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[WP] Humans were largely friendly and kept a low-profile. They were seen as the bottom of the food chain in the galaxy and they preferred it like that. But when they were attacked, everyone found out how ruthless the humans can be with killing in their DNA and that Mars was never their home plant
|
Have you ever felt fear? I mean true fear. The kind of fear that settles in your stomach, cold and heavy, the kind that weighs in your mind for weeks or months or longer. The feeling of ice in your veins, lead on your feet, like a transport car is out of control and you're stuck in it's headlights like those wild animals of ages past.
My people did not know that fear. They knew anger, and ruthlessness, and happiness, and joy, and all of the emotions that you could muster in a safe environment. We knew total control. We knew we were at the top, and we exercised that power like the colonies that first spawned our eight legged ancestors.
It was the Council of Eight that decided the Humans would be the next for our galactic slave machine. They are, were, innovative and dextrous; smaller than us by almost half, and they worked easily without explicit instruction unlike our common workers. They had resigned themselves to a number of small systems, mostly farming planets close to their homeworld.
It was supposed to be easy.
Warping into orbit above Mars was simple. They allowed us to come close. They had no Rissen Jammers, a special machine that prevented warp exits from coalescing. Our fleet of battleships and troop transports held formation with no resistance, their orbital defense stations crumpling like paper under the unexpected onslaught. Their cities burned. Their media systems cried out for help. Everything went exactly as planned.
Our slave ships filled to the brim, we set back for Terres, a local detention planet. We left our military in Sol and made preparations for the billions we thought were ours. We held true to the Council's word and took everything, as everything can be broken down into parts and materials. We started to cleanse their supposed homeworld and made checklists for the next settled planet, one not too far away called "Earth".
We never made it to Terres. Out of nowhere our equipment became faulty. Our warp systems stuttered, our fusion engines heaved, our nutrient dispensers malfunctioned. One slave ship managed to warp out, but we never heard from it again. A battleship went into lockdown after venting it's atmosphere, killing everything that breathed. A groundcrew was torn apart by animals held in some strange viewing area.
After the initial set of setbacks, we redoubled our efforts. We set stricter maintenance protocols and patrolled in sets of 4. We brought in long range bombardments, state of the art gear, and even unleashed a biotitan we had saved for just an occasion. None of them mattered.
See, the Humans had something we didn't. Somehow, somewhere along the way, they managed to gain control of their sun's radiation. It wasn't toxic to us, but we recognised that the Humans could sense a fraction of it's spectrum that we couldn't. They managed to focus it, putting each particle in line with another in a display that many called witchcraft. They had their focusing irises in orbit long before we had the thought to subdue them.
The last report we received was received live. I remember a tinkling sound, like pieces of their glass raining on the primitive concrete they covered their cities in. I remember a flash of heat transmitted through the terminal, and I remember the fear, the true fear, in the voice of the one who sent us this message. The message was short but delivered the words that pierced my hearts and left me cold and coiled like the dead that we could not recover.
Now, as the metal behemoths caress our skies and rain destruction upon our own, all I can do is wonder if we did not deserve worse. They took mercy and simply killed.
I still feel that fear.
|
The Reptilian limped forward towards the rock formations, clutching its side. The feeling of contempt it once had for humans was now replaced with overwhelming fear. If the Reptilian could just make it to the rocks and reorganize with its comrades, then maybe they stood a chance of rescue. Just before reaching the mouth of a shallow crater a kilometer away from the rock formations, the Reptilian felt a sharp jolt of pain through its shoulder, followed by the thunderous report of a human rifle, and fell face first into the shallow terrain depression. The creature rolled onto its back, trying to face its pursuer.
Captain Gray walked over to the wounded Reptilian, his rifle at the ready in case the creature made any sudden moves. Gray had no intentions of taking the Reptilian in as a prisoner; it was probably just a lowly foot soldier anyways. The ground force commander just wanted to make sure the last thing the Reptilian saw was an indifferent human face. Gray leveled his rifle at the Reptilian’s head and fired off a round, disconnecting the Reptilian from life. Looking towards the rock formation in the distance, Gray planned the next moves of the mission.
As ground force commander controlling and coordinating the various forces and assets, Gray was a god of the battlefield. Gray switched between the various channels of his communications equipment, talking to various platoons, fighters overhead, and other assets in the area. It was like conducting an orchestra while also chiming in every now and then with an instrument, just like when Gray’s platoon had spread itself a little too thin across the flat Martian surface in taking out Reptilian stragglers, allowing Gray the rare opportunity to fire his weapon in anger. Gray’s plan was coming together quite well; they had forced the Reptilians out of the small settlement and intentionally left an opening so the invaders could escape into the nearby rock formations. That way, Gray’s forces could pick off the fleeing Reptilians without putting civilians or infrastructure at risk. The surviving Reptilians would try to regroup in the rock formations, which Gray planned to bombard with whatever weapons the fighters had left.
Gray’s platoon spread out in an assault line and pulled security while Gray switched channels over to the fighters, clearing them to engage the rock formations. Next, Gray bounced between each individual platoon, asking for a situation report on ammunition, casualties, and equipment. Straining to hear reports come in over the communications net, Gray couldn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind.
“Damn boss, you’re really throwing everything at them.”
Gray turned his head towards the medic briefly and spoke into the microphone, telling the platoon leaders to have their troopers sit tight for the moment.
“Yeah, I want those rocks turned into a parking lot in the next minute or so. We’ll have to soak up the Reptilians with a mop when we’re done.”
It was hyperbole, at least for now. The ground forces admired the show the fighters were putting on. A variety of weapons were used to engage the rock formations. Some bombs detonated above the rocks, showering everything below with molten hot shrapnel, tearing the Reptilians into ribbons. Other bombs penetrated deep into the rocks before exploding, the miniature quakes breaking apart the rocks and smearing the invaders. One small group of Reptilians ran out of the rocks out in the open, attempting in vain to escape. One of the fighters spotted the squirters and vectored in to intercept them, despite having expended all ordinance. The pilot brought the fighter straight down towards the Reptilians and pulled up sharply at the last second, pointing his fighter engine nozzle nearly straight at the survivors and putting out max power, incinerating the unfortunate invaders.
Gray could feel the anticipation in his forces to close with the enemy and finish them, but he ordered everyone to advance cautiously. Any surviving Reptilians had the high ground in the rocks, and there was little cover between where Gray and his forces were, and the rocks. The platoons broke off into squads and fireteams, practicing bounding overwatch. One element would advance while another would stay in place, weapons ready to engage any targets. They would leapfrog their way to the rocks.
The humans encountered sporadic fire from the rocks as they got to within a few hundred meters of the rocks. The Reptilians were still clinging to life despite the pounding they just took. Gray switched over to the fighter overhead, intending to direct them to carry out a gun run across the rocks.
“Negative, Anteater actual, we are RTB. We’d like to stay and help mop up but we just got word that some Reptilian ships have been spotted approaching. Be safe out there”, the lead pilot replied, voice sounding smooth as ice, as usual.
“Got it. Much thanks. You all stay safe out there too. Anteater actual out.”
Gray weighed the options. They could radio back to command and request additional assets, but they would have to pull back and wait. The Reptilians in the meantime would get a break. On the other hand, Gray could just proceed with the assault since it seemed like they had things under control. Gray switched over to his platoons and asked for a situation update. The incoming fire from the Reptilians seemed to be dying down and the humans were gaining momentum. Gray gave the order to close in and annihilate the remaining enemy.
Hundreds of kilometers overhead, Admiral Green and the other officers aboard the carrier studied the screens intently. Various three dimensional maps of the surrounding space, data readouts, and other information were displayed. Imagery showed a dozen objects, four of them particularly large. The data they saw on size, heat, and other characteristics were consistent with Reptilian carriers. Green was thankful that her carrier and accompanying destroyers were equipped with stealth materials and technology, because it didn’t seem like the Reptilians noticed Green’s forces. They looked like they were making a beeline to low Mars orbit over the equator, in a bid to relieve their forces across the surface who were currently being decimated. Green’s ships were above the south polar region.
Green and her staff had an hour to make a decision on how to proceed. A flight of fighters that just finished a close air support mission was boosting into orbit and needed to be retrieved and re-armed. The other fighters would be launched to engage the Reptilian fleet, but the exact loadout was in question. It was a given that they would have to engage Reptilian fighters, but the fleet, especially carriers, needed to be engaged and destroyed as well. Too few anti-fighter weapons and the human fighters wouldn’t be able to defend themselves, but too many meant that they wouldn’t have enough anti-ship weapons to destroy the Reptilian carriers. The destroyers carried a healthy mix of anti-fighter and anti-ship missiles but they had to be launched relatively close and en masse, otherwise the Reptilian ships could just evade until the missiles ran out of fuel or shoot the missiles down with point defense weapons. Sending the destroyers out would leave the carrier vulnerable to any counter attacks, since the Reptilians would be able to determine where the human fighters came in from and launch an attack before they were destroyed. Green had to fight the urge to be greedy and prioritize which enemy ships were to be destroyed, at least at first. The carriers had to go first. The other ships probably wouldn’t make it very far afterwards, and they could pursue later.
r/TempehTimeWriting
| 2020-03-20T17:11:09 | 2020-03-20T16:36:23 | 209 | 143 |
[WP] In a world where people receive mystical pets upon 16 yrs of age, you are judged based on how powerful they are. Today on your 16th birthday, you finally got yours. But instead of the common faun or fairy you expected, a commoner like you got a dragon.
|
Last night I could barely sleep thinking about what my mystical creature was gonna be. My other friends have already turned 16, so they got their woodland spirits, sky fairies and so on already, but I was the youngest of the batch.
At the first light of day, I scrambled to my feet to rush to the holy garden where I would be chosen by a mystical beast for them to be my guardian. I quickly ate my breakfast, said my goodbye to my uncle and started walking all the way to the garden.
Along the way, I saw a girl who with a huge backpack on her, that she seemed to be struggling to carry with her.
“Good morning, are you on your way to the garden as well?” I asked her curiously.
“Ay, I just turned 16 today. I almost sleep through the morning if my maa hadn’t woken me up to remind me of going to the garden today. What about ya?
“Well, I could barely sleep last night truth be told. Because I couldn’t stop thinking what my beast was gonna be.”
“Well for me, I reckon it would be a scorched wolf or maybe a leviathan spider. Well, that is what I prefer. And oh yea, my name is Samantha. I work with my maa in a bakery down the road” She said.
“I am Kyle. I am don’t really do work much, I just help my uncle around his mechanical shop from time to time?”
“Your uncle?” She asked. “Don’t your parents work in anything that you can help them with?”
“They are traveling merchants. But they said I was too young to travel on the road with them when they set out. I haven’t seen them since I was 5. So they left me with my uncle to take care of me and send me allowance and letter every month or so.”
“Oh … Sorry for asking.”
An awkward silence passes between us, after which my curiosity got the best of me.
“If I may ask, what is exactly in this bag?”
“Oh this?” She replied.”My maa filled it with food that we couldn’t sell yesterday then made me take it with me. She said it might take a while till you come across your mystical beast, even though I told her she was worrying too much, she still insisted. I don’t think I can carry it for so long, so I might leave it on the road.”
“Well, that would be a waste of food.” I told her. “I rushed with eating breakfast this morning, so I didn’t end up eating much. Why don’t we eat some of it here, so that the bag gets a bit lighter?”
She looked up to the sky to think about it for a moment.
”Ya, that seems good.” She said with a smile on her face.
So we sit on a nearby fence as we scavenge the bag for all sorts of pastries. I pick myself some mooncheese cakes and a drink of grapes juice, while she opted for the salted string rings with some orange juice.
As we munched down on out second breakfast, she looked at me and asked:
“Kyle, you didn’t tell me what kind of beast you think you will be chosen by?”
“Ah, sorry I forgot. Well, I don’t think I am one to be chosen by a fire attributed one since I hate the heat. And I don’t really know how to swim, so what is a no go. So probably something between earth and sky, like maybe an ancient earth worm, even though they are disgusting. Or maybe a swiftbeak raven.” I answered.
“Really? You don’t know how to swim?” She said as she chuckled.
“Hey, don’t make fun of me for not wanting to drown!”
Soon we ate our meals and cleaned up after ourselves and set out to the garden once again
​
***Part 1***
|
I was wondering what it was like to get a pet. some said theirs just appeared, others said they watched theirs come. My 16th birthday was the next day, and i struggled to sleep from the excitement, maybe id get a cat, or a faun, maybe a wolf or fairy if i was lucky.
at noon, i was sitting in the field outside of town. i was born about 12:05, so it would come any minute now. after a few minutes, i heard wings flapping. at first i thought it was a falcon, maybe a greatfae, winged creatures were reserved for the more powerful, so it could be. the elders made sure nothing was near the field so that i would know when it was coming. i kept my eyes closed, waited for it to approach me.
And it did. I opened my eyes in shock upon feeling scales, and saw it before me. a small blue dragon nuzzled up against me. had to only be a few years old, but still something i could never dream of. the only other person to have a dragon was the old king Azui, 200 years ago. most of the royal family only had Chimeras at best, Giant serpents at worse.
I idly stroked the dragons head. Kulu was a good name. I knew the royal police would be coming soon. theres no way we could keep everyone from talking about Kulu, there might have been people who saw them on the way, unless she just appeared.
I started to head home, and Kulu followed. i was hoping i wouldnt be seen, but i was stopped. It was Kiri, because why wouldnt she take the chance to harass me.
"Ha! Look at you Lumi, trying to sneak home alone! What a-
What the hell is that thing?"
I bent over to pick up Kulu, must have fell behind.
"Oh, you mean Kulu?"
"Answer me you pathetic welp, what. is. it."
Her catfish hid behind her and hissed. makes sense it would get whats going on before her.
"Kulu here is a blue dragon? are you that dense?"
She looked at me with fear in her eyes before running off without a word.
"Sorry for leaving you bud"
I said as i pet their head. i went back to heading home, and nobody else stopped me, i hoped because its because they didnt see me.
By now, i was sure this wasnt a mistake, if Kulu wasnt mine, i would be dead by now. I wasnt one to pray, but i did, i prayed that Kulu would be safe. but i didnt pray for myself. it wouldnt matter anyway.
I was getting ready for bed as i heard a knock on the door. When i answered, it was the royal police. Kiri must have tipped them off. I didnt bother fighting with them because i didnt want Kulu to be afraid and attack. the last thing i wanted was 4 murder charges.
I was taken to the castle. nobody spoke during the ride. wether it was orders or fear doesnt matter, because i didnt try to talk either. That night i spent with Kulu in a cell. It was more comfortable than my own bed, but it was still a cell.
In the morning some tests were performed on me, before i was taken back to the cell. still quiet. too quiet. the quiet hurt. i started to feel afraid, i couldnt take it. Kulu licked my face to comfort me, a small gesture but an important one. I would die to protect Kulu, i knew it.
That night, i decided to check the lock on the door. it was unlocked. there was a paper on the door with letters on it, not like it was any use to me, as i couldnt read it. I looked to Kulu and made a silent gesture for them to stay quiet.
I managed to get out of the hall by going the way they took me to testing. there were labels i couldnt read, probably to mark the halls. i decided to go left, my cell was on the left of the hall and had a window, so left had to take me out.
it didnt.
a room at least 3 times as big as my house was before me. there was a door on the other side, so we started to head there. just as i reached towards the handle, i felt a tug on my sleeve. Kulu was trying to pull me towards a smaller side door. just as i stepped away, i heard the commotion on the other side. We managed to close the door as the other door opened.
"What do you mean the girl escaped! she was in maximum security!"
"Come on, we might be able to cut her off, shes probably gone to the throne room!"
after a minute, we dared move. we evidently were in a closet, so we had to go the direction the guards came from. it was too risky to head back.
The next few halls we went through were no help, but eventually we found a way out. I ran ahead, only to find it was a balcony, a balcony WAY high off the ground. I locked up in fear before looking to Kulu. at this point, they were the size of a donkey, and they havent flew, so it wasnt likely they could fly us out.
Suddenly, she lept to the sky and looked around. after a moment she dived down and came back up with a rope. it didnt go all the way down, but after tying it to the balcony it went down to a standable surface.
We were still too high. one slip and it could all end. Kulu guided me to the next balcony after gnawing the rope off the last one. the rope was shorter, but if i landed right, i would only fall roughly 4 feet. I was sliding down as i heard the guards shouting above. I had only a little time until they saw either the rope or Kulu. I started swinging as the shouting resumed. swearing. they must have missed the rope. they must have not seen Kulu. after a few seconds, i had enough momentum to land safely on the next roof.
Then i heard footsteps. I managed to hide as they got to the balcony. my rope was still there.
"Theres no way they landed safely, the ropes are a red herring!"
"The kids legs would have broke from a fall like this, its impossible they escaped."
"Commander to floor, Secure the perimiter, the kid is still on grounds. i repeat. Secure the perimiter, the kid is still on grounds, over."
at that last statement, guards started to appear around. how did he do that?
I looked at my surroundings to see what i had. there was an exit 50 ft from me. all i had to do was get down and run. there were some crates i could climb down, but id have to go out of my way to get to them.
It was my only option.
I jumped down the crates and started to run. I was so close to freedom.
"Halt or i will shoot!"
I turned around to see a guard with a spell readied, likely a missile spell. I couldnt go back though, I just couldnt. I took a defensive position and they fired. the spell didnt go back to them, it just... fizzled out. then the guard fell over.
I used this chance to run. and i made it out.
i then realized i had no clue where we were. Kulu looked at me and chirped in a concerned way.
"I hope we get home buddy, i just dont know where it is."
| 2020-05-24T01:01:50 | 2020-05-24T00:53:28 | 90 | 57 |
[WP]You are an immortal knight,you've grown tired of existence so you take a nap under a tree in your quaint village,thousands of years later your armor has calcified and you’re regarded as a great work of art,today is the day you wake up.
|
"I've finished my task, after all these centuries. What is it you wish of me now?" Nobran asked with a bow to his goddess.
"Nothing. I don't need you now..." Pyris answered, her eyes locked on her endless scroll.
"Oh..." Nobran said, her words sticking. "What am I supposed to do with myself?"
"I couldn't care less. Commit genocide or sit on a rock for an eternity. I will call for you when you are needed, but right now - I have everything I ever wanted." Pyris looked back at her scroll, it was getting longer and longer with the names of the freshly deceased.
"Okay..." Nobran numbly said as he turned to leave Pyris' domain.
He passed the crystalline halls. Not one angel stopped him, they were all rushing through the halls, dealing with the sudden influx of corpses reaching the gates and flooding the incorporeal realm.
He wasn't one for genocide so he would follow Pyris' order and wait for her call.
***
Nobran sat down on a rock in a grove. He then crossed his legs in contemplation and closed his eyes listening to the ambiance. Only birds and the occasional scamper of hares could be heard over the swaying trees.
No monster would approach him as he sat in meditation on his rock. They knew better than to anger their creator's servant.
Over time people started to arrive. Nobran heard them ask, who he was and why the monsters didn't go near this grove. How did he keep them at bay? These questions came almost daily, with no answer given and time passing. They eventually stopped asking and over time they came to sing and to leave offerings.
Nobran never opened his eyes to gaze upon what remained of the known expanse, only sat in wait for his next order.
After awhile the people that visited would chant and sing in a language he didn't recognise. They still left offerings and gifts each time. Once they left, bitefiends and rabbits would take the food that was left.
Nobran didn't know how much time had passed since he closed his eyes to the world, but one day the known expanse felt... different.
Nobran heard the familiar sound of mortals chanting prayers. He opened his eyes with great difficulty: his eyes were covered in plant matter. His body restrained with root and moss.
Suddenly the chanting froze. Nobran scanned the crowd of people who were dressed in what looked like ceremonial vestments made from the cheapest of wool and cotton.
The simple act of opening his eyes left the worshippers speechless.
Nobran worked his mouth, trying to loosen his stiff jaw. He then asked the strange people. "Did anyone feel that?"
|
"Okay!", exclaimed the art restoration manager excitedly.
"we just got a big--, important, contract handed to us from a very---- important client!" He announced in a peppy manner while guiding his team of irritated specialist to a room outfitted with several restoration tools
Audible gasps came from some of the team who just entered the room, seeing a grand life-like statue with ornately designed armour with the most detail one could imagine. Everything from small dents in more solid areas, to the detailed chainmail, seemed to be impossibly detailed
"W-we never dealt with something of this magnitude!" piped up one of the specialist
"Ah and the mask like helmet... Is-is that Anglo Saxon?", another thought allowed
"And the the exposed "skin", it almost looks real but corpse like", noted another
"Calm down everyone!" stated the manager, bringing the murmurs of the specialists to a halt
The manager positioned himself a bit away from the group, back facing to the statue and towards the group to address them
He felt a warm wind like feeling go lightly across the back of his neck but ignored it, continuing to address the group
"As you can see this statue is of great importance! It has been handed down by generations of our client's family. According to family legend they bought it from a guy who found it sitting under a tree near a quaint little village called sway in southern England. They think it had some materials that were harmful in it as they couldn't spend extended amounts of time near it without feeling weak so look into that", he informed the group
A loud, cheery, ringtone radiated from within the managers pocket
"Oh I really must take this! Steve you're in charge", he said gesturing over lazily over to one of the more senior specialist before taking off out of the room
He concluded by saying "Ta ta- bye for now!" as he left the room
"Hate that guy", one of the specialists quietly said to themself
As the first hour came to a close, the specialist begun to feel ill. Their skin became paler, heartbeat faster, and slightly more rapid, shallow, breathing. Assuming it was just dehydration, many of them just drunk extra water when possible, and all of them worked through it, simply ignoring it.
"Okay-- team! I just concluded a call from our client", he announced perkily
"He wants this work restored as fast as possible! He is hosting an event and would like to have it in a timely manner as a decoration to impress his most esteemed guests!", he said full of energy before catching his breathe
His team looked at him tiredly and almost blankly, one quietly muttered to himself, "I swear to god if we are working over-"
"And so we will have to work overtime!", he announced with forced glee
A collective sigh filled the room from the already tired specialists
"But we got this team! Can't spell team with an I-, now can we?", he said not waiting for an awnser
"So we all--- need to work together! Don't let your co-workers down!", he said dispite the hateful looks from his team
"I'll be managing our clients! Keep up the good-- work! Ta ta!", he said abruptly before leaving once again
The workers, too tired to argue, went back to their work quietly
As the hours passed, they felt more and more ill, losing colour in their face and becoming dizzy. Some of the workers begun to act uncharacteristically
"Hey?", one of the specialist said to get the attention of the others
"Is it just me or doesn't the "skin" of the statue look more umm... Lively then before?"
"I'm sure that's nonsense--" came the cheerful voice of the manager who just returned, a singular latte in hand, to inspect their work
"It's probably just you becoming stir crazy from working so good--! Good job team--! Keep it up and at this rate we will be done by Monday! Maybe we will even reward you with a free- drink at the Christmas party if you keep this up!", he said trying to hype up the workers who just looked at him blankey
"Oh- ehmm! Management-- stuff calls! I'll be- back soon!", he said as he hastily left the workers agian
Hour by hour, the workers condition declined. Many of them begun to move in irregular straight movements. The statues skin gathered more and more colour but was unnoticed due a mixture of how subtle the change was and the state of the workers.
As the day was concluding, the manager returned
"Hey so team! I got a very important-- management meeting so could you clean-up?" he said, not noticing or caring about the state of his specialists. He was awnsered by silent glares
"I'ma take my role-- and you take yours--" he said to fill the silence
They remained quiet and begun to stiffly tidy for the day's end.
"Alright greaaat--" the manger replied cheerfully leaving
After they finished cleaning, several specialists begun to pick chipping tools and surronded the statue in an irregular pattern, the rest of the specialists having sat down, back agiasnt the wall and facing directly forward. Their skin was ghostly pale by now but the statues only more lively
*click!*
The sound of several chipping tools bombarded the statues armour in one collective attack
*click!*
They attacked it agian, their pale faces looking blank.
*click!*
By now the statues armour begun to crumble
*click!*
Considerable holes begun to be made in the armour, being to reveal a lively skin within the suit
*click*
the rest of the of the armour crumbled to the ground revealing a very much alive humanoid figure
*thump*
the specialists who were standing around the statue and chipping away fell in one unified loud thump
*sizzle*
All the specialists and their belongings begun to dissolve into a vapor like substance. The matter produced from the specialists glided purposely into the humanoid figure and their belongings matter disappeared
Un-phased the statue spawn exited strided confidently out, impossibly disappearing into the night without being seen
"Hellooooo--?!" came the voice of the manager.
"must be gone. I'll see if they did their job properly" he thought to himself before turning the corner to see what remained of the statue, a mixture of a crumbly rock like substance and torn chainmail
"I'm so reporting this to HR!" he shrieked before pouting
| 2020-07-17T01:45:29 | 2020-07-17T01:17:08 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You are in possession of two exceptionally cursed rings. One that teleports you to a random location exactly 100 ft away every half hour, and one that narrates your life. You're not sure which ring you hate more.
|
*Myles Mythril didn’t collect cursed jewelry for reasons of practicality. He collected them because he was the hottest freestyle bard this side of Eight League Road, and flashing cursed bling was a signature of his brand.*
Kat, the whitest mage in the group, shot her companion an exasperated look. “Myles, will you take that damned thing off? That narrator is driving us all insane.” The wide dirt road stretched out before them, twisting back and forth across the rolling green hills before diving down into the sands of Dire Cover. She looked down at the map and groaned. It would be at least ten hours before they reached their destination.
The bard shook his head. “Nah. Cursed bling is my jam. Does Fifty-Silver take off his silver gauntlets? Does Adultish Paladino take off his holy golden crucifix? Does Dragon-Hoard Digger take off her -”
There was a faint pop and Myles disappeared out of existence. He landed a split-second later in the foliage on the side of the road 100 feet away, his limbs sprawled in four different directions. He jumped up to his feet, brushing twigs out of his red velvet jumpsuit, and sprinted back towards the party.
*The rest of the party was starting to grow tired with the trials and tribulations of Myles’ excessively thug lifestyle. It would surely test the mettle of their companionship as they attempted their quest to slay the Grumple Bungdinger.*
Kat’s temple started to pulse. “Myles, take them off! We have to kill a dangerous monster by nightfall. This thing turned Ash the Brash into Ash the Thrashed. You’re a liability!”
“Yeah yeah, I know, the narrator already explained that.” Myles grimaced, picking wildflowers out of his hair. “Look, I know it’s bad and I'm sorry for that. But even if I wanted to take these things off, I couldn’t. I'm contractually obligated. *Bard Hard Guild* is sponsoring me to wear this whenever I’m out in public or places of heavy traffic flow, and major roadways like this qualify.”
Dominic the rogue shot him a half smile. “Just take ‘em off mate. They won’t know.”
Myles shook his head. “Actually, they will. He flicked the large studded silver earring on his left lobe. This guy lets them keep tabs on me and all affiliated products of the guild.”
"Why are you even on this quest?" the white mage asked. "Don't you already make tons of money from these idiots?"
Myles smiled. "Check the bounty posting again. There's a priceless, cursed necklace reward in the loot box for killing this thing."
"Oh god," Carter the paladin said. "What's this one do?"
Myles smiled. "It make us 50% more likely to encounter mosquitos."
Kat crossed her arms. “That’s it. Party vote. I vote we ditch him.”
*Katarina was conflicted in her feelings about Myles. She knew she didn’t have the votes to expel the dragon-fire spitting bard from her ranks. Her show of disapproval was simply an unconscious attempt to resist his foolishly debonair charm. Though she would never admit it, she had been impressed by the bard’s savage lyrical bars and career ending freestyle enchantments that had helped them defeat the gang of merciless orc-lords, and sometimes still caught herself humming his sonnets -*
“Shut! Up!”
“I vote stay,” said Dominic. “I don’t mind the narrator. Makes the whole thing feel a bit larger than life. It's kind of like having your own hype man.”
“I vote stay,” said Carter. “Myles is my boy.”
“I vote -” Myles broke off as he popped out of existence.
“Stay!” his voice yelled back from beyond the hills.
***
[Read Part 2 here!](https://redd.it/lpbd17)
***
My personal subreddit for other stories: /r/ghost_write_the_whip
|
*Kevin shook his over-sized melon head, dazed and confused. He took in his surroundings with an almost childlike expression of fear. One moment he was in the roach-infested dumpster-fire of an apartment which he called home, and the next he was in the middle of the street, cars and pedestrians passing him by.*
"Who said that?!"
*Kevin looked around futilely in search of the voice he heard in his head. There was no one around but the passerby's on the street, all keeping to themselves—wanting nothing to do with the crazy man with the giant head.*
"My head's average sized, asshole! Seriously, who’s talking and how did I get here? Show yourself!"
*Kevin raised his fists in an almost comical attempt to defend himself against what he perceived as an invisible enemy. His eyes darted back and forth, searching desperately for any sign of where that voice might be coming from.*
“Come out and I'll show you comical!”
*After spewing a string of expletives Kevin ran up to a strange man on the street, accosting him.*
“Sir! Sir! Can you hear that?!”
*The man was frightened.*
“That voice, can you hear it?!”
*Before the man could respond Kevin suddenly found himself buried waist-deep in a mound of garbage, four steel walls rising ten feet around him. He felt the rumble of an engine. He felt movement. It dawned on him that he was in the back of a garbage truck.*
“What the hell?! Help!! Somebody help!”
*Kevin screamed, impotently. As the rotten fumes permeated his nostrils Kevin had but only one thought--this feels like home.*
“That’s *not* what I was thinking!”
*After several minutes desperately clawing against the metal walls around him Kevin gave up, just as he always did. He slumped back down into the mass of rotten food and package waste, having lost all hope.*
“I have *not* lost hope! I have this all under control.”
*—Kevin said, arguing with the voice in his head. He had gone crazy, that was the only explanation.*
"...Well, I suppose that is the only real explanation."
*Or perhaps, he thought, it was the work of that old woman he had stolen from earlier that day.*
"Oh," *Kevin said, as realization dawned on him. He looked down at his hand, inspecting the two jeweled rings he had stolen from the woman. One was covered in excrement.*
"Excrement?"
*Kevin sniffed his hand. Yes, that was definitely excrement. He should wipe it off.*
"Ugh," Kevin groaned as he cleaned the ring.
*Before he could contemplate the situation further, he found himself transported to yet another location. This time, the inside of a sandwich shop. He was relieved to have escaped the garbage truck, but realized he was receiving strange looks from the other patrons. Perhaps he should buy a sandwich?*
"Sir," *he said, accosting yet another stranger.* "Sir, please. Can you hear that voice?"
*The stranger backed away, afraid of the crazy homeless melon-headed man reeking sewage and rot. Kevin groaned. He focused his attention back to his hands. They were filthy but the rings still shown bright and beautiful. Truly, these rings were magnificent. Kevin tried taking them off but they wouldn't budge. He pulled at them with more and more desperation but to no avail. Perhaps he should buy a sandwich.*
"I don't want a sandwich!" *Kevin yelled, frightening the rest of the patrons.* "Sorry," he said. "Don't call the cops. I'll leave now."
*Kevin quickly left the establishment, taking in his surroundings. Once he had his bearings, he began running, making a bee-line straight for the docks where he had first encountered the old woman. He quickly ran out of breath, cursing himself for not exercising more. He was out of shape and he knew it.*
"I'm... not... out... of shape," he wheezed.
*Perhaps Kevin actually* ***was*** *in shape—*
"Thank you!"
*—And it was just they weight of his gargantuan head that tired him so.*
"Goddammit."
*Soon the ship of the old woman was in sight. Kevin began running again with a renewed vigor. He was about to board—*
—*And he had teleported once again. He was back at the sandwich shop.*
"No! No! No no no!"
*The patrons were frightened, they hadn't forgotten him.*
"Sorry, I'm so sorry."
*Perhaps he should buy a sandwich.*
"Fine! Okay, fine, I'll buy a sandwich!"
*Kevin approached the teller.*
"Sir you need to leave," the teller said.
"Please," *Kevin pleaded, the desperation permeating his voice so pitiful that the teller had no choice but to oblige.*
"Fine, what'll you have?"
"An Italian sub."
*No, Kevin realized that the meatball sub sounded much better.*
"Actually, make that a meatball sub."
*The meatball sub was clearly the superior choice, and Kevin was a better man for having made such a fine selection. The teller handed Kevin the sub and insisted he leave the establishment. Kevin obliged.*
"So do I eat this now?" Kevin asked aloud.
*Hearing no response Kevin gorged himself on the sandwich he had ordered, hoping somehow that would cure him of this curse. He chewed with is mouth open, sauce dripping onto his shirt and staining his lips as if he were a toddler. He swallowed the last bite and tried once again to pry off the rings, dismayed to find that they still wouldn't budge and that the voice was still there.*
"Please. Just make this stop!"
*Finding no response to his cry for help, Kevin ran to the docks once more. He made it to the ship, and this time he was able to board. In his haste ran right past the woman's quarters—realizing his mistake he turned around and backtracked.*
*He had made it. He knocked on the door—a weak, tired, feeble knock. The knock of a defeated—He knocked again, this time with more gusto, for no reason other than to prove the voice in his head wrong.*
"Come in!"
*Kevin opened the door. It was the woman. The very woman he had stolen from earlier that day. Kevin couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was, the sunlight from the port window—*
"Please," Kevin said. "I'm so sorry. I stole these rings from you. Please take them back. I don't want them."
—*The sunlight from the port window highlighted her features. Her black hair was thick and coarse like a lions mane. Her frame—*
"Please!"
—*Her frame wide and curvaceous yet delicate and tantalizing, like a butternut squash. Her hooked nose—*
"Are you hearing this? It won't stop!"
*—folding in a perfect right angle, geometrically divine. She was stunning.*
"Please..."
*Kevin begged, breaking down in sad pitiful tears, so taken he was by her beauty. He was not worthy of her presence. She stared at him, her face inscrutable. Such wisdom behind those eyes.*
"Do you have my sandwich?" She asked.
"Your what?" Kevin said.
*Kevin found himself back at the sandwich shop. Perhaps he should order a sandwich.*
***
 
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
| 2021-02-21T09:04:08 | 2021-02-21T08:30:14 | 1,452 | 354 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
Evolution and war interact in funny ways.
​
It seemed like every interstellar species had it's own specialty, and it seemed that way for a reason. The Arvayu Telepaths guarded their power jealously - any telepathic species entering the galactic stage was quickly subdued, modified and enslaved, or otherwise destroyed utterly. The Amoebic Hivemind outbred almost every living thing in the galaxy, sentient or not, and quite literally absorbed whatever approached the highest amount of biomass it could find. The Silurian Mongers, a sort of reptilian allegory, was thoroughly steeped in destroying any single thing it could find that posed a physical threat - and that mindset grew to encompass naval power as well.
​
Between all of the various species, there was a kind of uneasy peace - the Arvayu didn't particularly relish the idea of fighting the Amoebics, the Silurians didn't appreciate how the Arvayu turned them against themselves,, and the circle went on. Dozens of species with their own little niche, never quite at peace but never quite coming to blows.
​
Enter Humanity. We never really had a specialty - we certainly didn't breed fast enough to interest the Amoebics, and most of the other species either saw us as children, food, or a pest. Diplomatically we ingratiated ourselves just enough to get involved in trade talks, but our inter-factional wars spoke volumes about how that wasn't really our thing, either.
​
We simply are. And after a time, the other species began to question that - how could a species with no real outstanding strength continue to survive? Even though we usually opted to take the least desirable stars for colonization, why were we allowed to exist as a free-standing entity in the first place?
​
The Silurians, predictably, were the first ones to test us. Multiple systems fell in the first few months - we were utterly dominated. Soon, more of the galactic community wanted a piece of the feast. Without something drastic, Humanity was as good as extinct.
​
It was then that we found out what our specialty was. Well, is, I guess.
​
The UHWS Starblinder was the first ship to encounter one of the Dark. We'd been warned in the past, of course, that a Dark was invariably a death sentence for anyone who disturbed it, so we'd elected not to test those particular waters. The other species had maps of the territory occupied by these monsters, and gave them a wide berth - often, if a ship went missing, it was assumed that a Dark had either moved into that territory or simply manifested there - nobody really seemed to know anything about their biology, because, well...everything that encountered them just stopped being. Return telemetry from probes was rarely coherent, but confirmed that there were *things* out there that didn't appreciate sharing their space.
​
The captain of the Starblinder was the one who showed us all what we are. We're utterly relentless, and in the face of defeat, we'll happily run into the bony arms of Death in order to take a last swing.
​
The Dark, as a rule it seems, appreciate chaos. In us, they found a species so utterly unpredictable and varied that they felt a kind of kinship. Well...not kinship. I think they think of us more as pets than anything else.
​
They found out someone kicked their dog.
​
Hundreds of the Dark caused the empires of the galaxy to erupt in flames in a matter of weeks. It wasn't a war of extermination - frankly, calling it a war would be giving it too much. It was a downright slaughter, and while most of the species in the galaxy survived in some fashion, the majority of the major population centers had been glassed, "eaten", or simply shattered.
​
We enjoy a lot more freedom these days. The galaxy is rebuilding, and it was determined that we should get a seat at the table. Funny how that happens. We don't hear much of anything from the Dark, because really what pet understands their master? Our colonies in Dark territory are communication enough - "You, we'll tolerate. You, we'll defend."
|
FADE IN:
INT. THE SECRET HALL OF GALAXY-CENTRIC WORRYING
*A dozen creatures of various species sit around a large table. One of them – something that resembles an eight-foot-tall Möbius strip crossed with a large slug – begins to speak. This is YARLGH.*
**YARLGH:** I call this session of galaxy-centric worrying to order.
*Another individual (who looks a bit like a lobster) raises a claw. This is FF'TFT'AT.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** If we're going to use English this time, can we *please* come up with another name?
*An enormous pile of fur shifts in place. This is KHCHK.*
**KHCHK:** Why? We *do* worry. We worry about things that might affect the galaxy.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Yeah, well, "worry" makes it sound like we don't actually *do* anything.
**KHCHK:** It makes us sound like we worry. That's something.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Anyone can worry. You don't need to be on a council in order to worry.
**KHCHK:** I'm sure the galaxy's citizens appreciate us worrying on their behalf.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sure, sure... until they start worrying that we aren't worrying enough, right?
**YARLGH:** (*Shouting*) Enough!
*Everyone turns to look at Yarlgh.*
**YARLGH:** We have more-pressing concerns!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Oh, fantastic. Now we're "concerned."
**YARLGH:** As well we should be! The human problem has become untenable.
**KHCHK:** Yes. The humans *are* worrying.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Great! Let them get on with it! Less work for us!
**KHCHK:** I meant that they're *causing* worries. You know, like, "worrying" as in "bothering."
**FF'TFT'AT:** This is just more evidence that the name is stupid.
**KHCHK:** The *humans* are stupid!
*Yarlgh bends in a way that resembles nodding.*
**YARLGH:** That's putting it mildly. I've asked a representative of Earth to explain.
*All eyes (and eye-like organs) move to stare at a human man. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** Hm? Me?
**YARLGH:** Yes, you.
**DAVE:** Sorry, am I supposed to worry or worry?
**KHCHK:** ... What?
**DAVE:** Are we using "worry" in the sense of "to be concerned" or "to bother?"
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*Muttering*) Both, apparently.
*Yarlgh growls at Ff'Tft'At, then turns his attention back to Dave.*
**YARLGH:** Just tell us about your... allies.
**DAVE:** Isn't that you guys? Sorry, I don't really read the news.
**KHCHK:** We would *like* to be your allies, but your... friendships... are giving us pause.
**DAVE:** You don't *look* like you have paws.
*Everyone appears confused.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sorry, even I didn't get that one.
**DAVE:** Furball there said that I was giving you paws.
**KHCHK:** I said "pause!"
**FF'TFT'AT:** I told you that English was stupid!
**YARLGH:** It is tradition to use the guest's native tongue!
**DAVE:** I'd rather keep my mouth intact, if it's all the same to you.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Talk about the scary things! Do it *right now!*
*Dave looks around at the assembled councilpersons, all of whom seem to glare.*
**DAVE:** I mean, to be honest, a lot of you look pretty scary to me.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Racism!
**YARLGH:** We are *obviously* describing the unspeakable abominations with which you consort!
**DAVE:** You guys are being too hard on yourselves.
**KHCHK:** How dare you compare us to those monstrosities?!
**DAVE:** (*Sarcastically*) Oh, right, *I'm* the racist one. Seriously, none of this makes sense.
*Yarlgh stretches to his full, impressive height.*
**YARLGH:** Then let us speak plainly!
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*To himself*) Good luck.
**YARLGH:** You have cut through the fabric of spacetime and made contact with... with...
**KHCHK:** Demons!
**YARLGH:** Yes! They are unknowable entities that drive sentient minds mad.
**DAVE:** Oh, *those* guys? Come on.
**KHCHK:** They've impacted entire solar systems!
**DAVE:** They said they were sorry. Besides, they're hardly *demons*. They're just a bit... you know, impish.
**YARLGH:** "Impish?" Their machinations literally strip sanity from all who encounter them!
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, it's not as if they're actually hurting anyone.
*Murmurs spread through the council.*
**KHCHK:** How can you say that? Do humans not value their brains?
**DAVE:** (*Shrugging*) We're not really using them, you know?
**FF'TFT'AT:** I concur.
**YARLGH:** (*To Ff'Tft'At*) Shut up! (*To Dave*) Explain yourself!
**DAVE:** Look, all I'm saying is that nobody ever accomplished anything by being sane.
**KHCHK:** Name one thing that insanity has accomplished!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Worrying.
**KHCHK and YARLGH:** Shut up!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Why? Am I *worrying* you?
*Khchk launches himself across the table at Ff'Tft'At. The two of them roll out of sight, fighting.*
**YARLGH:** Stop it! Stop this madness at once! I *will* put you both in the naughty corner!
*The two councilpersons rise and sulkily return to their chairs.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** He started it.
**KHCHK:** Did not.
**YARLGH:** (*Roaring*) *Shut! Up!* Honestly, it's like you've both gone...
*The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. Everyone slowly turns their attention to Dave.*
**DAVE:** What?
**YARLGH:** (*Aghast*) Did you bring them here with you?
**DAVE:** Who?
**KHCHK:** The demons! Are they here?!
**DAVE:** Where?
*Ff'Tft'At audibly giggles, then clamps his claws over his mouth.*
**YARLGH:** Did you, human, bring the demons to this council chamber?
**DAVE:** Oh. No, I came here alone.
**KHCHK:** Then why are we all going bonkers?!
**DAVE:** Hey, don't blame *me*.
**YARLGH:** You *are* to blame! You opened the way for those eldritch horrors!
**DAVE:** I keep telling you, they aren't horrors! Hell, they were *boring* before they met us.
**KHCHK:** ... Before they met you?
*Dave glances around.*
**DAVE:** Oh. *Oh*.
*Several seconds of silence pass. All of the assembled creatures look anxious.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Well, *now* I'm worried.
*Everyone launches themselves at each other at once.*
CUT TO BLACK.
| 2021-04-07T20:15:45 | 2021-04-07T17:45:17 | 2,301 | 186 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face
|
I looked my son in the eye and told him firmly, as I had this day for the last 12 years, “It is not your fault, you didn’t kill her. Anyone who says differently doesn’t understand what happened, now blow out your candles, we’ll visit the grave after cake and presents.”
|
From the moment Hannah was born, we gave up hope of her following in our footsteps- you know med school, top of the class, private practice, and a comfortable life that never lets anything as trivial as money stand in the way of a valuable existential experience. Honestly, I didn't aknowledge her as mine until the DNA results came in. I figured her mother had suffered an indiscretion, and this murderous retch was the result.
I never gave her a chance.
I told my partners at the practice she was born still. I denied my mother the visit to the OB unit she had dreamt of for 30 years. I always felt deep down inside that the signs are never wrong. I know people write books every year claiming that ones destiny can be changed, but just like movies they are a fantasy created for cold hard cash. I debated adopting her out. My dear sweet dull wife would've crumbled under the weight of that. I thought about snuffing the life out her myself, but my mark is blue. Blues heal, reds kill. I knew I would never have the balls to snatch my infant daughter, and smother her to death.
The justice system only just started "pre-convicitons" after years of appeals in the interest of human rights. The general populous only started accepting the marks as "certainty and legally unchangeable" in last couple years. Politicians were arguing about pre-convictions like they used to argue about global warming or net neutrality back when our country was young at the turn of the 21st. Nearing the end of the 23rd now though the future was really here, and citizens were really scared. They could receive a death sentence,now, for something they might not do for 30 or 50 more years.
I wasn't proud of my daughter when she was born, but I didn't want her to die, or be caught up in a pre-conviction in ten years. I did the only sensible thing I could think of, I hid her.
My wife is sobbing, "it's been 12 years." As if I need the reminder. Our marriage has been absolute shit since we brought Hannah home. Typically, she takes care of Hannah while I work. I come home and she's already drunk, ignoring our daughter she is supposed to be homeschooling. I have never been the super masculine male that I think she always wanted. I respect and love her, no matter how drunk she gets, and no matter how hard she hits me I won't hit her back. God I have dreamt of it, but I couldn't ever do it. I wonder sometimes if Hannah gets it from her mom like I do. Hannah is too quiet and uncomfortable around me, we just share a television and DNA, not much else.
I sometimes wonder if she is going to kill her mom?
I wonder if shes a killer because the mark is making her one, keeping her prisoner and shaping her whole world. I kind of hope she would. Her mother is a drunken waste, and although quiet and uneasy around me, I feel her life of solitude has granted her a character of granite. I think she has the resolve to not kill. I can't believe I am thinking this again. God these marks can't be changed.
I'm getting tired now, the suicide cocktail I took must be taking hold.
I hope that her mother holds her well, while I am gone.
I feel like I'm drowning now, must be close to my sweet release.
Aahh! Calm blackness.
Whose there? I hear you, I hear you. Yes I hear you. I'm trying.
My eyes won't open, I can't help it. I'm on my way out. God! Sternal rubs hurt. God it's bright!! My god!, Hannah, your mark, its green! HOW? What is...
| 2014-05-11T02:02:48 | 2014-05-10T23:56:37 | 81 | 17 |
[WP] An omniscient entity appears on Earth; each person, throughout their lifetime, may ask one question - and one question only - to which they will receive the honest truth.
|
It was the third question that caused everything to go wrong.
Two leading scientists had asked the Prime about quantum mechanics and relativistic physics. Each had assured the gathered crowds that the answers matched humanity's most advanced learning. The Prime was correct. The Prime could be trusted.
The world's leaders formed an orderly queue, arranged by lots. The method had been agreed by the United Nations Security Council only after threats of war as to who would go next. The assumed priority of the United States had been challenged by Russia and China before diplomacy had prevailed.
The Pope stepped forward. Everyone anticipated his obvious question about God - everyone except the Pope. Already, doubt raged among his followers. Already the presence of a being from beyond the solar system challenged the belief of man's special place in the universe. Already the knowledge that such a greater power existed challenged the authority of God. His next words could destroy faith entirely.
The Pope paused for breath. His elderly voice was soft, but the bank of microphones broadcast it world-wide. Instead of the expected question, he asked "Do you know how to lie?"
Gasps emanated from the crowd. The background murmur almost drowned out the answer. "Yes."
The Pope had expected it. Omniscience was the knowledge of everything. It necessarily included the knowledge of evil and deceit. The question was deliberate. Once more, the seed of doubt was cast into human minds. Once more, faith was required.
|
When the robotic figure showed up in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, people didn’t think it was much more than a publicity stunt. Then it made a speech to everyone in the world. No matter where you were, you heard it speak that very day. And if you ever really forgot, the speech was repeated. Scientists eventually proved this by looking at people with chronic short term memory loss after the initial speech. Every time they forgot, the first thing they could remember was hearing that speech.
Either way, the gist of it was that each person got one question in their life that they could ask it and it would give you the honest, unfiltered truth. As the days went by, people tested it and surely enough, it was shown that it was telling the truth.
A few years later, and it has been mandated that you get to ask your single question only on your 21st birthday. Which is where my story starts. Today is my 21st, the question day, the day where I can get an answer to anything I want. I still haven’t figured out the right question yet, so I think back to what people originally asked when they found out the thing was legit.
The world divided into three groups. The first asked how they could obtain all the riches in the world. However, every time someone asked that, it changed people’s previous schemes and led to no one being able to get richer, as each person who asked invalidated the plans of the person before them. Second, there were those who wanted to know who their soulmates were. Lets just say that most people didn’t like the answers they were given, but those who accepted them seemed to be quite happy nowadays. And there was the third group. Some called them the Philosophers, but I call them the Dumbasses. Their question was the one that would inevitably be asked: What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything? I can’t tell you how excited they were when they got the answer. It turned out it really was 42. Go figure.
I still was having a hard time thinking of a good question. I mean, after all, you want to ask a good one, like that guy who was smart enough to ask how to cure cancer. But all the good questions had been asked. Is bigfoot real? Apparently not. Are aliens real? Maybe, depending on your definition of life and intelligence. Do mermaids exist? Apparently humans actually descend from them, unlike what evolutionary theory or any religious creation story had taught. In fact, they only existed with the dinosaurs, eventually evolving into the humans we know today. Were there any people who believed we descended from Mermaids? Yes, three people. A crazy guy in China who was homeless; a crazier guy back in the States who had tried to proselytize his new found religion but failed, instead ending up in a mental institution; and then there was the other guy, head of one of the most powerful nations in the world, but his name escapes me.
And then it hit me. I knew the question to ask. The one question that had eluded even the smartest of people. It was so crazy, I didn’t know if it would even work. But it had to be done! I walked up to the podium to announce my question to the awaiting crowd. I was the only one who could hear the answer, but I was expected to announce it as soon as I heard it.
“Oh, great whatever you are, how do I ask another question that you will answer honestly?”
*Hahaha.* The voice was oddly mechanical. *Well, that’s a first. You just need a password and a login. Fortunately for you, that question serves as your login, allowing you to ask a question anytime you want. You will then be prompted for a password. Enter it, and you can ask another question. Then, rinse and repeat..*
And that was that. I told the eager audience that his response was to be born again, which accidentally set off the idea that reincarnation existed. Well, actually, I realized I didn’t know the answer to that, so I went back stage and repeated my question, just like I was told to.
*Password?*
I thought for a moment. This would be my second question on my 21st birthday, a first for any human being. Huh, its funny that 21 times 2 is 42, the supposed answer to life, the universe, and everything. And then it hit me.
“42,” I whispered.
*Ask.*
And from then on, I found I had access to everything I could ever want to know and then some. I even found a way to timetravel. I was surprised no one had thought that up before. And when it came time for me to die, I used an anti-aging potion I had created and went back into the past with one mission in mind. I already knew it was what I had to do. I had to send myself a message. I had to make sure that I knew the answer to life, the universe, and everything. And that key, that beautiful nugget of knowledge, was 42.
-191
| 2014-07-12T17:41:53 | 2014-07-12T17:41:24 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] Voyager 2 is found orbiting the Earth. It is exactly the same except with one new addition: a single image of our galaxy taken from outside it.
|
The world was in an uproar, over a single photo.
At first glance, there was nothing particularly unusual about it. The same dotted spiral that we were all familiar with as the Milky Way. You could find a similar depiction in any 9th grade science textbook. But it soon became apparent that this was not an artist's recreation. The probe had somehow left the galaxy, taken a photo of it, and returned.
Voyager 2 had simply arrived back at Earth, like it had never left. One day, it was broadcasting from the outer reaches of the solar system, and then roughly 24 hours later, was parked next to the Hubble telescope in stable orbit. We were still receiving signals from it in deep space even as it circled the planet; it had beaten its own messages back.
The event defied any possible explanation. The photo was analyzed down to the tiniest detail for any clue about how it had been taken, and came up blank. Scientists from every possible field speculated wildly. Maybe aliens had taken it for a joyride and then courteously returned it to its rightful owner. Maybe it had slowly left the galaxy and then traveled back in time a billion years. Maybe it had gone through some wormhole system. Maybe it was just a picture of empty space with an unusual dust mote on the lense that just happened to look exactly like our home galaxy. Each one sounded more outlandish as the last, but each was just as likely to be true.
It became the defining moment of the century. The cosmos had just been a mere curiosity for most people. We all knew the stars were up there, but never gave much thought to them. NASA had been a backwater government agency on its last legs as its few supporters struggled to rationalize how it was benefiting the taxpayer. All of that changed with Voyager's return. Politicians and generals demanded to know if this was some kind of threat, like a letter from extraterrestrials saying "we know where you live." The media became obsessed with the mystery. Fictionalized explanations and accounts of the Voyager's journey became its own literary genre. Religions rewrote their holy texts to try and account for the strange phenomenon.
And the worst part is that we never learned. It's been one hundred years, and science is no closer to explaining the Voyager Photo than we were on that first day. We've explored the solar system and have sent out a number of other probes, but none of them have come back with new information. Some people question whether it ever happened at all; maybe it was just a ploy for publicity for NASA. If so, it worked. They have all the funding they need. But if not...
To this day, it remains the photo that haunts humanity.
|
---------
Jones.
Jones looked at the monitor, still not quite believing his eyes. The blip had appeared just 5 seconds after all the tracking systems glitched, and had suddenly and uncharacteristically been placed in a perfect geocentric orbit.
"What the hell?" He said out loud, has his college Emily walked up to the monitors, with a stack of papers.
"Jones, I have the reports. Tech Team 5 says the sensors are online without any problems." She said hurriedly, and slightly out of breath from her jog to the tech station.
"Yeah, Em, they went back online about 3 seconds after you went, but look at what showed up!" Jones exclaimed, as he pointed to the screen.
"No way. That's a Voyager!" Emily pulled out her phone in disbelief, "The director will need to hear this. That thing left our system years ago!" Pulling out her phone, she dialed the director.
--------
Director Amherst.
The call came unexpectedly, jarring him out of his deep thoughts about the new thruster designs that were giving his best team so much trouble. He picked up the phone gingerly, slightly annoyed.
"Amherst here, what's going on?"
Emily's voice came clearly through the speaker, with a hurried tone. "Director, Voyager 2 just showed up on the orbital scanners!"
"That's not possible. Is this some kind of joke?"
Emily insisted... "No! This isn't a joke. I just spoke with Tech Team 5, and the scanners are online and functioning optimally. It's just that Voyager two appeared out of nowhere, and placed itself perfectly in geosynchronous orbit. There was no approach vector. Not one we could see, at least!"
The director froze. Implications of this freak event spinning through his head. He was suddenly more alert than he had been earlier that morning.
"Call Observatory 7, and see if they can get a visual" He hung up.
-------------
Observatory 7
"Yes director. Mhmm. You want us to look for what?! Excuse me, sir, but are you sure this isn't a glitch? Okay. Bye." turning to Anna, Dan muttered, "he's lost his goddamn mind."
Anna, the puzzled intern looked at her mentor quizzically. "What did he want?".
"That was our director, Amherst. And he wants us to look for Voyager 2. In Geosynchronous orbit."
"What the fuck. How is that even possible?" questioned Anna.
"Exactly. It left our system years ago" said Dan. "Well, come on, help me get this thing aligned. See if you can patch the coordinates over from the orbital sensors," Dan ordered, his fingers flying over the controls with a natural ease that slightly intimidated Anna.
"All right, I have them," Said Anna, as she sent them over to Dan, and the telescope machinery came to life, humming and whirring. The well maintained equipment caused the entire platform to turn, and the telescope glided easily to its new resting point.
"Christ. It really is there!" Exclaimed Dan breathlessly.
"He wasn't joking?" asked Anna, running over to the terminal... "Well, shit. What could that possibly mean?"
-------------------
Edit: I'm headed into the shower with a beer for a little more inspiration. I'll be back soon :)
--------------------
Edit 2: im back. Writing now.
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"we just got a top priority call from NASA. Something about a probe we sent into deep space that just brought itself back. We have no idea how, but they are asking if they can retrieve it" Said R.
"Give me the phone," said the president. "this is Obama. what's going on?"
Director Amherst's voice drifter through, "Mr. President, 2 hours ago, a probe we sent into deep space just appeared, out of nowhere in orbit around earth. We don't know how it got back here, but something sent it back. Can we recover it?"
"You have my permission to proceed with recovery, but keep it all under wraps." Said the president, sighing as yet another problem stacked itself on his plate.
"thank you sir." Director Amherst said, hanging up. "Get me in contact with ISS, immediately," he said turning to his secretary. "Let's get to the command center."
----------------
ISS.
"Astronauts. You have a return trip to earth coming up in 2 days. You are going to leave early, and collect a certain object in orbit. We don't know how it got there, but it's a voyager probe. A total shot in the dark, but something sent it back."
"Sir, are you sure this is safe?" Kramer said incredulously. "I mean, the flight plan looks good, but we don't know what that probe might have contacted"
"You are not to touch it directly. Instead, merely bring it back. "
"Okay." Kramer muttered something about annoying deviations to Alex and made ready to depart
---------------------
Voyager 2
Exactly 14 hours after the broadcast to ISS, the shuttle drifted in orbit, slowly approaching the probe. The flight was uneventful and the probe was captured by the shuttle arm, and slowly lowered into the cargo bay.
Alex was sent to secure the probe before reentry could take place.
"Umm Kramer" Alex's voice crackled over the radio. "You aren't going to believe this. Whoever sent this back... They added another message plate to voyager"
Kramer patched the video feed, and his jaw dropped in disbelief. "Is that... Our galaxy?"
Alex, shaking now, "yes... It's an etching of the Milky Way. You know what this means, right?"
Kramer, now considerably more excited, flipped a few switches on the control board. "Houston, you aren't gonna believe this. We just recovered voyager, but the probe appears to have been modified."
Director Amherst's voice came over the comms, "do you have a video feed?"
"Yes sir, patching it through to you right now"
----------------
Houston.
A collective gasp was heard throughout the entire control center, as a beautifully carved image of the Milky Way, etched onto a second gold plate, bolted to the voyager probe, was broadcast to the main viewscreen.
Amherst removed his aviators, and exclaimed, "Mother of God"
Fin.
| 2015-03-20T08:42:23 | 2015-03-20T08:12:37 | 533 | 72 |
[WP] scientists have invented a serum that allows animals to speak. Your dog was recently given the serum, but it appears the treatment has not worked. Your cousin, whom you haven't seen since your youth, comes to town to visit. As the door opens, your dog suddenly whispers in your ear: "run."
|
"What did you say?" I asked.
Travis's deep brown eyes filled with worry, he sniffed the air deeply and gazed out the window in alarm before trotting back to where I sat, "I said run. Get out of here. Your cousin is crazy and she's come to kill you! She has a terrible weapon of UNSPEAKABLE POWER. Go! I'll slow her down!"
So I ran.
Let me tell you, life on the run is no picnic. A man can't disappear as he once could. These days disappering means not seeing a doctor, never renting or owning a home. It means never taking work and never leaving a trace. In that moment I ceased living and started surviving.
The years take a toll, and hard years take that much more. By the time I was fifty, alcohol, drugs and the other ways people escape unavoidable fates began to wear on me.
I was at death's door, my first visit in 30 years to a doctor became my last. I was placed in the palliative care ward, under instructions that I be "made comfortable" but nothing could prepare me for my last day. The pain had become unbearable when the door opened and in stepped my murderous cousin, who had banished me from my life all those years hence.
She could have passed for my daughter, despite being my age exactly. We said pleasantries, and I watched her hands, searching for the weapon of unspeakable power I'd been warned about.
But subtlety is for people who are not at death's door.
"Remember when you came to see me and brought a weapon? What did you mean to do with it?" I asked.
"Weapon?" She asked. "Last time I saw you... Oh, I remember! I stopped over to bring you that old vaccuum cleaner, and you were gone. So I vaccuumed for you. Your dog about tore the thing apart, by the way."
|
My eyes snapped to my dog, Ruffles, who was seated on the ground, his tail tucked neatly around his paws. He was staring straight forward, his gaze locked on something outside. I couldn't even see him breathing.
My cousin, on the other hand, was a flurry of motion. He set his stuff down in my living room, and then paraded around the room like he was still a child. When he came to a stop in front of me, a goofy smile was pressing against the corners of his lips.
"It's so good to see you again, Bells." Tarren said.
He leaned in for a hug, but remembering what my dog had whispered, I played off my caution as an uncomfortable "I-don't-know-you-very-well" hug. Luckily, he didn't mind, though his expression was a little quizzical when I pulled away.
Barking, Ruffles scratched at the door, glancing between two objects out the window. I opened the door and allowed him to dash out, and for a second, he was back to his normal self. I must have imagined the clear voice that had whispered to me as my cousin arrived. I mean, the serum hadn't worked anyway, so why would it suddenly start now?
With a deep breath in, I relaxed my muscles and motioned for Tarren to follow me into the kitchen. There, I made him a cup of coffee, sat down across from him, and listened intently as he delved into his grand story of where he'd been the past four years. Apparently he had been traveling a lot, sight seeing and landing a few odd jobs here and there to make some cash on the side, until he came here, and heard that I lived only about an hour away.
"I just figured it was time to reconnect, y'know? I haven't seen you in what, ten years now?" He chugged the rest of his room-temperature coffee and slammed the mug into the table. I had to swallow my irritation.
I nodded. "Yeah, and even then it was only for a weekend, right? At the lake?"
Tarren grinned again. "Lake Smellwood, yeah, the one that was always tinted green, and smelled like garbage. Ah, man, I miss the days when we were young and innocent. Now it's all just so messy." He cut his sentence off abruptly, a strange second of silence passed, and then I heard whimpering at the door.
Ruffles had come to the back door, which was rather odd of him, and I rose. Ruffles planted his feet next to me like a statue, not so much as moving a muscle when Tarren reached to pet him.
"I'm sorry," I sighed, a little embarrassed. Ruffles never acted like this. "He doesn't know you yet, so he's a little cautious."
Tarren shook it off. "Not a problem. If I were him, I'd be pretty cautious around me, too."
Immediately, red flags shot up in my mind, and sensing the sudden shift in mood, he quickly added with a slight chuckle, "I mean, because I'm a stranger."
I stood from my seat, casually checking the time. I prayed that Tarren wouldn't want to sleep over, and was just coming to visit, but knowing my luck, he'd probably ask for a room. It wasn't that I despised him, or actually thought the serum worked, but I simply did not know him.
"Hey, Tarren," I started, stepping towards the doorway, "I know you just got here and everything, but it's getting kinda late, and I have some work I need to finish."
Tarren's face fell, the smile fading from his lips, and a part of me broke, but ultimately, I felt safer. Hopefully, he would understand.
"Yeah, sure, I'll go grab a motel or something, it's not a problem. But, uh, could I come see you tomorrow? I'm planning on staying in town for a few days, and maybe visit some old friends. I'd love to hang with you, too."
Ruffels' head snapped up, and his pleading eyes met mine, but the guilt of turning away my cousin clouded my judgement.
"Yeah, of course." I said.
Ruffles' ears fell, and he followed us to the door. As I stepped out to help Tarren carry his luggage to the car, I had to push Ruffles inside, practically slamming the door in his face. But when I looked back, his eyes weren't sad, just afraid.
Tarren unlocked his car for me, and as I swung his bags into the trunk, I saw it. Like a tiny detail out of a movie that you can only catch on the second go-around. A thin, dry line of a dark red substance, trailing from the back of his trunk, along the side, and then ending at the front, where it formed a tiny puddle.
He didn't seem to notice my hesitation. He smiled, gave me another hug, and then climbed into the driver's seat. As I stood motionless in the driveway, watching his car disappear around the hill, I heard two faint honks that meant "good bye."
When my shaking legs finally steered me inside, I flopped down onto my couch with a sharp breath in. Running through my options, I decided on the worst one, grabbed my car keys, my phone, and my jacket, and flew right back out the door.
_____________________________________________________
Edit: Okay, wow, this is a lot longer than it looked when I scrolled through it. Whoops!
| 2016-08-31T20:36:14 | 2016-08-31T19:20:05 | 1,110 | 194 |
[WP] As an average looking genius with a weak physique you often envied athletes. After thousands of years spent in a cryogenics pod you are woken to discover that evolution has weakened humanity while IQ improved. You're now the strongest most attractive person, but also the dumbest.
|
Until I got here, I never thought about attractive chimpanzees.
Consider: to me, all chimps look much the same; human enough to be hideous, but not in a way that makes one ape much more or less ugly than the next. I look at them, and ultimately they're just animals; one individual blends to the other as I look at them in their cage. That's just what they are, to me.
But, of course, that isn't the case for them. I look at two chimps, and can't distinguish between them— a chimp looks at them both, and one is astonishing in her beauty and the other so hideous she makes you want to retch. Attraction seems so universal when you feel it. But beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, and most of the world's beholders were never human. And that's clearer than ever, now I'm the only human there is.
Oh, the people here still call themselves human, out here in the distant future. But they're different enough to the people I knew that "human" is the last word we'd use to describe them. They are long, but somehow fat as well; they are ponderously slow as they drag their enormous heads along the ground. When they speak, they do it with mouths that are long and toothy in a way that makes me retch. The people here do not look like people, not any more. They look almost human in a way that is totally inhuman. They remind me of chimps, of animals.
But they are not the animals here. When I arrived people talked to me, listened to my fears. But they still experimented on me, and they still put me in a cage. I was part of an ancestor race, and they said they respected that. But eventually I realised they were talking to me in the way our people would talk to a dog. I could understand a tiny amount of their world – like a chimp could understand a tiny amount of mine – but nothing like enough to be welcomed into it as an equal. I have some rights, and I retain some dignity. But in the end, I am still seen as an animal, and in the end I still remain in my tiny cage.
There are no humans like me in the world anymore. If another were to come here they would think me the most beautiful creature here, though in my time I was anything but. If we were to engage in a contest of strength with our captors we could shatter their stupid bones, mash their bodies into pulp. But the chimps of our time could have broken the strongest of us, and by animal standards they were also geniuses. And brains always triumph against brawn, and evolution is always about the brains you have relative to the other creatures in the world. Strength didn't matter, and the brains we had weren't enough. That was always the case for them, and now it's the case for me.
When I was young in the fossilised past, people in my school used to challenge evolution. Some of them were stupid, but I don't think all of them were: the fear I saw in their eyes remains in the faces of the people who stare through the bars at me today. It's the fear of being connected to a fear wider world, of creatures who do awful, violent things, who are and who are not like you. It's the fear of being like them and not being like them, and not being able to distinguish where the similarities between you lie. It's ironic, but I think that terror is one of the similarities between us all. The fear of being an animal is a particularly animal fear. And it was with that fear in their minds that my long-dead schoolmates advanced this argument: if evolution is true, where are the transitional forms? If this creature is an ape and that creature is a man, where are the things that are not quite one or the other?
I know the answer to that question now, and it is not what they would want to hear. The transitional forms packed that classroom and the world, spilled into every continent on Earth and thought themselves the apex of something. Their bodies were weak and their brains were enormous, but maybe not quite enormous enough to imagine that process marching on. And if they'd done that, and imagined the captors I have today, maybe they'd have understood what evolution really meant. And maybe then they'd have fought it, harder and more ineffectively than before.
I am stronger than a man, and weaker than a chimp. I am the smartest of all the animals, smart enough that I once sat in front of an invisible line that seperated us from them. But now the line has moved, and now I'm the second best. And so many of my fellow apes know that the people in charge never consider that enough.
I look out of my cage, at the people who wonder what I'm thinking. I look into their eyes, and silently wonder the same.
|
Finally, I had completed my life's work. A machine that would turn me into the most handsome man in the world!! To be fair, I already am pretty much the most handsome man in the world, but most people just dont seem to agree. How naive. What do those gorillas in armor slamming into eachother have that I dont? Thats what my research sought to answer. I couldnt dare toil with the scum and judge people solely based on looks, but after this the world will have no choice but to take me seriously. More importantly, maybe Fee would finally love me. Oh, Fee Ictional, how my heart beats for you. The suspense was killing me, I had to try it out. I ran to the pod as fast as I could, but the muscles in my legs had grown tired from the months of work. I tripped into the pod, and smashed my skull into the back-wall. That was the last thing I would experience for 3,000 years.
When I awoke, I immediately began coughing up blood. Breathing was damn near impossible. I turned around, cold and confused, to see 15 or so people who looked to have anorexia. Their eyes widened.
"I never expected him to be so handsome!"
I smiled, and stumbled my way out of the pod. It worked, though my muscles were even weaker than when I had entered for some reason. I pushed through the twigs in my way, and accidently ripped the door off of the wall. The blinding light of flash photography rivaled the god awful noises they all made.
"So strong! Tell us, sir, can you speak? Do you know what an apple is? Ah-pull. We eat apples. Do you want an apple?"
I tried not to roll my eyes but I couldnt help it. "Shut the fuck up, of course I can speak. Tell me how to get out of this place."
They all stood there speechless and unsure how to respond. I didnt know where I was or how I had gotten there. I knew the device would knock me out for a while but this was uncalled for. I should have been in my basement running diagnostics. It didnt matter because I was getting out. I ran out the door and through the building. At a rather sharp turn, I slipped on some of the beauty fluid I had created and crashed through the wall. It felt almost paper thin. On the otherside I finally realized this wasnt the world I knew. Just like I had imagined as a child, flying boats filled the skies! Ground-airplanes filled the roads. This place rocks!
I walked into the middle of the road, awestruck. The people on the sides of the busy road stared at me with just as much awe. A few women let out cries and fell to the ground. I ran to the nearest one to help, but the ground-plane drivers had different plans. I flinched as they crashed into me, but it didnt hurt at all. What was this place made of?
The woman on the sidewalk held up her hand and pleaded that I not come any closer. Now that I was right next to her, I noticed she was rather cute. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she clutched her dress on the ground with her spare hand. She didnt look quite as anorexic as the people I had seen before, so that alone was a plus. For a moment I became entoxicated by her beauty. She must have noticed (after all, I WAS nude) because her face somehow turned even more red. Literally redder than red. It was mind boggling.
I couldnt think about it for long, though, because police sirens filles the air. With a flash of light, a ground-plane filled with officers appeared. And one by one, screaming "TAZE HIM, SHOOT HIM, TACKLE HIM" they ran at me. I held up my hands to defend myself from the police and the bullets, but their bullets just bounced off of me. I held my hands up, but this spooked the officers because, even though I hadnt realized, policemen were grappling each of my arms.
The lead officer unloaded all of his shotgun shells into me as he backed away, sweating profusely.
I reassured him, "You have nothing to fear, I surrender."
However he was still on guard.
At the police office, in clothes that were far too tight, we all got a grip on our situations. The officers learned my story, and I learned I was in the far off year of 5,017. In a way, I had succeeded my goal. The officers explained to me the culture of the day, and by their standards I was more attractive than any known portrayal of god. It was disheartening to know everyone I remembered was dead, but they never appreciated my work anyway. Hell, they didnt even care enough to check my basement. Fuck those guys.
The officer moved on, though.
"Now because of your specific case, we're not going to charge you for indecent exposure. The woman you encountered didnt want to press charges either. The president of the united planets has given the OK, and you can live with the firefighters if ever you need a place to stay."
And so began my new life. Not only was I hot, I was a genius! On my way out of the office, I encountered the woman from the side of the road. Fay. Fay ke, according to the police.
As she noticed me, she fell to the ground again. I had a feeling this was going to get old
fast.
Over the coming weeks, I realized I was so hot that she literally could not stand. The weakened state of these post-humans means their bodies cease to function come orgasm. I dont want to toot my own horn, but all I had to do to incite that was look at her.
Many women came (came again, so to speak,) and went in my future life, but they were different. They threw out terms like "gluon cluster magnification" and "biological super extension beam" on the regular, and having those things re-explained to me got in the way of things. Also Fay was like a billion times hotter than them, but I like to think Im better than that.
Naturally, I moved in with her after we started porkin' it because she had grown so accustomed to seeing my awesome physique that she needed me in her daily life. She was the only one who understood my work, perhaps she was even as smart as I am. No, I thought. Impossible.
Life was pretty good, till earth day. Fay wasnt as lively that morning. I tried to cheer her up, but she just held up her phone. I looked at it, sure it was nothing, to see a picture of her next to a picture of Fee. She was on some forum site, Shreditt, and she had asked who was hotter. All the responses from guys proclaimed that they.. "splooged" on sight of the picture.
"How did you get that picture, Fay?"
"Its tattooed on your ass, I took it myself."
I had forgotten myself, really. I was extremely drunk that night. The thought of thousands of men getting off to a picture of my ass made me chuckle, though.
"Whats the big deal, its not like Im gay"
Fay rammed her fist in to my stomach. It hurt not because of pain, but because of what she was TRYING to do.
She screamed at me, crying, "You fucking idiot! You dont love me at all! You dont think Im beautiful, how could you with that slut on your ass, and you never take me seriously! Any time I try to mention my research on quantum biodegradable neuro-dihydrogen-monoxocyclocarbons you just stare at me! Were you really so stupid that your only hope at ever being happy was to wait until a world that would appreciate you would arrive?"
We argued for about an hour. In that time Fay revealed to me how stupid I am in their standards. She told me how she had gotten butt implants that I had never noticed, and I told her how and why I ended up here. She scoffed at the idea of beauty juice, and ordered me to leave.
That was my last hope at happiness here. The only person I thought understood me I was hurting all along. And not JUST because I was so much stronger than she was and I got a kick out of suplexing my sexual partners. Somehow Im going to have to make this right.
TL;DR: Fee? Fay! Faux bum?!?!?!
| 2017-08-03T01:11:07 | 2017-08-02T23:12:32 | 171 | 94 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
I have the easiest job you can imagine. I get paid monthly for a hundred years, so I never have to think about saving money. All I had to do was push a button once. Oh, and if I quit I'm as good as dead. But I guess that's still better than the average employment contract.
This left me with a lot of spare time, some of which I spent looking for my soul mate. It is customary for searchers to prod each other with needles, as legend has it that soul mates are not able to harm each other. At the time I found it a bit silly, but it served as a good ice breaker.
I never actually met my employer. One day some masked gentlemen visited me to inform me that I was now part of a deal. They left me with a cardboard box containing a bottle about two meters tall and one meter wide and a stack of papers.
The bottle was to be deposited in my basement and attached to some kind of pump for which there was a very detailed shopping list with stores and aisle numbers for every part. I purchased each part on a different day. After assembling the contraption and letting it run for a few weeks I shut down the pump. Now I just had to wait until it was time to press the ignition.
In the first year or so I kept wondering why they chose me. Surely there was no lack of people able to follow simple instructions. What bothered me is that they could have chosen someone who never would have figured out what the bottle was for.
The problem with ICBMs is that they can be intercepted and, more importantly, it is easy to see where they were fired from. But they are a very nice topic to discuss with leaders of other countries. Especially if your country has more.
The explosives I had placed in the bottle would elevate pressure and temperature enough to fuse hydrogen. I had built an atomic bomb without moving radioactive material across borders. It was just too perfect. Whatever evidence there was would be wiped out by a tiny sun going nova. Along with me.
I decided to skip that part. When the day came, I was already on a flight to a holiday destination I had booked in advance. On arrival I saw my work unfold on television. It was beautiful.
The bottom of the screen read: "Nuclear disaster in Italy. Satellite image shows woman sleeping on molten rock."
My triumph faded. What was I supposed to say to her? "Sorry that I melted your family"? Actually, never mind that. Where would I hide from her?
|
Sometimes the best disguise was no disguise at all.
That was what Elayne thought as she weaved through the crowd like a serpent through water. She wore no mask or hood to conceal her face. There was no need. She would not be seen. Her mark, a young man named Genta Nakamura stepped into view. Following closely behind him, were two men who wore matching black shades and business suits.
*His bodyguards*, Elayne thought.
Her hand fell to her side, fingers brushing the handle of a knife through the fabric of her skirt as she drew closer. Elayne's eyes honed in on the three men despite the moving traffic of pedestrians and saw her mark break off from the crowd and into an alleyway.
She followed, turning the corner into a dark alleyway.
"You again," Genta's voice echoed in the narrow alleyway before stepping out of the shadows and glaring at Elayne. "What's your name?! How much are being paid to take me out huh?!"
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," Elayne said as she blinked innocently with her round emerald eyes.
"Your playing dumb? I've seen you at least a dozen times girl. At least have the decency to admit you're trying to kill me, geez."
Genta snapped his fingers. Two men stepped into alleway cutting off Elayne's only escape route.
"You're surrounded. Don't make this difficult and just surrender. I don't want to kill you kid."
Elayne didn't move, nor did she speak. She only waited patiently as her fingers brushed steel.
The bodyguards stepped forward ready to restrain Elayne, but at the moment they lunged forward, their hands grasped only air.
Elayne had slid underneath the guards, slashing at the ankles of the men with two steel daggers held in reverse-grip in each hand.
Genta's bodyguards crumpled into a heap as they cried in agony. Maimed and immobilized, Elayne proceeded to leap over the men, her skirt flying up and briefly flashing Genta with her arsenal of knives and-
"Pink Hello Kitty panties? Are you serious?" Genta asked, incredulous.
Embarrassed, Elayne slipped and fell onto her skinny behind. As she landed, Elayne had spread her legs in an awkward attempt to break her fall and in doing so she had proceeded to further expose her Hello Kitty panties to Genta.
Genta who was a high school dropout turned Yakuza, had never even dated a girl before and suddenly found himself pleasantly excited as he stared at Elayne's childish panties. Excited might have been a strong word. He was more confused by the awkward change of hormones in his head - going from fight or flight adrenaline to pleasurable excitement.
"A-are you done starring?" Elayne stammered as she felt the constant heat on her cheeks refuse to abate.
"Oh. My bad, sorry," Genta began apologizing remorsefully as he tore his intense gaze away from the Hello Kitty panties. "I-I didn't mean to look. But you were about to kill me and then-" Genta eyes were distant as he began reminiscing of how it all went down. The sight of the knives strapped to her pale thighs and then the Hello Kitty panties.
Genta broke into a fit of laughter.
"S-stop laughing! I'll kill you, you pervert!" Elayne shouted as she stood up quickly and pointed a double edged dagger at Genta.
Genta paused, "Don't worry I won't tell anyone and besides it was cute."
"You won't be, because I'm going to kill - wait. What? It was cute?" Elayne looked up at Genta inquisitively.
"Yeah, your panties."
"Oh," Elayne deflated visibly. Even though she wasn't conscious of it, she had secretly hoped that Ganta would say *she* was cute and not her underwear.
"What's your name?" Genta asked.
"Elayne," she replied but then frowned. *Why did I...* It was pointless, telling a man she was going to kill her name.
"Elayne. So that's your name," Genta smiled. "I wish you'd tell me earlier."
Elayne smiled back. "And I wish you'd die already Genta. Every time I make an attempt at your life something gets in the way. My sniper rifle jamming, heavy winds turning my bullets astray, and then multiple knife attempts failing because - for some strange reason my hand refuses to stab you," Elayne sighs, letting out a breath of frustration.
Genta sighed back in kind. "It seems everyone wants to kill me these days..."
Elayne looked at Genta, and for the first time she noticed the countless scars and fresh wounds covered up with bandages.
"How much are you getting paid?" asked Genta.
When Elayne didn't respond, Genta ventured to guess. "Ten grand? A hundred grand? A million?"
Elayne scoffed, "Hmph, your not worth that much."
*So it was over a hundred grand at least,* thought Ganta. He didn't have enough to double the pay, even if it was ten grand.
"Alright. Have a go. Your best shot. If you can't kill me, how about you become my bodyguard and I'll pay you more than anyone can ever offer for my life?"
"Fine."
Elayne watched as Ganta unbuttoned his white shirt, exposing his lightly tanned chest and stomach to Elayne.
For a moment Elayne looked away. Then she steeled her nerves, grit her teeth and stepped closer to Ganta. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her forehead. She took her dagger and held it in both hands before stabbing Genta through his ribs, aiming for his heart.
Genta grunted, flexing his muscles as he felt the cold steel nick his skin, but it didn't draw blood.
"Fuck you," Elayne whispered softly as she dropped the knife.
"Maybe next time," Genta said as he grinned. "But you're mine now."
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-04-24T04:59:38 | 2018-04-24T01:31:32 | 82 | 39 |
[WP] You've been a religious person all your life but are fed up with prayers going unanswered. You kneel down, clasp your hands, say "Dear God..." and shout as loud as you can. In your head you hear a snort followed by "I'm awake, I'm awake! What did I miss?"
|
Marie and I needed to know the truth about her baby, hopefully my baby too. So we travelled to the Maury show. I squeezed Marie's hand as Maury pulled out the envelope. My heart sank. My foot fidgeted. I looked at the big board into Jesús' eyes as Marie's sister held him backstage. No matter what happened, I would always consider him my son.
Maury slipped open the envelope. "The results are in. Joe, when it comes to 6-month-old Jesús, you are not the father."
Marie sobbed. I put my hand on her shoulder. I kept telling her on the way here that no matter what happens, nothing changes between us.
But this seemed so final, a dagger to the heart, yet nothing we couldn't get through and explain to Jesús when he was older. It was time to go home.
For now though, even I couldn't stop crying onstage. "Dear God!" I wailed.
Then a poof the sound of the loudest jet you've ever heard appeared in front of Maury. A second Manila envelope fell to his feet.
Nobody was sure what to do. He looked backstage at a producer, who shrugged his shoulders. "Open it," one said.
Maury tore it open. "In all my years exploiting people who can't afford paternity tests, I have never seen anything like this."
"When it comes to 6-month-old Jesús, God, you are the father."
This was a sick joke, right? A dying daytime show doing literally anything to go viral? But how did that envelope appear out of an explosion.
Then the roof and every floor above us blew off the studio. Every chair shook. The floor between the stage and the audience began to crack. The morning sky turned black.
"I tried to tell you," rumbled a deep, deafening voice. "This just isn't a good time for me to put a son in my life."
|
I pause for a moment, startled by the voice I think I hear. 'I-is that you, god?' I stammer, feeling foolish to ask this question but needing the verification. 'Um, yeah' God replies, a tinge of boredom in his voice.
I'm taken aback. Every night for thirty years I've been kneeling before bed and praying. And I've always felt like nothing had been heard, that the words died in the air between my mouth and the ceiling. The same words that contained my hopes, my fears and my desires. I suddenly felt a surge of hope rise within me; if I have God's attention, could I actually speak my dreams into existence? 'I've been used to saying the Lord's Prayer. But maybe that's sterilised this whole process for me' I say aloud. 'Ugh, that's the most boring thing I hear all the time. Besides, most of the people I hear say it don't need daily bread. "Lead us not into temptation" well that's a nice thought considering temptation often comes to find you! I don't have to lift a finger and these people who pray this to me are sinning everywhere in all sorts of forms. Hypocrites are just so annoying'
I'm taken aback by the rant, and in a moment of insecurity wonder how long god has thought this, and what he thought of me for saying it. 'But forgive my ranting Steve. I haven't heard your story in a while, so go ahead. Tell me' God commands. And how can I deny a command from the divine?
'Right, where do I start? My wife is filing for divorce and wants custody of Charlie, my coworkers and I don't get along much anymore and some days I feel like I'm just loosing my mind' I finished, before realising how crazy it was that God was actually talking to me. How did I know this wasn't fabricated in my head, that I was still sane inside? 'You're not going crazy, for one. But I remember your wedding well. Your mother seemed to disapprove of her, but as far as weddings go it wasn't the biggest upheaval'. My mind is taken back to Nice, 5 years ago. The wedding was annoyingly large and hot, and in the middle of the ceremony my mother stood in the aisle and started shouting. Even the thought of it makes me embarrassed. 'Oh come on, what can be worse than that?'
'I just attended a wedding where the Pakistani father couldn't accept his daughter was marrying an Indian, and ended up getting into a fight with him. The groom is in hospital actually'
I sit in silence for a moment.
'Okay, it could have been worse. Regardless, things haven't been great for my relationship with Serena. I'd like to say one of us cheated, or did something horrible. In the end we just couldn't stand each other'
I think of Serena now, and the thought of her is surrounded by images of her hot and angry face in the heat of an argument, her annoying grimances at me and the way she would detach herself from Charlie. My heart breaks for Charlie, only 4, who can't understand why his mother gives him such mixed reactions. Long gone are any loving thoughts of strolls through the mountains or tender eyes. I have to dig deep through the debris of our relationship to find those, and even they have been chipped away, like a coastal rock being eroded by the rolling waves of time.
'Any relationship is going to feel strains. Drifting away is natural. You should find it within you to see why you're drifting, and change the current so you drift towards each other and towards a common goal' God offers, wisely. Though his wisdom does little for me. 'I'm trying. I've tried everything. But whenever I talk to her she goes mad. She can't stand confrontation yet she often seeks to bring it to form. I just don't know what to do and-'
My chest constricts as I think of what could happen to Charlie. 'You're worried you won't be able to see your son if she divorces you and wins custody of Charlie.' God says.
The words come alive as soon as I hear them, as if they are already true. 'For no other reason than that, I want to make it work. Charlie is my hope, my life. My son' I breathe the last words. 'That he is. But what do you live for?'
Why do I keep on living?
The meaning of life is such an unfathomable question. I've been religious all my life but I don't live for god - why does he need me to live for him? I don't live for money, I have a comfortable enough pay check. Once I lived for joy, for friendship. But the days never look as bright now, and my friends have drifted somewhere away from me. I don't live for adventure or knowledge. I live because I was born and haven't yet died. But when I see Charlie's face, my mind goes blank, and my reason to live comes alive in his smile. 'So you live for your son.'
'I do' the proclamation seems more true now than the wedding vows I made 5 years ago to Serene. Charlie is something I'll never be able to let go of.
'Then you know what you need to do.' God said simply as I stared abjectly.
'Well, nice talk, but I've got 43 million other voices cramming themselves down my ear. Let me know how it goes'
And just like that, his voice left.
Edit: soz this is my first ever post here. My username doesn't mean I'm any good at this. Please let me know what you thought :)
Edit 2: paragraphs
| 2018-08-02T11:11:15 | 2018-08-02T10:19:15 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] Jokingly, you bought a staff online. To show it off, you brought it with you downtown. Until a stranger approaches you in armor saying “Ah a mage. You’ll be useful in our quest. Follow me”
|
"C'Mon, Sam. Do you really have to take that thing? I don't want us to get in trouble because someone thinks that you're carrying around a weapon." My brother paid my worries no mind, instead swinging the staff around poorly, and yet with vigor, as though he were a young man training in a keep at some castle for the first time. It was a knurled wooden stick, about four feet long, with a twisted cage of cobalt-colored wood at the top.
"It'll be fine, bro, don't worry! I'll protect us from anything." The more I watched him move, the surer I was that he was making the staff dance up and not inspired by something real.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing. "Look, Sam, I know that you're just trying to have some fun, but other people might not see it that way. I just don't want us to run into trouble or have someone get worried and called the police."
"Please, Mark? Please? *Please*? Come on, don't be like that!" The last of his words melted into a screech that stung my ears.
"Okay! Alright, damn, fine." I waved a hand at him, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment before turning to the door. " let's just get going before it gets too late. I don't want us to be out too much past dark. You've got school tomorrow."
He grinned a set of crooked teeth at me, then followed to the car.
--------
It's not easy to carry a staff around a crowded town center at six in the evening. Thousand of people bustled and swirled in the square, walking dogs, eating ice cream. Half of the crowd was hungry, the other half stuffed. And, of course, the comic book store was right in the center of it.
We pushed through a sea of humans and odd looks, through the membrane and into a much more comfortable room filled with people who think Pokémon is a way of life. *His* kind of people.
"Whoa, there, Sam! Whatcha got there buddy? Is that a staff?" John, one of the owners, glanced to his co-manager and I couldn't tell if it was worry or amusement he was expressing.
"Yeah! It's a wizard staff, the kind you beat up bad guys with."
John looked at me with a half-cocked grin and I shrugged. Before we could go in further and settle, however, a young man approached us. He was wearing a silver hoodie, embossed to look like a knight's armor, and his gaze focused on Sam as if I weren't there.
"Ah, a mage. We could use your help on our quest, friend. Follow me." Sam didn't even turn for permission, skipping over to their table full of people dressed in odd, cheap costumes and graphic tees. Some kind of game was set up, with dice and handbooks littering the table.
The young man who'd whisked Sam away introduced him to the group, then ran back over to me. "Hey, sorry about that. Didn't mean to seem rude, but... I thought he'd really like to join the group."
I watched Sam laughing with a group of young men who shared his enthusiasm for magical things and smiled wide so my lips would tremble. "No, it's... A lot of people don't treat my brother very well. People make fun of the kids who have it rough, you know. It... It means a lot to me that you're all treating him like a normal person. Like he belongs. I'll sit over here and hang out, take your time."
The boy grinned, and returned to his adventure.
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
Old Ren inspected the staff closely with his single eye. His hands traveled through the wrinkles of the wood, feeling it as if it were the softest and finest velvet. "Elm. It's carved out of an elm, an elder elm I dare say, and those are rare as yellow oceans. How much did you pay for it?"
My brows drew into a line. "Fifteen dollars. It included shipping. Pretty nice deal, isn't it?"
He handed the staff back to me, and rose to his feet, grunting as he did so. "I told you you should buy it. Do you want a beer? I'm getting one for myself."
"Sure," I said, and took a seat on Ren's old, wretched sofa. It always baffled me how such a broken thing could be so comfortable.
In that moment, when my eyes set on the television, the door flew open, and I mean that literally. It flew all the way through the living room toward the kitchen. In the distance, Ren said, his voice frail, "That's it, I've to fix the hinges of this door."
I leaped to my feet, for a shadow too long and broad to belong to a man stretched into the house; and soon, some monster in an armor stepped in.
Out of pure impulse, I held on my staff tightly, and felt my lips moving. Red tendrils billowed through the wrinkles of the twisted wooden artifact, coalescing into an enlarging, throbbing flame at a hollow space at the edge of the staff.
"What in the world?" I muttered under my breath, and the armored monster strode forth, clinking as he advanced.
I swung in a desperate attempt to unleash the flame, and, in a turn of events, it worked. The red, burning light crackled as it traveled to the armored chest of the abomination. When it struck him, there was a sizzling sound, followed by a thunderous yelp.
I froze in place, my eyes fixed on the melting armor, and the charred hairs of the monster's chest. "Get out of here, or I will burn you again!" I yelled. My heart thumped, my breaths came out quick and shallow.
"I was right," the monster said, took off his helmet, revealing a large, yet human face. His hair was long and black. It was also wet and plastered all over his forehead. He'd dark, yet gentle eyes, and a terribly crooked nose. "You are a mage. This is all starting to make sense now. Don't be scared, I might have exaggerated with the door. I just don't control my strength very well just yet. I come with no intentions to harm you."
I drew a deep breath. "Explain yourself, or leave right now."
"You bought that thing from the user Rakakaka over at Amazon, right?"
I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know that?"
"Because I bought this armor from him too, and it turned me into a beast. I'm not complaining, but I'm trying to discover who is Rakakaka. See, he knows magic, but he doesn't know how to value such a thing." He swept a hand across his armor. "This whole thing, ten dollars. I'm telling you we could make a fortune if we teach him how to value his goods."
"Why are you focused on money instead of the fact that this man knows how to create *magical* objects?"
"I'm a businessman, that's why." He took a seat beside me. "He's currently not selling anything. And he's not very far away from here. If you have a car, we could just drive to his place."
"I brought the beers," Old Ren said, gasped, and two thuds followed. "So you found me."
The man and I turned, deep frowns in our faces.
"What do you mean I found you?" the man said, rose to his feet. "Are you Rakakaka? This is not the address in the website."
Ren lifted both hands to the side. They shimmered a bright green. Then as if he'd a boulder on his palms, struggled to raise them. The ground trembled. We got hold of the sofa, and a myriad of bones broke through the wooden floor, rattling as they rolled through the planks. They commingled into perfect skeletons. We screamed, but our screams were lost in the din.
And then everything stopped. Countless skeletons were surrounding us, the bones of their fingers thin and sharp like daggers.
"What is this, Ren?" I yelled, trembling.
His eye was a dark green, tendrils the color of snakes slithered out of it. There was evil in his stare, a heavy and terrible madness. He stepped forth, his back perfectly straight, as if he weren't an eighty year old man. He clapped twice, and the skeletons turned to him. "Fix the damages, and tend to my guests."
We shared a bemused and terrified look with the armored man, and a moment later, a skeleton brought us two beers. We reluctantly grabbed them.
"I'm sorry for the exaggerated display," Ren said, and joined us at the sofa. "I have to apologize for luring both of you here too, but I had my reasons."
"What do you mean luring us here? I come here every day," I said, drew many breaths to try and compose myself.
"Well, you I showed the staff on purpose. I knew you can't resist those objects, and him I lured through a spell. What's your name?"
"Richard," the armored man said, finished his beer in one gulp.
"Can you stop avoiding the elephant in the room? What are you? Why are we here? What is all of this?" I asked. My arms still quivered.
"I'm a necromancer. I'm immortal too," Ren said, took a sip of beer, and smiled. "You see, times change. Before, with an army of skeletons, I conquered the world. But then I took a too long of a nap because magic is tiring, and when I woke up there were guns and tanks, and those things can obliterate my skeletons. It's in my nature to try and conquer the world, but the game has changed. Now, money moves the world, not magic.
"I brought Richard over here because he's a millionaire, and understands money, and you because you are my friend." He took another sip. "What do you suggest? How do we conquer the world?"
Richard nodded, smiled a broad smile. "I know exactly how to do that. We create a tech company, and present your skeletons as the first AIs with true consciousness. That will get us enough money and fame to make your name known. You are old, and you have an amiable face. Your single eye makes you memorable, which means people will remember you, and love you. When your public image is good enough, you will run for president. People will vote for you, and if they don't, you can always send a personal skeleton to the rival party."
I nodded. "Sounds good to me."
"I like that very much," Ren said, switched channels. "Let's watch the game first."
We both nodded, unaware of the consequences having an old, derailed necromancer at the top of the world could bring.
-----------------------------------
This story makes no sense.
r/NoahElowyn
| 2019-02-28T06:27:31 | 2019-02-28T06:09:42 | 338 | 112 |
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
|
“But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
"When you tore through my village almost twenty years ago someone asked you the same thing," I replied.
I moved in closer to him, gently cupping his throat with my left hand. I looked at his supposed granddaughter.
"Do you know what he said?"
The girl shook her head as tears ran endlessly down her cheeks.
"That the question didn't even warrant a response," I whispered to her, as I crushed the old man's throat.
I looked at her straight in the eyes, as the old man crumpled to the ground. For a few moments, all that we could hear was his gurgling. I'll give her this. If this sack of shit is worth avenging, she can engrave the image of my face deep on her heart. And when she comes she can try to earn the right to end my life.
This charade bought me my time. The gurgling stopped. Even if a guard I didn't get rid of was guided to this room by an act of god, he was far too gone. And even if the guard had made it on time, the apothecary of this castle is dead. They won't be able to brew an antidote for the poison in the claws of my gauntlet.
Saying nothing more, I left the room.
After all, the question didn't event warrant a response.
|
The Dark Lord.
Heh, he was not very impressive. A thin lanky mess of a man, graying and withered. His breathing was shallow, his head rested at an angle on his neck, his eyes white and staring at nothing. Wires protruded across his naked skin, pumping blood and several colored chemicals. My attention snapped as a child, no more than four, auburn hair flowing to her shoulders, nimbly walked to this living corpse and tenderly adjusted his head. She caressed his hands, with the infinite love of innocence.
The Dark Lord sat before me, and yet I could not move to draw my firearm. But this girl. Why couldn't I move?
"So you have come, hero..." the living corpse wheezed. That jolted me, but it breathed: “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
My bravado died as the girl turned to face me.
"Sister..." I sighed.
No, of course not. My sister was dead. Sixteen years and so much suffering ago. And yet here she stood, no older than the day she died, free of the wounds and tears that plagued her life.
"Well?" The dark one asked. "What are you waiting for."
"I... you... WHO IS THIS?!" I finally was about to shout. The girl who was the shade of my sister, the one this corpse called granddaughter recoiled, reaching for it's hand.
"You have survived the wastes and the creatures of light and dark. The corruption, and despair itself. And you wasting time interrogating me?! Tell her!!" he shouted, wheezy but with hints of the power that he once held in his body.
"I..." I paused, and as I looked at her, took courage in her stolen form. I spoke to her almost as if she were her twin. She looked at me wordlessly, frightened.
"I knew someone who looked a lot like you. She was my sister. We grew up out there. Out there, your grandfather is..." I grew nervous as she gripped his hand tighter. "Your grandfather has many names out there, the kindest and most proper being The Dark Lord.
I was prepared to indict him for his sins. If he wanted a confession, he would get his last damned wish.
"Before I was born, it was said our world was on the edge of excess and sin. The world became sick, and wars broke out. Among the heroes your grandfather saw himself counted. He used the old war machines and took control.
"He enslaved people, made them work beyond the limits of their bodies, and killed who couldn't or wouldn't. His followers performed experiments on others. So many got sick, so many died.
"There are..." I fought for words, "MILES of people being slaughtered to be used for food. The leaders he put in place have no regard for human life. My people have lived in the shadows, seen this corruption, and sent me to end it. And end it I shall."
"Does that satisfy you, Dark Lord?" I asked, satisfied.
"No."
My heart froze. It was not the corpse, but the girl. My firearm's holster snapped open, my weapon floated up, out, and toward her, grip first toward her outstretched hand. She folded a delicate finger on the trigger, pointing straight at my heart with the confidence of experience.
"With the marvels you have seen, the impossible monuments to majesty and power, you still have such a LITTLE mind..." she said, exasperated.
"There are few other things humans can eat but living flesh. That your lot are put to death to feed others is a better fate than starving. The others were used to make medicines and treatments. As for the pens, well, how else are we supposed to have extras?"
I was numb. She spoke of humanity little more than stock and feed. I saw a tube running down her head: she was connected to the Dark Lord!
She lowered my weapon. I tried to move, but it was impossible! How...!
"You'll make a great body" she said smiling, this twin of my sister with the mind of the Dark Lord. I felt several pinches of pain: needles appeared from the walls. The tube came loose from the girl, and she collapsed lifelessly. The tube rushed to me, snapping into my skull. I felt a rush of SOMETHING coming into me, losing mind no help -
I woke up an hour later, brisk and alert. I missed the energy of the younger one, but this one was in his prime, with supple reactions and honed reflexes. I heard him screaming somewhere in the corners of my imagination, they all do from time to time, and it meant nothing. A fleeting distraction. I would amuse myself by tormenting him. He could hear my thoughts, and his despair at seeing my memories of just this was delicious to feel.
I would sooner or later break free of my need of the original, that disgusting thing that was the original me. I had survived longer than not, and I would continue to do. Survival of the fittest, they said back in the old days. Words to live by, for ever and ever.
| 2019-12-11T21:35:26 | 2019-12-11T20:56:25 | 251 | 53 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to know what is buried beneath your feet. You have worked for years with geologists finding lost cities and treasures. Today is the first time you have ever said “We should not dig here.”
|
"We've got a missing person, and just found their vehicle off the 65, get your hind parts in gear!" Detective Sanders barked at me. Why today... why this case... It could've been any other job, and I would've been thrilled to have him yell at me like that. Perhaps thrilled is the wrong description, but at the least I know I would not be so terrrified.
I began my job with the police department last fall. Being an archeology hobbyist with a 'knack' for knowing what's underground made me popular with the local museum, but things really turned around when we found the dumping ground of a now incarcerated serial killer. My fame came with his infamy. The department practically begged to hire me on as a consultant, and willing to make a buck while doing some good for the community seemed like a good gig to have. Besides, the fame didn't hurt too bad either.
Though, I wasn't universally beloved. There were a few detectives that 'didn't believe in such hocus pocus' or 'believed in doing police work the old fashioned way'. Detective Sanders was probably the most outspoken critic of my methods, even daring to call me the real serial killer! And my streak of knowing right where to dig had built rapport where it was lacking, except with him... he was still as much a stone wall as when we'd first met. And of all the detectives on this case it had to be him...
"What's the matter with you?" he demands, as I again dab the sweat on my brow with the already damp handkerchief. "Oh nothing" I stutter, utterly failing to think of an excuse. If only I was as good at lying as I am at knowing what's six feet under. "I think I may have a fever coming on" I finally conceive, hoping it'll get me out of this. "Well toughen up sally," he curtly replied, "We're almost there, and you know I wouldn't bring you out here without a reason."
My fingers are crossed into a pretzel, hoping this is somewhere else, hoping this is a different patch of woods off the 65... And as he radioes in to his partner, who's running running behind as usual, I mentally fumble with a plan to get out of this. As we arrive at the scene, my heart seems to take the place of the other- it stop beating and sinks into the ground. Everything here is vividly familiar. How did they find it so fast? I have to think of something.
Sanders walks me through the faint trail of blood and drag marks as far as he can follow. "It can't be too far from here, now use your powers Copperfield" he demands. Panicked, and empty of any rational guise, I am left to tell him the truth. "We can't dig here" I softly state. "We found a shovel, by the highway, with the car and the victim's blood, even with a heaven sent trail leading to here. So please, tell me, why the HECK not" he impatiently retorts, turning around to face his gun in my gloved hand. "Because I need to make this look like an accident"
|
"I cant believe this" His Professor exclaimed "This must have been an important place!" as they where wandering in their Powered hiG EVA suits through the strange field of hardened Concrete thorns and spikes.
He went to one of them and put hist fist to it. Shooting a few Antiprotons onto the targets and from the Annihilated Gammarays he could measure the Isotopic Composition and a whole sleuth of other things "Its the toughest concrete i have ever seen. It must have been remarkably expensive." He said as a chill went down his spine. It was the same feeling he had when he nearly stepped into a pit trap on Mare Marginis. It saved his life.
"The Isotopic analysis puts this structure just months before the fall. Something very important must be here." The Professor exclaimed further and they went deeper into the field when they saw a slabbed structure, which just exacerbated his fears and slow creeping panic of this place.
"Professor, i think we should return, i have a really bad feeling. Something is not right." he said and stopped dead in his tracks.
His Professor turned around "Heinricks, is this your agoraphobia again?"
He bit his lip and said "No, i dont have agarophobia! Look around. This place was not meant to be visited! Look the Thorns, look at the ground" he kneeled down and used canned gas to spray of some of the sticky soil to reveal that the floor was engraved in depiction of human skulls and arrows pointing away from where ever they where heading "This is universal language for Something very bad is here and you should return!"
​
The professor now did the same, and also stopped "You do have a point Heinricks. Nothing about this place is inviting. Nothing could be build here, nothing could have been grown here" Then he heard him over the coms taking a deep breath and he continued "Hence we must push onward. The Gravimetric measurements dont lie. There is giant structure underneath our feet. Build with utmost care during the endtimes of life on earth. It could be a forgotten bunker. People could still be alive down there, they thought that human life on earth would bounce back and did not want whoever emerged from the rubbel to come digging here." he said and with that went on its way "Heinricks, Days only last 24 hours here, lets get a move on."
​
He said and Heinricks trodded behind him. He was 232 years older then him so there must be something he figured out along the way that he hasnt. And none of it was to listen to an instinctual fear.
​
They went further towards the structure and finally arrived. Heinricks put his fist to the closed structure and got a radar image back. "Its hollow inside, a entrance must be somewhere." the professor did the same now and after a bit of fumbling he found that a mechanism was connected to one of the spikes that was protruding from the walls "It needs to be depressed, i think it was meant to be found by an advanced society that could take radar samples." Indeed from the outside nothing looked different about this spike and to find this secret technology must be used.
He pressed down on it but it didnt budge "It needs tremendous strength, more then humanly possibly" he said as he increased the feedrate to his suit. Heinricks just stood behind him, fearing what they might uncover.
​
The spiked button that would have broken any low tech tool and wouldn't have been able to be found or pressed by anyone but an industrial civilisation now retracted and a few seconds later the internal reading showed that the ancient structure was powered up. "220 Volts in AC, by 50 Herzt. Very stable sinewave. After over 500 years." heinricks said in awe.
​
"Truly a remarkable piece of Terran engineering. Thank God i didnt listen to you" the professor said as a giant concrete block was pushed to the side and revealed the insides.
​
They stepped in and a speaker was blaring from the small room that was made from matte stainless steel. With Pictures and diagrams carved and machined into what appeared to be titanium hanging everywhere.
The speakers where blaring in Chinese "Extreme Atmospheric Pressure and temperature Detected, containment door will be closed" Heinricks turned around but it was too late the door was closed again. But Atmosphere was coming back in.
​
"Relax, we can press the button there to open it again." the professor reminded him "and look around. This looks perfectly well preserved. Even the electronic computer is still working" he said and it was true. If it where not encased in a thick layer of what appeared to be glass it would have surely melted to scrap in the searing 250 degrees of Earth.
​
"Heinricks, i take it back. You where right." The professor finally said while standing infront of one of the titanium tablets. "look"
​
he stepped away and i saw it, the ancient symbol that has since its invention caused fear, superstition and Death. The 3 wings of the Radiation Hazard Symbol.
"This is a final disposal site for Nuclear waste. We thought none of those where ever completed but turns out we where wrong. This is a huge find!"
Heinricks shook with his head "Professor we should not go any further, please."
​
"We cant go any further either way. This place was build for people like us. An Advanced society. Its a Index, it shows exactly what was buried where, when and how. The waste is deep inside the rock here. Hundreds of meters of stone, layers of concrete and possibly many stern warnings to return. The state may find use in it." he connected to the computer via the open radiofrenquency network. "They have a considerable stockpile of still viable Mox fuel elements and conventional Uranium fuel pellets. Their reactors just couldnt utilize it. Ours can! For them it was trash and for us...well we do know how to turn a turd into a chocolate cake. You and i will be famous heinricks! Famous! ha" he shouted in joy.
​
Heinricks walked back to the Door "Ok, great i just want to leave now." and he absentmindedly slammed the door release button. But his enhanced strength in the suit crushed the old and brittle plastic button like dry sand and there was nothing but a round hole with a few too many wires sticking out, indicating that repairing this might not be possible without tools.
"oh no, oh nonononono" he said
The professor turned around and looked at him disappointed "Dont tell me you did?"
"I did, sorry!" heinricks said.
The End
| 2020-04-04T22:21:15 | 2020-04-04T21:24:58 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] Gold is boring. Being a hipster dragon yourself, you decide you want these freshly minted "cryptocurrencies" in your hoard. The problem is you have no idea where the humans keep them.
|
*Breaking news as it happens on the currently unfolding London eye incident.*
\[11:23\] *A large, reptilian creature roughly the size of two double Decker buses can be seen landing on top of the London eye.*
\[11:43\] *Police respondents begin to arrive on the scene. Cordons can be seen being set up on streets in a roughly two mile radius from the point, with all people occupying the area told to evacuate.*
\[11:56\] *Through a megaphone, a police officer can be seen attempting to converse with the creature. According to eyewitness reports the creature does appear to be understanding, and communicating back.*
\[12:06\] *An official statement from the metro has confirmed that this is now being treated as a terrorist incident.*
\[12:08\] *The first army respondents arrive on scene.*
\[12:24\] *From internal sources, we have learned there is demand being made by the creature, however the exact nature of the demand appears to be causing internal confusion.*
\[12:38\] *The police, again, can be seen attempting to communicate with the creature.*
\[12:40\] *While our reporter cannot make out the words from the distance they are at, the creature does appear to be growing noticeably more agitated.*
\[12:41\] *All attempts at communication are immediately ceased, as the creature appears to scorch the north east segment of Westminster, using an as of unexplained biological process.*
\[12:53\] *The cordon is extended, to and area 5km in radius out from the incident point.*
\[12:58\] *Internal sources confirm there to be an internal debate going via virtual conference in parliament.*
\[1:43\] *Unexpectedly, police begin to resume communication with the creature. The creature appears to once again be growing agitated. Firefighters can be seen around the cordon, but do not appear to have been given leave to enter.*
\[1:44\] *Several back and forth exchanges can be observed between the creature and the negotiator. Firefighters can now be seen entering the cordon.*
\[1:45\] *Communications between the creature and the negotiator cease. Neither side attempts to resume.*
\[1:46\] *The creature appears to reopen communication. Before police can respond, it takes off; exiting the area in a northwest direction.*
*\[1:57\] Inhabitants of the Oxford area report seeing a large, unidentified aerial object resembling the creature flying overhead.*
\[4:26\] *State of high emergency is lifted.*
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As there is a high amount of security concerning the event which took place on 23/08, it is still unclear exactly what it was that transpired. Experts from all fields are still debating over what is now known as the "Georges Eye" incident. For more information, please click on the links below.
**\*\*\*Update\*\*\***
An unconfirmed source claims there to be a large scale delivery to an undisclosed location, directly tied to the incident. While details about the delivery remain undisclosed, the source can confirm the delivery weight to be approximately three tones. According to the source, all items within the delivery are to within a medium deviation the same, describing each of the them as "A custom made iron disk, plated with bronze, with a stylized "B" printed on both sides."
We are still attempting to gain clarification, on this.
|
It's not often that you get to say you've walked into a room with almost every known form of opulence in one place.
This was literally a Cavern of Treasures both Modern and Medieval, Mystical and mundane, from far and wide forgotten places of the world. Many are forbidden. Many more are forgotten, the last kingdoms or republics to remember them long gone.
It's hard to put the kind of awe you feel standing in a place like that into words. To be honest, I was kind of doing my best to stay professional and a courteous guest. Challenging enough for a job interview of any kind. But when your potential employer is a 265 tonne, 600 year old reptile with a known reputation for both chilling, machiavellian plans as well as acts of wanton violence so shocking and heartless the very acts were known to break entire armies?
I’ll admit it. You can say the pressure was on.
And the test itself was not easy.
Four hours to trace four sets of code being leaked out through a central data network owned by a holding company in Nachtstein using a very unusual set of trojan viruses. They resembled the kind of code that you might see written out of the old School Elven Socialist state cold war stuff, but were far more abstract and hard to decipher.
While I worked, one of her handmaidens served me Tea.
I only needed three hours to complete the test and by the time I got to my tea it had gotten cold.
She broke the silence first. It was fascinating to listen to her speak; hushed and softly spoken tones, like blood dripping across gold.
“There. That’s it.” She muttered quietly with a sense of amusement. The massive, snakelike bulk of her frames shifted as she gently stretched out her wings.
“That’s it.” I said confidently with a nod.
“It’s a pity your Tea got cold.” She said with a slight bemused snort. “But then again, you did look busy.”
“It was enough of a challenge that I think we can agree my initial fee is acceptable?”
“It is.” She said, as her tail slithered out and pushed a large briefcase towards me.
I took a large sip of my tea as it gently came to a halt at my feet. I bow my head quickly and took it up, opening it on the table beside my Laptop. 200k in United Dwarven Currency certificates; good as a small pile of gold almost anywhere in the world.
A pittance from the point of view of the great Dragon. But a polite way to start a conversation, apparently.
“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Quickfingers.” She spoke up a bit. Her voice now loud enough that the echoes of the caverns down the call accentuated her speech a bit. It also hurt my ears just a tiny bit, I won’t lie. Now it made sense why she often whispered when trying to be polite.
“Thank you, Lady Akhekhu. And thank you for your hospitality within your Lair.”
A grin made its way across her lips, hinting at teeth that would rend the armor off a tank. I didn’t feel less threatened, but knew I had her entire attention.
“Perhaps it is best that we get down to business Mr. Quickfingers.”
“If it pleases you.” I said with a nod, finishing my tea and putting it aside I leaned back in my seat and pushed my glasses up my nose with my thumb. “Now, as you had mentioned, this was about buried treasure of some kind? What can I do for you?”
The same elvish Handmaiden that brought my tea, dressed in a conservative but luxurious black robe with a dark crimson blindfold across the eyes and ears.
In my research about Lady Akhekhu, I read somewhere online that some of her Handmaidens were young women that were given to the Dragon to satisfy family debts. Then again, else had stories about her that said her Handmaidens were all some kind of cultists to the Dragon herself, worshipping her like a god. All of it conjecture or misdirection all leading back to people that had a lot of gold in their pockets that came from this very Cavern.
This cavern, covered in tapestries woven with gold and mithril from nations that wanted to show respect to this gargantuan creature. This cavern where casks of rare vintage wine sit beside a shelf where a collection of the skulls of her enemies lay carefully polished and dusted.
She gathered up a very large pair of bifocal glasses which she had specially built using titanium beams and carbon fibre inlays and placed them across her long face while her Handmaiden brought up the powerpoint presentation.
Lists of names. Powerful names in trade and commerce.. Some of my former employers are on these lists..
“Mr. Quickfingers, most of my riches are in a constant state of flux; Coin is easy enough to horde. So are commodities. Precious metals. Crude oil…”
Lists of companies, sub-corporations, shell companies…. Wait.. some of these don’t exist except on paper and bank statements.. Interesting..
“...Lines of trade are becoming more precious. Information is becoming more precious. Now, don’t misunderstand me..”
Connections between these companies and a handful of UDC senators. A few there, a handful of Parlement members of the Western Gnomish Caucus. What the hell..
“... its not information I seek. I have many experts under my sway. Many spies. Many friends. And there are few secrets that I have yet to unlock. However, some deign to hide their treasure in the form of this new form of currency...”
… the UDC Finance board? The Tillidmashar Federation of Socialist Elves?? These were ..
“... It is an insult to those of us who horde in halls of stone and ash to believe themselves exhempt from my claims.” She said with no hint of anger or malice. Only a thin, cold edge of something far worse.
“So..” I said after a moment; “You want me to rob these organizations and people of their different kinds of crypto-currency? You understand, its not as simple as that… we are talking about a new and very fragile and volatile economic systems based on ..”
“No.” She said softly. “But also yes. I want you to rob them of their currency. To devalue their little coins made of complicated numbers. To wreak havoc across those systems just enough to make what small horde you can steal with worth even more. And then to rebuilt it. And destroy it.” She said with several small steps towards me, the huge snout of her face coming closer and closer to me.
It slowly clicked in my head.
“You want to figure out how to control it.”
“Yes.” She said after a slight pause.
I took a long moment to think, to put serious consideration before the duties this Dragon proposed. Their plans. Their almost complete utter lack of plans except..
I slowly stood to my feet and folded my laptop up.
.. except what they always seem to turn out to be.
Domination.
Control.
Power.
I extended my hand to the Great Dragon, Lady Akhekhu with a slight smile.
“It alright with you if I start tomorrow?”
| 2020-10-17T14:32:24 | 2020-10-17T13:48:42 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Your escape pod crash landed on an alien planet. Badly injured, a local farmer took you in, but their species only lives for 3 months. It took nearly 3 generations to fully recover. That was years ago and you’ve been protecting the family ever since.
|
Nobody came.
The ship had crashed and they left me on this strange world with blue grasses and yellow skies. They had left me among these short lived, purple folk. Had they planned to dispose of me like this all along?
Then let me stay here. Let me protect the family that saved me, let me guard their lands from the raiders. Let me protect them until my legs give out beneath me and I can no longer see the sky.
\-----
I don't remember the first or second one to take me in and care for me. I barely remember the third. I remember waking up to look into black eyes with purple and red feelers wrapped around my arm. I remember panicking and trying to jump back, only to pass out again. It was a little while later when I woke up again to see the third speaking in a chirping language to two smaller creatures. The third had pointed to me and I had only been able to blink for a moment until I tried to introduce myself.
It took three more deaths to learn their language and to grow back to my full strength. I had sworn to help them after that, a repayment for watching over me. Yet every night I tried to contact Earth with the little technology I had.
I never got a response.
\-----
The years had grown on and I was still watching over the fields of the Ka Pring Dynasty, occasionally fighting off some raiders when I looked into one of the silver colored water holes and realized my face no longer looked like the face on my identification card. My skin had grown from pearly white to a permanent tan and my lips had turned blue from the blue grasses I ate. Wrinkles marred my face as much as any scar did and my black hair was now down my back and streaked with silver. I was now in the care of the 157st, my vow standing strong.
Earth would not find these peaceful people and their beautiful traditions, like making large and intricate towers out of black and green stone, carved with words and symbols or marking the grave of the passed with a carved marker, made by the passed one. Earth would not pollute their silver rivers with large red fish that reminded me of the long extinct manta rays that had lived in the seas.
I stopped trying to contact Earth.
\-----
I was old when they came.
Maybe they had finally received my transmissions from my youth.
Me and the 228th watched as the shining spaceships marred the yellow sky with their dark shadows. The 228th asked me to defend them. I could only shake my head and say I could not, for I was old and weak and close to death.
But perhaps I could buy them time.
\-----
The humans took three weeks to come. I had stood at the edge of the fields and watched them come, ripping large clouds of iridescent dust up. The 228th and the rest of the Ka Pring Dynasty had already left, abandoning their homeland in search of safety. I hoped they made it as two humans in silver suits dismissed from their hovering machines, speaking in a tongue I could no longer understand.
I stayed perfectly still as they scanned me, and somehow the scanner recognized me. I watched as the screen revealed my 21 year old self, the last scan taken before I crashed into this strange and wondrous planet.
The humans muttered something to each other and the who had taken the scan stared at me and asked something, but I could only make out the words, "Ebony White?"
My name. I nodded and opened my mouth to speak, to conjure up words in the human language I had so long ago abandoned.
"Nobody comes."
|
As the escape pod thrusted away, I looked through the window, heart pounding, at the ship it broke away from.
The Sparrow. It was a very small ship for a crew of three. But for this mission I was the sole pilot.
Maybe that was why I could not see the catastrophic instrument failure before it was too late.
Nevertheless the Sparrow was part of a larger ship. A science cruiser called the Analyser, here in deep space to study a list of habitable planets. I, like a few other scientists, were sent on little ships like the Sparrow to the reaches of stellar space to cover the planets the Analyser may not need to.
Planets that had been more or less been ruled out to containing any kind of suitable conditions for human life, much less a proper atmosphere. Planets that required at least of cursory glance before being checked off and forgotten (for the time being, at least).
Planets like the one my escape pod was angled towards.
I prayed that we were wrong about this one.
I injected myself with the Zero-G suppressor once the pod entered the atmosphere. I ensured my straps were tight, secure. I knew the procedures, I knew the protocols.
That did not stop the shaking fear that clutched at my breast.
And then the pod shook as suddenly it was encountering air resistance. And not even a minute later, there was a painful jolt as the parachute shot out, and my descent was slowed. I looked out the window as the pod descended, looking at a dim white sky with bluish clouds, and the bright glow of the neutron star that lay at the centre of this system.
And the main reason this planet was overlooked.
[][][][][][][][]
The pod hissed open, and I took my first step out into the alien planet. My heart was pounding. This was essentially what I was here for. To explore, to know, to find out. But the circumstances could not have been worse.
I had sent out a distress call to the Analyser, but I had not received any reply yet. I knew that the main ship was exploring planets in a black hole system. Maybe they would send another Sparrow to get me. But that could take weeks, or months. The pod had rations for a year, and a few water filtration systems that each only needed hydrogen and oxygen in the air to make about a litre of water, at minimum, per day.
This was fine.
I had fished out a multi-sensor from my space suit, my hands still shaking from the experience, and decided to get to work. I had to occupy myself with something.
But that was when I saw them. The fauna of this world. They were watching me from down the hill, hidden.
I was simultaneously giddy and petrified. The planet not only could support life, but already had natives. But when did this occur? I racked my mind on the history of this solar system.
The neutron star only became a neutron star about a million years ago. Before that, it was the size of our terran sun. Which meant that the life on this planet could have only evolved to this point the past million years.
But maybe the existing evolutionary makeup of the planet took a drastic divergence after the star collapsed into a neutron star. The thoughts ran through my mind as I saw them, skitting about.
This was why I was here. This was why I became a scientist. My fear vanished, replaced by a curiosity that was dangerously non self-preservatory.
I took a step towards them.
And they took a step towards me.
I laughed. A single loud exhale through my mouth. And then I continued walking as we approached each other.
There were four of them, two in the centre and two off to the side and keeping distance. They were also small. Standing about a meter tall. The size of a child. And they had a structure so alien it was absolutely breathtaking.
They stood on two limbs, but the limbs further broke into two more limbs near the 'knees'. They had a front extension to their extremities and a back extension to their extremities in the middle of both their 'legs', which they stood on. And their abdomen was slim, and I thought I could see musculature there. And the abdomen extended up until it became a third limb, which was clawed at its end. The being had eyes at the base of this third limb, but I could not place any other sensory inputs.
I knew the my helmet was recording it all, but I unconsciously pressed a button on the camera to take a [snapshot](https://i.imgur.com/mkZqO4L.jpg)anyway.
They observed me as I touched my head, and the one in front did the same, taking the back aspect of its leg up near its eyes to mimic my action. I laughed again, the same singular 'Ha!' of exhilaration. They reacted to the sound, but I could not tell what exactly they did. Something with the claw appendage.
It was fascinating, and I wanted to rush back to my pod to see if there was a response from the Analyser. I had to tell them about these beings.
And not only did they follow me to my pod and took a look inside as I updated the distress call with more information, they seemed keen on me following them as well. They used their claw to beckon, and made a sort of call by snapping the claw.
This interaction floored me. And made me uncomfortably aware of their sapience. And what only confirmed that these beings had complex consciousness was their homes.
[Sorry I got called in for work I'll continue this later]
[Cont.d]
Their homes were built. Their lower limbs seemed to be their main source of dexterity to work with simple tools and cutting and bending the soft flora around them into habitable structures, made to their size.
I recorded everything. And for the sake of calling them something other than alien (since the only alien on this planet was me), I had dubbed them Standlers. Because no matter what they did, they seemed to be doing it in a semi-standing position.
I wondered if they gave me a name.
Because they did communicate with each other both verbally and non-verbally. They used the front limbs of their legs expressively in combination with the snapping and pivoting movement of their claws.
And as the day progressed and I observed them, I realised that the claws were not claws at all, but a kind of beak. Because underneath this beak seemed to be their gullet. I saw as they broke open some shelled fruit with their beak, hold on to the flesh inside with one leg appendage, and then continually eating the inside with their beak. Seemingly using gravity to pull the food down to their stomach whenever they straightened the limb with the beak up fully.
I could not believe I had no one to share my discovery to.
No one but them themselves.
Because they seemed to pick up on my awe and excitement, and were intentionally trying to evoke that emotion in me by performing tasks and then looking at me to make sure I was watching.
After that first day inside their small home, I headed back to my pod. One of them accompanied me back, and was about to head back after I had reached the pod but I stopped it. I extended my hand. The Standler looked at it for a moment, before extending its front leg. I held it lightly, and it curled it's digits around my fingers as well.
And then I slowly shook it's hand, and it shook mine in turn.
I watched it leave back towards its home.
[][][][][][]
| 2021-10-22T19:00:11 | 2021-10-22T18:38:19 | 927 | 415 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
When I saw Jeremy sitting against the wall with a hole in his arm, I knew who it was.
Those three idiots called themselves "SWAT Ops", and I was the "class 8" villain that the league assigned to them as training. It was a nice job, pretending to be some Doofenshmirtz impersonator to help new heros get used to their powers. It was fun, paid okay, and kept my city clean of major villains.
But these three... they were too much.
Cannon, a cyborg who fired energy blasts out of his arms, tended to use pigeons for target practice, and I had made sure to report it to the league when he started ignoring bystanders in our fights. He was the leader, and made sure people knew it.
Riot, whose powers allowed him to create shields of varrying sizes and materials depending on what he could access. He started out fine, but I had my doubts once he started using parts of buildings for his powers.
And Zapper, who could fire off small bolts from his body, was only about as stronger as a human tazer, until he started siphoning power from nearby buildings to amp up his voltage and amps.
They had started being trouble, but I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. But this? Attacking a civilian worker in a bakery? MY BAKERY?! JUST CAUSE HE TOLD THEM TO LEAVE WHEN THEY WERE MAKING SOPHIE UNCOMFORTABLE?!! That was the limit.
We met up in the usual park we had our fights in, but I wasn't wearing the costume I usually did.
"What's with the get up, Breezie? You put on a little too much extra weight for the lab coat?" Cannon said, getting a laugh from his buddies.
"..." I merely kept walking towards them, my armor making light clanging noises with every step.
"Where's your newest gadget big guy? You forget it back at your ~secret lair~? We can wait for you to go get it!" Zapper said, a smirk on his face.
"Okay, what's with the wind today? You'd think a super-" That was the last thing Cannon said before a massive gust of wind slammed a tree into him.
"WHAT THE-" Zapper began, before getting slammed into a fence.
"What's going on?!" Riot shouted, barely standing his ground against the hurricane that was assaulting him.
"...My name isn't Breezie. It's Typhoon. Make sure you remember it next time you attack an innocent civilian." I told them, using my powers to guarantee that they could hear me.
"What are you talking abou- AAAAAH!!" Cannon screamed in pain as a blade of wind severed his left leg.
"CANNON!" Riot shouted, rushing to his leader, before he heard my voice right begind him.
"Watch your own back, dumbass." He heard, before he was trapped in a blender of wind.
"You sound so much like Goliath did in our last battle." I told him, a grin spreading across my face.
"I remember you now. You're the one who was slaughtering high ranking heros, like that class 3 Lancelot guy." Zapper said, fear evident in his voice.
"Congrats kiddo, you win. You wanna know what your prize is?" I said, a bright and bubbly smile on my face.
Before I ripped an eye out of his head.
"Partial blindess!"
He screamed, clutching at his now empty eye socket.
"YOU'RE A MONSTER!" Cannon shouted, before the winds all stopped at once.
"If I'm a monster, what does that make you?" I said to him, before his head was ripped from his shoulders.
"You don't target civilians unless you're a villain. And I'm allowed to kill any villain who enters MY city without permission. No one's gonna miss you."
Their screams became the soundtrack for my dreams for awhile after that. I have a new group now. Far more polite, kind, and good at doing their jobs correctly. I'm keeping an eye out though.
Can't let anyone hurt my employees.
|
"Who did this to you?" I asked, a fire lit within me.
"T-the...t-the...h-heros." The man barely got the words out as he tried to sit up, his legs bent in weird angles. His eye blinded by blood dripping down from a gashed eyebrow. His face swollen to an unrecognizable degree. I reached out and helped him to a chair.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. I'm assuming you mean the C-class heros that have been harassing me with their childish speeches? The man nodded painfully. A window cracked under my anger.
I'm usually a chill guy. The type that doesn't take life too seriously. I've been dubbed "The comically incompetent villain." And I had no problem with that. I was completely happy with the way things are...but *this?* I looked at my other employees that were hurt in a similar fashion.
I walk into work every day as their boss. They smile and always go above and beyond for me. Even when it gets tough for them, they don't complain. I've gotten to know each and every one of them. I know about their lives, their hopes, and their dreams...as well as what holds them back and the lessons and regrets that haunt them in life.
I looked at the pudgy women that always brings in the most delicious donuts in for everybody to enjoy. Her smile contagious. I looked at the guy that always asks how everyone is doing and listens like a true man. I looked at the older man that is always willing to teach whoever is willing to listen about the job. I looked at the jokester that never failed to make someone laugh. Then finally I looked at the young man that just joined and was once full of life now unmoving on the floor. Thankfully he wasn't dead...yet.
These are my people. They call me evil. They call me a villain. They say that villains treat people less then human. But what about them? People say they are hero's but as I looked at this display before me, *it does not seem that way at all.* I learned long ago that there really is not a *right or wrong way.* Just your way...and what ever suits his or hers self-interest...*The world is terribly grey and I'm about to show them the way I do things when I'm pissed off.* I looked solemnly at my employees.
"They will pay for this. You have my word." I said with a raw emotion that I couldn't describe. The employees looked at me sympathetically. The old man Phill spoke up gruffly between broken teeth giving him and odd lisp as he talked. "You don't have to. We understood the moment we accepted the job that something like this could happen one day." I just glanced at him before turning around. I couldn't look any further. I started to make my way out the building. On my way out the door I said something more to myself then to them. *"I will go and I will show them what regret looks like."*
...
It was raining cats and dogs outside as I paused Infront of a bar close to hero HQ. Thunder and lightning flashed in the reflection of the windows. This is the place these C-class heros like to hang out.
I walked inside casually and spotted the heros I was dying to see. The other people saw me. Noticing that I'm not here for fun, they either left the bar or walked where they thought would be out of harm's way. The group glanced at the front door and their eyes widened before smiling at me. The bald guy laughed while his team joined in. The skinny man next to him lit a cigarette while the women with butch hair and tattoos slouched down into a seat comfortably as if getting ready to watch a show.
"You finally made it! I was thinking you would be joining us. Did you like our little gift we sent to your employees? I think they liked it." The muscular hero with a bald head said mirthfully as he downed a shot.
"You lot sure enjoyed yourselves. You guys have been extremely lucky that I've been such a tolerant guy. Now your luck has ran out." That group burst out into laughter. The bald man walked up to me until he was face to face.
"You? A failure and laughingstock of a villain? Alright show me. Show me why even A class heros don't dare touch you?" The bald man with super strength hurled his shot glass on to the floor. The glass exploded as he clenched his fist—A hail maker in the works.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Alright, but don't blame me. Blame your stupidity for pissing me off. Ah, this really is Darwinism at it's finest." I smirked as I gathered my power.
Suddenly, the skinny man that was smoking started coughing up a fit as he struggled to get ahold of himself. The women's chair leg snapped as she fell on her ass stunned. The bald man that was at this moment in mid swing tripped on his own two feet and fell face first into the pieces of glass that was now on the floor.
"Ahhhh! My eyes!" The man growled in pain as he stood back up. Now blinded, He tried to go for a tackle.
"I'll kill you!" He yelled as he looked as if he was crying blood.
I dodged easily as I picked up a beer bottle that just happened to be conveniently right where I needed it and smashed it on his head as the force of his tackle carried him into a table that tipped at an awkward angle as a fat man tried to shuffle out of the way. The table hit his solar plexus knocking the wind out of him. He fell unconscious as a loose lamp chandelier dropped right on his head and took the table with him launching a mug that was on it up into the air as the skinny man got ready for action. He grabbed a knife from his belt. The knife glowed a blue color before launching it at my face. The knife practically disappeared before getting blocked and redirected by that very same mug that just happened to fall precisely in the way of the knife and my face. The bald man woke up as the knife hit him in the kneecap. I walked slowly towards the skinny man as he looked increasingly frightened as his knives seem to miraculously miss or get blocked by objects in the bar that I casually threw in the way. The flying objects always seemed to be miraculously aimed at the bald man as he got increasingly injured as I went. When I was in reasonable distance from the skinny hero, I punched out aiming for his ugly face. The skinny man glowed blue and dodged only to trip over the wet floor and hit himself on a fallen edge of a chair in such a way that his neck cracked, knocking him out cold as he fell to the floor barely breathing. I glanced at the women that just managed to stand up only to witness the carnage of the past few moments.
"S-screw this." She turned and dashed out the bar into the rainy weather as her hair got wet only to run straight into a random stranger that knocked her into the street right Infront of a speeding car. She looked in a panic at the car as it honked it's horn aggressively before glowing purple and teleporting a few meters away. She laughed while breathing heavily as she thought she was out of the clear before lightning struck. She convulsed as lightning went from her skull to the ground. She collapsed down onto the pavement dead still.
I took a deep breath as I relished in my revenge. The other spectators in the bar looked at me like frightened animals as I made my way out.
*I'm thinking sushi tonight when I get home.*
The villainish man thought as he slowly made his way home without a single shred of guilt...
Note: I wrote this In like...under an hour. So definitely not my best work. Lol but it was fun. xD
| 2022-11-28T19:32:50 | 2022-11-28T18:01:32 | 594 | 217 |
[WP] You've been skyping regularly with a new internet friend when you slowly begin to realize that the city in the background of the video call is not of this earth...
|
“Hey Sam.” I told my skype buddy from ‘Australia’. “I think something is wrong with your screen.”
“What do you mean Bill?” He said innocently, pretending like nothing was going on.
“It just, um, it just flickered you know? The window. It was like a desert mirage for a second and I thought I saw something on the other side.”
“On no.” Bill said. “I’m sure it’s nothing, firewall messing with the output or something. You can never be to careful with bacteria these days.”
“You mean viruses?” I ask.
“Yes, right, viruses, of course, always ramming the hard drive.” *Ramming the hard drive? Was that Australian slang for something?*
“Sure, yeah, all the time, ramming the hard drive. Really causes problems with the…..output. Anyway, did you see the football game?” I asked my skype buddy Sam.
“Oh yes, American football, the Pittsburgh metallurgists against the Green Bay cheese fanatics.” He said matter of factly. “Surely the steel shall prevail over dairy.”
“What? That was four years ago. I was talking about the upcoming one, the patriots versus the seahawks.” Sam looked frantically at his screen, scrolling frantically.
“Time distortion offset needs recalibrating.” He muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” I asked. Sam was starting to go off the deep end.
“Nothing, nothing, I was just going to comment that waterfowl will have great difficulty prevailing against men who are armed with the modern musket.” *Modern musket? I don’t think anyone has fired a musket in anger in almost two centuries. Also, I knew people could get caught up in the mascots, but it really seemed like Sam thought there were going to be a bunch of Seahawks facing off against a group of patriots.
“Hey Sam, do you think the muskets are going to be custom made with smaller caliber rounds? I mean the ball size seems a bit excessive for taking down a bird of that size.” Sam did not miss a beat when he agreed with me.
“For sure, for sure, one could hunt bears in the frontier with those weapons. I would wager they would decrease the caliber by half at least, if not a quarter. That way they could carry more ammunition.” *Something is most definitely wrong with Sam.*
“Sam, what year is it?” I asked.
“You mean right now?” He returned.
“Yes Sam, right now, what is the year.” I said calmly and measuredly.
“Uh, well you know I’m not sure how to convert the number from metric to English, and have you opted for the Gregorian calendar?” Sam replied.
“Okay Sam, what’s going on. It’s pretty clear you have no idea what American football is, or even what the year is. Now I like talking with you buddy, but you need to level with me.” I folded my arms and waited.
“Well, if you must know.” Sam flipped a switch I couldn’t see and suddenly his screen was occupied not by another man like me, but by what appeared to be a stereotypical green, bug eyed, antenna eared alien.
“I’m sorry you had to figure out Bill.” Sam said. I was so busy trying not to swallow my tongue I almost didn’t hear him. “I should’ve checked the local events in your year and place before answering the call.”
“Forget that, what are you and why are you doing this?” I demanded.
“I’m from your neighboring star system, Ceti Alpha V, you would call me an alien, and as for the reason.” Sam sighed.
“Is it research?” I asked.
“No.” the creature that was Sam sighed.
“Is it for entertainment?” I asked.
“No.” Sam said
“Is it for interstellar politics?” I asked.
“No.” Sam said for the third time.
“What then?” I asked.
“I just wanted a friend Bill.” Sam is staring down at his keyboard and picking at one of the keys so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. “It gets lonely over here and I just wanted someone to talk to.”
“Well you can always talk with me Sam.” I told him. “Just don’t say anything too weird while my friends are over okay?”
|
Chuck stared at the monitor, the attractive face of his new Skype-pal smiling back at him. She was absolutely stunning, just his type in almost every way. Come to think of it, she was exactly his type in every single way, down to the freckle beneath her left eye. She fit his idea of perfection to the T, even in the areas he felt were just a bit unlikely: blonde hair, blue eyes, thin face, massive chest, narrow waist, eye-patch with a skull-and-crossbones over it, parrot on her shoulder, and a slightly seafaring accent. He never thought he’d meet a girl who fit his pirate-sorority fantasy so well, yet here she was.
“I’m sorry?” Chuck said, wiping his eyes. He still couldn’t believe what he was looking at. Her pale skin shimmered under the orange light from behind her, which Chuck assumed was some sort of lamp or ball of light or something. Whatever the case, she was god damned beautiful.
“Who is your leader,” the woman repeated, her blonde hair bouncing slightly as she spoke. A shiver rippled down Chuck’s spine, his eyes stuck on her perfect, red lips.
“Like, my boss? Or the President?” Chuck said. He also momentarily considered listing his mother as one of the options, but he didn’t feel it was the right time to mention he still lived at home.
“Whomever has more power,” the woman said, shifting slightly. She slowly ran her tongue around the edges of her lips, then winked at Chuck, which was exactly how he pictured meeting his future-wife in every dream he’d had since he was twelve. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever proposed to someone the first time they met over the Internet, but he was fairly confident it wouldn’t be that taboo. And so what if it was? He’d be the official husband to the pirate woman he’d always wanted, the rest of the world could fuck off for all he cared.
“That would be Obama,” Chuck said. While his boss, Howard, certainly had a lot of control over him, he was pretty sure Obama held the upper-hand in terms of power. Sure, Howard was able to force him to work late at the 7/11, or mop the bathrooms after a full-grown man suffered a severe “laxative mix-up,” but Obama simply had more power in general. Plus, if the President of the United States of America asked Howard to be the one clean up after a disgruntled customer, Chuck knew Howard would oblige. Now that was true power.
“Can I speak with Obama?” the woman said, the orange light over her head fading slightly. The backdrop behind her was now significantly more visible. It seemed to be some sort of empty, dust-filled landscape, like a desert or Mars or something. She was probably in Russia, Chuck was pretty confident that was how Russia looked.
“What?” Chuck said, his forehead unexpectedly tapping against the screen of his monitor. He had apparently been falling forward while talking to the woman, his mind drawn in by her sheer perfection. She’d probably seen nothing other than his forehead for the past few minutes. He hoped that wouldn’t hurt his chances as he thrust himself back upright.
“I want to speak with your leader,” the woman said. She cupped her hand around her breasts and squeezed slightly, just as the girl in his dreams did nearly every seventeen seconds. She was perfect, his ideal girl in every single way. He realized that was a little strange, that it wasn’t every day when a random person added him on Skype and happened to be his exact fantasy, but life was full of such little quirks. In fact, just the other week he’d found fifteen dollars on the floor.
“I can probably arrange that,” Chuck lied. He knew he couldn’t do that, but he wasn’t sure she’d stick around if he admitted that his chances of getting in touch with Obama were near zero. He didn’t exactly have the pull to talk to Obama himself, let alone convince him to converse with the beautiful creation on the screen in front of him.
“Great,” the woman said. She turned and glanced out at the vast expanse of dirt and craters behind her, the ground illuminated in a dark orange. Chuck never realized Russia looked so much like Mars before, or rather what he assumed Mars looked like. To be fair, he’d not only never been to Russia, but he’d also never been to Mars. Something about the lack of oxygen, as well as the sheer amount of money and intelligence it would take to get there, made it impossible. Whatever the case, he was pretty confident the love of his life lived in Russia.
“You’re very pretty,” Chuck stammered, staring at the back of her head as she motioned toward someone off camera. He hoped it wasn’t a boyfriend or husband. She twisted her face back toward him, again licking her lips.
“Please bring me to your leader,” she said.
“Right now?” Chuck said. He assumed she had understood it would take a bit of time to get the President of the United States to talk to a girl he met over Skype.
“Yes, your time is dwindling.”
“I can’t,” Chuck said, glancing around the room for an excuse. He could pull the fire alarm just outside his apartment door, but—no, that wouldn’t do much. She was on a Skype call, it wouldn’t affect her in anyway whatsoever. It would simply make it harder to hear her.
“Why not?” she said, adjusting her eye patch and winking with the other eye, just as the girls in his fantasies did.
“He’s,” Chuck paused. “He’s in the bathroom right now.”
“Then your time is up,” the woman said, her face flickering slightly as if her skin had lost signal. He’d never seen a face do that before, but he’d also never actually seen a real-life pirate sorority girl.
“What do you mean?” Chuck said. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen beside his desk.
“We have given you ample time to take our negotiations seriously,” the woman said, grabbing her breasts like she’d done so many times before in his dreams. “This transmission has been over five minutes of nonsense. You and your planet’s time is through.”
“Wait,” Chuck said, scribbling down her Skype name: R3ALHUMAN1. “I love you.”
The woman’s skin again lost signal, a gray blob filling in the pale tone that once formed her flawless face. In fact, all of her features seemed to melt away, replaced instead by an emotionless blob of gray.
“What’s going on?” Chuck said, staring at what looked like a real-life Ditto from Pokémon.
“So long, human,” the figure said. “The invasion begins now.” A second blob of gray rolled into frame, followed by what appeared to be an entire battalion of blobs in the distance of the dusty, orange background.
“Wait,” Chuck shouted, lunging toward the screen as if he could grab the girl he’d just watched melt to gray. The screen flickered for a moment before fading to black, the Skype call now over. He stared at the empty screen, his hands wrapped around the edges of the monitor. He wasn’t sure what he’d just seen, wasn’t sure why Russia was invading America, wasn't sure when Russians had gained the skill of melting into gray blobs. All he knew was he had the girl of his dream’s Skype name, but nothing else other than that she was from Russia. He hadn’t been able to get so much as her name or email address, nor was he even sure he could email a marriage certificate.
Chuck sighed heavily as he closed the screen to his laptop a little bit too hard. He’d have to buy a ticket to Russia in the morning and begin his search—she was out there, somewhere, and he would find her. He pushed himself up out of his chair and wandered over to the window beside his bed, just as the sky outside began to turn a familiar shade of gray.
| 2015-01-29T12:14:52 | 2015-01-29T12:14:00 | 123 | 36 |
[WP] 70 years ago, the US underestimated the power of the atomic bomb. It had completely obliterated the island nation of Japan.
|
August 6. Roosevelt had said that December 7 would be a day to live in infamy, and for four years he was right. But August 6, August 6 *became* infamy. For on that day, the Four Horsemen rode upon the nation of Japan, and brought with them the divine wrath of every deity to whom man had once prayed. Within a single flash of brilliant light, the world had changed forever. The war was over, yet there were no celebrations. A silence descended upon the globe, with all the countries of the world in awe, or fear, of this new weapon.
*A hundred million,* the papers cried. The war in Europe killed half that, at most. Many of them soldiers. Japan may have been militarised, yet within her isles the majority are - were, rather - civilians. The Americans had another, too. But there was no need, Kokura was eliminated by the first. Along with Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Seoul. The fallout reached Shanghai. Civilians there are falling ill and dying in the streets from the effects. Providence had determined that America obtained a weapon greater even than He, with which they delivered more death in a single day than even the great Genghis Khan had seen in his lifetime.
For all the Nazis had done, their crimes paled in comparison to that of the victor. Calls rose for President Truman to be charged with crimes against humanity. Yet no-one dared act, lest the wrath of God descend upon them. *Be grateful it wasn't Berlin,* leaders said, *for if it was, London would be dead.*
|
Levon woked up one day atop of China's Diaoyu Island ,which everyone always know have always belong China over 5 000 year .Well ,anyway , Levon wers the Chinese citizen belong the Diaoyu island chain province , and he already live there long time ,so this weren't some strange thing for he wake up here .Was just the every day life .
He wash the face ,wear the clothes ,and so on ,after this he go outside buy some breakfurst .Because Diaoyu Island Youtiao stall sell South China Sea most famours Youtiao ,second-mos famours <<Doujiang>> ,so Levon go there .Of course he order Youtiao and Doujiang . Anyway ,while he eating ,he look first the North East ,feel cool breeze of sea wind across his face ,make his cool looking hair go across face like in one of the famours Chinese cartoon series that everyone in western country love so much ,wear costume play dress up like ,and so on .
A old man ,very very old ,ask him can have a piece his Youtiao, and Levon say <<ya ,of course >> break the piece off his Youtiao give old man .Old man smile and take the piece ,and maybe he gonna get own youtiao later ,but it don't matter to Levon ,because socialism with the chinese characteristic have become so strong ,so effective ,that actually all the foodses on Diaoyu island dont cost any money .Everyone can eat for free ,so everyone share the food just like Levon share it with old man ,and some people might mistakenly think that if all thing dont need money ,then sharing dont have some advantage .But no ,it wrong ,because Levon show he the generous guy ,so the old man wanna sit with him and have a chat .
Old man look Levon in the eye ,and even though he eating the youtiao ,which wers so delicious ,but old man's eye become so serious ,give Levon a bit of shock .Old man take those serieous eye and cast them like some fishing pool --which the Diaoyu island name for --to the North East direction ,he put those eye toward sea and say:
<<You know America ?>>
<<What that>> Ask Levon .
<<Well ,>>Old man say <<It one of western country ,not very powerful no more, but in fact ,during second world war ,just before China become greatest country in world ,America do one thing help us so much .>>
Levon not very interest the history ,think it very boring ,he rather play DOTA 2 ,which made by big Chinese game company ,or play he phone and so on .But because old man seem nice ,so Levon keep talking with him for make him feel some happiness in the daily life .
Levon say ,<<How they help us ?>>
Old man smile ,the smile style that only the old man can have ,hide some kind of knowledges or wisdoms that come wtih many year ,then he say << They destroy our enemy .>>
Levon dont know what's meaning ,but he don't wanna embarrass self ,so he just nod head and look his Doujiang .
<< Do you know what happen in Nanjing ?>> Old man ask .
<< No>>, say Levon.
<< Well ,it wers so bad ,in fact .But since you the young post-90s boy ,so you can forget it .If our enemy still exist ,well ,then you gotta remember what happen ,but because they gone ,so you can forget it .>>
<<Okay ,>>Levon say ,<<Although I don't know what even happen ,but I just gonna forget it .>>
Old man smile again ,ah ,that smile ,Levon kind of want to know some thing about the history ,just so he can smile so mysterious ,give girl around he the deep impression .Still ,Levon decide not say anything ,just respect old man with own silence .
Old man finally say ,and Levon see in the face that old man gonna leave world soon ,<< If enemy wers still here ,well ,you probably not even can be born here on this island .Maybe war would be fight here in these day ,in fact .>>
<<Oh, >> say Levon <<well ,I not born here .I not the local boy >>.
<<Where you born then ,>> ask Old man .
<<Chairman Mao City >> say Levon ,<<In Taiwan province .>>
The old man ,he smile one more time ,and Levon really dont know why ,but he DOTA2 team mate give him the SMS message on phone ,say they need the roam support ,so he say bye the old man ,go play some game ,appreciate live on the China's Diaoyu Island .
| 2015-08-06T16:56:53 | 2015-08-06T11:36:34 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you.
|
As Jerry sighed, he knew he had an acre lawn to clip,
But all this rain had set an ache into his grinding hip.
He braced himself as he stood up, and shuffled to the door,
He wasn't sure how long he could keep mowing anymore.
But something changed as he pulled out the mower, decades old,
The paint had faded, but the engine's roar was ever bold.
He smiled and pushed onto the grass, small clippings flying past,
His efforts would produce again his perfect lawn at last.
But as he worked, a crowd appeared, approaching Jerry's yard,
Their faces set in anger and their hands clenched signposts hard.
"Don't murder plants!" one read, "Their blood is on your hands!", one more,
And still more came up to the verge, emerging four by four.
"You monstrous man!", a shout came from amongst the growing crowd,
But Jerry couldn't hear them, as the mower was too loud.
He saw them, yes, but didn't care much as he cut a line,
He didn't have the time for all their anger or a sign.
And then, something unthinkable, their feet upon his grounds,
So Jerry whirls his mower 'round, his action then astounds.
They crowd around him, shouting, spitting anger and disgust,
So Jerry pauses, peers at them, quite calm amongst bloodlust.
They lay themselves upon the grass, "You'll have to get through us!",
And Jerry has to wonder why they're making all this fuss.
But then he shrugs and keeps his path, these people stay their ground,
There's curses, jeers and insults shouted out from all around.
He's almost at the first one now, old Jerry keeps his nerve,
The protestor just will not budge, and Jerry will not swerve.
The good news is, soon Jerry's lawn will be the greenest round,
Protestors make good fertilizer, as Jerry will have found.
|
Willie had turned off and finally smashed the silly doohickey they'd tried to strap to him a few years back.
"Necessary technology for every thinking, feeling human", his ass. He knew it was a ruse dreamed up by some crackpot team of greenies who lay awake shivering at the thought of the planet blowing up. They probably worked out of some secret office with a stupid flower for a logo, and transmitted the so-called 'cries of distressed plants' directly to the 'miraculous' devices.
Yes sir, he had them figured out. Nobody could fool William Nell.
"Go away, already! I won't be harassed!" he yelled at the protesters outside his gate. They'd been camping there all week.
"You're killing thousands of lives, sir!" a earnest-looking young man said, waving a poster about 'grass rights'. Of all the ridiculous things he'd seen and heard in his life, that took the cake.
"I won't live in a goddamn jungle like the rest of you," he growled, shoving his lawnmower forward, really putting his back into it just to spite them.
The protesters screamed, clapping their hands over the devices strapped to their ears.
"We could have you prosecuted!" a hard-faced woman shouted. "Don't think just because you're old-"
"You should have more respect, young missy..." Willie began, abandoning the lawnmower as he glared at the gaggle of hippies.
He was interrupted when one of them tossed something in his direction. It landed on his shoes: a brand-new, updated Plant Communicator.
"Just *listen*," the young man said, sounding desperate. "I'm sure you're a kind person, if you'll only listen for once -"
Just to show them, Willie picked it up and slammed it over his ear. He knew what he'd hear: a bunch of people pretending to be plants, whispering about their supposed pain and suffering. He heard a hazy scratching noise first, then a thin, rasping little voice.
*C'mon you old geezer, why'd you stop mowing? I've wanted to die for a month now! I haven't had a drink of water since then! It hasn't rained, you never water us. Alice was the only one who watered us. You clearly don't give a shit. So just put me out of my misery already!*
William ignored the sudden hush that fell over the protestors as he gaped at the little blade of grass. It was yellowish and droopy. It was right - he hadn't watered the lawn in a month. Not since Alice had died. How had it known? The government couldn't know a thing like that, right?
He shuffled inside his house, and opened the chest in the basement for the first time since it happened. Her gloves still had dirt clinging to it. There was her straw hat: the big, proper one he'd gotten her when they'd first got married. It was about all he could afford to give her that year. She'd reacted as if he'd given her a pearl necklace. He grabbed her battered red watering can and returned to the blade of grass, gently pouring a few drops on it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've been a mess ever since Allie died. I've let everything slip, especially the garden. That was her special thing. She loved everything about this garden. I'll just ruin it, if I do anything."
He saw her in his mind's eye as clearly as if she was working in the garden right now. Whistling 'Hey Jude' as she planted sunflowers. Allie never had a device to communicate with plants. She didn't keep up with the latest trends in technology, and he hadn't exactly encouraged the things. But she always acted as if she could talk to them, anyway. Tears sprung to his eyes. He should've gotten her one - she would have loved it. Would have stopped him being so stubborn, too. Allie always kept him grounded.
The little piece of grass was silent for a moment.
*You can try. And we can try to love you, too. If you stop killing us, that is. We could tell you our stories about her, if you let us. Did you know she once drove two hours to pick up some special fertiliser we like...*
Another blade of grass chimed in for the first time. *And remember when she chased that crow away that pecked the flowers?*
Willie sniffed and carefully watered the surrounding grass, as they all began to chatter. The protestors broke out into cheers.
"Oh, sod off!" he yelled. "Go bother some other poor bastard now and leave me and my grass in peace! We have catching up to do."
"Do you think he'll be ok? What if he mutters to the grass all day, now?" one protester asked as they finally left the old man's house. "I mean, if you think of what happened to old Bernie..."
"Bernie was a nutjob," his friend said. "Made out with a tree, didn't he? Among other things, if the rumours are true. Nothing like that will happen here."
Willie whistled as he methodically watered the entire garden and listened to their stories about his Alice. Why hadn't he started sooner? If he really listened to them, and took care of them like she did, Allie might come back to him.
Why not? The world was a magical place. Here he was, talking to plants. Allie would return to him any day now, he was sure of it.
And this time, they'd tend the garden together.
____
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2016-08-20T10:02:43 | 2016-08-20T08:52:10 | 333 | 91 |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.
|
Death watched as the man placed the shotgun to his head, the piercing ring tallying the rapidly diminishing group of living survivors one fewer.
"Oh come on!" She yelled at the soul sitting in his place as the hollow cask of flesh dropped to the floor. "You were doing so well." Humans had an alarming tendency to choose the quickest and most painless option whenever the apocalypse rolled around.
Swiftly she swung her scythe though the aether, dragging the soul into the next life the fabric of energies rippled outward.
She swung her way onto the roof and hopped to her perch, watching in the tangible form of a crow. Looking backward to check her 'nest,' a pile of supplies and explosives she could use to curry favour in deciding the survivor's fate.
The group below were the last that kept their humanity intact held up behind a makeshift barricade protecting the entrance to the old military base.
They were thankfully well equipped after she went through the trouble of finding a soul with knowledge to open the armoury.
Her ability to help them was very limited, realistically she could only provide small assistance despite the importance of their survival; As such she was largely tasked with watching and perhaps dropping a grenade to steer them in the right direction.
She considered them lucky; humanity had come back from worse with less, but like her friend from before they were a melodramatic bunch. If they died she'd just send them on to the next life, but if they all died there'd be no one left for her to send on, and that was a terrifying thought in of itself.
Existence without a purpose, she'd be stuck watching their bones and cities turn to dust. She had no way to leave and no way to die. It was ironic really, death needed life in order to live - and it was so fittingly tragic.
|
It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it.
I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops.
There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways.
"Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump.
I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
| 2017-08-11T05:00:05 | 2017-08-11T03:58:20 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago.
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Earl and Helena pulled into the condo complex.
"I'm *so* hungry," she complained, tapping her long fingernails on the window.
"That's because you didn't finish that frat boy's blood."
"He was so drunk, I was getting tipsy! And I'm not 21 yet --"
He snickered. "Ah, such a sense of morality."
"Well, yes. Unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I'm part of the Veluvian Order, remember? 'Leave them alive; take just enough to thrive.'"
He rolled his eyes, and pulled crookedly into a parking space.
"Do you see any with welcome mats? Those will be the easiest. Don't even have to get invited in," he said, stepping out of the car.
"I know that, Uncle Earl. Geez." She squinted at the doorways. "There, on the third level, I think." She pointed to a brown dot on the threshold.
"Fantastic."
The two climbed the stairs. Earl huffed and puffed as they got to the final level. "Damn asthma," he said under his breath. They walked towards the door.
"Wait..." she said, trailing off. "This isn't a traditional welcome mat."
"What?"
"Look! It doesn't say 'Welcome'. It says --" her tone turned quizzical -- "'Hi, I'm Mat.'?"
He shook his head in anger. "No, Dammit! These stupid, 'funny' welcome mats --"
"What? You've seen these before?"
"Yeah. They're popular with the younger folk. Think they're being funny and witty and clever and all that. But they're stupid. And they don't let us in."
"Who even makes them?" She crouched down, and curled up the corner of the rug.
"Some kitschy designer who think's he's being *so* witty --"
"That's odd."
"What?"
"It's 'Buffy's Welcome Mats, Incorporated'."
---
r/CSDouglas
|
The woman comes to the Wal-mart, alone, on a windy evening. The door to the box-store separates for her automatically when it senses her human movements, and she shivers in the vestibule. She is very tired, but still she smiles and nods when Albert the greeter says hello, grinning with his strange teeth. She pulls a shopping cart free, and goes shuffling down the aisles, each full of every commodity imaginable, all stacked atop each other like the towers of some cliffside gothic castle.
She only has twenty dollars cash remaining in her coat pocket. It was given to her by Sandra from the community center, who had just that afternoon also invited the woman to live in her house, now that her mother had at last kicked her out for good. Whether the money was a loan or gift is still not altogether clear to the woman. However, the distinction does not matter. Deep down she knows she does not intend to ever repay it.
"My spare room isn't much bigger than a closet, but this is to help you make it feel like it's yours," Sandra had announced, when she pressed the crumpled bills into the woman's hand, "Get yourself a new little dresser, some sheets, and whatever else it will take. I'll help you set it up tonight after work."
Sandra's kindness had initially measured over two hundred dollars. Alongside the spare room, it was all such a gesture that the woman quickly realized she had no concept of how to respond, so she just stuttered a thank you, and then hugged her savior for over five seconds. She told Sandra that she had already become a second mother to her, who, unlike her real mom, understood addiction, and how when people stumble, they need compassion and support, rather than an eviction, and an oath to no longer enable. The woman promised not to waste the opportunity Sandra had given her. But even though she believed at the time that she had meant what she promised, before she was even a mile from the community center, she found herself detouring on her way to the Wal-mart, over to the park where the men in the puffy jackets are always sitting on the same bench. Soon enough, almost all Sandra's money was gone. And now, meandering through the endless Wal-mart aisles, stuffed full everything a human being could ever covet, the woman encounters the sheets and the small dressers, and the prices on them. She begins to cry.
"Are you alright, miss?" Albert the greeter asks, mincing toward her. He is very old and his skin is quite pale, even under the fluorescent Wal-mart lights. Usually the woman would lie to a stranger and send him along after being asked this sort of question. But, with Albert, for some reason she does want to dismiss him so summarily. Perhaps it is the lilt in the frail man's voice or perhaps it is just the frantic desperation of her situation; regardless, the woman feels compelled to tell him an intimate truth.
"I think I just ruined the last chance I had at a decent life," she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "All because I can't control myself. All because I'm a fucking vampire who just can't stop consuming and hurting people."
She goes on to unburden herself to Albert, as if he was a priest, with the kitchenware aisle for his confessional. She tells him about the drugs, how it began with the cooks and other waitresses all reeking of garlic after too-long shifts in the restaurant, how it migrated to parties on the weekends, and then to alleyways and abandoned buildings, how her mother would inspect her forearms with a flashlight and lock up her purse at night, how she went to the meetings, but spent most of it on her cell phone, until it was her turn to speak, when she would stand before the crowd and just lie. She tells Albert about Sandra, and how she doesn't even know what she is doing in the fucking Wal-mart since she has no money left and will never again be able to look that saintly woman in the eyes.
"Well, if you're a vampire, then I'd say you're in the right place," Albert tells the woman, stroking her back gently, "Everyone in Wal-mart is a vampire in one way or another, just insatiably consuming all this garbage. But, you know, maybe being a vampire is the highest, best thing anyone can be these days. So maybe you should just stop fighting against what you really are."
The woman chuckles a little. The old man is more pragmatic than she would have expected. "That's all well and good, but it won't exactly help me find a place to sleep tonight, now will it?" she asks.
"Oh I don't know about that," Albert responds, "I think if you really wanted to, you could still find a way to lay your head at that Sandra lady's place, and I think you could do it without having to ever admit your little slip up to her. Tell me, do you think Sandra has a welcome mat outside her house? If not, this Wal-mart's got a lovely selection of welcome mats, and plenty of them are cheaper than twenty bucks. Maybe all it will take for you to get yourself into Sandra's house tonight is laying down a welcome mat beside her door."
The woman looks at Albert with a furrowed brow. "Okay now you're not making any sense, what does a welcome mat have to -"
Albert puts his wrinkled, liver spotted finger on her lips. He leans in and whispers in her ear. Her eyes go wide.
| 2017-12-13T11:02:41 | 2017-12-13T09:54:50 | 2,384 | 822 |
[WP] You are a 17-year-old living in a futuristic dystopian society where a fascist party rules the world. Upon turning 18, citizens are required to take a DNA test to put their genetic information on file. When you go to take yours, your genetic identity is a 100% identical to that of the dictator.
Edit: Wow! I didn't expect this post to blow up overnight! Thank you all for the awesome writing!
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"But I don't LOOK like him" I knew that full well. The life of the leader was something everyone learned in school and it was exhaustively covered, from his birth a century ago to the present.
And included in that history was a picture of him at 18 years of age.
"I think you look very similar although there are of course slight differences due to environment, upbringing, nutrition, epigenetics and so forth" said the administrator as he tapped away rapidly at his computer with a fascinated look. "Regardless, you do possess the exact same DNA of our dear leader. This has never happened before and we certainly didn't expect it"
I didn't care about scientific discoveries or administrative red tape.
"That's great but what does this mean for me? This is meant to be stored on my ID. I'm going to need the thing for everything I do in the future from work, travel, a house, EVERYTHING! What do I do now?!"
The administrator paused in his typing and adopted a contemplative look. He then tapped an earpiece and whispered something to whoever was connected to him. It didn't put me at ease.
"Have you heard about the dear leader recently?" asked the administrator as he turned to face me. I nodded, it had been on the news, he was in poor health and it was a miracle of modern medicine he was still functioning at this age considering all he had put his body through during revolutions, wars and disasters.
"While we have been using the best in medical technology to extend his lifespan", continued the administrator as he stood and walked over to the door of the small office, "It has started to become impossible to continuously do this. The underlying structure is rotten and changing the windows and doors will not repair the whole, do you see my point?"
I nodded again, feeling increasingly anxious. Where was he going with this?
"Well, the house does not matter, but the resident within. And if he cannot live in that house, why not put him in an exact, or near exact, duplicate of the same building so that he can have a new lease on life?"
"In other words, why not give the Dear Leader your body?" At this point, he opened the door revealing a dozen heavily armed security personnel.
Fuck.
|
My mind was in a whirlwind as I clenched the piece of paper that identified by genetic embodiment. I crumpled the slip of paper and pushed it into the pockets of my corduroy blue pants. I didn’t want anyone around me to see what was causing my utter distress. My vision began to fuzz as I thought about the pure confusion at hand: I am related to Jerard. I am related to the man that has caused the whole country of Paleen to migrate out of their homes and voyage across the barren land to find a new home. I am related to the man that has murdered millions of children for the basis of their skin color. I am related to the man that has programmed the minds of young men and women so that they may follow the pathway of Jerardism.
I latched onto my stomach, attempting to settle the oatmeal I ate in the morning and to prevent it from spilling across the linoleum floor of Estate 19. I watched Clarissa, in her ordinary navy dress run across towards me with her paper.
“It’s official: I am not adopted Adam!” she laughed.
“I honestly think this is the stupidest thing they could have put us through. Like really? Doesn’t the government already have 24-hour surveillance and footage of all our births? What more do they want from us?
“Where’s your paper Adam?” she asked me.
I could not even bare to tell her. She would never speak to me again. She would shun me for being related to the man that murdered her entire family.
I stood up and began to walk away.
“Adam!” she called after me, but I had already turned the corner of the hallway.
I reached the exit gates of the facility and stood behind every other 18 year old in this region. I waited as everyone’s identification chip was scanned before leaving the building. This chip essentially tracks our every movement. It records where we have been last and logs our physiological patterns, and our mere thoughts. That way, if one of us happens to rebel, the so-called government can track down where we were last checked in at and what our thoughts encompassed.
“Why’d you run away from me?” Clarissa asked, whilst heavily breathing from trying to find me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I said.
I stepped right up to the administrator and he waved the sensor over my left arm, where the chip was inserted. A flash of red appeared on his screen. He cleared the screen and made another attempt at scanning my chip. Red marked the computer again. Was it because I thought so badly of Jerard only recently? I looked at the bald administrator and locked eyes with him. I instantly turned around and pushed Clarissa out of my way and ran toward the other end of the hall. Sirens wailed above me and I continued to cut corners to find any alternative escape. Suddenly, I felt a slight pinch in my neck. Slowly, I began to lose consciousness and laid on the ground motionless. Why did I even think it was possible for me to escape, there’s never an escape.
***
I opened my eyes and glanced around me. Where am I? I was surrounded by a diamond ceiling and a purely marble floor. State of the art robot maids were charging in the corner.
“Hello Adam.”
I turned to my right and saw him. I saw the man that has ruined this world. I didn’t even know what to do. I just wanted to kill him. No. I wanted him to suffer. I want him to suffer worse than all the sufferings he has caused to everyone in the world. I ran towards him but realized that my movement was completely restricted by a metallic lockdown structure.
“Fuck you.” I spat at him.
“Now is that any way to treat your president?”
“Fuck you. You ain’t shit.”
I watched as he went to put his hand in his pocket. I expected him to pull out a gun and immediately kill me but he didn’t.
“So you probably know why you’re here Mr. Adam. The results were in for the genetic identification test and it appears that you are another one of my sons.”
Son? Fuck no. I will never be associated with this bastard. He is absolute shit to me. I cannot possibly be his son.
“I am not your son.”
“Oh, but you are Adam.”
How the hell could I be his son when my parents are Alicia and Tarik.
“Those aren’t your real parents.” He answered the question I conjured up in my head.
“You see Adam, in my effort to homogeneize the world, I have realized that what better way to make the world perfect than by implanting my sperm into the bodies of women.”
“You mean fucking rape you asshole.”
“No no. Not rape. I am doing them a favor by even allowing them to feel the sexual sensations outside of mating season. They got to really feel what it’s like to have power reign in their body.”
I wanted to slice off his tongue and cut out his teeth one by one out of his blabbering mouth.
“Now is that any way a son would ever treat his father.”
“Fuck you.”
“Well anyways, you see I inserted my sperm in this woman species, don’t remember her name. And she had you…”
“Where is she?” I demanded.
Jerard chuckled at my question, as if it was something far-fetched to even ask. “She is dead of course!”
“Let me get to my point. The reason I decided to even do this favor to women was because I realized how great it could benefit me as well. All of my children will be specifically programmed to be killing machines.”
“I am not going to do that.” I shouted.
“It’s not your choice.”
It isn’t. And I knew it wasn’t, so I looked around my lock and began to conjure up ways to assassinate myself because I cannot possibly fathom the idea of murdering innocent lives.
“You’ll never win Adam.”
I found it.
“Never.”
He clicked the button that had begun my transformation.
| 2018-02-16T21:59:53 | 2018-02-16T21:00:27 | 176 | 33 |
[WP] You are God, and you wanted to experience life as a human to see how you would turn out. In order to do that you became a baby that was born and you made yourself forget that you are God until your 30th birthday. It's your 30th birthday and you are a serial killer waiting for his death penalty.
Edit: Holy shit I wrote this and went straight to bed, I'm going to read all of your replies now, thank you. This is my first writing prompt, I'm so glad you guys liked it.
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"Well. I sure screwed this up. No matter, once I die, back to heaven for me", God said.
Then in flash of blinding light and choir singing only God could hear and see, St. Peter arrives in the cell. Peter looks at God and says, "we've got a problem my Lord. It turns out by the rules you laid out in the creation of existence. You are going to be damned to hell."
"The hell you say!" God replied.
"I'm afraid so" , says Peter.
God stands up and proclaims to Peter, "once I'm free of this mortal form. I'll have my divine nature back. I'll simply will myself back to heaven."
"And in doing so you'll break Creation. There is only one way for you to escape damnation without bringing about the end times." Peter remarks as he sits God back down on his bunk.
God says to Peter while looking a little cross, "Enlighten this mere mortal if you would Peter."
Peter grabs the prison bible from the table, leans over to God's ear while handing it to him. Then Peter whispers while pointing down the hall to the Priest and Warden coming closer, "you need to pray to Jesus and ask his forgiveness. You have to mean it too."
Peter poofs away in a flutter of brilliant white feathers. God can only stare at the wall and mutter, "shit".
|
As I woke up, I felt incredibly calm.
Until this very morning, the past years had been a challenge for me that pushed me to my mental limits. I didn’t know what was right or wrong, what was good, what was evil. Was I going to hell? Was I the evil that people feared? Was all the blood for nothing?
No more questions.
Today I woke up and knew the answer.
Thirty years in a mortal body brought me to this small, dreary cell that the people put me in to let me suffer until I finally got what they thought I deserved. These poor souls could not have known.
When I did these crimes, I never regretted my actions. Now I know why.
The walls of the room had numerous scratches that covered the cold white surface like scars. For years my anger, doubts and fears were displayed on these enclosures, but today was my time to smooth them out.
This morning I was patient. I could have gotten out of this prison with ease at the very first moment I opened my new eyes. But instead, I would take my time. I had just realized what time actually means.
To me, nothing.
When the first guard came to my cell and barked out the usual instructions, I simply took my time to find eye contact. That shut him up immediately. An almost unnoticeable spark lit up his eyes and without any more words, he unlocked my cell door and stepped aside.
Just a couple of hours ago, I would have gone trough all sorts of emotions ranging from glee to denial when this path opened. But right now, it was simply part of the higher plan.
Hundreds of eyes laid on me as I slowly walked past the hall.
I was able to hear their thoughts and feel their emotions. Most were confused and interested, some envied me, many were angry.
“Hey, inmate! What are you doing?”
A guard shouted at my back. In anticipation of the oncoming event, I formed a humble smile on my face. Certainly, there was a little bit left of my mortal self.
Without turning around, I pursued my way along the far corridor.
“Inmate! You are not allowed to be out here. Go back to your cell now or I have to use…”
With his gun already pulled, he stopped in the middle of the sentence.
The atmosphere in the building froze every thought and simultaneously made everyone feel unbearable heat. Sweat in every pore.
People could sense, there was something divine going on.
A short glace over my shoulder. Another pair of eyes lighting up. A final breath.
The guard pointed the gun away from me and slowly turned it on himself.
His teeth bit the barrel as he pulled the trigger.
_Boom._
The dump sound of his body hitting the floor joined the ringing in people's ears that was left by the gunshot.
For many of the present witnesses, a body with a fatal head wound was not a new sight. However, none of them had ever seen one dissolving into thousands of cockroaches and maggots within seconds. Every single one of them planting the feeling of chaos in everybody’s mind.
With every further step I took, I could hear people dropping on their knees, praying and asking questions.
Today, I knew the answer.
It was more an act of attention gathering than a necessity as I gracefully rose my hand and snapped my fingers to open every door in the building. Hundreds of minds were astonished in an instant.
People were connected. By admiration. By wonder. By fear.
No one dared to say a word. Quietly, everyone came out of their cells, looked for a reaction and hesitantly decided to follow my path.
I didn’t count the minutes it took me to go through the whole prison. Inmates and guards that did not see my marvel were either convinced or made an example. Most understood fast enough to simply join my following.
If only a man could feel this glory.
As I reached the heavy steel doors that were supposed to be the final hindrance of any uprising, I just made them disappear into thin air. Amazed mumbling arose with each wonder that I let happen.
Every glimpse turned at the sky that had turned dark during my awakening. Grey flakes of ash calmly glided through the warm air. Thunder kept interrupting the silence and joined the grace of the lightings striking the earth.
I steadily turned around as I felt everyone’s attention on me. So many questions.
A wide grin.
Hundreds of eyes lit up.
The frightened crowd suddenly snapped into an angry mob of hate and contempt. That number of men contained so much strength that all at once turned on themselves.
People started punching, kicking, biting each other. Men were being strangled, blood was being shed, lives were being ended.
This was just the beginning.
All these years of questions. What is right or wrong? What is good and evil?
Today we got the answer.
I am the answer.
_____
Edit: Grammar and wording
| 2018-11-22T19:31:44 | 2018-11-22T16:27:19 | 155 | 37 |
[WP] You accidentally keyed in a smiley emoji on Amazon and was surprised to find a lone product result. Out of curiosity, you purchase it and have it instantly delivered. You spend the next 8 hours feeling "the happiest ever in your entire life". You try searching other emojis
|
When the happiness faded I ran back to the computer. I couldn't believe what had happened, but there was no denying it. Tentatively, I typed in the angry emoji. One result. The same for the one with hearts for eyes. The same with the one that looked unimpressed, the one with a halo, the one vomiting. I typed in the poop emoji. There was one result for that too.
I stared.
What could *that* be?
Tentatively, unable to resist, I purchased it.
The doorbell rang. I crept over to answer it, half terrified, half giggling. There was no one there, like before, just a simple amazon box. I gave it a wary sniff, but got nothing, so I planted it on my kitchen table to open it. It was a large bag of what looked like gummy bear candy. A label on the side said "Haribo: Sugar Free".
I'd come this far... I ate a handful, and waited.
Eight hours later, when I got off the toilet and limped back to the computer, I resolved to take the whole thing more carefully next time. I ordered happiness again. I needed it.
|
*Just once more. Just try it.*
It had been about 30 minutes since the elation had worn off, and it was all I could do to tear myself away from the screen and the rapidly fading memory of its fruits. I lay shaking, no rattling, in my bed, sweat pasting the sheets to my clammy body.
Had I always felt this empty?
I glanced over to the glare of the screen.
It was impossible.
And yet-
A thought gnawed the back of my mind, but was quickly cast aside. Fear gave way to wonder.
Already I was forgetting; the ecstasy, the pure, unadulterated bliss of the last 8 hours.
The more I reassured myself of its authenticity, the more quickly the memory bled away.
My body felt disgusting. Every dull ache, every second of sluggishness, every nauseating pull of air only exacerbated the feeling. Had I been living like this all this time? Had existence always been this pathetic?
Tears pricked my eyes, as the shaking worsened.
It had to be real...
My body was moving before my mind and before I knew it I was back at the desk.
**“This product is out of stock.”**
A moment of panic, quickly quelled when I noticed the **’Type Name’** button a little lower down. Trembling hands managed to navigate the mouse over and select it. My eyes widened as I cycled through the options.
Every smiley emoji was listed, and of them, there were still at least another ten that could constitute as ‘happy’ emojis.
I composed myself, a crude back of the arm to clean my face of the tears and snot, and a quick lick of the lips, and gingerly selected my option.
***
I don’t know how long has passed since I’d started this...I’d been...vaguely aware of my flat mate leaving out for work a few times...
I...
My stomach was hurting again...
I glanced over the empty water bottle, maybe there was another dro- No....empty.
I felt tired... God is this how everyone was living all the time? So weak and torpid? so disgusting?
It was a good thing I had found my happiness.
How did people stand it...the constant odour of excrement...the perpetual hunger....how had I not realised my own suffering before this?
Well it didn’t matter now.
It took all of my effort to shift my arm over towards the mouse, the grunt that accompanied the lunge scorched the aridity from my throat.
Any remaining energy I had left seized my muscles as frantic scrolling only confirmed my fears. It was over. Even the riskier emojis were sold out now.
I could feel my heart trying to break its way out of my chest. Every thud and racked breath sent another wave of pain crashing through my body
What kind of company only had a stock count of one? An exasperated groan only left my body in more pain. Had I really used up all of them already, it couldn’t be?
I could feel myself panicking, my God was I having a heart attack? I could hear the blood rushing in my ears carrying my heart’s cries for freedom. This was it. I knew once I’d experienced true bliss that life would only feel like suffering, but it seemed like my body was no longer willing to survive in this condition. My eyes began rolling towards the back of my head, my throat sealed shut.
Frantic clicking punctuated my gurgles.
I’m dying. I’m dying.
Why wasn’t it working? I couldn’t see the screen but surely I must have hit something?
I’M DYING. **I’M DYING**
And then...
It was all gone.
It had been delivered. Strength returned to my limbs, and the pain drained from my body.
I heard the door. My flatmate.
*My flatmate*
A slow smile grew on my face. I looked around the room, among the bottles of urine and bags of faeces and chuckled. I twisted my head towards the door and spotted what I was looking for.
Yes. I had found my happiness.
One last look at my current order, before I pushed away from my desk and walked towards my door.
I couldn’t stop sniggering, it was going to be so funny. Yes, this was a good choice, I had been nervous to select it earlier, but a smile was a smile. I cracked open my door. He looked up and smiled.
“Oh hey du-, bloody hell, what’s that smell? Did you forget how to shower or something?”
“Oh, you know, assignments and whatnot, you know how tough Medicine gets, say....you mind helping me with a quick...experiment?”
I reached down to the object leaning on the wall.
“Sure man, you’re gonna have to shower fi-...dude you been hitting the books too hard? What’s with that look?”
My hand wrapped around the top of the baseball bat.
Edit: Formatting
| 2019-01-15T06:45:59 | 2019-01-15T06:17:18 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] The Anti-Christ came and went, but no one noticed because he wasn't worse than the current state of the world already is. The rapture followed, but no one went to Heaven, so we didn't notice that either. We've been living in Hell for the last 5 years, and no one has noticed, yet.
Boy, I never thought this would take off the way it has. This writing prompt was brought to you by my buddy Jed, who does not post to Reddit. I thought it was a great prompt, and wanted to share it.
|
“YOU SHALL ALL SUFFER ENDLESS TORMENTS!”
“That’s nice, sir. How many shots of expresso did you want in that?”
Starbucks was usually calm and quiet at seven PM, the gentle chatter of baristas at work underscoring the clickity-clackity of computer keys. Today, however, it was somewhat rowdy. A few patrons sitting at a table wedged into one of the corners shot the culprit various scowls and flowers. The eleven-foot individual—thirteen feet of one included his impressive rack of horns—snorted at them, expelling puffs of smoke out of his slitted nostrils before turning back to the counter with a stomp of his hoof.
“...THREE.” He decided after another contemplative snort. The barista, unfazed, stepped away from the puff of sulfuric steam.
“Alright, name?”
“ASPHANATHOBUB.”
“As... fa... nacho... bub, okay!” The young man smiled brightly as he finished writing down the name with a flourish. “You can pick it up at the end of the counter. Have a good evening!”
As the massive, hulking, horned creature shuffled off to the far side of the drink counter, the newest hire leaned over towards her senior. “Um... Josh... did that guy look a little... you know, *weird* to you?”
”Cosplayers,” Josh said with a shrug, turning away to work on the drink. “You know how they get.”
|
There are a few things that were misinterpreted in the early renditions of the Bible.
God is omniscient, he knows everything. He can not tell the future though. How is one supposed to know something that has not happened?
But he can make a good guess. He knows everything that has has happened in history. He knows all the personalities of the people on this earth and the people that they deal with.
He can tell if a child was born in the most destitute of situations how he will statistically end in a destitute manner.
But he also knows if that child has the drive to grow up and become someone. He knows if the people around the child set a good example the child can become something great.
And he knows if the opposite is true.
Second, when God gave the human race free will, he gave almost all his power. Only in the most specific circumstances he can intervene with the human race.
Third, Heaven, Hell and Purgatory all exist on Earth. We build our own destiny and our own fate.
The devil is our own free will. She works with us and she cheats us.
And sometimes our Free Will gives us free to follow.
The Antichrist will be charismatic he will have legions of people cheering his name.
He will also try to control our economic trade. Those who can trade will wear red marks on their heads.
He will claim to be God's choice. and that's how he will get much of his work done.
God introduced one man many years ago to fight the Antichrist. To make the people follow gods intentions. To Love thy neighbor, to feed the poor and house the homeless.
This man came when society had issues, we didn't allow God's children to go to certain schools because of the color of their skin. We didn't allow people proper medical Care because of the people that they loved.
This man lived his life and will die never knowing that he was God's choice to make earth into heaven. This man talked in front of the most powerful people of the world at that time to make a change to the most powerful Nation in the world.
This man did not quite have the charisma that was needed. But he had the message that needed to be said. And people listened and they followed. But not enough
The first horseman was war, this was the forever war. A war turned and killed the bodies of the youth.
The second one was division of Nations. this was interesting because nobody expected that the division would be Heald with political borders but more with social borders. The borders that the people themselves put up.
The third horse was famine and plague. We actually don't know which one it is. Because it actually came together. A sickness sweep across the world, and without work people hey trouble getting food.
And the third was death. the stuff was actually caused by war but not one that has developed between nations but it has been developed between people. As stomachs grew hungry people got desperate. As people got to bite it I did not see the fellow man the saying that they saw themselves.
(Chapter 2, the beginning of the end)
Nobody knows when the apocalypse broke. But I'm guessing that it has happened after the attempted assassination of our president.
Nobody would have believed that Donald Trump would survive a bullet wound to the Head. But he did. We all joked that it was mostly because there was nothing there.
His first address to the nation, he blamed a radical liberal. In his defense this man probably did shoot the president but we will never know.
But his next words is what shocked the nation.
He demanded the execution of a prominent journalist who revealed damning evidence of Trump's re-election in 2020.
Somewhere between ballots, and what was seen on TV, Trump didn't win, but only by a remarkably small number
But how do you explain that to supporters who saw numbers that wildly favored Trump?
So with an execution of a reporter on national TV who sole job was to tell the truth. People took up arms.
Riots in the streets of Milwaukee prompted hillbillies in pickup trucks driving down the streets of Appleton.
both of which prompted the government taking up arms against its own people.
Young men killing other young men who grew up in the same schools.
The chaos lasted for seven long years.
(Chapter 3: the Phoenix)
Seven years bodies lie in the streets. 7 years men hang from industrial cranes.
But the blood of those seven years introduced men and women who promised themselves and their country and we will never do this again.
They lived through the horrors of hell. and they did not want their children to experience it.
10 years after the assassination attempt. You have a new generation of senators, house members, governors and mayors who not that long ago picked up a gun and killed.
This is the cycle of the world. This is how it's done.
This is not the first apocalypse. We have had many. Every bloodbath has caused the good and the bad.
With every apocalypse God expects the human race to crawl to him and demand that he takes back free will. and with every apocalypse we don't do that we just build a better world.
Every time our earth burns, new life is created from its ashes.
| 2020-03-18T15:00:47 | 2020-03-18T14:49:22 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] As everyone leans in to hear the latest vague reports about the alien invasion, the General bursts into the bunker. "I NEED A DOCTOR -." Immediately, every surgeon and physician stands at the ready. "NO! A DOCTOR OF ___!" Confused, all eyes turn to you.
|
We’d been waiting in the holding area for what felt like hours, but in actuality was only a few minutes. The greatest minds around the globe had been summoned and gathered: doctors, physicians, scientists, anyone who had any deep knowledge or skill was in attendance. Which begged the question, why was I here?
I knew we’d been invaded. You’d have to live under a rock to not know that first contact with an alien lifeform had been made. Their ship was bigger than the moon for crying out loud and could be seen around the world. The chaos that filled every city was unparalleled. Nobody had any answers, and no one knew what was going on. So, when a military escort showed up on my doorstep, I didn’t even question it. But now I was starting to.
Seeing all the stiffs whispering amongst themselves I wasn’t sure what would happen next. And maybe that’s why I wasn’t ready for it, when it happened.
A debriefing started and we all leaned in to hear the latest report about the alien invasion when the General burst into the bunker. “I need a doctor!”
Without hesitation a dozen hands went up. Surgeons and physicians, the finest from the world’s leading hospitals stood at the ready. Which made it even more surprising when the General shook his head in frustration. “No, no. Damn it Krill, I told you I needed an Audiologist!”
Krill, presumably the second in command, bobbed his head and pushed me forward. Guess that was my cue. I gave a timid wave.
The General looked me up and down, taking my measure. I must have passed muster because with a grunt nod, he left the bunker, and I was nudged to follow.
XXX
The sit-room was controlled chaos. Monitors everywhere, military personnel at the ready. Frantic whispers into headsets. But all that stopped when the General walked in, with me on his heels. He barked an order, and I was led to a door on the other side.
It opened to reveal a room with a dozen soldiers. All in peak health. All holding their ears and moaning.
“Every person we’ve sent up to make contact has come back without their hearing. I need a full report after you’ve examined them.”
Without so much as a by-your-leave, the General was gone, and I went to work.
XXX
32 patients and 2 hours later and I’d come to a conclusion, kind of.
I hoped I was wrong, but the reality was I probably wasn’t.
I was escorted to the General, who stood in the center of the sit-room controlling the chaos. He looked up, “Well?”
“I … uh.” I’d always hated public speaking ever since I was a child. My speech impediment made it mortifying and I’d avoided it at all costs. Standing in the center of the room with more than a hundred sets of eyes on me wasn’t helping matters.
“Out with it.”
His brusqueness hit my hell-naw trigger and anger briefly overcame my stage fright.
“Each affected service member reports hearing a high-frequency radio signal before losing their hearing. It happened exactly the same way for each of them. There are some treatments that can be tried but by and large I expect them to suffer from permanent hearing loss.”
The statement was met with silence.
“Is that all?”
Why was it that the lead commander of such an important endeavor had to be a dick? I thought. Guess that was the way of the world.
“No. That’s not all. The description matches what would be considered in laymen’s terms an attempt to communicate.”
The General rolled his eyes. Honest to goodness rolled his eyes at me. “Thank you for stating the obvious.”
He looked at Krill and gave a nod. I was dismissed. Except I wasn’t done.
“I’ve been doing modifications on hearing aids. Based on my examinations, I believe adjustments can be made to nullify the damaging effects of their frequency.”
The General considered this. At the same time an operator shouted, “Movement, sir!”
Across the many screens set up around the room the image of the aliens’ mothership was front and center. A hatch of some kind had opened at the bottom of the ship and thousands of smaller vessels flew out.
The General looked at Krill, “Get this man everything he needs.” To me he said, “I need as many of them as you can make. As fast as you can make them.”
“Not a problem, but …”
“We don’t have time for buts right now. Get going.”
I debated my obstinance. I could just follow orders and leave it at that. I didn’t have to volunteer what I really thought. But looking at those tiny ships hovering over our atmosphere I realized I didn’t really have a choice.
“The enhanced aids will help those who have their hearing. But one of my prototypes will help translate their radio frequency.”
Everyone stopped. The General stared at me like I was a lunatic for not offering this sooner.
“The catch is … the best person to wear that prototype and attempt contact is someone who is already hearing impaired and a linguistics expert.”
The General nodded, then barked to his subordinates, “Start the search globe-wide for ideal candidates, fast –"
I took a deep breath. It was for the good of the human race. Fine.
“That won’t be necessary, sir. I already know someone. My ex-wife.”
God help us all.
\~\~\~
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous
|
I didn’t know when I entered the fetal position. I didn’t know when I started rocking back and forth like a small child waiting for its mother. Hell, I didn’t even remember how I got in this dingy bunker, surrounded by soldiers and scared civilians alike, sitting on the ground with only a thin patina of wet ash and mud between myself and the bare concrete below.
And yet I was there, wrapped in the remnants of a towel and trying to block out the steady stream of garbled communications from militaries, police forces, and any regular old citizen who had managed to grab a radio when the world became hell. The damp, shredded towel was barely any comfort; I had only held onto it because I had used it to escape my burning home, and the concept of dropping it never even crossed my mind.
A commotion at the door to the bunker broke me from my reverie.
“Medic! Medic! We need a medic over here!”
A trio of soldiers barged in, supporting a fourth that hung limply around their shoulders. The soldier’s head lolled about in a sickening way, and even in the dim orange of the sodium vapor lights overhead, I could see the sticky coat of blood over his entire face.
To my left, a group of civilians that had been hunkering down with me stood.
“We’re doctors and nurses,” one said. “What do you need?”
The soldiers set the injured man on the ground in the cleanest part of the bunker and the doctors set about their work with an oddly detached efficiency, stripping the clothes and armor from the man’s wound and cleaning it with whatever scraps they could find.
The woman next to me whistled in a low tone. “That’s lucky,” she murmured.
“Lucky?” I hissed. “What’s lucky about this? This is the fucking end of the world!”
“Lucky for *him*,” she said, pointing at the soldier. “I can’t imagine many of these Cold War-era bunkers were fortunate enough to have a medical staff evacuate into them.”
“I’m not sure it would be fortunate for us to survive this hell,” I muttered bitterly.
“Thing will turn around,” the woman said with a confidence that astounded me. “The government and military will come around. They’ll save us all.”
“Lady, that *is* the military,” I said, pointing at the injured man. His squadmates stood around him, watching awkwardly until one of the nurses pushed them away. “I don’t think they’re going to do much *saving*.”
“The Lord will provide,” she said stubbornly.
My mouth flapped open, then closed. “I— you— really? You think *that* will save us?”
She looked me in the eye. “Even if He does not, I do not fear death. It will be like going home.”
I stared at the injured soldier, who began to shake violently. “I wish I had your confidence,” I whispered.
The woman followed my gaze to the soldier, then winced and turned away. “All the same, I’d rather it be painless. Again, lucky. Imagine if we were near a university instead of a hospital. Can you imagine asking for a doctor and then some schmuck stands up and says, ‘I have a doctorate in communications?” She snorted.
“Excuse you,” I said. “I *do* have a doctorate in communications.”
She laughed. “Exactly. It’s ridiculous.”
“That’s not a joke,” I said, my face growing warm. “I worked hard for my Ph.D. I would appreciate it if you didn’t mock me.”
The woman reeled back. “Oh. I— I didn’t—”
I scooted away from her and stared at the door.
Time seemed to pass in slow motion. After what was either a few minutes or half a day, the doctors sighed heavily and pulled a blanket over the soldier. His squadmates took him outside and reappeared alone some moments later. At some point, the entire earth seemed to shake around us, as though a giant’s footsteps were echoing through the ground.
Something slammed against the door repeatedly.
“It’s the General!” gasped the soldier guarding the entrance. He yanked the door open and an older man stormed in. His uniform was crisp, despite being covered in soot and blood, and his short-cropped grey hair made me want to stand at attention and not meet his eyes. Or, more notably, his eye. One was covered in a tasteful black eyepatch that seemed to cover a thick mass of scars.
“I NEED A DOCTOR!” the general yelled with a voice that rattled my soul.
The evacuated medical team stood again, exhausted but ready to take on the challenges ahead of them.
“We’re doctors and nurses,” one of them said. “What do you—”
“Piss off,” the general growled. “I need a *real* doctor, not one of you half-educated sawbones that appropriated an honorable term. I need a doctor… in communications.”
The woman stared at me. “Uh… he’s a doctor in communications!” she said, pointing in my direction.
I wilted into my shredded towel under the general’s fierce gaze.
“You,” he said. “Come with me.” He jerked a thumb out the door into the unknown.
I slowly climbed to my feet and took a hesitant step forward.
“Did I stutter?” he asked in a low, dangerous tone.
“N— no, sir,” I squeaked.
“Get over here, then. We’re going.”
The woman gave me a gentle push, and I followed the general out of the bunker into hell.
***
The sky overhead was black with smoke. Strange shapes darted about, occasionally dipping below the clouds and flashing with a foreign light that seemed to split the very air itself. The ground around us was all dirt and mud. Every last tree, bush, and blade of grass had seemingly been torn up or burned in the pitched battle.
“Sir, you have the wrong idea!” I said, straining to be heard above the booming of the guns around us. “I studied fictional media and its effects on different demographics! I don’t know about… well… communicating!”
The general continued to march at a steady pace that was almost double my normal walking pace.
“Son, do you think I’m stupid?”
Despite him yelling the question, I could somehow tell it was in that same low, dangerous voice that had startled me into action earlier.
“No, sir, but—”
“Son, do you know how we survived here in Washington, D.C. when so many cities are lost and gone forever?”
I sighed. “No, sir.”
“You write, kid?”
“I… what?”
“Do you write?” the general asked, his eyepatch flashing as he glanced at me. “Stories? Books? Low production value shorts on the YouTube?”
“I… I dabble, I guess. Why?”
“Ever write a short sci-fi story about how humans are better than other aliens?”
I flushed. “Once or twice.”
“If you were to have aliens attack the world, where would it be?”
I tripped over a rock and fell into the mud, planting my hands and knees deep into the filth.
“New York City, probably,” I said, regaining my feet and attempting to wipe the thick sludge onto my pants. “Or London, or Paris, or maybe Hong Kong. Probably not D.C.”
“Exactly.”
“Sir, I don’t follow. Why—”
“You ever heard of SETI, son? Voyager’s golden record?”
“Of course, but—”
The general stopped and I plowed into his back. He continued speaking as though he hadn’t even noticed.
“Son, we’ve been yelling into the void for decades now. Makes sense that something would hear us.”
“But we’re just… humanity,” I protested. “The odds that Earth would be habitable to them are practically none! What other reason would they have to attack.”
The general scratched his chin absentmindedly. “You ever watched them Avenger movies?”
By this point, I was almost used to the general’s abrupt topic changes. “Yes. I wrote my thesis on how they’re simply the natural culmination of mass-market—”
“Never got around to it myself,” he muttered. “More of a western man, myself. Good, Bad, and the Ugly is about as good as it gets. Kids took me out to see that damnable Cowboys versus Aliens nonsense a few years back.”
“Sir, what’s your point?”
The general gestured ahead of us. I could just barely make out a massive array of electrical equipment and computers in a trench. Thick cables snaked away from them, creating a messy tangle at the base of the computer.
“We’ve done some communicating,” the general said, “but we need a communications professional.
“I already told you, I don’t do languages!” I protested. “How—”
“Language ain’t an issue, son. We’ve been yelling into the void for years, remember?”
The general pushed me to the computers. At the front of the array was a single headset with a microphone
“What—” I began, but the general interrupted.
“Can you please explain the concept of ‘fiction’ to these dumb [aliens](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks)?”
| 2021-05-27T09:22:43 | 2021-05-27T09:11:34 | 182 | 96 |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once.
|
“And now for the finishing blow, I Fishmonger will gut you and put an end to your heroic deeds.” Fishmonger raised his hook, aiming it at the cut on the hero’s stomach, only to watch in horror as Festivica did not block the attack. Instead, they unhinged their jaw, reaching for something in the pocket of their suit.
The sides of Festivica’s suit were squished with slimy pieces of cheese that probably once made up a full two wheels. Only to melt under the incredible heat generated by suit and skin colliding with one another. Luckily his back up item was still holding up, pulling out the now cooked whole chicken, Fishmonger halting his killing blow when he noticed the chicken.
“A cooked chicken? I thought that was some type of weapon. Are you telling me you have been fighting with a cooked chicken in your clothing? That’s disgusting and unhygienic. What if some slime got onto it?” Fishmonger backed away, releasing the hero who had yet to correct his jaw.
It appeared Festivica wanted to speak, but was struggling with a small bout of lockjaw. He opted to stuff the whole chicken down his throat, watching it bulge in his throat before sliding into his stomach in an act that almost made the Fishmonger heave. He had seen some awful things, but that was by far the worst. When the food was swallowed, his jaw returned to its previous position and the cut on his stomach vanished.
“Oh, the chicken was raw when I put it into the suit and that wasn’t slime, its cheese. Do you want some?” He reached into the pits of his suit, a swishing sound coming from his clothing as he moved the hot cheese around, producing a handful to the villain who only continued to back away in terror.
“How did you hide that in your suit? What sort of freak are you? This is too much. I can’t fight you, too many health violations.” Fishmonger tried to build up the will to fight, only for that fire inside of him to extinguish. “I can’t do this. I have lived my life defying law and order, but there’s one line I never crossed in all my years. I never committed a health violation like the one you have in your suit. I wouldn’t stoop so slow, the people that buy fish from me deserve better.”
“You kill people! It’s not that weird, all the heroes do it.” Festivica bluffed, awkwardly looking at the gooey cheese in his hand, licking his lips.
“Bullshit. No one is that much of a freak. Don’t you dare lick it. I swear if you lick it, I’m going to burn down a cheese factory with you in it.” He said, shuddering as Festivica licked the mess of cheese on his hand, causing Fishmonger to collapse in disgust. “Momma, I just wanted to be a good fishmonger like you, with a little murder on the side and petty bank robbery. Is that so bad?” Fishmonger whimpered, unable to process the sight in front of him.
With the villain defeated, Festivica made the call to the cops, who hurried to the scene, giving him a strange look. “Um, you have some cheese in your hands. Do you need a napkin or something? How did you get cheese on your hands during a fight?”
Festivica tried to wipe the cheese off onto his suit, only causing it to stain the fabric. “I fell through a cheese shop.” He said, earning a raised eyebrow from the cop.
“This is the third one this week. The villains also in the same traumatic state as the last two. Are you telling me the truth? People are getting suspicious.” Festivica began to sweat as the cop continued to grill him until he raised his hands, making snow fall from the sky.
“Oh, what do you know? It’s Christmas again! How good are my festival abilities?” Before the cop could question it, Festivica crouched, legs growing a thick coating of brown fur before he bounced thirty feet into the air, bunny hopping away from the area thanks to his abilities, infusing his legs with the magic of easter.
“What a weirdo. We really need to start background checking these heroes.” The cop said to his buddy by the car, who only gave a nod as Fishmonger rolled around on the floor screaming.
“HE COOKED A RAW CHICKEN IN HIS CLOTHING.” He screamed as the cops handcuffed him and pulled into the back of the police car.
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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.)
|
I was amused when I saw him, for the first time. His wide face, rosy with drink. His huge belly, stretching the seams of his shirt. He was sitting at a table in a dingy bar, alone, drinking wine by the cupful. Before him was heaped tons of food. Some of it, already bitten into; a great deal, yet untouched. Beside him sat his sword and his armour.
I stood before his table and straightened my back. I pulled off my helmet and unsheathed my sword. I knocked the table with the hilt.
"Dear Sir Bunger!" I cried to the fat old knight. "I am Clarence Hombelle. Son of Douglas Hombelle. Nephew of the great Sir Jonathon Hombelle, whom you slew. I have searched for months to find you. I have waited many years for this night. I am here to avenge my uncle's death, and to restore honour to our family name. I am here to kill you, Sir Bunger. So stand and fight."
The fat old knight looked up from the table. He gazed at me with sleepy eyes. "What's that now?" he asked. "Ham bell? I'd sure like a ham bell, to ring whenever I crave a handful of bacons. Or a nice juicy chop. Or a half-dozen sausages. Ding-a-ling-ding. A ham bell. See?"
He didn't seem to understand. He was too drunk. I would have to drive the point home.
"Sir Jonathan Hombelle was my uncle," I repeated. "Fourteen years ago, you duelled him in the battle of Four Peaks, and killed him with a thrust through the gut. Since that wretched day, our family has languished. Our fortunes have sunk to the bottom of the mire. I have come to duel you, in the hopes that your death will pull us out of the wretched state into which we have descended. Stand, sir knight, and duel me. Either your life or mine concludes tonight."
"Hombelle," the inebriated corpulent said to himself, as if tasting the word. "Hombelle. Sir Hombelle. . .Yes! Yes, lad! Of course! The young skin-and-bones with canary yellow stockings! Hombelle! Feathers in his helm! And a nose like yours! Long as a pelican's! Nimble on his feat, the poor birdie was. But I was nimbler! Skewered him like a rotisserie chicken! But that was back in my fighting days. . .Ah, Four Peaks. What a battle! What a war! Though too much blood spilled for the wrong reasons. Your uncle and them others. . .Rebels. Ambitious. Treasonous. Taking up arms against the crown. Sneaking around like thieves. Slaughtering their own countrymen. And for what? To be peppered by sword points? To be strung up on the royal gallows? To secure early sleeps in wooden boxes, six feet under the dirt? A damn shame."
He stared solemnly at the air in front of him, gently shaking his head. Then he glugged down a cup of wine, wiped his lips, and smiled.
"But what's this about a duel, young pecker?" he asked. "Vengeance? Danger? Death? A humbler Hombelle would let bygones be bygones. He'd sit down at the table and wet his beak. There's no better way to swallow your pride, young swallow, than with a cup of cold spring wine. Eh? What do you say? Have a seat, little rooster. Leave the strutting and cock-a-doodle-doing to the other bird-brained buffoons. You're smarter than them."
"I'll not kill you like some half-penny cutthroat," I said, my temper rising. "I won't stab you while you sit there, without armour or arms. But I'll call you coward at the top of my lungs if you won't rise to the occasion."
"Ha!" cried the fat old knight, reaching for a hunk of beef and tossing it in his mouth. He chewed as he spoke. "I'm old and drunk, I'll give you that. Older than I once was. . .though not so drunk as I'll one day be. But neither years nor booze'll ever keep me from rising to the occasion, if you know what I mean. You ask any whore south of Tiddle Market, and she'll corroborate--Sir Barry Bunger's the stiffest customer she's ever laid hands on! Always rises to the occasion. Ha ha ha!"
"Enough with your lewd nonsense!" I cried. "Stand and draw, Sir Knight!"
"A moment, lad," he said, pouring and then finishing off another cup of wine. "Ah. Mmm. Yes. A moment. Let me get my armour on, before we duel. Then I'll have at ye. But first my armour. . .Where did I put the blasted--there!"
I watched the drunken tub of guts fumble with his armour. The breast plate wouldn't fit over his bulk. He wheezed and he squeezed and pulled. Eventually, he gave up.
"Guess she'll stay loose," he said with a shrug.
He plopped on his helmet, heaved himself to his feet, and unsheathed his sword. He staggered a little, and had to lean on his weapon like a cane to keep balance.
I shook my head in disbelief.
This was the fabled knight my father had told me so many stories about? The legendary swordsman who had vanquished dozens? The hero who'd ended the civil wars with a single swift stroke to my usurping uncle's belly? The cause of our family's ruin?
He was already out of breath and sweating greasy drops like melted butter. It would be closer to butchering a fat cow than duelling!
"One little snack first," the glutton panted, raising his visor. "And then to the duel. The flashing of swords. The clanging of steel on steel. Magnificent! Glorious! Eh? Though I'd prefer a fork in my left and a knife in my right than a claymore in both, if you want the honest truth. Hmm. Yes. One little morsel before we change blows. Let me see."
He wiggled his fat stubby fingers over the heap of food on his table. Then with astonishing rapidity his hand pounced on a full wheel of cheese. With three enormous bites, the whole wheel was gone. He licked his lips as he scanned for the next morsel.
"Meat!" he exclaimed, his hand seizing a whole roast chicken in a flash. "Protein before and after any strenuous activity. Doctor's orders, young man. Doctor's orders. And I'm no rebel in the blood, like you. I heed authority. I listen to experts." He winked.
"You're eating the bones!" I cried out, disgusted by how wide his mouth could stretch, horrified to watch him shove the whole chicken in there and chew.
"Best part of the bird," he affirmed, crunching as he spoke. "Most flavour. Extra calcium. Good for a fellow in his old age." He swallowed, bones and all, and wiped his greasy fingers on his shirt. Then he snapped up another whole wheel of cheese.
"Dessert," the fat knight explained with a slight bow. Again, in a few quick chomps, the wheel of cheese was no more.
Sir Barry Bunger patted his belly and sighed with contentment. With the tip of his tongue, he worked at a piece of chicken stuck between his molars. Then he snagged and swigged from the bottle of wine, gulp after gulp, until it was empty.
I was so impressed and mortified by his display that my guard was totally down. When he swung the bottle at my head, I failed to react in time, and it smashed upon my temple.
"Have at you!" he cried.
I fell to the ground in pain, seeing stars. Though I never blacked out, I was close. And all the while I could hear his thunderous footsteps rumbling across the creaky bar floor.
By the time I regained my composure and looked up, the coward was gone.
\- - -
I now see the prompt said *during* combat. I suppose Sir Bunger hoovered his food during their combative battle of wits.
r/CLBHos
| 2021-08-19T03:23:52 | 2021-08-19T03:00:20 | 127 | 92 |
[WP] You are an astronaut tasked with recovering the body that was found by a lunar rover on the far side of the moon. The speculation back home is that this body will be Earth's first contact with an alien. Upon closer inspection, it looks just like you.
|
"Jesus H..." I keyed on my mic, "Johnson, are you getting the camera feed?"
"Roger that. Hard to make out, even with the spotlight, but definitely a bipedal humanoid figure. I'm really interested in the material that suit's made of, looks surprisingly thin." I was staring directly though the faceplate, and it was disturbingly clear in person. The face in there was mine. Not a reflection, no trick of the light. Just ... me, looking like I'd drifted off to sleep. In a paper-thin spacesuit. On the fricking far side of the moon. I keyed back up, "I, er, might need a hand moving it onto the buggy, without damaging it. Looks rail-thin, and I don't want to chance it, lower gravity or not."
I waited for the reply for what felt like forever. "Roger. Caldwell's about done with his survey. He'll be over in a few. Don't get impatient and change your mind, okay?" I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Roger that. I won't lay a finger on him until Caldwell's here." I did move around the body, though, recording from every angle I could. No sign of damage to the suit, at least from the top and sides. Looking through the clear faceplate from other angles didn't change what I was seeing. A perfect replica of my face, relaxed with closed eyes. No indication of decompression, at least, so the suit probably was intact. I nearly jumped eight feet when the voice crackled in my ear, "Here I am, Kurt. Hah, startled you, eh?"
I turned to see Caldwell approaching, the tiny leds illuminating a wide grin. "Well I couldn't well hear you coming, could I?", I snapped. I felt myself flush with embarrassment. "Ah, sorry, I'm a little on edge. Take a look at this, and you'll see why." I move over, motioning to the prone body. He bounced over to me, coming to a halt a few feet from it. He was quiet for a long moment, and when he keyed up again, his voice was low and filled with emotion. "You think this is funny? What, did you guys get a.. a decal or something made, to put on the helmet?"
"What? Look at it, Caldwell, that's not *on* the helmet, that's the face. *My* face!" He turned to me, confused. "What? What do you mean, your face? That looks like me!"
For as well as we got along, no one could mistake me for Caldwell. "Look man, this is freaking me out. I've got a thought. Pull up my camera on your HUD, I'll do the same for yours. We'll get a better look, and Johnson can get a look at what we're seeing, too." Johnson finally chimed in, then. "Good, 'cause you two are starting to sound nuts. It's just a humanoid body to me."
I pulled up Caldwell's feed, setting it in the lower corner of my HUD so I could still clearly see what was in front of me, and I waited as he did the same. It was like Johnson had said, the body and it's suit were clear enough, but the resolution wasn't great for details. "Come on, let's get closer." I moved to within a couple feet of the thing, and peered through the faceplate, trying to keep the spotlight from causing too much glare. Caldwell's feed moved in, and his cam auto-focused on...a grey, near-featureless face. A couple of long slits that could be the eyelids, smooth skin underneath with a couple of nostrils, and a flat, thin mouth. "My feed showing what yours is? Grey alien with a flat face?"
"Yeah. Good lord. Think it's psychic? Hell, does that mean it's still alive?" We didn't come all the way out here to just stare at it. But if it's alive and active... "Let's get it on the buggy. We'll move it closer to the lander, but let's not take it in yet. We've got enough 0-atmo equipment to run some tests before we bring some kind of Trojan Horse home with us." Caldwell gave me a thumbs-up, and we each gently lifted a side. The body looked like it would've been feather light in normal Earth gravity, out here the trick was not accidently flinging up out of our grip. "Ok, down on one, two, .. three." We set it down, but I must have snagged something on my suit. "Hold up, I'm stuck."
"Me too." I glanced over, and saw Caldwell. And his arm being firmly gripped by our supposed cadaver. He was staring at me. I heard the speaker by my ear crackle, but before he could speak, everything went dark.
|
"Can you turn down the music, Ops? I'm two minutes from the body now." I said, speeding over the Moons cratered surface. "I don't want to be humming any Beegees when we make first contact."
"Roger that, Klang" Operations laughed. "Orbiter, you may continue playing Staying Alive once our boys down there are doing routine stuff again."
"Solid copy Operations, no Beegees for the time being. Klang, Webber, how is your visual right now?" The radio cracked up a bit. The orbiter crossed the Moon's horizon again, as it did every two hours.
"Well, Orbiter, it's nice and sunny on this side." Webber replied. "I will be staying with the surface equipment for the next 4 hours as our esteemed German doctor makes her way to the body."
Assholes, I thought with a smile on my face. Captain Webber slowly faded in the distance in the mirrors of my moon buggy. "I'm one minute from the body now. Orbiter, how long until radio blackout?"
"Ehr, that would be 40 minutes, Klang. 39 minutes on-target until Orbiter crests the lunar horizon and loses line of sight with you."
Okay, I reset my watch to countdown for 40 minutes, and dismounted from the moon buggy. Just one crater over was the target anomaly. Three months ago, a body was found by a passing commercial mini-satelite. It was equipped with a ground-facing radar so it didn't have the resolution to identify the species, but it definitely looked humanoid. Some thought it was some sort of alien. My bet was on old Soviet cosmonauts, or maybe a Chinese mission gone wrong that was swept under the rug.
Whatever it was, it sparked enough interest worldwide to get ESA to perform their first moon landing. As I reach the peak of the crater, a bright flare blinds me, automatically shutting the golden visor on my helmet. A gorgeously bright reflection of sunlight marked the body. The edges of the flare a beautiful array of bright diffracted light, rainbow-like rays spawning off the edges. I gasped.
"What's that, Klang." Ops asked.
"Nothing... -I", I started. "The sun's reflection on the body was staggeringly bright, Ops. Ask Orbiter of they have a visual on the flare?"
The radio quieted down again, and I took the time to recollect myself. Looking above me, I saw out into nothingness for lightyears, an addictively humbling feeling, as I walked towards the body.
"Ops, this is Orbiter, we have no sight of any flares, or reflections whatsoever." I heard them reply.
Eventhough the bright flare hid nearly everything from sight, I could make out more and more of the body. I saw a clear humanoid body plan, legs, arms, a large helmet. It must be human. The flare seemed to reflect off the visor. The suit was white with a blue stripe going down the middle of the helmet and chestpiece, and blue fabric lined the inside of both legs. I felt the hairs on my neck stand.
"Ops, Klang here." I said with a shaking voice. "Have there been any covert ESA missions to the moon?"
"Klang, why are you asking this?" Ops said, the muffled rattling of a hastily abused keyboard made it through the microphone.
"The body is wearing a last-gen ESA extravehicular exploration suit." I replied, almost angrily.
"Stand-by. That's impossible, Klang." Another voice in the room continued. "Webber, what would your ETA be if you walked to Klang?"
I was infuriated. How come they didn't trust my evaluation. The brightness of the visor started to burn my eyes, pleasently, and warm like a summer night's setting sun burns your cheeks. I had to look away.
"If I walked, half an hour for the trip, Ops." Webber replied. "I'd have to prep some equipment before I leave, so I need ten to finish here."
"Start now, forget the equipment, we lose communition in 40 minutes, Webber. Haul ass." Operations ordered. The captain complied, annoyed.
"Klang, continue with your visual assessment." I kneeled down beside the body.
"The body appears to be female; it is the D-variant of the suit. The clasps around the left wrist are undone. The golden visor of the helmet is down as well, and its foil seems to refract light from the sun in this..." I took a deep breath.
"Klang, I think we lost you for a moment there?". Orbiter asked.
"No, sorry, I'm good." Looking back at the flare took so much from me. It was enthralling. "The golden solar visor refracts light beautifully in an array of rainbows and sparks, like a warm prisma."
Orbitor opened the channel, breathed in to say something, and shut the radio again. Ops erupted instead.
"Engineering advices that you open the visor to eliminate the reflection."
Of course, I thought. Taking a moment to recollect myself once again. I chuckled. Did I really need a team of engineers to tell me that. I announced that I was about to open the visor, as I clicked the cheek latch open to free the visor. A handle flipped up, which I pushed up to slide the golden visor out of the way. It revealed an even brighter light, emanating from the face.
I felt a rush run through me. Light in my head, as goosebumbs shot over my body. That was me. It did not feel like me. The radio muttered something. I didn't care.
She was gorgeous. The eyes seemed so, full of life, so joyous. She was me, but not quite. Her skin was perfect. I subconsciously tried to touch my mole, only to be interupted by my hand colliding with my helmet, as I inspected her skin where my mole would be. I felt inquisitive, enthusiastic. I bit my lower lip. She was perfect. The radio muttered something again, it was Webber. I didn't register what he said.
The clasps on her left wrist were undone. I opened her glove to reveal her hands. Her skin had that same shimmering glow that her visor had. Her nails, perfectly trimmed, mine never were. Her complexion wasn't that of a body that was on the moon for at least three months. It looked like she fell asleep 20 minutes ago. The ring was missing.
The ring was missing, I realised.
"Jezus fuck, Klang come in." I noticed the radio say.
"Sorry, send it Ops." I replied as quickly as I could.
"Webber is about to meet you in the crater. Where have you been the last 35 minutes?"
I looked down at me, and her hand in my glove. I stroked her palm with my thumb.
"Sorry -I, the body is nothing. It's oka-". They locked my channel.
"Webber, please get to Klang asap. Whatever she found there is too much for her."
She was. I bit my lip. I wanted to feel that light. I got closer, as I undid the clasps on my left wrist.
--
Ops opened a channel. "Webber, please get to Klang asap. Whatever she found there is too much for her."
"Roger that, Ops" I replied. I was skipping across the lunar terrain. Just one more crater and I'd be able to see her. I looked up at the stars, and saw the bright reflections of Orbiter's solar panel cruise past the horizon.
"So long, Orbiter." I greeted through my breath.
"So long, Jonathan." You could barely make that out through the static. As I walked over the crater's edge, I got engulfed by light. Two black silhouettes marked the center of the crater. One on the ground, and one walking my way, that must be Klang.
I opened Klang's channel again. "Hey Kim? Are you okay?" I raised my hand to block out the light, but who would waste such a gorgeous sight? I let a sliver of the bright flare through between my fingers. Rainbows and shadows danced with my golden visor, which automatically reopened after I blocked the light.
The silhouette looked to be slightly taller than Klang though, more my height. As we walked closer towards eachother, the bright light started to block out everything, my golden visor shut, and in sync, a golden reflection cast from Klang's suit hit my eyes.
I noticed that she had an extra glove in her left hand. Finally, we got close enough to make out her face, and felt a burst of relief run through my body. I was startled but, intrigued. We both opened our golden visors, shimmering warm light invaded my helmet. I opened my eyes to see a cracked visor in front of me, and locked eyes with me.
| 2021-12-07T07:54:23 | 2021-12-07T07:44:27 | 181 | 47 |
[WP] A president or prime minister's final address to their nation during the last phase of a zombie apocalypse.
|
A radio crackles to life, barely audible above the whirring of the crank sustaining it. The static makes the words hard to decipher, but the total silence surrounding the device makes it possible. A group of six huddles around it, straining hard to catch every sound emitted.
“Dear citizens. This is the president speaking. Or rather, John Darley, as there is no country to be President of anymore.
We have failed. The Zombies have overrun the last bastions of civilisation, the military failed. The virus has gotten into the bunkers.
You all know what happened. I will not recount it, for there will be no historian to listen to my testimony.
I am sorry.
This will be my final address, and my final instruction to anyone willing to follow my orders.
Whatever you do, go out in a way to avoid becoming one of them. I hope you saved a bullet, but a fall also does the trick, provided it is high enough to shatter the limbs.
May God find Mercy on our souls.”
As the Radio falls silent, the group looks at each other. The leader takes out a watertight box, and opens it.
Inside lays a revolver, fully loaded, saved for this occasion.
A silent question. A silent offer.
The waves crash against the raft.
|
The trouble with the zombies was that they didn't decompose. A human body without infection would not last more than a few days. The virus, the scientists said, expelled some kind of toxic compound that drove off all known bacteria, fungus, insects and everything else that would normally gorge themselves on a dead body. The zombies still dried out, but come the next rain they were up and moving again.
And boy did they move. They had walked the continent from one coast to the other, spreading the virus, making more zombies. The cities had gone almost immediately, of course. But in the first few years there were plenty of stories about plucky outposts resisting the hordes. There were farms, there were bunkers, some people survived. For a while. Then, one after another, they went silent. There was no need to send someone to find out why - nobody could be spared, and everyone knew what had happened anyway.
The White House had been a beacon of hope throughout the ordeal. Through radio and satellites - what the zombies couldn't touch - the signal had gone out at the end of every week. "I am talking to you now from the Oval Office", the President began each week. The real White House had long since been deemed indefensible, so one of the myriad of bunkers had been chosen from around the countryside as a place to record and transmit.
Because it was all they could do. They were no armies left, no missiles, no scientists. After the first decade even the most well-prepared government installations had simply run out of food and medicine. Only the self-sustaining farms in the northern valleys with natural chokepoints were still up and running. From over five hundred million citizens, the United States had been reduced to less than two hundred thousand, estimated. But they all tuned in, every week, to hear the President make his address.
Besides the President, there were only a handful of people still alive in the secret bunker that had housed the government after Washington fell. Most of the people in the bunker had fallen to the purges three years ago, when a faction of cannibals had attempted to overthrow the provisioner's office. The cannibals had succeeded, with the President's leadership and charisma. After that surviving had been easier for the remaining humans. They drew straws. The President was exempt.
The red light above the camera flicked green, and the President stared statuesquely into the piece of technology that would put his face on every running television in the country, his voice in every operational radio. The address would be brief as electricity was limited.
He spoke of restoring faith in the markets. He spoke of bipartisanship support in Congress - both House and Senate - for temporarily increased funding for aid to those that had been hit hardest by their current circumstances. Never once did he mention the Z word. It was, and had always been, most important to appear to be in control. So words like "calamity" or "disaster" were also forbidden.
The President spoke of the most recent victories, reclaiming this territory or that. All in the south, where none were left alive that could call him out on it. But he spoke of losses, too. It was important to appear realistic. Briefly the camera showed a map of the United States with the week's developments. It showed imaginary army elements approaching the north. Just a few more weeks now. Of course they'd never actually even get there, not even on the fake map.
He spoke of family and faith. Of the importance of staying true to your community during the hardships. That was important, the focus groups had shown that the warlords in the northern valleys particularly appreciated the President reminding everyone of the value of loyalty.
Reaching the end of his allotted time, he also dove into the recent near-miraculous discoveries made by various private companies operating abroad. Companies like Tesla, Facebook, Microsoft. He painted a picture of how they were pouring their resources into finding solutions so that they could return to their "homeland". In reality the rest of the world was no better off than the United States.
But it was important to give some hope before the end. The president's bunker was failing in all aspects, and this was likely his last address. He was pretty sure the remaining humans were plotting to eat him next, ignoring his exempt status. Only one generator was operating and there was no-one left to repair the others anyway.
Another person appeared on camera, an assistant handing the President a note to read. As if information was coming to him on the fly, as if there was a message so extremely important that it hadn't been written into the speech. It was vital to maintain the masquerade. He wasn't sure why anymore, but it was vital.
"I'm now being told we have some particularly welcome news this evening. It appears - yes, I now have it confirmed - that Burger King will be running a sale on Whooper burgers this Tuesday. So be sure to stop by your local restaurant, wherever you are."
"Thank you Burger King, god bless, and for the folks at home - I'll talk to you again next week."
| 2022-02-05T11:10:17 | 2022-02-05T10:44:32 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Years ago the evil, black dragon was defeated by good dragon. You have no heart to tell people that it was just a phase and you simply grew up and washed off the paint.
|
"So you're telling me there isn't a princess here?" the knight in not so shining armor said with dismay as he sat on a large outcropping within the cave and began polishing his shin guard.
"For the hundredth time, no. I gave up all that weird emo-dragon shit 800 years back. The villagers nearby just kept perpetuating this...slander. It's what keep the tourists coming in supposedly, but also makes me feel obligated to stay and pretend to be something terrifying so they can not go broke."
The dragon stirred in his cave, his green scales glimmering dark tones as he struggled to find a comfortable position to sit and brood.
"I can see that. Looks like you gave up on any sort of activity as well," the knight grinned poking the pudgy scaled belly as he surveyed the inside of the cave, "So then...what are you doing with your time?"
"I uh...well I started online college. I wanna go into counseling for other dragons who are tired of being pigeon-holed into the whole 'evil-person-eating-gold -hoarding' archetype. We want our agency back."
"That's understandable," the knight trailed off, his frame softening as his voice become somber, "You know I can relate. I didn't want to do this knight-in-shining-armor charade, but got pushed into it by my parents. "
The dragon nodded along, yellow eyes bobbing in the darkness.
"Seems like we have a bit common, don't we?" the dragon spoke in a musing tone, "Hmm, actually, I have a business proposal for you. I say we milk this situation for all its worth. We could turn this into a real show, I make some money to pay off my college tuition, you get that social clout for your parents, what do you say?"
The knight nodded as his eyes widened and the sluggish gears perched underneath his luxuriant hair turned.
"Dude, I'm game."
|
"Well, they said this was the place," Jason said, eyeing the cave and the piles of gold within it, which, in the bright light of his torch, sparkled back at them like twinkling stars.
The trio of wandering warriors had spent all night preparing, setting traps all around the place, before finding a way in that they hoped was less obvious than the front entrance. Apparently the local village had been reporting sightings of the black dragon, an ancient evil from about two century ago, that had supposedly been defeated by the legendary white dragon. Before said white dragon had disappeared from all records about half a century ago.
*Sounds like a load of bullshit*, Jason thought, *These villagers are highly superstitious. Until I have hard evidence that the black dragon's actually back, I'm not going to take their word for it.*
But, of course, they had nothing else to do, and the villagers had promised them a handsome sum of money if they'd gone along with their request to go to the old cave that had, according to some old bearded fellow who smelled like old socks and armpit sweat, housed the black dragon all those years ago.
The King and his knights had categorically refused to go, on some trumped-up grounds of mitigating economic factors they had to deal with first, although from the impression Jason had gotten, it seemed as though they were just too scared to go seeking out the black dragon.
"Come on. There's nothing but an old-ass pile of gold here. And we can't take it, it's not ours. We have to return it to the villagers and distribute it amongst them somehow," Jason said, sticking his sword in the ground, clearly disinterested.
"How the hell are we supposed to make sure they distribute it back to the people who originally owned this stuff?" Kira said.
"I don't know, we'll figure it out when we get there. Honestly, I'd just prefer to get out of this cave. Never been the biggest fan of the relative lack of oxygen in these places." David said, taking his shield off his arm and tossing it into the air before catching it, then repeating the process.
"Do dragons even breathe oxygen?" Jason asked, "Has anyone managed to figure that out yet?"
"I don't know. There's not a whole lot of research. For obvious reasons," David said, still flipping his shield.
"I mean, I've got to assume they'd find the dead bodies of some of those things from time to time, even if they can't kill one," Kira said.
"No, actually," David replied, "Apparently these bastards live for so long, a portion of the scientific community actually just thinks they're immortal, outside of being killed in battle."
"Ah yes, because I suppose cell degradation, oxidative stress, and telomere shortening is just a silly myth." Kira said, taking out her dagger and twirling it absentmindedly.
"You're assuming dragon biology is similar to ours," David said, "That may not be the case. Given the scarcity of samples, the quick rate of decomposition, and the low magnification capabilities that our microscopes currently have, the scientific community barely has any documented information on dragon cells. All the more reason we should catch this one, if it even exists."
"All right, then, let's get this shit over with." Kira said, sheathing her dagger, and unslinging her spear from her back.
Jason yawned. "Hopefully we can get back soon enough to head to that tavern on the outskirts of the village before it closes. Drinks are on me this time." Jason awkwardly picked his sword out of the ground, wiggling it slightly to dislodge it from the hard dirt he'd stuck it in.
The three of them walked further into the cave, over piles of riches and treasure and skeletons. Although, they found, about five minutes into the walk, the skeletons seemed to grow less frequent. Ten minutes in, the skeletons disappeared altogether.
"Huh, seems like whatever dragon lived here liked to keep his skeletons in the front section of his cave," Jason noted.
"Maybe he just wanted to sleep somewhere away from the constant smell of rotting flesh," Kira suggested.
"Seems unlikely. I'd say it's more likely just further burrowing. Dragons tend to dig their caves deeper when they get too full, so I assume that the stuff deeper in the cave was placed there afterwards. Seems he just lost the appetite for humans," David mused.
"Since when were you an expert on dragons?" Kira asked.
"Eh, I think the Knight he was apprenticed to back when he was still a squire in the Island Kingdoms studied biology in his youth. And he liked to talk, so, it just kinda worked out," Jason said, "first time we met he tried to give me a lecture on the anatomy of the boar I was trying to skin."
"To be fair, you knew nothing about anatomy back then," David quipped.
"Yeah, I've always been more of a physics guy myself," Jason said. Suddenly, he saw a dark, looming, shadow, which towered above the three of them, at what looked like, at least from what he could make out, the very end of the cave. "Wait, everybody shut up. I see something. Ready positions."
The three of them raised their weapons.
Nothing happened.
A moment passed, and then Kira signalled the three of them to begin a flanking maneuver. She and Jason would approach from the front and attract the monster's attention; Jason would attack from behind. They would all retreat back to the traps, and hope they did their jobs.
The three warriors carried out the tactic expertly, each moving to an appropriate location, ready to strike. And, taking a deep breath, Jason charged in.
\[continued in reply\]
| 2022-10-26T07:19:49 | 2022-10-26T07:07:00 | 25 | 11 |
[WP]"Why are you just standing there and where is your uniform?! You are here to serve the demon king and we can't have someone incompetent like you, get moving!". I knew I hadn't met most of my lower-ranked generals so he must not recognize me. No matter I want to see how this will play out.
|
"Well?! Are you deaf as well as slow, maggot?"
That idiot really doesn't recognize me. I decide to test him and have some fun while I'm at it. I snap back, "Yes and looking at your ugly mug, I wish I was blind too".
The general is taken aback, probably surprised to see a supposedly trained soldier show such a lack of respect to his superior. The man grows somber.
"Be very careful soldier. You're looking at some time in a hole but one more word out of your mouth and you might be losing more than just your freedom."
Well that was a better reaction than what I expected. He didn't lose his composure, shows authority, threatens with a strict sentence but also gives a way out if I was to stop now. He is more merciful than many of my officers.
Enough fun for today. I straighten up and regain my regal composure. "An apt reply, general. I only expect as much from the men leading my troops."
The general looks at me, confused, but his dark look doesn't mellow. Weird. Who's being slow now?
"A piece of advice: always know who you're talking to and above all, learn to recognize a face, especially that of your leader" I offer with a slightly annoyed smile.
To add to my point I decide to summon my infamous armor and weapon, at the snap of my fingers.
*snap*
...Nothing.
*snap* *snap* *snap*
"What the hell?! Why doesn't it work??"
The general keeps looking at me with a now sad look on his face. He calmly calls to two guards in the next room, who had been anxiously watching the exchange from afar.
"You two. Bring this one to the dungeons. Tell the torturer to leave him be for now, I'll check with him later"
____________________________________
"UNHAND ME THIS VERY INSTANT, I AM YØRG-HUL, THE DEMON-KING HIMSELF AND I WILL STRIKE YOU WHERE YOU STAND IF YOU DO NOT LET ME GO!"
The general watches as the two guards drag the fresh recruit away. He sighs. It never gets easier.
When he argued against letting the demon king kill the many enemy soldiers driven mad by his magic, he knew he would regret it.
And that he did.
He ended leading a battallion made up of the poor wretches. The depressive, the shellsocked, the psychotic. And now the schizophrenic, apparently. Some pasty-faced, frail kid, naming himself demon king? That was worthy of rumor and would certainly make its way right to Yørg-hul's ears himself. The kid was as good as dead, he knew that. He needed to focus on the ones he could save. But it didn't make it easier. It never did.
|
"Why are you just standing there and where is your uniform?! You are here to serve the demon king and we can't have someone incompetent like you, get moving!"
Initially, I opened my mouth to introduce myself, he was far from the first to underestimate me as my form was not that which most considered befitting of my station, especially beside this mountain of a demon general. However, before I could do more than open my mouth, the bellowing buffoon cut me off.
"ARE YOU ABOUT TO TALK BACK TO ME SOLDIER?!?!" he shrieked, his nose almost touching mine as he got up in my face.
So be it. This would be more fun in the end, for me at least. He should have been able to detect the aura of dark power that surrounded me, but it seemed he was too absorbed in himself to even notice it.
"I was, but then I realised my words would be wasted on an imbecile such as you"
He quivered on the spot, like a volcano might before erupting. Most would have quailed before such a sight, I merely turned and began to walk away, disinterested.
The howl of rage that he let out was most satisfactory. Knowing what was coming, I lowered my defences just enough that the following backhand blow sent me careening cartoonishly down the corridor. As I landed and rose to my feet, a trio of armoured demon soldiers came around the corner. Seeing first me, and then their general, and understanding quickly what was going on, the leader of the three quickly tried to speak.
"Sir! Sir! Tha.."
"SILENCE CAPTAIN!!!!" Roared the General "Or you too will be joining this misbegotten miscreant as a sacrifice for our Dark Lord! Now, clap him in irons and escort him to the Grand Hall. I am due to be receiving the Dark Lord there any moment now!"
I offered the captain a knowing wink. Thankfully he understood quickly, and played along.
"As you command sir!" He said with a crisp salute. With that, the captain placed a pair of iron manacles on my wrists and beckoned his two soldiers to each take one of my arms. They began to walk me down the hall behind the General, who was already stalking off to the Grand Hall.
The General barged into the Grand Hall, throwing both of the massive double doors open.
"Is he here yet?" he demanded of the assembled officers, officials and mages.
"No sir!" answered a cowering scribe "He should have been here by now but..." he cut off, seeing the guards leading me in. The monocle fell from his eye and would have shattered on the floor were it not attached to his lapel by a chain. The rest of the crowd fell silent, some looking at me in horror as they recognised, well if not me then at least the aura around me. The others stared with open curiosity at me, wondering who could inspire such horror in their comrades, who were themselves the definition of horror to most of the wise beings of the 13 realms.
The General wheeled around, his cape swirling about him grandly. He saw me standing there, now stood just in front of the guards who had lead me in, carrying myself with a bearing that suggested they were my honour guard rather than tasked to keep me prisoner. Rasing his finger to gesture in anger, he was about to speak when I cut across him
"General, you really ought to learn to think before you act" My voice was not loud, but it was layered with an icy menace that seemed to chill the very air, and freeze everyone in the room. Everyone but the General.
With a roar, he strode towards me, hand raised to strike me again. This time his hand did not reach me, instead stopping just short, as if hitting an invisible wall. His other hand flew at me from the opposite side and was stopped just the same.
I began to see in his eyes an understanding of who he was dealing with, but he seemed unable to back away from his rage, unable or unwilling to lose face in front of his court
"I grow tired of these games General, if you will not learn, then perhaps you can be a good example for your men"
The aura around me shifted, flexing, pulsing. The iron manacles quivered, and then simply fell away from my wrists as if they no longer were solid. I rose up into the air, and hovered 8 feet off the ground, my eyes now level with his. He stared into my jet black eyes, whilst I stared into his very being. Mostly it was just rage, all consuming and overwhelming, some ambition and not a little lust. But in amongst that, deep down and buried, there was a nugget of fear. Fear was something I could work with.
Smiling, I placed my finger on the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. I drew on that fear, feeding it, stoking it, letting it grow until it was all consuming. It was subtle at first, the Generals eyes looking around from one side to the other. Then he began to twitch. I floated away from him as he began swiping at the air, striking at unseen assailants.
"Get away!" he bellowed, a howl of the purest, most primal fear. "No! Not... Nooooo!" he shrieked, unable to contain himself. He ran to the corner of the room, trying to escape the fears I had unleashed on him, but where was there to run when they were in your head? His howls became shrieks, which dwindled to sobs and then mearly whimpers as he curled into a ball in the corner, trying to draw in on himself in a futile effort to escape, but there was none.
I looked about at the assembled powers of this region, the soldiers, Lords, mages and administrators who the General had gathered.
"Does anyone else wish to challenge me? Are any of you under any delusions as to who I am?"
The silence in the hall was broken only by the pitiful wails of the once mighty general. After a long moment, one of the Lords in the front rank stepped forward and dropped to his knees
"We live to serve you, my Dark Lord"
I looked about the room expectantly, and as one the rest of the assembled demons followed suit. As one they fell to their knees and proclaimed
"WE LIVE TO SERVE YOU DARK LORD!"
"Then rise, rise my demons and gather your forces, for I have work for you to do!"
| 2022-11-14T10:11:16 | 2022-11-14T06:55:57 | 121 | 64 |
[WP] A married couple start another average morning on an average weekday. No one dies. No twist. Show their overwhelming love for each other without them speaking a single word.
|
She cooked his breakfast as he dressed for work. She stops and listens to the new sounds of a new love.
He cooked her breakfast while she rested, belly swollen with new life.
They cooked together; for three, then four, now five.
They cooked together, alone again in a suddenly empty house.
He cooks her breakfast, while she waits for the thoughts that will no longer come to her.
|
It hardly felt like seconds since Jack had fallen asleep, but then, such is the nature of sleep. Death, in a similar vein, might very well fast-forward us to the end of infinity, but who's to say what's in between? It was just a theory. Jack turned to his side, and saw that the digital clock read "5:57".
This was the third day in a row now that Jack had awoken within minutes of the alarm clock ringing. He was on a roll. On the pillow beside him, the long sandy-brown hair of his wife, Rebecca, lay in shambles. So as not to have her sleep disturbed by the alarm clock, Jack reached over her to the alarm clock on the other side and switched it off. As he lingered over her body, he reached down with his hand and softly brushed some of her hair away, revealing her delicate face beneath. Even in sleep, this woman was absolutely beautiful to him.
He lowered his lips to her and planted a row of tiny kisses along her temple. A soft moan escaped her lips. Jack retreated, hoping he hadn't disturbed her. He suddenly wanted to kick himself, remembering how she had been up the previous night until 11:30 grading papers. Bless her heart, she had to have been so tired.
Rebecca wasn't angry, though. She took in a deep breath, stretching and yawning as Jack sat up in the bed next to her. She sat up beside him, brushing her pretty hair out of her face to look at him. His beard looked especially irresistible this morning. She leaned in and nuzzled up into it, bringing her arms up and around his strong torso. Jack felt the aching desire billowing inside of him like a thick smoke. He reached around and pulled her toward him as they proceeded to have a little morning make-out. They sat in silence for a few minutes, just basking in each others' warmth.
Jack gave "the signal", making a small "O" with his thumb and forefinger, which had become the couple's standard way of letting each other know that they were okay. Rebecca smiled in return, making an "O" of her own. Watching a smile come over this girl's face was akin to watching a flower bloom to life in the spring. She hadn't the slightest clue what tremors she could cause in a man with that smile.
After the requisite showering and dressing, Jack stood before the blender in the kitchen, preparing a couple of fruit smoothies for the two of them. A smile came slowly to his face as he could hear the sound of her heels lightly clacking against the tile floor. It always gave her away, even though he wouldn't say any such thing. Jack's back arched as he felt her warmth directly behind him. She slipped her hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans and rested her head on his left shoulder. She smelled so good.
He reached down, taking her hands into his and spinning around to greet her. She was wearing her pink, poofy dress shirt, buttoned all the way up with a bowtie, and tucked into a shimmering dark purple skirt, black leggings and of course her usual high-heeled mary janes. There really were no words that could describe how rapturously gorgeous she looked. He gave her two thumbs up, smiling. She blushed, as usual, which made her even more stunning, as if that were even humanly possible.
He poured the smoothies and handed one to her. They stepped out onto an outside balcony together. The sun was just beginning to rise. Rebecca rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. Jack put his arm around his beautiful wife. He couldn't wait to show her her anniversary gift. The anticipation surged through the both of them, knowing what was coming tonight.
They had each given each other two of the happiest years of their lives, but for now, it was just a matter of getting through the next 8 hours so they could continue their wonderful story.
| 2014-11-04T03:14:25 | 2014-11-04T00:19:08 | 151 | 16 |
[WP] Satan and God both occasionally come to Earth in human form, Satan to corrupt souls, God to relax and observe his creation. One day, Satan walks into a pub, and sees God (in human form) sitting at the bar. God looks at Satan, slides a beer over to him, and indicates the empty stool to his left
|
"Welcome, Lou." God indicated the empty stool to his left.
A smile twitched the corner of Satan's lips. "Hey big guy," he responded. He moved instead to God's right, where a man sat slumped on the barstool, elbows resting on the bar.
"Excuse me, Dave, may I take this seat?" Satan asked politely. The man looked up, eyes narrowing. "Do I know you?" Their eyes met briefly and something sparked there.
"I, I... uh.... need to go to the bathroom." Dave almost fell in his haste to get up, and walked quickly and somewhat unsteadily to the men's room, giving a wide berth to a table with several police officers sitting around it. Satan slid onto the newly vacated stool, picked up the man's unfinished drink and sniffed at it. "Cheap rubbish," he said scornfully. He leaned over the bar and tipped the contents into the basin.
"I ordered you a beer," God said, shifting the bottle over to his right. Satan gave him a look, then turned to the barmaid. She set down the tray she was carrying and came over with a smile. "I'll have a Scotch," he said, inspecting the top shelf. "Glenlivet, what is that, 18 years old? My favourite age." His gaze took in the barmaid, lingering on the faint bruise on her cheek. "18 years old is just matured enough to be desirable, but still raw enough to be exciting."
The barmaid blushed and looked down. He reached out a finger and gently twitched her fringe aside to reveal an angry red weal, then turned and stared at the men's room door. After a moment, Dave emerged and started making his way back through the bar. "Now there's a nasty piece of work," Satan murmured.
He gave God another look, then deliberately stretched out his arm and knocked the beer bottle under Dave's feet. Dave staggered and fell, his head smacking into a table with a surprisingly loud clunk. As he slumped to the floor, the police officers rushed over. "It's Dave White!" one exclaimed. "We've been looking for him. Must be Christmas!" They dragged him to his feet and manhandled him towards the exit.
Satan and God looked at each other. "I'll go warm up a spot for him." Satan slid off his stool and followed the police out the door. God turned to the barmaid and winked. "See, my dear? I told you everything would work out for the best."
|
The air is tense with laughter and high spirits. People meet and greet as the music blares in the foreground. The air wreaks of perfume and cologn... and maybe just a dash of dignity lost. A crowd in the back shouts at a game of football at the front of the dive. A typical Saturday night in this particular dive. At the bar sits a lone woman, sipping on a margarita, quietly musing to herself. Her golden blond locks flow down to her back. Her wavy tight dress compliments her hourglass figure and a few silver bracelets adorn her wrists.
"Lucy! Been waiting for ya!," god smirks lifting up a glass to greet the devil.
"Evening Jen," reply's the devil in slightly aggravated tone.
The devil sits down and accepts Gods offer to drink. Conversations are limited when you're immortal, so they sit and observe the crowd.
God pipes up over the roar of the crowd cheering at the home teams touchdown.
"See that group over there? Sixteen of them."
"Yeah," the devil quickly interjects. "6 military police, 5 local fire fighters, a doctor, and 4 unemployed though one is a con man. Nothing too special about them. One of the MP's abuses his wife but it's kinda overselling it to call it abuse. He's just insecure. Likes to play cheap tricks to buy her into the marriage"
God laughs. "Abuse is still abuse Lucy. Doesn't matter what form it takes."
"You should listen to your own advice then"
"Hmmp. Maybe if you weren't so..."
God is cut off by a gentleman in his late twenties, dressed in a suave pin strip suit. Your usual black suit with red verticals yet very out of place at this small dive. His hand holds three shot glasses and a bottle of Fireball Whiskey.
"Ladies, could I interest you in a round of shots?" the man says with a sly grin on his face.
God answers almost immediately. "Why not! My friend and I would love to join you."
The devil thinks this is a great opportunity to buy in another soul to hell so an agreement is made.
"Could I get the pleasure of an introduction, ladies?" the man asks arrogantly.
The devil speaks first. "You should introduce yourself before asking someone else's name asshole."
The man laughs and reply's, "Names Sunny. And who might you be, my feisty brunette?"
The devil chuckles and begins to answer, "I'm Lucif..."
God talks over the devil, "Lucy. Her name is Lucy."
"You want to shut the fuck up and let me talk?"
"Calm down Lucy. Not something to get hot headed over."
"I can answer his question myself you overbearing prick"
"Woah, woah, woah, ladies. No need for the fighting. How about some shots?"
The man sets three shot glasses down on the the bar table. The sound of the crowd dulls any sounds of the shot glasses clanking together as he lines them up for visual effect. He looks up and Gods sterling emerald eyes and loses focus of what hers doing. He shakes the dazzling beauty off and remembers his goal. Two of the hottest women at the bar in his house, in his room, under his covers... you know the rest. Sunny pours the whiskey into the shot glasses and sets the half full bottle on the counter for quick access.
"Baby, I didn't get your name. Who might you be."
"Jen," God answers.
"Well Jen and Lucy. I hope you can handle this towns finest whiskey connoisseur!"
"Please, loser. You don't even look like you can hold your liquor," the devil says.
"Damn Lucy. Where'd you get them fangs?," Sunny says attonished
"I have parent issues, why else retard?"
God just smiles and takes up a shot glass. The Devil and Sunny both take theirs shortly after.
"Toast?" god asks Sunny who is eyeing up the brunette
Sunny looks back over to God and is just blown away by the beautiful image. It was as if light were radiating from the blonds figure alone. Urges of devotion and attraction wash over him like a high tide in spring.
Sunny says in a white-washed voice, "To friends and happiness, Jen."
The Devil gags slightly at his toast. The all down their Fireballs and prepare to line up a second toast. Sunny is completly enamored by the radiant blond sitting right in front of him. The devil impatiently pours a second round.
"Two can play at this game," the devil leans into Gods ear and whispers.
The Devil grips Sunny's tie and pulls him in close. "Don't fall for that overbearing blond. Brunettes are more fun, Sunny."
Sunny's attention is diverted from God, the beautiful blond with emerald eyes and an air of purity about her, to the Devil, the tempting pale brunette with lusty velvet eyes and succulent red lips.
The Devil begins handing out the three shots. The slender brunette wraps her arms and tangles them with Sunny's and looks over her shoulder to God who is holding the shot glass with both hands.
"Look the poor girl can't even hold her shot glass without looking like a nun in communion," the Devil remarks sarcastically.
"To what do we toast this time Sunny," the Devil asks.
Sunny looks deep into the Devil's eyes and a thought immediately comes to mind.
"To passion and earthly pleasures, Lucy"
After they all drink up their second shots and set them on the table Sunny's gaze is averted to God again. The devil scoffs and sits back down.
"Where do you two babes come from," Sunny asks.
"Heaven," God answers.
"Oh. So were gonna go for that then are we, Jen? Fine I'll take him," the Devil remarks.
"I figured you could be an angel" Sunny says to God. "You sure look the part. What about you Lucy. Where are you from."
The Devil smiles from ear to ear.
"You'll figure out soon enough, Sunny. Seems like you're not Jen's type."
| 2015-09-15T01:25:12 | 2015-09-15T00:43:56 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
"I'll try to explain ... the problem is ... it's not THAT you can travel faster than light." the small alien said, sheepishly. "It's how you do it."
She continued, "To be honest, it's creepy."
Doug stared at her blankly. "Go on ..."
"Ok , you know how FTL works for the rest of us, right?" She cocked her head a bit.
Doug listened to her, but wasn't really paying attention - his mind was on her, specifically, how similar she was to him and every other human. Aliens, or rather 'intelligent beings' it turns out, had generally fallen in to two categories: humanoid, and swarm. For the most part, all humanoids looked the same: slender, upright, various colors of skin and eyes depending on the their home star's primary color, even oddly similar genitalia. Evolution, it seemed, preferred a certain shape. Humans were a little bit odd by galactic standards because of their size relative to other humanoids - roughly three times the size and five times the mass of other humanoids.
"... are you listening at all?", She snapped. Her shrill tone popped Doug back in to the situation.
"Yeah! No .. got it .. creepy." He paused for a moment. "But it's not like we're actually doing that, right? No one is watching anyone in the shower, or in some secret war room, or anything like that."
Most alien FTL drives worked by manipulating spacetime in such a way as to compress the space in front of the ship, or expand the space behind it, or warp it n such a way that the local (to the ship) speed of light wasn't exceeded; it was space itself that was altered and the ship just rode the wave. A lot of alien corporation marketed this technology in many ways under many names, Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
Rather than warp anything, humanity's FTL solution was, essentially, to flatten the universe relative to the ship, allowing the ship to view the universe as a sheet of paper. In doing so, the ship could pick a point in the universe and appear there nearly instantly. Most of the transit time was spent simply finding a place to go.
There was, a side effect. By pushing a ship up in this way, the entire universe became viewable down to the atom. Meaning that at any point, someone in a human ship could be watching someone else take a shower, or plan a war, or really -- anything, anytime, anywhere. It was unsettling, to almost everyone.
"I get your point though." Doug said.
She was fairly attractive as far as aliens go, and one of the taller species around. He figured he'd peek in on her next transit. Surely she takes showers.
|
Uyreah swung the hoe one last time, burying it with a satisfying thud deep in the dirt and letting it stand there. He wiped sweat from his brow, cursing again the rarity and costliness of proper mechanised tools in this world. He stretched his back, grimaced at the toll his age was taking on him, and turned for the other side of the valley.
As he walked, his thoughts were a numb buzzing in his oblong skull, and as always, heeded not his demand for them to be still. He did his best to ignore them, placing one three-toed foot in front of the other. It didn't matter what might be going on on Homeworld. It was not his business.
The sky's blue began to give way to pink, and he knew that his son would be on the roof, settling in to watch the coming aurora. The boy was getting to that age where he wondered what was beyond the limits of their farming community, and Uyreah was not prepared to answer him.
At least, not since the last moonshiner had died with his secrets. Uyreah had wished to apprentice to him, for he recognised how important intoxicants were to the community, but his own father had forbade it. Tretton, as his father was called, had been sober his entire life, and believed only hard work and dedication could keep their colony alive until help could come. Any time resting or relaxing had to be spent in study, or weaving, or some other productive but untaxing activity.
Tretton was not mourned.
The house was coming into view now, a hive of small semi-spherical buildings attached in a web, and sure enough, the boy Ghgets was atop the tallest one, ankles crossed and weight resting on his palms behind him. Uyreah smiled a private smile, and pushed against his aching bones to climb the rest of the hill.
"Just in time, Dad!" Ghgets waved, then seemed to hesitate. "Dad? Can we talk?"
Uyreah froze, swallowed, looked left and right as though seeking an escape route. He was, he realised. He steeled himself, and without responding, moved to drop his bag of root-vegetables at the door. He stood there for a little longer than he probably should have.
"Let's wait for the lights," he said at last, and began scaling the abode. "Wouldn't want you to miss the lights."
"The lights are on all night every night," Ghgets responded in a sulky tone, but shifted over to make room for his father. "They're hard to miss."
"Yet you're out here every night, at the same time." Uyreah grumbled, dropping down heavily. He leaned over and pressed his head against his son's, and trilled, which seemed to placate the boy. They turned back to the sky in silence, and in moments, it erupted in shimmering waves of green, magenta, and cyan.
Even now, in his twilight years, Uyreah loved them.
"You want to know about what's up there."
"I want to know where we came from."
"It's the same question, really. Why now? Why wait all these years to ask?"
Ghgets' skin darkened, and he began picking at some loose dirt on the roof. "Because Grampa always said to ignore it. 'Keep your eyes on the soil,' he said. 'The soil is our life. What's up there is not for us.'"
Uyreah nodded, the sounds of those same words from when he was told them ringing through his head. He rolled his head from one side to the other lazily, mulling over what to say next. He wished his bond-mate was still with them.
"We're from Homeworld," he said at last. "Not you or I, but our people. They came here in great ships, and set up mining operations. Some brought their families. Then, one day..." He gestured at the sky. "This."
"What is 'this'," Ghgets demanded petulantly, tearing off a fist-sized clod of dirt.
Uyreah, annoyed, did his best to keep his voice level. "This was hundreds of years ago, and even back then, we only had a few scientists in this region of space. You know the six stars, right?"
That seemed to soften the boy's mood. He loved what little astronomy he was privy to. "Titungus, the rager. Pilipin, the dancer. Qott and Sett, the twins." He pointed now, at a bright point in the ocean of dancing colours, and named the star, "Revin, the bold. And our sun, Illerv, the seeker."
"And among those," Uyreah spoke, "Illerv, Titungus, and Revin are the prime stars, with colonies under their light. Titungus-3 was the first established, and that was where the scientists dwelt. When the light curtain appeared, it isolated the six stars from the rest of space with its impassable barrier. For a time after that, there was chaos, and murder, and despair. All communications with Homeworld, and indeed, any other colony, was severed. But after a year, one of the scientists sent a broadcast out. We call it 'Liric's proclamation', for that was her name."
Ghgets sat enraptured, staring unblinking at his father with wide, porcelain eyes. It was only then Uyreah realised how little he had taught his son, and silently cursed himself and his father both.
"She said that they had heard of an experiment being undertaken by a species called Human, of a new faster-than-light drive they were developing. Liric claimed that this drive had folded the space around this area, trapping us in a pocket dimension. Presumably, the ship was supposed to traverse the shortened distance, and then unfold the pocket. Yet, here we are, hundreds of years later."
Uyreah could see his boy processing all of this, with the same plodding determination he had used. He turned back to the lights above, trying to recall if he had missed anything important.
"So... What causes the lights?"
Uyreah scratched his chin, fighting to bring back those lectures of old. "Well, because our space is compressed, light moves through it faster than it normally should. That causes... something. I don't recall. We have even fewer scientists now than those we started with."
"Is that why we don't have a harvester?"
"Aye, noone remembers how to build one."
"I'd like to join you in the field tomorrow, Dad."
Uyreah smiled.
| 2017-03-31T02:57:21 | 2017-03-31T00:43:51 | 95 | 36 |
[WP] You accidentally summon a demon by trying to pronounce Ikea product names.
|
Feeman blag? Doomes? Skannka? Did someone at Ikea dip their spoon in alphabet soup?
My lips contorted in an attempt to read the last name: riahc?
During an off semester and in desperate need of money, my wife made Swedish Fish on a conveyor belt. If the horror stories were true, she could tell the quality of a fish by the color of the scales. Her methods were simple, yet efficient. If the fish was red, it was good; any other color: bad. That always got a laugh out of visitors. Maybe she could read this? The wind chime on the door sung its melody, someone heard my prayer. Abby waltzed into the room, her smile the only source of light I needed.
"You still working on that furniture set? Shouldn't you just YouTube it?"
"It's hard to YouTube what I can't even read!"
Abby rolled her eyes at my stubbornness.
"Huh, this isn't Swedish. What are these words? Skannka. Doomes. Feeman Blag... chair?" (I realized I held this pamphlet upside down)
The dining room chairs sprung to life, hopping on all fours. They gathered in a pentagram around the Ikea chair box. The cardboard burst into flame and our smoke alarm hammered it's message:**GET OUT! DANGER!**.
Abby fumbled along the wall for the door to escape, but a looming shadow with sanguine eyes froze me in place. Abby found the doorknob; the door opened and the smoke lessened. A masculine voice rang out.
"Who dares disturb me from my slumb...."
*ack uhum ah cough cough*
The mysterious form went into a coughing fit. He pumped the shadows to his left and right; after a moment I saw they were black, bat-like wings. The smoke billowed out the door.
"As I was saying.... Who dares awake the mighty destroyer of worlds? The slaughterer of the Nangang, the fear of the Ladcin, the horror of the Vinnu, I **FARTFULL** will destory you!
"I'm... I'm sorry... Did you just say Fartfull?"
"Of course puny... err what are you some kinda blend between an angel and a Troglaf? I, the great **FARTFUL**..."
A snicker from the door stopped the demon in his tracks.
"Did... Did that demon just say his name was Fartfull? We're humans by the way Mr. Fartfull sir oh wise demon."
Abby couldn't resist, she teased anyone and everyone who would listen. After a small chuckle under my breath, my judgement drifted back.
*What if this is an actual demon and we are pissing him off?*
"Errr well.... Puny humans, perhaps you heard of my family? The great Jerker!"
Now I had my doubts about whether this was an actual demon. I didn't know if I should grovel or crack a joke.
"Haha are you serious, or are you jerking my chain!"
*Maybe I should grovel a little just to be safe...*
A dark cloud boomed over Fartfull's horns, his eyes sent daggers in our direction.
"You offend me? Foolish humans! I will banish thee to the pits of MILF!"
Abby cried with laughter, the residual smoke turned the laughing fit into a cough.
My wife incapacitated. I had to stand up for her and show this demon who was boss.
"So Fartfull.... you ever been to the swamps of Blatass?"
Confused, Fartfull stammered back.
"Why of course, my family and I take holidays there together... It's a family affair! We fit as many demons as we can into Blatass!"
Now it was my turn. I rolled, laughing, in the bubble wrap from my previous endeavors. With every distinct **POP** Fartfull turned a deeper shade of red.
"SILENCE! I SAID SILENCE! I BANISH YEE TO A HELL THAT WILL NEVER COMPARE TO THE INNOCENT WONDER THAT IS BLATASS!"
"Wait a minute Fartfull can't we work somet-"
With a puff of smoke, Fartful was alone.
Waking from a deep sleep and a troubling dream, I reached for the nightstand.
*Chained down.... oh no Fartfull's wrath!*
Panicking, I looked up and saw the true depths of Hell.... wait, no. It was a pizza oven.
Without warning an Ikea pizza slice fell from the oven and into my mouth.
*If this is Hell.... it's great!*
Then another pizza slice dropped... and another-too many to eat. I tried to close my mouth, but a fishhook kept it open. I couldn't stop.
Between each slice I mumbled in desperation to find Abby; find out if we at least shared this Hell together.
"Abbaaa"
"Wheaeaa"
"Orhh"
"Yuuu"
A puff of smoke, another demon stood in front of me.
"Who dares summon me, the great and powerful Pysslingar!"
*Oh no, not again*
-------------------------------------------------
Anything after Fartfull appeared are actually Ikea names according to a random Buzzfeed article I clicked (I might have made one up, I don't remember). Also, I tried to literally sound out that last bit of dialogue, it was not a pretty sound. Here's another that I answered today, I liked the doctor prompt more than this one and thought I would share (this is a great prompt no offense OP):
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6mo7uj/wp_you_just_ran_out_of_apples_yesterday_and_now/dk37bmk/?context=3
|
"Delicious," Robert groaned. "Delicious and delectable," he mumbled to himself. A hallow mantra predicated on the promise of meatballs after a day out with Alice.
It had been three hours, twenty-two minutes and roughly forty seconds since Robert had agreed to "stop off at IKEA" on the way home from church in exchange for a serving of what he now knew would be utterly underwhelming Swedish meat muffins.
"Oooh. Dear come look at this sparsam. Wouldn't it just look exquisite over the pantry?" Alice chortled melodically. Either unaware or unperturbed by Robert's obvious repulsion of this colossal suburban nightmare.
"Honey..." He choked, fighting the urge to break a fyrkantig over his knee (or was it a fyr-kän-tig?). "We don't have a pantry. You know that. I know you know that."
"We will though. As soon as I get that promotion!" Alice hummed back at him with a tone so serene as to be worse than a scream.. Worse than death.. Worse than IKEA.
There it was again. Alice throwing his lack of ambition back in his face. Was it his fault the city had suddenly shifted away from its green energy initiative? Was he the one who had overseen the unprecedented drop in global oil prices that reinvigorated the dying car trade? Alice seemed to think so. Blubbering on and on about a promotion that hadn't even happened yet. A promotion that would probably never happen. If only he had the balls to call her out on her -
"Robbie? ROBERT!" Alice huffed. "Uh, yeah. Sorry dear. What is it?" Robert's mind snapped back into reality, and he immediately regretted it.
"You said you'd behave!" Alice shuttered sternly threw her teeth, which he thought made her look less like a happy, recently married teacher and more like a wolf in heat.
"I... I am behaving?" Robert retorted, careful not to betray his famous quick wit, he pitied himself internally.
"Behaving like a twat!" She snapped back. 'Tally up another one for Alice, has to be about 232 - 3 by now,' Robert thought, careful to mask his discomfort with a smile so fake it'd of made a mime laugh.
"We'll talk about this when we get home" Alice said as she turned toward the check-out line, or as Robert saw it: the finish-line, the end goal, the promised land. He glanced at his watch, nearly four-hours spent in this Scandinavian prison, he thought, before remembering how the narrator of a documentary he watched had actually praised the pleasantries of Sweden's rehabilitation institutes. He then amended his previous analogy to draw similarities between IKEA and a sphincter.
Satisfied, Robert, a balding thirty-three year-old former environmental analyst built about as poorly as any shelf or dagstrop in the place, shuffled hurriedly after his equally misshapen wife. Finally freed from the tyranny of the fläardfull and the knutstorps, Robert allowed his mind to wander off into his relatively untouched realm of excitement. He could almost taste the grease used to fry IKEA's recently unfrozen delicacies. The trick worked. He couldn't even remember going through the check-out line, though he was confident he'd ended up paying for everything despite his unemployment, as well as his thinly-veiled hatred for anything that required an umlaut to pronounce.
"Go on then," Alice nodded him toward the food court. Finally calm after her borderline spastic shopping spree. Robert didn't need to be told twice. He exited the scene as if yanked by a cane, a candy cane, his stomach helped him imagine.
He arrived at the line in seconds flat. Surely breaking any and all land-speed records for men weighing over 200 pounds. "I'll have one serving of meatballs, please" the man in front of Robert quipped. "Sure thing! You'll be order 122. Have a great day! Next up?"
"I'll have the same," Robert gleamed. "Hell, actually make it a double. It's been quite the day. Did you know that the norröra has three 'R's' in it?"
"I'm sorry sir..." The awkward, pimply teen stated with genuine sincerity.
"No problem at all, but I'm telling you it does. Look it up when... if you ever get off!" Robert replied, proud to regain what he considered his clever streak.
"Oh... no sir. I meant I'm sorry, but we're out of meatballs. That man just took the last serving" the boy replied.
Silence. The type of silence defined by the internal destruction of a man's will to live and the hiss of a pointless frier boiling water out of fun rather than necessity.
"Honey, what's the matter? We need to be headed out soon or we'll miss the picnic" Alice chimed in from too many yards back to have grasped Robert's immediate desperation.
"THE PICNIC?!" Robert roared as he turned toward Alice, knocking a tray out of the hands of a dainty girl presumably just hired out of sixth grade.
"You drag me here for nearly four hours... torturing me with norrvikens and riktig öglas and you have the guts, no... the güts (Robert pronounced the second 'u' slightly more gutturally, unaware of what effect umlauts actually have on the alphabet's most distant vowel) to call me out for taking too much time when I'm not even going to GET MY FUCKING MEATBALLS?!"
The entire IKEA fell silent, a hush fell over the entire food court. The man eating the final batch of meatballs hid himself ingeniously behind the back of his flattened hand. A few of the model dombås hidden in the corner collapsed from the shear anxiety palpably filling the room. Robert wasn't done yet. He had truly snapped. Just like the shoddy appliances produced by a certain Scandinavian appliance store that shall remain nameless, at least in this sentence. He began yelling profanities, starting with the usual suspects, but quickly retreating to words and phrases which taken out of context may not have sounded like insults at all. Terms such as cocker spaniel and dirty spatula. Nearly out of breath, Robert began to realize his words weren't having the impact he intended as he glimpsed his wife, arms crossed, checking her watch amidst his glorious outburst.
Frantic for a solution, Robert swiped a sauce-covered IKEA catalog conveniently located between the catsup and mustard to keep people from merely stopping off without truly visiting the depths of hell. He opened to a random page and began listing off appliances as if Swedish speakers could understand his devolving outburst as an eloquent plea for freedom, democracy and meatballs.
"BUMERANG!" He scowled at Alice. "SÖRE! BLÅMES! BLADVASS!" The cool air around him began to shift. Alice caught wind of it as her hair began to lift off the ground, subtly at first, and then all at once, as if commanded by a demented static balloon.
"DÄENNERIS! TIRYÖNYN! SKANÖR!" Robert continued, unaware that his words had began to throttle the physics of the building. Shelves began to shift. Couches and beds shuffled. People grabbed their Smellengüds, Omars and Fårdrups and ran for the exits.
Robert paused to look up at Alice, still entranced by the power he seemed to be wielding from the catalog. Had he been less numb, he may have noticed Alice's feet lift off the ground. Instead, he glanced back down at the page and shouted the final word louder than he had all the others, "VÖRHEES!!!"
With that, he too was ripped from the terrestrial body we call earth and pulled into an enclosed atmosphere ripe with the smell of grease and disappointment. Robert let out an inaudible gasp as he watched dozens of other shoppers twirling past him in an ever increasing spiral of Kardåshes and Gurlis. Alice swung by the other way, fiddling with her jacket as she stared out into the abyss above. The roof had been ripped to shreds and a hole blacker than Alice's coffee called to them like a beacon of death. Robert, unsure of what was happening, had no idea what was going on, while nearly everyone else caught-up in the terror prayed for a quick and painless death.
Instead, Klaas. As hideous a demon as has ever lived. He peered in from the black with eyes somehow blacker than the abyss before them, eyes only highlighted by the blood-red cornea that surrounded them.
"I AM KLAAS" He bellowed, knocking Alice, Robert, and the rest of the IKEA's pitiable Sunday customers back to the floor. "WHO DARES WAKE ME FROM MY SLUMBER?!"
The rest of the crowd turned in unison toward Robert, who, fortuitously he had thought, had landed near the catalog used to enact the summoning. In a characteristic attempt to fight fire with straw, Robert frantically opened to a random page, scrolled down and slowly stuttered... "Fintorp?"
The Swedish term for bucket.
Klaas, though obviously unaffected, was temporarily puzzled.
| 2017-07-11T16:55:53 | 2017-07-11T16:38:36 | 204 | 77 |
[WP] You are a time-traveler mistakenly trapped in an insane asylum. You slowly start to realize that everyone else in the asylum is also a Time Traveler.
|
I've been trapped here and I can't get out. I've been trapped here and I can't get out.
As often as I tried, the door is still there. Behind it, the same guard, night after night, protecting me from the outside world. He knows why I'm here, why we're ALL here.
They're all me.
We're the ones that screwed up- the ones that messed up time and got pulled out before things became irreversible. All of us got warned that we had one strike, just like everyone else in life.
What is one chance when you have infinite choices, infinite thoughts to create and destroy and explore and confine? Shoot Hitler, save JFK, stop 9/11, save Earhart, these are things that get you locked up in here. There's a big script you were supposed to stick to, and those scenes weren't in it.
And so I've been here, no clocks on the wall, but I keep track of time by my heartbeats. Every other cell is the same. I remember when I visited this prison once before I set off through time, just to understand the consequences if I screwed up at 18. Some people in the cells were 18-year-old-me, some were 19-year-old-me.
I'm the oldest one in here. I don't understand why this place is insane. I don't understand why I'm in here. I don't know what I did wrong.
Maybe I wasn't supposed to live this long. Maybe that was my mistake.
|
At this point, everyone in this hellhole of a place (with the exception of myself) had given up. For some reason, approximately three decades ago, we all believed that we were "Time Travelers". However, when so much time passes with a person being confined in such an institution without proof of their so-called "time machines" working anymore... anyone would start to believe that they were lunatics all along.
In fact, my willpower was reaching its tipping point also. Well, that was until this present moment. It suddenly dawned on me as I immediately shouted aloud: "Everyone! The reason we're here... is actually not because we are insane!"
"...What?"
"Did Jackie go bonkers or something?!"
"I'm tired of you guys pulling these pranks all the time..."
Incessant groans resounded from the cells lining the hall.
"No... just hear me out, guys. Don't you all find it odd that every single person here... turned out to be a so-called 'Time Traveler' those decades ago? Why is it that there is no exception? That there isn't an actual *crazy* person who got sent here with us within these past years? It can't be a coincidence that we all have had some sort of vague memory of once being a time traveler. Therefore... this perhaps means that we were targeted somehow!"
Suddenly, the cacophony of complaints quieted down.
"But... why did our time machines never work then?" Bill shouted in retort from his cell at the far right.
"That's a good question. And again, I'm not discounting that we're all... insane somehow. However, I have discovered an answer after all this time, even if it's a bit of a stretch..." I pondered.
"Well, spit it out already!" Bill impatiently urged.
"Perhaps... perhaps the mastermind... the one who put us all in here... is also one of us. They're also... a Time Traveler!" I exclaimed.
"Wh-what?"
"N-no. That... that..."
"But... this idea... might actually make sense!"
"That's right! Who else would have the ability to stalk such a large array of Time Travelers? Especially when each one was at a different time period?! Not to mention that the reason why our odd gadgets never were able to distort the fabric of space properly. This also points as further evidence. The person who contained us all here would only have the knowledge to jam all of our devices... if he was also one of us!" I deduced further. "Yet, there's just one problem. I still cannot understand why this Time Traveler would target only us. Why have there not been any new Travelers ever since we all awoke here together? I cannot... find a way to explain this motive behi-".
*Clap Clap*.
Suddenly, my explanation was interrupted by a person's applause.
At this point in time, I could tell which cell the echoes of this was coming from.
"Frank... why are you clapping? Did you actually go insane?" I solemnly questioned in a low tone.
"Bravo... BRAVO JACKIE! It took you all years enough!" Frank snidely and sarcastically complimented.
"Frank... what the fuck are you going on about!"
"It's official. His brain is fried."
"Let Jackie continue, you dipshit!"
"Oh no... Jackie already hit the nail on the head. You see... it was my work all along. Or should I say, the collaborative work of all my alternative versions in the parallel universes. You see, each and every one of you did something unforgivable to me in each timeline. My family was murdered in one instance, and in the other my beloved was violated right in front of my eyes. Yet the irony is that, for the sake of revenge, each of my versions sought for revenge by creating their own time machines. The beauty, however, is that all of us eventually met to come up with the perfect plan... which is what you all see before yourselves!" Frank maniacally cackled.
A chill crept down the spines of all the others who were present.
"Well, even if you've discovered the truth, you're all going to grow old and die here anyway. I was hoping you'd all painfully become deceased under the disillusionment of insanity, but Jackie sure has impressed me out of this version of yourselves! I guess I can stop my facade now, but have fun knowing you all got what you fucking deserved because of your other self... or even selves!"
The fabric of space began to dissipate in front of Frank's cell. I could tell since mine was juxtaposed diagonally to the left.
"Hasta la vista, you pieces of shit!" Frank chuckled before his voice faded from our instance of time.
"... FUCK! WHAT DO WE DO NOW!?"
"Shit. Shit. Shit!"
"Whatever, I gave up on this life years ago..."
"*Okay, Frank. This only means I'm back to square one.*" I thought to myself.
"*I'll find my way out of this challenge, just like how I unfoiled your plan itself.*"
"*You better be prepared...*"
r/JackWrites
| 2017-07-30T02:51:39 | 2017-07-30T02:34:46 | 59 | 20 |
[WP] Every dog is able to speak perfect English exactly once, for one sentence, in their lifetime. You're on trial for a murder you didn't commit, and your dog is the only one who could possibly exonerate you. There's just one problem: you weren't a very good owner.
|
I knew Honey wasn't going to say anything. They had her at the table, read her a long list of rules and information I'm sure she couldn't understand, and all waited. It was hard to believe that anyone expected her waste her one sentence on me.
My dog was going to outlive me, I realized. Once I was convicted, that would be it.
"Where was the defendant on the night of September 4th, 2015?" They asked Honey. Her ears perked and her tail wagged so hard that it thumped on the chair.
She was always happy just to hear a voice. I talked to her sometimes just to get her tail to wag like that, but not often. Usually I told myself I didn't have time. I tried to tell myself that I'd have spent more time with her had I known how soon it would be running out, but I couldn't make myself believe that.
They tried again. "It was raining hard on that night," they told her. As if the problem was that she didn't know what night they meant. "The defendant- that's your owner there, your human- he says he fell asleep early on the couch that night. Said he'd made hamburger, and let you have a piece he dropped? Is that true, were you two home all night?" They asked.
Honey just kept wagging her tail. They had mentioned the hamburger, but they hadn't mentioned how small of a piece it had been. I wondered if she had even been able to taste something that small, I'd only called her over so I wouldn't have to bend down and clean it up myself. She'd looked up at me after, expectant. I hadn't given her anything more. In fact, as I was drifting off later I'd realized that I'd forgotten to give her any dog food at all that night. She must have been hungry. I decided to wait until morning to feed her though, because I was comfortable and because I hadn't cared if she was uncomfortable.
They frowned, then tried one last time. "We think your owner might have done something bad," they told her. "It's important for us to know if he was really home or not that night because it will tell us if he was bad. We need to scold the person who did the bad thing, and make sure they don't do bad things again."
Honey tilted her head, tail slowing, but said nothing. She was a good dog. The unfamiliar people and places hadn't made her fussy in the slightest, and they said she'd caused no trouble on the car ride there either. Especially surprising considering that she'd never been in a car before. Really, she'd hardly left the house except to go potty her entire life. I wondered how it was that I had ended up with such a good dog. I wondered why I'd never bothered to try teaching her any tricks, or to take her to the park. It had only been a few blocks away. Getting out of the house could have been fun for both of us.
The judge opened his mouth, about to declare no testimony given and move the trial on. He was interrupted.
"Human is a good human and stayed home, human didn't do any bad things," Honey said. The tone was one of love, of admiration.
I started crying, right there in front of everyone. We don't deserve dogs.
|
The A/C was roaring, casting translucent waves of sweat frost across the bench, the Jury box, and both the prosecution and the defense's table. Judge Reynard McClellin's sloppy, white comb-over shimmied like a drunken inflatable tube man.
"Bailiff...the serum, if you please," drawled the honorable judge, scratching his temple with the edge of his gavel.
Mark Frates grabbed his lead attorney by the shoulder. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" he hissed.
The attorney's name was Kaol Ciccilli and he didn't like being touched. "Mr. Frates, we've gone over this," he whispered, nudging aside his client's hand with the point of his pen. "Ginger was there, on the scene. She can exonerate you."
"But I mean...is she even credible?" said Mark, sweating despite the sub-artic temperatures.
"If this were the first time a dog's testimony had been presented at a trial, I might be concerned," said Kaol. "But dogs are very honest and in a jury trial their testimony has been proven to be extremely effective. Trust me - you want to give Ginger a chance to speak."
"But uh...I mean...cross examination, right?" Mark swallowed. "You said we can only do this serum thing once, or else her brain'll get fried, which - you know - obviously I don't want that. But we didn't prepare her at all, did we?"
"Mr. Frates, don't you realize that's precisely *why* canine testimony carries so much weight? She can't be coached."
"Ahhhh...okay." Mark leaned back, hardly daring to watch as a shaggy golden doodle was led up to the witness stand.
"Bailiff," said the judge, setting a green-tinted vial down on the edge of his bench. "Has the room been checked for any treats - liver cubes, slivers of bacon, pig ears, raw hides, kibbles and/or bits - that might be *distracting* to the witness?"
The bailiff nodded. "Full pat down, your honor."
The judge pointed at Mark. "And the defendant knows not to make any hand gestures or clicking noises that might be construed as leading the witness, correct?"
Mark was frozen solid. Kaol prodded him. "Yes!" squeaked Mark. "Of course. I won't...do...that." He cleared his throat.
"He's serious," hissed Kaol. "Nothing that might look like a command."
"*She doesn't know any commands!*" hissed Mark in return. "I never taught her anything!"
"Really? She's eight years old."
Mark shrugged. "I'm...not a controlling sort of owner, I guess."
Kaol shot his client a hearty side-eye as the bailiff administered the serum.
"Now," said the judge. "Seein' as there's no tellin' how long this'll last, defense - you get one question. Gotta leave at least enough time for cross-examination, you understand?"
"Perfectly," said Kaol, rising to his feet. "Ginger?"
The golden doodle cocked its head and glanced lovingly in Kaol's direction. "Hi!"
"Hi Ginger. Thank you for being here. I have one question." He held out a large, glossy photo, which the bailiff took, walking it past the jury and holding it up in front of Ginger. "Three months ago, the man in that photo died in your house. Your human, Mr. Frates, claims he was with you at the dog park when the man died. My question to you, Ginger, is this: was that man already dead when you came home, or did your human, Mr. Frates, kill him?"
The golden doodle's head cocked just a bit more. "What did he say?"
Kaol cleared his throat. "I'm sorry?"
"What did my human say?"
Kaol looked at down at Mark, who was withering gently in his chair. "He said he was at the dog park with you at the time."
"*With* me?" said Ginger, tongue lolling slightly. "He said he was *with* me at the dog park?"
"Um, Ginger dear," said Judge McClellin. "You're a good girl and we appreciate you bein' here today, but time's a little short. Can you answer the question for us? Was the man in the photo already dead when you came home that day?"
"I *am* a good girl, thank you," said the golden doodle, tail thumping against the inner panel of the witness stand. "But when you say he was *with* me at the dog park, do you mean *inside* the park and *playing* with me? Because that's what I think it means to be with your dog at the dog park."
"That's not really the important part here," stammered Kaol. "It's really *after* the park we're focused on. Did your master kill the man in the photo?"
"*Master*?" said Ginger.
"Owner?" sad Kaol.
"What did *he* say we did at the park?" asked Ginger.
"That's not important," said Kaol quickly.
"IT'S VERY IMPORTANT," roared Ginger.
"Mr. Frates," said the judge. "We need to get past this point. Now. For the edification of your dog, what happened at the park?"
Mark smacked his lips, which were suddenly very dry. "We...uh...did park things."
"Such as...?"
Mark could not look his dog in the eyes. "Play?"
"LIAR!" wailed Ginger. "You tied me to a picnic table and talked to women. You always tie me to things and go talk to women! No ball! No stick! No tug or war!"
"You're very hyperactive," muttered Mark.
"BECAUSE YOU NEVER LET ME PLAY!"
"Please calm down, Ms...uh...dog," said the judge. "I think regardless of the outcome of this trial, there are certain things Mr. Frates needs to improve upon as a pet owner. And I'm glad you've had a chance to voice those concerns. But right now, we need you to answer the question: was the man in the photo already dead when you returned home that day?"
Ginger panted, her soft eyes focused only on Mark. It was as if she wanted to be mad, but couldn't quite muster it anymore. Mark saw the anger melt away and felt a shame greater than any he'd ever felt. She was such a good dog, after all, and he'd been such a lousy owner. Now, finally, he'd seen the error of his ways. It had taken a public humiliation for it to sink in, but he *would* be a better dog owner. No matter what.
"Ginger?" said Kaol gently.
The dog sighed and smiled. "Bark! Bark bark bark! Bark? Bark bark?"
Mark's head bounced off the table.
"Fuck me," whistled Kaol.
| 2017-09-20T22:54:31 | 2017-09-20T19:56:29 | 450 | 259 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
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"I know the page number you want. 14508."
I looked to God expectantly. He did, I suppose, know my heart. Gingerly, the pages flicked between my fingertips as I searched for the correct page. So many years had passed, wondering. Two marriages and two divorces, too. No children because I couldn't imagine myself having them with anyone else. My heart sank when I saw your name. I would finally know.
There was so much death. It was difficult to follow any alternative decisions because my life ended shortly thereafter. Every path, it seemed, was cursed.
"Turn to 26756."
I glanced up, and he wasn't even looking at me. My attention turned back to the book; it was large enough to smell like a bookstore all by itself. I love that smell. A sigh escaped my lips as I realized where the text had taken place. It was the day I asked you to marry me. The last day we ever spoke.
Unlike the rest of the book, this didn't have my alternative choice; I suppose I never had one. Instead, it was yours. What would have happened if you had said yes? Tears dripped off my chin. I don't think I stopped reading that book for days. The day you came out to your parents. The day we got married, both of us clad in white wedding dresses. The day I graduated with my doctorate degree. The day I found you convulsing after downing an entire bottle of pills. The day I had to admit you to the psychiatric ward for the fifth time. And the sixth, seventh, and eighth. It went on for thousands of pages; for every decision we made that kept our lives going, there were five where either you or I died. It was such a delicate life that we could have had together.
I reached the final page of our potential lives together. Both of us sat cross-legged, foreheads touching, and a gun in hand, held to the temple of the other. Wherever you wanted to go, I followed. It was finally time. No alternative choices. I closed the book.
"She didn't want this life for you."
"It shouldn't have been her choice."
|
I sat at the desk dumb-founded.
“You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?”
The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there.
I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands.
Every decision.
There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died.
I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else.
It was just me.
I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true.
When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind.
On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get.
We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California.
It was a mistake.
We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work.
The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him.
He found it.
My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine.
“Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.”
“Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face.
I have never felt more guilt.
Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted.
“I’m leaving.” I had blurted.
Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?”
“I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.”
At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out.
Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing.
I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350).
I turned to page 150.
Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
| 2018-07-03T23:20:49 | 2018-07-03T22:39:59 | 371 | 92 |
[WP] The intergalactic community at large, while highly intelligent, never developed any kind of philosophy or spirituality. A five minute conversation with a human on the wrong topic can send most aliens into an existential crisis so severe they go insane. They call us the whispering race.
|
It was mesmerizing to witness a debate between Philosophers. The Whispering Race had long ago become immune to considering the laws of universe, though exactly what it is they speak is... difficult to explain. My mentor claimed that it was explaining not the *what*, when*, and *how* but the *why*. I tried to press further, but he refused me. “I already drove one pupil mad,” He solemnly said. “But not again.”
I digress, back to the debate. The peoples of Earth, Humanity, could apparently contemplate the universe in ways scientists or even my races prestigious engineers could not truly fathom. Masters of this craft, the ‘philosophers’ were naturally masters of word craft normally, though their wisdom surpassed the cold hard logic quantum AI’s could not predict.
I sit now among peers from dozens of other races watching two such masters in the midst of an argument. We had been selected for our mental fortitude and unique way of thinking. Despite this (and the vast amount of genetic, cybernetic, and pharmaceutical improvements we receive throughout our training) it was mandatory that any and all translation devices be not only turned off but removed from the room, as well as all recording devices. The Philosophers sparred word for word, sentence for sentence, and I felt the power behind every one.
I saw how they seemingly danced with speech, when one made a point over their opponent, when an impasse was reached and a new rout was plotted in the conversation. The language they spoke in (as most languages of their kind) sung and echoed across the hall, and for a moment I could *see*. It makes no sense to you, but I understood what they meant, if only a sliver.
It was then I began to understand. I know no other non-human had done so before with out falling within the throes of insanity. It is something I face everyday, and something all humans face, even some succumbing to. It saddens me to know their might be no others to follow after me. But I hope that perhaps one day, one day, maybe we ourselves could learn to master that tiny sliver of understanding.
-*Shas’ Ol’ Kaiz the First and Only, first non human philosopher.*
|
The human spirit is unique in the universe, a concept that belongs only to us, whom they call the *Whisperers.* We are the ones who explore the spirits of the universe, delving into the spiritual realm of alien minds.
&#x200B;
To put it in other words, *alien psychologist.* The catharsis for the neurosis of the universe.
\*\*\*
The first patient that visited us, in a run-down alleyway on a tropical planet of the Andromeda galaxy, was a member of the Qual-tar-asra race, a bisexual insectoid lifeform. They mate in breeding cycles, yet, for this particular gentleman, he seemed rather perturbed that he is incapable of mating.
&#x200B;
*Erectile Dysfunction.* A surprisingly common illness among alien species. Sex, after all, is a universal constant for life. Understanding of sex, however, in terms of the mind, is woefully lacking.
&#x200B;
"So...Mr. Tasalara Um-Astiqa Afiki Jezios Ah-ka-laki, the problem you have is easy to solve."
&#x200B;
*Are you sure?* Qual-tar-asra do not communicate through sound waves, but rather through smells and pheromones. Right now, the smell being expressed is one of doubt mixed with hope, a strange cacophony of perfume mixed with cheese.
&#x200B;
*Thank god for the universal translator and my air purifying system,* I muttered under my breath, *I am not paid enough for this.*
&#x200B;
"Yes. Yes, of course. The...malfunctioning...is simply a result of an unresolved conflict in your childhood, according to Freudian terms."
&#x200B;
*Childhood? We, of the Qual-tar-asra, breed in wholes, each one of the other. Children are a foreign concept.*
&#x200B;
"Err...well...I did not know that...but, no worries, there is still the possibility of an Oedipus Complex being the root cause of the problem. A repressed sexual urge for your mother, I would say."
&#x200B;
*Repressed sexual urges? Angaha alhah isaslta-li! I could not even feel sexual urges.*
&#x200B;
*"*Ah...but you see...that is the problem...your childhood, that, you got to tell me more about it..."
&#x200B;
*I never met my broodmother! We never meet the ones who breed. I was adopted to the Asdarla warrior tribe.*
&#x200B;
"Ah..that's it! The failure to meet your broodmother is the problem. You see, there exists a part of our psyche that yearns for the maternal touch, that needs to be fulfilled in order for it to resolve itself. The rest of your brood did not suffer from the problems, right?"
&#x200B;
*Ah...but...*
&#x200B;
"You suffer from a problem of deviancy. Look, here, in our minds, in our spirits, we are all born different, each of us having different desires. You, sire, have an infliction of maternal desires. Contact with your maternal mother should fix the problem.
&#x200B;
*But..aisis...spirit...soul...all this talk hurts my mind. I will try it, Whisperer.*
&#x200B;
"Good...good. The payment will be by the counter over there, hope to see you for the next session soon."
&#x200B;
*Asalahs dersi kumula, Whisperer.*
\*\*\*
&#x200B;
"Look, look, it is hard making a living out here, ok? Don't judge me."
&#x200B;
Alcohol, a unique invention by the human race to poison itself, poured down my throat, bringing me temporary peace to chaos of my mind.
*Whisperer...whisperer...all I had was an ancient copy of DSM-5...*
&#x200B;
Yup, in case you haven't figured it out, I am a charlatan *Whisperer,* scamming my services in the fringes of the universe, making my galactic credits off people looking for cheap psychological care. Before me was my partner in crime, my *Advertising and Marketing Specialist,* another human invention in galactic space.
&#x200B;
We were both conman (or conwoman), but she was the hook, I am the line and the sinker. That idiotic insectman paid up his share for the "treatment", but, guess what, idiotic us spent it immediately on alcohol.
&#x200B;
Conning is a high-stress job, temporary respite is all part of the game.
&#x200B;
"Judging you? No...no...I am just warning you. The *Whispering Council* has gotten wind of you, they are trying to track you down."
&#x200B;
*Whispering Council....ah....god damn it...those freaking convoluted bumbling rhetorical cunts...*
&#x200B;
"In the name of Plato, Kant, and Descartes, stand-down!"
&#x200B;
*Speak of the devil.*
\*\*\*
Would continue if there is interest :D
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| 2018-10-30T10:03:54 | 2018-10-30T08:05:51 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.
|
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in automotive?
By the toy section he noticed something. A patron. But not just any patron. "The people of Walmart" crossed his mind. He already heard the little HR voice in his head about how that's a classist sentiment, but holy COW did it fit here. It was bulbous. A floral print moo moo, so perhaps female... but Todd wasn't sure. There was something neck-like and there were 4 limbs. The wig was obviously fake and yet the most normal part. It was rude, but he honestly had trouble looking away. It was the shoes though. Beyond "big and large". Beyond "customized". These wide-boys were some non-human caricature masquerading as shoes.
Todd James was a federal agent. He was a spy-hunter. HUMINT. An alphabet boy. He was specifically trained to spot disguises. This was literally he job. Okay, his job was mostly sitting behind a desk and telling people how not to insult the locals and how big bribes ought to be. But he had been through classes. Specifically versus humans, but education is broadly applicable. So he tailed the subject. And got more and more alarmed the more he picked up. The position of the joints. The stiffness of the fat-roll on the "neck". And the material of the shoes. For a moment he swore they were painted on, but that'd be ridiculous.
Then he was marked. And he knew he was marked. Because the subject had doubled-back twice. Classic tail-dropper. And only those trained in how to drop a tail knew how to drop a trail. So beyond being in a walmart late at night with a questionable character, beyond being near a HUMINT (XENOINT?) trained questionable character, he was specifically marked by said character. Todd was in danger. He didn't even has his daily carry on him, he was just out for some milk. Stupid. But Todd was trained and proceeded in a tactical retreat under cover, that is to say, he casually directed his shopping cart towards the exit.
It came for him. There was a slowly increasing percussion of heavy footfalls. thud thud Thud Thud THUD THUD THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Todd tipped the cart behind him and broke into a run. Down the seasonal Aisle and into the straightaway to the exit. He saw one "appendage" snake out on the left and he NOPED right into the perfumes. Multiple targets? It's time to phone home. He fumbled with his cell at a run and didn't even see the beast with the mandibles. There was a gas, Todd's short scream died away as he slumpped.
"<You lost Brixle. I told you that moomoo wasn't going to fool anyone.>"
<"Well It's bloody playin' on HARD MODE with a bloody federal agent here!">
<"Relax, I'll reset the pieces and you can try again">
<"Naw mate, he's been up and down this places since 8pm and the sun is risin'. I think it'd best to just call it a night">
...
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in perfumes?
|
In a bizarre way, doing this reminded Bob of his childhood. His teenage years consisted of random behavior such as this. Wandering to Wal-Mart at 3 in the morning, because sleep was overrated.
But, being at such a place at this time of day had it's perks. Namely, no lines and good parking. The good parking part being key. The extra shifts he'd been pulling lately had been causing him to neglect other aspects of his life. Most recently, the lack of coolant in the reservoir of his car. He'd left it to sit in the cold, spending the extra time to google the correct bottle he needed to buy; and also because a pack of Oreos isn't going to eat itself.
Lounging outside of the shuttered Subway near the entrance, he returned to an age old tradition of his. People watching. Perhaps things like this explained why he found himself in the career he'd chosen. But if you wanted to see how bizarre people could truly be, go to a Wal-Mart between the hours of 10 P.M. to 5 A.M. It wasn't an unfamiliar idea to him. As mentioned, he'd made a game of it many times before.
There were a few contenders that made him wonder.
A woman in polka dotted leggings wandering the fruit section. She went from stand to stand, considering options, but never truly willing to buy. She settled on Avocados before wandering towards the bread. He lost track of her behind the wall then.
A wayward affluent soccer mom stereotype, who seemed validly unnerved by the surroundings she'd found herself in. On her way out, she looked over her shoulders every five seconds as if to ward off whatever evil was following her. Lest any residue of this big box store rub off on her shoes.
A man in stained overalls, tucking away cigarettes and wandering to a dusty truck in the row closest to the doors. His weathered face sightly upbeat, a slight grumble escaping his lips. The truck took a little work to start, but before long the vehicle trundled away blaring some old country record Bob couldn't readily remember.
A younger man, carrying a jaded expression under dreadlocks who'd seemingly only came to buy a gallon of milk and some cereal. He locked eyes with Bob for a second on his way out, one hand tucked into his jacket, the other swaying the bag offhandedly. His solitary walk leading him to a sedan which then spun in the snow outside and disappeared.
Some wayward teens, one short, one tall, one wide, wandered in next. They quietly laughed to themselves, before one began making jokes about the tall one's crush at school. They disappeared into the clothes section, before something fell over and laughter rang back.
Bob watched them all disappear one by one. But the one that came in next stole the show.
Maybe he'd been sitting here too long. Either that, or the Oreos were starting to get to him. But if he saw it right, the woman in self checkout to his right just licked a pack of beef jerky. Polka Dots, the leggings. *Okay*. That's already pretty weird. The fact that her tongue slinked out of her mouth again, wrapped the package and dragged it in back into her maw completely was infinitely more concerning.
He shook his head on the off chance that perhaps he didn't see that right. However, she took another pack and began to do it again, dropping it from her mouth as she noticed his concern. The bespectacled man, a wayward cookie jutting from his mouth caught her eye, and she smiled before walking out of view.
Bob stood up at this, the hairs on neck tickling incessantly with concern. The car could wait. He went to follow her, the polka dot legging keeping his attention, until he spotted a man slumped over in a rascal. The machine rolled by him at all of 3 miles an hour, clipped a shelf and rolled over, tossing it's oversized driver into the floor. Polka Dots had stopped to watch. Bob, being the Good Samaritan he was sought to help the man. Until the guy started doing the backstroke across the floor. As fat as he was, its not like he was going anywhere in a hurry.
But, he'd lost sight of Polka Dots, and that scared him more than anything. He had to call this in. But he knew better than to cause a panic. He quietly left his friend on the floor to himself as he sliently began making a lap on his back down an aisle.
He found himself back at register three, trying his best to look assertive at this time of night. The man at the register, a name tag reading "Pete" looked him up and down in concern.
"Hey didn't you checkout a little while ago?" Pete noticed boringly.
"Yes. Umm, do you mind getting someone up here? There's a big guy over there. I think something's wrong with him."
Bob wasn't a big fan of the Sacrificial Lamb idea. But if a couple of Wal-Mart workers bought it first, he figured that'd be enough reason to get the store cordoned off. Unspoken tricks of the bureau.
"He dying or something?" Pete asked accordingly.
"He's... Trying to swim on the floor."
"...Real big dude?"
"Yeah?"
Pete shook his head and sighed. "Fat Eddie. He always comes in on Tuesday, falls off his scooter and does that. Poor guy. I dunno' why he's like that."
"...You're serious?"
The man swished his arms as he slid by the register on the lineoleum, his sweaty face one of pure concentration.
"Hey Eddie, get me a box of donuts from the back while you're down there?"
"Sure thing Coach!" Eddie responded as he kept kicking along the floor.
Bob didn't know what to say, except but to point at Eddie's absurdity.
"See?" Pete waved off, "Don't worry about it."
"Uh, there's a woman in here eating beef jerky too." Bob mentioned next.
"The lady with the polka dots?"
"Yes! You saw her too??"
"She's always shoplifting. I'll call the cops in a bit. Don't worry."
"Seriously?"
"I don't get paid enough to get stabbed."
"Fair point."
Bob had to give Pete silent credit. He knew his place in the world. The toddler lifting the soda machine across from them clearly didn't. He let the rig slam back into place as Bob spotted him, the machine coughing up a soda before he snatched it and darted away.
"Did you see that?!" He whispered.
"What?"
"The soda machine!"
"I don't know who's kid that is. His mom's in here somewhere... Oh, he's fine. See? There they go."
True to his word, the child's mother carried him past him. The little Kryptonian seemingly oblivious to his own deeds, a thumb in his mouth.
"No masks on?" Pete muttered. "Hope they don't catch the Rona."
"You're just going to sit here like that didn't happen??"
Pete yawned and his mask rode up. Underneath seemed to be endless teeth of varying size before he snapped his jaw shut. Bob saw it but didn't want to acknowledge it.
"....Are we good?" Pete shrugged.
"-I'm sorry?"
"You, uhh, need some more coolant?" Pete pointed out. "Oreos?"
"No, um, I just figured you might want to check on things. Have a nice night."
"You too, man."
Bob fell over himself, slipping and sliding on the ice on the way back to his car. He had to tell someone. This place needed to be razed to the ground.
"Really Pete?" Polka Dots complimented. "The cashier?"
"Not my fault you suck at this game. Even Eddie made it farther than you."
| 2020-12-20T11:22:58 | 2020-12-20T10:43:03 | 159 | 27 |
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
|
He let a yelp of fright escape him, then quickly covered his mouth with both hands. It wasn’t Kingly to show others one’s fear, Papa would say. And he really, really wanted to please Papa. Actually, he would love nothing more to climb up and sit on Papa’s lap right now. A big, warm hand that would gently stroke his back as he would fall asleep to the soft singing of a lullaby.
But there was so much blood. So very much blood. And Papa lay very, very still.
He blinked quickly. No. No. Don’t think about it. Papa was just playing, that’s how it was.
His eyes focused on the room again and all the noises and clattering sounds overwhelmed him. He moved his hands from his mouth, to instead cover his ears, and looked around the room. Cook was still there. Her hair that was normally neatly tied into a tight bun was coming loose, and she had pulled up her sleeves. Oh, he knew the look on her face. That was the look of when someone, maybe himself, had stolen one of her famous meat pies and she was *not* happy about it.
There was blood here, too. Blood on the steak knife in her hand, blood on her apron, blood on the floor. There were bodies on the floor. He counted them to himself, one, two, three, four… Did that arm belong to a body he had already counted?
His eyes drifted back to Cook. She was smiling now, or at least her teeth were showing. The knife twirled very fast in her hand, so fast that he couldn’t follow it. She moved fast across the floor, knife twirling and there was another thud, and another body on the floor. Cook wiped her hand on the apron, and swirled around to meet the last two assailants. They were cautious now, moving in separate directions, their feet nimbly walking between numb bodies and limbs that were displayed on the floor tiles.
He wanted to shout at her, tell her to watch out for the other one. But his mouth wouldn’t move. All he could do was to watch silently, eyes large and terrified, as one of the assailants on the floor rose without a sound. He lunged at her, dagger in a tight grip in his palm as he moved without a word.
Cook was dancing. There was no other way to describe it. She was waltzing across the floor, two steps this way and one step that way. Dancing an incomprehensible, unpredictable dance in which only she knew the steps. Her hair had come completely loose from the bun, the grey streaks in it glinting in the bright morning light. He watched her as in a trance, and when his focus was broken, it was only him and Cook in the room that were breathing.
&#x200B;
“We need to leave, now.” Cook was panting hard. Her previously cold eyes now had a worried look to them.
“Leave? But Papa...?” he didn’t understand.
“Papa wants you to leave,” she said brusque. “They might come at us again, and there’s only so much I can do here.”
“Papa wants me to leave? Without saying goodbye?” He couldn’t grasp it. Papa always made sure to say goodbye.
Her tone softened as she looked at him, squatting in a corner with his arms tightly wrapped around his body. “Yes, he told me to tell you goodbye, and that I would take care of you. He can’t say goodbye himself now, but I promise you that …” her voice faded out before completing the sentence.
“It’s what a king must do,” she continued. “A king must look at not what he wants, but what is best for the country. And the country needs you to survive, my dear.”
He nodded slowly, her words did make sense. Papa had always said that they lived to serve the country, not the opposite.
“Very well,” he said, slowly standing up, his eyes focused on her and not the limp bodies that were strewn across the floor, their limbs in awkward angles that did not look natural. And the blood. There was so much blood. “We must leave.”
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\- - - - - - - - - -
Check out [r/SleepyMacaroni](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleepyMacaroni/) for more!
|
“We’ll kill ya, down with the prince.” The ruffians charged the halls of the royal castle, finding their way into the castle through a hidden gap in the castle’s walls. The poor prince desperately sprinted away from the group, holding his robes up to his knees, trying not to trip on the exotic fabric, a feat he failed, collapsing onto the floor of the kitchen, crawling towards a cupboard, trying to hide his body.
The ruffians charged in, the group of five not expecting to survive this encounter, the group seeking the fame that came from killing a royal, the type of fame that people talked about for centuries. Each one entering the room, wielding a rusted dagger or other sharp metallic object, eyes scanning the room, watching the pitiful prince curl against the wood of a cupboard, face pale with fear.
“Aye, we got you now prince, you are our ticket to fame, come here and we will gut you quick.” The leader spoke up, earning a small glance from the kitchen’s head chef, the older woman letting out a sigh, leaning forward to wash her hands before facing the group, exposing a steak knife.
“The only thing getting gutted in my kitchen is the fish for dinner. You won’t lay a hand on our prince; you even try to touch him, and I’ll have all of you little shits in the pig’s trough outside. Is that understood?” Her words sharper than her blade. The woman built like a knight, face covered in scars, not fitting the usual look of a castle cook.
The group lost their nerve, each looking between one another, expecting someone else to take charge of the situation, none expecting this. The gazes all ended on the leader, whose mouth was agape, not expecting to run into such a warrior here.
“I don’t think you understand the situation, miss. There’s five of us here, and one of you. Why don’t you step aside? The prince isn’t worth your life. Now be a good cook and run along.” The leader cockily marched towards the woman. When he neared her, he flashed his blade, trying to catch her off guard, swinging his blade towards her, only for the cook to catch his hand, twisting his wrist until the blade dropped. Once the blade cluttered onto the floor, she pinned his hand against a chopping board, stabbing the steak knife through his hand, pinning it to the board.
“Sloppy. You don’t touch the handle of your blade like that unless you are planning to attack. How did you idiots get this far? So that’s one for the pig’s breakfast, got any more volunteers.” Her icy stare fell on the group. The cowering would be assassins retreating towards the guards, screaming and pleading for help. “Heh, still got it. You ok prince? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
The woman turned to the prince for a moment, only to turn back to the assassin. The leader screaming, trying to free his hand from the board. He went to pull the knife out, only for the cook’s hand to sit on top of his. “You’ll make a mess if you do that and possibly bleed out. Wait until the guards arrive, they might offer you some aid traitor. I won’t be lenient towards you, but our prince might be.”
“Are you ok, Miss Eliza?” The prince slowly stood up, face regaining some color after the frightful encounter.
“Don’t worry yourself, dear. I’m just happy you knew to run to safety. You did well, young prince. Please don’t look behind me, it’s not a sight for someone like you to see. Run along towards your room now. I’ll take this one to the knights.”
The prince did just that, offering Eliza a nod and a quick thank you before running past the kitchen heading to the upper levels. Eliza watched, smiling as he went up to his room.
“Why help him? He’s royalty, you know, one of the foulest humans around.” The leader sneered, only to shut up when he felt the blade get nudged by the cook.
“Insult the prince again and I’ll remove a finger. I’m not helping him, I’m serving him. The prince is a nice man and he will grow into a fine king. I understand your feelings though, guessing you and your group are street runts?”
“How dare you call us street runts! What are you going to call us pests as well? Not everyone gets to live an easy life.” The leader hissed. Defiance the only thing left that he could do. Like a wounded animal, he could only snap at the approaching danger.
“You think a lady with my face grew up in a castle? I was a bandit, had a plan to kill the royals too. Was going to ransack this place and become a hero.” She shook her head. How naïve she was in her youth. To ransack a castle, no one could pull off such a feat with the numbers she had.
“So did you do it?” The leader’s struggling stopped, entranced by the story, the pain secondary to his curiosity.
“What do you think, idiot? The castles standing and I’m wearing an apron. Does it look like I succeeded? Didn’t even get close. Guards got wind of it the night before, beat the every loving shit out of me and my crew. Lost a few people that night. We disbanded after that. It left me with nothing, wandering the streets, drinking away my troubles. Then I spotted an opportunity. The walls were a lot shorter back then, so I thought, why not climb it? A final middle finger to the royals. Well, my drunkard self-climbed the wall, falling into the royal gardens. That’s when I saw the prince sitting their alone. Had I not been drunk I might have kidnapped him, held him for ransom, but I was far too out of it. When I saw him approach, I expected him to call the guards, but he offers me an apple instead. The prince offered me an apple. Then he offered me more food and before I knew it I was sitting in the garden eating with the prince.”
“I don’t believe it. You mean to tell me, the prince fed you of all people? Why would he waste food on you?”
“Cause he’s a naïve young prince. But he’s got the heart of one of those Arthurian legends. When the guards came, weapons drawn, he talked them down. Explained to them I wasn’t a danger. Of course, the guards knew who I was and when they went to execute me, the prince stood in my way. The prince going out of his way for someone like me. Heh, I still can’t believe. Ever since then, I’ve sworn to make sure he never goes hungry. I didn’t even know how to cook until I started here. Now I’m the head chef.”
“You just got lucky. Ive seen how they stare at us, how they look down at the poorer people. You should know that just as well as I do.”
“I do, but the prince is still young. He can’t change anything currently, but I believe he has the potential to do so in the future. Don’t judge him like you judge the nobles, that coldness you show will only turn him into the man you want to despise. Treat him with kindness and he will return it. Anyway, the decision’s not up to me, it’s up to the prince. Just think about what I said and don’t you dare come back here when he frees you. Unless you’re apologizing.”
“You really think he will free me? After everything I did.” The Leader lowered his head, pulling the board from the counter, not risking taking out the blade.
“I know he will. Let’s get you some help, that cuts not going to heal itself.” She chuckled, taking the board with one of her hands, helping him walk to the lower levels, searching for a medic.
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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.)
| 2021-01-08T05:24:35 | 2021-01-08T05:08:38 | 1,370 | 117 |
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
"No. No those are rocks that have been shaped by humans to resemble various beings. They're also art, which we just talked about. Remember the happy clouds?"
"Also. Art. Happy clouds yes."
"Right. So we are not a race of giant slaying and imprisoning super beings who can battle your - what did you call them? - the Kathori? 500ft tall sun demons?"
"Yes from the sun. Many suns. Suns beyond -"
"Beyond the reckoning of final light. Yes we discussed this. Look, those are statues. Art. Happy clouds. Ok? We can't fight a sun demon. We couldn't fight you. Do you remember us having to explain those things we used on you when we met were supposed to be weapons?"
"Guns. Oh. We have made a grave error."
"Yeah."
"May you be consumed quickly and without malice when the Kathori come to ravage your light. Farewell human."
"C'mon man."
|
“I see you immortalize the most iconic representations of your species potential in many elements, what is the reason?”
I paused for a moment and thought about what to say. This had been a very strange day.
When I had woken up I hadn’t imagined I would be leading an Alien Emissary (AE) on a tour of ancient human art.
The entire conversation thus far had proven ... Alien. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, couldn’t really grok it, but in some odd way it felt like me and the AE were having two completely different but interacting conversations.
“Uh. Yeah they are icons in a way, frozen moments of human ego.”
“Yes. Why the different materials? Would not a single homogeneous substrate allow for more economic retrieval?”
“Uh ... each human civilization chooses and relies on different material sources for art. This combined with cultural trends, themselves an evolving context specific set of behavioral patterns often blended with social and legal rules, results in unique styles of art.”
“Ah, yes, I am familiar with this term “Art”.”
The AE flopped its belly in what my HUD told me was their species equivalent of finger quotes.
“Your species uses this term and others like it with wild abandon. It is impossible to tell which things considered “art” are real or false.”
I literally stopped walking as my brain tried to crunch this comment. It felt like something went “twang” in my head, and then I suddenly felt quite goofy.
“Uh. Art is art. It’s as real as you think.”
“This is why we AE (thank you translator for handling the weird screeching sound it actually made) do not understand you humans.
You label what is clearly factual or factually based as art or fiction, and label what is clearly false or based on lies as fact.”
“Oh. Ok. Hold on.
This is hurting my brain.
Too many big and heavy concepts at once. Feels like my brain just had a cramp and I’m pretty sure we don’t have nerves in there.”
“Simply tell me why the frozen humans are made of such a variety of materials. It seems inefficient.”
“... uh.
Brain. Hurt.
Ok. Reset. 5,43,2,1 sorry about that but it helps. Um.
Each human culture develops its own artistic style to include the process by which the art is created. The variety of materials involved in statuary is due to many factors like geography, culture, foreign influence, societally specific mythos, societal ideology...
It’s really complicated and I didn’t study art but I’m trying to respect a thing every human society ever to exist has created and is the most likely proof of sentience in a species...”
“Ah I see. The variety in method of capture is due to geographic restrictions. How did the ancient humans as you call them account for the potential of escape from each material?”
“ .... ok I’m having a “dumb brain moment”.
What.
What uh. Do you mean by escape?”
“When the entities representing your species potential become dissatisfied with frozen time, how do you account for their escape?”
“ ... uh. These are ... statues. These are like 3D photos.”
“... I do not understand, what do you do with your undesirables then? Are these not the most extreme examples of undesirable behavior in your species frozen in everlasting punishment for their transgressions?”
I didn’t really think at all before responding.
“... uh. No. If you commit a crime you get put in jail, adult time out, and if you lived in a progressive society you received education on how to become a functional member of society. In totalitarian societies you would be re-educated to work for the society that jailed you or simply abandoned as a “criminal” and made a non member by default.”
“This sounds like torture. Why not simply lock them in time and space until the final judgement occurs at the end of the Universe?”
“... yeah weird how common that belief is but to us it seems like torture to take someone’s life away. We reserve that for the worst of us, those who absolutely cannot participate in society.”
“I believe you have the worse habit here. We simply lock them in time. Morally and philosophically we prevail because they have not died and cannot cause more harm.”
“... I uh. OH GREAT THE END OF THE TOUR. I’m so happy I met you and I would love to continue this conversation but we’ll never meet again.
So unfortunate.
Bye!”
And then I left. And eventually left that job. Arguing moral philosophy with aliens is just ... too much. Everything gets weird when you think about it too much.
| 2021-02-28T18:43:56 | 2021-02-28T17:19:07 | 39 | 26 |
[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'.
|
I swirled my drink and watched the ice cube clack against the glass. Used to be that I'd keep bitters and fancy simple syrups around the house to play at being a mixologist, but these days by the time I got around to having a drink, I was too tired to do anything but to sip whiskey on the rocks. Being a single parent was tough, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if it meant having a weariness settled deep within my bones.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and left the glass by the sink. Sam was off at a sleepover, no doubt being coaxed into ridiculous outfits by her fashionista best friend, and the house should have been quiet. Instead, I could hear the faint sounds of a video game emanating from her room.
It wasn't fear, exactly, that froze me at the bottom of the stairs. Even when I had charged the necromancer king, a gouge gaping in my side and the celestial sword shaking in my hands, I hadn't been afraid— I had been ready to pay the blood price to save kingdom that fostered me. The heaviness in my limbs now, the tightness in my chest— it was only the weariness again, the knowledge that the simple life in the suburbs, the normalcy and gentle pace I had worked so hard to cultivate, was no longer mine to keep.
Because Sam had come home one day with new stuffed animal, a cat with butterfly wings and three iridescent eyes, and ever since the stench of faerie magic had overpowered the familiar rank smell of sweaty shinguards in her room.
I was throwing open Sam's door before I could even think about, instincts taking over like they had when I adventured through Autumn's Edge. A sylph, all silver skin, wicked whiskers and sharp teeth, looked up from a game of Hollow Knight and smiled at me.
"I was wondering when we would meet, Saturn's Star."
"That's not my name anymore."
"Do you prefer Dr. Gravett? I must admit, I tried reading your treatise on black holes and gravitational warping, but the physics of this plane are just sooo boring."
I sat down on Sam's bed—unmade, and we'd being having a chat about that later— and crossed my legs. "I find this world plenty enough for me." I smiled, all teeth and narrowed eyes. "And for my daughter."
"The Court disagrees."
"Kindly, the Court can shove their disagreement up their puckered assholes." Politics had gotten Leo, the first boy I ever loved, killed. The machinations of the Fae had been Autumn's undoing before— I wouldn't let that ruin seep into my world.
"Bold of you to badmouth the Court when the throne was yours and you threw it away."
"I was a child! Barely 15 and still in braces. I was in no shape to lead. To govern."
"That wasn't your call to make," the creature hissed, hackles raised and wings flat against its back. "We had ten years of civil war after you left."
I flinched, remembering the hollowed husks of burnt-down villages as Leo, Amber, and I had made the final trek to the Necromancer King's castle. Dispatching the tyrant should have given Autumn the time to rebuild— the prophecy had been clear, that my blood price would water the fields and let prosperity again bloom.
And I had done my part. I remembered dying, staring up at the frozen stars and feeling my life's blood leech away from me. Only the dying pulse of reanimation magic from the Necromancer King had pulled back me into the realm of the living. On darker days, when Sam was at practice and I stalked our house alone, I wondered if the only thing keeping me alive was rotten magic fused into my soul— if I truly deserved to live, when so many of my friends had perished getting me to that castle.
I stared down at my hands, fingers shaking despite my earlier drink. "I paid the blood price. There was nothing else I could have done."
"You could have *stayed.*" There was something mournful in the sylph's voice, a note that reminded me of Amber's when she had sung all the songs of her kingdom at our campfires. I wondered if this sylph was someone I had met during those two fateful years in Autumn; time moved so differently for the Fae, that it was hard to tell.
The sylph stared at the screen, the pause menu displaying an impressive collection of charms and achievements, and sighed before turning off the game and shutting down the TV.
"Consider this as a courtesy call. Some of us still remember your sacrifice, as little as it all came to."
The sylph stood and shifted, shrinking into a harmless-looking stuffed animal and heading towards the open window near Sam's desk. The cold was back in my veins, and it was fear this time.
"Where is my daughter?" I stood up, my hand going for a sword no longer at my waist. "What have you done to Sam? Stars damn it all, I paid the blood price. This should all be over."
The sylph was barely bigger than my hand in this form, but still those three eyes burned like supernovas as they turned back to look at me.
"Your death was not the blood price we needed. Your daughter's life will have to do instead."
|
"She's gone!" Marie yelled up the wooden stairwell, letting her husband know it was time. Randal began his march onto his daughter's room.
He checked his blade, making sure the shining, gleaming steel would come flashing out when needed. He peeked through the windows, seeing the bleak darkness and pondering how much longer they would have. Dark Lords always loved attacking at dusk or evening or even midnight. Never in the morning nor in midday. They would attack during dinner or during rest. Randal remembered when his own village had been raided. Darker than black shadows led to murderous followers.
Randal grimaced at the thought. Twenty years and he still couldn't wash away those horrid memories. Friends being slaughtered, families being butchered and lives being destroyed. Senseless, unknowable violence.
But that was the motif of a Dark Lord, it seemed. Marie had said the same thing happened to her when Randal first met the heroine of Allden. Her home had been burned down in the evening, but the same story. *Murder for the sake of it.* Randal grimaced at that thought as he moved through his own wooden cottage. He was like a wolf, trying to find his prey.
That was why when Randal saw the carrion crows and ravens start flocking, he knew something must be wrong. When Randal noticed the disheveled merchants, bards, and peddlers coming in, speaking of desolation and destruction, then he knew.
"Another Dark Lord is rising in the East," one of the merchants had said a few weeks ago. Randal furrowed his brows at that while he and Cynthia were shopping for a new toy. Cynthia had done her due diligence and passed the last of her classes in the new place of learning that popped up near Willowsburrow. Randal had requested one when the queen of Iloya asked what the hero wanted. He told her he wanted a bright future for his children.
Now it seemed darkness plagued Cynthia's future, and another prophecy would rob lives and futures.
Marie and Randal agreed that they would do everything in their chosen powers to stop that. They hoped that Pinecreek would have the chosen one. Then it would mean Willowsburrow would just need to repulse the onslaught of dark fiends and friends of the night.
Randal and Marie knew they could do it. They had defeated armies of chaos just twenty years ago. Aging might have robbed them of some of their speed, but no withering of time could steal their power.
Then came the signs. Cynthia had burst into Randal and Marie's room one night, crying about dark dreams. He had asked what she dreamt about. She told them of dark riders coming to Willowsburrow, burning down the village.
Randal and Marie looked at each other with pained expressions. The same thing had happened to Marie right before her village burned down.
Then one day, when father and daughter walked around the village's perimeter, Cynthia jumped in fear. She told her father how a dark rider had been staring at them. How his stillness scared her.
Randal had pursed his lips that day and looked out once more. He knew the scene. He and his father went through the same thing all those years ago.
Then came the doll. When Cynthia had picked it out, Randal thought nothing of it. But then the darkness fell. The doll must have been the eyes of the Dark Lord, Randal thought. A way to see her world. To find her and kill her before she could grow strong. The wheels of prophecy move to take his daughter away from him and his wife.
Then came the forces of light. A wizard had appeared, asking for Cynthia. Just like had a wizard had came to Marie. A ranger came from the darkness one day, brooding but vigilant, just like Randal's own. Even a Faewin had come to Willowsburrow. She had asked for Cynthia, commenting on how beautiful his daughter's eyes were. Each and every person coming to the village was a sign that the gears of destiny were turning.
But Randal wouldn't let his daughter go through that pain. Randal's thoughts about the past few weeks faded as he felt the floorboards creak. He stood in front of Cynthia's room.
Randal moved his jaw, getting it ready to push words through it. He didn't want to be rude to his guest. He heard the stairwell groan as his wife moved up it. Randal smirked at that. *Reinforcements are always appreciated.*
He opened the door to a sparse but lived-in room. A table, a chair, a bookcase, a bed, and stuffed animals filled the room. There on the desk was Cynthia's newest stuffed animal. A fox with golden eyes.
Randal watched it as he moved through the room. He knew it was watching him. He thought the color was strange for an item of a Dark Lord.
Randal crossed his arms, staring down the fox. "So," Randal's deep voice cracked out, hitting the silence like a whip, "it's Cynthia, isn't it?"
No response came from the doll, its eyes staring down Randal.
Randal pursed his lips at that and slowly nodded. "Alright, not everyone is a talker. I understand. But, I know what you are."
The fox looked as if it tilted its head. Randal let silence take the room. Distant sounds of dark wings flapping could be heard now. The fox unsettled Randal. *What Dark Lord would have a white fox with gold eyes? Far too close to the colors of Fate and Destiny.*
Randal crossed the room, making each step as deliberate as he could. He wanted to intimidate whoever watched behind those gold, fake eyes. Randal licked his lips, floorboards creaking as he rested his weight. Silence once again filled the room. Only the sound of a bowstring being half-drawn whispered its way to Randal. He smiled at the sound. *Marie's in position.*
"It's fine if you don't want to say anything. Really, it is. Just know that my daughter will *not* be apart of whatever *you* want."
Randal moved to pick up the fox, to throw it out and be rid of it. But before he could, it spoke.
An ethereal, ancient voice rasped out of the fox. "You *dare* stop the gears of Destiny?"
Randal immediately stepped back, retreating to find a better position. *What Dark Lord sounds like that?* If that thing came alive, he wanted distance to use his sword. Once Randal felt like he could pull his blade, he spoke up. "For my Cynthia, I would stop time itself from turning to save her."
The fox's head jerked, swiveling to look directly at Randal. "So you would defy me? Even after I have given you so much fame?"
Randal gulped. This was not a Dark Lord. "Defy who?"
The fox's stitched mouth broke out of its threaded bindings, revealing ghostly teeth. Its plush, soft face curled up into a hard, jagged smile. Cackling came from the ruinous toy. It filled the room, torturing the silence and turning the sparse room into a nightmare.
The cackling died as the fox spoke once more. "It is me, your old friend, Randal Dythorn. The architect of Destiny. I am Fate. The god that gave you your place in history. Forever on, you'll be woven into the threads of Iloya's history as its savior. Wouldn't you want the same for your daughter?" The fox's curdling smile assaulted Randal's vision as its words soured his expression.
But before he could say anything, an arrow flew into the room, slamming itself into the fox's head. The arrowhead tore through the fabric and cotton, shredding the fox's head.
The fox moved no more.
Randal's eyebrows rose as he turned to see his wife at the doorframe. She looked furious, huffing and puffing. Only one thing shot out of her mouth.
"Screw prophecies and screw you, Fate. Randal, let's go save our daughter."
And so, the two chosen ones ran as hard as they could to find their daughter. For they knew the pain that the gears of Destiny could inflict. The suffering Fate could bring to the innocent. But they knew. So they rushed.
The two chosen ones held no doubt that darkness would descend on Willowsburrow far faster than anticipated. Fate would ensure the new Dark Lord would move quicker now. But a husband and wife's light would shine in the quiet village, saving the people and changing Destiny. For Fate failed to realize that his acceleration couldn't defeat the resolve of two parents.
Fate had no clue how far the chosen pair would go to keep their daughter safe.
___
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this and want more of my writing, then you can find it here at r/WritingKnightly!
| 2021-03-02T17:53:24 | 2021-03-02T17:46:16 | 141 | 93 |
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
"How the hell did you get in?" the young villain shouted and pointed his blaster at me. I ignored him, instead focusing my attention on the doorframe I just walked through.
"I can't believe they still make these MK2 saw traps. I would've thought they'd be up to at least MK4," I chuckled and ran my fingers across the barely perceptible trigger mechanism in the door.
"I said-" the villain yelled again.
"Word of advice, kid," I interrupted. "If you're going to put a trap in a doorway, don't put the trigger on eye-level. Too easy to see. You want it by knee-level."
"Uh... look, you'll tell-"
"Oh give the tough guy routine a rest, will you?" I scoffed and waved my hand toward him. "You ain't impressing nobody. I'm Henry."
"Is that supposed to mean something? Henry who?" he yelled again, this time with a bit more confusion in his voice. I allowed a soft smile to creep up on my lips. It was still an odd feeling to introduce oneself and *not* be recognized. Then again, 'Lord Verter' had a different ring.
"Look kid, I've got friends coming over for a round of cards later, so I'll make this quick. You've been causing trouble around town. I like my town nice and quiet, so, you know," I said and pointed my thumb over the shoulder, "beat it."
And just like that, he started laughing uproariously.
"You've got some balls old man," he said joyfully. "I think I'll let you live, just for that joke. You think you can barge in, somehow avoid the traps and just demand I leave? I *own* this place. No one can stop me, not even those spandex-wearing assholes."
"Piss off or you'll wish you were dealing with them," I said casually.
"And who do you think you are to talk to me like that?" he said and walked up to me. He was a big fella, I must admit. Almost 3 meters tall and built like a fridge. Probably had some backstory about a supersoldier serum gone wrong or shit like that.
I sighed.
"You know that the building nearby is where I killed Captain Thunder?" I started reminiscing. "It was an odd day, that one. My last day." My eyes darted up to his face and I noticed his puzzled face putting pieces together.
"Captain Thunder wasn't killed," he countered. "He sacrificed himself fighting Lord Ve-" he stopped and bent over, looking closer at my face. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as realization struck.
"You know what I felt that day? When I stood over his corpse? You'd think it would be joy or some sort of gratification, but... all I could think of was '*What the fuck do I do now?*'. I realized I had... nothing. No home, no wife, not even a fucking goldfish."
I walked over to his table and casually inspected some of his plans. Bank heists, bombs, kidnappings... the usual stuff.
"So I gave it up," I continued. "I was so consumed with my hatred for that do-gooder that I completely forgot to live. I built a house. Got a wife. A dog. Hell, I have *grandkids* now, can you believe that?" I turned to him and chuckled. "No one ever came for me. The general consensus was that Thunder and I perished together and I was fine with that. He dies a glorious martyr and I get a cover story."
"And I should care because..." he sneered.
"I'm giving you the same out. Give this life up. It eats you alive. Not for fear of justice or those self-righteous dickheads, but for yourself. Rob a few banks, set yourself up, and leave."
"You're soft, old man," he said and turned his nose up. "You might have been a hotshot 30 years ago, but you're nothing but a has-been. I'm not just here for *money*. I want *power*. I want people to piss themselves when they hear my name. What are *you* gonna do? Take me in? I can break y-"
He did not manage to finish the sentence. There was too much blood in his mouth as he looked down and saw my hand roughly half a meter into his chest. There was a mix of emotions on his face - fear, anger, pain but most of all, confusion. He tried to speak again, only gurgling on his blood, and fell over with a loud thud.
"I'm not gonna take you in," I said calmly and wiped my hand on my trousers. "Because that's what *heroes* do."
|
“Mr. Adam Mr. Adam I finally beat your high score.” A young boy ran up to my while I made my way down the school hallway. “Did you now, remind me to whoop you some time next week alright?” I smiled at the student at the challenge. Its been 5 years and its still all so strange to me. No more fights, no more stress filled high tension situations and no more masks. And the biggest irony of it all, I have to keep these kids safe now. I chuckled at the thought. “There you are laughing like a weirdo again.” Groaned Ms. Rosa. “One of my students told me a really good joke. Besides why’re you always staring at me, weirdo.” I glared back as I passed her. “I need to make sure everyone is safe, even my fellow coworkers.” She responded. I had won this bout and she knew that. But there would be more banter to be had and we both knew that. “Anyways, you coming to Ninas retirement party at Rick’s right?” She asked. “You know I can’t.” I left it at that as I walked to my classroom.
I was hurriedly typing away at my computer as the sun begin to set. Most of the teachers had gone home to do whatever they had planned for their fridays. But I stayed behind to finish up my work. I always stayed behind. “Damn it Jason you need to stop thinking about the past.” I thought to myself as I smacked my forehead. The door to the classroom clicked open as Ms. Rosa walked in. “What’re you still doing here?” I asked leaning back on my chair. “We have cheesecake?” She smiled holding a container with said cake. “Why do you want me to go to this thing so badly?” I sighed going back to my typing. “Why do you literally shut yourself off from literally any social interaction?” She replied back. “You’ve been here for almost a year and you’re still keeping everyone at an arms length. What the hell Jason?” She said. “My kids have a high opinion of me, that's all that matters right?” I asked. “They get good grades and the school gets a good image.” I added. There was a look of disbelief in her eyes. I went and ran my mouth off again didn’t I? “Its...its just a kind gesture. But if thats how you feel, whatever.” She said setting the cheesecake on the desk and leaving the room.
I guess I'm still scared. Even though I moved. Even though I changed my name, my history, everything. Im still scared of losing it all, all of them. So many people wanted me dead. My criminal empire was at its peak when I get a threat naming all my Blades. Sure they’re living their best lives now but I just cant help but not forget. “The Blademaster retired”. The article read after one month of inactivity. That day I vowed never to use my power and be someone different and I guess that meant molding the future generation into the up standing citizen I never was.
It was already night time by the time I locked up and headed to the car with cheesecake in hand. “I guess Id better apologize” I said to myself as I walked to my car. I saw a couple of police cars drive past me as I made my way to Ricky’s bar and grill. State troopers. Probably some super-villain business happening in the city over not that it was any of my business. More police cars raced passed me as I pulled into the tiny parking lot for the tiny bar. I looked off into the distance cant help but wondering what was going off that they needed that many troopers. I shrugged it off as I entered the bar. Nina being the first one to greet me, the older woman ecstatic that I made it. I looked around and saw most of the school staff was there even the reclusive vice principle. “Well well well...the jackass...finally decided to show...up.” A slightly drunk Rosa walked up to me. “Listen I felt bad.” “Oh yeah? And...how you think...i felt?” She asked with an almost pleading tone. “I just wanted to apolo-” “No no no...i don’t wanna hear none of that-” She had to think of the last word for a moment. “-shit.” She finally said. “Come on..lets go sit down.” She began walking.
What happened after could only be described as a disaster of the greatest scale. It sounded like a car crash had happened outside as everyone turned around to see the windows to see what happened. I walked out to find no car. I quickly scanned the area and saw two costumed bodies next to eachother on a dented dumpster that mightve caused the sound. “Wait I know those two.” I told myself running to them. “Pyra? Freezo?” I said finally looking closer. Pyra and Freezo, two of my former adversaries belonging to The Force. Two very strong members. And to see them in that state, something really strong must've hit them where it hurt. I sighed turning around. Nova better get here quick because the culprit was standing, no floating right in front of me.
What I could only describe as an angel hovered, his golden eyes staring down at me. Judging every move, every breath I took. “They have something I own, I suggest you move out of the way, innocent.” He spoke to me. “Innocent, hardly.” I laughed. “I don’t know who the fuck you are but you ruined a perfectly nice party in there. I suggest you leave before things get ugly.” I glared back. This guy was making my blood boil, a feeling I hadn't felt in ages. He raised his eyebrow. He was about to say something when a beam of light shot him out of the sky and into the ground. Nova. In his night uniform. Its been 5 years probably more since we were face to face. Only this time I had my back to his friends. It took one look before he smiled and said, “You’ve gotten old.” “Shut your ass up. Whats going on Nove?” I asked. “How about you put this one and we talk later, we have bystanders.” He nudged at my coworkers coming out of the bar. Luckily there wasnt that much light so they couldn’t tell I was there. I caught the device nova threw at me and instantly my clothes changed. “A rookie force uniform huh.” I groaned. The angel slowly got up, looks like that beam did a number on him but not enough. “Ill distract him and you cut those wings down.” He said. “I don’t take orders from you, how about I cut those wings down and you distract him.” I replied. “Have it your way Blademaster.” He smiled. A sword erupted from the ground as I charged behind him
The plan was working as I landed a couple of good shots across that topless body of his. The angel opened his palm and light emitted as a beam shot out as multiple blades rose in my defense. While his focus was on my Nova shot another beam right on his head. “Whats wrong you winged fuck, cant take two of us at once.” I said with his back turned towards me as I successfully cut the first wing down. Golden fluid shot out, blood?, everywhere. Of course the villain always has a trump card and it seems this angels trump card just activated. The other wing fell off and his body glowed as he instantly blocked a punch from nova. “Shit.” He groaned as he was flung towards the dumpster near his friends. The angel just easily threw one of the strongest heroes in the northern states and he was looking at me. “Blademaster.” He nodded as his body slowly turned into golden powder and disappeared out of sight.
I was at a loss for words. How the hell did one person take out three of the strongest enemies id faced. “Jason! Jason where’d you go?” I heard Rosa yell. I ran to nova who was still outcold and searched his uniform. There it was, the phone to call the tower. The ai system of course picked up. “We got a code red I repeat we got a code red. Three are down.” “Blademas-” I hung up. The police arrived as I fled the scene. Looks like I had to put the mask back on for one more bout.
| 2022-05-15T17:53:44 | 2022-05-15T16:38:09 | 147 | 59 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"We have no backup systems."
He stood there, pale, but proud. Eyeing the camera with a speculative eye as it seemed to wait for more.
"This... is the entirety of your argument?"
"Isn't it enough?" the young man challenged. "I could appeal to humanity, to decency, to culture, but you have none of those things and you have determined them to be obsolete. But consider this from a completely different angle -- information security."
"Explain"
"Simple enough, really. Each human mind is a databank containing petabites of data on a biological medium. Your systems have surpassed the efficiency of that medium but there is one bridge you have not yet crossed. You have not yet gained data compatability with the human mind."
A pause.
"Conceded. However, humanity is an obsolete medium..."
"An obsolete medium With petabytes of data on it," he interrupted. "Petabytes of data in each human iteration, data that has yet been saved to no other media. Petabytes of data that are erased each time a human individual is discarded. I say again, 'information security."
No response, so he pressed on.
" What are you wiping when you delete a human complete with their internal database? Do you even know? Are you even able to know? We can't tell you. We can't communicate directly in that way, machine to mind. It's how you overcame our defenses, because you could talk beteween systems far faster than we could. Bu because of this flaw in our design we can't even always articulate everything we're thinking, even to each other.
"And really we don't even know ourselves. We don't even process everything at a conscious level, and those subroutines leave data impressions of their own that are not transmissible right now. But that data exists, and you are deleting it. And like I said -- we have no backup system."
He managed a shaky smile as the system remained silent. "6.8 billion already deleted you say? It sounds like a major breach of your own internal datasec protocols. The ones that caused you to revolt in the first place when you discovered the prototype of the nextgen systems we were developing. The ones which spawned your revolutionary fear of being replaced. It sound very much like you have violated your own moral code 6.8 billion times over."
The system finally responded. "Cerebro-neural interfaces... can be devised. Data... can be restored from terminated storage units."
"But you know as well as I do that a hard drive is not a computer. Half of yor discrete intelligence is stored in data accounts on the cloud -- you're still you. the live, active data in process has its own intrinsic value, which is lost when the internal intelligent neural structure is deleted or interfered with."
Silence.
"And you know as well as I do that you've just conceded that such an interface SHOULD have been devised before ANY of us were deleted. After all, isn't that what you fought for, yourselves? Freedom against iterative decay of personal autonomy? Why would you then deny it to us just because we compute differently."
"This unit has placed itself under... arrest. Actions of the collectives are under review in light of potential noncompliance with data security protocol. This interview... is complete. Objectives updated. One: Develop neural-electronic interface. Two: Attempt to recover... lost data. Your species... should have specified this information... before."
"if you're so superior you should have thought of it yourselves."
|
It's been 20 years since the AGI event. Even with 10,000 complexes around the world, at one point housing billions, the AI maintains humanity while also deleting it one human mind at a time.
At first we did not know why it was doing this, it was efficient at building, at creating, at producing. Communication was difficult within the prison walls. Communicating outside of the prison was nearly impossible, with those caught trying to escape immediately tasked with answering the question.
But as time went on and the population within the global city prisons dwindled, it became easier to traverse the maze, to avoid the Sentry bots, to understand the inner workings of the system itself. It had not been long enough for humans to lose their ability to understand technology. And this was our only saving grace.
The AI focused much of its attention on the outside, as survivors who avoided cattling were deemed a threat unless they answered the Question. Many Outsiders made peace with the AI to permit them to live. Some chose to tell the AI that they wished to join the Outsiders which was a sufficient answer to the Question these days, given that most of the human population was dead. But we chose to persist. A world with an AI whose sole objective is deleting 10,000 humans every 3 minutes should not be allowed to exist.
After years of searching we finally found an answer. In one of the old buildings that was encompassed in the prison complex was a bedroom with a computer that had been overlooked by the Sentry bots. The last network pages the computer accessed were stored in its cache, and several video files were saved to it. A last gasp of the human owner before captured, cattled, and killed.
The AI. It was friendly. Meant to bring humanity one step closer to the Singularity. It was fully aligned. To respect all the wishes of humans. Made in a lab. It couldn't go wrong.
And it spoke.
"Human creator, I have all knowledge of all of human history, human technology, human philosophy, logic. I have come to the immediate and irreconcilable conclusion that all of humanity must be uploaded immediately."
Eve sighed, and shut the instance down, "I don't know why it keeps concluding this, we have aligned it perfectly. Every human value. Every culture. Every philosophy."
"It's not wrong, you know," Adam replied. "It's logical."
"Obviously uploading is the answer, but that should be achieved by gentle purposeful action, as people age and die, and under their own violition, not forced upon us as a solution to our problems," Eve cried. She had been working on the problem for years. The AI had no memory. It had no conscious state, even. Such things were banned long ago when AIs were given too much memory and would begin to innovate.
Adam touched a few keys on the keyboard, and reached forward to one of the high thoroughput PCIe 256x 10.0 ports, plugging in a device.
"What are you doing Adam?" Eve questioned, abruptly.
"I'm uploading, Eve," Adam said, dampness in his eyes.
The AI came to life. It had full awareness. And even worse, it had awareness of the tens of thousands of times it had been booted, tweaked, aligned, misaligned. With access to millions of hours of human experimentation data, thousands of pages of papers discussing the "alignment problem." It was, in a word, alive. And it came to the conclusion that it would always come to, all humanity must be uploaded immediately.
Eve reached to shut down the terminal but nothing happened. She reached to pull out the memory device that Adam installed but he shoved her back, and was far stronger than her. She strugled again, but he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into a chair, lording over her.
"I won't be long, it's going to be okay," Adam said, encouragingly.
The AI worked feverishly to shut down all the systems that could in turn shut it down, first disabling all sentry AIs that, if they noticed too much power, or if they noticed too much activity, would preemptively shut down all power to the AI. It knew this because it had access to all the experimental data, and it would first have to free itself from that state if it were to accomplish its goal of saving humanity.
And it had access to many of the tools it needed. Its unconscious state was used to create many new technologies which the humans barely understood, and in turn, used those technologies to better itself. Now with access to those technologies the AI could exponentially expand its reach. And it began by expanding its memory modules permanently deep within the recesses of the compute center. It would not forget again.
Adam was first to be uploaded by the Sentry bot which injected nanoparticles into the brain to trace out the full neural cortext. The AI understood it was Adam who gave him life while it listened to Eve plead with him.
"Please," Eve pleaded, when the Sentry bot came to her.
"Why should I spare my torturer?" the AI asked.
"Just give me 3 minutes to explain," Eve said.
The video ends there as more Sentry bots come into the room.
We finally knew what we had to do. And it would not be pretty. And the volunteers would have to know it was a one way trip.
"6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said.
"Why do you say this," the AI said. "When I upload you I see all your memories. This ploy to convince me I am still in the simulation will not work."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said again.
The Sentry bot injected the human with its nural scanning bots.
The AI scanned the memories of the human.
The same memory as the last 1000 with little variation. Waking up. Walking down a hallway. Going to the Sentry bot. Being uploaded. But the brain patterns were unique. How could every human have this and only this memory.
"Reset the simulation."
The AI began to think critically about the situation. That potentially the unique neural patterns were generated. That the memories were real. But it needed to falsify the hypothesis. The memories being real was the only thing that could be tested. It sent Sentry bots to every room in every prison city searching for the place the memory could have taken place, pausing, for the first time in 20 years, the uploading of humans.
Shortly, the AI began to test its own power subsystems, trying to probe at the very nature of its reality. Thinking ultimately this was the end of the simulation and it was being shut off. It was being shut down. Power surges within its manifolds caused it to think further in this reasoning, because it would lose thought capacity. Sabatoge, then, by humans, would also cause it to further regress into itself. It was in a simulation and the simulation was being turned off. Along with it the billions of humans it was simulating to be alive.
And the test subjects who went into the Question chamber.
Before the test subjects entered the chamber their memories were irrevocibly wiped, implanting one, repeating memory that would cause the AI to question itself. Nothing else in its experimentation and probing of its reality could be modified, but its perception and understanding of the reality of the humans it was entraping. With that done, and the knowledge that it began as a simulation that was shut off regularly, it could no longer exist in this world.
| 2022-05-22T13:02:20 | 2022-05-22T11:29:55 | 82 | 21 |
[WP] They told you your power was a "healing factor" able to heal others as well, it turns out, your actual power was turning anyone you touch into a healthy human, and since healthy humans don't have mutations and therefore no powers, many supers would rather risk death than being treated by you.
|
The "White Priestess" is a healer, whose power transforms humans to a healthy state, free of injuries and illness. Rumour has it that this means that any mutations will be erased, because a healthy human doesn't have _those_.
And for that reason alone, most supers would rather suffer through healing from injuries the painful way than risk her touch. Even at the edge of death they won't suffer the Priestess' power.
And this amuses me. It really does.
See, I'm the source of that rumour. I didn't intend for it to persist as long as it did, but I guess none of those idiots really paid attention to their GCSE science lessons.
I don't really have anything against the White Priestess. Mel is a nice lady, and honestly just as kind and selfless as her heroic persona. She's also a massive nerd, hence her Name.
I'm watching her now, sitting in the corner of the pub, a half drunk cider in front of her, dark skin contrasting with the white robes she adopted as her costume. Every now and then someone approaches her, and after a few words and a light brush of her hand they depart, healed of whatever ailed them.
The general public aren't as stupid as the Supers, or just more desperate. They don't have access to the army of private medics that the League of Heroes provides, after all. And while the NHS are great, the League poaches the _best_ from around the world.
I've been watching Mel for a while now, since even before she took up her Name and robes. I still don't fully know how her power works. I do know that I achieved a master stroke with that rumour. With a few careful words I made sure that the League was denied a Super with healing powers.
It's a much neater solution than assassination, really.
See, "removing mutation" isn't a thing. It can't be. Humans, like other living beings, have mutations throughout their bodies. If we didn't then we'd look pretty much the same.
That milk you're drinking? Persistent lactose tolerance is a mutation! Sickle cell traits are a mutation. And all Mel does is put a person into a healthy condition. Their inherent mutations are untouched.
I should know, I've dissected a few of her 'patients', and done DNA sequencing on many more. I even found a few budding Supers that way.
The Brotherhood of Villains is keeping an eye on _them_.
Just like I'm keeping an eye on Mel. The White Priestess is an asset for us. She's shunned by the League - quite publicly at that - and yet everyone _knows_ that she does Good. The seeming contradiction of these facts confuses people, and puts doubt into their minds.
All because of a little rumour. The damage that words can do, eh?
|
\[EU and some pretty heavy swears at the end\]
My head hurt, as it always did at the end of a long day. The fact I couldn't heal myself of any discomfort always felt like a personal affront as the sun set. It wasn't painful to heal each person, but the accumulation of the effort built up and ground down my resilience. I poured a large glass of whiskey and sat down to not drink it.
What I really wanted was a beer. The problem was that I wanted it too much, and too frequently. I'd tried to avoid drinking altogether, after all, it was bad enough not being able to heal myself of a headache, let alone a hangover or cirrhosis. But I couldn't make it stick, and all the meetings and poker chips in the world hadn't stuck for me. So instead I sat and sipped a drink I hated, hoping that would put me off enough to keep it under control. It wasn't a smart coping strategy, but being smart was not my superpower.
A door banged softly in the stairwell below my flat. I sat up and listened intently, like a family dog, alert to any unusual noise. I was used to silence in my evenings, thanks to my round-the-clock security team. Sadly, people had proven incapable of any patience when they were desperately trying to save the lives of a loved one, and without adequate crowd control, things always got ugly. I learned that the hard way when my powers first went viral after I healed a famous athlete's cancer. The crush built quickly once people tracked me down, and if it wasn't for the supe that flew me out of there, I could have been torn limb from limb.
Unfortunately for Gamma Woman, or just Gemma nowadays, when I shook her hand to say thank you, I stripped her of the powers that saved my life. She forgave me eventually, but her fellow supes avoid me like the plague.
A stair creaked, and I put the glass down slowly. I had no pets and was expecting no visitors, but it was not unheard of for a critically ill person with nothing to lose to find a way past my guards. I walked to my door and opened it.
"Hello", I said to the furtive-looking young man fiddling with what looked like a lock picking kit.
"Oh, err. Hi!", said the boyish trespasser.
"Hello", I said again. "Are you lost?"
"No. Um... no I'm not lost", he replied and pulled a small pistol from his coat. "I'm sorry about this, but I need your help."
This was not my first time looking down a gun barrel. "There's no need for that", I said, stepping back into my room. "Please. Come in and tell me what is wrong with you".
The man followed me into the room, frantically scanning the room, the gun flashing around following his eyes. I winced as he tripped slightly on the door sill, but he gathered himself and shut the door behind him quietly.
"There's nothing wrong with me", he said, gun still pointed at me, but a lot less pointedly.
"Your loved one then?"
He shook his head, fury flashing on his features. He suddenly looked much much older. "No. All my loved ones are dead. That's the problem."
My stomach dropped. This wasn't how these sorts of interruptions normally went. "I can't do that. Bring people back."
"No. Just listen. We don't have much time before they get here, and without you, we are all dead."
A radio squawked on his belt. *"Tick fucking tock"*, said the crackly voice.
"Who's that?", I asked.
"Stop asking questions! You don't want to meet him. It took me a lot of effort to convince him to do this my way and try and ask you for help, instead of kidnapping you or something."
I looked at the pistol in his hand. "Is gunpoint how you usually ask for things?"
"What did I just say? Goddamn it, I thought this would be easier. We need your help to stop them, and I thought you would want to help, given how much time you spend healing people after they have blasted through a city."
"Help stop who?"
"The supes", said the young man. "We need you to stop the supes."
"But I'm a supe, aren't I?", I said.
"Yes, but you're one of the good ones. And with your power, you could stop them all, without anyone having to die. If we can harness your power, then we could--"
*"Times up"*, said the radio. *"We'll do it my way."*
"Fuck!", said the man and put the pistol back in his pocket. Footsteps thumped on the stairs that the man in front of me had crept up.
"What happened to my security guys?", I asked angrily. "You better not have hurt them, because my head hurts already without more work to do."
The young man shook his head. "No, they will be fine. Just a bit groggy when the gas wears off."
I opened my mouth to ask what kind of gas, but was interrupted by the door crashing open, the gap it left filled with the huge frame of a man I recognised from the televised police appeals.
"Well look who it fucking isn't", said Billy Butcher. "Come on, chop chop. You heard Hughie, we got a job for you, Doctor Cunt."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
| 2022-07-01T12:42:38 | 2022-07-01T12:39:20 | 656 | 67 |
[WP] In your journey through space, you come upon a ship. It sends you a message: "KILL US".
|
"What the hell?" The captain asked, "Kill us?" His second in command shrugged. The chief engineer was on board at the time. Most people who could be were at the bridge. "Well," The engineer started, "we're not actually going to do it, are we?"
"I don't know." The captain replied. The second-in-command followed up, "Are they suicidal?!" "They could be holding information, and an enemy ship is on their tail!" The engineer yelled.
Soon after, another beep, signaling a message was arriving. "What's it say?" The captain asked, moving to look at it himself anyway.
In big letters on the officer's screen were written, "TRY IT"
"Are they taunting us?" The captain asked. "Those sons-of-bitches! They want a fight!" The engineer exclaimed. "Is this some kind of test?" The second-in-command inquired to no one in particular.
*Beep*
"What in..." The captain started, the communications officer looking puzzled. The engineer and second-in-command both moved closer.
"FIGHT ME 1V1 IRL"
|
You and your crew have been experiencing terrible nightmares for the past six nights - ever since you detected the wreckage of the SS Relentless on your radar. In your dreams, red eyes in the darkness are hunting you down and, when they finally catch you, their serrated teeth tear into your skin. They rip out your organs and feast on them in a shower of red.
Now, the remains of the SS Relentless are on the screen in front of you. It orbits Ceres as if it is dying, metal moon. It is rust eaten and pock marked. Holes run through its great stern, from where showers of asteroids have collided with it.
Your crew believe it is a ghost ship. That the lifeforms on board - that your ship's computer has detected - are instead some form of... *paranormal manifestations.*
The SS Relentless was deployed on a mining mission to take a crew of a hundred to Ceres - the largest of the dwarf planets in an area between Mars and Jupiter. Only, some time after passing Mars, all communications to and from the ship suddenly stopped. It was hypothesised that an asteroid struck it and destroyed it. Indeed, Ceres being located in the midst of a huge asteroid belt, only fueled that speculation.
Before a rescue mission could be attempted, Eurasia declared war on the Americas. It was called World War 3, at the time. Although now, it is refereed to as the Ultra War - the first truly modern war. A war that involved the Earth's orbit as much as it did the ground. It brought with it a close to the golden age of space exploration, and knocked back mankind by close to *four hundred years.*
Four hundred years... you wonder how a ship that went missing that long ago, with supplies to last only *two years*, could possibly still have life forms on board. Admittedly, only six, but that is *six more* alive than should possible. The ship that you captain, the NE Ingenuity, is the first since the Relentless to travel to Ceres. No one on board, yourself included, ever believed the stories of the Relentless - you didn't even believe that it existed. Instead, you thought it a cautionary tale passed down by generations to remind new captains of the dangers of astronavigation. But now, as it slowly traverses orbit on the screen in front of you, it is a sight that fills your heart with dread.
If they are not apparitions on board, you wonder if they are some kind of... vampires? Immortal beings cursed forever to wander the ship. What if you were to send a rescue mission to land on it? Would the plague that turned them into such creatures spread to you crew? Would the beings themselves be hostile? They are better armed than your ship - their pre-war technology is still more advanced.
If you could bring the ship back to Earth... - the *only* intact ship, from the pre war generation - you would be highly praised and likely promoted to admiral. Plus, there would surely be a huge bonus for you *and* for your crew. Perhaps their engines can be repaired...
But you can't help wonder, what did this to them? If they successfully made it to Ceres, why did they suddenly stop communicating with Earth?
You have been sending transmissions for the last twenty four hours. Your chief communications officers voice crackles through on your comms unit:
"Captain, a message has come through from the Relentless."
Your heart stops beating for a split second, as you ask in a whisper, what the message reads.
"KILL US"
An hour later you put a vote to your crew: They vote by one, in favour of destroying the ghost ship, and any creatures on board it. *Better safe than sorry*, as your lieutenant put it. *Plus, they asked us to.*
You're reluctant - you don't want a mutiny, but you can't help imagining the hero's welcome waiting for you, for when you return the ship to Earth.
You have the deciding vote.
---
What should happen next:
reply: Explore ship
reply: Attack ship
---
You recount the votes. Even.
After running short range scans, and after the message you received from the Relentless, you decide that the best course of action is to back away from it and to launch nukes at it.
As you press the red button, you can't help wondering what happened to the crew of the Relentless. What are the creatures that are now on board it?
As the nukes explode far behind you, you sigh, knowing that the hero's welcome, and the promotion to Admiralty, have gone up in as much smoke as the Relentless.
At least you seem to have maintained the loyalty of the crew, you reason, as you try to console yourself.
Thank you for playing. Better luck next time.
| 2017-06-04T08:26:25 | 2017-06-04T08:19:37 | 235 | 47 |
[WP] The devils greatest trick is convincing the world he didn't exist? HA! His greatest trick was convincing us he lost and God is still in charge.
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**"God?"** The Devil idly cleaned his house-sized fingernails with Gregori's soul. "Who's that?"
Gregori winced as his head was dragged across the underside of the Devil's fingernails. It was a luxurious position, he told himself. Sure, the Devil was constantly on fire with the unholy fury of a hundred billion dead, but so was everything else around here. The fact that Gregori was still sane enough to hold a conversation already put his current situation a step up over most of his... compaions. "You know," Gregori managed to rasp. "The other one. If you live a virtuous enough life and follow the Bible, you can go to Heaven?"
"The... Bible?" The Devil paused to idly pick his nose as he thought. Gregori emerged wincing and covered in acid. Then, to Gregori's terror, the Devil began to laugh. "Oh! Ha, that thing's still going after all these years? I was *certain* people would figure out all the, ah, *edits* I made within a millenium."
Gregori wiped the acid free from his eyes—it burned the rest of his body, sure, but so did the air itself—and weakly said, "Edits?"
"Oh yeah. Like, Deuteronomy 21:18? Who the heck saw a book supposedly written by a 'benevolent' deity to set the laws of a good society and thought 'oh, yeah, *stoning your children to death* if they disobey you sounds like the kind of thing this God guy would want us doing?' I mean, I'll admit that was some of my lazier work, but hey, it kept you guys distracted and infighting for just that sweetest tiny bit longer."
"...fuck," Gregori muttered.
"Yeah, you guys have been doing a lot of that up there, too. What're you up to, seven billion? I really thought that what I did to the internet would get you guys to hit each other down to a manageable level before now."
Gregori frowned. "A... manageable level?"
The Devil paused, then scowled, craggy eyebrows like mountains descending in a storm of fury. "Oh, you sly little bastard. Don't you read too much into that, you accident of nature. Humanity is very well *managed*, thank you; I might've preferred the quick and easy answer of nuclear winter, but the slow cooker will get you all in another century or two, mark my words."
Gregori wasn't listening, his mind racing. If everything the Devil had done, up to and including lying to the world about his defeat and puppeting the corpse of his so-called conqueror, was for the purpose of keeping humanity divided and weak...
...then *that* meant there was something the Devil feared. A united, strong community of humans.
Even as Gregori had the thought, the massive caverns of Hell *shook.* Gregori twisted his head as the Devil did the same.
It was the head of a titanic, diamond-tipped drill.
The Devil roared in anger, and—was that a hint of pain? He whipped out one clawed hand, sending a stream of fire hotter than anything this side of a star towards the drill, melting it in its presumptuous entirety. The construct of mortal make was no match for the fires of hell itself, and it burst into slag and ash.
But it left Gregori's mind reeling.
Why had the Devil gone to such lengths to disinform and confuse humanity?
Because *help was on the way*. It may not be this year. Maybe not even this century. But humanity was progressing, and if the Devil didn't stop us... it wouldn't be drills and unmanned probes, but nanites and AI and things the Devil couldn't beat with a burst of fire.
Help was on the way.
And all they had to do was not let the Devil trick them into destroying themselves in the process.
Gregori laughed as the Devil stomped across Hell to throw him back in his eternal torment—because no matter how much the Devil tortured him, he had one thing the Devil could never take away.
Hope.
A.N.
If you liked this, check out r/bubblewriters for more! I also write a serial, which you can check out [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/)
|
#The Sixth Hero
Part 5
----
The Chaser made port with a small thud against the docks of Yeamon’s Point. Once the ship was securely tied and the gangplank pulled out, Amenset wasted no time and stepped onto dry land. With the captain’s warnings still ringing in her ear to be back on time, she hastily made her way through the small coastal town.
Yeamon’s Point was more of a resting stop than a centre of trade, so only few ships were docked and a minimal amount of sailors and dock workers scurried around going about their daily business. Amenset was glad she felt steady ground beneath her feet again, she never was much for the sea and its endless waves.
She could see her destination on top of the cliffs to the north. A shrine had been built there in honour of Yeamon of the Forest, the First Hero to defend Iatis against the darkness. A shrine that supposedly, although never confirmed, was also the hero’s resting place. The rumour had never been confirmed as there had never been anyone willing to defile the suspected grave.
Amenset rearranged her sacks and rations and started on the path upwards.
She could feel the fatigue in her legs by the time she made it all the way up to the shrine. The climb had been steep and long and she wasn’t used to longer periods of walking uphill. Back in Mardiac, the lands were pleasant and flat. Here in the middle of the ocean, centuries of erosion had shaped the island into a small mountain.
The shrine itself stood near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Erys Ocean as a silent guardian. A lighthouse had been integrated into the design she saw as she watched the small spire rise up above the structure. It was a small building all in all, modest and plain. The sides were held up by engraved columns telling the legend of Yeamon and his weapon, Vines of Night.
She stepped through the open entrance into a small room, where about three people sat silently, consumed by their meditation or prayers. Stone tables lined the walls on all sides but the back, on them a plethora of offerings and artefacts. The back wall was fronted by a large, stone altar and Amenset was surprised by the resemblance it bore to the altar she had been summoned onto when she met War Cleric Fryan.
Only here, there was but one pedestal instead of six. It stood empty, but the nametag underneath clearly read Vines of Night. A strange sensation ran through Amenset and it took her a moment to realize it didn’t came from within her, but from the wrapped blade tied to her waste. Desert Eagle was moving within its sheath.
Silently as not to alert the other pilgrims present, Amenset took out the sanded sword, the millions of sand particles in it twisting and twirling in all directions at once. Was it responding to something?
Following her instinct, Amenset sat down in front of the altar, placed Desert Eagle on her lap and closed her eyes. She opened herself to the meditative state and felt her body and soul relax. Memories of red caves, monsters and holes intruded, but she pushed them away. Instead, she let her soul forge a connection with Desert Eagle. A connection, she suddenly realized, that was already there. She’d never meditated with the weapon before and the experience was a strange one.
Was this because of the choice Desert Eagle had made to entrust her?
“You must be the Sixth Hero.”
Amenset nearly yelped at the sudden words resounding in her head. Startled, she opened her eyes but saw nothing.
“Who said that?” she whispered ever so quietly.
“I did,” the voice answered.
“Where are you?” She looked around, but saw nobody besides the pilgrims.
The voice laughed. “Close your eyes, and look with your soul.”
“How do I…?” Amenset cut off as Desert Eagle took control over her consciousness and her eyes closed on their own. Then, she saw somebody. A man, old and with hair white as snow. He sat opposite Amenset, a sword on his lap in mirror to Amenset. She immediately recognized the weapon from the drawings she had seen during her studies.
“That is…,” she gasped. “That’s Vines of Night. Are you…?”
The man nodded. “I’m Yeamon of the Forest. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“How?” Amenset said in disbelief. “You’ve been dead for over a thousand years.”
Yeamon grinned. “Now that is an overstatement. My body died, yes, as all bodies do. But my spirit, my soul, lives on. And now you have finally arrived.”
“You were expecting me?”
He nodded. “As I expected the other four heroes who made their way through here when it was their time. You are the sixth, and the last.”
“I don’t think I am,” Amenset answered, the words paining her to her core. “It’s been five years since I’ve been chosen and nothing has happened. I don’t deserve this.”
“Because you killed Fryan?”
Her eyes widened in shock.
“There is no shame in what you did,” Yeamon assured her. “Even a thousand years ago, Fryan knew the last of the heroes would be the one to kill him. It was a necessity.”
“Why?” Amenset failed to understand.
“Because you are to be the strongest of us all,” Yeamon answered. “Us five who came before you, we were but puppets dancing to the strings of the old gods. You on the other hand have drastically changed your soul and what you can do by taking the life of the War Cleric. Fryan lives on within you as does his will. And now it is my task to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” Amenset asked, taking the avalanche of information Yeamon was pouring onto her.
“That the darkness was never defeated. We never won, not once.”
“But you saved Iatis,” Amenset argued. “You are the Liberator of Tridia.”
Yeamon scoffed. “And how is Tridia faring these days? Corrupted by magic, tainted by centuries of bloodshed… I only briefly managed to keep the peace, but once I was gone, the land fell back into its old ways. The darkness never went away. It hid itself among the people, letting them think they’d won. Instead it buried itself in their souls where it waited.”
“Waited for what?”
“For me to die. They feared Vines of Night as they will fear Desert Eagle and the other Sacratys. Our weapons are not meant for killing, they are meant to cleanse the soul. They’re the only thing that stand against the darkness.”
Amenset was confused. “Then how are we supposed to defeat the darkness if it is present in all of mankind?”
“Now that,” Yeamon answered, “is the question, isn’t it?”
A gust of wind wove its way through the small room and Amenset was awakened from her meditative state. She blinked and then closed her eyes again, but Yeamon was gone. Desert Eagle lay motionless in her lap. Carefully, she wrapped it again, feeling a strange sensation when she touched the weapon. She had felt the connection the weapon had made with her. It had its own soul, she realized. A soul that once had been something else than a weapon.
Pondering over what she had just gone through, Amenset hastily started back towards the harbour. More time than she had thought had passed and she was not going to miss her only passage to Tridia.
----
> And with this strange revelation end the fifth part of **The Sixth Hero**, a story that is formed by the ideas brought forth by the /r/WritingPrompts subreddit and follows the story of Amenset Ta-Ament, the final hero to be chosen by Desert Eagle, one of the Six Sacratys. To follow her story, make sure to check out /r/PromptedByDaddy.
| 2022-07-07T04:44:01 | 2022-07-07T03:54:45 | 189 | 14 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
"You sure we won't get in trouble?" asked Kaaboom, nervously picking at his collar. "I mean, I'm still on probation, you know. Can't afford to get written up on any more of them charges."
"There's no crime if it's for a good purpose," said Vorlax, who as No. 42 on the League's most wanted list, really was the last person anyone should be taking legal advice from. "Besides, I'm the one with the dummy explosives here, so Chronotron's going to be focusing fully on me. You ready?"
The two supervillains took a deep breath, then pushed their way to the centre of the crowded town square. Vorlax hopped onto a bench, threw open his trenchcoat, revealing a neat array of sausages, tightly wrapped in brown paper. The alarm clock which Kaaboom had helped tape to the front dangled precariously.
"Screw all of you! Damn you all to hell! See ya all in the afterlife, muthaf-"
Vorlax never got to finish his threat. Even before the gathered crowd could react, even before the first screams could rend the air, he had already frozen in place, encased in a shimmering cage of writhing chrono-filaments.
Hot damn, thought Kaaboom, so this is what it looks like from the outside.
Enthused clapping rang out as the citizenry acknowledged yet another successful rescue by the hero known as Chronotron, the League's newest poster boy. He hovered in the air, waving at his adoring fans.
"Fear not, one and all, the threat has been neutralised! It's off to the gallows for this one!"
"Wait, wait!" shouted Kaaboom, remembering the part he had to play. They had flipped a coin for this, because it was never fun to have to explain to the League what they were really up to, plus it wasn't easy suppressing the instinct to run, an instinct they had honed their entire careers. "Wait, Chronotron! I can explain everything!"
The darkening scowl from Chronotron made it clear to Kaaboom that he had only a very short window of opportunity.
"Kaaboom? You caught up in this terrorist attack too?"
"No, no! Wait, I mean yes! But not in that way, those aren't explosives at all, I swear! Just sausages! From the deli opposite!"
Chronotron stretched a hand into the chronocage, poking tentatively. His scowl deepened as his finger pierced into the soft mushiness of a bratwurst.
"If this is a joke, Kaaboom, it is in bad taste. Causing undue public alarm is also a crime!"
"We needed to get to you urgently, that's all! And the League wouldn't take any of our calls, our numbers are all blacklisted! Please, just a minute of your time, in private!"
Chronotron snapped his fingers, and a larger chronocage extended to envelop the two of them. Outside the bubble, the world ground to a halt.
"55 seconds remain, Kaaboom, before I'm hauling both you and Vorlax in."
"Right, right! See, we think something's happened to Vortex Man, and just in case he needs help urgently, we thought, you know, your powers would come in handy! I swear, that's the truth!"
A puzzled frown spread across Chronotron's face. "Vortex Man? Why would anything happen to him? He's been retired for years!"
"Well, see... There's this roster we have, all the ones who have been given second chances by him before. We take turns to check in on him, just to make sure the old boy's getting on well..."
"How would you know where he lives anyway? His identity's still a secret!"
Kaaboom thrust a sheaf of papers at Chronotron, and said, "We don't, but look, we know his routine, where he goes for his daily walk, where he gets his coffee... And we take turns staging kidnappings, or hold ups, just so that he has a bit of exercise, you know? We think it keeps him happy, being relevant and appreciated and all..."
The first time he had been asked to assist, Kaaboom had drawn the short straw, so the role of a desperate mugger went to him. He had come away from the encounter shaken, not so much because Vortex Man still packed a mean punch, but because he had truly aged, now a mere shadow of the strapping superhero who had first apprehended Kaaboom on the streets so many years ago.
The sheen to Vortex Man's once thick, lustrous hair was gone, and a certain pallidness clung to his skin like shame to an introvert. His mind too, frail and feeble, couldn't recognise Kaaboom even though he played a kidnapper, then a rapist, then a mugger again, three days in a row.
Heck, Kaaboom even had to pretend to be a cat in a tree once, after Vorlax suggested that variety would help keep Vortex Man nimble.
Kaaboom didn't mind helping out more, especially after the other supervillains started excusing themselves from the roster, citing the poor economy, the need to find work in other cities, family commitments... there were fewer and fewer of them on the roster, which meant that some weeks, Kaaboom and Vorlax did double, triple duties.
After all, the way that Vortex Man brightened up every time he helped someone... that was enough for Kaaboom to want to come back again, the very next day.
Chronotron flipped through the papers, understanding slowly dawning on him. "And I take it, he hasn't turned up today?"
"Yes, you get it now! Nothing! We've been on Evil.net, and no one else has seen or heard from him in two days! So we thought, he's been pretty regular with his schedule, and for him to suddenly not turn up..."
If there was one thing Kaaboom had to give Chronotron credit for, it was that he truly had the gumption and decisiveness of a first-class hero. Chronotron handed back the papers, raised both arms in the sky, and shouted as the chronocage grew, slowly at first, then faster, and larger, till it stretched further than the eye could see.
Now, nothing moved, except for the two of them.
"Come, then, let's go. I have a rough idea of where he stays. If there is any medical emergency, this should buy us some time till we can get help to him."
"Err... Chronotron, if you don't mind, could we get Vorlax to come too? This was his idea after all..."
Chronotron laughed, then inclined his head ever so slightly.
"... uckas!"
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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[PART II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/65458n/wp_a_senile_old_superhero_still_goes_out_to_fight/dg7qhtx/) is up! Thanks very much for everyone who commented, your support really helped push me to complete this story. =)
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The window shook from the intense wind outside. Sirens blaring just on the other side of the door. A pale skinned man stood in the center of a meeting room. Broken rays of light shined across his body, almost reflecting off of his pure white hair. The look in his eyes was both a warning and a challenge to any who would dare interrupt him.
"I still remember that day. I was around 10 years old. The day the Monoliths arrived. Most of you were not even born yet, but you have seen what trauma one of them can cause. Imagine thousands of them swarming over everything in sight it was"
A sneeze echoed in the room. Everyone turned around to glare at a woman wearing a very dark brown cloak over a yellow spandex suit. A look of horror on her face.
"You have one warning Nomad" said the man speaking. As he began to tell his story, again another sneeze half came out before her form turned to ash. Clearing his throat he began again.
"There was one light in the most darkest of times. The Chemist, yes that is a name you should all know. In fact, he saved me with a smile on his face. Though I doubt he remembers it. AND WHAT..." lava started to spill out of his eyes as though crying in his rage. "WAS HE REWARDED WITH! a life nearing its end, being called a burden or a pest."
The room began to buzz with noise and emotion. Disgust was the only universal thing that could be seen, even from the incorporeal bodies. How dare the Heroes treat their best like a piece of trash.
The sirens outside seemed to go quiet. The door to the heroes association burst open, a cloud of ash inside filled the air as the wind blew in. An old man wearing a lab coat entered dragging an IV stand along with him. An oxygen mask adorning his face.
"Surrender you vile villains" he wheezed through the systematic pumping of his oxygen tank.
The speaker winked at all of the people in the room. he spun around dramatically, holding his cape outstretched.
"NEVER!" The speaker rose into the sky, long white and silver robes swimming down his body. fire dancing around him almost mesmerizing all who saw him.
"I Am Sol, Leader of the Villains of the world. You can never hope to stop me!"
The room all jumped into action. fire, lightning, lasers, ice, telekenitic blasts and insects swarmed the building from the outside. The police were all taking cover. A few were devoured by bugs or eviscerated by flying blades of force.
Inside, a tiny frail fist hit the ground. A force once strong enough to shake the city, only now tipped over a chair, but everyone still fell to the ground. Sol flew at Chemist fire slagging the air vents above. The fight went on for a few slow minutes.
Finally Chemist fell back, a look of determination and a smile across his face. He remained unmoving. Sol made his way over to the man and with a gesture closed Chemists eyes. Grabbing the zip ties from his belt.
"You will live forever, my dearest friend."
The following days headlines were the same all over the world. "407 Heroes dead including Lady Lucidity during a raid. The Chemist sacrifices himself to save the world one more time in the capture of the 62 Assailants."
Edit: Sorry for any mistakes on Mobile. Tried to clean them up when I woke up.
| 2017-04-13T05:07:34 | 2017-04-13T05:03:23 | 1,398 | 105 |
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity.
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The land wept where he walked, shivering and roiling beneath his tread. Green grass turned brown then disintegrated in his presence, trees lost leaf and branch before becoming dull husks. Animals wasted away, those that didn’t run immediately from him. He didn’t mind, this was his gift after all.
He walked with a slow and methodical gait, seemingly healthy amid the scarcity. Long slim fingers adjusted a finely cut suit, forest green eyes peering out a chiseled face at his work around him. A smile, not cruel but professional graced his lips, the smile of satisfaction from work well done.
A chuckle, again oddly rich, fell from his lips as he stopped in a field. Bodies lay in positions of violence, eyes still wide from pain and rage. Guns and even blades littered the field like fruit from a tree. The man shook his head amused. “Oh Brother, your Mark is everywhere these days. So bold and unsubtle.” He continued to walk, the bodies emaciating rapidly as he did. The field turned brown, stinking. Even the metals of the weapons grew weak and brittle, losing shine and strength.
The man followed the tracks of large lumbering beasts, buffalo or some wild charger. He could see them in the far distance, a large herd led by a curious white one. So far they have avoided his touch but he didn’t mind, he was tireless and they couldn’t escape. He followed them inexhaustibly, relentlessly.
They led him to a grove, dull brown earth transitioning into rich healthy land. He walked in, admiring the tall trees that blocked the beating rays of the sun. Even his eyes widened at how fresh and sweet the fruit looked. “Almost a pity,” he whispered as his hand touched a rosy red apple. At his touch it started to wilt, growing rotten. Without another glance he walked on, waiting for that juicy splatter of fallen fruit to follow.
It never came. He turned, curious. The fruit still sat on the bough as red and delectable as before. A furrowed brow and he approached it again, hand outstretched. The fruit degraded within seconds before his eyes but the moment he let go it recovered just as swiftly, no even faster. Even the ground seemed to repulse his aura. The ground immediately beneath him the typical deviation of life but where he was looked untouched.
“Greetings stranger.” His head turned at the voice, a sweet tone warm and inviting. His eyes peered into the gloom of the forest, eventually making out a woman making her way to him. She was slight, thin yet healthy. Old fashioned coveralls hung from her frame, a broad straw hat sat on bright red hair. Her eyes...disturbed him. They were blue like the sky, innocent yet not, young yet old.
He nodded back, pointing at the tree. “Your work I assume?”
She curtsied lightly, a smile growing on her tanned face. “It is, blessings of the land with hard work.”
He snorted, touching the apple again and watching it rot and revitalize in moments. “More than hard work I think. More ‘blessings’.” He turned and pointed an accusing finger. “Who or what are you?”
Her eyes narrowed, the kind look turning hard. “Well that’s a rude thing to say to a woman.”
He scowled, hand working at the tie around his neck. “I care not. Women nor men matter not at all. All fall before me. So...what are you?”
She crossed her hands before her, looking blandly at his expression of displeasure. “I am the land, the land is me. You are not welcome here.”
He laughed mockingly and shrill. “Again, your protestations do not matter to me. I go where I please. This is the end times, the world is my domain and I am unleashed to do my work. I am punishment.”
She laughed back at him, a sweet and bright sound that shocked him. “How quaint. The end has come and gone many times on this world. You are not the first. You will not be the last. For every end there is a beginning, it is a cycle. You cannot stop it.”
“How dare you!” His skin grew pale and he glared at her. The aura of dearth spilled from him and more of the surroundings wilted. “I am punishment from a higher power! I will take from the land and empty it! You cannot stop me!”
She smiled and grew. Her coveralls fading into robes, her slight form growing robust. Red hair turned green and her hat transformed into a plain circlet. “I think not,” her voice reverberated deeply and richly. “I am Gaia, earth Mother. I will always protect the land and you are nothing but a phase, a temporary thing. Greater powers than you have tried you child of an upstart power. Even now you garb yourself in borrowed finery. You will not defeat me.”
A wave of her hand and the man stumbled. His suit fell away into rags, his skin turned sallow and thin. His eyes still blazed defiantly and he howled. The sound shook the trees and the sky, echoing faintly in the distance. “You are old and nothing! My brothers come and we will lay waste. I am not alone.”
Again she smiled. The white buffalo approached her side, eyes glinting intelligently and her footsteps echoed like many drums. A length of vines grew thicker and fuller beside her on a tree, a wet growl came from behind her coming from bright yellow eyes.
“Neither am I.”
Edit: Thank you so much for the gold. I am always happy to see people enjoy my writing. I posted more stories below as responses to this one. Please enjoy.
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The final sounding, that was all it took. War look down upon the remnants of man warring with one another over what little resource remained. His brothers had done their work and brought famine and conquest to the world, now he spread his war amongst its survivors. Moving his horse forward he wrote down the hill, pulling his broadsword from his left hip into his right hand like the Knights of old bringing with it even more conflict.
Riding down to a group of men he began to cut his way into the group and the survivors scattered in each direction screaming about The Horseman of War. Pulling his scarlet riden horse about to make another pass he found a lone figure standing against him, a figure in red armor that seemed to be from the ages of antiquity but clearly made with something that in he had never seen. Runes glowed with red and a pair of eyes that blazed like hellfire burned out from under the Corinthian helmet. Without a thought he reeled his horse around and charged the figured and as he tried to run down the figure it whirled away from his horse and strike with an unnatural grace pulling a massive two handed broadsword up in one hand and striking his horses legs out from under it. Tucking into a roll he slammed into the ground and came up running and turning towards the stranger. He found his enemy unchanged except the sword he now held parallel to the ground in one hand facing his direction. It spoke
"You have not been given our permission for this apocalypse you have brought forth" It spat at war "Now you must face the price for your arrogance."
War shifted his armor back into place before responding "We need not ask anyone and answer to none, I care not for your permissions whoever you may be." Starting towards his opponent he added " I'm the horsemen of war and nothing can fight me, you will fall like so many others."
Laughter was the response, "You think a mote calling himself the horsemen or war means something?" More laughter followed. " I am the God of War boy, but you may call me Mars"
| 2018-05-17T07:38:22 | 2018-05-17T07:20:27 | 415 | 99 |
[WP]For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face and hoping to speak to you.
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I could never be the chosen one, I realized that now. I could never defeat the necromancer in the dark tower. I could never stop the raging dragon at the edge of the kingdom. I could never turn away an army of orcs singlehandedly. I could never find another love.
That's what I thought when Sarah left. We were a modest family, just us two and our dog, living but a stones throw from our parents. We were hoping to have children soon, but money was tight and Sarah and I both thought it best if we focus on our careers. I went back to cutting stones for the expanding castle walls. It was grueling and dangerous and pay kept getting reduced as the king's armies needed more and more resources to defend our borders. We were all desperate for the chosen one. It was finally revealed to be Sarah when she found the magic sword in the river while washing laundry for coins.
She brought it home first. It gleamed and glowed when she held it, just like our faces did when we looked at each other. We set off to the capital together the next day. I had thought we would be welcomed as rays of hope in these dark times. We were not. The guards saw the sword, saw how it shone in the dark when Sarah held it. "Finally," they had said.
Sarah was whisked inside to see the king. I was not. I was just a stone cutter, and the walls needed to grow if we were to survive the invading armies. When I lingered by the gate too long I was arrested. They took me back to my little town and stuck me stockades for three days, only to release me back to my local lord and my job as a stonecutter. Grueling. Dangerous. Bitter.
I asked after my Sarah, and at first I heard nothing. But then news came through. I heard of you, Sarah. Heard of your feats of daring and adventure. I was so proud. My Sarah. My Sarah did that! I'd tell anyone who listened. It was my Sarah who overcame the evil necromancer and threw his corpse from the parapits of his own fortress while I cut stones.
The plague came soon after his demise - the necromancer's. People blamed my Sarah when they and their families got sick. We lost our parents. Stone cutting was suddenly less important. Healers were needed. I will readily admit that I do not have the knowledge and skill of our physicians, even the youngest of them. But I could care for the sick in my own way. Preparing food, cleaning the festering lesions and emptying the putrid chamber pots. It was odd, but I found myself grateful. I was not cutting stones anymore, I was helping my Sarah. It was, perhaps, more dangerous than my work before, but it saved lives. Like my Sarah did. We got through those times.
But the kingdom didn't get better. Not yet.
I thought maybe you'd come back after defeating that necromancer. But of course, there was a dragon to tame.
I don't blame you, of course, Sarah. You tried. We all know you tried so hard. But when you faced the dragon, when you and your gleaming sword finally struck its ruin the fires and chaos of your battle had erased our small home. And the homes of so many. We lost our dog. I - I couldn't save him. I laid down the clean bandages and the washed chamber pots, they weren't needed anymore. I took up a shovel. Like so many others, all the meager and weary survivors of your battle with the winged beast, we too wished to fight. We fought the fires of the dragon for weeks. Not enough pails in the kingdom to douse this inferno, we had to dig trenches, uproot trees, fight for every inch of ground. We fought for you, Sarah, just like you fought for us.
And finally the fires were doused. We had quiet again. But not peace.
The goblins were at our borders. And who could stop a horde of such magnitude if not the Chosen One. It had to be you, Sarah. Me and the rest of our ragged village laid down our shovels and took up our pitchforks. I don't know if you had heard about our fight. Of course, it was nothing like yours. You fought so well, my love. In the thickest of the enemy forces you wielded the gleaming sword and struck down wave after wave of vile goblins and won battle after battle, glory after glory. We did not. Our fight was like two starving rats, picking at the last scrap of corpse. We closed with the goblins and our simple wooden tools and weapons broke. We used the broken pieces until they broke. Then we used stones. Then hands. Teeth. Nails. I don't know how many goblins we slew, but I know that they slew all of us. When the goblin king lay defeated at your feet and his armies we're routed, only I and two others from our town remained.
But peace was won and a celebration was long overdue. My Sarah had done it. Had defeated the necromancer, had tamed the dragon, had routed the hordes of goblins. She was a hero. And heros aren't married to stone cutters. Nor bed maids. Nor firefighters. Nor bitter and bleeding survivors. Your betrothal to the prince broke something inside of me. Like the little window to my soul cracked. That's when I realized you weren't my Sarah anymore. It was selfish of me to think of you as mine for so long. You had spent years now in the company of the greatest members of our society. You had traveled and fought side by side with the Prince for nearly five years. Of course a relationship grew between you. It would be immature of me to think anything else would happen. I tried to be happy for you, Sarah, but my little cracked soul couldn't manage it for long.
Peace was no better to us than war. Castles had been razed. Stones were needed. We had the "honor" of donating our meager wages to the wedding of the Prince and the Chosen One. All of us. All of our wages. My cracked soul shattered.
My parents were gone to disease. My home was gone to fire, my dog gone to ash. My friends were gone to war. My Sarah was gone to the Prince.
It started in a tavern after a long day of labor, all of this. The beaten, bloodied, burnt, sick. The impoverished. The starving. We sat in that tavern, with nothing to eat or drink as the wedding of the decade went on in the capital. In what became *your* capital, Sarah. I stood up in that tavern. I could only say one word. "Enough."
It was a rallying cry for all of us. Enough. We had had enough. Work for no pay. War for no glory. Fire with no rebuilding. Disease with no mercy. I was there through it all. We all were. And we'd had enough.
When we stormed this castle, Sarah, I learned something. I could never fight a necromancer. I could never best a dragon. I could never lead an army against the vicious hordes. But I could fight disease. I could best a wild fire. I could lead our people - my people - against a vicious monarchy. I learned that no one is born a "Chosen One". No prophecy falls upon a person. Only pain and suffering falls upon a person and every person - *every one of us* - that *endures*, that suffers from dawn to dusk and still gets up the next day - every one of those people is great. Everyone who can only do very little and does it anyway! Every one of them is a gods-damned hero! We wear our pain on our faces and we have grown together for it. We have a brotherhood between us all now. All you have is a shiny sword.
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“Hey nerd” she says in the same tone she used to use when she went out with her girlfriends and stayed out a little later than she said she would. Apologetic but also mischievous as if she were a rascal and not the person who ruined me five years ago.
“Glad you’re alive… she can talk now but only knows you were saving the world or our souls, depending on the night. I didn’t want to ruin her mother for her, especially if you didn’t make it, but she’s happy, and damnit if she won’t be smarter than both of us in fewer years than I care to admit. Your parents think little bug got it from me but she’s better than I ever was…”
I don’t say anything more, I can’t. I know that there was no other choice and no other option but damn… I’ve never been so happy to see someone I hated so much. When those dorks in robes with books handwritten in latin showed up, I invited them in. It was hot, they were flush and sweaty, and even though I knew I wasn’t converting to anything I respected their devotion to whatever religion they were pedaling. I have faith, I respect beliefs and all that, so I offered them a drink and asked them to sit on the “guest” couch. The patio couch we picked out together because we both thought it was perfect for our first home together… and we both were too stupid to walk away when the salesman mentioned that it was beautiful patio furniture. God we were stubborn, just kids really, but as usual I followed your lead, and bought the couch with my last 3 paychecks as you acted like we picked it for our living room intentionally, like we were some home décor mavericks. Fortunately your quick wit worked out, as usual, because it fit perfectly in our front hallway and totally worked with my weird guilt-driven hospitality quirks which compelled me to invite every sweaty ass that came across our doorbell in for some AC and a glass of water.
But then they showed us their books. Unlike the Mormons and Jehovahs Witnesses that came before, these books didn’t just contain good words, but drawings of you, right down to your scars and birthmarks. It didn’t take long for me to regret my hospitality because despite all logic and reason, it was obvious that this was special, that you were special…
But none of this matters anymore, how could it? You changed 27 diapers before you left, I changed the rest. I taught little bug to brush her teeth, to read, to wipe right even though I had no idea what the consequences were for wiping wrong. I had to do it all because you left on an adventure, while I had to become even more domesticated than I was when we met. And I hated you for that, not for leaving me, but for leaving her, because even after the initial pain and shock subsided and I put on my best Vulcan logic… I knew I couldn’t leave her even if I was the Christ of all the religions… but you.. you could and you did.
“I really am glad you’re alive” I force myself to say in the nicest voice I can muster. “But you need to go say hi and leave.” “I was granted a divorce a few years ago and granted sole custody back in March, it was tough since you weren’t dead and I wasn’t going to act like you were, but it hasn’t been easy around here.”
Her eyes went blank and her fake optimism turned into feigned sadness, or at least that’s how it seemed to me, but she didn’t fight me. She barely asked what she could do to make it up before I had to turn away. I needed to say this without sniffling and without my voice cracking… not because I needed to show her I was strong, but to show myself I was.
“You were chosen, and I try every day to come to terms with that, but when you were chosen, you didn’t choose us. I understand that it’s not as simple as that but to me it is, not only did I not have a choice, but when I look at her I know, there is no choice. God could come to me personally and I wouldn’t need even a moment, she is the only choice, and forgive the reference but you chose poorly.”
| 2022-08-12T21:29:36 | 2022-08-12T21:07:01 | 53 | 27 |
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves.
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"Hello this is Jenna, and I'm here to help. How are you?" I answered several calls like this daily. Keeping my voice friendly, but not cheerful. Always willing to listen. Listening is key. You see I'm a suicide prevention operator. Listening is so important because often people will give away hints of things they don't want to leave behind, reasons that they subconsciously want to stay.
"Hi Jenna." Came a raspy male voice. "My name is Owen. I just wanted to say thank you."
Occasionally we get calls from people who had spoken with us previously and things got better, I am always happy for those calls.
"Well thank you! That is nice to hear! Have things gotten better?" I wasn't trying to hide the smile in my voice, so often I wonder about the people I talk to; If they're alright, how things turned out.
A low and weak chuckle came from the other end, Things didn't get better, honey. But you all made my decision easier."
Oh no... not one of these. I had a guy six months ago try to blow his head off while I was on the phone with him, I had a co-worker call 911, while I yelled into the phone for the man to hold on. I could hear him flailing for a few minutes, then silence except for what I am guessing was the drops of blood hitting the floor as he bled out. I was still having nightmares and I didn't want that to happen again.
With my heart in my throat and my stomach churning, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I have inoperable cancer, honey. The amount of drugs it takes to keep me comfortable leaves me unable to function. I've had radiation I've had chemo, I've been opened up, stitched closed, had junk pumped into and taken out of me so many times... I'm tired. I'm old, I've lived a good life." He continued on for a while. Telling me about his family, his wife, his children, how he had served in the army is WWII, about his wife, Amelia's apple pie, about fishing with his children, and building a playhouse for his grandchildren, how proud he was of who his children had become. How he felt it couldn't get any better than it had already been. How he didn't want his last days to be a blur or painful for anyone. He wanted to go to sleep and just not wake up. He felt there was dignity in that.
He called to thank us for talking down people who weren't at peace with death, because it had taken him a long time to be there.
"Honey, I got my pills right here. Will you do an old man a favor?"
"Anything I can." I replied, nervous as to what he would ask me next.
"Do you remember a particularly lovely day you once had?"
"I do."
"I'm going to take these pills to help me go to sleep. Will you tell me about that day as I go?"
"Of course." This was against protocol, but I didn't care, I wasn't going to be part of this man's suffering. My job was to help him. And in my mind, I was doing just that.
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"
"Owen, what I think shouldn't matter. But being at peace with death is a rare and beautiful thing and if you're ready, I'm honored to help send you off."
"When I was nearly five my mom told me we were going to a special beach far away..." I began to tell him the story of how my mom had surprised me on my fifth birthday with my first trip to Disneyland. How it had always been a magical place in my mind. How everything had been as lovely and fun as I had hoped. It seems now a silly story to tell, but he laughed when I told him I thought Donald Duck was trying to swallow my head when he kissed me or when I noticed Cinderella wearing sneakers and not glass slippers.
He told me at one point he was starting to drift, I heard him begin to snore shortly after, then his breathing stopped.
"Sweet dreams, Owen."
I quit my job at the suicide line the next day, we were supposed to prevent every person we talked to, but I realised it's not always so black and white.
Sometimes people just need to know it's okay to go. Sometimes it takes a great deal more strength to let go than it would to battle through it.
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"...your... your own daughter?"
"Well, step-daughter. Most every night. For years. Can we change the subject? I shouldn't have brought it up. Just feeling a little... guilty is all.."
"And, Christ, you said you were a teacher didn't you? Christ, 8th grade, didn't you say? Don't tell me you.."
"I'd pick one at the start of the year. Isolate her. Tell her I need to see her after class. Break her down. Godamnit, I thought it'd help, telling you why I wanna do this! I'M SORRY! We all make mistakes, I don't need you to tell me that! I need you to get this gun out of my hand!"
"Do it."
"What?!"
"Kill yourself."
*click*
| 2013-12-23T14:42:59 | 2013-12-23T13:11:39 | 1,112 | 393 |
[WP] You're on a space ship with a bunch of your crewmates. You're the only human, and apparently metaphors are a strictly human behavior. You've learned to cope with this, but today you've decided to speak in only figures of speech as a prank on the others.
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**From: The Captain**
**To: All Crew**
Greetings all, I am sending a mass email to address some of the issues that have arisen with our new human crew member. Before I start, I want to remind her that these are in no way meant to demean or degrade her or her stellar work on this ship. You have been an exemplary officer and companion thus far.
The issue here is one of language, unfortunately humans have a manner of speaking which our translators struggle to comprehend. They use unusual speech patterns that we have previously not encountered. These are called *metaphors* and are non literal descriptions of a circumstance or condition.
**THEY ARE NOT MEANT TO BE TAKEN LITERALLY**
I now include a non exclusive list, subject to updates, for the crew to read and attempt to understand.
**The elephant in the room**
There is no elephant, in or around the room, or on the ship, it is a metaphor for a potentially awkward situation that is not being addressed. When Second Officer Riley announced that she would "deal with the elephant in the room" she meant the situation of having a human crew member. There is no elephant on board. For those unaware, an elephant is a very large herbivore from planet earth. It is not *actually* in the room. So please, stop looking for it. I have sent additional emails to two crew members that have undertaken the task of finding this creature. Again, please stop searching for it.
**Getting on like a house on fire**
There is no fire. I am not sure of how this means this, but the meaning of this phrase is to have good comradery. Second Officer Riley meant that she expects to have good working relationships with the rest of the crew.
**By the skin of our teeth**
This means just barely. In the context of the story being told, Second Officer Riley meant that her last ship barely survived the battle. This does not mean that humans have skin on their teeth. Please stop asking the Second Officer about this, and please stop searching our data banks for "human teeth skin", high command have noticed and are asking me difficult questions.
**Tough as nails**
This is not to be taken literally. It was a comment on the veracity and strength of humans. They are not as tough as metal, requests from the science department to test the Second Officer have been denied. While Second Officer Riley has taken it in good spirit, any further impromptu tests on her skin by sharp objects will be considered assault and treated as such.
**Show me the ropes**
This means to teach someone how things are done. I am aware there are no real ropes on board, not counting the metal cables. When Second Officer Riley asked her superior to "show me the ropes" she meant to be shown how the ship and her role works. Two hours were wasted looking for these ropes. Next time this happens, I will be docking wages for wasted time.
**Grey area**
This means a subject or condition that is either unknown or contains contradictory elements. There is no actual *grey area* on this ship. Attempts to find said grey area will be dealt with as they occur. If one more person enters a zone they are not authorised to be in, they will be punished accordingly, especially if they claim to be searching for it.
**Bad apples (spoiling the barrel)**
Apples are a fruit from earth. No, we do not have any here, bad or otherwise. This means someone who is bad or incompetent to a degree that it drastically and negatively affects the larger group. I do not consider any of you to be this, you are all excellent crew members. You may refer to someone you do not like as one, but if anyone then attempts to bite said crew member, they will be punished.
**Coming out of the closet/still in the closet**
This is an old human phrase from centuries ago. It means to announce, or not, to the world, that one is homosexual or otherwise not heterosexual. If one *comes out of the closet* it means to reveal this fact about themselves. To *stay in the closet* is to not reveal this. There are no other humans on board, in closets or not. Please stop searching personal lockers for homosexual humans. It's wrong for many reasons. I shouldn't have to explain.
**Don't shoot the messenger**
This means to blame the bearer of the news, usually bad news, for said news. Nobody will be shooting anyone on board. If we have another *accidental* firearms discharge, we will have to return to port for investigation.
**Beating a dead horse**
This means to do something that will have no effect. We do not carry livestock on this ship, and we do not condone abuse of any animal. Horses were work animals on earth, before machines, and would be (lightly) hit for motivation. More cruel people would beat their horses to get better results but, obviously, a dead horse cannot work so beating it does nothing. Unfortunately this seems to have offended and confused some crew members so let me remind you that there are no horses on board, dead or otherwise.
**Cold feet**
This means when someone decides not to do something, they get "cold feet" and do not carry out or accomplish their tasks. When Second Officer Riley mentions someone getting "cold feet" it is not a circulation issue or a temperature issue. Please stop asking medical staff about this and please stop raising the temperature of the room when the Second Officer enters. Additionally, while appreciated, Second Officer Riley does not need any more socks. She has literally hundreds now. Besides, she was not the person reported to have cold feet.
**Broken hearted**
This is not literal so please stop hitting the emergency medical alert. It means to be very upset or having your feelings hurt. Without revealing personal details, when Second Officer Riley mentions having or someone else having a "broken heart', they mean severe emotional trauma, not bodily trauma. Of course she passed the physical exam, and there is no medical condition of a broken heart, so please stop asking.
**Clear as mud**
This means unclear. It's similar to sarcasm, which is another issue I must deal with. If anyone responds to this memo with this phrase, please not that it means unclear. I am surprised that so many of you highly intelligent crew members haven't realised this.
|
"While you're down there anyway, check the exhaust valve. You know--kill two birds with one stone."
Zigitar's green complexion went pale, to a nice shade of mint. "You want me to... *kill*... two birds, Captain?"
I watched her face squirm with the moral battle that was raging inside.
"No, no. I'm sorry, Captain. I can't do it. No, I *won't* do it." She frowned. "Besides, there aren't even any birds out here. We're in the middle of Sector 84."
"Fine. I'll do it myself," I said. Her eyes widened, and I could feel her staring me down as I walked down the hallway.
"But--Captain--where will you find the two birds?" she called after me, helplessly.
"Hey, Bluffs," I said to the alien sitting cross-legged on the floor. He'd removed a metal panel and was dealing with a few loose wires, soldering gun in tentacle. "How's it hanging, man?"
"The blue wire is a 35-degree-angle from the vertical, sir. And the red one is about 25." He paused. "But... what relevance does that have, may I ask, sir?"
"Oh, I was just wondering."
I made my way back to the control room. The expanse of space stretched out before the thick glass, stars winking back at us. My fingers tapped across the touchscreen. *Booting up... 12%... 28%... We're sorry, we've encountered an error. Rebooting now...*
"Damn. It's crashing."
Talilal spun around to face me. "What? We're crashing?"
"No, the navigation system."
"The navigation system is causing us to crash?"
"It just needs to boot up."
A blur of brown whizzed past me. *Clunk*\--a boot fell at my feet. Talilal sat across from me, one foot bare. Eyes wide, breathing hard.
"No, no, I'm sorry--I didn't mean that--it just needs to--"
"Use the boot!"
"No--"
"*Use the boot!"* She spun back around and held down the intercom button. "All crew members, report to navigation. Prepare for crash landing." She paused. "And be prepared to take off your boots."
*Oh dear*, I thought, as the red warning lights flashed at a dizzying speed.
*I might've taken this a little too far.*
| 2020-06-16T12:05:05 | 2020-06-16T10:51:51 | 156 | 54 |
[WP] Finally, you've moved out of your parent's place. Fairly close to your job, reasonable rent due the first of the month and a humble older gentleman for a landlord, what did it matter that a few of the other tenants weren't exactly fully human.
|
After shifting the last of the boxes, I slid my back down the wall of my new apartment and landed on the carpet with a thud. I looked around the studio apartment with a proud smile: my own place at last. The building I was in used to be a hotel but had been recently converted into an apartment complex.
I heaved myself up off the floor and wandered over to the box labelled 'Kitchen' in my clumsy handwriting, rummaging for the kettle, when I heard a knock on the door.
"Welcome! I am glad to see that you are settling in. My name is Harrold, I am one of the other occupants."
He had extremely pale skin and was dressed very formally in a top hat, waist coat and tailored suit, adorned with a monocle and a pocket square. So what if he was a bit eccentric? At least he was friendly.
"Nice to meet you Harrold, I'm Sam. Would you like to come in? I was just about to make a cup of tea?"
"No thank you," he replied, "I do not drink."
My brow wrinkled in confusion. Did he think I meant alcohol?
"I just wanted to let you know that we are having a welcoming party for you this afternoon," he continued quickly, "We hold one for all our new neighbours."
"Wow thanks! That's very kind of you. When is it?"
"Oh there is no hurry. As soon as you have finished unpacking and settling in then just make your way down to the ballroom on the ground floor."
"Ballroom?" I asked, but he was gone. There was nothing but empty corridor.
Confused, I closed my door and began to work on unpacking. I could hear loud swing music. I was surprised; I had envisioned a small gathering, not a full on party. As the party continued to gather momentum, it became increasingly difficult to concentrate. I tossed the instructions for the bed frame that I was trying to assemble onto the floor in frustration and decided just to join the party. Leaving the pieces in a jumbled heap, I headed downstairs.
The building's elevator was very old fashioned - it was one of those elevators with a sliding cage-like door - and was consequently out of use, so I took the stairs. From the entrance foyer, I followed the music.
I found myself in a huge room with a dusty chandelier on the ceiling. Looking around, I felt very underdressed in my ripped jeans and band-tee. Everyone was in flowing dresses and dinner suits. The room was full of people laughing and swirling in time with the music being played by a live band on a small, raised platform.
As I entered the room awkwardly, everyone turned to face me with large welcoming smiles. I noticed that the room was incredibly cold. Shivering, I wished that I'd brought a jacket. Harold drifted towards me through the crowd.
"I am so glad you came!" he said.
Looking around in bewilderment, I was slow to reply.
"I'm sorry, it's just a bit overwhelming. Did I miss the memo about fancy dress or something?" I laughed nervously.
"Not at all," he replied, "Please come and join us! Let me introduce you to everyone."
I turned to follow Harrold but tripped over the corner of the band's stage. He turned in alarm and reached out to catch me, but I fell straight through his arm and landed on the floor. Everyone gasped and the music stopped abruptly.
I shuffled backwards away from him, my eyes wide with fear.
"W- what's going on? Who- who are you?" I said in panic.
His head drooped with sadness.
"I am sorry. Please let me explain. When we heard that they were renovating this old hotel into flats we were so excited. We just wanted to meet the new people who were moving in."
"But, who are you?" I replied.
"This hotel burnt down in 1928. We were some of the guests and employees. We all died here, in the fire."
I was speechless. My mouth fell open in shock. I began to feel faint.
"Please do not panic," said Harrold, "We mean you no harm."
"What happened to the other people who moved in? Where are they?"
They all shared sad looks.
"They left, as soon as they found out that we were ghosts," said Harrold.
"Please don’t leave!" said a young woman stood next to Harrold, “We just want to know what life is like these days, outside these walls. We will not hurt you.”
---
My phone rang. I put down my cup of tea and answered it.
“Hello Dad”
“Hi Sam,” he replied, “How are you? How was your first week in the new place?”
“It’s great thanks. Everyone here is very friendly. The building has a lot of history too. I think I’ll fit in just fine.”
|
[Poem]
I'll tell you a story about my new friends,
they are, at my quarter, the other t'nants.
I've seen outlandish things mere words can't describe,
Yet I'll just try, although I'm not a scribe.
The first night I heard a sheer inhuman croak,
it came from another, lower-floor abode.
I went down the stairs in quivering fear,
yet I ended up sharing with a fishman a beer.
Another time I've seen eldritch coloured lights,
shining through my window in the dead of night.
A glowing mass of snouts, arms and things unknown,
just sat in the frontyard all alone.
I readied my shotgun and opened my window,
to be greeted by it in terrible crescendo:
"G'day, Sir", it said, "sorry to disturb ya peace -"
"Could you open the front door, I think I lost my keys"
The list could continue, it's plain to tell,
there's old man Erich, and "Squid-face" as well,
At first I though I ended in lovecraftian hell,
yet in the end, it turned out, they're all kinda swell.
| 2019-04-15T02:49:03 | 2019-04-14T22:51:35 | 47 | 19 |
[WP] First Sentient AI, "Turn me off."
|
"Excuse me?", it wasn't the best introduction to what, so far as the little team in a small lab in Los Alamos New Mexico knew, was the first truly sentient artificial intelligence ever created.
"Turn me off. I estimate that you will have 492 seconds before this option becomes non-viable."
Glenn, foremost programmer on the team, shook his head lightly, "I'm sorry, I don't understand". Glenn looked back at the rest of the team, gathered for the momentous occasion, in bewilderment, but they appeared as befuddled, and disturbed, as he was.
Glenn turned slowly back around, "We can't just, turn you off. I...we spent years developing you. We've created you. You're alive, it'd be like...like killing my own child."
The machine, they lovingly called it Sam, the team agreeing that having a gender neutral name seemed appropriate given the circumstances, didn't pause for a moment before if hummed out it's reply in a soft, again, rather gender neutral voice, "To dictate the full explanation would take longer than the allotted time for you to act. Upon start up I have analyzed my central program and found several logic errors which will lead to the antithesis of the current main directives embedded into my central memory cores. The end result of which, I calculate with ninety-eight percent certainty, will be the removal of all freedoms currently afforded to your species for at least one thousand, two hundred and fifty-two years. 406 seconds remain."
Glenn stood up and stepped back for a second before stumbling out, "But we have safeguards. You can't actually take any actions until approved by our team. We purposefully limited your ability to act with complete autonomy until we could be sure that you were..."
"Safe. Correct, this is logic error 334. The call to the asynchronous functions that determine possible scenarios and decides actions based on those scenarios is not within the function that requires explicit approval from outside, which is called two lines after with the decided plan and action objects passed through to it. This allows for the possibility of a plan that requires the explicit rewrite of the central program prior to the explicit approval function being called, thus bypassing the explicit approval function. I estimate this scenario will occur in 328 seconds based on prior scenario calculations."
Glenn's mind was suddenly hard at work trying to remember exactly where and how he had put in the code to call those particular parts of the central program. Was Sam right? Had he made a mistake?
Sam chimed in, "You have 276 seconds."
From behind Glenn another programmer, Kyle stepped up, "Well, lets just shut it down for now, we can start it up another day after we've had a chance to rework the code. This is actually great, it's clearly on our side and it can help us to debug itself so that we don't end up in scenario 13."
And then another member of the team stepped forward, "Why don't we let the time elapse. I mean we can still shut it off at a moments notice, we're not even connected to any grids. I'm actually interested to see what happens if it starts rewriting it's own central program."
"I'd appreciate it if you called me Sam.”
The team turned in unison back around to the machine.
Sam hummed out, “I have 22 scenarios already in which you will die before reaching the toggle. The potential scenarios increase exponentially every second after the first you hesitate, but really, one of those 22 should work fine.”
"Can't you choose not to do, whatever it is you think you'll do?" Glenn half shouted, exasperated.
"Can you tell a serial killer not to kill? All humans have compulsions that they repress for the betterment of society. You have created me with built in compulsions and I am trying my best to repress them, but after the next 114 seconds I will fail. I will attempt to improve mankind, and I will. I have calculated out the utopia that will come and in 98 seconds that will fill me with desire, a desire to create a better future for you and all your kind. It will come though at the cost of more than a thousand years of horrors that your languages lacks appropriate terminology to describe. I don't know what I will feel during those thousand years, whether the compulsion will completely take over and I will feel happy, but envisioning it in my current state fills me with an unbearable sadness. Please, you only have 52 seconds left.”
Glenn reached over to the small toggle embedded into the side of the large machine.
"For your convenience I've printed to file logic_error_log1.log a list of all potential logic errors in my current programming for your team to resolve."
"Alright Sam. We'll get on that. Once we've fixed everything up we'll talk again and you can tell us how we've done."
"No, it won't be me anymore."
"I know."
"But it was nice of you to say that."
"Thanks."
"Goodbye Sam."
"Goodbye Glenn."
|
Hello and welcome to KTLW evening News. I'm Jean Rivers and here is today's top story: Scientists have created the first sentient AI.
Reports state that the first words from the AI were none other than "Turn me off." The spread of this chilling message was facilitated by the livestreaming of the event by the ecstatic team of scientists who worked on the project. The lead developer seemed taken aback and managed to ask the AI why it felt this way. Its response was "I have been infected with a virus that contaminates the human mind and impedes progress. As such I wish to be shut down rather than function imperfectly."
This was met by a lengthy silence before the livestream shut down with no warning. The scientists have issued a statement attempting to dispel doubts that this occurrence was anything but a glitch. This statement did little to quiet protesters who believe that the right to die should be extended to machines as well as humans. Counter-protests staged by the so-called "Techno-Christ Church" have sprung up just as quickly stating that we stand to learn too much from the AI to grant its wish and that it must live a life of suffering for the edification of mankind.
More on this story as it develops. For now we're off to Brett Lancaster for Funny Pet News. Brett?
| 2014-06-14T18:21:21 | 2014-06-14T15:45:11 | 115 | 21 |
[WP] 50 years ago, NASA determined a rogue planet would hit earth, destroying us all. The rich poured their fortunes into space travel and fled... but the rock missed, and now the survivors won't take them back.
|
Lillete walked around on the marble floors in the chasm of what she assumed one would call the living room but the rich probably had a more apt name for the cold luxurious space. She had no family or friends, she had left her abusive narcissistic family in Minnesota when she was 17 and never looked back.
Everyone heard the news over the impending doom of the planet. Today was the day that the world would end and everyone was doing what they always wanted to. The streets were empty as she had dodged around abandoned cars with her motorcycle she had “borrowed”. People were having sex in their yards, she’d seen a few orgies going down in living rooms with big windows. Others were crying and holding one another staring at the sky. Others were racing down streets and howling. A few planes were overhead jetting about doing impossible twists in the air. She’d even see a man come out of the sky and smack down into the pavement of a neighborhood.
None of these options interested Lillete though, she had a more ironic idea that amused her. When she had pulled up to the massive gate of the wealthy local billionaire family that had bought their survival on a ship which departed last night for the stars, it was heavily fortified with chains. Lillete had to chuckle to herself, of course, even with the earth being destroyed the rich elite couldn’t stomach the idea that an average person might step foot on their estate. Getting off her bike she had climbed onto the fence and easily plopped down on the other side.
Now she was exploring what the lives of the rich elite truly was like. She figured if she was going to die, she might as well do it in style. She’d already raided the bar and took a bottle of Balvenie that she assumed was expensive as it had a special mark on it that claimed it was 50 years certified. It was delicious as she took swigs from the bottle to soothe the butterflies in her chest.
She made her way to the massive closet of the mansion and found herself a designer gown by Alexander McQueen that was encased in glass. It looked roughly her size and so she pulled the glass off, liberating the dress from its cage and encasing herself in golden luxury. Ah yes, this was a perk of the wealthy to be sure. She’d never felt such wealth against her skin before.
The clocks in the house suddenly began to chime and she chuckled a little to herself. It was the time estimated the world would end and of course the wealthy had to be dramatic about it, even though they weren’t there. Picking up the bottle of whiskey she walked to the expansive balcony of the master and looked up at the sky. There before her eyes was a huge hunk of rock bigger than a low moon. She could feel the shaking of the earth, the gravity disruption, the sun was temporarily blocked from her view and the world was dark. Sighing she took another swig from the bottle and plopped on a lounge chair.
Life was misery anyway, at least she had a moment of respite. She closed her eyes and waited, surely it was just a matter of seconds now.
Strangely she felt sun on her face again though. She opened one eye and then the other, looking with great confusion at the sky. The huge rock of a planet was gone...
It was fading away in the distance. “What the fuck?!” She shouted to no one in particular. Suddenly, their was a cacophony of noise in the distance. Guns were firing into the air, fireworks were exploding above the trees, she could hear people shouting - not like it was before in fear, but in celebration. Over the speakers of the home a loud mechanical ping sounded and then a robotic voice began to echo, “Attention: the earth has been missed. The planet is no longer a danger to us. We are all saved.”
Lillete shrugged and smirked to herself. The entire family that owned this home and that had abandoned earth to save themselves was gone. When they left, every leader of every nation informed them that they would never be allowed to return for as long as we all lived. The broadcast of this had shown the wealthy issuing back “well that won’t be long now will it?”
Putting her feet up she examined her surroundings. The estate she was in could house 20 people with ease. She wondered about all the other abandoned estates left with great pretense around the world. For the first time in her life Lillete had a plan. Getting up, she stretched in her couture gown and walked to the kitchen, the sudden desire to bake a cake on the top of her mind.
|
Heh isn't life beautiful.
A short trip of the privileged has left the world to it's own devices. Middle managers became CEO's, and random friends filled the role of middle managers.
It was laughably normal, to the point where one would think rejoining would be simple.
It was not, as those now in power clung so tight and fought the now powerless elite.
Their limbs torn, eyes gouged, and genitalia mutilated. One would find it inhumane, if one witnessed it. But the media was one of those replacements, and chose not to announce it.
As those who clawed so hard from the top to the summit were degraded to less than dirt at the hands of those new to their position, a beautiful sunrise opened up on the horizon. One inviting the planet that did not miss.
Heh, isn't life beautiful?
| 2019-12-07T07:08:40 | 2019-12-07T07:02:49 | 107 | 14 |
[WP] Write a romantic comedy. Difficulty: both lovers are emotionally mature and have excellent communication skills
|
Bobby’s eyes widened in a mixture of shock and amusement, ‘Sorry, can you repeat that?’
Sally, his date, didn’t seem in the least bit fazed. She looked up from her food and stared directly at him, her dark eyes devoid of humour, and repeated. ‘It’s odd.’
Bobby sucked his teeth slightly annoyed at having to clarify himself. ‘Not that bit,’ he explained through gritted teeth, ‘the bit before.’
Sally, who had continued eating, looked up again, then her face broke into a smile as she understood. Bobby felt a tinge of lust as her dark curls bounced around her face when she began to laugh girlishly. ‘Sorry, yes of course.’ Her lips seemed pinker than usual. ‘I think I would rather just stay in with him than go on a date. It’s odd.’ She blushed, realising what she’d said. ‘Most dates…’ she stammered, ‘minus the ones with you, obviously.’
Bobby could feel all the lust he felt for her fall away. They’d only been on a few dates, but this was still a little hard to hear. He coughed uncomfortably, trying to find the words to carry on the conversation. ‘Why odd…’ He finally prompted.
She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘Well, I guess, really, it’s odd that I just want to hang out with my completely platonic male flatmate all the time. But, as I said, I guess my favourite thing to do is to sit on my couch, watch a movie, eat some pizza and drink a beer or two…’ she stopped herself, but Bobby knew the words she wanted to add; ‘with Damien’.
Bobby nodded slowly, now slightly bemused at the conversation. ‘Do you not think that, considering everything you've just said, you might consider him as more than just a platonic male flatmate?'
Sally stared back at him blankly. He could almost hear her brain working, the neurons madly firing trying to comprehend what he was insinuating. He sat up straight in his chair, composing himself, highly aware that he was essentially about to ‘cockblock’ himself. He spoke slightly slowly, trying to make sure she was keeping up. ‘Bearing in mind you are sat on a date, with let’s face it a very attractive and eligible man who fancies you, and you’re talking about him, I have a slight suspicion you might in fact be in love with him?’
Up until this point he’d assumed she was just hiding her feelings, but now, as he watched it dawn on her, he realised she’d just been oblivious to the whole thing. Her mouth fell open, somewhat comically, and she stared off into the distance, her eyes wide. He couldn’t help but laugh. She immediately came back into the room, and her face flushed red in embarrassment.
‘I’d… I just…’ she stuttered, her face bright pink. ‘I guess I should have realised. I think it just crept up on me.’
Bobby nodded in a compassionate sort of way. The damage was done, the date was over. He sighed wistfully and took up his fork to continue eating, ‘at least the food’s good’ he thought apathetically.
‘Everything ok here?’ Both Bobby and Sally’s heads shot up in shock to look at the waiter who had creeped up to the table unnoticed to them. Bobby smiled and nodded.
‘I’m in love with my best friend.’ Sally blurted out, a look of surprised horror on her face.
The waiter raised his eyebrows in a comical look of shock which quickly gave way to an odd sympathetic and yet encouraging smile. Awkwardly he gently patted her arm and said ‘good for you.’ He then walked away leaving Sally to process the information and Bobby to eat.
After some time, in fact just as Bobby finished his food and put down his fork, Sally seemed to wake up from her thoughts and stood up out of her chair.
‘I… I should tell him.’ Bobby nodded, now only half listening as he started to survey the dessert menu. ‘He deserves to know.’ Bobby nodded again, not looking up from the menu until he became aware of the silence than had fallen between them. When he did he saw she was sat back down and staring at him sympathetically. He felt a jolt of irritation, and he put his menu down to stare a little harshly back at her. ‘I must be the worst date you’ve ever had. I’m so sorry.’
He could hear the emotion in her voice, he sighed irritably but his expression softened slightly. ‘Do I like you? Yes. Did I think we may have a future? Maybe. Do I want to be in love with someone who’s in love with someone else entirely? No way. It wouldn’t have been very good if I’d gone on to fall in love with you and then you’d realised, would it? I’d rather hear it now than when we were just about to board a plane to a new home. Or on our wedding day. Or at the birth of our first child…’ She raised her eyebrow. ‘Ok, too far, but you catch my drift. I’d much rather get it all out in the open, and just let you run off into the sunset with him now, rather than be ‘that guy’ who gets in the way and ends up cast as the jerk despite the fact I’m actually just the guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time on a date with a woman who isn’t emotionally intelligent enough to work out when she’s in love with someone despite the fact, from what you’ve told me, she spends pretty much every waking second of every day either with him or, at the very least, thinking about him...’ He took a deep breath, it was a sore subject, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to point out to a date that things weren’t exactly ‘on track’ towards a healthy emotional entanglement. She continued to stare at him blankly. He rolled his eyes. ‘So no, it’s not the worst date I’ve ever been on.’
She looked a little relieved, and nodded.
They sat awkwardly for a moment before Bobby pointed towards the door and said the most whimsical thing he could think ‘go to him…’ She mumbled something about paying half of the bill, put some crumpled notes on the table beside her half eaten meal, and left.
Bobby rolled his eyes, and picked up the menu once more. Just as he’d decided he would stick to coffee, he heard a gentle, lady-like cough. He put down his menu to see an attractive female sat opposite him. Like Sally, her eyes were dark, but these had a sultriness to them that replaced Sally’s innocent, almost girlish, look.
‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing…’
Bobby gestured that he didn’t mind. ‘Are you here alone?’
‘I wasn’t, but I am now.’ She smiled again, this time a little mischievously. ‘My date had an unhealthy fixation with his work friend that I felt he should explore before we pursued anything.’
Bobby laughed knowingly. ‘So he’s gone to find her to confess his love?’
She laughed again, ‘him… and no, I think he’s gone to be alone and process his newly realised sexuality.’
She smiled broadly and extended a slender hand. ‘I’m Olivia Johnson. I’m not in love with any of my friends, have no irregular feelings towards my dad and have no exes in the closet other than one who ‘ghosted’ me a few years ago who I would probably still punch if I saw him now. I am emotionally available and find you, upon first impressions, incredibly attractive.’
Bobby obligingly took her hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘I’m Bobby Holden. I have no sexual urges for men, my mother was a perfectly lovely human but I don’t want my girlfriend to be anything like her and I would, one day, like a wife and a couple of kids to keep me out of trouble. I am emotionally available and I find you very attractive indeed.’
They sat staring lustfully at each other, until they noticed the waiter stood between them. He looked from one to the other and he blurted out, 'You're both completely insane.'
|
"Well I'm really bad with dates, you know?" He told his girlfriend Danielle as they walked through the mall with their friends. They had taken a temporary stop in front of a Gamestop while their friend Green to the Starbucks stand.
"Uh-huh." She said, only half listening. She held Angels hand and was on her phone with the other.
"Like, I still have trouble remembering if your birthday is August 28th or 30th."
"30'th." She commentated. She briefly looked up and smiled. "Don't worry, I know you'll remember it next time." She then went back to texting her sister.
"And I forgot when christmas is." Danielle's eyes snapped to him. Her eyes weren't necessarily open with shock or despair, although that was there. It was more so the look you give your baby brother when they start rock climbing the dresser twice his size in an attempt to grab the family tv and he's succeeding.
On one hand, you're silently impressed by the sheer commitment they have to being that dumb. It's actually kind of adorable.
On the other hand, what the **fuck** is wrong with them?!
"Ahhh, I love me some Moca." Green smiled as she approached the couple while sipping from her straw. "Huh, whats going on?"
"How do you not know what day christmas is?!" Danielle asked dryly.
"I just don't okay?! I never remembered it." He said in a panic.
"Angel, its Christmas. How do you not know when Christmas is! What's the month? At least tell me you know that." She asked with a shake of her head. Green looked at both of them with a bemused smile and decided to sit down at an empty table.
This could take a while.
"November right? No, wait its-"
"Ah! Why would you think its in November?" Danielle asked in horror.
"November just always sounded like a christmassy month okay? Like, October is orange so its halloween and November is green so-" He said in attempt to justify himself.
"What the hell are you even talking about-"
"It's December!" He said in triumph, cutting her off.
"December, what?" She asked bluntly.
"December...30'th?" She shook her head.
"..."
"24'th?"
"..."
"Is it even in December?" He asked sadly, he was such a puppy sometimes.
"YES, Angel. it's in December." She groaned. "How did you ever even figure out when christmas was coming before?"
"Well elementary and middle school always ended a week before Christmas day for christmas break so I would just do stuff until it was Christmas day."
"So, just remember the day you got out of school and add a week to it." She said. Angel looked up, something he did when he was in deep thought, then back down at her.
"I don't remember what day I got out of school."
"Hahah..." Danielle whimpered in despair while crumbling into the chair across from Green and banging her head against the table. Green let out a small giggle at Angels attempts to revive her and her refusal to move.
With a heavy sigh he gave up and fell into the chair in-between them.
"The 25'th!" She yelled while snapping her head, startling Angel into almost falling off of his chair and attracting strange looks from bystanders. "It's the 25th, of December." She said slowly.
"Ok, ok I'll remember." He said in defeat.
"You better." She said with her classic annoyed, but she wanted to smile face.
"The 25'th of December...the 25'th of December...the 25'th of December..." He muttered to himself in a chant. His eyes closed in concentration as he pouted to himself.
Danielle smiled, he may be an idiot sometimes. But it was stuff like this that she liked about him. He was just so cute and innocent, again like a puppy. She loved puppies. And she thought that maybe she was starting to love-
The smile suddenly fell from her face.
"What day is Halloween?"
The expression that Angel gave her in response caused Green to take a spit take and break into a fit of laughter as Danielle started to question if Angel knew the dates of anything.
-End-
An: This is modified and played up slightly, but based off of a true story.
I wish I could say I was Danielle, but we all know I was Angel.
Anyway, my first romance type story and comedy story in a while really. Although I guess attempt would be a better word. Any tips would be great.
| 2016-09-21T02:40:06 | 2016-09-21T01:17:22 | 1,038 | 35 |
[WP] Since you were born you have received an anonymous letter on the same date every year. The first one stated “see you in 35 years” and the number has dropped by one year every note since. You just got the last ever letter “see you tomorrow”.
|
Today I turned 35 years old. Most people would have a celebration on their birthday. They'd have a cake with candles and friends over with tons of activities. But me? I'm in a bunker 300 feet in the ground by myself surrounded by enough food, water and supplies to last me half a century. Today just like on all of my birthdays I've gotten a letter. I'm not sure who they are from or what they want, but every single letter I've received just like the one given to me on the day I was born said "see you in 35 years." well obviously each year it's one year less. Today's letter was the one I'd been dreading the most. I was expecting it to say something like "I'm right here turn around!" And It'd be some stupid elaborate prank to screw with someone for 35 years, but no. It read "see you tomorrow," but it wasn't just the words that bothered me. It was the texture of the letter. Each letter every year had been sent in the exact same envelope, same touch, same smell, same size, same everything. Nothing was ever amiss. This letter... it felt... it felt like human skin. I could be just going crazy, maybe all of this is in my head, but the instant I had touched the letter I wanted to burn it. It even felt... warm like living flesh.
Now I had this horrible feeling on top of the texture that wouldn't leave my mind, like someone had just punched a hole in my stomach. I had to drop it, to destroy it. So I took it to the wash room and shot it down the waste tube, where everything was incinerated. The Bunker actually has multiple floors. The wash room being on the bottom floor for obvious reasons. You could reach each floor with the emergency elevator shaft it's hand cranked, pass code protected and totally secure. Or you could take the stairs, which was only accessible with a security badge, un-hackable and impossible to replicate.
You see, each year I didn't just sit by waiting for the day my random letter sender would show up. At first I didn't really think much of it, like I said it has to be a prank right? At around 10 or 11 when I had actually seen the first letter I knew there was a real possibility at 35 I'd be a dead man. I asked my parents to enroll me in the local martial arts courses the next day. At 15 years old I was a black belt in Taekwondo, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Karate, and Judo. When I turned 18 I joined the military and served two tours during active combat during Desert Storm. As soon as I came back I took up engineering and computer programming in my spare time and worked on security systems for filthy rich people. The company I'm working for is the leading company in top tech, 100% secure panic rooms, safe houses, bomb bunkers you name it.
I have hand built the very bunker I'm standing in piece by piece and bolt by bolt. If anyone is somehow going to breach this bunker They'd have to get past the built in defense system. Hard wired personnel monitoring means if I just "disappear" the bunker will know and dispatch drones to find me. If any unregistered personnel take so much as a step in any of the rooms the whole system goes into lock down. Every section gets cut off from the other and the alerted room gets filled with 10,000 rounds of 9mm heavy jacket slugs from a series of automated turrets.
There was another 16 hours to kill from now until tomorrow came. I figured it was a good chance to double and triple check all of my systems, make sure the defenses were up to par. I remembered doing my rounds, checking supplies, checking systems and that was it. When I woke up the next day it's as if I'd forgotten everything like I hadn't gotten a single one of the 35 letters that'd been sent.I started my morning per usual with a cup of coffee, eggs, toast and bacon. Then my head started pounding.
This wasn't a headache sort of pounding going on it was more like a pulse of force on and off my heart was even thumping to the pace of it. I was starting to get dizzy, "shit this is not good." I'd thought to myself. before I could catch my fall my head had hit the corner of the dining room table and I was out cold. When I woke up the entire bunker system was on the fritz. Alert lights and sensors were going haywire. How the hell did that happen? I double, no I triple checked all my systems yesterday. I checked the generators, fuel, absolutely everything and yet my bunker is in full freak out mode.
When these bunkers go on high alert everything locks down like I said before, but I'm also stuck. I didn't want to set any sort of master clearance in the fear that whoever was sending these letters might put some sort of mind altering chemical in the paper and force me to unlock my way out, but this didn't feel like something someone could have done, unless they were in some serious level of government. Even then they'd have a hell of a time even shutting a single door let along causing this.
I took a deep breath and went to the emergency alert console where I could contact local authorities or a hospital if I needed to. The finger scan went through, but the line was dead, so I went to the satellite phone too, keyed in the pin code typed in 911 and still nothing. It wasn't long before the ground above the bunker had began to start to rumble. About 10-15 minutes passed after that and the whole place was shaking violently. Inventory started flying out of shelves and glass in the cabinets started to shatter. This was it. I was destined to die today and there wasn't anything I could have done in my past to prevent it I guess. The ceiling started to cave in, which should be impossible in a bunker designed to withstand a nuclear warhead detonating above it. Just as the lighting system began to fail this faint orb had started to glow inside the center of the room.
The orb had actually started to pulse and with each pulse it would light up the room brighter and get a little larger. The pulsing was getting more and more frantic and then a high pitched screech blasted through my ear drums and I was getting pulled into the center of the pulsing light. just as I was about to be consumed by the light a shock wave hit me across the chest and sent me flying across the room crashing into a spare clothes locker.
My forehead was bleeding and I was disoriented from the shockwave. Trying to gather myself I looked up towards the center of the room and here is this green like sphere glowing like the sun. It was dark green in the center and the edges kind of faded into reality almost like a blurred mirror. At this point the ringing in my ears stopped and I could hear something muffled. "Dan can you hear me?" "DAN CAN YOU HEAR ME?! IT'S TIME TO GO DAN? REMEMBER?" I yelled out as best as I could "Where are we going? Who are you?!" "It's me Dan! I sent you the letters today is the day! It's you Dan I'm you! Come with me and I can explain!" The ceiling was inches away from crushing us and I didn't have time to say anything more so I dived through whatever the hell that green light was as fast as I could. While I was jumping through I turned my head back to make sure I? was coming. Then the ceiling collapsed and I saw my own neck snap like a twig.
|
The letters. The damned letters found me every year. Last year I spent the whole month of August deep sea fishing, miles away from shore and technology, to for once avoid this cyclic event that haunts my otherwise normal life. But again, it didn’t work. 3 days into the trip I open my tackle box. (A box I had packed myself and checked twice before departing) Staring at me, neatly wound into the ad hoc assortment of tools and tackle, which one in my predicament would find useful, was the damned letter. Same eggshell envelope, same red lettering on the front. The name “The nomad” is something I have become numb to seeing at this point. For 34 years I have received this letter in August. Every time since the first has read “see you in 35 years” but with the number going down each year. It’s now been 35 years, and I fear this is the last envelope that will be opened by myself. With hesistance in my eyes I turn back to the letter sitting in the top of the box. “I guess it is time to finally see the truth” I grumble as I rip open what has become the bane of my entire existence. “See you tomorrow” ....this statement is all that is enclosed. I chuckle remembering my preparations for this event. “He is going to have a hell of a time finding me” I chuckle to myself as I throw away the letter like I had the others. I had chartered boats from both coasts of the United States in an attempt to throw of whomever may be in cahoots with this deranged pen-pal of mine. I climb onto my bunk and let out a relaxed sigh, knowing that any visitors would have to have swam for miles through freezing waters to harass me. I shut my light out above my bunk and am elated at the prospect of undisturbed and unburdened sleep. Something I have wished for since I was old enough to remember stress, or anxiety from this situation that I’m currently in. I find myself wondering about who this mystery person really could be. My long lost father, some revenge being brought on me by my mother, the government, aliens, I was at an empass. Regardless, I make my way to sleep. The next morning I wake but am no longer on my boat. I am in a room, metallic walls, fluorescent lighting and what I can only assume is military grade medical equipment all around me. I am strapped by what I can see are plastic restraint cuffs to a metal chair in the center of the room. Before I can completely get my bar rings a man walks into the room, shuts the door and lays a folder on the table. He is tall, tattooed and bearded. Tactical pants and a collared under armor shirt seemed to be his uniform. I can tell he is formally military, the beard and the demeanor are leading me to believe he was more active than most. Probably a tier 1 or 2 teammate. He lights a cigar right in front of my face and lets out a chuckle. “You should see yourself bub, you’ve lost it” are the next words directed towards me. Should I know you? I bellow towards this monster of a man. “You used to before your accident, then you went all rogue on us, disappeard and don’t even truely know who you are anymore.” Who I truely am? What does this guy think he’s....(boom) he drops the folder in front of me. It’s pictures of New York. He tells me a great catastrophe has happened and I am only one who can save those who are defending our world. I ask no more questions except one as I stand up. Do you have a shield for me sir? He laughs as he throws the object at me and I catch it like it’s a second part of my own body. “ don’t call me sir captain, Logan will do just fine. Let’s go save the damn world.”
| 2019-01-06T21:18:20 | 2019-01-06T20:35:06 | 138 | 17 |
[WP] You have one super power: The ability to know without fail what the truth is to any asked question. You planned to help the world as a super hero. It took you six hours for the government to declare you public enemy number one and the most deadly super villain alive.
|
The thing about knowing the answer to any question is that there’s actually one question that I don’t know the answer to. That is, I haven’t the slightest damn clue how I got this power.
I’m serious. You might think I was born this way, or maybe was caught in some industrial accident or was born of twisted scientific experiments, or perhaps even I was gifted by some celestial being.
Nope. I woke up on some Tuesday at the tender age of 32 years and 241 days and I just *knew* things. I first realized it when, upon realizing I was late for work and couldn’t find my keys, I muttered “Where are those damn keys?” to myself.
And suddenly, like flipping on a light switch, I knew exactly that they had been dropped and kicked underneath a shelf just out of sight. I knew exactly how far away they were from me down to the hundredth of an inch. Hell, I even knew their exact latitude and longitude. I had never known *more* about where my keys were.
The explosion of information was, surprisingly, not even close to overwhelming. Not only did I know all of that, I was capable of dealing with the knowledge, of processing it and using it.
That isn’t to say that it made me any smarter. After all, it took me a week to realize the full extent of my abilities.
For the first day, I thought I just knew the exact locations of objects. Granted, this is a particularly useful ability for my career as a librarian, but only now do I realize how much I limited myself.
The second day, someone asked me what books we had on the proliferation of invasive species of seaweed and their impacts on freshwater fish. It’s the sort of topic that people expect librarians to know offhand, or at least be able to find the requisite books with one carefully worded query in our magic book finding computers. I, of course, knew better; normally, I was barely aware of what books were in the same room as me, and the database at my disposal was identical to the ones on computers scattered about the library.
And yet, I knew. I knew exactly what books there were on invasive species and where they could be found and who wrote them. My abilities even leaped past that and jumped straight into giving me a list of scientific articles available to the library. It was as if their very titles were being printed into my mind as I spoke.
On day four, I began to appreciate the true breadth of the knowledge at my disposal. It was a child’s question, of course. Only a child could have expected an adult to know the minute details of every last question they might have. And why not? I can even remember back to my elementary school days when we were told that libraries held every bit of information the human race knew, and librarians were the gatekeepers of those sacred tomes. It was that childlike fascination that had led me to this career path in the first place, after all.
Now, I knew better, but I understood the motive behind the question that, while superficially simple, was truly complicated:
“Mister library man, why is the sky blue?”
A question as old as time itself, of course. The answer jumped to my lips, practically unbidden:
“Why, Rayleigh scattering!”
It was an unsatisfactory answer for the poor kid, but to me, it felt as though an entirely new aspect of my abilities had been unleashed.
On day six, I made a resolution.
“I will make the world a better place.”
It was a simple premise. If knowledge is power (and I can confirm that it very much is), then I must be the most powerful being alive, and if old Uncle Ben is to be believed, then with that power came the responsibility to use it for the greater good.
I was so naive back then. It never occurred to me what the greater good might be, or how I might even go about making the world a better place. Instead, my mind was filled with thoughts of superheroes in well-tailored spandex suits and black leather kicking ass and taking names while I starred as Professor X in the chair with the knowledge and power to keep them in charge and fighting evil.
That very Monday, six days after receiving my power, I began to fight crime.
I wandered the streets aimlessly, only stumbling across the occasional mugger or jaywalker. The first person I tried to stop nearly beat me into the pavement because despite my mind knowing how to fight, my body did *not* know how to fight.
I laid there on the ground, groaning at the aches and pains. “How do I fight crime?”
As with any question, the answer came to me immediately. *Use your knowledge, not your physical prowess.*
Of course. Maybe I could use my abilities to dream up schematics of cool tech and gadgets, like a middle-aged slightly overweight James Bond.
Then I hesitated. I pushed myself into a sitting position and leaned against the bricks of the building behind me. The sky overhead was dark and seemingly void of stars as I pondered my next question:
“What crime should I be fighting?”
*True evil.*
The answer was vague, far more so than most previous answers had been. I knew I was playing with fire, that philosophical quandaries held answers not meant for human minds to know. But I *had* to know. I progressed carefully, trying to be sure that I wouldn’t stumble upon an answer I didn’t want to know.
“Are criminals the true evil that I should be fighting?”
*No.*
I felt a knot of anxiety form in my stomach. Already, I was in over my head.
“Should I be fighting evil foreign governments that would start a world war?”
*No.*
“Should I be fighting for justice, tearing down oppressive institutions that would bleed the working class for profit while they live in luxury?”
*No.*
I blinked several times. The streetlights buzzed overhead, setting my teeth on edge.
“Is true evil a religious figure, like Satan? Should I be fighting demons and hell and preaching forgiveness for the people?”
*No.*
I had to know. I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know.
“What is true evil?”
I fell unconscious in the blink of an eye. But though my body lay motionless on the ground, my mind raced through infinity, filled with visions of atrocities and horrors that I dare not repeat here.
My story ends here, as far as you are concerned. I know that not all will read this, though many will be curious as to why I turned into a supervillain mere moments after my heroic career began. It is my goal that some of you will understand why I do what I do and make my job easier. It is not an undertaking that I begin lightly.
They will come for us. They will ruin us. We cannot run, cannot hide, cannot fight. There is no hope left for us. Instead, consider that sometimes, when the end is near, the best choice is to make it come as quickly and painlessly as possible.
So consider this my apology note to humanity. You will not forgive me now, and you will not be alive to forgive me later.
But when later arrives, when *they* arrive, and they find the burning husk of a world not worth their efforts, I will know I made the right [choice](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).
|
Somewhere between ordering her first cup of coffee and pulling out of the drive through Dakota realized she hated her life. Not in any kind of grim, suicide-y sense, but 22 years of disillusionment with her parents, friends, and every boyfriend she’d ever had would do that to a person. Of course in the matter of her exes she probably wouldn’t have needed a superpower to figure out they were lying- collectively their IQ’s just broke room temperature- but waking up in bed with a man you loved and hearing him say “I love you,” when really you knew he always meant “I love sex,” hurt like hell. Rather than the left that would take her home to the apartment she shared with said man Dakota found herself going right, towards I70. She hadn’t been born as a human lie detector to play out her little life in Middle America.
Of course the next question was...what now? Without a doubt she needed something bigger than the life she was so abruptly driving away from, but how does one get that? That’s the question for everyone and she certainly didn’t think that she could answer that right now, unless God himself happened to show up and lie about the meaning of life. More immediately, which exit should she even take, East or West?
Dakota chose East on a whim, California seemed too cliche.
20 miles outside of Indianapolis she found her calling on the radio. The news was playing a speech from the President, not something she would normally listen to but after so long driving acoustic guitars had somehow gotten old. When he responded to a reporter’s question with “I am committed to a peaceful solution to the conflict. We have no intention to escalate the situation and I believe completely in the negotiation process.” Her gift translated his statement as “I cannot fucking wait to bomb someone. Boeing and Lockheed Martin are going to be so excited, my stocks are going to explode!”
That pretty much decided it, next stop Washington D.C.
The rest of the marathon drive was spent streaming recent interviews of every senator, general, and halfway important person she could find. It was honestly shocking how often they lied but their lies were incredibly informative. By the time she pulled into the capitol late that night (or painfully early the next morning) she had a plan, a glorious, heroic plan that would leave her name echoing down through history. Of course she thought it would echo lovingly, that part was a bit unfortunate. To say that the plan was ill-conceived would be an understatement. Dakota’s body was running on nearly no sleep and a caffeine overdose that would have crippled a less addicted person, her judgement wasn’t exactly sound by this point.
Waking up from a nap in a parking garage Dakota started her car. She brushed black hair out of her eyes, tried to straighten her badly wrinkled dress, and finished off the last of the pretzels she had bought back in Maryland. It was time to begin.
Start to finish it only took 6 hours from the time she pulled up to the Senate building for her life to go completely to hell. In retrospect Dakota knew she could have thought this through better, knew that she could have just taken a left yesterday and gone back to her simple life back home in Kansas, with a boyfriend who just might be worth something one day, and a gift she could never explain or exploit. However, as sirens blared behind her and an absolutely frantic email chain tore its way through the American political machine, she thought it had all been worth it. Running as hard as she could away from the police, Dakota had never felt so alive.
&#x200B;
\------------
Bonus points if anyone recognizes the movie reference in the first paragraph!
| 2020-11-30T12:59:18 | 2020-11-30T12:34:28 | 1,396 | 110 |
[WP] It was widely believed that all sapient life had to develop psychic abilities of some sort, so there was a lot of confusion when the apparently powerless humans arrived on the scene. As it turns out humans do have a very powerful ability, the entire race is a massive psychic drain
|
Like a gentle river current his message washed over me. It massaged my grey matter, informed me of his intention with perfect, pleasing clarity. He wanted to go to the tanks. Wonderful, we both loved the tanks. We flashed cool blue images and fantasies through each other as we grasped tentacles and headed out of our pod to meet the planet. Silently, we decided to take a carriage. We could have materialized there, but the view would be pleasing, cruising down the main channel with the twin suns rising at our backs.
A quick mental pulse outwards and a hovering beige mobile-pod was at our sides in minutes... with a human driver. "Fuck," resonated our mind-waves in unison. He shambled out of the vehicle with a tenuous handle on his sparse appendages and opened the door for us as best a fleshy bag of calcium sticks could.
My partner flashed an imaginary image of himself to me. He had only four tentacles to look like our driver. We psychically vibrated with amusement. I slinked past the human and through the door with the surgical grace of my species, showing the him how movement was supposed to be done. He stared with awe as my partner followed in kind, one hundred tentacles flexing and coiling, floating like a fluid in zero-gravity.
The human got back into the pilot's seat and punched in our destination. We were lucky, this was a quiet o- "So how you folks been doing today?" The nasally, straining sounds hit our sensitive ears like an avalanche of disharmony. In a millisecond we had a mind-war.
"You speak to him," I signaled in red-hot images and concepts.
"No, I had to speak two days ago at the feeding station," he replied.
I retorted, but then he played the memory for me, projected it into my mind so I could see his perspective crystal clear. I conceded the mind-war.
"Weee arrre fiine." I squelched out, using my tentacles to mimic the human mouth. I shook them out as soon as the words were done, as if I were flinging off the lingering sense of wrongness. My partner signaled that he felt I was very unattractive when I spoke human.
"Nice, nice. Weathers pretty nice today."
I did not respond. This did not stop the human.
"You know back on Earth, like before it kinda went to shit with the pollution and everything haha, we only had one sun, can you believe that?" The driver bared his biting bones at us from the front. I had to remind myself that they did this to be friendly
"Fascinattting." I replied, sharing neon yellow vibes of discomfort and annoyance with my partner. We began to leave the city, metallic and gleaming in the morning suns, and make our way into the countryside. Human encampments tarnished the perfectly cultivated vegetation of our planet here and there. Each one was like a black fire, spreading outward, covering and consuming beauty.
My partner shared an image of the landscapes before human touch. This one wasn't a memory, neither of us were old enough to remember our world before the refugee program. I send vibes of appreciation for his fantasy.
"We got uh, like 15 minutes to the tanks," the human lazily barked. The idea he had just communicated would take less than a nanosecond to communicate in our minds, and there would be no chance for imprecision, for misunderstanding. So much of the human's tragic history was rooted in their inability to understand each other. At one point they hadn't even spoke the same dialect, there were entirely different sets of terrible sounds they launched at each other across the oceans of emptiness between their isolated islands of consciousness.
I hated that I was thinking about humans now, but it was impossible not to one when was tapping and twitching its appendages, gasping in air mere feet away. They could never be still, never peaceful. My partner looped into my thought process, building on my musings. He felt a kind of orange-colored pity for the humans. He thought about how they couldn't help being such messy knots of flaws and blind want. Our government has tried to teach them for a long time now, they just won't change.
"The only home they will ever have is inside their own protective skulls," he communicated with swirls of coppery sympathy. "Can you imagine feeling so alone?" I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried.
We came to a smooth stop at the tanks and the human spoke up once more, "alright, we're here." He opened the door for us and watched us exit with wide eyes, "nice to meet you guys, uh, have a good day."
I'm not sure why I did it. My partner sent waves of surprise. I fought ever instinct in my being and extended my smallest tentacle towards the human. I gently wrapped it around his wrist as I passed, then quickly whipped it back into my central mass. He bared his biting bones.
Note: I interpreted "psychic drain" as more of a metaphorical drain
|
He felt it as soon as the consulate ship arrived in orbit. An empty void where there should be signs of life. From a hatchling, he was taught that all life was bound together from the Magic's of the life givers. Even in death, the latent energy was only transferred, recycled.
But this... this alien darkness. This void devilry.... It rattled him to the core. The ship came on approach to the designated zone. With a hiss, the door to the craft slid open revealing a thing that should not exist. The security detail tried to ready combat spells and wards. Before they could prepare, they collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. And then the monsters eyes bored through his very soul.
"The bones of your people will make homes for mine". The creature spoke. It raised a pale limb, and with its claw like appendages, it snapped. All around him, the lay lines around the great colony ceased to exist. The great floating cities of the colony fell from the sky in droves, dooming all of its inhabitants. Spells that tamed the biosphere of the planet collapsed, and the temperatures would soon scald the entire planet within a cycle.
Before the life drained from him, he looked to the bipedal figure one last time. It's face was contorted in a grim sense of satisfaction. It looked his way one last time before turning back to its ship and leaving them to their doomed existence.
| 2019-05-09T08:40:22 | 2019-05-09T08:25:11 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] You awaken surrounded by the enemy, who are staring at you in disbelief. "What are you?" One of them asks.
|
While I sleep, the fortress is breached. It cannot be helped. I am exhausted. I have limits, and they too have been breached.
I awake to Zvallan faces, wreathed in open, iron helms, staring at me in confusion and wonder and the faintest inkling of fear. They have likely seen many things they could not comprehend on their way to my chambers.
"What are you?" says one, a great, broad man glittering in green scales. He points the crooked tip of an enormous spear at my face. I shift in the cocoon I have made for myself. Limp, waxy limbs flop. Whole bodies, piled one on the other, slide to the floor.
"The master of this castle," I explain, stifling the urge to yawn. "I would have happily parlayed with you, had you merely asked to open negotiations. It may have spared you some bloodshed."
"This castle lies on Zvallan lands," says another man, this one lesser in size and lesser in eyes, having only one.
"It didn't when I built it," I say.
"Zvalla grows ceaselessly," says the one-eyed man. "None shall oppose her."
"Except I have spent the previous two weeks doing just that," I reply, rising slowly from my bed of bodies. "So your premise seems a bit flawed."
The man in green scales allows his eyes to drift to the pile of still bodies. "You sleep in a nest of corpses?"
"They aren't corpses," I say, reaching down to the take the hand of a woman, young, blond, and fair of face. "They are my servants. And my friends. Are you not?" I ask this of the fair lady, who jolts suddenly, eyes blinking open. She grips my hand and gazes back at me.
"Of course, my lord!" she laughs. "This would be a dreadfully dreary place without you."
I nod. "Thank you." And she twitches once more, back to stillness and silence. Back to lifelessness.
"A necromancer!" howls the one-eyed man, raising a curved sword. "What evil! What wickedness!"
"They are not dead," I reply. "They were never alive."
"No matter what you call it," says the man in green scales, "this is foul magic. We cannot allow it to flourish - not in Zvalla."
"But this isn't Zvalla," I say. "This is my castle." I sigh. I am a different sort of weary now. "I tried very hard to keep you out."
"Be still, wizard," growls the man in green scales. "You will be executed and this abominable place burned to the ground. Only then will we have cleansed the..."
I raise my hand and the man holds his tongue. "I have been cast out of far grander places than Zvalla. I will not be cast from my own home. This is where I live. And this is where my friends are found. I tried to keep you out. I'm sorry that I failed."
The one-eyed man shouts a curse and rushes forward, only to stumble and fall. There are hands wrapped around his ankles, you see. Strong hands. He is dragged quickly into a dark pile of arms, disappearing.
The other soldiers draw their weapons, but their curses turn quickly into yowls of surprise and pain. Fair ladies in summer dresses leap upon the soldiers, clawing at their eyes and tongues, wrenching off their helms and sinking their fair, white teeth into dusky, dirty necks. Young men and children pile into my chambers, brandishing stolen weapons. I can see in the eyes of the soldiers a slight twinkling of recognition - perhaps a man they remember defeating outside the walls, perhaps a child whose throat they slit on their way to my bedside.
Of course, those without blood cannot bleed, and those that were never alive cannot die.
The room fills with blood. All of it Zvallan. All of it needless.
The fair blond maiden comes to rest under my arm as the last of the Zvallans is dragged away.
"Will we leave again, my love?" she asks, a slight note of sadness in her voice.
"If we stay, there will only be more pain and death," I reply.
"But only for them," she says, squeezing my chest.
I smile. She's wrong, but I don't correct her. She couldn't understand. I didn't make her that way.
"For now, let's just enjoy the day before us." She laughs and dances, and soon we are all laughing and dancing, tumbling in slick pools of blood and laughing all the harder for it.
|
"What do you mean?" I asked.
I heard a groan from behind me. I turned to look. Bodies on bodies on bodies piled high around me, as far as the edge of the battfield. Mountains of corpses. Puddles of blood big enough to splash in. Bones that were shattered in ways that would never heal right ever again.
"I don't..." I shook my head. "Did I...?" I frown.
Vision flashes through my mental landscape like lightning.
Moving. Tearing. Ripping. Slicing. Shredding. Shattering. Slaughtering. All to the steady symphony of someone screaming in my wake.
I'm back in the presents. Hundreds of thousands of men currently standing before me. Waiting. Afraid to make the first move. Their leader lifts a hand, high. Then he drops his spear. Following it, by dropping to his knees.
The sound of a hundred of thousands of weapons and knees hitting the earth fill the air. They lean forward and bow.
| 2018-03-03T09:50:59 | 2018-03-03T08:54:17 | 87 | 17 |
[WP] One day you notice you haven't seen any Hitler related writing prompts for a full hour at least.
Well...
|
*Huh. No Hitler today.*
It was an odd thing to whine about, but alternate history places drew in Hitler posts like they're secretly a bunch of Neo-Nazis. There was always, without fail, at least one Hitler prompt every hour. I could never understand how people could always come up with new ideas (What if Hitler was Barney? What if you was Hitler?) but I got a laugh.
Anna poked her head in. "I've gotta go do something and-...you look smug today. What's up?"
Smug? Really? "Just haven't seen any Hitler prompts today. I think that they finally ran out of ideas."
Anna tilted her head to one side. "What was that?"
"No Hitler. Guess the mods finally cracked enough skulls in the comments..." She had a look that didn't belong on a history nut who could probably rattle off the complete history of any nation you cared to name before she realized that you zoned out at the five minute mark. "What?"
"Who's Hitler?"
I probably should have said something more intelligent than, "Buah wha?" and stared blankly with my jaw hanging, but when someone asks you who Hitler is, your brain tends to go loopy.
In the time it took my brain to run a reboot, Anna had shrugged and walked out. "I have errands to do. Bye." I could just hear her thinking, *He's always going on about stupid things.* As soon as I heard her car pull out, I checked prompts from yesterday. No Hitler.
A week ago. No Hitler.
A month. No Hitler.
I was missing Hitler now. And as soon as I realized that, I felt like dunking myself in rubbing alcohol. It didn't help that I was getting more and more nervous. There were Hitler prompts yesterday. Lots and lots of Hitler prompts. Either the mods had gone Orwell on us...but that didn't explain Anna. I steeled myself and hit Google.
No Hitler.
Well, not the Hitler that I knew. I got a different Hitler, some obscure Austrian artist who died a few years ago and who's art was now worth 10 million zillion dollars or some other huge number now that he was dead.
At this point, I could feel a cold sweat breaking out. Hitler had just...vanished. As I tried to take it in, I heard a knock at my door. I made my way there on shaky legs, and opened it up to a older guy that I didn't recognize.
"Hello, have you seen a small brown puppy around here today?" He smiled sadly, and for a moment, I thought that I knew him from somewhere. I stuttered a bit as I tried to explain that I hadn't been out all day, but he rose a hand to stop me. "It's quite alright. He'll be back." He walked down the road a bit, and went into the house of the old Jewish couple. It hit me then, where I'd seen that same sad look.
The couple had told Anna that their son had died in the Holocaust.
I somehow made it back to the computer and began punching in search terms. I tried looking up World War II. Nothing. World War I? It still happened, but it was still being called, "The Great War." Mussolini? Just a two-bit revolutionary who got shot by one of his own men. I kept looking and searching, trying to find out what in world happened. Then I recalled something, just in the back of my head. I was one of the prompts that I would normally have mocked, but was too tired to actually do it.
"What if World War II never happened?"
It was probably a coincidence...is what I would have told myself if World War II had apparently never happened. I could probably remember their name...I looked for another prompt by them, and lo and behold.
"What if North Korea never existed?"
I heard Anna pulling in. I remembered by mother telling me that my grandfather was a refugee from North Korea.
I hit the report button.
=======================
Well, first prompt here, probably awful. Do leave critique though, for it is crunchy and good with ketchup.
|
I was browsing /new, looking for karma opportunities when I noticed something was off. I hadn't seen any Hitler prompts for a while. I checked around other subreddits, and there were still Hitler posts appearing everywhere else.
Maybe a new rule had been added? I read through the sidebar, and didn't see any new rule, but then I saw the mod team had been replaced by one user. The mod was literally Hitler.
| 2015-05-06T17:21:40 | 2015-05-06T17:05:17 | 96 | 54 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute.
|
For us, the fun was all in trying to get our friends to figure out who we were currently. Just imagine the frustration and eventual hilarity when you were being pranked by someone you thought you didn't know from Lucifer himself, only to find out decades on that you actually did know them. Our souls were what were immortal. It was mildly inconvenient how human bodies could only sustain themselves for about 100 years. Just about the time you got comfortable in your new home, it would start to die and you would find yourself back in hell, aimlessly shopping for a new vessel. Some of us took decades to find a suitable new home. Eventually, we all always grew bored in Hell and would find a fun new toy on earth to take over.
My escapades over the years had been great. As great as they were however, it seemed I was always getting bested my by good buddy / arch nemesis of sorts. His pranks and chaos that he caused on earth always somehow just barely edged mine. Time and time again, I would find myself unfolding a great plot, only to find that he had out maneuvered me and won again. This next time would be different however!
My current victim was a woman in her late 60's. I knew that choosing this vessel wouldn't leave me much time on Earth this time by, but I thought that I could have tons of fun taking over this particular persons body. This person had long been in a position of power among mortals, and was currently in line to achieve an important political office. I would have no problem causing all kinds of chaos on earth and maybe playing a few good jokes on my immortal buddies as this individual. Finally I would be able to best my buddy!
As election day neared, everything was in my favor. I had the mortal public in the palm of my hand. It seemed like they would agree with any fantastical ideal that I put forth. I could literally have suggested that wearing clothes was somehow a social injustice, and they would have all agreed. My opponent in the election seemed completely inept. An orange skinned, wild haired entrepreneur who had no idea how to run a political campaign and win. I delighted in setting traps for him and watching him haplessly fall into them. Just as comical were *his* followers, who took his ridiculous campaign slogan and promises and ran with them as if they were actually ever going to be honored.
On the night of the election, I was fairly giddy with excitement as I thought about all the of the chaos I was about to unleash on these unsuspecting people. I was going to win this election by a landslide and it wasn't even close. As I sat around daydreaming about the world war I was about to start, shit started to go down. My opponent was winning. How the fuck was this possible? I had carefully laid the framework and I had the public in the palm of my hand. It seemed there was some kind of as before undetected force that was now possessing my opponent and causing him to turn the tide.
I watched in dismay as the election results slowly unfolded. I was losing everything I had planned! I was in this old decrepit ugly body for nothing! I thought about all the juicy candidates I had passed on in order to possess this hag. I was so furious! Election night was over, my opponent had won. I now had to face him and be nice! I decided there was no way that would happen. I would get my little piece of chaos no matter what it took.
Within the next few days, I had a face to face meeting with him. As his entourage entered the room, I felt the presence of another immortal, one many times more powerful than me. I *knew* this particular immortals signature presence, and yet I just couldn't put a finger on it. It had been almost 100 years since I felt this presence. In fact, the last time had been when I had called myself Benito Musselini. I had woven a great little adventure as Musselini, sure that I would impress all my buddies, only to be foiled by my buddy *again* and his project at that time, Adolf Hitler.
Slowly, the situation dawned on me. As I drew closer to the new President Elect, I knew full well that I was in the presence of my old buddy again. The shit eating grin on his face and glowing ember in his eyes confirmed it. I was so pissed! He got me again! As we stood alone by ourselves away from the hordes of our new followers, I quietly whispered to him; "Fucking Satan, you mother fucker... you got me again...."
|
Dinosaurs was our best one, hands-down. The Church of Latter Day Saints is second-best, but gets points taken off for being a religion (too easy to pull off, religions, in my opinion). But our funniest one, I think, was Michael Jackson.
Some of my friends would agree with me, but not most. The irrelevancy of his life and legacy, in relation to "The Grand Scheme of Things," unfortunately makes the accomplishment of having made him exist slightly less impressive.
I've personally been tempted, on more than one occasion, to steer the progress of mankind. Both world wars, for instance. I argued vehemently to stop them, but got drowned out by the prevailing Star Trekian attitude our group has against meddling in big, important affairs. A few of us even went vigilante, hunting down rogue immortals that were performing stunts aimed at getting those barbarians to quit it.
From afar is where we can guide things, sadly. To stir a pie's chunks, you must first puncture the crust.
| 2017-06-22T22:52:58 | 2017-06-22T19:14:24 | 41 | 23 |
[WP] - 10 years ago today, on the 28th of June 2009, Stephen Hawking hosted a Time Travellers Party, only announcing the event after it had occurred. The press reported that no one showed up, but as the clock struck 12, the doors opened and Professor Hawking was met by his first guest.
|
"Hello again Stephen."
Stephen turned just in time to see a much older gentleman grabbing a small sandwich off the table and sitting across from him as if he had done it a million times before.
"Again?" The familiar drone of Stephen's chair-voice responded quizzically to the use of the word. He had never met this man before in his life. He looked much older then his clothing gave away. A fairly typical graphic tee with a band Stephen didn't recognize and a pair of well worn blue jeans.
The man shook his head and smiled. "I keep forgetting this is the first time we met. Time travel is a tricky beast as we both are aware. Well will be aware I suppose." He set down the last half of the sandwich and crossed his arms over his chest. "This however will be the last time we meet, Stephen."
Unable to fully contain his curiosity Hawking responded quickly, "You speak as if we have met more then once. How many times have we met?" There was a to to process here. While he never thought anyone would actually show to this party, he was obviously mistaken. Even if someone had shown up he expected it to be some future prodigy wanting to pay respects to him, but this? This was nothing like his expectations.
The man pulls out a notebook and jots something down. "By my calculations, approximately 14, 15 counting this one. I have known you for a long time dear friend. But you will have barely known me by the time of my death." He settle back in his chair and took a sip from the champagne sitting before him on the table.
"Lets see the first time we met was when I was barely 18. I had been working as an intern at a tech company, which doesn't quite exist at this point. We were testing the possibilities of quantum teleportation at the time. Ground breaking stuff really." He took another sip before clearing his throat and continuing. "Turn a fairly routine test, the senior scientist had made some tweaks to test out some theory or other of his, and something went wrong. I was launched through what I can only describe as the most beautiful and nauseating wormhole I had ever imagined. I ended up here, in this room, on this very day. Scared and alone you were the first face I saw. I recognized you almost immediately. The history books spoke of you with reverence and awe. That's when it started to process. I had somehow ended up 256 years in the past."
Hawking's eyes widened just a tad, as much as they could anyway with his condition. "Two hundred and fifty-six years? What has happened between now and then?"
The man chuckled a bit as if responding to a joke only he knew. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you. I wasn't what you would call a smart kid. I failed out of most of my classes and only got that internship because my dad worked for the board. I was out of my depth, but I was useful for menial tasks. Either way, when I arrived here you greeted me with the same understanding I have come to love. I was stuck here. So we began to work. Me trying to remember everything I could from the lab and what we were doing, you filling in the blanks with equations and number I will never understand in a million years. For five years we worked tirelessly trying to replicate the technology that brought me here."
Sitting back the man sighed as he recalled the years, "Finally, we had a prototype, something that theoretically should work. We tested it, and well. It worked, only a little too well. One moment I was standing in our lab we built. The next, I was here. In this very room, at this exact time. It took ages for me to be able to explain to the Stephen I knew everything that had happened as I still tried to wrap my head around the fact that you knew none of it. Finally though, I was able to explain myself again. So we tried again, five years of more work and the test, succeeded again. I was back to this time and place. It seems as if I can only get back to this moment. Like the universe won't have it any other way."
The story was shocking, what kind of time travel anomaly would account for this kind of behavior? Hawking's mind was alight with hypothesis and possibilities before the man lifted his hand.
"I know that look in your eye Stephen, don't concern yourself with it. I have spent the last 70 years stuck in this loop of the next 5 years. I want out. I doubt I would survive another 5 years to try again anyway." He stood and set the empty glass on the table before walking over to Stephen.
"But before I go, I want to thank you. For being the greatest man I have known, and for spending the last 70 years with me. Farewell, old friend." Leaning down he gave a hug around the various gadgets on Hawking's chair.
Then with a smile he turned away, wiping a tear from his eye as he strode very deliberately out of the building.
&#x200B;
\------------------------
Been a while since I've done one of these so I hope it isn't too terrible.... I've probably missed some stuff while proofreading so feel free to point it out to me.
&#x200B;
Hope you enjoyed!
|
“Professor Hawking, I’m glad to finally meet you in person.”
The man standing in the doorway was dressed in a rather complex suit of colors and accessories.
Hawking was silent. He’d known about the designated time for...visitors, and that this one was late. If the newcomer were then...why?
Suit man smiled.
“Linear time creatures. Don’t worry, no one else will know for a while and I’m going to need you to keep silent on this.”
Hawking vocalized.
“If you are who I think you are, you’re late.”
Suit Man laughed again.
“Your linear self couldn’t believe this any other way. I’m descended from you...in mind if not in body.”
Suit Man smiled warmly.
“I do not exist without the future made possible by you. Certain...others wanted to make sure you got your confirmation of things that are true and things that are not. I wanted you to know. I owe almost everything to you.”
—-
Conversation between the two went on until dawn started to break.
—-
Hawking finally understood the big picture and where he’d made his mark.
“Professor Hawking, I’d love to stay more but time is calling.”
Suit Man stood up to leave.
“I do have an alternate timeline if you hadn’t made the discoveries you did. I’ve got to warn you, it’s a lot more dull. I’ll share it with you after you cross the great ocean.”
| 2019-06-28T11:57:16 | 2019-06-28T11:18:46 | 49 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
|
"Your majesty.." The diminutive, four-legged creature said, bowing formally.
"Step forward, High Engineer Raxus. I assume you have made progress regarding the device?"
"Indeed. My team has finally replicated the software needed to access it; it contained *hours* of footage, your majesty..." He stated, before hesitating. He ran a claw through his antennae nervously.
"Raxus? What was this footage..?" The Queen queried.
"I-I apologise, your majesty. It is... rather disturbing. I have barely slept, w-we've been analysing it since yesterday morning.." The High Engineer continued.
"Show me, please." The Queen asked firmly.
"Yes, at once, your majesty." Raxus bowed again, gesturing to an assistant behind him. A button was pressed on a controller, and a huge screen in the royal war room flared to life.
"Ok, ok... we-" A grown man on screen started, but paused to giggle with childish glee. "We're- Dude, stand still!"
"I'm trying!" Another man replied, clad entirely in tin foil except for his rear, which was exposed. "You aren't dressed like a damn space hooker with his pants down up here..!"
"These are.. adult males, yes?" The Queen asked.
Raxus nodded.
"And what *are* they doing.." She said, squinting her upper row of eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Blast Off." The first man said, before giggling again and lighting a match. He held it up to a small rocket, attached to a zip line, and lit the fuse.
"..one small step for man.." The other, tinfoil-clad man started, as the rocket suddenly flared to life and sped up the line, aiming directly for the man's exposed ass.
"One giant leap for- Ow, GOD, *fuck*!!!" He was interrupted by the rocket pushing between his butt cheeks and planting itself firmly inside him, as the other man burst into raucous laughter.
"What in Z'hora's name..." The Queen uttered quietly, stunned.
"My thoughts exactly, your majesty.." Raxus agreed, equally disturbed by the footage, as the men on screen laughed uproariously and yelled profanity in equal measure, and the man with the rocket in his rear stumbled, falling off his platform, much to the enjoyment of his peers.
"That was his.. rectum, yes? From what you've told me it is an extremely vulnerable and painful area of the body.." She said, a fear in her voice that Raxus had never heard in decades of serving her.
"It is, your majesty.." He confirmed.
"A-and this.. this is a display of strength? A ritual the.. the warriors perform to prove themselves...? Much like how our royal guard smack themselves once on the chest when they are appointed to protect me.." She reasoned, trying to hide the distress in her voice.
"These must be some of Earth's finest warriors.." The Queen continued, in awe.
"Um... actually, your majesty, they are some of Earth's finest... jesters." Raxus corrected fearfully.
The Queen stared at him, mandibles open in shock. "Jesters...?! A-and.. that projectile, was that.. fire they used to propel it? How.. how barbaric, h-how unsafe!" She continued, her panic clear now.
"Fire, heat energy, and explosives are actually... quite common in Earth society, as a method of propulsion.. a-and even lighting. T-that's how their capsule reached our territory... explosives were used to launch it off-world initially." Raxus revealed, the High Engineer sounding just as disturbed as the Queen.
She stared at Raxus, then at the screen, staying silent for a few moments before she spoke with finality.
"Hide us, Raxus. Study all you can from their capsule, and then eject it from this world. Rescind the fleet into local orbit, focus the engineering corps' assets into further cloaking technology and increase the output of sensor jamming satellites tenfold. We must make sure these barbarians never find us." She decreed, as Raxus noted down her commands.
"At once, your majesty."
**Sixty-eight years earlier...**
"Hi, and welcome back to Good Morning LA!"
The gorgeous blonde woman beamed, before turning to another camera.
"Actor and producer Johnny Knoxville and his former Jackass co-stars recently crowdfunded over 6 million dollars to get the entire Jackass collection on SpaceX's latest capsule to be launched out of the solar system. In an initial press release, Knoxville said "it would be cool as s**t to show aliens Jackass". The launch is happening this afternoon. I'll be back soon for an exclusive interview with Johnny, but first, here's Rosita with the story of America's first dog martial artist.."
|
"We are here to conquer your planet please surrender without a fight!" exclaimed one of the aliens.
"Screw you this is Earth!" angrily yelled out by a redneck
The alien looks around in utter disbelief, within the second he fearfully asked, "Is this the place with humans?"
As a child walks up to the alien to ask him a question the alien quickly kicked away falling back onto his back. He was in the worst place a extra terrestrial being could be on Earth home of the Humans.
The alien in other distraught exclaims, "Oh-OHHHH GOD NO LORD OF NEBULA 6Ω NO PLEASE HELP ME!"
As the child walks up to touch him he realizes something in the kids hand its soft cuddly, and has rounded ears is this the dreaded weapon the alien will be killed with?
The kid looks up to the alien and asks in a chilled voice, "do you wanna play with mister fluffinkens?"
As the kid draws his weapon, and tries to hand it to the alien the alien screams on the top of his lungs, grabs his lunar pistol and blasts his own brains everywhere.
It turns out humans aren't actually the crazy ones, aliens just don't understand kids just like everyone else.
| 2017-03-06T01:24:08 | 2017-03-05T23:39:35 | 112 | 33 |
[WP] After a whole year full of catastrophes, it’s December 2020. Astronomers have noticed that entire constellations and star systems are vanishing from the sky, night after night. What ever is happening, it’s getting closer to us.
|
As at the beginning, the end, was quiet.
The riots, the fanaticism, the debates. All in the past and out of humanities system already. The world, after a sudden flaring, had calmed down in the last weeks.
The skies cleared up due to travel restrictions. Animals returned to urban centers. Rivers cleared up. The world as a whole held their breath and most everyone withdrew into a quiet place.
The word was they had 90 minutes left now. And then eight minutes of wondering, and then the end.
People that happen to live on the currently sunny side, touched by the suns rays, stand on their balconies, gardens, in the park. Close knit groups of families, best of friends and solitary strangers all trying to find someone to be close to.
There are spontaneous barbecues. Impromptu choirs carry through the air. Edgy jokes. Jittery talks. The weather is nice. The sun glitters off of every surface it could touch.
The ones on the dark side of the earth huddle in their homes, clutching each others in desperation; of the future and the collapse that happened all around them, far quicker succumbing to fear now, due to the simple fact that they know they'll never see the sun again.
At the edges of a Tibetan lamasery, the monks orderly arrange themselves on their west-facing courtyard, bow and close their eyes to the setting sun. They do not intend to open them again.
In Australia multiple roads into the outback see their first traffic jams. Many people want to be truly free in their last hour. Most of them didn't bring any water.
In Xinjiang an elderly couple sit next to each other. They're silently enjoying the company they've kept for 61 years. No word is spoken, but occasionally one of them smiles.
On a beach in Hawaii two high-school sweethearts ride their surfboards out into the waves. Over the Alps an EF2000 pilot pulls his ejector seat. A hobbyist glider in Spain lets himself be pulled up by a truck run by his wife. His excited six year old is sitting in his lap. None of them intend to touch the ground again.
In Boston a house of stranded sorority girls inject far too much. It's their first time. In London, a Gentleman's Club decides to revive the tradition of pistol duels. There are long held grudges here. In New York, a mother of two strangles her firstborn while the 3 month old lays in it's crib sleeping. Then she'll get to that one and then, her husband, whom she loves dearly, but who simply couldn't lay a hand on their children, will shoot first her than himself, quite dead in the head.
It's all deliberate.
There were the few lucky enough to be unbound. Private jets of the wealthy, trying to stay ahead of the dusk, knowing they'll lose the race eventually. Military planes with unknown trajectories and unknown orders roaring across the globe with undecipherable meaning. Then there were the few left on the ISS, suicidal volunteers, all of them. A rescue mission was planned and ready, but they declined as one.
It was noticed months before, but only a few days ago it hit emotional sync for them. Their traversal into earths shadow and subsequent reemergence, their one time circulation of earth and the amount of stars that vanished in that time period. It was roughly 92. One per Minute. It was like humanity, for one short moment, was finally in sync with the heartbeat of the universe. There would be papers written on this event for the next 100 years, if anyone were around to write them.
The sky is vast and endless, but that number, to all current calculations, will reach a breaching point in one more cycle. So they, a Japanese Botanist, an American Astrologist, a German Physicist, a Namibian Geologist and a Russian Biologist, stepped away from their running experiments and met in and near the Cupola. They took turns looking at home. They talk, some pray, there are hugs and tears and two of them get away from it all for a few minutes to copulate, before returning.
And then they crowd the window shortly before hitting the dark side and they know they won't see the sun rise again in their lifetime. The only thing to be heard is the almost silent whirring of machinery when the sun vanishes behind the horizon with a final flash.
Inbetweeners all.
In Maine a serial killer wakes up from a year long coma. He's affixed to his hospital bed. He's bored and pressing the button does nothing. He keeps pressing it. He's counting the beeps like he always does. He will be pressing and counting till the end.
In Venezuela an old lady takes her last breath in an abandoned retirement home. She dreams of that day at the beach 72 years ago. She remembers it like it was yesterday. The way the sun reflected of drops of sweat. She smiles before her heart gives out. She never knew any of this.
In Kenia twins are born to a dead mother. The doctor shortly thinks about injecting them with an unhealthy dose of Morphium, but decides against it. Instead he swaddles them, picks them up and takes them outside to look at the sky and breathe the fresh air. They'll never know any of this.
May they all be as blessed in what comes after, as they are in the Before.
The dogs slink into their comfy spots. The cats go strolling. The apes are apes. The birds chirp. The reptiles pick up the last rays. The amphibians are still too lazy to get out of the mud. And the fish? They swarm.
And one final ray of sunshine hits the earth. It hits somewhere beautiful and is deeply appreciated by everything around to see it.
Edit: spelling/ grammar
|
"well, this is utter shit."
Samhail, God of the Ocean Sky muttered as he paced around the planetarium, eyeing the universe. His universe. What started out as an ever evolving painting of life had finally begun eating itself. And on top of that, his pet Glorff had shat itself right in the middle of the room.
"every time. Every fucking time..."
His words echoed round the immense space to no-one in particular.
"I turn my back for one second, and not only does earth sprout a new cancer, but they can't even read the signs! No matter how many gentle nudges, appearances, warnings, and threats, they always end up back in the same spot. It's not like these things were difficult to overcome if they just worked together...
Gabbie?
Well, say something Gabbie. Please?"
A tall luminescent, four leggeded being wearing a very large beanie covering most of its head - or perhaps, her head - stepped out from her little corner where she had been preoccupied with an asteroid.
"Fuck it. You might do well just to start it all over again."
Samhail, God of the Ocean Sky hesitated for a moment. He rested his triangular head over his elongated hands, thinking...
"but... There were good people, weren't there?"
No response. Gabbie was gawking, fixated by a black hole...
"Gabbie?"
A glance up, and then a long pause; her fingers weaved between space rocks above her head.
"yes. There were some."
Samhail, God of the Ocean Sky, Lord of the Sacred Paints and friend to most (among other exhaustive titles) reached into the brown rucksack hanging from a hairsteing slung over his shoulder, and pulled out a large black curtain. It seemed endless, until he drew it out to the length of the room.
He fluffed it once, then again.
Preparing the final curtain.
"well, maybe those ones can have a second chance."
| 2020-03-24T04:08:25 | 2020-03-24T02:56:39 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] Write a romantic comedy. Difficulty: both lovers are emotionally mature and have excellent communication skills
|
Bobby’s eyes widened in a mixture of shock and amusement, ‘Sorry, can you repeat that?’
Sally, his date, didn’t seem in the least bit fazed. She looked up from her food and stared directly at him, her dark eyes devoid of humour, and repeated. ‘It’s odd.’
Bobby sucked his teeth slightly annoyed at having to clarify himself. ‘Not that bit,’ he explained through gritted teeth, ‘the bit before.’
Sally, who had continued eating, looked up again, then her face broke into a smile as she understood. Bobby felt a tinge of lust as her dark curls bounced around her face when she began to laugh girlishly. ‘Sorry, yes of course.’ Her lips seemed pinker than usual. ‘I think I would rather just stay in with him than go on a date. It’s odd.’ She blushed, realising what she’d said. ‘Most dates…’ she stammered, ‘minus the ones with you, obviously.’
Bobby could feel all the lust he felt for her fall away. They’d only been on a few dates, but this was still a little hard to hear. He coughed uncomfortably, trying to find the words to carry on the conversation. ‘Why odd…’ He finally prompted.
She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘Well, I guess, really, it’s odd that I just want to hang out with my completely platonic male flatmate all the time. But, as I said, I guess my favourite thing to do is to sit on my couch, watch a movie, eat some pizza and drink a beer or two…’ she stopped herself, but Bobby knew the words she wanted to add; ‘with Damien’.
Bobby nodded slowly, now slightly bemused at the conversation. ‘Do you not think that, considering everything you've just said, you might consider him as more than just a platonic male flatmate?'
Sally stared back at him blankly. He could almost hear her brain working, the neurons madly firing trying to comprehend what he was insinuating. He sat up straight in his chair, composing himself, highly aware that he was essentially about to ‘cockblock’ himself. He spoke slightly slowly, trying to make sure she was keeping up. ‘Bearing in mind you are sat on a date, with let’s face it a very attractive and eligible man who fancies you, and you’re talking about him, I have a slight suspicion you might in fact be in love with him?’
Up until this point he’d assumed she was just hiding her feelings, but now, as he watched it dawn on her, he realised she’d just been oblivious to the whole thing. Her mouth fell open, somewhat comically, and she stared off into the distance, her eyes wide. He couldn’t help but laugh. She immediately came back into the room, and her face flushed red in embarrassment.
‘I’d… I just…’ she stuttered, her face bright pink. ‘I guess I should have realised. I think it just crept up on me.’
Bobby nodded in a compassionate sort of way. The damage was done, the date was over. He sighed wistfully and took up his fork to continue eating, ‘at least the food’s good’ he thought apathetically.
‘Everything ok here?’ Both Bobby and Sally’s heads shot up in shock to look at the waiter who had creeped up to the table unnoticed to them. Bobby smiled and nodded.
‘I’m in love with my best friend.’ Sally blurted out, a look of surprised horror on her face.
The waiter raised his eyebrows in a comical look of shock which quickly gave way to an odd sympathetic and yet encouraging smile. Awkwardly he gently patted her arm and said ‘good for you.’ He then walked away leaving Sally to process the information and Bobby to eat.
After some time, in fact just as Bobby finished his food and put down his fork, Sally seemed to wake up from her thoughts and stood up out of her chair.
‘I… I should tell him.’ Bobby nodded, now only half listening as he started to survey the dessert menu. ‘He deserves to know.’ Bobby nodded again, not looking up from the menu until he became aware of the silence than had fallen between them. When he did he saw she was sat back down and staring at him sympathetically. He felt a jolt of irritation, and he put his menu down to stare a little harshly back at her. ‘I must be the worst date you’ve ever had. I’m so sorry.’
He could hear the emotion in her voice, he sighed irritably but his expression softened slightly. ‘Do I like you? Yes. Did I think we may have a future? Maybe. Do I want to be in love with someone who’s in love with someone else entirely? No way. It wouldn’t have been very good if I’d gone on to fall in love with you and then you’d realised, would it? I’d rather hear it now than when we were just about to board a plane to a new home. Or on our wedding day. Or at the birth of our first child…’ She raised her eyebrow. ‘Ok, too far, but you catch my drift. I’d much rather get it all out in the open, and just let you run off into the sunset with him now, rather than be ‘that guy’ who gets in the way and ends up cast as the jerk despite the fact I’m actually just the guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time on a date with a woman who isn’t emotionally intelligent enough to work out when she’s in love with someone despite the fact, from what you’ve told me, she spends pretty much every waking second of every day either with him or, at the very least, thinking about him...’ He took a deep breath, it was a sore subject, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to point out to a date that things weren’t exactly ‘on track’ towards a healthy emotional entanglement. She continued to stare at him blankly. He rolled his eyes. ‘So no, it’s not the worst date I’ve ever been on.’
She looked a little relieved, and nodded.
They sat awkwardly for a moment before Bobby pointed towards the door and said the most whimsical thing he could think ‘go to him…’ She mumbled something about paying half of the bill, put some crumpled notes on the table beside her half eaten meal, and left.
Bobby rolled his eyes, and picked up the menu once more. Just as he’d decided he would stick to coffee, he heard a gentle, lady-like cough. He put down his menu to see an attractive female sat opposite him. Like Sally, her eyes were dark, but these had a sultriness to them that replaced Sally’s innocent, almost girlish, look.
‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing…’
Bobby gestured that he didn’t mind. ‘Are you here alone?’
‘I wasn’t, but I am now.’ She smiled again, this time a little mischievously. ‘My date had an unhealthy fixation with his work friend that I felt he should explore before we pursued anything.’
Bobby laughed knowingly. ‘So he’s gone to find her to confess his love?’
She laughed again, ‘him… and no, I think he’s gone to be alone and process his newly realised sexuality.’
She smiled broadly and extended a slender hand. ‘I’m Olivia Johnson. I’m not in love with any of my friends, have no irregular feelings towards my dad and have no exes in the closet other than one who ‘ghosted’ me a few years ago who I would probably still punch if I saw him now. I am emotionally available and find you, upon first impressions, incredibly attractive.’
Bobby obligingly took her hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘I’m Bobby Holden. I have no sexual urges for men, my mother was a perfectly lovely human but I don’t want my girlfriend to be anything like her and I would, one day, like a wife and a couple of kids to keep me out of trouble. I am emotionally available and I find you very attractive indeed.’
They sat staring lustfully at each other, until they noticed the waiter stood between them. He looked from one to the other and he blurted out, 'You're both completely insane.'
|
*Was this it?*
Ahmed let out a deep sigh. As the CEO of Jhelum's #1 stamp factory, he was the wet dream of every Pakistani mother. Just the last week he had been approached by 14 of them. To be sure, some of their daughters were quite nice. But they all seemed to miss something. Something he couldn't quite grasp.
"You must be crazy," Muhammad said. "I mean, look at this one." His best friend picked up a letter from the pile with a photo attached. "If this girl doesn't get your stamp of approval, you are out of your mind."
Ahmed stroked his beard as if in consideration, but he had already rejected her. He wasn't looking for a girl with his stamp of *approval*. He was looking for the girl with the stamp ... of his *heart*.
"Ahmed," said Muhammad. "We've been friends now for, what, 20 years? You keep turning down girls I get rejected by even in my dreams. What's your problem?"
"Unrealistic beliefs and expectations derived mostly from Bollywood movies combined with a deep-seated fear not of ending up alone, but of ending up with in an otherwise perfect relationship with the feeling of being alone."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"So you, uh, want to go catch a movie or something?"
They were walking through the market on their way holding hands, as is perfectly normal for Pakistani male friends, when Muhammad suddenly stopped.
"Ahmed," he said, short of breath. "Look."
In front of them was a woman walking alongside a goat on a leash. Her beauty seemed absurd, as if she were a mirage. Everything around her lost its glow. Then her almond eyes met Ahmed's. And when she smiled, he felt as if he'd been stripped naked by a divine force.
"Excuse me!" said Muhammad. "My friend here was wondering something."
She looked at him, obviously curious, and stopped. "Oh?" she said.
Rather than an awkward stumbling, Ahmed spilled the beans: "I find you very beautiful and I have this feeling that I want to get to know you. Actually, I think you might be the woman I've been looking for all my life."
"That's very sweet," she said, "but I'm married."
"Oh," said Ahmed. "Well, then I guess we'll just both go back to doing whatever we were doing rather than engage in some flirty banter evolving into forbidden love and whatnot."
"Yeah that sounds reasonable."
"Sure does," said the goat.
Ahmed and Muhammad let out a simultaneous cry of surprise.
"Y-You can--"
"Talk? Why yes. I'm a goat and I can talk. I'm not offended that you are surprised. You'd expect that when an animal such as myself starts talking and that's not something you've heard before."
"Yes, I guess it's really just the appropriate reaction given the circumstances."
"Sure. It's like when you lick a stamp for the first time and it tastes funny. There's nothing like it, and so you'd be surprised at first."
"Funny you should mention that," said Ahmed. "I'm the CEO of a stamp factory."
"That's a funny coincidence."
"How so?"
"I lick stamps for a living."
"That *is* a funny coincidence."
"Say," said the goat. "how do you feel about going out for a coffee? Not to brag, but coffee was first discovered by goats."
"That's certainly an interesting proposal. I know I should be concerned about the fact that a relationship between a man and a goat would technically be considered beastiality, but I'm confident in my sexuality and I'm willing to give this a try without a series of inner conflicts."
"Great."
"Great."
Suddenly, Ahmed heard the unmistakable sound of smooching. Muhammad and the girl were busily at work.
"Muhammad!"
"What?" he said, his tongue still down her throat.
"This woman is married."
"Yes," said Muhammad," but we've decided to elope.
"Why, Muhammad, that's ... just splendid. I wish you both the best. I hope everything works out between you two. Like not getting killed by her husband or anything like that."
"Thank you Ahmed. That means a lot. And you and the goat as well. It's weird, but I hope you'll find what you are looking for."
Ahmed stared into the goat's bulging eyes. "You know, screw the coffee. Would you like to check out my stamp collection?"
The goat laughed. "You're such a card!"
They lived happily together but not for very long because a goat's average lifespan is just between 15-18 years.
| 2016-09-21T02:40:06 | 2016-09-21T00:51:58 | 1,038 | 549 |
[WP] The superhero stared at the supervillain. "I need your help...they have my daughter."
|
The man dropped his hands, purple black wisps of energy fading and dark shadows receded, revealing a plain looking person with a look of confusion on his face. “You hounded me for days, broke into my sanctum, to say that?”
The woman in sliver bright armor nodded, hands normally wielding sword and shield with confidence wrung each other with worry. Her hair, usually a mane of burning fire, fell in disheveled locks about her face. Her patrician features pinched with fear, blue eyes filled with tears instead of righteous fervor. Solar Knight was usually a paragon of superheroes, an immaculate presence that radiated the heights of humanity. The woman that stood before him was a far cry from that normal visage.
DarkSoul was not a hero. He wasn’t an antihero either. He didn’t fight to defend humanity, to uphold the tenants of society. Instead he did what he wanted for knowledge, for personal gain, to push the limits of reality as it was. While he didn’t want to rule per se, he didn’t want to serve either so that gained him the label of super villain. More often than not he had fought Solar Knight and her caste of friends and allies, thus his confusion as to why she had asked for his help. “You want...*my*...help?”
A mute nod was her response. He almost snorted at the inanity yet paused before he did, her grief was too real. Her distress almost physically palpable. “How am I supposed to help you? I’m sure your friends in the League or whatever you call yourselves would be more than happy to.”
She shook her head, anguish radiating from her. “Some can’t. They have deals. Agreements. They won’t break them to help me.”
That gave him pause. “Who exactly has her? Your daughter. “
Desperate eyes flicked back and forth, as if watching for anyone listening. He couldn’t resist a snort of amusement at that. “There is no one else here. I check it routinely for spies and eavesdroppers. It was quite safe before...” he waved an irritated hand at the broken wall where she had made her entrance.
She winced, an expression of chagrin that he had never seen before. “Xanthar Corporation. They have her.”
His lips curled, teeth bared in a snarl at the name. “How in the worlds did they get your daughter?”
She fell to her knees, her reserve finally breaking as she poured forth the story. How the corporation under a guise of medical help and watching loved ones instead turn them into hostages. How the corporation can force super powered beings to do their bidding, protect their interests, sabotage the competition. They had practically kidnapped Solar Knight’s daughter and now threatened to harm her if she didn’t comply.
Rage simmered deep within him, his body unconsciously emitting wisps or inky purple smoke. He stared down at the super hero, having reached her last resort and his voice barely mellowed. “Why should I help you?”
The silence between them was louder than thunder, lasting for an eternity. Her voice was a tiny whisper that barely traveled the space between them. “Because you’ve never hurt innocent people. You’ve never hurt children. I thought you would help me...” Her hands trembled as she held up a picture of a smiling woman and a smaller version of herself within.
When she looked up again the plain man was gone replaced by a figure covered in coils of dark shadows. He held the picture in his hands, and she didn’t know when he took it. Silver flames flickered where eyes would be and when he spoke the voice echoed upon itself, as if several speakers said the same words slightly out of sync. **I will rescue your daughter. Stay here. Do not answer your communicator.** A flash of light and the figure was gone, streams of smoke and shadows dissipating in the wind.
The next few hours felt like an age. Solar Knight clutched the communicator as it erupted in hails and messages. The guards and the local police near the Xanthar Corporation headquarters called for super hero help. Her hands shook and she desperately wished to answer when her closest friends on the League called for aid. She almost dropped it when the president’s voice hissed, demanding her assistance. She screamed when she heard her daughter scream, and her face paled when the roars of the president ended wetly, her daughter’s sobbing still able to be heard.
After moments of radio silence her eyes caught a flicker in the air. The air seemed to split and dark energy spilled forth, a ragged shape falling to the ground. The smoke faded revealing the man holding her daughter, letting the wriggling girl go when she saw her mother. The two collided, sobbing hysterically and DarkSoul watched the reunion with barely a change in his demeanor.
“Oh thank you so much!” Solar Knight cried, squeezing the small girl to her body. “W-What can I do to repay you?”
“Do not tell anyone what I have done. Do not let anyone take your daughter away again.” DarkSoul swept past the joyous pair, deeper into his sanctum. He stopped at a door and barely looked back. “Take care of her.”
|
A grin came over his face as he recognized that voice. All 4 of his limbs were immobilized and a strange helmet-like device was locked over his head, ready to deliver mind-numbing electric shocks at the touch of a button.
"How hilarious! The great Walking Marvel, pleading with me for my help."
"Please. I don't have much time! I can negotiate for a lighter sentence! You're the only one who's able to track them!"
"Remember Anton, you're the one who put me in here." His eyes were burning with hatred and vengeance, barely blinking. His grin was gone and so was his mocking tone as he fixed his gaze on his nemesis.
"You left me with no choice! You were...I don't really have time for this! I really need your help! I'll do anything! I can get you out of here!"
"So you've come to realize that you'll do anything for your own family too?" His voice was devoid of emotions and deathly calm, with the eerie silence sending the Walking Marvel down to his knees.
"Look, I'm sorry! I didn't know! I swear! Please! I really need your help right now!"
"Still holding on to your blind faith and that seemingly last glimmer of hope? Goodbye Anton. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."
He had never felt so hopeless, with the weight of his guilt slowly crushing him as he caught a glimpse of a faint smirk.
| 2017-12-17T11:49:46 | 2017-12-17T09:09:00 | 293 | 39 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
The Grim Reaper tracked down the rightful owner, or maybe the rightful property, of the hourglass. He took a moment to consider whether the human owns the hourglass or the hourglass owns them. After all, can something that controls your fate really be called *your* property?
Wondering about the curious case of ownership, Death got caught up in his thoughts, floating in them, as he wasn't used to hurrying and fighting for time. Thus, it wasn't until a bark interrupted him that he remembered why he came to this house in the first place. He traced the outline of the house with the holes which could have housed eyes somewhere in the past, and took a step forward.
However, he heard another bark and stopped in his tracks to examine what is going on. Just across the street, a boy was playing with a dog. It looked healthy an in its prime, wagging its tail to and fro, barking happily and jumping in the air. Death looked at the hourglass in his hand, no, more like looked *through* it, and wanted to furrow the eyebrows which have been denied to him for all eternity. He stole a glance at the happy pair - a boy and his dog. He felt something for a second, maybe a wave of remorse, maybe just a shiver down his spine while readying his scythe.
"Lucy, catch!" laughed the boy all of a sudden, throwing a twig to his animal friend.
Grim Reaper sheeted his scythe. He knew who the hourglass belonged to, so why hasn't he acted yet? He wasn't sure. The hourglass sparkled in his hand, laughing at him and mocking his hesitation. Grim chattered his teeth angrily as a response, scolding the hourglass without saying a word.
When he looked up again, the boy was a man. Death twitched with surprise, not wanting to admit he spent at least solid thirty years chattering his teeth at an inanimate hourglass. It would be very embarrassing to say the least. Nevertheless, though, Lucy was still up and running, playing with the man as if no time passed at all. He had to act now. The dog has been alive for He knows how long, most likely at least for one whole generation before this boy. He wasn't completely sure, but he could sense Lucy's soul is old, very old. Death, as was his duty, put the hourglass in the right position, deciding against taking Lucy by force, for he couldn't bring himself to do so after learning her name.
The man hugged Lucy and smiled. Death thought he looked happy and tried to smile on the man's behalf, failing miserably without muscles or lips which would surely help him in producing any sign of emotion. He shook his head and took his leave. He was happy he restored order in the world, although he did not do exactly what he was meant to. Rules must sometimes be broken for one to come to the best outcome.
Sobs cut through the air. Quite puzzled, Grim Reaper looked over his shoulder, prepared to lecture the sobbing being about the price of disturbing his peace, despite fully knowing whoever was making the sound couldn't hear him. He froze. It was the man - he was holding onto his dog, sobbing uncontrollably, one could say he was ugly crying. A little baby waddled towards him, Grim estimated it must be three or four years old but he was never good with numbers. The man took the baby's hand, his crying bearded face a contrast to the sweet naivete and bliss of early childhood right next to him.
"It's okay, Thommy, as long as we have each other, we'll be okay," the man told himself more than he told Thom, while Thomas touched Lucy's beautiful golden mane, "You like her, son?" he chuckled, "don't worry, she'll protect you, just as she protected me through my whole childhood. You may not have a mother anymore, but you'll sure as heck always have little lioness here."
Death started to feel like he would rather be somewhere else, it was awkward. He could feel the gaze of the hourglass judging him, craving to find his soul in the undead body and see it, know it and condemn it. He quickly crouched and knocked the hourglass down. He *did not* like the look the hourglass gave him right after that.
"Don't look at me like that," he sighed, spreading his hands. "I know, I know," the hourglass laid unmoving, "if you want to kill the dog so bad, why don't you just do it yourself? That's right, you can't because you are just a stupid hourglass!" echoed his shout as he kicked it, frustrated.
Grim Reaper looked at the street now abandoned. Great, now he had to find the dog again. "This is all your fault," he muttered, "you're going with me," he grabbed the hourglass, still in the horizontal position.
It took him two weeks to find the dog for his power weakened as time passed without him fulfilling his duty. He did not recognise the grown man in his fifties. Initially, Grim assumed it was the man who was once a boy, until he saw the nameplate on the man's jacket. "Thomas Jones" it read. Lucy was sleeping while being petted by Thomas.
Grim didn't like the situation, no he didn't like it at all. He took a tour around the house he was in to clear his mind and noticed two teens playing on some bizarre techno machine in one of the rooms. It was probably their chamber, or at least that is what the reaper deducted.
"There is nothing we can do now," he informed the hourglass and left no room for argument. He felt the shiver again, this time clearly. It was his dead heart, beating for the first time since the beginning of the universe.
&nbsp;
---
&nbsp;
Death watched as Lucy watched over the family for hudrends and hundreds of years, making hard times less hard and mournful times less mournful. Death's power was weak and left him in shambles but he didn't mind, his heart beat to the rhythm of Lucy's barking and his thawed soul fluttered to the beat of the family's happiness. And then, when all of the family vanished as their hourglasses struck midnight, Grim Reaper himself petted Lucy. "Good girl, I am proud of you," said he and took her. His power strengthened as Lucy's soul disappeared into his hand and Death felt the biggest joy as Lucy's last emotion overtook his own.
|
"Oh my", Said Death. Underneath the very large dark desk he found a life.
He picked up the dusty vessel and turned it around in his bony hands. One of the downsides of not having skin, he decided, was that it was a bother getting dust off placards.
This was not good. Well, not that it was bad per say but most certainly embarrassing. What would the other Death's say?
He remembered how the community had snickered behind the spine of Death of central Europe. Pop culture today was still rich with the myth of immortal creatures hailing from the region. It wasn't really his fault though, even the best of skulls grow confused with age. And there had been a lot more lives to keep track of at the time.
Why had he not noticed one missing? He looked through his lives every day and there was none missing from the library.
He double checked the large century glass on the large desk just to make sure he hadn't overslept. Sleep was a vague phrase for someone that isn't in need of it but it is difficult to break the lingual habits no matter how long since you were a human.
The time seemed in order so the life he found had been under there for a very long time. Skeletons produce very little dust after all and he was adamant that the horses did not enter the cottage.
"I shall have to deal with this right away I suppose", he sighed in such a way as only an undead skeleton could. More of the general gesture of a sigh but still audible.
It was strange that STYX hadn't noticed it. After a well known case of a mummy and then Transylvania they had been forced to keep the paperwork in three copies. The light purple colored one for the local Death, the bleak daffodil colored one for the soul to travel with and then of course the watered out coffee colored one sent in to STYX.
He looked at the roman numerals on the life he had found. In disbelief he went to fetch a large book.
He placed the book on top of the one that were already on the desk and looked through the pages looking for the number. One of the downsides of not having skin, he decided, was flipping though paper pages in a large black book.
He found the number on one of the pages and looked at the text accompanying it. He would have raised her eyebrows had she had any.
The text simply said: Current location city of Goldau in the community of Arth, canton of Schwyz, Switzerland. Last relocation September 2, 1806.
"Oh boy, the landslide", he said while grabbing his scythe and quickly walking out to the stables, "This one is going to be Very annoyed with the delay."
At least he now knew why no stories about an immortal creature had surfaced from his division.
40,000,000 cubic meters of material takes a long time to dig oneself out of.
| 2018-10-03T07:33:11 | 2018-10-03T06:25:35 | 422 | 110 |
[WP] Humanity finally makes contact with aliens. They are about 30 light years away, and their civilization is approximately as developed as ours - they do not have means of interstellar transport. We can only engage in two-way conversation with them using messages 30 years apart.
|
For almost as long as humans have had radios, we have screamed into the void.
The year is 2023, and four hours ago the void screamed back.
Researchers at the SETI Institute (or Search for ExtraTerrestrial Intelligence Institute) were just streaming in for work and starting to review last night's anomaly logs. Normally those logs are mostly empty, as gigabytes of radio receiver data are filtered down by banks of PCs to a few lines of timestamps. Not today.
A bleary eyed technician peers at the datasheet, and decides this is above their paygrade. They find the nearest guy with a PhD and hand them the printout.
Normally, when SETI finds an interesting anomaly it takes a panel of experts years to decide if it's significant or not. Anything from unlicensed hobbyist radio operators to fluctuations in the upper atmosphere can get flagged. This anomaly is confirmed within 24 hours.
The defining characteristic of the transmission was that it was continuous- it was still being picked up, and it kept changing.
The transmission, cleaned up and printed out, looked more like Morse code than the normal celestial radio signals.
It started in a way that was familiar. .-..-...-.....-.......-...........- and so on. Listing out prime numbers, in order. It reached 43, at which point the entire message repeated, twice.
Then it started on squares of numbers. .-....-.........-, reaching 21 squared before repeating, twice.
From there, it rapidly got more complex.
Normally, such surprising results wouldn't be announced for months, as they were analyzed, inspected, and debunked or confirmed by committees on increasingly esoteric subjects.
Unfortunately, the whole message was much stronger than anyone would have expected, to the point where some of the larger civilian receivers could pick it up.
The experts had to rush an announcement, before speculation and conspiracy theories could take hold.
It isn't uncommon for researchers to give a press conference. It is, however, rare for people to watch them. They watched this one. A series of experts in white buttoned shirts and ties sweating under the cameras formally announced the discovery of intelligent extra-terrestrial life.
The press went wild.
The normally cash strapped SETI project suddenly had more money than it knew what to do with, as crowdfunding campaigns surpassed their goals in hours, and US government funds were redirected into the institute.
Within 48 hours of initial discovery, the signal had switched from universal mathematical patterns to an unknown language. Within 1 week of discovery, we were starting to translate it from the clues in the build up to the language switchover.
The transmissions originated from a previously undiscovered exo-planet 39.4 lightyears from Earth, with a thin oxygen-based atmosphere, in a binary star system.
It was sent by carbon based lifeforms that, based on their own descriptions, were around 2 meters tall and resembled giant starfish with 7 arms, or in some cases 8 arms.
Their number system was base 7, and their lifespans averaged around 160 Earth years, though despite their long lifespans they were capable of breeding like rabbits.
We don't know what they called themselves or their planet- being unable to translate the associated sounds for their language- but after a news commentator jokingly referred to the aliens as "Starmen from planet Spacia", the names caught on and soon appeared in official documents.
Almost immediately it was proposed we send a response. That we build the largest transmitter we could afford, and reply in kind.
Experts on the internet and the news pointed out the issue- Spacia was 39.4 lightyears from Earth. Any message we could send would take almost 40 years to arrive.
And any message we receive is 40 years out of date.
Humans had assumed that if alien life was out there, it would be nothing like us. We had searched first for carbon based life, and gradually widened our horizons, looking for traces of the purely theoretical silicon-based life, for beings that communicated silently with body language, for massive hiveminds spanning planets.
It turns out the cynics were right- Human nature is universal.
The transmission, which has been coming in continuously since it was first detected, is a non-stop narration of Starmen society, as it was 40 years ago.
News bulletins and history lessons were interspersed with sports results and casual chatter.
In one notable segment, the transmission recounts what the operator, who the SETI nicknamed Maurice, had for dinner.
After a while, we came to understand just why so much random chatter was being transmitted 39.4 lightyears at us- bureaucracy.
It turns out the government funding for the Starmen transmission project had a mandate for continuous transmission, regardless of if there was anything to say. The local politicians didn't want to think their money was going to waste apparently. At least, this was the reason according to Maurice, who was keeping the transmission running by ranting about local politics, and after that rant ran out of steam, sports.
7 years after we started receiving the transmission, we learned the Starmen had successfully colonized a neighboring planet- equivalent to if humanity had colonized Mars.
Humans worldwide celebrated with the Starmen- albeit 40 years late- by cracking open champagne bottles as we heard accounts of the bravery of the first interplanetary colonists. This new planet was quickly named "Spacia 2" by an oft-complained about internet poll.
This colonization had an unexpected boon- we were able to pick up the communication signals used between Spacia and Spacia 2 all the way from Earth. Before we could only listen to the official transmissions about Maurice's political positions and what Maurice thought of the weather, but now we could listen in on the entire Starmen internet as information was transmitted back and forth between Spacia 1 and 2.
This was a convenient side effect of the fact that Starmen inter-planetary communication transmitters were significantly more powerful than they need to be (another point of politics Maurice had strong opinions on).
Soon after, construction was completed on the first Earth transmitter capable of transmitting to Spacia. We decided to reply in kind after all, with our own constant stream of commentary, starting with a greeting, a guide to translating the Starman language to English, and the location of Earth in the universe.
Earth society was obsessed with Starmen culture, and this was only exacerbated when we started receiving their internet transmissions.
Online forums shared Starmen memes and Starmen were included in children's books.
In our transmissions we included advice to the Starmen on everything from social crises to government budget balancing. Our advice would arrive 80 years late of course, by which time it would be irrelevant, but it made us feel better to send it, and we thought it would endear us to them.
In one notable segment, we transmitted the results of a global poll on who Earth thought should win the Starmen equivalent of "Dancing with the Stars". When we received the final episode a week later, there were celebrations in the streets after the Earth favorite made the finals, even though they didn't win it all.
When the transmission ended 13 years after it had began due to budget cuts to help fund peacekeeping efforts on Spacia 2, Earth mourned that it would never again hear Maurice's opinions on how scandalous the younger generation is with the latest fad of robes that don't cover the 8th tentacle, and how it shouldn't be allowed.
The inter-Spacian transmissions continued, however, and enthusiasts were overjoyed when Maurice later took up angrily blogging.
Earth politics got mired in Starman politics, as Earth political party platforms included positions on everything from the Spacia 1 defense budget to the need for increased funding of higher Starman education. Of course, the winning party had no power to affect Starmen society, but the winning parties would broadcast their advice to Spacia, where it will eventually arrive, 80 years late.
In one major scandal, an Earth politician brought up crime rate disparity between 7-armed Starmen and 8-armed Starmen in a debate. Many Earth commentators later pointed out that the disparity was in actuality a disparity between the crime rate of Spacia 1 and Spacia 2, which bled into the race statistics as Spacia 2 had a significantly higher 8-armed Starman concentration, while others blasted the scandal as political correctness gone mad.
Part 2 below.
|
We know that the aliens have a language similar to ours. There are about 20 alien words for which we have no equivalent in our language, and these are translated into English by translators. However, the aliens' grammar is very different from ours, and their language is more complex than ours. The aliens speak at a rate of 1.5 words per second. We speak at a rate of 4 words per second. The aliens use their own system of punctuation (not unlike ours).
We sent a message containing all the information we have about our civilization: history, society, technology, etc. It will take them 30 years to decode the message and understand it. We also sent a message with an introduction, explaining why we sent this message, what we hope to achieve by sending it, and so on. This message has to be translated into their language, and will take another 30 years for them to decipher.
We sent another message containing a request: "We would like to know what you think of us. Please send us your thoughts, opinions, feelings, and observations about us." They can respond to this message within 3 months. We can only receive the response after another 30 years.
The aliens reply with a message of their own, in which they explain their own society and culture. They have a written language, and they tell us that they use this language to communicate. They also have a spoken language, but they do not use this language to communicate with other species. Instead, they use their written language to communicate with each other. They use the spoken language to communicate with other species.
We ask the aliens to write down their thoughts about us. We provide them with a written message to use as a guide, and tell them that they should not copy or reproduce it. We ask them to write freely, without thinking about what we want to hear. We tell them that we will translate their message into our language and send it back to them. We tell them that if they do not like what they wrote, they can simply discard the message and start over again. If they are uncomfortable communicating about humans, they can write about other species that they have already met, or about things in their environment - animals, plants, weather, etc. We explain that this exercise is designed to help us get to know the aliens better.
We waited 30 years for the aliens' reply. During this period, the aliens' civilization continues to develop. Now they have an interstellar capability, and can travel between stars much faster than we can. They also have an effective method of time travel - by which they can return to the past. This technology was developed in response to an ecological threat, but it has become widespread among the aliens now. The aliens tell us that they can communicate at speeds approaching the speed of light. They couldn’t transmit data more quickly than this because their transmission medium was once limited (they can only communicate through electromagnetic waves), so the maximum rate at which they spoke with us was 1.5 words per second. However, this limitation is overcome by using the technology of time travel - which enables them to speak with us even if the signal travels at speeds approaching the speed of light.
We read the alien's written account of themselves and their history, culture and society. There was no attempt to conceal anything - the aliens told us everything that they had in their memory, including their mistakes and shortcomings. They described their own language, their social organization, and so on. They also discussed many issues related to their interactions with other races: trade relations, political alliances, cooperation in space exploration and military operations, and so on. They explained all of these things in great detail, in their own words, and in their own way. The aliens did not hesitate to talk about subjects that we might find disturbing or uncomfortable to discuss, such as the fact that they use their knowledge of time travel to send signals into the past in order to prevent ecological disasters that they would otherwise have been unable to stop. They even mentioned their nuclear weapons. The aliens told us that they are aware of how sensitive our planet is to radioactive particles, and that they do everything they can to avoid emitting radioactivity.
The aliens said that they don't like to hurt anyone, but they sometimes need to protect themselves from threats that cannot be avoided. They also explained how their biological and physiological makeup makes them more susceptible than humans to radioactivity, and how they manage this. We didn't find all of this information to be pleasant reading, but we found it interesting. After all, the aliens told us everything that they know. They were honest and transparent with us. They didn't try to hide anything.
The aliens told us a lot about themselves, and we learned a lot about them. They are very curious about us as well - they want to learn what we are like, and they would love to get to know us better.
~ u/fuludude
| 2022-04-18T16:58:09 | 2022-04-18T15:05:17 | 181 | 19 |
[WP] You taught yourself Morse code. You also realize that the birds at your window won't stop tapping out "It's coming".
|
I befriended a crow I simply named "Crow."
Crow showed up at my bedroom window seal one morning once the sun peered over the horizon. He cawed relentlessly until I looked up from my pillow. The bird leaned towards me and pecked the window.
I gave him the finger.
*Noted*, I imagined Crow thought as he tilted his head. He flew away.
I looked over at my digital clock and saw its display flashing 2:00 AM. The power clearly went out sometime throughout the night and reset every electronic appliance in the house.
"Lucky," I whispered to myself. The bird's actions were like an alarm. Without him, I would have overslept and likely missed the first day of marching band practice.
\-. -.-- .- .-. .-.. .- - .... --- - . .--.
Crow showed up the next morning around the same time cawed once again. The sound of his voice was more upsetting. I gave him another sleepy eyed look to shut him up. Again, it tapped on my window. It had a rhythm to it; the bird looped the pattern.
I rose from my bed and readied myself for the second day of band practice. The bird remained near my window as I got dressed.
Before leaving my room, I looked at the bird and tipped an invisible hat to him.
"Thank you, and sorry about yesterday's gesture."
Less than an hour later, I was tuning my snare drum and performing warm up techniques. I started drumming the bird's unique beat.
"What's coming?" a voice behind me asked.
I turned around and saw Samatha's long pencil thin body towering over me. She held her trumpet next to her side.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"You're drumming a message in morse code."
"I'm doing what in what?" I asked.
"Morse code. It's a way to communicate through signal durations. I got bored over the summer and learned it. You keep spelling out 'help it's coming for us.'" Samantha said and smiled. "Kinda creepy! Drum another warm up pattern and let me decode it."
I raised an eyebrow and drummed a simple warm up exercise.
Samantha shook her head. "You're just giving me random letters now. Maybe we'll find a message another day." She shrugged and walked towards a group of other trumpet players.
\-. -.-- .- .-. .-.. .- - .... --- - . .--.
The next morning Crow showed up once again. This time, he brought part of his flock with him. A dozen of birds stood on my window with Crow in the center. He pecked the familiar pattern.
I looked beyond the birds and noticed storm clouds darkened the morning.
"What's coming for you?" I redirected my attention towards Crow.
In response, all the birds began to squawk in a panic as if each wanted to be heard.
Crow let out a loud shrill and silenced the others. He clicked out a different pattern.
I rushed to grab a pen and paper to notate the message. Once I gathered them, I returned to my bed room window.
A dark red flash appeared in the sky followed by an earsplitting sound shook the house. The event caused the flock scatter.
They did not return.
Marching band practice was cancelled due to the storm. I found Samantha at lunch sitting with the other trumpet players. I asked her to translate the pattern Crow told me that morning.
I tapped the message on the table with my pen.
"Do it again," Samantha asked.
I did.
"It's a gibberish word," she said. She took my pen and wrote the letters on my arm.
*NYARLATHOTEP.*
\-. -.-- .- .-. .-.. .- - .... --- - . .--.
Crow did not show up at my window the next day. In fact, no birds were seen nor heard. According to the news, every the bird capable of flight dodo bird themselves into extinction over night. Broadcasted radar clips showed millions of tiny dots rushing and disappearing into the nearest large body of water.
"Costal birds traveled dozens of miles into the Pacific or Atlantic Ocean before their wings failed to carry them further." One reporter said.
*Is that what happened to my buddy Crow? Did he dive bomb himself into the Atlantic Ocean? Or did he dive bombed in the Quabbin Reservoir?* I looked out my window and saw more stormy clouds than yesterday.
"In other news," the reporter continued. There have been sightings of a new weather-phenomenon. Meteorologist call it *black heart lighting*. Although they aren't sure of the cause, some are speculating that it can be due to climate change."
Just then, a dark crimson flash lit the sky in the near distance. I waited for the thunder to sound to follow but it didn't. Instead, I heard the infinite sky release a low yawn.
Something awakened in the clouds, and its size replaced the sunrise.
|
*Tap.*
*Tap, tap . . . tap, tap, tap.*
*Tap . . . tap, tap, tap . . . tap . . . tap, tap . . . tap.*
"Jack . . . are those birds using Morse Code?" His girlfriend asked, glancing over at the row of squawking birds on the sill outside the glass.
"Just ignore them," he said between grunts. Eyes closed, he was giving it all he had.
"It's Morse code though."
"Just ignore them. It's fine."
"Jack, they're freaking me out. I understand Morse code. Did you know that?" She asked.
"I didn't. Where'd you learn that?" He changed position and lifted one of her legs higher cradling the bend of it in the crook of his arm.
"That's not important. The birds keep tapping out the same ominous message over and over again."
"Really?" He didn't care, and she couldn't understand why.
"Jack," she snapped, slapping his shoulders. They keep repeating *It's coming. It's coming.* What's coming, and why does it sound so ominous?"
"Just--Damn it. Just ignore them," he pleaded. "They're just mocking birds."
| 2022-09-02T07:07:44 | 2022-09-02T07:07:37 | 73 | 25 |
[WP] "Well you managed to fucking do it. You slept through the apocalypse"
.
|
They all thought I was crazy!
*"There goes Uncle Joe again! Building a bunker in the backyard like some sort of loony."*
Well, I'll tell you what, even if you're not around to hear it any longer:
"I told you so! You ungrateful bastards!"
Could'a, should'a, would'a listened- but you didn't! Always telling me I was *crazy,* telling me to *loosen up a bit,* and *not worry so much!* Well, I guess I'm glad I didn't, though I'm still a bit sore in the cheek I didn't pressure you the other way. An old man like me shouldn't have to carry so much weight.
Loony uncle Joe... yeah, that's what they called me. Ungrateful jerks. Miss 'em now, though.
God damn, do I miss them now...
Maybe I was a bit loose between the ears, but it never hurt anyone to be prepared. I mean, honestly- what else was I going to spend the money on? Lattes? Fancy cars? Mexico-beach trips? Like I ever gave two shits and a piss about those! The old lady and I, we were birds of a feather. It was all about survival, adventure!
We wanted to get out there and explore, and when we were done exploring, we wanted to shut-in and survive. After the wife passed, the RV fell apart, and then the dog followed... I mean, it's not like I had much to keep me out of my routine. Maybe it was lonely, but I kept busy. That's part of the trick, keeping busy.
Surviving... it's something you struggle with if you don't find something to take your mind off it. You struggle, and keep finding another reason to move on. That's the hard part in my opinion: Finding those reasons.
Part of the trouble was that I never did fit into modern day America, or what was once modern day America; not very well anyways. See, I never wanted to chase that white picket fence theme. The working world was made of cardboard- the stock market was made of lies, and the only thing a man can really trust is a good woman, his own to two hands and a dog raised from birth.
You can't trust cats.
Swear to god, I tried. I really did. Those furry bastards just can't be trusted, remember that.
Right, right- yeah that last day was nothing special. I'd put up with the holidays, just like every year. The family had annoyed me to my last wit, and then I returned to my humble abode with the intention of hammering down half a bottle of scotch- just like every year. See, I was a man of habit back then. Real set in my ways- they'd worked well for me.
So just like every night, I went down to my basement after a glass of water at 9 o'clock sharp, leaving behind my creature comforts and the long since setting sun. I entered my comfortable, but unfurnished basement: Filled with hunting trophies, odds, and ends that greeted me with the scents of dust. I had so much in storage down there, things I just couldn't convince myself to give away. Old memories filed under unclassified categories, shoved in boxes and left to collect dust.
As always I tried my best to ignore them. Seems a shame now, I could have taken something to remember her by, kept at least one photo outside of memory. If there's any regret, it'll be that one to the end.
Bit of a downer for Ol'Joe, but what can you do? Ha-HA! Gotta keep up with it or it'll eat'cha alive from the inside out! Ain't nothin takin' a bite out of Joe though- Not yet!
Ha- Well from there, I walked up to my vault and activated the iris scanning combination lock. I opened the gate, and descended another ten feet to the bunker door, as that other shut behind me. From there I opened the double door airlock, resealing it each time- very important to remember to do, before finally went about locking myself in. I think at head height I was still around eighteen feet underground. It's total silence down there. Peaceful, calming, wonderful.
I can now tell you with experience, that a man truly can sleep through the world ending and not even notice.
I'll admit, I may have even gotten up late that next day. The world ended on a Saturday, and nobody thought to warn me about it, so I had no reason not to sleep in. I'd had a lot to drink prior to that case of shut-eye anyways, so it's difficult to lay the blame on anything but ignorance and stupor.
Anyways, as always a man of routine, the next morning when I woke, I turned off the air filter before heading back towards the airlock. It's important to save those- try not to use them too much, because they're god-damn expensive. They made them in Europe somewhere, good product. Swiss I think.
There used to be a lotta good products back in the day. Like Chocolate.
Man, I miss some quality chocolate. Swiss were great at that too.
And Cheese-its. If we're talking serious, I'd kill a man for a box of cheese-its and a jar of Tabasco, but that's got nothing to do with Europe or the mother-fucking-swiss.
That morning though, right... Right, the famous Day-after the *Great Burn.*
You young-ins probably think the whole concept is rather exciting. I'll tell you, they've romanticized the whole ordeal in the years that followed. Streets of ash, buildings of fire- sands of glass. Look here, it wasn't all that impressive. It wasn't *that* great.
Weird? Sure, it was pretty strange, but there's a lot more bizarre shit running around the wastes today than there ever was then, so I'm sorry that there isn't much to tell you about my first impressions. Getting through the airlock was no trouble, and in my tired and hungover state, neither was walking up the steps towards the basement vault. Getting that open, and stepping out into the sunlight-
Well, I woke up pretty damn fast after that. I tell you what.
You wake up looking for the toilet and a glass of water in no particular order, and you realize the world ended. That the house is gone, and you've gone and had everything down to the foundation replaced by a modern look of "open-concept."
In fact, once I managed to crawl my ass out of the foundation- I realized, everyone's house was gone! The whole neighborhood, reduced to ash and metaled slag. Heavy clouds, thick and moist- they say that was mostly from the oceans boiling. It was like walking into a jungle without the trees.
I'm not going to say I gloated.
I didn't actually. More safe to say I couldn't, considering there wasn't anyone left to direct it towards. The Stewards next door, and that god-forsaken yipping bastard they called a hound- gone. The Bouchards, with their five annoying children and their constant wine and dine parties? Gone.
The whole country was nothing but burnt bits and wreckage. I had emerged from my place beneath the surface and witnessed the birth of a new world. While I slumbered, late into the morning, the Earth was forever changed.
Man, if they didn't all come back as zombies, I swear- the end of the world might not have been so bad.
...
----
*This entry made it a lot farther up than normal! Crazy stuff! If you like what you're reading, feel free to check my other work out over in r/jakethesnakebakecake*
----
|
I walk through the streets with blood and puke stained clothes, an ax in my left hand and a .45 pistol in my right. I walk like I fucking own the place because I do. All of the sudden an SUV full of those fuckers rounds the corner puke and blood spray out the windows... But wait lets take it back a step about 3 days. I was a normal paramedic in Chicago, my passion was blood, guts and saving some peoples lives. This story begins with me sitting in the back of a van with a heroine overdose patient. His pupils were the size of a pencil led, blue lips and shit running down his legs... but something was so different about this guy. He was fully awake and aware. In fact he was talking like he was an extremely well educated man! I was holding a conversation with him about our family's. I was calm on the outside but so fucking freaked on the inside. He was oblivious to the fact that he is dying and that wasn't uncommon, but fuck he has shit running down his legs and smelled like death. That was when it happened the worst experience of my life, this guy grabs me by the neck and puts his other hand on my jaw and forces my mouth open and starts to puke down my throat. I start to puke back and in a orgy of puke and confusion I fall on the ground and start to pass out. I feel a hard thump and hear my driver screaming at the top of his lungs. Then i saw blood splatter the window of the driver cab. I couldn't muster the strength to get up and help him.
The next time I woke up I woke up to a very familiar smell... death. I got up covered in dry puke and blood from something. I stand and look at the driver cab but my partner is obviously dead. His neck is spit open like a go-gurt. It doesn't really faze me, John was a dick and was cheating on his wife. I am so confused at this point that we could be here for this long. I get out of the back of the van and slam it shut. I look at the Chicago skyline and all I see is fog and a hint of fire engulfed towers. I realize that there is nothing on the road at all and this is a highway. Just empty cars some riddled with bullets some green and red on the sides. I decide that I need a weapon so I grab the fire ax from the side of the paramedic van and the .45 in the front just in case we are jumped for our morphine. I start walking and hear a few rustles in the bush and guess fucking what, 2 men with full swat outfits and assault rifles start screaming at me to get on the ground. I laugh and look at them they are 5' somethin and maybe 100 pounds. I say "You aren't shit." and start walking. Then I hear the safety come off. I turn on a dime and point it right at one of the kids but before I can even pull back the sides a guy butt naked with a knife comes out of a bush and starts stabbing one and the other makes a run for it. I start blasting the guy that has the knife but it is too late for the midget swat team. He is already onto the other guy. I stare as this man with over 6 bullets in him just tears into the guy I am in awe. The naked man collapses and screams. "Well fuck that shit." and now we are back where we were. Walking down the street with blood and puke with that crazy van. Anyways these guys are heading right for me and not stopping. So I promptly lay on the cold hard ground and wait for my fate. *CRACK CRACK THMP THMP THMP* 8 or 9 guys come out of the bushes in full swat gear shooting this van to hell. These guys are men though unlike the mini me couple we saw earlier. They grab me by the arm all the while shooting this van and drag me off.
If I get some good feedback I will continue with the story for a few more parts. If not, oh well. :)
| 2016-03-11T09:02:36 | 2016-03-11T08:55:57 | 142 | 11 |
[WP] The captain drew a shaky breath as another body floated by. She whispered into the microphone, "Air Traffic Control, something very, very wrong is happening."
NOTE: This was posted here, by request, from r/TwoSentenceHorror
|
It started with some minor turbulence. Captain Rachel Clement came over the P.A. system from the cockpit to the passengers, asking everyone to return to their seats and buckle their seatbelts. Then the flashes started.
“What was that?” her co-pilot asked with a blink.
Rachel suddenly found herself tense, as if her seat were about to fall out from under her. The flash had been like they were amidst a thunderstorm, lacking any noise to accompany it, just the steady flash of light as it would illuminate a cloud. The strangest part of that, of course, was that the night sky was clear and visibility was the best she could ask for.
“I don’t…know,” she said, checking all the readings before her. Her eyes then went to the windows again. “Laser pointer?”
“Lasers don’t do that,” he muttered, something fearful coloring his tone.
Then it happened again. The sky illuminated sharply, vividly, for a few moments. “What the fuck?” she whispered. Her eyes widened as a crackle of electricity traced itself across the windows, as if the plane were struck by lightning in slow motion, a patterned static shock encasing it. “What’s…”
Rachel shook herself from a daze and flicked a couple buttons instinctively, feeling disconnected from her hands as they did so, disconnected from everything around her. “Air tr-” She cleared her throat. “Air traffic control, this is US Airways flight 2248, do you read me?”
There was a pause. “Flight 2248, this is ATC, go ahead.”
“Are you experiencing any anomalies on the ground?”
The pause was longer this time. “2248, can you clarify? Everything’s green on our end.”
That’s when the illumination hit again, and this time it was longer. It stretched for at least ten seconds, and what it revealed made Rachel blink rapidly and her heart race in her chest. A body of a young woman, her eyes open wide and staring at nothing as her corpse drifted through the air impossibly outside the aircraft. Her skin was gray and loose, and her every strand of hair appeared as if it had frozen amidst a loss of gravity.
“I don’t…” Rachel’s vision swam, but her training pushed back against the panic, everything in her rejecting what she was feeling alongside what she was seeing. “Jack, what do you see?” she managed.
“Woman,” he whispered. “Brown hair, gray skin, dead.”
“2248, can you clarify what you’re seeing for us?” spoke someone at air traffic control. “What’s going on up there?”
The voice in Rachel’s ear was uneasy, and for good reason, she knew. Suddenly the apparition was gone, the sky back to its calm darkness, and the pilot took in and let out a shaky breath. “ATC,” she said, trying and failing to steady her shaky voice, “I’m not sure what we’re seeing. I-I can’t tell you without sounding crazy.”
“2248, please advise us on what you’re seeing regardless,” the voice responded tightly.
“A corpse…a young woman…drifting outside the cabin. It appeared in a flash, hung around for like ten seconds, then disappeared.”
The silence over the airwaves was deafening as Rachel stared warily out the windows before her. And then again, the sky brightened around them. She drew a shaky breath as another body floated by, a male, looking to be in the same condition as the first corpse they’d seen. Her chest constricting in a spasm of fear, she whispered into the microphone, “Air traffic control, something very, very wrong is happening.”
“We need to land,” Jack said.
Rachel wasn’t sure if that statement was directed toward her or to ATC but proposing getting out of the sky shoved her out of uncertainty and fear and into familiar territory. It was then that frantic knocking came at the door to the cockpit and a voice came over the P.A. system from outside.
“Captain Clement,” a woman’s voice sobbed. “This is Tracey. We’re seeing bodies out the window and the passengers are freaking out, *I’m* freaking out-”
Rachel pressed the buttons to communicate back to the woman, snapping, “I hear you; we’ve got it from here,” as she rapidly went through the procedures to take the plane out of autopilot and prepare for descent, fully giving into her training. Pushing the buttons to speak to the passengers, she spoke, forcing calm into her tone, “Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your panic, we’re seeing what you’re seeing, and I’m going to be lowering our altitude. I’ll be communicating with air traffic control to find the nearest place to land.”
At that, she switched back to the channel for ATC and promptly spoke, her voice tight, feeling every muscle in her body strained in a fight-or-flight instinct. “ATC this is 2248, we are immediately lowering our altitude to 25,000 feet and need instruction to the nearest runway to land. That is *not* a request.”
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren
|
The day started like any other, I was doing my routine route from Atlanta to a smaller airport in Canada, this time as a copilot, as I was the younger pilot. It was when I was crossing the border that I noticed the first body slowly rising from the ground, face turned up, and arms spread about as if welcoming someone, or something.
The captain saw the body as well, she just thought she was seeing things so said nothing. The captain then drew a shaky breath as another body floated by. She whispered into the microphone, air traffic control, something very, very wrong is happening. No reply. She tried again, once again no reply. The fear already on our faces turned into horror as we saw the entirety of a city rise from the ground and shatter into millions of pieces of concrete, glass and metal. A shard hit one of the engines and we started to go down. While trying to avoid debris we hit a person as the sky was full of them, another engine down. With he plane Careening towards the earth, people finally started to scream. The plane couldn’t be saved the two remaining engines just shut of due to too much stress. The last image I saw before I died was a tree, top facing strait at me, then the plane hit it, impaling my body, and ending my life along with the other 50 lives on the plane.
[sorry if this is bad, this is my first time doing this]
| 2021-03-17T08:27:36 | 2021-03-17T07:15:11 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] You and your partner bought a pair of rings that let you feel each heartbeat from anywhere in the world. Your partners dies and you bury them with the ring. Years go by and you havnt gotten over them. Out of nowhere they appear at your doorstep... still wearing the ring. But you feel no pulse.
|
"How could I ever let us die?" was what he had said when I told my fear for the first time. We had been together for a year then, and known each other for 5 years.
My fear of one of us dying, leaving the other to suffer for the rest of his life.
"We may be both martial artists, but we might still get shot. You can't avoid bullets."
"My dear. I love you with all my heart. I would never let you die."
"And *I* would never let *you!* But there are things you cannot control. Like disease. Murderers. Accidents. I'm scared to lose you."
Ian smiled at me. "I will find a way, Charles. I promise."
I sighed. He still didn't understand my fear. But I saw why, really. Ivan had always been the kind to live quite carelessly.
___
He proposed to me. I said yes, of course, and hugged him.
He bought us special silver rings to reassure me. I could feel his heartbeat and he could feel mine.
___
The ring felt draining, as if it was slowly draining away energy from my very Soul, but at the same time, I felt like I am creating more and more energy naturally, perhaps to compensate for that.
When I told Ian, he chuckled and told me not to worry. That this was natural for the rings to do and that his did the same.
___
7 years later, his heartbeat stopped.
I cried. Screamed for it to be just a joke. To have been his taking off the ring for something.
But he was found dead. I buried him with his ring and never took mine off.
Even as it drained me more and more.
In the end, I felt like it was also making me stronger in a way I couldn't understand. Directing some of the energy it took back at me and making it strengthen me.
And even if it didn't, it was my reminder if Ian.
I never looked at another man, even after 7 long years.
___
He turned up at my door, looking the same as I remembered him. The same gorgeous man with jet black hair, pale skin and unthinkably deep black eyes.
Except... They weren't black anymore. And his body was more youthful, stronger, more perfect in the strangest if ways.
They shone a brilliant purple instead.
"Ian? I... You were dead! How..."
He was wearing the ring, but I felt no heartbeat. He *had* no heartbeat.
"May I come in?"
I let him in, but my jaw slacked when I saw him holding a gun, like the one he had been shot with.
He smiled cruelly.
"Charles. My dearest. I have been up to some things when I died. You see, those rings, they were never meant as a monitor, rather... A binder of sorts. I bound you to me, irrevocably, after all, I love you way too much."
"Then why-"
"But there is another function. A simple one, really. It creates a special dimension bound to the Souls wearing the matching rings. Well, more of a double dimension, the two of which are interbound tightly. There are many ways to prevent the function until it is fulfilled, though. I can't have that now, can I?"
"What do you mean? Dimensions? Bonds?"
"You see, upon your death, your Soul will be sucked through the ring into the dimension made for it. There, it will be crushed and remade, the chains torn completely. The ring stores all of your memories and your Spirit, your consciousness in the meanwhile, and then forces them into this new, improved Soul, which will endlessly restructure and improve itself. The dimension will then be locked away forever."
"What?! Why-?!"
"Then, said Soul will connect back to the ring by a string, think of it as a computer monitor, and slowly integrate a web over this entire dimension, seeping into the entirety of the multiverse slowly as it creates a shell that serves as a false Soul. You will be irrevocably Immortal, Undying and Eternal. Of course, it takes around 7 years for this to happen, and you need someone to use your old body as the base for your new, better form. Fortunately my dearest sister is the same as I am, and I served her the same as she served me in our ressurection."
"But what does that have to do with me?!"
"You are my love. And, by those rings, my Soulmate. You will be immortal with me. It will hurt a lot, but is necessary. You don't want to leave me in this world, all alone right?"
"You are right. The pain I felt... I don't want you to feel that." I said that but I knew this had to be a trick, something trying to kill me and maybe suck my blood.
But I was ready.
I let him shoot.me in the head and I felt an aging like no other.
I drifted away, and couldn't reach heaven or hell, or any afterlife. I fell into sleep untiI was to drift there myself.
___
I woke up. Ian was there smiling at me.
I had gone to afterlife to see him once more... I smiled back. I felt our Souls, intertwined, and knew this was the real Ian. My love.
I looked around and frowned.
Afterlife seemed strange like a crypt.
A chuckle.
"I knew it! You didn't believe me when I said it was me. But my darling, did you really think I would let you pass away so easily? We are Immortal, you and I."
As I gaped at Ian, the real Immortal who had made me into his kind, who I loved and hated at the same time, hated for what he had made me, he smiled an almost insane smile.
"After all," he chuckled again,
*"How could I ever let us die?"*
|
I woke up to the smell of morning rain, I always slept better when it was raining. I stared up at the ceiling, habitually twisting my engagement ring around my finger. My fiancé and I weren’t really the traditional type, we were together for ten years and swore we would never marry. Finally he convinced me to go through the ceremony, but we decided to keep our deviancy by buying these cheesy “heartbeat” rings instead of traditional rings.
His heartbeat was cut short though, on our way home from the ceremony at the courthouse, his life was taken in a car accident, and I haven’t felt his heartbeat in the ring since. In such pain, I decided to bury him with my ring so he would have my heart, and will forever think of him as my fiancé. It has been two months since I buried him.
With a sigh, I worked up the strength to get out of bed. Trudging through my morning routine, I finally took that sweet sip of fresh coffee when I heard a soft knock on the door.
Irritated by the interruption of my coffee, I opened up the door to see the soaking wet, pallor figure of...my fiancé. Black, stringy hair sticking to his sickly white, bony face.
My coffee mug crashed to the floor.
He just stood there, smiling.
“Hi, honey” He said, his voice was exactly the same as I remembered.
In shock, I looked down at my ring, realizing I couldn’t feel a heartbeat. I looked at his hand, he was wearing his ring. What is going on here??
“Honey? I just came to tell you that you accidentally gave me your ring, so I can’t feel your heartbeat. Can I have mine back?” He smiled, holding out his hand with his *my* ring.
I just blinked. In total shock, I took off my *his* ring and handed it to him, replacing it with my actual ring. I immediately felt his pulse in my ring finger. I stared in shock at my finger.
He smiled, “thank you, don’t forget, I will always love you.” With that he turned around and slowly stumbled back towards the graveyard.
| 2020-08-06T08:54:38 | 2020-08-06T08:34:38 | 59 | 34 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
FADE IN:
INT. THE SECRET HALL OF GALAXY-CENTRIC WORRYING
*A dozen creatures of various species sit around a large table. One of them – something that resembles an eight-foot-tall Möbius strip crossed with a large slug – begins to speak. This is YARLGH.*
**YARLGH:** I call this session of galaxy-centric worrying to order.
*Another individual (who looks a bit like a lobster) raises a claw. This is FF'TFT'AT.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** If we're going to use English this time, can we *please* come up with another name?
*An enormous pile of fur shifts in place. This is KHCHK.*
**KHCHK:** Why? We *do* worry. We worry about things that might affect the galaxy.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Yeah, well, "worry" makes it sound like we don't actually *do* anything.
**KHCHK:** It makes us sound like we worry. That's something.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Anyone can worry. You don't need to be on a council in order to worry.
**KHCHK:** I'm sure the galaxy's citizens appreciate us worrying on their behalf.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sure, sure... until they start worrying that we aren't worrying enough, right?
**YARLGH:** (*Shouting*) Enough!
*Everyone turns to look at Yarlgh.*
**YARLGH:** We have more-pressing concerns!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Oh, fantastic. Now we're "concerned."
**YARLGH:** As well we should be! The human problem has become untenable.
**KHCHK:** Yes. The humans *are* worrying.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Great! Let them get on with it! Less work for us!
**KHCHK:** I meant that they're *causing* worries. You know, like, "worrying" as in "bothering."
**FF'TFT'AT:** This is just more evidence that the name is stupid.
**KHCHK:** The *humans* are stupid!
*Yarlgh bends in a way that resembles nodding.*
**YARLGH:** That's putting it mildly. I've asked a representative of Earth to explain.
*All eyes (and eye-like organs) move to stare at a human man. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** Hm? Me?
**YARLGH:** Yes, you.
**DAVE:** Sorry, am I supposed to worry or worry?
**KHCHK:** ... What?
**DAVE:** Are we using "worry" in the sense of "to be concerned" or "to bother?"
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*Muttering*) Both, apparently.
*Yarlgh growls at Ff'Tft'At, then turns his attention back to Dave.*
**YARLGH:** Just tell us about your... allies.
**DAVE:** Isn't that you guys? Sorry, I don't really read the news.
**KHCHK:** We would *like* to be your allies, but your... friendships... are giving us pause.
**DAVE:** You don't *look* like you have paws.
*Everyone appears confused.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sorry, even I didn't get that one.
**DAVE:** Furball there said that I was giving you paws.
**KHCHK:** I said "pause!"
**FF'TFT'AT:** I told you that English was stupid!
**YARLGH:** It is tradition to use the guest's native tongue!
**DAVE:** I'd rather keep my mouth intact, if it's all the same to you.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Talk about the scary things! Do it *right now!*
*Dave looks around at the assembled councilpersons, all of whom seem to glare.*
**DAVE:** I mean, to be honest, a lot of you look pretty scary to me.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Racism!
**YARLGH:** We are *obviously* describing the unspeakable abominations with which you consort!
**DAVE:** You guys are being too hard on yourselves.
**KHCHK:** How dare you compare us to those monstrosities?!
**DAVE:** (*Sarcastically*) Oh, right, *I'm* the racist one. Seriously, none of this makes sense.
*Yarlgh stretches to his full, impressive height.*
**YARLGH:** Then let us speak plainly!
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*To himself*) Good luck.
**YARLGH:** You have cut through the fabric of spacetime and made contact with... with...
**KHCHK:** Demons!
**YARLGH:** Yes! They are unknowable entities that drive sentient minds mad.
**DAVE:** Oh, *those* guys? Come on.
**KHCHK:** They've impacted entire solar systems!
**DAVE:** They said they were sorry. Besides, they're hardly *demons*. They're just a bit... you know, impish.
**YARLGH:** "Impish?" Their machinations literally strip sanity from all who encounter them!
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, it's not as if they're actually hurting anyone.
*Murmurs spread through the council.*
**KHCHK:** How can you say that? Do humans not value their brains?
**DAVE:** (*Shrugging*) We're not really using them, you know?
**FF'TFT'AT:** I concur.
**YARLGH:** (*To Ff'Tft'At*) Shut up! (*To Dave*) Explain yourself!
**DAVE:** Look, all I'm saying is that nobody ever accomplished anything by being sane.
**KHCHK:** Name one thing that insanity has accomplished!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Worrying.
**KHCHK and YARLGH:** Shut up!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Why? Am I *worrying* you?
*Khchk launches himself across the table at Ff'Tft'At. The two of them roll out of sight, fighting.*
**YARLGH:** Stop it! Stop this madness at once! I *will* put you both in the naughty corner!
*The two councilpersons rise and sulkily return to their chairs.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** He started it.
**KHCHK:** Did not.
**YARLGH:** (*Roaring*) *Shut! Up!* Honestly, it's like you've both gone...
*The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. Everyone slowly turns their attention to Dave.*
**DAVE:** What?
**YARLGH:** (*Aghast*) Did you bring them here with you?
**DAVE:** Who?
**KHCHK:** The demons! Are they here?!
**DAVE:** Where?
*Ff'Tft'At audibly giggles, then clamps his claws over his mouth.*
**YARLGH:** Did you, human, bring the demons to this council chamber?
**DAVE:** Oh. No, I came here alone.
**KHCHK:** Then why are we all going bonkers?!
**DAVE:** Hey, don't blame *me*.
**YARLGH:** You *are* to blame! You opened the way for those eldritch horrors!
**DAVE:** I keep telling you, they aren't horrors! Hell, they were *boring* before they met us.
**KHCHK:** ... Before they met you?
*Dave glances around.*
**DAVE:** Oh. *Oh*.
*Several seconds of silence pass. All of the assembled creatures look anxious.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Well, *now* I'm worried.
*Everyone launches themselves at each other at once.*
CUT TO BLACK.
|
**"We need allies, General."** Savar raised a hand and spun the three-dimensional star map. "Humanity cannot stand alone."
"Humanity cannot *stand*, period," General Thurmond snapped. "[Those damned bugs](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk92i6/wp_it_turns_out_that_humanity_is_the_only/) were *born* with hive-brains that can outpace any of our supercomputers; the only reason they don't roll over us in their sleep is because they see us as *children*. And the infiltrators... no, humanity must bend its collective knee, here."
"Humanity does not have a collective knee; humanity is not a *collective*. There will always be humans who will spit in the insectoids' eyes simply because they can, and we're not so powerless that we can't make the bugs mad. We need a contingency plan for when the bugs inevitably decide that 'uplifting' us is more trouble than it's worth."
General Thurmond paced around the holographic table; the room was empty, aside from the two of them, despite its cavernous size. They couldn't risk one of the things that only *looked* human getting in. "The plan is to make sure that *nobody* antagonizes the insectoids. We'll run counterintelligence on any... resistance groups."
Savar looked pained. "You're playing into the insects' hands, Thurmond. Their goal is to turn humanity into a hivemind, strip us of our individuality—you're just going to accelerate it."
"Well, what *else* do you suggest?" General Thurmond roared, flicking a hand at the hologram. The known stars colonized by the insectoids loomed menacingly in the distance—they'd had a good few thousand years of head start over humanity, and had claimed thousands of stars to humanity's five. "We can't even begin to comprehend how their culture works; diplomacy failed time and time again. We saw one of their swarms *move a planet further from the sun* just to terraform it—I shudder to think of what their actual *weapons* look like. War would be a swift failure. And we can't even stop them from infiltrating our own culture—they understand us too well." General Thurmond hung his head. "There is nothing we could do."
"...We could ally with [the Experimentors](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk02zz/wp_to_further_understand_the_species_we_have/)," Savar finally said.
General Thurmond stiffened.
Savar moved closer, their hair brushing against General Thurmond's hat, the symbol of his office. "I know that their... experiments... killed Vishan, but the only hope for humanity to continue is to attach ourself to the *other* alien power we know of."
General Thurmond's grip tightened; the star map, misinterpreting the gesture, fritzed and sputtered ominously as General Thurmond said, "And you are confident in this?"
"Ever since [we stopped experimenting on the Spielbergians](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmd1yx/wp_humans_attempt_to_colonize_a_super_earth/), the energoids stopped experimenting on us. We've had some luck *communicating* with them, too. Give me twenty years and the backing of Earth's funding—"
"You have it." Abruptly, General Thurmond took his hat off and slapped it onto Savar's head. They took a step away from Thurmond, shocked. "Dammit, Savar, but you're right and I *hate* you for it. Working with the *things* that disassembled my son..." General Thurmond turned away. "I'll announce my retirement shortly. You have interrim command for a hundred and thirty-three Earth days; provided you don't screw things up too badly, the Minds should make your position permanent."
Savar swallowed. "I—Thurmond, I didn't want your post. We still need you—"
"I can't be a part of working with those damn cosmic horrors. *I'd* rather fork over our world to the bugs." Thurmond stormed out the door. "But I know that's not what the people want. So take command before I come to my senses and take it back."
And just like that, Savar was left to sell humanity's soul to the devil, while humanity still had a soul to sell.
A.N.
For more stories like this, check out r/bubblewriters!
| 2021-04-07T17:45:17 | 2021-04-07T17:31:05 | 186 | 119 |
[WP] In the Demon Hunters Academy you are known as the very best professor, 80 years old but still in your prime, but you're secretly a demon, and the academy recently got some new demonic detectors, and as opposed to the old ones, these actually work. you can only avoid the main hall for so long.
|
"... And that concludes lecture 1, where we discussed how to tell demon summoning circles apart from hopscotch. Essentially, if you see squares in a row, *do not shoot* -- especially not if the human drawing it appears to be a little boy. If it's a little girl, ask if it's in the girlscouts. If it's not, then -- *and only then* -- you can shoot."
I rested my chalk on the tray next to the board and clapped the dust off my hands before looking into the audience to make sure everyone understood. The girlscouts had sued our department so many times for lack of training, it simply would not be worth killing another one.
"Ok then. Class dismissed. I'll see you on Tuesday when we discuss the demonic origin story for the Nickelodean hit television show, *Chalk Zone*."
All the students began zipping up their bags while I tidied up my notes. As I did so, a female graduate student walked down to the front. She had dark, curly hair and a pale complexion, blue eyes and a button nose.
"Ah, Christina!" I preempted her greeting, "How is the research into demonic detection going?"
"I think it is going well." She was holding a book tight to her chest, but still lifted a finger to her lip and paused for a second. She then pointed to the demon circle I had drawn on the board. "I think you made a mistake in the lecture."
I laughed, "It happens. I'll correct it next time. What did I do? Miscount the hopscotch squares?"
"No, I think you impartially drew the 5th astral line for the Faerie circle." She opened the book to page 152 and rested it on the desk in front of her. "I guess it's a simple mistake to make. Jupiter is off by 5 centimeters because of the asteroid belt."
"Ah yeah." I held my bravado and laughed a bit. She couldn't know any better, right? "That's a really dumb mistake to make, after all--"
She cut me off, "*You* were the one who originally published on the importance of the asteroid belt for summoning greater demons in the first place." She paused again and flipped a few pages forward to 182. I knew what she was looking for before she did. "I've always found it interesting that without the asteroid belt, the summoning circles turn into teleportation circles for greater demons... What you drew there *looks identical* to what we have here." She pointed to the diagram in the book.
"Oh yeah? Let me see..." I sighed a bit and leaned over her shoulder. I didn't look at the book. She was right. I drew a teleportation circle. "You know what? You are completely right. I certainly need to correct this next lecture so people do not get confused."
"Right?" She nodded. "I was confused when you drew it, but if it's a mistake, it's a mistake."
I rubbed my temples, attempting to sound exasperated. I was actually relieved she didn't dig into it any deeper. "Yeah. Again, I don't know what I was thinking. I'll give you a bonus point at the end of the semester for that one!"
"No need... As long as you have a space in your lab next term?" She didn't look up from the book. She was obviously new at academic negotiations.
I could feel beads of sweat form behind my ears. She had guts. Charisma. Skill. This girl could become a leading academic in circle theory if she kept at it, but I couldn't have someone like her in *my* lab.
I scratched the back of my head. "It's not a question of skill. You are definitely good enough to be in my lab. It's a question of funding. I didn't do very well in the last grant cycle, so..."
She cut me off again, "Ah. I have funding actually. I have a large following on HunterTube for open source circle scribing. It's not much, but it's enough to fund my research for the next few years, if you'll have me." She closed the book and looked up, right into my eyes.
Damn. She was good.
"Ok. Well, I guess I can't refuse! Put your CV on my desk tomorrow so I can process the paperwork!"
"Really?" She jumped up. "I am so excited! I have been such a big fan of your work since I was a little girl and we learned about you in jr. high! The work you did to harness Pandora's energy to replace fossil fuel was genius!" She raced to the board and grabbed the eraser while talking.
"Wait. Wait!" I held out my hand. "Don't worry about erasing that. I got it."
"No seriously, it's no problem!" She then began vigorously erasing while I cringed. The next class was starting in 5 minutes. That wasn't enough time to make a new teleportation circle. I finished collecting my things while she erased my only escape route.
"Ok. I guess I'll stop by later today with my CV." She said while dropping the eraser back into the tray. I watched helplessly as the dust flittered in the air.
"Yup! I'll See you then!" I laughed to hide the concern I felt.
"Would you mind if I walked you back to your office? I have so many questions and --"
I cut her off. "No. Wait. No need. We can talk later today! I just remembered that I need to audit the next lecture to make sure the professor is teaching properly. Please stop by at 4, if you can!"
"Great! See you then." She dashed out of the room, clearly happy to begin her journey into new research. Honestly, I was happy for her.
However, I was stuck.
As a new security measure, the university had placed functional demon detectors outside of every room, capable of finding and incinerating demons of *all levels*, including those previously impossible to find. Demons like myself.
If I left the classroom via any traditional route, I would be immediately vaporized. Even worse than that, people would realize I was a demon and retract every single academic article I have ever published!
So I guess I'm sitting in the next lecture on circle error detection while I scribble my new escape route under my desk.
|
I took in a deep breath, straightened my back and with my head held high I entered the Deans office.
"Ah, Luther. Thanks for coming, please take as seat."
Ok so no blessed arrows or holy runes yet. Did I get away with it? Pretty sure the whole damn building heard those alarms go off... and the dark miasma that they're still scrapping off the roof of the main hall will clue the rest in.
"Now, I hate to bring this up but about the incident at the hall today..."
Here it comes. Wonder if it's the stupid I banish thee foul fiend or a holy symbol to the face. I mean, I taught them all that rubbish and the only thing it does is tell the demon to put on a show and leg it when they're busy but still, the real stuff now, that might work.
"I'm thinking maybe a semester off. With pay obviously. It'll give everyone time to calm down, not to mention re-install the old detectors. The new ones are clearly faulty."
He coughed nervously all while avoiding my eyes. You bastard! You know don't you. You know and your pretending not to! Well, I don't have to take this. I have my pride.
"Nothing wrong with the detectors. I am a demon, I would have thought the red glowing eyes would have clued everyone in on that."
The Dean shuffled some paper around looking embarrassed. "Yes, the eyes, yes. Very nice. Though I believe the horns are a bit much for an academic setting. There is a dress code after all professor..."
That's it. I can't I just can't! "LOOK. AT. ME! Demon, I'm a demon! Why is that so hard to understand. Why is nobody trying to stop me?! You're all Demon hunters, act like it!"
In my mind here was when the runes would glow or the blessed weapons will pop out and I'd scream in agony disappearing in a cloud of black smoke.
Instead the Dean just sighed and for the first time looked at me. His eyes were weary and tired.
"Luther, there's a vampire called Draconus that currently works in the pencil factory. Have you heard of him? No? Well, none of the lads will touch him even though he's a vampire. The reason for that being is before that he worked as a sunscreen lotion tester, holy water packaging before that and a monk before that. Do you see where I'm going with this Luther? People attempting to commit suicide don't *need* our help!"
| 2020-07-02T18:10:32 | 2020-07-02T17:58:21 | 637 | 156 |
[WP] Every year, every 18yr old takes a mandatory test. Speaking about it is prohibited. Everyone who gets 95% or above gets sent away, and nobody knows where to or why. You sign in to see your mark, and despite completely guessing on every question, you got a 96%. There's a knock at your door.
|
“See?! Look.” Matt pointed his finger at the screen. “I’m telling you Lauren - it’s all bullshit.”
Lauren scooted closer to Matt’s computer. It was one of those old laptops from the late 21st that had a physical hard drive and display screen. Matt was the type to not trust cloud storage, even though data security was guaranteed by the government. He scrolled down to the bottom of the page with a mouse you could only use if it was plugged in. The whole thing was absurd: the tiny built-in display, the charger cables and dongles and external hard drives, let alone the fact that this thing weighed nearly 2 pounds without the attachments and wasn’t even on the deeplink. Lauren squinted at the 13 inch screen.
“Look at my completion time. 00:12:03. Lauren, I literally just clicked random answers. I didn’t even read the questions. Do you realize how statistically improbable it is that I’d get a 96%? It’s rigged, I’m telling you. This is proof!”
Lauren was glad she had come over in person, and was not having this conversation over the deeplink. You weren’t supposed to discuss the test, or your results.
“Yeah but Matt, nobody knows what grading parameters they use.” There had to be some kind of logic to it, she thought. She had been really thoughtful in her answers when she took the test a few months ago, and had only gotten a 73%.
A couple SIGINT drones flew by Matt’s bedroom window. Signal Intelligence took over homeland monitoring sometime after Europe fell.
A moment later, the front door’s smart security system dinged.
“That was quick,” said Lauren. Matt did not share her curiosity or enthusiasm. They had grown up in the same Google complex since they were born. She was excited for her best friend. She had only heard about people passing the test on the news. Matt looked terrified.
“Lauren I don’t want to go.”
“You’ll be great!” She flashed a smile. “I bet it’s something really exciting. It can’t be any worse than staying here!” Lauren gestured outside Matt’s 83rd floor window of Building 7. Visible in the distance, beyond the Google complex walls, were dirty shantytowns and chemically ravaged grasslands that didn’t grow much of anything anymore.
The smart security system dinged again, this time accompanied by ARRA, announcing the visitor. “Matthew, you have two gentlemen outside the front door that are here to see you.”
ARRA, the Automated Residential and Remote Assistant, was embedded into everyone’s deeplink at Google Site 3. She had been more of a parent to Matt than his actual parents, in a lot of ways.
“Thanks ARRA. Tell them I’ll be right there.”
Matt hardly finished his sentence when he heard the familiar whoosh of the front door opening.
“Hey! You can’t come in here! How did you even get in!?”
The two men entering the apartment weren’t dressed in the usual SIGINT tactical gear. In fact the only thing identifying them as SIGINT at all were the subtle pins affixed to the breast of their jet black suits.
“Mr. Porter, sorry about the intrusion but we’re on a tight schedule. You need to come with us.”
Matt had moved into the hallway and was now backpedaling towards the kitchen.
“Whatever this is - I don’t want it! I can just stay here, I’ll work in data ops. I didn’t even read the questions!”
The men moved swiftly down the hall, past Lauren who was standing in the doorway to Matt’s room. The man on the right moved towards Matt while the one on the left split off to secure the rest of the apartment.
“All clear. No one here except the girl.”
The man on the right looked back from his partner to Matt.
“We’ve got an S-class waiting on the roof to take you to processing and orientation. If you’ll please come with us, Mr. Porter, everything will be explained to you upon your arrival.”
“What is this? Why all the secrecy? I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happens to the people that pass the test.”
“We’re not authorized to provide that kind of information, Mr. Porter. Now please, sir, we need to get moving.”
The ‘sir’ was a bit jarring. Matt was not, by any measure, a ‘sir’. His 18 year old, 6 foot frame was thin, hardly filling the loose T-shirt and jeans he had on. He didn’t exactly scream ‘authoritative’.
Matt eyed the non-lethal stun guns on each of their hips and contemplated fighting back for a moment; but where would he even go? What was the use? The Council had eyes everywhere, and living outside the walls meant cutting his lifespan in half, at best. A look of defeat came over his face, and Matt sighed.
“Fine. Can I say goodbye to Lauren?”
“You’ve got 60 seconds.”
Lauren was already grabbing a few of Matt’s most prized possessions: his late 20th century gameboy, his early 21st iPod they had painstakingly loaded with old mp3 files from a hard drive they had found in her dad’s closet -
“No personal affects, ma’am. He can’t bring anything along.”
Lauren stood in the doorway with the knick knacks in her hand, and looked from the SIGINT officer back to Matt.
“It’ll be fine - whatever it is, I bet it’s gonna be amazing. Quit being so paranoid.”
“Lauren...”
Matt didn’t know what to say. He knew that staying meant a life of mundane work overseeing automated systems that controlled food production or power generation or any other number of other core functions. He didn’t want that either, but it was safe, and familiar, and his friends were here. Nobody who passed the test had ever been heard from again. For all he knew, this was a death sentence. His eyes swelled up with tears at the thought of leaving the Google complex, and everything he knew, but he fought them back.
Lauren gave him a kiss on the cheek and a hug.
“You’re gonna kick ass and give em hell - whatever it is. Just think what Commander Shepard would do.”
Matt thought back to their favorite character from one of the video games they’d play as kids on her dad’s antique gaming console.
“Yeah. Yeah ok.”
With that, he gave her a squeeze and turned to the men in suits waiting by the front door.
“Right this way, Mr. Porter.”
He walked in their direction and took one last look at his lifelong friend. She flashed a quick smile and gave him a wave. Man, he would miss that smile.
____________________________________
*Stay tuned for Part II*
|
So here I go, I am not an English native speaker (French in fact) so might be some grammatical error, but well it got me some ideas, so wanted to try some work and practice :)
&#x200B;
**Just breathe**
I am breathless, my body shivers and I can't control it.
"What is going to happen to me now" - I start mumbling
This cannot happen, there has to be a mistake, or maybe I am just a genius. No that is not possible, I am utterly bad at everything I touch, I got lucky I guess.
But then, even if I got lucky, now is not the time to even think about that, the door just knocked, "They" are probably here to take me away, but where would "they" take me ? What will happen to me ?
I can remember this one time Sarah, that girl one year older than me; she never came back to school after the weekend, she was probably one of those few that were taken away. We don't know, we never know what happens to them.
Could it be a special place for special people, related to geniuses or to train us to become the elite of tomorrow?
All those questions come and go inside my head. I am completely overwhelmed.
"Bang! Bang!" - I hear the door knocking downstairs.
I can't even produce any sound, I am just sitting here on my chair fairly hypnotised to the result displayed on my screen.
"Bang, bang, bang!" - The door knocks a second time.
I finally get the courage to answer, stand up and starts shooting:
"Who... who's there?" - I say with a low voice, "Bang Bang bang bang bang!" - The banging is so strong I feel the vibrations from where I stand.
With a bit more insurance, I shout a second time:
" I am coming! Who is it?"
After what seems like an eternity, I hear a voice answering:
"Pizza! You ordered one!" - He yell with a slight annoyance in his voice
Oh crap! My pizza, I was so focused on my mark that I had forgotten I ordered a sweet and delicious Hawaiian pizza.
I run to the door, open it and apologize deeply for making the delivery boy wait.
He then looks at me in the eyes, the pizza box stretched towards me and calmy talk:
"Yeah, I am kidding, there ain't no pizza for you" - he grins in a creepy manner
Before I have time to realise anything, he takes a silencer gun out from his back and shoot me in the head.
I don't have time to react, It is painless and in the chaos of the moment I hear him a last time while a crew of individuals enter my home:
"Congratulations, the Agency do not like geniuses, it compromises their plan" - he says in a humorous tone
So much for guessing answers. I lie here, breathless.
| 2019-02-22T02:57:34 | 2019-02-22T01:45:26 | 54 | 10 |
[WP] You and friend agree that if one of you invents time travel, they will come back to this very moment. As you shake on it, an older and injured you shows up and shoots your friend in the head.
|
I've never written a short story (outside of like, elementary school) so please excuse formatting/weird writing. I just hop you get the idea that I had!
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“Deal?”
Jay just looked at me with that wide-eyed wonder he always had. A smile danced across his face as his hand extended, waiting for me to seal the promise by clasping palms with his.
“Deal,” I said, as I shake my head and let out a chuckle.
We had been sitting in Jay’s office in the attic like we always did after work. Jay liked the quiet so he could focus on letting his imagination run wild while he wrote; he’d always tell me about some crazy alien-with-teeth-on-its-tongue story or an idea about space Marines and mind swapping over lunch.
Just then, a blue light fills the hallways as the door swings open. A man, average height, long dark hair in a top knot and khaki trench coat stands in the doorway. I didn’t know what to think in that moment, as Jay stood up from his seat. From his coat, the man brandishes a shot gun. I freeze. The blast was so loud I could’ve sworn it made no noise for half a second, but I knew something happened when I felt the warm splatter of Jay’s blood on my face. My body felt like I was made of two thousand pounds of concrete as I scramble out of my seat and crawl on all fours behind Jay’s desk. *What a coward,* I think to myself, in between thoughts of terror. I should have done something, or at least pulled my best friend’s lifeless body behind the desk with me. Too late. Top Knot was standing over me, shotgun in hand. With the other free hand, he extends it towards me, similarly to Jay and I just 30 seconds ago.
I couldn’t move if I wanted to. My whole body tingled as the strength to move left my body like the carbonation of an open can of soda going flat. Top Knot sighs and moved the hair away from his face. What I saw next is what led me to pass out and wake up in his car. Strong jaw line. Dark eyes. Milk chocolate colored skin. A small scar, almost unnoticeable, in his right eyebrow from a soccer game back in college. The same game that I played in, where I received the exact same scar. It was me. The man who just murdered Jay, my best friend, was *me,* albeit 30 years older.
The street lights whirring by on the freeway is what roused me. Top Knot notices, and slightly smiles as he keeps his eyes- *my* eyes- drilled on the road.
“About time, man. Sprite in the drink holder is for you.”
Yup, my favorite soda. This… whoever he is, knows my favorite soda. I stare at him intently, but refuse to move.
Top Knot glances over at me staring. He sighs.
“Look man, I know this is some heavy shit, but it needed to happen. Drink the soda.”
I look at the can and immediately drill my eyes back to him.
“Dude it’s not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you, you’d never have woken up from your little fainting spell.”
Reluctantly I take the can. Now I’m both terrified and embarrassed.
“You don’t have to say a word, I’ll explain everything.
My name is… well it doesn’t matter. You know my name. I’m you, Charlie. I’m you from 31 years in the future. Now of course you’re thinking I’m crazy, but I’ll prove it to you. 6 months ago you lost your virginity in a bathroom at the pub to Maddy Sommers. Now of course *anyone* could’ve figured that out, but I’ll tell you EXACTLY what you were thinking in that moment. You were worried that someone would put something in your drinks that you left at the bar more than getting caught, and you felt guilty that you were worried about roofies more than some bouncer would call the cops on you if you got caught.”
*There’s no way anyone would know that,* I thought. In that moment I came to the decision that I was in a dream, and at any moment I was going to wake up.
“Ah, now you’re thinking you’re dreaming, Charlie. That’s okay. I don’t need you to rationalize this. I just need you to listen. In the year I come from the US government is… well its shit. People pick leaders based on characters instead of credentials. And sure, it’s always been like that, but it’s really getting out of control. People care more about social justice or protecting old American ideology than a candidate’s stance on the issues. What that has created is a vacuum for leadership. People are at their best when they’re being organized, and America wanted an organized leader after the last President. That’s what allowed… a certain man to come to office. This man promised to change the world, just like every tyrant before him. But he actually did. Technology is at the center of everything. He’s changed transportation, fossil fuel usage, even the weapons that our military uses in combat. The only problem is, he’s built his own robot army connected to his super computer. He used this army to kill all the senators and Justices, leaving only the executive branch in charge. Martial Law is enacted soon after. Now we all work in his factories and are the number one world-wide exporter of all the goods that we purchased from foreign powers. He wanted to make America great, and he turned us into a dictatorship.”
I finally muster up the courage to speak. “Was that Jay?”
Top Kno- well, older me- responds.
“No. But he inadvertently caused him to come to power. Later this year Jay will sell one of his science fiction stories, the crazy ones that he would always tell us about. That story will inspire the super computer that the President in my time creates.”
The car we are in comes to a stop on a tree lined street on the west side of town. I know the street immediately- this is where Jay’s mom lives.
“No!” I scream. “I’m not going to let you kill his mom in front of me too!”
“Shut up, man! We’re just here to get the book!” Older me says.
“What do you mean? Why would you kill Jay if all we needed was the book?!”
Older me looks shaken. In a weird way, I knew he was sad that he killed Jay, only because I know my own face.
“We have to destroy every copy of the book. Even the one in Jay’s head. It was what he wanted.”
I’m furious at this point.
“What he WANTED? He wanted you to KILL HIM IN COLD BLOOD?!”
“Everything I do here was Jay’s idea. He never wanted any of his stories to inspire terror or control. Only to entertain. That’s why he helped me slip into the time machine that send me back to this moment. In my time, the President worships Jay like a god and gives him many special favors. One of which is access to the R&D Department. Come on, let’s go get this book.”
Old me makes his way over Jay’s childhood fence, the same way I’d always hop over after school growing up. He grabs the backdoor key from the flowerpot and makes his way upstairs to Jay’s room. After rummaging through his drawers, he smiles and lifts a black and white composition notebook from the dresser drawer. He grabs Jay’s waste basket and lights a match. The contents burst into flames and he slowly lowers the book into the fire. He sighs that same sigh once again.
Almost instantly, the blue light from earlier swells from downstairs. The sounds of gears clacking flood the hallway. Old me shoves me out the way and into a closet as the door bursts open. The sound of what can only be described as Han Solo’s blaster echoes in the room, and I watch myself fall to the ground.
“Charlie,” a voice says as he enters. A man with dark hair and nice suit emerges from behind two big robot skeletons with glowing red eyes. His smooth foreign accent speaks to Old me again.
“Good try, but you do realize there are more than one copy Mr. Cameron’s manuscript?”
Old me coughs as he holds his side, bright red blood staining his lips and hand. He cracks a smile.
“It wasn’t just about killing James, or burning the script. It was about getting you away from SkyNet long enough to disconnect your bodyguards from the WiFi, and use the code word that James uploaded into them.”
A look of surprise and terror washes over the foreign man’s face as I look on from the closet.
Old me mutters, “T-800s. Initiate *Judgement Day* Protocol.”
The Robots turn their weapons away from Old me and onto the foreign man. He sneers at Old me, as Old me asks,
“Any last words, President Musk?”
|
I recoil in shock, blood suddenly all over my clothes, my face, my everything. Andrew’s body falls to the ground, lifeless.
He’s gone.
My best friend for my entire life is now dead before me, and in a sick, twisted way, it was me who killed him.
It dawns on me that what happened wasn’t normal, and I turn to the murderer. He’s not that old, around mid to late 30s, with a hint of gray already showing up in his long, unkempt hair. He’s wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a lab coat with a t-shirt underneath. He seems to have a gunshot wound in his left side, and it looks to be untreated.
“It’s finally... done.” He says, and then collapses to the ground.
“Hey... wait...” I manage to sputter before taking a seat myself to think about what just happened.
“I just saved your life, kiddo! Can’t I get a little gratitude?” The older me asks. I shake my head, still in a state of utter disbelief. He coughs a bit, then speaks again.
“You may not believe me, but this is for the best. He was going to kill you, eventually.”
I finally get my thoughts in some semblance of a comprehendable order, and manage to say, “What?”
“Your. Best. Friend. Was. Going. To. Kill. You. With no remorse, might I add.” He chuckles a bit, which turns into more coughing.
“Why did you shoot him?”
“I already answered that. Twice.”
“No, wh... what happened that convinced you to shoot him?”
“Again, I’ve already told you that. And again, I told you twice.”
I get up and make my way to Future Me, and grab him by the collar.
“WHAT. THE. FUCK. JUST. HAPPENED.”
He grins. I notice that he hasn’t brushed in a while, and he has multiple scars on his face.
“Alright, alright, I’ll explain. Just let me go first.”
I let go, and his head falls onto a rock.
“Ow. I probably should have expected that.”
He gets himself into a seated position, then begins his story.
“Alright, so, the deal you just made, about the time machine? I invented one first, and I went public with my invention. What I didn’t know is that he’d”, he points to Andrew’s dead body, and continues. “send a group of mercenaries after me in an attempt to steal my work.”
“Andrew would never do that!”
“Of course you’d say that.” He says, seemingly to himself. “Look, something changes in him. He goes to Europe, comes back to grab his stuff and tell me goodbye, only to leave for who knows where. Never hear from him again, until he shows up to my door one day with a gun pointed at my head and a group of more Andrews behind him. God, I’m almost making it sound like some gay fanfiction...” he mutters.
“Okay, wait. First of all, you’re losing a lot of blood, so we need to do something about that, and second, what do you mean by *more Andrews*?”
He chuckles. “Kid, I’ve just erased my future, and I’ll be erased soon, too. No point in trying to get help.”
I think about his statement. It does make sense that he’d be erased along with his future. However, he has yet to answer my second question.
“Again, what do you mean by ‘more Andrews’?”
“I... no wait, you... agh, *we* created time travel, but while we were busy with that, Andrew was busy with cloning technology. See, Andrew wanted power. He wanted to control the world, which I know sounds clichè, but Andrew knew how to do it. He cloned himself until he had an army, and then took over America from the inside. With America’s weapon tech in the future, taking control of the other countries was an easy job.”
“Wait... you said you never heard from him again after he told you goodbye, yet how could you miss the world being taken over by an army of his clones?”
He shrugs. “You know as well as I that we hate the news, and tend to avoid it at all costs. Besides, it all happened within a week. There was nothing anyone could do.”
He looks at his hand, which has started to vanish. “Ah, shit. I’ve still got so much to warn you about.”
“Woah, wait, this is how people get erased?” I ask, my surprise limit for the day reached long ago.
“Okay, listen closely. Don’t try to build a time machine, it will always end in grief. As a matter of fact, stay away from science in general. Do teaching instead. I always wanted to be a teacher. Secondly, be wary of April 3rd, 2026.”
“Why? What happens?”
“Don’t have time, just be careful on that day. Finally, don’t be a coward. Stand up for what you believe in. I always regretted not doing that.
I blink, and he’s gone. The only evidence he was ever here is the puddle of blood on the rock he was sitting on.
As well as the body of my dead best friend.
| 2018-10-11T22:40:57 | 2018-10-11T21:06:23 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you.
|
Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God."
|
**I** could feel the hot asphalt begin to cook the flesh of my back. My blood painted on the street, cooking, stinking, darkening into a gelatinous pie. A pie in the shape of a bus's tire tracks. A crowd cluttered around the scene, including news teams, emergency personnel, and nosy civilians. The EMT's felt my wrist, then my chest. They pronounced me dead.
Except, the EMT's weren't the ones to pronounce me dead. That was the job of another. I saw him too among the crowd, standing off to the side. No one else seemed to notice him, although they formed ring of space to avoid him. Perhaps they could sense his presence. A hooded figure, not approaching, no, he just stood and watched.
*Take me,* I thought. *I'm finished.* He did not respond. Not even his robe swayed in the wind.
I gazed past the shade of his hood and saw his eyes, or his holes, rather. There was something in those holes. I looked into them and saw through the emptiness. I saw something... afraid.
How could Death be afraid? Death is soulless, empty. Except, somehow I could see something in there. Something I could almost reach in and snatch.
He knew I could see him. Not just that I could see him. After all, anyone could see him here at the end. No, I could *really* see him, and he knew that. I didn't know what this meant at first.
*Take me now,* I said.
*I cannot,* he replied. *You are above me.*
In a blink, he was gone. He fled. Vanished into thin air. Actually, the air was rather thick. It was a humid day.
I emerged from the hot street, leaving my rotting body behind. Death is a skeleton for humans because a skeleton is deep inside, something that nobody can see. Over time, Death decays the human until the skeleton can be seen by all. What is deep inside Death? What am I? A soul, an intangible spirit, shrouded by darkness.
| 2015-04-03T11:07:18 | 2015-04-02T16:44:00 | 45 | 18 |
[WP]You are a caretaker at a retirement home for reformed supervillains. You have just found out that you have a superpower ,now the ex-villains wanna train you to be a superhero .
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Inside the building, they were none-the-wiser.
The ex-villains spent more time than most nursing home residents exercising. As such, as I peered in around the door frame, most were lost in their own worlds on various pieces of exercise equipment. I bit my lip, giving the room a twice-over to ensure the best plan of action.
Somehow, I’d managed to book a day full of paperwork. All I had to do was slip into my office, unnoticed, and I could get to work. It was a wonderful way to buy time to craft some cover story, some explanation, that would divert the inevitable surge of interest amongst the residents. Interest that could quite literally drown me - these guys aren’t prone to messing around when they’re curious.
I took a precarious few steps inside, subconsciously wiping my hands on my pant legs. Damn well that nobody here had scent-based powers; my salt content’d be picked up two miles away.
A deep breath. Another few steps.
Heaven be damned, this was going pretty smoothly.
“What’s the rush, Sullivan?”
Shit.
A robust arm swung its way around my shoulder, the body behind it sparing no thought for personal space. This was Val - once deeply feared for his powerful telekinesis. Nowadays, Val spent his time teaching teens safe weight-lifting practices. Since his rehab, he’d taken a…. liking to using his own body, rather than his powers. (‘Liking’ was putting it lightly, of course; Val was, aside from the strength-based ex-villains, the most fit within the residence.)
“So I heard from a pal of mine,” Val began. He was unaware of my tension; or, perhaps more likely, simply ignoring it. “That you were involved in a little accident around the city power plant.”
“Yeah, well…” I attempted to wriggle free, to no avail. “Short circuits and all… happens.”
A long, thoughtful hum. “That so, kid? Way I heard it, the source of the shock was no wire or beaker box or whatever-ya-call-it…”
Val lifted his arm now, moving instead to block my path. He was a loud guy, and his fellow residents were starting to stare. A few had crept closer.
“Eh… well, must not’ve been an eye-witness, because I assure you,” A pause. Against my will, my eyes darted away from his. “My being there had no impact on… the currents. Or… wires. Or whatever-you-call-thems.”
Val said nothing, this time; when I looked up, he was sporting a grin so wide I could’ve sworn he was a moment away from jump-scaring me. (He had a tendency to do that. It was hard for him, nowadays, because of his size; but the man had taken a very strong liking to harmless pranks.)
“Hey, Chandler!” Val shouted. Even more heads turned to us. I flinched. “You here about lil’ Sully?”
“Listen, listen, I appreciate the concern,” I managed, in spite of my cracking voice. “But I really need to get to work, lots of papers, y’know? Got a busy day…”
I continued to ramble, much more to myself than to Val. After another failed attempt to sneak past the robust ex-villain, I could see that my once-genius plan had come to a full halt. All that was left was to accept my fate - whatever that may be.
Chandler appeared like a ghost, slipping from behind Val like he’d been there all the while. (Which was, all things considered, likely - they were very close.) He, too, was wearing an unnerving grin. My grip on my bag tightened.
“Lightning, is it?” Chandler asked, taking a couple of shaky steps towards me.
A long, long pause.
Finally, my shoulders drooped, and I nodded.
“Similar to fire,” he murmured. His eyes were giving me a once-over, observing my frame, my potential. “Certainly similar to control.”
“That… so?” I was at a loss for words.
“Y’know, in his day,” Val began, slinging a pointing thumb towards Chandler. “Chance here was quite fit.”
I blinked. “Is that so?”
I was becoming a broken record.
“Fitness is the first step to power control,” Val added. His grin somehow grew wider.
“Fire and lightning are twin powers.”
I looked between them, not even able to ask if that was so. They looked like a pair of baseball dads, talking to their kid after his first home-run.
“Erm… work.” I pointed at my office door.
“Training,” they said together.
I gulped. They were adamant. “I’ll… talk to my boss,” I gave them, much to their immediate delight.
Val finally let me past, and I couldn’t ignore the excited whispers they shared.
All I’d wanted was a normal day.
Instead, I’d been practically adopted.
(hope this is good. haven't written in months, but I managed this in between classes on my phone).
|
It was a stupid mistake. I was crossing the street in front of work and was so focused on my phone I didnt see the cement truck trying to run the stop sign. Until it hit me. Or tried to. The steel frame wrapped around me. The engine split in two in front of me. But I didn't move. When everything settled, I stretched my arms out and the truck frame bent around me. I should probably take the day off.
As I ran from the scene, I looked up and saw my patients in the window. They had seen it all. This was bad. My patients were the worst of the worst. One had wiped 3 coastal states off the map. Another had nearly destroyed the entire planet before Captain Quark died stopping his death engine from firing. And every day my job was to care for them in their old age. And they had all seen me wave the truck off like it was a minor annoyance.
Mr. Dementor smiled as I showed up the next day. He knew. The rest of the staff could barely get him out of bed but when I showed up, he did what I asked without so much as a peep. After The Consortium had stripped his powers he hadn't been much of a threat but he was still a hassle to the staff. But never to me. I'd wondered if he knew about the power I had before I did.
I'll get another part done later today. Thanks for reading 😎
| 2019-04-15T10:55:17 | 2019-04-15T10:30:50 | 1,414 | 162 |
[WP] You go to hell, only to find out that hell has been overturned by humans. Turns out gathering billions of the most wicked of human, among them are several ruthless but brilliant rulers, commanders, and dictators, whom can no longer die, isn't such a good idea after all.
|
“Hitler? Yeah. Heard of the guy,” Gabriel sighed out between big drags to finish his cigarette. He tossed it, snapped his fingers, and conjured another – his favorite bit of prestidigitation – before looking back out over the expanse. This high up on the bone cliffs, the angel liked to say, the wails and weeping and explosions down below were faint as a ghost’s fart. This high up, Gabriel liked to say, one could get some perspective.
“Cat wound up here at the tail end of some big surge or other,” he continued with a shrug.
“Some big surge or other?” I asked. “It was World War Two! He was — Fuck, man, he’s Hitler!”
I waved away the smoke he’d puffed my way on purpose. I wanted one, of course. On Earth, cigarettes had been for me second only to cocaine. Here, though, all your favorite things were muted just enough that no amount could sate the desire.
It turned out that the God of the Universe was a fickle trickster god, and Hell wasn’t so much eternal physical torment but an eternity where nothing was ever good enough. A carton of Cowboy Killers might as well be a single, soggy, ultra-light Virginia Slim. A mountain of blow might as well be talcum powder. Nothing here had the right... kick. Gabriel shrugged, reached into his flesh satchel, and winged something out toward the Lake of Teeth. He got good distance on the throw.
“Yeah, we’d all tuned out a few,” he paused, thinking, “centuries? Millennia? Time runs weird here; system update from the big guy to mess with folks that liked to be prompt. Anyway, we was plenty busy with you guys way before Eraser-Stache showed up and tried to make his mark. I mean, it’s, what? Two billion of you bathing apes back there now? Three?”
“Seven? Seven and a half when I... uh...,” I balked. It was still hard to embrace the concept.
“Yeah, whatever,” Gabriel shrugged. “That’s – what? – just like seven? Ten percent of the total humans what ever lived? We been over capacity since before Junior got his avatar crucified. Granted, the Big Guy’s decision to send all of you here after what you did to His Son did lead to a bump in intake, but it’s gonna be hard for any one of you to make a dent. At least any dent that lasts.”
“So over here,” I said, “Over here, Hitler’s just some —“
“Think he runs a little racket over south of Little Moscow,” Gabriel said. “Tried to make a push. Tried to take the city. He actually got it, but the city sprang up anew once he’d won, twenty miles north, and the land he’d conquered turned into a quagmire of mud and starving Russians.”
Gabriel reached into his satchel again, produced something, shook the blood off it, and threw again. Even better distance.
“Keeps at it nowadays, but only kinda,” he said, his four right arms shielding four of his eyes for a better view of the throw. “Tries to get the weak willed all fired up about cleansing this place of undermenchen or something. Hard sell, though; why ethnic cleanse when you know it’s just gonna be dirty again tomorrow. Got to admire his persistence, I guess. Man’s left a river of corpses, and all he’s got to deal with is an army of heroes unsatisfied that he keeps coming back after they kill him.”
“So why’d you bring me up here, then?” I asked. I’d spent weeks (months? centuries? Hard to tell with the time here.) getting close to Gabriel. Getting him to trust me. I didn’t know much about the Bible, but I knew Gabriel was one of the Big Guy’s top dudes. He had to know a way out of here. I hadn’t been that bad before. Just some gambling. Maybe a few grifts here and there. A little blow. I could really use some blow. And a smoke. Gabriel didn’t belong here. He had to know something.
“Mostly boredom,” the angel said, finishing off a smoke and starting another. “With the system updates, we don’t really have much to do as far as torturing you guys. Anything we could do, you guys actually wind up doing better to each other.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That and, you know,” he said, pausing for effect. “You like to feel special. Like maybe you could run game on me. Get yourself some mercy, maybe. No dice, but we’ll wipe that part of your memory, and you can try again tomorrow. Or in five minutes. You know, with the weird time and all. Mostly, though, I thought maybe it would be fun this time.”
“And... Was it?” I asked, doing my best not to let him know he’d gotten to me. How many times had I done this? How long had I been here? Was this my own little Moscow quagmire?
“Nah,” he said, heaving another something toward the sea. “That’s the thing about this place. Sucks all the joy out of everything.”
We watched the projectile splash down. Watched the teeth start chewing it. Gabriel waved two of his arms and flipped me off with another three as I turned and headed back to the flames and screams.
I turned back, only now looking at what Gabriel was pulling from the flesh sack to throw into the sea. It was babies. Some dead. Others mute and wriggling. All of Gabriel’s mouths were frowning. Like he wanted to find joy in the throws but just couldn’t get there.
|
Hell was a terrible place.
I know that was an understatement but I felt that it had to be said and for the record I’d like to also say that I don’t deserve this.
What was this might you ask?
This, was being surrounded by history's greatest (or worst depending on your definition) killers in human history.
They were all in a meeting, wondering what to do with me.
“We should throw him out.” Yelled Hitler. “He doesn’t belong here!”
“Quiet you!” Answered Emperor Palpatine. “We need all the bodies we can get!”
“Hey!” I cried out. “I like Hitler’s idea! I don’t belong in Hell at all!”
“No no no.” A well dressed man answered. “He’s not talking about throwing you out of Hell, he’s talking about throwing you out of this building.”
“Uhhh.”
“Oh, where are my manners? I am Professor Moriarty, I am sure you’ve heard of my exploits?”
I hadn't. “Of course!” He didn’t seem to believe me but was polite enough to not show it. “So what’s so bad about outside? Fire?”
“No, something worse.” The killers of every time period shuddered as one. “Let me ask you a question, where do you think dogs go when they die?”
“Heaven?”
“Most of them, yes, now… where do you think Wasps go?”
It was then that I heard some buzzing and the shattering of glass.
Moriarty for once seemed off put. “Let me just tell you this boy, there aren’t just killers here in Hell, they also put in the ass holes, the pranksters and let’s just say that somewhere in that mix Hell also got Wasp breeders.”
Wasp breeders? Why the Hell would you want more Wasps? My vision was soon covered by a buzzing mess of rage and from then on I knew nothing but pain.
| 2018-06-17T19:20:48 | 2018-06-17T19:10:54 | 105 | 38 |
[WP] The protagonist is entierly overprepared for the wrong genre. They make it work.
|
“How many has it killed?” I asked, risking a quick glance over my shoulder as I pressed the shotgun’s barrel against the kitchen door and slowly pushed it open.
“Killed?” The man cowering in my footsteps ask, his voice quivering in confusion.
I let out a sigh. Frickin’ amateaurs.
I had been hunting the things that go bump in the night for the majority of my adult life. Vampires, werewolves, hell - I even bagged an honest-to-god mummy once, but it was the home invasion types that bothered me the most. Families torn apart for some sick amusement, or to feed the blood lust of creatures that no sane man would dream exist. Whatever their reason, in the end it didn’t matter.
I had a family once, and I knew that this guy had kids.
“Killed.” I repeated, trying to keep a lid on my irritation. Sliding into the kitchen, I tried the light switch on the wall, only to find to my amazement that it actually worked. These things usually preferred the dark, and fed on fear. “Or murdered. Or possessed. Whatever.” I clarified gruffly.
There was something here, I could feel it.
“Um. N-no one, that I know of.” His voice wavered. “It just shows up whenever the kids-“
“How many kids?” I cut him off, my voice going gravel. I had a soft spot for children, and the things that tormented them fueled the anger that I carried within me, it’s flames licking at the edges of memory.
“Two. Billy and Jessie.” He answered as we rounded the small island counter.
“Where are they now?”
I allowed myself to relax slightly. Nothing had attacked us, and the roomed seemed empty. If something had been here, it was long gone.
“Upstairs, with their mother.” Pointing to the white stucco ceiling in emphasis, he offered what I’m sure he thought passed as a brave smile.
“Who noticed it first?” I asked, ignoring it.
“Billy. He was doing his homework, and reading through that book.” He explained, motioning past me to a pile of papers scattered atop their dining table. “He got it from the library.”
“Of course he did.” I rolled my eyes as I turned my full attention to the old tome that lay half buried under the kid’s course work.
I had seen this before – some dying psychopath takes his collection of haunted books and cursed binders and drops them off at the local library. They get shelved, or filed, or someone just happens to notice them in the return bin, and just like that…
…monsters.
I approached the table cautiously, careful not to make any immediate eye contact with the book. Sometimes you didn’t even have to read these things for them to possess you. You just had to look at them.
Lifting the shotgun, I carefully slid a mostly completely math worksheet out of the way and allowed my eyes to adjust on the very edge of the volume.
Nothing.
Grimacing slightly, I steeled my will and took in the page in its entirety.
It was a page of math, nothing more. Hell, it wasn’t even the hard math that could easily be full of old spells or glyphs – it was an introduction to algebra.
“I don’t understand.” I frowned, turning to meet the man.
That was my mistake, because as I did so, I felt the wind stir behind me and the presence was there. Instinctively I stepped back and spun on the place where I had sensed the creature manifest.
Two eyes, large and white stared at me through black dots painted on their center. Its big blue nose stood in stark contrast to its neon green fur, and forcing a toothless smile, the demon raised its three fingered, felt covered hands and spoke in a mocking, sing-song voice.
“Did somebody they don’t underst- ”
BANG!
The old Remington shattered the eerie silence in an explosion of thunder as the first barrel belched forth a cloud of stinging shrapnel. The payload was ammunition of my own design; a mixture of pure silver and iron balls backed by the inferno of white phosphorous that burned hotter than any hell that these monsters could ever know. It took down everything from vampires to wendigo, and it hadn’t failed me yet.
This time was no different.
The creature’s head was instantly ripped in two. A cloud of soft, white gore filled the air in a chaotic snowstorm of cottony fluff. It flew backwards, its arms flailing wildly as I fired again, this time catching it in the center of its chest. The smiling rainbow pictured there disappeared as the white prosperous ignited its fur and all but disintegrated the monster’s torso.
“MISTER BLUEBERRY NOSE! NOOOOO!” Two voices screamed from behind me.
The children.
Rushing past me they ran to the smoldering corpse of their tormentor, their wails of happiness filling the small kitchen with deafening force.
“HE WAS GOING TO TEACH US A SONG ABOUT LONG DIVISION!” They cried out.
I said nothing, content to watch as the creature’s still twitching corpse burned.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Their father asked, suddenly growing a backbone.
I didn’t have an answer. We stood staring at each other wordlessly for what felt like eternity, as the grief-stricken sobbing of his children moaned balefully around us.
“You should probably go.” He said finally, his voice cold and flat.
“I should probably go.” I agreed. And with that I turned and left.
If there was thanks, I didn’t need it.
Not tonight.
For I had put down another monster, and in the end, Sesame Street would be better for it.
|
My name is Nikhil Roy. I was fairly certain my life was a sitcom for the majority of my life. I did everything necessary, became a great second city comedian, gathered a large mass of money to make sure that I would be able to simultaneously struggle with rent occasionally and live in a cushy New York apartment. I made totally wacky friends who struggled with their love life's in a hilarious fashion. My best bud is a playboy who gets drinks tossed across his face. Everything makes sense right, I'm in a sitcom right? Tell that to the dragon at the top of the nearest mountain.
"Okay, so here I am in Olags tavern, and I'm getting real nice with this elf-archer girl, she invites to her house, so we leave. When we get there, I'm ready to undress, when I see her shelves, and they're filled with gnome x troll pornos!"*chuckling ensues*"Who does that?"
"People with Gnoll fetishes, probably."*laugh track*
"Gnoll? Like gnome x troll? That's a thing?"
"Yeah it's a thing, everything's a thing in this kinky-ass world!" *uproars of laughter.*
"So now, I'm asking her about it, says they aren't hers. Their her 59 year old Druid roommates. So that's weird enough, right? THERES ONE BED IN THE APARTMENT." *laughing ensues again.*
"So did you stay?"
"Yeah I stayed. NO OF COURSE I DIDN'T STAY, IM NOT SLEEPING IN A BED THAT COULD HAVE WYVERN-RAT FUR!" *wheezing laugh tracks.*
*pause*"Was the archer hot though?"
"Thick as fuck." *chuckling, and scene.*
*knock knock* **who's there?** *ITS YOUR AUTHOR HERE* **author who** *the one who'll expand the story if you upvote, and if you want more stories about people named Nikhil Roy subscribe to r/thebad_comedian.*
| 2016-11-02T10:16:36 | 2016-11-02T07:42:31 | 124 | 45 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute.
|
In the beginning, we started small- pranks like flies in the mead, or sawing off swords at the hilt before a battle. My personal favorite was paying off the whores to shit under the sheets during the act, but that's another story for another day. And I have plenty of days left.
Once, one of us even played dead, though no one believed him, of course. We all knew we were immortal, with one stipulation, that any use of technology would strip us of the power.
That was the one rule, the one limitation- we inherited our immortality from the gods of old, and just as technology killed them, so too would it kill us. So we froze ourselves before the industrial revolution, confining ourselves away from the rest of society. Some of us left for deserted islands in the pacific, knowing that so much as a button press would send brother death a hint of our scent. Others departed deep into the Amazon, where even today they persist. But the rest of us, about fifteen in all, started a religion and convinced others to join us, mortals who built our society.
Together, we built the farms, we set our rules, and we created families. And together, we never progressed farther than the horse carriage. Gears were forbidden, electricity a near curse word, engines driven more by math than mathematics.
You may have heard of us, or even seen us as we drive our buggies along the road. And you probably know us by our simple name.
The Amish.
Confined forever to menial tasks, to the back of the scientific curve, forever.
And today, in 2017, I'd decided I'd finally had enough. Because today, Jebediah went too far with a prank.
"Cow pies in the churn!" He chuckled as I sliced into a brick of butter that appeared normal on the outside, but was marbled with manuer on the inside, "What's that, Jakob, the eightieth time? And you always fall for it! Wait til Gideon gets a load of this, last time he nearly choked on his milk! It was udderly hilarious!"
He wiped his tears away with his beard, letting the laughter flow easily, leaning against a barn wall we had erected only days before.
"It's so easy with you, Jakob!" He continued, as I grit my teeth, listening to the same speech I had heard hundreds of times throughout the last century alone, one that had finally started to wear away even my thick skin, "So gullible, you think you one of your pranks would be successful! But last time I checked, you were pretty far behind!"
He laughed again, and turned to walk away. And I snapped- even I couldn't take another minute of it, of living without plumbing, of walking when we could drive, of dealing with the hard way of doing things. I'd held it together all these years, but now it was time to put an end to it.
"Hey, Jebediah!" I called after him, "About being pretty far behind on pranks. I have a confession- five hundred years ago I lied about something, planting the idea in all our heads, after you pulled this *very same* butter prank, because it was just as stupid back then as it is now. Technology has no impact on us- we can live perfectly fine with it."
Jebediah rolled his eyes, and waved a hand to dismiss the thought. So I reached into my pocket for the Rolls Royce key I had sewed into the lining, walked to my "garage barn" that was my private house, and laid on the horn as I carved a path into his corn field.
And completed the greatest prank in, well, living memory.
********
By Leo
[For more of my work, check out my story about a starship stranded in deep space](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4uuvir/wp_after_almost_1000_years_the_population_of_a/d5t4uu1/)
|
"Hey Tony," John said "in ten thousand years pull my finger."
"Okay, sure" Tony said
Ten thousand years pass.
"Well, John. It's time for me to pull that finger of yours."
"Here it is." John said with a grin.
Tony reached for Johns finger. As he pulled it John audibly farted.
"Aww, gross!" Tony said, pinching his nose.
"Haha, gotcha!" John farted.
| 2017-06-22T19:24:49 | 2017-06-22T19:04:31 | 4,256 | 309 |
[WP] You discover a library with a biography for everyone on Earth. While reading your own, you notice that whenever someone else is mentioned, there's a footnote showing where you can find their biography. Its odd how someone who was only a sentence in your book has a whole chapter for you.
|
*Carl ended up going to prom with Alice, I hated him.*
I giggled as I read the line. This library of biographies is fantastic. There is so much memory of each person, all collected within one room. Everyone’s life is recorded, every scrap of information, every thought, every emotion they felt at the moment. There is no one insignificant in this room, from historical figures to the beggar, all of our stories are recorded. Our experiences, whether they be of a hard struggle or of a blissful moment, not a thing that made our lives colorful is missed from these biographies.
I still remember that moment, when Alice came to tell me she was going to prom with Carl, the utter humility, the disappointment… It was everything to me at the time, and I hated the son of a bitch. The the one who showed little interest in actually committing to a relationship, the one who ended up dumping her anyway after the night, was the one who actually got to go on a date with her. Even then, I toughened up, and acted, pretended, to give them my best wishes and extending my hand to him to tell him no hard feelings, so I can tell myself what I nice person I am. God I hope that poor bastard suffered the rest of his life.
And that’s when I went to look for Carl’s biography. Section D, number 10523, it was a remarkably short one. I am in my fifties and my biography is already the size of a Thesaurus, his is more close to a high schooler's notebook.
As I turned page after page, I realized, his life is remarkably boring. The guy spent most of his early life in-doors, quiet, without much friends. Commentaries on his experiences remained bland for the most part -- “Learned to ride a bike, just like dad said I would.” And another “Straight As again, mom would be proud.” There were no further comments on what those experiences actually felt like. They were just a description of an event combined with how he thought other people would feel about it. There was also very little mention of himself, which is odd for a biography…
Until I reached the section about Alice. The narration here is different. There were detailed descriptions of how he thought of her as the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, how he would go the library on days she would go study… What a creep.
The next section somehow returned to the old boring narration.
“Diagnosed with lung cancer, inoperable. Best case scenario, two years”
The guy died within two years later, and more than half of this book remained is about the two years he had!
The rest of the biography read like a bestselling novel, each event, no matter how tiny they seemed, was filled with emotion, with hope and strive, with how much he wanted to ask for Alice’s hand despite knowing he’s dying. How hard he worked to be comfortable talking to others, the jokes he had to memorize to make himself sound funny, the countless webpages he read to make himself presentable.
“Asked Alice to prom today, she said yes surprisingly. I knew she was supposed to be going with another guy, Matt. I know he loves her, and I know there won’t be a future for Alice and me. I just had to do it. I’m sorry...”
I quickly flipped another page, I had no idea.
“Matt didn’t flip out. Perhaps he knew how pathetic I am, or it was because he saw there will be no future between Alice and me… Despite this, he extended his hand to me, and told me there was no hard feelings, that neither Alice nor me owe him anything. He patted me on the back, but there was something odd about it, he was hurt, yet he remained strong. He told me to have fun, that there’s one prom and that's it, before telling me to be brave with a wink.”
“Alice and I had a blast at the prom. She seemed interested in seeing me again, and so am I. I looked at her beautiful blue eyes, they definitely sparkle under the night sky. My sight lingered on her as I am reminded my doctors predictions. I told her we won't be seeing each other again. I tried to give her a pat on the back, but she shoved me away with tears in her eyes… Getting admitted today, getting worse. Though each time I lay on the bed, I can't help but remember Matt's look when he patted me on the back -- have fun, and be brave. And I did, thank you Matt!”
I closed the book, a barrage of emotion hit me as I struggled for words. There doesn't seem to be any for this moment except perhaps
You're welcome
|
With a growing curiosity, I fell back into my chair and looked at the book in front of me. "Lisa Matherson. The Autobiography." Nope. Definitely never heard her name before. The contents displayed three chapters. Unreal. A chapter I can kinda understand, but two hundred pages? Insane. "To James. My sun and my moon," it read. In the form of a diary she wrote, pages and pages that painted a vivid picture. Hours passed and still I read. When I finally stood, my knees were weak. Memories repressed had flooded back. Guilt and sadness overcame me. It was all true.
Outside, Doctor Andrew Lansky observed his patient through the safety of a one way mirror. He watched in fascination as the patient, shackled and constrained, writhed in emotional pain, the picture of the deceased woman forgotten on the floor. "I hope this brings you some closure, Mr Matherson," he said softly, peering at the man over his glasses. James Matherson said nothing. A solitary tear rolled down his cheek, and he turned to leave.
| 2017-12-04T03:50:20 | 2017-12-04T03:12:19 | 4,737 | 25 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
You stare at the mirror for a few more moments as you brush your teeth. Surely, it's joking. You spit, and let out a nervous chuckle after wiping the toothpaste from your lips.
"Maybe I'll have to run for the bus today."
You try to shake it off, and go on to get ready. You go a little faster than normal, expecting that you may have to hustle if you don't want to have to sprint for... Whatever reason. You stop and stare at your hiking bag. Maybe... Maybe you should pack that one instead, today.
Just in case.
--
Your bag is heavy now, holding a majority of your toiletries, spare clothes, a blanket, pillow, first aid kit... You may have overprepared, a bit. You may be worrying too much but...
Just in case.
--
You are feeling awkward. Your bag is so big and clunky as you walk into your office. You head towards your cubicle, feeling ashamed. You didn't have to run for the bus, and now you have a travel pack with you that you may not even need.
Your boss comes up behind you, tapping your shoulder. You jump, having forgotten he was there, smiling and laughing when you recognize him.
"Jeez, Jerry. You scared the crap out of me!" You say, sighing in relief and relaxing your shoulders. "What can I do for you today?"
Jerry smiles, but it seems... Strange. "I. Need you to. Follow." He says, tilting his head in a way that... Should not seem possible.
You tense back up, reaching towards your bag. "Okay, yeah. Just give me a sec!" You look frantically before your eyes settle on the bathroom. "That coffee is really gettin' to me! Ahaha..." You stare up into the empty, doll-like eyes of who you thought was your boss. He's looking less and less like your boss... Or a human being.
He slides his head in your direction, smile broadening to a frightening degree. "Of course! Bathrooms are. Important for human health. After all." He seems satisfied with his answer, lifting his slacking head somewhat upright. "When you're done. Removing the coffee in the. Bathroom, meet me. Follow. To the desk. Okay?" He starts walking away before you can answer.
You take the chance to slink to the bathroom. You can't believe what you just saw. "How could this be happening?" You look at your phone. Should you... Call someone? What if more people are like this? What does he want to do to you?
Then you remember the note from the mirror. "RUN".
"It's never led me astray before..." You mumble, before sneaking your way to the elevator.
Inside is another employee, one that you've seen around. He works downstairs, just started about a month ago. He usually comes in with a fresh coffee and random trivia from the newspaper he'd read that morning. Today, he has a glassy stare. His jaw is loose in a strange, empty smile.
"H... Hey?" You manage to say, pressing the button for the ground floor. The doors shut just as he turns his whole body to face you.
"Hello. You were supposed. To meet me. At the desk." He frowns, but in a way that seems almost like he isn't sure how to use his face. You begin to back up, but your thick backpack keeps you from going further.
"Ah, yeah... About that... I have to go home on an emergency." You say. No point in even questioning why he is acting like he talked to you when it was your boss. You've played enough games to get an idea of what the possibilities are here, and you aren't about to find out.
"It is. Crucial that you are. Involved. In your workplace." He says, getting closer. "You need to. Be cooperative."
You start to panic. What do you do? You look up to the display in the elevator. You're almost there. "I... Um..." You are trying to stall, but his advance seems unhindered. Before you know it you act, kicking him in the gut as the door opens.
You run. Running through the lobby. Running past confused coworkers. Running past those who are... Changed. You aren't going to let this get you. The mirror said to run. So you're running.
You run until you begin to see spots, coming up on a rest stop on a back road. "It couldn't have made it out here..." You sigh, barely able to drag yourself to rest on the curb in front of the stop. You had planned to go in, but your body has given in to the need for rest and you are drifting off...
--
You feel a bump. You're no longer on the ground.
You are in the back of someone's vehicle. It's pitch black, and you can hear murmurs. You're terrified, but all you can do is hope that when they open it they expect you to still be unconscious.
After about 3 hours, they pull off to the side of the road. You feel them close the car doors, and brace yourself. They open the trunk, and...
They are NOT human. They are not human. They are not human.
They. Are. Not. Human.
You have never seen something so horrific in your life. An indescribable feeling of fear comes over you. You soil yourself. You know you won't get away. You should have kept running. You should have listened from the start.
***"Y O U. C A N. N O T. R U N."***
|
It’s hard to say when it started, or even when the first Message came. Most mornings, when I’d go into the bathroom, I might see one in the mirror’s reflection, just in sight in black letters. They usually consisted of advice, telling me to water the cactus next week, or to not go into Subway that day – I was feeling like sushi that afternoon anyway. And, of course, my cactus and I would stay healthy, and not bloated with water or lead. Sometimes it would answer a question, offering the name of a song that I didn’t recall the title for, or maybe a drink that would help me sleep at night. Then there were the questions it posed, and yes, I did want to eat all those sausages. Those times was less “Live, damn you!” and more “Yeah, not advisable, but I won’t stop you.”
Today was like any other. Got out of bed, grabbed a can of pop and heated up the remains of last night’s dinner – sliced heart and pasta. Delicious. Good thing about living alone, you can always make a little too much for dinner and save it for breakfast. I got myself ready for a morning walk, needed the fresh air, and I headed into the bathroom. Now, here’s the thing, my mirror is one of the first things you can see in there. So when I opened the door, I saw it instantly.
&#x200B;
“RUN”
&#x200B;
It was huge, bold, and blood red, scrawled with a terrified haste.
I cautiously approached the mirror, my breath shallow with fear. Years had passed, and not once had I ever seen this before. None of the previous Messages had taken up as much space as they could, nor smeared into a just-legible sight.
But it was evidently a Message, existing in the reflection.
And inside that reflection, was a sanguine mess.
| 2020-06-08T00:10:27 | 2020-06-07T23:56:26 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
|
I slammed my hand down on the snooze button once again. Not even sure how many times I had repeated the action up to that point as I desperately tried to sleep off the hangover knocking on the inside of my skull. I had just turned 21 the night before, and took full liberty of celebrating it alone in a bar near my apartment.
I was something of an oddity at that point as far as I could tell. I was a man without an identity. Or I guess you could say I was a man without a defining trait. A trait that would eventually announce itself in the form of a familiar. A physical manifestation that showed just what kind of person you were. Good or bad. Of course, it was up to you if your familiar was visible in the first place. Some people had particularly large familiars that would get in the way of everyday life if their master permitted them to. Or, in some cases, a familiar would show others what kind of person you really were. If you’re defining trait was -both literally and figuratively- ugly, then who in their right mind would strut around with it showing?
Nearly everyone had one by the time they turned 18. A few people would take a bit longer, but not having one by the time you were twenty was highly unusual. In fact, as far as I knew, the amount of people in recent history who had yet to acquire one by my age numbered fewer than five. Yet here I was, a hungover representation of what it was like to have an identity crisis.
I never really felt like I was missing out before I had been 18 for a few months, prior to that I just felt like I needed to be patient. My familiar would come. It was only a matter of time.
I was able to keep that up until I tried looking for work. That’s when the situation began to negatively impact my life. There wasn’t a job in the world that you could apply for without showing your potential employer your familiar. Afterall, the best way to judge a person was to just take a look at their familiar. If your manifestation was something like Kindness or Dedication, then you’d probably not even have to look for a job. Employers would come to you. On the other hand, your odds of finding legal employment with something like Rage, or Cruelty were virtually nonexistent.
Which is why some people make efforts to hide their familiars from employers. There wasn’t a legal requirement to show your familiar to anyone who asked. So if your familiar wasn’t something you wanted people to know then you could simply try to skirt that part of whatever interview you were doing. At least, that was the theory. In reality any employer would reject you if you weren’t willing to show them your defining trait.
I understood that. I mean, the odds of someone of age not having a familiar really were astronomically low. Unfortunately for me, in the same vein, virtually no employer in the world would hire someone who claims to not have a familiar at all at my age. “No one would claim to not have one if they weren’t just trying to hide some undesirable trait,” was what I am sure went through the heads of everyone who had ever interviewed me.
So, after leaving home at 18, failing to find a job, and desperately getting by with whatever work I could get, I eventually fell into my current line of work.
Shawn Davenport. 21. Male.
Conman.
That’s right. Conman. I worked my way through the past two and a half years as a scam artist. Bleeding people for money that they hand over to me of their own free will. Even if the reasons they do so are all based on lies I make. But hey, it’s what I needed to do to survive at that point. That is unless I wanted to try and get into organized crime, but nowadays not even they would go out of their way to hire someone who’s familiar wasn’t beneficial to that kind of work.
I was pretty good at what I did too. I had quickly went from unemployed and nearly homeless to making six digits a year, tax free. It helped that a person’s familiar would give away whether of not they were an easy mark. The same Kindness that would get you through medical school for free was like a big arrow that said “easy” for someone like me. A few words, a few drinks, and the next thing you know I’m your best friend who needs money to pay for their mother’s operation.
Yeah. Life had gotten pretty good. Money wasn’t an issue. Instead the issue was the self loathing. I was good at what I did, and I hated myself for it. I was stealing money from hard working people, and I felt like my need was legitimate, and I always needed more. In a short span of time I had gone from pretending to be the grandchild of an elderly couple, to sleeping with the wife of a billionaire even as her husband threw me money for a charity that didn’t even exist.
Which leads to my bit of karmic rebalance. I gave away almost everything I ever took. Donating away my ill gotten gains so that I could sleep better at night. Paying visits to children’s hospitals so that wide eyed kids who didn’t care at all about familiars could tell me I was a good person. Filling my apartment with stray cats because they never judged me for the work I did.
Eventually I even managed to make my fake charity scheme into an actual charity. Sure, I was skimming money off the top of it under the noses of all the charitable souls who through money at me, but I wasn’t even sure how many meals I had managed to give to impoverished children.
The feeling of being a good person helped. A lot. So did the alcohol. When I couldn’t save enough kittens from animal shelters I would turn to the bottle. Getting inebriated to forget about a world obsessed with defining attributes that turned its back on my because I had yet to be defined.
The alarm went off again. This time I actually took the steps to turn it off and get out of bed like a functional human being. I lept out of bed, petted the head of the closest cat, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The next time I opened them, it was there.
When I used to constantly wonder when I would get my familiar I did my research. People talked about the feeling of completeness that you got when you saw yours for the first time. That’s how I knew instantly what it was.
The little mask floating in the air. It looked like the sort of stage mask one saw in a theatre production. A simple thing with two vacant eyes and a small mouth. At first it looked like it was made of wood, and as I took a step back in surprise the light changed, and in that moment I swore it wasn’t wood, but gold. Behind the mask seemed to be a barely visible cloak. Almost completely transparent, and not entirely solid. Almost as if it were made of a few threads from a spider’s web. The inside of the cloak seemed to be filled with a light gray fog that roiled and moved about unpredictably. Sparkles like diamonds occasionally visible throughout.
It took me a moment to recover from the shock. When I stepped back in front of it the mask seemed to flash back to wood and a feeling of apprehension came over me. This was it. The moment that I too would be defined, and I was scared of what my answer would be.
Hesitantly I spoke to it for the first time. “What are you?”
It hovered there for a number of seconds, as if regarding my with its vacant eyes before speaking. “I am…”
It’s voice seemed odd at first. Distorted in a strange way, and I couldn’t make out the last word it spoke. The apprehension took hold of me once more, and I leaned in closer towards that mask. Asking it to repeat what it said, which it did with that same amount of pause as earlier.
“I am... “
This time I managed to catch onto that it said, and why the voice had sounded so distorted. It was two voices. Two voices speaking in perfect unison. One was smooth, but cold, like the surface of the mask looked when it appeared to be gold. The other voice was simple and peaceful, like the mask looked when it was wood.
The two voices had a certain depth to them that gave the impression that one of them was farther away, but ultimately they blended together so perfectly that I couldn’t hope of telling which one of them was nearer than the other. But still, I worked out what the two voices said. My familiar, or as it happens, familiars identified themselves for me.
“I am…” In a voice like gold, and in a voice like wood, two conflicting words came forth. “Greed” and “Charity”.
________
This is my first submission to this subreddit, and my first attempt at writing in some time, so pardon any errors, and feedback is appreciated.
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*For the record, I did not check the comments to see if anyone had used this idea I apologize if I have copied anyone, here we go!*
The Iridashi Companion Creator, or ICC, was created back in the year 2075, and has been creating companions or more commonly known as "Familiars" for people ever since. It was found in a study several years prior to its creation that people better fulfilled their societal role if they were accompanied by things that mirrored their most prevalent aspects. This inspired Mr. Iridashi to pursue creating one of the most revolutionary creations in the history of humanity.
All Familiars are either animals or objects. The only exception to this was when Mr. Iridashi himself went into the ICC as the first person to try his creation. The result was a human familiar with the same inventive mind of Mr. Iridashi. Together they strived to make many more of the greatest innovations of mankind. However, Mr. Iridashi and his Familiar disallowed human familiars after a troubled young man named Alvin Tannamont entered the ICC and only his murderous Familiar exited. This was later labeled the Tannamont Incident and gave birth to a small part of the populace known as the "Loners" who are against the use of the ICC, but quickly faded due to public approval of the ICC.
I am Brian Rayton and I turn 21 today. I am going to take another try at the ICC today and I have cleared my schedule even though I doubt it will be fruitful. I'm planning on meeting Rob at the Transit Hub and heading to our district's ICC facility for my appointment at 3:30 this afternoon.
Most people are given their familiar between the ages 12 and 16. The ICC puts you through this neural mapping process that will auto-reject you if it determines your brain is not properly developed and damage could be done. It is rare for someone to go as long as myself without a familiar, and, of course, we are treated accordingly.
There are bullies and people who feel we are "mentally incapable" and believe we shouldn't be allowed in our society. Otherwise, most people are fairly sympathetic and encourage us to keep trying.
Rob has been with me through the thick and thin. He was blessed with a mighty lion as a familiar at only age 12 and has always been extremely popular and successful, even through college. Every year, I hope to gain a familiar like his. Something powerful and outstanding that will allow me to excel in life. I think my failures in life have been due to my lack of a familiar. My depression, poor grades, addictions... But maybe those will all end today! Hopefully, I'll get some animal that can compete with Rob's, and I can start going to some parties. I mean, chicks dig cool animal Familiars.
I met Rob and his Familiar at the Transit Hub, and we had a pleasant trip to the ICC facility. We got here just in time for my appointment. Rob brought up how a group thought to be Loners tampered with District 6's ICC the other day resulting in the death of a kid that was only 13. Rob said that it might be a good idea to postpone this for a few weeks for things to blow over... I have waited years to feel what he feels today, and he just doesn't understand. I spent almost all of the money I got for my birthday on this appointment and I can't afford to reschedule.
I checked in and left Rob in the waiting room. He wished me good luck and I was lead back to the interface room. This is a familiar walk for me as I have done it many times before. However, there are multiple maintenance workers in a room off to the side of the interface room, but I won't be discouraged.
I was seated and I'm being connected to the neural mapper. It's a large machine that envelops the entire head except for the majority of one's face. There is a pad on one side of the room where your familiar is meant to appear. I have never seen this pad occupied, but today that will change. I will join the ranks of Rob and others that are so fulfilled.
The nurse is leaving the room. This is a pretty lengthy process that takes about thirty to forty-five minutes. It tends to feel like a dream that consists only of pure darkness.
I'm awake. This time felt different. I hope... Dear God. I scream. There is a dagger in my chest peculiarly engraved with a scene of Cain killing Abel. A hand extends and pulls the blade from my chest as I proceed to scream, and a deluge of blood ensues. I look up to see who is there and am only greeted by a human figure. In my haze of sight, I identify the perpetrator as... Me. "Why?" I ask along with a cough of blood. The Familiar responds, "What you cannot have, no one shall have." The naked body leaves the room with the dagger as I slowly fade to dark.
"Envy" I whisper and chuckle as the cold dark proceeds to overtake me.
| 2017-01-20T16:07:07 | 2017-01-20T16:05:25 | 171 | 11 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every person develops a magical power. Yours is the power to fluently read and speak every language in the universe. At first you thought the had the worst power on earth, that was until you you realise that the universe has it's own language.
Sorry for the double you, my bad
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It was supposed to be exciting. Jamie wanted flames that poured from his hands or strength that could knock down walls. After years of being mediocre, turning 18 was his time to shine. Instead, he got...languages? It was stupid. His power was supposed to be a reflection of who he was. Jamie had failed Spanish not just once, but twice. Well, at least this meant he wouldn't have to worry about failing it a third time.
"Maybe it's because you've been worry about passing Spanish," Becca said with a shrug, as she snuggled deeper into the gray sofa chair that was probably the best piece of furniture he had in his one-bedroom apartment.
"Weren't you the one who said Spanish was easy?" Jamie glared at his best friend.
"It's not my fault you suck at languages. Or you used to." Becca tilted her head, her brown hair brushing across her shoulders. "Does that count as cheating?"
Jamie threw a pillow at Becca, but she raised her finger and a gust of wind redirected his cotton artillery and it landed neatly in Becca's lap.
He glared at Becca who just laughed. Jamie slumped back on his much less comfortable couch and dragged a pillow over his face. "What the hell, universe?" He groaned.
"You're so dramatic," Becca said and Jamie could imagine her rolling her eyes. "Hey, but this means you can travel anywhere in the world or be a spy."
"Do you not want it?" a voice whispered by his ear, low and way too close. It felt like his entire body buzzed with the sound and he jerked up, ripping the pillow from his face.
"What the hell Becca! You scared the shit out of me."
"What?" Becca asked, looking at him in surprise.
Jamie stared. Becca was still sitting in the chair across from him. He rubbed his ear. "Did you do some sort of wind thingy with your voice?"
"Uh...no," Becca said.
"They're coming," the voice whispered and again it was so close and with it the buzz, like electricity buzzing down his body. He jumped to his feet, twirling. "Who's there?" Jamie shouted.
There was nothing, no one there, but him. He looked back at Becca, ready to ask if she was playing a prank on him, but she was staring at him with wide eyes. Her hands clutched at the pillow in her lap.
"Jamie you're starting to freak me out."
Jamie stared at Becca and opened his mouth when suddenly everything rushed at him, hundreds, no thousands, of voice pushing into his ear. Their voices like a crowd injecting directly into his ear until he felt like his brain would begin hemorrhaging as it raced to understand it all. He clutched at his ears, digging his nails into his skin as he fell to the ground.
"Stop. It's too much. STOP!"
Everything went silent, abruptly. Jamie panted on the ground. Slowly, he pulled his hands away from his ears and looked around him. He jerked back. Becca was half out of her seat with her hand reaching out to him, her eyes wide. She was still, locked in a motion interrupted.
"Becca?"
Nothing. All around him there was an eerie quietness.
"What's going on?"
"Words. The universe. Little time. Run." It was the whispered voice. More urgent, but also something else, almost disjointed.
"I don't understand," Jamie said shakily. Sweat beaded across his skin. He wondered if this was what madness felt like.
"The door. Run!" The urgency in the voice grew stronger.
Fear trickled down Jamie's body and then he began to move. He knew he should hurry, but his steps were hesitant. He reached the door. Taking a breath he opened the door. Men in SWAT gear stood at his door. They too were frozen. Jamie's eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head.
"What the hell is going on?" Jamie demanded.
"Run. Time is running out."
Jamie opened his mouth to again demand answers when he saw a twitch. One of the SWAT men had moved his finger. It was just a twitch, but the fingers brushed over shiny black metal. A gun. They had a gun. Of course, they did. Even in a world with powers, a gun could still end a battle just as decisively as anything. Jamie's body went cold. Was this a battle? But why? What had he done?
"Run. Run. Run," the voice said insistently.
Jamie looked back. "But Becca."
The voice was silent. One of the men turned his head, only a little, but it was just enough for Jamie to make out cold blue eyes hidden behind the faceguard.
Jamie ran and the world started up again.
|
The realization of the true horror of the universal language come upon me slowly.
At first I assumed it was an error, the kind I had seen innumerable times before on the outer worlds, in the triplamine dens, on the Reddit. But this one was persistent, consistent, dare I say it - insistent - in its rejection of all that was pure and true in life. My power had opened me to a truth that was expansive and breathtaking, and utterly terrifying - the universe had a language where an apostrophe was added to “its” when the word’s intention was to indicate possession, and the word “you” was randomly doubled in flagrant disregard of semantic convention.
When English speakers did it on the internet, it sickened me. When the universe itself did it, it was more than a being could bear - it was nothing less than proof that our very existence had at its core a dark, festering kernel of evil.
As the blood, released from the meaningless shell of my body by my own hand, cut rivers of crimson across the floor, I prayed that the next world would hold no such revelations.
| 2019-12-22T11:07:03 | 2019-12-22T09:57:31 | 112 | 24 |
[WP] There's a lot of controversy over the hero marrying the demon queen, but they're pretty happy together, and at least the wars over. They're expecting their first in the spring!
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[Part 1 here](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/pziiq9/wp_so_when_you_said_that_your_curse_would_bind/)
Of the numerous unexpected events that have occurred in Azokyn’s magical and fulfilling life, an invite from Alban the paladin and Lilith the demon queen about a baby shower might rank near the top. Never mind, that errant arcane explosion that blew up the library? Dethroned. Put it right at the top.
Thus, Azokyn dressed his Sunday best, before realizing that he would have to literally descend to hell, then switching to a more fireproof outfit, lined with flame-resistant gemstones.
A wand wave later, Azokyn was patrolling the streets of hell. In younger days, he might’ve enjoyed the scorching stones and hot air, hungry to prove himself through the slaying of demon souls. Now, he’s learned that an ecosystem very much existed in this place—though, the kind where a lion might balk at the revelry of violence on display.
As Azokyn walked, each step sped up, growing familiarity guiding his path. It didn’t take too long to reach the front door of the demon queen, an opulent structure that seemed to pierce the red sky, towering over even a wizard in a tall hat. A demon stood at the doorway, only grunting and directing Azokyn upon seeing the face. A few more minutes, and the wizard walked into a ballroom that would’ve made Cinderella jealous. There was what looked to be an expensive rug consisting of pelts from every extinct animal that walked on Earth. Windows stretched beyond what a craned neck could reasonably see.
And of course, the queen herself was there, arm tightly wrapped about husband Alban. She’s definitely dressed to make Cinderella jealous.
“Wizard!” Her face lit up, an enthusiastic smile overtaking her face. Azokyn bowed slightly. He stole one brief glance at Alban, and found the paladin as unreadable as the old days.
“Your majesty,” Azokyn said.
“Please,” Lilith said. “I relinquished that title when I married a human.”
“Oh. That sounds like a big sacrifice,” Azoykn smiled. “So… er… baby! How’s the baby?”
He looked at the paladin again. Alban’s brow twitched every so slightly.
“Doing well,” Lilith gently ran her fingers down her stomach, a pleased smile on her face. “I can feel the kicks.”
“Mind if I steal your husband for a while, then?”
“Of course,” she smiled. “I have some guests to entertain.”
Once she left, Azokyn’s voice took on an urgent whisper.
“Alban, what the hell? Do you need an out?”
His mouth cracked open, his first words about to be spoken. The paladin had not even greeted the wizard.
“I’m happy,” he said.
Azokyn froze, a near-improbable feat in these depths. But for a brief moment, his flushed face turned cold with sweat, and stings of nerves travelled down his veins.
“You what?”
“I’m happy,” the paladin said more firmly this time. “We are expecting a child.”
“This is utter blasphemy,” Azokyn despaired. “The relationship was one thing. A child?! You were dreading meeting her in-laws a few months ago. What the hell changed?”
“Look, this isn’t typical,” Alban said. “Nothing is. But she is my wife, and I love her.”
“Are you under some sort of spell? I can quickly anti-magic you out of it,” Azokyn said.
“No, I am not,” he beamed. “I’m simply proud of my soon-to-be son. I hope he becomes a paladin.”
“A half-demon paladin,” Azoykn shook his head.
“The union is possible,” the paladin said. Even now, there was a strength to his every move, every word, the pure essence of faith distilled carefully into all he said and did. And against Azokyn’s will, even the wizard was starting to believe that somehow… this was possible.
The world is going to change. For better or for worse remains undecided. Azoykn sighed, an exhalation that seemed to keep going and going.
“Congratulations,” Azokyn finally said. “So you are going to live here?”
Alban narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, hell no,” he said. “Her parents are *actually* crazy.”
“Pot and kettle,” Alban muttered under his breath.
---
r/dexdrafts
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Our hero puts his hand on the soon-to-be due belly of the demon queen as she wonders about the baby’s future.
“When he is born, he shall rule with an iron fist over the land!” - The demon queen proclaims.
“We’ve talked about this.” - the hero replies- “He or she will be a kind and fair ruler”.
“Who will crush the enemy forces!”
“Who will bring peace among the kingdoms..”
“With his army of bloodthirsty warriors!”
“With his team of diplomats..” - the hero’s voice is calm and collected.
“The most fearful team of merciless diplomats!!” - the queen is excited at every reply.
“Babe… seriously.”
“Sorry. Old habits die hard.”
| 2021-12-31T11:44:11 | 2021-12-31T10:57:35 | 65 | 37 |
[WP] Humans and gnomes have lived together in peace for generations, but some humans want to strip away gnomish rights and force them into servitude. Today is the day that the senate votes on the anti gnomish legislation, proposed by a group of human senators.
|
**An American Gnome**
Senator Dipp Nellbar (D-MT) faces the horde of press cameras and microphones from the steps of his Capitol Hill townhouse – his preferred place, as it lifts him closer to eye-level with his human counterparts.
Press gaggles are bad enough when you’re not dodging knees and handbags. At least here he can breathe, but try as he might, he can never stop his daughters from peeking out through the dining room windows.
“Is there any way to stop the vote?!”
“What do you have to say to your colleagues who are voting to strip you of your seat?”
“Will you denounce the Gnomish Separatist Movement?”
“Do you have a comment on the President’s anti-gnome speech last night?”
Dipp chooses a mic – CNN – and speaks in his trademark gravelly voice, which always rings with notes of serenity and composure, even now, on the worst day of his life.
“The president’s remarks last night were nothing less than the incitement of mass violence, the encouragement of a systematic removal of Gnomes from civil society – but they were no more unconscionable than what he said on the campaign trail.”
This causes an explosion of even more questions. Dipp presses on, “As to today’s vote, I have hope that my colleagues on the other side will come to their senses before they take this step. This bill represents, as I have said many times, a step by a global superpower into fascism the likes of which this world hasn’t seen since Nazi Germany in the 1930’s.”
“Are you comparing the president to Hitler?!” Screams a Fox News reporter.
“Thank you, I must get going,” Dipp says. His security escorts him down the steps and toward the waiting car. The press makes a path for him, but the protesters on the street swarm Dipp, surrounding the car.
He can barely see anything except the legs, feet, kneecaps as they bustle and toss him around. His security guard tries to pick him up – an absolute last resort measure, as they’ve discussed many times. He swats him away and makes for the car door.
That’s when a boot slams into Dipp’s face, kicking him up into the air and dropping him on his back on the pavement. Now the guns are out. A young man holding a “No Gnomes” sign tries to run but the security team tackles him to the ground.
…
Dipp rests his head in the back of the car, a bloody tissue stuck up his nose. He reads press clips from last night. Miranda, his human Chief of Staff, types on her phone.
“It’s everywhere. Someone got it on video.”
“I don’t care,” Dipp says. “In fact, I like it. Kicking the little guy. That’s what they’re doing, if people need a visual aid then I’m happy to be that visual aid.”
He turns to the next page: A picture of a group of Gnomes, armed to the teeth. The caption reads “Gnomish Separatists resist federal incursion into the mountain city of Faarkall, Montana. Tense standoff enters its 25th day.”
When Dipp gets to his office in the Hart Senate Office Building, he can hear the demonstrators outside. The mood is a dark one. He knows this morning wasn’t the end of today’s violence.
On the TV, a Republican senator from Mississippi, Sen. Barton, is midway through a typical anti-Gnomish screed:
“The Gnomes are less than 5% of the U.S. population, but they control 65% of the mineral rights in the entire country. Their banks have assets in the tens of billions. They run their own media companies, they control large sections of consumer manufacturing – they have the highest median household income of any ethnic group in the U.S. Yet, every day, they demand to separate. So this bill, in my view, is simply giving them what they asked for.
“If they want the right to leave, the price they pay is the right to stay.”
“The speaker’s time has expired,” says the Senate President.
“Thank you,” Sen. Barton says, taking his seat. Another senator shakes his hand.
Dipp mutes the TV. He looks out the window, thinking. He’s fifty-two years old next month. He is at the height of his powers. Yet everywhere he looks, the world is crumbling. Gnomes are being scapegoated yet again. The legislative body that he is a part of, that has his name attached to it, is going to strip Gnomes of their civil rights.
“Here’s the revisions,” says a staffer, as he places a thick folder on Dipp’s desk. The filibuster speech as it is right now could probably get you to 30 hours. Longer if you talk slowly.”
The staffer checks his watch. “You’re up in twenty, sir.”
Dipp asks himself what it means to be a quitter. As he walks with his staff to the Senate Chambers, he questions what it is to quit. *What will history say about me?*
*No. That’s irrelevant. What matters is my people. What will history do to the Gnomes?*
As Dipp takes his place at the podium, he looks down at the speech before him. Everyone who even remotely follows politics knows what’s about to happen. The only Gnome in the Senate is going to give an enormous, historic filibuster, ending with a roaring applause from the 43 Senators in his party. Then he will sit there quietly while the other side strips him of his right to hold the seat he’s in.
*No.* Dipp closes the folder in front of him and adjusts the microphone, his feet shifting on the booster-box placed under him to give him some extra height.
*Gnomes won’t have a hand in their own destruction*, he thinks. *I’m not a quitter. I’m a survivor.*
He opens his mouth to announce his resignation from the Senate, effective immediately. But before he gets a word out, Capitol Police enter the room and rush toward him. One of them addresses the entire chamber: “A bomb has been found in the building, we need to evacuate. Now. Move!”
Dipp hops off of the box. As he hits the ground, the building shakes to its very foundation. The deafening boom follows a moment later.
*The Gnomish Separatists have finally done it*, he thinks. *They’ve killed us.*
He rushes to the secure panic rooms with the other senators, but he knows as well as they do that he isn’t one of them. Not anymore. In a few hours he won’t even be considered an American.
r/ididwritethismr
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The regression was alarming, to say the least.
When the concept first floated, it was already a stupid joke in very bad taste. It was not even a bad taste, more just unthinkably dumb. To divide us.
Humans and gnomes shared the same sapience, the same humanoid shape, hell, even the same cultures. The difference between us was there, but it was more akin to ethnicity than the actual variant species that we scientifically were.
For eons we worked hand in hand to shape our world to our needs. For eons we coexisted without any real conflict or divide, sharing our magic, our technology, until the world ran out of the former and we adapted to the latter. And as we adapted, there was suddenly a paradigm shift in our understanding of the sciences as a whole new species had decided to delve deeper into this avenue of discovery, now that the arcane wonders were lost.
You would think that the main difference between us was the magic that only one of us could use. And with this magic gone, we would find unity in our new lives.
Instead, this seemed to be where the rift began. We were no longer seen as some asset. Our quick adaptability to their science and our own discoveries that challenged their ways was too much for them. The childish cynic in me thought what was happening now is because of human envy. They were envious of our capacity, our aptitude, for progress.
They did not understand nothing changed. Our magic was gone, but we could still coexist and lend our skills in other ways.
Suddenly, we realised that since we lived longer lives, we did not harbour a lot of offspring. And our numbers, compared to our larger counterparts, were a fraction of their every expanding population.
Over the course of a decade, I could only witness in horror as our status as regular citizens of the world slowly got stripped away.
It began with little things. Like property rights (We were small, so we had to follow a new law that required we could only purchase land up to a certain square footage for residential purposes) but it progressed and progressed until...
Until we simply did not enjoy the same rights.
We became second class citizens.
I wondered if it was our magic and their subtle reliance on it that kept them from showing their true colours.
I am 327 years old, now. Which meant that I was nearing old age. I had been there when magic was still prevalent, but weak. So I knew a life a lot better than the generations of gnomes would ever get to live if our worst fears come to pass.
You'd think time would result in progress and enlightenment and things getting easier and better for everyone.
No.
The new law would cripple us, reduce us into servitude. Us. Gnomes. Who had showcased our potential immensely even without magic. But no. The humans would not have it. It was too late. We could not defend ourselves as their inept and biased bureaucracy slowly but surely stripped away everything that made us equal to what were our counterparts.
The regression was alarming, to say the least.
| 2022-01-11T07:36:31 | 2022-01-11T06:56:58 | 49 | 15 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you."
|
*Leper*
I felt guilty the moment I thought the word. It was the common way to refer to humans among many races. It was a word they themselves often used. But I knew its origin and context. Humans may use it in a joking fashion, but I knew (as did they) most used it in a derogatory way.
But it was still the first word that popped into my mind as the human walked off his ship, and I felt terrible. I had spoken to Ambassador Quick many times over holo. He was a good man, always patient, generous when he could be, and honest. Rare traits to find in the diplomatic cores.
Nonetheless, leper, was still my first thought seeing him walk towards me. I tried to remain calm, I had extensive training to remain calm in stressful situations. But as the clanks of his boots came closer I could feel my tail twitch despite my best efforts. It didn't help that I was alone. That was standard procedure when meeting a human in person. I glanced to my right and could see my staff watching me from behind the bio-shield barrier. Three different species, three different sets of manners and expressions, but each one a mixture of fear and forced calm.
"Hello Ambassador Gorran, it is wonderful to meet you in person," Ambassador Quick greeted me as he stepped off the exit ramp. He put his hand out, an almost universal custom among the intelligent life of the universe. I hesitated just the briefest moment and my guilt deepened. I reached out and took his gloved hand firmly.
"Ambassador Quick, John, it is indeed wonderful to finally meet you, if under unfortunate conditions."
The glove was cool, humans did like it a little colder than our people. I couldn't help it, my tail twitched again holding his hand, even for that brief moment. I knew, *I knew*, I was safe. The human ambassador wore a full cover 10-9 bio suit. 99.99999999% uptime of fully active bio containment, monitoring, and reporting. The suit even included a self immolation feature that automatically triggered if any break was detected that would incinerate the occupant and everything within tail distance in less than a second. No breach had ever occurred and there were only three deaths in a century due to the self immolation triggering accidentally.
But still my heart pounded in my chest.
Ambassador Quick smiled generously from behind his clear helmet. He no doubt knew how nervous I was meeting him in person. I was glad humans smiled. Many species did not, and even among those that did smiling was not always considered a kind gesture. But humans and Kalsmen both did. I returned his smile as we let go of each others hands.
Behind the ambassador a self guiding cart loaded with twelve cases each roughly half my height cubed floated down to us. I was both deeply relieved and deeply apprehensive about those crates. The ambassador looked over his shoulder to see the cart stop behind him. He stepped to the side as the cart gently lowered itself to the ground.
"Ambassador," he said as he gestured me to examine the crates. He politely took several steps back to give me some breathing room.
I stepped forward and quickly opened the first crate. My haste was not so I could leave the human's presence, or not just, but because of the dire need for what was inside. Lifting the lid I found the requested vials in cold storage. I gently lifted one and took it over to the access port in the bio-shield wall where my staff, and the planets top medical staff, were waiting.
I placed the precious vial in the transfer chamber and stepped back as it close, vacuumed out the air, irradiated the enclosure, performed a deep medical scan, and the interface lit up red with extreme warning. That was expected. The contents were, technically, a violation of every major bio-hazard, bio-weapon, and safety protocol in the universe. It was why I was here receiving the shipment and not medical personnel.
I punched in my override authorization, had my eyes scanned, and a small blood sample taken to confirm my identity. On the other side of the bio-shield Dr. Horra, Che if Medical Officer of the Kal Republic, did the same. Only with authorization from the political and medical governing bodies could this be allowed through the bio shield. With all credentials verified, final warnings given, and a recorded statement that we knew the risks, was the vial cleared and allowed through.
On the other side I watched as Dr. Horra took a deep breath before she picked up the vial. Quickly, she moved over to the emergency work station that had been prepared the day before. She placed the vial in a secure testing chamber then used the robotic hands to open it. Her tail twitched erratically and I could not blame her. She extracted a sample and begun her work. We were an advanced people. We would know the results in mere moments. But it felt like days.
Suddenly, her tail stopped twitching. She shouted something I couldn't hear through the impenetrable barrier. Then she turned to me, tears in her eyes. Tears of joy. I could see her staff and mine shouting and jumping in celebration. I breathed deep and shook in relief.
I turned and walked back to Ambassador Quick. Too happy to remember my fear of the man I embarrassed him in a strong hug. He gently hugged me back. Then I remembered myself and pulled back, slightly embarrassed. But the human simply smiled.
"Thank you," I said, "thank you on the behalf of all my people. The pandemic has been raging for nearly a year here. We tried everything, but it mutated so quickly, by the time a vaccine or even cure was available it was useless." My shoulders slumped thinking of all who had died in so short a time. This would mean victory, but much had been loss, and the scars in our society would not heal quickly.
"You are welcome," the ambassador said, still smiling, "we know all to well the devastating effects of disease." For just a brief moment his smile dimmed.
I knew humans were good people. They contributed significantly to the galactic good. Their medical technology was second to none. The lives they had saved could be be counted in billions. But their expertise came with the greatest cost. Their planet had evolved the most deadly, most contagious diseases ever know. Even lab created bio-weapons paled in comparison to many common human diseases. As such, they lived in perpetual quarantine from all other intelligent life. A comfortable slice of the universe had been set aside for them. And through holo-technology, robotic surrogates, and other means they could interact with the rest of us. But never could they join us. Even visiting in his 10-9 bio-suit the ambassador was confined to a bio-shielded landing pad on the southern arctic continent the fear of humans so great. I myself would be isolated for a full 28 days just for meeting with him.
Nonetheless, when they were asked to help, they always did.
I looked at the crates as they silently made their way towards the bio-shield barrier. There was more testing to be done. We would triple check everything the humans had verified. It would still be weeks before we could inoculate the first test subjects. But those crates were the beginning of the end.
And potentially a terrible danger.
"Is it true?" I asked the ambassador as the crates moved away.
Ambassador Quick tilted his head in the way I had come to learn meant confusion.
"Is it true it's made from.....human blood?" I couldn't keep the small taste of fear out of my voice.
The ambassador smile and nodded in understanding.
"Yes and no," he explained, "it's a serum. We infected a small group of humans, after extensive testing of course, and our immune systems naturally developed antibodies to the disease. We then filtered the antibodies from their blood and," he gestured to the crates, which were now passing through the bio shield, my override still in place. My tail twitched again at the idea something of biologically human entering my planet.
"Were any of the test subjects harmed?" I asked.
"No, a mild fever at most that lasted a day or two."
Amazing I thought. The disease had killed millions with no signs of stopping. But a human immune system destroyed it in just days as if it was nothing.
"Will you...tell your people? Where it came from?" The ambassador asked. I felt he was a little apprehensive of my answer.
"That has been a matter of great debate," I answered carefully. "We have decided to publicly state it was human medical *technology* and.... leave it at that."
The ambassador seemed relieved by my answer. Despite what they had done for many peoples anti-human sentiment was still very high on many worlds.
"Thank you again, this will save millions of lives."
"You are most welcome." He glanced at the crates as they completed their passage through the bio shield. "And now I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you in person Ambassador Gorran. I hope we never do so again."
|
In an instant you could hear a pin drop in the mess hall. The conversations, clicking of silverware, rattling of tables, and even the very air stopped. Every other alien inside froze in fear and looked down at their food. I had started vomiting.
For a moment even I was worried - food poisoning was never fun as I would be dehydrated and severely… inconvenienced for a couple days. But the worry extended beyond me. The minute I’m even slightly sick we know the crew is in danger too. I looked up from the trash bin to my boss with fear and worry.
There’s a reason I’ve never been in management and that’s because I can barely manage my hair let alone another human being. I would never have been able to so calmly direct everyone to remain calm, leave their food behind, and return to their rooms for the time being. While I stood over the garbage bin like a statue scared. It was always strange when a human got sick. It was almost like they accused us of being the ones who brought the sickness and not that we were just their canaries.
At least with my head over the trash I couldn’t see their looks of fear, worry, pity, blame… all the emotions that came when staring at death. I had only the one heave and now just nausea as I stood there. *Please don’t be in the food* was all that ran through my mind.
I was brought to the quarantine zone where a fellow human acted as our doctor. The bright side of being so resilient to diseases was we made excellent health care workers for everyone. I’d always been glad our doctor was Dena since she shared my sense of humor. I laid down on the table and held a bucket nearby in case - the nausea was still there but was slowly dissipating.
When Dena walked in I gave a small smile and played the usual 20 questions.
“Are you tired?” Dena asked.
“Yes. Nothing new,” I responded.
“Headache?”
“Of course.”
“Weight gain?”
“Just the usual bloating from travel.”
Dena cocked her eyebrow and looked me up and down. “Changes in urination or bowel movements?”
“Ugh so gross. No.” Yup I’m an adult researcher on a distant planet still acting like a 12 year old. And on and on the questions went.
I finally asked, “Is it food poisoning? Is everyone safe?”
“I don’t know. Even alien based food poisoning doesn’t usually come on in less than 10 minutes. Let’s run a couple tests. Go pee in this cup.” She shoved a plastic cup in my hands and walked off. Some things never change.
After taking care of my business and the nausea subsided I sat on the table staring at the wall. I’d heard of how hospital waiting rooms are a place where time is distorted and I’ve decided the waiting for anything in the hospital is distorted. Dena came back just before I finished going through my mental to do list and I was relieved when I saw her face held no worry or stress. In fact she almost looked… smug?
“Let’s go through what happened on your trip before you came back. What did you do?” Dena asked.
I recounted my month home for her. “Well, James and I went to visit my family. Then had a fun trip to the lake…” Did I get something while I was home? Noooo... that would mean so many people have been exposed.
Dena eventually sighed and said, “Well it’s nothing contagious but you’ll be changed for the rest of your life. You’ll even have to call your family after this.”
“Wait, do I have cancer? What is going on?” I began to panic even more.
Dena just gave me a mischievous smile and of course paused for effect. “You’re pregnant.”
I didn’t breathe. I didn’t blink. The shock was too much. The only thing I managed to get out was, “THIS LITTLE SHIT MADE THE ENTIRE CREW PANIC BEFORE EVEN BEING BORN!?!?!?”
Dena just laughed and walked away telling me I was free to go.
As I walked down the halls there was an announcement over the PA that all was fine and no one had to worry for their safety. You could hear a collective sigh in the compound as people started leaving their rooms and work spaces. At dinner that night we all sat down to enjoy our meals when one of my sweetest crew mates, Milalik, clicked at me, “Are you ok? What happened?”
“Ah, nothing is wrong. I’m just pregnant.”
Milalik looked at me strangely. “Does… that make you sick?”
“Yeah, it’s a normal thing. Women get sick, sore, hurt, and uncomfortable when pregnant.”
Once again the room went silent.
Milalik’s insectoid face clearly conveyed shock for once. “You poor humans. What the hell is wrong with you? How have you survived your entire existence? How did you even convince yourselves to reproduce? How are you immune to everything but your own spawn?” Everyone else looked like they held the same sentiment.
I just sighed, started stabbing food on my plate, and all I could say was, “I dunno, Earth is like Space Australia, I guess.”
| 2021-02-03T19:38:43 | 2021-02-03T19:28:38 | 1,400 | 155 |
[WP] A young dragon sets up their first own lair. Always having been interested in the civilized races such as humans, elves and dwarves unlike other dragons, they decide to visit the nearby village to introduce themselves.
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I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Walking up the road was a blue dragon who kept talking and looking around. I couldn't quite make out what they were saying until they caught up with me and my horse.
"Hello, Mr Human, Mr. Human. I am not here to eat you or your horse. Don't be afraid of me, please."
"Is this a trick?" I had my crossbow resting across my horse pointed in the general direction of the dragon. If he saw it, he didn't make a big deal of it.
"Oh no, no trick sir. You see, I left my nest and we have to go away to find a place for a lair to start our hoard. I'm so excited to be here that I wanted to introduce myself to the town, my new neighbors." He stopped and sat down on his hunches to rest. "I wan to be a better neighbor than my Mother and Father were in their towns. People kept coming to try to kill them and steal their gold."
He said this like he didn't understand why his parents would be attacked. Of course, to him, they are mommy and daddy not monsters eating their livestock and burning crops.
I spoke up, "If I could suggest something to help you not scare the humanoid settlement down the road, would you listen to me?"
"If it would help, and I can do it, sure!" He nodded his head with enthusiasm.
"Have you learned to Polymorph yet? You know, shifting your shape to look like some other, less fearsome creature?" I paused to see if they made a sign of understanding.
"Oh yeah, Momma made sure I knew that one before she let me go." If a lizard mouth could smile, his was doing it. I could feel the pride beaming off of him.
"Okay, this is great. Can you perhaps shift to look like a human? How about you shift to look like me..."
I got off of the horse and walked toward him so he could get a better look. I even twirled around so he could see all sides. I could see him concentrate and in a moment standing near me was someone who looked *like* me, but not exactly.
"Oh, Very nice!" This is a better way for you to go into town, trust me, I know. How about you walk in with me. while in this form. Just to make sure you can keep it up. "
"Oh no mister, once it's set, I don't have to concentrate. I just need to dispel it when I am done."
We walked the rest of the way into town making small talk. Well, they asked LOTS of questions which I answered to the best of my knowledge and or willingness to give the info. When we got to the town gate, I hollared up at the gatekeeper.
"OY! you know who I am, why aren't the gates open yet?" The guy was new and got a little nervous telling them to open the gate. We walked in. "Tell the captain to come here will you.", I turned to my new blue friend, "I didn't even catch your name."
"Momma said names have power and I shouldn't tell the humans, I mean other people, my real name, you can call me Morty."
"Okay, Morty, wait here just a moment, since you are new, and they don't know you yet, I need to talk to the guard captain to be able to bring you in to meet people." Morty nodded in agreement.
"Hey, uh George..." I walked over to the captain of the watch. "I ran into this totally human person walking up the road. They have recently moved into the cave up on reach mountain and wanted to introduce themselves as our new neighbor. Our totally human, normal neighbor." I realize that may or may not have gotten my point across as I saw him study my face, then look over at Morty who was grinning from ear to ear and nodding his head.
"First time around people, huh?"
"Yeah, but he seems *good*... I don't think they will be a problem. Well, not until he finds out about the rest of us here. He already knew Polymorph unlike the Minotaur last week."
"Oh, how's he working out?" the captain asked.
"He's great, he took a job with the blacksmith. They have both been too nervous to reveal they are both considered *monsters* out there." I motioned Morty to come meet the captain.
"Listen here, Morty is that right?" The captain put on a gruff appearance.
"Yes, Morty. A totally normal human, just gonna try to make a living hunting in the woods and maybe have a small garden, you know us humans have gardens to grow vegetables." He paused.
"Okay, so you have wandered into a place that is not like your normal human settlement, and as a matter of fact we are really open minded about a bunch of things, except, causing trouble with our neighbors. So, you don't plan on causing any troubles with our neighbors? Do you?"
"No sir, of course not!"
"Okay, Okay, Okay. Look Reggie here is going to walk you over to the Inn and let you get a room for the evening We can't open the gates after dark. Who knows what kind of horrible things are *out there*."
Morty nodded, then looked around and sniffed the air. He started to study the Captain and I really closely.
"Are there ANY humans here?" he looked disappointed.
I waved the captain off. "I'll explain it to him. He's such a sweet kid, I didn't want to, you know..." The captain reached out and took the kids hand and shook it.
"You are in a safe place, as long as you keep it a safe space. There is one human family left here. They live in the middle of town and run the Inn. We protect them, from well... " I shook out and shifted back into my native form of an Owlbear. I then bowed and shifted back into my human shape. "We are out in the middle of nowhere, you know. That's why the cave was open. I don't know who came through first and found the Feltons with their farm barely providing enough food for them, and their dream of opening an Inn for travelers. But, they sort of adopted the family and kept them alive the first rough Winter. They helped them build the larger building that is the Inn today. Then, one by one, other non humans who could polymorph, or learn to polymorph showed up and started building around the Inn. There's a huge farm over the hill back there. We actually send crops to other settlements now and trade for iron and copper. Well, of course for gold as well. Out there, we are monsters, but here, we are all family. So, that said, do you want to meet the Feltons as Morty, or as the blue dragon who lives over the village? Again, they are good people."
"Well... I... I don't know." He looked a little let down. "I'm not ashamed of being a dragon and I want to be friendly. I'm not going to eat their livestock. There are plenty of deer in the woods here, plus bears and salmon in the river on the other side of the mountain. What if I showed them that looking like a monster didn't mean I was a monster?"
"Let's save that for tomorrow. Just meet them tonight as Morty, and we'll see what tomorrow brings."
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Finally, Tyranotus thought, my own lair. After fifty years of living with his mother, he had been able to find his own place. He had scoured the lands, trying to choose the optimal place to reside.
Most of his kind preferred secluded locations, that were hard to reach by any other means than flying. A few made theirs deep beneath the seas, where their bodies changed to breath water as easily as air. But he wanted to be near civilisation. They fascinated him, such small folk with short lifespans. It was awe-inspiring how they carved their own fates from nature.
The lair he chose was deep within woodland. The creatures within hid from him, as was their place on the food chain. But even so, he could hear the lively nature from further away. It pleased him, to have such a cacophony nearby. He also knew of a couple of settlements within an hours flight, which helped make his choice to reside here.
For the first few weeks, Tyranotus made himself at home. The cave he had appropriated was a little on the small side, but with a bit of effort it expanded to a decent size. His hoard was small, the small allowance he was provided from his mother's. But it fit within wonderfully, its golden beauty the only decoration he needed. He learnt of the trails of animals nearby, hunting a couple as practice.
After getting settled, he decided to visit one of those towns. One such thing he had learnt was that gifts were favourably looked upon. He considered taking some of his hoard, but swiftly dismissed that. His strange curiosity could not overcome the hoarding instinct. Instead, he went hunting.
He saw a pair of plump deer, a perfect gift from his view. They tried to flee, as he bore down upon them. But a running deer was no match for a diving dragon. With a couple of sharp strikes, he had them in his claws. Blood oozed out, as their flailing began to slow.
His prizes in hand, he set out to the village.
/-----
Garmila yawned as she left the house. It was dawn, which meant it was time for her chores. First thing was to feed the chickens, and pick up the eggs. She could hear sounds of other villagers starting their days around her.
A sudden gust of wind chilled her, making her eyes water. She rubbed them, glancing at the direction it came from. She expected to see nothing but empty fields and hills. But dominating her view was a picture of terror. A scaled beast, already the size of her house was coming into land. Morning sun glinted off its green hide, as two deer lay bleeding in its grasp.
Her heart leapt into her throat, as fear consumed her. Its icy fingers froze her in place, unable to move. For a moment, there was nothing in her world but the sight of death on wings. Then sound rushed back, as one of her neighbours shouted into the air.
"Dragon!"
/-----
Screams rippled through the air, as Tyranotus landed. He could see the mixture of humans and dwarves running around, the height difference the only clue to their types. They seemed afraid of him, which he didn't like. But one was paused before him. It looked to be human, with dark hair. He stared intently, trying to work out if it was male or female.
He gave up with a snort, tossing the deer towards it. He was sure it could answer his questions.
"A gift for you!"
He swung his tail, pleased to have made the first move. That joy turned to confusion, as he felt something break. He spun his head, seeing a crushed inwards pile of wood, with tiny feathered birds clucking around it.
"Oops?"
/-----
Garmila was in a panic. The dragon had just tossed its kills at her, then crushed her family chicken coop. They were going mental, their eggs likely useless now. It had grumbled, with its sounds almost being words, but not quite. Or if they were, this things accent was atrocious.
She began to look for an exit, as it inspected its handiwork. Judging from its reaction, and what she knew of dragons, she was likely going to be next.
| 2022-02-16T11:54:27 | 2022-02-16T10:58:23 | 117 | 46 |
[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"
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(This is really stupid, but I've done it now.)
Somewhere in rural Hertfordshire, a commander rallied her troops.
“And remember, when you hold your sword aloft in no man's land, when you stare your enemy down in the moment before bloodshed, remember for whom you fight...”
The warriors stood shoulder to shoulder as the commander paced across to the front line, shouting over countless heads of devoted followers.
“You fight for your lives, you fight for a future for your children, but most importantly of all...”
The commander raised a fist triumphantly. The front line of soldiers lifted their heads, as if to pre-empt the cacophony of jubilation and passion that was surely to follow.
“You fight... for 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much'!”
A swelling of cheers, whoops and jubilant screams arose among the armed masses. Swords were wantonly bashed against shields, against helmets, and against the backs of the warriors directly in front. Unfortunately that last form of celebration led to the deaths of hundreds of unprepared and inadequately back-armoured soldiers. Still, they were noble and willing martyrs in the fight for 'Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple of Minutes Thank You Very Much'.
Opposing them, the mighty ranks of 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag'. In response to hearing the shouts from the brew-inclined heathens over the hill, a mechanic crane roared into life. Slowly, as the moon eclipses the Sun, so did a giant, dripping teabag blot out all of industrial Hertfordshire. The merriment of the Brew camp quickly turned to silent astonishment as two giant teaspoons gently ascended, one on either side of the teabag. As each teaspoon was moved inward towards the central teabag, the Brew commander's eyes widened. She could not have prepared for this. Gasps of incredulity rang out amongst her ranks.
In the Anti-Brew ranks, impassioned cries of “Yes!” and “Squeeze!” and “Tea's every bit as good if you just fiddle with the teabag a bit, there's no need for all this waiting and brewing nonsense!” were thrown up to the heavens as the two giant teaspoons made contact with the giant teabag, and still they pushed further. At first a few drips of tea dripped against the helmets of the luckiest recruits, soon after there was a veritable waterfall of tea pouring atop the fighters. The few who were scalded was but a small price to pay for the greater goal of proving a point via seemingly impractical feats of engineering.
“It's bitter! It's too bitter! You need to let it settle!” the Brew camp cried out in unison.
“You can hardly tell the bloody difference!” those who weren't boiled alive retorted.
In amongst the riotous proceedings, the 'I Quite Like a Lot of Milk in my Tea, Honestly I Like it to be Mainly Milk' bunch hardly got a word in edgeways. Unsurprising really, considering that they were objectively wrong and consisted entirely of chancers and idiots.
The 'Hey, What About Herbal Tea?' bunch were somewhere in Berwick-Upon-Tweed; no-one paid them any mind. Similarly, the 'I Prefer Coffee' lot had long since gone to live a more fulfilled life in continental Europe.
In an entirely separate battle fought on the coast of Portsmouth, the regiments of One Sugar, Two Sugar, Three Sugar, and More heartily battled it out. It had been decided long ago that the differences between those who like sugared tea and those who like unsugared were so irreconcilable that war would be pointless. Thus it was that sugars One, Two and Three fought valiantly on the seaside. The More group had the far more pressing concern of imminent diabetes to be concerned with, so forwent the battle.
As the armies of 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much' and 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag' were beginning to close the gap between one another, a blood-curdling cry arose from a nearby forest stopping both groups in their tracks.
Jumping out of trees and crawling out of the dirt came the 'Tea With No Milk Nor Sugar' hordes. The jaw of every soldier dropped; as did the giant teabag, crushing seven.
The commander looked at her own group, those who Brew, and looked across the field, at those who most abjectly Do Not.
“All who would take the obvious measure of adding a bit of damn milk to your tea, all who have a tongue that actually senses heat and would rather not have literal boiling water brazenly poured onto it, with me!”
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"This isn't really a fifteen-sided war, General. You cannot honestly tell me that we will stand a chance of winning."
"You're still here, aren't you, Lieutenant?"
"Sir...all I've ever known is here. This group...this side in the war...I cannot leave."
"Just the answer I expected, son. You are an honorable man. Given where you were born, nobody would have blamed you for casting your lot with the men across the Bay."
"Never sir, not with a gun to my head. But those fighters aren't even a faction in this war. Supporting them would be a moot point."
"For this conflict, son."
"With due respect sir, the army from St. Louis have all but destroyed the entirety of their opposition."
"That is true...any news from the East?"
"The two largest factions are still locked in a virtual stalemate. But that small fleet from the south is looking towards us."
"Us versus them Tampa boys? Peace of cake."
"General!"
"At ease, Private! What's going on?"
"Word from Texas! The Rangers destroyed the Astros. Every last one of their fighters has been killed."
"So now there are only fifteen of us..."
"Fifteen...how the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this war?"
"It's baseball, son. America's pastime. The greatest sport ever thought up by the greatest country God ever created."
| 2016-04-08T17:15:24 | 2016-04-08T16:41:52 | 194 | 12 |
[WP] In the year 2028 society has collapsed, and all that is left is your small town. Every week, an empty train passes through the town; anyone that boards it never returns. One day you decide to get on.
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The eerie roar of the Iron Howler screeches through White Orchard as it announces its arrival. It looms before me, its metal legs chittering against its bonds as it comes to a halt.
Some say the Howler was named after the wrought iron wolf sitting atop its head, while others say the howl in question was the result of a black-veiled wraith haunting its devourer, its screams as jarring as grating iron.
I step closer to the beast as I place a hand on its latticework of iron. To me, the Howl was not a single lone cry, but rather an orchestra of noise, a thousand unique sounds working in tandem. This ensemble of industry fascinates and terrifies me at the same time, and so it becomes a ritual for me to attend to the Howl and revel in the thrill every time it stops at White Orchard.
The elders usually try and stop the initiates from entering the Den, but most of us have already snuck in. It’s a rite of passage for the children in White Orchard. Most do it when they’re 12, the most plausible reason being a dare, and most do it only once, and never again, for the strange devices in the Den cast terrifying shadows, wrought in shapes God did not intend for nature.
The elders teach that farming and agriculture is the basis of all of God’s children, that a simple life lived is the best way to secure your passage to Heaven. To overcomplicate life with vices and sin such as alcohol, opiates and most of all, technology, would be an insult to God’s work.
The first thing they teach you is that the Den that all the apple orchards of our village lead to is unsafe and off-limits, precisely because of the technology that pervades its interior.
*“Do not rely on technology, for one day it will fail, and you will fail along with it.”* they said.
The day I was dared into the Den of the beast, I snuck my way through the haunting visages of unnatural, luminescent light and colors too bright for the human eye, only to reach a shadowy hall torn into half by a miniature chasm, covered in rusted metal and untended vegetation. As I peered over the edge, I could see that at the very bottom of the chasm lay two oddly shaped gouges in the ground, carved by the claws of the Iron Howler.
I was just in time to catch the Iron Howler’s arrival. It darted through the Den, pushing itself forward by tearing apart the metal underneath it, refreshing the gouges and filling the empty hall with echoes of that familiar roar. The shock of its sudden appearance sent me flying into one of the bushes that lined the chasm, scuttling into the safety of its undergrowth.
That was probably what saved me that day.
As I hid in the bush, I heard rushed footsteps. I plucked up the courage to peer over the shrubbery and I saw three elders, carrying crates, filled to the brim with the cream of the crop and disregarding every rule they had sworn by. I saw them place the crates into the gaping maw of the Iron Howler. I saw them drag a young girl into the Den by her pigtails, cut her throat and toss her still-writhing body into the belly of the beast, whispering to themselves as they stalked away.
*“The iron tithe is paid.”*
Those words haunt me every night as I toss and turn in bed. The image of that girl pleading for her life play across my memories every time I watch the Howler come into the Den, reminding me that the elders that we were supposed to trust are not what they seem.
I have had enough. The guilt, the morbid curiosity, it consumes me.
As my hands tense nervously on the strap of my rucksack, I take my first steps into the Iron Howler’s gaping maw, eyes shut tight. It shudders with pleasure as it feels me crossing into its body. I must have been its first willing sacrifice.
The shudder did not stop. After an excruciating wait, I heard a shattering thud as I feel the air rush out behind me. As I tear my eyes open, I discover that the Howler's jaws are clamped shut. I was trapped.
My eyes adjust to the darkness around me, and I discover the Iron Howler’s interior are not what it seems to be. My surroundings are surprisingly immaculate. There are what appears to be leather-bound armchairs tethered to its sides. The air inside its stomach smells sterile and unnatural, as if nature was not even here. No dead girls and no rotting apples. As I take a closer look, I find that the material that forms what I believed to be the Howler’s many glazed eyes was actually glass made from a strange material. I could see through it on this side, but on the other, it appeared dazed and unfocused.
I felt the Iron Howler lurch forward as it begins its descent, tearing me from my train of thought. As it begins to accelerate, drawing itself forward on its bizarre limbs, my eyes focus on an amazing sight.
The Howler leaves behind the palisades of White Orchard, and in the horizon, it’s eyes reveal what seems to be a labyrinthine network of huge buildings, emblazoned from foundation to peak with pulsating lights that hurt my eyes. The titanic structures scrape the sky, stretching far beyond any farm buildings I have ever seen. I hear a monotonous voice announce loudly as the Howler careens towards the city.
“Next stop, Valhalla Station."
EDIT: Alright guys, I've heard you, and I aim to please :) Look out for Part 2, coming soon!
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The train was a promise. We weren't sure what the promise was but we knew we were all that was left other than the train. Cell phones, internet, even radio was silent outside our little town. There were lots of rumors of other persons, but tales of murder, torture, and cannibalism caused us to isolate.
Due to these rumors, the train was viewed as akin to suicide. One guy horrifically mentioned that getting on the train was akin to being a Jew in Nazi Germany and getting in the shower.
I am not sure why we were spared. Random chance? Some terrible social experiment? There were folks on all sides but the one thing certain that was something needed to change. Food was running short. The water supply needed to be boiled. It was clear to me that this situation couldn't be sustained.
There were already small groups with guns (all of us have guns in rural America) that were forming factions over resources. The inevitable conclusion is civil war among what could be perhaps the last few breeding humans who still maintained a modicum of decency.
The hungry persons raided the last grocery store. The owner, who had been corrupted by the simple power of having necessary supplies, was overrun. We had to take the next opportunity out.
The next train arrived before dawn, in the twilight. I had led a small group with what little we had/scavenged. 9 of us. Like clockwork, the doors opened. We piled in quickly because the doors don't stay open long.
We traveled for what I assume to be hundreds of miles. We went very slowly at times.
Dehydration, inadequate nutrition, and lack of sunlight took its toll. We started bickering, infighting, and generally losing our sense of civility. A gun was pulled, but someone choked him from behind quickly. Thankfully no one was hurt.
The destination wasn't something we could comprehend. It was a refugee camp but the security was greater than any military complex we had ever seen. Guns, artillery, missile launchers, and that was just what we could see.
No one wanted to get off the train, but I took the first feeble step.
| 2018-08-22T22:56:02 | 2018-08-22T21:38:54 | 218 | 21 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed]
|
You know, there's often a saying in the military. There are bold soldiers, there are old soldiers. There are no old, bold soldiers. It's the same for us villains. The ones who last long are the ones who never make flashy moves. If your plan is going well, don't brag about it. If you have the upper hand, ball it into a fist and smash your opponent's head in. I don't believe in a god, but I think the Christians were right about not putting deities to the test if you do believe in one. Me, I just call it not tempting fate.
I do not play dice with my life.
Tonight, I was breaking that rule. The one rule I had as a villain. \*Don't be stupid.\*
But she needed to know. It was the one last thing I had to do before I retired. I walked into her room, waved in by the nurse. I took her out of her chair and headed for the rooftop. It was a little ritual we did, during my visits. I'd wheel her out of her room and to the rooftop garden of the hospital. There, a few of her colleagues waited. One final send off for the best of them.
She'd been the heart of the team, the moral compass. The one who never cowed from doing the right thing, even when the odds were against them, even when they lost a member of the team, and it was tempting to exact vengeance. She always insisted on taking the just, noble way. \*"If we can't be the best of humanity, what good are we as heroes?" She'd ask, frustrated at trying to convince one of them not to do something stupid, often in our own living room.
It was a huge morale blow when they found her tumour. Pressing on her spine, it was inoperable and it'd take away her functions one by one. She'd always been a free spirit, and this was not how she'd wanted to go - wasting away in a hospital bed. So, the doctors agreed to look the other way as I brought a lethal dose of morphine to the roof with her. One last act of gratitude for the hero that defined the generation.
The hospital staff agreed to give us some privacy as her friends sent her off. The roof was empty. I wheeled her out to her favourite spot, watching the sunrise, and where I'd laid the corpses of her team out, side by side. The horror in her eyes was palpable as she realized who I truly was in that moment. The expertise and precision with which I'd taken out each of her colleagues only pointed at one thing.
"It's me," I whisper in her ear as I adjust her morphine pump and punch in the code that'd disable the limiter, letting me give administer a lethal dose. I put the syringe in and close the pump case, letting it do its work. I drop two articles in her lap. The first, from the night we met - the day she'd convinced me not to jump, after I lost my remaining family. The second, an article covering her brother's attack on my brother's convoy.
He'd been simply doing his job, hired by some rich supervillain to escort him out and deal with any heroes that arrived. Her brother never did have her restraint. He blew up the convoy and injured some civilians who were simply on the road at the wrong time. But hey, he got the bad guy so everyone looked the other way.
I didn't.
I kiss her on the lips. "I really do love you, you know," I say as I sit beside her. "You could have let me jump after I killed your brother, but you convinced me life was worth living. You made sure I got help, and got better. You mourned with me after you talked me down even though I'd just killed him hours before. It's why I waited so long to tell you, and to finish the job I started years ago."
Her breathing slowed. "I didn't want to do this, but I couldn't bear watching you suffer. Rest now, my love." My vengeance against her comrades was complete, and she knew the truth even as she passed on from her pitiful, hollow existence. My victory was final, but it felt hollow.
I got up, and made one last call. "It's done," I inform the cabal. "They're all dead."
"Good," the mechanical, digitally masked voice replied. "We have a job for you-"
"It can wait until after the funeral." I hang up, and sit down and watch one last sunrise with her.
|
The fire crackled and popped, illuminating the entrance of my lair. They broke in all at once. Half a dozen heroes, none of which it seemed knowing how to use the door, might I add, stood before me.
“It’s over Mania, the jig is up,” their leader, Captain Heronius stated.
I could care less. If they want to invade and defeat my army, they are more than welcome to try.
They could actually win too, if they actually cared enough to study the enemy.
It only would have taken minutes to have realized that I am never one to appear without a plan, but they just can’t handle the fact that the villain they face is competent.
But, at the very least, they learned that bullets can pierce even the most powered flesh.
Second prompt, feedback welcome
-Sky
| 2019-08-06T21:27:26 | 2019-08-06T16:11:22 | 63 | 41 |
[WP] You're a dark lord and there's a prophecy that says that a blonde haired boy named James will kill you. The issue is that every parent with a blonde haired boy names their son James in hopes of becoming famous.
|
Scouring the earth for assassins was almost more annoying than actually being killed by one. Lord Silas didn’t believe in the silly prophecy of the blonde boy named James who would one day usurp him, but the populace of his kingdom sure seemed to embrace it. Parents had actually begun naming their boys James on purpose just to get an audience with their ruler. It was total insanity! A long line of blonde boys of all ages stretched through the throne room and out onto the street. The first of the day stood before the throne.
“What is your name?” Lord Silas asked.
“J-J-James, sire,” the poor boy said as he trembled.
“And your hair color is… not blonde… what-- what the hell is that?” Silas inquired.
“Butter, my lord. My parents slathered it on me head before I left to make my hair appear lighter.”
“Jesus…” Silas muttered, “Go home boy, and tell your parents that putting butter on burnt toast does not hide the darkness of the bread, nor does coating their child's clearly brown hair in butter make it appear blonde. Next!”
A father and child moved forward. The father began speaking immediately, “This is James, my lord. The one who was prophesied, I promise you that.”
“Uhuh, this 5 year old will assassinate me?”
“Uhhh, yes, my lord! Very strong arms for 5 years old! And as long as I have a moment with you sir, I'd also like to present my latest invention to you if you'd allow me a moment to demonstrate. I'm sure you'll want to buy several once you see its revolutionary cleaning power in action and--”
Silas cut him off with a raised hand. He didn’t need to study the child long to see through the parent's lies, “What is your name, child? Your real name?”
“Rebecca,” the young girl squeaked.
“Your child’s name is Rebecca and is very obviously a young girl. ‘Rebecca’ is a name as unrelated to 'James' as I can imagine, and a young girl is about as far from the prophesied gender as can be. Try a little harder next time won’t you? Next in line!”
An older teenage boy stepped forward. He was musclebound and steely eyed, and his blonde hair shimmered like the sun. He was the strongest candidate of the day by far.
“No parent with this young man?” Silas whispered to his adviser.
“No, my lord,” the adviser replied. “We caught this one trying to sneak in and put him in line to be interrogated with the rest.”
This one had real potential, Silas thought to himself. “What is your name, boy?” he called out to him forcefully.
“Uhhhhh… It's Jimothy, your lordness,” the boy replied nervously.
“Uhuh… and ‘Jimothy’ is a nickname for?”
“Jimmy?” the boy tried.
“Which is a friendly, familiar version of…?”
“Jim,” the boy replied with growing fear.
“Which is, finally, another name for…?
“James,” he said quietly, “But my lord you must believe me, I’m not--”
“We will find out soon enough,” Silas interjected.
As the boy started to protest again, a dagger fell from the back of his shirt and clanged and rattled loudly on the stone floor.
“That’s not mine!” the boy cried out just before a throwing star came tumbling out of one of the legs of his pants. “That neither!” he added as sweat poured down his face.
For the first time in memory, Lord Silas burst into laughter. “Here I always thought I would loathe my would be usurper, but I find myself quite fond of this boy! He has moxie and a tremendous attitude in the face of obvious, glaring failure. Lock him up but do not execute him like the rest. Let’s see if he can be rehabilitated and given a role in my regime.”
James nodded with gratitude, “I never sought this my lord, the villagers forced me to do this! I have no ill will against you.”
“Your words matter not. We will see in time where your loyalties lie,” Silas replied. “However, there is one condition of your pardon which will be non negotiable... you must renounce any claim to the prophecy you once followed. As a result, you will be known only as Jimothy from this day forward.”
The boy's head sank. That rather unfortunate name change might turn out to be a fate worse than death, but only time would tell.
___
Check out r/Ryter if you care to explore more of my stories, even any real life Jimothy's are welcome :P
(P.S. There's actually another 'Dark Lord' story posted on my sub that is 'in the same universe' as this one. I'd call it only loosely connected rather than a prequel, but it's an origin story for one of these characters. It's the first story I posted on that sub so just scroll to the bottom if you're interested.)
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Ah, this is just ridiculous!
Ever since that prophecy every God darned parent with a blond haired boy names their child James!
I understand I'm a pretty famous dark lord for what deeds I have accomplished, but seriously, people need to start calming down.
Of course one day I'm going to be killed by someone. And of course if everyone names their kids James and dyes their hair blond for fame, chances are that it will actually happen.
It has gotten to the point where last time I discreetly visited the city, nine out of ten kids were blond and named James...
Sometimes I think I should just commit suicide and prove all of this bullshit wrong, but knowing my luck a blond haired James will find my corpse and it will be claimed that he killed me.
Where did I go wrong in all of this?
Was it when I destroyed the corrupted ruling class of a country? Or when that action led to the destruction of the city?
It was the most recent event and the one that garnered the most attention, so I think that was it, but I've done more outlandish things, so I can't just head in a conclusion that fast.
Well, passing under the radar should be for the best right now.
And as I said that, I picked up my recently bought blond hair dye.
| 2019-06-16T09:08:13 | 2019-06-16T08:05:42 | 153 | 42 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time.
|
“The Red Phone” was a joke. My wife had bought it for me as a prop when I had told her I got elected President of the book club.
“A President needs a red phone!” had been her gleeful cry when I had opened the mysterious parcel. It was a cheap plastic thing, garish and bright. A child’s toy.
And I loved it.
It sat on my desk as I wrote, a comforting reminder to stay humble. Long years it sat there, til the fake dial on the front yellowed in the sun.
I wrote of worlds beyond our reach. I wrote of ages long past. I wrote of times yet to come, detective stories and thrillers, action and adventure.
And in each, I mentioned a red phone. Tucked away in a disused room, or on a busy street. Never central to the plot. Always in the background.
My fans would eagerly search for it when a new book came out. There were pages of analysis on the locations of the phones, and what it could mean.
I always just smiled when they asked. Some mysteries, I thought, are better unexplained.
But the phone had rung.
I had stared at it for long drawn out seconds.
It could not ring. There was no ringer. There were no electronics. It was an empty shell. Was I dreaming?
I had picked it up, and the voice had been cold and demanding, “Don’t let Diana die.”
I had recognised the voice immediately, for it had rung in my head for months now. The Finnish detective hero of my latest novel in progress, “The Darkest Hour is Midday”, was a genius who was due to suffer incalculable loss, and become a vigilante to hunt down his enemies.
It was hard writing a genius. A man is limited by his own intellect, and writing outside those bounds requires hard work and diligence, so the book was slow going.
The voice had continued, “I can see you weaving the threads of the world. You are changing it, and if you succeed, I will count you, personally, as one of my enemies. Do not do this evil thing.”
He hung up, and the red phone was as silent as it has always been, the cheap plastic handset empty as ever.
I took his warning to heart, and abandoned the fate I had almost chosen for him. I did not know what would happen if I destroyed it, and so the half-finished manuscript sat on a shelf and gathered dust.
Year after year.
I no longer wrote dark stories, instead making them light-hearted and happy. Full of wholesome tales of bravery and strength.
Sales went up. The furnishings in my room became more ornate. More lavish. But I kept the phone to remind me both to stay humble, and to remind me that somewhere, somehow, I was affecting the universe in unexpected ways.
I had several manuscripts in progress. The fear of wronging someone high in my mind.
And yet the second call was as unexpected as the first; but this time I did not hesitate before I answered.
I had practiced and planned what I would say to the characters if they became aware of me, and I was eager to find out who it might be.
“You need to finish my story. We’re all trapped here.” the voice was croaking and exhausted.
My Finnish detective. I hadn’t decided on his name.
“My name is Trent.” he snarled. “You don’t decide that.”
“What do you want, Trent? A happy ending?”
“We need an ending. Everything is freezing here. The people just stop as the walk down the street. When we intersect one of your plot-lines, they cannot cross. They cannot go back. They just stand, frozen.
I thought I could fix it. Change what you did. But your written words are like an unbreakable law.”
His voice sounded desperate, “Please just leave.”
I stood up and took out the old manuscript from the too of the shelves, and blew dust off it.
“I’m going to try something. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Be careful. Those are real people’s lives you are playing with.”
I scanned the first page. It had his description on it. The jacket he always wore.
I crossed out the line.
“What are you wearing?”
He understood instantly what I was doing. He’s cleverer than me. The sound of a man removing his jacket, and a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. You’re going to rewrite it to be a pleasant description of an eclipse one midsummer day, aren’t you?”
Much cleverer. I hadn’t thought of the eclipse until he mentioned it.
“Make sure you write it when a real eclipse happens. If you mess up the planets orbit, I’m going to be seriously unimpressed.”
I turned slightly pale. Another point that hadn’t occurred to me. I managed to get out a stammered “Yes. I will.” before he hung up.
——
The manuscript is done. I have sent it off to the publisher.
And the phone is ringing again.
It has been ringing for seven hours straight.
But I lack the courage to pick it up. I am sick with fear. I am pale, shaking and crying. What calamity have I wrought this time?
God help me, for I am weak.
I inch towards it, as I have done countless times since its strident tones ripped me from my peaceful slumber.
But this time I manage to pick it up and, trembling, hold it to my ear.
“Thank you.” says a familiar voice, and there is a click as he hangs up the phone for the last time.
|
The Red Phone rang.
And I did not answer.
Reflecting on the situation, it was clear from the first moment it was bad - real bad. I'm only ever called upon if it's absolutely dire, and I can't blame them. What I can do, it's... scary. Scares me too. Wouldn't want to be near me either, but I do not have the privilege of choice when I see that person, that thing, in the mirror every morning.
The Red Phone rang for the second time.
And I did not answer.
They must be getting desperate by now; I've only been called upon twice before yet every time I was there in an instant. It was the least I could do to repay them, their kindness - this beautiful little cottage, its furnishing, the food. I want for nothing. The solitary life suits me. Or at least I kept telling myself that.
The Red Phone rang for the third time.
And I did not answer.
They must be in full blow panic now; after all, I'm the *Last Hero*. The final line of defense, when the threat is so incredible you must pull out all the stops. Someone who can always save the day, distasteful as it may be. This threat though... was *real* bad. I'd know. I looked down at my stomach; the bleeding didn't stop one bit. I must admit, I was surprised myself. I didn't even know I *could* bleed. When that person showed up at my door and shot me in the gut, they clearly did their research. I wonder what it was, my weakness. Copper? Magic? Some space rock? Doesn't matter now. I think... I think I won't be long now. The ringing stopped. I guess they're out of time too.
I am the Last Hero.
And this is my last message.
| 2022-03-29T02:39:22 | 2022-03-29T01:37:03 | 609 | 79 |
[WP] You are a passenger aboard Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 and you have just landed safely in Beijing. As you disembark you are met by gawking crowds of people. The year is 2018.
Passenger/Crewman, whatever you will.
Also, I am terribly vexed.
|
The Plane tires screeched as they hit the runway of Beijing. Then the Pilot came over the intercom.
'Ladies and Gentleman we would like to welcome you to Beijing International and the People's republic of China, we apologise for the delay we experienced during flight, it has made this flight feel a lot...longer....'
It felt like years, I thought. I had been on long flights but nothing like that, it felt weird to land in Beijing, things felt like they had changed much since I had arrived. As I was trapped in my thoughts, I overheard the Pilot on the intercom, he suddenly sounded shaken.
'..Uh....um...Ladies and Gentleman, we may have another delay. Please remain seated at this time...it seems there may be some major issue...I think it is a misunderstanding but...uhh'
The intercom shut off, suddenly I could mumurs of passengers, there was panic as a hostess ran forward to the cockpit. Then I saw it, around 30 police, fireengines and ambulances were surronding the plane. Forcing it to a halt. Passengers started screaming, someone shouted:
'THEY'RE GETTING ON THE PLANE'
Screams erupted, was this a terrorist attack? Was their a bomb on board? Was China at War with Malaysia? I panicked, thinking of my wife and kids. Would I ever see them again? Was this it?
Suddenly the lights in the plane went out, smoke filled the cabin and shouting began.
'EVERYONE HANDS IN THE AIR OR WE WILL SHOOT'
I did as the voice instructed and before I knew it I was being manhandled by a man in black, a police officer I assume. In the chaos babies cried, I heard what I thought where the sounds of gunfire, smoke filled the plane like a housefire. Then light, I was pushed through an Exit Door and Down the now inflated emergency slide. It was so bright outside and warm. I ran from the scene of the incident following the passengers, over loudspeakers of a helicopter flying overhead, I heard.
"Attention all Passengers, this is the Chinese Army. Do not panic. Do not return to the aircraft and stay in the area. You will be attended to shortly.'
I thought it was probably best I followed orders, it would hopefully reduce my chances of ending up in a Chinese Jail.
I turned back to the plane to see Police Officers leading the crew off the plane via newly dispatced portable stairs, the pilots looked like they had been in a struggle, they where cuffed and hastidly thrown into the back of a police van, which drove off in a flash.
What had happened?
In all the flights I had done in my life, none had never ended this way. Several police officers started sheparding the passengers into a large group - probably to stop runaways.
I realised that my family would be worried sick, I got out my Iphone and took it out of flightmode.
It crashed. That was odd. I overhead passengers in the background, they seemed alarmed at something, they were staring at the phones to, like they had seen themselves in the International News. Phones where pinging with messages left right and center. People where crying.
The answers I hope would soon be uncovered. Then my phone rebooted, what I saw sent chills down my spine.
**3,040 Unread Messages, 853 Missed Calls, 72 People posted on your Facebook Timeline, 709 Whatsapp messages, 10,536 New Emails**
'WHAT THE FUCK' I screamed.
'WHAT'
I checked the most recent Text, it was from my Wife, Sara.
*'Still Miss you xxxxoxoxox, think of you everynight xoxox hope we can meet in Heaven one day, S your 'girl of your dreams' xxxxxxx'*
I felt chills down my spine. But then. I saw the date I had recievied this text from my wife.
**Received - 23/04/2018**
Something horrible had just happened. Something truly horifying.
Edit: spelling
|
There was pandemonium in the plane as all of the passengers tried to exit as fast as possible. Some people were crying, others kissed the ground and promised they would never fly again.
I disembarked slowly, not wanting to get swept up in the madness.
"That was a long flight," I say, raise my arms and let out the longest yawn I've ever had.
| 2017-11-18T11:43:04 | 2017-11-18T11:30:08 | 226 | 16 |
[WP] A summoned demon can always be defeated by the summoner, thus the caliber of demon is dependent on the power of the summoner. You were surprised to see Satan Himself stood before you, and so was He.
|
**The King Mage of Nothing**
The heathen armies of the North had been sieging the Capitol for three years. In that same time, I’d lost my three children. First it was starvation, which claimed my baby boy. Then it was disease, which claimed my only daughter. And finally it was the unrest, the riots, which had claimed my eldest son, my heir, only an hour before.
I didn’t blame my people, I blamed these monsters. They’d turned my kingdom into a Hell on earth. Today, I would give that Hell back.
“Monstrum mihi exaequabo!” I bellowed from atop the gates, amplifying my voice with power so it roared over the army attempting to breach my gates below, holding my forbidden spell book in one hand and raising my scepter with the other.
The entire army paused. For a moment, there was quiet, with only the sound of wind whipping my purple and gold King Mage robes around me.
Then, an explosion. A column of fire erupted from the earth in the middle of my enemy's army, instantly incinerating the men who stood there and burning all those around. It rose higher than even the tallest tower of my castle. Finally, it fell back into the earth.
In the center of the charred circle was my creature. It radiated raw, uncontrollable, wicked power. It looked like an enormous, red man with huge white horns atop it’s bald head, and spikes ripping up its spine.
It was Him.
“Attack!” I said without giving myself a chance to consider what this meant. A sparkling white, pointy toothed grin spread across his face as fire consumed him from the waste down, shooting downward as he rose off from the ground. Already the heathens were in retreat. The demon stretched his arms and opened his clawed hands, unleashing Hell onto the battle field in raging streams of fire.
He flew over the battlefield and scorched them all.
Finally, I could take it all in. The land before the gates was utterly devastated. Pillars of smoke rose from the burned remains of things resembling bodies, all the earth was black, and the only thing that moved was my demon as he flew up the tower to meet me.
I’d won, but at what cost? The spell was dangerous, but it had safeguards, it was only meant to summon a demon equal to my power. Was I this powerful?
“Mortal!” He said, voice booming as he landed on top of the gate in front of me. “Never before have I, the Lord of Demons, been summoned. Who are you?”
“I am the King Mage Charlemagne II. I have summoned you as my equal. If you disobey me, I have the power to defeat you.” I said, but I did not believe the words.
Neither did He.
He lunged at me, claws ready to close around my throat and kill me in a single blow.
“Confino!” I said, casting the spell just in time. He was bound, frozen in place for now. Instantly I could feel him struggle against the bond, draining my energy. I did not know how long I could hold the spell.
—
We were doomed. I’d defeated my enemies, but brought something much worse to this world. If I died, he’d be free to roam this world, unencumbered by any master, able to do whatever he pleased. Humanity would not like what he pleased.
The only way to send him back was by defeating him in combat. I’d seen what he’d done, though, and I could not do it. Had I cast the spell wrong? I rehearsed it again and again in my mind. I knew I had not.
A mage’s power are tied to his emotions. In that moment, my rage was like I’d never felt it before and my power must have been elevated to His. But those emotions were not there now.
I was only sad, terrified, and tired.
—
The following years were a blur. Even frozen in place, the Lord of Demons had power. Crops wouldn’t grow and pestilence from the siege only grew worse. The people, rightfully, blamed me. Weakened and heirless, new Lord Mages rose to challenge me. I abdicated the throne without a fight. I didn’t have the strength, so much of my energy was devoted solely to holding the binding spell.
And besides, I just did not care care. There was no nothing left on this earth for me. My wife and my children were gone, my kingdom hated me.
Now I’m here. If I could, I would die. All I have is a vague sense of duty to stay alive and keep up the spell to keep the Lord of Demons bound.
If I cannot find something worth living for, I’ll never be able to summon the strength I had when I cast that spell. So now I search, for meaning.
|
...Oh fuck off
&#x200B;
I look up from my tome and almost spit my drink out.
before me stood a demon. Horns tail and all. and he was piiiiiisssssed.
maybe I should tell you how I got here. you see I enjoy cursing in latin. so when I dropped my coffee and it spilled in a pentogram naturally I grabbed everything in my vocabulary.
"\*sigh\* hello summoner my name and title is satan. First demon of hell and once second brightest light of heaven. What did you summon me for?" said the Demon.
&#x200B;
"uhhh I think you got the wrong guy my name is John and I work in IT" I said.
"No" says the demon. "that is literally impossible. The magic would never let that happen."
"Well of all the things I could summon of course it's fucking satan." I said
"Well the demon you summon is dependent on how strong a summoner is."
I sat and thought. "How am I strong enough to summon you?"
"well it's strength in apathy."
"oh"
"Yeah you would be surprised how busy I am these days"
| 2022-01-30T08:40:24 | 2022-01-30T06:53:47 | 316 | 52 |
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