatures, but very tiny, lay on the leafy ground. And their scales bore circular patterns on them that the larger creature didn’t posses. Hector then noticed a pouch on the back of the first creature — like that of a kangaroo.
It had been transporting its young; they’d spilled out when he’d attacked it.
The young creatures were crying.
”Shit,” he said. “Shit. Shit. *Shit*. I can hardly kill you now, can I? I’m not having their blood on my hands.”
He’d have to leave, then. Find somewhere new to call home. Couldn’t stay now he’d been found.
Hector looked up the hill behind and made out his hut through the dense tree line. The forest was dry as sand, so he couldn’t burn his home down without risking a major fire. He’d have to leave it. He’d take the photos of Martha and their children — although the photos had faded stark-white over the years — and what food he could, and…
He’d thought it the wind, so soft was the voice. And he’d never heard them speak before.
“*Please*,” said the creature. “Help, please.”
”You… can talk?”
”Little! Books make much study.” The creature pointed to itself. “History. Ziggo learn history.“
They could read, too? ”You learned *my* history?”
It nodded. “Yes. Ziggo historian. Ziggo see what happened to you and knew what coming. Go to find creature in forest. Now please help?”
It’d come to find him? It was a long way to travel — he was a good four days hike from the nearest edge of the forest. Had they drank anything since setting out? Eaten? He didn’t see any supplies on them.
“Listen, I’m not sure what help you think I can offer, but frankly, I’d rather not be involved at all. I’m the last of my species and I don’t want that flame extinguished.”
Its eyes widened. “Yes! Last of species.” The creature gathered up the younglings and held them in her arms. “These two also last of the circles. Many many dead. They dead too if found. Please?”
Hector ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back like an oily wave. They’d be killed? He didn’t want anyone dead, himself included.
He raised his hands in surrender. ”Bring them in. I can make you food at least, before you go. If you eat berries and yucca that is.”
”Eat many things. Thank you.”
&#x200B;
When Hector returned from the kitchen, the little ones, having eaten two bowls of berries, were asleep on the leafy sofa. Ziggo sat next to them but on seeing Hector rose and nodded.
”Thank you,” said Ziggo.
”It’s not much,” Hector said, laying down the roasted yucca.
Like the children, Ziggo did most of her eating with her tongue. She held a slice of yucca in her hand just below her chin, then her tongue darted out, wrapped it like a pink scarf, then dragged it into her mouth.
Their tongues were slightly acidic and dissolved the food inside their mouths. Not exactly the type of dinner guest you wanted to share a plate with, Hector thought.
He sat herself next to the children as Ziggo kneeled by the food and ate piece by piece.
“So,” said Ziggo, her mouth and plate finally empty. “You help them?”
”I can’t get involved. I’m sorry.”
”If I return them, they die. They different race, parents lost war to be free. Now they all hunted.“
“God.” Different species and yet history still found a way to repeat itself. Maybe existence was just one big joke after all. That was something he’d long suspected.
Hector looked again at the sleeping children. Then at a photo on the wall. Just a white leaf of paper, time and sun having dissolved the image. But it had once been of his children, and looking at the empty paper was enough to bring them back into his mind, almost real and almost alive again.
A tiny, soft hand — not clawed, just gentle — touched his leg. One of the younglings, Epo, pulled her head onto his lap without even opening her eyes. Then she returned to her slumber.
His heart felt too large for his ribs.
Hector said, in a quiet voice, ”How would I even look after them? Berries and water, sure. But I can’t teach them the ways of your species.”
”You teach way of yours, then. That must be better.”
Hector laughed. Thought of humanity’s demise. Rising oceans leading to a lack of resources leading to nuclear war over the lack of resources.
“Please? I come back in four moons to check and help.”
”God dammit. Fine. But if it’s not working, you take them elsewhere. Find another place. That’s the terms of my deal. Understand?”
”Yes.” Eyes widened. Skin beamed a brighter radiance through the darkening room. “Yes. Yes. Thank you.”
”I hope I don’t regret this.”
”And when return, I bring two more.”
Two more? He’d been conned! He raised his hand. “Oh no, no more. I mean, how can there be? You said these were the last two!”
”Last generation of species. There are few more, not yet caught. We might save more, together, still. Please?”
He let out a long and tired sigh. ”Will they come looking for them?”
Ziggo nodded. “Yes.”
“Yes?” He laughed — but really, what did that change? What choice did he have?
No, he *did* have a choice. He could say: no.
Just, he had no reason to say no. He’d been alone so much longer than he’d ever been with people. And he could lie to himself every morning — and did so — but the truth was always there beneath it, bubbling up the surface of his heart.
He was lonely. Very lonely.
All this time alive… why? Why was he still here? What was the point in his existence?
The only thing he’d been waiting for was death. He’d been waiting since his family had passed, but it had simply never arrived.
Maybe it was time he found a new reason to go on.
He looked at the children. Placed a rough hand softly against the shoulder of the youngling on his lap.
It’d been a long time since he’d fought for something. That he’d had something worth fighting for. But long ago, he had been a warrior — of a kind.
”They’ll search,” Ziggo repeated.
”Then I’ll have to be ready for them, won’t I?”
| 2021-08-11T09:06:30 | 2021-08-11T08:59:10 | 1,353 | 563 |
[WP] Instead of a marriage to unite the two kingdoms, the rulers decide that their children should just be like, best buds. Tell the story of the grand adventure that formalizes their BFF status.
|
"No, you can't," laughed Taylor.
"I can!" shouted Anita back.
They locked eyes, rivalry flaring in their spirits, the desire to be better, to vanquish the foe and go down in history as the winner. An iron will, wrapped in agile muscles.
Anita, 6 years old, stood at the bottom of the mighty tree that Taylor, 7, had climbed. By all accounts, the tree was a sick cherry tree that had grown crooked and could be climbed by a cancer-struck elder in a wheelchair.
But to these two kids, it was the alpha and omega, the summit of the world on which they could watch the storm rage beneath them as they ruled everything their eyes could see.
After gruelling attempts, Taylor had succeeded in climbing the theoretical mother of all trees with Anita's help.
Alas, treachery befell the poor girl, as Taylor, in his duplicitous rictus of evil, proclaimed to have prevailed upon this herculean task alone.
And now, friendless, abandoned in this harsh world, Anita had only herself to rely on. And she would. She would show her enemy how strong she was. She jumped and climbed, tired from previous attempts, but her spirit soaring bright.
One hard grasp after the other, she came close to the top, grunting and spitting and stepping with her muddy foot on the harshness the world threw at her.
*Witness me, Gods and kings, witness my might as I climb the mother tree, despair at my might, fear my recknon-*
"Fuck!"
Lost in her imagination, Anita slipped and was about to fall.
But Taylor the traitor still had some good in him, he lunged to help his esteemed rival, only to fall alongside her. In a puddle of mud, as it happens in fields during rain.
Splosh!
They cried, for the thousand kilometer fall had bruised them to the core.
But history shall remember them victorious, not for succeeding at the first try, but for getting back up after many falls.
Drying tears under the heavy rain, they nodded. The betrayal had been forgotten, Taylor had shown his true heart.
Together, they went at the mountain.
They stumbled, begged the other to hold the line, encouraged themselves with bitter tears.
And at the end of the universe, when the rain died out and the sun shone it's last rays upon the kids, they stood at the top of the world.
Happy, they went home.
"Mom, mom! You wouldn't believe the adventure I had today!" cheered Anita as she came home.
"Dad, I'm a superhero!" exclaimed Taylor upon opening the door.
When Martha Scapulet saw the dirt on her daughter's clothes, she shouted at her and grounded her for the day. When Andrew Montaigu noticed the scratches and the messy hair of his son, he cried out to the heavens and put him to sleep early.
The next day, Taylor and Anita met at school.
"My parents are dumb," said Anita.
"Mine too," answered Taylor.
When the teacher called names and asked the children to enter in rank, they held hands.
|
“Dad, I’m into girls.”
“Huh? Really?”
It wasn’t the most royal of conversations, but for Princess Yvette Constantia, newly engaged, it had gotten the job done.
\*\*\*
The royal ballroom was a massive toroid of exotic, extinct wood and ornate carvings overhanging tables festooned in the scarlet and gold of House Constantia. Couples and clusters mingled on the edges of the toroid’s center, ladies in long, flowing gowns in a feverish profusion of colors. Here and there, too, were knights and all of those were in armor save for helmets, though Yvette thought their long hair was oiled and coiffed enough to count. There were far fewer knights than ladies, however, a fact she was very grateful for, and those tended to gather along the trestle tables where the feast was laid out, their plates of duck and boar not surviving on the long journey back to their assigned seats.
Yvette sat in the corner, as she always did during such affairs. Meat markets, she called them. A chance for the men of the court, those high placed enough to earn an invitation, to come ogle every new female entrant into society.
Technically speaking, it was her day to be ogled. She was newly sixteen and beautiful in her own, out of fashion way. But the men of the court had long since learned the way around Yvette Constantia. All but one, and he, truly, was not part of her court.
“This armor sucks,” Prince Bryant Dumorier complained. He wore filigreed chain mail, and he looked so miserable in it that whenever Yvette saw him at state affairs like these she actually felt grateful she only had to wear a dress. Even if it had whalebone stays.
“Chin up, Bry,” Yvette said, “enjoy the scenery. I certainly am.”
He grimaced and sat dropped down heavily onto the bench next to her. Every inch of him rustled or clanked. “You try enjoying the scenery when your pants are made of metal!”
“That problem is between you and God. Leave me out of it,” Yvette said.
Bryant merely grumbled. He did that a lot.
Yvette signaled a waiter and a slight, uniformed boy came by with a glass of *joie*, that clear and bubbling cordial made from pressed flowers only found in the first of the snowfalls. She took a sip and washed it around her mouth, relishing the crackling energy of the drink as she watched the dancers whirl.
They occupied the open center of the toroid. When the weather was fair, as it was that fine summer night, the roof of the royal ballroom was retracted by mages retained specifically for such a purpose. It bathed the room in a gorgeous two tone gleam, first the warm firelight of the torches that ringed the dining and seating areas, then the two moon silvered brightness of the dance floor.
“Soooo,” Yvette said, leaning into Bryant. “Got your eye on anyway?”
His House’s colors were emerald and topaz, but his pale cheeks blushed as scarlet as her dress. “No,” he said, too quickly.
“It’s Ella, isn’t it?”
“No, I don’t have my eye on anyone,” he said.
“Not on anyone ‘cept her.”
“I said I—”
“Bryant Wilson Dumorier, you’re looking at her right now!”
He turned away. If anything, his blush had grown deeper, and he tried to hide himself behind the curtain of his dark hair. It didn’t work this time, it was oiled, too coiffed to move.
“Cut that out!” he grunted.
“No. Talk to her.”
“No, I can’t. She’s…she’s…”
“Beautiful? Stunning? Wild as a mountain river at the start of spring? With legs like a—”
“Yvie!” Bryant said, shoving her.
She spilled her *joie*, thankfully not on her dress, and a few of the other guests gave them dirty looks. Yvette noticed the slim waiter boy from before eying the prince angrily. It was almost sweet.
“All I’m saying is I get it, why do you think I broke our engagement? She’s great, so go and talk to her you daft boy. Come on, I’ll give you a little something for it.”
He smiled, some of the blush having faded from his face. “And what, praytell, will you give me? Got any love charms on those magic lips of yours?”
“Like I’d give you one of those!” she said. “No love charms, and I’ve you ever buy one I’ll have your estate in Viennes burned down. No, not a love charm. A *you* charm.”
With that Yvette called over the slim waiter boy again, and took a glass of *joie* for both of them. She thought carefully, arranging the words the words in head before she said them. There was a hungry look in Bryant’s eyes as he watched her, glancing back from time to time at his love, Ella Fitzgerald Roberts of the northern clans.
And then Yvette intoned the words:
*“Let this boy who I love so well,*
*Whose courage fails him, let him yell*
*His love from rooftops near and far*
*And win her heart, that bright red star”*
Then she pressed her finger to her lips, the words still lingering there like gleaming, throbbing, tingling scarlet lipstick. The magic came away as smudge on her skin and she dipped her finger into his glass of *joie.*
“You sure that wasn’t a love charm?” Bryant asked when she handed it to him.
“If it was a love charm, you’d know. And it’s never going to be. Now drink your glass and lets go!”
Prince Bryant Dumorier took one last look at distant Ella, barely visible now through the press of bodies as they wound their way through an intricate, lilting step. She was in the arms of some dashing young knight or other, a man who looked, from his coloring, to also be of her northern clans.
Without looking away Bryant clinked his glass with Yvette’s, said *“Joie,”* like a prayer, and downed it to the lees.
Then he squared his shoulders and walked off with an extra bit of spring in his step, Yvette a pace behind.
*Ella won’t know what hit her*, Yvette thought. *I hope she brought a friend!*
The moonlight did wonderful things, to the ladies dancing within it.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-08-20T09:46:34 | 2021-08-20T08:48:21 | 145 | 98 |
[WP] Everybody on earth has a doppelganger whose single objective is to kill their lookalike and assume their life. After your wife successfully kills hers, you throw her a party in celebration, but notice she seems slightly different now
|
In these past 4 years, the thought of marrying the wrong person grew stronger and stronger. We fought, slept in different beds, and even tried counseling. Nothing. I even started noticing her spending time with some guy at work. But to everyone else, we were the perfect couple. It was exhausting keeping up the act on front of everyone.
I blame the media, love at first sight is bullshit. It was real for a while, but then she started changing. The "I love you" became taboo, and sex was becoming more like a chore to her. She didn't even want to look at me during the day.
Fate finally came knocking at her door one day while I was at work. When I came home she revealed to me how it all went down. With a fake smile and a congratulations, I decided to throw her a party to celebrate. Maybe after the whole thing we would be better. Begin to build our relationship back up. I doubt it...
"Hey honey, would you like some more beer?" She said smiling like I remember her doing that day 4 years ago. Noticing my curious look, she leans over to me and gives me a kiss on the check then whispers in my ear, "I love you so much..." It feels brutally honest and I begin to fall for her again. "I love you too"
She then walks away to get me another drink while laughing and having a good time with the guests. This is the woman i was meant to marry. I'm the only one that knows it's not her. The only one that can tell. Everything seems like it's going to be ok after all.
|
It had been four years since doppelgangers had been recognized as group of people, and not just violent demons only birthed by whores. Ever since, cases of human on doppelganger crime rose as it became the spotlight of every media outlet around the globe and every justice departments nightmare. It was a witch hunt just as much as it was a civil right movement.
My wife and I wanted no part of the mess, because like many, we still carried a fear that one day our doppelganger's would come for us. Mildred displayed her opinion proudly as we had moved to upscale neighborhood two years ago. Her opinion was a popular one with the other housewives, but I think they all secertly just liked to have something to spill over together.
I worked the nine to five like most men, and attended weekly poker with the guys. Most of my time went to keeping in shape, working hard, and a few luxuries on the side to make it seem like I wasn't operating on auto pilot. I felt like it worked well at the time. After I showered in the mornings and wiped the fog from the mirror I was pleased with what I saw. I was good looking for a middle aged man, and I thought I looked more then adequate next to my beautiful wife, Mildred.
We were a good match.
That was until I found Sarah.
It was like I had met the person I had always secretly wish Mildred could be. Down to every thought I had ever had. Sarah was wild, with beautiful dyed black hair that made her look like she was native american goddess. The same green eyes Mildred wore pleasantly sparkled on Sarah like a piece of jewelry. For reasons I didn't admit to myself, I had a burning curiosity to know who Mildred's doppelganger was. I arranged our meeting through one of the many findmydoppelganger sites. She too, was married like I was.
We agreed to meet at a bar, as I had promised her a drink. I left Mildred out of my little schemes, as I knew her thoughts were more then just gossip. Not only did she hate them, she feared them. I did too, but it didn't have as paralyzing grip as it did on her.
It wasn't until I had taken in the glory that was Sarah, that I noticed the man that was with her.
"You must be David!" she laughed, as the man sat beside her mirrored myself in many ways.
"Oh wow." I uttered. "Your married to me." I said lamely.
Sarah shifted uncomfortably.
"Paul. I'm married to Paul, David. Small world, huh?" Out of all the scenarios I had imagined, for some reason this had never crossed my mind.
"You looked shocked, it's actually pretty common. It's to bad Mildred wasn't able to join us."
"Yea." I said, a bit distracted. "She'll come around, I'm sure."
"I think I should let you two sit next to each other, after all how many times do you get to meet your doppelganger!" she laughed. We laughed with her.
We drank, and talked. I liked Paul in a small way, I mean after all the guy basically was me, but in the end it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to me from that night on was Sarah. Every day it got worse. I had a constant need to see her, but Paul was all ways in the way. Mildred became more and more distant, but I noticed less and less as my mind was consumed with ways I could get rid of Paul. Paul, it seemed, was the problem. If I could get rid the world of Paul I was sure Mildred would just fade away. Then Sarah and I could then begin a life together.
It wasn't until forth meet up at our bar that the two of them met Mildred for the first time. To say she was upset was an understatement. She screamed, cried, and threatened divorce. She called me a coward and a bastard.
After that I spent weeks in an empty home. Sarah and Paul no longer wanted to see me, and my wife had left me. I felt like I was at my final straw. No amount of work, exercise, or fun could get Sarah out of my head. Paul had to die, and it felt like was something I knew all along.
I spent all my free time watching him,and found out that he was just as routine driven as I was. He worked from 8:30 am to 6 pm every day except Wednesday and ran around the lake on Thursdays. I had never thought about getting exercise outside, and I couldn't wait to try it out. It wasn't until I heard about a party that I learned I had really struck gold. They were having a celebration, the one that the whole world had been fighting about four the last four years. Sarah had killed Mildred, and it left one less obstacle to stand in my way.
The day of the planned celebration, Paul to took the last jog of his life. In return I finally came home to the woman of my dreams.
"Sarah?" I asked as I opened the back door like I had watched Paul do so many time after his run.
"You better hurry up, the party is only an hour away." she griped as she gave me a stern look with dyed black hair and lifeless green eyes.
| 2015-01-12T04:15:26 | 2015-01-12T04:05:50 | 43 | 26 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor."
|
The first conversation I had with the devil was almost two hundred years ago. *You should know I'm the Prince of Lies,* he'd said. *But if we have a contract, I'll hold up my end of the deal. If I've signed it, I'm stuck to it.* He shrugged. *Rules.*
*Sounds too easy. And it's my soul,* I'd said.
He chuckled. *Yes, it does. And it is. Now, are you going to take the deal or not?*
It was about eighty years before I figured out why I said yes. And the answer is that I was prideful, and he knew it and he played me like a fiddle. He left it dangling out there: *Think you can outsmart me, boy? Go ahead and try. I dare you.* So I did. And it's a been a good life -- money, power, women. Whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. But then it all started to pale, and I began to wonder about what I had traded away. A little doubt, gnawing at me for the better part of a century. Until tonight.
When the devil appeared to me a second time, he seemed desperate, almost babbling. *There's a ... it's a thing I can't do. I'm ... we're not allowed to interfere. Not directly. But if you did it, it would mean your soul. I'd give you back your contract. You could tear it up.* Then he handed me a pistol and a slip of paper with an address across town. *Tonight.*
*What, is he a saint or something?* I asked.
The devil shook his head. *Nothing like that. In fact, he's one of mine. I'll swear to that. A written oath, if you'd like. But ... things have been set in motion down below. I need to claim his soul before midnight.*
Twenty minutes. Not much time. I slipped the pistol into a pocket and sprinted to my car. Throwing the engine into gear, I raced across town at twice the speed limit.
Three minutes. I parked a block away, then ran up the front walk to the door.
A minute and a half. No time. I kicked the door open and stepped inside. In the front room, a rather nondescript man sat in an overstuffed chair. There was surprise on his face, but only for a moment. Then there was a mixture of sadness and acceptance. Then I shot him, and he died. A few moments later, a churchbell began to toll the hour.
And then the devil was there, a wide grin on his face. And I knew I'd been had, because he wasn't relieved. He was gloating.
I dropped the gun and sank to the floor. *This was all according to some plan of yours,* I said. A statement. Flat.
*Yes, quite,* he said, his voice dripping glee.
*I don't understand. Where did I go wrong?*
He snickered. *I never had your soul. Or at least, I didn't until about a minute ago. A soul isn't something you can buy or sell. It's yours until you lose it.* He paused, savoring the next word before letting it roll off his tongue. *Murderer,* he whispered, and was then he was gone.
I stayed on my knees for a long time, watching the blood trickle slowly onto the carpet.
|
William was strolling along the main boulevard in Hell admiring the recent skull lantern additions when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Satan standing there smiling at him. During the initial parts of his tenure this smile had worried William, but after many long years he had realized that this smile always heralded Satan fucking shit up; either physically or metaphorically. He casually raised an eyebrow.
“You want to go see something funny?” Satan asked, his grin remaining, if not growing.
William scratched his chin for a moment and thought through his schedule, “Is today Tuesday?”
Satan frowned, “No, it’s Thursday.”
“Close enough, let’s go,” William said as he turned to follow Satan. He followed him for several moments, listening to Satan hum God Save the Queen quietly to himself before his curiosity got the better of him. “Where are we going?”
Satan paused in his humming and turned his head towards William, “There’s a guy, Derrick Colson, he sold me his soul a while back.” Satan returned to humming and William realized he wanted to be prompted. This must be a really fun trip.
“What did he sell his soul for?” William finally asked, when it looked like Satan was starting to get fidgety.
“A girl!” Satan practically shouted, right before devolving into hysterical laughter. “What he didn’t realize was this girl already liked him, she was just waiting for him to get the guts to ask her out!” Satan had another fit of laughter before calming himself down, “She was about to ask him out when he contacted me.”
William couldn’t help but laugh along with Satan at the notion that some poor bastard had shafted himself over something as simple as affection. Turning back to Satan he asked, “So what are you going to do?”
“Give him a chance to win his soul back,” Satan said simply.
William raised an eyebrow at this comment, “Why?”
Satan smiled again, the one that said life was going to get interesting again, “Because I’m bored, and I want to see if he’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
Satan paused for a moment and muttered under his breath. A portal opened up in front of him and William before he turned back, “You’ll see. Come on,” and he stepped through.
William shrugged, and hopped through the portal as well, steeling himself against the inevitable torrent of screams that happened whenever he used the portal. Satan had once explained to him about how the portal was powered by the souls in Limbo, and their torment at not being able to escape, but most of it had been lost on him. So instead, he simply plugged his ears and waited to get spat out the other side.
The other side, it turned out, was an apartment, and a rather dirty one. Clothes hung off of closet doors, mud caked the floor, and a peculiar odor that William finally placed as month old pizza wafted throughout the whole place. In a chair in the living room, staring mouth agape and pants wet at Satan, sat what must be Derrick Colson.
“Who—What—I don’t—“ Derrick stuttered. His balding, blonde hair was already caked in sweat, and William could see his arms and legs were shaking.
“Derrick,” Satan said, his hands spread wide in greeting, “It’s been a long time, buddy.”
Derrick looked around like a rabbit that realized too late the carrot was not accidentally inside the box, but was rather placed there for a reason. “What…” he coughed, “What can I do for you, Sir?”
Satan smiled, “I need a favor, Derrick,” he said simply as he moved forward and sat on a chair nearby.
“What favor?” Derrick muttered.
Satan’s grin changed slightly and he cocked his head, “Not going to ask why? Very well, I need you to steal something for me.”
Derrick licked his dry lips, “Why?”
Satan turned and winked at William, and only then did Derrick notice him. Apparently the shock of someone else in his apartment was not great enough to outweigh his fear of Satan, so William wasn’t offended when Derrick turned back to Satan.
“I see you’re finally putting that brain of yours to the test,” Satan said. “I need you to steal it, because I can’t go into the church.”
Derrick nodded his head, seeming to admit that point. “Why?”
“Because,” Satan said, an evil glint in his eye, “I’ll give you your soul back.”
If a mountain lion had torn through the room in that exact moment, Derrick wouldn’t have noticed. He only had eyes for Satan, and ears for what he had just heard. Obviously, William thought as he looked at the room, the romance had failed, so he was in a bit of a bind.
“What do I need to steal?” Derrick asked, finally wiping his hand across his brow to remove the sweat.
“A small box inside Trinity Church,” Satan said and indicated the size with his hands, “Black wood, with a crucifix on the top. It should stand out. It’s up near the front, near the pulpit.”
“Why don’t you get it?” Derrick asked.
“Because,” and Satan held up 2 fingers, “1, it’s Sunday and I want it now; and 2, I asked you to do it. You can refuse of course…”
“I’ll do it!” Derrick shouted.
“Good,” Satan said, and made a ‘shoo-shoo’ motion with his hands. Derrick, not needing to be told twice, rushed out the door without bothering to put on pants.
William looked at Satan, “Will he get it?”
Satan smiled, “Just wait.”
William did so. An hour later, Derrick came rushing back inside and William could have sworn he heard sirens in the distance. Satan smiled, took the box, and snapped his fingers. Then he turned, snapped them again, and opened the portal.
“That’s it?” Derrick asked.
“That’s it,” Satan said, and stepped through.
William turned to Derrick, shrugged, and then hopped in after Satan.
Back in Hell, William noticed that Satan seemed unusually pleased with himself. He walked with him for several moments before nudging Satan, “So did he get his soul back?”
Satan looked at William like he had been offended, “Of course! I always keep a promise.”
William nodded his head, “But why?”
“Because it wouldn’t have mattered.” Satan frowned, “Poor fool, thought that he could undo what he’s done. I don’t know why humans always think that undoing the deal means they’ll suddenly wind up in Heaven.” He turned to look at William, “It doesn’t work that way you know. If you’re willing to make a deal with the Devil, then you’re already damned.”
William thought for several moments and finally agreed that Satan probably had a point. “So what’s in the box?” William finally asked.
Satan smiled and opened the box, showing William that it was empty. William frowned as Satan smiled. “Poor bastard,” Satan said, “if he’d only refused to get the box, his soul might have had a chance, but by stealing it he proved his true nature.”
“So by giving him his soul back…” William mused.
“I’ve made sure he’s damned to Hell forever,” Satan said with a laugh.
------------
Read more William and Satan stories, as well as my others [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42/)
| 2015-05-12T13:43:25 | 2015-05-12T13:32:11 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] When the Statue of Liberty was sent to America from France, the box was labeled "some assembly required." In well over a century, no one ever noticed the other label that said "batteries not included." Until today, that is.
|
They were huge, the things, each at least a ton
The battery designs from nineteen oh one
And as they were placed the crowd gathered near
To discuss every rumor, to stare and to leer
But nothing lit up or moved or exploded
For after these years, the wires had corroded
|
My dad liked to tell me the story about how his father came over from Germany in 1941 to escape persecution at the hands of the Nazis during the onset of World War II. My dad is no longer here since he passed away when I was just 11 years old. To this day, I will never forget what my ancestors went through in order to make sure I was free.
I have been the janitor on Ellis island for the last 14 years. I never wanted to mob floors, scrub the gunk off the underside of toilets, or even wear a uniform, but I somehow ended up here. Kids of all ages run around the massive brick museum here on the island every day. As they check out the black and white photos scattered on the walls, their high pitched screams reverberate around the high ceilings. Pushing around my empty yellow mop bucket, I can hear the children gossiping about their current crush or comparing each other to the clingy children they see in the pictures.
They all desperately rip through the massive logbook placed on an old wooden podium on the bottom floor. They have high hopes of finding their last name somewhere on the long pages because their mom or dad told them that their parents came through Ellis Island before landing in America. Stomping their feet and pouting was the common response after the effort proved unsuccessful. Most immigrants never even used the log book or any log book for that matter. There were too many people to document everyone that passed through here. History was not logged, but instead, recounted for years to come. The high pitched shrills from restless babies, the worried faces of uncertain parents, and the incessant waiting in long lines would never be forgotten.
Most kids wouldn't remain sad for too long because they would be excited again once they finally got a good glimpse of the blue copper lady waiting outside for them. All along the railings of Ellis Island people would wait patiently in order to get a picture standing in front of the Statue of Liberty posing some half a mile away in the distance. On a foggy night you wouldn't be able to see much, but tonight it didn't matter. They were finally installing the giant batteries designed by some engineers working at Tesla. One of the nighttime cleaning crew stumbled upon a piece of the original crate that the statue was shipped in some time ago in the damp, and long forgotten basement underneath the statue. Inspecting the smeared block letters imprinted on the wooden 2 x 4s, he found out that there were actually batteries designed by some French electrical engineers that would power the entire statue. Upon further investigation by the state department, the statue was found to be actually comprised of millions of microscopic light bulbs embedded inside the statue.
Today was finally the day the city of New York was going to hoist up, with the help of a huge crane, the giant batteries designed exclusively to provide enough electricity to illuminate the Statue of Liberty. The unveiling of the new "Lady Liberty" was planned by the state of New York, the UN, and President Sanders as a sign of hope to the refugees arriving in waves from Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Bangladesh, and Libya.
When President Sanders finally flipped the giant switched installed on the backside of the statue, every child, Mother, Father, teacher, cop, electrician, plumber, and banker was heard rejoicing and cheering on Ellis Island. Lady Liberty truly looked regal, standing tall and proud with her new electric crown and bright blue dress. As I stood with my mop bucket in hand on the roof of the museum, I looked behind me, and in the distance I saw a group of refugees crowded together on a small yellow raft clapping and embracing each other. I had to cup my hands over my eyes to block the wind from slapping my face, but I was able to make out the outline of a tiny child being raised in the air by two outstretched arms. I only wish my dad was there to see it with me.
| 2017-02-23T17:55:18 | 2017-02-23T15:47:24 | 48 | 29 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
"For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
|
*OP's aside:* Wellp, this exploded. Maybe I'll try Addi g my own reply to my own prompt. What's the worst that an happen?
Pan's heart jumped with joy as she watched Glory girl somersault out of the way of yet another attack. Pan admired everythibg about Glory girl. Her figure, her smile, how she fought, how she always fought with a smile, how kind she was, and her dedication to protecting the regular citizens.
"Come on Pantera, is that the best you got today? Did the big bad kitty get her claws clipped lately?" Glory girl shouted as she flew in with a punch that sent Pan into a nearby car.
Groaning, Pan peeled herself off the side of the destroyed Ferrari, and lashed out weakly with her ribbon. This was the primary power she used in her fights nowadays. The single black ribbon that emerged from the simple black lines tattooed on her right arm. It was not nearly as fast as Crackle's energy whip, but it did pack abit more punch if it hit you. Pam's other tricks included having speed, agility and durability slightly above leak human level, and the ability to elongate her nails into sharp claws. She was the definition of a strong B-lister.
On the other hand, Glory girl's flight, super strength, durability, and speed made her one of the A-Listers. In addition to those she also had her aura of glory which inspired her teammates and scared her allies, as well as an advanced intellect. She was one of the best.
"Why don't you just stay in lockup like the others?" yelled Glory girl as she grabbed Pan's ribbon and yanked Pan towards herself for a punch. "And why do you ALWAYS come out when I'm on duty?" she yells as she punches Pan against the nearby building.
Imbedded in yet another object for the 2nd time in a minute, Pan looks up at Glory girl who stands there with a big grin, happy she beat her most frequent villain yet again. "I guess I'm just a masochist..." mumbles Pan as she spits out some blood. Having been properly beaten yet again, she just lies there admiring Glory girl in her suit that does not leave too much to imagination, and her amazing smile.
"And this time stay in lockup would you? I don't want to keep hurting y..." Glory girl didn't finish as at the last second she looked up and prought her hands up to block the blast. The impact that hit Glory girl left her lying in the middle of a small crater. Several bones were definitely broken, her costume was torn and singed barely staying on, and she was bleeding heavily. Landing behind her were several figures, chief among them Svarog. A Russian villain who named himself after an old Slavic deity, due to his ability to channel that God's power. He lead what was perhaps the strongest band of villains in the world, with the World Justice Association having barely beaten the villains back the last two encounters they had.
A young woman in elaborate armor pushes past Svarog, and walks towards Glory girl, raising her spear above her head. Not one of the strongest villains in the world, Valkyrie's spear was still a weapon feared by many, as it excelled in bypassing various types of durability, and wounds caused by it were nearly impossible to heal. "Nothing personal Glory girl, but we can't have you there to inspire your team when we come to kill them next." said Svarog as Valkyrie raised her spear.
Watching the scene, Pan gritted her teeth as she realized that no hero would be making it there fast enough to save Glory girl, and that she was the only one with enough power to make any difference. All those cops on the sidelines would be completely useless against Svagor's A-listers, let alone the man himself. Pushing off the wall she was imbedded into, Pan landed nimble on her feet, no longer bothering to fake injury. As Valkyrie's spear was about to come down, Pan growled in frustration and extended her right hand towards the enemy.
Atleast a hundred of her black ribbons emerged from her hand. These were in a completely different league from her previous single weak ribbon. These ones moved so fast that only supers with enhanced perception could hope to follow their movement, and they were strong enough to easily give Valkyrie more holes than the best Swiss cheese in the world.
Tossing Valkyrie's corpse aside, Panera turned towards Svarog and the rest of his crew. Three of her ribbons have already retrieved Valkyrie's spear and were lazily twirling it around. In just a few seconds the tattoos on Pan's arm spread to the rest of her body. Tearing through her clothes, more ribbons appeared, coming out from all the new tattoos that have proliferated to cover every last inch of her. The ribbons now counted in the thousands, with the longest ones spanning several miles into the air, and the surrounding streets, as they grabbed civilians and dragged them to safety, while cutting off the area to ensure that no one could leave or enter unless the ribbons let them. Pam's claws doubled in size, and adopted some strange glow, while her pupils narrowed and changed color, turning from her regular brown eyes, to yellow cat ones.
While all of Pan's ribbons were pitch black in color, a few dozen of them have made their way over to Glory girl, wrapped her injuries and were turning a brilliant emerald. The few of Glory girl's injuries that were still visible started to close almost instantly. Her skin regained color, and as her punctured lung was healed her breath also returned to normal.
Looking away from Glory girl, Pan started walking towards Svarog and his team, her face in a vicious snarl.
Out of all present, only Svarog displayed no fear at Pantera's display. "Impressive, for a woman who pretended to be one of the weakling for years. But you forget, I have the power of a God. No matter how you try, you have no hope of killing me."
"We'll see about that!" growled Pantera, pouncing forward as hundreds of ribbons surrounding Svarog began their attack.
| 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T05:37:21 | 58 | 16 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
Ampere was strapped to the rocket with copper wiring, as the Warlord stood at a console.
"You-"
"I, what, Ampere? I won't get away with this? I'll get what's coming to me? Please. You're better than these clichés. I'm not going to reveal my plan, I'm not going to engage in some cat-and-mouse game, I'm not going to give you a fair fight or gloat. Literally the only reason I'm still talking is because *this*," the Warlord banged on the side of the console for punctuation, "*fucking! thing!* ...is taking much longer to start up than normal. Hell, I would have just blown your brains out if I had a gun on me, but you actually managed to knock away my shotgun, and made me drop my sidearm."
"Fine, if you're not going to reveal your plan," Ampere frowned at this extreme breach of professional etiquette, "Then at least explain how you beat me?"
"Oh, please. You're pretty good, but the only reason you keep beating Metal Master is because she's sweet on you."
"Yeah, I know. I mostly keep engaging her so she won't do something really dangerous to get my attention. She could easily destroy the world if she actually wanted to. Neither of us know her limits."
"Right, and I'm sure the titillating banter is entirely to keep her occupied."
"Nah, I'll fully admit that I kind of get off to it. I mean, she's a 6' 1" supermodel with a fetish for bondage and the ability to manipulate chains with her mind. That wouldn't interest you?"
The Warlord paused and frowned at our hero. "Okay, there's TMI, and then there's ***TMI***, bolded and italicized. That was the latter. You really didn-Okay! Here we go, we are go for launch! I can send you and this fusion inhibitor right into the sun, and I'll never have to think of the things you said ever again." Warlord tapped away at the console, trying to launch his rocket ASAP. Right as he was about to press the final launch button, his hand exploded in a shower of blood, bone shards and sinew.
#"Get away from my honeybee!"
Warlord grabbed his wrist stump and screamed in agony, before rapidly getting control of himself. "What the *fuck* is wrong with you!?"
"Nobody hurts my baby but me, Warlord." Metal Master gently lowered herself onto the platform, Warlord's guns hovering just over her shoulder.
"But, but you could rule the world! Why are you so obsessed with this, this stupid game?"
"What can I say, he's got a lot of charm." She winked at Ampere as the guns fired, reducing Warlord's face to paste and revealing the steel skull beneath as Warlord fell to the ground, conscious but in too much pain to move.
Metal Master destroyed the console, then levitated up to Ampere and prepared to release him.
"Hey, uh, you don't have to untie me just yet..." Ampere smiled. Warlord groaned in disgust.
|
You are either born with powers or not. That just how it is. Don't ask me why you did not get powers while I did, okay? Because I don't know, but what I do know is that I used mine to perfection! Nobody had a chance against me in my time, and to be frank, I don’t think anyone will ever surpass the accomplishment written in my “Villains Grade Book” or police report to you people.
The day I retired as a villain and went into exile, was the day after my heart was broken. In the realization that I had a heart, I quit. Not because I wanted to, but as we learned in villain school “No villain has a heart!”, so I knew my time was over.
I lost my dream job, but on the other hand I gained a heart, and it was not nearly as awful as I had thought. I quickly joined a group of former villains who all had found their own hearts at one point or another. It was a wonderful group of people, there was Joey (aka Nightman) who found his heart when he fell in love with music. Then there was Jodie (aka Stallone), I know the name seems silly, but what can you do she loves him and everyone picks their own name after graduation from villain school. She found her heart, well you guessed it, in Sylvester Stallone, even though I never found out if she actually met him.
Even though I was not quick to open up to the group they eventually found out how I had found my heart. In hindsight I found it much earlier than when it broke, because for your heart to break it must have something to ache over, I had just not realized I was in love.
During my exceptional regime over the world, I am not saying I was the Overlord, but some did actually called me that, so it would not be wrong of you to think of me like that or something. Just sayin’. Sorry back on track, I will get to the point now, it is just that this I never easy for me to tell, but here I go.
During my exceptional regime over the world, I encountered a hero I later learned was called Lady Light. She was something special, not because she had a chance against me, in fact I think she must have been one of the weaker heroes, but it genuinely felt like she did not fight for herself, like every other dumbass hero seems to do. Her small little speeches about what she was fighting for before we fought, she did it every time. It inspired me somehow, and I could not get myself to beat her in our fights. I wanted to fight her as often as possible, not only because I wanted to be around her, but also because her victories over me had gone to her head, just a little.
She had proclaimed that with her constant victories over me, she had shown that she could become the savior of the world. She was quick to make her next targets of villains public, and the list was nasty. It was combined of the most vicious, horrible and evil villains this planet had to offer. I knew that she would get killed if she took any one of those guys on, it would be certain death and I would not let that happen, so I made sure she was busy fighting me that she would not have time to go after the others.
It worked, but only for a year. Our fight occurred every single day, but she never seemed to repeat the same speech, I don’t know how, but she always found something to fight for. I had been such a narrow minded person my whole life, only ever fighting for power, but through her speeches she showed me the wonder of the world, the diversity, and how many different things there were to care about. During those fight, I was happy and because she would be victories in the end, she would also be happy.
After a year of fights it all suddenly changed, when my plan started to work against me. Lady Light had become the most know hero in the world, constantly beating a villain bigger than anyone before. It might have taken her focus away from the other villains, but at the same time it had put the focus of them on her. Villains like Hell and Showtime had seen this as an opportunity to take me down and defeat Lady Light to take the top spot.
Showtime was the one to do it, he caught me off guard one night. My daily fight with the lady had just taken place, and she had just left me with my hands cuffed around a street light. The police would usually arrive not soon after she had flown away, today our fight had taken place downtown in the Capital, which meant it would be detective Rose that would greet me that day.
When the police arrived, a few minutes later than usual, detective Rose stepped out of the car and to my surprise he uncuffed me. Before I had a chance to speak he had given me another pair of cuffs on me, which was infused with uranium, greatly reducing my powers, and not normal police gear! Out the back of the police car stepped Showtime, with a devious smile on his face. He nodded towards detective Rose who stepped away from me and walked back to the car. A few steps before he reached the car, Showtime stabbed him in the neck with a motion faster than I had remembered it to be.
I instantly knew he was here for the lady. Unfortunately Showtime is not the typical villain, who always seems to forget something, it was clear that this was his day, his moment to rise up and take what he always wanted. So he began to beat me, and with my powers reduced his strikes inflicted more damage than they normally would. After a few minutes of constant strikes he stopped, confident in victory.
Showtime had been well prepared, or maybe just lucky, I never knew, but when something happened to police detective in downtown, Lady Light would always be the first hero on the spot. Her father was a detective, and to protect them was probably the only cause she held higher than any other. That was also the case that day, as the lady arrived not long after, with a horrified look on her face when she saw that the detective was dead. Her faced turned from horror to pure disgust when she looked at Showtime, and for the first time in my life, I rooted for the good side.
The fight did not take long, and her lifeless body tore a hole in my sole, I barely remember Showtime even being there. I could not move or anything, Showtime removed my cuffs while saying something about being the new sheriff in town. The only thing I remember clearly was my heart stopped. I had never noticed it beating, but in that moment it stopped. The world she had shown me was gone, and I had absolutely no idea about what to do the next day. Now we know what happened, but right then and there, the villain in me died. In her death she gave me a heart, and for that I am forever thankful.
| 2017-09-17T05:05:49 | 2017-09-17T02:32:46 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] It's a known fact that you are incapable of telling a lie. This has landed you several opportunities, including your current job as Head of Security at one of the largest banks in the world. Except you got bored and decided to rob it all. This is the story of how you got away with it.
|
– So there's been a robbery, but you are not guilty of that, I'm pretty sure.
– Uh, yeah, actually…
– No, I know, it's all fine, you tried your best to prevent that.
– Well, the truth is…
– Nah, it's okay, man, you don't have to feel guilty. It has been a massive scheme. We will just learn to defend ourselves better. Let's go for a beer meanwhile.
|
The door to the interrogation room opened. The person inside looked up from her table to see the detective walk in.
"Good evening Miss Johnson, I hope you haven't been treated too badly by the boys?" he asked.
"As badly as they would someone who allowed over a hundred million dollars to vanish in the blink of an eye," she spat back.
"Now don't be like that. I'm sure we'll sort this out in no time."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."
The detective sighed as he pulled out a pen and notebook from his coat, as well as a folder that he opened, revealing a profile of a man in his thirties.
"I'll ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." said the detective.
"That's what you're here for."
"Miss Johnson, as the former manager of the United Bank headquarters, you were the one that gave the key to the suspect."
"Was that a question?"
"Just establishing some facts."
"Yes, I was."
"What did he tell you that prompted you to give it to him?"
"I thought he was joking."
"What?"
"I thought he was joking," repeated the former manager.
The detective ran a hand through is hair. "You can't be serious, are you telling me you gave the key to--"
"Yes, yes, I did."
"And you thought he was joking."
"You're just repeating yourself."
"Miss Johnson..."
"Smith was a man who could never tell a lie, okay?" said Miss Johnson heatedly. "Never in a million years. The last time he tried to, everyone in the office saw through it. Lying and Smith in the same sentence was just impossible."
"So he was telling the truth about wanting to rob the bank? Why did you give it to him, still?"
At this the young executive looked down, sheepish. "I wasn't in the right frame of mind back then," she said, looking away.
The detective frowned but wrote it on his notebook.
"Go on," he said.
"It was a slow day that day, not many clients. I recall Smith going back and forth from the vault several times. I asked him about it, and he said 'he was bored'. So I let him be." said Miss Johnson.
"So when did--"
"I was getting to that. I returned to my office to finish up some paperwork. A few minutes later he came to my office, asking for my key and my part of the vault's password. He said he was going to steal the vault."
"And you just gave it to him?"
"I thought he was joking!"
"Has he joked before in his work?"
"Sometimes. He wasn't unsociable by any means, but that doesn't mean he's doesn't interact with us."
The detective wrote down that piece of information on the paper. But something flashed in his mind.
"What kid of jokes does he tell you?"
"Anti-jokes. His humor was flat and dry," said Miss Johnson. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "That was why I thought he was joking when he said that he was going to steal the money in the vault. That vault is the most secure in the world, only accessible when you enter two different keys and passwords at the same time. "
"And as the head of security, he has the second set of keys and passwords..."
"Urk--!"
Shaking his head, the detective stowed away his materials back into his coat and stood up. Miss Johnson's gaze followed him as he went to the door.
"Well, I think that about sums up everything. Thank you for your time, Miss Johnson."
"Wait, what's going to happen to me now?"
The detective looked back at her. "Judging from what I heard today, it's not looking good, honestly."
Miss Johnson's face fell.
"In fact, if I were you, I'd plead guilty and spend the rest of my days in a minimum security prison. What you just did was worthy of The Onion, you know."
"I can't believe this," said Miss Johnson, burying her face in her hands. "I ruined my life for a joke?"
Pitying her, the detective walked and patted her on the head. "We'll solve this case, okay, and we'll get you your life back."
---
*I made a few minor edits. Thank you for reading!*
| 2018-05-03T05:52:10 | 2018-05-03T04:58:40 | 454 | 135 |
[WP] You've died and are now spectating the last human on Earth. Everyone is anxiously awaiting the Great Respawn, but this jackass just won't die!
|
You’re tougher than me.
I could never find happiness or a will to live without the love and compassion from other people.
I watch you every day, every hour. You make every minute count.
It’s incredible how you find happiness in the smallest of moments.
It’s like isolation won’t kill you.
It’d kill me.
It almost has.
Then I see you doing the unthinkable. You found the motivation to try to save human life.
Why? What’s in it for you?
Is it the pride? Or do you get the ambition out of joy for human life?
You’re spending years trying to revive the dead. In the worlds most leading labs.
The scary part is your close.
If you win, we don’t.
If you revive, we don’t respawn.
Sincerely,
A guys wishing you’d win and we’d lose.
P.S. you don’t want us to respawn, we already ruined the world once.
|
"Imagine, if you will, that everything you've ever done in your life was completely *pointless*. Love, dreams, history itself- all *pointless*. Yeah, that's right. **Pointless**. *None* of us know why we're in this simulation, who made it, or how long this hallway goes for. I've walked for literally a week straight down this hallway, passing screen after massive screen, chair after chair, random person after random person, and I still haven't seen a single door. As far as we know, it could be a loop. But the loop contains every single individual who has lived and died on Earth. Every. Single. Person. From babies rolling around in automated strollers to elderly folk in automated chairs that wander the hallway in packs. Rumours have spread in the past couple decades that Hitler even got in here and was almost immediately held down- not like we can kill or harm each other in here anyways- can't feel pain either. We don't even bleed, or get hungry, or have to go to the bathroom- which I am *so* thankful they put that feature in. But the one thing we do know...?"
The man in the matching white shirt and pants narrowed his brows and his eyes widened before he slowly let out his first words in days.
"... what... do we know?"
The adjacent man with bright orange hair and a confident air around him pointed his finger in the shape of a gun to one of the many colossal screens that decorated the hallway like movie theatre screens with a perpetual row of seats. His finger was directed to that of the image on the screen that plagued the hallway of a man with white hair, old, torn clothes, and a book resting nicely in his hands as he sat in what appeared to be a wooden shed with dust filling the air. He was asleep- and snoring obnoxiously loud.
"**That** guy is the last goddamn human alive- and you wanna know what the kicker is?"
"What???"
The orange haired man stood on top of the plain white bench, pulled his arms and torso back, and breathed in deeply.
"**THE STUBBORN FUCK WON'T DIE!**"
People all around turned their heads for a moment, before quickly turning back to their equally pointless socializing. The man wrinkled his nose at the massive screen, and jumped back down into his seat, hanging his head over his legs. The brown haired man next to him stared at the mess next to him and stared back at the screen.
"... and we just have to sit here and... watch?"
A loud, exceedingly long snore rang out from the old man as his head was now hanging off the chair, his mouth wide open with drool pouring out the side- the book falling off his lap and onto the wooden floor with a dull thud.
A low grumble leaked out of the defeated gentlemen. "Yup... Until he dies, we're all stuck here waiting for the system to reset. At least that's the rumour that's been passed down since the first of us got here."
The brown haired man stared at the screen for a moment, stood up from his seat, and walked closer to the screen. He scanned it from edge to edge- bottom to top and down again. He stood there motionless...
The orange haired man looked up finally towards his new companion.
"... do y-"
"**I GOT TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!**" the brown haired man screamed, pulling his hair up with his hands before bolting down the hallway, pushing people out of his way, screaming incessantly, looking all over as if to find a way out.
A tap on the shoulder made the man turn around to see a young black boy smiling brightly at him.
"Hi mister Adams! Was that Screamer a friend of yours? He seems more uppity than most who crack when they first get here."
"No, just another passer by."
"Oh."
The black boy, in the same matching white shirt and pants, twiddled his thumbs, and sat down next to the man, kicking his legs back and forth.
"Think today will be the day, mister Adams?"
Adams leaned back, rested the back of his head on his hands, raised his eyebrows and squinted at the screen. The old man seemed still. Adams could feel his hopes get up. Could this be it? Could this be the next step? Were they truly destined to be born again?
The white haired man raised his body for a moment-
*Phbbbbbbt*.
The flatulence echoed significantly.
"No, Rodney... I don't think today is the day. But some day so-"
*Prrrbbbt*.
"... some d-"
*Frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp*.
"... so-"
*Phbt*.
"..."
| 2018-06-09T01:15:25 | 2018-06-09T00:37:09 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.” Whispered the cashier, dropping my McNuggets. “I thought I was the last one! I can’t believe there’s more survivors! I mean, you skin is a little more pale than I would expect but who cares? Follow me, we need to talk!”
“But my McNuggets” I said
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you however many nuggets you want if you come sit and talk with me.”
I shrugged and decided I would entertain this guy. I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying but I wanted to entertain this little crazy man. We sat down in a small booth far away from anymore McDonalds connoisseurs and he started to talk.
“So, how did you escape? What do you remember? Are there more like you and me out there?”
“Look buddy I have no idea what you’re talking about, escape from what?”
“From the earthquake of course! What else would I be talking about?”
“There was an earthquake? What language are you hearing right now exactly?”
“ATLANTEAN OF COURSE!”
Now this threw me back.
“What? Atlantis is fake my guy.”
“Well then why are you speaking fucking Atlantean?”
“I’m not, I’m just talking! What happened in ‘Atlantis’ that I should be worried about, hmmm?”
A look of sadness and remembrance came over his face.
“Well I’m from there. Over 1000 years ago my island was swallowed by the ocean. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... they plowed over my island and I was lucky to have been on a traders ship outside of Atlantis’ main port.”
“What makes you think I’m going to believe you?” I said, actually quite curious now. Either he was a good actor or telling the truth.
“Well, Atlanteans live forever unless killed, and since I’ve been around for that long I have some pretty neat stuff back home that might convince you.”
“As long as you get me my fucking McNuggets.”
________________________
________________________
Hey r/WritingPrompts , long time lurker first time poster here. I left a lot of plot holes, I know. But the first thing I thought of was Atlantis and I wanted to do something with it. I have an idea for more of this story but my formatting and the gaps between my dialogue made me cringe too much to keep going.
Don’t tear me apart pls
|
I've always had to pretend I was mute. When I was very small, as soon as I hit the milestone to talk, I had been fluent in English. I remember bits and pieces before everything changed. That day I remembered clearly, well the important bits at least. I don't remember that morning, but I remembered the afternoon. Mum and dad had been so proud of me talking, the fact that I was learning and understanding things so quickly, that was until the day their friend had come over. I remember they had a slight accent and when I talked to them, they had been surprised then grinned at me. I happily chatted away while my parents starred on in horror. After their friend left, the smiles on their faces fell instantly. There was a lot of muttered and quite angry talking in the other room. I sat, pretending to play with my toy cars, but my stomach twisted and turned. I had done something wrong, but I didn't' know what. There was a door slam and then the house was quiet. I heard shuffling as dads head poked into the room to check on me before he vanished upstairs. Dinner was silent. Mum was back and hadn't said a word, she was tight lipped and had crashed and banged in the kitchen as she cooked dinner. Dad had talked quietly to me, but kept shushing me if I talked too loud. I didn't get it. Dinner ended without incident, I ever got cake! It's weird how I remember the cake so clearly. The normal routine continued on as the sun set outside. Dad turned the TV on and plonked down into his chair and switched the channel onto BBC 2 to watch Star Trek. I sat on his knee and watched happily as the clinking of glass and cutlery echoed around the room. Then men with weird faces came onto the screen and started talking, brandishing a weapon. I held my hand up like I had one to and yelled at the top of my voice. Suddenly my mum was in the room. She ripped me from my dads lap, screaming at me, hitting me. I screamed and cried, my heart pounding in my chest. I screamed for dad but the hits kept coming. Mum screamed at me to shut up, to never do that again, pinning me to a wall, her face inches from mine. I screamed in fear, begging for dad to help, which sent her into and even bigger rage, another hit struck the side of my face and I crumbled silently to the floor, my head spinning. I heard wrestling and more screaming before the house went quiet.
~*~
I was locked in my room after that. That's what I remember next. I hurt, my little white t-shirt with a unicorn on the front was stained with blood from my face. My hand hurt to move. I had wrapped it in a little bandage from my little medical kit. I was hungry. No one had come into the room for ages. When mum did come in I cried and ran to her, but she didn't let me close, she hit me. As soon as my mouth opened she hit me. I shrieked and she hit me again. Screaming at me to shut up. Once I was quiet, just the occasional sniff as I hid in the corner between the wall and my bed I heard something being placed down on the ground. It had been a sandwich and a glass of water. She left, locking the door behind her. The room became my prison. Mum would flip out if she even thought I had made a sound. I eventually stopped talking to everyone, even dad.
We moved one day. Just me and mum. Dad didn't come with us. He never lay a finger on me. He would talk to me kindly when mum went out. He would sneak home in his lunch hour to see me. He talked to me, but only allowed me to whisper back, telling me he was the only person I could talk to but only if it was the two of us. I missed him. Mum moved me out after there were questions about whether I was starting school with the neighbours kids. It was just the two of us. I sat quietly, not doing much of anything every single day. She allowed me more freedom, but I was never allowed to utter a sound. She gave me books to read and I quickly devoured them. Once she was satisfied I wouldn't say a word no matter what, she took me to the doctor, who quickly signed something saying I was mute but that was it. I started school the next week.
~*~
I sat in class, looking out of the window dreamily. Our supply teacher hadn't arrived yet so there wasn't much of anything to do beyond chat and cause chaos. My class ignored me like they normally did. It was as if I didn't exist at this point. I'd never said a word to anyone in this room. I'd known some of these kids for seven years, if I had said anything, it would spread around the school like wildfire and mum would find out, but I did talk to random people who had no idea who I was. The cashier at McDonalds had been the last one. I really wanted some food and the only person working so early couldn't read the note I had written before I entered, so I had to talk. His eyes had opened widely and he had stepped back from me. He rambled something about a forgotten language, his language before he told me to leave and never come back. I hadn't dared go near that store again. I hadn't uttered a word since. The class went quiet suddenly, unusual for them. A man walked into the room with a presence that screamed he wasn't someone to mess with. I starred at him wide eyed. It was the man from McDonalds. I kept my head down and sunk down in my seat as he looked around the room before pulling out a sheet of paper to do the register. When he got to my name I didn't even bang on the desk like I normally would have, I just stayed quiet. My classmates quickly informed him I couldn't talk and things moved on quickly.
Class was finally over, but over the sound of people packing away and sliding chairs I heard a voice boom over the class, "mute kid, stay."
| 2022-06-29T16:29:01 | 2018-06-24T22:28:33 | 647 | 22 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.” Whispered the cashier, dropping my McNuggets. “I thought I was the last one! I can’t believe there’s more survivors! I mean, you skin is a little more pale than I would expect but who cares? Follow me, we need to talk!”
“But my McNuggets” I said
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you however many nuggets you want if you come sit and talk with me.”
I shrugged and decided I would entertain this guy. I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying but I wanted to entertain this little crazy man. We sat down in a small booth far away from anymore McDonalds connoisseurs and he started to talk.
“So, how did you escape? What do you remember? Are there more like you and me out there?”
“Look buddy I have no idea what you’re talking about, escape from what?”
“From the earthquake of course! What else would I be talking about?”
“There was an earthquake? What language are you hearing right now exactly?”
“ATLANTEAN OF COURSE!”
Now this threw me back.
“What? Atlantis is fake my guy.”
“Well then why are you speaking fucking Atlantean?”
“I’m not, I’m just talking! What happened in ‘Atlantis’ that I should be worried about, hmmm?”
A look of sadness and remembrance came over his face.
“Well I’m from there. Over 1000 years ago my island was swallowed by the ocean. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... they plowed over my island and I was lucky to have been on a traders ship outside of Atlantis’ main port.”
“What makes you think I’m going to believe you?” I said, actually quite curious now. Either he was a good actor or telling the truth.
“Well, Atlanteans live forever unless killed, and since I’ve been around for that long I have some pretty neat stuff back home that might convince you.”
“As long as you get me my fucking McNuggets.”
________________________
________________________
Hey r/WritingPrompts , long time lurker first time poster here. I left a lot of plot holes, I know. But the first thing I thought of was Atlantis and I wanted to do something with it. I have an idea for more of this story but my formatting and the gaps between my dialogue made me cringe too much to keep going.
Don’t tear me apart pls
|
I froze up, my go-to whenever anything significant happens in my life.
"Yeah, well, that kid's mom gave him such a whooping for it, we *all* learned a lesson!"
Stupid joke. That's my other go-to. I was about to apologize for it when I realized: she's catatonic. Her eyes fixed on nothing a couple inches over my left shoulder—I don't think she was even breathing.
"Dude, what did you *say* to her?"
I swung around. The guy behind me was about 6'2" and thin, with short, dark hair, and he was wearing a suit with some sort of conference nametag that said "Charles Anderson." I pored over it for what, at least to me, was just a couple seconds. It also said **2018 / "BE COURAGEOUS!"** I wish I was making this stuff up.
"What did you *say*?"
It wasn't Charles. Charles was looking squarely above the whole debacle, hand on his chin, eyes hopping between what were probably the "**2: Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese" and the "**3: Double Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese." *Thank God for Charles,* I thought. If everyone in the world were like Charles, it would be so much better for me. I could just go about my day unnoticed, even with this new...quirk.
"What did you *fucking* say to that lady?"
It was the guy behind Charles. He had dreads and what looked like alpaca wool covered in Chotchkie's flair. But his physique was decidedly more juicer than deadhead, and he was glaring at me so hard his face seemed to be turning red.
"I...uh...Southwest Grilled Chicken Salad, Apple Slices, and water....Please."
I wasn't lying. I *had* said that. *I* had said that. And what she heard, too, was almost undoubtedly that, just in another language. And I'm sure she understood it as that, unless she's rusty in her mother tongue—I guess it's been a while, after all.
"Oh yeah? It didn't sound like that to me. It sounded more like 'Sow'll whisper pepequem nose googah' something or other. And I mean—look at her! What did she say back?"
I briefly looked back at the cashier. There she was, still staring at nothing, still still. At least I could detect what seemed to be a little bit of breathing now.
"She said, um..." *Do I tell him the truth? It might be bizarre enough to throw him off his game...*
Charlie helped me out. "I'm pretty sure I heard her. She said 'Nobody's going to have anguish in the thousand years.'" He smiled, nodded once, and bizarrely, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day, turned back to studying the menu.
The Merry Roider seemed to be thrown off his game. He unclenched his face, and it started turning back to that peach tone he clearly wished he didn't have. "Is that, uh, is that really what she said?"
"Um, yup." I nodded a few times, briskly, while staring off to the right. *Convincing performance.*
"Well, what the hell does *that* mean?"
Beef Slackinoff sure was nosey for just some guy standing in line at McDonald's. "It, uh, it means..."
Chuck chimed in. "I'm glad you asked!" He proceeded to begin to explain...something...to Navy Gravy, while I took the opportunity to extract myself from the conversation and bridge the two-foot gap between myself and the counter.
Our cashier starting coming to. "Where...uhh...where did you learn that? How did you know I spoke it?"
*Shit.* I had no alibi. I didn't even know what I was supposed to have an alibi *for.* "Uh, y'know, you pick up a few things here and there..."
"In *Proto-Indo-European?*"
So *that's* what it was! How the hell was it her native tongue, though?
"Um, yeah, you know, just hanging out with other kids when I was little and, um, I mean, reading books, not hanging out—" I was really good at this.
"So do you, like, just go up to everyone and do this? Is that, like, your shtick? How often do you get beat up for it?"
"Well, *actually*"—my first good idea of the day just popped into my head—"I usually try to make an educated guess first as to what someone speaks. And I do have a pretty good batting average." I nodded knowingly, as though I had just securely built the roof of a house of cards.
"Quosmо̄d pewgwonts 'mene gneʕws?"
*Fuck.* I just realized that despite all this conversation, she—and apparently everyone else around—still heard me speaking in this language I'd never even heard of. She was just starting to respond in it, and I had no fucking clue what she was saying.
I stared blankly and blinked for a few seconds. "Excuse me?"
"But how the fuck did you know for me?"
I had to think fast, as if a windstorm were about to arrive at card village and I was its only retrofitter. "Oh, well, uh, you know..."
I noticed she was wearing a McDonald's tag with her name, Lydia Szemerenyi, on it. I pointed to it. "It was that." The bullshit was flowing so freely out of my mouth that I started to fear for the sanitation of this joint.
She looked down and nodded knowingly, a tear coming to her right eye. "It was great-grandpa's dying wish when I was born. Grandpa, dad, mom, the whole bunch, they didn't let me play with other kids until my sixth birthday, and wouldn't speak to me in anything other than that godforsaken abomination of a tongue—"
Chotchkie's interrupted her moment. "Can't anyone get a *fucking* burger around here?"
| 2022-06-29T16:29:01 | 2018-06-24T21:42:04 | 647 | 10 |
[WP]Time travel is possible, but requires an "anchor" item created in the target era. You've gone to the year 900 using a Viking sword and the year 300 using a Roman Coin. You've just started the process using a small statue of unknown origin and it proves to be vastly older than human history.
|
William watched as the archaeological team ever so carefully placed the small stone statue on the pedestal and close off the glass chamber. Funny thing that. He had handled the ancient statue previously, and while it wasn't light, it certainly wasn't heavy. A single person could have taken care of the placement, but then again, he wasn't a part of the archaeological team.
"You ready Will?" Brian, the President of the Time Travel Initiative, asked. He was a no nonsense type man, and was one of the co-founders of the Initiative. "We have no idea where you'll land in time, so I just want to make sure. If you're not comfortable, we'll call it off."
"Yeah, I'm ready," Will said with a grin. "This should be fun. Anyway, I've got the emergency recall button should things go wrong. I should be able to buy enough time with this," he said fingering the pistol at his hip. He carried three magazines with 15 shots each, and was decked out in the finest military grade camouflage available. "Forty five bullets outta buy me enough time for the thirty second wind up, and if not, I can at least try to hide. Besides, I have to know what this came from," Will said gesturing to the statue. "I mean, we have no idea where it came from, and if the carbon dating is accurate on an unknown material, 650,000 years ago someone or something made this. I gotta know who or what."
Brian nodded, slowly at first but then a smile cracked his lips. "You remind me of when I was younger. Always ready for another wild adventure into the unknown. We'll be waiting here for you. You had the recording equipment checked out already?"
"Yessir," Will said as he gently pat the small recording box strapped to his chest. "No issues, but they also hooked up a second system just in case."
"Good. Well, it looks like the system is ready for you. Good luck out there Will," Brian said as he shook hands with Will.
Will walked over to the small glass chamber and closed the door, sealing it off. Giving the system operator a thumbs up, he crouched down into a position he could easily fall into a crawl or leap up and away in case of a bad placement.
The machine spun up, the hum increasing with each second that passed. Time began flowing slower as the hum increased. A loud crack sounded coupled with a blinding light, and then silence. Reality faded away into a black void of nothingness around him. An eerie light still illuminated Will, but the light had no source. What felt like hours passed in the void, but slowly, reality began to return. First it was sunlight and sound, then wind, then finally Will's surroundings faded into existence. Hitting a small button on his shoulder, Will initiated the recordings, then began to look around.
Surrounding him was an elaborate city of white stone, it's gold capped spires piercing the crystal blue sky. Mountains made the backdrop on all sides of the city, and the air certainly felt thinner than back at the Initiative lab. Looking around at his immediate surroundings, however, Will found himself crouching atop one of the gold and white spires, and directly to his left was the statue. It had been affixed to the top of a golden spike. Looking closer at the closest spire, he saw that they all had small statues affixed to them.
Will began his investigation by crawling to the edge of the spire and looking down. A dragon, with what looked like a rider atop his back, lazily made it's way through the streets below. Will jerked his head back from the edge and his eyes bulged. A literal dragon! Nobody will ever believe that, Will thought to himself.
A sudden gust of wind hit Will's back, and the gold roof of the tower shook with an impact. A roar filled his ears. Whipping out his pistol, Will rolled over onto his back. A mounted dragon filled his vision.
"Hold your fire, human," the figured mounted atop the dragon said in perfect, if heavily accented English. "We have been waiting for you."
|
The screen twitched when I placed the statue in.
A garbled mess of numbers and shapes took the place that before said 900 CE and 300 CE when I last used it. The machine, a contraband “anchor chronoteleporter,” took up half my basement floor and had a gateway arch which began to hum with electromagnetism. Ozone filled the fetid basement, the only source of relaxation I had in this world.
“No way that can be right,” I said, then hit my device. “Come on, you shouldn’t bug out even before 40000 years!”
The machine couldn’t respond, both for being an inanimate object and that it froze on the numerical task. Another tap, nothing happened. A bash with my fist, all that came of it was throbbing bones and whining muscles. The portal still roared with life, the process still underway to open. But without a time, there’d be nowhere to go. What’d happen?
“Is this some kid’s project or something,” I said when I reached back into the casing with the statue anchor. It looked old, said my buddy who was a history buff, but from what century or even millennium we didn’t know. I wanted to find out. But if it was from now, all that’d happen was I’d go back a week and probably instagib or some other terrible short-distance travel shenanigans. Not fun, don’t use Current-day objects as anchors kids.
But a zap to my hand from a surrounding electric field told me that this was a valid anchor, one past ten years at the least. The most I’d get from my machine talking to me. Shocking, huh. The statue itself looked like a human enough, but with a jaw stretching out like a crocodile. Not a pleasant sight, but interesting enough to consider. It had no clothes, simply with nipples and whatever it had to represent down there. It didn’t look like a human’s… whatevers, that’s for sure. An interesting art piece that would be avant garde today and downright psychotic in any other time.
The portal opened. I had a minute before the anchor dissolved from the pressure and would cost a fortune in electric charge to go back again. Return trips are always free with Chronoteleporters, but going back after the first time, that’s costly. But the interface still glitched out, sending numbers and letters in a row.
“Come on now,” I said, “won’t go in unless you start working.”
And on cue it did.
The number was… bigger, than I thought it should be. A long stream of decimals filled the screen, nines upon nines. The size shrunk smaller and smaller as the number grew decimally larger and larger, until I was sure that the time wasn’t right at all.
“Stupid bug,” I said, heading into the portal, fixing on my gloves to my hazard suit, “ruining my weekend.”
I stepped in, and the portal closed behind me instantly in a bright green flash.
It never closed this early.
And all around me wasn’t a cold field of life shuddering from the chills, nor a bustling small town of Vikings or Romans, but the same people of the statue. Their jaws were extended well past their chin, and their skin stretched tight over their lips. They tittered like chitinous bugs, teeth clacking. And there was no one else in sight, no plants in sight, no sun or stars or sky in sight. All that existed besides me and the people was the flat ground and the emptiness of space.
“Welcome,” they said, “you’ve been chosen, Chronoteleporter.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For being our saviors. We’ve learned your language, taught our children your ways of speaking, and prepared for this moment for a thousand years!”
“So I’m in the future? Neat. Some shenanigans with people bringing back baubles. Although, you’re not as nude as that statue.”
“No,” they said, “you’re in another universe, in the past.”
My eyes strained from opening wide. “I’m, what? I mean, I expected the past, but another universe?”
One stepped up, an older one with wrinkles around its eye sockets. Did I mention that I wanted to puke? I gagged when I saw the man, and I didn’t want to find out what he smelled like, since he had the crustiest hands that he pointed at me.
“You’re the chosen one,” he mumbled.
“Bullshit,” I said, “I’m here to do something on my Sunday.”
“Watch your tone, young one,” another in the stretchface crowd said. “He is our celestial leader. He has lived more lives than you have seconds.”
And the man collapsed to the ground. And another, and another, until it was only me and the crusty old fart. He grinned, waved to the bodies, who disappeared into dust.
“They should watch their tongue,” he said, and blew the piles of dust away from us with a gasp of a breath. “There’s only so much matter and energy left in the world here, and we need to conserve it. They’ll be back.”
“Jesus Christ you killed em.”
“They’re not dead, just another group of lives added to the great consciousness.”
“So what the hell do you want me to do?” I asked. ‘I’m just here to find out where the anchor led. So I’m in a universe and there’s cultists. Anything else that’s new?”
Another grin from the old man with the long face. “Do understand that you’ll need training, which you will receive. It has been seen to. What we need is a hero. You are our hero. Save us.”
“I just wanted to go back in time for a day,” I groaned, “You seriously can’t be pulling such a cliche on me right now. What the hell am I supposed to do anyways? I don’t work out, and I’m not very nice, people tell me. If anything I’d ruin your world before I save it.”
“Au contraire, it’s not something you’d enjoy, and that is purposeful. You’ve been made into 90% of the way to being our savior, and I haven’t said what you’d need to do to save us.”
“And that is?”
“Destroying your own time line.”
Okay, stuff’s getting really weird now. Return trips are free. I tapped a few buttons on my shoulder, felt a charge run through my suit, and a portal opened behind me. The old fart’s head pulled back at the sight.
“No,” he pleaded, “Don’t leave us! We still need you.”
“Sorry, but this crap’s too weird for a normal day. I’m heading back home, sayonara.”
I turned and walked into the portal. What stopped me from going immediately to my time was a grip of my hand by an icky crusty one.
“Please!” he begged, “I need you to destroy your timeline, and that requires you to stay here. Do you not understand the consequences of your actions?”
I felt my eyes squint, like shriveled peas in the sun. “All I understand is that there’s something wrong with my chronoteleporter, and I need to get either it or my head fixed.”
“Then take me with you,” he said, “so I can save my people.”
This was the first thing that I thought of in ages. I always gathered trinkets, something to sell to my knowledgeable friend.
But a person, an alien, that would be something else. Just what would I do with one, and one that considered me a savior…
I sighed. “Worse things happened on a Sunday, I guess. Just make sure you pay rent.”
And then we left.
| 2020-04-17T13:58:03 | 2020-04-17T13:22:48 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You are one of the most powerful wizards in the continent, but because style points make up half of the Wizard License examination, you’ve never passed.
|
Leonard stood outside the door for a solid 5 minutes, but it felt like an eternity. On the other side of this door sat a panel of his peers. Some of them were new, but many of them he had seen far too many times before.
He drew a deep breath and pushed through the double doors into a dimly-lit circle. The door he just entered through was gone instantly, and he was now surrounded on all sides by men and women, staring at him and taking notes.
"Name." A disembodied voice commanded.
"Leonard Charles Shillingsworth." He stood at the center of the circle, which was 10 meters in diameter and ringed with runes.
"Age."
"41."
"Begin."
Leonard prepared himself. He didn't know exactly what was coming, but he braced himself for the worst. Suddenly, a streak of light came hurdling across the room, which he deftly caught and extinguished in a moment.
Next, the circle in which he stood began to spin and constrict, becoming a rope that attempted to close itself on Leonard's neck. With a calm and fluid movement, he spun it above his head like a pizza and watched it fade into nothingness.
Next there was a fire that sprang up at his feet. And then lightning from the murky darkness above him. And daggers. And arrows. Over and over, myriad things attacked, and each was rebuffed with quickness and ease.
"Stop." Came the disembodied voice, curt and unfeeling.
Leonard waited for the final request. It had been different each and every time; each of the 25 times he'd stood here. Nobody else had needed to return so many times.
"Show us... Illumination."
'Illumination' was a tricky form, but not one that he had ever struggled with. With a slight bow of his head, and a raise of his hands, Leonard filled the space with light. More than light, he filled the room with colors and shapes, and with all manner of amazing images. The judges could easily have believed that they were transported to a distant galaxy, and were viewing the births of stars and worlds, teeming with wonder and life.
Once the spectacle faded, there remained only the man, standing in the center of a circle and awaiting the decision.
After what felt like hours, the voice rang out once more. "Ability: 10. Range: 9. Creativity: 6. Style:..." Leonard winced. "2. Final score: 52 out of 100. FAIL."
And with that final word, Leonard found himself standing once more outside a large set of doors. The scores were heavily weighted, of course, but this was the lowest score he'd ever gotten. While he was perhaps the most capable wizard in the world, he also had zero sense of rhythm or flourish. He was a one-legged man in a dance competition, and feared he'd never pass his license examination.
Arriving at home, his wife didn't even have to ask how it went. She knew that look all too well. Meanwhile, his daughter ran up eagerly.
"Daddy!"
"Pearl." He smiled weakly.
"Flower?" She asked excitedly.
With a sigh, Leonard half-heartedly filled the house with the most amazing, fragrant flowers ever seen. Pearl jumped into them, laughing and rolling about.
Pearl's daddy was the best wizard ever, and she knew that to the core of her precious little heart.
|
I looked around the curtain of the emergency room bed where Gill was being seen, he locked eyes with me and scowled; the parts of his face which hadn't been covered by safety glasses were a mess of torn flesh, bloody raw chunks and visible bone. He couldn't talk while the medics attended to him but his short-range telepathy was second to none, from his eye muscles to your mirror-neurons he could communicate way more than simple emotions. "Anyone else like me?" he asked. I broke the gaze to free up some attention and thought - nobody like him on the planet, that we know of.
Gill never came in like this, only with injured students or with mildly uncomfortable requests from the pharmacy, use of equipment - or sometimes the morgue. He was far beyond amateur mistakes or misunderstandings and nobody could get through his defenses to try simple sabotage. He's too heavily guarded for any ordinary mistake to hurt his physical body, which leaves two possibilities - he's reaching for something more powerful than even he expected, or a direct attack serious enough to touch him but not kill him. Neither bodes well.
I shrugged and shook my head and he accepted that, his attention already moving elsewhere. "I'll come back when the medics are done", I said and pulled back from the curtain.
In the mid 1970s a youth magic contest, most entrants were ages 12-16, it covered the usual range of spectator-friendly magic patterns from heavy weight shifting testing overall power, to sand sculpting with its intricate control of individual grains - the skillful could affect how they reflect light to change colour and appearance as well as build sculptures - to ball bearing racing testing the ability to handle many concurrent movements, to firework displays reaching high up into the clear skies. Nobody expected too much from that age group, originally light hearted the contests became more serious and the competition more intense with every one up to this one. A girl age 13 had melted her sand sculpture into glass to fix it in place, a 16 year old boy had echoed the sculpture high, high up and shattered it into glimmering fragments of sparkling glassy firework which rained safely down as sugar crystals, and together they all pounded the ground with weights so intensely that it had to be stopped before it was a danger to nearby buildings.
And they were all outmatched by seven year old Guillaume, who all the way through looked like he was just playing. When Niamh sculpted sand with furrowed brow and blocks of sand, Gill made it flow into shape like liquid. When Tobor faltered lifting the heaviest stones he could, Gill caught them and put them down in a smiley face shape. He was a shoe-in for the Wizarding license, likely the youngest to get it, a natural magician and showman coming out of nowhere. And when the contest was over and he was cornered by television interviewers, he answered "what do you want to do when you grow up?" with "I want to stop the bad things happening, stop the bad guys!". "How are you going to do that?" asked the interviewer, and there was the face everyone had seen, staring dead set into the camera, almost shouting "I'm going to CONTROL THE WORLD". And did he stamp his foot? The camera feed blanked.
It had taken the Wizarding council a day just to trace them, a carved out chunk of ground and everyone in the vicinity gone. Nowhere on Earth. Another day to rescue them and the effort had overwhelmed one of the elder council members, who passed away soon after. The cameraman had taken shattered camera pieces to the face and died instantly, everyone else was cold and hungry but alive. Gill was awake but unresponsive, looking in the direction of the cameraman whom someone had covered with tablecloth. He was taken to a psychologist specialising in magic, his parents investigated but no charges brought, and the contests were not approved again for a decade.
Many magicians take it as a gift for entertaining and spend their time on trivia like fireworks and paper folding, some take it as a sinecure and sit on the council meetings contributing little and taking a small salary, Gill was unusually blessed with intelligence as well as magical sympathy, he had an obsession with stacking magic powers from a young age - what could be better than greater strength? More intelligence so that greater strength could be put to more use. What could be better than more intelligence? More time so that intelligence and strength could be practised more. I don't know what spells he found first, or how he managed to stack them, this wasn't something he talked about so freely, he must have walked through crinkled paths in time and lived at least 100 years of experience in the 50 since he was born, and yet he didn't look much beyond 30. Or 300 if you squint.
He still wanted to control the world, he spent his time informing on criminals, helping locate them and prove their guilt, guiding students away from the darker arts, and researching stacking spells. Power, intelligence, time, there are still limits to what one intelligence and one attention can do, and that's where he was concentrating his research.
What if you're not gifted from a young age, if there are no competitions in your time, if you have no natural flair and your sculptures look like mud pies and your fireworks are as enticing as a page of equations and your parents want you to become a doctor? And when you eventually graduate as a doctor, you meet one of the world's most capable Wizards, someone who believes in the goodness of people and likes to chat and is convinced that the only way to end crime for good is to have the world overseen by a benevolent dictator strong enough to oppose all others, but might be getting complacent as he's never met anyone strong enough that he needs to oppose?
What can you do if you can't control time to develop 100 years of skill in 50 and you're not 50 anyway?
Cheat.
Crib from his notes. Stop him. And then take over from him. Clay-footed though I am, with the grace of a landslide and a triple failure from The Academy for being slow, unexciting and the worst of all sins in their eyes *unentertaining*, I'm not completely incompetent. Nobody had seen my face on a TV competition and etched on hundreds of news reports, nobody was keeping a watchful eye on my path through medical school, nobody paying attention to the strength I've kept hidden from the public since we all grew up knowing about Gill's contest. And you'd be surprised what you can get from behind sabotage shielding by being friendly with the students who study inside it.
Gill could heal himself without coming in at all, which means he wants someone to know this happened. Was he showing off how far he can stretch? Not good, even with stacking his intelligence amplification and my natural strength I'm still at least two years from being able to reach where he's been going. Does he suspect it was an attack, a booby-trap effect on certain diversions in the world's fabric, and wanted to impress upon everyone that he didn't die? Not good at all. He won't fall for that again.
Does he know it was me?
| 2021-02-22T12:14:07 | 2021-02-22T11:06:09 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
|
Just enough was all I had to use. Enough to knock the hubris out of this fresh batch of heroes, but not enough to kill them. In the end they would win because I allowed them to, but first they needed to learn the seriousness of their job.
So, when the first one, a boy no more than 19 who called himself Werewolf, charged at me in his bestial form, I shifted out of the way just enough and used a nearby power cord to send him crashing to the ground.
His partner Solar Flare, a young woman who would one day burn as hot as the sun, but for now would be put to shame by a bonfire, concentrated on forming a ball of fire above her open palm. I must admit she showed an incredible amount of control for one so young, but I had no interest in getting burned yet, and so with another shift the pipe above her burst drenching her in water and dousing the flames she had yet to master.
I took a few more tries but eventually, as all heroes do, they began to realize this would not be as simple as beating up a common criminal and started thinking with their heads. Werewolf used his beast forms incredible strength to pick up a large desk which allowed Solar Flare a chance to form her fire again.
At this point I would normally allow them to think they hit and defeated me after which I would barely escape to play out this charade another day, but today was not normal. Instead, Werewolf’s eyes turned pitch black and before I could react, he dropped the desk on top of Solar Flare, knocking her out cold. He then turned with a bow to the door heralding the arrival of A-List villain. and incredibly arrogant prick, Harbinger.
Harbinger rarely spoke himself, instead choosing to use his connection to make his new meat puppet speak for him.
“Chronos. Perhaps it is time for you to give up on being a villain. This is the tenth time this year you have been so easily defeated by the freshest recruits the Coalition has to offer.”
The combination of his arrogance with the low guttural speech of the bestial form made quite a sight. I would have been amused if he had not put all my plans in jeopardy by breaking the number one villain rule. Still, he had his uses, so if I could get him to leave willingly that was preferable.
“You know how the old saying goes Harbinger, even a blind squirrel gets a nut on occasion, now if you don’t mind, I’ve already started here, and I doubt even you want to break our most sacred rule.”
The laugh that burst forth from Werewolf’s form was honestly disturbing. Imagine the most self-absorbed laugh possible but coming out of a hyena. I just sighed and noticed the bit of light coming from under the desk. It seemed Solar Flare was about to learn more about her power and the timing could not have been more perfect.
A look of confusion came over Harbinger as Werewolf stopped mid laugh, mouth wide open, as if someone had just hit the pause button. Which is basically what happened. Everyone believed I took the name Chronos because I could stop time for a few moments to get out of harms way, but that was not even a thousandth of my power.
The truth was I could wipe out everyone on the planet without a second thought or dominate the entire world through fear if I so chose, but there is always a stronger entity out there. So instead, I set up a series of shell companies that ultimately profited from superheroes and villains. Merchandise, insurance of every form, and training facilities all funneled currency directly to me. This allowed me to do whatever I pleased without constantly having to kill off my A-list investments.
These exercises were my way off testing the new blood and finding the best investments. Unfortunately for Harbinger he had just made himself worth a lot more dead than alive. I was going to make a killing selling Solar Flare merch after she became the rookie that destroyed one of the world’s most powerful villains.
And so, without a word harbinger began to age rapidly. I froze him in time first though, I am not a complete monster. As his body began to dehydrate completely and turn to dust, I unfroze everyone else and they got to bear witness to Solar Flare unleashing a massive wave of energy that obliterated Harbinger.
When the light faded, and the dust settled, Harbinger was gone and so was I. My work here was done, and I had a lot of designs to finish for the new special edition Solar Flare line after all.
|
When you think of supervillains, you think of those that can break a man's back with ease, take hold of a city with a diabolical genius plan, slaughter people in the blink of an eye with their powers, and so on; I am that but at the same time I am not that. Many are given to believe that I'm just some ex-assassin who is practically only good at killing a few people and subsequently getting my ass handed to me...but I'm not. Well, not some low ranking villain I mean. My time in service to the government has left me with enhancements to include strength, speed, and a cybernetic arm that not many know I have. I was bred for it, made to do it, however now I get to train a bunch of babies who don't even know how to pay taxes.
Today's scenario: Bank Robbery. A simple deal that the government sets up to test these soon to be heroes and I'm the contractor who got assigned to it.
The bank has two front doors, one back exit, and a large as vault that is on a timer like most of them. I have some low time crooks who are going to get there time knocked to parole if they do this right. They all are rocking some Halloween store skull mask, but mine is clearly identifying: a Ballistic face mask with a skull designed on it, and much more durable tactical gear as opposed to their amazon bought airsoft shit. Two men would go in take down the guards using rounds that make the appearance of the person is shot and dying. I'm the only one with live rounds. I and the other man will get behind the cash counter and gain access to the vault. Eight AM, the time had to be just right for it to unlock.
We charged in, the automatic gunfire made people jump as the two idiotic goons fired their weapons at the guards who dropped quickly. They, themselves thinking they had actually been shot as did everyone else. My first two men swept the whole floor, getting everyone on the ground as I hopped up across the counter with my partner.
"On the floor!" I shouted. "Everyone on the floor!"
"Do what he says or we'll blow your fucking brains all over the walls!" my partner shouted. Everyone got on the floor as they were told, I could hear sobbing from several women and whimpering from some men as I stood on the teller desk.
"We're here for the banks money!" I declared. "Not yours! Do not try to be a damn hero or we will drop you. If you feel sick you may sit up, if you now have to piss, then you piss yourself! We will be out of your hair shortly!" I hopped down from the counter and pointed at the other man to take that post while I looked for the manager. "Oh Mr. Manager! Where are you?" A balding man looked up and I pointed at him. "You him?" He ducked down as if to hide himself but nodded, knowing he was seen. "Get up." He slowly did so as he was told. I checked my watch and it was thirty seconds until eight. I grabbed him by his suit and dragged him to the vault door where he stared at it. "You put in the code when I say, understand?" He stared at it and I smacked him gently to get his attention. "Understand?"
"Yes," he murmured. I watched the arms on my watch tick away the final seconds, *3, 2, 1. 8:00 AM*.
"Unlock it," I said. The manager began spinning the dial with his hands trembling and eyes blinking multiple times.
"C'mon!" on of the goons shouted causing the manager to jump. Now having messed up the process and having to reset the combination to start again.
"Hey, shut the hell up!" I ordered. "You just fucked it up." I turned my attention back to the manager who was trying to put the code in. I saw him stop. "Done?" He nodded and then opened the vault. It was then I heard a *poof* and a man grunt as if he was getting punched followed by gunfire.
"Supes!" one of the goons shouted. I grabbed the manager by his suit and with my cybernetic arm holding that jacket, he wasn't going anywhere. The door burst open as another super burst in and attacked another goon. I knew who these two were, the Twins. A woman who could teleport dubbed Blue Vapor and her brother, a small yet incredible strong kid whose strength was unrivaled known as the Kid. Vapor popped out and grabbed the last one on the teller desk and subsequently disappeared before he reappeared going through a window. She appeared wearing some flashy blue and silver outfit.
I emerged as the people were fleeing, and the two prepared themselves where as they should just start attacking.
"It's over Grim!" Kid shouted. "Never took you for a bank robber."
"Times are hard Kid," I stated, "ammo isn't as cheap as it used to be so I gotta get it somehow." Vapor disappeared and reappeared, behind me and it was predictable. She tried to grab me and disappear but I quickly threw her over my shoulder and she disappeared only to reappear in front of me where I kicked her out of the way only to find her brother running full speed like a bull at me, and all I had to do was move out of the way. Vapor then reappeared, this time getting a hold of me and throwing me like a ragdoll out the window and into the street.
The duo emerged from the bank as I was standing to my feet to the sound of responding police sirens. This would be the part where I get my ass kicked, however the sky went from bright and sunny, to dim becoming a grayish orange as if the sky had become war torn. Lightning danced from clouds and it distracted us and responding cops. Great, an actual Grade A villain. These kids couldn't handle this, I knew I barely could.
"What is this?" The Kid questioned in bewilderment.
"I don't know," Vapor answered. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed up my boss, the Director of the Agency.
"Boss, you seeing this?" I asked.
"Yes," she stated. "Unknown villain coming in via a portal. He's coming towards you. Protect the assets no matter what." I hung up the phone and tossed away my M4 and removed the 454 Casull Custom Revolver from its holster. I kept it just in case and had only used it once on a hero who was going to kill my ass. I turned my attention to the Twins who looked scared shitless.
"You two are going to help me," I stated.
"Why would we do that?" Vapor asked.
"Because I'm not really your enemy," I said. I knew was about to break protocol and reveal the truth, but I brandished my wallet and showed them my badge. "I've been pulling my punches for a while, now we're about to meet the real thing."
"What the hell?" the Kid said in bewilderment.
"Consider me your training officer, this wasn't part of the test," I stated. From the sky descended a woman in a tight gunmetal gray outfit surround by some sort of armor with raven black hair and intense fiery yellow eyes. A sword of some sort rested on her hip. She hit the ground with enough force I saw the asphalt crack underneath her and I readied myself.
"Earth, it has been so long," she stated. "You all look like little ants who have forgotten about us."
"And you are?" the Kid questioned.
"You may call me Mara!" she announced.
"Never heard of you," I stated.
"Lost daughter of Ares, you know the God of War," she said. "We're coming back to take back what is ours, all of us!" *Well that's not good. I maybe superhuman but fighting a god wasn't in my resume of abilities*. "I can spare you and your pathetic city of stone and iron, if you just kneel."
"Yeah, kneeling isn't in American's vocabulary," I stated. I quickly took aim and fired but she whipped out the sword with such speed and carved the bullet in half to where it split and the halves going two different directions. She charged forth and swung her sword which I quickly ducked under and dodged to see her cut a car mirror off and it leave a bright glow as if it had been cut by a plasma torch. This wasn't how I planned out my day.
| 2021-06-23T11:06:45 | 2021-06-23T10:26:18 | 2,087 | 54 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
|
Its all about perspective. If the small folk knew about my true power, then even in a world filled with superheroes and supervillains I'd be called a god. Should the bean counters in World Hero Association Membership uncover the scope and scale of my design, undoubtedly they'd spend all of the budget on unnecessary countermeasures. Any villain with a hint of ego would come after just for the street cred.
So, why not take it easy and play it safe. Fact, if you're so unimpressive as a villian you don't even need a stupid villain name. To some it could be inconvenient to be known to anyone who reads the back pages of newspapers or trawls the hot prospect categories of Hero forums, but on the plus side you never need to worry about door to door salesmen or having your reservation bumped.
And if, and I mean a strong stout if, some up and comers get tested in ways they don't expect is anyone gonna complain? It's not like Photon Phantom would have learned they could be painfully refracted with a simple glass prism in a safer situation.
I'm not saying I should get a medal or a parade or anything. I'm not that up my own ass. I'm just saying, maybe don't try and horn in on my thing.
I mean come on, I got a thing happening here and I didn't invite you. And what's up with the name? "Anthrocide"? Sounds like a bargain bin roach killer.
*Why are you talking so much-*
Hey now, I'm talking. You gotta wait your turn, Anthrocide. Ya know perspective matters a whole lot. I've talked to people who clamor for the glamour and fame the big capes get. But me, I don't want any part of that. In turn notoriety, well your kind, ain't got much of an appeal either.
*What are you doing-*
Oh so you're just rude? Just cause your a, a... hold on.
Just cause your a mass murdering sadistic piece of shit doesn't mean you can't have manners. But, whew what a shit zipper you are. You might not be able to see this but I'm getting the vapors right now over reviewing your history.
What's the end goal here? You don't seem to have some ideology or political goal motivating your path of pain. Just a run of the mill monster huh? Given a bit of power, a pinch of flash, a drop of pizazz and you decide it's best used to cause harm. I'm not impressed.
What do you have to say for yourself?
*What have you done to me?*
What have I done? Maybe you did this to yourself? Did you consider that? Storming into an active bank robbery and with intentions of killing the heroes and civilians. Your the one who melted dozens of cops and onlookers gathered outside as part of your big entrance
What'd those people do to earn an agonizing fate of turning into hot human soup?
*Stop*
Well that's not really an option.
See, well shit you can't see, light only moves so fast and once I sync'd you to me and went beyond that sight becomes something of an impossibility. Anyways here's the deal Ant, you're being punished now.
I've pulled you out of sync with reality, or well the only setting of reality your compatible with.
I've been touched by the universe, Ant. I'm what could be referred to as an avatar of the big bang. Universal expansion is kinda my thing. Now I've taken all that incredible power and used it to nudge you. Just enough to sync you up to me.
Physically you're no longer in that bank. Every fiber of your being has been pushed to a speed where you are out of phase with time and space by most standards.
It'll probably take a while before this conversation registers in that little noggin of yours.
But, don't worry I'm a merciful guy. You'll slow down, gradually. Within some months or years you fall back into phase with reality. All the while you can ruminate on your choices.
So long for now!
Supercede out
|
"Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..."
| 2021-06-23T13:55:53 | 2021-06-23T11:55:31 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] You wake up in a strange room, only to find alternate universe versions of you there, each different in their own way (gender, race, background etc). You have no idea what brought you here.
|
I looked around at all of the eerily similar faces. There was Black Me, with long dreads. Male Me, surprisingly tall and a bit handsome. Is that weird? Standing right next to him was Dwarf Me with pudgy limbs. Some of them weren't too different, though. One version of me had the same physical features, but wore tattered clothes, had tattoos running down her arms, and coughed like she was about to hack up a lung. Another version of me was the complete opposite: expensive brand name fashions, detailed makeup, manicured nails, and artificially enhanced breasts. Every end of the spectrum was represented here.
Some of our personalities had changed, too. Some Mes were outgoing and talkative, going around trying to make conversation. Other Mes swung to the opposite end of the extreme. One of them seemed to have developed severe social anxiety along the way and hid in a corner rather than shake hands with another version.
A few of the other Mes approached others to introduce themselves. They were very curious about which alternate universe we'd all come from and what our differences were. But their expressions when talking to me were... odd. Sad and sympathetic.
"And, what... happened... in your universe?" asked Outgoing Me.
I shrugged. There didn't seem to be anything different about my universe. I was clearly the middle of the road for every option.
"Nothing unusual, I guess," I responded timidly. Outgoing Me was biting her lip and wringing her hands like she had a big secret that she didn't want to let out.
"I mean, how did you end up... like..." she was fidgeting, looking for the right words. "Why are you all...." She seemed almost ready to cry. "You know what, never mind. Nice meeting you." She scampered away to introduce herself to another Me.
"What is it?" I called after her. She avoided my eye contact.
I turned to one of the other Mes, wearing a formal pant suit and hair pulled back tight in a knot.
"What was wrong with her?" I asked. The other Me didn't respond. Her eyes went wide and she shrank back, trying to hide in the crowd.
"What is it?" I asked. Pantsuit Me ran away and disappeared behind Obese Me.
I turned to another Me nearby, wearing a bikini and with dozens of piercings. Surfer Me, I guess.
"What was that about? Why was she scared of me?" Surfer Me ran too.
"WHAT?" I shouted, causing any other nearby Me to scatter like a frightened school of fish. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?"
|
The first thing I noticed about the two men standing in my apartment should have been that they had entered my living room through a rip in the fabric of spacetime but I can be slow on the uptake. The fact that there was a gaping hole of impossible size and infinite darkness glowing chaotically a few feet from my couch was too much for my brain to process as it searched desperately for something it could recognize. It settled on just how different the two men looked from each other. That was easy. I had learned to compare and contrast in grade school. The taller man had skin like milk chocolate and a pair of sunglasses that obscured his eyes and wrapped around to cover his ears as well. A silvery gray robe with black accents on the sleeves and collars draped across his broad shoulders and somehow found enough fabric to hide his feet. He was a slender and stoic 7 feet tall, and I could tell by the faint movements of words and pictures on the inside of his glasses that he was a very busy man. He walked past me, ignoring the young man in nothing but socks and boxers staring wide eyed at this invasion, and stepped into the hallway to continue an argument in hushed tones. He was obviously on a very important phone call.
The other was his mirror opposite. He was short and balding with wireframe glasses, a trimmed mustache, and a kind smile that almost made it into his eyes. He was wearing a brown jacket with a white button up and a black tie that looked a little thick for my tastes. He was the first to speak.
"Hello Lonny," He said, sitting on my loveseat and leaning forward like they teach you in salesman training seminars. "I'm sure you're confused and frightened right now. Please don't be, this is a routine procedure."
I opened my mouth wide to say something but there were no words to adequately express what I was feeling so I just left it open as my head moved back and forth.Yawning maw of the abyss on my in-table. Aloof Nubian giant half turned in the shadows of the hallway to my left. Amicable accountant looking at me like he's trying to decide whether to have me over for dinner or just have me for dinner.
Finally my eyes rested back upon the rip, at first refusing to see it but slowly beginning to make sense of it. It was itself a comparison of contrasts. Most things in the universe have certain characteristics that are not compatible with other states. For instance, there is usually no such thing as boiling ice. There are no completely spherical cubes. If you're moving toward a stationary object, it's supposed to get larger as you get closer. And yet, here it was in front of me: a cubic sphere with 27 sides hovering on a cloud of warm water vapor forming from droppings of the miniature glacier floating above it.
Inside the now hexagonal cylinder there shined millions and millions of what I first thought were stars, but then I somehow realized were galaxies. Connecting the galaxies on a two dimensional plane were bridges made of some golden metal. They were flat and efficiently planned and slightly reminiscent of a motherboard. Mesmerized, I leaned a bit closer and was disappointed that the cube seemed to move away from me. But then I looked down at the in-table and saw that it was still in the same position. I thought it was shrinking because my brain isn't used to objects that don't follow general relativity. I reached out to touch it.
"Not yet young man," came a deep and calm voice. The Nubian swiped my wrist before I could reach it and lifted me up by my arm so my feet were dangling and our faces met. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I could just make out thousands of lines of information flying up from the bottom on the other side of his shades. Then, on the side facing me, a series of shapes began to dance around the edge of the glass. Each little sprite seemed to be moving at random. Still being held by one arm a foot off the ground, these random gyrations began to make me dizzy and I almost averted my gaze. But then I noticed that if I looked at both pieces of glass at the same time, patterns emerged where there was none in just one eye. In the space of a few seconds, I had learned to anticipate where the next sprite would appear, and where it would go, and how that would affect sprites on the other side. The Nubian dropped me.
"He'll do," he said, turning to the shorter man and walking back into the hallway to ignore us some more.
"Are you sure about that, Cooper?" said the small man. I'm about to interview him. Why don't you hold out judgment until we've finished discovery?"
Cooper, back still turned, said, "I know what I need to know and I'll accept him. He's all yours, Frank"
"Now hold on just one goddamn minute!" I tried to sound more angry than scared and confused, but I think the falsetto in my voice gave me away. "Two minutes ago, you busted into my house through that hell mouth over there (can one of you please turn that shit off?) and pretend like I'm not even here, and now I find out you're here to evaluate me? Well, fuck off! I thought first contact with aliens or time travellers or whatever was to be an epiphany! Turns out everyone in the universe is a douchebag."
Frank and Cooper shared a quick glance. Cooper looked amused while Frank just looked annoyed. But he swiped two fingers down the collar of his jacket, leaving a glowing trail that quickly faded, and the impossible cube began to collapse. The ice on top melted just as the vapor on the bottom condensed, forming a sphere of liquid around the shape. It began to spin and as it did the water pulled inward like inverted centripetal force. Water fell into the shape, disappearing until it was only a spinning black ball of yarn unraveling into itself. It spun faster and faster until, with a slight pop, it winked out of existence.
"You're right." It was Frank, baring his teeth in a smile. "'I apologize. We don't deal with....singular entities very often. I'm sure you have many questions. So why don't we go into the dining room and you can put on some coffee, and we can talk everything out."
"Can I put on some pants first?"
| 2015-04-15T08:39:28 | 2015-04-15T08:30:38 | 387 | 80 |
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
|
I leaned back in my office chair and stretched my arms high over my head. With a sigh of relief, I finally turned away from Earth-2294. In 250 A.D., the humans living there had managed to rediscover the Garden of Eden, and they had waged a siege on an epic proportion that had lasted almost two thousand years. It had taken every bit of my attention to keep them out, but when I make a rule, I keep that rule. Now, after all those years, I could finally check up on some of my other creations.
I swiveled in my office chair and faced Earth-1468. The first thing I noticed was the number of countries. On Earth-2294, there was no real nationality, just humans vs. angels. Earth-1468 had hundreds of countries. I sighed again, it was obvious I was going to have a lot of reading to catch up on before I could start guiding these humans.
I cracked open the first historical tome, starting from the moment the "Garden Crisis" started on Earth-2294. Suddenly, movement just outside of the atmosphere caught my eye. I looked at it closely, it was some sort of space station. But that was impossible, humans weren't supposed to go to space!! It's impossibly cold, and there's no oxygen. It's why I use the cold emptiness of space to separate my planets, humans could never survive outside the atmosphere. Yet here they were, just floating around like it was normal. I sat back in my chair stunned. And I smiled. After all those years of war, I'd forgotten how much I liked humans. It was time to reward these enterprising little people. I zoomed out so I could see the entire milky way. And there it was, the tiny little telescope trying to take pictures of the bigger universe. I subtly pointed it to a seemingly empty space of the cosmos. And the telescope took pictures of a far distant planet, where all humans had been wiped out. And where they would find a peaceful garden at the center of a massive battle.
|
^(Shameless plug for my sub where you can find a collection of prompt responses I've written, /r/AbnormalTales )
If you're interested in my writing, [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/AbnormalTales/comments/2s8x7n/recommended_links/) will take you to a list of my personal favorite responses.
***
The body laying on the steel table had once belonged to a woman named Cheryl Doberland. She had died two months ago thanks to a small lump that had gone unnoticed in her left breast that decided to spread, shutting down major organs and bringing her to her untimely death.
"How is she?" Dilan asked.
Jeff looked away from his clipboard and at the body. He tapped at his chin with his pen, "Still dead, I think."
"No, you idiot, how is her body?"
"Right," Jeff said with a smile. He checked the readouts on the computer to his right. There were readings for her body temperature, "98.6," he said, and readouts for her pulse and brain activity. Both were at zero.
"Good, she's warm, I think we can start."
The two scientists had been researching ways to bring the dead back to life, hidden from the public eye. They had made great strives towards the end goal, once bringing a pig back from death, and then quickly killing it. They brought a chimp back, let it live for a few hours, and then put it down. Jeff had a tendency to call these "Double Kills", which Dilan ignored. They had been ready for quite some time for a human trial, but had difficulties in getting a body.
And then, as if some angel had gifted it to them, they had received Cheryl.
"Are we ready?" Dilan asked.
Jeff, this time in a serious tone, "Yes, we're good to go. Everything is set."
"Hit it," Dilan said, standing close to the edge of the steel table on which Cheryl laid. In his right hand, he held a six-shooter. A revolver that had been passed down in his family for several generations. There were plenty of other methods that he could have used to put a zombified Cheryl down, but he felt that the revolver carried more symbolism in it than say, a syringe loaded with chemicals. It was here that Jeff disagreed with Dilan. A syringe would be much cleaner, but after Dilan agreed to clean up any resulting mess, Jeff allowed it.
Jeff leaned into the button, and the machines in the small lab whirred to life.
Immediately, Cheryl's body began to twitch.
"Readouts?" Dilan said, pointing the revolver at Cheryl's head.
"Temperature is spiking, little brain activity, and she has a pulse, but it is all over the place. Starting the zappers now," Jeff said, leaning into another button.
Across Cheryl's body, there were electro-pads stuck and glued here and there. Once Jeff hit the second button, they came to life, sending powerful shocks into Cheryl at automated and precisely timed moments.
At first her body twitched some more, but as the electro shocks came into sync, the twitching began to stop.
"Readouts?"
"Pulse is at 140 beats per minute, temperature still spiked at 104 Fahrenheit, I'm going to ice the table." Again, Jeff leaned into another button. The heated table that Cheryl's body was laying on immediately cooled, frosting over within the blink of an eye. The body's temperature slowly dipped from 104, to 103, down to 102, 101, skipped 100 to go to 99, and then slowly came to rest at 98.6.
"Brain activity?"
Jeffrey glanced away from the body to the screen, and before he could vocalize what he saw, Cheryl's body sat up from the table, gasping for air.
Her eyes fluttered open, revealing milky white eyes. "I can't see, I can't see, where am I?"
"Cheryl, Cheryl honey, I need you to calm down," Dilan said, holding the revolver point blank to her temple. She turned towards Dilan's voice, feeling the cold steel of the gun slide from the side of her head to her the center of her forehead.
"What have you done?" She asked.
"We brought you back Cheryl, please stay calm, please stay calm honey. You're going to feel weird, and you're not going to be able to see."
"I am not Cheryl."
Jeff furled his brow and looked to Dilan, and Dilan looked away to Jeff.
"What'd she say?" Jeff asked.
Cheryl made a lunge for the gun, but Dilan was ready.
The gunshot in the small cramped laboratory was deafening.
***
Servants were disappearing left and right from the Kingdom. Simply vanishing mid-sentence, or in the middle of the night. God already knew *what* was happening, and *where* it was happening, but didn't know *how* it was happening.
Saint Peter approached him, "You know what is going on, what is it?"
Before God could answer Peter, He vanished from the throne.
Saint Peter stood there, dumbfounded.
***
The body once belonging to Cole Menendez sprung to life on the table, but couldn't move much. The thick leather straps kept him from moving around. He looked around through clear eyes and saw two men standing several feet away, one holding what appeared to be a gun.
"Who are you?" one of the men asked.
"You have no idea what you've just done," the body once belonging to Cole Menendez said.
| 2015-12-27T10:49:08 | 2015-12-27T09:35:17 | 791 | 366 |
[WP] God is a game dev and he just released a patch for his game "Earth". Write the changelog describing patches, balances, tweaks, etc.
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# Earth
v0.2016.3.8rc5
**Game Balance**
- Reduced resiliency of mosquitoes.
- Increased resiliency of honey bees.
**Bug Fixes**
- Fixed error in `Model.Animal.Feline` where `HouseCat` functions overrode all `Feline` models. All models will now behave appropriately according to size.
- Resolved memory leak in AI `function Economy({capitalism : true})`; `trickleDown()` should now work as intended.
- Removed `Model.Animal.Misc.Platypus`.
- Removed `Model.Animal.Humanoid.Herobrine`.
**Notes**
The environment is almost ready for real players, submitting for review as Release Candidate #5.
|
#Earth 0.9.1 Live across all servers
We here at Milky Way Games have been hard at work on the newest update for Earth, the Simulation. It's taken us quite a while just to get here, but we are rapidly approaching the final edition of the game and cannot wait to get it into the hands of everyone in the Galaxy! We expect, that after this version is tested, debugged, and so forth, to have the game out within the next millennium, a wonderful accomplishment!
We'd like to take a moment to thank all of our Alpha buyers, players, testers, and so forth. Your courageous attempts into the simulation to work out all of the kinks have provided us great detail over the last 4.5 billion years and the long awaited arrival of Earth 1.0 is an accomplishment we share with all of you. To our Alpha testers and players, the update is below and should be live across all of our simulation servers.
* **MAJOR FIXES**
* Yellowstone_Caldera eruption halted, DLC Expansion date TBA.
*This was progressing a little faster than we anticipated here at Milky Way, and thanks to the efforts of USER_18410 we were able to halt this by a few (in-game) centuries.*
* Outdoor Temperature decreased by .5 degrees Celsius.
* Existing Oil Allotments have been increased by 1.8%.
* Adjusted Trajectory of *Virus 99942_Apophis*, which should no longer impact any related server. Further adjustments may be needed.
______
* **POPULACE ADJUSTMENTS**
* Server population increase by 12%, up from the previous 4%.
* Sub_Server UNDERWORLD population up by 3%.
* USER_666 updated with better dialogue, contract options, quests, and silver-tongued.
*More temptation for all you believers out there.*
* USER_74018, Ghandi_Mahatma, has been added into the game as USER_185018.
* USER_966617, Trump_Donald_J, has been removed from the game.
*This was a choice decided upon by the developer, unfortunately, we had no say in keeping him. The Big guy makes these decisions.*
* 12,547 new species have been added.
* 12,344 species have been removed.
* United_Nations Sub_User had been given BONUS_UNITY Buff.
*This should allow for easier transitions between "nations", making it much easier for each individual player to visit each "nation" and eventually make it possible for our planned UNITY_DLC to hit the servers. Time for each server will vary.*
* Level 3 Bosses Respawned across all servers.
* USER_876659, Mary_Elizabeth_A_II, given LIFE_BUFF.
_____
* **USER UPDATES**
* All USERS now receive a 2% XP Boost while active during the "day."
* All USERS now receive a -6% XP Boost while "indoors" longer than five days.
*Again, Big Guy made this decision.*
* All USERS now practicing "religion" receive no boosts, previous boosts will last for the next thirty (30) in-game days.
* All USERS are being updated with Antivirus Software, ASTUTE_1.0,
* Major updates to all STATS, including Intelligence, Charisma, Perception, Agility, Endurance, Sexual Drive, and Karma.
*These updates are good by the way, should give everyone a better footing in the coming years, especially by the time the full game is ready for release.*
* Addict_Users now receive -10% loss to XP each "hit."
* MARIJUANA_1.1 now live, should be "legal" across all servers.
* Antivirus to all CANCER programs updated in All Users.
* AI_USER_0000001 has been updated with SELF_AWARENESS.
______
* **SYSTEM-RELATED UPDATES**
* DWARF_PLANET_PLUTO redesignated as PLANET_PLUTO.
* SOL_1 Age decreased by .0001%.
* MARTIAN_WATER_PUMPS reactivated.
* RETURN_OF_NEPTUNIANS update will be rolled out at the end of the millennium, with the release of the final game.
*See Return of Neptunians Patch Notes for information on this Content.*
______
Comments, concerns, suggestions? Send them over to us at Milky_Way_Games@galaxy_godhood.org
______
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work! Great prompt OP!*
| 2016-03-08T12:40:41 | 2016-03-08T11:01:39 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] In the year 1984, your father said he was popping out to buy some milk and never came back. Eighty years later, you lie on your deathbed as your father walks in, confused and a jug of milk in his hand.
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"Mr. Halbeck! You can't leave, sir. Come back to your room, please." The young nurse trotted after the elderly dementia patient, urging him to get back into his bed. Ignoring her calls, Mr. Halbeck trudged stoically down the hall, a man on a mission. As he reached the locked double-doors that led outside, the other night-shift nurse returned from her smoke-break, opening the doors at just the right moment for the determined old man to slip out. "Nancy! You just let Mr. Halbeck escape!" the younger nurse exclaimed. "Shit. Well, call out an MIW. They'll bring him back.
Some hours later, a bedraggled old man stumbled into the Circle K across town. The pimple-faced kid behind the register barely glanced up from his magazine as the centenarian took a bottle of milk from the refrigerator and headed for the door. "Hey, man, you gotta pay for that!" His words fell on deaf ears, and the old guy just continued out the door and on down the street. The kid had a grandfather who was sick like that, and decided to just let it go. "Poor old guy," he thought, as he paid for the milk out of his own pocket.
My final breaths were agony. My chest was on fire, and each inhale sparked dark stars in my vision. My wife sat next to me on the bed, quietly reading to me from our favorite book of poetry. A world away, I heard the front door open, and my daughter call out from below, "Mom? He's back!" My wife ran to the door, and coming up the stairs was a frail, tired old man with a jug of milk. Tears filled her eyes as she turned to me. "Your Dad is here." I sighed, and a spasm of pain nearly caused me to black-out. "Did he bring the milk, again?" She nodded, and stepped aside as my father entered the room. His eyes were beginning to cloud over in confusion again, as the mental illness that first took him from me began to claim hold again. "I, uh, I brought the milk?" It broke my heart to see him like this, but in a way, I was glad that he couldn't remember. He had the gift of being able to forget the night he left, when I was just 6 years old. He didn't have to recall the bloody newspaper photographs or the long court battles to have him committed. In his mind, he had just left for milk, and come right home.
Edit: realized I messed up the maths
|
Birch Tree Drive, 1984
"Mom, why's Daddy taking so long to get milk?" 6 year old Joey asked his mother. A tear rolled down her cheek as she answered "He's not coming back." "What do you mean?" Jody asked. His mother sniffed and and said "He's a lousy dirtbag and he doesn't care about you or me." Joey cried, drowning out The Smurfs on T.V. and the cars in the street. His father was never coming back.
______
Birch Tree Drive, 2064
The house of the Parkers had changed. Joseph's mother had passed and pictures of him, his wife and three boys lined the walls of the house. 23 year old Thomas, 25 year old James and 27 year old Martin all stood behind their 81 year old mother. "Joseph, don't go." she said. "It's my time to go back to the lord Emily. You will join me soon enough." A tear rolled down Emily's cheek. Then, the bedroom door opened. "Joey?" Alfred Parker said. "Dad? You deserted Mom and I years ago and... what is that?" Joseph said between coughs. "Oh, it's the milk I was getting." "How did it take you 80 years to get a gallon of Milk?" Joseph asked his father. "Well, I'll tell you."
_______
Bob's Gas n' Grub, 1984
A 34 year old Alfred grabbed a carton of milk from the top shelf of the fridge. He walked to the register and put 2 dollars on the register. "Thank you sir, come again" the pimpled cashier said in a nasally voice. Suddenly the door opened. A man in a pinstripe suit holding a machine gun walked in. "Ay, doncha' move you lugs. Dis place is now officially a front fo' da Diggersby Gang, and both a' you are our prisoners." Samuel Diggersby said. Two large men in matching black suits walked in, handcuffed Alfred and the teenage boy working the register and brought them out to a van, leaving the gallon of milk spilt on the floor.
_______
Warehouse 27 at Brett's Memorial Dock, 1996
The teenaged boy was now a handsome man of 28 and Alfred was a 46 year old lightweight. They couldn't escape the cages and were probably deemed dead by the news. Suddenly the warehouse door broke open. The Mafia had broken in and were destroying the place with grenades. They saw Alfred and and the boy and stuffed them in bags. All Alfred could hear were gunshots and grenade explosions until he was knocked out.
_________
Pierre Memorial Skyscraper, 2002
After the Mafia thought gangs and cops all over America for six years, they smuggled Mexican cocaine across the border into Canada and went to Pierre Memorial Skyscraper in Quebec. "Eh boss, sorry to interrupt but we got the cocaine and two prisoners." The tall man paused the hockey game and ran his hand through his slick black hair. "Put them on the streets, eh." The men took them down the stairs and kicked them out of the building, leaving them to fend for themselves on the streets.
________
Worcester, 2021
Using money from part time jobs and begging, a pudgy 53 year old Tim and a skinny 71 year old Alfred bought a used car and made it to Worcester, Massachusetts before the engine blew out. "This is just great." Alfred said. "I should've been home with that milk 37 years ago! Joey's 43 and Selma's 73!" "Well least you lived a life before all this." Tim said. "I had a girl, a nice family and tons of friends. I was starting quarterback of the JV team. I didn't even finish highschool." The two men sat in silence until a police officer stopped her motorcycle. "You're loitering and that cars busted so your littering. That's 15 years." She handcuffed them and called a police cruiser.
_________
Conneticut State Penitentiary, 2036
15 years. 5475 tally marks lined their cell wall. Today was the day. When the guard opened their cell and walked them down then hall an 86 year old Alfred said "I feel young again!" to a 68 year old Tim. Today they were being let out. They were given their civilian clothes and sent off. As soon as they left Alfred bought a gallon of milk.
_______
Chicago, 2049
Alfred was 99 and alone. Tim died of the flu in Hershey Pennsylvania and he was left alone. He walked miles and miles, eating whatever he could scrape up. He sat against a building until he heard a voice. "Dad? Is that you?" a 78 year old woman in her hover-car said. "Louise?" he asked her. "Dad it is you! I'll bring you to my home!" "You're not mad about the divorce?" he asked. "You were teen parents. It was expectable." she said. "Now hop in! We gotta clean you up!"
________
Enterprise Hospital, 2052
Alfred was on the operating table, surrounded by surgeons and lights. He had watched his great grandchildren grow but after 3 years his body started to fail. Louise brought him to the hospital for Bipnic Replacement Surgery where the doctors would put his brain and organs in a robotic body. The doctors gave him
anesthetic and when he woke he was a cyborg. He then went to Lousies house, packed kissed her on the check, and started walking home.
_______
K.C.'s Convenience Store, 2064
114 year old Alfred walked passed the hover board rack into the building. He walked casually over to the dairy aisle, grabbed a jug of milk, and went to the register. He payed 12 dollars and walked away from the store, towards his house.
________
Birch Tree Drive, 2064
"And that's how I got here!" Alfred said, placing the jug at the foot of Joseph's deathbed. "You did that all, for me?" Joseph said, starting to cry. "Sure I did Joey, because I love you." "Goodbye...Dad." Joseph said, and although he was dying, he knew his father wasn't a deadbeat.
| 2016-09-25T18:49:56 | 2016-09-25T16:04:09 | 84 | 61 |
[WP] You have always heard two voices in your head, one telling you to do good, and one telling you to do evil. Today, however, you awaken to them both screaming the same thing at you...
|
"KILL!"
I sprang up in my bed. My heart, racing.
"What?! Who–"
"Kill! You have to. It's the only way to survive!" said a sweet deep voice desperately.
"You must kill it. Destroy it!" said a harried shrill voice with an edge of glee.
I'd had these two opposing voices in my head for as long as I can remember. They never agreed. Never.
"Please! Kill it! I want to see!" said Evil.
"Kill it with fire!" said Goodness.
I looked around until I spotted a brown spider crawling on my bedpost. I scream and whacked it with a book. Its legs drew up and writhed. I looked on in disgust until it halted its movements.
"Ugh. That's a deadly one. Jeez. Thanks guys!"
It was a brown recluse! I shuffled away from it and flicked on the bedside light.
"That's not all. Kill all of them!" Evil said.
Once illuminated, the room gave way to the worst horror of my life. "Holy shit... HOLY SHIT!!!!"
Tiny brown spiders were crawling all over the wall of the bedroom where the door was. I dropped everything and stared for a good minute, unbelieving. And then I started screaming.
"Kill them! They'll murder you!" said Goodness.
"Yes... kill all the babies. Kill em dead!" laughed Evil.
Instead I called the police. I didn't know what else to do.
"There's brown recluses EVERYWHERE! EVERYWHERE!"
I screamed into the phone for a while before they said they were coming.
I couldn't kill all of the spiders if I wanted to! Well, actually I really wanted to make a flamethrower with hairspray and my trusty Zippo, and burn down the house, but my insurance wouldn't like that too much.
Evil cackled happily, and goodness was terrified.
Unfortunately my bedroom wasn't the worse part. I saw through the open door that the hall had little ones all over. My house was infested.
I ended up jumping out the damn window of my bedroom.
The one time my voices agree and it's spiders. Deadly spiders.
Man.
FUCK spiders.
.
.
.
Edit: Something like this spider situation happened to me for real. I went to vacuum behind my tv, and a (harmless) spider had birthed HUNDREDS of spiders. I screamed the whole time I vacuumed every last damn one and emptied the can outside. Only then did I stop screaming. Fuck. Spiders. 🕷
|
'The book says 'forgive the one's who wronged you'. I solemnly believe that officer but...'
'All i need is a confession Tom'
'You listen to me and listen good officer, i am not confessing to anything, it was not me... I could never do this...'
Tom suffered a great loss an year ago and was slowly recovering, losing a daughter is not a easy thing, especially when you couldn't hold her corpse in one peice... Such savagery...and to what end?
Colin was his daughter's husband and it was a marriage that really tested Tom. Colin had a record of temporal insanity and tanya was his supervising doctor, he was released on her recommendation. But was he really normal? Tom never believed it.
Nights following Tanya's murder were hard on Tom, he woke up at times running with a knife into his car and revving his engine to do the 'just' crime he was supposed to do. But then he slowed down panting and thinking about what he just said under his breath, is any killing just?
The extremities of both the ideas bothered him for months, he really wanted to get rid of the idea of murder, let alone if it was 'just' or not, the two voices in his head.
Many relatives came and went. One distant cousin of tanya, andrew, stayed with Tom. The nights during his visit were normal, the voices suddenly stopped and he had a really good roommate. At least for a while...
Andrew was a resilient young man who finished his education from russia and was looking for a job around the town. They often talked about economy, politics until one night Andrew spelled out the things Tom ran away from,
He handed him a knife and said
'revenge is the purest of all emotions Tom and those who suppress such are cowards, remember what krishna said to arjuna, about how pious is a action taken under the influence of most over-powering emotions!'
Tom echoed the thoughts in his mind and went to the car in fit of anger undivided from colin. It was moments later that andrew came from behind and held Tom's hand away from the steering.
'let go of me!' he tried to shrug off andrew.
'wait..wait you can't do this, for the sake of tanya just stop!'
Tom looked at him astonished and held his collar,
'you bastard you put me to this, you asked me to..'
'what? I never said anything...i was..., i just came'
Tom couldn't care less, he got off the car and went inside just to notice that there's just one glass and a bottle of wishkey drained to the bottom.
Andrew followed him inside while Tom threw the bottle away as he poured the last peg into his glass and went straight to his room.
Who was it? Was Andrew scheming him into commiting the most henious crime? Why would he? He talks about gandhi, not about a eye for an eye, who was he?.. danny felt asleep twisted in his own thoughts.
Things were different between him and andrew from that day on. Andrew could feel the rift tearing both of them apart and there was less he could do about it!
After a week, Tom finally confronted andrew just to ask him to leave the house and look for other accommodations.
'its not about you child, you cannot find what you came for if you stay here any longer than necessary!'
'what about you uncle, do you find anything here except the memories of tanya?'
'i have to live with it and you don't, now you must leave...'
'i will but what would you do? Can you live with this burden on your chest? Knowing that the guy who brutally killled tanya is still out in the open?'
'May god have mercy on him and accept him in his folds, there's nothing much i can...'
'Nothing much? You can very well end this, end your own misery and his, you can help him reach his prolonged and awaited judgement, you can show him hell'
'What...is that you talking? I am no god, and I won't pay for anything other than my own deeds, i need to break this cycle, i need to end what colin started by forgiving him'
'yes yes' he held Tom's hands and handed him a swiss knife producing it from his pockets, 'you have to end this, you must end this'
'but it's the same, it's all the same if i do it or not, it won't bring Tanya back, it won't'
'what if it did? What if she's waiting for his redemption, what if she comes..back'
Tom was gone in his car again and this time andrew was beside him.. sitting.
'This is a noble thing Tom, you're helping people, his next victims, think about them, you're doing the world a favour by wiping out the abominations of our species'
'this is not murder!' Tom repeated.
'NO it's not, it's not if it's for a cause, think about people who kill, do they have a choice? Do they survive it just like that? No, god helps anyone who does his work, anyone who wipes out evil is doing it in god's service'
'in god's service'
'For his glory, for his name to exist much longer that evil because he existed much before it'
They were outside the protective custody home of colin. Tom put the knife between his fingers and went straight charging and incidenly the door was wide open.
'The gods welcome you Tom' andrew repeated, disappearing in the sidewalks as he heard the screams of colin from the house.
PRESENT DAY
'So you say it was some guy named andrew?'
'some guy? He was Tanya's cousin andrew, he lived with me for months'
'do you realise that Tanya's cousin is related to you in more than one way'
'ofcourse i do, he must have been... My sister's son, or my brother's'
'yet none of your relatives heard about him, never saw him, they say no one's ever been to Russia from their entire family'
'it was his voice...it was so familiar,...it was like i was talking to myself!'
| 2017-05-18T07:58:39 | 2017-05-18T06:31:43 | 470 | 13 |
[WP] You have always heard two voices in your head, one telling you to do good, and one telling you to do evil. Today, however, you awaken to them both screaming the same thing at you...
|
"How about you grab that lady's purse?"
"You should tell that lady she's left her purse there."
I continue to chomp on my fries and glance up at the lady that has gone and then at the purse she has left on the table. I get up swiftly, grab the purse and walk out of the building. She is walking away from the restaurant and I stop behind her, pondering on what to do. Something good or something bad. You a bad or a good person today?
I walk away when I realise she has stopped and is remembering that she has left something. Just before she turns around, I run, not looking back.
"Look through it and see what she has...might be a load of cash..."
"You should hand that into the police. In fact give it back to her. Hear me? Run back and give it to her, it's not yours."
"She left it there...lost it anyway. Anyone could have grabbed that thing and anyone else would have just taken it."
I sigh and stop running. Instead I begin making my way back and by the time I have returned to the McDonalds, I see the woman hasn't walked out yet so I leave it in front of the door. Hopefully she will walk into it-
"And break her neck, yeah that's a good idea."
I stick my headphones on my head and turn up the music. But it isn't any good. Nothing ever drowns the voices out of my head. They're in my head after all. I run home.
The next morning, when I wake, it's about 5 in the morning and I wake with a violent jump. Someone is yelling at me. I lift myself out of the bed and look around crazily. I switch on the light but there is no one in my bedroom. I look outside in the corridor and then out of the window and then I realise... it's the stupid voices in my head.
"GET OUT OF THE HOUSE AND RUN!"
I ponder about which one is telling me to do something, till it dawns on me its both, at the same time, saying the same thing extremely loudly over and over again.
"GET OUT OF THE HOUSE AND RUN!"
The volume is mind splitting so just to make them stop, I grab my jacket, leave my shoes and run out of the bedroom, fly down the stairs, grab the keys and fling open the front door. I run outside-
"GET OUT OF THE HOUSE AND RUN!"
"I HAVE!" I yell back, alone in the street.
And then the house blows up.
|
'The book says 'forgive the one's who wronged you'. I solemnly believe that officer but...'
'All i need is a confession Tom'
'You listen to me and listen good officer, i am not confessing to anything, it was not me... I could never do this...'
Tom suffered a great loss an year ago and was slowly recovering, losing a daughter is not a easy thing, especially when you couldn't hold her corpse in one peice... Such savagery...and to what end?
Colin was his daughter's husband and it was a marriage that really tested Tom. Colin had a record of temporal insanity and tanya was his supervising doctor, he was released on her recommendation. But was he really normal? Tom never believed it.
Nights following Tanya's murder were hard on Tom, he woke up at times running with a knife into his car and revving his engine to do the 'just' crime he was supposed to do. But then he slowed down panting and thinking about what he just said under his breath, is any killing just?
The extremities of both the ideas bothered him for months, he really wanted to get rid of the idea of murder, let alone if it was 'just' or not, the two voices in his head.
Many relatives came and went. One distant cousin of tanya, andrew, stayed with Tom. The nights during his visit were normal, the voices suddenly stopped and he had a really good roommate. At least for a while...
Andrew was a resilient young man who finished his education from russia and was looking for a job around the town. They often talked about economy, politics until one night Andrew spelled out the things Tom ran away from,
He handed him a knife and said
'revenge is the purest of all emotions Tom and those who suppress such are cowards, remember what krishna said to arjuna, about how pious is a action taken under the influence of most over-powering emotions!'
Tom echoed the thoughts in his mind and went to the car in fit of anger undivided from colin. It was moments later that andrew came from behind and held Tom's hand away from the steering.
'let go of me!' he tried to shrug off andrew.
'wait..wait you can't do this, for the sake of tanya just stop!'
Tom looked at him astonished and held his collar,
'you bastard you put me to this, you asked me to..'
'what? I never said anything...i was..., i just came'
Tom couldn't care less, he got off the car and went inside just to notice that there's just one glass and a bottle of wishkey drained to the bottom.
Andrew followed him inside while Tom threw the bottle away as he poured the last peg into his glass and went straight to his room.
Who was it? Was Andrew scheming him into commiting the most henious crime? Why would he? He talks about gandhi, not about a eye for an eye, who was he?.. danny felt asleep twisted in his own thoughts.
Things were different between him and andrew from that day on. Andrew could feel the rift tearing both of them apart and there was less he could do about it!
After a week, Tom finally confronted andrew just to ask him to leave the house and look for other accommodations.
'its not about you child, you cannot find what you came for if you stay here any longer than necessary!'
'what about you uncle, do you find anything here except the memories of tanya?'
'i have to live with it and you don't, now you must leave...'
'i will but what would you do? Can you live with this burden on your chest? Knowing that the guy who brutally killled tanya is still out in the open?'
'May god have mercy on him and accept him in his folds, there's nothing much i can...'
'Nothing much? You can very well end this, end your own misery and his, you can help him reach his prolonged and awaited judgement, you can show him hell'
'What...is that you talking? I am no god, and I won't pay for anything other than my own deeds, i need to break this cycle, i need to end what colin started by forgiving him'
'yes yes' he held Tom's hands and handed him a swiss knife producing it from his pockets, 'you have to end this, you must end this'
'but it's the same, it's all the same if i do it or not, it won't bring Tanya back, it won't'
'what if it did? What if she's waiting for his redemption, what if she comes..back'
Tom was gone in his car again and this time andrew was beside him.. sitting.
'This is a noble thing Tom, you're helping people, his next victims, think about them, you're doing the world a favour by wiping out the abominations of our species'
'this is not murder!' Tom repeated.
'NO it's not, it's not if it's for a cause, think about people who kill, do they have a choice? Do they survive it just like that? No, god helps anyone who does his work, anyone who wipes out evil is doing it in god's service'
'in god's service'
'For his glory, for his name to exist much longer that evil because he existed much before it'
They were outside the protective custody home of colin. Tom put the knife between his fingers and went straight charging and incidenly the door was wide open.
'The gods welcome you Tom' andrew repeated, disappearing in the sidewalks as he heard the screams of colin from the house.
PRESENT DAY
'So you say it was some guy named andrew?'
'some guy? He was Tanya's cousin andrew, he lived with me for months'
'do you realise that Tanya's cousin is related to you in more than one way'
'ofcourse i do, he must have been... My sister's son, or my brother's'
'yet none of your relatives heard about him, never saw him, they say no one's ever been to Russia from their entire family'
'it was his voice...it was so familiar,...it was like i was talking to myself!'
| 2017-05-18T07:25:50 | 2017-05-18T06:31:43 | 69 | 13 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States.
|
"What is dark?" Johnathan asked innocently trying to finish his home work.
This innocent question sent a shiver through the spine of Karen. Scar on her shoulder started throbbing.
She put her hand on her opposite shoulder and rubbed her scar in attempt to calm herself. She sat across him and said smilingly "Dark is when there is no light."
"But we always have light on. I've never seen dark."
Thank God for that. Karen thought to her self. Thank God you didn't see the Darkness. You didn't see the Monsters. Monsters that bit her shoulder on last day she saw Darkness.
"I want to see Dark." Johnathon persisted.
Like it was a cue, with a loud humming sound home went Dark.
"Is this Dark mommy?" Johnathan asked excitedly.
Karen couldn't move. It was so long back that she had forgotten the Protocol. She stood trying to memorize the Black Out Protocol.
Take emergency lights. Take food. Go inside safe room. Lock till she can see lights are back on again.
"Where are the fucking emergency lights?" Karen caught herself thinking. She couldn't concentrate. Her scar was throbbing painfully now. Her mind was buzzing. She tried to focus but pain was growing. Almost incapacitating her.
"Has scar grown too?" She thought as she ran her hand over her scar. She realized she haven't moved in 15 minutes. She shook her head trying to stop her mind from paralyzing under fear. Was it fear or excitement?
She looked at her son. She have to move quickly. She has to protect her son. Her delicious son.
"Why your eyes are glowing Mommy?" Johnathan asked.
|
The stars that night were alive in a scattered glow, pulsing with light, but cold, and far behind the grey clouds. She saw them looking down at her. Her arm trembled from gooseflesh. She had never seen the stars before. The dark had never been so black.
Something was wrong. She closed the door. The shadows fell long against the candlelight. It was quiet. She could hear insects call, and the trees were moving in December's wind. Then all was still and that feeling grew stronger and she stared amidst the shadows.
Her mind played tricks. She faces as she moved. She checked the doors and pulled the curtains. She could see the stars from the window and she wondered if they could see her. Or was she too small?
She had seen stars once before. They were not real stars but painted ones on the ceiling of her room. She knew they were not real but she remembered staring at them and hoping they would move, twinkle like the old song said. Everything would be well if the stars twinkled.
Now in the dark they twinkled in the cold night. She heard a noise. Something crashed to the back where the trees were. She steeled herself and listened hard but there was only silence.
Then her phone rang.
She gasped and her heart betrayed her. It was beating hard and she trembled against the wall where the shadows grew. She looked at the phone and it was a number she did not know.
*I do know it.*
The dark hid monsters. Her mother had told her as much. Mother always lived in the dark. She had always *known* what happened in the dark, and she was okay with it.
She answered the phone. A deep voice breathed heavily.
"Hello?"
"I see you," it said. "I see your little face in the window. I see the stars reflect on the glass. I see you, babe."
She backed away. She wanted to drop the phone but her hands were frozen. They hurt in the cold. The candles burned low and weak and the dark surrounded her.
"You thought you could hide in the light, didn't you? You had me locked up, babe. They had me in the light too. This outage now, though, has gotten me free. They couldn't keep the doors closed. They couldn't shine a light."
"You... You..."
"I missed you, babe. I remember when I last saw you."
She screamed.
"Do you remember?"
She remembered the stars. They were painted upon the ceiling. Had she liked them before? She could not remember. She only saw them in a veil of hurt and screams.
"How young you were... I bet you've grown now."
A shadow moved outside. She heard glass break. She reached for something, any weapon she could find. The kitchen was down the hall, down the black and evil way. Footsteps echoed from there. She screamed and reached for a candle. The shadows swung in a wild patterns.
"Babe!" the figure called.
He was large and dark, like some animal ready to charge.
"Come hear princess. Show your daddy some love!"
He rushed her and she stumbled backwards. She thrust the candle into him. She could smell the perfume he wore. His clothes was damp from sweat and it stuck to her. She felt his warmth and she hit the wall. His breath was stale and he bit her and she was small again.
The window shattered and she stared at the light. She could see the stars as she craned her head. The stars were real and they twinkled and then she closed her eyes.
"Help!" she screamed.
A new strength grew within her and she looked at the monster pinning her down. His head was old and withered. His face hung loose like some mask, unchanging in the candlelight. His eyes were fixed and still, and he was large, at least twice her height.
"Help!"
And there were people coming. She looked at him and tried to force him off.
*The stars are twinkling,* she thought.
And she stared at him again and he was normal sized and growing older. He aged decades in front of her and his grip became weak. She looked down at the fallen phone and felt a wave of relief.
How could he have her number?
Her heart steadied and her arms were free. He melted into the dark. Someone was banging on the door. Her neighbors were here. She looked around and she was alone and shaking, but she felt glad and tranquil.
She opened the vault of bad memories and remembered his death, the news from the prison, and how mother had sobbed and blamed her for everything.
It hurt, but that was long ago. She went to the door and felt embarrassed. Outside the stars shone bright in the dark night. She had never seen real stars before.
*I may never see them without seeing a monster,* she thought.
And she felt sad. There was nothing that could change that. The stars were beautiful that night.
*I have conquered one monster tonight.*
And she thought she could look at them. She stared at their beauty, behind the thin wisps of grey, and she watched them twinkle in the stillness of the night.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. Its the place that collects all my writing. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!*
| 2018-02-02T02:13:19 | 2018-02-01T22:34:56 | 114 | 22 |
[WP] There's a saying among the galactic community. "Never hire a human"... you just hired 200 of them. And you're about to find out why that saying exists.
|
Never hire a human. I know. I mean, we all know. We just don't know why.
It's not like I had a choice though. Business was running slow and the plethora of intergalactic wars had depleted most of our resources. Money was scarce and humans... weren't. Humans are cheap.
So I figured, to hell with it. If I want to keep this company running I have to take a few risks. What's the worst that could happen? I flew to the nearest human nest and found 200 willing workers.
It started out just fine. Better, even. Humans turned out to be quite inventive and hard workers. If they don't know how to finish a task, they would find a way. And most of all, they were friendly.
Cassy knew everything about my sleeping rituals by the second week. Somewhere around the fourth week she would leave a cup of hot water out for me to find when I'd wake up. I love a cup of hot water.
Bob likes to sing during his day. He's not very good at it, but that doesn't seem to bother him. He asked me about songs of my homeplanet. Since then I have heard him hum the tunes several times. He said he 'looked it up.'
Jamie likes to chat. Not sure what he's talking about usually, but it passes the time.
For a while things were fine. Production went up, my workers were effective. Then, another war started. Closer this time.
I'll never forget the cracking sounds around me after the first bomb hit. They... they told me to run, they'd 'hold the fort', said Lois. So I ran.
And when it was over I returned.
They were gone. All of them. My humans. Dead. They don't regenerate well.
No more singing or whistling. No more chatter. No more cups of water. Just silence, deafening silence. I've never felt more alone.
Never hire a human, they say. Because you'll miss them. And it hurts.
|
"Humans would sooner lie down and die than complete a good day's work. I've seen it with my own two eyes. They are greedy and, worse, they are lazy. Every single one of them. The first human I hired asked for a hefty severance package on his second day of employment and when I refused, he lay down and killed himself on the spot. I wish I was making this up. Never hire a human!"
The class didn't respond at all to the professor's grave warning. Heads were slumped on arms, eyelids drooped, the only sound was a recurring cough from the back of the classroom. At the bottom of the sunken lecture hall, the professor rolled his eyes, straightened his jacket, and continued.
"For some of you, this is enough. 'Never hire a human. Fine. You got it.'"
He raised the pitch of his voice as he mimicked a whiny student's voice. After a pause, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"But for others... you are still going to do it. You hear about it everyday and the result is always the same. So I've prepared a little demonstration for you."
There was a stirring in the classroom at the mention of something more interesting than the professor's droning on.
"Aha, I thought that might get your attention. Thirty minutes ago, right before class began, I contacted the Human Labor Department and hired an average human worker. Let's see how effective he is at performing a simple task."
He gestured to the side of his desk, pointing out a small wooden box with a lever on the side and a standard transportation pad. The students watched as the professor produced a remote from his jacket, pressed a button, and the transportation pad lit up. The air above it sparkled for a moment and then filled with light, which condensed down into the shape of a figure, and finally faded from brilliant white to the image of a confused man wearing golf pants and an argyle sweater jacket. His short stature rose to just shy of the height of the professor's desk. Immediately the human began pacing back and forth sporadically, waving his hands, and making a high pitched chirping sound. Before the professor or any of the students had a moment to respond, a black box on the nearby desk translated his words.
"What the [Hades] are you [foreigners] doing!? You can't just snatch me up out of nowhere! Send me back! Are you listening!? I demand that you send me back this instant! I'm serious! What the [Hades]!? Why aren't you saying anything!? Don't ignore me you [procreation] [foreigners]! I have-"
The professor lurched forward toward the translator and held down the mute button to get a word in, speaking into the black box, which produced a chirping sound just like the human.
"Now, now, mister- uh, Rhodes. I hired you to help with a little class demonstration. You'll be paid, I assure you."
"What!? That was ten [procreation] years ago! I was ready to work, but I never heard from you again! I needed that money too, you [illegitimate child]! I had to build myself up from-"
"No, you're mistaken. It was only earlier this afternoon, mister Rhodes. Please calm down. We only need a few minutes of your time."
The professor shook his head and held the mute button down, turning to the class to speak over the chittering nonsense coming from the berate human.
"Are you starting to see the problem, class? Humans simply cannot tolerate being forced to perform physical labor, even if they are paid and supposedly request the job initially."
He scrunched up his face in anticipation as he prepared to lift his finger off the button once again.
"-all [procreate] yourselves in the [buttocks] until your-"
"Listen, mister Rhodes, I have a very simple job for you. You see that lever beside you? If you simply raise and lower the handle for just a few minutes, you will be free to return to your home."
Another outpouring of angry chirping rose up from the front of the classroom, but the human seemed to quickly realize the translator was still muted. With stunning speed, he darted to the lever and began to pump it up and down several hundred times a second. A low 'oohing' passed through the students.
"Don't be fooled, class. This show of energy and speed may be impressive, but their work ethic is atrocious. Remember: greedy and lazy."
Sure enough, after only twenty seconds of the impressive pumping, the human stopped and started its incessant chirping. The class laughed and the professor raised his arms in a bewildered shrug. The professor released the mute and cut through the lazy human's whining.
"Don't stop now, mister Rhodes!"
"I'm starving! I'm starving! You have to let me go or give me something to eat!"
"A break already? I hardly think you've earned that after only a few seconds of work! Get back to it and you'll be sent home soon."
"What are you [procreation] talking-"
The professor cut him off and simply gestured for him to continue his work. The human stumbled over to the lever and struggled to raise it a few more times. Mister Rhodes was looking quite frail at this point. His portly stomach had shrunken and his chest gripped his small rib cage tightly. His face was pale and he was making a sickly, high pitched coughing sound. Finally, he collapsed to the floor and moved no more. The professor sighed and shook his head as the students murmured to themselves.
"And now you too have seen it with your own eyes. A human that would rather die than do even the most mundane of tasks. Greedy, lazy, entirely worthless. Never hire a human."
| 2018-04-27T13:39:05 | 2018-04-27T13:02:34 | 535 | 119 |
[WP] After mastering lucid dreaming you find you have complete control over other people’s dreams too. You can choose what they dream of down to the tiniest detail and even join them without them realising you’re actually real. Their subconscious is your playground. Hope they were nice to you.
|
I've been doing this for years, now... and I've never really "Freddy Kruger"d anybody. It's crossed my mind, of course. I've even put the fear into some people, but I always end on a sunny note. I guess I'm just not a mean guy.
Initially, I visited the dreams of people I knew. Handed out fun stuff, had some good times. Then I learned some things I'd rather not have known, and that ended that era of my dream-hopping. Afterward I spent some time with celebrities... made *them* have racy dreams of *me*. Of course they have no idea who I am, but I guarantee they'd recognize me on the street. Yeah, that was a fun saga. I'd visit more than just hot celebrities, though -- see how music forms in the brains of my favorite artists. Sit in on a scientist or philosopher. There are a lot of neat dreams once you get out of your own head.
Eventually I got bored of trying to *choose* new people and just began to sort of fall into random dreams. This was really interesting in a benign way. I saw some weird stuff again, but they were strangers now... I could change it, or leave, or... maybe learn something new about myself.
Once I fell into the dreams of a guy I hated -- *loathed* in college. The details of why I hated him are inconsequential... I'm sure you've got someone who makes your blood boil, just picture them. So I fall into his dreams, and *that's* when I really decided to mess something up. I slink around in his dreams for a while, trying to learn something to really get at his core. I couldn't just drop him in a nightmare... that's surface damage. I had to be patient; I sat through many pleasant dreams of his, each of them reaffirming my quest. I would ruin him... Patience.
*Finally*, I thought. It was dark, dingy. The colors were muted. He sat with some toys on the floor of a kitchen that was a size too big. I stood invisibly in the corner as a stomping sound wafted in through a doorway, and then a man who was unmistakably his father -- too large, looming, heaving with every breath -- ducks into the kitchen. His eyes are sunken beneath a heavy brow, and the air in the kitchen turns to alcohol. My eyes and throat burn briefly before I have the presence of mind to stop feeling it.
*CLEAN UP THIS GODDAMN MESS!*
A woman enters meekly, but with a loud shrill voice: *I TOLD HIM TO CLEAN IT UP! I TOLD YO--*
A loud smack from the father, and the mother figure puffs into mist, drifting away out of the kitchen. The man-child on the floor -- my nemesis, my victim -- begins to weep. So far I've done nothing to this dream.
The father, without another word, takes off his belt. It makes a scraping, rasping sound, like a sighing dragon. The belt comes up and cracks down on the boy, who is screaming, sobbing, screaming, sobbing. With each swing of the belt, he shrinks a little, slowly becoming this weak, whimpering ball. With each strike, Father grows bigger, darker. This is *exactly* what I was looking for... and I am disgusted.
I leap forward from nowhere, putting myself ahead of the next strike with a gleaming golden shield. The belt shatters against it, and as the enraged Father raises his fists he is enveloped in golden light. The light subsides, and he is gone. I stand alone over the cowering boy, who looks up bewildered -- he's had this dream many times, but not like this.
As I help him to his feet, he recognizes my face, and I can see the weird, confused slew of emotions running through his head... and I kind of like that better than my original plan. Let him puzzle over his 'savior' when he wakes up.
On my way out, just for fun, fading into the pure golden light, I reach out and rap on his balls, singing *nutcheeeeck*. Ahh, satisfaction.
|
My journey started over a decade ago when I came across an online forum called Dreamviews. It was a place dedicated to teaching people the art and science of lucid dreaming, which can best be described as *knowing* you are dreaming *while* you are dreaming. Needless to say, I found myself intrigued by the concept of lucid dreaming and dream control. How could I not be? Possibilities limited only by my imagination? Experiences and adventures beyond the extraordinary every time I shut my eyes? Sign me up.
I spent that night reading every guide, every article, every scrap of information I could absorb about lucid dreaming. And that night, I had my first lucid dream. It wasn't anything special: I went on a date with a girl. I forgot to record it at the time, but managed to write it down years later, [if you'd like to read about it](https://www.dreamviews.com/blogs/mzzkc/mzzkcs-mind-games-3358/).
Oh yes, that's right. This story is more than just a story, dear reader. But...we'll get to that. First, you must trust me when I say there is a dark underbelly to this world that is unknown to most. Once the rabbit hole has swallowed you up--unlike Alice--there's no waking up.
This is the point of no return.
Very well, you've made your choice. Let's continue the story.
It was a long time after my first lucid dream before I officially joined the forum. I'm a thorough person. I wanted to amass a certain degree of my own knowledge and experience before presuming to contribute. I still lurked: watching the members interact, learning the social dynamics, keeping up with the latest techniques and discoveries, etc, etc.
It was through my lurking that I learned of a phenomena called dream sharing. At the time, I thought it ridiculous. Even more ridiculous--or so I believed--the notion of factions: [dreamwalkers and nightstalkers](https://www.dreamviews.com/beyond-dreaming/37621-anyone-else-met-night-stalkers-dream-walkers.html). Supposedly advanced dreamers capable of entering the dreams of others and bending that dreamworld to their will. That early lurking also clued me into the most crucial piece in the puzzle which led me to eventual, and complete, mastery over dream control.
Hell, [I wrote a fairly seminal guide on the topic](https://www.dreamviews.com/wiki/User-Articles:A-Unifying-Theory-of-Dream-Control).
But let me level with you for a minute. Having total and complete control over your dreams isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Even the simple, supposedly pleasurable stuff--which doesn’t require complete control--like flying over scenic vistas, or seeing a world from the outer atmosphere loses its luster over the years. And then there’s the responsibility and guilt you feel when you accidentally flood a planet with lava from its own mantle, pulled from below the crust, just because one or two people annoyed you. It’s a chore.
Which is why I’m glad I decided to give that whole shared dreaming thing a shot, despite my reservations. I worked my way into a group of alleged shared dreamers, hoping to learn what I could. They had a long running series of posts on Dreamviews about their adventures and exploits on the moon, of all places. I won’t link their efforts here--it's all a bit of a jumbled mess and hard to stick a pin in. You can google it, if you'd like. The important takeaway from that experience is that both myself and another dreamer I looked up to were able to definitely disprove their claims. That said, during my time interacting with them, I met another woman through them who took an interest in me and I in her. We’ll call her K.
We began to talk, and eventually, we began to dream together. Like, actually dream together. Simple overlaps at first: vehicles, names, objects. Then things got real. We began to dream of the same places, the same events, the same--well--everything.
All the rules of dreams still applied in these shared dreamscapes. Each of us had as much control as we were able/wanted to exert. But like a fool, I found the occurrences too weird and cut contact with her.
K didn’t take it well.
I found her in my dreams with more increasing frequency than before. She turned every one of my dreams into a nightmare. Not the usual sort with creepy silent-hill-esque bathrooms and fleshy monsters. No, these were emotional nightmares. The type where I’d get a call about my father dying. Or I’d have a relationship-ending fight with my fiancee. The types of nightmares you can’t simply will away into oblivion. The type that gnaw at the back of your mind because they’re all too real.
The torture continued for about a week before I decided enough was enough. I spoke with a few of my friends over on MortalMist about my situation, hoping they’d have some insight since, back then, the people over on the Mist tended to be the best of the best when it came to matters of lucid dreaming. Everyone in flashchat commiserated, but it didn’t seem like they had any answers for me. That was, until, I got a PM from a friend whom for her own privacy will remain Nameless.
Nameless told me of her own experiences with shared dreaming which greatly resembled my own. But in her case, the initial contact eventually led to her getting involved with a whole group of mutual dreamers before she left due to a disagreement with some of the higher ranking members. I asked her if K had been a member of this group, she said she didn’t recognize the name, but it had been years so they could have added new members in that time. Nameless said she would ask around for me and get me in touch with some members since I was definitely in way over my head. I insisted I was fine, but I’ll always remember what she wrote next: “You can hurt people from dreams, Mzz. Please be careful”
I didn’t believe her at the time. But the proof is in the pudding, as they say. And before the month was out, I'd know how sour that pudding tasted.
Turns out I was missing a critical piece of the puzzle in my Unifying Theory of Dream Control. But after talking to some members of the group of which Nameless had once been a member (thank gods they didn’t call themselves dreamwalkers, this story is already unbelievable enough as is), I stumbled upon the final piece of the puzzle: intent. With strong intent, the boundary between dreams becomes easily traversable. With stronger intent still, injuring another person in their dreams can leave permanent damage, or even be fatal. I know that sounds impossible. But you have to trust me on this: dreams can be dangerous.
It was the last time I saw K in my dreams. Another emotional nightmare. This time, my mother had just passed after an extended stay in the hospital, but I was stuck at school and didn’t get to see her. I got word of her death while at the campus pool from my brother. At this point, I remembered that my brother didn’t go to my school--I must have been dreaming. I do a nose pinch reality check to confirm, and immediately notice K in the lifeguard tower. She had an “Oh, shit.” look on her face as I teleported in front of her and punched her in the stomach with every *intent* to end the abuse, to end *her*. She coughed up blood and vanished. I hovered back down to the ground, and the maelstrom of emotions caused me to wake up soon after.
The nightmares stopped after that.
A week later, while I was hanging out in the Dreamviews flashchat, I got a PM from one of the folks with which I had originally tried shared dreaming. They had gotten a message over skype from K’s parents. She had died a week prior during the night from a sudden heart attack.
I’m pretty sure it was my fault.
I’ve traveled into thousands of people’s dreams since then. But now, as a rule, I try to be more careful. After all. Dreams can be dangerous.
| 2018-06-19T15:04:02 | 2018-06-19T14:30:32 | 1,738 | 241 |
[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 with your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell and we're the demons. You have just been summoned...
|
"Oh. My. God. I CAN TELEPORT!?"
Gebann looked at his arms in shock as if unsure whether he truly disappeared before reappearing in a new location. It was a neat experience and all but surely all first-time teleporters had to ensure all their limbs were attached upon arriving at their destination. *Pretty sure it said that in a book somewhere...*
Drí was somewhat less ecstatic about this demons newfound claim to fame. After all, he was pretty sure it should be less of - 'I CAN TELEPORT' and more of - 'I was just summoned, I wonder how I can please my master?'
"Ahem"
Hearing the somewhat annoying sound of a sassafrass clearing their throat as if to impose their importance on the world, Gebann looked around with somewhat disgust. Sure this person might be accomplished or whatever, BUT COULD THEY TELEPORT!? That's right! They couldn't! Probably.
Turning around with his right hand on his hip so to face the source of the self-important attitude, Gebann noticed it was a somewhat derelict room with poor lighting.
"CAN I HELP YOU, PEBBLE!?" Gebann asked in the loudest voice he could before noticing that the person he had just been so rude to, was a girl. A somewhat pretty girl with slightly tanned skin, eyes black as the night and messy hair that seemed to consume her back.
*Ah fiddlesticks, mom is going to kill me.*
Drí let out a soft gasp and felt her face heat up.
*Did... did he just call me a pebble? Nobody ever called me a pebble before...*
Thankfully the demon didn't notice her reaction so she could still take the initiative.
"Demon I wo-"
"DEMON!? WHERE!?"
Gebann leaped over the girl and hid behind her back; he had never been good with dealing with frightening situations. Hopefully, the demon would eat her first and leave him be for giving it such a succulent sacrifice.
"HUH!?"
What was going on? Were the demons having a sort of civil war or something where powerful demons preyed on the weaker ones? His reaction completely took her by surprise and left her somewhat disappointed... Although, she had to admit that was a rather impressive jump he just did.
"Ermm... mister dem-"
Gebann felt his eyes tearing up and he clutched tightly onto the girl's leg, surely she could protect him. He didn't really want her to get eaten... that was just a joke!
Drí looked down at the demon and sighed when she saw how he reacted to hearing the word demon.
*Looks like we have a long road ahead of us huh bud...*
|
"Who the hell are you?" I asked.
"Where in hell are you from?", the neckbeard responded.
I took a look at him: scrawny, pasty, frail. I bet in one punch I could blast this ole buzzard into next Tuesday, but something told me I wouldn't make it past the 10 thick friends, and the regal looking bro in the back right corner. Maybe one or two of them, sure, I mean I've been doing StrongLift 5x5s for a month now, but not all of them.
After a fairly brief pause, I said: "Look, Megan's Law, I don't know what is going on here, but I need to get back to Connecticut pronto, I got a damned one-on-one with my boss and he is going to go over my 360 reviews today. Apparently, people think I am something of a wise----"
"SILENCE!!! DEMON FROM HELL!!!" The old man said.
It was at that moment that it dawned on me.
I was not going to make it back to the office, and someone was definitely going to take the last Boston Creme from the Dunkin Donuts box, even though I called "Lasty Cremesies", at least, 10 minutes ago.
"You have been summoned here for a great purpose. And you will commence your quest, post-haste."
Hmm... I had to buy myself some time. "Alright, padre, what do I have to do to get home?"
"You must head east for 2 and one half days ride.
"You will find a castle surrounded by a moat, and in that castle you must kill the king and bring the virgin from on high, from thither to hither."
Sheeeeeeeeeit. This old gag.
"Alright, shawty, you wanna dance? Let's dance! Get my your finest horse..........and get outta my face, would ya, you got mad halitosis.
"I'll go over them thar hills, and be back before the fortnight.
"Who's coming with me?"
<Crickets>
"Just like a thought," I remarked, "you'all are nothing but a bunch of booty-scratchers. All of you. Even you" -- pointing to the kid in throne -- "Little Lord Fauntleroy!"
Damn! I thought. Well.. thank God I downloaded three Phish songs, lat night, that should provide enough music to get me through the week.
I descended the tower and went out to the mean streets of....where-ever.
Just as some lolly gagger passed me on the thoroughfare, I yanked his wine sack out his hands and took a swig to the dome. It tasted like a lukewarm Mad Dog 20/20 .. I knew there was nothing redeemable about this place.
I hopped on the horse, some ole quarter horse, bag a bones, that shoulda been turned into glue 5 year ago.
I kicked the sides and headed off.
I popped in my earbuds... and grooved for two days and a half.
I arrived at the castle. The drawbridge was down and went right in. Big whoop.
I requested to see the king, that I had news from yonder.
The king would not see me.
I produced from my pocket a half-empty soft pack of Virginia Slims. "I come bearing gifts."
I was seen, immediately.
Now, I can tell you something, eyeballing this king. He definitely farts dust... I can only imagine if he had a Taco Bell dinner and washed it down with a red Monster, he might throw out his hip passing gass. Where was I?
In any event... I said:
"Hey, your ex.o.luntsy....I need your virgin, the other dude wants her and I was sent here to get her. And for your troubles, I will give you this pack of smokes."
He looked intrigued.
Then he said, and what about this...touching my music box..
I smacked his hand outta the way:
"Bro! Don't ever touch another man's Zune. This is a microsoft zune. They don't even make em anymore. This is worth more than your life."
I, then, played him some Phish.
I thought he was grooving but then he made a football move and sprinted straight for the window.... "No... don't do it! Defenestration is no way to go out!" I yelled, welling up in my left eye.
"Look, Phish is an acquired taste, trust me on this. It's not the Grateful Dead. It's not Jerry Garcia Band. It's not Widespread or The Cheese. They are in their own league. And get this, it's all improvised. And the lead singer has red hair which should count for something."
The king nodded in agreement.
"Summon my daughter." He said.
Woah. This....this just got a little...I dunno... cray cray.
"Alright, king, so deal? I can take this biddy back to that other kingdom and alls good?"
"Yes" he replied.
It took us 6 days to get back...two people....whatever, that horse was... no...... American Pharaoh, am I right?
Back to the first castle I presented the virgin.
"....thank you for fulfilling your destiny," said the neckbeard with the king in tow.
"Did you kill the king?" said the neckbeard.
"No, but that guy seemed pretty cool with the deal I cut him."
The neckbeard said: "Well, Nebuchadnezzar isn't known to be.....cool.... but perhaps he's turned over a new leaf."
"Alright already...get me home!" I exclaimed.
The neckbeard swiftly kicked me in the groan and as I doubled over he hit my with the end of his staff and seemed to come out of no where. I lost consciousness.
<Blackout>
I came to on the floor of the bathroom stall in my office building. Covered in urine.
My coworker came in: "Hey tool, you look like hell. The boss wants to see you. And uh... someone ate your Boston Creme, but...I left a Sno-Ball on your desk to make up for it, cause I like you so much."
I could smell the chocolate and custard on his breath.... From my position on the floor I coulda dribbled his nuts like a speedbag... but I remembered my pal Nebuchadnezzar ... stay cool.
Fin.
| 2019-04-25T17:30:01 | 2019-04-25T16:47:11 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] A medieval European knight somehow ends up in feudal Japan. With nowhere to go in the foreign land he decides to settle down in a forest. Outside this forest sits a village; and as years go by rumours start to spread of a tall metal spirit that roams this forest.
|
On mobile, this is my first post, *yada yada yada* constructive criticism is welcomed. *(I’ll probably be making format edits)*
*two strangers sitting around a dying campfire, faces lit by the smoldering flames, the moon, and the stars*
“I was I child when our village first saw him. The ‘Metal Spirit.”
“I had awoken to the sounds of shouting and neighing. My mother was in the process of hiding me they bursted in and dragged us out to center of our small village.”
*”tax time”*
“Due to drought Our villainess had been late multiple times now in giving the Daimyo his portion, each time they deemed it inadequate. And they wanted to make an example.”
*”culling”*
“The lead samurai had rounded up our village into families. due to tardiness and our meager ‘offerings’ to the Daimyo, they were going to be taking what they deemed owed in human life, and every family had a responsibility to pay and pay they will be said as he lifted his katana.”
*chink*
“Their was a look of confusion on the faces of the samurai and a horror on the faces of my fellow villagers as we knew the sound all to well. Panic begin to set in.”
*Chink*
“Everyone had heard of the rumors surrounding the forest that bordered our town and the spirit that supposedly inhabited it.”
*CHINK*
“It was rumored that he kept his robe white with the ashes of the bones of those who ventured to deep into the forest.”
**CHINK**
“And his ‘X’ red with the blood those he hunted...”
**SCHHIINK**
“There he stood, at the Torii that the town had used as entrance to the village. For a moment science. Then crying. Then fear.”
“Our village was spared that day, the Daimyo’s samurai? Not so lucky. That day the tax was payed by the samurai.”
*As I look up and face the stranger opposite of me, and stare into the eyes of my own broken reflection*
“Thank you, spirit.”
Hope you enjoyed!
~Scott
|
Her hair had been as bright as his own, a bright orange-red that put the small campfire nearby to shame. Her green eyes caught the light as she smiled at him. The wine she poured into his goblet was just as dark and deep as those eyes, though a far darker crimson than blood.
She had come to him in the small hours of the night beneath the full moon, interrupting his moonlight vigil. The ancient graveyard was a unconventional place to hold such a vigil on the eve of his departure of his homeland, but it had felt right for him. He was justified in his choices, strong in his faith, and prepared for his quest to the Holy Lands as part of the Holy Crusade. Or at least, he had been before the strange woman walked into the moss-covered boneyard. She had brought a basket of food and wine and when she had invited him to join her, he had been unable to refuse her smile, the depths of her eyes.
"Must you leave on the morrow? Must you leave so very soon?"
He had drunk deeply of the woman's wine and feasted on the berries, honey and cream she offered. Innured to the wines and ales of his family's lands, he had drunk without care and found his head swimming. He had not objected when she asked him to build them a fire against an old Fire-blackened stone. Nor had he objected when she convinced him to shed his armor, his sword. His long vigil was completely forgotten after the third goblet when she asked him to hold her close and share his warmth with her.
"I must. I have sworn myself to the Pope's man. I cannot stay without being foresworn."
Their limbs were tangled intimately akimbo and his swimming vision could see no further than her face as they lay near the fire. Her skin was as smooth as the river's touch, supple and light as smoke. He watched her sit up, her long, curled fiery-red hair raining down around them both as she leaned over him.
"What about my honor? Would you defend it as well as you do your own?"
"I would," He answered without a second thought.
"Would you swear your name to defending my honor?" Her deep Green eyes almost shone with an inner light as he looked up, and the world spun around them.
"Of course I would."
"Then Swear."
"I swear, on my name, to defend your honor as my own." He felt the words come out of his mouth as he looked up into her eyes almost as if he were watching jesters putting on a play and he a member of the audience.
"I don't think you really meant it." She caressed his cheek as she spoke, her face suddenly mournful as if he had already betrayed her.
"I, Jim O'Laerghy, swear on my name to defend your honor as I would my own." He took her hand in his own and leaned up towards him, looking into those depths as he spoke.
"Then say it once more, thrice done, and sworn." The light seemed to pass from the campfire through her hair, illuminating her fiery locks.
"I, Jimothy Lawrence O'Laerghy, swear on my name and my soul in heaven to defend your honor as I would my own." As his voice finally came silent he felt a gathering dread deep in the pit of his stomach. Her smile had grown predatory in the night and her teeth suddenly seemed sharp. The Wine suddenly had an after-taste of blood and he felt the whisper of his nurse-maids childhood stories run through the back of his mind and down his spine in an uncontrollable shiver.
"Then I accept your Vow, Holy Knight. Do not worry, You will be safe enough in my keeping. Now sleep." He had opened his mouth to protest but she pressed a single finger against his head and he knew nothing more. He had dark dreams of passing through heat and cold. He heard the screams of dying men and the squalling of newborn children.
When he awoke and came to light, many things had changed. The Ancient Boneyard was gone and instead he was surrounded in the ruins of an ancient temple. His beard and hair had more than a full season of growth. He felt full, as if he had only finished eating a few minutes prior and still tasted blood in his mouth. He didn't see the woman, but he could recall everything from before. Every word he had spoken to her was seared into his mind, just as he could recall every word she had spoken to him while he slept. And he also knew, within his beating heart, that every word she had spoken was true.
She had made a vow to another to provide a defender for this forest, this temple. He was to defend her honor by defending this place from any transgressors. At the same time, she would not have him foresworn by breaking his vows. She had taken him back to a time long before his own. It was a time before the call for the Crusades. It was a time , perhaps before Christ himself had even walked the Holy Lands. He was hundreds of years early for the war he had swore to take part in and in a whole different world from what he could tell.
He looked upon his armor and grimaced at the sight. The woman had forbidden him to spread his faith in these lands or even openly display their symbols. She meant for his presence to go unremarked in future timed, so the woman had adorned his armor in bright and fearsome paints.
The woman had promised him that his debt to her would be fulfilled once the Fox spirit of the temple was satisfied. He suspected that might be easier said than done. However, he was honor-bound to this cause and determined to keep the sanctity of his word. He rose to his feet and set about to learn his new home. If not overjoyed, he was ready to carry out his sworn duty and begin his new life as the custodian of the wood, the Temple Guardian, the Iron Oni.
| 2019-11-15T09:56:19 | 2019-11-15T08:10:26 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You’re an assassin for Powerball, an agency designed to discover and eliminate incredibly lucky people. Each encounter is a battle of their ridiculous luck versus your extreme skill.
|
The well dressed man at the front of the classroom clicked his remote, the projector flashed to a black and white photo of a man sprawled out on a concrete at the bottom of a staircase. The man got up, walked around the front of the room, then planted his right foot at the top of a chair. He gestured towards the photograph.
“This is - was, agent 46. One of the best men in the agency. Did everything perfect, staked out his target, caught him in an enclosed space - no chandeliers, hoisted pianos, moving vehicles, innocent bystanders, slick surfaces, nothing. Got within one foot of his target, guaranteed kill range. Picked him up 4 hours later with 14 broken bones, one of which was his spine. What happened?”
He stared across the classroom. None of the students raised their hand. He loudly sighed,
“None of you read the casework?” A timid hand finally rose from the back of the classroom.
“Did he trip down the stairs?” The instructor cradled his head in his hands. They didn’t pick recruits like they used to. Turns out, the smart people pick the high end jobs, CIA, Secret Service, NSA - guess there’s not that much glamour in offing Joe Bob from Oklahoma who just happened to fall into the fortune of a lifetime.
“Yes, obviously 46 tripped down the stairs.” that bit was delivered in the driest possible way. ”But 98% of luck induced fatalities occur after the initial attempt to kill the target is made. So agent 46 obviously tried to confirm the kill already.” He briefly looked for any flashes of inspiration among the students. Nothing. Finally he placed a hand in his pocket and pulled a knife out. He glanced at it, spun it around a finger, then whipped it at the student in front. Frankly it was one of his more impressive throws.The whole class flinched but the harmless piece of plastic bounced off of the desk in front of them.
“This is the knife that the attempt was made with. Which brings us to today's lesson - triple check your equipment. Luck might only kill you reactively, but if you aren't careful it can proactively guarantee your failure. What happened? 42’s kid replaced his standard issue knife with a toy plastic one. He reached the target, went in for the kill, failed, luck did the rest. Don’t leave anything to chance - be 100% certain that any tool you employ is guaranteed to succeed. Luck can only screw you on this if you were too lazy to check before hand.”
The bell rang, ending ‘Kill Theory & Execution 104’. The class filed out, probably to more interesting classes like ‘Psychology of the Lucky.’ The professor huffed, those silly electives weren't going to save their lives. But he caught himself smiling when one student stayed behind.
“Professor, why aren't guns or explosives considered viable alternatives.” his smile vanished, how did they even let kids like this in anymore? “Firearms have a 98% failure rate, 70% of which are either misses or jams, the remaining 28% being potentially lethal detonations within the firearm. Then on those 2% of hits, the vast majority of connections will either be grazes or non-lethal impacts.”
He didn’t even need to look up to list that statistic off, it should have been drilled into everyone’s brain by now. “As far as explosives go, large collateral methods are unlikely to work. Too many objects are thrown about and it increases chances of a luck based survival exponentially. Best example I have is in 1957 when the government tried to eliminate an extremely lucky artifact hunter. They lured him into an abandoned town, detonated a nuclear bomb - he emerged unscathed from a refrigerator twenty minutes later deep in the Nevada desert”
He sighed, “That is why a knife is the only reliable method to eliminate a target. Only something directly under your control from the time of draw to the time of execution can be a reliable method for dealing with these menaces to society.”
The kid nodded wordlessly and then shuffled out of the classroom nervously. The professor scratched his head. These students had no idea what they were getting themselves into.
|
(Warning: gun fight, blood, one person dies.)
It had taken days of tailing my target to find the best possible intersection of circumstance and terrain in which to strike. The elevator had been broken, so the man took the stairs. Stairwells are good. Confined. Far lower odds of outside influences.
I watched on the security cameras as he stepped through the door into the stairwell. I count to ten to let him move a little, then leave the security desk and follow him, grabbing my jacket as I go. By the time I reach the door, thirty-three seconds have elapsed. All my tools and weapons are arrayed in the coat, as they should be. I push through the door and onto the stairs.
The door closes behind me automatically, and a resounding metal clang echos throughout the stairwell. There is no other sound. Something must have tipped off the target. Not unusual, happens about seventy-five percent of the time. Sometimes it's not even a tip off, but they decide at the perfect moment to tie their shoe or something, which lets them hear me coming. I stand and wait. I'm a patient man. You have to be, to last long in the business of hunting the Lucky.
Below, someone coughs. "Mr. Steven Macelroy, a bounty has been placed on your head due to your extremely unlikely winnings at the horse races. You may either turn yourself in to me to await trial, or I can carry out the default sentence here and now." I said as I strode down the stairs toward the source of the cough.
The stattaco sounds of feet pounding on the stairs was the only urging I needed to begin sprinting after him. Fleeing from a bounty is tantamount to guilt, after all. Two flights of stairs later, he was in view and I had my capsule launcher in hand. Trying to shoot him with a gun would be pointless. Or rather, there was a 98.7% chance that I'd miss every shot and a high probability that the noise would bring in other people, variables, which would only increase Steven's chances of escape.
As Steven rounded a corner I aimed, not at him, but ahead of him, and pulled the trigger. A small gel-capsule, no larger than my thumb impacted the wall and rapidly expanded into semi-rigid sticky foam. The Arms Department called them flypaper shots. Steven brought himself up short, the tips of his shoes on the edge of where the foam's likely maximum expansion radius was. He was a portly fellow in slacks and a cornflower blue button up shirt, his face and armpits drenched in sweat.
"Don't suppose we could talk this out, eh Hunter?" Steven said, hands held up defensively. I saw him glance down over the railing, but I knew we were too high up for even one as lucky as him to survive the jump. That left him only one option, unless he wanted to get stuck in foam. He'd have to through me. Hunting someone who possesses extreme luck is a matter of cutting off their options and probabilities, until only my desired outcome remains.
"Nope. You can either die here, or put your hands on the wall and follow my instructions." I said as I approached him, stopping where I was just out of his reach. It was only fair to at least give him a chance to surrender, though the odds of him doing that were about 1 in 12,000.
Steven shook his head frantically and his eyes darted around the stairway. "Uh-uh, I know what happens in those trials. It's always guilty-guilty-guilty and then off to the prisons with the guy. I'm not going." he said.
I spread my arms wide, ready to flick my fingers in such a way as to deploy a number of options from the mechanisms hidden under my jacket-sleeves. "Then you'll have to go through me to get out." I said. Steven took a deep breath and then lunged at me. I leaped to one side, but his arm clipped me and we both tumbled to the ground. His wild and flailing punches impacted me perfectly on the nose each time, and pain blossomed throughout my face as my nose caved inward.
He sprang up and I tried to grab his ankle. My hand slipped off him. Improbable with an average person, that such a simple thing would fail. Steven was definitely high on the luck scale. This wasn't something I could do alone. I reached for the microphone buried in my jacket-collar and keyed it on.
"This is Control." a tinny female voice said.
"Good. I need you to lockdown the staircase I'm on. And seal the fourth floor entirely if possible. Identity Code 77506." I said.
"Hunter 77, code confirmed. Lockdown in three seconds." the female voice said as I got to my feet. Steven had only made it up two flights of stairs. There was no chance he'd make it to the door in time. The sound of metal clanking into place echoed throughout the area as the stairway's doorlocks engaged and metal bombproof shutters rolled downward to cover the windows.
Steven made it to the door too late. "Fuck!" he cursed. I strode up the stairwell after him. There was no point in hurrying now.
"You're not getting out of here now bud. Funny thing about luck, is it tends to be less effective at a range, and often has a preference for objects over people, or people over objects. I'm thinking yours is tilted toward being effective with people..." I said. I got within ten paces and Steven sprinted up the stairs. Unfortunately for him, I was far more fit and I caught up to him three flights later. still walking. I found him collpased on a landing between the stairs, taking deep wheezing breaths.
"Last chance to surrender, Mr. Macelroy." I said as I stood over him, once again making sure I was just out of his reach. This time I pulled my standard pistol from it's pocket. The one I'd loaded with hollow-points.
"Fuck you Hunter, I'll figure this out." he wheezed as he pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. As he got his feet under him, I pressed the gun to his forehead, to better my chances. His hand struck my wrist as I squeezed the trigger. His head slipped out from under the barrel, but not completely. "Gaaaah!" Steven screamed. The bullet gouged out a small chunk of flesh and bone next to his temple. The gunshot itself left my ears ringing as it echoed through the room, it had to be worse for him, as he clapped his hands to his ears and tried to run past me.
Without looking, he stepped over my extended foot, avoiding the trip. As he jogged back down the stairs, I aimed at him again, and emptied the clip, all fourteen rounds. 5% chance that any bullet would strike him. Strangely enough, one did. Straight through the spine. The entry wound was about two fingers thick. Steven tumbled down the stairs, blood oozing from the wound and spattering against the concrete as he went. His momentum ended on the next landing down, with a nasty crunch.
I strode down the stairs and holstered my gun. I reached around on Steven's neck with two fingers and couldn't find a pulse. I keyed my mic again, "Control. I've got him."
"We saw through your button-cam. That shot only had a 5% chance of hitting. As per Defense Department procedure you'll need to quarantine for two weeks to make sure none of the target's luck has rubbed off on you. Can't be losing our star agent to the enemy, now can we? Return to HQ immediately Hunter 77." Control's voice said.
I felt a cold sensation on the back of my neck. Had I gotten lucky?
| 2020-08-04T13:56:02 | 2020-08-04T13:19:44 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] A dragon egg has been found. On the day of the hatching over a dozen scientists each from different countries come hoping it picks them as a parent. The dragon's overwhelmed and chooses the one person not in it's face. The guard.
[removed]
|
“And how has the subject progressed since our last meeting?”
“Bob.”
“Pardon me?”
“His name is Bob. Well Robert actually. He got baptized Robert Grayson the third.”
“I... see.”
Robert Grayson the second, former security guard, was sitting on a plastic chair in his backyard, across from one of a dozen science types he talked to every few weeks about his son.
Bob, clutching onto his father’s shoulders with the claws at the tips of his wings swiveled his head around in a snakelike neck.
“Baaaawb!”
“That’s right buddy, good job!” Robert said, quickly scratching the young dragon behind the small set of horns that crowned his head. “He is starting to get the hang of talking. Still has some trouble with plosives though, on account of y’know not having lips.”
“Right.” Dr. Gupta scribbled on his notepad.
“Look, doc, I know y’all are skeptical and I appreciate everything you folks have done for me. But My wife and I have raised three boys, and now Bob is just number four. And I will remind you that the state of Georgia agrees with me.”
|
Preface:
The young acolyte, dressed in his plain clothes and hooded cloak, ran hastily toward the Master's Sanctum in the base of the mountain. He pulls his hood down against the rain as he runs, trying desperately not to slip and fall on the muddy soil beneath his feet in the low visibility of the nights rainfall. The Master needed to hear this news, and he needed to hear it now.
Approaching the Sanctum's entrance, the acolyte is met and barred from entering by two weathered warriors standing guard. One inquires the acolytes business, while the other gives him a bored and tired look. The acolyte fishes around in his pack under the cloak, and produces a black and white print out of a news article from a national news organization's website. The questioning guard gives the acolyte an annoyed look, and then peers over the paper presented to him. His demeanor changes instantly upon recognizing the image, and he looks back at his partner, whose expression has now gone to confusion. Without a further word to him, the acolyte is ushered into the undermountain, and the guards convene in the entryway, discussing what has just been brought to light.
The acolyte rushes down the sloping path carved out of the mountains base, following the already lit torches in their sconces mounted on the walls every 10 or so feet. After a few moments walk, the acolyte emerges in to a large domed room carved from the mountain's stone. The room is dark, except for a small fire in a carved hearth in the far wall, and a small oil lamp that is set on a small table next to a large, wing-backed chair which faces the hearth. The acolyte knew that had it been daylight, a multitude of oil lamps would be lit in this chamber, allowing all to see the massive book shelves that take up the majority of the space within. However, tonight, like every night, it was just the Master, in his chair, with a book, and the fire. The acolyte rushed forward, stopping just before reaching the back of the chair.
"Master," he called as he approached, "I apologize for this late intrusion, but I have news. News that you must be made aware of, for all our sakes."
The acolyte stood, waiting for an actual response from his Master, but knowing well enough to not press further and speaking out of turn. The warmth within this chamber from the fire, added to the exertion of running from the living quarters down the hill, made the acolytes body begin to perfuse, beads of sweat forming on his lip and brow. In the silence of this carved out cave, the fire crackled and popped, as if expressing its tenants complete disinterest in anything the acolyte had to say. Still, the acolyte stood and waited for an actual response, for he knew now he could not leave the chamber without being properly dismissed.
The book in the Master's hands snapped closed with finality. The man who had now seen six decades in this life, soon seven, stood up from the chair, grasping a gnarled walking stick in his right hand. He set the large tome down on the seat of the chair he formerly resided in, and turned so that his figure was silhouetted by the firelight. He wore his customary oversized robe that hung a little too loose around his frame, and he adjusted the small, round spectacles that sat on the bridge of his nose, forcing his eyes to focus on the acolyte. Without a word, he clasped the head of his walking stick with both hands in the center of his body and inclined his head toward the acolyte.
The acolyte stammered and moved slowly forward, his body bent in a respective bow to the Master. "The A-A-Americans. O-O-One of th-the-their expeditions. They found one." He managed to get out as he produced the same print out from his pack.
The Master took the paper with his left hand and turned toward the fire, bending down slightly to allow its light to illuminate the news article that was just handed to him. Upon seeing the black and white photo at the very top of the page, the Master gripped his walking stick tightly and his jaw became set as he clenched it to abate his surprise.
*So, it is time.* The master thought to himself looking over the picture of what was obviously a large egg, bigger than those laid by an emu. *The time of the ancients has come again. Only this time, humanity has no clue what is about to hit them.*
Standing upright again, the Master crumpled the paper given to him in his fist and threw it into the fire. "Brother Sao, I believe I need to freshen up and prepare to travel to the West. Please, arrange for my transport and travel at first light." He said, addressing the acolyte in his presence. "The time of the ancients has come."
| 2020-12-12T05:52:58 | 2020-12-12T03:18:35 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] everyone knows about the grim reaper, personification of death, but he is not alone. Together he rides with his partner in inevitability. Taxes.
|
I woke up in my bed.
A man, holding a clipboard, stood in front of me. He was wearing thin-framed glasses, a polo shirt, and Dad Shoes. You know the type.
”Am I dead?” I asked.
He nodded. “Right you are. My partner will be coming along soon, he’s got a big appointment around North-east Asia right now. He doesn’t do it often. Not that he’s a he, might I add. I just say he because that’s what your brain thinks I’m saying.”
”Y- are you Death? It’s just that, I thought…”
He nodded sympathetically. “It’s never like what you thought. See, both of us, Death, and Taxes, we help to reap souls and stuff. Yours is a good one, though. Good job.”
”Uh, I don’t live in Texas, I live in-“
”Anxiety?”
”I was gonna say Canada, but that works too. Not that I’m living at all.”
There was a change in the air, and he arrived. He was holding a scythe, black hood and everything, except he had added a bow tie. All in all, he looked like a very stylish skeleton. I AM HERE.
”Yes, hi. I was just about to ask this guy to sign the form.” The skeleton nodded, and the polo shirt guy turned to me and held a pen out expectantly. I signed the form. It was what you did, faced by Texas, I mean Taxes, and Death.
”Is the afterlife boring?” I asked hopefully.
NOT VERY. THERE IS TETRIS.
”Minecraft?”
”Maybe,” said the guy in the polo shirt. ”Anyway, let’s go. There’s an old granny in Brazil waiting for us.”
BY THE WAY, HAVE WE INTRODUCED OURSELVES?
”I think so,” I said, as I prepared to go. “Taxes and Death, right?”
YES. HE IS DEATH.
”Wait. Doesn’t that mean…?”
Death grinned and adjusted his thin-framed glasses. “Like I said, it’s never like what you thought.”
And we went.
|
Everyone knows Death. Big guy, skeleton face, billowing robes, scythe, it's iconic. As in there are tens of thousands of examples of death iconography. But Death isn’t alone. He is a pair part of a matched set.
From the very first moment of life in the universe, there was God, Death, and Taxes
Unknowable, Fathomless as the deep ocean, and of course, Inevitable.
I call him Bill.
In my head. He would probably collect the head from my shoulders if he ever hears me say that out loud.
I met Taxes when I was staring slack jawed at a letter from the IRS. It said that I owed an astonishing amount of money on some investments that I had made earlier in the year. Investments that had since soured and no longer existed. The number on the page had enough zeroes to make my poor head spin, which was why I thought I imagined it when I saw the figure out of the corner of my eye.
He was a man, not too tall, not too short, clean shaven with close cropped salt and pepper hair. He wore gray clothes, from his gray shoes, to his gray suit, to the gray rims of his gray sunglasses. He held a briefcase which was black as night, especially compared to the gray of his clothes.
He seemed to be staring a hole through me, but when I looked to where he was, he was gone, though I swear I could still see the afterimage of that night black briefcase in the air.
After a few weeks of phone calls with the IRS and some creative cursing, I managed to get the absurd amount I owed down to a more reasonable amount that I could actually pay without having to foreclose on my house, I met Bill for the second time.
He appeared in my living room shortly after I hung up the phone. I was, of course, surprised to find a strange man suddenly in my house, but I recognized him. More accurately, I recognized the briefcase. You could not help but look at it. It has a solidity to it that made everything else in the room look less real. Anytime you were not staring at the vaguely rectangular patch of inky blackness from the bottomless void, your eyes were subtly drawn back to it. Like it was a tiny visual black hole.
I swear I could see tiny pinprick sized stars in that briefcase
It was the man I had seen earlier, the one who had appeared briefly when I got the initial notice from the IRS.
“Who are you?” I asked in a somewhat shaky voice?
“I am Taxes” said the man.
His voice is hard to describe. Imagine a man who has worked in a bureaucracy for twenty years. He came to work on time every day, did his work diligently and always did as he was told. At first, his efforts were rewarded, and he rose through the ranks getting promotions and accolades from all who manage him, until, eventually it stops. He rises as high as they will let him. Until The Owner realizes what they have. Then instead of promotions, he only gets an increased workload. Anything the Owner has to do is suddenly his problem. He complains about the workload, following all the proper channels, but it's like shouting into the void. . He looks around for similar jobs, but this job's pay is just too good. He realizes that he is never going to escape. That there will only ever be more work and few rewards. That there is no end. Every morning he arrives at his desk to find a foot high stack of paperwork and tasks set out for him, and every evening it is gone, filed neatly and done in triplicate as it should be. But he dreads coming to work in the morning. Dreads the endless, impossible, inevitable pile waiting for him there.
That man, that inevitable dread, was talking to me now.
“What can I do for you Taxes Sir?” I asked in what I hoped was a respectful tone “I apologize if this is rude, but I can’t imagine that one such as me could catch your exalted attention”
Taxes Smiled at me, and somehow, even his smile seemed gray, and said “You are exactly the sort of person I pay attention to. The kind of person that tries to avoid me.” At the word avoid, he stared directly into my eyes, and I felt like trying to avoid this man was like trying to avoid a tidal wave, or the blast from a supernova. He was everywhere all at once, and coming for you at the same time.
“I promise sir I will pay what I owe!” I said, sweat pouring down the back of my neck “I’ll never be late on my payments!”
Taxes said nothing. He simply opened his briefcase.
Time stopped.
The entire world, no, the entire universe, was suddenly jerked to a halt. Then like someone had pulled the plug on the bath drain, existence started to flow towards the open briefcase. The couch liquefied and began to slide towards it. Random odds and ends from bookshelves, the coffee table, even some of the bricks on the near wall began to float towards the briefcase in a spiral.
Taxes noticed none of it. He pulled out a document and snapped the briefcase shut. It was as though nothing had happened. Everything was in its proper place again.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding
Taxes handed me a neatly printed document with a space for my signature. It was a document that had the exact words I had just shouted in a panic.
“I like to be Thorough,” Taxes said, handing me a clearly well used and well cared for ballpoint pen.
I signed the paper
| 2022-05-12T00:22:54 | 2022-05-11T20:53:18 | 76 | 31 |
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