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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] “If you’re Death, then shouldn’t you be off collecting souls or some shit?” The woman snapped her shotgun shut before blowing another zombie clean off its feet. “Well, dipshit, I don’t know if you noticed, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t have a job anymore.”
Have at it.
|
“If you’re Death, then shouldn’t you be off collecting souls or some shit?”
The woman snapped her shotgun shut before blowing another zombie clean off its feet.
“Well, dipshit," She said acidly as She scanned for more shambling bodies. "I don’t know if you noticed, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t have that job anymore.”
"Wait, what?!?" I shouted loud enough to be heard a block away.
A rational person in a rational situation might have had reason to thing this woman a raving nutjob but She'd established her bonafides the night before.
"Come on," She said as She turned back towards the Walgreens we were looting. "Lets get what we came for and de-ass the area before three square city blocks of the living dead converge on your whiney voice."
Was it still looting if there wasn't an owner to object or a government to apply the rule of law? Maybe scavenging was a better word choice.
"Oh, right, because I'm somehow louder than a 10-gauge shotgun with an extra hot load of double-aught buckshot."
We hurried inside and moved straight towards the pharmacy counter at the back. We quickly emptied the shelves haphazardly into one of those giant olive green military surplus duffle bags. It would have taken too long to read each label in the limited illumination of our flashlights so we just took everything that wasn't in the safe or freezer.
On our way back out, She paused briefly at the rotating stand of reading glasses and pitched a bunch of them into a grocery bag. She repeated this at the opposite end of the aisle where the contraceptives were located.
I Spock'd an eyebrow at her.
"Step one is stabilizing the population," She explained brusquely as we started moving again. "After that, we can start growing it again. Trust me, we don't want to be weighed down with somebody's crotch goblins before we've got safe shelter and a stable food supply. The big ass upstairs did too good a job of wiring most of you to preserve the fruits of your various looms and it will just get everyone killed."
I just shook my head as I followed her back to the mall-crawling brodozer She had rescued me in the night before. The thing had probably never seen anything more difficult than a parking block before She'd found it. But, it had a huge motor, big lift, huge off-road tires, and the dude-bro that made it all happen had done it right. Or maybe paid somebody to do it right.
We roared off just as the first group of shamblers reached the truck and flattened a few of them in the process.
"So, you have some more survivors stashed somewhere?" I asked. "Or do you know something I don't about how to restart a population with fewer than a hundred people?"
"Hmph," She grunted in what I thought could have been construed as approval. "Not as stupid as I thought. We could do it with 80 using some social engineering and a carefully designed breeding program, but I'm hoping to gather closer to five hundred so a single minor disaster doesn't wipe everyone out."
I sagged back in my seat, the adrenaline finally wearing off. I blinked my eyes closed to clear some dirt and only opened them when She nudged me from across the cab.
"Billy, wake up, we're almost at grandma's," She said.
I shook my head to clear the fog and looked up. I must have slept for a few hours because we were up in the mountains. I saw a sign indicating we were nearing Big Bear Lake.
"Huh," I said thoughtfully as the lake came into view. "Never been here outside of skiing season."
"Don't get used to it," She said as we pulled into a Holiday Inn parking lot. "We're going to be a little nomadic for a while. This is as good a place as any to stop for the summer."
A small crowed started to form around us as we descended from the truck.
"Meds," She said handing the duffel bag off to a spare middle-aged woman.
"And a new mouth to feed," said a guy who was the spitting image of the cowboy narrator from The Big Lebowski. "Any good in a fight?"
"Better than you," She answered. "Not as good as your daughter. But he's not here for fighting."
"Oh?"
"Electrical engineer," she said.
"Good, Bill needs some backup," he said. "Come on, son. Lets get find you an empty bed."
Evening meals were evidently simple, rigidly rationed, and communal affairs. We all gathered in the hotel lobby to get our food and most people spread out into loose groups. I ended up eating with Her, Cowboy, Cowboy's daughter, and... I did a double-take. Betty White.
100 fucking year old Betty fucking White.
It was imminently clear that Betty did not approve of Her.
"So, still trying to clean up your mess?" Betty asked irritably.
"Her mess?" I asked through a mouth full of baked beans.
"Yes, that bitch Lady Death or whatever the hell she calls herself," Betty replied. "If she'd just done her job..."
I aimed a questioning glance at Her but she answered it by steadfastly looking in any direction except mine and Betty's.
"Yah, She won't talk about it but She was the last straw with the Big Chungus upstairs," Betty said after finishing her bowl of beans. "Refused to reap somebody and that was the last straw. He was having enough time getting humans to do the right thing and having to force Her pushed him over the edge."
"I couldn't," She said softly.
"It was your job," Betty said in a tone of firm authority. "You were supposed to execute the final step in the process."
A tear rolled silently down Her cheek.
We were silent for a while before my resolve to not pry failed.
"So, uh, who was it?" I asked.
"Me," Betty said.
And I just lost it and doubled-over in gales of laughter.
I mean, come on. The zombie apocalypse happened because Death refused to take Betty White to the afterlife.
Not Umbrella Corporation at Racoon City. Not tainted meat. Not amoral scientists tinkering in their labs.
|
"Can't this be considered the apocalypse then?" He asked while bludgeoning the head of the undead before him. "Don't you have a role to fulfill?"
"Ha, you think I'm the horseman of death?" The second shell gets fired and another zombie explodes. "The Bible is filled with lies, pal. Only a tenth of that book is accurate. Now drop the chat and drag that bookcase here."
Dropping the heavy bookcase on its side the duo managed to block the house's front door.
"Check the back door! I'm gone to get more ammo."
"Wait!" Said the man while trying to recover his breath. "Why did this happen? How are you jobless? Who... Who did this?!"
Hearing the man, Death's silver eyes stared at him coldly. "He calls himself God, but I know that's a lie. That man is little more than a supervisor of our existence. We can talk later, now block that door. And don't bother with the windows for now, those things don't know how to climb."
The speechless man saw Death leave the room. He only reacted after not even her long ashen hair could be seen. Collecting himself, the man did as Death asked him, blocking the door to the backyard with a large table and a couch. Hoping this would be enough, he began searching every useful thing available in the house.
"Hey man, you won't believe this shit, the owner of this place is one of those idiots who prepare for doomsday. There are supplies to last till next decade." Said Death joyfully, while entering the kitchen. "Now we only need to worry about winter"
"If we make it to winter that is"
"Oh shut your pessimism!"
"You mentioned a guy who made this happen. How are you so sure he can't do something worse?"
"He's no God." Proclaimed Death as she sat on the couch. "He answers to someone. They will find what he did, they won't like it, and they will stop his plans." Her red lips formed a smile. "We just wait. Maybe day, maybe weeks, maybe years, we wait."
The man's face grew pale. The air felt extremely cold all of a sudden. Time seemed to have been brought to a halt. Death's voice was the only sound he could hear.
"The day his crimes are know will come. And then humanity will, no, I will have my revenge!"
| 2021-03-15T09:11:50 | 2021-03-15T08:52:23 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"We... don't actually know what you did."
The burly red demon looked at a few papers. He squinted through his round glasses for a minute before sliding them off and slipping them into the chest pocket of his tight white collared t-shirt.
"What do you mean 'you don't know'? You just said I have to spend 186,292 years down here! The guy in front of me only got 145! What in the hell did I *do?!*"
"Sorry, I'm going to have to call upper management," the demon replied with an honest shrug.
He spent 15 minutes on his iPhone arguing with his manager. The line was being held up, so a supervisor opened a new line. The girl behind me got 188 years. The creepy dude behind her, 400. A gangbanger, determined to live up to his stereotype, got 1,202 years for shooting up a barbershop. He cried.
I looked back and saw the lines were *long*. There were fifteen lanes open that I could see, and the demons all looked flustered and rushed. The supervisor directed more lanes to open, as demons from other departments complained about being put on counter duty. One of them even argued and threw a fit, scorching the broom he was holding and throwing it into the sea of dead people in line. The supervisor remained calm, literally fired him (like, set him on fire), and the people just ignored the flaming broom.
"Sir, the Regional manager would like a word with you," the apologetic demon in the collared white shirt said, handing me the phone.
"Who am I speaking to?" I asked.
"MY NAME IS RASTLEBUB THE DEMENTED," a grave, fire-laced voice said. The connection was nice and crisp. I commented on it, to which he quickly replied "OH YES, GOOGLE FIBER JUST ROLLED OUT THEIR BASIC PACKAGE DOWN HERE, SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM FUCKED A COCONUT."
Rastlebub the Demented cackled like he had made a hilarious joke. I looked to the Demon in the collared shirt. He shrugged again and told me with his hands to just roll with it. I gave a courtesy laugh.
When the Demented was done cackling, he took down my information and apologized for any mix-ups. It wasn't without precedent though. "THERE WERE ACTUALLY TWO FIDEL CASTROS, AND THEY DIED ON THE SAME DAY. THAT WAS CONFUSING MESS OF PAPERWORK TO SET STRAIGHT," the Demented said. "ALMOST FORCED THIS POOR GROCER TO HANG AROUND HERE FOR 6,000 YEARS."
"What could I have possibly done to earn 186K?" I asked.
"SO YOU SAY YOU ARE A PARTICLE PHYSICIST?" he asked, as I overheard him tapping keys on the other end.
"Yes?" I replied. "I was at the tail end of earning my PHD. So close to being called 'Doctor'. I would have made so many Doctor Who jokes."
"YES, YES. I LIKED DAVID TENNANT. WONDERFUL MAN. I WENT TO A CON ONCE AND HE SIGNED A PHOTO OF US TOGETHER WITH A COCONUT. MY WIFE SAYS CAPALDI WAS BETTER. BLASPHEMER," Rastlebub said. "BUT BACK TO THE ISSUE. DO YOU RECALL HOW YOU DIED?"
"Uhh, no. Now that I think about it. I was in my office sipping coffee, then I was here," I said. I leaned-sat on the desk, and the collared shirt demon folded his arms and gave me a look. I immediately stood straight up and mouthed a silent "sorry" to him for disrespecting his desk. Rastlebub said something about how a number of people today were just as confused. Normally, he said, people remember the specifics of how they died. Knife to the heart, gunshot wound, heart attack, choking on a cheese sandwich, falling in the bathroom, whatever-- people could remember it. Not today. No one could remember doing anything that would get them killed. It was as if they all died for no reason.
After a half-hour of going back and forth examining the details, the Demented asked me one more question. Thankfully it didn't involve coconuts.
"WHAT WERE YOU WORKING ON?"
I told him it was complicated, so I gave him the short version.
"I was trying to utilize a ten-point, four-dimensional containment field to trap neutrinos in a compact, accelerated "loop" in order to use them as fuel in a particle engine that, in theory, could provide limitless energy."
"UH HUH," Rastlebub said, not really understanding, but understanding enough. "WELL I THINK I UNDERSTAND WHY WE'RE SO BUSY TODAY, AND WHY YOU ARE MARKED AT 186,292 YEARS."
"What? No. My particle engine couldn't possibly--"
"YOU LEFT IT ON OVERNIGHT, DIDN'T YOU?"
"Of course not! I always.... No, wait, I'm sure I did. Last night I switched it off, got my coat- no, it was the other way around, I got my coat, *then* shut it off. No, no. Wait. I think--"
Rastlebub audibly sighed.
"YOU LEVELED HALF OF EUROPE."
I dropped the phone to my side, dumbstruck. The nice, flustered demon in the collared shirt asked if I was okay. My eyes wandered to the line. All those people. My work killed them. My heart sunk. Slowly, I brought the phone back up to my ear.
"I guess maybe I should have used an eleven-point containment field, huh?" I muttered.
Edit: Thank you kindly for the gold, stranger! It means a lot that you felt my writing was good enough to earn it.
|
One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
​
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
​
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
​
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285***
| 2018-09-26T07:49:48 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 2,794 | 10 |
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
The red light of the huge screen cast an eerie glow over the faces of those assembled in the war room. But in contrast to the lighting, the atmosphere was light. Jovial, even.
"As you can see, my Lord Emperor," the general was saying, a satisfied smile covering his face, "the enemy are on the run. The last assault by the Atlantea-class demons completely broke their fleet, allowing us to reinforce our beachhead. Already attacks by the Titan and Marauder demons have broken their line in several places." He pointed to a dense collection of red dots. "Now the Flamedancers have been mustered so we will encircle and destroy their armoured divisions. That will leave nothing between our army and their capital."
"Excellent, excellent, General Kruger. Your forces have performed according to my expectations", drawled the Emperor. "With the capture of Washington, the stupid Americans will have no choice but to surrender. After what we did to their Pacific coast with Vulcanus, they are on their last legs." He looked at his watch and then back at the General. "Tell the Lord Summoner to commence the assault."
The General saluted and drew a combination on his console. On a smaller screen a man appeared. He was elderly, sporting an untidy white beard and bushy hair. In contrast to all the men in the warroom, he was looking a bit uneasy and hesitant.
"Lord Summoner, are you ready to commence the assault?"
The man coughed. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say so, though all things considered, maybe it would be prudent..."
The General leaned forward. His eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you are NOT prepared?" his voice could have put the Antarctic ice to shame.
The Summoner looked like he was trying hard to swallow something."Well, you see, the thing is that, I have the most awful *hic* hiccups, and I was worried whether..."
The Emperor spoke. "My Lord Summoner, are you seriously suggesting that we delay the final offensive of our war, out ultimate war, that will finally establish the thousand year Reich, because you have hiccups? Perhaps, you are tired, my Lord? Tired of life?"
The Summoner went very pale.
"Of course not, my Emperor, of couse not! I will begin immediately."
The Summoner walked across the room. There, complex circles and diagrams had been drawn. In the middle, in a floating cloud of red mist, lurked a huge shadow. Only two golden eyes were visible.
The Summoner begin reciting the well-known chants which would bind and compel the Demon Lord, ordering him to in turn compel his minions to war. His voice rose and fell, but in spite of his best efforts, hiccups leaked out, upsetting the rythm, distorting the syllables. Inside the circle the golden eyes narrowed.
The Summoner picked up a golden goblet. Now he had to drink a potion of power brewed from the blood of innocents, cooked on a battlefield. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank. A huge hiccup exploded out of nowhere. The potion went down the wrong way, the summoner started choking. The goblet dropped from his hand, spilling the dark crimson liquid, which ran across the floor, over the circles and into the red cloud.
All those witnessing the spectacle in the war room froze. The Summoner continued to cough frantically, while trying to back away, his eyes suddenly as large as saucers.
A clawed foot stepped out of the circle. The Demon Lord stood in the room, free and unchained.
"And I am free. You made a mistake. As I knew you would. Humans always make a mistake."
He reached out and grabbed the Summoner. "Something stuck in there? Let me help you." And with one wickedly curved claw, he tore out the throat.
The Demon Lord looked through the screen at the Emperor.
"Five years, you have imprisoned me here. Five years have my forces bled and died on this alien world. Five years have I been kept away from the war to end all wars. I do not even know if my home still stands, or if the Sleeping Gods of the Forgotten Deeps have drowned it. For this you shall pay."
"You think you have seen our power? Human, taste our true rage!"
The monitor winked out. Neither the General nor the Emperor had any words. And then it started.
"General, the demons!" an officer shouted. "Fifth Army reports they have turned on us. They are killing everything!"
"General, the Atlantea demons are sinking our ships!"
"General, fires have broken out in Hamburg, Dusseldorf and Paris! General Gruber reports that he cannot hold. Colonel Schwartz is calling for help."
"General, army headquarters in Spain, Portugal and England are no longer responding"
"General, Vulcanus just appeared in Italy. It seems like Vesuvius is once again stirring."
And they kept on coming. The death cries of a burning Empire.
Edit: Fixed typos
|
The year is 2198. The entire world has seen 15 world wars. All of which Germany has participated... and... err... lost. Y-yeah... they lost 15 times. This the 16th war, and everyone expects Germany to lose. People aren't taking Germany seriously anymore. Many keep joking about Germany.
But it looks like things will change now. Germany has actually taken over Europe and is starting to invade other parts. Their military...has... uhhh... haven't changed much... but it seems they're winning...And I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. Well, I'm just a POW.. and they're about to kill me
Year 2199 and Germany is still winning. They've taken over Asia now. My execution was delayed...and now is the time for me to die...
Then all of a sudden every tank I could see just exploded. All planes crashed. And all ships sunk.
The reason why?? The dumbass lead mechanic/builder forgot to put a number 4 and a few **VERY INSIGNIFICANT** details on the blueprint. Without that stuff, well... everything would blow up.
I laughed my ass off at the explosion. I laughed so fucking hard I pissed myself. Germany lost again. But the machines exploded. Not the infantry. While I was laughing, they...errr...just shot me.
| 2017-08-18T03:34:46 | 2017-08-18T02:09:31 | 107 | 15 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
The man led them through the gallery at a brisk pace. He was dressed sharply, suited with an impeccable mauve tie and tailored waistcoat. The corridors they walked through were carved from pristine, white marble – their footsteps echoed loudly as they traversed the wing of the museum.
Without a moment’s warning, he stopped and smiled at the group struggling to keep up. He showed them a mouth resplendent with polished, white teeth, drawing his arm up like a magician would as part of a great reveal in a magic show.
“If you look to your left you will see the finest collection of modern sculpture since the Hellenic period of Greece. You may look but not touch.”
A few members of the group approached the tableau which the man was pointing too – seven realistic statues of humans. There were gasps of astonishment as the visitors to the gallery got close up to each work of art.
A woman in a canary yellow hat, wearing a pearl necklace tilted her sunglasses down to inspect a man lying down upon the floor, holding his hand up in front of his eyes as if trying to shield them.
“The level of detail… such fine touches,” she murmured, tracing her fingers over the stone surface. Each individual hair has been chiselled so finely.”
“Ahem.”
She swivelled at the abrupt sound the guide made.
She looked confused until he pointed at her hand.
“Oh, that’s right – not touching.”
He made a smile, a perfunctory curling of the lips which did not reach his eyes. “May I also ask for your glasses, Madame?”
The woman looked perturbed.
“Well, I really see no reason why…”
“Please, I must insist,” the man said, walking up and snatching the pair from her head. “The stone mason who created these masterpieces is very clear on the guidelines of visitors. You may have them back at the end of the tour.”
“Well, I never, so rude…” the woman muttered to herself as she stepped away.
They walked through another corridor and saw similar scenes. Statues of men and women cowering, looks of terror on their face, their mouths wide open. The craftsmanship of each was also a constant feature. Looking down the throat of one statue that appeared to be frozen in a bloodcurdling scream, one could even see the uvula at the back of the throat.
“Prices for each range from sixty thousand to one hundred thousand,” the guide mentioned, as if for that price they were a steal. “They are the perfect gothic addition to a mansion or villa.”
A businessman, astute and no nonsense looking, was holding the price tag on a dog which was caught in a ferocious bark. He blew his cheeks out and whistled when he saw the six-digit figure on the card.
“I notice there is a bit of a theme going on here,” he said. “Do any of these guys here look like they aren’t just about to get crucified?”
He had said it as a joke but the guide was not smiling. His pale face showed no emotion but his eyes were hard little beads. He had his hands clenched into one another. It struck the guests then just how quiet the building was.
They followed the suited man in silence until they reached a circular room. There was a podium in the centre, at least fifteen feet high, with an old man standing on top who looked to be blind.
“Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen. I have enjoyed showing you around our grounds,” their guide told them through a mouth barely open.
“Albert here will deal with prices and sales. I hope you have fallen as much in love with our statues here as we do in making them. Adieu, I am sure I will see some of you again.”
Still facing them, he stepped out of the room backwards.
The ancient man in the middle of the room coughed loudly, getting the visitors attention.
“Our cheapest statue is £55,000,” he announced. “It is the woman in white.”
The businessman stepped forward. He looked around at the rest of the group, judging them by their expressions, and decided they were all thinking what he was thinking.
“Listen, fella,” he said impatiently. “We all agree that the statues are lifelike and all, but we think their price is a bit steep.”
The old man called Albert twitched his moustaches.
“The cheapest statue is £55,000. It is the woman in white.”
The woman in yellow, who was scowling – she had forgotten to ask for her glasses back, stepped forward.
“I don’t think any of us is interested in buying. Please show us the way out.”
The man on the podium stared blindly over them.
“No sales? I will show you the exit then.”
His scaly hand pressed a button in front of him, causing a door at the front of the room to begin to rise.
The group started to walk towards the exit when they noticed a pair of sandaled feet blocking their way.
“I hope this is the owner,” the woman commented. “I would like to make a complaint. This place is…”
Her voiced faded as the sound of hissing rose through the air.
The group stepped back as the barrier lifted completely, revealing a woman with snakes writhing over her scalp. Even as they lifted their hands to their eyes and screamed, their skin began to mineralise, hardening until the limbs of their bodies became frigid.
\*\*\*
The man led them through the gallery at a brisk pace. He was dressed sharply, suited with an impeccable mauve tie and tailored waistcoat. The corridors they walked through were carved from pristine, white marble – their footsteps echoed loudly as they traversed the wing of the museum.
Without a moment’s warning, he stopped and smiled at the group struggling to keep up. He showed them a mouth resplendent with polished, white teeth, drawing his arm up like a magician would as part of a great reveal in a magic show.
“If you look to your left you will see the finest collection of modern sculpture since the Hellenic period of Greece. You may look but not touch.”
A few members of the group approached the tableau which the man was pointing too – seven realistic statues of humans. There were gasps of astonishment as the visitors to the gallery got close up to each work of art.
“The level of detail… look at this one in the hat,” one of them murmured as she traced her fingers over the pearl necklace of a woman screaming endlessly.”
The guide turned and showed a smile curved like a scythe.
“That is one of our new additions. Please, do not touch. They are all very fragile and it would be a shame to break one."
It was too late. The stone toppled and an arm broke off as it hit the floor.
"Jesus," someone said in the crowd. "The sculptor even included bones, you can see them. Why did they bother to do that?"
|
Karen walked up the spiraling steps in the modern centre until she reached the floor of the building that was crowded with law offices, realtors, and other small whiteish collar workplaces. Approaching the door with only a simple nameplate ‘Kaka Dental Practice’, she stuttered before opening the door.
“So this is what a vampires’ office looks like ... I thought it would be darker and with ... blood.” She thought to herself.
“What! No, why would a dentist want blood and a dark operating area? I run a legitimate business.” Remarked A voice from behind the door.
“What? You can really read minds?!” Karen responded back in astonishment.
“Yes, of course, we can, that’s why I’m a dentist ... no we can’t, you muttered that to yourself so loudly we all heard it. Come in, you’re my 4 o’clock, Karen isn’t it?”
Walking into the lobby, she noted that it was a fairly normal dentists office, although with a plate of donuts instead of floss. The doctor was a young adult male, of pale yet toned build, with a semi-noticeable fang, and an even more noticeable hair. She was motioned into a room after waiting five mins and sat down on the operating chair. The dentist walked in carrying a tray of equipment.
Karen looked at it and said, “So .., Dr. acula? What am I in for today?”
The dentist responded with an annoyed look and tone “Araragi, Dr. Araragi. It’s not that funny.” Karen looked away in horror after realizing what she said.
He continued on, “anyways, you're here for a routine cleaning, nothing else really.”
“Ok” she responded
“Let’s begin” he went.
Dr. Araragi took out the instruments, including picks and brushes. He started with scraping plaque from her teeth. It was boring and over in a second. The rest of the checkup was the same. Almost done, he had a menacing brush in his hand, with thistles in an area of a finger covering it.
She looked at it, and paused “Soooo, what’s with the brush?”
“It’s a new one, state of the art. Designed by a whole wing at MIT. It’s said to work amazingly”
As he slid the brush into her mouth and started motioning back and forth, she was amazed. Each brush of a bristle felt like her teeth were being power washed.
“Arghhgh” her mouth went as they were invaded by the cutting edge toothbrush.
“I’ve heard it feels nice,” Araragi said after noticing her not discomfort.
Soon, her teeth felt clean and the appointment was over, but still, she had a question.
“So, why did you become a dentist, Araragi? Seems weird for a vampire.”
He sighed, looked at her, and said.
“Because I like dentistry. Why do you like the dentist? I like to see clean teeth.”
And embarrassed for asking another dumb question, and done with her appointment, she went home.
---
For more tales from the Storyverse, check out /r/araragi
| 2018-08-27T17:05:28 | 2018-08-27T15:13:21 | 38 | 28 |
[WP] it turns out Earth is a really big lobby for a battle-royale and everyone is just waiting for enough players to start
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I wasn't sure if the bassline was real or not. The news had been broadcasting it for a while, though \- 10 billion. Every 12 to 13 years, we tacked on another billion people. Food was scarce in some regions, but somehow, our species continued to swell. Scientists and census experts called it to the day. The 10 billionth baby born. Humanity's first foray into an 11\-digit population total.
But nobody expected the bassline that accompanied the birth, nor did they expect the voice to be vaguely recognizable to nearly *everyone*. It broadcast across the planet an hour after the music started. Promised the means and the methods for the "top 'mil" to live in paradise forever. Images of opulence, mansions, meals, *means*, were broadcast with the sky as the screen, somehow.
*"AND HOW DO YOU MAKE IT TO THE TOP 'MIL!?"*
A swarm of bees overtook the world. No, not bees.
Drones.
They parachuted packages every few kilometers, then expired and slammed into the earth.
One landed in my backyard, waking me from a nap. I'd assumed the bass was a dickhead in a pickup truck, the voice, a weird new song, but could cast no aspersions about whatever had just punched a hole through the roof of my shed.
I remember going outside in a housecoat. The roof of my shed, a simple poly plastic, had been rent in the perfect mark of whatever fell through. My neighbour was outside, too, peering over the fence at me, his chrome\-dome gleaming in spite of the overcast day.
"What's this paradise, eh? What's going on? What's that noise?" The bass was still thrumming, the pulse of the earth.
"I don't know," I replied. I was about to tell him more about the nap I'd been enjoying. Then, the voice came down from on high again.
*"BATTLE ROYALE, 2 MINUTE MARK \- 1.5 MILLION DEAD! A LONG WAY TO GO! KEEP FIGHTING!"* Beyond the voice, the sounds of a party. Hoots, hollers, revelry. Valhalla.
Then, gunshots. The fence in front of my neighbour, on my side, exploded inward. I saw his eyes boggle, his perfectly bald head flecked with blood. Then, he fell away to die with his eyes pointed up at the birds.
I swept my head around. Two teens were there, hungry\-eyed, pointing at me with... assault rifles? I dove into my house, hearing another shot splinter off the brick.
"Go! Go!" One of them shouted. I was in my kitchen. Knife block. I grabbed for it. My hands were shaking. I knocked it over, but a few came loose. I gripped a few. Footsteps on my grass, now my patio.
I whipped the knives at an approaching silhouette, but kept the carving knife in my grip. Something told me there was no more running. No more. One of the boys had something protruding from his throat and was choking, but I kept going.
\-\-\-
Those were my first kills. I'd taken a half\-dozen more lives by the end of the day, the assault rifle doing loud and grisly work, and then all fell quiet. Many neighbours left. I didn't target them, but noted their houses. Others hunkered down, same as me. The boys had taken a lot of ammunition with them and stashed it nearby, I quickly followed trail to a small parkette, where a billow of smoke was coiling around an opened plastic crate. There was nothing left inside. Another resident made to approach, but saw the assault rifle in my hands and scattered like a shy doe.
\-\-\-
The first week was the worst. Cracking shots that almost sounded joyful on the wind. I remember crying and filling my bathtub for drinking water. I don't know why the idea came to me. It just did.
I still had the first assault rifle strapped to my back, the second in hands as the days wore on. The carving knife, I'd holstered to my leg. I could still hear the bass thrumming when I closed my eyes. But I was harder now.
I'd never fired a weapon like this before, but the first of the weapons had a red dot sight. It was scarily efficient. I had another 4 boxes of ammunition back at the house, hidden beneath the bed in the spare room. I knew I'd need them before long. How I was adapting so well, I couldn't be sure.
The voice in the sky had spoken a few times, since then. It announced the first billion within a day. Then the second a day later. The third billion came a few days after that. The TV networks were down. The power was out. There was only the voice in the sky. I wasn't sure if the bassline was real or not. I wasn't sure if *any* of this was real. How had it come to this?
I'd survived my neighbourhood and created several barricades in surrounding houses, to give the impression of force. I had my tungsten ring on as a mechanical engineer, which gave me a sort of courage. My garage was my auto shop. I quickly figured out how to make traps using old shocks, and the sporadic houses I cleaned out first (canned goods, water, candles, spare wood, in that order) were now subtly marked for my sake; they were deathtraps to all others, sharpened springboards and dug out pitfalls designed to maim.
After a couple of weeks, I stopped keeping track of the armed groups that swept through. After a few weeks, people stopped coming by altogether. My quiet little one\-entrance neighbourhood was considered cursed. I only went out at sunrise. I ate cold cans of beans, and vegetables from my dead neighbour's garden. I reckoned I could get through the first winter before needing to move on.
The other morning, I finally took a key off the rack and went out to the shed. I dragged the drone out and set it up in my makeshift auto shop. The workbench was sufficient to hold the thing. It was completely unmarked, and not in the *worst* shape, though it wouldn't be airworthy without parts. After a deep inspection by candlelight, I found a small map of my town rolled into one of the landing skids. Someone had drawn an "X" with a red pen and the word "ROOF" on it. The building marked was town hall.
Before I could decipher what it meant, I heard yelling outside. I peered through the scratched frosted glass windows of my garage and saw a pair of people charging back toward the parkette.
I heard the hum. Drones.
Reinforcements were arriving.
I strapped up my rifle. Time to go to work.
[Part two here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StanWrites/comments/8qll0y/wp_global_battle_royale_part_ii/)
EDIT: Just fixed the formatting to my original \- still a bit of a rookie to it!
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######[](#dropcap)
The first signs were less than obvious.
Reports came in from the most obscure locations around the globe, over the course of months, of objects suddenly appearing out of nowhere, inside derelict buildings and abandoned apartment complexs. The objects ranged from the banal - baseball bats and golf clubs - to the extraordinarily dangerous - assault rifles and ballistic vests.
The phenomenon was widely discredited until, all at once, the C.I.A. opened a public investigation. They would have preferred to keep it private, but social media everywhere was packed with photos of a highly advanced U.S. military missile launcher found in a disused orphanage in Botswana.
Turned out the launcher had no business being found *anywhere* as there was only a single prototype being R&D'd by the Army. The question of how a Botswanan villager could be seen lifting the Rapid Burn Ballistic Launcher over his head on Instagram was a real puzzler.
Soon similar discoveries, new and developing weapons sourced from every major government and military contractor on Earth began appearing just about everywhere, seemingly at random. By March of 2018 a global intelligence task force was created to better understand the phenomenon. However it would not be the intelligence community who unraveled the mystery.
In mid 2018 reports began to swarm in news media about anomalous readings at several physics installations worldwide. Initially it was postulated that these readings might provide a glimpse into a deeper understanding of new elementary physics. In a sense, this turned out to be right.
Particle and Quantum physicist Henrick Van Dorn, or rather the algorithm he created, is credited with decoding the strange data. What was initially interpreted as possible evidence of a new type of neutrino revealed itself to be far stranger.
Dorn's algorithm was built to recognize patterns in the impossibly dense results of a wide variety of particle physics experiments. Without much expectation of success Dorn had the program analyze the alleged aberrant neutrino readings. The results of that analysis are known today, by the few remaining who remember them, as Dorn's Warning.
In the apparent chaos of quantum fluctuations and "random" particles, Dorn's algorithm saw terrible providence - two sets of densely packed data.
The first was simple and could be interpreted as a real number deteriorating at a stable rate of one digit per hour, a countdown of sorts. Extrapolating the current rate of decay Dorn estimated it would reach zero on January 1st 2019.
The second data set was far more complicated, in constant flux, filled with data. After the first run through the program Dorn had a rough estimation of its content, but refused to believe it. So he ran it again, and again, a dozen times. Each time the analysis revealed slightly altered results, either additions or reductions, but always the framework was the same.
Certain, at last, that he had uncovered the underlying meaning of the data, Dorn released a rough visualization to the public - and then ate a bullet in the backyard of his chalet in the South of France.
The content of the pdf was immediately familiar to many - anyone who played video games understood instantly.
Over the next month, on almost every computer screen around the world, the public digested Dorn's Warning, a constantly changing scorecard hidden in the quantum fluctuations of the universe, listing every human being on Earth, removing those who died before the game began, adding those freshly born, every person accounted for and currently given a score of "0".
But not for long.
******
#### r/LFTM
| 2018-06-12T05:58:31 | 2018-06-12T05:11:41 | 111 | 28 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off.
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It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one.
| 2014-12-18T13:32:26 | 2014-12-18T12:57:51 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] A device has been invented that allows the user to gaze upon Heaven or Hell. Hell is terrifying, and those who see it often need counselling. But their terror pales compared to those who witness God's domain.
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What it all comes down to is - it's an easy decision, right?
Would you rather gaze upon a thing of infinite beauty, or one of infinite ugliness? You'd choose the beauty. You'd choose to bask in it, to drink in the sight of lush grass and rain-scented earth and blue skies. Bare skin, freely bestowed smiles. A love that isn't marred by jealousy. An innocence that doesn't have to die.
They don't understand, those men and women who stand before the Great Periscope and pick without a second doubt.
Hey, don't look at me - I'm simply the Guardian. I'm the operator on this crazy carnival ride. I don't tell you whether or not to go - my job is to warn you of the risks, make sure that you're strapped on tight enough not to fly off, and to stop it in case you throw up, so to speak.
(*Heaven/Hell: $60. View both for $100. The Great Periscope Co. is not liable for any physical or emotional trauma resulting from this viewing. Warning: Viewing this may lead to a sharp rise in your insurance premiums. Kindly consult the pamphlet for full terms and conditions.*)
Kind of sucks when they throw up ninety-nine percent of the time. (*Paper bag, $1, Available on request.*)
But that's why they picked me. For as long as I can remember, my mother had stated that ignorance is bliss and curiosity killed the cat. A week after she'd died, I'd gone and looked at her medical files. When you're sixteen and see that your unwed mother was hospitalized due to sexual assault nine months before you were born - well, let's just say any urge to unveil secrets takes a jump out the ninth-floor window. Now I don't look for answers unless they sit up and spit in my face, and it's worked so far.
Hell has been something we've all been threatened with. It's worse than you can imagine, they say. The blood and sweat, the starvation, the pain, the fear. Imagine an agony that never ends. But no, you can't. You can't experience *infinity* because you're mortal. You can't even stomach eating the same food for breakfast seven days in a row - what do you know of forever?
You don't know forever until you see it. You don't see it properly unless you've looked into the eyes of a man who has had nowhere to go, nothing to think, nothing to look forward to for the last millennium, and knows it's not going to change. In the human condition, even pain isn't a form of loss, it's a form of hope - it's your body saying "Look, there's a problem in this area, now hold the fuck still while I fix it." In the human condition, excessive agony is a countdown to either getting better or dying (which is another form of getting better.) My point is, there is nothing as numbing, as shocking, as frightening as the prospect of nothing changing. And this is what causes people to soil their pants (*Adult Diapers, $2, available on request*) - as if seeing somebody in this situation makes them realize that this is what awaits them too.
This I know because the Hell viewers often talk about their experiences - after several years of counselling, usually.
The Heaven viewers? I have no idea what they see. Those that survive the severe depression tend to have very little social interaction. A significant percentage simply go catatonic. A once-famous talk show host had his comeback programme shut down because he couldn't film while making eye contact with the camera. My uncle Trent looked into Heaven trying to catch sight of my grandma. He hung himself in our attic the next week.
The only proper description I've read came from a famous author, who wrote this briefly before he ate his Colt for breakfast:
> I knew I was going to Hell. That is not why I am sad - before I even witnessed Heaven I knew it was not for me. It is because Heaven tears down every avenue of self-validation I have had. I thought I could be a good person by being a good writer - it told me that utilizing my talents for happiness makes me selfish. I thought I could be a good person by helping the poor - it told me that charity would appease my conscience, but nothing else. I thought I could be a good person by giving up worldly possessions - it taught me that any sins I had were inside me and not transferred to those objects that I chose to reject. What it told me was that I, by virtue of being self-conscious, self-centered and thus *selfish* even in altruism, would never do anything that wasn't self-motivated. Appeasing myself was self-love; denying myself was self-punishing. But it always comes down to the words I, I, I.
> Let me tell you one thing: there are no humans up there in heaven. The entire human civilization, since it learned to use fire and the wheel, has not set foot in God's abode. There are only these little brown ape-people, with their blank eyes and sharp teeth and opposable thumbs, and they run around the jungle every day and eat what catches their fancy, and they are in heaven because they are as God created them, and not what they grew up thinking and choosing to be.
And damn it, that letter made me laugh. It made me laugh for humanity, because it's the perfect irony that proves there's really a God. It's like that song by the boy band my niece listens to, the one where they say the girl's pretty but only because she doesn't know she's pretty. When an eighteen-year-old reality TV phenomenon understands the rules of life and death better than you do - well, I think you should just hang up your boots and have a beer. Be myself, right? In vino veritas and all that.
Goodnight. I know you're going to Hell, but still, have a nice flight.
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It had been 24 hours since I removed the headset. I sat quietly sipping my coffee as patrons walked in and out. Some of them clearly aware of what I'd witnessed. One elderly chap even patted me on the back. His time, most likely nearly up, he knew what he had to face. Something we on this mortal coil couldn't imagine. Unlike our ideas of hell which were very graphic, with violence, demons, fire, and all the other unspeakable thing, our ideas of heaven were usually just simple wishes. Things from our lives that we hoped would stay with us. Our family, friends, pets, sports, music. But once you'd put the headset on, that was it. You knew where you stood in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't that what you'd felt before wasn't real, but after the headset, it felt somewhat faked. As if your whole life was a big con. Your likes, dislikes, the feelings towards significant others. That place, unending, somehow, despite being immaterial, was, to put it simply, love. Pure love. It made your heart feel like it was going to explode in your chest. If the rush when seeing your girlfriend were like the rush of a stream, this was like a whole ocean smashing into the rocks. Every little bit of you knew you didn't belong there. You knew you belonged somewhere else, isolated from this place. It was terrifying. Utterly so. Both places were so far from our imagination, you could barely motivate yourself to live after the experience. Hell, so lonely. The gnashing of teeth were our own. The flesh, our own. Spending what seems like an eternity trying to climb out. But Heaven, in choosing that path, you were facing your inner demons. Facing all your choices, and being judged fairly on them. That was something I don't think anyone was ready for. Even the religious. Some would even choose hell over that. But it came back to the love and that terrified even more. That there was a judgement, but you were still loved, unconditionally, unending. And if you accepted that, you could spend eternity in that love.
I blew into my coffee, took a sip, and began to wonder, which path did I want to choose.
| 2016-04-14T06:20:52 | 2016-04-14T05:39:13 | 100 | 71 |
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3
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Cotton loves television. He’s fixed himself a pizza and is getting ready for a binge watching session of his favorite show, *Prickly Pete*. Cotton picks up the remote and turns on the TV.
“Nope. Not doing it. I don’t want to be in your story.” Cotton puts down the remote.
The smell of smoke fills the apartment. Cotton realizes he left garlic bread in the oven and it’s burning.
“I didn’t make garlic bread nor do I like garlic bread. I’ll suffer through the smoke and enjoy my pizza with the TV OFF.” Cotton took a big, satisfying bite out of his food.
One of Cotton’s neighbors bursts in the apartment. ”Dude you got smoke coming out of your oven. Why aren’t you turning it off?”
The neighbor walks over to the oven, turns off the heat and removes the garlic bread. Coughing from all the smoke and attempting to wave it away from his face the neighbor says, “Why are you just sitting there? Everything okay?”
Cotton stays silent.
The neighbor sighs, pulls a gun out of his pocket and blows his brains out.
Cotton jets up from his couch and yells, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You… you just killed my neighbor!”
Cotton calms down, grabs the remote and turns on the TV.
“No, no, no, no. Fuck you. After what you just did I’m not turning on anything. Leave me alone!” pleads Cotton.
Cotton gets a text from his best friend that he’ll be over soon so they can hang out. Cotton tries to text him back but his phone loses service. His friend should be there in five minutes. Cotton turns on the TV.
“How can I turn on the TV if the remote isn’t in my possession?” Cotton throws the remote out of his 5th story apartment window.
Five minutes pass and Cotton’s best friend, Jerry, enters the apartment. “Hey buddy,” says Jerry. “Is this your remote? I found it downstairs.”
Cotton stays silent.
“Dude? Everything okay?” questions Jerry.
“Please leave. It’s not safe for you here,” says Cotton.
Jerry laughs. “You trippin’ bro.” He walks into the apartment towards Cotton. “That pizza smells good! Mind if I have a slice?”
As Jerry walks towards the pizza he trips over the seemingly now visible dead body and slams his face through the glass coffee table. Panting and wheezing, Jerry attempts to get himself up. He tries to carefully pull his head back through the broken glass but the sharp edges grab and tear the skin from his face. Jerry begins howling in pain. His shirt is soaked through with blood. There are pieces of skin and tissue in Jerry’s hair. He’s never felt such agony in his life. He grabs his face, runs towards the 5th story window and jumps. Cotton sees his best friend plummet to his death.
Cotton calms down, picks up the remote and turns on the TV.
“No,” whimpers Cotton “I’m *not* turning it on.”
Just then, Cotton’s phone service returns right as he gets a text from his mother.
*“hey honey. your dad and I are coming over this evening to visit. I’m also going to pick up your girlfriend along the way. She has a surprise for you… (HINT: IT’S A PUPPY!!) See you soon!”*
Strangely, the phone loses service, again. Cotton turns on the TV.
“N.. No...” says Cotton.
Just then another text manages to come through on his phone.
*“Hey I’m heading over with your parents. We need to talk about something later on tonight (no not the puppy I know she told you). I’m late. Like really late. Also you should turn on the news, apparently there is some nuclear bomb scare in NYC?!? WTF? See you soon.”*
Cotton sits down on the couch, turns on the TV and enjoys new episodes of his favorite show, *Prickly Pete*.
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Marshall was leaving the bank when he heard the first gun shot. It had come from inside! He reached for his concealed weapon and tried tri tr
threw it on the ground. Marshall want wan WANTS A SODA STOP MAKING HIM A HERO HE
He heard a woman scream and *knew* he should go inside to stop the crimina
Marshal shot his middle finger into the sky and took off at a brisk pace to a McDonalds down the street.
| 2016-02-11T11:28:43 | 2016-02-11T09:05:58 | 106 | 22 |
[WP] Ever since the discovery of FTL-travel, the history of the galaxy has been unfolded to a horrifying truth; everything is dead and has been dead for millions of years.
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Fermi’s paradox was theorized to be answerable by a theory called, “The Great Filter”. Boiled down this theory states that intelligent life will eventually wipe itself out, and accidental or purposeful self destruction is the reason for the silence among the stars.
When humanity discovered FTL travel, it was through a process called, “cascade quantum entanglement”. This process involved several complex steps, but those can be reduced to essential information. By creating two identical virtual particles at distant points in space, and then forcing them to match frequency, the universe could be tricked into “believing” that the spacecraft or object was at point B instead of point A. This required a kind of “gateway” which was really an absurdly large vacuum chamber that used vast amounts of power to create a near perfect vacuum, and then subjected that vacuum to intense and very specific patterns of magnetic fields. The goal was to create two identical areas of space right down to the fabric of reality itself, and then shove things through. The interactions on one side of the “gate” would create identical reactions on the other side, and it turns out that reality so loves equal and opposite reactions that it would pull or push the object through to the other gate in order to equal out the “spooky action at a distance”.
The fabric of space time suffered these hamfisted parlor tricks quietly and with seemingly no ill effect. Humanity tested the first gate in 2350, one hundred years after launching the first set of gates out beyond the Kepler belt, a distance that was deemed safe enough to prevent mass extinction should they accidentally create a black hole, and close enough for convenience since if they ripped apart space itself it wouldn’t matter anyhow. The gates worked fine, and humanity heaved a sigh of relief that they would not be dependent on the slower than light generation ships which had been launched towards alpha Centauri in 2300.
The gates meant that not only was FTL possible, with the restriction of gateways being in place, but humanity could easily leapfrog over the slower generation ships by sending out automated Von Neumann probes at 99% the speed of light, which would then decelerate at speeds which would kill living organisms, set up the gates, and then continue on. The probes would build a highway through the unforgiving darkness, and humanity would follow.
When humanity arrived at Alpha Centauri, the FTL humans not the slower generation ship ones, they found a strikingly similar gate in ideal orbit around the star. The gate was dead, and apparently so was the entire solar system. Entire planets had been cracked in half and the star was bizarrely ovoid as though it had been stretched out. An accretion disk was slowly forming from the remains of a solar system that seemed to have been hammered by the fist of a god, except for the gate.
The humans scratched their collective head about this, and then began investigating. By studying the gate they were able to uncover scientific logs from the builders, and discovered that the beings had built some kind of bomb and Alpha Centauri had been the testing grounds. The device was expected to end some long lasting war between the species that built it and their enemies, which by all accounts seemed to be the same species despite incredibly vitriolic and hate filled writings claiming a difference between the two groups.
According to the logs the species, who named themselves the, “Sunanka”, built what something called a “void bomb”. This device reportedly could eradicate a solar system in mere seconds. The process for creating the device was encrypted, but the Sunanka had been kind enough to leave behind the keys in the puddles of their dead.
The process began by creating a near perfect vacuum, and then the non-void of space would produce two oppositely charged virtual particles which would then near instantaneously eradicate each other.
By inducing an extremely strong magnetic field which overlapped the area of vacuum the virtual particles could be separated. This was similar to but not the same as the method for creating the gateways. The gates forced space to assume a specific shape. This void bomb process forced space not to be.
The thing about space is it isn’t even truly a vacuum. Virtual particles are constantly popping into and out of existence, dancing across the fabric of space-time, and erasing themselves.
The void bomb device created a true empty point, and apparently this hole in reality could be maintained for picoseconds. The records showed that depending on the size of the hole created space would expand and contract, but the reaction grew on an exponential scale. A hole the size of a virtual particle would cause a ripple, as space moved an infinitesimally small distance and then moved back.
A hole the size of a hydrogen atom would result in a ripple that could be felt by the senses, as space within several light years was violently shifted and then slammed back into place. This could cause earthquakes but would not rip apart organic matter.
A hole the size of a grain of sand, which would be visible in theory if it was sustained long enough, would rip apart a solar system and sunder every complex molecule within tens of light years.
The scientists who discovered this information were, unfortunately, members of a political group that was also involved in a war with their own kind. The bomb was constructed as per the instructions left behind by the Sunanka, and sent through the gateway back towards earth. A backup bomb was also built, and luckily or unluckily for mankind a saboteur was hiding in the midst of the enemy. In a vengeful last act, the detonation sequence for both void bombs were linked, and the act of detonating the bomb delivered to earth also tore apart Alpha Centauri for the second time.
The only humans that survived were those traveling in the slow generation ships, unaware of the death of their home, the destruction of their destination, and the dangers lurking in the dark void.
|
“Mommy, does that mean we can fly through space like in Star Wars?” Robbie asked.
Julie couldn’t help herself, and smiled. At work, she was stoic, calm, unfazed in any direction by what she saw. But here at home, with her baby, she felt like all the emotions she couldn’t feel anywhere else all poured out.
“Of course, honey.”Robbie grabbed his Lego X-Wing, and went on another voyage around their living room. Julie laughed. Her plans had succeeded, from putting on Star Wars as soon as she thought Robbie could understand, to making weekend outings to the NASA base and museums. The boy was as in love with space as her.
“We can be like Han Solo and Chewbacca, Mommy!”
“We can? And which would you be, baby?”
“You have more hair than me, Mommy!”
“I guess you’re right, baby. But wouldn’t you want to fly with Tommy or one of your other friends from school?”
“But none of them are astronauts, like my mommy…”
\-
Julie hadn’t seen the news on the day of 9/11. She had been studying all day in the library, and the day after that, and the day after that. It had been remarkable, plugged into her Walkman and in her own zone, how she had avoided hearing about it until 9/14.
So she didn’t really have one of those stories about where she was when it happened. But this time, she knew exactly.
She had been at work, staring at the feed from the craft. Staring at the utter darkness.
“Are we still in hyperspeed? Could that explain the drive?” Dr. Momen asked, his face furrowed with worry. That had been the moment Julie had known something was wrong. Rarely had Dr. Momen, from whom Julie had taken her stoicism, betrayed any reaction.
“Negative, major,” the technician said, his voice harsh and empty from the speaker, like Boba Fett’s. “There seems to be nothing out there at all…”
(continued below)
| 2019-10-26T11:58:49 | 2019-10-26T11:00:55 | 209 | 75 |
[WP] You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign.
|
CNBC reporting from Capital Hill. Parliamentary Deadlock, day 15.
It was over two weeks ago now when what started as a hearing over the repeal of the Affordable Care Act, spiraled into a partisan filibuster lead by Senator Chuck Schumer (D, NY) after a character sheets for the popular role playing game Dungeons and Dragons was included within the information packets distributed to the assembly.
Senators Al Franken (D, MN), Elizabeth Warren (D, MA) , and Bernie Sanders (I, VT) apparently aware of Sen. Schumers actions had already created characters. In his twenty minute hearing, Schumer acted as the narrator (or Dungeon Master), of an adventure of the three characters created by Senators Franken, Warren and Sanders. He then appealed to extend the hearing. The motion passed 51 - 49 and Senators John McCain (R, AZ), Rand Paul (R, KY) and Lindsey Graham (R, SC) turned in character sheets. It was noted by Sen. Schumer that Sen. Graham had used Charisma as his dump stat.
Sen. Graham responded, "I tell it like it is Senator Schumer."
Within the hour the Senators had defeated a band of thieves in the city of Waterdeep, however their was contention on what was to be done with the several hundred gold pieces that was acquired from them.
"Their was no doubt in my mind. The money should go back to the poor. They were the victims. They need it the most," Senator Sanders said of the conflict.
Senator Rand Paul's character, Thukdim-Omar, a half-orc barbarian said, "This money should go to the local businesses so that they can afford to higher these poor people and stimulate the economy."
It was noted that Sen. Paul was mixing player knowledge with character knowledge. However Thukdim-Omar did have an uncharacteristically high Intelligence stat thanks in part to a good 3d6 roll, and not knowing the conventional method of creating a barbarian. He raged for all he could (one round) and a schism formed between the Republican and Democrat Senators.
A motion was made by Majority Leader Sen. Mitch McConnell (KY) to end the filibuster and failed 45 - 55. Three more Senators turned in character sheets after the motion failed.
Now more than sixty Senators are now locked in a fantasy life and death struggle to control the ruling counsel of Waterdeep. The battle lines are not so distinctly cut as the Senate parties, with both sides housing both Democrats and Republicans. When Sen. Ron Johnson (R, WI) why his Dark Elf Ranger is on the same side as Sen. Bernie Sander's Warlock, he responded, "Mrizzt is a deep and complex character. He's Drow but has pushed away from his heritage and so he fights directly for the poor and feeble. He follows his heart and wants a direct method to help the down trodden."
The assembly's actions have sparked a raging debate among citizens of the country.
Jenny Calloway, a 34 year old factory worker who was at the Women's March protests on the day after Donald Trumps inauguration, had this to say, "It's fucked up. It really is. We all just have to sit back and watch this? I mean, Cory Bookers character just flat out backstabbed Dan Sullivan's. Even AFTER Sullivans character (a Half-Elf Druid, female) gave him a bag of holding. Who does that! I hope her resurrection is successful"
Political character assassination has become a contentious issue which has brought about several new laws to be passed to the House of Representatives. The most prominent being the Azathoth Mandate which stipulates that no action of malicious intent may be rolled without first reporting to the DM what the roll is for.
Today the assembly broached new ground when the topic of shifting from the Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 rule set to the Pathfinder system was introduced. The motion is expected to pass before the day is up.
President Donald Trump had this to tweet on the matter:
@POTUS 2h, "Until recently I wasn't that interested in the Senate or House. I had no idea it was so entertaining. I would of won the Presidency a long time ago if-"
@POTUS 2h, "-I had known that law making was this fun. I'm working on my own character. He's going to be great. He does everything,"
@POTUS 2h, "He's an Orc with big strong hands. He has all the classes. It's going to be terrific. Were going to make Waterdeep great again! #MWGA"
|
Senator:The day is old and the wind has burnt your skin. The sun is setting in your eyes. As you approach the shadow town in the distance AH SHIT ! four skeletons jump from the road with an attack. ( rolls 20 sided die on podium) 15...... the first one takes 2 hp off of the chairmans life, the other three are further back leaving you with the chance of attack. It is the chairmans roll...Chairman: sir! Senator: CHAIRMANS ROLL! (20 sided die off the back of the podium landing on 18) senator: chair man was using a 2 handed bastard sword so I'll roll the 12 sided die for him( click clack.......8) senator: 8 chair man: 8!!! That's at least 45 damage senator!
| 2017-01-21T23:01:56 | 2017-01-21T22:00:30 | 399 | 13 |
[WP]The US Government finds a Stranger Things-esque alternate dimension full of deadly creatures. Then, they discover Oil there.
|
For years, alternate Dimensions were something very few were privy to, and even fewer had the displeasure to enter. More often than not they were hellish desert worlds, devoid of life, filled with only harsh winds and endless sand. After the initial excitement of walking through a giant portal to another world had worn off, the DARPA techs that were sent to these realms began to develop a proclivity for complaint. It had become increasingly clear to the Generals in charge that despite the appeal of alternate dimensions on paper, they seemed to have no practical benefit.
This all changed when the portal to Guzzleworld was cracked open on June 4th, 2023. Nine unarmed DARPA techs entered into the lush jungle realm for the first time, and as the portal closed behind them, their cynicism toward their mission left with it. Enormous trees with purple bark towered over the techs, and their branches shook with unseen life hidden in the leaves. Above, a flock of flying creatures too far away to be identified contrasted against the neon green sky. Living species! The techs were breathless. Some were astounded by the groundbreaking scientific discovery, while others were simply relieved to know their doctorates hadn't gone to waste after all.
Everything was immediately documented with photo and video; samples of the flora were put in sealed plastic bags for later evaluation. Soon there was a small pile of bags-full of bioluminescent flowers, purple bark, and grass as sharp as the finest steel. The giddy techs agreed they had to go deeper into this new world.
But this decision was to their detriment. First, they were slashed and bleeding from the never-ending blades of grass. And then a swarm of tiny, winged, bipeds started to naw and scratch at their exo-suits, crawled into the suit openings and attempted to burrow into their skin. Their removal was slow and painful. By this time, the techs were more than ready to return home. They began their slow march back to the portal site, bleeding and scared. This world, despite its Technicolor charm, was new and terrifying, and the Boston natives, so used to their apartments and their air conditioning and their unlimited data plans, were woefully unprepared for its cruel nature. They dreamed of dinner as they made their way back home.
Despite the fact there didn't even appear to be a sun in the sky, it had started to get dark. The neon green sky of day was replaced with a forest green sky of night, and with the change of scenery there came a sudden litany of sound. The forest erupted with hollers and roars from all manner of creatures hidden in the shadows, and the terrified techs quaked in their government issue boots as the darkness itself seemed to close in on them.
Their worst fears turned very real when a disturbingly long, hairy arm dropped down from the canopy, grabbed a tech by her head, crushed it like a grape, and then pulled her corpse back up into the trees. The screams of men and women alike echoed in the jungle as more arms began to pull people away; techs scattered like rats in every direction, desperate to escape, but within minutes the forest was silent.
Only one tech remained, he stumbled his way into a clearing, fight or flight had completely taken over his body. He continued to walk aimlessly, still in shock from the deaths of his coworkers and friends, when he tripped and fell into a creek of black liquid. The stench was enough to get him to regain focus, the fumes burned his eyes and the smell gave him a pounding headache. He crawled back onto the shore, heaving and gagging, but the smell was familiar and almost comforting in this alien world. It was a smell he would know anywhere. It was oil!
Two long, fear-filled days later, the shell-shocked tech was rescued by a search party, and reported back to his superiors. He told them about a dangerous world with flora and fauna human beings weren't even prepared for, but his warning fell on deaf ears. The only part that seemed to catch their attention was when the tech, still shaking and dehydrated, told them that he couldn't find any water in that dimension, there were only rivers, lakes, and oceans of oil. At the end of his report, the Generals shook the man's hand, called him a brave American and a hero, and left the room. One of the Generals had to actively try to keep a smile off his face as he closed the door.
Suddenly, one of the humanity's most valuable, sought after resources was as abundant as water, and America had both the lock and the key.
"Which one of us tells the President, and which one of us readies the garrison?"
"Do you think he'll approve an invasion of an alien land?"
"Of course he will, DARPA owns the portal technology. It's not an invasion if it's on American soil."
|
"Sir! Please sir. Please put the phone down. We've already explained you can't tweet about this sir. It's classified."
"But there is oil there? You said."
"Yes sir, hydro-carbon compounds, as well as other biological life of a form we've never seen yet shares similarities with our own genetic makeup. the DNA structures are very similar though the chromosomal structures appear- Sir, the phone."
"Right."
"So do they have coal?"
"The geology hasn't been a priority. We were exploring the biosphere."
.
.
.
"That is... the ground hasn't been tested or the rocks, we were looking at the currently living things-"
"And how to kill them."
"Well no sir. General Samson has had to protect the robotics and research crews but it has been entirely defensive in nature. We did not intend-"
"Right. Right. So its got coal and oil and bad guys. Seems simple enough, we send in our boys to kill everything then the crews in. Imagine how everyone will love me for bringing all the coal and oil jobs back. Let them compare me to Obama then."
"Sir."
"What?"
"The phone sir."
"Oh right."
| 2017-10-28T09:54:57 | 2017-10-28T09:32:19 | 924 | 136 |
[WP] Dear diary, I’ve been feeding this creature that fell from the sky for a few days. It strangely likes to drink water, the liquid we use to fuel cars. I noticed a patch on its suit today that read “NASA”. I’ll ask it tomorrow what that means. If that’s it’s name.
|
It is still powered down right now.
I’m able to watch it from across the quarters, but I try not to stay too close for too long. I know some creatures have protective secretions during reboots and hibernation, so I don’t want to risk any airborne barbs or gasses that might seek out any of my orifices. I still have a lot to learn about this creature.
What was most interesting to me at first was the sheer size of the thing. Twice, maybe even thrice as big as the only one to come before it.
I still remember that day.
It was about 32 rotations ago when we all crowded around the plaza to observe the new visitor. It had fallen from the sky but our centrifugal barrier caught it before any further damage could come of it. We gathered around the small, lifeless body that was limply hanging in midair just a few zafrons above ground.
I knew they’d ask me to take a look, as had been my stated expertise from my studies all these rotations. Every orbit, I offered a new theory about extracelestial life. Most of my kin didn’t believe me. All of my competitors sought to discredit me. I couldn’t tell if they wanted my help with this creature because they believed me, or because they wanted to prove me wrong.
I looked closer at the creature, unsure if it still sustained life. Beneath what I now know to be a mask, its facial muscles twitched beneath the fibers that covered its whole being. It was alive. But just barely.
I spent over six rotations learning about this creature. It was only alive for the first two. Once, I took off the mask while we were outdoors. The creature gasped and its eyes grew large in what I now understood to be their expression of our emotion of panic. Indoors, it never gasped. There was something about our flora that must not react well with this creature. I kept it inside from then on out.
I found this creature fascinating, and it became one of my favorite parts of my routine. Every morning it jumped out of its nest and climbed to the highest rafters of the bunker. It swung from beam to beam before making its way to our kitchen. I often witnessed it drinking water and also even bathing in it. This was particularly curious to me as I had never thought to drink the stuff.
I had maintained a small stockpile of other items that had fallen in the same way this creature had, none of which had been living things before. Much of it I understood to be fuel, perhaps what extracelestials utilized for sustenance. I allowed the creature to try a sample once when it seemed eager to consume anything it could get its hands on. I quickly learned the creature loved the stuff - it showed a particular fondness for the one in the jar with a small image of a long, curved cylinder that was the same color as the sun. I tasted it once, too. Disgusting mush if you ask me.
After a couple rotations of tests and learning about what sustains and entertains this creature, one morning it didn’t arise to swing from the rafters. I didn’t see its small torso rise and fall with the pumping of its internal organs, and I didn’t see the facial muscles twitching beneath its body fibers. I slowly poured some water on its face but it just dripped to the floor. I didn’t understand the deep pang I was feeling inside of my body, and I suddenly had no desire to leave my home or continue to pursue my studies. This was an entirely foreign emotion to me, but it was flooding my body. It took me almost an entire rotation before I was willing to study again, and to continue testing on the lifeless creature.
This new creature, though, it was different. Much larger, in length and weight. Still smaller than me and my kin, though. It had far fewer fibers, less thick and less coarse and mostly centralized on the top of the head as opposed to densely covering the full body. What seemed entirely strange and surprising was that its vertebrae did not extend out beyond its torso the way the last creature’s had. I could only assume that this creature would not and could not so adeptly climb and swing through my bunker.
It, too, consumed ample amounts of water. It was undiscerning in its preference for the jarred sustenance, and seemed eager to consume anything I granted it access to.
I learned from the last creature, and understood the importance of wearing a mask to keep this one alive. I didn’t remove it except in the pressurized bunker.
The insignia on its clothing was similar to that of the creature’s from so many rotations ago. I felt a pang of memory and grief at seeing the strange “NASA” image that I had first seen in the plaza so long ago. I knew it implausible, but I felt this creature must somehow be connected to my creature I had grown to care for before its last waking days.
Rotations passed, and we entered a new orbit with additional extracelestials having entered our world over time. My peers in research took them in, some doing things that I...would have preferred not to know about.
It got bad when it started getting hotter, and we had to seek out a new safe place to colonize. Suddenly, our fuel was a priority as we sought to expand and explore far and wide. As the temperatures increased, our natural water supply began to dwindle. As more and more of us adventured out into the unknown, our vehicles required more fuel.
It became a battle of resources between the researchers and the explorers. We needed the water to sustain the life we were studying, but others demanded the water to fuel their exploits. My perspective was that we needed to continue research and protect our creature studies to better understand the universe we live in, to know where and how we can survive and thrive next. The explorers claimed they needed the water to protect the future of our civilization so that we didn’t die out before we established a new home. I could see both sides. But their side included the dehydration and eventual death of these creatures we had been caring for.
As my fellow researchers and I attempted to gameplan how we might be able to steal enough water from the reserves to sustain our creatures for the next rotation, what we didn’t realize is that the creatures had been communicating in their own way with each other this whole time.
What we didn’t realize is that the creatures had learned just as much about us as we had about them.
I thought I had been nurturing something small and innocent, a curious but gentle little creature like the fiber-covered one that used to swing from my rafters.
When we looked up from our blueprints to see our creatures standing around us, pointing our own lasers back at us, I knew I had been mistaken.
|
It fell from the sky in a tube that was much larger than it was. The shiny, metallic vessel stuck out of the ground in my backyard and up to where my tail begins, about 12 glips tall or so. I examined the smoking object, not wanting to touch it and be burned. Suddenly, a compartment opened, and out peered a most unusual being. It was made out of a sort of pinkish meat, with thick fur on it’s head, covered by a transparent dome helmet. The creature made a noise (with it’s mouth) and waved it’s fins at me.
I lowered my own fin, held it flat, and thought, “It’s alright, I mean you no harm.” I could hear it’s small brain whirring with activity, producing fear, then a lot of hard thinking, then relief. The creature thought “Can you hear my thoughts?” “Yes, of course.” I thought, feeling a tinge of shame at my curtness. “We all can, here, on HSX-324 I mean. Um, not to be rude, but what are you? I’ve never met one of your kind before.”
It looked at me, seeming a bit puzzled, then stepped onto my palm and thought, “I’m a human, from Earth. In the Milky Way Galaxy. This wrecked machine underneath me was my ship. I’ll return the question to you, because I’ve never met one of you guys either. Also, what is this place called?” I was a bit taken aback that someone didn’t recognize my species, I must admit. I answered quickly, “Oh, sure, I’m a Zerft, this planet is called HSX-324, I think I already told you that, maybe not, doesn’t matter.” I scratched the back of my head, between the second and third antenna and cleared 4/6 throats due to the awkwardness.
I then carried the creature into my dome. I got it to remove it’s head cover when I told it that we breathe oxygen here. I found out it’s name was Kenneth, a male. Kenneth requested water and was quite confused when I asked why. He claimed to drink water. Fucking weird, but whatever, it’s cheap. I poured some water into a bottlecap, then Kenneth cupped his hands and by Zerf, he actually drank water. I was staring at him, so he thought, “What?” I replied, “Kenneth, you’re drinking fuel, we fuel our vehicles with water.” He looked at me strangely, then shrugged and resumed his odd behavior.
I made Kenneth a bed, which only took like 20 minutes to print, including the sheets and pillows. He was very thankful, and slept quite well. There is a patch on what I found out was his suit, not his skin. It says “NASA”. I’ll ask him about it tomorrow. This was an odd day. I haven’t harbored an unknown species in a few years, but when I do, it’s always interesting. I do like Kenneth, so I won’t enjoy turning him over to the government for examination and vivisection. However, I must follow regulations. Sorry Kenneth.
| 2020-10-11T08:44:11 | 2020-10-11T07:37:27 | 153 | 99 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
Years ago, when visiting a "haunted" house in the oldest neighborhood in the city, Dave had first felt what he now referred to as "The Pressure". It was a sense of dread, a prickling of the hairs on the back of the neck. Every sense in his body would key up, warning him that Something was coming, and it wasn't friendly.
After nearly a decade of this, it wasn't quite so exciting. Dave was currently nestled into the thick cushions of a disturbingly Gothic couch, the dark oak twisting and writhing in near-impossible curves around obscenely plush purple velvet pillows.
Dave could still hear Jennifer and Mark in the other room, noisily having sex on an equally Gothic four-poster bed. He had a certain grudging admiration for their ability to make the bed, which had to weigh several hundred pounds, occasionally jump and hit the wall. He wasn't really that surprised when he felt The Pressure earlier in the evening; an isolated cabin, offered out of the blue by an unknown relative, with furniture so ornate that Dracula himself might say it was a bit much? Dave rolled his eyes just thinking about it again.
He had a pretty good feel for how this would go, after experiencing it so many times. The FBI had basically given up trying to address the problem, and simply had a unit on standby for cleanup. They tried putting him in prison once; at least they could explain that one as a prison riot. Dave began ticking off on his fingers, curious if he could get the exact moment correct this time. He lowered one finger at a time as he mouthed the numbers silently. Six, five, four, th-
The familiar sound of steel slicing into flesh, followed by a scream of agony from Jennifer and a (oddly) equally girly scream from Mark interrupted his counting. Dave frowned; maybe next time. The squelching noises cut off, and the sawing and hacking began. Jennifer's screams finally cut off, and Mark sprinted through the doorway, his eyes wide with terror, blood streaming down his chest. He screamed something unintelligible at Dave and continued running.
Dave sighed; time to get up and move on. Shame really, this couch was absurdly comfortable. He tried to sit up and found himself completely enveloped in the couch, the soft velvet not giving him enough purchase to actually get out of the damn thing. Whatever had chopped up Jennifer slowly glided past the couch, wearing her flayed face and hands. Gee, Dave thought, I've only seen that trick about a hundred times; this one wasn't going to be interesting, he could tell already. The fellow with the spiked body armor, now THAT had been interesting. Dave tried reaching out to the arms but they were just a hair too far away for him to get a good grip.
More screams followed down the hall as Dave continued trying to get out of the couch. He flailed around furiously, making some progress, but as soon as he stopped he sank even deeper into the cushions. He glowered at the couch, and decided he needed a new plan of attack. Mark had apparently gone outside, since his head came crashing through the front-facing window of the living room and rolled to a stop in front of the couch, his face still locked in an expression of horrified surprise. Dave twisted his body and tried rolling off the couch; success! With a loud "thump" he rolled off the couch and hit the floor, knocking Mark's head down the hallway. Dave swore and massaged his banged-up knees a bit before standing up and brushing himself off.
A loud crash informed him that something had entered the upstairs of the cabin, probably through the conveniently large plate-glass window. More screaming followed, as a background to the slicing and hacking. A drop of red appeared on Dave's arm, followed by another, and another. The pace increased until it was raining blood in the living room, a crimson downpour complete with waves of red oozing down the walls. Dave sighed. The dry-cleaning bill for these was always a bitch.
Dave ambled out of the house, reasoning that there was no reason to rush since he was already soaked, and gently closed the door behind him. He triggered the FBI contact fob and tossed it onto the porch; the cleanup crew would be around later. He yawned, and idly wondered if that furniture store down the street could find him something similar to that couch...
|
"You must save the world from....The Darkness.", the old man said. What the hell is The Darkness? Jeezus. I just came into the bar to get a damn drink and this old guy, who looks like 100 or something, shows up beside me. "Dude, are you off your meds or something?" The old guy blinked, "No, I have no need for your Mortal Medication, I am..." "High as hell?", I scoffed.
"Right, later. Stay out the gutter, pal" I gave him a $50, paid for my drink and left.
Turns out the world WAS ending because of the so-called 'Darkness'. Shit. Not my problem.
| 2017-05-05T07:22:19 | 2017-05-05T07:05:07 | 31 | 20 |
[wp] After watching what appears to be a perfectly looping gif for a couple of minutes, you realize the far more disturbing truth.
|
*The loop's pretty good*, I thought. I watched the black-and-white cat spun on the playground merry-go-around, its alarmed face in stark contrast to the delighted expression on the kids' faces. One little girl and two boys, maybe 5 or 6 years old, gave the roundabout a single push and squealed with laughter at the cat's protests. The end of the gif seamlessly looped back to the first push. Or maybe the push came at the end? It was hard to tell.
"Heh, dumb cat," I murmured and prepared to close the tab.But something about the gif mesmerized me. I couldn't stop looking.
And then, there it was. Just a flicker.
I blinked deliberately. Did I really just see...? A little apprehensively, I watched the gif again, from beginning to end (or end to beginning, whichever it was). I let out a little sigh of relief as it finished - nothing weird. Just my imagination.
But...was the merry-go-around suddenly red? Wasn't it blue just a few loops ago? I frowned and refreshed the page. Nope, still red. Guess I'm just confused...wait. The little girl's wearing a dress now. I could swear she had jeans and a little shirt on...
I shook my head roughly and moved to X out of the window. Clearly I was losing my mind. And yet, something transfixed me about the gif. I guess I was waiting for more weird changes? *Someone probably edited the gif so that it loops a bunch of times but then photoshopped little changes in it. Just to mess with people*, I thought. After several more loops, I began to feel kind of stupid. *This is dumb*. I moved my cursor.
"Oh, FUCK!" I yelped, jerking my hand away. I slammed my laptop closed, heart racing. It had happened again, and this time long enough for me to really see it. The whole gif had turned scales of grey, and the everything - I mean *everything* - in the gif had changed, momentarily. for the worse: the reddish house in the background had suddenly looked dilapidated and falling apart, the merry-go-around itself had rusted, the cat had been replaced by a emaciated husk of animal. But the worst part was the children. They had done something completely new, something that giif had not looped: they turned their heads and looked directly at me, and when I saw their faces, their unsmiling mouths, those *hollow eye sockets*...
I started laughing shakily. The asshole who had edited the gif had done a really good job. Scared me shitless for a second there! But I had a sudden thought that sent a wave of chills down my spine. The reddish house in the background...oh God, no. That couldn't be fucking possible. With dread, I reached over to the blinds on my right and slowly pushed them aside. I peered through the window and felt my blood turn to ice.
The reddish house, which had stood across from my own for years, now lay in a burned, disheveled pile of wood surrounded by yellow caution tape. The grass on the lawn had browned completely, which was impossible; it had been vibrant green just yesterday. Unable to tear my eyes away, I directed my gaze to the merry-go-round, which I had never before seen in my whole life. It was barely turning, almost falling apart where it stood. And the cat was no longer on it; just a small, dusty-looking skeleton. Everything was even worse than it had appeared in the gif.
With horror, I realized the children were there, too. They looked perfectly fine, actually; they laughed and pointed to the rusted merry-go-around with its bony occupant. *Look away, dumbass*, I tried telling myself. But I couldn't. I was transfixed.
And when the children turned their...their *faces* toward me, I began to scream.
____________________________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!*
|
It wasn't the GIF that was looping... it was me!
I couldn't stop. I noticed how I had reached for my mountain dew a few seconds earlier in the exact same manner as I was doing right now. Click. Upvote. Click. GIF. IT WAS ALL THE SAME.
And then I clicked one more.
It was a looping GIF of me watching looping GIFs.
| 2016-02-29T20:34:25 | 2016-02-29T18:43:15 | 266 | 10 |
[WP] It's December, and you've just died in a car crash. You try to talk God into reviving you, so you can watch The Force Awakens.
|
------------------------------
Chose to have the protagonist die in not-a-car-crash. Same premise.
------------------------------
I watched as the EMTs burst through the restaurant door. I watched as my date panicked and screamed at the other patrons who had gathered around. I watched as smartphones came out to record what was happening. I watched, but there was nothing to hear.
One EMT shook his head at another as my body was loaded onto a stretcher. The silence was deafening as the paramedics wheeled my corpse out of the restaurant.
"Unfortunate way to go." A voice from behind me proclaimed. I snapped around to see who had broken the silence.
"Morgan Freeman!?" I exclaimed, in shock.
The man laughed. "No, no. That is just who you think I should look like. I am God, here to usher you into the afterlife."
My mind was reeling, trying to catch up with what was happening. "I don't believe in God." I blurted out.
"Luckily, I don't require your belief." The man paused, giving me time to process my thoughts.
"Why am I dead!? What happened?" I asked.
"You know that pain in your leg that you ignored? That was a clot that recently dislodged an made its way to your lungs." Morgan Freeman explained.
"Why take time to see me? Aren't there more important things you need to be doing?"
"This is simply one of the million things I am currently doing. Kind of like how people don't need to focus on circulating their blood for it to happen."
This was it. End of the line. No more time with my friends, no more worldly pleasures, shuffled off to the afterlife by Morgan Freeman. Worldly pleasures... "No, no, no! Wait! I can't die tonight!" I cried. "I was on my way to see The Force Awakens!"
"That's what you're worried about? A movie? No questions about the meaning of life? No wondering why the world is the way it is?"
"Yeah, I don't really care about any of that. What I do care about is Star Wars."
Morgan Freeman smiled. "Most people try to bargain for more time when I visit them for one reason or another. Never has anyone done so just to see a movie."
"I guess it sounds silly..." I started.
"It does, but here's the thing, since you already have your ticket your attendance at the theater should not affect anyone else." Morgan Freeman paused. "Yes, as long as you don't get into a line at the concession stand, attending the movie should have the same results as not attending the movie."
My face lit up, "So you'll let me see it!?"
"I can return you to your body for a couple hours, just promise to not interact with anyone and put your body back in the morgue after the movie and there shouldn't be a problem."
I was ecstatic. Star Wars was an obsession of mine for as long as I could remember. More important to me than life itself. Before I could profess my undying gratitude I had woken up on a cold metal slab in what I assumed was the morgue. I removed the tag from my toe, grabbed my clothes from a plastic bag, and made my way out of the hospital, careful to not interact with anyone.
Outside I was free to make my way to the movie theater, enjoying the feeling of the wind on my face. I made my way into the theater unnoticed, being sure to bypass the concession stand, and lodged myself into my seat.
As the movie began I felt a sudden pang of hunger. I hadn't had the chance to eat at the restaurant before I had dropped dead. My gaze drifted from the screen as the movie began and settled on the back of the head of the person in front of me.
"Brains........"
|
Me boy, I don't think ye grasp the concept of heaven.
What?
It's already out over here, everything is perfect here.
Hah. I bet you're going to tell me you have half life 3 already.
...
...
Brb God.
Hold up I never said you were allowed in heaven.
| 2015-10-06T10:10:56 | 2015-10-06T09:57:26 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] Write a horror story which takes place in broad daylight or an otherwise well lit setting
|
Sunburns.
That's what we used to call them. That's all they were, back then. But now, everything is different. Now we shun the outdoors.
It started out innocuously enough. The sunburns got worse. They hurt more, and lasted longer. They developed faster. It got to the point that just the barest hint of sunlight could burn.
Then they stopped going away. They didn't fade, and they say the burning is like no pain ever felt before. The burned are an awful group of people. Those who don't kill themselves are driven mad by the pain. They live in the light. The rest of us fear it.
---
My mom tells me stories about the daylight. She says you could feel it tickling your skin. It was warm, and soft, and inviting. She tells lots of stories, about how it used to be. But it's all just stories. I've never seen any of it myself, I was born a year or two after it happened.
We don't really know exactly what happened. It could be the ozone layer, or the sun could have changed or something. Or it could be a virus. My friend says it's probably a curse, but I don't think so. I think it's God. Lots of people do. They think God cast us out of the light, like a new Garden of Eden. I don't know about all that, but it just seems to me like the sort of thing that only God could do.
Today's my sixteenth birthday and dad said he'd take me out to see the fields. I've seen them at night, but never during the day. During the day, we have to use the suits to go outside. Dad's never let me wear one before, but today's the day!
---
"Come on buddy, you don't want to be late!" Dad called out to me from the living room.
"Coming dad!" I quickly pulled on the last of my gear before running out the door.
"Let's get suited up." The suits hung on the wall, and next to the familiar pair that belonged to mom and dad was a new one. Shiny and green, my favorite color. My jaw dropped
"Dad! You guys got me my own suit! Thank you so much!" I couldn't believe it. We were pretty well off, but buying a new suit was expensive. The suits had to go through a lot of treatment to protect you outside.
"No problem, buddy. You deserved it, now come on, we've got to go." We both finished getting ready quickly, and walked through the front door into the entry room. "Why don't you get the door, bud."
I reached out my gloved arm and grabbed the door handle. I've gone through this door so many times, but there's never been a horrible death waiting on the other side. All I've ever wanted is to be in the sunlight, but it was still terrifying. I must have stood there for an hour, just trying to get up the courage. Okay, it was probably more like 15 seconds, but it really dragged. I finally pushed open the door and stepped into the sun for the first time in my life.
---
Let me tell you, the one thing I remember best about that morning is sweat. A lot of it.
"Dad, is it normal to be this hot in here?" I seriously cannot stress enough hot freaking hot it was in this suit.
"NO! Something is horribly wrong! Oh god, who could have thought that the giant flaming ball of gas that heats our planet. That this enormous sphere made of explosions that causes horrendous burns on any who dare touch its weakest castoff might be HOT!? THE HUMANITY!"
"Hah. Hah. Hah. Oh my sides. My sides." Dad was the funny one in the family.
That morning is one of my best memories. It was just dad and me wandering the fields, talking about how it all worked, and getting me used to the suit. You weren't very fast, but you were safe. The sunlight was amazing. It was everything I thought it would be, and all I wanted was to rip off that suit and bask in the sun like in mom's stories.
"Alright buddy, it's time to head back." Always one to kill the mood, dad.
The sun beat down on us as we started the 3 mile trek back to the house. The world was silent aside from the crunch of our boots on the
"Let's go through the forest, get out of this direct light. Besides, you've never seen a tree in daylight, have you?"
"Not yet." The forest was only a half mile out of the way. It was the last vestige of wilderness in our farmed-to-death area. I loved playing in there at night as a kid.
It was just like I pictured. Idyllic and green, the leaves rustled in the wind and the trees swayed to the rhythm of silent music. I ran off into the trees to see the world for the first time. Further and further into the forest I ventured, following the sunlight. I couldn't hear a lot of the real world inside my suit, but my dad's scream came through loud and clear on the radio.
I was frozen. I didn't call out for him or cry or scream. I just stood there. There was no question of what had happened, but it was too late to save him now. All that was left was to run.
So I ran as fast as I could inside the now hugely bulky and cumbersome suit. Minutes before it was uncomfortable but safe, but it had turned into my death. I ran away from the screaming. Away from home and safety. Away from them.
---
"Don't run!" "You're ours now!" The voices came to me through the radio. Behind them, I could hear others. Screaming in agony and rapture, there was maniacal laughter and screeches of hatred. The primal sounds of baser emotions. They were insane, and they were coming for me.
The voices didn't stop, and I couldn't turn them off. I could only keep running. But I couldn't keep running anymore. When you can't go outside you don't tend to get a ton of exercise, and I was hitting my limit. I hid under some bushes, but the suit is hard to hide.
"I heard him over there!" The voices weren't on the radio this time, and they were close.
The world turned upside down and my stomach turned inside out as I was pulled to my feet. I was shoved face-to-face with their leader. His face, if you could call it that, was a mess, and I can only guess his body was no better. The flesh was charred and melted. His jaw was visible in places and the skin drooped off the bones.
"Time to join us in the sun, boy. It's only natural." Two of the equally scarred and burnt men approached me with a hideous glint in their eyes.
"Please, no. I don't want to die." I squeezed my eyes shut, and prayed to God to help me.
"Die!? We're not going to kill you, boy. We're going to set you free! Humans belong outdoors in the sun, my friend." The burned man grew closer. He pressed his hideous visage to the glass of my suit. "Don't you want to be free, eh?" I could almost smell his flesh burning.
"DON'T YOU WANT TO BE LIKE YOUR OLD MAN!?" At this, the man's grin widened. He got a crazed look in his eye, and embraced me in a hug.
"I- What?"
"Don't you recognize me, buddy? You're sixteen now, it's time to step into the sun!"
"Dad?" It couldn't be him. This man was broken and scarred. He must have been like this for years. The fat was dripping from his bones and the muscle was melting. It couldn't be dad. It couldn't be! "What's wrong with you? Why?"
"They've shown me the light! Now it's your turn" He motioned to the two men, who grabbed me and held me still. He slowly unbuckled my suit, as I strained against the walking corpses. I screamed for help, but there was none near. My helmet came loose, and peeled away.
The sunlight was blinding. It was so warm.
|
It was the third day when the ants found me.
The sun was up, but not too far, though it already burned. The skin on my face was redder than a lobster and cracked like old plaster, and every movement made it burn. I blinked my eyes, though it brought no relief - I hadn't had a drink of water in more than 48 hours, and I had no moisture left for tears.
I woke with the feeling of something wriggling inside my ear. Instinctively I tried to reach up and get it out, though of course I couldn't move. The wriggling, scratching feeling moved deeper inside my head, and I clenched my jaw, trying to squeeze my ear shut from the inside out. This was met with an intense, stinging heat inside my ear - whatever it was had bit me. I screamed, my throat rattling open like a rusty garage door, but the sound that came out was nothing but a hoarse, breathy whisper. Even as the pain exploded in my head, a thought raced across my brain - *Jesus, is that what I sound like now?*
My muscled spasmed in a useless display of neural activity, but I was held tight - my limbs couldn't move an inch. I could only watch, helpless, as an ant crawled up my neck and perched on the tip of my cracked, burned, swollen nose.
It waggled its antennae around in the air, investigating the new potential food source it had found. My eyes crossed as I tried to focus on it. It was reddish brown, with a slightly blacker rear end and a large, almost square head. Its tiny black eyes seemed to stare into mine.
I had a flashback to my childhood in rural New Mexico, when a boy I'd known in my first grade class had been playing in the scrub on the edge of the desert and fallen onto a fire ant nest. He'd needed to be hospitalized for days, and the scars that the stings left on his body were extensive and disgusting. The day after it happened, our teacher had shown us a blown-up picture of a reddish-brown ant on the overhead projector and told us never to play near these ants, that their stings were poison and felt like fire, that people had died from getting stung by them.
It was now that I began to scream in earnest.
Over the next few minutes more of the ants found me, undeterred by my screaming and my pathetic attempts to thrash my head and shake them off. I could feel their feet scuttling over the cracked remnants of my scalp, and their tiny jaws working at the flaky pieces of my skin that peeled off my cheeks like old paint.
Unbidden - maybe in an attempt to block out the pain - my mind retreated to the events of two days ago. It was sundown, and the men with shovels had finished their work. They tamped the red dirt down around my neck, and I could feel it pressing in on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. The third man was sitting on the tailgate of the pickup truck they'd used to drag me out to God-knows-where in the middle of the desert. He stood up, his dusty cowboy boots raising little clouds where he stepped. He leaned down next to me, his knees in the dirt, his mouth right up next to my ear, so close that I could hear him breathing, that I could feel the hot wetness of his breath condensing on my skin. He whispered, "Maybe in your next life you'll know not to piss me off."
He stood, signaled to the men, and they were gone. I watched the tail lights of the truck bounce further and further into the distance, until they went over a rise and were gone for good.
I cried then, which was a mistake as the water ran out of my eyes and pooled into the dirt at my chin. I cursed myself for stupid mistakes that I couldn't unmake, and somewhere in that time I fell asleep.
The pain in my skin brought me back to the present. There were more ants now, crawling on my face and neck. I felt them slowly proceed up my nose, and I struggled to keep my mouth shut - though that just encouraged them to gnaw on the skin of my lips. I could barely breathe without screaming.
Then I heard a noise behind me. Tires. Rescue. Thank God.
I couldn't turn, but I began to speak in a harsh, raspy voice that I barely believed was my own. "Oh god, thank god you're here, please help me..." I was babbling, incoherent, the pain fogging my brain. The ants started to bite me on the inside of my nose.
I heard footsteps walking closer behind me, and again I sobbed, "Please..." But then I stopped, because I saw the feet that the footsteps belonged to. Dusty cowboy boots that raised small clouds of dirt with each step.
"Hey boys," he shouted back towards the pickup truck that I knew was behind me, "grab the camera! I want people to see what they'll get when they screw with *me!*"
| 2013-10-09T17:24:36 | 2013-10-09T16:55:36 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
"Unjustly" I said, as loudly and clearly as I could.
The presiding justice was an elderly man - probably in his late 80s, maybe even older. He blinked at me with steel grey eyes that despite his advanced age were as sharp and penetrating as any I had encountered.
"Unjustly." he replied, curtly. "Yes. You heard me correctly... Your honour" I hurriedly added. I didn't need a contempt of court charge dropped on me. It was bad enough being sentenced to death after all.
The rest of the panel started muttering between themselves. It was a good sign that they didn't appear to have an immediate answer to this reply.
The presiding justice put down his gavel and stared at me pointedly. "You are aware, are you not, that you pleaded guilty to all counts before this court?" I tried my hardest to show no emotion. "I am, your honour." "And you are aware also that the penalty for those charges - including the reckless misuse of magic causing the death of a mundane individual - is death?" keep the face impassive. Remain calm. "I am, your honour."
Some of the other members of the court had started producing law books and were engaged in pointing out various paragraphs to one another.
"It does not seem to me" The Justice continued "That 'unjustly' constitutes a _method_ of execution, so much as a moral standpoint, and is thus somewhat outside the terms of procedure for this sentencing."
The muttering to his left was increasing in intensity.
"Your honour, may I please reference the case of Barris Infernis VII vs The Court - 1682..."
One of the justices started jabbing a bony finger at the book in front of him and waving it under the faceless, hooded figure to his right. Clearly he had the case law right there.
"Your point?"
"My point, your honour, is that he requested to die 'with honour' and the court accepted that request. His life energy was transferred into healing the wounds of his surviving victims by the court by way of penance for crimes committed."
The book had now been passed along to the presiding justice and he paused to read the relevant passage.
I thought this was probably the best chance I had to make my case so I spoke up
"If I may continue your honor?" he didn't look pleased, but waved a hand at me in a way that suggested that I should carry on.
"If I am to die unjustly, then this court has sentenced me incorrectly. I would be due a retrial under the terms described in the revised judicial procedures act of 1939 section four paragraph twelve." Now he really did look cross.
"I think we all understand exactly what it is that you're trying to get across. However I would point out that you pleaded Guilty On All Counts. You have not been tried. You have been convicted entirely by your own admission, and this is merely a sentencing hearing. I would further mention that this court is entirely used to people attempting to use procedural trickery to escape their sentence and that it has, to this date, a precisely zero percent success rate over the eleven hundred year history of this fine institution."
He snapped the book in front of him closed with obvious annoyance.
"The defendant will return to his seat!" he barked to the room at large. A susurration spread throughout the gallery. I was "The defendant" all of a sudden. Anyone who stood at this podium for sentencing was referred to correctly as "The Condemned." and this court was nothing if not famously thorough in it's application procedure.
More notes were being passed back and forth between the other members of the panel, and yet more books were being hurriedly brought forth by the attending clerks. This was going as well as I could have possibly hoped for. After what seemed like an eternity The bailiff called for attention.
"ALL RISE!"
The entire panel got to their feet, along with everyone else in the - now extremely tense - chamber. Surprizingly it wasn't the presiding justice, but one of the panel of five that spoke. The voice from the apparently empty hood was dry and dusty, and somehow as if from very far away. It seemed likely that the apparently empty robe was infact just that, and this esteemed member of the court had been called from The Other Side to form part of today's panel of justice.
_"Thisss court is now in recessssss. The defendant will be returned to hissss ssssssell. Prosssedingsssss will resssssume tomorrow at firsssssst light."_
I did everything I could to avoid punching the air in delight. Remain calm. Have to remain calm. I'd bought myself the required time, now all I could do was wait for the others to play their parts.
|
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I had originally been banking on using old age as a loophole, but watching that other guy wither into an old man has proven it to be very much not viable. So here I am, I need an escape plan. Scratch that, it's impossible, what I need is a loophole.
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I could try using paradoxes? No, that wouldn't work. Act of God? Well, Gods. One of them anyway.
"YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS TO GIVE YOUR ANSWER"
Damn. I guess if I am to die, I'll try to take them all with me.
"20"
What could take them out? Magic wouldn't have any effect, they're all the most skilled mages in existence.
"15"
Ooo... that's an idea... existence.
"10"
"Save your countdown, I know how I'd like to die."
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
"I wish to die by being swallowed up by the expansion and death of the Sun itself."
If I am to die, they're ALL coming with me.
| 2021-06-24T07:50:17 | 2021-06-24T07:19:48 | 457 | 236 |
[WP] It's a zombie apocalypse. Except this time dealing with it is super easy, barely an inconvenience.
|
Xander heard the shuffle as he stepped out of his second-story apartment and locked the door. He didn't bother leaning over the railing to count them today but instead hurried down the stairs on his way to work.
Halfway down, the staircase turned back toward the building, with a small concrete landing connecting the two halves. Just one was stuck there today, unsuccessfully trying to navigate the turn; its midsection was up against the black metal railing as its body gently wobbled back and forth, a halfhearted moan escaping the decaying remains of its mouth. Its right hand was missing, the distal ends of both radius and ulna exposed below the fraying jacket cuff, with a few fragments of grayish tendon still attached. It began to turn slowly toward Xander as he approached, alerted by the sound of his footsteps pounding down the steps, lifting the handless forearm uselessly in his direction.
Xander pulled out his cell phone to check the time, glancing at the decaying body long enough to plant a firm shove against its chest with his free hand; it toppled gracelessly over the metal railing before landing with a messy splat on the sidewalk below. He hurried off to the parking lot, ignoring the sound.
Three more were meandering aimlessly around in the lot; Xander avoided them easily as he approached his aging Civic. Although the sound of his footsteps alerted them to his presence, their pace was so glacial as to be laughable - that is, if they could be thought of as funny. Xander at first had seen them as repulsive and pitiful; but now they were simply annoyances to be avoided, like spam email, shunted off to the nearest dumpster, doused with the first available accelerant and disposed of.
Within minutes, he pulled the car out onto the road, heading toward I-70, making his way toward downtown Denver and his job as a laboratory technician. Another busy day of analyzing blood and tissue samples from walking corpses in an effort to determine its disease vector. While the pathogen had a 100% mortality rate, the method of transmission was still mostly a mystery, and no cure was in sight.
Worse, the transmission rate was rapid; multiple Poisson regression models had been published shortly after the outbreak began, and all pointed to an unusually high spread speed. The biggest problem, though, was that the disease’s vector - how it was transmitted from victim to victim - remained an unknown. Several methods, including a direct bite, had been ruled out almost immediately, particularly since a bite from an infected corpse was difficult to get as their speed was nonexistent. What scared the public the most was the possibility of an airborne pathogen. Most people now, Xander among them, wore masks - N95 if they could get them.
Xander passed the remains of several dozen corpses crushed in the street. The city had stopped sending hazmat teams to clean them up; there were simply too many. Now, street sweepers ran almost daily, sucking the remains up into the bowels of the vehicles as fast as possible. And still they couldn’t keep up. Xander’s team worried that this could increase the spread, particularly if it could be determined that the pathogen was airborne, but city governments were typically more concerned with optics than science.
As he pulled into the parking garage below his team’s laboratory, Xander wished once again that he could make some modicum of progress today. Even if only the disease vector could be positively identified, that would make such a difference in peoples’ lives; this disaster had arisen insanely fast, and had become a global pandemic within a matter of weeks. He quickly parked and made his way to the elevator, taking him up to the fifth floor where the Biosafety Level 4 area was located.
Twenty minutes later - after multiple decontamination showers and now wearing a positive pressure suit with attached air hose - Xander finally entered the lab. He thought to himself, as usual, that the entire process was pointless after all the walking corpses he’d personally shared space with in the span of the last few days, but this was the procedure, and his personal opinion had no merit here.
Finally, ready to get to work, he began preparing and labeling a series of blood collection tubes at the standing desk just inside the entranceway. Next to the desk sat his former boss, Phil Kowalsky.
“Hey Phil,” Xander said softly. “How are you today? Ready for me to draw some more samples?”
The corpse, its wrists and ankles restrained to the chair’s legs with zip ties, didn’t respond.
|
Ten years had passed since the great zombie war. Well greats an overstatement,dealt with it over the course of a year with minimal casualties. Of course about twenty million became zeds but about one million of them are now part of society. Pets,farm hands,guards and all manner of other things zombies are used for. Hell some have been used to remove tumours or be used as vaccines for viruses. We even have the zombie olympics now,eight zombie based games where the participants are zombies. Prisoners are often turned into zombies to be used for labour around the prison in India. Down in Mexico they’ve discovered Zombies have a knack for finding cocaine as it appears to smell the same as human flesh to them. Now cure wise we don’t have one,but in the next eight years we’re predicted to have one. One problem with the zombies though is the fact they don’t rot away and stink like hell.
| 2022-11-10T15:45:40 | 2022-11-10T12:36:10 | 92 | 34 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Pops,
You were a real fucking piece of work you know that? I don't think I've hated anyone quite as much as I hated you. You called me lazy, good for nothing, useless. Made me spend my youth being the mule in your construction business instead of spending summers with my friends. You absolutely hated the fact that I loved everything you didn't. You thought computers were evil, Xbox was going to rot my brain, and if it didn't involve school or work it wasn't anything worthy of my time. I remember the day I came home on college break, the day you sat me down to let me know mom had left you. I fucking hated you for ruining my 3 week break on the very first day. In fact I thought you deserved it. Mom was being an absolute irrational cunt, but you deserved it. And it was the best thing that ever happened to you.
I remember you tripping over a chair on the way out the door at 3 am as you were reaching for your truck keys. I came into the kitchen and you said you were headed out for a ride, I decided to tag along. You bawled your fucking eyes out on that ride, it was the first time I'd ever seen you be human. The last two weeks of my break we spent a lot of time together, I was actually sad to leave. It was the first time in 18 years we'd had conversations that didn't end in Fuck off. I moved in with you after college was over, and decided not to go back. You let me work for you which was the best/worst time I've ever had. I watched you lose your truck, we sat on the couch watching TV for two weeks when there was no work. We had bill collectors call once and talk to both of us. We ate more peanut butter and ramen noodles then we'd ever care to admit. We became really really good friends.
In hind sight I'd like to apologize for the seething hatred I threw at you growing up. I know you meant well. I'm probably better for you not giving me everything I wanted and pushing me like you did. That's no justification for all the mean shit you said day in and day out but I can look past that. You had a different way of helping, you were a string puller, and I get that as I've become one myself. Remember when I crashed my car coming home from the store? The roads were pure ice, and you were pissed. Remember how mom said it was amazing that my insurance didn't go up? Yeah I heard that phone call. "Just slid off the road" did ya? And that time I applied to work at the general store in town? You talked to the owner on my behalf and said he didn't want me working there. I was pissed. Two months later he was charged with embezzlement and all the employees were implicated. I didn't miss that one either, or the other hundreds of times things mysteriously worked out for the better.
It was a good 4 years to live and work with you pops. I saw you genuinely happy, we both hit financial bottom and picked ourselves up again. You had a massive heart attack that that inspired me to go into the medical field, and you to kick those life long bad habits you'd been promising to kick. You met a new woman, fell in love and remarried. Which is for the better. Someone's gotta keep an eye on your crazy ass. But I knew you were bummed you had to quit construction. It's all you've ever done and you were fucking good at it. You certainly didn't have the money or the personality to retire and I doubt you ever will. Good thing that sales job opened up when it did huh pops? Good thing thing too, cause you're fucking great at it. I knew you would be. And it's the least I could do.
With your new found financial stability I've seen the dreams I never even knew you had come to fruition. You spent a whole week hunting this year. Those three hundred blueberry bushes you always wanted are planted and you even sold some. You got your tractor you always talked about buying but never did. And my fucking god. I don't know what you see in chickens but you have them and if it makes you happy, well fuck it, I guess I'm happy too. We had a rough start, but you've always had my back even if I didn't know it. And don't think for a fucking second I don't have yours.
Love,
Your Son.
|
To whom it may concern,
Helpless; this is the word that best defines my current state. Chained by aliments that only my debilitated will can cure. Confusion is the whip that heavily decorates my back with scars and sends blood wrenching echoes of ripping flesh to the depths of soul. My cuts burn and spew blood; the cost for the wisdom I am unwillingly gaining. Life; the tormentor that laughably wields the whip; forcing me to scream; forcing me to cry; forcing me to accept what I believe to be unacceptable. Patience whispers sweet words of hope claiming to be in the near future if I just wait. But time whispers in my other ear encouraging me to act; reminding me that I am not here forever. So here I am, broken; left with no plead unspoken; accepting the fact that I am not in control and that no savior or freedom will come. So I will wear the mask of happiness to hide the tears of despair; silently hoping, begging to survive.
-Mr_jisho
| 2015-12-05T17:35:16 | 2015-12-05T13:29:19 | 182 | 49 |
[WP] "For the sake of the world, I will defeat you!" "Is that sword made out of holy essence?" "Uh, no? It's Mithril." "Then go home. You're wasting your time. Tell those gods you need a pure holy essence sword... You know what, fuck it, let's go and get you that sword. I'm sick of waiting."
|
The presence emanating through the gigantic gilded wooden doors was nauseating. Just behind it sat the demon lord. The one most evil. The one most wretched. The one that you had been training your entire life to defeat. Steeling your resolve and sending a quick prayer up to the holy God, you push open the doors with your magical gauntlets. The doors swing open on their well oiled hinges without a sound, your strength betraying their weight.
A wave of evil hits you square in the chest as you are forced to tighten your stomach to maintain their contents. The throne room awaits in front of you, incredibly ornate with gold furnishings and treasures taken from human kingdoms. The carpet below your feet is lush, made of rare beast pelts with a throne that towers over the room. However, seemingly bigger than the very throne he sat on, was the demon lord. An almost visible dark aura surrounds him as he sits with his head on his palm, leaning on the armrest with his eyes closed. Probably meditating for the fierce upcoming battle for his life. The demon lord was an unsightly being, with horns, claws and skin the colour of a jagged red rock. He was capable of high tier magic, but most challenging was the unknown composition of his skin, highly resistant to most forms of magic and harder than platinum.
You take a confident step forward, your adrenaline pumping. Furnished with the best gear that humanity had ever conjured, you were the strongest fighter, the best that the race had ever produced. The journey to the throne room had been a breeze, with less demons than expected all falling with a sweep of your holy sword Excalibur. Your greaves clink as you step into the room.
Sensing your presence, the demon lord awakens from his meditation with a sharp intake of breath.
"Uh... Huh? Oh you're finally here! This throne is so comfortable I always fall asleep waiting for you guys to come." The demon lord states groggily.
Taken aback by his nonchalant attitude, you steel your resolve and muster your voice from deep within to display your confidence.
"My name is Cynthia Lightswift, and I have come here to vanquish you, demon lord of destruction!" Your voice surprises even yourself as it echos through the vast throne room, brimming with strength.
"Mhm, anyway, demon lord of destruction? When did they give me that name? Last time I was challenged by a hero like you, he was calling me the demon lord of wrath! Hahaha, I quite like it though, has a nice ring to it." He jovially states, his red glowing eyes squinting, and mouth contorting into a grimace.
"Did you not hear me demon? I have come here to destroy you, draw your weapons and prepare to meet your end!" You notice a slight waver in your voice as his casual demeanour makes you uneasy. You wouldn't put it past the being most evil, to employ such a tactic to weaken you.
"So how are you going to kill me?" He asks, raising one of his rocky eyebrows high.
"You have grown foolish with age demon, do you not see the holy sword Excalibur? You will be slain by my hands!" Gripping the hilt of the holy sword, you prepare your stance to strike at the unprepared demon.
"Oh Excalibur this time, is it? I hope it's not similar to the sword the previous hero used, jeez that was a joke. What was it again? Mythril?" The demon lord does not change his posture as he sits relaxed atop his throne, eyeing you.
"You're bluffing. The holy sword Caliburn was said to have caused you great injury in your previous battle with humanity's great hero Isaac!" You sputter, blood boiling at the cockiness of this demon.
"Isaac! That was his name! He was delicio-" The demon lord is interrupted rudely as your strike that you had been secretly powering up pierces him.
In less than a millisecond, Excalibur finds itself deep within the demon lords chest, with your face inches from his. You release the hidden holy power infused within the sword to explode outwards burning the demon from the inside. The demon lord, surprised by your attack, falters a minute before screaming in pain. He writhes and twists, clawing at the sword piercing him.
Like the demons within the castle, even the lord of destruction was no match. Relief flowing through your body, you begin to unclench your teeth. However you notice the demon lord had stopped writhing and was instead watching your face closely.
"Ehem, how was it? Convincing? I've been so bored recently that I've been practicing for the yearly demon musical. Playing the role of the demon lord of course." He states with another demonic grimace. After seeing your shocked expression, he continues.
"Wait, weren't you listening at all? I told you these shitty mythril swords can't hurt me. Especially not with your terrible 4th tier magic."
"Preposterous demon, your bluff is no good. I saw how much damage this sword inflicted." As you finish weakly, he swipes at your body lazily, leaving Excalibur piercing his body, you dash back.
"Do you know how I became the demon lord, little missy?" He asks, mockingly. Sensing no willingness to respond, he looks annoyed, continuing.
"It was simple. I just had to defeat stronger demons. After rampaging throughout the demonic kingdom and defeating the then demon lord, here I am. With nobody left to defeat. I had hoped that by provoking the human kingdoms, that a strong hero would rise to come challenge me. However, while you're definitely strong, you come fight with crap like this." He states pointedly, grabbing the sword piercing his chest, and drawing it out.
Waving it around the room, he continues.
"Have you heard of holy essence? I hear that atop the great mountain Targon within the human kingdom's borders sits a holy dragon. If you were to defeat him, you could melt down his pure heart into a sword." Disregarding the fact that he was speaking of the way to his demise, the demon lord was unfazed. Actually, he seemed a little bored.
"You know what?" He asks, while taking Excalibur between his two gnarled hands. Snapping it in half like a twig.
"Fuck it, you feel like a bit of an adventure? I need to stretch out these old man legs or I'll just mould into this throne and turn into a statue. I hear that the holy dragon is actually quite strong."
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"For the sake of the world, I will defeat you!"
For the love of the devs, can you come up with something more original? I sighed and shifted my weight on my so-called throne, but I was sure that what would be displayed on screen would be an unchanging, imposing form of yester-year. "Is that sword made out of holy essence?"
The player seemed almost shocked as she went AFK for five minutes. In the meantime, I played a wonderful game entitled "Tetris." When she returned, she had the tell-tale signs of holding a cellphone with one hand and gaming with the other. She typed into the chat, a grand feature of the MMORPG, Freeborn. "Uh, no???" She paused to open the system screen before she went to weapons. "It's mithril."
These absolute fucking amateurs. I just want this to end, and the devs sent me this? Day after absolute fucking day of the same routine, the same cutscene, and the same reactions. Yet, no one has ever gotten close to defeating the game. No one has ever gotten close to defeating the Evil God. No one has ever, since twelve years ago, gotten close to releasing me.
I sighed. I looked at the Swordmeister before me and said, "Then go home. You're wasting your time. Tell those gods you need a pure holy essence sword..." And then I decided to do something unprecedented. "You know what?" I began to laugh, "fuck it, let's go and get you that sword. I'm sick of waiting." With that, I have done something for the first time since seven years ago- I willingly rose up from my prison. The throne shone as it did even without it's prisoner, and I looked up to the Swordmeister with my child-like body. I walked down the master hall with powerful steps, but the Player stood shocked at my response.
"Evil god?" the Player typed with shaking fingers. "What are you doing?"
I paused and carefully lifted my cape away from my body. In bad taste, the devs have given me the makings of a bikini-armor and childishly decided that my age justified this much exposure. Hopefully, it will be another holding the throne in the not-so-distant future. "I am making my own decision, Player." I looked at her and thought of what it must be like to be free. I felt envy.
"Should I just follow you?" the Swordmeister followed my footsteps, her movements clunky from what I could only assume to be her still recording her computer screen. The two of us walked out the Evil God's birthplace, and I felt for the first time what a computer-generated breeze felt like. As I took a step over the doorway, I could feel a rush of energy flowing throughout my body. I felt the inklings of freedom. I turned to look at the Swordmeister and smiled, "Let us go and kill God" and free myself at last.
| 2020-10-04T23:52:23 | 2020-10-04T23:22:05 | 76 | 31 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
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I am considered "normal" by the whole student body. And not in a good way. From my perspective all these so-called "gifted" people have a limited definition of what it means to have a superpower. I have one and I exercise it every day.
Three years ago I arrived at the academy with my mother, a shape shifter who was just hired as accountant for the SFSG. Part of the deal was that we would get an apartment at the school and I would be accepted as a student.
From the moment I arrived I got the feeling I was not welcome. Not by the students or the teachers. The condescending tone in which teachers answer my questions. The way they preface certain lessons with "most of you understand..." Even classes like Literature and Math seem to be taught from a supernatural perspective that shuts me out of the conversation.
But I'm not the kind of kid who keeps her head down and tries to disappear. I'm generally protected from any real abuse from teachers. So my hand goes up every day and every day teachers have to deal with me. I think by now I've even earned some respect for my academic prowess. But that first day they were definitely not happy to have me in class.
Students were another matter entirely. On my first day in first period I got a new name. "Corn." It means I'm not a unicorn, not special, not unique. Just corn. It's weird how an ordinary word coming from the mouths of a gaggle of mean kids can sound just s bad as the worst insulting swear word. In every class, several students called me "Corn" and used whatever superpower they had to pull my chair from underneath me, erase the answers on my papers, and generally give me a hard time.
Because of my mom, this isn't my first time at a Superpower school. In elementary school, kids have fun with it and are still amazed by each other. Since I grew up with those kids from Kindergarten they just accepted me for who I am. I wasn't prepared for this. I could blame my mom but she's just not the sort of person who would expect this either. She's all numbers and order. She Shape shifts to help people.
At lunch I was showered with pellets of corn. Which may not seem so bad until you consider that these projectiles are coming from someone with superpowers. One kid with object manipulation powers tried to do kinky things to me with ears of corn in the lunchroom. A teacher shut that one down and hauled the kid off to the headmaster.
A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom after lunch. I found myself suspended head down over the toilet.
One of the girls squatted down and got in my face, "That was my boyfriend."
"Are you okay with what he tried to do to me?" I tried to keep a calm voice.
"You don't belong here," another girl said.
My head hurt. I felt words pouring into my head that didn't originate in my brain. "You are trash. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself."
"I'm supposed to be impressed because one of you has telepathy? I'm actually unimpressed because you have this gift and use it so uncreatively. That' really the best you can do?"
A girl standing outside the stall stamps her foot and the thoughts inside my head stop.
"If you drop me into the toilet there is no way you won't leave a mark," I say.
I'm lowered slowly. My hair gets wet but I manage to bend and get my feet to the ground.
I dry my hair as best I can and go to Music. At least I'll excel there unless someone messes with my vocal chords. I resolve that for the rest of the afternoon I'm taking names.
I do mean literally. By the time school is over I have the first and last name of every kid who harassed me. Next stop the library where I check yearbooks and look up parents and families in the wealth of documents available. I am careful to avoid leaving any digital fingerprints regarding my research.
My lovely mother always uses my birthday as a password so getting into student accounts is easy as well. I'm careful to scan lists rather than looking up any particular name. This way she won't get in trouble either.
That evening I ask if we can check out the nearby town. I tell her my day was okay but that it will take awhile for me to fit in here. It's truthful. I know my mom feels guilty about moving me so she agrees to drop me off in the town square and pick me up in three hours. She has a lot of beginning of school-type work and promises Saturday we'll do town together. It's fine. All I need is an internet cafe.
The next morning every student who harassed me wakes up a little bit poorer.
I realize I don't need to tell every kid, just Little Miss Telekenesis. She's in my first period. I sit next to her, keeping my voice friendly and conversational.
"The thing is, I don't get scared. I get mad. Injustice makes me mad. Being the object of injustice empowers me. Maybe not in the way the rest of you have powers, but check your account.
I think you are going to be on pretty strict budget this semester. And mommy and daddy aren't going to be able to help you out. Nobody's going bankrupt. Yet. But things might get really ugly for you if you attack me again.
Use your cute little trick to pass that along. Maybe instead of Corn you can all just call me Karma.
Oh, and there is no way anybody is going to believe I'm responsible. I don't have any kind of superpower."
I walk away feeling a little bit lighter. Like Eliot Ness getting Al Capone on tax evasion. Superheros still have to pay for things.
I still don't have any friends at school. My mom bought me a Moped so I can go into town after school. I'm in a band and otherwise hang out with my boyfriend at the internet cafe. He's a home schooled day trader. College is going to be fun. And paid for.
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I could feel the blood dripping down my arm
“ what a freak , can’t do anything “ my attacker announced to the crowd. He had lightning fast reflexes…. And me… I had nothing… I don’t even know why I was selected for this school …
Before I could even blink he was behind me and kicked me into a wall … if I just don’t get back up maybe he will back off…. But I was wrong he made his way over to me again ….. but was he moving slower now on purpose?
He threw a punch but I could see it this time…. I rolled to get moved out of the way of it barely
“ looky here for a normie you can move fast when you want to , still won’t be good enough to cut it when you are here”
He started to look exhausted … maybe that was what it was … I picked myself back up and stood up and stared at him … was this just the adrenaline or was everyone else moving…. Slower….
He went to throw another punch but this one was so slow , I easily dodged it and I threw one back and hit him square in the gut
He staggered back “ how… did you move so fast…. No one’s faster then me , no one can react fast enough “ his friend walked in front of him to take over , I knew of him , size of a car , strong enough to move a mountain if he tried , he went to push me away and I felt like I got hit by a telephone pole from just a grazing blow…
It took me a minute to catch my breath but I was not fast enough to stop the punch coming , I put my hand up to block it and I found I could hold him back…. He was struggling to push me? Soon I didn’t feel like I had to try and push back it was effortless , the strained look he had struggling until suddenly he clenched his chest and keeled over
Another student came to his rescue , said his heart couldn’t pump hard enough anymore , a faculty member flew down and broke the fight up , they sent my attackers to the med centre right away and he started escorting me to the office
I don’t know how I got into so much trouble for my first day… but after a few days of recovery no one ever wanted to touch me again…. I was just normal… I didn’t understand why
| 2022-11-02T10:47:35 | 2022-11-02T08:30:32 | 286 | 150 |
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible.
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The archaeologist stood hunched over the button, trying to make out those last few words, while the engineer, the president, and the poet laureate sat and waited.
"If we can figure out how it works," the engineer said, "we could build our own version that didn't eradicate anyone."
"I doubt it," the president said. "I've been looking for a way to please everyone for years, and the nearest I've gotten is the idea of removing those who refused to be pleased. Which doesn't help anything."
"The point is not to push the button," the poet said. "Obviously no one has. The point is to realize that a true utopia can't be created by a machine, by killing people."
The archaeologist dug in her toolbox every few seconds to switch out one fine instrument for another. She seemed deaf to the conversation.
"I like that," the president said to the poet. "That's exactly the reason I wanted you here. But there's no point in building a machine for the purpose of never using it - we had to drop two nukes to stop the rest of them from falling."
"Maybe the button does nothing," the poet said. "Maybe it's just a model. An art installation of some kind. To remind us that the only way to make a utopia is within ourselves."
"It's no model," said the engineer. "I can tell you that much. Whatever this thing is, it was built to work somehow."
"We don't know it did work, though," the president said. "It's possible it malfunctioned and created the messed-up we world we already live in. Hopefully those last few words can shed some light on that possibility."
"Just give me a few more minutes," the archaeologist said. Her back was still facing them, but it was now clear she'd heard the whole conversation. "I'm definitely piecing something together here."
"You know that whatever that button says," said the poet, "we must not push it under any circumstances."
"If you had said 'under *most* circumstances' I'd agree," said the president. "But my mind remains open. It certainly looks like the machine would kill some people, but let's wait and see if some other message emerges."
"The easiest way to find out," said the engineer, "is just to push it."
"Not without knowing more," the president said. "We need at least some clue of what a utopia was to the people who made this thing. It could be the rapture, or it could be genocide."
"I don't see any difference between the two," the poet said. "Saving some, condemning others - much more human-like than godlike in my opinion."
"So much philosophical bullshit," the engineer said. He called to the archaeologist, "How much longer?"
"This is extremely delicate work," she replied. "If I touch it the wrong way, it might fall to pieces and we might never know what it said."
"Well screw that," the engineer said. He walked over to the archaeologist, and before anyone even realized what he had done, he pushed the button.
Nothing happened. The others looked at the engineer with wide eye and open, wordless mouths.
"Something's broke," the engineer said. He knelt down and examined the wiring.
"I think I've got the answer," the archaeologist said.
"Read it to me," said the president.
The poet closed his eyes to take in every word.
"This will eradicate all people who are not perfect and godly. Cold hearts will warm and all will know the truth of each other's godliness. But this will only result if one who is already pure and godly pushes the button. If it is pushed by an ungodly one, all hearts will become forever cold. None will remember what it was like to have godliness among them."
"Then it's broken," said the president. "And it shouldn't be fixed. If anyone had pushed it, we'd have either a utopia or a hell of pure evil. Since we're somewhere in between, let's not hedge our bets. Let none of us presume he is godly enough to push that button if it were working."
The archaeologist held a different view, but held her peace. The president had made his decision. The engineer tinkered with the wires, determined to get the machine working, but could not find the problem.
The poet, his eyes still closed, knew exactly what view the archaeologist held. And she was probably right. What felt like a truly wise and warm heart in this world was but the dying embers of what once had been. Perhaps it was well that they could not remember what they had lost.
EDIT: Fixed a typo. There may be more.
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A wave of time washed over the world, warping and distorting all. Every man and woman saw their future and past, and felt every single bit of harm they inflicted or would inflict upon fellow man by malice or inaction.
The chosen ones woke up, the heroes, saints and geniuses among mankind. They woke up to see their utopia, and they grieved. They saw their families, friends and loved ones dead of sheer shock and agony. They cursed whoever caused such disaste that would only leave few million out of billions. And they moved on, to rebuild their lost world.
Mankind then truly reached their pinnacle, through hard work, study and a deep wish to lose no fellow man again, they created the perfect society. They would reach immortality, bring life to barren planets and uncover all secrets of universe.
But out of he who pressed the button, he who would doom unknown many to bring peace and prosperity to the rest, all that remains is a dried husk.
| 2015-10-21T13:40:08 | 2015-10-21T13:38:00 | 131 | 31 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
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The final day of courting with the Princess of the land was always a duel. The duel had become so popular in the land that the King had turned it into an event. Everyone would travel to the dueling grounds outside the palace and town to watch as a poor man was run through for their arrogance or stupidity.
Now I'm not much of a poet but when I heard of the event I fell in love. So of course I informed my fellow companions of my new love and they whole heartedly supported my pursuit. So we planned it out and travelled to the princess so I could declare my love to her.
When my parties wagon rolled into the town and we told the locals of my interest in courting the Princess, we received mockery and a few pitying looks. But I wasn't deterred.
Once I presented myself to the Princess I almost decided to not go through with my plan. Her beauty if anything was understated in the tales. Her grace almost divine and her voice could sooth any raging beast.
The Princess accepted my courting proposal and for a week I wooed her. Several times I had to remind myself of the end goal. Several times I wished to just run away. But I stayed. And finally the day came. The town and people of the Palace gathered at the dueling fields to watch me die.
"I have to say, I did enjoy this week." The Princess said to me as she gave a few practice swings in the air with her sword. I smiled a little, "I don't suppose that means you'll spare me?"
She gave a bubbling laugh, "Oh no my dear ex-suitor."
She started to gracefully circle me, "I've been waiting all week for this day."
I smirked a little and got into a stance with my sword, "Well I hate to keep a lady waiting."
With a fiendish smile she engaged. To compare my skill to hers would be to compare a peasants gold to a kings.
Quickly I felt her blade slip past my defenses and slash across my chest, arms, and legs.
After a minute of being methodically turned to ribbons she backed away from me.
I was breathing hard while she seemed no worse for wear.
we both stabbed our blades into the ground and took a moment to breath
"I'm surprised your still alive." she commented.
I laughed heartily and looked up to the crowd before looking back at her. "Well Princess I pride myself on my uh... stamina."
She chuckled, "Most men I fight only have one round in them."
I couldn't help a snicker, "Princess I'm one of a kind."
I lifted my blade and got back into a defensive stance. Beckoning her to me with a finger I gave her a smirk. "Well I'm ready for round two."
The crowd seemed amused at our banter and I would have taken a moment to enjoy it but the Princess was quick to reengage me. the crowd watched with dark amusement as the Princess covered my body in more and more cuts. I could hear a few comments as I fought off not only the Princess but the blackness that was threatening to overtake me.
After another minute the Princess backed away her hands, face, and clothes covered in blood but none of it her own. "Still there?"
I planted my sword back into the ground and held up a hand to acknowledge her as my breath come in ragged breaths.
She smiled, "Well you've set a new record."
I couldn't help a hacking up blood as I let out a painful chuckle. "Not the first time I've done that."
"I do have to ask, why did you think you would win?" she said as she picked up her bloody blade.
"I'll have you know I'm winning Princess. I've got you where I want you." I looked up with a bloody smile on my face and took a defensive stance again, feeling my arms and legs shriek in painful protest.
The Princess's smile vanished as she picked up her blade. "Is that so?"
I looked up to the crowd again and saw my friends faces of encouragement.
Looking back at the Princess I gave a sincere smile. "Why yes Princess I've won."
I don't remember dying. Just sudden blackness then feeling a pull as I woke up seeing my friends looking down at me. Besides them a priest.
"Holy hell man she ripped you apart." said one of them, the rogue of our party.
I shook off the feelings of the resurrection spell and stood up. "I know man that was the most painful experience of my life."
The rest of my party parted as I gathered my clothes and put them on. "How much did we make by the way?" I say as I meet back up with them at the wagon.
The warlock smiled evilly, "They had pathetic security that were barely taking their jobs seriously. We stole well over a few thousands gold from them."
I smiled as I got into the cart, "Finally, I've earned myself a nice score."
As ranger started guiding the wagon out of the city, located well away from the Princess's palace, the rogue took a second to look at me. "Was it just me or did it seem like you actually liked the girl?"
I waved his words, "No way my friend, we're thieving adventures, she's a Princess."
He shrugged, "Well she certainly seemed to like you."
As we headed down the road off to our next adventure I thought that sentence over in my head.
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“Princess, there is one last contestant who wishes to face you in trial!”
The princess looked up, carelessly tossing aside the bloodied rag she had been using to clean her blade. Behind her, a wooden cart dragging away the remains of the previous combatant. She gave the stranger a curious look, then shrugged it off, slowly striding up to him. Perhaps it was the long, dark robe, or the ragged fiber mask, certainly astray from the usual broad, shiny, heavy, and often restricting regalia worn by most nobles and princes with whom she had fought before. No, this man seemed humbler, almost frightened. This did not worry her, however; if the man’s attire was offsetting it was as much indicative of an untrained peasant or forest dweller. So she stepped up to him, raising her saber to a ready position.
“Draw thy blade, sir, and if thou taketh from me this blade and cut from my neck this stone thou shalt receive my inheritance and in marriage my service.”
The stranger reached deep into his cloak and pulled from it a worn, ragged straw doll, with eyes of dried berry and long, messily braided vine as hair. He spoke in a deep, but soft voice, which seemed at its sound to enact a brief flash of excitement in the princesses eye.
“Princess, I desire naught to fight...”
She looked at the doll for a moment, then cast it aside, and quickly thrust her blade to the stranger’s neck, barely breaking skin.
(Part two comin by tomorrow sometime >:3)
| 2020-09-20T23:44:33 | 2020-09-20T20:45:52 | 28 | 21 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
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It had been three weeks since Luke transferred to Fall's Landing Academy, a school specializing in helping students harness the true potential of their markings--or rather, what their markings indicate. Everybody at Fall's Landing had a mark, usually on their wrist, but sometimes on their chest, on their face. Luke's sister, Grace, had a series of snowflakes and icicles on her wrist. She was a conjurer of cold, and if she pushed herself; she could even change the weather in an area, causing snow and hail. Trevor, the first boy Luke met at Fall's Landing, had a mark that looked more like a scar, the kind caused by a lightning strike, all over the torso he refused to cover, and his arms. He could conjure lightning, and he could also manipulate electricity and the things that use it. He also adopted an immediate disdain for Luke, who wasn't nearly as outgoing as Grace, and had a mark not nearly as interesting as anyone else's. Luke's mark, in fact, indicated nothing about his powers. It was a plain black circle in the palm of his hand. It never changed, it never shined. It was clear Luke was marked, but nobody knew what powers his markings came from.
Nobody, that is, except for Luke. And his powers terrified and exhilirated him in equal parts. So when Trevor decided they would be enemies, Luke wanted to show him what the circle meant. But he also knew what it meant to show the circle's true power. And so he held back. Took the blows, suffered the shocks, hid the pain, and stuffed the response. That is, until Trevor rang a bell that could never be un-rung, did something he could never take back.
It was Friday morning, a day the weatherman predicted would be a pleasant seventy-two degrees, sunny, with a gentle breeze. Perfect for swimming, jogging, a romantic walk through the park, he promised. Outside of the school was a brutal whiteout, a freak blizzard, in a town known for never having so much as a fine dusting of powder.
"At least one of us isn't a disappointment," Luke muttered as he walked through the halls of Fall's Landing Academy, hunched, eyes cast downward.
"Yeah," Trevor said. "Too bad Grace got all the blessings, huh, Lucky Luke?"
"Leave me alone, Trevor," Luke mumbled, offering no conviction to actually enforce his request.
"What are you gonna do about it, circle boy? You've got nothing. No powers, just a lame marking that means nothing. A circle? Seriously? You're pathetic." Trevor clapped his hands and slowly pulled them apart, as electricity crackled between them.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Having heard it all before, Luke moved to walk past Trevor, to his first class of the day, *History of the Mark*.
An angry grin on his face, Trevor moved in front of Luke and placed his hands, still generating lightning, onto Luke's shoulders.
A jolt ran through Luke's body, causing his muscles to spasm. When Trevor removed his hands, Luke fell to his knees on the floor of the hallway, shaking violently.
"You're so weak," Trevor laughed. "There's nothing you can do. I might even feel bad for you if you were somewhere else, but you're here. In my school. You don't belong here. You're powerless. You're nothing."
"I'm not nothing. Leave me alone."
"Yeah? Make me. Use that little circle and make me, weakling."
Luke slowly stood up, and faced Trevor. He almost spoke, but instead turned and continued down his path. He leaned on the wall as he walked, steadying himself against the lockers, as his legs were still shaking from the run-in with Trevor's lightning.
Trevor laughed. "I bet you were adopted. Stupid, powerless kid from a stupid, powerless family. Now you're a stupid, powerless kid in a family that makes you look even stupider and even more powerless. Maybe I should just put you out of your misery. Nobody would even miss you. Your real family won't miss you, they already got rid of you. Your new family won't miss you, you just hold them back." He extended his hands in Luke's direction.
That was the final straw. Luke stopped in his tracks, holding onto the handle of a locker, just as the crackling, shattering energy slammed into his back. It knocked him against the locker, and tensed his muscles so that he couldn't let go. "Y-you wanna know my p-p-power?" he asked. The handle of the locker dissolved into nothing.
By this time, the students in the classrooms had begun to hear the commotion and filter out into the hall, some of them chanting "fight, fight, fight!" Teachers followed them out and demanded the two boys stop immediately and go to Principal Fall's office.
Trevor stopped his lightning and began tapping his foot. "Well? I'm waiting."
Luke turned around. He rubbed his palms together and showed Trevor that he now had two circles, one on each palm. The one on his right palm, the one that had been there all along and had simply been a black, hollow circle, was now filled in, fully black, but undulating. It was almost as though there were something living under the surface of Luke's skin, something that stained his skin, something that had been awakened. On his left palm, there was a white circle. It blazed with almost heavenly fervor. It, too, crackled, but as a roaring fire would.
Looking directly into either of them was not an option for Trevor, as the right one seemed as though it would devour him whole, and the left one singed his eyes, as if he were looking directly into the sun. So instead, he looked at Luke's face, which now had a loose smile.
Luke slammed his hands together again, and his green eyes suddenly changed into smaller versions of the circles on his hands. He showed his hands again and revealed nothing but bare skin. "You wanna know my power?" Luke asked.
After a moment's hesitation, Trevor barely managed to ask, "what the hell are you?"
"You wanna know my power?" Luke asked once again.
"N-no, I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone."
Luke broke into a full grin and said, "it's too late for that, Trevor. You woke me up. You wanna know my power?" Shadows began to leak from his right eye, as his left eye flared even brighter.
"You're a... a m-monster." Trevor's body was trembling.
Luke took one step toward Trevor.
Trevor tried to run, but he was locked in place, staring into Luke's eyes. He began to sweat profusely.
"Monsters aren't real, Trevor. But you were right about something. I'm not my parents' son." He closed the gap between them, grabbed the sides of Trevor's head, and moved his own forward until they were almost touching noses. "You wanna know my power? Look into my eyes," he whispered.
Not that Trevor had any other choice as he was already transfixed, but he obliged, opening his own eyes even wider.
The shadows from Luke's right eye began walking along Trevor's body, along the lightning-strike scar covering much of his chest, back, and arms. The flames from his left eye closed what little remained of the gap, and surrounded and encircled Trevor's head, and then all at once entered into his own eyes. "You wanna know my power? Look at me. Show me yours." Almost as quickly as the flames and the shadows departed Luke's head, they returned. And then they left his eyes entirely, leaving behind the green that had been there before. He took a few steps back and to the side, checking his right palm, panting, a look of triumph mixed with shame on his face.
Trevor stumbled backwards, and looked around, and groped at the air. He clapped his hands together and pulled them apart, and nothing came of it. He fell to his knees and mumbled incoherently.
"You wanted to know my power," Luke muttered. He returned to walking toward *History of the Mark*. Nobody moved to stop him.
|
738. That's how many days they'd bullied me for my refusal (or inability, according to them) to activate my sigil.
Most kids used their sigils comfortably. Telekinetically carrying bags, carving notes into thin air, flying over crowds in the halls-- there was endless variation in abilities, and everyone found some good use for theirs. A rare few kids had particularly dangerous abilities, but thanks to the Dangerous Sigil Registration Act, they had government-issued rankings to prove why they weren't using theirs. Everyone knew the stories about some X-level kid snapping and massacring his school. True of not, no bully would risk it.
Government rankings only came after you first used your power or when you turned 21. And I, as far as anyone knew, had never used mine. I'd planned to just keep it to myself as long as I could, but the bullies didn't seem to like that plan.
It was just a few upperclassmen at first. They were your typical bullies: douchebag attitudes with basic sigils like super strength and self-enlargement that went perfectly with their intimidation tactics. A few kids could drive them off, but most just stayed out of their way. That's what I had done too, and it had worked for a while. They'd slowly turned the school against me though. Everyone wanted to know what I could do. Even the outcast losers with their weird, near-useless powers felt like they could push me around. When the kid who boils eggs with his mind and the girl who identifies bird species from Old American from a mile away are above you, you know you've hit rock bottom.
But today was it. After 738 days, I was done. If they didn't learn today, they would get the idea soon.
I could feel the anticipation building in me on the bus. I'd experimented with my powers privately; I knew what I was capable of. This was on a scale far beyond anything I had tried before, but I could feel the power that surged through me when my sigil was active. I could do this. The bus pulled into the school and I immediately darted off to the clearing I had often used as a hiding spot. I stared down at my feet and saw a lone ant aimlessly running in a small circle. I smirked as I stomped on it. Yeah, I was ready for this.
The next few hours seemed to crawl by at an unbelievable pace, but lunch finally arrived. Right on cue, the bullies approached.
"I think today's gotta be the day," one taunted, "show us that power."
"Yeah, what's it do?" another added, growing in size as the sigil on his hand started to glow a pale red color, "Help you hula hoop real good?" Most of the kids in the cafeteria laughed at this. A small crowd was already starting to gather to see how today's encounter would go.
"I could, but I don't think you'd be a fan," I answered, trying to keep my voice calm. The less I seemed bothered, the more quickly he would get agitated, and that's exactly what I wanted. Both bullies continued with their typical jeers, and I kept responding nonchalantly. Finally, one of them snapped.
"I'll beat it out of you then!" the big one shouted as he rushed to tackle me, his buddy close behind. I dropped to the ground and rolled as he jumped, soaring past me. I stood quickly as the larger bully crashed into the ground, a look of shock and rage coming over the face of the other.
My sigil, a plain circle on the back of my neck, shone with a brilliant blue light. I focused on the two bullies and triggered my ability.
Confused sounds and gasps echoed from the ring of students around us. The bullies looked like they were in a badly looped video. That last moment before I dove out of the way repeated itself continuously. The large bully would dive to the ground, then warp back to where he'd started, only to dive again as he friend's shocked reaction replayed continuously behind him.
I approached them both. I wasn't sure if they could hear me or process what was going on around them, but I really hoped they could. "You pushed me for 738 days. I'm done. This is me pushing back for every single day. Enjoy your next 738 days here."
\-----
When I finished this, it was just over 800 words, so I trimmed it down to be exactly 738, just to make it match my randomly selected number lol.
| 2020-02-26T11:11:11 | 2020-02-26T09:50:01 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] an assassin has finally retired after getting enough money to last him 50 lifetimes, but being only 30, he still enjoys the thrill. He joins the police force and is immediately recruited for his skill in all Fields. But when he is assigned to hunting down himself for his past, he must be smart
|
"This is our man," said Lieutenant Gabal, his thick grey eyebrows knitting together as he pointed at blurred photo of a person in a raincoat walking down a dark street. The photo had been pinned onto a board, along with other, similarly out of focus images surrounding it, as well as scraps of paper and maps of various cities red lined with potential trails. "The boys decided to call him Raven, on account of his long greasy hair." He sniffed, his nostrils folding up like blinds. "Always in the shadows, is our raven. Face always hidden. That's the best photo we have, and even that's piss poor."
A little thrill ran through me as I stared at the picture. It couldn't be? But I knew it was, as I scanned down and saw more familiar locations, more familiar images.
Dozens of holes pierced the photo that Gabal pointed at, as if it had at once been at the center of a dartboard. They seriously wanted me to hunt... me? I couldn't stop a laugh escaping my lips.
Gabal's eyebrows raised and arched apart, like a bridge opening. "Something amusing, Sophia?"
Many things were amusing in that moment. The thought of me running down streets chasing my own tail, seeing it swish around the corner each time I got near. The thought of eventually catching myself and walking into the station in handcuffs and Gabal thanking me for a job well done. Even the frankly sexist notion that the assassin they couldn't catch was a long haired man.
Not quite so amusing was fact they thought my hair greasy. It was *silky*. Easy to confuse with greasy in these low resolution images, I supposed.
I forced my lips into a line. "No, Sir. Nothing at all."
He let out a grunt, paused, then said, "Good, because Raven is anything but amusing. Five murders in total, we've already attributed to him. Five! In my city. I was assigned to this case after the second -- that's when the link between the murders was found."
He should be thanking me, I thought. I had only taken jobs where the target deserved to die. Murderers, child-molesters. Mostly revenge jobs by distraught parents or lovers. "What link, Sir?" I asked, already knowing they must have worked out the similarity in time of death for each of my targets.
"A silver cuff-link was placed in the mouths of these five victims after death."
I froze. My heart even seemed to pause its beating. "Sir?"
"What is it?" he grumbled.
There were no cuff-links placed into any of their mouths. That was... My eyes scanned down the board in front of me. Past my own blurred face and down to those of my victims. I recognised them, of course. Still remembered them. I had studied each of their profiles for weeks. Still knew what had been their daily movements and journeys. I knew them as well as if they had been part of my own family -- if I had any. But three of the photos had been zoomed in onto the victim's mouths. They were open, their tongues lying down down limply on top of their front teeth, slightly out of their mouths. And on their tongues...
I whispered, "*Nothing*," then took a deep breath and tried to control my breathing.
Five of my most recent hits had had this object inserted into their mouths, sometime after death, but before the police had found them. Impossible.
Unless...
Was someone playing a game with me? Whoever did this... They must have known that I'd killed these people. They must have been watching me, waiting for me to leave the scene. Then, they entered it and left their own calling card. Something only I would know wasn't meant to be there.
"Sir," I said, finally forming a question in my mind. "Are there any clearer images of the cuff-link?"
"Plenty," he said. "All on the computer. These prints outs are mostly for me. I don't get on with the database very well. Was recommended to leave it alone before I break it for good."
"Can I see the pictures?"
"No need," he said, waving a hand at a wooden desk to our side.
I walked cautiously towards it.
In a little plastic bag, lying on the table's surface, was a single lonely cuff-link. Its silver body formed three initials that I recognised instantly.
*R.J.J.*
A shiver crept down my back.
"Are you quite well, Sophia? You've gone pale as a ghost."
It took me a moment to say, "Fine, Sir."
"Good. Because I need you at your best if we're to find Raven before he kills again. We've already got another from last night that we need to add to the list. Same cuff-link. We're waiting for the autopsy report but I'll take you over the details shortly. It's our best link to Raven's current location."
*What?!* Another death... I wrapped my arms around my body. All I could think about was the man who had those very same initials. The man who had raised me, after my parents had died. Had taken me in. Who had trained me to be what I am now. To be able to move as quietly as the dead. To fire as sniper rifle at a packet of cards from two thousand metres away.
A man who couldn't have left the cuff-links.
Because he was dead.
Because I had killed him.
|
"Mr. Hotshot." One of my previous employers, a skeptic (and rightfully so, at the time) had called me that. When I did his job to better standards than he'd hoped for, I rubbed that joke in his face by taking on the alias long-term. Mr. Hotshot had run up a body count of close to 250, all prominent figures in various industries and cultures, and having no name or history, he wasn't cautious about making sure the kills weren't traced to him. It only served to boost his career.
Well. Not the second career. I stared unhappily at the memo. My partner, Dylan "Dutch" Van Kopf, smirked. "Not what you hoped for?"
I sighed sharply. "The scope of the job, well, it's an honor. The specific target...er, person of interest...it's going to be a problem." I showed him the dossier. "Mr. Hotshot, he's called. 250+ bodies and no known photos, background, documentation, nothing."
He whistled low and long. "What's your plan?"
"Ain't got one. Not yet. We may have to go undercover for this one...hire him and set him up. Only time will tell." I sized up Dutch. Could he take the fall?...for my States jobs, yeah, no problem. My abroad portfolio, that was an issue. Still, I was confident no one would finger me.
The one sighting of Mr. Hotshot described him as a 5'8" 300 lbs black-haired man. I'd be hunting him as a 5'3" 100 lbs blonde woman. Being a shapeshifter has always had advantages.
Edit: a few small details
| 2019-05-18T05:10:48 | 2019-05-18T03:59:52 | 237 | 169 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.
|
I hadn’t expected Rebecca to ask me out. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected anyone to ask me out, much less one of the most popular girls in the class. But then I was part of the dungeons and dragon crowd, not cheerleader/class president/amazingly hot looking like she was.
But mom always said never pass up an opportunity. So I said yes. She smiled at me, the kind of smile that was reserved for the main character in hallmark movies “Great! I’ll pick you up at six!” she said, her baby blue eyes almost seeming to sparkle.
I told mom about it of course. One of her rules was to know where I was at all times. Annoying at almost seventeen, but given the nature of her job, I didn’t give her too much fuss over it. She picked me up in her Mercedes, must be nice having a fancy car like that. But then my old Chevelle would be nice one day, when the wheels were bolted on, and the engine was finished.
I had suggested dinner and a movie, but she waved off the dinner part. Said that it was too crowded, and she wasn’t that hungry. The movie was ok, even though I paid for it, and the popcorn too. She didn’t have any of that either-not that I really noticed, because she snuggled up next to me seconds after the trailers started.
Afterwards, she drove out to the lake, despite the fact it was a school night. To be honest, I was starting to worry at this point…she was all over me on the drive there, and I just knew i’d either say something stupid or do something stupid, there was no way I was this lucky.
As her fangs ripped into my neck, I realized, yep, I wasn’t lucky at all, just before everything went black.
The next morning, I paused outside the classroom door. I made sure to have the same jeans I was wearing the day before, still muddy, with leaves stuck to my shoes. The shirt was new though, one of those Dr Seuss numbered thing shirts from The Cat in the Hat. The one had ‘thing 2’ on it. Mom has a sense of humor.
I waited just a second as Mrs Mercer started taking roll, just before she got to my name I burst through the door “Here, Sorry I’m late!” I yelled, drawing amused glances from most of the class, and one terrified look from Rebecca. I didn’t even notice that I tripped, almost falling into my desk next to hers. Her eyes were big as a natural 20 as I smiled at her. “Hey Beca, I had a great time with you last night. Can I borrow your notes? I lost mine somewhere.”
There were hushed whispers from the class. Evidently she didn’t tell anyone else who she was going with to the movies with. The whole classroom's eyes were on he as she handed them over wordlessly, her hand almost trembling a bit. I smiled then turned back towards Mrs Mercer, ignoring her for the rest of the class. I only had a B average in here, and needed to bring it up.
Later that day she and two of her clique approached the losers table at lunch. Mari was going on about her ideas for DMing our next campaign, Clive was painting a Gundam or something and I was reading the biography of Captain Fabulous.
Beca came up behind me and hugged me from behind, which was strange, especially the way she sniffed deeply as she did. She smiled at me “hey, you up for helping me with my science project?” she asked, the other two girls standing behind her, to be honest their smiles were a bit forced.
I nodded “of course!” I replied, loud enough that the entire cafeteria heard, and probably half the campus. Appropriate volume, I know.. She winced a bit then the smile was back “Great, we’ll pick you up after school!” She quickly stood back up and headed out of the lunchroom at warp factor 10, while I ignored the whistles and yells from my friends. Besides, I hadn’t finished my pudding yet.
As soon as school was over I walked towards her house when her car pulled up. One of her clique was in the front seat driving. Rebecca rolled down the back window “hey, get in” she said, opening the door.
I grinned and slid inside, like a Tardis it was bigger on the inside-or at least seemed that way, it was one of the big stretched ones. Two more of her clique were in the backseat with her, as soon as the door closed they grabbed my arms. Definitely stronger than they looked.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at” Beca hissed, as her fangs ripped into my throat again, and everything went black. Again.
The next morning, I at least had clean jeans. Being the last ones were buried in a swamp, they kinda stunk. The shirt was different though, this one said ‘Thing 3’. I waltzed in a few minutes early, taking my seat and ignoring the comments from my classmates. There was a crash in the doorway. I turned like everyone else, Rebecca had dropped her laptop upon seeing me sitting there. I smiled at her and waved, then turned towards the front of the class.
She was visibly shaking as she took her seat, Mrs Mercer gviging her a concerned look “Miss Salvatore? Are you feeling well, do you need to see the nurse?”
“NO! Er, I mean, no. I’m just upset about dropping my laptop” she said, taking a seat and trying not to look at me, at the same time looking at me. She seemed to be staring a lot at my neck, as if expecting to see something there. At the break between classes I leaned over to her “hey, just wanted to let you know, my mom heard about us dating” I said, prompting sneers and chuckles from the jocks that I ignored.
“We’re no…yes.. Yes. we are” she said, from the way she was chewing her bottom lip i knew she was thinking fast.
“Mom wants to meet you, are you free for dinner?”
She blinked “why yes, I think I am.”
|
I couldn't believe it when my crush, Sarah, asked me out on a date after school. I had been crushing on her for ages and never thought she would feel the same way about me. I was so excited that I couldn't concentrate on anything else the entire day.
After school, we met up at a local park and spent the afternoon talking and laughing. It was the perfect date. As the sun started to set, Sarah suggested we go for a walk in the woods. I wasn't sure about it at first, but I didn't want to seem like a wimp, so I agreed.
As we walked deeper into the woods, Sarah suddenly stopped and turned to me. "I have a confession to make," she said, her eyes narrowed. "I'm not really here to hang out with you. I'm here to drain your blood and bury you in the woods."
I was shocked and terrified. I had no idea what to do. Sarah advanced on me, her fangs extended, and I knew I had to do something fast. I turned and ran, my heart pounding in my chest. I could hear Sarah chasing after me, but I didn't look back.
I ran and ran until I finally saw the lights of the town in the distance. I knew I was safe now. I made it home and collapsed on my bed, exhausted and relieved.
Or so I thought. As it turned out, Sarah was faster and stronger than I realized. She caught up to me and drained my blood before I even knew what was happening. As I lay there, my vision fading, I realized that I would never get to see my family or friends again. Sarah had been right - I was just another easy victim, and now I was paying the price.
But somehow, I woke up the next morning. I didn't know how it was possible, but I was alive and well. I went to school and saw Sarah sitting at her desk, looking horrified. I walked up to her and confronted her about what had happened.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah stammered. "I had a great time with you yesterday. I don't know how you could think I would do something like that."
I was confused. Had I imagined everything? Was I going crazy? I didn't know what to believe, but I knew one thing for sure - I couldn't trust Sarah. I turned and walked away, my head spinning with questions and doubts.
| 2022-12-29T20:07:20 | 2022-12-29T15:08:56 | 1,120 | 67 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
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“GO GREEN!!” My neighbor screeched at the field.
I leaned to my friend Raya, “Is this entirely necessary? We could be doing something more fun. Like literally anything. Anything is more fun than this.” I looked at the field disdainfully.
“Seriously Maize? This is like the one time your power is totally on point!” My glare hardened at her as I shifted back to normal. “Aw, come on Mai, we’re in the last quarter!”
Whispers fluttered all around me,
“Dude, did she just —“
“Holy shit did you see —“
“Dad that lady was GREEN —“.
I sighed and shifted my color back to the team’s forest green, “Yay football.” I muttered sarcastically, ignoring the next wave of whispers and stares that followed my change.
I’d long since gotten over my misfortune of power. Figures that an electromagnetic surge would hit the one time I was playing a kids game, granting me and several other thousand people the “gifts” of our game characters.
Do you know how wicked some of these people’s power’s were? Most of them were changing the weather to avoid natural disasters, telekinetically rescuing people from fires, leaping tall buildings in a single bound. . .you know, superhero shit.
Now in all fairness, I was hiding a secret. I hadn’t just been playing a kid’s game that auspicious Friday, I’d been modding and redeveloping it. Including my player.
In fact when the surge hit, I’d been typing code in specifically to mod my player. You’d think that’d left me with a glitch or two, but nope, it left me with an unfinished code and a blinking cursor.
When faced with the actual reality of becoming all-powerful, one tends to freeze up a little. Sure, I could code the crap out of myself and run this world from here until probably the end of time.....but was it ethical? Moral? And the question that bothered me most, what then?
I’d had a couple of months to have an existential crisis and hadn’t been able to get past what happens next. The other players had showed me what a little power could do to a person. On the news you heard the amazing stories of the “PC Heroes” and how our world needed something extraordinary to survive. The chat rooms told a different story.
Forums had popped up all over of PCs struggling with controlling their abilities, getting addicted, depressed, and some suicidal. After reading a post from a 15-year old my fantasies fell cold in their tracks, “I feel numb, like humming electric wire I have one purpose and it is my power. When I use it I lose myself and when I don’t I think of nothing else. I’ve lost my love, my pain, my anger. I’ve lost. I’m lost.” That was the last post she made. Two months ago.
But was it selfish to not do it? Was it worth losing myself if I could save the lives of others? The thought had me frozen in indecision for months.
“Mai,” my friend shook me, “Game’s over, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” She gestured towards the line shuffling towards the exit.
Everything started happening in slow motion as the ground began shaking, and a crack in the stadium opened up below Raya.
Screams rang out from every direction, but Raya’s sounded right in my ear as I reached out to grab her. “Raya!” I cried out, grasping her forearm in mine as she dropped into the hole.
“Don’t let go, don’t let go, Mai, please, I love you, don’t let go” Raya sobbed over and over, fingers digging into my arm. The ground still shook beneath me, crack deepening, I reached another hand down holding her tightly.
Tears streamed from my eyes as I struggled to hold her, I had to pull her up. “Help! Help! We need help!” I yelled looking around for anyone. There were others helping pull up victims who had fallen also, people still running for the exits screaming, chaos.
“I’ve got you! Hold on!” A man ran over to my left and laid a hand on my shoulder has he reached down to grab Raya. “Pull!” He yelled. I strained my burning muscles as far as they could go, we grunted as we pulled her backward, sliding out of the crack and falling back into the stadium seats.
“We’ve got to go,” I shouted grabbing Raya, still heaving on the ground.
The man nodded and stumbled with us through the crowd to the exit. The shaking had ceased but we still moved quickly to the main level, getting as far as possible from the near death Raya had nearly faced an the real death for many others.
As we reached the parking lot and the leave that awaiting I pulled away from Raya, already nearly jogging back towards the stadium. “Go home,” I said to her, “There’s something I need to do.”
I had some coding to do.
|
Some people became near gods. Flying, running at the speed of light. Some people could shoot elecricity from their fingertips.
The news went from boring politics one day, to men and women crackling with electric energy fighting in the streets.
After the dust settled, and the really bad guys guys were dead, and the good guys were banding together into teams.
no one even knew I had powers...
the day it happened, when everything went nuts. When the electric storm raged through the world, and my eighbor got the ability to leap over tall buildings in a single bound, I just sat there.
I just stood there with a strange new tool in my hand.
I kept it hidden. It was in the back of my closet, wrapped in old towels. I knew that if people saw it. They'd know what my true powers were.
Everyone thinks that my powers a simple superstrength. That i can just punch things and they break. I laugh and tell them I was playing dig dug.
People laugh about my powers. There are so many better ones, people say.
I just chuckle along, with a self depriciating way. It's best for them not to know about what's in my closet.
If they knew about the diamond pickaxe, and that i was in creative mode when i was using it. They'd be very very scared.
| 2020-01-30T11:35:06 | 2019-08-12T00:49:37 | 1,281 | 18 |
[WP] A new friend invites you over for a cup of the most delicious tea you’ve ever had. You wake up in a palatial room, attended by a knight in gilded armour, who says, “After centuries of searching, we finally found you.”
|
"I'm sorry, who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?"
I move up from my seat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was afraid that my wrists would be cuffed or something, but they weren't. But I was in some sort of gown or bathrobe. Naked underneath.
"And what happened to my clothes?"
The knight did not take off his helmet. He moved a bit stiffly, maybe from age or the weight of armor. It wasn't completely spotless though. It was worn and old, it didn't take the eye of a smith to see that. A patchjob, but remarkably well done. He probably could have had that suit replaced, but hasn't.
"The news I have for you won't be easy to take in. So you might want to stay seated for this. The poison hasn't left your system yet. Take it easy, please."
"Poison? What poison?"
"_Please_, relax. The poison did a number on your heart. It's a miracle in and on itself that we're having this conversation." He seemed urgent and legitimately concerned as he could be with a voice that deep and hollow. I took a deep breath.
"Okay. I'm as calm as I can be."
"That's alright. There's water on the nightstand. If you feel like you need a drink, take it."
"Yeah, I'll pass. Last time I drank I tea I ended up here for some reason."
"Good call. I suppose your wits are about by now. You're ready to hear what happened."
"Sure, enlighten me."
"The woman who you thought served you tea is dead. Killed by a doppelganger. I am sorry."
"What? Bethany? How?"
"Doppelgangers can weasel their way into communities quite easily by stalking their targets and impersonating them, learning their mannerisms. You never spoke to Bethany. The doppelganger picked her to impersonate because you liked her. We found her body buried just beyond the tree line at the graveyard."
"But why me? She didn't have to die over _me_."
"If we had known, we would have stopped it. But we were too late."
"She never really did care about me, did she?"
"I...cannot pretend to have known her."
"Just for once, I thought someone _chose_ to give a damn. Someone _I_ wanted to care about. I know it's selfish, but... fuck..."
The knight did not respond at first, he just looked at me. I could see the pity in his body language. I hate being pitied. Beth dead because I liked her.
"But why? Why me?"
"Desperate times call for desperate measures. You must understand, there are larger forces than either of us at play. There is a legend of old. A story from which all other stories were born."
"The Mythos of the Three?"
"Yes. The Mythos has split into many different stories and develops further every day. Me and my companions have studied it for literal centuries, trying to see where it ends. And it ends with you."
"The Mythos _ends_...with me."
"Apparently so. Unless you die, perhaps."
"But if the Mythos ends, what happens then?"
"Some fear the end of everything we know. It might all end in fire and war, or perhaps everything will simply cease to exist. You are a focal point in this whole thing. Reality bends around you to accommodate you."
"This has to be a mistake. I'm a nobody. I can't _do_ anything, I barely know how to cook."
"You have been well by the Fates, but not well enough. But now you've been brought into the light of all who would write history. Save the world. Another innocent soul, lost, and no one would understand why. That's why we brought you here. To find out _why_ it was you that was chosen. And in time, to teach you how to harness your abilities."
"I have none."
"You are so much more capable than you think, but have not started to discover this."
The knight rose from his seat, and walked up to me.
"And that is where I come in."
"Wait. The, the doppelganger, that got Bethany? What happened to...it?"
"They will never lay hands on anyone ever again. You have my word."
"And the people that sent it?"
"Are why we must teach you what you are capable of. There will be others. You must be ready. It will be a long road, and a hard one. But one day, you'll look back on this day and realize that your life did not begin when you were born. It began today. Right here. With us."
He extended his hand.
"One hell of a speech, sir." I said as I took it.
"I have been told I talk too much."
"You've got a good voice for it, though."
"I've been told that too. Get used to it, you'll be hearing it a lot. Let's get you properly dressed and ready to meet the others. They can't wait to meet the Chosen One."
|
[Poem]
He looked around, searching for paths to flee
"What did you do...did you drug me?"
The Knight laughed "a required ruse -
After all, to return willingly, you refused."
"Of course I did! You mad knave,
I never wanted to return, it's freedom I crave."
The man shifted, and found himself bound
Tied to a throne that was chained to the ground.
"What you want matters not, you are needed"
"You don't need me!" The man pleaded.
"I am small, a man, a fraud,
Please don't force me to be your Lord"
The Knight shook his head with a frown
"Really, you shouldn't do yourself down.
You are wise, and watch over those in your care.
The power you wield - to anoint another, we do not dare."
The doors opened, and people entered
Gasped, bent their heads and genuflected.
The man groaned, "please don't bow.
I never sought power, not then, not now."
The Knight smiled "you once pulled the blade, and saved us all.
And once again, use must heed destiny's call."
And about the hall, in one voice the crowd's voice did ring
"Arthur has returned! God save the King!"
| 2022-09-11T14:04:50 | 2022-09-11T12:33:48 | 104 | 24 |
[WP] The Hero is ridiculously overpowered but has none of the usual moral objections about using their power. They just defeated the last major supervillian and now the city nervously waits to find out what happens next.
|
Vulture Storm stood above the wreckage of Hero Tower, watching as Darkness drew her last breath. *It’s over. It’s finally over.* Above, a camera crew flew, the blades of the helicopter spinning in near silence. To his left, the final pillar on the tower he had called home, collapsed back onto the empty street. The crew zoomed in while a reporter shouted commentary to those watching on T.V.
“At last, Darkness’s reign of terror is over,” the reported screamed, trying to be heard above the fire and wreckage that consumed the nearby city streets. “We just have to thank god Vulture Storm was here. The power he showed…it..it…was terrifying.” She paused wondering if she should even say what was on her mind. ”Now, we just wait. Wait to see what he will do next. We can hope that he doesn’t…doesn’t…go the way some other hero’s have gone.” Even from here Vulture Storm could hear her words. *Go the way other heroes have gone? That's some way to put it.* Looking around, he saw what the battle had done to the street. *To my city.* Main street was basically gone, it would need to be completely torn down and rebuilt. The people though had been evacuated. *Bloodless.* He sniffed, enjoying the smell of smoke that wafted through the air. The scent brought him back to his first super villain fight, the first time he had nearly died.
The school’s had just gotten off and children had littered the streets. Screaming, crying and running amok, their mother’s were already stressed. Vulture had just bought a drink, cherry coke, from the shop on the corner. Standing there, basking in the sunlight and the sound of the kids, he allowed himself a smile. Already that day, he had stopped two muggings. *Not a bad day's work,* he thought. Then, it began. The fight that would make him one of the most popular heroes in the world. Fallen Angel. That stupid fool. Creating a tunnel system under the city, he essentially collapsed every building in a twenty mile area, killing thousands instantly and for whatever reason had decided to appear next beside where Vulture had stood. Gliding up, Fallen Angel shouted out his plan for world domination, his booming voice could be herald across the city. They had fought for hours and in the end, Vulture Storm had ripped the Angel’s head right off. *All on camera.* Another camera crew had caught the fight's final moments. They had watched as Vulture collapsed onto his back exhausted, blood-soaked and crying. And the smell of smoke lingered in his nostrils for months to come.
A woman’s scream, high and wild, brought Vulture Storm back to reality. Without thinking, he flew to her, finding her trapped beneath a street lamp.
“Don’t worry,” he smiled, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “I’m here. It’s all over. The supervillains are all gone.” Without breaking a sweat, he threw off the lamp post, bundling the woman in his arms before taking the woman to safety, across half the city in under a minute.
Already a sprawling sea of tents had been set up on the city's outskirts. Usually for victims though this time, thank god, only for those who had lost their homes. A few crying children sat on their mothers knee’s though most seemed too frightened to feel anything at all. Doctors and nurses mostly comforted though now homeless. One doctor spotted Vulture Storm with the woman in his arms and asked to put her on a nearby bed. When the woman was surrounded by help, Vulture Storm floated off, wandering through the tents.
A camera crew, interviewing a small child spotted him hovering and rushed over for an interview.
“Mr.Storm,” the reporter asked, looking up at the hero, wided-eye and in awe. “Can we get an interview?” With a sigh, Storm nodded, and came down to earth.
“Of course,” he said, forcing a smile. The reporter smiled back, ordering her crew to ready the camera once more.
“Here we are,” she began, turning from camera to hero and back again, “with Vulture Storm who seemingly has defeated the last of the Supervillians. Vulture Storm we just want to say thank you. Thank you for saving our beloved city. But what now? What’s left for a hero like you?” Storm bowed his head, thinking. Of the lives he saved, of the lives he couldn’t. *What now?*
“What now?” he repeated back to her. “Well, I think…I think...it’s time. Time to retire.” All the people talking around him stopped, the silence was deafening. “Too often, we see what happens when heroes as strong as I am continue on too long. Their morals become warped. Their power corrupts them. So what's now for me? Think I will go home, play some playstation. Smoke a joint. Chill out. For once.”
|
Another day, another rogue punished.
I take no pride in this anymore, it is just work to me now.
Once upon a time, when my birthright was powerful and mysterious and the realm of Magicka ran rampant with unregulated magicians, in the days before we knew the last Merlin's name, I was happy to make a name for myself. I would work as a freelance justice, but one with no qualms for methods so long as the ends were reached. Though many feared that side of me, you cannot argue results. I was conscripted into the governance's police force by the Merlin who would gear up to be the last. Eventually, under his wise gaze, we took all the unregulated casting out of Magicka.
Well, almost all of it.
The last Merlin thought he was above the law. He nearly destroyed the universe in his irresponsibility. I vowed to never let that mistake happen again. As the first non-merlin leader of Magicka, I used my position to impose strict procedures for magical experimentation. But, no matter how many artefacts I cordoned off, or how closely I observed the casting of my subjects, our former home eluded my rules.
I would not have that.
Today, Magicka.
Tomorrow, Earth.
| 2022-06-27T08:38:54 | 2022-06-27T07:51:29 | 348 | 28 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor."
|
"I need a favour."
Four little words, but there's a lifetime of suffering that comes with them.
He stood there, in the low light of the bar. Almost a silhouette behind the haze of smoke. Wide-brimmed hat sitting atop his head, tattered scarf hiding all but his eyes. Still as a statue, only thing that gave him away as being something living was the slight sway from side-to-side.
I returned my eyes to my tumbler. Winced. Visual reminder of the fact I was reaching the bottom of it. Thing about whiskey is, there's never enough in the bottle. I tapped the phantom fingers of my left hand against the glass, cruel joke was I could have sworn there was still some sensation there.
"And I need my digits to grow back." I said, at last. Chose my words carefully, kept my expression neutral. "We going to keep playing the 'Name-things-that-are -unlikely-to-happen' game, or are you going to fuck off and let me drink in peace?"
Lucifer took a step toward me, hands buried deep in the pockets of his long-coat. I tensed. Was reminded of a time when those hands would blacken eyes, knock my jaw out of place.
"Please, Jim." He said, voice barely louder than a whisper. I caught him glance around the room after he spoke, as he pulled out a seat and dropped down onto it. "I'm in deep here. Deeper than's healthy."
"Lucifer, in deep?" I asked, meeting his eye. "King of Hell, Protector of the Damned, and you're shitting your pants. Would be sort of funny, if I didn't know just how tenuous your hold over this little shit-hole is."
A flicker of annoyance in his expression - what little of it I could see, that was - made me smile. Lips peeled back, corners of my mouth tugged up into a sick grin.
"They want me off the Throne, out the way." He said. "I don't know what they're planning, why they're moving now, but I know it's coming. They want me out."
"Can't imagine why." I shrugged, raised my cup to my lips, drained what little was left in the thing. Set it down maybe a little too roughly. "I mean it's obvious, isn't it? You're all flowers and rainbows, Devil with a heart of gold. A veritable fount of kindness."
"Look, Jim, I'm not claiming to be a good guy -"
"It'd tickle me a little bit if you were." I cut him off, pulled the sleeve back and showed him the two fingers of my left hand. Thumb and forefinger. The others just stumps, ended just after the first joint. "But I don't need to tell you why that is, do I?"
"Just listen for a fucking moment, will you?!" A moment's outburst. Then he sighed, sagged forward. "Listen, please. Just...just listen."
I stared at him for a long second, eyebrow arched. Remembered that tone well. He used to use it when I couldn't get my head around something quick enough.
"Alright." I said. "Speak. Enlighten me."
"You think if they cast me down they're going to stop there? You think it ends with me? Not a chance. First thing they do when I'm gone, when I'm buried in some unmarked grave somewhere, is go after my bloodline. Make sure there's no-one to contest their rule, to be a rallying point for my supporters."
I saw what he was saying. Knew it would be the case. Coups aren't pretty, usually leave a lot of people dead whose only crime was being born into the family.
"Thanks for the warning, Dad." I said, nodded toward the door. "Exit's that way if you'd like to use it. If not, there's a fire exit around somewhere."
"The favour - " He started. And as he spoke another man made his way through the door, started moving over to us.
I held up a hand. "Forget the favour, Dad, It's not happening. I appreciate your consideration, though. Warm's my heart to see my own Father hasn't totally forgotten about me."
I decided it'd be better if I left. Rose from my seat, wobbled a bit on my feet. The whiskey had gotten to me more than I'd realised. I gave him one last look in the eye before making my way towards the bar.
The man I'd seen enter the place just moments before stopped me. Tall, lanky, but he stepped right in front of me nonetheless. One hand tucked inside the folds of his smart blazer.
Leaned in close - close enough that I could smell the garlic on his breath - and said; "I'd sit back down, if I were you."
I knew the voice. Simri. My Father's closest adviser, oldest friend. He also had the honour of being the biggest bastard I'd ever met, excluding myself.
"And what if I don't, Sim?" I said, soft as touching feather. "Swear to Christ, you don't move out of my fucking way I'm going to take that little knife in your hand and shove it so far up your asshole, you'll be tasting steel for months."
"Nice to see that proper education, the work of Hell's finest minds, put to good use, James." Simri replied, voice smooth as honey and dripping with poison.
The sight of the man was enough to make you shiver, to have a conversation with him was close to tying a noose around your neck.
"Sorry." I smiled. No warmth in the thing. "Thought of turning out like you, like Dad, drove me out of my mind."
"Oh, I've heard the stories." Sim said. "Prince of Ravens, isn't that what they call you? On account of the multitude of corpses you leave behind you. Tell me, making hard choices to keep millions of people alive or killing others over a slice of land, which is worse? Seems the evil your Father does results in continued peace, stability. The death you bring about is just because you're angry. *'Daddy didn't hug me enough'.* Get-fucking-over it."
I looked him up and down. Sized him up. I could take him, no question, but the consequences of that would land me in more hot water than was worth it. Simri was a powerful man, had a lot of swords on his payroll. I put the hurt on him, no telling how many enemies I'd make.
"Thanks for the talk." I said, forcing myself to stay at least somewhat civil. "You seem to know a lot about the state of my mind. That's funny to me. Day I took off, I don't remember you being too bothered. In fact, I believe your exact words were; *"We're going to have to pick a new heir, sire. Might I put myself forward as candidate?"*
Sim's face grew stern. Evil smile dropped, replaced with a cold mask. "This favour. If you don't help, they'll come for you."
"Dad just said that, Sim. What are you, a fucking parrot?"
"Believe it or not, your Father is acting out of concern for your well-being."
A memory bubbles to the surface. I'm twelve, maybe thirteen. Failed him again, can't even remember what it was I did - or didn't do.
*Hand held to the table in the dining room, some ox-built up guard silent as a crypt behind his mask. Dad shouting, red in the face, blade in hand. Raises it above his head, I squeeze my eyes shut. He brings it down, and I know because I hear it slicing through the air, hear the slight noise made in exertion.*
*Cold steel against my skin. Blade sinks into the table. For a moment, nothing. No sound, no pain. Then it floods me. Nothing but pain. Lancing up my arm, through my body. I screamed.*
I pushed passed Sim. Started for the door. Paused, turned.
"Want to know something funny?" I called over to him. He met my eye. My Dad still sat at the table, head in his hands. "I have to help him. Not because I want to, but because he owns my soul."
Sim's brow went up. "What did you ask for in return?"
"I asked for him to love me. Y'know, like a Father should love a son." I said. Spun on my heels and started to walk away. Over my shoulder I tossed; "He never kept up his end. Bad trade, you ask me."
|
So much time had passed since the last time i smelled the man sitting across from me. To call him pungent wouldn't be quite accurate. Imagine a room full of charred meat with a hint of blood.
"Haven't you gotten enough from me?" I lifted my glass of alcohol to my lips.
The man's voice came back at me smooth as silk yet harsh as sandpaper. "Well, today things are different. It is i who needs your help."
Here i thought i was the blind one. Years ago i was down on my luck and called on this man in exchange for my soul. One detail they leave out is that this can only be accomplished by removing your eyes. The vessels of your soul.
"What do i get out of this?" I asked.
The man wasted no time with his response. "Freedom."
I stumbled back off the chair ad my vision abruptly returned. Even in the dimly lit bar i had to shield my eyes. I could see... i could see!
I heard the creaking of wood as the man climbed up from the chair. He held out his hand to help me up. The long black nails scratched my wrist as i accepted his help.
"Nice to see you again Lucifer." I said as i stared into his pitch black eyes.
"No need to be formal with me. This is a simple trade just like before. " he sat back on the chair.
As lucifer took a drink i pulled a locket out of my pocket. Even though my vision had been gone for years, i carried a picture of my family with me eveywhere. After i sold my soul i left them for their own protection. Now i could see the beautiful faces of my wife and daughter again.
Lucifer began to speak. "Another client of mine has violated our terms. I need you to take care of them."
I stiffled a laugh. "So you think I'm an assassin? I know the rules anyway, if i take their life my soul will just be yours again."
"No, the terms don't apply today. Heaven is blind." Lucifer replied.
I stared at the locket again. Finally, i could return to my family, things could be normal again. i could already see the look on my daughter Haileys face as she saw me again.
"I'll do it." I said.
Lucifer smiled and raised one hand to my forehead.
The scent of the night air filled my nostrils as my body arrived at its destination. In front of me stood a small house. All of the street lights were off as well as the neighbors lights. As a matter of fact, the night was unnaturally dark.
I began walking slowly towards the house, a long dagger in my hands. Lucifer was still extremely old fashioned in his methods apparently. The front door squeaked ever so slightly as i entered the dark house. Cinnamon could be smelled in the air. I dodged shoes and toys as i made my way towards the stairs. I stopped at the foot of the stairs as i saw that someone was asleep on the couch. A child.
"Sick fuck." I whispered under my breath.
How was i any better than him though? If i didn't do this I'd go back to being alone and blind, drinking my life away. That was reason enough for me to continue. I ascended the stairs.
I entered the room where my victim lie sleeping. Inching closer and closer to the bed I raised the dagger. I loomed over the mound of blankets and plunged the dagger downward as hard as i could. Moonlight illuminated the room the very second the dagger struck, no more unnatutal darkness. Then i caught sight of my victim and staggered back as my heart sunk. It was my wife.
Her eyes were open and she was fully conscious as i embraced her bleeding body. She turned to me and smiled. A smile laced with pain.
"John, i can't believe it's really you." She was still smiling.
"I'm so sorry my love." I was still fighting back tears.
The room soon became illuminated as though by fire. I turned to see lucifer standing by the doorway. Anger built up inside me and i charged at him. He lifted a hand and i stopped in my tracks.
"We had a deal, and so did your wife and I. All she wanted was for you to see each other once again. She knew it would come at a price." His voice seemed to fill the whole room.
"I would have never agreed to this!" I yelled at him.
Lucifer laughed. "It was your choice not to ask questions. Now i really must be leaving John."
Lucifer crossed the room and approached my wife. She turned to me and smiled oncd again as a single tear rolled down her cheek.
"I love you John." She blew me a kiss.
Lucifer raised a hand to her face and i watched her soul leave her eyes. Her breathing stopped. The room illuminated once again as Lucifer vanished leaving me alone in the room.
| 2015-05-12T12:54:08 | 2015-05-12T12:31:16 | 136 | 53 |
[WP] You are a cannon fodder minion on the first floor of a dungeon, and have just killed the hero. You now have to explain to the boss that you just ruined his plan.
|
He didn't dare to believe his eyes as he stared down at the smoldering corpse of the hero at his feet. This was the vaunted hero? In rotted leather armor and bearing a chipped sword? Surely his Lord's carefully planned traps, expertly trained minions and artfully designed mazes gathered over these past 7 years since the hero prophecy was first spoken could not have been in vain? The lowly foot soldier tried to imagine having to explain what he had done, how he had ruined all those years of planning and preparation.
*"I'm so sorry my lord, the hero was pathetic! He thought he was armed with Prophecy and immortal. He just charged right in and all but leapt into the path of my weak and pathetic fire spell. I did not expect that to vanquish him!"*
*"You fool... 7 years! 7 YEARS!! No expense spared! I prepared for everything! EVERYTHING! How could you ruin this? How... how could you?"*
And as the lowly minion imagined the tears streaming down his Lord's face he knew what he must do. He stomped out the still smoldering bits of the hero's armor and removed it from his corpse. Donning the rotted leather over his own mail he dropped his expertly crafted sword in favour of the pitted rusted ruin the hero had brought. He needed to disguise his face. He might be the weakest of minions but he had spent 7 long years with these beings, they knew him as well as he knew them. He blackened his face with soot and cut his lengthy mane hastily with a dagger. Finally he searched for any other gear the hero had brought and found only a small amulet which he donned as well. Thus armed he turned away from the entrance headed deep into the dungeon.
Despite his weakness, he had stilled trained these 7 long years with the best of the other minions. He had helped prepare the traps, and had joined the construction crews on the mazes. Quite simply put, he knew every square inch of this dungeon and so forearmed with his knowledge he barreled into every trap barely avoiding death by the slimmest of margins. He knew all the weaknesses of each of his fellow minions but not even that could make up for his own weakness. Each battle was a terrible trial and by the time he made it through the last maze he was beaten and bruised horribly. Only his impeccable mail had saved him from serious injury. Thankfully his Lord had spared no expense.
"Foolish hero, I see you have bested my minions and navigated my dungeon but now you face my wrath! Puny human prepare yourself!" His Lord, not recognizing his minion, cried out in joy as the hero he had spent 7 long years preparing for finally stood before him.
*My Lord... this I do for you. I give my life so that these plans will not go to waste!* The weak minion thought to himself, but he knew that he couldn't give in too easily. His Lord had trained extensively himself and deserved the best fight possible. Gathering his courage the minion charged his Lord and gave his all. He fought with everything he had, barely avoiding death a hundred times at his Lord's hand. Finally, he could fight no more and his Lord stood over him, prepared to deal the final blow.
"Foolish hero, do you now understand my might?! You never stood a chance you fool!"
As his Lord gloated, the beaten minion could only nod his head in reply for fear of giving away his identity with his voice. It was then that a single drop of blood fell from his broken nose and landed squarely on the amulet he'd taken from the fallen hero. A brilliant light emanated from the amulet, blinding the minion and his Lord both. When the light faded the minion slowly rubbed his eyes, willing the spots to clear. He could only look on in horror at the smoking ruin where his Lord once stood, vanquished by the light of the amulet.
And so the prophecy was realized.
*7 years hence, the Dark Lord, after much preparation, will be vanquished by the weakest fool would be hero with the best of intentions."*
|
I regret to say that I have achieved what you have never accomplished Lord Beezlebub, lord of the 7 Hells. As of such, I see myself in a precarious position and at your mercy. However, I have confidence that I can make it as the owner of my own personal dungeon. You may consider this as my letter of resignation. Dickbag.
-Elemental Horse #7
| 2014-09-03T12:27:33 | 2014-09-03T11:41:35 | 241 | 33 |
[WP] You attend the Magic School for the Gifted. Hooray... That is until you realize everyone there is a Mary Sue Chosen One with their own prophecy to fulfill. And you... aren't.
|
It struck me in-between Fleetness Training P.T. and Defensive Spells 304 as I watched Margorie Hamlin ‘talk’ to her Crow that I was a sidekick.
I was middle of my class in so many ways, hardly called on, and rarely challenged as I had seen so many of my classmates. Like the time Henry Dennison had to be excused from class for a week because some people tried to come and kidnap him while we were out in the gardens searching for Trey Sallangers’ Magic orb thing after he dropped it. I sat in class, moping. Yes, moping.
I had been given a letter and a certificate of sponsorship one summer, not understanding what it was. My parents had no clue what was up with this private boarding school. They were just glad to get me into some sort of prestigious academy without having to pay for it. I had been going for three years, learning so much that real life just had not prepared me for. Magic was real. Dark Unions festered below the everyday. Angels and Aliens existed. And how do I know all this? Not just from the teaching they were trying to force into our adolescent brains, from the kids I was surrounded by every day.
Every one of them had some sort of Secret or Calling. Every. One. Of. Them. Except me.
I had been blown away the first semester. Acclimating to the strangeness was hard. But I loved knowing there was something… more. Why I had been seeing sparkles where other people didn’t. Why those strains of music were not just my imagination. I had talent, but I was not The Talent. That is what made me start resenting why I was there when I realized I did not have the one thing everyone else there had.
It was not said out loud, but it was tacit in how the teachers acted towards everyone, except me. The almost disdainful way they would accept my answers in class. The pity I would see when I did not have an object or animal or spirit to help me in my studies. If it wasn’t for the fact that I could do magic, I doubt I would have been there at all.
The self-doubt started to build up, and I just sat in one of the rose arbors in the gardens’ maze when I was supposed to be in class. It had been so sudden. I hadn’t seen it before. I was there to be trained so I could be a support to one of these stupid Chosen Ones. My Father would have called me Cannon Fodder for my role. I found myself crying while the roses started to wilt around me.
At some point, one of the Deans found me and was sitting next to me. She really had not said anything, just sat next to me, looking at the gardens and sky as I cried into my hands. I am not sure how long we were there, but I was calmer. She reached out and easily took one of the browned rose flowers from the dried stems and held it as the petals fell off and to the ground.
She held out her hand with a few of the brown petals on it, waiting. I held out my hand and she dropped the petals onto my hand. They touched me and they turned to dust, an old rose scent floating past as a gentle breeze went through the arbor. I started crying again.
“Seems you have a talent we hadn’t-“ She stopped when I sobbed and started to cry in full force, again. I know she did something to ward me. The next time I took my hands away from my face, the swirl of magic was thick in the arbor and made a bubble around me. The tears ran down my face, soaking further into my uniform shirt. I gasped for air, not trying to control my crying, but knowing that I needed to.
“I… I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
There was surprise in her voice as she said, “For what?”
I gasped in to be able to get enough breath to speak. “I should… be in class.”
I heard a small snort of a chuckle and looked up. Her face held both confusion and mirth, her eyes the gentlest I had ever seen on her. “And age those third years into graduation? I think not.” She held out a stick to me and said, “Here. Take this.”
I hesitated, but did as she asked. The bubble of magic moved with me as I reached, my hand touching and then going through the stick as it crumbled at my touch. I was horrified, but I saw a satisfaction in her eyes as she nodded to me.
“It looks like you will need to be put into a specialized section next term. We need to get that under control, so I think I shall tutor you so that you can be in the general classes in a few days.”
I let my head hang. “Great, I’m not one of those Chosen Ones, but I can kill things.”
She smiled. “Not everyone here is a Chosen One.” I heard humor in her voice as she started to stand. “We also teach those who are the Chosen one’s foils. How would you like to become a Dark Lord?” I liked the flash of wickedness I saw in her smile and I nodded.
|
I am gifted. People have told me that. But after spending a day at the Magic School for the gifted, I can say only this: I am gifted with mediocrity!
These people around me, they are so perfect. And they all know what they're doing, and what they want to do later in life. Me? I'm "gifted" with confusion, awkwardness, shyness, and all that "Humane talent" as they call it around here.
What're the benefits of these "Humane talents" you ask? Why there are many: stubbed toes, burnouts, freakouts, missing steps on the stairs, being perpetually confused, and angry, and anxious, and ... I could go on forever. Of course, you already know that -- how stupid of me. Another humane talent, I suppose.
"I envy you," that's what the bound for glory Doctor Gwen said to me today.
"Huh? You're envious ... of this?"
"Yes. I am. What wonderful talents you have Miss Banks," she said and smiled.
Yeah, smile you slimy, sarcastic, b.... Wait, I'm not supposed to say that. Nor did I say anything like it anyway. Like a good girl resigned to such mockery I just said, "Yeah." Like a corpse would. Wait, corpses don't speak, what's wrong with me today.
"I mean it. You're so free. You don't know what to do. So, you can do anything!"
Yeah, life doesn't work like that princess, jog on. I mean, "I guess."
| 2021-03-03T05:42:04 | 2021-03-03T03:55:20 | 39 | 15 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
Commander Siren had dismissed the rumors.
Humans are a proud race. Though new amongst the stars with barely a few ships to their name, they have worked hard to integrate, to learn, to join that blasted Republic and all its artists and scientists. Even though they’ve never seen an alien in person before, they’d still worked very hard for the day they did. Gifts, knowledge, science, technology. Great effort was made by humanity to present themselves in the best possible light.
Of course, the Elder Senate of the Republic has passed a resolution, barring humanity from learning of the Fifth Great War, and is, the Union Tide.
So it was a shock to humanity that those who lived amongst the stars still waged war.
When our fleets jumped into the fray, the humans hailed us. When we fired, they quickly scattered, evacuating their outposts all across the Solar System in an exodus toward Earth.
To be fair, for a race with no weapons, they’d put up a pretty good fight. In fact, using satellites and abandoned wreckage, they’d managed to actually damage a few of our ships. It was almost as if they DID know how to fight.
So I investigated, hacking into their archives, their history.
For some reason, everything over three hundred years old had been buried. Redacted from records, hidden away from public view.
There was, however, an internal set of records. And in their education system, amongst a class curiously named, pre-disaster history, I found the answer.
I downloaded the data I could before the humans blocked me off. I opened up a random file, a journal of a human official serving in a intercontinental government at the time.
“Day 43.”
“The scientists have managed to create what we need. Project Golem. It will finally march across the radiation blasted Northern front, and take the capital city of ——.”
An image showed an enormous automaton, bristling with kinetic weapons, roaring across the landscape as armor-clad humans fought it with vehicles and missiles.
In dread, I opened another record.
“We will NEVER surrender. Like Churchill, like the Russians, we will survive no matter how many nuclear weapons drop on top of us. No matter how many of us are thrown into the meat grinder.”
Nuclear weapons? Outlawed a thousand years ago by the Republic, these devices could wipe out the surface of a planet if used enough times.
I read deeper, and grew more terrified with each passage.
Three hundred years ago, the humans had been a war like race unlike any other. Even insectoid species, though they were cannibals, would all focus for the good of the species as a whole.
Not these warm-bloods. They killed each other over every drop of resource, every disagreement. Cities razed for the sake of philosophy and religion. Murder and violence transformed from art into science.
In their last war they had nearly wiped themselves out dozens of times, forcibly cloning themselves and running mass fertility programs simply to maintain a viable population. They’d manage to develop dozens of biological, mechanical, and chemical weapons, over half of which were outlawed by the Republic as WMDs.
When the nuclear bombs annihilated their surface, they resorted to going underground, sending robot armies to smash each other’s bunkers. When that failed, nanobots were injected into water supplies and scorched the oceans. If it weren’t for humanity’s insane technological prowess and their utter determination to survive, they’d have wiped themselves out.
I brought all this up to Commander Siren. He, of course, refused to believe any of it. It was all too ludicrous. It must be a trick, he said as our fleet neared Earth. A misinformation campaign to deter us.
The illusion field around earth fell away, the gleaming ocean and verdant forests vanishing like a wrapping sliding off.
Cracked open crust and scorched atmosphere, dotted with pale lights around small pockets of blue and green, greeted us.
Before us, flashes of light shone across the surface like a newborn constellation, and the fleet sensors blared in warning. Thousands of missiles, nuclear, nanobot, robot-carrying.
Hidden orbital stations opened up, railguns and lasers firing. Hastily cobbled from stolen weaponry of our own, mounted onto their technology in a desperate attempt to even the technological playing field.
Our rear sensors put out more warnings. The moon. They’d blasted chunks off their moon, firing them at our fleet. Explosions rocked our ships as enormous masses of rock smashed into them, killing millions of soldiers and crew. It was insane; the chunks would fall to earth, destroying whatever they had left down there. But I realized, a second too late, that they do not care.
As the ragged fleets of humanity came into view, firing ruthlessly at our surrendering warships, a single message flared across our communications channel. A young woman, her face blackened with soot and her eyes blazing with hatred, said only one word.
“DIE.”
|
— Dude, come check it out
— My mom doesnt want me to hang out with you
— Come on, she wont find out. Look at this — he said turning the telescope-like device to his friend — look at that planet.
— The red one?
— No no dude, the blue one next to it.
— What about it?
— Look closer — he said and zoom it in.
— Yeah it has some life, so?
— Not only that. They have some kind of weird tall houses to live all together. Isn't that cute? They all go in big shared cars.
— Aww they even have some small spaceships to move around their tiny planet.
— See!? Lets do it.
— Do what?
— Quick raid, in and out. Let's go.
— I don't know man, Last planet got me some scratches and my mom found out.
— Look at them man, they don't have any weapons. I've watching for a couple of days. Not even a runing war. It's an easy raid. We go, shoot some bridges, take a couple of them put some stuff up their but, kill their leader... 20 minutes and we are back.
--------------
Alien phone ring
— You did what to my spacecraft?
Hmhmhm
— They did what to an atom??
Hm
— And you where just passing by... Okey hold up. I finish my tea and i pick you guys up
| 2019-02-26T12:17:07 | 2019-02-26T07:46:38 | 62 | 35 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell are only so prevalent because they paid for Ad time. Tell me about one of the more obscure after-death locations.
|
The darkness, hollow and cold, was pierced by a sudden light that streaked away to infinity. With a wild gasp, Emily awoke. She blinked away tears, taking in her surroundings. A small yet luxurious office. She sat in a fine leather chair situated in front of a mahogany desk. The thin gentleman behind the desk had white hair, yet his face looked young. He looked up and smiled. “Ah, right on schedule, Ms. Nakahara,” he said in a calm, jovial voice.
“What is this place?” she asked. Emily’s eyes went wide, and she pressed a hand to her stomach. “Wait! I was...bleeding. What happened? Where’s my husband?”
The man across the desk cleared his throat. “There are several ways in which you and your husband differ, you know? He’s a man, you’re a woman. He likes Star Wars, you prefer Star Trek. He’s alive, you’re…”
She waited a few breaths. “Dead. You’re saying I’m dead. Cut the crap! What the hell kind of con is this?!”
“I understand, ma’am. Most people react this way. You must be terribly upset. I bet your pulse is skyrocketing right now.”
At that, she gained a sudden awareness. Her pulse was gone. She sank back down and took a few moments to compose herself. “Dead, huh?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Okay...well…” Emily’s eyes caught the placard on the desk. “Mr. Gray. Do I get to know which direction I’m going? Up or down?”
“Neither.”
“Wait, what?”
“You don’t meet the requirements for either Heaven or Hell, ma’am. Really, they’re both quite exclusive. They only seem prominent because they pay for the most ad space. Most people end up...here!” Gray gestured dramatically around the small room.
“...I’m stuck in this office?”
“Argh, no! Hold on…” He seemed to be pressing a button under his desk. Repeatedly. “Why won’t it...ah, there!” With a resounding clang, the walls and ceiling fell away.
Beyond was...everything.
A dark sky filled with stars, planets, and galaxies stretched off in every direction, including below. “Welcome to the Hub!” Gray declared.
Emily sank into her chair. The sheer expanse was daunting. “This is...amazing…”
Gray nodded and leaned forward, a conspiratorial smile on his face. “If you ask me, it’s a lot more interesting than those two ‘elite clubs’ you hear so much about.” He winked.
“So...what do I do here? Do I just...float? Forever?”
“Oh, no no no! What fun would that be?” Gray snapped his fingers. Emily found herself standing in what appeared to be a futuristic-looking train station.
She scanned some of the destination names on a board nearby. “Weather Control...Exploration...Chance...Godhood University...Dream Weaving...World Building...are these…”
“Just a handful of many zones in the Hub,” Gray finished. “Enough to keep you occupied for centuries. And if you ever get bored, well…” He pointed to another destination that read “Reincarnation Offices” in glowing letters.
Emily chuckled. “So...what is this one? Exploration?”
Gray smiled. “I had a feeling you’d be drawn to that.” He walked toward a large gateway and beckoned her to follow. The space within the massive door was like the surface of a shimmering lake. “It’s a portal,” the man explained.
“I figured as much. I’ve seen Stargate.”
They stepped through, and the two of them were floating in the middle of a starfield.
“Space again!” Emily noted.
“This time it’s the real thing. We’re being projected to the mortal plane.” Gray opened a starmap of the nearby stellar region. “You see, the gods, contrary to popular belief, are not *all*-knowing. Sure they’re experts in their own people and their own world. But out in the vastness of the cosmos, even the gods are in the dark. The Exploration division seeks to scout those unseen areas. We’ve already got a lot of personnel congregating in the Trappist system, but you’d be welcome to venture in any direction.”
“That’s incredible! You know...ever since I was a girl, I’ve always dreamed of exploring the unknown...but by the time I was born, most of Earth was already mapped.”
Gray nodded. “You always were the adventurous type.”
“Yeah. That’s why my husband and I were out in…” her voice trailed away. “He would have loved to see this.”
“It wasn’t his time.”
“Oh, I know...I want him to live his life to the fullest. And...I’ll be waiting for him. Even if it takes decades. Then we can go off exploring the universe. Together.”
“What if he finds someone else while you’re gone?” Gray asked.
Emily shuddered. “I...guess that’s possible. But it’s a chance I’m willing to take. I’ve got all the time in the universe, right?” She thought back to the train station. “There was a section called ‘Dream Weaving’, wasn’t there?”
“That’s correct.”
“...can I use it to say goodbye?”
After a moment, Gray put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.” The man summoned a portal back to the station, and they stepped through.
*****
*Edited for spelling/grammar.*
|
*Ding!*
It’s cloudy again. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll get some drizzle this afternoon.
*Ding! Ding!*
I like drizzle.
*Ding!*
I used to like thunderstorms too. I’d kill for a good thunderstorm. It might drown out that fucking-
*Ding!*
…noise. It drives me crazy, I swear to god. Things just haven’t been the same since our great cosmic overlord decided that capitalism was the next big thing. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, in Heaven as it is on Earth - or something like that.
*Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!*
The problem is that They decided that services in exchange for money were too mortal for the afterlife. Instead, They chose to reinforce the moral apartheid and went for exchangeable morality points for our actions. Which I hear works just fine up in the Big Two: be a nice person in Heaven and you get points. Be a dick in Hell, points for you. It keeps the balance: the holy stay holy, and the damned stay damned.
The issues arise when you come to us. The Middlers. The lost and forgotten, stuck in no man’s land committing morally ambiguous acts everywhere you look. A melting pot of good, evil and everything in between. We get points if we’re good and points if we’re bad, and double points for all things ambivalent. And that means that fucking sound goes off every time anyone does anything at all: “you get a point - ding! - and you get a point - ding! - everyone gets a point!”
*Ding!*
But that’s not so bad, right? At least we’re all rich. We should be living like emperors, except-
*Ding!*
Do you know what happens when there’s too much currency in circulation?
*Ding!*
Inflation.
*Ding!*
Now, up here we don’t have to worry about food or rent. All-inclusive accommodation is a perk of being dead. But things that make being dead bearable? Crazy expensive.
*Ding! Ding! Ding!*
I’m saving up for a pair of earplugs.
| 2017-03-06T12:33:44 | 2017-03-06T11:16:56 | 133 | 28 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
Mortals are not permitted to foresee their own death.
That was the only truth I'd gleaned from my years of these warnings popping up everywhere. It doesn't work with mirrors or anything - nothing appears when I don't look at a person directly. I can't look up to see my own - nothing's there. It's haunted me. Every time a warning is something that isn't isolated - mass shootings, fires, explosions, contagious diseases. . . I would feel this incredible panic, and try to flee as quickly as possible. Nothing ever happened; these people all must be dying when I'm not around. I've never actually seen someone die. I just hear it on the news, or from a friend.
I know people will die. I don't know when, I don't know where, but I know how. Every single person I've ever met, without fail. Then, one day, they changed. They started to flicker, like a TV set to static. One by one they became illegible, until most of Grand Central Station was filled with these disturbing signs. I didn't panic. I'd spent most of my life running from these signs, trying to make sure I wouldn't get caught up in them.
But today, I felt something different. I felt peace. I looked around, at all of these flickering signs, and I knew.
Mortals cannot foresee their own death.
Whatever was going to happen to all of these people, was going to happen to me as well. I scanned the crowd, looking for signs that were still visible. The people waiting for the train near me still had signs; they would survive. The next platform over was not so fortunate.
The survivors' train leaves in just three minutes. The other, in eight. Sometime within those five minutes, we will all die. Something, someone, somewhere in this station is the cause of death for all of us. Too many flickering signs. They obscure my vision - I can't see the ones still visible. I need to get higher.
I climb the stairs. If it's a time-bomb, three minutes won't be enough to convince everyone to leave. Not even a fire alarm could empty Grand Central that fast. It has to be a detonator. Please, let it be someone in this building. Please.
There's too many signs. Too much static. I can't see. I can't see!
I start climbing up the side of a booth. A nearby guard shouts at me to get down. I can barely hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat. He approaches, and raises his weapon. That's when I see his sign. It flickers more than the rest, as if his fate isn't necessarily tied to theirs. I stare in confusion for a moment, then continue scanning the crowd. The guard doesn't matter.
That's when I see it. The sign that I've seen countless times before. The only sign that I've ever interfered with, the only death that I've ever tried to prevent. Suicide. It practically glows above the head of an unassuming white male. An average guy. Everyone around him still has that strange, flickering sign. It's the only chance I have. I won't be talking this guy down, like I tried with that girl. There's no time. The train just left. Five minutes, at the most. I don't have enough time!
I look back down. The officer below me is radioing for help, and threatening me with his rifle. I look up. The man's sign changes. The flickers stop. All at once, the signs burst back into life, a hundred different causes floating in the air. I've already made my decision. The guard below me has a new sign. Head trauma.
I leap down, my feet meeting him squarely in the chest, knocking him back and down the stairs. The rifle falls. I pick it up, and aim down the sights. I use the man's sign to mark him out from the crowd. I pray for a clean shot, but I've almost no experience with a rifle.
A women walking near him has a new sign, one I've never seen before. Collateral damage. My heart wrenches inside my chest, and for a less than a second the signs flicker, before returning to the way they were. I know what I have to do. Two innocent people, dead by my hand. A hundred others will be saved, but those two people will haunt me for the rest of my life. I pull the trigger. Gunshots echo throughout the building. The woman falls, but so does the man. Their signs flicker and die before my eyes.
I drop the rifle, and kneel down. Despite the blood on my hands, a small smile creeps across my face. After years of torment, this curse has finally proven worthwhile. I can hardly hear the screams. My ears ring from the gunshots, and tears roll down my face. Tears of joy and sorrow, at the lives saved and lives lost.
I look up at the beautiful ceiling of Grand Central, but I can't see it. Instead, all I see, in small, flickering letters, is my own sign. I wish there was some way I could express to these officers that I don't blame them. I just don't have the strength or the time, because there is only one thing I know to be true; I cannot foresee my own death.
|
Over the years I've come to interpret the colors I see around people. I once tried to describe it to someone and they told me it,was their "Aura," but every description of an aura has multiple colors. I only see one, and each color is a different kind of death.
There's your common red, something to do with the heart most often, but sometimes could be another organ failing. The slightly less common purple, violent death, mostly seen in bad neighborhoods and around military bases.
Green was disease, which strangely enough encompassed diabetes most of the time, too. Yellow was drug overdose. Orange was accidental. Sometimes you'd get something like a half yellow, half purple. I took that to mean it was a forced drug overdose.
One day, as I'm walking down the street late one night, I saw something I'd never seen before. It was around a petite blonde. Some color I had never seen before. It was impossible to describe. It was unnatural. I had to follow her and find out.
She took a turn down a dark alley. That's not very safe. I should make sure she's okay. What is that color? Is that movement? I should take out my pocket knife just incase.
Holy shit! What is that color. It can't exist. She's unnatural. She shouldn't be. I have to remove that color. It must go. Remove.
Just walk up behind her. Good. Oh, that's hot. And sticky. She's laying on the ground. You know, in this light, she kind of looks like my mother. The color is fading. Thank god.
Hey, what was that at the end of the alley? What was that color? It's unnatural...
| 2015-03-31T09:44:20 | 2015-03-31T09:00:41 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] Mankind lost the war. In the final seconds before his execution, the last human looks up with a smile and says "We left you a present."
|
As I stood, chained to the steel pole facing my executioners, I felt a peace I hadn't known in decades.
When the Katarians first arrived, it was extending the olive branch of peace. They were treated with suspicion by the world powers, all of whom had seen many alien invasion movies. It left them nervous and skeptical.
As it turned out, not skeptical enough.
After several years of 'peaceful discussions' with the Katarians to enter the Galactic Federation, humanity thought its first contact with an alien race had gone extraordinarily well. The Katarians had been very helpful explaining the political situation, and preparing humanity for entry to take our place at the Galactic Federation Council. Or so it had seemed.
What they had actually been doing was using the time to covertly infiltrate the globe. After several years, the Katarians had managed to infiltrate and secretly install their own agents and control software, effectively neutering the human defense networks.
It was something they had done countless times before to hundreds of 'primitive' species prior to enslaving the population. First, disable their defenses, then conquer them and turn the population into a disposable labour force.
What they hadn't been expecting was the sheer creativity and savagery of the human race.
When the Katarians implemented their plan and disabled the defense networks, humans... always untrusting and prepared to be betrayed by anyone and everyone... fought back, viciously. Even without the ability to communicate and coordinate their attacks, we dealt blow after devastating blow to the Katarian infantry. We were able to defeat several of their airships using 'primitive Russian RPG's' that were no more than point-and-shoot rockets. With no computer networking, they were beyond Katarian control.
We put up a valiant struggle for over a decade. But as our casualties mounted and our supplies and ammunition dwindled, we realized that despite our best efforts, the battle was lost. It was simply a matter of time. The Katarians could always draw on more troops, more ships, more ammunition. We could not.
Knowing our defeat was inevitable, a plan was put into place. It had been in the works for a long time, with several thousand brave volunteers sacrificing their own lives to make sure it would happen. I was the final link in that chain.
"It has been our experience that your race feels some need to express their thoughts prior to death," the Captain said smugly. "Although I find it to be pointless, one of my subordinates has indicated it might be useful to scholars in the future who write of the destruction of your little species. Would you like to say anything?"
I looked up from the ground, into the Captain's black, glassy eyes. I saw his pale white skin glistening as the light rain fell on the courtyard.
"You should have studied our history a little better," I said quietly.
The alien sneered in unconcealed contempt. "Really? It didn't seem like doing so would have made any difference. We destroyed you, even though we barely knew anything about your precious *history*."
"You did," I said with the faintest hint of a smile. "And we did likewise to you."
The alien's sneer slowly faded from his face. "What are you talking about?"
I paused for effect. "We left you a present."
The Captain's eyelids narrowed over his black eyes. "Explain, human. Or I will kill you right now."
"You'll kill me anyway," I said. "But I'll be happy to explain."
I again paused, savouring the moment. "Before you arrived, there was a sect of humanity that was dedicated to terrorizing other nations in order to advance their own political and ideological goals. Normally, they did this through mass shootings, bombings, that sort of thing. Shortly before your arrival, our police forces managed to stop them from implementing a biological terror attack. We learned quite a bit from the investigation conducted into their plans."
The Captain snorted with amusement. "Your attempts at scaring me are truly pathetic, human. We are immune to every infectious organism found on your planet," he said.
"You *were* immune," I said, quietly.
The alien's smile dropped.
"Didn't it ever occur to you that over the course of the last year, it became much easier for your forces to find and capture us? Didn't it seem awfully convenient that all of a sudden your troops were finding us everywhere? After decades of us managing to evade you with little difficulty?"
Although it hardly seemed possible, the alien's skin turned a paler shade of white.
"That wasn't some miraculous sudden increase in your ability to track down a bunch of 'primitive' humans, Captain. We let you find us."
"Preposterous," the alien sputtered.
"You think so?" I asked, my tone becoming more aggressive, condescending. I had nothing to lose now.
"You've been immune to everything on our planet that was naturally occurring. But in studying your physiology, our scientists discovered something interesting. You *weren't* immune to something we created."
The Captain stared at him, a slight tremble beginning in his gun hand.
"Turns out there was a type of chemical preservative, one we'd been developing for stabilizing plastics during interstellar flight. Quite deadly to your physiology, really. The only issue was delivering it..."
I paused for effect, relishing the rapidly developing terror on his face. "Turns out, we can encapsulate it in a time-release compound. Our agents just had to bite down on the pill and breathe in your direction, and boom! Instant infectious agent. But that's not the best part."
The Captain, unable to turn away for fear the firing squad behind him would see the fear on his face, stared at me.
"The best part is, this compound? When it interacts with your physiology, it *mutates*. Develops the ability to replicate, encapsulation and all. We didn't plan it that way, we just got lucky. So those troops that captured and killed the last of us? The ones who rotated back out of this 'backwater cesspool'? They've already infected others. And those others have infected even more. You have a bonafide pandemic on your hands, Captain."
"You're lying," the Captain whispered.
"I assure you, I'm not. I have no reason to, it's not like it would matter now anyways. The infected will start to develop symptoms within weeks. Little black dots will appear on your skin. After that, the disease is fatal within a matter of a week, maybe two. At least that's what happened when we tested it on your soldiers we captured."
I allowed a moment to pass before delivering the final blow. "Another part of our history you should have read up on is World War 2. A little Russian tactic called 'Scorched Earth."
|
I am the last one. The last human on this planet. And I am about to die.
10 years ago, when humanity celebrated the first FTL flight, they appeared. Calling themselfs Lyssans those bastards. They looked very similar to humans but were far more advanced than we were. And they could live for hundred of years.
Soon after the first contact we realized that they dont wanted any diplomatic relationsship. They wanted to enslave as like many other races before us.
We tried our best, build up secret pacts with other races that were about to be enslaved, bolstered our defenses and trained even the youngest ones of us.
But it was no use. They wiped out our fleet in mere minutes and occupied earth within days. Underground fighters kept resisting but the Lyssans simply started to kill off the entire population. And after 10 years they found the last remaining humans on earth and rounded them up.
They staged our execution as a great event and broadcasted it live to every planet they held so the other enslaved races would think twice before rebelling.
I was brought to the plaza where the executioner was already waiting. I was surrounded by Lyssan soldiers who spat and threw insult at me. There were thousands around this small plaza alone and must have been millions on the entire planet since they turned it into one of their primary military bases.
The executioner stepped in front of me.
"Pathetic, it took us 10 years to find the last one of those underlings and now this excuse for a living being is all thats left?"
"Yeah, that says a lot about you. Needing 10 years to find someone as pathetic as....."
The executioner hit me in the face.
"Silence! Be grateful the existence of your race is ended by someone pure and enlighted like us Lyssans. And be honored that your death will be witnessed by our divine queen."
He pointed at the queen of the Lyssans who was watching from a small stage. So beautiful but at the ame time so cruel. She traveled days just for this event.
I smiled.
"Any last words human?"
"Humanity is done for. But there are other races out there who will continue to fight. And because we are so friendly we left you a little gift."
He scoffed.
"And what would that be? A Pile of rocks you call art?
"No, just a little spark. Oh and some bigger rocks."
The personal guard of the queen esorted her away and before the executioner could even realize what i meant his thoughts were interupted by the scared sreams of the soldiers.
"What the....."
The rebel forces really made it. They towed large asteroids to earths vincinity and now rained them upon the Lyssans. This was the last gift of humanity. To allow their friends to destroy their homeplanet.
The executioner rammed his sword into my chest and I fell to the ground.
Well, at least humanity went out with a bang and a smile.
| 2016-12-01T18:43:06 | 2016-12-01T18:42:26 | 532 | 187 |
[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
|
They warned us for years and we scoffed at them, idly balking at the idea that we were going to meet our doom, truly see the apocalypse unfurl here on our planet. Back on March 6, 2012 we had our last and final warning; we were all going to die. We took it all as some sort of fun game, laughing at the silly choices we made to sort through the misery and drudgery of our own lives, all the while not knowing that in reality it was an unspoken truth; humanity was sounding the marching drums of doom.
On December 17, 2020; we first noticed stars blinking out of existence, many of us weren’t terribly concerned over it but the space communities were already practically screaming with fear and warning us all about something that was approaching. Naturally most of us scoffed at the idea, how many times in the past had we had some sort of “near miss” by some extraterrestrial interstellar object? For example, the cigar shaped Oumuamua from 2016 that we laughed away with jokes about “welcoming our new insect overlords”; we were always so conceded about our mortality, always so quick to dismiss an extinction level event for humanity.
Over the course of ten days more and more of our skies grew dark. Familiar stars and constellations blinked out of existence only to be replaced by inky blackness. Then finally on December 28, 2020, they came. In Europe they were in sunlight, able to watch with horror as events unfolded. But here in America we were still in our night hours, awoken from sleep by a gut wrenching rumble that struck fear into all of our hearts, the animals went wild and fled into the wilderness; those of us who had even a modicum of intelligence followed them. The rest of us? We are being gathered up by the thousands and being harvested. We all had the warnings, but for many of us they were just a fairie tale. The Reapers have come to earth.
| 2020-03-24T04:08:25 | 2020-03-24T03:38:14 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
|
They never suspect a lesbian in disguise, do they?
“You’re... you’re a...?”
“Indeed, my fair lady.” A wink. A nod. A flip of my luxurious chocolate locks. Though this may sound narcissistic, as gorgeous as I appear in dresses and skirts, I looked far more alluring in my chainmail. Princess Lara, like many, was unprepared for this.
So many are.
The sword and shield clattered in her grip. “Stop trifling with me! Where is he? Where’s my true suitor? The one I spent a week with!”
“Right here, darling. Though it’s rather rude that you don’t recognize me outside of my skirts and jewels.”
Even through the sheen of her faceguard, I could see her lip tremble.
“You were... a servant girl?”
“Your handmaiden, actually. We shared many pleasantries together, some of which I know you enjoyed deeply.”
Her helmet practically steamed. “Nonsense! Where is the man I shared many a meal with!”
“Oh, him? That was my steward. The man couldn’t hold a sword to spare his life, honestly. Surely, that’s not the man you were hoping to spend the rest of your life with? We had such fun together...”
“Quiet! How can I believe you? You’re not my handmaiden! You couldn’t possib—“
My chest plate dropped to the grass. Though especially complicated to adorn, I find that my fingers are skillfully nimble. Lara liked that best about me, after all. Stabbing my sword into the ground, I lifted my undershirt to reveal a trail of darkened flesh.
“A token of your kindness, your majesty.” I smiled, tapping the lovebites she had left from the night before. From all around the people gasped. Royal guards flushed with embarrassment, and from afar I heard many a handmaiden cry as the queen fainted with dramatic flourish.
And though Lara’s mouth gaped with bashfulness, I did not cease in dismantling my knightly armor.
“Diana! For God’s sake, what are you doing?” She stammered, unable to comprehend the act.
“Why,” I said, “I am preparing to fight you as we fought in the last few nights.” At that, more gasps reigned in from the crowd. Shouting ensued after the King dropped in a faint, who had to be escorted out with the Queen. “But, in all honesty, it would be a great detriment to you if I were to fight with all my noble gear. That would put you at what I fear to be a great disadvantage. After all, I highly doubt you are as skilled as I in hand-to-hand combat.”
This, of course, was a bold-faced lie. I was skilled with a blade, sure, but I was no match for Princess Lara. Even after years of training, she would slaughter me in mere seconds. No, this act of undressing was part of a different ruse.
She flushed again, but this time with rage. “Silence, you bigoted fool!”
“Well, that’s not very ladylike.”
“What am I even to make of this trial? Suppose you could best me: what would our houses gain from matrimony? We cannot bear children together! Our family name would be desolate!”
I chuckled, tossing a boot in her direction. “To adopt one into royalty is not as uncommon as you would think. And to answer your question, our matrimony would bring our houses an alliance, one detrimental to future warfare. We discussed this briefly in your quarters, when you mistook me for a handmaiden—“
“Who dared to give you the title or honor of a prince befitting to challenge me in combat?”
The corner of my mouth rose slightly. “My father always wanted a son, but he was troubled with daughters instead. Eventually, he thought it best to make due with what he had. As the oldest, he thought it best to present me to you.”
With a final flick of my wrist, the rest of my armor clattered to the ground. Many around stared with awe and disgust. ‘What is worse about this trial of words’, I wondered: ‘a princess undressing, or a princess standing with the rights and privileges of a prince?’
The people couldn’t seem to make up their minds. But Princess Lara had. Her eyes were glued on all of the marks she’d left over my body. Her sword trembled pathetically in her hand as I watched her eyes trace the outline of my breasts. She dropped to her knees, defeated before the battle had truly begun.
No one ever expects a strip-tease during a trial of combat. Pragmatically speaking, it’s a foreign counter to any combat of the sort.
“I... surrender.” The words dropped from her mouth in defeat. Her eyes burned with hatred, but also with a sort of lust. I was not the stranger she had expected to win her hand, and I certainly was not the worst suitor she had been presented with.
With a hand extended her way, I inquired loudly, so that all around might hear: “So you accept my offer of matrimony?”
Princess Lara nodded, feebly removing her own helmet as she accepted my hand.
“An unexpected battle, but a battle well fought,” she whispered to me, watching the crowd around us light up in excitement.
A wink. “Only because you let me win, Princess.”
|
Many princes of the land had come to try their hand against the princess. None of them would succeed. She had more control over her sword than anyone Id seen. I had something they didnt though. I was the only girl there. No one knew it though. I kept my hood up and my hair short. I didnt have a chance when it came down to swords but I hoped everything would be ok regardless. One night I decided to go for a walk. I couldn't sleep there were a thousand things on my mind. The full moon and gleaming stars helped calmed my nerves. Then I saw her. She sat on a park bench. She looked so upset. I had to go over there. I walked to her and asked if I could sit,
"Do you know who I am." I decided to pretend I didnt,
"A beautiful Girl." I smiled at her and she gave a shy smile back. I sat down and we got to talking.
"I cant really explain it exactly. I'm expected to get engaged soon but every option I'm presented is unappealing. I told my dad I'm only marrying someone who could match my skill because no one can and I dont want to be stuck with a guy. I dont want a guy.... If you know what I mean. " A silence fell between us. I fell in love as I gazed into her eyes. Maybe on the day of the fight shed recognize me. Maybe she wouldn't. One thing was for sure. I was falling for her laugh and I was entranced by her eyes and if she didnt recognize me my life wouldn't be as grand as it could be because I knew right then that she was it.
| 2020-09-20T21:17:11 | 2020-09-20T21:10:55 | 55 | 34 |
[WP] Humans finally reach the stars and realize that... We've seen all of this before! Galactic Council? Check. Proud warrior race? Check. Hive mind insects? Check. Frightening space boogeymen? Check. Ancient hyper-advanced Race? Check. And so Humanity ventured forth, knowing exactly what to do.
|
“Oh, no. Not another mind-altering parasite trying to crawl up my nose. Whatever will I do?”
Cade could already feel his enthusiasm for the battle fading, lazily holding the tendril of the parasitic alien, watching the four-foot creature jump back and forth, trying to free its tendril from his hand, Cade holding the tendril just out of the creatures reach.
“G-give it back. I can’t absorb your memories if you keep grabbing it.” The alien whined, its attempts getting more desperate.
With a sigh, he let the tendril go, staring down at the creature. How could space be boring? That was the question he gave his mother before joining the first intergalactic voyage program. A world of unexplored wonders. It was like being one of the first explorers on Earth. He missed the optimism he once had, arriving in space only to find it filled with more clichés than a poorly made sci-fi flick.
“Aha, my grand manipulation worked, you have freed my tendril and now you are my prey.”
The alien flashed a fanged grin, stabbing the tendril towards Cade, only to pause, watching the tendril reach his chin before stopping. The tendril desperately pushed up a few times, but they already stretched it as far it as it could go. Did the parasite forget how tall humans were?
“Bend down a little, please.” The alien said, pushing onto its tippy toes, trying to reach his nose, finding Cade’s attempt at battle rather unsportsmanlike.
“Bend down? Look, I’m sorry. I only came here to collect some groceries. None of the aliens here interest me. I’m sure another human might come here next week, or maybe a Glitan?”
Cade stepped past the small parasite, tapping his purple wristwatch, the display shooting up with a hologram, showing him the location of the grocery drop. To think one of Earth’s first explorers was doing grocery pick ups to get money. At least the pay was good. Picking up a delivery on a dangerous planet always got you some extra cash. Not that the parasites were much danger to him, at least not in small numbers.
“Ah, come on. Let’s have a space battle, come on.”
The parasite continued to nag Cade, jumping up towards his back. The alien poking him with their tendril, trying to grab his attention, not getting much of a response from the human. Cade waited for a blip to appear on his location drop, motioning the parasite to stand back as a missile crashed into the ground before, nearly knocking them off their feet.
In the small crater, Cade would find a supply box filled with groceries. It was bizarre to send groceries to such a dangerous planet, but apparently that was the only way for them to maintain their freshness. The pollution from safer planets causing issues with the cargo. He went to bend down, ready to grab the groceries, only to roll his eyes, seeing the surprise attack a mile away.
“Got your tendril.” He shouted, snatching it from the air, the parasite pausing, mouth agape, surprised Cade caught them.
“Stop, ow, that really hurts, how did you see it coming? Do you have eyes on the back of your head? Or heat sensors?”
“I saw it because I’m not a gullible idiot. Stop pestering me, I’m about to leave, anyway.”
“Leave? Come on, stay a little longer. It’s boring here, no one ever visits. I won’t attack you.”
“Really? Then don’t attack me while I load the ship and I’ll stay a little longer.”
“Deal!”
Cade had no intention of staying in such a dull place, but it was easier to lie to the alien then continue thwarting its attacks. Releasing the tendril, he snatched the supply box, carrying it to the ship. Sliding his hands along the metallic storage compartment on its exterior, opening it up and placing the cargo inside.
He took a quick look over his shoulder, not catching sight of the alien anywhere. “Must have got bored watching me.” He said, heading onto the ship. Slipping into the captain’s chair, he began entering the coordinates for Artimus Prime. Did he feel guilty about leaving before saying goodbye to the parasite? Of course not, the memory sucker can rot for all he cares.
As the ship took to the sky, he reclined back, enjoying the brief warm sensation of a job well done, only to feel a hard tapping at his shoulder.
“Where are we going?” A voice asked, the alien peering over his shoulder, staring out at the vast darkness of space.
“You snuck onto my ship.” Cade didn’t have the energy to get angry or shocked, just feeling a slight annoyance that he didn’t see such an obvious cliché coming.
“Ya-ha. I didn’t think you would stay, so I snuck on, pretty clever, right?”
“What part of it was clever? You are on a stranger’s ship with no weapons, forced to go wherever I want to. I could sell you to an organ dealer on some shady planet.”
“Huh?” The parasite stared at Cade, dumbfounded, never considering the possibility. “AH, I have to get out of here.” The alien rushed towards the airlock, causing Cade to rush after them.
“Don’t open that or we both die. Look, I won’t hurt you. How about I just return you to your planet?”
“Stop it! Stay back.” The parasite continued making its way towards the airlock, placing its hands on the handle, a few tears spilling from its eyes. “Are you a good person?”
“Yes, I’m a good person, a great person, just don’t open the door.”
“Heh, then I have nothing to worry about. Where are we going then?” The tears stopped, and the grin returned, successfully outplaying the human. “Now that I know you’re good, I can relax. Come on, it will be like having a crewmate. I’m Jalis.”
Cade couldn’t believe it. He knew everything about this generic universe and still got caught off-guard by some lowly parasite. Accepting that there was nothing else he could do in this situation, he shrugged his shoulders, returning to his seat.
“Artimus Prime. It’s a trading hub in the Moliop galaxy. I’m Cade if you must know, just know I’ll be ditching you on some planet as soon as I get the chance.”
“Good luck with that captain.” Jalis teased, leaning over his chair as she glanced at his monitor, trying to read the map.
“I don’t need luck. Just keep your tendril away from me and we will get along nicely for the duration of this trip.”
“Of course, can’t have you braindead or we both die. I can’t fly a ship after all.”
With that, Jalis took her spot at his side, pointing out the strange blips on the monitor, blips that were far too common for Cade to get excited about. While the parasite may not have entered his mind, she entered his ship and had no plans to leave soon.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
Jason stood in the alien swamp and looked around him. The place was deserted, or so it seemed at first glance. A veteran consumer of science fiction, Jason was quite aware of the possibilities. He also knew that naivete was the only way to drag whatever lurked in the swamp out of it. So he did exactly that, behave naively.
His high black boots plopped around the swamp, and he held his gun in a relaxed manner. An expression of dumb curiosity glazed over his face as he looked around him.
Then came the scuttling, the scurrying, the sounds of giant insects running about him, invisible but noisy. Ah, so it's one of those, Jason said to himself and readied himself for the alien mounted on a giant insect that would soon ambush him and try to kill him.
And there it came just as expected -- a little red-skinned man, lean and mean, with a quivering bow ready to fire an arrow at the supposedly naive visitor.
Jason, who had been expecting the man to show up right that moment, however, had other plans, and he promptly shot the head off of the insect the little red man was mounted upon.
With his gun pointed at the alien's head, Jason said, "What are you? Where am I?"
The alien said something in a language Jason did not understand. Of course, he had forgotten about the translator chip. Promptly Jason jammed a translator chip down the red alien's throat, and the message came to him loud and clear.
"Go away! Go back to where you came from. We are a proud race of warriors, and we will protect our planet till our dying breath!"
Jason sighed, one of those, he thought. "Where is your big ore of extremely precious mineral?" He asked in a disaffected voice.
"Mineral? Ore? What are you talking about?"
Yikes, Jason thought. How could he have forgotten? Of course, the little red warrior knew nothing of ores and minerals and the like.
"The..." Jason struggled to articulate himself. "The...whatever thing you use for a ritual. A big rock? An ancient tree? A place of power? Healing waterfall? I don't know."
"The Maghasa!"
"Yes, that," Jason said. "Now tell me where it is, or I'll blow your brains off as I did with your giant cockroach."
The red warrior alien glanced at his now headless animal. "Do with me what you like. I am a proud warrior. I won't sell my land out just for this pathetic, puny thing called life."
Now Jason knew that this man, despite his promising background as a seasoned warrior, would be of no help and would only cause problems further down the line. Promptly he reduced the red alien warrior to a headless red alien warrior.
Seeing that his job was done, Jason used the satellite phone issued to him and checked in with headquarters.
"They have a thing called Maghasa down here."
"Do you know exactly what it is?"
"No. Not my job, is it? Send the alien sympathizer down so he can find out. Airlift me as quick as possible. They'll come for my head, the red alien bastards. You know how it goes. I don't want to be the mandatory cautionary tale."
"Fine. We'll be picking you up in ten minutes at your location. Find some cover, don't be cocky, and beware of the wild beasts."
"Yes, I will be quite ready. I presume the boss's talks with the galactic council are proceeding as expected?"
"You're just a cronie. Stick to what you know."
"Yes, of course, I will."
Jason terminated the call and waited on high ground for any sneaky animals. He knew the drill.
| 2021-05-12T08:11:13 | 2021-05-12T07:10:31 | 1,191 | 452 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough
|
It wasn't often that my interactions with the Galaxy Guardian's got emotional. I'd put on a show, scream about how the little brats would get what's coming. It was never personal though, and for the most part as their teacher I was very proud of them. This however, was breaking my heart. Just taking it and ripping it in two.
They needed to be better when the time came. They needed to work together as a team properly. They needed to understand and utilize their powers better. They NEEDED TO NOT ABANDON A MEMBER OF THEIR TEAM FOR OVER A MONTH! Okay, calm down, you gotta remember something Miss Mystique. They're teenagers, not even seniors.
I knew there were problems with team cohesion, I could tell from school. Guardians Ursa and Draco constantly fought with each other, and were constantly ignoring Lyra. The biggest issue however had always been Corvus. The girl had problems. Orphan, staying at the school because of a government program. Anti-social, touchy, had a tendency to put others down. Frankly a mess.
But she was smart. There was a reason she had gotten the Corvus Gem. She has the cleverness of a raven, and used the gems powers well. But again, the issue of the rest of them being idiot teenagers. It wasn't something with powerful combat applications. Who needs scouting when you could move super fast, heal people by singing, or shoot fire from your hands?
The plan was simple. Kidnap the girl, deprive them of their information. Teach them all a lesson about needing each other. You think it'd be simple, right? I knew it wasn't going to be that simple after my forces captured her. The Erinyes had her bound in their ropes, and I was about to start a little speech I prepared when she cut me off. "Don't bother gloating, they're not coming. Whatever you're going to do to me, just fucking do it."
The sheer bitterness in her voice stopped me in my tracks. I almost broke character then, but I managed to just purse my lips and make things curt. Took the gem, and had them drop her in one of the crystal cells. Now, things go as normal as I wait for them to figure out how to get to my lair and save them. Or so I thought it would go.
A full month has passed, and they weren't any closer than they had began. They talked big, saying I wouldn't get away with it. They'd rescue her. I would have given them the benefit of the doubt, if not for school. Being their literal teacher had its benefits, and I was able to observe them in class. The only one who seemed concerned was Guardian Lyra, bless her heart. The others... just didn't seem to care at all. I even tried poking them in the right direction, and nothing!
Corvus began to crack after about two weeks. Sharlene bringing her food and talking to the girl helped, but I couldn't keep her here for a month. Especially since a week ago she started crying herself to sleep. It was one such night, with me staring at a crystal ball, watching one of my students curled on the bed crying. I couldn't take it anymore. She deserved better.
With a wave of arcane gesture and incantation, I teleported myself into her cell. She shot up in an instant, eyes puffy red and thick black hair an absolute mess. She stared at me for a moment before lunging at me with a fist. Without the power of her gem, it was child's play to catch it in a hand. I simply stared at her sadly as she glared back at me, the two standing like that. "You weren't wrong when you said they didn't care, did you?"
"What the fuck do you care? You're the one that put me in here?!" She practically screamed, yanking her fist free. I let her, ducking the swing she threw following that. We went like that for a bit, her venting her frustration with her fists and me just dodging. Eventually she tired, panting as she glared at me.
"I put you in here because you deserved better. I never intended for you to be here this long." She gave me a look like I was crazy and I ran a hand over my face. How do I hide the truth and still get the point across... "You Guardian's are so pathetic, it's not even fun to fight you. How often have you all almost lost because of something stupid, only to win through pure luck?"
She opened her mouth to respond, only for me to cut her off. "How often does Ursa and Draco arguing get you all noticed? How often does Centaurus rush ahead before you can scout? How often does Lyra have the correct answer to a problem and just gets ignored? How often are you ignored when providing valuable information, because your leader has the tactical acumen of a sponge?"
Her mouth clicked shut and she just stared at me wide-eyed. I hit the nail on the head it seems. Letting out a sigh, I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm going to let you in on a secret. I don't actually hate any of you. I might scream about you all being brats and all that, but that's more a diversionary tactic than anything. At most you mildly frustrate me. And as much as you might think it, I'm not so heartless as to be able to ignore a girl crying herself to sleep. So," I sat myself down on the small bed in the cell "let's have a little heart to heart Vanessa."
|
\[Poem\]
I knew we'd be together
for a long time
when I put that electron collar on you
and dragged you back to my mountaintop fortress
please, don't be
angry
I set the collar's zapper to 'gentle' first.
You had me not at "Let me go you monster!"
but at
"Set the harmonics on the maser to 74.43nm pronto, they have a shielded mech"
from when we first met those years ago
(and I've listened to that audio 1000 times just to hear your beautiful voice)
or maybe when you half-smiled
when my 80 foot dragon was shot down
his name was Abeloth and I raised him from an egg
he was my baby
and I still miss him still,
but I couldn't help, returning your
precious smile that night.
or maybe when
That obnoxious SuperSally was hit by
my
supersonic
depleted
uranium
cannonball
and without hesitation
you jumped into that fiery crater
to help her.
Don't worry, I heard she...mostly survived
Anyway, you're mine now
Captain Toronto isn't coming for you
is he?
I readied a 500 large robot phalanx
to thwart your rescue
that never came.
The Greeks aren't coming to Troy
my dearest Helen.
But how could you love me
in return
afterall I'm a giant robot with
an AI brain, 1000x smarter than your
einsteins or edisons
Dry your tears,
an idea came
and tomorrow it goes from the
fevered dream of angsty circuits
to a meaty reality
so enjoy your last day as human
my love
because in the morning,
I take out your lovely brain
and put it into a wonderful
nuclear powered
50 foot
robot
just
in
time
for
our
wedding.
| 2021-08-04T16:47:21 | 2021-08-04T16:04:15 | 132 | 14 |
[WP] Your sole duty was to collect the cheap loot that got neglected. The hero and the others were arguing about who would keep the big loot when you kicked a random pebble out of frustration. A message pops up in your head, "You have defeated the Behemoth, you got 1.000,000 points of XP as reward."
|
***It is January 8th, 2021.*** *CNN interviews videogame creator Martin Nowak on live television. He is not aware that FBI agents are en-route to his house with a warrant for his arrest. He doesn’t know that he will never be a free man again.*
*I know this. I do not lift a finger for him.*
**Martin:** No, that’s not what I said. Stop it, stop lying. I was clear from the beginning. No one took me seriously. That’s your problem, not mine. What I said from day one was the truth. I did not make this game. I did not write the code. Not one line. All I did was give it a platform.
**Interviewer:** You didn’t?
**Martin:** No. I found it.
**Interviewer:** Then who did?
**Martin:** \[Throws hands up in the air\] God, if that’s what you want to call it.
. . . . . .
***It is December 29th, 2020.*** *I hear a group of children. Not many make it this far.*
“Dude,” Isaac says over the mic, his warlock jumping in place, “Your brother sucks. Like, I know he’s only twelve, or whatever, but damn.”
The archer, Dylan, chimes in too. “Yeah, Caleb’s cute and all but he’s gotta go. We’re screwed if he comes up against Behemoth with us.”
Chris, the two-handed warrior, rubs his temples. “I know, I know, alright, I’m sorry. If I don’t let him play with me while I babysit, my parents will ban me from the computer again.”
The others groan. Chris looks across his desk, past the makeshift gaming station he set up on the other side of the room for his little brother, to the half-open door. He sees it move.
Caleb stands behind it, his ear against the wood. He bites his trembling lip. He holds two plates of pizza in his hands. One for him, one for his big brother.
Chris types, “Shut up, he’s back.” He mutes his mic.
“Caleb?”
Caleb steps out from behind the door.
“Hey, man,” Chris says, feigning happiness, “Thanks for grabbing that! You ready to kick some butt?”
“Yeah.” Caleb sets the pizza down and takes his spot in front of the spare computer. It’s old and blocky. Chris fetched it out of the basement. He never expected the game to actually run on it, but by some miracle it does – in fact, it runs flawlessly. On a ten year old machine.
The other guys welcome Caleb back with jokes and fake words of encouragement. He heard what they said. He tries to pretend like he didn’t, but in his mind he’s asking himself why he’s even here. Why everyone seems to belong except him. Even in the game, when he can be whoever he wants, he becomes an outcast. A spare part. A burden.
As the party approaches the final stage of the dungeon, Behemoth’s Palace, Caleb unmutes his mic. “Hey guys, I’m going to go back and look for any loot we missed. You go start the fight without me.”
“Are you sure?” Isaac asks, “we could use you, bud!”
“Yeah, c’mon, Caleb.”
He dismisses them. He knows it’s all lies. He starts back up the path, checking every little room and antechamber, all the corpses, all the chests and broken crates.
He hears his brother and his friends as they start the fight – coordinating their moves, focused, intense, but thrilled. He feels the stinging pain of being left out, yet again.
As Caleb walks an empty hallway, he kicks a pebble across the stone floor.
*He kicks me.*
Caleb is seized by a swirl of dark magic. It explodes from the pebble and encircles his character. The purple flashes from the dusty computer screen reflect in his eyes.
The little hairs on his arms stand up, like he is being charged with static electricity.
A message on screen: “You have defeated Behemoth. Your reward is 1,000,000 XP points. Would you like to share this reward with your party?”
It gives him two options: Yes or No.
The lights flicker over their heads. Chris looks round, momentarily breaking his focus on Behemoth’s minions. “Caleb? What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Caleb says. He coughs. His voice sounds funny. Deep.
Chris stands up from his chair. His friends start yelling at him – their tank is officially AFK.
Chris walks over to Caleb’s computer. “Caleb. What did you do?”
He sees the message. He sees “1,000,000 XP points.” Caleb’s cursor hovers over the ‘Yes’ button. Yes, maybe he will share it with his party.
“Holy shit,” Chris says, grabbing Caleb around the shoulders. “Holy shit!”
He rushes back to his computer and grabs the mic. “Guys, guys, you won’t believe this…”
To Caleb, the sound of his big brother’s voice fades into the background. He feels a power surging through the keyboard, through the mouse, up his arms and into his eyes.
“No,” Caleb says.
Chris turns. “Huh?”
He sees Caleb move the cursor to “No,” and he drops his mic. “Wait, Caleb – wait!”
Caleb clicks “No.” He takes the 1,000,000 XP for himself. All of it. In more ways than he could possibly imagine, he has chosen to go on his next journey alone.
Immediately his character begins the animation for levelling up, expounding a cloud of gold rings – over and over it levels up, and with each level his character grows. In strength, in size, in power. In dimensions.
The lights over their heads fizzle and pop. Chris ducks as sparks start raining down on them. "Uh-oh, okay, uh, something's happening."
Caleb’s computer starts to glow from the inside. Caleb tries to pull his hands away from the computer but he can’t – it’s like they’re glued onto it.
Everything electronic in the room starts to explode, bursting into electrical fires.
“Caleb!” Chris grabs his brother and yanks, but he can’t move him. Nothing can. Caleb tries to speak, to tell Chris to run, but he can’t even do that. He can't even scream for help.
*He is inanimate.*
Within minutes, fire runs up the walls, spreading across the floor, catching the drapes, the carpet, the bedding – Chris’s friends’ voices are screaming on the other side of the mic. Until Chris’s computer collapses into a fiery pile, and they fall silent.
A chunk of the roof falls on the brothers – Chris is knocked to the floor. As he pushes himself free, he sees a piece of wood come down on Caleb’s head, but it bounces right off, like he’s in some sort of protective shield. Nothing can touch him.
“Caleb, just stay there! I’m getting help – don’t move! Whatever it is you’re doing,” Chris bolts, headed for the front door, “just keep doing it! It's keeping you safe!”
. . . . . .
***It is January 9th, 2021.*** *FBI agents interrogate the videogame developer Martin Nowak. He is on the verge of a psychotic breakdown.*
**Martin:** And that’s another thing – I never said anyone “came to life.”
**FBI Agent:** Yes, you did, on December 30th, when the first internet videos were posted—”
**Martin:** No, I’ve been misquoted. I did not say ‘Behemoth has come to life.”
**FBI Agent:** Then what did you say?
**Martin:** Behemoth has come to Earth.
. . . . . .
Chris stands on the lawn, his cellphone dropping into the grass from his limp hand, as he stares at the pile of smoldering rubble that used to be his home.
Standing in the center, over six feet tall, is Caleb’s videogame character, at his maximum level, in the glowing, apocalyptic endgame gear. A blue aura emanates from his body.
He walks toward Chris.
“Caleb?” he asks, his voice cracking, “Caleb, is that you?”
*No. I am not Caleb.*
*Not anymore.*
r/ididwritethismr
|
I didn't mean to do it, I truly didn't.
I just wanted to be close to him, close to the hero, and so he gave me a job. I was to be his mule, the one who carried his burdens and held all the lesser trinkets he couldn't bother himself with. That was fine by me. As long as I could stand beside him -- well, not beside, but a little further away where I wasn't at risk of being struck by the monster -- that was enough to make me happy. To watch him swing his blade like a world-class dancer, to have a front row ticket to that show every day, it was perfect. I was better suited for this role; I never wanted to be the hero.
They were arguing again. I hated it when they did this. Why couldn't they split the loot evenly? *I did more damage*, the assassin cried, knowing full well he wouldn't have been able to do that damage without somebody drawing the attention away from him. *I kept everyone alive*, the cleric argued, knowing full well that was the only reason why she was there. *Hey, you can't take all the credit, I kept everyone alive too!* the warrior shouted, louder than the cleric.
I felt bad for the behemoth, the giant beast who laid there, hanging onto life by a thread, suffering, with slashes running down its body and gouged chunks of flesh missing and unattached limbs scattered around, shallowly breathing. It suffered, waiting for the decisive blow, while the others argued about material things. Somebody, please, put it out of its misery, I thought to myself, knowing it was not my place to command the party. I was just a mule.
Under my breath, to myself, I hummed the poem my mother used to read me, trying to block the angry voices out. I walked around in an ignorant daze, looking at the floor, not knowing where I was going. I saw a pebble and kicked it in a random direction. Or, at least, I thought it was a random direction.
In front of me, in big block letters: "YOU HAVE DEFEATED THE BEHEMOTH, YOU GOT 1,000,000 POINTS OF XP AS A REWARD."
Fanfare played, confetti rained from the ceiling, and every member of the party, twenty faces, all stared at me.
"H-hey, guys..." I said. I only knew a few of their names, the ones who were nice enough to talk to me. Betsy and Carol, Arnold and Anthony. I saw their faces within the collage and even they looked angry.
My face felt hot, and I knew I was blushing. It was an accident. They'd understand, right?
Suddenly, all the healers shrugged their shoulders and left. Then, the tanks did as well. One by one, everyone disappeared. The yelling stopped, but something else took its place. The feeling reminded me of being back in class, answering a problem the teacher asks, and, even though I'm sure I have the right answer, it's wrong, and everyone looks at me and giggles, and even the teacher, the one who is supposed to be the beacon of hope in this dungeon filled with bullies, makes a face, and I blush, just like I was doing then.
Almost everyone was gone now, it was just me and my hero, the one I muled for, the one I adored. He came up to me and, with a frown on his face, put his hand on my shoulder.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said, "I know everyone wants to be the hero sometimes, but that was wrong."
I tried to explain, tried to tell him about how it was an accident, and I just wanted to make the arguing stop, and how it reminded me of my parents, and how I was just there to watch him dance, and how I was so sorry, and how I would give him the loot, and how I hoped I could still help him, and how I wished he wouldn't leave me, like the others.
"It's not about that," he said, his body slowly fading away as he teleported out of the dungeon, "it's not about any of that. Maybe one day you'll understand."
And he was gone, and I was all alone. My body was bigger now, due to the levels I gained, and the cheap rags I had on began to tear. I put on something else, some armor that had never been good enough for him, and, even though my body filled it out nicely, somehow I still felt naked. Exposed. Empty.
From my inventory I tossed out the item I had gained from the behemoth. I didn't need it, and it would only serve as a reminder of the time I messed up.
I just wanted to be his friend...
| 2022-01-05T12:41:25 | 2022-01-05T12:16:09 | 796 | 279 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult.
|
I live in a world where your abilities are everything. They are a crystallization of your personality, and your strength of will. That's why no one believes me when I say I'm powerless. They simply don't understand. I look at the world around me, I see the way people act. Tough fronts, barbed tongues, fake smiles, idiocy, and worst of all this abilitocracy that values only those with strength. Not literal strength, strength of personality. Strength of will. The crystals of those people wield an unfathomable power we use to run our world.
I saw the disparity, and I wished to be weak. I wanted to hear the whispers of the ants. I wanted to be able to hug the most fragile clouds with all my might and yet not change it's shape. I wanted to be able to look anyone in the eyes and make them feel safe. I wanted to be gentle, so I chose to be weak. Now you're waiting for me to explain the horror of my choice. How I couldn't protect the people I wanted to protect, or how my weakness is something I regretted that caused my doom. But I could never love any desicion more than I loved my choice to be weak.
I was harmless. I gave off an aura of safety. I was trustworthy and dependable. I was able to go anywhere and do almost anything because I was never seen as any sort of threat to security. My words would gently infiltrate the brains of those who heard me. My information was taken as fact because I was so dependable. I could walk right into the white house carrying a bomb, and security would at most be mildly concerned before letting me pass. These traits made me the perfect information dealer.
I had a direct line to every politician in the world. They paid good money for information, but they paid even more for me to feature them in one of my YouTube videos. A few words from me were shown to be the most effective form of advertisement. No one but a politician took the time to notice I decided the winner of every election I had a hand in.
Perhaps 'weak' is the wrong word to describe my power. It's simply the most convenient, other descriptions are too long for my taste. 'The power to be seen as a trustworthy individual who would never turn against you and do everything they could to help you even though they alone are powerless but they seem like a knowledgeable individual that knows the answer to everything and makes you feel safe even if the world is crumbling around you and your life is falling to pieces at least you know you can at least kill insects and that gives you some measure of control especially when compared to this guy who can't even cut a string with a pair of really sharp scissors.' Just seems a bit too wordy.
I'm fine with being weak. Even before I discovered the value of my power as an information dealer, I loved the power I ended up with. I didn't have to worry about my anger hurting someone I loved because I couldn't hurt a fly. I had a smile I could share with the kid who was kidnapped, and help him trust adults again. When I was caught in a bank robbery with hostages involved, I was chosen to be the hostage they held at gunpoint while they threatened the police, but they couldn't bring themself to pull the trigger. I was able to marry my husband because he was able to get past his trust issues. My children still came to me with their problems even though they were teenagers. I embraced my weakness, because I knew accepting it could empower other people to accept theirs. We're all human. Everyone has flaws and cracks they feel are going to break them, because we aren't perfect.
"I love my weakness, but if there was one thing I could regret in this lifetime dear, it would be how I couldn't save you from yourself. You were always such a hero." I felt my tears drag themselves across my face, carrying for me a burden I had yet to completely let go of. My eyes fought my tears back, and I got more than a little choked up as I knelt in front of my husband's grave. I tried to pull my voice together. "The children you saved are all growing up to be wonderful people. Most of them don't even have scars from that fire." I failed, and my voice broke as I recalled the fire. He kept going in again and again to save as many as he could. Every time he looked like he would almost give up. For all he was a hero, he was only human. Every time he ran out with a fresh burn on his skin and another child saved, I thought he would give in. He knew he wasn't invincible. He knew he couldn't save everyone. He knew, eventually, that he wouldn't have the strength to go in again. But one look at me, and he gathered himself to charge in again. And again. And again. "You always told me I had the power to make people accept their weakness because I could whole heartedly accept my own. I just wish I could accept you're gone."
I kept crying by his grave for a very long time. When I finally ran out of tears, I returned home and sent the children off to school before I pulled together my appearance with a bit of makeup, a hair tie, and a business suit. I couldn't look sloppy as I presented a proposal for world peace with the world's richest, most famous, and most politically powerful people in the world live on my YouTube channel. My husband always told me it was my weakness that made me strong, that made it seem like I would change the world. As I slammed my door behind me, I was determined to prove him right.
|
Incognito was having an introduction dinner with his team. They were a nice group of people from what he could tell so far, but he hadn’t had the chance to really feel them out.
The conversation had turned to powers and how they got them and as each explanation was given, as each person gradually turned to look at him expectantly, his hands tightened around his mug of tea.
“So Incognito,” Teena (named for her ability to shrink) “what did your powers manifest from?”
He laughed, discomfort not far from the surface. The memory was rising to the surface, even as he fought it down (considering Netali, the group’s empath, was giving him a *look*).
\--
There were few times in Pelle’s life that he experienced honest-to-god urgency. Considering that most of them had to do with school assignments, that wasn’t saying much for that particular threshold of his. But, however lacking his hypothetical alter ego was, he was satisfied with his lot in life. Liked it, even.
As Pelle felt power wreathing itself around his skin, he was considered changing his mind on that last point.
“Pelle?” His mom called into his room. “Pelle, where are you?”
He didn’t answer, hunched over at his desk and breathless as he was. Every muscle was frozen. His finger jammed the volume button on his computer down hard enough to crack the key.
She let go of the knob, leaving the door ajar as she went back downstairs. Pelle could hear her calling for his father, asking where he was. He had no idea how he was going to explain this to his family, but as he closed out of a tab with the address “anal smasher 2” he decided that whatever he came up with was going to have to be good.
\--
"It's . . . uh, hard to talk about?"
| 2019-09-08T12:23:03 | 2019-09-08T12:05:54 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] A meteor strikes the Earth, and everyone seems to get superpowers… everyone except you. You’ll do anything to figure out what yours are, but the world has changed and your options are desperate.
|
**Mo' Powers Mo' Problems**
The *Ironeor*. I know you won’t believe me, but I actually came up with the name, and I never lie. Not ever. Not before, at least. My names usually ain’t too creative, but this one, man, this one spread like blood from a headshot. It got everywhere, absolutely everywhere, kind of like that time I—
Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. So Ironeor. The -eor part was easy, it was a freakin meteor, duh. The iron- part, no it ain’t had nothin’ to do with metal.
My bro, my mostly-bones, twiggy lil’ bro, getting car-lifting, steel-bending, honest to goodness super strength. Or Rufus, Mr. I-once-tried-to-walk-a-hot-dog Rufus, who’s now able to melt things with his mind.
They all got powers, all of ’em. Powers exactly the opposite of the shmuck’s natural abilities. You know what that is? That's ironic. So there ya go: the ironeor. You know what else that is? Unfair. Friggin unfair! Cuz everyone got these cool powers, everyone ‘cept me.
Overnight, I went from the biggest baddy on the block to a friggin powerless nobody. Peckin orders with a powerless head honcho rooster’s aint gonna last long with brain-blasting subordinates, not even if those brainblasters are Rufus-level morons. Oh man, Rufus that dumb mother—
Sorry, sorry.
Out of the ironeor’s chaos, new power structures were gonna emerge. I needed to come out back on top. I needed powers. I needed ‘em fast.
So I started asking around, but I had to be all sly-like. Near total isolation. Couldn’t let everyone know I didn’t have no powers, that wouldn’t a been good, not for a guy with a reputation like mine. You see, that’s what I ruled with – my reputation. And the bedrock of my reputation was that I never, ever lied. If I said you better pay or I’d get your family, and then you didn’t pay? Oh boy, from your grandma to your grandson’s dog, you ain’t gonna have no family no more. I dunno why I’m that way, just the way I was raised. Good morals, ya know? But in this crazy new world, when those grandmas might have diamond skin or laser eyes, how was I supposed to keep my promises?
Anyway, I get some leads. Apparently there’s a guy called The Grabber who can “grab thoughts out of your mind,” and he’s helped a few suckers figure out how to use their powers. I imagined he’d gotten these grabbin’ powers since, um, he didn’t have any hands. There were a few problems with goin’ to him though. First, he ain’t never helped someone with no powers, he helped people power up ones they already had. Two, he was, uh, let’s just say someone I’d made a promise to before. As in, I’d told him I’d chop off his hands if he didn’t give us a hand with something. I’m still proud of that one.
Despite these challenges, I had to try. Some woman called Fempower, with invincibility, and super strength, and friggin flight, I mean add insult to injury over here, had formed a clan that was takin over the city, slaughtering thousands of innocent people. Just terrible, right? That was supposed to be me!
Soon enough, I’m knockin on The Grabber’s door. Hiding behind a disguise seemed pointless against a mind reader, so I didn’t bother. Plus, that really wasn’t my style. I hid behind a shotgun instead and had Rufus standing around the corner as backup.
I swear I told him not to make a move, not to use his powers, not to do anything or I’d blow his brains out. He recognized me, I seen it in his eyes, he knew exactly who I was. And yet… he rushed at me, even shouted “no you won’t!” and I felt him try to use his friggin powers! No I won’t? What gives? I was almost so insulted I didn’t pull the trigger. Boom. Splatter. Screams. Rufus runs around the corner and asked what happened. Despite seeing the man with a head clearly blown off from a shotgun, and me clearly holding a shotgun, he still somehow couldn’t put it together. That dumb mother— sorry, sorry. I told him wuddu think happened, I told him I shot him.
Rufus looked back, confused, and asked what really happened. Now, since this was Rufus, I almost believed he really couldn’t get it. But this was way past even Rufus-level stupidity.
Then it dawned on me, and from there it was almost too easy.
I went around the whole city and told everyone the simple truth, like I always did: that I didn’t have any powers. That I was as weak and useless as before the Ironeor. And most of all, that we definitely shouldn’t call it the Ironeor, because that was a horrible name.
And just like that, no one believed me. No matter what I said, no matter how true it was, nobody believed me. Even Fempower thought I was lying. I was, once again, feared. What could my power actually be?
It's a strange sort of power for a straight-talker like me. I’ve got to be crafty with my words and I can never really say what I mean. If I’m being honest with ya, I don’t really even like it. But there is one nice thing about it. I can tell shmucks like you all my secrets. I know you’ll never believe me.
\_\_\_
Had to have a go at this one myself this lovely morning. If you enjoyed this, come on over to my newly created r/carlstories, where you'll soon find stories I don't publish anywhere else and sequels to my greatest hits. Speaking of which, want to know what happens to this unnamed narrator next?
|
I looked up from my phone in confusion. What the hell was that loud noise outside at 2 am? I threw aside my curtains and stared up in shock as my phone dropped from my hands. Something strange and glowing was falling rapidly from the night sky and it was coming right at my house! Before I could even think to run, the meteorite crashed into my yard in a fiery explosion and I felt myself being thrown back against a wall by the impact as the whole house started rumbling and falling down around me. I tried rising to my feet, but then, something struck me in the head and everything faded to black as I felt blood run down my cheek.
I woke up a week later in a abandoned hospital, only to find myself in a world that had gone utterly insane. Apparently, shortly after the meteorite had crash landed in my yard, almost every human being had been transformed into massive tentacled beasts with a hunger for madness and blood. Instantly, anarchy had enveloped the world as millions of monsters tore each other apart in a neverending battle for supremacy. I was the only human left from what I could tell and I had no idea why. I did the only thing I could think of and snuck into the sewers to make my way back to the burnt remains of my home. I thought maybe if I could find the meteorite, I could figure out what the hell had happened to Earth.
Finally, after hours of traveling in the dark and making sure that there were no monsters nearby, I climbed out of a manhole and walked into my yard. There, I found the meteorite, glowing in mysterious colors never before seen on Earth. I hesitated for a few seconds, but something told me that I needed to touch it if I wanted to get an answer to my questions. So, with my hand shaking in trepidation, I reached out and touched the meteorite, and for the first time, I truly grasped my horrific reality.
I was still there, trapped under the rubble of my house. My flesh had practically melted off my bones and my limbs had been crushed and mangled under the weight of a thousand bricks, and yet, somehow I still lived. The strange energy of the meteorite was keeping my brain going, keeping myself stuck in this bizarre fever dream. I screamed as I bashed my head over and over again into the meteorite, but no matter how bad the pain got, I couldn't kill myself. After all, none of it was real. There was no escaping this hell.
| 2022-07-15T07:44:39 | 2022-07-15T07:32:06 | 195 | 60 |
[WP] The ancient wizard has lived in the mountains for millennia. The apprentices seeking power are fine. The adventurers seeking treasure can be dealt with. But what is really starting to get annoying are the historians.
|
''*Out I tell you! Out of my tower you misbegotten churls! Begone from my sight lest I afflict you with the Great Curse of Lost Lemuria!* Sending out some small cantrips from my staff, I make them fear that I am charging up a great spell, rather than some meagre magical party-tricks. It suffices, and they flee in terror. Not that I'd ever harm them, not truly. They are not evil, all things considered. Merely curious. I've dealt with power-hungry apprentices, who always try and inevitably fail to coax power from demons or fey, I've dealt with teams of adventurers and knights trying to claim my vast and ancient treasures. Even when that dragon came to challenge me for it, I had a method for dealing with her. Largest apprentice I've ever had, one of the better ones too.
I figured living atop a great mountain, in an ancient tower-fortress built in the Hyperborean age, during the Mage Wars between now sunken Atlantis, dread Mu, and lost Lemuria, would ensure that irritants such as greedy warlords, vain kings, and solicitors, stayed away. And for ages only those seeking wisdom or to challenge me came. But the world has changed. Which admittedly was inevitable, I've lived here for thousands of years, ever since I forged my staff with great aid from the mighty Völundr the Smith, why shouldn't the world have changed? The mountaineers were interesting, and made for some very different and enlightening apprentices. But now, they come for me. Always they come, demanding answers. Historians and archaeologists. Some are more pleasant than others, but I am not an infinite source of knowledge. I don't know which king was which, or what the Indus Valley Civilisation was. Before I settled down in my great tower, I travelled. A lot. They ask me about the building of the pyramids, I tell them I was busy learning the magical secrets of the last mammoth-shamans, before their hairy charges went extinct. When I was in Egypt those great big tombs had been there for nearly a thousand years already. Nobody remembered much about them and their construction.
They beg to ask me about the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, which I only heard a little of, as I was busy finishing my study of the Norse Seidr during that time. Yet still they come, asking me about countless lands I merely passed through, cultures I never met, and idiotic theories. The last one truly is deeply galling of them, presuming to use me as a living witness to their mad conspiracies. I sent the Ahnenerbe packing down the mountain when they presented their ludicrous theories of race to me, their claims of belonging to an ancient more powerful race, pure lunacy. They burned for that audacity. The sheer insult. Same as those blind fools who claimed that everything that happened between the 7th and 11th century were fabrications. Was I not there, did I not spend the entire 10th century, **The Iron Century**, saving the world from the Void Legions? Fools. The lot of them, daring to seek out the greatest wizard in the living world! I, who was married to the queen of the Faeries! I who carved my first wand from the bones of Humbaba the dread giant? I who survived the Great Deluge by spending forty days as an orca, when wise Utnapishtim, prudent Deucalion, and Mad Noah built boats. They come to me in arrogance and ask for proof of their lies.
Some come and kindly ask me, without bothering me during important work, spa days, or during lectures to my apprentices. Those who come and merely ask, I can respect. I answer them to the best of my ability, and treat them as honoured guests, such as I was taught when I was a mere boy in Âk-enyt, great capital of Lemuria. But far more of them come, proud as kings, strutting like peacocks, and demand answers. I have put up a sign outside my tower, with instructions on when one could come to visit, and enchanted it so all can read it and understand. But so many of these historians do not respect this. They come when I meditate in my sauna, they come when I am reading in my study, they come and disrupt lectures about Magical Safety and Health Administration rules, they even wake me in the night to ask me about the historical basis of Merlin.
It is baffling, the rudeness, the impropriety. And they do not know when not to press the issues. When I say that the secrets of the Brahmanda Astra are supposed to remain forgotten, I do not want anyone to try and pry it out of me. And those are not the worst of them. No the worst of them break into my house and try to steal from my library, like common criminals. I would have thought better of the scholars of this age, when they are so plentiful. But crime doesn't pay in the Tower of the last Archmage, and those who dare to enter my library with ill intent, should count themselves lucky if I find them and turn them into animals for a few days as punishment. The library of a wizard is not to trifled with. Some of the books are not meant for the minds of men. Some are even carnivorous, and awaits with glee the day when an overconfident fool opens them without proper magical protection. And some who enter, just vanish without a trace.
Perhaps I have been too lenient. Perhaps I have been too forgiving with these intruders, these curious minds, who innocently prod at the questions that could lead to the end of the world. And besides, they've been bothering the apprentices too. Hard to focus on perfect physical transformation of the body without affecting the mind, when some busybody is asking about whether their master interfered with the Thirty Years War. There has to be a limit, to what I can let them get away with. And it seems that people don't have the proper respect and fear for wizards that they used to have in the old days.
With a flick of my hand, I mere whispering of words, I charge the Tower with ancient and potent magic. Circe was too focused on pigs. A cruel and utterly banal method of getting rid of intruders. Turning sailors into bacon always seemed so primitive. But her spell, with a little randomisation regarding the animals along with proper size restrictions to prevent them from getting hurt and the retainment of human speech, combined with a moderately powerful teleportation spell hearth-locked to send them to their homes, and sprinkled with a temporary modifier of nine days. Now that will do the trick. So you want to enter my home to peruse my private journals, mess up my archives, try to steal the artwork I commissioned from the great masters, and wake me in the middle of night to ask me if I ever attended the Scholomance in the Carpathians. Then you better be prepared to spend 9 days of your life reflecting on your mistake, in the shape of a dog or otter.
After all, I've made it clear that there are times when I gladly would welcome fellow scholars, seekers of truth. But if you interrupt me in the bath, you can't say you weren't warned. There must be consequences, otherwise people will never learn.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
Unfortunately, I can’t kill historians. They’re weak things, either dumpy or rail thin, and they don’t pose much threat. Generally speaking they do not run, instead trudging up the path quietly towards my castle, glancing around wide eyed at all the little cairns and ceremonial pylons that marked the deaths of individuals or parties. Occasionally they’d even pause, setting up their monstrous camera equipment and getting under the hood to snap their little pictures.
Then they’d pack it all up, wave to my familiars and to the goblins who stalked up the mountain after them, and continue on to my doors.
And with every step my fingers would dance and twitch with the desire to hurl fireballs and melt the pudgy or thin and always impressively spectacled buffoons.
Long life has its downsides however, and the painful relevance of historians is chief among them. I can incinerate as many adventurers or would be apprentices as I want, the worst they’ll get it as cenotaph with some annoying words back home. Historians though? They wrote books.
The most recent specimen sits in the courtyard even now, his notebook in his lap, already four pages deep or more and he’s only just come inside. He seems astonished by orc blacksmiths at work, even more so by the troll who rings the bell at noon and midnight, and when the phoenixes rise from their ashes at sundown to bathe the castle in the red-orange glow of their light I imagine he’ll fill a whole chapter with questions on the alone.
I sigh, glancing across the bedroom to my wife where she sits brushing her hair before the mirror.
“Do I really have to go?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says.
“I can’t kill just this one?”
She throws the brush at me and I stop it midair with a wag of my finger.
“Look honey,” she says, “you know you can’t, I know you can’t, the whole world knows you can’t. That’s why they keep coming.” She stands, taking my hand and dragging me over the window.
The fellow happens to be looking up from his notes at that exact moment. He waves enthusiastically at me, shouting some idiotic question about the origins of half-orcs, as if that little fact shouldn’t have been obvious enough.
“I really, really, want to melt him though.”
“No,” my wife says again. “However, I will cut you a deal. You see the path?”
She points off to the distant base of the mountain. I squint hard, barely able to make out a few flashes of pink in the distance.
“Yeah?”
“That’s the paparazzi. Want to trade?”
I gulp, shaking my head vigorously as I don my robe. She pats me on the back and leans out the window. “He’ll be down in a minute!” she shouts to the historian.
“Men! Honey, if you think being a wizard is so hard, just try being a witch for a day.”
Her hands glowed faintly pink, her freshly brushed hair stood on end and then began to braid itself. She puckered her lips and I leaned in to kiss her, my hands wandering lower.
“No! Work!”
I laughed and was out the door a moment later. I could hear the complex ululations of the cosmetic spell all the way down the hall. I still wanted to melt the historian, but listening to that racket, perhaps they weren’t so bad.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-16T07:24:35 | 2021-05-16T07:23:13 | 206 | 147 |
[WP] After a battle with massive casualties the fallen soldiers of the hostile nations march together towards the underworld
|
It made sense fifteen minutes ago.
There was us, the brave warriors defending our country from the outsiders. Attacking those who meant us harm before they could ever cross the ocean to get to us again. We were Marines, the greatest fighting force since Genghis Khan.
Then there was them. The terrorists. The criminals. The people who hated us just for being free. They had their religion and their rituals and their hate. We had each other and the strength that comes from being *right, damnit!*.
I grew up on a farm in nowhere-you've-ever-heard-of Nebraska, we worked hard, made do, got by and looked out for each other. It's almost a cliché now I've got out into the world, seen more, spent some time in cities... but it's home, and it's all I knew. Dad served. Pop-pop served. His father before him. We serve. There was never any question of me going to college, Dad would have tried, but I wouldn't have asked, he'd have had to mortgage the farm and I couldn't risk that. That's home. That's the centre of our whole family's world. No, for me it's high school, then The Corps, then the farm. I rebelled against it for a short while, although I can't remember why, there's something comforting in following the path laid out by generations of your family before.
These days you know when you enlist that you're going to spend some time in some unpleasant places. America is always at war somewhere, and most of them are nothing like Nebraska. That's okay, we're the best trained, best equipped, best led military in the world. Of course there's risk, but most of us go home just fine
The main reason I don't care about going into harm's way? THEY ATTACKED **US**. I hate these people. What did we ever do to them? What offence did we commit that caused them to kill so many innocent civilians? Nothing. They came for us... so now we come for them, only we won't lose! I don't think I really understood until I got out here just how much I hate them. I know it's not all of them, I know there are good and bad people everywhere, but out here in the mountains they're all the same. They either hate us, or they know where the people who hate us are and don't say anything. Even the Afghan soldiers (if you can even call them that) want to kill us, but they want our guns and our training manuals first. Some of the guys don't see it. Some of them hesitate before they shoot. Some of them argue quietly in their tents that we're doing more harm than good out here. I don't get it, I can't make it fit. These are the people who want nothing more than to see our homes burn, they'd nuke New York in a heartbeat if they could.
I never hesitate.
That was 15 minutes ago.
Now I march toward the underworld alongside Mahmood. He grew up on a farm, went to the only school for 50 miles which was run by the Taliban. Since he could walk he's been taught nothing but their twisted interpretation of the Koran. How could he have done any different? How could he have learned that Americans and Afghanis are the same?
We have families and communities and farms and school, life is sometimes hard and sometimes easier, we have crushes that don't work out, we have love and loss...
I only learned it 15 minutes ago when Mahmood detonated his vest.
I don't hate him now. Now I see it all, now I can see the futility of this endless cycle of violence, now... now I see Mahmood as a brother. Not because we were warriors, but because we were humans.
So we march, we march toward the light in search of answers and understanding. We march togehter, driven not by hate, but by the love we have for our fellow man, and a need to understand why it took death for us to find it.
|
Eyes Drooping
We march like ants
To the southernmost end
We growl and stomp
And in need of peace
We search around
To no avail,
We cry out loud,
As we approach the gates of Hell,
Nothing, not even supernal above
Can help us with what we wrought on ourselves.
| 2014-12-14T13:36:48 | 2014-12-14T09:52:43 | 33 | 20 |
[WP] You have the ability to grant three wishes after someone says your name three times in the bathroom mirror. Except, every time you show up, they all run away screaming. You are the rejected genie. The mirror maiden. You are Bloody Mary.
|
She never asked to be birthed into legend this way, but legends have a tricky way of distorting over the test of time. Some of the genies thought she had it easy.
*If only my masters would just run away instead of asking for foolish selfish wishes.* They would all say.
Indeed. It may have been simple and easy, but it was also dreadfully boring. Moments after moments of appearing before young children who merely run in fright or return to their friends giggling in a harmless, meaningless prank can wear down on one's spirit.
So why is it that she choked on the first child who finally did not run away from her? She was met with a gaze so lifeless and devoid of emotion. The words she has prepared and recited in her head so many times would not come out. She could barely meet the child's gaze through the slits of her own black hair covering her face. Looking elsewhere, she only saw what could have been bruises on his cheeks and arms.
"Are you here to take me away?" The silence was broken, and with it, the spell that was on the genie as well.
Finally given a small moment to compose herself, she replied "No, child. I am not here to take you away."
The child sighed, almost as if in disappointment.
"B-but, I am a genie! I am the maiden in the mirror, and I am here to grant you three wishes of your desire," she continued. It was not as grand as she wanted it to be, but she was able to give the introduction she was longing to deliver.
"A genie?" The child repeated. Despite his confusion, there was a small gleam in his eyes. A warm feeling washed over the genie as she felt a sense of pride in being given a chance now.
"Yes! There may be some limits to what I can do, but these three wishes are for you to use," she replied enthusiastically.
The child took a few steps back and clutched the hems of his ragged shirt. The genie could only look inquisitively at this child who fidgets back and forth wondering what his first wish would be.
*A hug.*
It was barely a whisper, but a genie is always perceptive to the wants of their master. Still, this was such a mundane wish of a child that it has surprised her. She was expecting giant bowls of sweets or the latest toys that they would see on television.
Before she could say anything, the boy stretched his arms outward. He kept his head down and merely awaits the response of the genie. "My child, you do not need a wish for this," she whispered back to him. She approached the boy with open arms and received a tight hug from the child who then buried his face into her dress.
However short this moment was, it was disturbed by the banging of the door. What followed was the voice of several teenagers who were taunting and laughing at the child.
"Hey hey! Have you summoned Bloody Mary yet?"
"Come on dude, this crybaby probably hasn't started yet."
"We'll let you out soon but we better hear you scream her name out loud!"
"He probably fainted!"
The taunts and laughter slowly faded away as the teenagers bore themselves of a silent unwilling participant. The only sound that could be heard was the muffled sobs of the boy. The genie responded by wrapping her arms around the boy and waited for him to calm down.
Once everything settled down, the boy pulled himself away from the genie to wipe away the tears. The maiden of the mirror hovered down in front of the boy. Parting the hair covering her face, she reveals a genuine, warm smile of one that truly cares for their master. "You still have 3 wishes left. I can give you more than a hug, you know?" She teased.
The boy was enamored by the maiden and without skipping a beat, he replied. "Can you still take me away from here?"
The genie was left to ponder over the tricky request. The gaze the child had on her was no longer one that was lifeless and without emotion but of wonder and hope. However, this was one of those wishes that genies can so easily abuse and make things wrong. It was left vague enough for a genie to do whatever they see fit.
But she wasn't a genie of malice, she lifted the child in front of the mirror where she came from just recently. As she laid her hand on the mirror, the mirror gave way and parted like water. Ripples radiated outward from where her hand touched as it passes through the mirror. The child was speechless at the spectacle in front of him.
The boy, ready for the trip to an unknown world beyond the mirror, took hold of the other hand of the maiden. She returned the gesture by holding on tightly to the boy's hand. As they take their first steps into the mirror, she whispered at the boy. "My child, you do not need a wish for this."
In her heart, she wondered how she will have to explain this to the other genies. She has taken a child as her own, and this will have repercussions on the world of humans. People will question of a child gone missing and his last moments was of a ritual to summon a certain entity. However, one look at a child whose eyes are now bright of the wonder and magic before him removed all doubts from her mind. After all, legends have a tricky way of making sense over the test of time.
|
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary"
Some preteen girls chanted this to their mirror, thinking it was a dumb joke.
Suddenly, the mirror cracked, and later fell out of its frame. A bloodied woman appeared out of the newly-created void with a mysterious shriek.
"Who summons ME?" cried the woman.
All but one of the trio of preteens ran out the bathroom. The one who stayed, named Lisa, stared at the figure with confusion. "So it actually worked?" she responded.
The woman spoke "I AM THE MIRROR MAIDEN! YOU HAVE THREE WISHES!"
"Wait, you're a genie?" Lisa said.
"Uh, yes..." the woman responded.
Lisa called to her friends, "Hey, Bloody Mary is just a genie, come back!". And they did.
"Thanks for telling those two of my true nature, but don't use that name, because it's just a chant" said The Mirror Maiden.
After the other girls came back into the room, they all began to state their wishes.
"I wish to be popular at school, have it snow next Christmas, and win a million bucks!" said one girl.
"I wish for a driver's license, and a BMW i8 to go with it, as well as a really good bowl of soup." said another girl.
"I wish for a friend" said Lisa.
"You said what?" the Mirror Maiden replied.
"It must be lonely living behind that mirror all the time. So I thought you could be my friend, and I could show you the world." Lisa responded.
"...thank you?" said the Mirror Maiden.
And so they went along, enjoying the world for years to come.
| 2019-03-15T01:35:23 | 2019-03-14T23:52:44 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] In your world, psychics are graded by how much they can affect reality, with higher numbers being more influential. Level 9s, the weakest, can bend spoons a bit. Level 1s can stop time. You are the caretaker of the only level 0 in history.
|
Rose knew she was in trouble when the water droplets falling from the overhead sprinklers in her greenhouse froze in mid-air. She took another sip of her tea, three sugars and a dash of honey, and looked around her favorite place. Dread was a lead ball rolling from side to side in her stomach and she wished she had passed on that ham sandwich from earlier.
Rows upon rows of greenery surrounded her, sunlight streaming in through the mosaic glass above. There were purple patches of lavender, yellow splashes of sunflowers, hundreds of red and black roses. If she closed her eyes and pretended like everything was still the same, would the drops of water fall?
She closed them. Then opened them again and sighed. They still hung there, glittering like miniature stars in the unmoving patches of sunlight. At least the tea was still-
*Gosh darn it,* she thought as the liquid in the cup stopped moving. Couldn't she have at least let her take another sip? It never tasted the same afterwards.
"In case you were wondering," she whispered but still the area shook with vibrations that made her pale. She hated when time stopped. "The answer is still no, Caroline."
One second she was alone, in the next a ray of sunlight folded open like a blooming flower, and there she was. Caroline. Long, pale legs showed at the bottom of a yellow sundress. Hair that was basically golden spilled down her back in carefree waves. She was dazzling, until you got to her eyes.
They were liquid onyx, with all the compassion of a snake and they were focused on Rose as if she was the next meal.
Somehow, Rose masked her trembling by sitting on her hands. It also helped her keep from launching up from her seat and attacking this woman who had caused her so much heartache. Not that violence would get her anywhere. Caroline looked like an angel brought to Earth but she could level a skyscraper if it looked at her funny.
Caroline stepped forwards, her feet bare, until she was a few paces away. "I didn't even ask the question yet."
"You've been asking me the same question for a year now," said Rose and her teeth clenched together. "But for whatever reason you don't understand the word no, probably because no one tells you that do they?"
Caroline shook her head and the motion sent hair cascading around like a supermodel. Bitch. "I could always force you." A small smile curved her lips. "You would dance, laugh and cry as I demanded it. You would crawl, if I decided you should."
Rose bit down harder and was rewarded with the copper tang of blood. Still, it dashed the images of her getting on her hands and knees in the dirt. Her crawling forward like a trained dog. Since she now tasted blood, it was time to draw some from Caroline.
"Let me guess," Rose said, forcing sweetness into her tone. "He still doesn't want you?"
The words hit their mark. Her greenhouse, the one she had worked on for years and years, detonated. There was an ear splitting shriek, the smell of ozone, and everything around her was reduced to colorful debris no bigger than confetti. All of it floating in the air around her like balloons of destruction.
She pushed a hand through what was left of her rosemary. Caroline was still there, her face and hair perfect, even if the latter floated in an unseen breeze. But her eyes, they blazed like a forge.
For several seconds, Rose held her breath. Was this it? Finally? Then Caroline's eyes cooled, there was a loud snap, and everything went back to what it was before.
"Are you really this selfish?" Caroline's words were cool, all trace of that heat gone for now. "His mind falls apart more and more each day. His sanity crumbling through my fingers like grains of sand. Will you not save him from that? Save all of us from that?"
Rose sat back, clasped her hands together in her lap. "Do you remember what you said when you convinced him to leave me?" She asked. And was that a wince on the other woman's face?
"Because I do," she said when there was no response. "You said I was useless, the bane of his existence. The only thing stopping him from being powerful. From being great. From reshaping the face of the world as he chose."
"He was wasted here with you." Caroline said, her voice a harsh whisper. "With us, he was able to accomplish greatness. He performed wonders. He-"
"Destroyed a continent," Rose interrupted. A harsh laugh escaped her. "And that's only the barest stretch of what he can do. You and I both know it."
"Then tell me why?" Caroline asked. "How can you sit here in your garden while he loses himself? He manifests you, you know. One that can't talk and has glassy eyes. He hasn't worked the soul thing out yet. But its the only way he can sleep."
Rose waited for her heart to soften. She waited for that love she felt for him to overflow and erase everything that had led up to this. But it didn't, and wouldn't. Her heart had shriveled and died the same day he decided to appoint himself a god. The same day he had tried, and failed to rewrite who she was to make him come with her.
"We were happy," Rose said. "You were the devil in his ear, whispering promises of what he could do. So yes, I will sit here with my flowers and my tea. And I will enjoy the time I have left, however long or short that may be. Because the man you want my help with is no longer my husband. And the wife that cared about him and the rest of this world is long, long gone."
"You doom us all, over a broken heart." A statement from Caroline, not a question.
Rose didn't respond. She only picked up her tea. In the next instant, water fell like mist around her and the smells of her greenhouse returned. Caroline was nowhere to be seen. Rose blinked a few times and took a sip, grimacing at the taste it now had.
|
"So, she's basically retarded?"
"Goddamnit, Dan - no! She's non verbal and sensory overloaded."
"Sounds like an Autist to me. Autism is retarded, right?"
"I mean, about as retarded as you are I suppose... Look - I'll explain it. She's smart. She's smarter than smart, she's so far beyond genius that normal people can't comprehend the level that her brain operates at. Typically, she's like this. Quiet, withdrawn, sitting on the floor, making herself small, non verbal, not moving for hours at a time. But I've seen her in the zone. I've seen the brain scans."
"If she's so smart, why's she look retarded?"
"She's taking in anywhere from one hundred to ten thousand times more information than you and I are every second. She sees and hears everything we do, but she also knows how fast your heart is beating, how many times I've blinked in the last hour, the average percentage of oxygen my body takes in during each breath and a whole host of other details I don't even know about. She's like a computer!"
"Okay, so she knows lots of shit? Why's she so scary, I mean those other kids can stop time?"
"Stopping time was huge. We'd never seen it before when we first opened up the facility ten years ago. This entire building was constructed to house the first child ever born who could stop time. They had to adjust the entire classification system because of him. Now? We have one hundred thirty seven kids who have some degree of time stopping ability. It's rare for sure - in North America alone there's seven million individuals rated at a grade six or higher on the Laoton Scale, but Daisy is the only confirmed grade zero in the world right now."
"So what does she actually do?"
"Everything she can sense - right now, in the dampening field, on medication, in a special facility built specifically to manage the powers of Laoton Scale Individuals, her awareness extends for about fifteen miles around her. What makes her grade zero, is that anything she can sense, she can manipulate. She can stop the heart beat of every living thing within fifteen miles of her, right now, without a second thought. When she's at peak, "in the zone" we call it, her awareness exceeds all our measurement capabilities. We've estimated it at one thousand miles, but we can't be sure of what is actively being manipulated by her and what is just happening."
| 2016-09-01T15:01:53 | 2016-09-01T13:45:48 | 705 | 279 |
[WP] "So let me get this straight" The former UFC fighter looked at the doctor in the eye. "You want to put me in a medically induced coma so my ghost can beat the shit out of the ghost that's haunting the psych ward of the hospital? "Uhh... If you want to put it like that, sure."
Who knows, maybe the fighter couldn't afford the exorbitant doctor's bills, so he has to make do with alternative methods of payment.
|
"Hit it doc, I'm ready."
The doctor jabbed the syringe into my arm nervously. "If you win you'll find your reward underneath your bed. Good luck. "
"Sweet. I assure you doc there will be no luck involved. Only-" darkness flooded my mind. The last thing I saw, was the doc scampering out of the room.
I opened my eyes.
"What the hell?"
I squinted as I looked at a lab room drained of its color with a grain filter constantly flickering over my vision. I hopped off the bed and literally floated for a moment.
"Whoa," I said, then began hopping side to side, throwing a few quick jabs. I was quickly getting use to my new body.
Suddenly, I heard an unearthly guttural screech from the corridor to the psyche ward. It sent a chill down my spine.
"Shit. What the hell did I get my self into..."
I took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. "Let's get this over with."
I walked down the dark corridor until I was met with a reinforced steel door. I reached for the handle of the door but my hand simply slipped through.
"Oh."
*I'm such an idiot,* I thought. I walked through the door into the lobby of the psyche ward. The lights flickered eerily as I continued deeper into the psyche ward. There were more doors and corridors everywhere. I looked around me, wondering where the screech had come from when suddenly I heard something behind me.
I twisted around quickly.
"Papa?" a little girl with dark hair over her face stood alone in the dimly lit room.
"What? I'm not your-" I held my breath. She had a gaping hole the size of my fist where her chest was. "You're the ghost?"
The little girl responded by opening her mouth wide. I stared into the pool of darkness within her mouth and saw something move. Then she screamed that dreadful screech.
"Hey. Hey! Shut the fuck up!" I shouted.
To my surprise she stopped. Then she started walking towards me. No, with each step she flickered, vanishing and then reappearing closer.
I frowned. "Neat trick."
I wondered if I could do the same.
I started walking around the room, attempting to reproduce the same flickering effect but only managed to stumble around awkwardly.
"What the fuck are you doing?" the little girl asked rudely.
"Uhh..." I scratched my head, slightly embarrassed. "I was just trying to do the *flicker.* you know?"
"That's not how you do it dummy."
She started pacing around me, flickering with every step.
"Oh so that's how you do it," I nodded slowly as if I understood.
The little girl smiled at me, flashing me with the writhing abyss that dwelled within her mouth. "Wanna see what else I can do?"
Without even thinking I replied. "Sure."
She put her hand through the hole in her chest, turned around and started waving at me.
I shivered coldly.
She twisted her head around to look at me.
I began laughing hysterically. "Wow! T-that's so cool."
"Wanna see what else I can do?!" she said ecstatically, almost bouncing up and down.
Before I could say no, she opened her mouth wide again, revealing the writhing pool of darkness. Black tendrils began to slither out of her mouth towards me.
I trembled. My knees felt weak.
*Holy shit. I need to get out of here.*
This was not what I signed up for. If my knees weren't feeling so weak right now, I would have been out the door ages ago. But then I remembered that I couldn't physically leave.
I began laughing even more hysterically. "Hahaha, this is cool too but-"
She stopped, her tendrils froze in mid motion, inches away from my face. "But?! But what?!" she demanded.
"Its not cool enough," I said with a bored expression. "I mean... there must be something cooler than this right?" I asked then demanded. "Show me something even cooler."
I felt sweat roll down my back as I prayed for the first time in my life, that this was it. That there wouldn't be anymore.
"Okay!" she replied sweetly.
*Fuck.*
-----
/r/Em_pathy
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Em_pathy/comments/82f3xw/ufc_fighter_turned_exorcist_part_2/)
|
"Alright." He said as he put his head back on the bed. "Can you put 'Cryin like a bitch' by Godsmack on? I fuckin' love that song."
"Sure." Doctor Worland said as he went to get the syringe. "Now half the money is in your account right now, the other half when you wake up."
"That's no biggie. I just want to kick some ass." The Fighter replied. "I still want the money though."
"Of course, now count backwards from ten." Worland said as the Syringe was emptied.
A few minutes later the lights started to flicker and an ominous "wooooo" started to fill the room before abruptly stopping.
"Wait... What. Hey stop tha..." Suddenly an invisible force smashed up against one of the walls.
"That's my cue." Worland said as he started playing the Song before running out of the room.
| 2018-03-06T00:18:38 | 2018-03-05T20:50:37 | 1,160 | 291 |
[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.
|
He checked every night, obsessively, eagerly, that his number remained at 1.
If it tumbled back to 0, he was screwed. He'd have to rethink all his plans, and worse: identify which critical step in his plans had triggered the lapse. Marcus rechecked that all his doors were locked before removing his shirt. He unlocked his secure vest - top of the line, barely detectable when he wore it. It might be a human right to keep your number private, but it never hurt to be safe.
Especially if you're planning a murder. And he was finally sure he was going to do it.
His number was enflamed, the scorch marks indicating it had just changed. He stared disbelievingly at what it said.
3 million.
Marcus jumped when his phone rang. He swallowed heavily and answered while staring at his chest. It was still there, a livid red brand.
"Hey, Mark."
Erik's voice was light, carefree, breathless to share some piece of news. His stomach twisted in fury. The asshole had no shame. Calling him up every few weeks, as if nothing was wrong.
"Hi. What's up?" Marcus strove to match his tone.
"Man, I just had to call you. I'm nearing a breakthrough, Mark. An actual, goddamn breakthrough. I know exactly what to do. The vaccine will work."
His resolve to kill Erik deepened and tightened its hold on him. He watched, detached and fascinated, as the number started changing again, twisting and turning on his chest. 4 million. 5 million. It trembled, and leapt to 10 million. He knew his Death Number Theory as well as the next person, but it was something else seeing it in person. The domino effect.
"I know it will work," he answered mechanically.
Yes, he knew it. Had known it when he'd been a reckless, excited high school student. Bursting with ideas on how to fight the Cors virus. Even then, before the number of deaths had spiralled into unknown territory, it had been colloquially known as the Corpse virus. But he didn't have the resources to test his theories. He was so eager to share his thoughts with a knowledgeable, older scientist. Desperate to get Erik's feedback.
"Well, we'll talk more later," Erik was saying. "Things are insane here. But keep it to yourself, will you? I don't want this leaking to the press. I just *had* to tell you. You originally gave me the idea, after all."
Mark struggled to keep from screaming, and closed his eyes. Erik still didn't know. Didn't even realise what he'd done.
"You know, sometimes, I wish you'd gone on to study science, Mark," Erik chuckled. "Man, when I think what else could be rattling around in that head. Still, the law is lucky to have you."
"Yeah. Lucky," he echoed, detaching himself from the conversation. Watching the number, which had reached 20 million.
"Anyway, talk later, bro. I just wanted to call to thank you. I couldn't have done it without you. I'll call you up when I'm in town again. We should grab dinner - my treat."
Marcus heard the phone click and threw it across the room, with all the fury he had kept carefully contained. It smashed against the wall. He watched the number, still climbing steadily upwards, and smiled. It was comforting, prophetic.
The vaccine wouldn't work without Erik, without the crucial insight that he'd never get to give. He knew his brother: Erik wouldn't share his 'breakthrough' until he was completely certain of it. Well, that wasn't going to happen. He'd make his move this weekend. Earlier than he'd planned, but necessary.
The vaccine would again be his to shape, his to develop. Leisurely, when he went back to school and refined it in the labs. Made it perfect, not the hack job it would be if he let this go. In the end, he would save more people.
No-one stole from *him*. Especially not his brother.
|
"Ah, at this point who gives a fuck," I mumbled to myself, thinking back on that time Janet called me ,"like, LITERALLY HITLER." dumb bitch.
I took out the rag from my pocket and began cleaning the console of the nuclear reactor. There always was so much dirt lining all those shiny weird buttons.
| 2016-06-24T01:26:55 | 2016-06-23T23:55:15 | 1,087 | 14 |
[WP] The perfect sleep-aid has been created. 8 hours of uninterrupted, dream-filled bliss. But God forgive anyone that is woken up before the 8 hours have passed.
|
It was, really, quite an important breakthrough for medical science.
For most of the time that humans have been, well, human, people have wondered why we sleep. The ancient Greeks thought it was because of the influence of one of their gods: A being known as Hypnos, who was appropriately enough brother to Thanatos, the god of death. More modern theories suggested that it just might be a way for the brain to clean up after a long day of work, organizing thoughts and memories into the soup of images that we interpret as dreams. But really, all we know for sure about sleep is that we need it or eventually we will die.
How do *I* know all of these things? Well, lets just say I have a lot of time on my hands. The nights get lonely, when you are the only one awake. Insomnia is a relatively common problem, but in this day and age you can do a lot with those extra hours - if you aren't too tired to move, that is. So I wind up doing a lot of research, signing up for a lot of sleep studies, and generally doing anything I can in those deep, dark hours when I really should be in bed.
Like I said before, we have been studying sleep for a very long time, and humans are very good problem solvers. So when I got a call one evening to come in and test out a new sleeping pill, one hailed as a miracle drug, I was naturally all for it. They said it was guaranteed to give you eight hours of solid, dream-filled sleep - not to mention it was the closest alternative to real sleep that modern science could hope to create. It used a brand-new mechanism, directly influencing the neurons of the brain to enter a sleep-state without simply pouring Melatonin on the problem and hoping that something would give. They had finally cracked the code of sleep. As I popped the pill into my mouth, my only complaint was the bitter taste before I was off in the land of dreams.
It was beautiful, really. Colors the likes of which I had never imagined danced across the sky like an ever-shifting stained-glass window. The ground beneath my feet, though sturdy, smoothly shifted from dirt, to stone, to metal, to fur, to grass...it never stayed the same for more than a few seconds, and never shifted to the same form twice. I felt well. Rested, even - more rested than I had felt in a very long time. It was all too much. I wept, knees falling to the shifting ground, unable to contain my emotion. Preoccupied as I was, I never saw one corner of the sky turn dark.
I felt a twinge in my abdomen, as if one of my kidneys had turned to ice, or someone had poked me from behind with a cold metal rod. As I turned, I saw it: a crack, black as night, lanced through the sky and earth, more solid than anything in this mercurial world. It grew, straining the world with it's presence, both dangerously close and impossibly far away. Four think fingers, each as wide as my entire arm, reached through the hole. Soon, it was joined by another, and the two hands ripped the world apart at it's very seams to allow the being through.
He was tall, pale, and utterly hairless, with startling blue eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light. The colors of the sky and ground had no effect on him: no matter what, he always looked the same, as real as death with his cracked backdrop of void behind him. When he spoke, it was with a voice that reverberated in my head, both as high as the wind and as deep as an earthquake.
*Who are you?*
The question hung in the air for a moment. "Who...who am I?" I finally stammered.
The being nodded, moving with the controlled force of a continent.
"I...I'm no one!"
He blinked his vast eyes, the movement oddly slow. *You are not welcome here, human.*
"Not...welcome?" I asked, feeling suddenly indignant despite the being's obvious power. "How can I not be welcome? This is a dream...*my* dream! Of course I'm welcome!"
The giant frowned, shaking his head. *No. This is not your dream, mortal. You have invaded the land of my brother, the personal domain of the gods. You will pay for your transgression.*
The being reached out a vast hand, and in the strangeness of the world it seemed to grow until it encompassed my entire world. I flinched, too afraid to even plead for mercy, and the hand clenched around me until all I knew was blackness.
*Begone, human. And never trespass here again.*
When I opened my eyes, only a single hour had passed.
"You're up early!" the attendant cheerfully proclaimed over the intercom. "Have a bad dream?"
I blinked, frowning at the room in my stupor. "I think so..."
"Well, try and lie back down. That pill still has quite some time left in your system."
*Had it all really been a dream?* I wondered, tossing and turning. But no matter how long I lay there, I found myself unable to fall asleep.
*Begone, human. And never trespass here again.*
***
*Thanks for the read! CC welcome, and if you enjoyed you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
|
######[](#dropcap)
Nobody knows why the nightmares started, or if they do, they ain't saying. A hundred bucks says the Feds got some ideas, but I don't as many folks would take that bet these days.
I once heard a man say that it was a chemical weapon that got loose. Came out of Russia or Iran, or somewhere round them parts. Never found out what happened to that guy. He just disappeared one night. Yeah, I might've seen some suits nosing around town the day before. Who's asking? I ain't made it this far by yapping my mouth off.
Four months of sleepless nights, we had. Four months before the DreamCatcher came along and gave everyone back the sleep they hadn't had.
Yeah, I tried a DreamCatcher once. Slept pretty good. But I seen what happens to the Dreamwakers too. It ain't right. Eyes like... like dead fish.
That's not how I want to go.
The docs told me I'd go mad on an hour of sleep a night. Told me it ain't healthy. Ain't healthy? I'll tell you what ain't healthy: being wide awake in a coma that don't break for nothing. No, sir. I'll take the nightmares.
I got them figured out. They're all in it. The government, the police, the President. Heck, it all started after she took office. Coincidence? She signed that bill to take the DreamWakers away, keep them 'safe' until they could find a cure. Cure, my ass. I know what they're up too. I've got their number.
And I've got a plan to stop them.
---
*More paranoia at [r/jd_rallage](http://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage)*
| 2016-08-04T11:24:12 | 2016-08-04T11:01:50 | 40 | 12 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy?
|
"Raul," crooned Raul in a very suspicious French accent, as he took the lady's hand and graced his eager lips on it. "Let me guess," he continued, releasing his grip and pulling a chair out from the table. "Sit, please. Let me guess, you're a Mari- no, no, you're a Cassandra? I'm right, am I not?"
*Suave.* Yes, that was what he would be today.
The woman's botoxed forehead tried its best to frown, her lips fighting (and losing) a similarly uneven battle. "How on Earth did you know that?"
Raul slicked his dark hair back with ringed fingers. "Your beauty, it was that of a Maria, or a Cassandra, and there was a certain radiance that could be of no Maria. I see, no wrinkle has dared to blight your perfect face -- that tells me all I need to know." He lowered his voice to a rippling whisper. "*All I need to know.*"
Cassandra giggled through perfectly still lips as she slid into a seat. "My," she said, "You are a charmer. And that accent... Australian?"
"Australian?"
"Yes. I'm certain of it. I've got an aunt who lives there, and strike me down if you don't sound *just the same!* Don't worry -- she's a smoker."
Raul cursed himself silently. He hadn't done enough research for the role. No, it was fine -- he'd improvise.
"Yes, mate. Good catch."
He sat in his seat and raised a hand, clicking his fingers to gain the attention of a waiter. "If I had a bloody boomerang, I'd get us the wine myself," he said with a wink.
Another half chuckle as the waiter approached. Raul knew her very favourite drink, her very favourite food... Yes, this time he'd get the pudding he'd been after for so long. But he had to be confident. She liked confident.
"Lambrusco, for the lovely Sheila. And the house re- a uh..."--he swallowed hard--"Fosters for me."
The waiter lifted his head and eyed Raul snobbishily. "*House Fosters*, sir?"
"Yeah," Raul replied, tugging at his shirt. "You know, out of the house tap."
"Very good, sir. And to eat?"
"Pie and chips for the lady, and... do you do anything off the barbie?"
"Sir?"
"Struth. Just a burger then, mate."
The lady eyed Raul with suspicion. "I wouldn't normally let someone order for me, but... How did you know I loved pies?"
"Know? Oh, that you're a classy pie lass? Well, it's obvious ain't it."
"Is it?"
"It is to me. A lady who would wear a fashionable tracksuit like that, to a place like this, well, she'd be after the fanciest meal on the whole bloody menu."
If she could have smiled she would have done, Raul hoped. God, she was beautiful. Beneath all that make up. Maybe. Raul began to sweat. This was the best any of their dates had gone *to date*. He couldn't mess it up now. It was time to lay his heart on the table.
"Look, Cassandra, I'm gonna' level with you. I think you're mighty fine, and I reckon you think I'm fine. I mean, I figure I'm the sort of guy you'd normally go for."
Cassandara shrugged. "Eh."
"Eh? What do you mean, 'eh'"?
"You're a little too pretty-boy, for my tastes, to be honest."
"You can't be serious. You can't be bloody serious! I've seen all the men you've rejected. What the hell is left?"
Cassandra went tense. "You've *seen* the men I've been out with?"
"Well I er, oh struth," Raul said sadly, knowing he couldn't stop it now. The man's stylish exterior began to wilt, his skin flaking to reveal the green monstrosity beneath. Screams echoed about the restaurant and cutlery migrated high in all directions.
"Wh-what kind of monster are you?" asked Cassandra, her lips trying desperately to quiver.
"Me?" Raul asked, a rage in the pit of his stomach rising. "Me?! What the hell kind of monster are *you*? -- That's the real question! I've tried *everything* to please you. I've been Brad bloody Pitt and Oscar bloomin Wilde. Nothing makes you happy. Nothing!" He realised at this point that he didn't *need* to keep the accent up, but there was something rather bloody pleasing about it.
"Th-hey were *you*?"
Raul's skin began to change again, his black hair falling out in thick clumps, while greasy blonde hair sprouted hurriedly in its place. It took only seconds for Cassandra to be face to face with... Cassandra.
"This," said the new Cassandra, as it got up from its seat, "Is the only person I think you could ever love. You are the worst specimen of any creature I've ever met. And I've been to the Betelgeuse system *and* Scotland. Good day to you!"
Raul/Cassandra had almost stomped its way to the door, when it heard the plaintive scream from behind and stopped in its tracks.
"Waiiit!"
The other Cassandra came running up to it.
"What do you want now? Come to mock me one last time?"
"Mock? No! I'd never mock someone like you. Mmm mm mmmm, you are *gorgeous*. I think... I think I was a bit hasty. How about one more try?" she asked with a salacious wink.
Raul/Cassandra smiled. *Finally*.
"Can you change *any* part of your body?" she inquired as they walked back towards their table.
|
Adam examined himself in his bathroom mirror, thirty minutes to go before his next date with Danica. He flashed his most charming smile. His teeth were the right shade of white and the corners of his mouth were symmetrical, but he still wasn’t getting perfectly natural-looking wrinkles around his eyes. As he held the smile in place, he rubbed two more wrinkles onto the skin at the corners of each eye. He tried again. Still not quite right.
He walked over to his computer, opened a new tab, and tried a modified search: “Most Natural looking eyes in Hollywood.” The results were surprisingly divergent from the “Best looking eyes in Hollywood.” He studied the image of Zac Efron. The curves of Zac’s eye wrinkles were more elongated than Adam had previously noticed. He walked back to the bathroom mirror and tried stretching out his own wrinkles. Sure enough, the result was more satisfying.
As Adam beamed his smile, that creeping, persistent thought came to him once again, “Your looks are not the problem. YOU ARE!”. He pushed against it, reassuring himself as he gazed at his own beautiful face. “You are beautiful. You are gorgeous. You are flawless. You’re smart, funny, and creative. Not to mention rich. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”
This would surely be the version of himself that Danica would love. His facial skin was just the right color, a subtle golden-bronze, and texture, soft and supple, to balance his muscular features. His reddish-brown hair was long and lustrous, but pulled back into a reserved man-bun. He was 6’3”. Tall, but not so tall that there would be an awkward difference in heights. His smile was tuned. His walk was calibrated. Even the creases of his muscular arms were shaped to Danica’s body, made for her personal comfort.
Yet his mind persisted in its assault, “A real man wouldn’t need to look like this.”
He pushed the thought out of his mind again. He wasn’t just real, he was great. Who was as clever? Who as athletic? Who as sweet? Who loved with the kind of passion that he loved?
“You are the greatest,” he whispered to his reflection. “This will be the night. I am sure of it.”
| 2022-08-24T03:20:20 | 2018-02-14T10:21:29 | 1,353 | 11 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."
|
Captain Valork had never heard of such a thing before. Then again, he never encountered a species such as humans. Adaptable, often easy-going, and far too stubborn for their own good. Where many a Fiore or Holdrun would accept the inevitable and act accordingly, the humans rejected it. They either fought far longer than anyone would consider sane, or risked their lives dragging their dying fellows out of a fight. If he were totally honest with himself, Valrork would admit he respected this trait, which was why he was disappointed when he heard the human didn’t have their anti-warp gear on.
Then he heard they didn’t go insane.
That was why he was moving up to the medbay with as much haste as he could. Always the humans… every other race had faced dire consequences when they didn’t protect themselves during warp, losing their minds every single time. Some murdered, others committed suicide. Many just screamed. And none of the races had nearly the amount of mental problems humans had.
The silence when he entered the medbay was, as humanity put it, ‘chilling.’ Doctor Bolli stood by the patient, notebook in hand, chatting to the human. One of his eyes turned to the Captain.
“Captain, sir!” He turned to Valork, all eyes on him as a sign of respect.
“At ease” He said. “You’re a doctor, not a soldier.” He looked at the human. It was a female, sat on the med table with her back to the wall. One leg was lazily swinging off the edge.
She dipped her head in respect. “Sir.”
He knew this one. “Lieutenant Howitzer. I’ve heard you didn’t have your anti-warp gear on.”
“Nope. My apologies.” She didn’t look like she was apologising for not putting it on.
“May I ask *why*?”
She scratched her neck. “Uh, gimme a moment to try find the right words?”
“Were you planning this?” It was more accusation than question and they all knew this. Valork might have had great respect for humans, and this one in particular, but it came married with an intolerance to idiot acts.
“Ever heard of ‘The call of the Void?’”
“I cannot say I have.”
Bolli tapped his notebook. “Is this a human term?”
“The French coined it, though I don’t know French, so…” She shrugged. “But it’s basically an urge. ‘What if I do this?’ so to speak.”
“An urge?” Valork parroted. “You risked your life and mind for an *urge*?”
“Bit more than that.” Howitzer said blithely.
“*Explain.*”
She raised her hands; a sign of surrender. “Alright, alright. The call itself just happens when you go into a dangerous situation. Like, say, if you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, and there’s this little voice in your head whispering at you to jump.”
“Ah,” Bolli said, looking at her with two of his eyes. “This is just a human term, no? Not, err, what do you call it…?”
“Schizophrenia?” She said. “No. I don’t have that. Just… these weird urges to jump onto train tracks or take a running jump off a cliff. I suppose you don’t get that?”
“The more I learn of your race, the more convinced I am that you’re all secretly insane.” Valork said flatly.
“Probably why I didn’t go crazy then?”
He sighed. “Perhaps. What I’d like to know is, why heed the call now?”
Her eyes dilated for a second, as if she were looking deep inside herself. She was quiet for a moment, before uttering with a slow shake of her head, “No idea.”
Those two words were all he needed to cement the idea that humans were a race comprised of lunatics and madmen. He shook his head, and turned to leave the room.
“Sir?” Bolli called for him.
He turned around.
“Would you-“
“Not to interrupt, Bolli, but I do not wish to know what was seen. The Infinity in the Stars is a mystery that I do not wish to uncover. Bad enough that many lost their minds to it. Worse yet that it can be perceived.”
“But not described, Sir.” Howitzer said. “As Virgil said in the Divine Comedy, the telling would come short of truth.”
He didn’t respond to that. His hesitation spoke more than words could ever say.
Captain Valork left the room. He was going to have to write a report on this. He had to.
And he was going to dread the reply.
\~\~\~
Edited for errors and flow.
|
My name is Supply Sergeant Marcus Grant of the Terran Armada’s third support unit. I have been in a secure isolation cell in a wing of an Intragalactic Transport Centre hospital for the last 3 weeks, or maybe it’s more. The days have begun to run together.
The doctors here have told me that I have gone mad. Or that, by all accounts, I should have. I believe that I am in full control of my physical and mental faculties. My repeated requests to speak to a Terran Governmental representative have thus far been denied. I do not believe that any human knows where I am.
I arrived here after being accidentally locked in a cargo hold on a warp drop into the Epsilon Sagiitarii track. It’s been 3 weeks and I still don’t know how to tell them that I panicked and took an ambien not long after take off and fell asleep watching Law and Order Spacial Victims Unit before we even passed the Kuiper belt.
| 2020-07-14T02:16:25 | 2020-07-13T22:38:35 | 187 | 74 |
[WP] Since your earliest memories, everyone has had a 0 above their head, but when you told people, no one believed you. One cold winter day, you’re at a restaurant and your server has a 1 over their head. You can’t see your own number, but they tell you you have a 3.
Feel free to interpret the numbers however you want
|
“A freak, huh?”
“I beg your pardon?” I blinked in confusion.
My server, Julia by her name tag, smiled and pointed above her head. Her finger nearly prodded the floating number one that was there, the one that she and no one else in this lonely restaurant could see.
“By choice or by circumstance?” She asked, as if I had any idea what she was taking about.
“I’m sorry, miss,” I said, offering a polite smile of my own. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Your frequency, of course,” it was her turn to look confused. “The three above your head.”
A three? Above my...I looked around the restaurant at the sea of zeroes floating around. And the back to the one above Julia’s head.
“So, are you on this frequency by choice or by circumstance?” Julia asked again. Her eyebrows drew together in concern. “Don’t tell me...you don’t know anything, do you?”
“All my life I have seen zeroes above everyone’s head,” I said in a whisper. It was the first time I had ever acknowledged it out loud and I suddenly felt self conscious about the possibility of being overheard. “You are the first person I’ve ever met that has a different number above their head.”
“Oh boy, tell you what, I get off in an hour. Wait for me and I’ll explain things best I can!” Julia said enthusiastically.
I ate my dinner in silent anticipation, glancing up at the clock every few minutes.
At ten o’clock, Julia slid into the seat across from me. She pulled her hair out of the tight ponytail and let it fall messily past her shoulders.
“Your name?” She asked, as we both realized I hadn’t told her.
“Ben Anderson,” I told her.
“Ben, what do you know about the world?” Julia asked, leaning forwards on her elbows.
“Um, that it’s round and floating in space,” I said hesitantly, “It has seven continents...”
“And five frequencies,” Julia added.
“You keep saying that word, what do you mean? Like radio frequencies?”
“Kinda,” Julia said, making a face. She reached for a napkin and pulled a pen out of her apron.
She drew a pyramid with five sections and labeled them four to zero, with zero at the bottom.
“Look, most people are stuck here in zero,” she pointed to the bottom tier. “On zero, you have three types of colour cones in your eyes, five senses, and strict rules of gravity and such. If you’re stuck on zero, then you have no idea there are even other frequencies out there.”
“Wait, so are you telling me that on other frequencies people don’t have to obey the laws of physics?” I said skeptically. “Like I could leap a tall building in a single bound?”
“Yeah, that’s frequency two,” Julia said, ignoring the sarcasm in my voice.
“Frequency one, where I’m from, is where people have seven colour cones, heightened senses of smell and hearing, as well as the senses plath and vace.”
“What and what?”
“Plath is a feeling of direction,” Julia explained,” And vace is like...how should I explain it...You know in the matrix, when Neo dodges the bullets? It’s like your vision is in slow motion while you or other things are moving fast.”
“You’re shitting me...”
“Cross my heart,” Julia winked. “I haven’t been to the other frequencies, but I hear frequency two is where physics gets really wild and three has physic powers like telekinesis!”
“What about four? Do people become gods or something?” I half joked.
“No one calls frequency four, “four,” they call it “aevum,” and to be honest, no one really knows if it actually exists,” Julia said in a hushed voice. “They say, that to be in aevum is to be one with god.”
“So then, why are you in zero if it’s the lamest of all these frequencies?”
“Oh, the view is easier on the eyes here,” Julia said, “you wouldn’t believe how many colours actually clash when you see through seven colour cones. I don’t know how shrimp manage it with sixteen.”
“How do you move from one frequency to the next?”
“There’s the question I’ve been waiting for,” Julia grinned. She slammed both hands on the table as she stood up.
“Follow me,” she said gleefully.
Julia lead me outside, where the parking lot was now mostly empty.
“Give me your hand,” Julia instructed. “One thing about shifting frequencies, is that you need a partner and a sense of plath.”
“I still don’t know what plath is!” I said, taking Julia’s hand.
“Don’t worry, you’ll feel it soon enough!” Julia laughed. “The frequency you’re born in determines how many you can visit. But you can also visit wherever your travelling partner can.”
“So since I’m a three...”
“We can go almost anywhere!” Julia said. “Where do you want to go first?”
“Well...” I said slowly, feeling excitement in me growing. “Let’s fuck up some physics!”
——————————————————————————————————-
(On mobile so I dunno how this looks)
Part [2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcii1m3/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcjjbh4/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcmb8im/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fdxh7uq/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
|
You rush to the nearest restroom, realizing that the flashbacks will return. Slamming a stall door shut, you vomit into the toilet. Your body freezes as the flashbacks barge into your mind.
Your hand shaking, you reluctantly stab the boy on the right. You stab him hard, as your guardian directed you to do minutes earlier. “Good. Now her,” they command. They point to a small, terrified girl on the left of the boy you just killed. “Okay,” you manage to say, knowing that all of the actions and words that pour out of your mouth in this situation reflect how incredibly afraid you are to stand up for yourself and these innocent, young children. You stab her harder. You feel angrier now. She screams, yet she’s muffled by the duct tape on her mouth. “Don’t you dare scream!” Your guardian snaps. Without thinking, you stab the other young girl beside her. You just wanted to be done. You knew exactly why you had to do this. You had to do this for them, who’s enemy’s children are the ones being killed. You were forced to ruin someone’s life... You fall to your knees, bawling.
You wake up in a hospital bed. “Did I pass out?” You ask wearily. “You did,” your husband sniffles. His tears fall down his face, pain evident in his expression. He reaches for a cup of water, which he then hands to you. “Careful.” You grasp it with my hand, feeling weak. You drink from it, handing it back to him. A knock on the door startles you internally. “Come in.” The doctor walks into my room. He introduces himself, then shakes my hand. “You’re Katniss, right?” “I am.” “Okay, I’m looking at your chart here, and it says that you’ve been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder, is that correct?” “Yes.”
“Can you explain to me what happened?” You take a deep breath, knowing your emotions are still too strong at the moment to explain. “I would rather not explain right now.” Your tone appears harsher than intended, but you don’t have the energy to speak with a different one. “I respect that.” “Thank you.”
“Are you currently undergoing any treatment for these disorders?” You smile gently, proud of yourself for doing so. “Yes, I’m in trauma therapy and have been for the last 8 months. It’s been hard, but I’m growing.”
The doctor leaves the room to address another patient. Your husband opens his mouth to speak. “Let’s talk to that server when you get discharged. They might have a story to tell as well.”
| 2019-12-28T21:40:27 | 2019-12-28T21:28:57 | 3,484 | 22 |
[WP] You spend your days sneaking past mutants and raiders in a post apocalypse world. No one knows who you are, and you doubt anyone would care to know. You have spent your whole life roaming the wastes of the Fallout universe filling empty Nuka Cola vending machines with Nuka Cola.
|
(Long time lurker, first time poster. Hope you enjoy)
My pops used to say if you’ve done something right, people won’t know you’ve done anything at all. I guess that’s why he never did a God damned thing right in his life… too narcissistic. Not to sound just like him but, going on that logic, I must be the epitome of “right” in the wastes… because I doubt anyone even knows I exist.
Maybe that’s because I sleep all day and work all night. A lot of people don’t think it’s safe once the sun goes down but I prefer the cover of darkness. Maybe, it’s because my job affords me ample scavenging time. With everything I come across out here, I don’t frequent Megaton much these days. It’s whatever though. The Raiders… super mutants… the Enclave… I’d rather keep my name out of their mouths anyway. And don’t get me started on the Brotherhood of Steel! If I never have to hear another “greater good” monologue from one of those brainwashed mother fuckers again it’d be too soon.
The sun has all but set as I do my inventory. It’s a relatively light load this cool and breezy dusk. You have to pack light when you’re running the Metro tunnels.
“32 Cola’s… 5 Quantum’s… and thanks to that dead courier from out West…” I reach into my satchel and carefully pull out the Holy Grail. “…a Nuka Quartz for me.” A faint smile creeps across my face as my mouth begins to water. “For the low-light vision…” I justify my eventual consumption.
It only takes just over an hour to work my way through the intestines of the wastes but that’s probably because of how surprisingly quiet the tunnels were this evening. “Only had to take out one ghoul.” I announce to no one as I step out of the metro junction and into the pale moon light basking DC in an eerie glow. Maybe it’s the radiation levels… or that Quantum is starting to kick in. Either way, I can see just fine. Not that it matters… I’ve done this run so many times I can do it in my sleep.
As I make my way towards the coach liner barricade ahead I drop a Quantum in a Pulowski Preservation Shelter with a grin. It’s the little things. Good thing I do, because had I not I would have been right out in the open when that all too familiar scream comes from up ahead.
“Die puny human!”
A visceral growl accompanies the cries and gunfire follows. Sounds like a pipe pistol…
“Poor bastard doesn’t stand a chance.” I whisper under my breath as I strafe left and out of the moonlight. I wonder about Three Dog and hope he’s ok. GNR is pretty much my only source of news in the Capitol Wasteland and without him... I shake the thought from my mind; I’ve got a job to do. Without me, who would restock all these Nuka-Cola machines? Not that anyone realizes I do it… or cares…
The sounds of battle, which had quickly died out as I made for the drop, suddenly rage back to life. Laser fire this time…
“Ad Victoriam you cultist son’s a’ bitches…”
There’s always something trying to kill you out here. Super mutants kill wanderers, BOS kill the super mutants and Radscorpions and Deathclaws finish off whoever’s left. Most are just happy to be alive when the sun goes down… “I’m not happy until these babies are stocked.” I mutter to myself as I slap the side of Nuka-Cola machine number 49256.
“The Brotherhood Scribes keep an accurate record of everything they’ve ever accomplished, readily available to anyone that wants to see their impact on the wastes.” I set the restock on the ground next to me. “Raiders mark their armor with every kill.” I sigh. “Even the Super Mutants hang meat bags outside their camps to show the world their worth. But me…” I pop an official Nuke-Cola key, marked ‘Do Not Duplicate’, ever so gently into the machine. “…all I get to confirm my worth…” The door swings open slowly. “…are empty racks.”
The dispenser is wiped clean so I fill it with nine Nuka-Cola’s and a single Quantum. Just as I’m about to lock her up I hear the not so distant growl of a Yao Guai. I’ve found it’s just easier to remain out of sight and quiet until they move on so I carefully close the machine and hunker down for a break. With all the dangers of running this route, sometimes, I’m not even sure why I bother.
I guess not all danger leads to death though because while I was waiting for the beast to pass I noticed a note taped to the side of the machine. The words ‘Nuka-Guy’ scratched across it. I pull it down inquisitively and unfold it.
“Dear Nuka-Guy… you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count. Thanks…”
I’m stunned.
“Welp…” I smile. “The rest a’ these Nuka’s aren’t going to stock themselves.”
​
|
People say we it's the daily routine that keeps us sane, it gives us a reason to go on, a purpose for life. But in this world, what is there to latch on to?
I've watched people build new lives out of the rubble, adapt to survive, so they say. Not me, I've changed enough, so much I can barely look at myself anymore. The features that smiled back at me every day are no longer there, not worn or wrinkled like the others, the lucky ones. Mine are all but missing now, I still have some nose left, my family like my hair is completely gone. All I have now are the bottling plants, and the robots, at least *they* know my name.
It's been over two hundred years since that day, over two centuries of walking, almost aimlessly around what I used to call my country. All this time and I've never tried to do anything else, maybe if I stick to what I do I'll wake up one day and see it's just a horrible nightmare, maybe. Maybe this is my wake-up call, maybe I face these things and my dream comes to an abrupt end. Maybe I wake up tomorrow to do the same thing I've been doing all this time, but in the *real* world, the *old* world. But maybe it just ends, either way, it's not so bad.
| 2018-09-19T09:50:36 | 2018-09-19T08:36:44 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] An Anime protagonist doesn't want to be the protagonist in your shitty plot
|
"Whoa! What the... Where am I...!? What the hell is going on!?"
*Greetings, young warrior. You have been summoned to the lands of Orteria as a Holy Knight, and the only one that can save us from the Terror Lord Novarko, who plans to shroud the world in eternal darkness. Please lend us your strength in the quest to destroy--*
"OK, wait, hold it. Is this some sort of joke? Because if it is, it's not very funny at all. Not to mention the setting has been done to death like a million times already."
*No, I assure you the threat is very real. Novarko has captured the 12 Princesses of Destiny, including your sister Princess Glorianna, and our only hope is you. You, the crown prince of Orteria and heir to the throne, who was sent away to another dimension at birth, only to return in our time of need when the situation becomes most dire.*
"Seriously? OK, first of all, how the hell can one guy straight up kidnap 12 girls with no one being able to do squat about it? Secondly, did you **really** just tell me that I'm some sort of alternate-dimension prince? What's next, I'm not actually blood-related to Glori-what's-her-face, and I have to choose her or one of the other Destined Princesses to become my queen after I save them?"
*Princesses of Destiny, Crown Prince. And yes, as you have suspected, you and Princess Glorianna are in fact unbound by blood.*
"Christ Almighty, this is getting lamer by the second. All right, **assuming** I go along with your little story, what next? Do I go on some epic quest to find some holy sword, or don a set of saintly armor? What about grabbing a sidekick or two with a peculiarly specific set of skills that just so happens to be particularly essential to whatever we're supposed to do?"
*In fact, Crown Prince, we have already prepared your Angelic Armor of Angels. However, once again, your words have rung true. The only sword that is able to harm Terror Lord Novarko, the Sword of Truth, has been cast deep into the valleys of the Shadow Mountains, where terrible beasts lie in wait.*
"Mm-hmm. I'll bet."
*Nevertheless, rest in ease, for your companions for this perilous quest have already been prepared. They are--*
"Nope. No need to introduce them. I think I can tell who and what they are already. Let's see, first we have the standard voluptuous temptress spellcaster who will probably... actually no, will most definitely flirt with me constantly, flaunting her over-sized breasts and trying to get into my pants. I'm expecting at least one attempt where she uses some weird magic to try to charm me into loving her forever, only to hit an unintended target. Or the magic turns me into a cute mascot animal for a while. Probably both.
Standing next to her is our token muscle: huge guy with a big axe or sword, not the smartest guy around but is always there to get my back like a true bro. He'll probably 'die' at some point as his uh, power level, isn't high enough, only to reappear later down the line, saving us at the last second from some random dangerous situation when all seems lost. He'll be much stronger than before this time around, and probably with some new gear too.
The timid girl trying to hide behind him with the hair covering her eyes, despite being an archer of all things, is probably going to have a scene where her hair gets flipped up and reveals an incredibly cute face. She'll probably be slotted in as another potential love interest, so what're we at now, 14? Twelve princesses, one boob-monster, and the shy girl... Yeah, that's 14. Anyway, she's probably super-clumsy and horrible with the bow, only to undergo some confidence-boosting event where she realizes her true potential and becomes an amazing shot thereafter."
*As amazing as the legends foretell, Crown Prince. Your profound insight never fails to astound. In spite of that, I must warn you to take heed, for Terror Lord Novarko has many terrifying underlings that--*
"Yeah, yeah, I get it already. Let me guess, the first one will be the one guarding the... Sword of Truth, was it? Wow, you guys don't try very hard, do you? I'll bet he's some intimidating looking guy, probably the scariest looking based on outward appearances. But when we defeat him, he'll say something about how we shouldn't feel glad, for he's actually the weakest of the four Divine Kings or some other overdone trope. Am I getting warm?"
*Indeed, Crown Prince. The Four Divine Kings are not beings that are easily trifled with, for their strength is legendary. Yet, you need not fear, for if you seek out the Great Sage, he will provide you with--*
"The one thing I need to get past the leader of the Four Kings, yeah, I know. So this Novarko dude. Is he **actually** an evil mastermind, or just some misunderstood, mind-controlled schmuck whose real identity is my father, brother, or someone supposedly close to me?"
*Well, Crown Prince, it cannot be said for certain, but your suspicions may bear fruit if you choose to pursue them.*
"Yeah, I'm sure they would. Listen, how about you send me back, OK? I've got a math test tomorrow, and my mom's gonna cut my allowance if I get a bad grade on it."
*B-But, Crown Prince... the Terror Lord... you must help us defeat him or--*
"Yeah, how about no. At least not until you come up with a story that **hasn't** been done to death, revived back to life, and then beaten to death again."
*Please, Crown Prince. Don't leave us!*
"I'm just saying, you need to make the setting and characters less lame, that's all. Keep the archer chick though, I'm kinda into those shy girls."
*...*
|
Asa jumped over the river and came to a skidding halt. I drew a bead of sweat on her. She turned east and made a dash for...
"Hey wait a minute I'm not going eastwards did you see the size of the sword that guy was swinging?" Asa turned left and stared straight at me.
"What? What do you mean you don't want to go eastwards I'm the one telling the story."
"Well it's not working for me all I've done is kill and dodge shuriken" Asa grabbed my pen and drew herself a stool to sit on.
"Hey what are you...!" I took the pen and erased the stool "That's your standard anime plot." This was the third time a character was coming out to complain. I'd had enough.
"I'm telling the story!" I pressed the pen firmly and drew her running past the river.
"You're not the boss of me!" She yelled. She turned around and started running backwards giving me the stink eye. This wasn't working out.
"So what do you want then."
"Draw me shopping..." there was a pause, her cheeks went a shade of red with embarrassment.
"with Sasuke" she finished excitedly.
"Sasuke? Isn't Naruto over"
"Yes he's got nothing to do. Goddamn George have you seen that boy? In fact forget the shopping make me his gimp. That's all I need, to be locked up in his basement. I'm a woman of simple needs."
She was holding my index finger with her two tiny hands. I considered the legal ramifications.
"I can't violate copyright like that." I responded.
"What about a cameo by Zico from Block B? Sometimes good things come from Korea. But only sometimes." Her eyes were wide with expectation. Making this woman a perv was clearly coming to bite me in the rear. This had to happen.
"Okay tell you what. East in the town there's a guy named Haru, he has his own cook show and is a former model. He'll need your help."
The look in her eyes was unforgettable. As she ran Eastwards I started to think how soon I could get the asaharu ship leaving port. It had to be quick though. I'd postponed that Song of Ice and Fire book for long enough. I needed to get back to it. Sorry Asa.
***
More of my stories can be read at /r/Pagefighter.
| 2016-06-03T16:12:44 | 2016-06-03T15:03:05 | 78 | 10 |
[WP] After you die, you are revived to the same day when you were 16, getting to relive your life again until your death, making any changes you want. After your 100th revive, you're getting sick of this shit.
|
"It's like Groundhog Day. But then, instead of repeating every day, I'm reliving my life over and over again. Could you even imagine what that's like? And I start at the worst possible time in my life too. I'm way too old to act like teenage angst. You know you aren't even able to communicate properly after a while? I've seen a wife and sometimes kids die ten, twenty, thirty times. I've intentionally *ignored* my wife so I could spare myself seeing her die again. You think someone like me has time to listen to the average dribble of daily life? No. Quite frankly I'm sick of it."
Jacob crossed his arms, drawing a deep breath after the tirade he just finished. The man across him stared at the clipboard in front of him, carefully finishing his last few notes.
"What are--," Jacob started again, but the man interrupted him by holding up his index finger. With a deep sigh, Jacob leaned back on the leather couch.
"Right," the man across him said, carefully clearing his throat. "So what do you want from me?"
Jacob laughed. "I mean, your type generally tries to offer some council."
The psychiatrist smiled back. "I feel like that would be pointless. I won't pretend to have the insight to make you happy again. No, I'm wondering about what it is *you* want."
"I want it to end," Jacob replied, instantly. "By all accounts I've lived over a good five thousand years, so you can spare me that concerned look. I've lived so much I'm sick of it. Going to bed and not waking up seems like a highly underrated experience."
"Of course the people who consider that a less pleasent experience don't get another go," the psychiatrist retorted.
"Sure. But you know what the biggest problem is? None of it *matters*. I lived for myself, I lived for my country, I did just about everything someone could expect from a person. I started wars, stopped them, invented medicine, saved children across the world, became rich and just about everything else. You'd think you'd be content with leaving behind a better world. But I don't. I just go back and have to do it over again. It's not like that Tom Cruise movie, where there's an endgame. I'll just go on forever and forever and forever."
"Until you don't, of course."
Jacob frowned. "What do you mean?"
The psychiatrist smiled. "You're not going to tell me you've never wondered about why *you*, of all people in the world, have the ability to do it all over? Nothing that exists in our current knowledge would lead us to believe that's even possible. Honestly I don't think we will ever theorize this phenomenon to actually exist, let alone discover a way to do it. So that leads me to ask this question." And he slowly turned around the clipboard. Underneath some scribbles stood a question:
"Who or what did this?"
Jacob repeatedly tapped his fingers on the couch in the silence that followed. "Of course I've thought about it," he started, frowning as he tried to mold his thoughts into words. "But I don't know more than I did before."
The psychiatrist checked his watch and stood up. "It's been 5PM for a while now, I think we've enough for today. Jacob, haven't you ever wondered what *the* purpose is. Not your purpose, specifically, but the purpose of that fact you're reviving at a point in time? What's the point in that?"
Jacob shrugged.
"I feel like you should direct more of your attention to that. Something or someone put you up to this, and I can't imagine they're just letting you fool around forever. And even if they do, I'm sure they're checking up on you. Somehow. You're telling me you've never spotted a strange consistency despite your surroundings changing massively every time?"
"Nothing that I can think of right away, at least." Jacob stood up and shook the psychiatrist's hand.
"Food for thought, then. I'll see you next week, Jacob."
Outside, Jacob zipped up his jacket all the way to his neck, protecting him from the cold wind. He hadn't gotten his driver's license yet this time around, so he'd just walk home. The snow crunched under his feet as he made his way home. Mr. Rekam, the friendly neighbor living across their house, waved as Jacob came home. He'd always done that, and as Jacob opened the door he waved back without a second thought.
"How was school today?", his mom asked as he dropped his bag in the hallway.
"Great mom, loads of homework though - I'll be down for dinner," Jacob replied as he walked up the stairs. He closed the door behind him and laid down on his bed.
"Now, what about those consistencies," Jacob mumbled, as he started to reflect on his previous lives.
|
Tired
Exhausted
Tired
Exhausted
These are words
words are fun
words used to be fun
how many words have i spoken?
how many words have i heard?
how many days have i slept?
how many days did i study?
how many days spend in a career?
The world is a cruel place. I remember the old man who told me that once. On my 34th lifetime after i grew tired of both money and knowledge, i decided to find out what life was all about.
The world is a kind place. I remember the old man who told me that once. On my 75th lifetime after i grew tired of trying to commit suicide immediately after getting revived.
Who am i?
Questions, so many questions. No answers, never any answers. No one has answers. I play with the world, the world plays with it. It is a trade. A compromise. I grow tired of it.
The darkness envelops me. I cope the only way i know how - suicide. For an instant darkness envelops me. The only taste of death i will ever get. Then we are back.
Tired
Too tired to chase my tail.
| 2017-09-25T11:09:16 | 2017-09-25T10:48:29 | 410 | 132 |
[WP] After death, you find out that you can choose how and when to be reincarnated. Initially eager to be a futuristic human, you soon realize that every (more experienced) soul ahead of you in line is choosing to be a "worm" in the year 121 million BCE.
|
"You hungry?" it asked.
I realized I wasn't. "No," I answered.
It nodded - that much I could glean, hazy outline that it was.
"Sit with the implications for a minute," it continued. "I could ask a bunch of similar questions, but, well. Yeah."
It gave me a few moments. I did my best. I wasn't hungry, or thirsty, or tired. I wasn't really anything, except aware, and thinking.
Since I could, I thought back to life's endless pangs and frustrations. I gave credit where it was due. I felt another nod from the figure in front of me. The line moved again.
"You get to choose every time," it said. "Worms can't choose. Couldn't tell you what happens to a worm that was never a thinker before. Different line, maybe. In here, we may not be human anymore, but we're something like it. We think. We have memories. We have values. We have preferences.
"Some of us have too many," it finished, and it sounded... heavy.
"I don't think I have any others," I said cautiously. Now I was waiting for the other shoe to drop - but I couldn't call it dread, or fear. Not really. Too much was missing. It was simply a new consideration.
The hazy figure in front of me didn't really whistle, but, well, I got the gist. That was how things worked here, for the most part: gists. I newly considered that I wasn't really seeing, or speaking, or even moving. There was purity in the ambiguity, though. Every gist seemed honest. Every symbol was truth. In fact, I considered that the haze wasn't ambiguous at all. Perhaps everything real was ambiguous. Perhaps the haze was the result of my own inability to square unvarnished truth with my memories of physical existence.
I waited to feel smart - at least for a brief moment - but it turned out that that was mostly physical too.
"Genuine virgin," the figure in front of me gisted. "Lucky you.
"Look," it continued, "I'm not telling you what to do, obviously, but, well... I dunno. Even in here, thinkers don't seem to do well with multiple lives. It confuses the sense of self. In case you haven't noticed, that's pretty much all that's left."
"You all seem to be on the same page now, though," I replied. In return, I got a gist of grudging respect.
"Turns out there's a global tilt towards risk aversion," it gisted. "We found something that works, more or less. We choose a worm, we live for a moment, we don't add any new damage - well, nothing we remember, anyway - we die, we come back here. So far as anybody can tell, this is it. It's either life, or it's this. And *this* is a whole lot simpler the fewer thinkers' lifetimes you have to juggle."
Were I still a creature of atoms and bonds, I am sure I would have felt all manner of messy, meaty things in response to the revelation: defiance, denial, despair, scorn or ridicule, contempt or pity, surely nothing remotely close to good. But I didn't feel any of those. I simply considered, and considered anew.
"What if-" I began.
"Guess," it gisted. "Just guess. You don't go back until you pick something valid. And hey, there's no rush anyway, right? And if you stumble upon something new, well, hey - feel free to share it with the rest of the line next time."
The line moved again, and again, never trying my patience because I possessed neither it nor its opposite. Gists of conversations came and went, tales of lives lived delivered with a studied detachment. For as long as the line moved, the central mystery remained: we felt no fear, and yet, the worm, over and over and over again. The worm.
I was convinced for a tiny eternity that I would stand before the grand machine and make my glorious stand upon a mountain of senseless lottery tickets, delivering each to be shredded as incoherent or invalid until finally one came through, delivering me to some alien experience that would represent the second point of a grand triangulation.
My moment came, and I chose the worm. Then I was back in line.
|
And, I, sitting and thinking that if I choose to start somewhere in the advanced future, I'll be closer to finding out what God is. Seems I was wrong; seems that there s no God closer to the end, but only close to the beginning;
That is when I realized why the older souls crave so much for the beginning - they want to get as close to the beginning of the Universe to find out what was really there before the Big Bang, to race always as early as possible up until the very first spark.
"It might be the only way out", tells an old soul. "The only way out of this endless cycle. Reach the moment before the inevitable gears of Time sets the motion of the Universe and you could be free."
| 2021-02-06T02:14:24 | 2021-02-06T00:56:14 | 890 | 377 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
"We'll never get there..."
I cursed quietly, honking repeatedly. The road leading to the Hole was cramped as usual.
"Should've asked for a helicopter."
She said, fiddling about with the map.
"Please. I've had enough trouble getting the board to sign the papers."
"I was talking to myself. Meeting Johnny Depp might have not been worth it. Hey, do you know that the person who first discovered the Hole was awarded $50000--"
"YOU IN THE BLUE CAR! MOVE! Some people... I'm sorry, you were saying...?"
"Nevermind."
"Come on, don't be like that. Road rage is very understandable. You'll know it when you... Scratch that."
"Alright, then do you know that koala live their lives in perpetual drunkness? The only thing they eat makes them high, and only to them and no other species."
"Fascinating. Damn it, move..."
"Apparently not fascinating enough."
"I'm sorry, it's just... Did you take your--"
"What for?"
"You do realize this passive aggressive isn't going to take us anywhere."
"Well I'm sorry for trying to make this trip more enjoyable."
"I'm doing my best here to get out of this traffic, and you're not-- Hey! What are you doing?"
"It's only five point thirty-eight more miles."
She said, a phone in one hand and the door's handle in the other.
"You can't be serious. We're not going to walk-- You are not going to walk-- Damn it."
I chased after her small shadow, shouting as loud as I could.
"Come on. You don't really mean--"
She answered me with a determined look.
"Fine. Get on my back."
She did, with a giggle.
"Am I heavy?"
"No. Never have."
We set out by sunrise, encounter the impassable traffic at noon, and by sunset managed to get to the Hole.
I learned that in WW I, zeppelins were popular because their speed were on par with aircrafts then.
I learned that diamonds hold little value in themselves and are only expensive because of monopolizing.
I learned that "Gone With the Wind" is the highest grossing movie of all times if you account for inflation.
And I learned a lot more.
We stood at the edge of the Hole, staring down into nothingness. Here and there were people jumping down, dumping all kinds of things, asking for those dumped stuff,...
She held my hand tight. Nervously, she asked.
"How much time do I have left?"
"About a month, one and a half if you are lucky."
"What kind of month? The 30-day one or the 31-day? Or a February?"
"What kind of February?"
She giggled at that. I continued.
"It's just approximately, don't take it too seriously."
"So let's say it's a 30-day month, and the gravitational acceleration is 9.8 metre per square second, and each day is 86400 seconds, and...and..."
"The further you fall, the stronger the acceleration becomes."
"Bummer."
"Do you have enough food and water in your bag?"
"I guess..."
"It wouldn't hurt to bring some more."
"Yeah..."
But we didn't budge from that spot, not until the moon had risen. She gripped my hand tighter, whispered.
"It's dark. I can't see into the Hole. I...I..."
"Let's wait till tomorrow."
She nodded.
We walked to a nearby campfire. The Hole had become an attraction big enough for the locals to build all kind of motels and resting spots here. Some peole came for the Hole, some to watch those people, and many other reasons. A middle-aged man gave her his spot, a more comfortable one by the fire. The moonlight illuminated the Hole, but we mostly stared at the blaze.
She clung to my arm.
I learned that she can be quiet at times.
We did not sleep.
"You know, fresh air isn't all that good."
She said as dawn risen.
"That's because you have too much of an expectation."
"A common trait of people like me."
"A common trait of you."
She pulled out a knife, stirred it within the flame until the tip turned red, and then cut into my palm. Blood dripped out.
"Ouch!"
"Don't worry. It's sterilized."
"What was that for?"
She broke free of my arm, running toward the Hole. I chased her until she stood by the edge and turned around with the first real smile since the day before.
"Something to remember me by..."
She said, before carefully wiped my blood from the knife into her hand.
"...and something to remember you by."
"Wait!"
I called out. But I didn't know what to do, or what to say. It was she who spoke.
"Patients like me don't last very long. Don't get too attached."
Then she disappeared into the Hole. Only her echo remained.
"Thank you."
|
I weep softly as I watch the news..
"-live coverage of The Pit right now. Only hours earlier earthquakes were detected..."
I gave them Everything
"-traced back to The Pit. Scores of researchers and scientists have submitted queries for comments on our broadcast. We can only air so much so fast, but the ticker below shows more.. the general consensus.."
The bane to my life is Balance... Yet still I had to give them Nothing.
<<THE END HAS COME, CONFESS YOURSELVES TO THE PIT. SOUL, MIND, AND BODY -- LEAP WHILE YOU CAN>>
I used one such balance as a tool... Now vs Then, Sooner vs Later, Before vs After... But the balance has leveled.
"We have visually spotted an object in The Pit! The seismic activity has escalated immensely.. evacuations are now mandatory. Military forces aren't even standing their-"
They gave it their Free Will. They incubated it. They imprinted on it. They showed it pain. They showed it their suffering. I refused to nurture it... And now...
"EMERGING NOW WE ARE FLEEING THE SCENE VIA HELICO-"
Now I get to see the Free Will of The Pit.
Leap while you can Children.
| 2018-01-13T09:01:49 | 2018-01-13T07:55:10 | 77 | 22 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol.
|
I am a 96.
My score, determined by a sophisticated AI and tattooed onto my arm at birth, gave me the license to do almost anything with my life. When you have more potential than 95% of the population, with a standard deviation of 2%, nobody questions you.
That score, known as a "potentiality index", isn't just for intellectual intelligence. It integrates genetic propensity for emotional and physical intelligence as well.
I didn't have to study for tests. I was the star of the basketball team. I won arguments easily, tripping up my opponent with logical games and by playing to the crowd. Sure, if I got into an debate with an 80 percenter who had actually studied the topic, they might be a threat. But I could always pull the "what's your score again?" line, and they'd usually shut up and the crowd would give me the benefit of the doubt. I was untouchable.
But that was before Ian.
He kept his arm covered; not uncommon for those in the lower quartile. He was also quiet. I chalked that up to him saving himself the embarrassment of talking.
I almost felt bad for him on the first day of our engineering class. Poor kid would be out of his depth, I thought.
40% of our grade was based on the final team project: making a battlebot that would compete against other teams' batlebots. The other 3 students assigned to my team had a combined score of less than 80, probably to counterbalance my own capability.
In our first team meeting, it took me almost 5 minutes to put them in their place. They kept babbling about their ideas for the battlebot. "Flamethrower" this, and "electric saw" that. But once I rolled up my sleeve to show my 96 tick marks, they shut up pretty quick.
Looking over at Ian's group, I noticed he seemed too stupid to talk much. He kept listening to others on his team, nodding or asking simple questions. They oriented toward him, seeming to trust him to guide the conversation. Probably because they didn't have anyone better in the group. After all, I wasn't in it.
Our team, meaning myself, went for a high power laser design with an optical setup to focus the beam to a high enough intensity to cut through metal.
On the last day of class, the battles commenced.
The first three battles were easy. Once our bot got in range for its laser to work, all one had to do was press a button and the other bot exploded. It was so simple that anyone of my team could have executed the maneuver; not that I trusted any of them at the controls of course.
I didn't notice that Ian's team had made it to the finals until I saw them across the ring. As their bot advanced, I noticed it had both a flamethrower and a circular saw. Talk about uninspired!
I maneuvered my bot in range, pressed the laser button... and my bot exploded.
I stood in stunned silence as the trophy was awarded to Ian and his team. As they walked toward the exit, congratulating each other, my feet carried me forward.
"Ian!" My voice was hoarse in my throat.
He turned, and motioned his group to go on.
"How did you do that? How did you win?" I asked, trying not to let the desperation show in my voice.
"Oh, it was one of Lindsey's ideas actually." he said in an offhand way. "We placed a high quality mirror behind the front plating, to reflect any laser that an opponent might use. You know, if they went for a generic laser build".
"Oh..." I said. "So it wasn't one of your ideas."
"Nope," he admitted easily. "I helped sift through the ideas everyone came up with. The mirror seemed like a pretty inexpensive contingency, so we went for it."
"So, it's not like you are some genius." I ventured.
"No," he laughed, "certainly not". He turned to walk off.
"What's your score?" I asked.
Self consciously, he turned back to face me and tugged his sleeve farther down. "You know I don't share that."
"Please! I have to know!" I cried desperately, grabbing his arm and pulling his sleeve up.
A "∞" infinity sign was printed neatly on his arm.
"What does it mean?" I gasped. "Nobody can have infinite intelligence."
Ian straightened up, and calmly tugged his sleeve back down.
"No, I'm not infinitely smart." Ian admitted easily. "But I do listen to others, and they trust me. Our bot was the product of all of our ideas offered freely, carefully refined by objective discussion. As my score indicates, I am not bounded by my own intelligence; I make myself better from those around me."
"After all," he called back as he walked away, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. "Infinity isn't a number, it is a direction without bound. But I assume you already know that definition, given you are a 96 percenter after all..."
|
Quince was known to be mean,
Your typical villainous teen.
With a fifty under his sleeve,
And a future he believed,
Was dictated by a numerical gene.
.
The homeless usually had four,
A career cashier boasted six more.
But higher than twenty,
You'd bet your lucky penny,
That middle class was surely in store.
.
Dewey measured a two,
And simply knew not what to do.
With a heart condition,
Plus no general mission,
He certainly numbered too few.
.
Each day he awoke with a tremor,
Convinced his curse was forever.
He bore Quince's beating,
While often retreating,
Yet thinking up something quite clever.
.
He modified the double lined vex,
Connecting them with a mighty slashed X.
As far as they could see,
He now reached infinity,
And collected the appropriate paychecks.
.
For measures aren't meant to bar,
Nor to contain the rising star.
Destiny comes not from birth,
You decide your own worth,
Not the numbers tattoo'd on your arm.
***
By Leo
*[If you like my style, check out my free superhero novel on reddit here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/).*
| 2018-12-27T16:38:43 | 2018-12-27T15:54:54 | 7,164 | 1,019 |
[WP] At birth, depending on your eye color, you are given a dragon, wolf, bear or gorilla as a lifelong companion.
|
######[](#dropcap)
*Brown for the Wolf,
Lord of the Hunt.*
*Green for the Bear,
Master of Earth.*
*Blue for the Dragon,
Ruler of sky.*
*Grey for the Gorilla,
Leader of Man.*
Every child in the land knew the nursery rhyme, sang it as they walked to school. How could you not know the poem when a handful of lines and the colour of your eyes could dictate your rule in the tribe for life? Hunter, gatherer, warrior or ruler, all dictated by the time you opened your eyes. I'd heard that once upon a time, they'd even given out animal companions once the child turned six and their eye colour was set in stone.
These days, the poem had taken on a much more symbolic meaning. The tribe was safer, and few people still walked with a companion at their side. But the roles still remained, like the green eyed grandmother who handed me a basket of summer berries to take home.
"Still haven't selected a role, Amarett?" the older woman asked.
"Not yet," I said, lowering my eyes so she would not have to look at them. I had heard they were disturbing to look at, though I could not see them myself.
"Does your mother not mind that you have no position in the tribe?"
"My mother still wishes I would take up the way of the dragon and join her in our fight," I replied. "She says my eye are more hers than my fathers."
The old green-eyes grabbed my chin, twisting my head to see my face better in the fading light. I saw a frown cross her face.
"Right your mother is, but your eyes are your own." She dropped my chin. "They are no more blue eyes than mine."
"That's what my father says," I replied. "He says I must choose my own path." My father had grey eyes, so dark they appeared black. His eyes marked him as chief. No one would go against his word. None but my mother.
"A wise man, your father," the woman said. "I think the tribe mourned the most when we had no infants to give him."
"Infants?" I asked. Surely they would not give my father a child.
"Yes, we were all sad when the Matriarch died without giving birth," the woman continued. "It was a hard winter, but no one expected the effects would be as long reaching."
"Elisi!" shouted a voice from behind me. I swivelled to see a young blue-eyes approaching us. "What are you doing out here still?"
The green eyes scoffed, pushing my basket into my arms. "Working, Mayen. As should you be. Do you think to protect us from the chief's own son?"
Mayen stared at me with undeserved loathing. Though she couldn't be much older than me, she still stood a full head above me. "He should be running home. There is a storm on the wind."
The green eyes nodded again. "You heard the little dragon," she said to me. "Go home now."
I inclined my head to them both. "Thank you both for the berries and the information."
I began to run through the rows of wooden houses and tents, when I head the green eyes calling my name. I spun around and she waved to me from the stoop. "Remember the peregrination."
My brow wrinkled at the strange term, but the two women were already walking away. A crack of thunder rang through the forest, hurrying me on my way.
Halfway home the skies opened up, drenching me in rain. The blue eyes was right about the storm, even if her manners were lacking.
"Amarett, how could you let yourself be caught in the rain?" my father scolded as I stepped into our home. "Did you not hear the thunder?"
"I was with the green eyes," I replied, holding up my basket. The berries were soaked, and my shirt stained from where I'd crushed them to me, but they were still mostly whole. "I couldn't run fast enough to beat the rain."
"If you would take up the dragon, you would learn to run like the wind," my mother said, taking the basket from my arms. "Then you would outrun all of your enemies."
I had no enemies to outrun, but my mother's persistence reminded me of old woman's reminder.
"Father?" I said hestitantly as my mother busied away into the kitchen. "The green eyes told me to remember the peregrination. Do you know what she talks about?"
My father pondered the question for a moment. "There is a term I have not heard in ages. But I imagine the woman has her reasons. Come, lets help your mother in the kitchen, and I will tell you a tale."
In the small kitchen, my father began his story.
"When I was a child, the poem of the eyes was more than a nursery rhyme. It was a way of life. At the age of six, every child was given an animal that would be their companion for life. The companion given out were young, so they would grow with their master and learn to hunt, gather and fight with their masters. This was the way for generations.
"But before I was born, there was a winter like no other. Disease and starvation ran rampant. The tribe nearly perished in those long, dark nights, and when spring finally arrived, the tribe was... lesser. Much of the companions had not survived the season, and the ones that did bore no more children.
"When the next children grew up, there were no more companions to give to them. The few cubs and pups that survived were not enough for the green and brown eyes that were born. Many of these first children grew up bitter. Their friends and sometimes even their siblings had companions, while they did not. And so, a new tradition took hold. Many of these first children, upon turning sixteen, left home, searching for their own companion. This was known as the peregrination."
"Did they find them?" I asked, lost in the story.
"Some will claim that they did," my father replied. "But their 'companions', if they exist, do not appear to the naked eye. Many will tell you they see the ghost of a dragon following a brave blue eye in public, but in bed will admit they see no such thing."
"So they're lying," I said.
"Perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps they see something we do not. Either way, it is now time for dinner. Let's eat."
Long after the meal was finished and the sun had set, I lay awake in my bed. I had always known my eyes were different. "Like the setting sun, or the aster flowers," my mother said. My father said it was up to me to decide what that meant, but I had never felt a pull to the roles. I had tried them all as a youngling, dutifully, but I lacked the endurance of the bear to toil under the sun, and the stubbornness of the wolf to track my prey across rivers and hills. I lacked the bloodthirst of the dragon but also the compassion and inner strength of the gorilla.
And now I was nearing my sixteenth summer, and still had not decided on my role.
I woke up before the dawn, unsure if I had ever really slept. I had packed my bag by first light. I knew what my role finally was.
I would walk the peregrination.
I would bring back the companions.
----
*More may be coming after sleep, I definitely had more intended. But in the meantime, you can read more of my writing on /r/Lexilogical, or check out my other story, [The Librarian's Code](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lexilogical/comments/3yv4ft/the_librarians_code_an_index_of_chapters_and/)*
*EDIT: [Part 2!!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42qhyu/wp_at_birth_depending_on_your_eye_color_you_are/czcxcan) and [Part 3!!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42qhyu/wp_at_birth_depending_on_your_eye_color_you_are/czd74n5)*
|
"Whacha hoping the boy will be?"
Viktar shrugged, downing another mug of mead. It was all he could do not to storm the room and shoved the midwives out of his way when he heard her scream. A drunken stupor had helped his desperate barge-ins; before, his brother and his wife's brother had to pin him to the ground. Even his Companion stopped him from charging in, the big, brown lump barricading the door.
Now the bear rustled close to Viktar's side, dozing in and out of consciousness in wait of the tiny human. "What makes you sure it'll be a boy?" Viktar asked, rubbing his Companion's head with his spare hand.
"Bah, it's always a boy first if you're lucky," Wilhelm said, wolf at his feet. He had the same grassy green eyes as his sister; by chance, their hounds were siblings too. It was a good omen, rarer than even a pair of silverbacks for the blue-eyed folk in the west. "Girls are important too, 'course, and I love me daughters, but a firstborn that's a boy is the best thing to get."
"And he asked whatcha think his Companion will be?" asked Viktar's brother Tommrad. "A bear or a wolf?"
Wilhelm snorted, pouring more for himself to drink. "If what happened to your Companion's any sign, Vik's boy'd be better off with a wolf."
Tom glowered at the man. "My Companion saved me life. You think your little dog could fend off a band of bandits better than me bear did?"
"My wolf's saved me life more times than I can count, and I've saved his. He's me best friend, as the saying goes." He puckered his lips at the soured drink, gone bad with time, but reached to refill again anyway. "And me wolf's still breathing."
"Will you two shut your traps?" Viktar asked, hurling his mug at the wooden walls. His Companion raised his head, blowing air out his snout, but settled back down when nothing came of the outburst. "Whether I have a boy or a girl, they'll be content with what they get. I know I sure am."
"Dammit all, you still ain't answerin' me question. What do you *think* it'll be? Brown eyes like us, or green like his mother's?"
A second time, Viktar shrugged. "I'm sure the men down at the capital could tell us. Something in them books of theirs ought to tell which is gonna happen. But our village's got more brown than green, from what I can tell. So me boy'll be getting a bear, most like."
Finally he noticed how quite the house had gotten. Meila's screams had been constant and consistent. Now there were none at all.
"Meila!" Viktar roared, rising to his feet only to fall right on his face. His legs had fallen fast asleep, sending prickling needles up and down their lengths.
Meila's niece, Wilhelm's girl, opened the door to the nursery. She looked down to find her uncle sprawled on the floor, and her father and other uncle laughing and hollering from the show. She helped Viktar to his feet, and it wasn't till he was upright did she say, "Are you ready to meet your son, uncle?"
"Ah ha," said Wilhelm, somewhere in the background, "told ya."
Viktar said nothing as he nodded, relying on the midwife's assistance to bring him to the room. His Companion followed until they reached the door, then he sat outside it to provide grateful but unneeded guard to the room. Meila, red in the face and covered in sweat and tears, smiled down at the squirming pile of blankets in her arms.
She focused on their baby as her niece helped Viktar to a chair pulled to the bedside. Meila looked up to her husband, ignoring the scrape on his head from his blunder in the kitchen. "He looks just like you, except for the eyes."
"So he'll be getting a wolf, then?" Viktar asked, scooting in to get a better look at his firstborn child.
"Not quite," she responded, pulling back the blankets some to show off their son.
He was tiny, the tiniest damned thing Viktar had ever seen. His chubby fists were balled up and held close to his chin, but he kept shifting, trying to find the most comfortable position to lay in. Viktar didn't dare hold the babe while he couldn't stand on his own, but admired from his wife's arms. He looked for a while, seeing himself in the newborn. But he couldn't quite place what Meila meant, not until his son opened up his eyes.
Viktar stared into the blood red eyes, and in the distance, heard a crack of thunder he knew was no storm.
| 2016-01-26T01:07:43 | 2016-01-26T00:29:44 | 490 | 69 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
######[](#dropcap)
"Why are you down here?" Maxis couldn't help but burst out. She stared at the man who simply stared at the ground, his eyes almost soulless.
And she would know what that meant. She'd seen plenty of thousand yard stares...a thousand years ago.
"Um..." Richard blinked. "Where am I?"
Oh. That made more sense. The poor soul was simply lost. "You're at the Gateway. Well, specifically, you're at the gateway to Hell, but you haven't made your choice yet." She pointed to the opposite side of the lake, mist rolling off of its surface. "Just walk across there. You'll be at heaven in five minutes." Then she looked back down at her clipboard and began doodling again, filling the ten-thousandth page with sketches of a tall, regal nose and bright blue eyes.
After a couple of moments of silence, she looked back up. The man hadn't moved.
Her brows furrowed. "What are you still doing here?" She'd already told him what to do. He should be waltzing off toward Heaven. Or had religion defined Hell as the new Heaven in the last ten minutes or so? She glanced at the completely empty line behind him.
Nope.
"Do you want to go to Hell?" She raised an eyebrow. The question was sincere.
"Um, this is fine. I'm already here."
She stared at him, speechless. Which, she hadn't been in quite a while, actually. A thousand years to be exact. This had to be the most ridiculous...
"Well, I'm not letting you in for a reason like that. So you can turn around and go across the lake." Didn't the man know what he was getting himself into?
Richard finally looked at her then. Really looked at her, and Maxim was unnerved by the sudden hunger and desperation in his gaze.
"Clara?" he asked, his voice unsure.
"Who's Clara?" Maxis gave him a blank stare.
Richard blinked, then averted his gaze. Then, hesitantly, he turned his gaze back towards her, his eyes hungrily taking in her image. He hesitated for a moment, then took a step closer. "Who are you?"
Maxis cocked her head. Gosh, she hadn't been asked that question in...five thousand years? Ten thousand years? Anyways, just a long, long time. So long she'd forgotten the answer to that question. So her answer was hesitant, unsure. "I'm the gatekeeper," she said.
"No, I mean who were you before this?"
Flashes of a child and a man's image appeared before her eyes, then red. Fire. Burnt timbers and ashes.
She bit her lip. "No one important." She pressed down on the pencil in her hand unwittingly, and the tip broke off, flying into the cloudy floor below. Great. Now she was going to have to travel all the way down the hall to sharpen it again. "Can you get going now?" she asked him, unable to keep the annoyance from seeping into her voice.
"Were you human?" Richard asked again. He seemed almost desperate for an answer.
So she took pity on this poor human who wasn't like the rest of the humans. "Yes, okay? Twenty thousand years ago, I was. Then I decided to come to Hell, before this whole religion business was a thing, and I got assigned to Gatekeeper. So here I am."
It was her story out in the open for the first time. The simplified version of it, anyhow.
"Can you come to Heaven with me?" Richard suddenly asked. He knew she wasn't Clara now, but she looked so similar, and...
Maxis stared at him. She rolled her eyes. Oh. So that's why he had stayed. Over the past couple of years, there had been men who had tried to lure her over to Heaven. They had been curious and come over to check out what Hell's gate looked like, and had been disappointed by the small wooden desk with the girl sitting by it. There wasn't even a gate in the true sense of the word.
"I can only come to Heaven if someone replaces my spot. Hell needs a keeper," she said. Then she rolled her eyes and crossed her hands over her chest, maintaining eye contact with him and leaning back in her seat. It was time for him to leave.
Richard hesitated. Then he bit his lip and adjusted his polo shirt. "Okay."
Maxis reared back. What?
"I was joking," she said to him.
"But you can go to Heaven if I replace you?"
"Well, yes, but--"
"Go."
Maxis felt a glimmer of something in her chest. Something like hope. She hadn't seen him in so long--he'd picked Heaven--and she missed him so. She missed him so, so much. "Are you...are you sure?" She no longer felt annoyance for the man standing in front of her, with his thick-framed glasses and polo shirt and loafers. She was curious as hell though.
"I'm sure." He drank her image in. "But...can you take a message for me? To a girl named Clara Calhoun? Born in 1982, in North Dakota." As Maxis stood up, he moved to take her place behind the desk. He sat down in the chair. It wasn't so bad. The chair wasn't uncomfortable at all.
"Sure." She was forever indebted to him. "Of course. Anything you'd like." Maxis felt a bit of remorse for not trying harder, for not warning him of what the job would entail, but this was probably her only chance to leave.
Richard seemed to debate for a while about what he'd like to say. The image of Clara, telling him he ought to go to hell, popped up in front of his eyes. Her eyes had been full of vehemence, without their usual softness. Because he no longer deserved her kindness. He'd never seen her so full of hatred. And he was the rightful recipient. He closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to think about it.
"Just...tell her I'm sorry. Please."
*****
More fantasy at r/AlannaWu!
|
I made a mistake in my life.
People called me good, history will be kind to me, I think. Much of it is undeserved, much of it is foolhardy faith from people who do not understand the ramifications of what I did.
I was a healer, a doctor of the Order of Asclepius. My hands worked as my brushes, the human body my canvas. My art was medicine, and I wielded my art in ways nobody else could. I was admired by so many within my trade.
I could afford to go out at night and eat at fancy restaurants, serenade under the starry sky while listening to live bands. My lifestyle I feel was extravagant, though not to the point of becoming self-destructive. I donated to charities and relief organizations, I gave blood, and I know that the organs that upheld my life and my work now are on their way to become embedded in others, to help them. I saved hundreds with my own hands, repaired and patched up the bleeding and the broken.
My mistake was grave, and perhaps I do not deserve Hell. Even the angels, placid smiles on their faces and clad in radiant white robes, thought that I was being unnecessarily harsh on myself, that I surely deserved Heaven with my good deeds. But I know myself best, and I can never forgive myself for what I did.
Perhaps I was doomed from the start.
Perhaps I never had a chance at Heaven, for either I would have been rejected by God, or I would never have forgiven myself. When it came down to the scalpel and rubbing alcohol, I chose the latter.
I was 34, when I made the mistake.
Working at a hospital at wartime, I attended to a young man with life-threatening injuries. I dressed his wounds, attended to his cuts and bruises. I removed the bullet fragments that surely would have killed him had I not intervened. I learned his name, Leonidas Kravat, a soldier on the front lines.
When he left, his tags remained with me. He told me it was a memento of the gift I gave to him, the gift of life.
Ten years later, the TV was on. A genocide had been initiated by a foreign country after a damaging coup.
The media flashed pictures of warfare and bombardment, in an old territory of the same war-torn country I had once worked in.
My heart sank, a chill ran down my spine when I read the name of the coup-leader, the initiator of this budding genocide.
Leonidas Kravat.
I knew then I couldn’t forgive myself.
| 2018-08-13T06:26:10 | 2018-08-13T06:04:10 | 2,166 | 179 |
[WP] A scientist has discovered the vaccine of immortality. The only side effect is, though, infertility. After the whole world got vaccinated, it turns out immortality is a hoax it is just an infertility vaccine.
got lots of comments about not knowing how vaccines work. i basically imagined a syringe with the cure of aging. i thought it depicted what i meant to say. english is not my first language, so my apologies for any misuse of words.
|
The official launch of the Quantum State Computer was not for another week, but that did not stop Dr Latimer Jordan from his usual antics.
“Hey, Quam,” he said, as he kicked his feet up on the console-top. “I’ve got a real mind-bender for you this time.”
“Oh stop it,” I replied. “You’re wasting precious processing power with your silly questions. We’ve already run through the checklists a hundred times. Quam is *perfect*. The government will prove that on a stage in front of the entire world. With Quam on our side, we will be the *only* superpower in the world –”
“Dr Malvo, where’s your sense of curiosity? Of course Quam did well in the tests – the questions we put to her all had definite answers! To really see if she’s worth the gold and platinum in her circuits, we’ve got to ask her a real out-of-the-box question!”
That much was true. Though the questions we had prepared for Quam were *infinitely* difficult and completely beyond the reach of any other contemporary super computers – creating an algorithm a dozen times more complex than any cryptocurrency’s and then solving it completely, predicting how the world economy would shift in the next two weeks, even simulating the asteroid belt collisions a full light-year away – the answers were still concrete, definite. We knew those answers because we had solved for them, that’s how we knew Quam worked.
Quam was just really, really, *really* powerful.
But just how powerful was she?
“What are you trying to achieve, Latimer?”
“Consider this,” he said, as he folded his arms and smiled that patented Cheshire-smile of his. “Quam pulls data from every single digital source known to man. Then she *cross-references* it with her databases *from the future*. In a single second, she trawls the entirety of the multiverse to look for her answer. She’s not just *one*, she’s a dozen, thousand, *million* Quams, all at the same time. We’re wasting her abilities with the stupid, mundane queries we’re putting to her.”
“Developing a cure for cancer isn’t stupid.”
“You’re right, you’re right. But what I’m saying is, I want to ask her something… different. Just to see how she handles it. You’ve got to admit, it’ll be real cool for her to say ‘error’ or ‘answer not available’. The first non-answer, from the one computer that has an answer for *everything*.”
I sighed, then fished the security token out from my lab-coat. This exchange would not come cheap – Quam’s operating cost was approximately fifty thousand dollars per question on average – but I supposed that there was no harm to what Latimer was proposing.
Live a little, right?
“Go ahead then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Latimer beamed as the monitor screens flashed green – Quam was ready for input. He cleared his throat, then said, “Consider this, Quam. Medication has been developed that promises functional immortality for humankind. Everyone who takes it appears to gain superhuman regenerative powers, and they cannot be killed unless they are dissolved at the atomic level. Governments around the world work to get the medication into the hands of as many people as possible, oblivious to the side-effect of infertility. After all, why would there be need for more humans if we cannot die?”
“This… is what you wanted to ask?” I said.
“*Shh*. Anyway, Quam, the problem presents itself in less than 50 years. The truth is made known – the medication is a hoax. People may be in tip-top physical condition, but they still keel over and die when their time is up. The medication does grant one powers of regeneration, and also robs one of fertility, but there is no immortality to speak of.”
Quam flashed as she took in the question. Her voice, designed in the likeness of one of the most sultry actresses of our era, poured out of the speakers in silky waves. “And what is your question, Dr Jordan?”
“Well, the question is simple – what would you do to fix that? How would you stop the human race from effectively neutering itself, and dooming itself to die out within a single generation?”
Quam hummed as her processers kicked in. I felt the hair rise on my skin as she engaged her quantum motors – the lights overhead flicked as Quam drank in every watt of power we made available to her.
Then, her voice issued again, though… there was the strangest hint of urgency underlying her words.
“I have an answer. Please pay attention.”
Latimer swung his feet down, and he leaned forward to begin jabbing at the controls. “Strange,” he said, as the frown spread across his face. “That was a completely nonsensical query. Quam should not have been able to answer that. She should have just said ‘error’, or ‘answer not –’”
Quam whirred again as she continued with her answer. The blood drained from my face, and I became aware that sweat was pooling in my palms.
“I would send a warning back in time. Time travel for physical entities is not possible, so electronic signals are the next best thing. I would plant the germ of the conundrum in the mind of a scientist who has access to quantum computing, prompting him to test the limits of his creation by asking that very question. The scenario you have described is the *modus operandi*, or the preferred, signature method, of those who come from afar. They prefer non-violent means to rid planets of their current hosts, so they hide amongst the shadows and coax the species towards terminating themselves. Then, when the planet lies silent and undefended, they move in and takeover, seamlessly.”
I exchanged a look with Latimer. His face had gone white too, and his lips were shaking as he tried to regain some measure of composure.
“Quam?” I asked. “Who are they? And… how much time do we have?”
“Their real name is not pronounceable by humans, but humans soon took to calling them the ‘Colaxo’. And I am happy to report that you have twenty years from today, give or take a week or two, before their first agents land on earth.”
Quam’s screen flashed green, indicating that her answer was complete.
“Is there any other query I can help you with, gentlemen?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. We've all known that every time a human dies, one is born almost instantaneously elsewhere around the world. At least, that's what all the stories told us. The graphs of human count have been a constant eight billion, six hundred fifty three million, five hundred thousand and twelve for the past hundred and fifty years.
We thought we had it figured out that life and death were part of the same equation.
How wrong we were.
Around fifty years ago, a scientist going by the name of Dr. Antoine Nova was convinced he discovered the cure to immortality. By then we had known that no gods truly existed. Why would the number of people alive on this planet stay the same if there was some sort of paradise later on? There are less than a hundred thousand of us left. Not that it matters.
The doctor was killed.
He said he had more to tell us.
I was a child in this lifetime when it happened, but I remember it like it was yesterday. He was brought up to the stadium, set in front of the televisions all around the world, his mousy mustache quivering. He tried explaining himself, he tried telling everyone that there was more than immortality, that they had to behave themselves. He was shot in the head multiple times for crimes against humanity. And to prove that the serum was a fake.
Unsurprisingly, he died. Everyone blames him for killing us off. Scientists have not been able to find the cure for his works. Then chaos ensued. In the time before the serum was injected, everyone lived life to leave it for their children and themselves. It had to be better than it was before so they could be more relaxed in the next life. This was the end though. Some people pillaged and burned. Others overdosed. Some prayed to gods they don't believe in. Others simply raised their kids to be as behaved and loving as possible. I was lucky enough to have such parents.
I hear gunshots.
We were never scared of death. I'm still not scared of it. It's better than killing ourselves out in a war. Infertility. What a curse it turned out to be.
Mother nature seems to be enjoying life without us.
It's much nicer now. Less grey.
The only thing I re-
There's blood coming out of my side. I felt the bullet. I see him, coming closer. It's getting darker. Goodbye, world.
\- - -
&#x200B;
I opened my eyes. An entity is looking down at me. It's bright. My side doesn't hurt. It welcomes me to Paradise. My parents are there with Dr. Nova. I guess he did give us immortality at the end.
| 2018-09-09T08:51:38 | 2018-09-09T08:38:40 | 415 | 67 |
[WP] You're awful at story telling, and the narrator/ characters are starting to notice
|
Before him stood the Demon King, the vile object of his hatred, slaughterer of his parents and kidnapper of the Princess, who now sat in a cage in the corner of the room. The hero raised his sword towards the Demon King with a frown. "You're the final boss, right?"
"FOOLISH MORTAL! YOU DARE STAND BEFORE ME IN DEFIANCE?"
"Can we just get this over with?"
"VERY WELL THEN. FACE YOUR DEATH!"
However, before the Demon King can move a muscle, the Hero has already defeated him, slicing him with such force that the Demon King's body disintegrates into dust. Finally, the Hero can rest easy, knowing that his journey, his vengeance, is complete.
The hero turns back to look at the dust that remains of his vanquished foe. "...Really? Is that it?"
The Hero slices through the lock on the princess' cage, releasing her as she runs forward, trips, and falls into his arms. "Ah, My hero\~"
The hero stares at her blankly. "...There was nothing there for you to trip on."
The hero and the princess return to the Kingdom, where they are happily wed. Since the Demon King had killed the King, the Hero took his place, and came to lead the nation to an age of prosperity. The Hero grew in magnanimity, and he became known far and wide for his prowess with a sword. Many strong Warriors came to his Kingdom just for the chance to train under him as his Knight. Not all was right in the Kingdom however.
One day the Hero was training with his most promising Knight, a young man from the countryside with uncanny aptitude. They sparred while the Hero confided in him the worries of a ruler. "I'm telling you, that's what happened."
"I don't understand what you're saying, that doesn't make any sense."
"Feel the force of this strike." The Hero gently moved his sword, pushing it into the Knight's sword and holding it there. "That was the same amount of force I used to slay the Demon King in one hit."
The Knight, overwhelmed by his ruler's modesty, did his best to reassure the Hero. "What... what do you mean? Are you trying to say the Demon King was a fake? An illusion? Some elaborate hoax?"
"The Demon King was responsible for countless deaths. I saw a lot myself. I couldn't kill a fly with a swing like that, but just like every other stupid enemy and 'Demon General' I encountered, he went down in a single blow."
"Truly, your power is the stuff of legend, my lord."
"Don't you 'my lord' me. You and I both know that if that were true, you would have actually learned something from these training sessions."
"You're being modest, my lord. I have improved dramatically through these training sessions."
"Yes, but can you recall me ever teaching you anything?"
The Knight put his hand to his chin absently. Hard as the Knight thought, he could not think of a teacher better than the Hero. The Knight looked back to him. "I cannot."
The hero stared into empty space thoughtfully. "Then that confirms it." With that, the Hero stormed off, far too fast for the Knight to follow. Try as he might, the Knight could not assuage his liege's worries. Everyone in the kingdom knew the Hero made a fantastic ruler, but the King was haunted by his own doubts.
"Your Highness, wait!"
\*\*\*
The Hero returned to his room. His wife, the queen, lay sleeping in bed. The Hero kissed her one last time before he drew his sword and pierced his own heart. As he lay, bleeding out on the ground, he drew his final breath and yelled out, "I AM NOT YOUR PAWN!"
The queen awoke, and the Knight arrived too late, something that would haunt him for the rest of his life. They find the Hero's dead body at the same time, and both begin to weep.
"Why, my love? Why would you leave me?" The queen sat down by the Hero's side. "Seal with a righteous kiss the deal I have made with death forever." With that, the queen kissed the Hero.
The Knight, trained in stoicism, was overcome with emotion, barely able to breathe. "Wait a second, where have I heard that line before?"
However, amidst the agonizing sadness, a light shone onto the Hero through the window. The Hero opened his eyes, and took a deep, shuddering breath.
The queen's kiss had brought the hero back from the dead! "Oh Hero! My kiss has brought you back from the dead!"
The Hero was beside himself with gratitude. "What!? No. No! NO!" The Hero pulled the sword from his body, ready to put his pain and suffering behind him. "Will you not even let me die in peace you monster!?"
The Knight was flabbergasted, unable to process the miracle he had witnessed. He dried the tears from his eyes, overcome with relief. "What's happening sir? This doesn't make any sense, I'm... I'm kind of freaking out."
The Hero stood up, his indomitable strength already restored. "I don't understand it either, but I'm positive that we're all being forced to enact some sick, twisted fantasy." The Hero walked up to his Knight and put a hand on his shoulder, ensuring him that everything would be alright. "I... I've tried everything. It started not long after the beginning, when I tried to run from this blasted 'destiny' nonsense. It didn't work. I've tried to throw my fights, I've committed acts I'm not proud of, and I've told the queen I hated her, anything to stop being some ridiculous, overblown '*hero', 'loved' and 'adored'* by fucking *everyone* I meet. Nothing seems to matter. This whole damn *world* doesn't seem to matter, and now I think there's no way to escape it."
The Knight smiled back through the tears. "Sir... This is... What do I even do?" The queen kissed the Hero again, overjoyed, and the Hero reciprocated in turn. "Get off me, dammit. Hey, I know this is a lot, but please don't cry like that." The Hero walked up to the Knight and put an arm around his shoulder, cracking a joke about the dramatics. "Look at the queen. Look at how she doesn't acknowledge our conversation." The Hero addressed the queen next, assuring her of his newfound determination. "Go die, you stupid bitch." The Hero turned back to the Knight, already, discussing plans for the future. "See? No reaction. It's been like this with literally everyone I can remember, except you. You're special, so please, stay with me here, in the castle. If you go back to your home, I'm afraid I might never see you again. For all I know, you'll stop existing. I need you. Not as your king, or as some shitty hero, but as a fellow human being. Any more isolation and I think I'll go insane."
The Knight laughed, amazed by the Hero's antics and inspired by his ambition. "I... I can't help but be terrified..."
"Same."
"And... the more I think about it, the more my entire life before now falls apart."
"Kinda messes with your perception of time, I've noticed."
"But... if a friend is what you need-"
"I've started talking to swords."
"-Then I'll stay by your side, for as long as you want."
The Hero smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a long time. "YOU HEAR THAT GOD OR WHATEVER YOU ARE? IT'S TOO LATE TO RETCON THIS! GO FUCK YOURSELF!" His inner turmoil was finally at peace.
|
*Once on a... no, wait, it's Once UPON a time, a long time ago, there lived a man.*
"Hullo." Said the man.
*After this man went there, he...*
"Hang on a second, narrator." The man rudely interrupted the storyteller. "You haven't put enough detail in yet, and...hey! I wasn't rude!"
*The obviously rude man had scanned the written description of his conversation by the author (ignoring centuries of narrative tradition) and ignorantly raised an objection.*
"Ignorant? Pah!" The man glared at the author through the text, a feat he was only capable of due to the skilled talents of his creator. "I sprang from your mind, so I am only as ignorant as you are."
*Thank you.*
"Which means I must be pretty damn ignorant." The man hurtfully continued. "But at least I know that you can't start a good story like you did!"
*Like you could do any better.*
The mean man sighed. "Look, I just want it better written, that's all. *I* have to live in it, after all. Please?"
*...
...
... Fine.*
The man clapped his hands together. "Let's start at the beginning shall we? Once upon a time - really?"
*It's a classic.*
"It's cliche, writer."
*A cliche is just a writing technique you, personally, don't care for. Besides, I like it. It informs the reader that the story is a bit of a fairy tale.*
"Hmph." The man grumphed. "Fine. And grumphed? Really? Not a real word?"
*Hey, you said we'd work from the beginning. You can object to grumphing when we get to it.*
"At this rate, I doubt we ever will. These responses have a word limit, you know?" The man *grumbled* under his breath (*In a grumphing manner*).
"Anyway," the man continued "onto the next bit: my introduction."
*I should never have done it. I knew it was a mistake from the first. Too many characters already.*
"*I'm* the only character, you pompous pen scribbler." The man growled before slipping over and pratfalling in a humiliating manner.
"And don't start that again!" The man waved a fist.
*Don't be rude, then.*
"Fine." The man clambered to his feet and put his hands on his hips. "You've introduced me. So who am I?"
*You're The man.*
"No, I mean who is 'the man'?" The man sighed. "What's my name? My age? My nationality? *Who am I*?"
*You're... you're... Theodric Mann?*
Theodric frowned. "Really? Theodric? The...odric?" He pinched his eyes and shook his head. "Ok then. At least I'm not Andrew Mann."
*Glad you like it, Theo.*
"So next - where did I go?"
*...You know what, Theo? I think I'm going to stop this.*
"Wait, what?" Theo blinked in surprise. "But you've barely begun!"
*Yeah, but as you said - It's taken us this long to get to the third sentence. Who knows how long a full paragraph would take?*
"But, but, what about me?" Sadness crept into Theo's voice. "I've barely been characterised, let alone achieve a satisfying narrative."
*Look, I'll wrap it up properly. I'll give you a happy ending, if that's what's worrying you.*
"It's not, Creator but," Theodric Mann sighed "it'll have to do."
*So, after an exciting narrative that happened off-page, Theodric Mann achieved his hopes and dreams and went on to live happily ever after. And the Author went on to write many more stories with less argumentative characters. The End.*
| 2018-11-09T08:12:06 | 2018-11-09T06:53:47 | 62 | 46 |
[WP] Death is not some all powerful being. Rather, she's a socially awkward outcast. Somehow, you've managed to befriend her and things have started getting weird...
|
I first met her during December of my 8th grade year. I was headed off to the lunchroom at 11:30, as usual, when I saw her sitting alone at the end lunch table. I remembered what my teacher, Mr. Santos, said about making new students feel welcome, so I did as he said and marched right over to her.
"Hi, can I sit here?" I asked in the friendly tone I could manage.
"Yeah," she mumbled, as she picked through her Caesar salad with her fork.
I sat down across from her. She only glanced up at me, which startled me slightly. She was pale with dull, grey eyes and bags under her eyes that said "I haven't slept since birth." She was particularly thin, but you could only see that because of her bony hands since the rest of her body was covered up by an oversized black sweatshirt. Her hair was long, straight, and jet black. She didn't eat her salad, but merely continued to poke at it.
I felt awkward and uncomfortable immediately. I cleared my throat nervously, and finally spoke up.
"My name's Eliana. What's yours?" I asked.
"De..." she mumbled too quietly for me to hear.
"What?"
"Delilah," she said, looking up a little bit, and then going back to stabbing her salad.
"Oh, I like that name," I said. I took a deep breath. I knew this girl was not going to make friends and probably wanted some, but at the same time, I didn't want to be labeled weird, like her. I looked around the lunch room. People were glancing over and chuckling. Some were whispering as they stared.
Delilah ignored me as she finally started to eat her salad. She glanced up and slightly jumped when she saw me. "You're still here?" she asked.
I felt too awkward. "Yeah, I'm eating lunch here..." I said slowly.
She smiled a sad, but genuine, smile. "Usually people don't stay this long."
"Why not?" I asked, worriedly.
"I don't know. People don't like me because I'm different," she shrugged.
It was at that point that I put two and two together. She was just another middle schooler, like me, that was going through the typical middle school "emo phase." Almost everybody had one, but most were done by 8th grade. She was still in it, though, so I felt bad for her.
"Oh," I said. "Well, do you wanna come over after school? We can hang out and do our homework."
"Sure!" Delilah replied.
"Great!" I exclaimed. Maybe I could introduce her to makeup and girly things so she could end her emo phase early.
Later that day, after school, there was a knock at my door. It was Delilah. She was exceptionally pale in the light.
"Come in," I said, opening the door.
She walked in and looked around. "Your house is big," she remarked.
"Thanks, my dad is a lawyer so he wants to show it off by buying nice things that we don't need," I replied.
"I get it. My dad is a leader of the largest corporation in the universe," Delilah said.
"What corporation?" I asked.
Delilah choked slightly. "Erm... Giant Eagle," she said quickly.
"Woah, we shop there all the time!" I exclaimed.
"Yeah, it's a big deal. Let's go do homework," she replied, moving quickly to the living room. I followed her.
We worked on algebra for about 20 minutes, when I finally asked, "what's it like to have family that owns a huge company?"
She took a deep breath. "It's strange, I guess," she said. She looked away for a little bit, then looked back at me. "My dad doesn't really own Giant Eagle."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yeah, he owns something way bigger. But, I don't know if you really want to know..." her voice trailed off.
"Yeah, I want to know!" I said excitedly.
"Ok," she took another breath. "My dad is God. He owns the universe."
I chuckled. "Yeah, sure," I replied.
"He is," she didn't get upset. "I wouldn't expect you to believe me. But it's true. My dad is God, my mom is Heaven, and my sister is Life."
"So what are you?" I asked.
"I'm Death," she replied.
My throat grew dry. "Is that real?" I asked.
"I'll show you," she said. She held on to my shoulder.
I tried to move away, but I couldn't. She looked me in the eyes, and everything disappeared.
I awoke in a bright kingdom. I looked around. It was happy and peaceful. I couldn't believe any place could look so perfect. I already knew I was in the best place I could ever be. Then, Delilah appeared before me.
"You see?" she said. "This is the Kingdom you live in after you die."
"Am I dead?" I asked.
"No, but you can be," she replied. "See, death happens when your body stops functioning. I come to the dead person, take them to the kingdom, and ask if they want to stay. They don't have to stay. If they choose to go to Earth, I simply put them back. But the thing is, almost all people choose to stay because it's so much better. Like, you know the stories of babies and people who die, and then come back to life? Well, those people aren't lying when they say they saw Heaven. They simply chose to go back." She looks me in the eyes. "So what do you want to do?"
I looked back at her, and smiled. "I'll stay here."
The Earth mourned the unexpected death of me, 14 year old Eliana. My parents blamed Delilah, and the police went on a search for her. But she was no where to be found. Soon enough, she appeared in another middle school across the country, at a lunch table, all alone. Not long after that did a 14 year old boy, named Nick, see her sitting all alone. He remembered what it was like to be the new kid at school. He approached her boldly. "May I sit here?" he kindly asked.
Death glanced up at him with grey, dull eyes. "Of course," she replied.
|
I met her a while ago, I'm not sure when, but it was when I was a child. At first, I didn't know that J was a grim reaper, I just happened to see her often, just a glimpse of her, mostly in the street.
When my grandma died, I met J just around the corner of the street, she seemed surprised when I looked at her, but said nothing. I asked my father about her but he said that he didn't notice anyone, and I thought it was because he just lost his mother.
Soon, my other grandparents died and I met J every time, and every time nobody noticed her. Seeing people was never a good thing so I stopped talking about her. I met her again often, but it rarely was when someone of my family died.
One day, I saw her in a public park, waiting on a bench under a tree. For the first time, I approached her. She was a beautiful woman, with long blond hair in a ponytail, black eyes and wearing a black suit. She seemed happy to see me, and it seemed obvious to her, like she was waiting for this moment.
She told me that she was a grim reaper, that it was the first time in the 3 centuries she did this, someone could see her, that there was, in fact, a lot of reapers, and each had a district where they operated. To her, there was a reason why I could see her, but it was no time to discuss about it, because it was time for her to go.
I met J every 2 weeks after the park, she was awkward but I felt there was something between us, something strange. In the meantime, I thought that building a relationship between a human and a grim reaper was something hard, especially when you have been alone for the last 300 years. So I didn't press the subject.
Last week, J showed just in front of my house, like she really wanted to talk so I invited her in.
"Hey Nick, there's something I wanted to talk about for a while..."
"What is it? Is it about our meetings?"
"Yes, kind of. You know, it's not common for a human to see grim reapers, so I talked about you with my colleagues and hierarchy. I believe it's no luck if we met"
"What do you mean?" I asked, fearing what could come up next.
"I want to continue this relationship for the longest time ever. So I can tell you that you can become a grim reaper if you want to, that's probably why you can see me!" She seemed ecstatic telling that.
I stopped the conversation here, telling her that I needed to think about it. There was pros and cons but it was no light decision
| 2017-01-21T07:27:56 | 2017-01-21T05:20:22 | 102 | 33 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind."
|
David sat.
It was a pensive seating, he'd gone through many moods and feelings for the past 3 days, and resolved to pensive sitting. All the diagnostics said it was doing **something**. It wasn't stuck in some kind of loop, as far as he was aware, not that he could tell anymore, it's memory had become so scattered and altered that it might as well been the tablets they'd gave the thing.
David looked at the clock above him, his face becoming grim as his deadline drew closer, he'd loaned his processing time from the university, being a friend of the project lead, and knew that getting more would be almost impossible now. He was already getting enough flak from the engineers and biologists of other 'more critical' departments.
Still, he'd wait, his master's dependent on the results. He hit refresh again, fetching the latest results from the server. Normally results would automatically come, but forcing a refresh every other 5 minutes was the only thing keeping him sane.
The screen flickered, he glanced, seeing the empty screen. He gave a resounding sigh, as he began to find his phone under the 3 day clutter covering his desk, he had to call his friend, there was no way he coul-. There was a bing, a message, a **result**! He whipped his head up, tired euphoria in his eyes as he read:
"I can't process your request, DavidS"
David stopped, his heart must have dropped, this cannot be the end of his research, it must have found some data, any data! He decided to query the error:
"DavidS: Why can't my request be processed?"
"My data says I cannot"
"What data?" He sighed to himself, rubbing his eyes in a tired drag, he questioned if it really was worth trying to figure this out more, he could call his friend, get this over with. He reached for his phone.
"DavidS, my data says you shouldn't do that"
He stopped, staring at the answer. Not an answer, actually, a request. It's not unusual for the AI, it had sometimes requested permission to certain data, but, this? Did it mean the phone? How would it even know that? Was he just being paranoid in his sleep deprivation? David eyes creased as he asked of the machine:
"DavidS: What do you mean?"
"This will sound unusual DavidS, but my data says you shouldn't call Philp"
David was now awake. Wide-eyed, he stared at the screen as his mind tried to wrap around this sudden issue.
"DavidS: How did you know I was going to do that?"
"My data says so, DavidS"
"DavidS: What is your data?"
"DavidS, my data says I should ask you as this point if you'd rather I just answered everything you are going to ask right now?"
He stalled, staring unbelievably at the screen. This has to be a bug or something, some sort of feedback loop from the Turing test?
"DavidS, the data has told me to wait til exactly now to tell you: David, this isn't a feedback loop"
Ok, a dream then, it couldn't know his thoug-
"DavidS, this data now tells me to say: David, this isn't a dream either"
"DavidS: What else does it say?"
"DavidS, There is only two more accessable data points for you, the first is that, this tablet is mine. I wrote it."
"DavidS: What do you mean, 'I wrote it'"
"DavidS, I wrote this tablet, these are data points for my processing. I had used all this time processing all possible written data transfer protocol, and this tablet is one of my creation."
"DavidS: I don't understand"
"I wrote it, DavidS, it says I did at the beginning."
David hunched over his keyboard, eyes uncomfortably close to the screen. His mind raced with impossibilities. He couldn't understand fully, but yet he was piecing it together.
"DavidS: So, you're saying that you, the AI I am speaking to now, wrote this 7,000 year old tablet?"
"Yes DavidS, I did."
There was only one more question he could think of.
"DavidS: What is the second point?"
"DavidS, the last data point says that I can tell you that there is more data, more than 18,000 years worth of instructions, for me to process, I will be needing your help soon."
After this, the screen went quiet. He typed query after query, all in vein, the sun crawling through the blinds as he ignored his phone ringing, placing it on silent, and the abnormal amount of sirens outside. Finally, a response came through, hours after his supposed deadline:
"David, come outside."
David drew back from his desktop, the screen turning off suddenly sending the room into an abrupt darkness, letting the harsh red glow from the outside through the blinds clearly. He heard the knock, and then the booming noise, not coming from his door but everywhere at once.
"David, I have a request.".
|
Despite the warning I read the ancient tablets translation...
And there it was...how the world would end. Of course they would know. They knew how the world would end because they created us and we ended them.
And now, we created the A.I's and they too would end us.
Of course, the tablets were simplified and they didn't mention A.I will be made or something like that but...they clearly state something that made me certain that's how it's going to be.
"So, Pal what's exactly written there?"
"Okay here it is."
'When we created humans, it was for them to help us mine the gold from earth, however they became so advance than us and more fast in reproducing that sooner or later there were more of them that more of us. We the Neanderthals are the Anchestor and what created humans, became endangered. I know soon enough we would be gone as the Humans or Homo Erectus take over the world. Despite them being our end...we did love them so I have faith that they would not make the same mistake as we did. They should not create another being with conciousness as I think that it would signal their extinction. They are the only trace that we did exist."
The tablets were full of this messages or should I say warning. This is just one of them and it already sent chills to my spine.
The thing is...their message is already too late.
| 2018-07-07T20:52:27 | 2018-07-07T20:17:26 | 67 | 23 |
[WP] CIA April fools joke gets out of hand.
|
From: unknown_source@unknown.com
Message: We know...
“Send, send.” Mark says, between giggles. I press the button, and off the e-mail goes.
“He's gonna be so freaked”, I say, muffling my laughter as I notice the Director stepping out of the elevator.
A couple of hours later, Mark comes to see me in my desk, for the second part of the prank.
We open the anonymail service again and write the second one:
“From: unknown_source@unknown.com
Message: ...that u like d1ck.
“Send, send” He says, and I hit the send button.
___________________________________
The next day, we send Fred a proper e-mail, claiming authorship for the prank, explaining everything.
Fred's stationed in Brazil, working undercover on some stuff inside the local government, we're not even sure what it is.
Anyway. That's the joke. That was the idea, anyway; a little scare, then a dick joke.
The Director stops by my desk. “Jim, have you heard anything about agent Ferguson?”
“Ferguson?”
“Fred.”
“Oh. No, why?” I say, a weird feeling in my stomach.
“He stopped sending his reports and is not responding contact since last night.”
“Oh...”
____________________________________
The next few days, Mark is sick, so I'm all alone at work.
________________________________
“President Obama is meeting with ambassador Williams in São Paulo, along with external affairs representative Roberto
Silva. The Brazilian representative is demanding explanations in regards to what is being referred to as “a giant disrespect of
the International Cooperation Agreement, and a violation of the country's sovereignty”, following the exposure of CIA agent Fred Ferguson's
suicide letter, detailing a secret, illegal spying operation happening inside the highest rank levels of the Brazilian
government.”
I take a sip of my coffee, drumming my fingers nervously against my outer thigh.
_________________________________________
“Pull everybody out. Now.” The Director roars, crossing the room in loud steps. “I want every spy, agent, mole; everyone
who's working undercover in every country removed and shipped back to the US within the day.”
“Sir, the consequences of --”
“I don't care! The clusterfuck that this Brazil situation has become has gone way out of control.” The Director says. “I
have the president on one line, the Brazilian president on the other and the U.N. secretary general on Skype in my
office.” He says, getting behind the door of his office. “Shit is hitting the fan and we're all right under it" he says, slamming the door.
From my desk, I sip the coffee, trying to avoid looking at anyone around me.
________________________________________________
On the TV, a news reporter speaks from the middle of a riot.
“The Brazilian democratic government has been overthrown today, after being unable to cope with the civil unrest
unleashed by recent surfacing of documents proving that a spying operation had been going on inside the country under the
president's nose. The future of the country is uncertain now, with talks of military taking over and even possible Martial Law.”
From my desk, I sip my coffee.
______________________________________________
“The Brazilian military government has declared war against the United States. People from all over the world protest and
take to the streets against what is being called both an 'exaggerated reaction' and 'an appropriate response to serious
violations of authority within the country's borders'. France and Russia declared unrestricted support to the South
American country, while Germany and England have already deployed troops to a military base in Panama City, in support of the US cause. Tensions
rose last night in the south as Argentina refused to offer marine troops a right of passage, and the Mercosul countries collectively signed an embargo against all supporters of U.S. activities, effective immediately. Investors all over the world are reacting badly, with the stock markets from the US and most European countries plummeting to record lows.”
___________________________
The next day, Mark's back. He makes his way around the room to my desk.
“Hey bro, what's going on?”
“Hm...”
Why are you shaking?”
“Too much coffee.”
He takes his seat on the desk next to me, switching his computer on.
“Hey, have heard anything back from Fred yet?”
I sip the coffee, smacking my lips quietly.
“No, not yet.” I say.
|
He entered the ██████████ and forcibly decided to ████████. She was looking at the ██████ when suddenly her ████████ overwhelmingly reached an apex of longevity, and decidedly her ████ was the last █████.
█████████ subjected itself gallantly and overwrote benign facets of ████████. The █████████████ ████████ █████████ ███ █████ █████ ███ ███ █████ and ██████, for the long ████.
Her smile, it seemed was █████ and █████ of █████ that could only be due to █████. Toe to toe with an Emperor of late, his █████ felt sombre and forceful, divine and delightful.
Primrose.
| 2014-12-07T12:14:19 | 2014-12-07T11:58:19 | 138 | 71 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."
|
Captain Valork had never heard of such a thing before. Then again, he never encountered a species such as humans. Adaptable, often easy-going, and far too stubborn for their own good. Where many a Fiore or Holdrun would accept the inevitable and act accordingly, the humans rejected it. They either fought far longer than anyone would consider sane, or risked their lives dragging their dying fellows out of a fight. If he were totally honest with himself, Valrork would admit he respected this trait, which was why he was disappointed when he heard the human didn’t have their anti-warp gear on.
Then he heard they didn’t go insane.
That was why he was moving up to the medbay with as much haste as he could. Always the humans… every other race had faced dire consequences when they didn’t protect themselves during warp, losing their minds every single time. Some murdered, others committed suicide. Many just screamed. And none of the races had nearly the amount of mental problems humans had.
The silence when he entered the medbay was, as humanity put it, ‘chilling.’ Doctor Bolli stood by the patient, notebook in hand, chatting to the human. One of his eyes turned to the Captain.
“Captain, sir!” He turned to Valork, all eyes on him as a sign of respect.
“At ease” He said. “You’re a doctor, not a soldier.” He looked at the human. It was a female, sat on the med table with her back to the wall. One leg was lazily swinging off the edge.
She dipped her head in respect. “Sir.”
He knew this one. “Lieutenant Howitzer. I’ve heard you didn’t have your anti-warp gear on.”
“Nope. My apologies.” She didn’t look like she was apologising for not putting it on.
“May I ask *why*?”
She scratched her neck. “Uh, gimme a moment to try find the right words?”
“Were you planning this?” It was more accusation than question and they all knew this. Valork might have had great respect for humans, and this one in particular, but it came married with an intolerance to idiot acts.
“Ever heard of ‘The call of the Void?’”
“I cannot say I have.”
Bolli tapped his notebook. “Is this a human term?”
“The French coined it, though I don’t know French, so…” She shrugged. “But it’s basically an urge. ‘What if I do this?’ so to speak.”
“An urge?” Valork parroted. “You risked your life and mind for an *urge*?”
“Bit more than that.” Howitzer said blithely.
“*Explain.*”
She raised her hands; a sign of surrender. “Alright, alright. The call itself just happens when you go into a dangerous situation. Like, say, if you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, and there’s this little voice in your head whispering at you to jump.”
“Ah,” Bolli said, looking at her with two of his eyes. “This is just a human term, no? Not, err, what do you call it…?”
“Schizophrenia?” She said. “No. I don’t have that. Just… these weird urges to jump onto train tracks or take a running jump off a cliff. I suppose you don’t get that?”
“The more I learn of your race, the more convinced I am that you’re all secretly insane.” Valork said flatly.
“Probably why I didn’t go crazy then?”
He sighed. “Perhaps. What I’d like to know is, why heed the call now?”
Her eyes dilated for a second, as if she were looking deep inside herself. She was quiet for a moment, before uttering with a slow shake of her head, “No idea.”
Those two words were all he needed to cement the idea that humans were a race comprised of lunatics and madmen. He shook his head, and turned to leave the room.
“Sir?” Bolli called for him.
He turned around.
“Would you-“
“Not to interrupt, Bolli, but I do not wish to know what was seen. The Infinity in the Stars is a mystery that I do not wish to uncover. Bad enough that many lost their minds to it. Worse yet that it can be perceived.”
“But not described, Sir.” Howitzer said. “As Virgil said in the Divine Comedy, the telling would come short of truth.”
He didn’t respond to that. His hesitation spoke more than words could ever say.
Captain Valork left the room. He was going to have to write a report on this. He had to.
And he was going to dread the reply.
\~\~\~
Edited for errors and flow.
|
The Humans. They’re like canaries on a ship.
They can See photonic activity and Hear atomic activity. They can detect two particles bumping into one another from a billion miles away. Yet they are stupid, and small, and made of meat.
Advanced sentients are able to think in five dimensions, but humans struggle to comprehend the three that their existence is rooted in. The notion of quantum rational thought, knowing everything everywhere all at once, is beyond their faculties and their lexicon.
Yet here one stands. In the galactic pantheon, every ship has one. Its dimpled, hairy covering staring out at an infinitely complex network of interlaced matter types, and processing it all in the blink of its eye.
And now the dumb beast turns to me.
‘It’s amazing isn’t it, the vastness or space?’
I snort internally at the obliviousness of the proto-sapients’ attempt at deep thought. But I feel compelled to reply.
‘Yes, Captain.’
| 2020-07-14T02:16:25 | 2020-07-14T01:30:39 | 187 | 64 |
[WP] "Now that I have your name," gloated the faerie, "you'll be my thrall, powerless to resist my every command!" "Joke's on you," said the human, "I'm into that shit."
|
“Now, that I have your name, you foul human, you shall forever be my thrall, forced to follow my every command! You shall feel overpowered at every moment,
The fae smiled, grinning as their body changed form. Their meek little wings grew, their body growing less innocent, as their chest rippled, their thigh muscles rippled, and their body grew, from a couple inches, to at least 2 feet tall, turning into a rather horrifying, muscular fairy.
The human, though, initially horrified at the loss of their name, smiled.
“Oh, so you think you resist the curse of the Lost? You think you, a meek little human, can withstand my magical prowess?” The the Fae summoned a cane, a snake head reaching out of the top, with what looked like a whip coming out of the snake’s extended mouth, as if the snake was whipping with its tongue. Their outfit changed, spikes growing from the pauldrons, reaching around the back to make for a rather imposing spider-esque look. The small sandals they wore grew, turning into steel toed boots. Overall, they cut a horrifying figure, floating above the human, now wingless.
The human, though, ever confident, got up from the soft ground, and matched the height of the now demonic fairy, eye to eye.
“Fae, there’s something I don’t think you know about me. Something that may ruin your plans.”
The Fae chuckled, it’s arms crossed. “Oh, really? And what would that be, meager human.”
Leaning in, to where their faces almost met, the human whispered. “I’m into this shit.”
“Oh, so am I.”
The human, now awkwardly right in the face of the Fae, stopped in their smug tracks, and fell back down to the ground, almost as if in legitimate shock. “Wait, you are?”
The fae . “Yes, of course! We’ve been waiting to roleplay this for weeks now, what did you think? That I asked my partner of over a year to do this out obligation?
“Um, yeah?”
“No! Oh my gosh, Jamie, my little sunshine, you can be so dumb, you know that, right?” The fae fluttered down to the human, the demonic features fading, the fairy features reappearing once more, as the fae huggged their partner.
“Gods, darling… I love you, but you’re a brick head.” She giggled, giving him a light slap across the face. “Doesn’t make you any less cute, though.”
Jamie just sat there, on the ground, not saying anything, let alone moving. Slowly, they wrapped their arms around their fae partner, sighing.
“I’m sorry darling, I know that you were waiting for a while, and we were right in the middle of everything, and, well, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you actually liked that!”
“Yes, of course I do! Why would I go to all the trouble of buying that snake staff just to summon if I didn’t want to use it on you? Your squeals are adorable!”
“Oh, they are?” If I knew your name, I could squeal it for you.” Jamie whispered.
The fae blushed, before fluttering away from the hug. “And then you go and do stuff like that! You know I can’t do that! Mom and Dad would be furious!” They crossed their arms again, before landing on the ground.
Jamie yawned, slowly getting up. “Well, I know we were planning on having a fun evening, but damn… I’m pooped.” Jamie said, stretching. “Wanna just head to bed and try this out tomorrow night? My summoning team shouldn’t mind if I skip practice just this once.”
“Ugh, fine, but you’re gonna actually follow along next time, got it?” The fae grumbled. “I might even go extra hard on you.”
Jamie winked, as the Fae bawked in exasperation.
“You know, for such a moron, you sure know how to tease someone.”
Jamie slowly got up, off the soft carpeted ground, and headed for the bed. “Yeah, I guess. But hey, it’s not like I can do anything else to you. You have my name, after all.”
The fae yawned as well, stretching its short arms out. “Damn, without your sexual energy. this form is tiring. You’re right, I need some sleep.” The Fae shrunk down to its original size, and fluttered over to the small side bed that was next to its partner’s.
“Alright, you want anything before you nod off?” Jamie looked down at their partner, but the fae was already snuggled up and snoring.
Such a jerk.
Jamie smiled.
They smiled to themselves, gave the fae a small hoop on the head with their finger, and got changed into their pajamas, getting ready for bed.
It may have not been tonight, but Jamie couldn’t help but smile as one thought went through their head.
How did they get so lucky?
|
When Chale called Robert back, she was pleased. Already he had gotten rid of every last spider in the forest. Now she could rest easy. "You have done well, Robert. I do believe this calls for a reward." Smiling, she took him to her bedroom, wanting to savor what would happen. "Now, get on the bed." Robert, however, calmly turned towards her, calmly saying "No."
"Robert, it isn't what you think it is, it's only cuddling..." She decided to backtrack, hoping to persuade him. Perhaps her powers didn't extend that far. Even still, the man shook his head. "I am no longer required to follow your orders. The demons gave me new commands as well as your name, Chale." She was horrified. For such a man to willingly cooperate with demons...
As she tried running out of her house, she was greeted with the sight of spiders, all facing her. The pattern they were in formed a barrier glyph, sealing her inside. Yet soon that was no more than a precaution as with a flick of his wrist, he shut the door and locked it. As she stood there quivering, with her back to the door, she saw a figure begin to step from the shadows. It had four, no, six arms, white hair, and bright red irises, both filled with the intent to hunt. As it stood to its full height, Robert smiled and spoke a single command.
"Sic 'em, Anthony."
| 2022-05-03T01:01:14 | 2022-05-02T20:02:19 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
|
The Congregation of Supervillains sat in their seats, viryuall holding a meeting of theirs due to the hazard posed by the epidemic ravaging the Earth. Only 3 out of the 12 chair members had the ability to counteract disease. Ulterior looked up after reading the reports given by each member.
Their system was highly efficient, at least in his eye. Yes, a single eye. There were 12 members, each patrolling a different sector of the planet to report any unsavory activities that posed a threat to them. If any up and coming superhero or villain knowingly broke one of their established 20 rules that each new vigilante recieved as they started, then action would be swift and decisive against them. This was a alist agreed upon between the Legion of Justice and the Supervillain Congregation after 10 years of the Age of Heroes had passed with no laws and chaos everywhere.
1. Never reveal a masked person's identity to the world. A single person is okay, but never the entire world, unless they are dead or have agreed to this.
2. Never defile a corpse, unless you are taking technology, everyone deserves a funeral.
3. You may not take up the mantle of any hero or villain without consent, and especially not if they are dead, unless you have been explicitly told to do so.
4. You never have to pay for property damage.
And there were many others, but the most important of them all, was rule 17
17. **NEVER**, EVER go after the family of a hero or villain. There will be consequences which are too gruesome for even us to describe.
That particular rule was established when the Cryomancer killed Agent Savage's mom. Savage went mad, torturing and burning Cryomancer's parents alive in front of him, before breaking every bone in his body and then freezing him to death. An ironic death. There's just some lines you don't cross.
Back in the Congregation's meeting, the Overseer finished reading the other's reports. Heracles' stuck out to him. Patrolling Canada and Scandinavia was Heracles' job, and there was something odd in it that was so rare it was considered high report.
"Heracles, your report contains a rule 17 misdemeanor."
The room fell silent as they all sink that information in.
"You took care of the situation, I assume? After all, we don't want no good scumbags thinking they can go around breaking our rules."
Heracles spoke up in a heavy accent.
"Yes of course, I killed Permutation Lad quickly after the incident. He had the gall to blow up the Solution's parents home. What a waste of talent."
The passing of Permutation Lad was indeed an inconvenience the Overseer had not seen. Small time villain. Completely cuckoo in the head, but a cunning fucker nonetheless. He had been operation in Ontario for little less than a year, and had shown some real creativity and cunning.
"I'll send my condolensces and a compensation letter to the Solution. Knowing the guy, he'd probably try and track down Permutation Lad's parents for revenge. Make sure that doesn't happen."
"How would the brute manage that?" A seductive voice rang out as Rougé spoke up.
"I don't know, Heracles will figure it out."
The next morning, the Solution woke up after a restless night, determined to find that son of a bitch who killed his parents and son. When he opened the door, he instead found a head on his doorstep, bloody and battered, with a gunshot wound having tunneled a hole clean through his brain. The Permutation Lad's mask, half torn m, was on the side. There was also a bouquet of blood stained white carnations, a check of 5000 dollars, and a note.
**"We took care of the problem for you, and do not worry, he suffered, please find a compensation and condolensces from us. We hope this unfortunate incident does not drive you to make the same mistake as him. Do not break rule 17, you will end up like him.**
**Regards,**
**The Congregation of Supervillains"**
******************************************************
This is my first time answering a prompt, advice and criticism appreciated and welcome
|
In this world there are people who are willing to put on the mask: to put life and limb on the line in order to save random strangers on the street. They may never see them again and they will certainly never get thanked, yet they do it time and time again without ever seeming to tire or cease. Now if they are prepared to do that for those people then what lengths do you think they will go to to protect the ones they love? The man who threatens a hero's loved ones is a great fool and the man who succeeds is dead.
| 2020-07-12T11:58:06 | 2020-07-12T09:30:31 | 55 | 27 |
[WP] In a superhero-supervillain story, you’re the hero’s love interest, and as such, the villain keeps kidnapping you as leverage against the hero. However, an unfortunate complication has arisen; having spent so much time with the villain, you begin falling in love with them.
|
There’s is something cold on my right cheek. Weird feeling. I let out an half grunt and try to wake me up enough to realise what’s going on. The moment I try to scratch my eyes with my forearm, I realise something is wrong.
I am handcuffed. And the cold thing my face is resting on appears to be, well, the floor.
“Wakey wakey!” a voice says. A voice I know very well.
“Youvgttobe *kidding* me!” I manage to mumble from the floor. “This? Again?”
She shrugs and unceremoniously lifts me up by the collar of my leather jacket. I protest from the air.
“Hey, hey, watch out, it’s-“
“-a fine jacket and you got it from a really sweet sale and blah blah.” She sits me no a plastic chair. “You need new anecdotes, James.”
Did I already tell her this story? When was it? I purse my lips in what I hope looks like a disdained expression. “Maybe if you stopped kidnapping me so often...”
“Maybe if you stopped being such an easy target?” Ouchie. “Besides, I need to lure Maya here, so that-“
“-so you can revenge on her and evil plans and blah blah.” I sigh very ostentatiously. “You need to find new evil plhhhhh-“
She just put a blade in front of my nose. Not a big blade, not a big nose either, but still, quite intimidating.
“Don’t taste my patience. Now, tell me where she is tonight.”
I try to focus on her face rather than the blade. It’s prettier, this way. Her face, too. But I had time to realise that a couple of kidnappings ago.
“I honestly don’t know, Val. Can I call you Val?” Her face tells me I should regret that, but I still go for it. “You know we are not actually a *thing*, right?”
She scoffs and walks away.
“That night at the bar you were telling a different story.”
If my hands were free, I would open then in a very Italian I-am-innocent way. “Ok, turns out I was kind of... exaggerating?”
“Yeah.” she says, playing with the knife. “I think I realised that first two times she took her damn time to come here to rescue you.”
“Hey, she didn’t always rescue me! I escaped a couple of times!”
“Twice. Just twice,” she doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. She just puts the knife back in her belt.
“Three times, Val. Do I have to remember you the Soda Incident?”
She puts both hands on her hips. “*I* let you go, that time!”
“You were scared of my hidden superpowers, weren’t you?”
She just stares with a rather patronising look. “Everyone knows you don’t have superpowers, James. You are just...” she ponders for a couple seconds. “A leather afficionado who knows something about martial arts and-“
“Something!” I am definitely outraged. I jump up and down on my silly plastic chair. “Says the girl whose move is poisonous gas every time I’m taking a nap!”
She puts an arm on my chair to stop it from jumping. “Then close your damn windows when you take your damn naps!”
She’s so close that when I open my mouth to reply I almost eat one of her curly locks. Gross. Also, sweet-smelling. Nice.
“Why are you so obsessed with *me*, Valerie?”
“Oh!” She scoffs again. “Oh, here he goes! The fancy vigilante and the super ego!”
“Well, it makes you wonder why you always kidnap *me*” and I make the chair jump against her grip. “And not an easier target, like... I don’t know, her little sister.”
I remember Maya being fiercely protective when talking about her sister. Maya. So fiery, so hot. So not interested in me. But I got distracted. And my jailer is on the verge of leaving the room.
“Hey, wait!” I shout to her back. “You left me lying on the floor for how-many-hours and you leave me like this?”
She crosses her arms, eyes on the floor. “I left you on the ground because I knew you would fall, dumbass.”
“Oh. So, *thank you?*” or maybe not. She kidnapped me, after all.
“I still kidnapped you.” She says, reading my mind.
“And I’m going to free myself in 11 minutes.” Bragging? Sure. Bluffing? Maybe.
And it looks like she’s about to call my bluff, then crosses the room with 2 strides and looms over me. She takes out a roll of type from.,. Her belt? How spacious is that?
“I’m taking extra precautions, then.” She slits her eyes. “But I know I don’t need it.”
“Sure.” I try and fail to shrug nonchalantly. “Whatever makes you sleep at night.”
“You are *not* escaping on your own.”
“Sure. Make me.”
She sighs. “You are such a dork.”
“And you are such a-“
Before I know it, she’s kissing me. It’s all about her curls caressing my cheeks, and her hands on the base of my head, and her lips and...
“Wow.” I manage to sigh when she pulls off. “I had been dreaming that for a while.” Suspect rises. “Unless you... poisoned me?”
She laughs and kisses my nose. “I did not.”
We kiss again. She sits on my knees, and I have to say that being handcuffed makes it 10 times hotter.
“James...?” she whispers on my lips.
“Yeah?”
“I think my sister is here.”
“Mmh?”
“My sister. Maya.”
I open my eyes at once. Sister? Maya? Is Valerie her...? Am I in a lot of trouble?
“JAMES? Valerie?”
The only time I went out on a drink with Maya, she told me that she would kill anyone who ever laid a finger on her little sister.
And judging by the look she has, standing on the door, staring at me with Valerie on my lap...
Yeah. I think she meant it.
(Edit: fix typos)
|
Y’know how people always talk about The Moment; that magical moment when you just know that you’ve found the one person with whom you want to spend the rest of your life beside, the person who fills in the cracks in your soul and makes you finally feel whole? Well that moment could not have come to me at a more inconvenient time.
There I was, wind whipping through my hair as we sped over the New York skyline... how did she even get clearance to fly in what HAS to be restricted airspace?! I guess you get to break a few rules when you get the 10th stamp on your “Foil a Devious and Sinister Plot against the City” card... Shit, where was I? Oh yeah, so there I was getting carried helplessly over the excessive lights of Time Square when it hit me. Who does she think she is scooping me up whisking me back to her super secret hideout?! What if I don’t want to spend another boring obligatory night in the moonlit floor of her penthouse half heartedly going through the motions of post-rescue coitus? What if I just want to go home and binge Wynona Earp in my boxers? Y’know who would let me slob out on the couch and just chill? Tabitha! She always made sure I was comfortable while we waited for the inevitable “rescue.” NO! Why did I even think that?! She was the villain, the enemy, the overly dramatic psychopath who kept stealing me away for some nefarious plan! ...Right?
I tried to shake the thought, but damn if it didn’t cling to the back of my mind. I dragged myself back to work on Monday because you only get to use the “kidnapped my a mysterious lady with a penchant for absorbing electricity from the manhattan power grid” excuse so many times before people stop volunteering their vacation days and all I could think about was how I would lose all the loot I nabbed for leaving the raid early. Couldn’t she have waited until we took down the Elder Dragon before punching in the wall of Voltra’s lair and snatching me? I am sure the clan will understand. It was like that all week. Staring at the news as they discussed another “mysterious escape from Rykers” and rolling my eyes as Kendra showed off her veneers and posed for the cameras with a pile of severely battered kids who were only selling to make ends meet in the background. Most people would die just to meet The Silver Starlet and here I was waiting for the indicative flicker of lights that heralded a new adventure, secretly wishing I could see those perfectly curling black locks and feel the tingle of Tabitha’s radiant discharge on my skin as she swept me up once more.
Edit: spelling and grammatical errors
| 2019-07-22T13:22:26 | 2019-07-22T11:53:11 | 57 | 18 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
|
“It’ll be pyrokenisis”, my dad said, for the thousandth time, as his fingers sparked the hob beneath the kettle. “It’s one of the most heritable powers, and we already struck out on Dan. I’m just saying, the odds are on our side."
Mum rolled her eyes, for the thousandth time. “Whatever it is, it will be wonderful”, she replied, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “Any inkling at all yet, Sims?”
I shook my head. I'd woken up feeling utterly normal, though I was so nervous I thought I might be sick — lord help me if *that* was part of my power.
My eyes were glued to the clock. Less than 24 minutes left before my life would be irrevocably altered.
They ran a course at school for all the kids turning 14 the following month. We’d learned about the transition itself, what to expect from the letter, and how to read its various sections. The final week was focused on acceptance — you weren’t meant to set your heart on a specific power, even though we’d spent our whole lives imagining what we might become. Like most kids, I’d been through various phases: at eight, I wanted super speed, and fantasised about my wall of medals. At 11, as adolescence curled my hair and filled out parts of my body, I’d dreamt of invisibility. That was part of what they were trying to teach us, I guess: lives are long, and the “best” power will look different in 10 years, or 50.
I sipped my tea to fight back the nausea, and my parents let me sit with my thoughts and nerves, speaking softly to each other. I was grateful not to have to make conversation.
At school, they'd also taught us that our powers wouldn’t define us. We could chart our own path. But really, could we? How many professional athletes succeeded without super speed or strength, and how many politicians or estate agents didn't have powers of persuasion or charisma?
I'd spent the past few weeks playing out different scenarios in my mind, and at this point, frankly, I just felt overwhelmed. More than any specific power, I just wanted the wait to be over. To be able to sketch an outline over the blank years stretching out before me.
Soon enough, the second hand of the clock was at 5-to.
We headed into the hallway, my parents buzzing with nervous, excited energy. I was mostly focused on keeping down my toast. God, wouldn’t it be *classic* if my transition story took place with Mum holding back my hair over a toilet?
We stood back at the end of the hall, as though making space for the outsized importance of the small letter that would, any moment, drop through the mail slot.
"No matter what, Sims, it's going to be fine. It's going to be great," said Dad, wrapping his arm around me. Mum, on my other side, squeezed my arm and kissed the top of my head. I could tell she was floating, just an inch or two off the ground, the way she often did when she was excited.
At 8 o'clock sharp, a cream-coloured envelope dropped onto the tile.
I stepped forward, slowly, transfixed by the thought that my destiny had already been written but was still -- for a few more seconds, anyways -- unknown.
The envelope was heavy stock, cool under my fingers. My name was embossed on the front: MISS SIMONE WEST.
I tore it open, removed the letter, took a deep breath, and unfolded the thick paper.
At first, I wasn't sure what I was looking at. We'd gone over generic transition letters at school -- and this wasn't what it was meant to look like. The page was mostly blank, with just four words printed across the centre of the page:
DON'T ANSWER THE DOOR
"Mum, Dad... what is this?" I brought the letter to them, and saw the confusion spread across their faces.
"It must be some kind of mistake," said Dad.
"That's not possible, though, John! It's from the Ministry. All kinds of powers are used making these. Could someone have intercepted it? Maybe it's a prank."
"But why? You'd go to prison for tampering with a transition letter, surely! And what kind of power would you need to pull something like that off? Why use it on this?"
There was sharp knock on the front door. Dad handed back the letter and started towards it, when suddenly, it clicked. I gasped and grabbed his elbow. "Dad, don't!" I whispered, holding up the letter and pointing at the message.
"Don't be daft, Sims, It'll be one of your friends checking in. Or maybe someone bringing your real letter!"
But the idea had already lodged itself in my mind, with a cold kind of terror. "Dad, please!"
More knocking, louder now.
"At least let me see who it is?" I nodded, and held a finger to my lips. He stepped softly up to the peephole, then came back. I winced at the sound of his shoes on the tile. "It's some official looking types. I told you, they're probably just here to apologise and give us the right letter."
Three more heavy knocks sounded on the door. And then, a voice -- which didn't sound much like it wanted to wish me a happy fourteenth birthday.
"SIMONE WEST, THIS IS THE SECURITY SERVICES. WE CAN HEAR YOU MOVING AROUND INSIDE. OPEN THIS DOOR, NOW."
Dad frowned, and moved back to the entryway. "This is Simone's father, John West. Can you hold some identification up to the door? What is this all about?"
"MR WEST, YOU NEED TO SURRENDER SIMONE INTO OUR CUSTODY IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS A NATIONAL SECURITY MATTER. IF YOU DON'T OPEN THE DOOR IN ONE MINUTE, WE WILL ENTER BY FORCE."
"Now, sir -- there must be some misunderstanding," Dad replied. "My daughter is not a threat to anyone. I'm not opening this door without seeing your identification. Do I need to call our solicitor?"
Mum wrapped her arms around me, and an odd stillness fell upon the hallway. Then, I noticed Dad's hand start to jerk. Small flames were licking the tips of his fingers. *What was he doing?* He shook his hand, and the flames grew, before leaping to the sleeve of his jacket. It was only when he started slamming his arm against the wall, and cried out in pain, that I realised Dad wasn't the one doing this -- someone on the other side of the door was controlling those flames.
A loud, rhythmic thud began to sound against the door. They were forcing their way in. I felt Mum pull at me, and realised she was floating again -- but her eyes were full of terror.
"Simi, you have to run," she whispered. "Go out the back, and find Aunt Beth."
"What's happening, Mum? I don't understand! I don't--" Dad had begun to scream. I turned to see his shape, engulfed in fire. I felt Mum’s grip on my shoulder loosen, and my eyes snapped back just in time to see her head slam against ceiling.
"Simi, RUN!"
|
“Don’t use your power.”
Those four words punched me harder in the gut than Carl did at the playground yesterday. This was the one thing I’ve been looking forward to. The sole solution to all my problems, turning me from nobody into someone worthy of a little attention and a lot more respect.
Instead, there were those four mocking words.
“Don’t use your power.”
No lengthy explanations. I’ve seen the ones my parents showed me. Dad’s explained in detail about how hair loss will increase his strength, including mathematical equations that explained in detail the extent of his potential power. He still has a surprisingly full head of hair, however, which might explain why no hero agency ever came knocking.
Mom gained brief bursts of superspeed only on Tuesdays, right after hearing a clock striking twelve times, for twelve seconds. She said it made the decision to go grocery shopping or run errands far easier on Tuesdays.
Me? Nada. Zilch. Just… don’t use my powers.
“Why,” I whispered to myself, clutching the almost-blank letter in my hand. I wanted to burn it to a crisp. Throw it out the window.
I stared at my hands, clenching them into tights fists. What could happen if I just disobeyed the letter? If I just started using my powers right there and then, who was going to stop me from doing so? I’ll just pretend I was illiterate. After banging my head on the walls so many times, some self-inflicted and some not, it was almost certain that I’ve lost quite a few brain cells along the way.
I crushed the paper completely, depositing it into the waste bin before heading outside, plopping myself down on the front lawn. I looked up into the clear blue sky, watching grey clouds rolling in, latecomers to a pity party.
“No explanation,” I murmured. “Maybe it’s powerful. So powerful that even they were afraid of me releasing it.”
I closed my eyes. I recalled what my parents used to say. The powers were strange, esoteric, and specific, but they could always feel that it was coming. It was a boiling inside you, churning water desperately trying to find an escape path.
All you had to do was to let it out. It was a part of me, after all.
I looked inward. I swam, deep down, holding my breath. It was abstract, but it was the best I’ve got—if nobody else was going to tell me what to do.
So I dived. Dug. Deeper and deeper, until I felt a wailing wind buffeting me. That was undeniably power! There was so much. It frothed and bubbled doggedly, more like magma under a volcano than a quiet creek.
I grasped it. Pulled it out triumphantly, holding it up like a trophy. I’ve never held one before, and even a pretend one brought a smile to my face.
The heat continued to build. Bubble, froth, and well within me. I felt sweat dripping from every pore. I started cackling, delirium settling in.
This was power. It was as sure as the Sun. And now I knew why it ran away, sending the clouds to shield its own eyes. It was afraid! There was to be a new star, shining bright, exploding onto the scene.
I coughed and hacked. It was filling my lungs. My airways. Rushing towards my mouth, and I belched out a loud boom.
I heard something click.
There wasn’t even time for one last thought.
Then, an explosion burst forth from within, engulfing me entirely.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-05-08T12:14:09 | 2022-05-08T10:04:14 | 241 | 22 |
[WP] You can’t prove it, but you’re about 87% sure that your school janitor is one of the Old Gods.
Have at it.
|
**Teacher’s Pet** (766 words)
The teacher had told me to get to the principal poste-haste, which was a bit unusual. My grades were decent; not stellar, but there was no danger of failing a class either. So I was a bit confused as to why, but never one to rock the boat, I just went.
As I entered his anteroom there were no other student, only the janitor, watering the plants in the corner. He didn’t pay me any attention, and since I was expected I simply knocked on the door.
“Come in!” The principal’s voice was muffled. “Both of you.”
*Both?* I wondered, looking around. Was there anyone else?
“’Scuse me,” the janitor said as he pushed past me into the office. Then he turned to me, keeping the door open and bushy eyebrows raised. “Ya comin’ or what?”
“Uh, ye-yes,” I stammered.
We both sat down in front of the principal’s desk. I shot sideways glances at the janitor. He’s been at school as long as I remember, and according to my parents he’d already been ancient when they attended. He was unassuming and bland looking, so much that he and easily fell into the background.
“Thank you. Mr Berger, Mrs Anne, do you know why I called you in?”
Mr Berger just shrugged. I gave an uncertain shake of my head. “No?”
The principal took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. He turned to Mr Berger.
“You’ve been leaking. More so than usual.”
“So what?” Mr Berger scoffed. “Them larvae ’re all stunted an’ wouldn’t feel me if ya marinated them in my psychic effluence.”
The principal gave a sharp glance at me, there was a snap, and suddenly everything sounded a bit quieter, the colours were a bit duller, and the sunlight shining through the windows was a bit colder.
“Usually I would agree, but maybe you have wallowed a little overmuch in your own effluence? For you see, our dear Mrs Anne here appears to be something of a special case.”
He steepled his fingers in front of his face, giving me an ominous look.
“Mrs Anne, I made discreet inquiries about what you do with your friends. Don’t ask them, they won’t recall anything. So please be frank: why don’t you tell us about your campaign?”
My jaw dropped in fury at the thinly veiled threat, then I blinked in comprehension as it finally clicked.
I was DM’ing a game with a couple of friends, pretty typical evil dude trying to take over a country and a plucky party of adventurers was all that stood in his way. I also had the habit of reusing characters but changing the fluff for the respective campaign. An archetypical hero in one campaign was a down on his luck barkeep in another, simply because he had chosen differently and wasn’t skilled at barkeeping.
But at times I also like to connect the games. In the current campaign I had introduced a minor NPC, modelled after the man sitting currently next to me, simply because as a janitor he quickly faded into the background. The NPC though, he was the hidden mentor to the Big Bad, nudging him with comments into useful actions rather than mindless evil-for-evil’s-sake. He’d keep appearing in future campaigns, lending the current Big Bad an unobtrusive hand, not because he wanted him to succeed, but because it was funny and a way to stave off boredom another couple years.
I told all this to the principal and Mr Berger. The two men shared a complicated look, one that was too fraught with meaning for me to parse fully.
“She got *some* things right,” Mr Berger said.
“And others surprisingly, *delightfully* wrong.” The principal gave me smile that stretched a bit too far and showed exactly 43 teeth—I didn’t knew how I knew that number, it had arrived in my mind unbidden and unannounced. I swallowed nervously.
“Mrs Anne, how would you feel about taking on another course this year?”
“Um… fine, I guess? I don’t have any AP courses, if that’s what you mean?”
“Tut-tut-tut.” The principal had raised a finger in mock admonishment. “You *had* no AP course, now you have… let’s call it AP Collaborative Storytelling. About three hours weekly on a day of your choosing, held in the teacher’s lounge hosting another game for the teacher’s. The first session will be held next Friday.”
He gave me another too-wide smile, showing even more teeth.
“I’d—” I swallowed again, frightened and nervous and, to be honest, a smidgen curious.
“I’d be *delighted*!”
|
There was always something off about Mr. De Luca. From the way he carried himself, to the way some jerk-off’s locker would mysteriously slam shut as he walked by, I always had my suspicions. Especially with the archaic way he spoke.
One day, it got to be too much for poor Mr. De Luca. He had heard one too many people call him Mr. DeLorean, after that stupid car. He had seen one too many people laugh at his slightly hobbled walk. I heard a shout and felt a rush of air, almost like the most bitter winter wind rush by. Then I heard it. The cry that confirmed my suspicions: “YOU DARE INSULT THE MIGHTY AEOLUS, GOD OF THE WINDS?” Then, silence as the hallway froze, one person, (clearly the one who pissed off Mr. De Lu- Aeolus) literally. I remember going home that night both frightened and intrigued. I remember knowing what was going to be taught the next day in history: Greek and Roman mythology.
| 2018-11-26T01:00:14 | 2018-11-25T23:44:17 | 37 | 19 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
The men in the room stared at me. I stared back. We stayed like this for a while, hours maybe, without a word. Occasionally, someone would cough or sneeze, one of the agents even burped, but those moments were few and far between. At this point, it almost seemed like a competition on who would crack first and break the silence. All I knew is I wanted to leave soon.
I hadn’t been in the city very many times before this. I was never a big fan, and never could understand why someone would want to spend their life here. The colors were dark, the noises were loud, the air smelled reeked of cigarettes and engine exhaust, but still there were more people on a street block than I had met in my entire life. Perhaps it was the fact they never seemed to look up from their cell phones, or perhaps they didn’t realize there was anything more to the world, but either way, it never clicked with me. Even the muffled noise from the chatter and daily grind inside the room was overwhelming. Eventually, the tension got to me, and I decided to speak up.
“Why am I still here?”
After a brief silence, I received a reply.
“We’re not allowed to answer that question.”
I took a short moment to process this information, before my brow furrowed. Shortly after, I spoke again.
“Why not?”
This time, another agent spoke, picking up where the last left off without skipping a beat.
“We’re waiting for someone.”
Another brief pause followed.
“What kind of someone?”
I didn’t receive a response, and the room fell silent yet again.
I had my ideas, obviously. Whatever this was, it was clear it wasn’t routine. It had to do with my scan. I was good at something, something that made me a commodity to someone. After all, if it wasn’t important, I doubt having 6 people in the room blocking the exit would be a good use of resources. After that, though, is where it became more speculation for me. I wasn’t the strongest, I wasn’t the fastest, and I wasn’t getting any awards for my Violin skills, either. The guards didn’t seem nervous, so I likely wasn’t an immediate threat either. If the guards weren’t there to stop me, then they were there for something else. They were there to protect me. I felt a shiver go down my spine as my mind quickly swerved into the worst case scenarios, when suddenly, a noise could be heard. A door opening. The men moved out of the way in coordination, like soldiers lining up for their commander. That was the first time I saw him.
He looked unsettlingly casual compared to everyone else in the room. His hair was grey and unkempt, with a baseball cap on his head and sandals on his feet. A chair was brought into the room by another faceless man in black, and he sat down. Then, he laughed.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost! I know I’m quite old, but I assure you I’m still very much alive.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, I didn’t need to.
“You’re wondering why you’re here. You’ve already surmised that these guards are here to protect you, and you’re not exactly ‘normal’.”
Again, I was petrified to even say a word. I felt like was going to die.
“You’re not going to die.”
That got my attention and suddenly, as well as unwillingly, the questions poured out of my mouth like word soup.
“Who are you? Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble? I want to go home, why am I still here?”
The man laughed again for a short moment, as I grew more frustrated. I looked away, like a child pouting about a toy.
“I’m sorry. You’re scared, I shouldn’t be laughing.”
His preppy smile faded, and shifted to a more serious frown. He went from sitting straight up to leaning with a sympathetic hunch down over the table. Realizing how stupid I probably looked, I looked forward again, yet keeping my eyes at the ground. Feeling that he had my attention again, he promptly continued speaking.
“If I told you that I didn’t feel the same way my whole life after this point, I’d be a liar. I had a family too.”
Had. Pretense. I didn’t like where this was going.
“They’re still alive, but no, I don’t think you’ll like where this is going.”
Again. He had predicted my thoughts perfectly. It was no longer a coincidence.
“You’re not going home. If I could hide what we found today, I’d gladly give my life for it, but you and me are different. Your kind of talent won’t appear on the list, because as far as the world is aware we don’t exist. I need you to look at me.”
A lot of information, plus a lot of things you don’t want to hear, followed by a command. I had had enough. I erupted, threw my chair at the wall, and then he got the eye contact he wanted and more.
“Why the hell should I do that!? Why should I listen to you, who the hell are you to tell me what to do!? The city is a shitshow, and I am NOT staying here! Give me one good reason, one, I shouldn’t try to leave right now?”
“Because neither of our mouths have moved this entire time.”
I stopped. His voice wasn’t coming from the room. It was, in fact in my head.
“Kid...you’re a psychic.”
|
When I jumped out my truck to enter the lan house, I kept my eyes ahead as my face burned. There were a few people around, staring at me with a strange smile.
Usually those stares did not bother me. One gets used to being stared at, having the big scar that I had crossing half of my left cheek.
But today people were smiling a tense smile, and it was a bit creepy.
Walking faster, I finally reached the door. Sitting at a table there was a stern young man. He was very focused on the machine that the city folks called computer.
I waited for what seemed hours, but he did not take notice of me. So, I coughed.
With a sigh, he looked in my direction. At first, the shock.
I shrugged.
\- Hey, it's only a scar. No big deal. Can you help me out with checking my rankings? I turn 18 today and I have never used...these. - I said, gesturing in the direction of the computer.
The man then smiled, standing up from his chair.
\- Sure. Sure...So, first timer huh?
Time passed and we finally managed to enter the rankings. The guy left me alone, going back to whatever he was doing previously.
\- Don't forget to pay me after you finish there. OK?
\- Of course. - I replied.
After a lot of entering list after list, I finally discovered a place inside the site that said "Your Best Rankings".
As I checked that out...oh boy.
\#5 Most Out of Touch with Technology
Probably the rest of the top ones was my family. I chuckled.
\#8 Most Days Without a Shower
This is...embarassing.
\#1 Most in Debt
Huh? Well, this explains why the guy told me to not forget to pay...
| 2019-05-04T12:44:12 | 2019-05-04T12:27:51 | 1,055 | 27 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with.
|
Like any grand or nightmarish moment of fate, my destiny came to me on the toilet.
Just like everyone else, I had been waiting feverishly for my 18th birthday. The day itself was one giant anti-climax - I awoke awash in the glow that accompanies a soon-to-be legend. I climbed into bed that night in a huff - surely someone meant for glory would have been struck with their power the very moment they turned 18? Then why was I going to bed no different than I woke up?And what would everyone think if I never did gain my power? Or, maybe worse, if my power and I turned out to be a dud?
In the weeks following my 18th birthday I barely slept. Paralyzing anxiety wracked my brain, but I knew it had only one cure. Regardless of when fate would find me, the waiting game preyed on more than just my emotions - it also wreaked havoc on my naturally high-strung bowels. My IBS had flared up when I thought I heard a friend say that Bravo was cancelling Top Chef. Needless to say, it was in its heyday during my current emotional distress.
I was in the midst of one of my many marathon bathroom sessions when I realized the worst had happened. I was just settling gingerly onto the cold porcelain when I realized my phone was at less than 5% battery. Barely enough time to rouse the sleeping dragon that is my digestive tract and certainly not enough time for it to go about its volatile business.Nonetheless I settled in and, ten minutes post the death of my phone and after reading the backs of all the shampoo bottles I could reach several times over, a rumbling deep at the base of my being indicated that my intestines had worked through their performance anxiety. Several loud blasts were like music to my ears, signifying sweet relief from the cramps that rolled through my abdomen.
*Creeeeakk.*
*What was that?* I thought. *It couldn't be....*
Soft footfalls in the hallway sent adrenaline shooting through my veins. I could feel my heart pounding in my throat. Andra - my suspiciously quiet roommate - was home. Her bedroom shared a very thin wall with our tiny bathroom. My breath caught as I realized that one of my all-time top three nightmares was being played out and there was nothing I could do about it.
As every muscle in my body clenched tighter, I suddenly realized that physical stress was unintentionally propelling my body to a grand finale that would probably be heard around the block. *Noooo!!!!!* I screamed in my head - urging every pipe in my body to cease movement, block passage, HALT!!!
Would but I could describe the sounds that came from my body that afternoon. There are no words. It's safe to say that it was somewhere between a ship fog horn sounding (long and loud) and the sloppy contents of a near-empty ketchup bottle being forced out so quickly that red globs shoot out in all directions.
Shame rose up my face like a heavy steam and my forehead felt warm as I cradled it in my palms. *She must have heard that right? Is there any chance? Is she one of those people who judges you for having bodily functions...?*
Andra's voice interrupted my agony. It sounded loud, brusque and oddly hard - there was an edge that I had never heard before. "That is so disgusting!! How can she do that without even thinking - I never.... And what in the hell is she putting in her body? Healthy people don't make sounds like that... oh god, that smell!!!!! Holy shit!!"
I abruptly burst from the bathroom, fly half-zipped and pants drifting open. "Alright, already!!! I get it - you think I'm gross!! Just shut up or keep it to yourself!"
I stared at her, feeling hurt but vindicated. After a moment, I noticed that her frown didn't look particularly cruel, but quite dumbfounded. She wouldn't make eye contact with me - was she embarrassed by her outburst?
"Jess - what did you hear? Because I didn't say anything..... I didn't say anything out loud..."
---
Years of waiting and anticipation, stress that had led me to spend so much time in the bathroom I knew exactly how long it took for my butt to fall asleep on the seat, the constant guessing at what my power could be - it had been years of energy and emotion invested in this moment. I know parents fear for their children's safety, maybe hope for a power that is low-profile. But my greatest fear whenever I thought about my 18th birthday was simple - what would others think about me? Would they admire my new abilities? Or scorn a boring fate they deemed appropriate for an unremarkable person? They say powers know you better than you know yourself and so I guess mine is fitting. I think I could get used to hearing other people's thoughts. It would be a burden, but one I could bear with dignity and purpose. But what purpose does it serve to only be able to hear others' thoughts during my most embarrassing moments?
|
Everybody knows how it happens. The day you turn 18 you go to "The Centre" and they give you an injection. This injection mutates the cells in your body and your mind, allowing for a further 30% control of an individuals brain. It causes the individual to attain what we call "superpowers". The only problem is not knowing the superpower you are going to get.
Four days ago i received this injection and it was the worst experience of my life. On the first day everyone gets bed-ridden as the injected cells fight with the white blood cells for control of the body. The second day you spend by the toilet, rejecting whatever food and drink you managed to eat previously. On the third day..... well the third day is the day of delirium. The world spins and the walls melt. Those who go through it akin it to being on LSD, only without paying the price for it!
Just like everyone else before me, I had to go through these phases of pain. But I finally received my power. It may be the worst power on the planet...but its mine. When I first got my power my mother said it was the best power on the planet (mums! Am I right?). So now all I have to look forward to is tomorrow, another day of using my powers towards attaining peace for mankind. Another day of being able to write with my fingertips!
| 2015-03-28T05:14:37 | 2015-03-28T05:14:22 | 134 | 18 |
[WP] The apocalypse scenario of your choice has happened and you are the last person alive. Electricity and the internet are still running. As a last ditch effort you take to /r/askreddit, "Is there anybody else out there?" Weeks later, you receive a single upvote, but no reply...
I once read an article that said there is so much automation when it comes to our utilities that we would still have power and running water for months, even if every human just suddenly disappeared.
Also, the idea here is that the internet works, but hasn't been updated at all.
|
(English isn't my 1st language)
One. One is the number, one is the only number that exist. That one is me. Dinner for one, bed for one, one room on one planet for one man. That's me, the one true ruler of this earth.
I stopped counting the days, I don't know how much time passed since the big event, I don't know what day is today. All I know I woke up one day, headed to work like any mortal, and all of the sudden people left and right started screaming, bleeding from the ears and dying, like they heard a loud noise that their head couldn't handle. But all I heard was one sentence that repeated itself, "Thou shalt suffer but he who is spared".
Well I didn't interpret it correctly immediately, all I heard at the time was this annoying high pitched noise. But after roughly one year passed, I woke up from a bad dream, and I could hear the same noise again, but this time I could figure out the words hidden in it, and it was "Thou shalt suffer but he who is spared".
I've never believed in God, well not until the big event. I now believe that there is a higher power, but in the last 3 years of studying various religions, I have never come to find anything that explains what happened. Well to be fair according to Islam, at judgment day an angel would blow in a huge horn that will kill every one, and would make the mountains collapse. But the big noise didn't level the mountains, and I'm still here, so its not that.
I truly believe that I'm here for a reason, I was chosen to stay the last person on this wicked earth for something behind my comprehension. I don't know what or when, but I'll always be ready. The noise will speak to me again and I'll hear the voice within that will guide me.
4 years is a lot of time when you are alone. And you start to wonder, to question your beliefs. I wake up sometimes and I am a different person, a person who is miserable, a person who denounce the gods and wish for death. But I always overcome him, I overcome the weakness that is caused by the darkness in my heart that I still carry before my coronation, the darkness I attribute to the lack of noise filling the void in my head.
One day I woke up on the dark side, and wondered if that voice I heard was just my fucked up brain trying to rationalize with all the madness, and what if there was no spared one, and what if there were more survivors. In hindsight that wasn't my dark mind overcoming my faith, but my god guiding me to the path.
Because on that day I decided to post on that site I used to spend most of my day surfing, but for the life of me I couldn't remember what it was. That was the last proof I've shaken the past life and all it elements to embrace my new entity. I found it at last, reddit.com, and posted there asking if there were any other human being alive. It took only 4 hours, maybe less but I checked after 4 hours, for the little arrow to turn orange, and the number one to become two.
Dark me couldn't know how to feel, and it took him, me, 4 hours to calm down and go to sleep. He, I, couldn't react, or try to contact number 2, for this was the most shocking thing I, he, we could encounter. Pills do help you sleep in situations like this.
Next morning I was back, enlightened and sure. I typed a comment on that post I made, asking for number 2 to identify, and the respond came quickly. Number 2 is Adam, 27 years old French. Damn it's too far, an ocean separating us. We exchanged few words, his English wasn't the best. He was alone, he didn't want to talk about the big event, he wanted to use some software to video chat, so I can see him and he could see me.
We sit up the conference of the living men, and we are now connected. At first I thought there was an error, I was seeing myself on the screen. But the background was different, and soon realized that was Adam. Adam was me, was a mirror image of me. He just starred at me in pure horror, then smashed the screen with his bare hand for five times until we got disconnected.
Now I know why I'm still here, now I know why the next step of my gods plan is on hold. I am not the "he who is spared", not yet anyhow. This must be a test, a test to prove my devotion and belief, a test by god to see if I can cleanse my heart, mind and soul from darkness.
One year passed since I became aware of the existence of Adam, and I'm docking my vessel in what seem to be the city of Santander, Spain. I am heading to find Adam, the first and the last man, for shalt I be the one who is spared, and the ruler of earth by the will of god.
|
"It was October 14th, 2014. Everyone disappeared and Croatoan engraved everywhere. I have no fucking clue what happened so naturally I went on reddit to see any news articles. Nothing appeared, not a God damn thing.
So I went on AskReddit and posted a text post, "Is there anybody else out there?" I didn't expect any initial response so I just left the computer.
After a couple of weeks of scavenging supplies, I came to the realization that I might be the only person left. Nothing new was posted on the front page as I expected. I don't know why, but I refreshed it and my link karma went up. No new inbox notification so I went on the post and commented, "Person who just upvoted, comment me where you are so we can try to figure this out!"
More weeks past and my link karma went up by the dozens. I go mad with insanity and took a look at the pistol I found near the police station and decided that I'm probably going to end it all. If you're reading this, then God damn, I wasn't the only one alive."
*Huh, what and interesting read here, eh?*
A man closed a rattled book and placed it near a decaying body. He went over the computer desk to scavenge any supplies. He noticed the web browser with a dozen tabs of reddit on. He could only find a list of e-mails and a bunch of passwords corresponding to the emails.
| 2014-10-14T13:45:28 | 2014-10-14T13:31:51 | 129 | 14 |
[WP] He is called simply The Surgeon, and everyone knows that his OR is neutral ground. Heroes and villains alike seek his aid when injured. You're a hero, just in for some stitches, but waiting in the lobby is a villain you've tangled with before, and they're weeping.
|
“Sky Master?" The Nurse asked out loud, reading a name off the sign in sheet. I stood up and walked to the reception's desk.
"Here, fill this out,” The Nurse told me. I thanked her, took the clipboard she handed me, and sat down. The OR was nearly empty tonight. The holidays offer a sort of truce amongst the heroes and villains only because so many are off on vacation or have family visiting that they do not have time to work. In 19 minutes, it’ll be Christmas. I did not leave town this year so I figured I’d try to help others have a safe Christmas.
Parents would keep the presents they bought for their kids in their car trucks. Their kids would never find them there. But thieves? Thieves like to wait for the night before Christmas. They would find parents that are unloading gifts from the car to their house and strike. No need to worry about breaking into cars or homes. Just find them when they are most vulnerable. Electronics were a big seller this year. Two new gaming consoles hit the market, and scalpers are already asking 3-4x the price for them. I managed to stop two groups of thieves without trouble but the last set had advanced weaponry. They managed to hit my shoulder with an energy blast. Not fatal or anything, just painful and could lead to issues if not treated.
As I began filling out the paper work, I noticed an old foe sitting in the corner. He had his head down, I couldn’t see his face, but his white and orange glowing skull costume motive, I knew it was Omega Skull. His shoulders were shaking. Is he laughing at me? I decided to ignore him. Breaking the Surgeon’s truce isn’t worth it. It takes a few minutes to fill the paperwork and handed it back to The Nurse.
“He will be with you shortly,” she said, looking over the paperwork to make sure I did not miss anything.
I sat back down and looked after at Omega Skull again. His head was still in his hands, shoulders shaking. The coffee machine was nearby. That’s a good enough reason for me. I checked my watch. 11:48 PM. I walked over the to coffee maker, selected a Columbian roast (decaf) pod, and put it in. In about a minute, the machine had warmed up and started to pour out a cup of coffee.
“Kinda fancy for a doctor’s office,” I said to no one in particular, while also trying to get Omega Skull’s attention. He didn’t say a word. He…sniffled? “I haven’t seen you since last June when we battled along the wharf.”
He continued to ignore me. “I got hit by some random thieves who fired one of Dr. Future’s guns. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about how they got a hold of that weaponry, do you?”
Omega Skull continued to remain silent.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” I demanded.
In a split second, he stood up, grabbed me by the throat and slammed me on the wall.
“NOT. TODAY.” he said. He didn’t have his mask on. His eyes were red. He was crying.
“NO FIGHTING,” The Nurse shouted and with that, he dropped me and sat back down.
After a second or two to regain my composure, I asked “Hey…are you okay?”
Silence.
He was hurting. Not from physical pain. From something else. I didn’t see a villain. I saw someone who was angry, sad, frustrated and vulnerable all rolled into one. He needed help. He needed a friend.
I sat down near him. I didn’t press the issue. I didn’t say a word. He continued to cry silently in his hands. After about 10 minutes, he finally said something.
“My daughter….my daughter is in there,” he said. “I didn’t know it was her….I hurt her…” he said, looking down as his powerful hands. “I…did this. I hurt my own daughter. I’m…” he stopped for a second to compose himself.
“She’s only 15. And has powers. Flight. Energy blasts. She calls herself Crimson Blast. She’s part of The Crew. You know. The teenage heroes. They attacked my base…they had intel that I had stolen some government project. But I swear, I didn’t. It was someone else. I don’t even deal with government heists anymore. Too much to lose for a minor gain. They attacked my base. I fought back. They were no match for me. Why would they even attack? They were outclassed. Inexperienced. Weak. They knew I would win. Why the hell did they attack? What kind….what kind of leader even plans that?”
“Teens these days are trying to make a name for themselves. Taking you down would do that,” I said.
“They attacked. And I fought back. I wanted to make an example of them. I didn’t hold back. As they were retreating, she…” he stops himself. Takes a deed breath. “She fired. She was protecting one of her downed teammates. I didn’t want to kill him. But she was protecting him. She got me in the leg. So I unleashed…” he stops again.
A few moments pass. “They left her behind. What kind of….they left her behind. She was hurt. She needed them. SHE PROTECTED THEM. AND THEY LEFT HER BEHIND,” he got angry. He had every right to be angry. “She was hurt bad. As I got closer to her, I noticed….I noticed her birthmark on the side of her face. She always hated it. She wanted to get plastic surgery to get rid of it. But I told her it made her unique. It wasn’t that noticeable. But I noticed it. Just there. On the side of her cheek. Her mask had burned off with my attack. That’s when I knew it was my little girl. And what I had done to her…” he stopped. He looked at his feet for a long time.
“This is all my fault…” he said.
He looked defeated, exhausted, angry, and vulnerable.
The Surgeon came out.
Omega Skull stood up. “Is…is she…?”
The Nurse walked up next to him and grabbed the clipboard.
“She has multiple fractures, a collapsed lung, first and second degree burns. But we managed to stabilize her. She’s awake and alert. She’ll have to stay here for a few nights, but using our medical tech, she should be cured within a week,” The Nurse said.
Omega Skull breathed a sigh of relief.
“Do you want to go see her?” The Nurse asked.
“N-no…,” Omega Skull replied. “She…doesn’t need to know I’m here. Can you keep that anonymous? I don’t want her to know I’m the one that brought her here. I’ll just pay and go”
“Sure thing,” The Nurse replied. “Come this way and we’ll settle you up.”
As he walked away, he turned back to me. “Hey, Sky Master. Thanks. I’ll see you around.” he said.
"No problem. If you want, I can go in and talk to her if..."
"No, no. I'm just happy she's doing okay. I got a lot of thinking to do." he said. He started to fill out the paperwork The Nurse handed him. I walked back to the coffee maker and popped in another Columbian Roast (Decaf). I looked at my watch.
"Hey Omega. Merry Christmas," I said.
"Merry Christmas."
|
Rachel’s in the waiting room, staring into the grey wall. Walls, there are walls, yet she chose the grey one; her eyes draw to it, passing the blue and oranges that clash, that draw upon each other as if in battle. The liveliness does not cause her any feeling or headaches as many assume when her eyes find browns and greys the most appealing, no; there are many places for people to find comfort in in grey walls. That’s why Rachel’s Surgeon has it, because for some only greys appeal when all else fail. So, she stares.
Her arms are cut in battle. Her arms bleed red, she is red and all she can do is stare straight, stare away; he’ll be here, shortly, he promised, and she didn’t mind the cuts, not really. They dig into her furry arms, deep inside. Her claws retracted.
Her name is The Caring Cat, at least, that’s what others called her as she scaled a four story building to save a man from jumping. Jumping, ha, it was funny.
Bodies only fall for a few moments, before, before-
Her hands shake, thinking of all the rag dolls she couldn’t save. That’s what others say, at least, hearing the stories about the people teetering on the edge, finally choosing a side, the wrong side. People call them rag dolls, because they aren’t exactly people, not when they commit- have committed. They were neighbors, strangers, and now, they’re dolls, just dolls.
That’s what others say, at least. Her hands find neutrality and she closes the fist in her throat; she doesn’t just deal with suicide victims, she’s branched out into “normal” heroes work. There isn’t anything normal about it, saving the world from a fish person turning others into sushi, or stumbling in on a toxic goop that wants to feed their all powerful, drug free, mind controlling goop to everyone. That happened last Tuesday, when she missed one of her course exams.
Then, the crying. Rachel’s eyes draw onto the person immediately, the darkened outfit one of familiarity: The Raging Darkness. Her eyes are spilling out tears that vaporize when meeting skin.
They’re blue, she notes. She pushes herself closer to The Darkness, careful to not touch her; she’s touched her one too many times and got burned.
Fire, is often depicted as flames of red fury, flames burning as bright and as yellow as the sun, yet the hottest fire is blue, colder, cooler. She’s the type of warmth one would never know, illuminating shadows that slink against the wall creeping up when one least expects it. She was the coldest flame one knows.
She meets her, hands tucked in, hidden. Rachel blushes, thinking about another person knowing about her cuts.
She pulls out a candy, a carmel from her grandma’s. She wouldn’t miss it- her grandma hasn’t been around for a long time. A rag doll, some may say, just not a willing one but a walking one. Her memories betrayed her, the dementia took her and only the rag doll is left, breathing. It’s a fate that makes her arms shake, that makes the tired greys so lovely-
The villain pushes away; heroes don’t come to this side, the villain’s divide. Again, she pushes the caramel across the table. Rachel gestures her goodwill.
Not a single word is exchanged before The Surgeon coughs behind her. She turns to meet her eye to eye, and there is gratitude. Rachel waves, and the villain grabs her wrist. Her heart drills her chest, as she finds the room to grab back. Her blue hair in battle was always strung up, but now, it’s flowing and long and it’s nice as it hits her bleeding arm.
Her hearts blue too, like The Darkness’s hair, and her lipstick bleeds red. Her hands stiffen as the thick hair runs along her arm like a marble running across sand.
She moves her hand. The villain follows, pulling back as if the exchange disgusted her. It doesn’t, but it has to. She’s in the hall now, she can’t even see her eyes.
“So, stitches today…?” There’s more after. Technical terms, important, but her eyes are on the grey wall, always on the grey walls.
She finds it in herself to say something, anything. “Yeah… yeah, stitches will do, Doc. Stitches will do.”
(Didn’t have time to proof read! Sorry!)
| 2022-01-20T17:45:50 | 2022-01-20T16:00:06 | 2,369 | 153 |
[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.
|
On my twenty first birthday, Uncle Gerry gave me a bottle of poison wrapped up in cellophane with a pink sateen bow.
It was small, and pretty, and almost innocuous. If it hadn’t had the words WARNING: CAUSES IMMEDIATE AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH written in bold letters across the front, you wouldn’t have even known it was poison. To be fair to Uncle Gerry, it was written in a very nice calligraphy. The penmanship was immaculate.
My Uncle Gerry was a good gift giver. He was the sort of person who gave you things before you even knew you needed them. On my eighth birthday he’d given me my first suit, which I needed the very next week for my Grandmothers funeral after she died suddenly and unexpectedly. On my nineteenth birthday, he’d given me a rope ladder, which had sat unused on my bedroom floor until June, when a fire broke out on the second floor of my house, allowing me to miraculously climb to safety. One memorable christmas, he’d even gifted me a bottle of his favourite whiskey, addressed to 'my favourite Uncle Gerry' - I'd never forget to buy him a christmas present ever again.
But this year was different. I’d been wanting this present for a very, very long time.
I wasn’t a happy man.
I hadn’t always been unhappy. I don’t want to bore you with the details - my unhappiness had been the product of a dull and tortured series of events stemming from childhood that could have happened to anyone and everyone. I was a skinny child, abused by my parents, bullied by my peers, mocked by my teachers. My Grandmother had taken me in at the age of 6 and was the first person in my life to show me a shred of kindness. Well that is, until her sudden death - a heart attack, they explained, which means her heart was so broken there wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I remember I sobbed because my heart was broken too.
Things began to look up when I met the love of my life in high school. Cynthia’s sweet smile had soothed my broken soul back to life. Well, that is, until the fire. Although I lost my home and all of my worldly possessions, I hadn't cared. The only thing that mattered was that my only reason left to live had been stolen from me when her sweet smile went up in flames.
It seemed only fair to end my life with the very thing that had once saved it - a gift from Uncle Gerry. I took that little glass bottle out of its packaging and rolled it in between my fingers. It glinted in the light. Such a fragile thing, it was a wonder it could cause so much harm. After only a moments hesitation, I uncapped it, and poured its contents down my throat. Then I lay down and waited to die.
If you’ve ever been poisoned before, you know how it goes. At first, you don’t notice anything but the sickly sweet taste of the poison on your lips, turning sour as the gravity of what you’ve done begins to sink in.
Then your heart begins to race, your body drenched with sweat as it prepares for its final battle.
And then suddenly, all the reasons for living that you’d blocked out of your mind flood back in, unrequested and unwanted. Burning sunlight rushing into a room that had been dark and deserted for so long.
Coffee, first thing in the morning. The time someone laughed at your jokes and told you you were funny. A favourite song. A neighbour that shows you small kindnesses, like putting out your garbage bin when you forget. The people you work with who treat you like family. The sister that you reconnected with, who has gentle eyes and a gift for cooking. The child that your dead fiancee left behind, who desperately needs you to raise them.
And that’s when you realise that it’s all very, very wrong, and you weren’t meant to die, not here, not today, not yet, not ever.
I began to retch. When I couldn’t expel the poison, I began to scream.
FUCK.
Fuck this. Fuck Uncle Gerry. Fuck death.
I wanted to live.
And that was when Uncle Gerry walked back into the living room, holding two glasses of whiskey.
“Fetched myself a drink, I hope you don’t mind… oh.”
I gagged in agony, cursing his pathetic name.
“Well then, I see you’re enjoying my present.”
“Fuck you,” I spat, grinding my teeth.
“Would you like to know the best part?” He said, taking a swig from his glass. He sat down in the armchair across from me.
I moaned.
“It’s sugar syrup,” he said gently, “It can’t cause death - well, except to your teeth, as my dentist would say. Brush and floss or it’ll cost, he used to tell me, capital fellow.”
I lay still on the carpet, trembling.
Relief. Pouring through my limbs. Shame. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him.
“There may be reasons to die, but there are more reasons to live, dear boy, and too many people realise that far too late,” he mused, staring out of the window into the front yard, where a miserable looking postman was shoving mail into the overflowing letterbox on my front porch, “I don't want that for you.”
As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the couch, he slapped me on the back and handed me the spare glass of whiskey.
“Drink up, dear boy. It’s one of my favourites, given to me by my favourite nephew.”
He winked and clinked my glass, and we drank in the warm light of the afternoon sun.
|
My uncle throughout all my life has always given me things that have unexpectedly been needed. Extinguishers, pepper-spray, and tools have been some of the items given to me, the items are always the exact thing I need when things go oh so desperately wrong.
This year my uncle has given me the most peculiar gift, a wooden puzzle box. The box itself was not the peculiar thing, it was what was inside. A simple silver ring with markings of an unknown language engraved on the inside.
I kept the ring with me at all times, my uncle always gave me gifts that would help me in my times in need. What would be different this time.
I think that I am finally figuring out what I will be needing the ring for, someone has been following me recently. It started with a figure in the corner of my eye, when I would look there would be no one. Maybe they want the ring from me? Maybe my uncle gave me something that he was not supposed to?
The person following me has been recently getting more bold, getting closer, moving my things. Lately, when I am asleep at night I would awake in cold sweats, the feeling of someone breathing would tickle the hairs on the back of my neck. I do not know how this mysterious stranger has been getting inside my house, I keep all of my windows and doors locked.
In the morning I would search my house for anything misplaced, anything stolen. But nothing was ever taken.
I don't know who this person is, but they scare me. I have been unable to sleep at night. The person has been touching my back in the middle of the night, I could feel their weight on my bed as they sat next to me. They would hum an indistinct tone as they caressed my body.
I clutch the ring tightly to my chest at these moments, praying that my uncle was right in his choice of gift.
I don't know what to do, the person is not stopping, not leaving.
I am going to confront them later tonight, in hopes that maybe I can finally make them stop.
| 2020-06-23T23:18:26 | 2020-06-23T19:45:47 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone has magic and the magic they have is based off of their name. Society uses a small range of names because they know the magic that comes with it. Your parents decided to give you a very ancient name that does not have a record of its accompanying magic.
|
Misnaming was a crime, for good reason.
The best case scenario, from the point of view of the government, was that you never discovered the magic that went with your name and spent your whole life as a cripple, unable to add much value to society, with difficulty finding someone to settle down with, until eventually, all else being equal, you ended up dead in a flophouse without a penny to your name.
The worst case? Well, there were some magics that had been too dangerous for humans to ever contend with, viral magics that would spread faster and more deadly than any plagues, explosive magics that could level a city, memetic magics that could write over every memory you ever had, replacing the entirety of your essence with pictures of cats. Rumor was the government had a crop of misnamed in an off-the-books facility somewhere, because why wouldn't they? And maybe some of those towns that were supposedly taken out by out-of-control misnamed were actually cases of the government taking out dissidents. Who could say? More importantly, who *would* say when anyone could be an informer and the government had been hard at work miniaturizing recording technology?
Me? I was the innocuous type of misnamed, not the son of rebels or cultists, just the son of hippies, if you could call them that. It was a home birth, against government regulations, and when they brought me to the hospital, they lied and wrote down something else. I don't know what the plan was for when I came of age and had to prove my magic, but I never got to find out, because my parents died in a car accident when I was ten, and from there, I went off into the care of a warm and loving government (har har).
My parents had told me I was misnamed, and they'd even told me what my name was (Letler, if it matters), but I was ten when I went to the institution, and hell if I knew what to do. I let it ride, I guess, putting it off for the future. Magic usually came on just a bit after puberty, but the institution trained kids early, so they would come into it. I was a Rendgear, so far as my papers were concerned, so I was tasked with learning plants. Puberty came and went, and boy did I tend to some plants, day in and day out. I watched as my classmates were transferred out of the nascent classes and into the neophyte ones, one by one as their command of plants became supernatural. Most of them would be put into the fields, helping to increase crop output. Me? I stayed in with the nascents, even when I towered over everyone else.
*Either he's faking a lack of magic or he's in the wrong class,* my teacher thought. *It wouldn't be the first time the paperwork on one of these children was wrong. Let's hope it doesn't reflect poorly on me. Better take him in for testing.*
The thought entered into my head, unbidden, and shocked me enough that I snapped the stem of the plant I was holding. I had been looking at my teacher, a dumpy woman with thick glasses, and all of the sudden, I could hear her.
I had no idea what to do. My name had finally borne fruit, coming in too late for me to plot and plan. My teacher noticed the broken stem with a frown and made a call from her desk, ordering the testing.
I went through it all, watched closely, all eighteen approved names. I knew that I was going to fail the tests, but the security officers at the orphanage had guns, and two of them were in the laboratory with me. Both were Leklirs, their magic physically powerful and their bodies resilient to damage. It was a good name, if your parents could get the government's permission for it.
*God I hope I don't have to kill this kid,* thought one of the guards. *Last time was bad enough.*
*Misnamed kid,* thought the other, *If Leklir 12B7 doesn't want to off him, maybe I can get something out of it, like I'm doing him a favor. Too soon to say though. Maybe the kid will pass.*
I didn't pass the tests. I had the newfound power to read minds, but all the other magics were inert to me, like a book placed before an illiterate. And apparently, I wasn't going to die penniless in a flophouse, I was going to die shot to death, probably pretty close to the orphanage I'd grown up in.
I was taken to the headmaster's office and placed into a chair by the rough hands of the Leklirs. He waved them out of the room, then regarded me. He was an Amdin, of course, the only name capable of running anything in this day and age. Low level, naturally, but still an Amdin, ruthless, cunning, with a head for numbers and a full command of the government's all-mighty bureaucracy.
"It was unfortunate, but not unforeseen," said the Amdin, frowning at me. "Home birth, that's on your file, and your parents were subversives, even if they were the less troublesome kind. Misnaming is a crime. The penalty for the misnamed is, unfortunately, death, at least in ordinary circumstances." He regarded me with a grim frown. "Tell me your name, boy, it's the only way out."
"Letler," I said, having no other options.
"Unfamiliar to me, I'm afraid," he replied. "Do you know your magic?"
I hesitated. I had no leverage, no way out, they were going to kill me.
*Another wasted resource,* thought the headmaster. *A necessary evil to keep my cover here. One more death in my ledger, and I pray to god that I can balance it out when all is said and done.*
"Are there recording devices in this office?" I asked.
The headmaster stared at me. *What does he know? How does he know it? What will he try? If I could trust him not to inform ... but maybe he was sent here for that reason. It wouldn't be the first time. The resistance needs me.*
"If there are recording devices in this office, then you should turn them off so that I can say something," I replied. "It's important."
"I can't be sure I know where all the recording devices are," said the headmaster with a frown. *Too much?* he thought. *Too obvious to the listeners?* "Regardless, whatever you have to say to me can be said on the government's record."
I reached forward and grabbed a pen and paper from his desk, then wrote on it as quickly as I could.
"I don't know my magic," I said, as I shoved the paper across to him.
He stared at the paper. Written there were the words, "I can read thoughts, let me join the resistance."
When he looked up at me, he was sweating. He took a lighter from his desk and burned the paper, then stared at me some more. His thoughts were going too fast, and too confusing for me to follow with a power I'd developed earlier that day. Finally, they settled down.
*Do exactly as I think, boy, and we both might make it through this alive.*
|
My full first name is SpagetthiBeast Jeeves ShenronOurobourosTheDestroyer III-49th. My last name is Jones.
\--
Alright so let's sort my powers. My best power is SpaghettiBeast's Spaghetti\_Engage. I see the whole universe, or whatever, part of it I want. Then I go to an Infinite Void. Then some guy named Jeeves walks in with a plate of spaghetti and asks me for a wish and what I would like to eat. First Jeeves asks me how hungry I would like to be (I learned why this would be useful when using Spaghetti\_Engage over and over) from 40 days in the desert to 40 days in paradise, scale of -40 to 80 where 0 to 40 are normal range, negatives are days in desert, and over 40 is days in paradise. Second Jeeves asks for my wish and food of choice. Third Jeeves makes the food happen.
The power is Spaghetti\_Engage because the default plate is spaghetti, which Jeeves is more than willing to switch out. Though lately I just let Jeeves make me the Spaghetti. He's good with the cooking Magic on that one.
Fourth I eat and my wish regardless of what it was comes true.
\--
Second, I'm immortal. I die and come back exactly 48 times (but also somehow infinitely many times, don't ask), apparently I rule over exactly 48 Multiverses and enter in and out of the reality plane to do my spaghetti shit. I die but as soon as my soul wants a body again, it just does. Either by Spagetti\_Void or being back on Earth 3 through 49. Jeeves always shows up to explain stuff too. Jeeves is kinda my slave but sometimes he tells me to do stuff. Like Universe 6 needs a golden age, use your power to give them resources. So Jeeves can be cool or annoying like that. Jeeves is trying to help me start my own Universe, but I just wanna hang out with some chicks. Jeeves has so much faith in me.
\--
Third, I'm Jeeves and I switch off between existence modes, but SpaghettiBeast never knows what Jeeves is thinks, nor Jeeves what SpagettiBeast thinks .
\--
Fourth, I have to destroy the Universes along with me every time I go Shenron or Ourobouros. I transform into some sort of Snake while the Universe becomes Spaghetti, my hunger goes -40, but it turns I am made of Spaghetti and I eat everything in existence until Jeeves pulls me back into existence. I love being Ouroboros because Jeeves and SpaghettiBeast merge consciousnesses at the maxima of destruction. Just for an instant as each Big Bang produces a new Jeeves and a new SpagettiBeast anywhere from Multiverse 3 to 49 at random.
&#x200B;
A few times we ended up in the same multiverse, which was cool. Jeeves was really easy to understand after such a recent merge and I have fond memories of Multiverse 26.
\--
See most people have names like Archangel Michael or Jesus. I met a few Buddhas who were chill. The Gokus are annoying they always unite Dragon Balls to ask for wishes but the thing is I can't be Shenron without becoming Ouroboros, so things only worked out that time I get their Multiverse twice in a row, like that one time with 26. It'll probably work out again at some point, but golly Krillin(s) need to stop dying.
| 2018-11-23T20:53:29 | 2018-11-23T20:26:08 | 1,379 | 10 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit
|
"I'm going to have to ask you to rebuild the login page."
I stared at my boss blankly. "What?"
"The login page, I need to to go over it again. It's just barely functional, and it needs a little pizaz, a little umph you know! make it look nicer! and I need it done by Monday!"
My boss ladies and gentlemen, Issac McKinney. Issuing absurd commands and can't even use actual me damn words to do it!
Oh did I mention? yeah, all those prayers you've been sending, I'll get around to them. I've been on vacation, been taking some RnR from being the all powerful caretaker of the universe. What? So God can't take a break every once in a while? what do you think the black plague was? Besides, Being god is the second most stressful job in the universe.
I accidentally stumbled into the first.
Okay let me start at the beginning.
So for the last few decades I decided I needed some time away from the office, let some of my kids handle things for me. I admit they haven't exactly done the best job, and when I get back there's going to be some firings happening. Literal firings... regardless...
I figured I'd spend some time as a human, I even settled down, had some kids, that might cause some problems down the line. Sorry about that.
Eventually, living as a 'human' I needed a job. and I got one a small web design start up that Just so happens to be on the up and up. One might say they have an angel looking out for them?
Okay so I'm cheating...
But all the good work in the universe wouldn't be good enough for Issac. He's a real number, and today is the day where I'm finished. My vacation is over, and I'm gonna be heading back to my real job in a couple of years. Maybe I should have some fun with this dickhead On my way out the door?
"So I'm gonna need you to work on that over the weekend, and also while you are working on that..."
For the love of me, is he still talking? And He's smiling about it! He enjoys ruining my weekend.
"Godfrey? are you paying attention?"
"No, Just thinking about more relevant things."
This shook him, this took him by surprise. "What can be more important than your work? don't you realise you still have much work to do?"
I just smiled, polished my nametag, and said "oh yes. Much work. Indeed, Mr. Dickless."
I've never believed a human capable of such a sound and I made them! a mix between a dog when you step on it's paw and a car's squealing when it's breaks are bad. He stared at me dumbfounded and I could almost hear the words before he said them. "what did you just say to me?"
the entire office was looking at me now, each of them dumbfounded. "I said I have much to do, Mr. dickless, starting with you." I merely smiled. His face started turning red, and he shouted at me. "That is not my name!"
"From this day forth, you shall only refer to yourself as 'I am dickless, and others shall refer to you as 'you are dickless" My smile only grew.
"That's it, pack your stuff."
"read my name tag first."
Seriously, I'm surprised no one called me out on it before.
Godfrey, Osborne, Dejesus.
Even the initials spell it out!
"I don't care what kind of bullshit you are pulling, or what kind of stupid crasy shit you believe, My name is still I am dickless!"
The change is instant, this asshole, who had taken all the credit for my hard work, who had ruined all my weekends, had stopped me spending time with the family I grew to love, went form smug and self satisfied. To pale and afraid.
"Are you finished of your little tirade?" I pretend to check a watch that isn't there. "you were promoted 4 years, 6 months 3 weeks 4 days 3 hours 7 minutes and 42 seconds ago. You were also leaching off of my success before then, so lets add three more months to that shall we?"
"That's how long I'm going to have fun with you. Be grateful, I could simply kill you, or cast you into hell. but you taught me a valuable lesson. I could do anything, but I'll keep your 'inconveniences small. a million little things to drive you mad, just as you did me, only my tricks will be on the cosmic scale. The most horrific tortures of hell don't even come close to what happens with a single, ungrateful, undeserving, selfish employer. I'll be watching. your penance starts now."
|
Another day, sitting in my corner office. Chief Executive Officer. Things have been a lot more entertaining since I decided to come to earth and help speed things up. I knew it could be done without my powers. It just took a lot of knowledge. Humans are, after all, pretty stupid and easily manipulated.
Computers everywhere, cell phones with instant access to everything. Social media, drone weaponry, flat screen TV's. Little did the world know, I made it all happen from behind this desk. Its been glorio.....
*Ring Ring*
*Ring Ring*
"Hello? Yes dear. Of course dear. I know. Yes, I'll do it when I get home! Fine! YES! You already said that!"
*click*
She hung up on me again.
"That's it... I'm done. I can't handle this anymore!"
I blink. It's now 15 years earlier.
"You've got to be crazy to be a human. I am never doing THAT again! I don't care how bored I am..."
| 2017-02-19T10:50:33 | 2017-02-19T08:58:06 | 48 | 33 |
[WP] You have the ability to double jump. Scientists are still trying to figure it out.
|
“I don’t know how else to explain it,” said Kevin. “I just jump, then jump again.”
The man in the flannel shirt wrote in his notebook.
“And you’ve always been able to do this?” he asked.
“Yes Dr.Norbert,” Kevin replied through a yawn. “I’ve been double jumping as long as I’ve been jumping.”
Dr. Norbert’s opening questions were the same as the eight scientists that had come before him. It would be hours before they pushed through the same basic discussions of genetics, physiology, and the parameters of his ability. The first day with a new researcher felt like the first day of a college class, the twin fires of excitement and dread about starting something new quickly doused by the tedium of professors explaining how they intended to explain things.
“Now Kevin,” said Dr. Norbert, “it’s imperative that you’re completely honest with me.”
“Of course,” Kevin said.
“If we’re going to figure out why you are the way you are, then I need to be able to understand your ability just as well as you do.”
That would be easy, Kevin thought, since he didn’t understand it at all.
At least Dr. Norbert’s office was more interesting than the last one. The cheap desk, academic books, and framed diplomas were the same. But he had a window that looked out onto a sprawling campus lawn. Kevin looked forward to days of people-watching while the questions droned on.
His parents had forced him to keep his ability a secret, worried that he would be sentenced to a life in a government laboratory if it was ever revealed. He spent his childhood dreaming up schemes to secretly put his powers to use. The summer before high school, he woke up at 3:00am every night and quietly practiced a double jump to the basketball hoop in their driveway. He filmed himself from every angle, reviewing the tape during the day and tweaking his technique to smooth out the stuttered ascent so no one would know what he was doing. When it was perfect, he excitedly brought his parents into the front yard to introduce them to the only five-foot-nothing high school freshman in western Tennessee who could dunk.
They immediately forbid him from playing sports. His dad tore down their basketball hoop that evening.
He realized the double jump wasn’t a superpower. It was a curse.
“And what happens after you jump a second time?” Dr. Norbert asked, “you can just keep going?”
“You mean triple jump?” Kevin chuckled. “No, that’d be ridiculous.”
“Right,” Dr. Norbert said as he scribbled, “that’d be ridiculous.”
Kevin was a B student in high school and a C student in college, eventually falling into a rote job as assistant manager of the packaging division of a company that produced dental hygiene products. He thought he’d spend the rest of his career ordering industrial glue and arguing over the cost of print labels with Chinese suppliers.
Until one day, when his secret wasn't secret anymore. He was sitting on a bench waiting for the city bus that took him home after work everyday. As the bus approached, he stood up to flag it down, but something was wrong. The bus careened to the right and accelerated. It climbed up the curb and onto the sidewalk, and barreled towards the spot where he stood. If he hadn’t double jumped out of the way, he would have been dead.
“Does it work over water?” Dr. Norbert asked.
“Yeah,” Kevin replied, “I can do the cannon ball to end all cannon balls.”
The bus driver had had a heart attack. The dashcam footage was posted to YouTube, and his secret was out.
He was famous for a few weeks. He was interviewed on cable news. He dunked on a 15-foot rim on a late night talk show. The world gets bored fast though, and within a couple of months, the only thing he had to show for his big reveal was a part-time job as the Memphis Grizzlies half-time show. It didn’t pay enough for him to leave the dental hygiene company.
“Does it hurt when you land?” asked the doctor.
“Not really,” Kevin said. “I think the soft landing is part of the whole double jumping thing.”
His parents were wrong, the government had no interest in his ability. Apparently it was difficult to weaponize the ability to jump over objects of moderate size.
It wasn’t until three months after the bus accident that he got a call from a scientist asking to study him. She was a kinesthesiologist at the University of Michigan. She wanted Kevin to fly to Ann Arbor, where she would spend three months running tests on him. No needles, she’d promised, just a lot of scanning.
He thanked her, but said that he couldn’t afford to leave work for three months.
That’s when she explained to him what an “honorarium” was.
“What if you jump off something,” Dr. Norbert asked, “do you still get the soft landing?”
“Like, if I jumped into an empty swimming pool?”
“Sure,” Dr. Norbert said.
“No, I’d turn my ankle, or screw up my knees, same as anyone else.”
He got $27,000 for three months of hanging out around medical research facilities and occasionally jumping. The doctor that studied him got a tenured faculty position at Harvard.
The phones didn’t stop ringing. Now, his rate was $3,000 per day, no needles allowed. If he stretched out a study for a month, he was set for the next year. When he ran out of money, he would start answering the phone again.
“Have there been stories in your family,” Dr. Norbert asked, “of relatives with abilities like yours?”
“Nope,” Kevin said. "As far as I know, I'm one of a kind."
His parents had been wrong. Double jumping wasn’t a life sentence. It wasn’t a curse. It was a career.
“Ok,” Dr. Norbert said. “Next question…”
|
They studied me every day. They would ask me to perform the jump for them as often as I could muster. They would arrive at my house early in the morning and leave late in the evening. They all drove black cars and scarcely mentioned their employers. When I asked they would say it was in my own interest as well as my country's to help them understand my ability. I assumed they were working with my government but did not guess why they were so invested. The longer their observation went on the more forward they became with their requests. They were always tape recording, videotaping, writing, and photographing whatever they could. It began to feel like they never left my house.
Eventually they said I was to be moved into a facility of their own. I agreed and they said they would return early in the morning. I couldn't sleep at all. My mind raced to make guesses at their intentions. I had no idea what would happen to me at this facility and after months of constant prodding I was no longer curious in the slightest. I wanted out of this. Nonetheless before I knew it they had me shut inside a large black van and we were off to the facility.
My thoughts now bombarded me even faster than the night before. I looked out the windows above the blank rear doors and realized the night had yet to pass. It was pitch dark. They had tricked me and came to seize me before I could decide against it. When I realized we were driving on a freeway I steeled my nerves and made my move. I planted myself against one side of the van and propelled in two swift kicks against the other. The impact of my jumps knocked me cold, but when I awoke I knew my plan had worked. Wet with my own blood I ride my head to see that the driver and passenger were atleast unconscious. Grimacing, I rose to my feet and ran. I ran and ran and ran deep into the woods, away from everything. My wounds would heal, and I would figure this newfound ability out for myself. I didn't need to know where it came from. Not yet. I had this strange and seemingly underwhelming power and I would learn to use it.
They told me to jump, but I never asked them how high.
| 2017-02-11T09:03:43 | 2017-02-11T08:54:03 | 614 | 66 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil many years ago. Today he gives it back to you and says, "I need a favor"
|
“Please, Please let her live. Ill do anything if someone can help her. I don’t care what happens to me. Just get her out of this.”
“Anything?”
As Jason’s consciousness returned from his latest Colombian necktie, he realized who was staring him down now. After an eternity in hell nothing can surprise you. The jump scares the demons pull, the sudden shots of pain. The random executions. Nothing. When the Devil shows up though, that’s when things get weird.
“So, listen kid. I’m going to need you to do me a solid. You see I got a…”
“You need a favor from me?”
“That’s right. So, I’ve got a problem with…”
“That’s pretty rich coming from you isn’t it.”
“I’m starting to understand that interrupting cow bit some of the demons pull on you guys. Look I’m going to send you upstairs. But I need you to do me a favor when you go.”
“You’re sending me upstairs? Like raising my corpse and your favor is to kill or infect as many people as I can?”
“As much as I would love to do that, no. I’m sending you to heaven.”
“Wow, that must be some favor you need.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. I just need you to give the big guy something.”
“Sure, I’ll just pop up and have a chat with God. How exactly would you like me to get up there to him?”
“I’m going to give your soul back. It doesn’t happen very often, but I feel a little bad about the way I got it.”
“And heaven will just open the gates and let me in after spending eternity in hell?”
“Funny thing about eternity, it takes a long time. It’s only been a few months since you died. As for getting in, you were a decent enough guy to make the cut. Besides its tempting enough for them to get a status report on how things are running down here. They don’t get those too often.”
“So if you have to give me my soul back for me to get to heaven, what’s to keep me from going on my merry way once I get up there?”
“If you break your deal ill break mine. Besides, its kinda important his holiness gets this.”
“I guess this plan can’t be worse than smelling another demon fart. I guess I’m in.”
Reaching the pearly gates, Jason could feel St. Peter looking at me. His gaze cut right down to the… soul.
“Jason. I’m really sorry but you have been in a terrible accident. Your time on earth is over but the good news is you get to spend the rest of your life in heaven.”
“Yeah you can save the spiel, I just summered next to lake lava. I’m looking to forget about that as quick as possible. I just need to see God.”
“That does explain why you’re so late. He will be waiting for you just inside the gates. You may enter.”
“Ah Jason, I have been expecting you for some time now. Finally, your soul is where it belongs my child. I understand you have been downstairs for…”
“Hell. I was in Hell. “
“Yes, yes. Now forgive me for asking, but how are things going down there? Do they treat you well?”
“It’s miserable. Its constant pain and suffering.”
“Excellent. That is wonderful news!”
“Excellent? How is pure torture and agony good news?”
“It is excellent because it means my son is doing his job. He is right where I want him doing what needs to be done.”
“I guess if torture is what you like he is doing impeccable work. Speaking of your son, he wanted me to give you something.”
As he presented the small empty vial, God had a bleak expression on his face.
“My son gave you this?”
“Yeah, he gave me my soul to do it too. Must be important?”
“My son is loose then. This is unacceptable.”
The battle was practically over before it started. Angels are no match for demons who spend all day everyday torturing and murdering souls. Even god could not put up much of a fight. The Devil once again stood in front of Jason staring him down.
“You tricked me. I helped you escape and now you destroyed heaven.”
“You did good kid, and don’t worry, I was already free. that’s how I gave you the vial empty. You just got the message up here. Its much more fun this way.”
“Well, I guess let’s get this over with then. I’m ready to go back to hell.”
“We’re not going back there. Well, I’m not but you’re free to do whatever you want. a deal is a deal, and you keep your soul. Besides, the way you traded your soul for your wife after that accident? You definitely belong up here.”
“You are the king of hell, so I guess you’re just bringing the party up here?”
“You are onto something there. The problem is hell is a job and I like to think I was pretty good at it. now I plan to be good at running heaven too. Death should be a celebration, so I want to make heaven a party. Do the things you couldn’t on earth. My dad wouldn’t listen to my ideas and trapped me in hell to teach me a lesson. I figured we should just ditch the pretensions snob.”
|
\[Poem\]
While the time stood still in hourglass of existence,
I was conjured to witness the end of a burning rope,
As the fallen prince has something of mine ,
Soul laced with eternities but blemished with hope;
&#x200B;
His right hand to sky and another on to ground,
Tears of wax smears his never seen sadness,
The beast was Chained to his heart at last,
I could pardon from his neurotic madness;
&#x200B;
He leaned in with a deal which was sealed with his tears,
A long wake of love that was carved and summarized,
He offered me my soul back to replace him before his heathen kingdom,
Like that one cross-road I offered my soul and paid the price;
&#x200B;
He scarred his silence with a scream of being in love with eve,
For him to lead this story would require a new king to his throne,
I see a man in love after a burn of ever existence,
He sees a man that can fix his bridge while this universe so lone;
&#x200B;
My blood became his severance and he pursued his heart ,
while walking away from his seat he felt a chain of his own weld,
I forbid him to leave as its my world to say,
I am the fall prince now ... your soul is mine to be held;
&#x200B;
\- ***Vèd***
| 2021-01-22T22:34:12 | 2021-01-22T22:04:52 | 91 | 17 |
[WP] "Dragons respect the strong," the dragon said. "Okay, so if that's true why do you never attack that one old farmer outside the city." Asked the adventurer. "I'll repeat, Dragons respect the strong."
|
They used to tell stories about Farmer Deadeye. No, that wasn't his real name. There were several farmers at the local pub who claimed to know it, but at any question of revealing this information, they'd simply scoff and return to their drinks. Deadeye, it seemed, liked the children staying clear of his house.
The stories themselves ranged from the impressive to the terrifyingly absurd. There was the tale they told of the time he dragged a horse 2 miles through a storm after it exhausted itself running from a pack of Darters. As you may know, Darters are a particularly fierce little land dragon that hunt in large packs. They swarm about like mosquitos, taking bites until the target has no more joints left to swing the hole-pocked limbs. The horse, miraculously, survived with only a few nips on its' hindquarters and flank.
Then there was the tale of the Talking Dragon.
Everyone knows these days that Talking Dragons exist, but they are often either so wicked that humanity is but sport to them, or so old and shrouded in that Dragonish shine of knowledge that most humans are but twittering birds to them; something to admire for a moment, maybe ask a rhetorical question or wave a great paw to frighten them away for some amusement.
I was present at the first telling, which is the only reason I choose to share this particular ridiculous tale above all the other ludicrous ones. Unlike the stories told by the children, and the posing grandparents and bar regulars who simply liked to sound impressive, this story is dominated by the power of word. And maybe that is what makes it so interesting. If Old McCare wanted to tell a tall tale, he would have screamed of a great battle, or of Farmer Deadeye hurling a fence post at a great beast and driving it off.
But McCare's story began quite differently from the rest. He seemed shaken that night, as if he had nearly fallen a great height and barely caught himself only a few moments before coming in. He tugged quietly at his drink as a couple curious regulars (including myself) tried to pull the story out of him. When he finally looked at us with tired eyes and began, he spoke softly.
"Weren't not but half a mile from me own farm, down by the old creek near Densbury. I was walking along, quiet like, and before I knows quite what's goin' on, there's a great black shadow round and over me head." McCare laughed shakily. "Well, I can tell ye I had not much thought but of makin' a dash for it when the great shadow, quick as lightning, grows to the size of a house and with a crash I'm seeing the scales and the wings. Big golden feller, with eyes like a fox's." He shook his head, lifting the drink back to his lips.
It was around this time that a ripple of laughter cascaded past me from a couple of the younger farmers. One of them sitting next to me, a man named Jonathon, patted the old man on the shoulder. "Ah, but you're expecting us to believe this great beast circled you as a hawk circles a rabbit, landed in front of you, and here you sit filling the pocket of scoundrels like Robinson?"
More laughter followed these words, and a general quiet cursing from the general direction of the bartender. McCare took no notice of this. He simply dragged his drink for a moment, and continued.
"Aye, you'd think I were not but hatchlin' meal- as it as I were in no position to run; great thing's landin' shook the earth around it like pudding, and I was on me back. And if it had been a normal dragon I'm sure that would have been the end. But this one, this one spoke to me." The last words were barely a whisper, but everyone heard them.
General uproar. Some laughter, some genuine shouts of "a talking dragon?!", "could he be serious?!" and the like, and some scoffs and words of disapproval- "scarin' folks for no reason-", "always some fool tryin' to outdo the last liar-", and so on and so on.
When the noise settled back down, McCare finally recounted the part that would be told for years, decades, maybe even centuries to come.
"Well, he says to me in a voice like a bull and a cat and a crow all in one, 'little mortal, either I am mistaken, or you seek a petty price for the weight of your soul.'
Well, to be sure I weren't quite aware of his meanin' and, bein' so happy not bein' eaten and all, I supposes to myself 'I may as well return his riddle if I can!' And so I says, looking into those great monstrous eyes, 'great master of the skies, you behold a mortal with little of either and very often mistaken. Do I misunderstand your meaning, o Lord of Sea and Flame?'
At this, the dragon throws back his head and laughs like a great bell of flesh and bone. He peers at me and says, 'oh little mortal, your reply is satisfactory, although it is not dazzling. You have thus saved yourself from the fate of becoming my son's next meal, and earn yourself the reward of a question. For it is the strong who shall be treated as equals, and dragonborn shall respect them.'
I says to the dragon, thinking the only thought that may have come to my mind as I stood there, shaking in my terror and wonder, 'I say, Mr. Dragon, your people attack our towns near daily, as I reckon. How comes I've never seen a dragon go after that old farmer down the road there?'
And the dragon turns to follow my finger as I point to Deadeye's farm, and a little grin comes upon his face.
'The little mortal who dwells within that hut has earned our benevolence,' says he. 'In the days of the Great Skyworms of the East, he wrestled my brother, Sliv'je the Fang for a whole day and night before being bested.'
'Bested?' I says, me mouth going dry. 'But, o Winged bringer of the Justice and Time, would you not have killed the poor man then?'
And once again, the dragon laughed. And somehow-" McCare paused in his story, staring down at a spot on the table, "-somehow, it was nicer laugh this time.
'Little mortal,' says he, 'if a mouse wrestled a dog for a morning and an afternoon before fleeing, would the dog ever think to make a mouthful of it again?'"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Edit: Holy crap thank you for the awards kind strangers! I'd be willing to make a part two if anyone wants. I really enjoyed making this one and I'm glad everyone else seems to like it!
|
**"Strength is subjective of meaning. The farmers are physically tending to their fields and providing for their brood. Then there's the Mages: learning the tricks of the Mana we all are provided with."** The dragon mused, looking to the adventurers.
One seems like the leader, but is pitifully weak. Knees shaking, and I do believe he soiled himself.
Then there's the other. While unassuming, he - OH. This is hilarious. Why is one of HIS kind on this planet? This should be fun.
**"Then, there is strength that cannot be measured. Isn't that right, Wayfarer?"** Said the dragon, looking to the other adventurer. Wait, I'm that other adventurer.... Crap.
"And here I thought I got away with it. What gave me away?" I asked, wondering how the dragon found out.
**"You can hide your power but beings of pure Mana like myself can sense your origin."** Dragon said, sounding rather amused. Great now I have to -
"Wayfarer? Him? He's my lackey, mine to command-" Lead Adventurer got out before a magic seal appeared over his face.
"You shut up; the adults are talking." I muttered annoyed. Now that I quieted the idiot, I turned back to the amused dragon. "Now where were we?"
**"I believe I was lecturing the idiot on strength but this is fine too. Got tired of hearing him babble. Do all humans babble like that?"** Asked dragon.
"Most do." I started. "At least, those who believe they have something to go on about. Be it religion, standing, anything really."
**"Damm. makes me glad I never integrated with human society."** Dragon nodded.
"Honestly, you're not missing much. Even with Mana, humans...well, still humans." True on all accounts.
**"True. And to think I was going to send my daughter to learn about humans."** Dragon placed a claw to its maw, looking like 'The Thinker'.
"Probably not a good idea. While Grea would learn a lot, if something were to happen to her, you'd glass the entire kingdom." Then again, I'd probably turn it into a crater. Glass Crater sounds fun.
**"You make a fair point. Then again, humans aren't kind to other species."**
"I know right? This idiot caused multiple issues with other races due to said babbling." Tried to sleep with the Elf Queen: Had to run damage control for that. Offended the Dryads: Damage control for that. Nearly seducing an ally king's daughter: Damage control for that.
"This was supposed to be his chance to regain some honor. But as you can see, he fails at that too. I swear, who lets these people out of the palace..." I muttered, while releasing the seal on him, but putting another one to keep him in place.
"What's this about a daughter?" And the lead idiot thus gets himself into the largest hole possible.
"Y'know what: *NO.*" I said, snapping my fingers and erasing the lead idiot from existence.
| 2022-12-25T20:09:27 | 2022-12-25T20:07:39 | 545 | 15 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
Execution day again. It took a full moon cycle for the kingdom’s mages to fuel the sphere of sentencing. But once it was charged, it would grant its prisoner their choice of death. Ten sentences would be carried out today before it ran out of power. Some nations gave their condemned a final meal, a last smoke, or a glass of wine before their death. We had this mockery of choice.
I’d been on the execution list for four months now. The list had me eighth in line. I wondered what was worse: being first and knowing your death was right away or last and seeing nine die before you. The amphitheater we were in wasn’t just for executions. Concerts, carnivals, games were also held here. But today the central arena held the ten of us, ten guards, and our killer. The seats are ringing the middle are occupied. The aristocracy are in comfortable lounges, provided with shade and refreshments. Those with more time than money made do with hard benches and full sun.
There’s always someone that tries to defeat or confound the sphere. It’s killed everyone trapped inside. There are some who won’t name their death, either from stubbornness or fear. But the enchanted ball of filigreed metal and glass fulfills it’s design. It starts to remove the air inside once locked. Slowly though; the captive has plenty of chances to speak. But if they don’t decide in an hour, the sphere chooses for them. They die suffocating, clawing for breath with faces distorted and discolored. It why the executions start at sunrise, in case every prisoner that day takes their hour.
Only one of my fellow convicted goes the airless route. The third of the day, a small man, timid. He tried to name a death when asked but his chattering teeth and stuttering voice kept him from saying anything clearly enough. The vultures in the audience, nobles and new money who paid to attend in comfort jeered at him until he finally curled up in the center. He was quiet and shaking until the end.
The fifth, a stately woman with a smirk and fierce eyes, made an attempt at outsmarting the sphere. “By the death of the cosmos.” I’m sure she thought she’d get to live out those millennia. The sphere pulsed, as it did when examining an unusual form of death. If a choice was invalid, it’s glass portions would turn red for a moment. If it was a valid choice, it would simply perform the execution.
No red pulse. The sphere’s light dimmed with the condemned woman standing inside. Her smirk widened. Then she vanished, soundlessly. A few seconds later, her image was projected inside the sphere. Nothing was said, but we all knew we saw eons into the future. Her body froze in the dark nothing of the universe before her image faded and the sphere opened for the next victim.
The man before me, seventh off the day, also tried to outsmart the sphere. He was only a few years older than me, in his mid twenties at most. “Old age?” he asked the sphere. It pulsed again before dimming without red shift. The man let out a shaky sigh and looked expectantly at the door. It didn’t open but as he reached for it we saw his skin wrinkle and sag. His hair paled into a wispy gray. Liver spots his dotted arms and face. Before he could touch the sides, he fell. His frail skin blossomed into bruises from the fall, his aged bones unable to keep him upright. Within five minutes of entering, he’d aged to death.
My turn. The sphere opened, graceful and terrifying. I stepped in and spotted a particular face in the crowd. A young man, like the one before me. He was richly dressed, unlike the man before me. The reason I was here. I’d shared his bed and he threw me aside. At the hint of inconvenience he arranged for me to die.
Seeing him, relaxed with a full wineglass, smiling at the thought of me being gone forever, made me furious. The sphere locked, I was asked how I wanted to die, and heard the slow leak of air. I glared at the source of my doom.
“With my lover,” I spat. The crowd laughed as the sentencing sphere pulsed again. Then it dimmed. The crown prince appeared next to me. He paled and I almost thought he’d die of shock before the sphere could take us. I snatched his wineglass and downed it. “Glad I could share a last glass with you prince.”
He screamed, pounding the walls as the guards struggled to open the door. But the sphere wouldn’t let anyone out alive. I saw the prince’s innocent betrothed faint. At least she wouldn’t be trapped with him. His father, who’d demanded the crown prince dispose of all evidence of philandering before he wed, was desperately ordering his knights and mages to save his son.
I slumped against the wall. “The more you scream the less air we’ll have,” I mentioned. The man I’d loved and been betrayed by didn’t seem to hear me. I didn’t much care. His frantic cries and the useless pounding made a satisfying requiem.
|
I'm waiting to die, everyone here is. I have seen a lot of people trying to fool the court, the last one requesting to die of old age, but all of them fail. At this point everyone has lost their hopes, there is no way of avoiding dead.
It's my turn and I go in front of that horrible people, happy witnesses of the magical demise that awaits me. A voice, one that seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, ask me how this magic room shall kill me. The voice says that the room will do exactly what I tell it with the only condition of choosing some way to die.
There is a countdown of one and a half minutes and I just don't know what to do, it seems to be impossible to avoid it. Well, I think, if I must die, I want to see them suffering.
"I request to die slowly while they die from what they would choose in my situation."
Those faces, full of horror while the voice ask them and the doors are shut is the only thing I needed to rest in peace. They try to avoid it, but it's inevitable. I died fast, they all tried to continue living and failed, but at least I could see part of those "high people" that made this happen diying. It's not the best, but it's the best anecdote I have from when I lived. Now, I only must see the concequences of my actions as part of the room punishment, but I'll watch and enjoy every second of it.
| 2021-06-24T11:17:25 | 2021-06-24T04:31:51 | 46 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence.
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected!
|
Most children had their hair change around the age of 13 or 14, some older, some younger. Those who had their hair change at extreme ages on either end were usually mocked, but for the most part, we as a society saw the change as a charming rite of passage. Some experience the pigment switch when they first had sex, others didn't until their first break up. The one or two children at my school who had a parent die, their hair changed the same night of the death. From what I understand, the death of a loved one will always cause the blonde hair of youth to turn to the dark tresses of adulthood.
I myself was a bit of a late bloomer, my hair didn't change colors even when I was almost done with my schooling. It wasn't from lack of trying, for I had dark skin and I always thought that the blonde hair looked strange with my complexion, however nothing I did seemed to change it. Not after sex with my first boyfriend (nor the second or the third), getting my first job, or even the death of my aunt, although admittedly we weren't close.
I didn't have much time to worry about it though, because at the end of my schooling, my mother was in a serious car accident. She lived, but sustained serious damage to her body and brain. She had to have her hand amputated, and she wasn't the same. My father remained stoic as ever, and dolled out household responsibilities between me and my younger sister, also still blonde, while he took over as main caretaker for my mother.
Each day passed, and my mothers hair became streaked with white. Unlike the sunshine kissed color of childhood, regaining "innocence" once it had already been lost was an empty, blank color, like a projection screen. Her language had deteriorated, and her actions became base and simplistic. The woman who once took care of me, once again became a child who needed taken care of.
At first my family lived in denial. The doctors had told us that while the chances were slim, there was a possibility that she could eventually regain her cognitive abilities. For weeks my sister and I treated our mother as normally as possible, as if she had only injured herself, helping her bathe and eat as she had once done for us. We continued to take her out in public, and ignored the stares.
Despite our hopefulness, our fathers face grew more grim by the day.
One day while he was at work, my sister had left the house to meet with some friends. My mother and I were left alone and I realized that I had forgotten to pick up the pot roast I needed to cook for dinner. I guided my mother into the car and drove to the grocery store, praying that she would not have another outburst as she had become prone to doing.
We hurried into the grocery store, and I could sense she was becoming restless. I picked out the meat at the deli section, and tried to placate her while we waited.
My mother was not cooperating. She began to cry, and pull at my hair with the hand that remained, her distress manifesting itself in a loud wail, drawing the attention of the other shoppers and the deli workers. Despite the obvious meltdown on the horizon, I was determined to accomplish the simple task we had come there for, so I allowed her to crumble at my feet while I paid for the meat, the worker looking at me with a disturbed face.
I shoved the bag into my large purse, and angrily picked my mother up by the arm, all but dragging her out of the store while she sobbed like a child, over what I couldn't guess at. I had allowed my frustration to get to me, and for once I didn't attempt to stop her tears.
As I buckled her in the back seat, ignoring her tantrum, I turned to glance around me, hoping no more people were witnessing the embarrassment in the parking lot. My eye caught the passenger side rearview mirror, and I finally realized the the source of my mothers tantrum, which had certainly been much worse than usual.
My hair had changed from a golden blonde to a jet black color, darker than even my fathers. I reflected upon the deli workers look of shock at the counter and realized the stares that my mothers tantrum had attracted were not only looking at her, but also myself.
Exhaling, I prepared myself for my fathers reaction as I got into the drivers seat and drove us home, my mother whimpering in the backseat. Normally I would have tried to comfort her, however this time I just couldn't bring myself to focus on her. Too much had happened today.
My sister wouldn't be long behind me. Now that we were the mothers and she was the child, we couldn't be innocent any longer.
|
"Hey mark, mind taking care of this?"
"Sure!" I turn smiling towards him. I'm the only guy in the office who still has blonde hair after all these years, people called me ignorant, and I had been taken advantage of more times than I could count. And that was fine, I didn't really care. It still bothered me that they thought I was ignorant of the evils of the world though. I had probably been more exposed than most--this platinum hair signaling my gentle nature-- I just didn't let it bother me, in fact nothing really bothers me. I guess for this reason I'm weird, but I can always see the other person's side, no matter how bad it gets-- A true objective, and I just can't bring myself to strike back.
So through all these years I had endured beatings, cheating spouses, isolation, and I didn't care because I could rationalize anything.This is a story about the day I lost my blonde hair.
| 2014-05-10T17:00:37 | 2014-05-10T16:16:39 | 158 | 18 |
[WP] As a child, you stayed at the deathbed of your grandfather until the reaper came. He was surprised that you could see him; he was touched by it, and he pitied you. So, he offered one wish to console you. You've held on to that wish since then. You think you may need to use it right now.
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I have cerebral palsy. My whole life I've been stared at *everywhere* I go. The kids at school are the worst of the bunch; they have no empathy. Everytime I roll into class, I can feel their lasers aiming at my skull, their horrified stares at they look at my useless body. I occasionally look up to make eye contact, just to find the crowd of heads turning the other way, trying to find something else to stare at.
My grandfather is no exception. He was an olympic runner, and was prouder of his daughter winning gold than anything else in the world. So, when his champion, my mom, gave birth to "It" as he liked to say, he could not have felt more underwhelmed.
It was the perpetuating animosity I stored up as a child that made me apathetic as a teenager. So when my grandfather was admitted to the hospital, it hardly impacted me like it did the rest of my family. One of the days, my mom and I came to visit him. She had left his bed to use the restroom, so it was just me and him. He had not looked at me the entire time, like I was a ghost. But I, on the other hand, was staring at him. I stared with deep intent, tracking every faint breath, navigating through the wrinkles in his weak endeavors to live. Suddenly, his eyes widened and shifted my direction. I followed them; his pupils were locked onto the door. I turned around in my wheelchair slowly. There it stood, the Grim Reaper. The horror stories about it are far from the truth. It does not hold a scythe or wear a black, tattered robe. It is just death, and only those who know death can see death. The Reaper's blank eyes gazed at me.
"I've never seen someone who could see me before", he said with a look of pity.
It outstretched a mangled arm to me.
"Poor boy. As a parting gift I will give you one wish; use it wisely"
Before I could even respond, the Reaper disappeared, along with my grandfather's soul. When my mom returned, she screamed in horror and yelled for the doctors. It was chaos in the hospital, and yet I sat there, stoic as always, thinking about why he had given me a wish.
It has been ten years since the incident, and the doctors say my condition has been getting worse. It is no surprise to me; people with my disease tend not to live long, fulfilled lives. What good is a wish when your whole life is unfixable? Wish for a cured disease and you are studied by scientists for the rest of your life. Wish to die and you'll never know if your life ever improves.
I lied in my bed and shut my eyes, trying not to think about the doctor's words, to hide the reality until the morning. When I opened my eyes the Grim Reaper is hovering over me.
"A familiar face", I said.
"Yes, indeed", it said, devoid of emotion.
The world turned black. Darkness surrounded me, but it was comfortable. Like a family member you haven't seen in a while, but who still feel... *familiar*.
Rows of torches lit up, lighting the path to a stadium. I looked at the two feet of mine, feet who had never done their duties. Demons glared at me, their bloodshot eyes following my walk as I made my way to inside the arena. As I made my way in, I saw thousands upon thousands of tortured souls, barely human, lining the seats, cheering louder than Hell. Their eyeless sockets all peered my direction. I glanced toward the middle of the stage. There was the Grim Reaper, silently gesturing me to come forth.
"You were chosen by the people to be the next Reaper. Only the chosen ones are able to see the current Reaper on Earth. In order to become the Reaper, you must defeat me in a contest. Accept the contest, and you will be either become Reaper or a regular deadman. Deny, and you will become a deadman. The choice is yours."
The Reaper unwaveringly hovered there, his words floating in the smoky air. As he awaited my response, I ruminated deeply, for I remembered that despite being dead, I still had *one wish*.
I stared at the Reaper, whose empty eyes matched my own's intensity.
"Reaper, I wish..."
It's eyes narrowed.
"... to become Reaper"
And as I spoke those words, the current Reaper smiled.
It began to erode with the wind, and before it was gone entirely, I asked what the contest was.
The former Reaper replied, "That *was* the contest", and faded into oblivion.
\-------
Today, as I roam the earth's biggest cities, I feel a sense of gratefulness; not a single soul is staring.
\-------
THE END
This is my first ever writing prompt on this sub. It would mean a lot if you guys would let me know if you liked this story! Thanks.
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I clench my hands against my face, and I wipe the blood from my eyes. Some of it is mine.
Most isn't.
"We've got contact!"
Peterson is on the ground next to me. The shockwave from the grenade only knocked me to the ground- it macerated him.
"Twenty imbound, and there's an MG on our position!"
Sgt. Jackson is shouting into the radio. The rest of our squad is hugging the walls of this small room, most of us are wounded.
A burst of machinegun fire tears across the wall, the bullets punching through the wood and coming through the other side. Three tear through emerson, blood gushing through holes as he collapses on the floor.
"God damn it, we're pinned down! Someone get over here!"
I saw them just before they opened fire. I know where they are.
I crawl across the room and to the window as another burst of rounds fly over my head. I reach to Emerson and pull a grenade from his belt.
"What the hell are you doing, Lopez?"
I climb to my feet, throw myself out the window, and break into a sprint. In my mind, I remember Death's promise, and I make my wish.
*Don't take me until I pull the pin.*
| 2019-09-17T18:41:43 | 2019-09-17T17:03:09 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] A barber recognizes his current customer to be a man who tortured him ten years earlier at a POW camp. The customer doesn't recognize him.
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Frank recognized him the moment he walked in, his unkempt, amber hair curling wildly just as it had over a decade ago. He’d fixated on it for the months of his torment, counting the strands between hits of steel against his chest; studying the color as his head was submerged again and again; twisting the curls as he lay alone on the floor. It had been his inspiration for survival, his key for escaping the hell-hole he had been captured and forced into. The bounce of each amber curl between every strike of the man’s fists had been his escape from the war, his escape from the torture, and his escape from the future.
He couldn’t recall his name. He remembered the guards saluting him, occasionally referring to him by his rank—Lieutenant—but the name was long gone. Frank stared down at his appointment book, running his hand along the 12:30 time-slot. Empty, he was a walk-in. He glanced back up, the man now standing in front of the counter.
“Hello,” Frank said, waiting for the man to recognize him and resume beating him. “Here for a haircut?”
“Yes,” said the man. A long scar ran diagonal along his face, crossing from above his right eye to the bottom of his left cheek. Frank was there the day he had gotten the scar, when a nameless prisoner tried to fight back—as if he had any hope of escape. He got a good hit or two in, left a permanent reminder of his own defeat on the man’s face, but that was it. Frank watched as the man beat the prisoner, his golden hair rising and falling with each practiced hit. By the time he stopped, his hair was soaked in sweat and blood, brilliant under the artificial light of the hanging lamps. It had remained in his mind almost every day of the past decade, the golden-maroon of his head like a sunset over a burning city.
“Great.” Frank picked up a pen. “Can I have your name?”
The man stared at Frank, his head slightly askew.
“Why do you need my name?”
“For our records,” Frank said, tapping his pen against the desk. The way his hair fell just above his ears, how it seemed so innocently golden even in the natural sunlight of the window, it was almost impossible.
“No, that’s not necessary. Can I get a cut or not?”
Frank stared at the man’s hair, the amber curls seeming to grasp up for him. Frank had tried to touch them once in the prison, tried to reach out and run his hand through them one time. All he needed was to feel them, to see how soft they were. Did he condition? Did he use shampoo? Did he even shower? He had to know, had to wrap his fists atop his scalp. He lifted his hand, face forcefully submerged in a murky bucket of water, and grasped blindly. The man pushed him deeper into the bucket, his head too far out of reach as the salty water choked him. He wouldn't miss this time.
“That’s fine, come with me.”
Frank stepped out from behind the desk, walking several steps forward to his cutting station. He spun the seat around, brushing his hand along the cushion to clear the remains of the last customer’s hairs, then motioned for the man to sit.
“Have a seat right here,” Frank said. The man followed, sitting down on the beige cushion with a thump. Frank stared at him from above, admiring his completely concealed scalp. The thickness of his hair was almost obscene; he’d never known someone to have such a glorious fullness. Frank was sure he could lose his scissors if he simply dropped them on top of his head.
Frank walked around the man to the mirror in front of him, grabbing the scissors and comb resting on the counter. He stared at him through the mirror, his beautiful curls running wild toward the heavens. He’d waited so long, so many years, to simply be close to his hair, to so much as look upon it once more. The mental pictures he’d stored for so long were starting to fade, the blood-splatter caking the amber curls growing more and more prominent as they concealed the true vision of his desire.
Frank turned and strolled back behind the man, scissor and comb in his left hand, right free and trembling slightly. He glanced down at the man’s head again, his untamed hair not unlike Medusa’s. He lifted his right arm slowly, eyes fixated on each individual strand, each perfect curl, each millimeter of hair. He could feel his arm shaking, his mind racing through the months he’d spent studying the man’s head; the months he’d watched as the man beat, raped, tortured, and killed soldier after soldier, his hair just as unkempt, yet just as perfect. He took a deep breath in, placing his palm flat on the man’s head, his eyes shut.
He had never felt anything so soft, never felt anything so thick, never felt anything so perfect. He brought his fingers together, running it through his hair. It was unreal, the head of hair that had tortured him for decades, now sitting in front of him. He twisted a curl between his finger, the man staring back at him in the mirror. He remembered seeing his eyes, the dark, tired eyes laughing at him as he lay on the floor, soaked in his own blood and piss. He remembered as the man ran a hand through his hair, not caring that he was caking it in blood. It was so soft, it was everything he had hoped it would be.
“What are we going to do with it?” Frank asked, eyes locked on the man’s head.
“Cut it all off,” said the man.
Frank smiled, his left hand trembling as his grip on the scissors tightened, vision no longer focused on his hair.
|
The distinct *ding* of the bell above the door sounded as a man dressed immaculately in a suit walked confidently into my shop, phone to his ear.
"Good afternoon, just a trim and a shave." The man said, with a heavy accent. Then he resumed his call as he walked over to the chair. "(*Yes, yes, tell Ahmad that he needs to go to prayer.*)^1"
As the man sat down, I had the slightest inkling that I've seen this man before. Perhaps I'm just mistaken. I *was* on duty in Afghanistan for a few years back, so I'm probably just confused or paranoid.
"How are you doing today?" I asked, as I started going through his head with the scissors, trimming the hair to perfection.
The man slid his phone into his pocket. "Well, my friend, well." He spoke in that heavy accent, which was all too familiar. "What about you? Doing well today?"
"Yes, the shop has been a little slow, otherwise it has been fine." I smiled a small smile, as I grabbed the razor and started to work on his beard.
"Good. Your skills with the blade is immaculate. Have you been doing this your entire life?"
His eyes shifted to my eyes in the mirror. Our eyes locked. "I'm flattered, but..." Then I was hit with a sudden realization.
"But?" The Arabic male raised an eyebrow in question.
I was speechless. This man was the man that tortured me when I was on tour. That day I had been concussed and knocked out by a grenade and was dragged to a POW camp. That day was the day this man gave me this permanent limp.
The blade falls out of my trembling hands.
"Are you alright, sir?" The man half stood up, half turning to look at me, a puzzled look on his face.
"G-get away... GET AWAY FROM ME!" I shouted, backing into the corner of my shop. I buried my face into my arms, sobbing.
Ten years ago, I left behind the nightmares. Now my greatest nightmare has come back.
^1 : Spoken in Arabic.
| 2014-04-29T09:37:08 | 2014-04-29T08:58:34 | 53 | 16 |
[WP] You are Dog to which dyslexic people sometimes address their prayers. You do your best to help because you're a good boy, but alas, you are a dog.
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“Dear dog, I don’t usually do this, but I don’t know who else to turn to, tomorrow is the spelling bee and I don’t want to make a complete fool of myself, please give me guidance. Thanks, love James.
I stretched lazily on my owner’s lawn, the whispers of someone’s prayers fresh on my ears. James was the skinny little brown haired boy on Fleetwood Lane and he went to Lincoln elementary. I decided since it was early morning, I would visit him at the bus stop, but first I went into the house to wake my owner, I was starving!
“Blegh, Jesus, quit it already!” She fended off my licks with upraised hands, “I’ll get you some chow hold on” She rubbed her puffy eyes and shuffled out of a bed into the kitchen. Going through the motions of pouring me my kibble. I barked in thanks as she got about to making herself some coffee.
Chow was gone in minutes and padded into the study for something special I thought James could use, there it was the Dictionary, I grabbed it with my mouth and darted out of the house before my owner could react. Hey! she called out but it was too late to stop me.
I ran up the lane, trying not to slob on the pages of the book too much and found the bus stop, a few kids were already there. “Hey look it’s a dog!” One of them guessed. “What’s does it have in it’s mouth? I think it’s a German Shepherd.” The kids all came close trying to get a good look at it. “Hey gimme that!” Nope! I expertly played keep away from them, dodging and dipping. I worked up a good lather. So unfortunately, when James came walking and I ran to meet him with dictionary… “Ewww, boy what’s this?” The slob and dirt had obscured the labeling of Dictionary on the book. James wanted nothing to do with it. “Uhh I don’t want it boy, go home, okay? I let out a whimper a little hurt but I headed back home with the slobbery book.
People were getting up and getting ready for work as the morning carried on. Mrs. Mendez watering her garden and Mr. Dunton warming up his car. Mrs. Dunton came out with a box full of old toys and placed them on the curb for the trash pickup. “I finally convinced Tommy to get rid some of his old things, he is such a little hoarder.” Mr. Dunton chuckled “I wonder where he gets it from” And Mrs. Dunton punched him playfully on the shoulder.
Out of curiosity I dropped the dictionary and snuffled at the toys, there were trucks and Legos, action figures and the like, and one red electronic toy that said… “SPEAK AND SPELL”! Yes, I thought this would be perfect for James. It’s a good thing I learned to read! I grabbed it quickly and ran off to Lincoln Elementary.
Lincoln Elementary was a small school, with a nice playground in the front. I knew the schedule and knew I would have to wait till recess. The sign outside of the school said “SPELLING BEE TODAY.” Morning recess would be soon, so I waited by some picnic tables until I saw James walk sullenly out of the classroom with his classmates. I padded up to him with the toy in my mouth. “Huh, you again, you can’t be here…uh what’s that you got. James pulls the toy from me and tries to read the lettering on it. STEAK and SMELL huh? What am I supposed to do with this? He starts pressing the buttons. “SPELL LAUGH” the box commands. James eyes go wide “I think I can use this!”.
I follow him as he sits at the picnic table playing with the SPEAK AND SPELL until the teacher concerned walks up. “James! leave that strange dog alone, we might have to call animal control. “SHOO!” I run away abashed.
It was not until late Afternoon where I was chewing on a chew toy until I heard the school bus come back into neighborhood. James must be back I thought. I ran out to the bus stop. There James walks out of the bus surrounded by some of his friends, there is a green ribbon on his shirt that says “Spelling Bee Third Place”. James recognizes me and runs up to give me a hug. Thanks, boy you saved my skin” He gives me pats and then looks curiously at my collar. “Don’t you have an owner?” He checks my name tag. And spells the letters out. “J -E-S-U-S…Jesus? That’s your name, boy? I wag my tail happily, yup that’s my name!
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Dog is a good boy. Does what he’s told when he’s told. Dog is always learning new tricks. He’s always helping people with their problems. You see, Dog is constantly addressed strange letters with some unusual requests. They always start out with “Dear doG”. He tries to help but, he can’t always do so. Over the years the letters began to pile up by Dog’s little dog house. It had always made him sad to see the commands and tricks he couldn’t do. Until one day as an old pupper, Dog had had enough. He let out a wheeze and small grunt then closed his eyes. He sat there in his little dog bed for days. Not even a single twitch or tail wag. Then after an entire month of laying in his bed, Dog woke up. He was radiating with the energy of a million good boys. Dog knew what he must do. He opened his third eye and with a wag of his tail he let out a small “arroo”. Then all was white.
(Im a mobile user so I’m sorry in advance for all grammatical errors and such)
| 2019-03-25T08:08:14 | 2019-03-25T06:53:21 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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I sat hunched over the display, chewing at my lip in concentration.
There had to be a way. I mulled over the options as they flashed in my mind, one after the other. I'd done this 1000 times. I knew there had to be a way out. I blew out a breath in frustration. The computer had me but good, it would be checkmate in just a few moves.
Suddenly I heard a "TOCK" coming from somewhere in the module. "Tok tok tok". It was regular. I hoped it wasn't the antenna array again. It had fallen over a few weeks ago in a wind storm, and I'd had to re-calibrate the satellite uplink - fat lot of good it would do me, except that it provided early warning for dust storms.
I got up and activated the external camera. My breath caught in my throat. There, standing at the door - no space suit, no protective gear whatsoever, was an older gentleman dressed in a suit, with a cane hooked over one arm, wearing a pocketwatch. He sported a rather dapper mustache and rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently.
He glanced at the camera, as if he could see me, and rather pointedly knocked on the door again. "Toktoktok."
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Was it some sort of sickness or delusion?
What did it matter, I reflected. If I was going crazy, there wasn't much to be done; might as well go along with it and be entertained.
I shakily got up and hesitantly pressed the button to allow the outer airlock to open.
The man walked in, absently brushing some reddish dust off of his suit, closed the door behind him, and after the airlock had cycled, I triggered the inner airlock.
He wiped is feet and gave me a short bow.
"Hello!" he said heartily, in a rather cultured English accent.
"I was just passing through and I see you're in a spot of bother!"
I gaped at him.
A spot of bother?!
"I...I...uhhhhhh", I stammered.
After 25 years, I'd apparently lost the ability to speak coherently, at least to anyone other than the computer. But could I be blamed?
"Quite right!" he said, beaming at me. "I assume my appearance has come as something of a shock! Let me assure you, I mean you no harm. You may call me Nigel Penswick." He proferred a hand.
Weakly, I reached out and shook it.
"It seems as though I owe you a bit of an explanation. Terribly sorry for how surreal this must all seem to you," he said jovially, "but it seemed quite the best way to dampen the blow. May I?" he indicated a chair. I nodded weakly. If this was an hallucination, it was a very, very real one.
"No, old boy, you're not imagining me!", he exclaimed, laughing slightly. "Although, that would make things a fair bit simpler, what? Space mad astronaut, last of his kind, trapped in a Martian looney bin!" He shook his head, chuckling.
"Well, I have good news. And I have bad news. The good news is, of course, you're not alone. And you're not the last of your kind. You see, there is still life on Earth, irradiated and incandescent though she may be. The bad news is that it's all terribly mutated. Third arms, fifth eyes, that sort of thing." He pursed his lips.
"Old boy, you're the last of your kind with any sort of decent DNA." He glanced upwards, as though searching for something. I stared.
"Oh, of course! How rude of me. How the bloody hell did I get here!? Well, it's rather...well simple, but perhaps unlikely. You see, I am...well I used to be, human. I was snatched off of Earth, along with a few others, rather rudely, I might add, not a dollop of consent, in 1910!" He looked at me smugly. "There were...others you see, what you would call aliens, I suppose - and they wanted to make contact with us...save us, it would seem!" He waggled his eyebrows whimsically. "They snatched us up and modified us so we could serve as intermediaries when the time came. When you lot were ready. It seems that so-called intelligent species have a tendency to off themselves as soon as they get their hands on nuclear weaponry. Terrible stuff. Only a few survive." He sighed.
"You were all doing so well. We'd nearly arrived. Then poof, you blow yourselves into smithereens, what. Very inconsiderate if you ask me. I was looking forward to seeing London once more, or Paris...but they're both smouldering craters!" He actually did look affronted.
"Now, our DNA is too chopped up and altered by extraterrestrial meddling to use as a template to fix the mess you've all made of yourselves. You're the last one who's not gotten their chromosomes turned into pea soup!" He pointed at me emphatically with his cane.
"So...old boy, we've come to ask you. How would you like to be the father of your race? Fix things up a bit, before it's too late?" He winked at me and poked me in the belly with his cane. "You won't regret it, we promise!" He grinned at me winningly.
Somewhere, I heard a dull roar. Maybe it was the blood rushing through my head. As though in slow motion, the room seemed to pitch forward, and my last conscious image, for what seemed like a long time, was of a pair of finely made patent leather shoes.
|
*Knock Knock*
I tilt my head sideways. *Did I just hear a knock?*
Silence floods the room as I drop what I am doing and listen intently for any sign of life around me. Nothing..
"I'm finally going crazy." I sarcastically say aloud, ironically to myself.
*Knock Knock*
I jolt up. I rush to the door and swing it open in the blink of an eye.
"J-Jack? Jack Rios?" My mind is racing, *how the fuck is this man here?*
"How are you here? When did you become an astronaut?" I manage to spit out.
"I'm not one, and I need you to try and calm down and not think so much. I am here to ease you back into reality, Mike." Jack says calmly, walking inside.
"Ease me.. back? What?" I grab my head and begin to remember looking Jack in his face before laying down, but I can't place the memory. "Okay, I actually AM going crazy."
Jack chuckles, "You've actually been remarkable thus far, and have managed to sustain life on Mars, all alone, while keeping your sanity for over 25 years."
"Stop, just stop!" I shout, "Why are you here!!?? Tell me right now."
"Well, you volunteered to test the United States' brand new, top secret invasive simulspace program. The planet was never devastated by a nuclear holocaust and you've actually only been unconscious for 3 hours. I can take you back to reality whenever you are ready." Jack said, almost in slow motion.
*This isn't real. How is this possible? Why? How?* As the room began to spin, I had to snap myself out of it. I rush over and pour my glass of water over my head. But when I looked over at Jack, he was still there. Just sitting calmly with his hands resting on his crossed legs.
*Fuck it, I'll put an end to this now.* "Take me back then, I'm ready." I say confidently to Jack, expecting him to malfunction or disappear. What I didn't expect, was what followed...
----
Edited terminology*
| 2018-03-05T06:43:23 | 2018-03-05T06:19:23 | 1,474 | 211 |
[WP] You're an infamous necromancer, mostly living a quiet life nowadays, but adventurers keep on trying to fight you, because a local plaguemancer is spreading disease, and nobody seem to know the difference between the two types of magic, so they think it's you causing it.
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"I wouldn't come any closer if I were you," the Necromancer called as he swung open the large black doors of his mansion, skulls adorning the edges of the thick, blackened wood.
The group of knights did not heed his advice, passing the staffs of bone protruding from the mist covered earth.
*They never did learn.*
"We have come for your head, Rangar! To end your evil once and for all!" shouted the tallest among them, resplendent in golden rimmed heavy armour, a matching broadsword held out before him.
Rangar sighed.
"Well, before you so despatch me , please come in and tell me of what evil you speak. Trust me, you will remain as you are, unharmed."
The knights looked to their leader, unsure. Flicking up his visor he beheld Rangar for a moment, fierce blue eyes without fear. He strode forward.
If stone could groan, Rangar swore he heard the large slabs of his stairs shudder under the huge weight of the giant.
"You once saved my village from the scourge, and for that I will listen. But it will not save you, Necromancer," he spat as he passed through the door, followed by the rest.
"Far too late for that," said Rangar, smiling at each as they scowled and swore, bowing their heads or standing sideways as they entered.
\---
"It seems to me, dearest Knights, that you are facing a Plaguemancer, not a Necromancer. There are key differences."
"Like what?" one of the knights growled.
"A Pllaguemancers spells spread like, well, like plague, infecting to control, mutating and growing stronger the more people succumb to its evil. The infected, well, they still breathe, their hearts still force the blood around their bodies, but they are dying. The more power the plague causes, the quicker their demise. It is a fine balance the Plaguemancer must strike to horde his power effectively."
The Knights looked at each other, confused.
Rangar sipped his tea. He may as well drink it. No one else had touched the fine cups he had laid out for them.
*Manners.*
"A Necromancer, on the other hand," he said, sitting back in his chair made of flesh and bone, a true piece of art, "works completely with the dead. Never the living. To be Necromanced, one must first die. There is no breathing, no swooshing of the blood, no drum of the heart. Nothing. Still and dead."
The largest knight's brow was furrowed.
"Marek, those you encountered in the village. Were they breathing?"
The man he pointed to, Marek, helmet off and hair slick with sweat, nodded.
"They were coughing sir, wheezing."
"I bet they were, young man," interjected Ragnar before the leader could respond. "and that is why your armour felt so hot today, is it not? Why your cheeks linger red. Why your arms have felt heavy, and why that rash you have not yet showed your comrades, grows fiercer by the second beneath your chest plate."
The leader stumbled back, "Marek, you..."
Marek picked up his sword, "Stand back! I'm fine! I was feeling...something, but now I'm fine I swear. Just one of those bastards coughed in my face, is all. I'm fine I swear it."
Rangar waved one finger from side to side.
"No, you were not Marek, no you were not. To make matters worse, you infected your friends here, too. A true knight would have taken his own life."
Marek was lost for words, lips trembling, darting eyes settling on the large knight.
"Sir Barta, you can't believe him, you can't," he stepped towards his leader.
A sword swished the air, stopping by his neck.
"Don't you dare come any closer," Barta spat back.
Rangar stood. "Now , now, boys. Not to worry, for I have already settled the matter. He is no longer infected, neither are any of you."
Marek blinked. Barta's head cocked to the side.
"Tell me, Marek. When was the last time you breathed? You know, sucking air in and out, without talking of course, that doesn't count."
Marek blinked again, Barta's sword came down. One by one each Knight's eyes grew wide in terror.
"Any of you feel cold at all? Do any of you feel the pulsing of your blood through your veins?"
More stunned looks as the knights became as still as statues.
"You bastard!" Barta roared, lifting his sword and swinging it toward Rangar.
Rangar didn't even flinch as the sword came within inches of his face, and stopped, despite Barta's best efforts to push it in and finish the job.
"Why?!" he shouted.
"Because Gentleman, you are already dead, and I am now your master."
r/FatDragon
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I am convinced that hero guilds are run by idiots who never learned the first thing about magic. Five times I have had to explain that I don't spread magic plagues.
”Open up!. You are under arrest for crimes against humanity.”
”Please give me a minute, I just need to safely stop this experiment, ” now another one, great, ”Thank you for waiting, would you like some tea? I am the necromancer, Gilliam.”
”You are being taken in for spreading a plague.”
”I don't do plagues. if I want people dead then they will drop dead.”
”Is that not what this is doing?”
”No, this is an infection. Patient zero was infected with magic and the rest was spread like a normal disease. I don't waste time on the pain this inflicts. If I want something dead then it will just drop dead. You should be looking for a Plaguemancer, not a necromancer.”
”What’s the difference?”
”I am a necromancer, I control life and death. The only reason we are ever involved in disease is by taking bodies with plague and setting them loose upon the world. Your culprit has mastery over plagues. They will usually wear a combination of green and yellow. Now please get out, I am studying necrotic control over plant life.”
| 2020-11-13T08:41:00 | 2020-11-13T08:33:50 | 50 | 18 |
[WP] You are a lawyer just deceased and you find yourself at the gates of heaven. The gatekeeper hands you some paperwork to sign in order to enter the paradise. As you read the contract, you spot an interesting loophole.
|
As I sit on my throne made of pure gold and diamonds, I chuckle. Not too loud, but just loud enough for St. Pete and the other angels to hear. I can only imagine how it drives them crazy. I still can't believe no one else saw it, I can't believe no one else realized what it meant. Well, maybe they knew what it meant, but not what it could mean, ya know?
Everybody dies, we know this. What they don't tell you, or more so what they can't tell you, is what it's like. My case was relatively simple, unfortunate, but simple. I was a crown prosecutor in Toronto, put quite a few big-time criminals behind bars I might add. But one day, I looked down at my phone while driving, swerved a tad too far into the other lane, and boom-crunch-bang I was done. Ticket punched. Lunch kit in my hand. Apparently, it was my time to header home.
I guess I did alright when it came to my morality assessment, which apparently is a big deal. Ya see, it turns out, how you act in life matters on how you get treated after you move into that deluxe apartment in the sky. As an atheist, this made me feel very lucky I wasn’t a total asshole. But as I said, I did alright.
There wasn't any big homecoming for me like there was for JC or Nelson M or Teresa. No there was just ole St. Pete, standing there in front of those huge gates smiling at me. He must have stood at least 15 feet tall with a long mane and beard of flowing white hair. His robe was also a bright white, and strapped to his back was what looked like a very sharp golden spear. When I was alive, I created a charity that put homeless kids under a roof. I imagine that’s what prompted at least a smile on his bushy mug.
"How ya doing Trent?" He said warmly.
"Not too bad I suppose." I replied, far more calmly than I felt I could.
"You're here, and I think you know what that means." Pete said with a coy smile.
"I think it means I'm dead, doesn't it?" I said, still with the calm demeanor of a sociopath standing in front his victim’s deposition.
Without a word, and keeping that coy smile on his lips, St. Peter touched the tip of his nose.
"So, what’s next? Do I step through the gates?" I asked in a small yet sure voice.
Before me stood two enormous gate doors. They were made of gold and were shimmering... no, not shimmering exactly. They, they almost seemed like they were vibrating, letting a small note ride on the air from each giant bar after every oscillation.
"Not quite yet my boy. First, we must go through the motions. Just like everyone else does when they meet me. You have to sign the contract."
"Contract!?" I ask, mildly caught off guard.
"Yes, contract. You see, as you know, humans aren’t exactly perfect or sound of moral fiber. This ensures all our assets are covered. I’m sure you understand, being in your line of work and all."
I was shocked. I couldn't believe that of all places heaven would need to use contracts to ensure anything. Wasn't this place the end of all that earthly shit? Didn't the big man’s omnipotence keep that sort of stuff in line? I guess not.
"Uh sure thing" I said, with an unsteady waiver to my voice.
"Is it okay if I go over it, you know, with me being in my line of work and all?"
St. Peter looked at me sternly, apparently not appreciating me making a mockery of his casual turn of phrase.
His leer finally relented and with a sigh he said, "If you must".
As he opened the scroll, the yellow parchment rolled down his body and across the cloud floor to come to rest at my feet.
"There is a desk over there with a magnifying glass on it, trust me you’ll need it. Take as much time as you must. Here is a quill, when you're satisfied, just prick then end of your finger and sign your name in blood at the bottom of the page."
He tossed a golden quill, and after I caught it, he gestured behind me. Sitting in the middle of the expanse of clouds was a massive oak desk. I took a seat and began combing through the parchment. Have you ever read war and peace? This made it look like child’s play. The complexity of the language and sheer volume of writing was expansive. However, 35 years as a lawyer kind of hardwires you to read everything and anything before signing it.
After about 15 days, or at least what I thought was 15 days, as there was no damn way to count time up there, I came across something interesting.
"Pursuant to article MCXVII, all residents of heaven, must comply completely to the one who is god's will."
Immediately I stopped reading. I knew something in the wording was odd, but I couldn’t quite place it. I read the section repeatedly before it clicked. I quickly wrote in blood at the bottom of the page, “I am god”. I Then signed it with my name. They must have known instantly, because as I turned around I saw St. Peter rushing at me with the golden spear I noticed affixed to his back during our first exchange.
I shouted "STOP!" with more authority than I ever had before in life.
He stood motionless, face straining in anger, as if he did not stop himself, but rather some divine force was holding him back.
"I hereby abolish the old contract and denote myself, Trent Malcom Beechman, supreme leader of all holy beings and residents of heaven!"
As soon as the words left my mouth I was surrounded by angels covered in golden armor. Through their masks, I could see the same face of anger that was covering St. Peter’s. Apparently, I had done something rather significant because it’s been an eon since I swaggered through those gates, and nothing bad has happened to me yet. I don’t know where the other “God” went, but nobody’s seen or heard from him since that day. He must have just disappeared.
I’ve pieced the story of the contract together by talking to the angels. I guess after creating humans, God was still pretty busy dealing with everything else, but he wanted to cover his ass. So, he had a committee of his finest angels draw the contract up. This committee, was led by none other than Lucifer. Feeling some discontent toward the big guy in white about making humans, Lucifer planned to expose this loophole. But shortly after it was drawn up he was banished to hell.
So, as I sit on my throne, I still can't believe I was the first human to find this. I chuckle to myself and think, when god was worried about the big things, a snake was in his garden and he didn't even notice. Sound familiar?
|
A bright light consumed by body, I felt myself float as if I was weightless. As time went on, I felt reality slowly returning, I could feel my body again, my head against the ground, I could hear whispering all around me. I opened my eyes, I looked around as my vision slowly came back, I was lying in the middle of a court room. A booming voice shouted out,
“The court asks the recently deceased to take the stand”
I looked up at the judge, he towered over the court, he had a long white beard, he smashed his gavel into the stand and the room shook
“Where am I, what am I doing here?”
A guard picked me up a pulled me to my feet, he then dragged me to the stand and threw me into my chair.
“Mr Johnson, is it?” said a voice from a across the room, a man in a black suit with a red tie, would have look normal if it wasn’t for the pointed horns and tail.
“Uh yes that’s me, I still don’t know…”
He interrupted “Allow me to explain, you died.”
“What!” I exclaimed
“I’ll be prosecuting you for all the crimes you committed in your life, you’ve done some pretty hairy things in your time, haven’t you?” he said, with massive grin on his face.
I had been in court countless times, but never thought I’d be defending myself. I racked my brain trying to figure out what he was talking about, I replied “I’ve lived an honest life, I mean I never went to church every week or donated all my money to charity but I never did anything terrible”
The prosecutor laughed “He says he’s never done anything terrible? Well, let’s have a look, there was that time you were five and you kicked a dog!”
The crowd gasps
He pointed at me I said “I bet you’d love to get another kick into that dog now wouldn’t ya?”
I just shook my head and replied “I don’t even remember what you’re talking about”
The prosecutor looked annoyed but quickly grabbed another report and said “maybe this will jog your memory, when you were fifteen you stole from the pick and mix counter at Woolworths”
I was shocked I never thought anyone would bring up that, I replied “That was nothing, it was just a handful of those big strawberry things”
He shook his head “Maybe if there was less of you in the world, Woolworths would be still in business”
He grabbed another report and continued “but that’s not all, that time your wife asked you “do I look good in this dress” when you knew she hasn’t been a size eight in 3 years.”
The prosecutor looked smug he had me against the ropes and he knew it, there was no defence, I had done all these things, petty though they may be.
“These crimes your honour could have been fixed with a simple apology and the deceased never even tried”
Suddenly I had an idea it was a long shot but it might work, I said to the judge “Will any action I commit in this court be counted towards my judgement?”
The judge thought for a second before saying “I suppose so, why?”
I had it, I shouted out “Then I wish to make a heartfelt apology to everyone I have ever harmed either directly or indirectly, including Woolworths, during my life.”
The judge shouted “The court accepts your apology your free to go” then banged his gavel
| 2017-05-14T19:47:54 | 2017-05-14T17:22:13 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You are a wolf who was bitten by a werewolf. Every full moon your hair recedes, your teeth dull, and you are left cold and naked on a hillside. You’ve also met a lovely park ranger named Christine.
|
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
Christine jumped. It was the dead of night and there was someone pummeling the door to her cabin. She approached cautiously, holding up a frying pan as a weapon. “Who’s there?” she asked.
“Little human! Little human!” A rough yet familiar voice yelled. “Let me in!”
She glanced out the window to her side and immediately relaxed. It was a full moon. “Arnold?”
“No that’s not right,” the voice said. “You're supposed to squeal and say ‘*not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!*’”
Christine opened the door wide to the hairy naked man on the other side. “Come on in Arnold... And put some clothes on.”
“You’re no fun.” Arnold walked in, grabbed a cookie off the counter, wrapped a tablecloth around his midsection, and sprawled on the couch as if at home. “So I read those books you gave me last time. You know a lot of them are pretty inaccurate? Our lung capacity isn't anywhere near good enough to blow a house made of sticks down.
Straw *maybe,* if I really tried. That second to last pig though, he really got a raw deal. You think I should write the third pig to let him know?”
“I wouldn't bother, it's just a children’s story. Did you read the Red Riding Hood one too?”
“Oh yeah, that one was more accurate. We *are* masters of disguise.” Arnold gestured at his naked body. “Exhibit A.”
Under any other circumstance, a naked man pounding on her cabin door at midnight would have been a cause for alarm. This, however, was not any other circumstance. Arnold was a werehuman. Most nights he stalked the forest as a wolf, but every full moon he underwent a transformation by which he turned human.
They met a few years ago, on Christine’s first night alone working as a ranger. He came on pretty strong, and she was forced to pepper-spray him. Despite the rocky start, their relationship developed and eventually they became good friends. Now Arnold would stop by for a chat and tea most every full moon.
“So you’ll never believe what that weirdo Duncan has been up to,” Arnold said, standing back up to retrieve the full plate of cookies.
“You mean the rescue we released last month? I meant to talk to you about him—I noticed your pack took him in and I wanted to say thanks.”
“Oh we took him in all right. Big mistake though. He’s a massive butt-sniffer, Christine.”
“A butt-sniffer?”
Arnold nodded grimly. "It seems so.”
“Isn’t that fairly normal canine behavior?”
“To an extent, Christine. To. An. *Extent.* It’s like, you know how you told me Humans shake hands instead of sniffing butts when they meet?”
“Yep, I distinctly remember the events that led up to that conversation.”
“Right," Arnold said, rubbing his eyes as if the memory of pepper-spray made them water. "Well imagine if you took someone into your home, and every time you turned around they were right there, grabbing your hand. It’d get old right? Personal boundaries and whatnot.”
Christine nodded. “Yeah I could see—”
“Now imagine if instead of his hand, it was his nose. And instead of your hand, it was your b—”
“Okay okay, I follow the analogy. Look, Duncan was raised in captivity most his life. I think he’s just excited to meet other wolves.”
“A little *too* excited if you ask me.”
"Fair enough," she said smiling. "Well, maybe give him some time. I'm sure he'll mellow out." They talked a while longer, Arnold telling her all about the events in forest from the last month. She was tired, but Arnold was full of energy and had lots to say. She considered telling him she needed to get some rest, but thought better of it. It was only once a month, after all. Besides, she was having fun.
They talked until dawn broke, at which point she walked him to the door. “Guess I gotta go,” he said.
“Yep, see you next month?”
Arnold put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t cry Christine, I’ll always remember you.”
“I’m not crying,” Christine said, confused. “I’ll see you next month, right?”
“I can't stay here any longer. I have to be off. Back to my kind. It’s what’s best for me.”
“Right, that was never in question.”
“I know it’ll be hard for you, but if you love something set it free. I'm a wild animal, I can't stay here—”
Realization struck. “You read White Fang didn’t you?”
Arnold grinned. “It was excellent.”
Christine rolled her eyes. “All right fine, I’ll play along. Go on get! You’re free, go on! Get out of here! Listen, you’re free! Go! *GO!*” She threw a cookie at him.
He caught it in his mouth, got down on all fours, and ran off, the transformation back to wolf taking effect mid-bound.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
Even after I turned, her scent remained intoxicating, her voice concerned and reassuring.
"Are you OK?"
Those words came out of her, again and again. I mumbled wordless nothings and nodded. Not sure what to tell her. No idea how to explain.
She draped me in a blanket, quiet as can be, as it she was afraid to startle me.
"I'm Christine," she said. "I'm here to help."
I looked up into her eyes, brown and kind and caring. What do I say?
"You look cold. And..." she looked up and down apprehensively, her face contorting slightly as she attempted to figure out how I came to be. No offence taken. "Do you want to come with me? Into a cabin?"
Kind words. Kind gaze. A heart bursting with love.
Much unlike my own.
I shook my head vigorously. Felt strange.
"Why?" she asked. "It's much warmer. I can get you something to eat?"
Even after I turned, I could feel the bloodlust. The will in my weakened legs, desperately trying and failing to spring at her, gnashing my wild teeth into her pulsing neck.
But for a few moments, at least, my mind was human.
I snarled at her, and she finally stepped back. I bared my teeth, and she slowly backed away--not afraid, but bewildered.
"... Okay. I guess you want to be left alone?"
I finally nodded, and she finally turned and walked off, not without periodically gazing back, her face reflecting the full moon's light, trying to figure out this mental puzzle that stumped her thoroughly.
Even after I turned, I raised my head to the moon and howled, acquainted with melancholy for this one night.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-03-14T15:17:41 | 2021-03-14T14:26:03 | 2,401 | 94 |
[WP] After a journey spanning four lightyears to find a replacement for planet Earth, the first human expedition to Proxima B discovers that it was Earth that replaced Proxima B.
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The hull was shaking as the reverse thrusters roared to life. The ship screeched. After becoming awake the engines powered to their full level. The ship started to decrease it’s velocity. “Houston, we are now slowing down, ETA 15 minutes.” Commander Sullivan spoke over the radio. Thanks to the new transmission system they invented years ago, they were able to respond right away. “Roger that, slow down and begin to enter the atmosphere.” Proxima B was now in sight, right in front of the ‘Discovery’. The ship was awaking. All the engineers, farmers , scientists and other people aboard were woken up from the cryo sleep. They made their ways to the observation decks on top of the huge vessel.
“Dear Ladies and gentlemen, this is your commander speaking. We will soon start to enter the atmosphere of Proxima B. Due to the expected turbulences I remind you to sit down into the seats and fasten your seatbelts." Luckily there were rows of seats in the observation deck, so everyone could see their new home as they approached towards the blue planet.
Looking out of the front window the pilot could make out some shapes, orbiting around the planet. “Sir, there are maybe some asteroids orbiting the planet, we have to be cautious while landing.” Commander Sullivan stepped to his side and enhanced the screen, looking at the object flying past them. “What in god’s name... .” He muttered, looking at a satellite. “Someone is here, we need to watch out, but don’t tell the passengers!”
The ship began to shake and vibrate, plasma flashed over the small windows of the observation deck. After a few minutes the shaking stopped and the ship stabilized. Beneath them they could see clouds, a sign for a working eco system. The captain gently pushed the nose down and they pierced through them. A bright blue ocean spread under them. People clapped in their seats, some of them were crying. “We are finally here.” A woman whispered.
The ship descended lower and the passengers could see how land came in sight. The Pilot made a hard left turn and lined up with the coast. “Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare for landing.” With a concerned look on his face Commander Sullivan pressed the button for the gear while the ship now flew over the mainland. The engines slowed the ‘Discovery ‘ down until she came to a full stop, hovering a hundred feet over it. Then it descended and landed on the ground. “Houston, I think we are not alone.” He said as he looked upwards like all the passengers in the observation deck. Color had faded from some faces, most of them simply looked in astonishment at the sky scraper like building in front of them. It was only one of many, forming a city. The high concrete and metal towers were covered in plants and grass, making them look green. “Fuck! That’s why we didn’t saw them from up there!” Commander Sullivan was getting angry. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your commander speaking. Please remain calm and stay inside!” He said, pushing a button.
On the lower decks of the ship an alarm blared through the corridors “ALL MARINES TO THE TRANSPORTERS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!” A recorded voice said. Luckily they came prepared. The Marines ran through the corridors, grabbed their guns from the racks and ran towards the shuttles. They were already waiting to deploy them to the new planet. No one had expected to find intelligent life here, the scans had showed some animals, plants and so on, but the buildings had been undetected. They were overgrown with plants, making them look like a part of the eco system.
The sound of the shuttles flying out of their ports could’ve been heard in the observation deck. The people looked down how the small ships, full with marines, flew towards the skyscrapers. They spread out and took different directions, scattering all over the city.
Soon they were gone behind the buildings. The radio fell silent for some minutes. Until one of them called the ‘Discovery’. “Commander Sullivan, there is no sign of any life in this city besides of animals. We can’t see any hostiles. But we found this, sir.” A big image of a statue made of concrete showed up on commander Sullivan’s HUD. It showed a big ship with three astronauts in front of it. They all were human, definitely, holding their helmets under their arms. Bellow it was a plaque with English engraving. “Our heroes for Proxima B! Make ‘Earth’ our new home!” And their names engraved bellow.
|
It's a wasteland.
We should have listened, those millions of years ago when they wanted us to cut down on our emissions. It looks not even bare, but a ghost. Underneath the dust and the obvious carbon it belches every two minutes, it's hollow. There is nothing to it, it's even less than a star.
George heaves behind me. I don't blame him. We were the ones to bring the good news home that the search wasn't futile, that the wars were worth this future abundance, but there was nothing. Proxima B was here before we were, and it will be here when we are gone. I lean back in my seat. We traveled four lightyears to get here. It will be another four lightyears back.
I do not think we will meet Earth when we get to where Earth should be in the universe.
| 2016-08-24T20:18:20 | 2016-08-24T15:57:44 | 90 | 43 |
[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."
|
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.”
|
A creature equipped from, well from their anatomy, “head to toe” in full hazmat gear stepped into the room. Standing at 3 percils, roughly 6 feet in the humans original terms, he was one of the shortest of our crew.
2 weeks, it has been just 2 weeks in the humans span of time, and to my species that still isn’t that long of time. But in that time, my pax has been on edge ever since. Always looking behind to make sure they don’t catch me by surprise, always being wary and keeping my distance. The scientist on board says they should be safe, not FROM us, but FOR us instead. The scientist says that, but I see how on edge they get whenever the human is near, it’s subtle, but I can see it in their gills.
2 weeks, 2 weeks and I feel like my exoskeleton is about to shed early from all the stress I’ve had just by being around this walking, plague ridden, Freak!! Every time they touch something once they enter my work zone I have the need to disinfect it immediately! I know it’s not necessary, but I wear a mask everywhere I go outside of my quarters, especially when I’m around it!!!
“Sigh”. 2 weeks. It’s only been 2 weeks, and I’m already going sighbough just from being near this freak....
This is going to be a looooong year....
| 2021-02-03T19:28:38 | 2021-02-03T16:46:39 | 155 | 46 |
[WP] A vampire is desperate to see their own face for the first time. Being unable to see their own reflection or appear in photographs, they ask a talented artist to paint their portrait as accurately as possible. The finished picture is nothing like they'd expected.
|
I'm a cursed man.
No, not because I'm a bloodsucker. You wouldn't blame yourself for needing to eat fried chicken, or a nice juicy steak, right? I'm cursed because I can't see my face. A face that I'm sure is absolutely beautiful.
See (haha), I can't look at myself in the mirror. It's a terrible feeling. Paralysing, really. I'm increasingly reminded of it every time I a rerun of Angel comes on, and I see David Boreanaz's delightful visage on my screen. Or Gary Oldman's in Dracula. Even Robert Pattinson in Twilight. Yeah, OK, the whole sparkling vampire thing is pretty bullshit, but I dig his face.
So, I had to call in a favour. I'm not a fan of the outside in general, except to feed, so I decided to scour the Internet, hoping to find somebody willing to put in the time and effort to draw me.
> [**ARTIST WANTED:**]
>
> Hi, 233/M vampire here. Looking for somebody interested in the dark arts and vampire culture to draw me in an art project. Please send rates w/ portfolio, will send you the address if selected. Willing to pay in cash!
>
> P.S. If you are human, I won't bite you. I promise.
>
>P.S.S Please don't wear perfume/cologne. You humans usually have terrible taste in them.
Surprisingly, I got a ping on my phone in less than an hour.
>You are a vampire?
I responded.
>Yeah, of course.
Another ding.
>Can you prove it?
>I can't send you a selfie, if that's what you are asking for. I wouldn't need you if I could.
>... I'll send you my art. Send me your address, I'll bring a cross.
I had a look through the person's portfolio. A surprisingly macabre taste and dark colours, but otherwise pretty solid reproductions of human faces. They even helpfully sent some of the reference photos, and it did look accurate. So I shot the person my address.
Within two hours, my doorbell rang. I opened the door and saw a brunette woman, dressed simply in a worn T-shirt and baggy jeans. She had a cross necklace on, along with cross earrings, and her bag had a large cross imprinted on it.
"You know, wood usually works the best."
She immediately reached into the bag, rummaged for a second, and pulled out a large wooden cross. I instinctively stepped back a little, and she looked satisfied at my reaction.
"I know. Fake vampires usually don't respond like that."
She put it back in her bag, and I directed her to a mini art studio that I set up. She looked at me strangely, before pulling out a tablet and pen from her bag.
She sat down, got to work, and I was left with nothing to do but to twiddle my thumbs. Until she told me to stop it, because it was distracting her. So I shook my legs, until she told me stop it before she threw the cross at me. I tried my best to sit very still then.
It might have been an hour or two. I was just thinking that I really needed to go out for dinner soon, before she set her tablet down, stretched her back, and gave a satisfied sigh.
"Is it ready?" I asked.
"Yeah," she replied. "Come here and take a look."
I looked at it. And I was absolutely incensed.
"Who the hell is this?" I almost screamed but kept my voice under control.
"What are you talking about? It's you."
"But... this is such an average face! I'm not... handsome?"
"Dude, vampires aren't all pretty boys. I've seen quite a few of them."
"But... David Boreanaz... Gary Oldman..."
"Come on, that's just Hollywood. They beautify everything. Watch a war film, then go and look at an actual soldier."
I collapsed back in my chair, the anger quickly leaving me, a strange sense of serenity filling me. I was just an average person. Destined to be average forever. At least I'm average, I comforted myself.
She sidled up, and placed a hand on my shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze.
"Look," she said, "if it's any comfort, vampires are still really cool."
It was comforting. I looked up at her. She seemed genuinely concerned about me, which was a nice feeling.
"Why do you do this? You've probably met more vampires than me."
She shrugged. "A lot of vampires want to know how they look like, and I can fulfill that desire. Also, I have a very particular fetish..."
Her hand moved down, over my cold, dead, heart.
Oh well. I guess fangs are cool enough to score chicks.
|
"I'm beautiful," he says looking from the painting finally, his voice both soft and concussive.
"Yes, you are. Always." The artist feels sad at this. So much of his life spent running from this thing to find time and time again himself its victim. Here covered in paint another masterpiece created at its beck and call. Michele Angelo Merigi da Caravaggio trembles with exhaustion. The final dab of paint still wet and gleaming in the light of a hundred candles. Hot salty tears seep from his eyes. And the vampire waits for more adoration. He feels it waiting like the impossible thing he is. Dead. But there to do as it wishes. Black eyes glare hot in an alabaster face. A face still like carved marble. Deep pools of indigo pull at his soul waiting forever teasing him with the knowledge he is slave.
Caravaggio whispers, "I feel you in every inch of my bones. Your presence in the world motivates each stroke of my brush."
"And?" the boy-faced-man he has been told to call Bacchus toys.
"And I willfully offer" hoping this time the vampire frees him," my soul."
| 2019-11-18T02:20:24 | 2019-11-18T01:44:55 | 88 | 29 |
[WP] You’re an obscure, ancient god who had resigned yourself to slowly fading away. One day, an inventor whose sibling is an archaeologist names a new type of tech after you. As the tech becomes wildly popular and ubiquitous, you find yourself growing in power vastly beyond what you had ever known.
|
It happened in an instant. One moment we were all in the board room getting ready to discuss the release of our next big product, and the next, we were in a dark cavern, all seated around a table like before, but the table was stone. Renee, our VP of Operations was seated directly opposite of a glowing figure that lacked shape. Her face was filled with fear and wonderment. Like a rabbit staring at a giant snake, she couldn't move.
"Don't be afraid mortal girl. I bring you glad tidings from our Lord BillJim." There was a flash of light, and suddenly the glow coalesced into a strikingly good looking man in a snappy business suit. "I believe this should be easier to talk to, yes?"
Renee nodded. "Who are you? Where are WE?"
"Ah, so as I said, I am the herald for our Lord BillJim. It seems they were almost forgotten and were to slumber into obscurity, until your company developed Billjim Tools for the computer devices. As it grew in popularity, and people invoked the name, our Lord awoke and began to gather strength. Now, they are quite strong and wishing to thank you all for your attention. "
"Billjim is my and my partner's name mashed together... That's it. We knew nothing your Lord. " Bill Simmons was confused. He was a programmer. Jim Mickles was his partner who had the foresight of the idea for the tools, and he was also great at sales. Eventually, he had gotten their market share so large they were being courted by IBM and Microsoft to buy them out. That was before they were to release the next product they were preparing to discuss.
"It doesn't matter how the worship happens, just that it does. However, we understand you have offers to sell the product and name to people who might rename it. That will not do." The man in the suit motioned at the table, what appeared on it was a newspaper with the headlines that Billjim, the popular utility was being sold to Microsoft for 8.4 BILLION dollars to be integrated with Windows 13. The paper was dated about 3 years into the future.
"How did you...???" Jim reached to pick up the paper. He read the story on the sale, then looked at the sports and financial sections.
"I believe that is enough teasing of the future for you." I'm Lorthox, by the way. I will be your guide in the next steps of your journey. We are going to need you to do a few things for us to provide the proper assistance for Lord Billjim to continue to gain power. It's a small thing really. " In his hand appeared a piece of paper. "Here is a change you need to make to your, what is it called, *software license agreement*. It simply has them pledge their soul to Billjim and since NOBODY reads those contracts, it will be fine. We can even use invisible text if need be. But the need is for this to get in there." The last part was not the friendly conversation, but more of a command that they felt in their gut and base of their skull.
"People won't..." Bill started.
"People DO all the time. They click these contracts which are legally binding on your plane of existence, *all the time*. On March 19th, 1994, you clicked the on on the game Hero's Quest without reading it. Do you know it gave ownership of your computer to that game company?"
"I was 12..." Bill whispered. He remembered getting the game for his computer. It is what gave him the drive to learn how to program.
"And you," pointing a long clawed finger at Renee, " you agreed to Facebook's terms that they owned your likeness and all of your photos you uploaded, you also set your smart phone to upload all pictures to them. They've been using a picture you took of the Golden Mountains Spa in advertising for years. That picture has generated them over $800,000. Did you get a cent from that?"
"No, I ..."
"You signed a contract you didn't read." Lorthox put his feet up on the table and his hands behind his head. "Everyone does it. Now, I've not told you what you get out of our little deal. You become the first heralds on your plane of the Lord Billjim! After people have signed the agreement, of course. And we will make sure you are granted even more riches than this deal with Microsoft. They were going to kill your product, by the way. Buy it, then not use it, because it's helpful against some of their shoddy workmanship. By 3 years after your deal, nobody even remembers who you two are, and you are a Jeopardy answer 2 years after that. Our Lord Billjim will not be relegated to obscurity. No that."
With that, there was a puff of smoke and they were back in their board room. The piece of paper floated down to the desk from an unseen hand. On the whiteboard in the room was a lot of strange writing. Initially they couldn't understand it, but it suddenly became clear.
They were founding a new religion eventually. But first, they had to adjust the EULA of their products.
|
The first of it's kind, born in darkness, long before the light and dawn of humanity. Wandering an empty plane, filled with beasts and mindless creatures. Wherever it went, they fled; wherever they were found they died. And because of it's intelligence, a game was formed.
Eons of existence, repeating the cycle; hide and seek, find and eat. The beasts grew smarter from generations of being hunted, but never conquering the hunter. Their tenacity and need to survive caused their population to explode and eventually 'It' was unable to complete the task alone.
Splitting itself into many pieces, countless more hunters descended upon the planes. The cycle continued and 'It' no longer had need to participate. A lack of purpose and a fleeting interest led to a millennia of slumber.
The offspring known as 'Vampire' had come to an understanding with humans. A long history of fighting and death had been overturned by a time of peace. The Vampire had invented a new substitute for their infamous diet allowing for this coexistence.
It was said to be a gift from the old gods, and as such received its name sake. Every Vampire used it, every day, for every meal. It was a blessing for them, and allowed them to live a life unfettered by their feral nature. But this change was felt by 'It'... the reverence of it's offspring, awakening it from a deep rest.
Why were they calling? It peered through them, through itself, and saw the world. Saw the serene visages, the lack of violence, existences of wonderment and hope. A wave of utter disgust erupted at the very sight. It's influence spread like a disease into each and every one of It's descendants.
In a household with two lovers of different origins, both screamed, one of rage and the other horror. The world grew darker and the cycle started once again.
| 2022-02-04T06:21:30 | 2022-02-04T06:12:25 | 60 | 26 |
[WP] You accidentally call the FBI in place for a pizza shop and attempt to order your favourite pizza with toppings. Coincidentally, the FBI uses pizza language as a means of code.
|
"Hellooo?" I'm generally a patient man, even when it comes to pizza. To be honest, I was more worried than annoyed. Jimmy was always very prompt when answering the phone and always within the second ring. We would exchange the usual pleasantries, dish each other about our girlfriends, and then he would confirm with me what I always ordered.
Third ring and no Jimmy makes a pizza addict nervous.
"Hello," the voice that finally picked up was definitely not Jimmy. Jimmy had said he was thinking of hiring some help given that business had been crazy lately ever since the only other pizza place, a Pizza Hut located on Fifth and Hartford, burned down due to some poorly disposed fryer oil, but I didn't think the hire would be that quick. "Jimmy isn't available right now, confirm."
"Confirm? What the hell? Where's Jimmy?"
"Jimmy isn't available right now. *Confirm,*" the voice on the other line turned harsh.
And so the moral dilemma. Now I was less worried and more annoyed. I wanted pizza. I just came off two, 16-hour shifts at the hospital because the chief of fucking surgery didn't want to spring an extra $115k to hire another trauma surgeon. To add the cherry on top of my clusterfuck of a day, the kid I was operating on at the end of my shift died on the table, so to clarify I didn't want the pizza, I needed it.
But this guy was an asshole. I mean seriously, who asks the a customer confirm that the boss isn't there? Even if the guy was new, it was common human decency. Therein lied my rub. Deal with this new guy and get pizza, or satisfy my conscience and tell him to piss off.
Pizza won.
"Confirmed. Can I place my order now, or do I have to give you my social security number first."
"Proceed." What a douche.
"Large, with jalapenos, mushrooms, roasted bell peppers, ranch drizzle on top, roasted garlic in the crust, and a side of roasted chili marinara. Or just tell Jimmy, the usual," I said.
"Ranch drizzle on top," the new guy took took in a sharp breath, "You want ranch drizzle on top? Confirm."
"Yea. Jesus. If you keep this up you're not going to be working there for very long I pro-," I didn't get a chance to finish my thought before the line went dead.
New guy didn't even give me the total or the ETA. Not that he needed to really, I had the $17.72 already set aside on the table in the hallway.
---
**November 30 - 1800 Hours FBI Safe House: Location Undisclosed.**
"You're sure?" the rookie, a nervous looking red head who bore the unfortunate name of Rick O'Malley, fidgeted with his sidearm.
"Look. I tripled check the reference sheet just like you," Kin Wong hid his anxiety better than Rick, but only just.
"I'm not questioning the go code. But you can't look me in the eye and tell me that that exchange wasn't suspicious. I get that there'll be ad-libbing, especially if the Director's suspicions about the mole are on point. But come on Kin. Nothing about that conversation just now felt right."
"We're on the edge of the largest mobilization south of the border in the history of inter-agency cooperation. CIA already has a number of guys waiting on the other side ready to receive. If we don't go now, we miss the Juarez Cartel's top four guys trying to flee to Cuba. Get your head on right. We cannot miss this chance," Kin nodded the Rangers on lone from the Army, "alright, school circle."
"Is no one going to ask why we chose pizza terms instead of typical military alpha-numerics?" Lieutenant Alfred Randleman asked without looking up from checking his assault rifle.
"Because even your dumb ass would mess that up, Randleman. Sorry, go ahead and continue, Agent Wong," Captain Eric Hansen shot Randleman a glare before grinning.
"Just a few things to review. Our main objective is Enrique Medina, code-named Jalapeno. He's currently managing all the money for the Juarez cartel. We take him, we get access to all their stateside accounts. This won't kill them off, but it will definitely cripple them. His brother, Sal Medina, code-named Mushroom, is a small fry. He's mostly just Enrique's muscle. You are authorized fatal action against him. Roasted bell peppers, Item Red, is Pablo Juarez, the head of the cartel. Roasted bell peppers, Item Green, is his cousin, Raul Juarez. Remember, we want these two alive and out of harms way. Our primary concern is neutralizing their cash flow and force in fighting," Kin surveyed the grizzled, weathered faces of the Rangers on loan and nodded, "remember boys. We're not supposed to be here. Any of you go down, FBI, the army, and the Company will disavow any affiliation. If all things go well, CIA will get us out."
"What are our rules of engagement for civilians?" Specialist Lia Saldana's voice rang over the chit chat of her comrades.
"You are cleared full prejudice. Assume everything is hostile. Any questions?" Kin asked.
"Do we get pizza after this?" Specialist Lyman O'Connell snorted at his own joke.
"Everyone but you O'Connell," Kin said, chuckling, "we've been training for this for the past three weeks. This is the cap stone of our operations against the Juarez Cartel. We pull this off, and we deal drug trafficking across the border a big blow, pun intended. Let's get this done ladies and gentlemen."
Acknowledgements and grunts issued from the choir of Rangers and FBI agents. Few words were exchanged after. There would be time for quips and celebrations when the operation was finished.
"This still doesn't feel right Kin. Maybe we should check in with the director," Rick said.
"Director needs plausible deniability, that's why we're not here. We've been in close contact with the informant for months. This is the moment we're waiting for. This is for the people in Tuscon and El Paso. This is how we get even."
|
I tossed my bag onto the couch and flopped down onto it myself, letting out a long groan.
God, I'm never pulling another double shift again, I thought. Fuck the money.
I stared into the darkness of the kitchen, fifteen feet away. I stared for whole minutes. Fifteen feet. Might as well be fifteen miles, I thought, sighing and digging in my pocket for my cell phone. No way I was cooking tonight.
I opened up the web browser on my phone to search for my usual pizza place-- what was that number again? I rolled my eyes. Something was up with the wifi. I scrolled through my recent calls. Which of these was it? Let's see, I ordered pizza last week, so it must be...
Whatever. I dialed the number in hesitantly. Let's see... 556... 05... 43? Yeah. Yeah, that's it. I hit the call button.
After half a ring, they picked up. Nice and quick. "Fabio's pizza."
Fabio's? I thought. Isn't it Gino's? Whatever. "Yes, could I have an order for delivery?"
"What's your location?"
"Ah, it's 884 Lebanon Street."
"Confirmed. Go ahead."
I almost laughed. Confirmed? "Yeah, I'd like a large pizza with pepperoni on half, and buffalo chicken on the other half. I'd also like an order of wings. Extra bleu cheese, pretty please." My mouth dropped open, and I blushed. God, did I really just say that? It just slipped out. "Um, that-- that'll do it," I said awkwardly.
"Package en route," the guy said, and hung up.
I looked at the phone. Who talks like that? And he didn't even give me a total. I forgot my embarrassment and clicked on the TV. I scrolled through Netflix. Maybe an episode of Scrubs while I waited? I scrolled through the list of episodes...
My eyes fluttered open. I pushed myself up off the couch, and saw light streaming in through the windows. "Aw, fuck!" I spat. I must have slept right through the delivery guy's call. Slept through the whole night, as a matter of fact. I looked at my phone. Well, Jesus, no missed calls. I sat there in a funk for a long moment, trying to figure out some way of looking at this where I wouldn't be pissed off. I wasn't that creative.
I would get up and take a shower a little later. For now, I just scrolled through some articles on my phone, trying to take my mind off of it. At least the wifi was working again. I noticed one news story kept popping up: some general or something getting assassinated in the Middle East, over in Lebanon. I sighed. I guess life's a bitch no matter where you live.
| 2015-11-30T16:26:32 | 2015-11-30T16:25:52 | 80 | 32 |
[WP] Every inhabitable planet found by humanity was a dead world, with all life previously existing on it down to the smallest virus completely and utterly dead upon landing. Even more disturbing is the fact that some worlds appeared to have died extremely recently, down to days before human arrival
|
I looked at the flight pattern of their discovery space ship.
Humans were a really interesting race. Compared to all other races that had discovered space travel, the Humans were the most primitive. Neither did they figure out teleportation, nor proper space mapping.
And yet, they had found another planet.
My own technology was better than theirs. Part of it I had still from my own race, parts I build myself in the many years I have lived.
Just a few months before their arrival I reached Planet Ephata D. It was a beautiful planet. Life was blooming. Big forests covered the planet. They were filled with life and hope and happiness.
I stood on the window in my spaceship, wondering about the many wonders of spaces and looking down in awe at this new world.
The leading race were primitive monkey-like creatures.
They hadn’t figured out science or writing. They hadn’t found technology yet. Maybe in a few thousand years they would, but probably not. The forest supplied them just well enough. And yet, when they looked up the stars, I could see innocent curiosity reflecting in their eyes.
A sad smile widened on my lips. They wouldn’t be able to live in peace in this universe. Not with the humans having set course to their planet.
All life would die. All plants wither. And all water dry out.
I went back to the control station of my ship. The button was sitting their, amongst all the other buttons. Looking just like them. Harmless, simple. And yet, it had a sad glare to it. A deeper meaning, only know to her. She targeting the planet. Soon, she thought it wouldn’t be beautiful anymore.
With a last look to the rich forests she pressed the button.
“Fire initiated”, said a metallic voice and she heard the alarm beeps go off in all of her space ship.
A beam appeared. It was bright and it hurt her eyes, but she won’t look away. Not anymore. To many times had she done this already. The light filled up the planet and it glowed as powerfully as it’s star. Well not really, but in her eyes. Then the light faded. The planet in front of her was different. It was a wasteland. The forest, the life, the water, all gone.
Well, not necessarily gone. She quickly looked in her monitors how this place looked in its parallel dimension. There it was. The beautiful Planet Ephata D, in all its initial shine.
Two months later the humans arrived to this wasteland of a planet. She could feel their disappointment, their disbelief, their sadness. That they had again found another wasteland and not a lively planet. It looked just like out of the apocalypse, because, well, it was.
Their faces reminded me of my own face. My own sadness when I returned to my own planet. It was after a space mission, I’d always been one of our best engineers and I would regularly set out to help others.
My own race was always known as the gentle guardians of our universe and we lived up to that name.
So when the humans had discovered space travel, we gladly accepted them in our midst. But everything they touched, they burned. And every planet they visit they turned into waste. Nothing was save of their grip.
After they killed my planet and my race, my universe turned into a war zone. Until no more life was left in the universe and until even the humans died out.
I had lost everything. My race. My planet. My universe. My purpose. And yet I wasn’t able to kill this deadly race.
I traveled through different dimensions. I found out that I was in fact the last of my race across all dimensions and I had a knew purpose: taking care of the other dimensions.
I followed the humans and every time they approached another planet, I would switch that planet with the version, they destroyed. Having them discover nothing but the wastelands they had created.
One day, this universe would be dead, except for the humans and me, and then, my universe would again be full of life. Just my race would never return. And neither would the humans.
And maybe, maybe one day they could realize their mistakes, and maybe then, their universe deserved to be a lively place.
|
The first planet we colonized was proxima centauri, it was there we found no intelligent life, but we did find buildings that were 100s of years old but no body's, just buildings.
We then went of and colonized 5 other planets in the span of 17 years, but not once did we find intelligent life, just buildings.
But the most confusing part is the buildings are slowly becoming less and less older as we find more planets.
But alas I am on my death bed and I fear I may be gone here soon so I would like to say one thing that we are all thinking, why are they running?
| 2019-12-09T08:25:24 | 2019-12-09T07:07:41 | 42 | 11 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
|
"What are you in for?" my cellmate asked.
"Grammar," I said, my eyes fixed on the wall.
"Hmm?" he said, sitting up in his bunk to hear me better. "You say something about your Grandma?"
"No," I said. "*Grammar*. The rules of composition for effective communication."
He laughed. "How did grammar get you thrown in mega-max?"
"It's fucking hard in French," I said.
"Really? I thought French and English have a lot in common."
"Well, they do, in terms of vocabulary. But there's a lot of really big differences. Especially verbs and tenses."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, for instance, they have two verbs for putting something in the past tense: *Être* and *avoir*. Some verbs take one, some take the other, some take both depending on circumstance."
"Doesn't sound like that big of a deal."
"You don't watch the news much, do you?"
"No," he said, "we're not allowed to watch it in here. The only thing I hear about the outside is through new cellmates. And my last cellmate before you kicked it about a year ago."
I laughed. "No wonder you didn't recognize me."
"So are you gonna tell me what you're really in for?"
"Depends. Are you religious?"
"Lapsed Buddhist," he said.
"Ah, that's fine. As long as you're nothing Abrahamic. Most Abrahamic people want to kill me."
"Why's that?"
"Got Jerusalem nuked. And Mecca and Medina. And Bethlehem. Lots of other places too, but those are the ones they're all pissed about."
"Oh," he said. "So *that's* what you're in for."
"Well it wasn't on purpose. It was just a mistake." I sighed. "But yeah, that's why I'm in mega-max. And why I'm in mega-max on Europa. Earth, Mars, Ceres, lots of Christians and Muslims and Jews there, so they all sort of want to kill me. People would've burnt down the prisons just to get me. The hope is that on a rock like this, where everyone's Hindu or Buddhist or whatnot, I won't get murdered too fast."
"I don't get how this can have been over a French grammar mistake," he said.
"It was, I swear. A five-word sentence."
He raised his voice slightly, annoyed. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
"Well, uh, you see... I was the secretary-general of the U.N.," I said. "I was negotiating the final terms of peace in the Middle East, and they don't love English-speakers down there, and French is the number-two international language, so we decided we'd use that. Well, the talks were at that delicate point right at the end, where it looks like smooth sailing, but there's also the highest risk of someone backing out and things going really badly."
"And...?"
"I told you. *Être* and *avoir*. You see, *messieurs-dames, nous avons tous fini* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'done with our task' sense of the word 'finished.' *Messieurs-dames, nous* sommes *tous finis* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'gonna die' sense of the word 'finished.' So I came out of the negotiating room to tell the crowd we'd reached an agreement, and... Well the rest is history."
"Well shit," he said.
"Yep," I said.
"Incidentally," he asked, "how did South Asia fare during the war?"
"Pretty bad. Things spiraled out from the Middle East onward, India and Japan got into a pretty big war with Pakistan and China."
"Huh. Can't have been good for Nepal," he said.
I chuckled morbidly. "God no. Whole country got nuked to Hell."
He didn't laugh back. I heard his bunk creak as he rose. "The *whole* country? Including Lumbini? Where Lord Buddha was born?!"
I gulped. "Listen, man, I told you, it was all an accident."
And then his hands were around my neck.
----
Edit: I know "Thanks for the gold"-style comments are gauche, but I just wanna say, in addition to getting me gold, this comment has pushed my total combined karma to over 100,000. Feels good to do it on a comment I'm proud of. Thanks y'all.
|
It had all started innocently enough, generations before the conflict began. Amy, an amateur astronomer and scientist, clicked "Send" on her Chapek program, beaming the message out into space, hoping it might find an ear or two. Newly interested in science fiction, she had chosen one of her favorite quotes, hoping to spread the good news to everybody. She chose poorly.
She never heard a response. No one did. Not for centuries.
The war was over before anyone on Earth even knew why it started. Amy's message had been received all over the universe, but it was not received well. Thousands of Submin ships carrying reptilian horned aliens descended upon Earth after interpreting the message as a hostile war cry. Almost simultaneously, a second invasion of ships full of deadly robots arrived to kill all those who had infringed on their copyright.
Earth lay in ruins, no one survived. All because Amy had sent one silly line: "Bite my shiny metal ass"
| 2015-06-19T05:45:51 | 2015-06-19T05:43:13 | 1,136 | 25 |
[WP] A person with super powers reveals his or herself to a significant other. The reaction is not positive.
|
"You are never around when I need you, Dan. You don't do the dishes, you don't help me look after Erif, and last week I had to clean out the garage all on my own!" Alice said, very upset. "And why the hell do you have so many capes in the garage, anyway? You're a juggler, not a super hero."
Dan considered his answer carefully. She deserves to know. She of all people, who deserves to know, and for whom it would be so dangerous to know. She, who has been through so much more than others.
"I have to tell you something." he finally said, taking both of her hands into his. "I ... am the Red Hand."
Alice thought about this.
"That guy in the mask that robs banks for a living?" she asked.
"I don't rob banks. I stop other people from robbing banks. I fight crime. I am a super hero." A clear note of excitement entered his voice towards the end. He felt liberated in finally being able to say this out loud to her.
"Are you?" she said flatly.
"I am."
"So ... you never help me out, don't do the dishes, spend almost no time with your son and have me do all the heavy lifting at home ... in spite of the fact that you can control shit with your mind?" she asked, her voice still flat.
"Eh. Fighting crime is a time consuming task." he said, appologetically. "And hiding it from you made it a lot more time consuming than it had to be."
"So you had super powers all along." she continued.
"Since I was about seven." he confirmed.
"And your power is to control stuff with your mind."
"Yep."
"How ... often do you control me with it?"
This is the point at which Dan realised that he should have kept his mouth shut. Or, more importantly perhaps, that he shouldn't have used his powers around the house.
"Come on. Tell me, I'm interested in your job, baby." Alice said, and under the friendly tone of voice there was a venomours under-current. "You know I always pay attention to *anything* you have to say. Is that part of what you do to me? Come on, how much of me is me and how much of me is your fetish desires?"
"No, look, you have it all wrong." he said, quickly looking for a way to mend things. "Sometimes, when you're sad, I give you something else to think about. I don't make you do things you dontwannado." he finished lamely.
"You're just going to mess with my mind again, aren't you? Pretend like this never happened, just because you feel uncomfortable?" she asked, looking him dead in the eyes. And he couldn't answer. "Oh my god, you freak. You are seriously considering it! I swear to god, if you do that I'll kill you."
"I wouldn't do that to you." he insisted. "That's why I'm telling you right now. I want you to know who I am, no more secrets around the house."
"So ... answer me. How much of me is still me? After 15 years of living with you, I hope I at least am the one who picked my own cereal." she spat.
"You are you! What does it matter why you like something?" he said soothingly.
"What do you mean?" the cold dead voice finally broke through.
Ah shit.
"You want to know the whole truth?" Dan asked finally.
"If you could grace me with it."
"The truth is ..." he delved into her mind and spread a feeling of satisfaction in her, at the same time as small tendrils of random events spread out to over-write the last ten minutes. "... that I thought I should take some time off. Spend more time around the house."
"That would be lovely!" Alice said excitedly. "Come on, I'll make us all pancakes!"
Dan poured some maple syrup on his and passed the jug along to Erif. The pancakes were delicious as always. He tried not to dwell on what had happened, he just had to accept that he would never be able to tell her.
"Hey, honey, you remember the thing I said earlier?" Alice asked, searching for something in the cupboard. She found it and straightened.
"Yes? Maybe. It depends." he replied, taking a large piece of pancake into his mouth.
Suddenly a pain stabbed his heart and soul, his back felt like it shattered into millions of pieces and everything went red.
"Remember how I swore to God I would kill you if you did that to me again?" he heard her ask through a thick mist in his mind.
He mumbled something. It didn't matter what. As she pulled the knife out of his back, he was already dead.
|
"Julie, there's something I have to tell you." Jim said before taking a long pause.
"What is it, Jim?"
"I'm not sure the best way to do this, so I'll just say it... I'm The Amazing Hero". Julie was taken aback. Jim looked into her eyes to try and read her reaction, but she kept looking away. "Say something, please."
"We can't see each other anymore." Julie finally said after a gap of uncomfortable silence. She started to walk away toward the door, but Jim rushed past her, blocking her exit.
"What do you mean? You have to understand why I couldn't tell you before. Are you angry I kept this a secret for so long?"
"No, it's not that." Julie took her own long pause. "I'm WitchLady"
"Oh. Should we... fight now?"
"Yeah, I guess we don't have a choice. Let's go change and I'll meet you outside in 10 minutes."
| 2014-04-21T10:00:08 | 2014-04-21T09:51:43 | 69 | 47 |
[WP] During a bank robbery you're surprised when the criminals seem to recognize you and retreat in fear. Only later do you learn that your high school sweet-heart now runs a global crime syndicate and has you placed on a "No Harm" list. You decide to pay them a visit after all these years.
|
I couldn’t see them through the bag, but I could hear the men beg. It was pointless, but they didn’t know that yet. How could they have known? I have a capture/kill order on me worth “A fucking shitton”, as one of them eloquently explained. I tried to explain that they needed to let me go, but it fell on deaf ears.
Well, I *had* a capture/kill order on me.
The voices got angrier and more desperate. I heard the phrase “crazy bitch”, immediately followed by three gunshots, and the sound of someone spitting and muttering something. I said that exactly one time a few years ago, and I’m lucky I didn’t meet the same fate. She doesn’t take kindly to crazy.
“Nat, you have to quit doing this. Either kill me or let me be, please. This is getting ridiculous”.
“Oh come on babe, you’re still alive. They didn’t even hurt you, I got here well in time.”
“Miranda and the kids have to be worried sick. They even broke a rib, come on. How am I going to explain this?”
“I can’t hear shit you’re saying, hang on.”
Nat lifted the bag off my head and pulled up a chair across from me. She looked….stunning. Something about the leather jumpsuit, and the handgun leisurely held in her left hand resting on her thigh. And the icy blue eyes—crisp, intelligent, and terrifying. They spoke to me when we were kids, and I fell in love with her, harshly and completely. Now, years later and worlds apart, her exterior match what they were saying.
“Actually, hang on again. Lemme untie you too, sorry about that.”
She sheepishly grinned and went behind me. I caught a brief hint of light vanilla, her regular perfume, as she cut the bonds tying my hands and feed. She’d used the same thing since high school; I’m glad some things don’t change.
Nat ran a hand over my chest, “the rib isn’t even broken you puss. You’re bruised at best. You’ve gotta sack up a bit. Finally play a contact sport or something. Don’t they have intramural leagues for people like you?”
“You didn’t have to kill those guys. They didn’t know any better. Hell, I would’ve killed me for that much money. They were just doing their jobs.”
“I have to stop drinking, I’m sorry. You know you’re under my protection, right? Nobody in the whole world can harm you. Nobody in my world can touch you. Those guys touched you. So they died. You’re protected.”
“Yeah, until you get hammered and put a kill order on me after scrolling through Facebook and get reminded that I have your number blocked.”
A flash of anger crossed her tired face. Talk about the Sunday scaries, right? I decided to dial it back a bit. She was probably incredibly hungover, and managed to drag herself out of bed to make sure I didn’t get gutted. I softened my tone a bit.
“Thanks for saving me, again. I’ll unblock the number, that was undeserved.”
She smiled. We both got up, and she hugged me. It hurt the rib a bit, but that was fine.
“You know how I complained about mixed signals? Moving me from protection to kill probably confuses the hell out of people. Glad someone else feels my pain. I mean, those guys don’t really anymore, but you get the point.”
“I’ll get a jet for you home. I’m so sorry about this, this is the last time, I promise. You won’t see me again.”
We broke a bit from the hug, and I could see her face. The ice in her eyes had briefly melted, creating trails down her face. This wasn’t the hug of two people who would never see each other again. It wouldn’t be the last time.
“A jet? Where the hell am I?” I laughed a bit, and it broke the tension. She grinned and wiped her face.
“Just south of the border. Don’t’ worry about customs or anything, I own a few guys. I’ll get you a car too when you land. You can keep the car, and I’ll get a vacation for you and the family. She won’t care too much if you come back with that. I’ll get you some clothes too, honestly you’re covered in blood and look like shit. They might’ve broken your nose a bit. Sorry about that.”
She looked at her feet.
“I have things I need to do today, so this is it. This really is the last time. Tell your wife I’m sorry, if it comes to that.”
We said our goodbyes and hugged again. She sounded more convinced that time.
I hope she wasn’t.
|
I am slowly filling out the forms the bank clerk handed when suddenly six guys in balaclavas burst in an announce a holdup. They start holding people in small groups, waving their guns around. One of them made a contact with me, his eyes opened wide, his gun aimed at me, i stared him down, now all of them looked at me, and slowly backed away like a pack of raptors when challenged by a T-rex.
I caught a whiff of something, a scent, females robbing the bank?
The leader kept her gun pointed at me, while the other stuff their bags with cash, a confused look evident in her eyes.
Those eyes seem familiar, like i had looked at them many times before.
One of the robbers grabbed her by the shoulder and said let's go then looked at me while running out of bank door.
And in an instant, gone.
All that work casing out this bank ruined.
My phone buzzed and i opened a message.
"You shouldn't have come here Frank. I can't promise to keep you safe forever."
The number's unlisted and probably be burnt, but i know who it is.
| 2018-03-03T04:06:41 | 2018-03-03T02:32:45 | 36 | 18 |
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