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[WP] You buy a special camera at the pawn shop. Every photo you take, it shows a snapshot of 10 years ago. You take a picture of your dog and it shows him 10 years ago when he was a puppy. Everything is all fun and games, until you decide to take a picture of your bedroom one night.
|
I brushed the dust and gunk off the new Polaroid camera. Well, it wasn't 'new' but it was new to me. Pawn shops have always been a fun place to find cheap toys. There seemed to be a full roll of film still in the camera too!
On the way out the door I snapped a picture of Rex, my German Shepherd just to make sure the camera worked. If it didn't I planned to take it home and use the parts on my mechanical 'new-age' art project. As I shook and blew the Polaroid I bent down to pet Rex. "You're such a good boy, let's see how good you look in an old camera!" To my astonishment the picture developed and Rex was but a puppy. A very small puppy actually-one that should still be nursing; eyes closed, ears closed and posed as though he were waddling around for a nipple. Rex just had his 10 year birthday a few weeks ago and CERTAINLY wasn't a puppy.
At first I thought the film might be pre-exposed, but I personally watched the photo form. Baffled, I snapped a picture of the pawn shop behind me. The bars on the windows were gone, the graffiti was different and the sidewalk was cleaner. It just felt like a freshly developed picture from a decade ago.
I rushed home with Rex to tell my roommate about this camera. No way would David ever believe this. I threw open the front door and rushed into David's room.
"Bro, you are NOT going to believe this camera man. It's like it takes pictures from the past!"
"Fuck off man, I've got a research paper to write before Thursday."
"No, I'm serious, look at these. This is Rex! I just took this about 20 minutes ago!"
"Cool story bro, you have a picture of a puppy. Honestly, man, I don't have time for your nonsense right now."
"Ugh.. let me show you."
I took a picture of David as he flipped me off. Pulling the photo from the camera I shook it off and watched as it slowly started to form.
"HAHA Oh my GOD! Are you serious? You had a bowl cut? You look like you were stuck in the 1990s!" I exclaimed as I showed him the picture.
"Holy shit man! That's me! Where'd you get this picture?"
"I just took it! I tried to tell you!"
We tried to make sense of the situation but, naturally, it wasn't easy. "Dude, this is cool, lets see what this house looked like 10 years ago." David said. This sounded like a great idea. I took a picture of the living room. The furniture was all different, floral couches, with a light blue paint on the walls. There was a recliner in the corner of the living room with a middle-aged balding man in it. He wore dirty jeans and a white under-shirt. On the end table was a mixture of cans and bottles of beer.
"Who the hell is that?" David said.
"I don't know, I guess the person that lived here ten years ago." I wasn't really sure who that was either. I didn't know much about the home's history, and as a renter I didn't really care.
"Lets go see what our rooms looked like. The living room was disgusting. " I said.
We first went into my room. As a college student there wasn't a lot in my room. I rented the basement room out of a mid sized single family home since renting a room was the most economical option. I centered the mattress on the floor in the frame and snapped a picture. When the picture loaded I stared in disbelief.
"What's your room like?" David said.
I began to tremble as David came over to look.
On the floor was a young woman, tied up and gagged. She was mostly undressed with scratches covering most of her upper body. She was looking toward the doorway with tears filling her eyes and running down her cheeks as she sat on her knees, hands bound behind her back.
"Oh my God! Oh my God!" David said. "What the fuck is THIS? Is that Megan? Bro if this is a joke I swear to god you better tell me now. This is fucked up and it's not funny."
"I-if this is a joke I'm not in on it." I told him.
"What is she looking at? I don't even want to be in this room right now man, this is messed up. Should we call the police?" David said, trembling. Megan was a student at our university who infamously came up missing many years ago. People tell stories about her murder or capture but nobody ever really knew what happened to her. The entire town was shaken when it happened. This was a college town with a small community feel and a very low crime rate.
I took a photo of the door way as if to see what she was looking at. The resulting photo was clearer than the one taken in the living room. You could clearly see a heavy-set man with a white shirt leaning against the door jamb holding a bottle in one hand. His face was instantly recognizable. The pawn shop owner, minus a few years of age. I knew that face anywhere. I have been to the pawn shop at least once a month for years. I began to hyperventilate.
"Oh, my god David, it's Gary, the pawn shop guy! I know him!" I said breathing heavily.
"Does he know what this camera is? Does he know where you live? Why would he sell you this? We have to go to the police!" Dave was starting to get nervous.
Suddenly we heard a heavy pounding at the door.
*knock knock*
From the other side a familiar voice shouted "Open up, I know you're in there."
|
I took the picture, smiling inwardly. I wonder how it'll look? I'd only been living there for a few months - I wonder what it had been like 10 years ago? What pictures would be up on the walls? Was the building even 10 years old?
I went to the darkroom, dipping the photo into the chemicals. I'd always enjoyed the process - it gave me time to think, to be lost in that secluded world of darkness. I felt strangely safe in it.
I hung up the photo, going outside to feed Max. I framed the picture I took of him as a puppy - he'd been so cute back then, but worryingly thin. As a rescue dog, it made me even happier that I'd found him. I gave him a treat along with his food - I'd been taken even better care of him lately, seeing how he'd looked so many years ago. He needs all the love he can get.
Back to the darkroom. It was silly, but I was excited to see the picture. Most of the images I'd took had ended up being very banal, but something about this one filled me with intrigue.
I took the picture off the wire, peering into it in the darkness. It didn't seem to have developed properly - it was so dark. I let my eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and I looked closer into the image.
The picture wasn't dark. It seemed obscured, almost as if there was a figure standing too close to the camera.
Then I saw it - then I saw her.
*Looking directly into the camera*.
Suddenly Max whined outside. I'd never heard him make that noise, and it made me instantly drop the photo. I turned to open the door, but the handle was stuck. No - the door was *locked*.
Max was barking, growling. I'd never heard him like that. I beat at the door, hitting it with all my might, but it wouldn't budge. Panicking, I grabbed the photo again, lifting it to my face.
The room was bare. The figure gone.
Something slammed against the wall, and I heard Max's muffled cry.
Then she came for me.
| 2016-12-22T07:21:31 | 2016-12-22T03:14:16 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You are a mobster. A particularly successful one at that. But as your turf becomes gentrified, the absurdly priced furniture in your 'Front' store actually starts selling.
|
It's after 9am when Smiley Jack, Vinny, and No-Ears get back from the truck heist upstate. They come in through the back door of Vizzini's Fine Furniture and fall into the chairs around the pool table. Vinny's got a rag pressed to the side of his neck where the truck driver cut him. Smiley Jack's looking at his forearms and hands, which are covered in the truck driver's blood. No-Ears, a man of incredible stupidity, picks at some bits of fuzz on his jacket.
"What the fuck was that?" Smiley Jack says.
"Driver wanted to be a hero," Vinny says.
Smiley Jack, most definitely not smiling, says, "The fuck he did. That doesn't just happen. Somebody put him up to it."
"Who you think? That Utica outfit? The -- what are they called -- Salami brothers?"
No-Ears laughs until his head lolls backwards. "Salami brothers."
Smiley Jack swats No-Ears on the knee. "Shut up," he says. "It's the Salamaccis, and it coulda been them, or the Mezzos, or those Japs out of Buffalo. Coulda been anyone."
"There was a girl saw us coming into the shop," No-Ears says.
"What?" Vinny says.
"There was a girl at the end of the alley who saw us come in."
"Jesus," Smiley Jack says. "Why didn't you say something?"
"She looked scared. She probably wouldn't call the cops or nothing."
Vinny's out of his seat and pacing. "Now you got me thinking about the cops while I'm fucking bleeding out over here."
No-Ears sinks down in his chair. "Probably wasn't nothing. Just some girl."
A bell tinkles from the front of the store.
Smiley Jack's face goes red. "You didn't lock the store last night?"
No-Ears says, "We were in a rush."
The intruder calls out, "Hello? Anybody here? I'd like to buy that darling sidetable in your window display."
"It's a customer?" Vinny pulls the rag away from his neck. It's shiny with fresh blood. "I can't go out there."
No-Ears says, "I don't wanna go neither."
Smiley Jack says, "Well I fucking look like I just stabbed a guy to death, which I did, so it's not like there's a lot of options, is there? You're going."
"I don't wanna. What do I say to them?"
"Fuck, Jesus, just say whatever. Get rid of them."
Vinny says, "Tell them it's a couple Gs. Tell them we're closed."
Reluctantly, No-Ears heads to the front of the store.
"Can't be the cops, can it?" Vinny says.
"We're fucked if it is," Smiley Jack says.
"And if it's just some nosey yup?"
"Maybe No-Ears won't muck it too hard."
With grim faces, the two mobsters settle down to listen to the exchange.
No-Ears says, "Good morning, ma'am. Anything I can help you with?"
"Goodness," the customer says, "you've got no ears."
"That I don't, ma'am."
The customer takes a moment. "I'm interested in the wooden side table in your window display."
"It's a couple Gs," No-Ears says. "We're closed."
"Pardon?"
"What?"
"Pardon?"
"I said we're closed. And the side table is a couple Gs."
"That's not how bargaining works, young man. You either say you're closed or you throw out an impossible number, not both at once. So which is it?"
Smiley Jack puts a hand to his forehead. "Why do we keep this guy around?"
Vinny says, "He's my second cousin."
"Well he's got a head like shit heap."
Vinny shrugs.
"The side table is a couple Gs," No-Ears says at last.
"How many 'Gs' exactly?" the customer asks.
"Is three a couple?"
"A couple is two."
"Right, two is how much it is," No-Ears says.
"Two thousand?"
"Two Gs. But actually we're closed."
The customer audibly huffs. "I don't have time for this. Here's two thousand dollars cash. I'll take the side table with me."
"Um, you what?"
The customer speaks loudly. "Here's dollars! I'm taking the table!"
A minute later, No-Ears comes to the backroom with a fistful of cash. Vinny and Smiley Jack's face show a combination of disbelief, happiness, and upset.
"Hold on," Smiley Jack says. "How much are gonna make off that truck job?"
"Maybe 10 Gs," Vinny says.
"That's 10 Gs for staying up all night, you nearly died, and I killed a guy. What the fuck?"
No-Ears smiles blandly. "I liked that."
"Where'd we even get that side table?" Smiley Jack says.
"My nephew made it in shop class," Vinny says.
Smiley Jack shakes his head in confusion. "Ok, none of this makes sense. I guess sometimes we just get lucky. But for now let's focus on figuring out who's fucking with our jobs."
The bell tinkles in the front of the store.
The mobsters share shocked looks.
"Hello? Is somebody working? I'd like to buy the wooden chairs you've got."
All smiles, No-Ears heads out.
Smiley Jack and Vinny just stare at each other.
"I guess we're in a new line of work, now."
And so begins the bloodiest period in the history of antiquing.
*****
r/TravisTea
|
“Well, find another one,” I said to Anthony as he scribbled on the clipboard he was holding.
“But Paulie, there’s none left. This one,” he kicked the chair next to him, “is the last one. And a frightened old lady Main bought it yesterday, said it was an antique of unrivaled quality. These greasers moving into the neigherbourhood will buy anything if they think it's got a history."
We both laughed.
“Ah well, go find something to replace it. We’re making more from this place than we’ve collected from the boys in a month!”
“Ok P, and have I told you the furniture business really suits you,” Anthony chuckled.
“Get out of here,” I kicked my foot towards him.
He held up his clipboard, “I’m going, I’m going!”
The bell chimed as Anthony walked out the front door and I crouched down beside the latest couch we just pulled in. It was taken from a dumpster two blocks south and touched up by Anthony’s kid brother and a few of his mates.
I’d come to realise this business made a lot of sense. We could slap any price on this stuff and it’d sell. And we were now making more money from this than our usual operations.
The bell chimed again.
“What’ve you lost this time? Get moving!” I yelled out as I brushed off some tomato sauce caked into the couch.
“Mr Moltisanti, how’s business?” It was Fred from the FBI, who I knew had been leading the 5 year investigation into my family.
I slowly rose up and looked him and his buddy up and down, “what’s it to you?”
“We were just in the neighbourhood and thought we’d check in. And I thought I’d let you know I'm being taken off the investigation. The FBI has taken a new direction with organised crime and is throwing all funding at a new approach. Means suckers like us are being reassigned,” he said a little sadly.
“Is that right? And what’s this new direction?” I asked.
Both of them looked around on with a grin on their faces, “well, you don’t think people actually want this furniture do you?"
| 2019-08-10T15:13:40 | 2019-08-10T14:53:58 | 421 | 286 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
|
The end of all galactic life had been going on for nearly 10 standard cycles. The Enemy was as relentless as it was ancient, still no one knew where they had come from, or what their purpose was beyond mere universal destruction.
A long time ago, most sovereign governments and most of the colonies had all but given up the fight, realising they were horribly outnumbered and outgunned. Most made some effort or another to preserve life and civilisation. About half had launched massive expeditions to cross dark space to settle in other galaxies. Others built massive vaults on isolated planets where they froze their best and brightest to be thawed after the Enemy had left. Others still isolated themselves completely, destroying their links to the Network that allowed interstellar travel. The remainder simply gave up, thinking of extinction by the Enemy as the logical next step in galactic evolution, as if they were some sort of cosmic force of nature.
When I say 'most', I really mean *all but one*. One people still fought. They had been ravaged more than any other civilisation, enduring multiple planetary bombardments and ground invasions, and practically no effective single government remained, but *they still fought*, and in ways no one could predict or even comprehend. The Enemy was doubtlessly the most feared creatures in the Cosmos, but to those who remained alive, the Human was a close second.
There was a rumour, which I had recently confirmed from their own military, that they had at one point towed three small moons into orbit over one of the colonies under bombardment. These moons were then detonated at high speed at slingshot trajectories, which effectively turned them into planet-sized *shotgun blasts* that ripped the Enemy to shreds. According to their military, this tactic had been repeated and refined a few times since, and now the Enemy had withdrawn from any Human colonial system with an asteroid field.
And then there were their 'conventional' tactics. Humans would regularly 'booby-trap' their own equipment, leaving it behind on the battlefield when it was damaged so that the Enemy would die as they tried to salvage it. Many of them even carried explosives on their person into combat for similar purposes, and there were thousands of instances of these soldiers flanking the Enemy and detonating themselves behind their lines. To a Human, *anything* could be a weapon. One of their soldiers told me that anything that is 'harder, sharper, or pointier than your own body' can be a weapon. That mentality, combined with a penchant for ridiculous high-risk tactics had actually won them a fair amount of victories in the Endless War, some of which had been against those many who had enslaved themselves to the Enemy and now fought *for* them.
Yes, the Human was as feared as he was insane. And even knowing just how insane these Humans could be, I was still shocked when I heard about their most recent plan.
"These Network links literally punch holes in the fabric of space-time, right?"
"Yes..."
"And you can manufacture them fairly cheaply, right?"
"Well... cheaper than warships, anyway?"
"Right! So we figure, we construct, say, a hundred of the buggers, and use two of them for each of these devices!"
The Human was gesturing toward a blueprint hologram of an ancient device from their past, what they called a 'nuke'. Apparently, the ancient Human had been equally insane to the modern one, and had actually thought it a good idea to deploy *nuclear fission* as weapons on the battlefield. Which they had done, first sparingly and later - even knowing what it meant - on a global scale, in what the *utter morons* called the 'Third World War'. *Third*, can you believe that?!
"Let me get this straight," I pinched the back of my neck with my tail, still not quite believing what was being suggested, "You plan on replacing the fissile material in these bombs with Network links. Correct?"
"Yes!"
"And you are aware that this will, at the very least, tear open a hole in space-time, yes?"
"A black hole, yessir!"
"...you realise that this may actually unravel *reality itself*?!"
"It either works or it doesn't, Praetor. Either the Enemy dies, or we all die, Enemy included. If we don't do this, they live and we die."
There was a glaring hole in the Human Admiral's logic. "Or, you know, it could simply *not work* and we will have wasted tons of resources at something completely unproductive."
The Human waved an appendage my way in a strange side-to-side motion I had recently understood was some kind of *chiding* gesture.
"*Hope*," said the Human, "Hope is *never* unproductive."
|
"Sir you worry too much, the humans plan won't work"
"I just have a bad feeling Lieutenant Danstaik, humans are insane. You are too young to remember the zaartak disaster"
"What happened Admiral Gaaztuk?"
"The lutaak amarda had encircled a few human vessels at the zaartak system. The humans in an effort to escape launched all their nukes from the rear and hoped that the blast could launch them out of the trap"
"Did it work sir?"
"No, all the ships were vaporized in an instant. The luutaks never recovered from such a loss."
"The humans are sending us a transmission sir."
"This is Admiral Gaaztuk of the Taatiop, to whom am I speaking to?"
"This is Admiral Rice Crispies of the HMS USS Cereal Bowl. If you do not comply with our demands we will slingshot that dwarf star at your homeworld"
"That is absolutely insane"
"Exactly! Comply or die!"
| 2017-03-06T02:43:37 | 2017-03-05T22:15:01 | 121 | 78 |
[WP] You are a powerful mage whose job it is to build prisons for powerful mages that are impossible to escape. Today upon completing your masterpiece they lock you up in it.
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"What the hell! What blasphemy is this?" I howled as the guards dragged me into my open cell. The general tailed us and, not once, made eye contact with me. His eyes shifted all around the corridor.
The cell was in front of us. The guards pushed me inside and immediately shut the door before i made an iota of retaliation. The gaurds back away, as the general drew close to the enchanted bars of my cage.
"You are no prisoner. You are being protected." His gravelly and aged voice rang into my soft ears and bounced all through the empty halls.
"Then, why are you keeping me here?" I stood across from him. We matched eye to eye in height, yet he continued to avoid my gaze.
"A certain group wants you, people like you, for your power. They will stop at nothing to get it."
"What group?"
"The Mage Hunters. They are warriors bent on draining mana from people like you for their own gain. They only seek to plunge our world into a dark age."
"Then, let me face them. Mere warriors can't stop me. You know this."
"I and the king will not allow it. All of us is in great peril. We must keep you here till we rout the Hunters."
"You are all foolish. Give me a reason why i can not possibly face them on my own?"
He cleared his throat, "Their leader was said to be a summoner."
I froze. "A-a summoner? As in, the arbiter of creation and mana, summoner? The strongest known class of mages, summoner?"
The general nodded. I stumbled back into the wall of my cell while my gaze dropped to the floor. "I thought that was just a myth..."
The general pulls a scroll from within his armor, it appeared to be a letter. He unraveled it and noted the following, "King Dysley, their attack was fierce as it was quick. Their leader, whoever he is, made quick work of my kingdom and of my many men. Hellish creatures stormed through without effort. Dragons of no name, and dead legendary warriors given new life for a single purpose: spilling blood..."
"Enough! I-I am convinced..." He placed the scroll into the hands of his subordinate. I look up at him and he finally met my gaze.
"Vernia. You will stay here until we sort this out. We can not afford to let people like you out of our protection."
"Even still, i have to try! We need to mobilize all of the strongest mages to..."
A stomp from his steel armor shook my entire thin frame. "This is what must be done. You can not leave this place. I do not want to hear any more from you. You will only make things difficult for both of us."
He turned his back from me. "Your gaurds are still under your command. They can bring you books or other entertainment per request as well as food. Though, i must beg please, please, please do not try to leave this place."
"How can I? This is mage escape proof, remember?"
"I am aware, but I know better than to doubt the 'Empress of Knowledge'. Especially when she created her own cell."
His voice is now reduced to a whisper as on of his soldiers brought a handkerchief. Though, I can not see it, I know he was in tears. "I do not want to see you get hurt..."
"Pardon?" I perked up ears.
"...the kingdom do not want to see you get hurt." His clanking armor echoed through the empty halls of a freshly made prison. In between the clammy metal, I heard soft weeping.
I sat on a stool by a window with bronze bars that I could never break. The room was cramped, as a cell for criminals would be, perhaps it was my height that made it feel more cramped than it is. Regardless, this would be my new home. A sad little bed, an empty bookshelf and a tattered little stool with a depressing table to accompany it. A lone guard stood by my cell. He looked off into the distance while i tried to familiarize myself with it. It was strange to be the first prisoner of my own creation, let alone a prisoner at all.
"Excuse me."
The guard turned his head. "Madame Vernia!"
"Please, just Vern. May I request for a bigger bed?" I knew well that my feet would hang from the end of it and it would drive me mad. The least I can do is make myself comfortable.
"That can be arranged. Though, i must handcuff your hands and shackle your ankles to this cage so-"
"I know how this works, dear. I made this place and all of its precautions."
The guard simply nodded. He was conflicted, he did not appreciate me interrupting him but he is visibly afraid of me to speak out. Is it of my stature or my magical prowess? Either way, as I stuck my hands and feet through the bars, I apologized to him. He quickly chained me to my cell gate and fetched for my new bed. All the while, I thought about what I must do to break free. They will need me. Hell, they need all of the strongest mages to handle this threat. It may not be tomorrow, or a day or week or month afterwards, but, for the sake of this kingdom, it will happen.
|
The trick is in the mind. Any substantially powerful mage can simply alter the mana-matrix of any walls or chains, or convert them into pure mana AKA: more power for said mage. So how *does* one keep a mage under lock and key? Easy, you convince them not to leave. Or, more precisely, you convince them that they aren't locked up at all. By KOing them at an unexpected time and putting their mind into a simulation, you can make them believe almost anything.
I knew I'd ruffled some noble feathers, so when I woke up in a quaint countryside village reminiscent of my hometown, the jig was already up. From there it was simple. All I had to do was find the interface, an object that the warden used to monitor the simulation from the outside, and use it to wake my body up, thereby freeing my mind. But then my daughter, my little Amira, appeared. Amira has been dead for five years. The thought of anyone, much less my captors, sullying her rest enraged me. Not a loud, explicit rage. This rage was the quiet kind, the kind that put every ounce of power I had into revenge.
The explosion of Duke Felio's mansion? ME.
Viscount Brynon's long, painful, and ultimately fatal, sickness? ME.
Baron Kodh's apparent suicide by shotgun? ME!
However, I know that I have caused immense suffering far beyond the targets of my revenge. I hope that you can find a way to forgive me for what I have done in your name, my daughter, for we shall have an eternity. I will be with you soon, my dear Amira.
| 2022-03-26T14:12:59 | 2022-03-26T13:53:55 | 48 | 31 |
[WP] Earth narrowly defeats an attack from an alien race. During the peace negotiations, one alien asks “Why didn’t you use the death beams?” You look confused, so the alien points at a photo of the Egyptian pyramids and says again “Why didn’t you use the death beams?”
|
“Surrender is never an easy call to make. I’m thankful you could see that this war would only further damage both our species in the long run.” Captain Janet Henderson gave her former alien adversary a pat on his back, trying to show there were no hard feelings over the near destruction of Earth.
“Admittingly, our surrender was more out of respect than any fear of destroying your planet. Why didn’t you use your death beams? You could have cut our forces down in minutes and yet you spared us heavy causalities. Even on the brink of extinction, you showed restraint and mercy. We would have to be rather cruel to not offer you the same mercy back.” Vada Lint focused his singular green eye on Janet, the eight-foot-tall alien commander, trying to read her face. Janet only gave a small laugh in response.
“Death beams? You think we have death beams?”
“You don’t need to hide them from us. I understand you may be hesitant to discuss your weaponry with us, but I only wanted to enquire about why you didn’t use them.” He leaned over the table before them, his bulky armor shifting as he reached for the holographic display panel. He tapped his three fingers on the panel before displaying a hologram of the pyramids. “Amazing feat of engineering. How you positioned them in such a tactical position is astonishing. Not to mention its design, funneling the beam into a concentrated point of maximum efficacy is ingenious.”
Janet leaned forward with the Commander, staring at the hologram of the pyramids, wondering if the other was kidding. The pyramids only held the corpses of dead pharaohs, right? Janet didn’t even know if that was right. She had forgotten all her ancient history knowledge after she left school twelve years ago. She kept silent, trying to pretend she was in deep thought.
“Right, If I’m being honest, we still aren’t entirely confident in the design, its fairly new technology to us. I can’t tell you much about it, only that we feared what might happen if we unleashed it without proper testing. A weapon as powerful as a death beam needs to be thoroughly tested or it could have done more than just wiping out an enormous chunk of your population.” Janet bluffed, fearing what might happen if the other found out their act of kindness was simply one of naivety.
“I’m sorry, on behalf of the Zaliaran’s I must apologize. I thought humans were mindless creatures, animals in need of an extermination. If I knew you had such sound reasoning, I never would have agreed to fight this pointless war. I hope we can put this matter in the past and look at developing a future bond between our kind. It will be hard, but we will do what we can to help rebuild Earth, making it better than it was when we arrived.”
Vada Lint gave Janet a respectful nod before lowering his head, staring at the ground before them with a frown. Janet didn’t expect the alien to show such remorse for his actions, only giving him another pat on his back. “Thank you. That means a lot. We were both foolish. For us humans, the excitement of seeing aliens made us a little less rational. Had we kept our composure, we could have avoided conflict and explained ourselves. Let’s just be thankful things ended when they did, and no one had to see what the death beams could do.”
“Yes, yes, that is for the best. Thank you for your time today, Janet, it’s been nice speaking to you without the use of a transmitter. Perhaps when the political side of our negotiations has finished, we can meet up and discuss strategies? If we are forming an alliance, I would love to run over some joint defensive maneuvers with you. Whenever you are free.”
Janet smiled, putting her hand out towards Vada Lint. “A handshake, it’s a common Earth greeting, not sure if you have it.” She explained before continuing. “I would be happy to discuss strategy with you. I have some questions about your ships that I have been dying to get answered. It could be beneficial to us both.”
Vada Lint stared at her hand, awkwardly twisting his wrist, trying to get his hand into the right position. Eventually, their fingers locked, and they exchanged a firm shake. “I’ll bring our blueprints then.” With that, Vada Lint left the room, leaving Janet alone. When she was certain he was out of earshot, she slipped her phone from her pocket.
“This is Janet, transmission number eight, zero, two, four, one. Put me through to someone on our science team, anyone with a clearance level 2 or lower. I need to discuss some ancient history with them.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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"Oooooh, those death beams. We, uh, just, uh, didn't want you to feel bad about how badly we'd have beaten you, ya know, had we dusted then off. We keep those for the real threats." You say, trying to change the subject.
"But during our war we estimate we killed over 3/4 of Earth's population. Why wouldn't you have used the death beams?" He asks again.
"Yeah, those probably would have come in handy, but you know how it is, you have all these new fighter jets and missiles, hardly time to fire up the death beams these days..."
"Death beams are the most powerful weapon a planet could have, why wouldn't you use the death beams?"
"The death beam guy was on vacation, he had the keys with him", you say, hoping they fall for it.
The alien looks to his assistant mumbles something inaudible and nods, he turns back to you, "You don't know how to use them do you?"
"Um, of course we do, they are just being painted right now, gotta get a fresh coat of paint on the ol death beams"
The alien turns to his assistant again, "This changes everything. Negotiation over. Send wave 2."
| 2021-11-15T21:08:50 | 2021-11-15T20:09:00 | 254 | 95 |
[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard.
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"At least the ale's good here." Balthazar broke his spell of thought by speaking aloud to himself before he entered the small town's shabby tavern, its worn wooden sign telling him he was in the right place.
Balthazar entered the tavern with a dramatic show of swirling magical fog and lights. "Behold, a Royal Magician beckons for the Chosen of the Realm." Balthazar announced as was tradition and befitting his high station.
The buzz of conversation and carousing in the tavern paused for only a moment before resuming. The bartender behind his long oak bar merely nodded to acknowledge Balthazar's arrival. He sat at the bar and waited for the server to acknowledge him further and get him a drink, looking to see if anyone was watching him.
Dressed in a dazzling blue robe, Balthazar did stand out from the muddy crowd of groundlings, but they paid him no heed.
*I suppose I am early.*
Frothy white foam stuck to the hairs of his grey mustache as he drank a mouthful of lukewarm amber liquid gleefully.
"Oi Wizard!" An ancient hunch-backed man seated at a corner table called out to Balthazar over the rumble of noise. "Oi!"
Balthazar set his tankard down on the bar and wiped his mouth before turning slowly and gracefully. "That's Royal Magician to you."
"Forgive me. In my day it was 'wizards.' Join me." The older man wheezed and coughed as he stood and opened his arms to invite Balthazar to sit with him. "Good. Now we can chat."
"And who are you dear elder who would call upon me so?"
"I was once a reluctant farm boy raised to tend the land. I was called upon by one like you to fulfill a greater purpose. Upon my end, I returned here again to wait for you."
"I'm not here for you, old one. You would know full well I'm here for the new Chosen. Who was your appointed Magician?"
"Raspbudin the Red. A dear friend of mine in his time."
"I'm Balthazar the Blue. Red Magicians are forbidden, old one. Do not speak of him again."
"Oh, yes, that's right. They are." The man leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. Balthazar took the moment to examine the man's face, so wrinkled his eyes were nearly shut and scarred in at least a dozen places. "Can you remind this old one why again?"
"Discussion of that is also forbidden. Are you senile, have you forgotten? Who would allow one like you to hold such secrets, shrouded and kept safe by a feeble mind? I don't have time for this." Balthazar stood and scanned the tavern for the Chosen he was to meet.
"Sit." The man commanded and Balthazar obeyed.
"Petty trickery! You should not have done that." The blue wizard glared across the round table at the old man who simply smiled. Or he seemed to, but with all the wrinkles his mouth barely moved.
"Looks can be deceiving, can't they?" The ancient one taunted the younger man who placed his fingers together and bowed his head low.
A blue orb of crackling energy formed between Balthazar's hands and exploded in a flash of light that blinded the entire tavern. When their sight returned the two men and their table were gone.
"This is my dimension. I control here. Do not attempt to resist." Balthazar spoke imperiously in a haughty tone. "To compel a blue magician of the Royal Orders you are not a mere old man. What are you?"
"Retired."
"Then why were you waiting for me? Answer!" Azure tendrils emanated from Balthazar's fingers and wrapped around the old man's frail form tightly.
"Because I am the Chosen you sought."
"That isn't an answer you stupid fool!" The blue magician pulled the cords tighter still. He could hear the strain on the old man's beaten body.
Balthazar saw red. It was a dim light at first but grew in intensity until seeped through the white void, staining in deep crimson. He grabbed at his cords attached to the man to attempt his coup de grace, but they dissolved in his hands. "What is this? How?"
"There are more sources of magic than what is taught in your towers. Ones more humble and basic. Ones more powerful and dangerous. The combinations are taboo because they are potent. If the peasants only understood." The old man shrugged but remained seated and still. "Back to your tower, wizard. We will come for you soon." Red turned to black and Balthazar's tower office materialized around him. The old man was gone, but left a copy of a little red book in Balthazar's hands.
/r/courageisnowhere
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The wizard made his way through the crowd before finally coming to a standstill beside the Chosen One. He cleared his throat and -putting on a smile- gingerly tapped the older man the shoulder. "Excuse me?"
The Chosen One glared at him. "What?"
"Hi. Hello. Yes. I'm here to-"
"Your hat looks funny. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back toward him.
The wizard blinked. Then he frowned and -rolling up his sleeves- tapped the Chosen One on the shoulder again, a bit forcefully. It was more of a poke, if we're being honest.
"What?" The Chosen One glared over his shoulder at him. "Oh, it's you again."
"Yes. It is I again. And I do not have time for these silly games!"
"Then leave. Your breath smells. Get away from me." The Chosen One turned his back.
The wizard fumed and yelled, "That's it! I challenge you to a due-"
"Hold on." The Chosen One got off his stool and walked past the wizard.
"W-w-where do you think you are going?!" the wizard sputtered. "I am challenging you to a duel!"
The Chosen One burped and waved a hand dismissively as he walked away. "Your wand looks stupid. Get away from me."
| 2022-03-08T12:28:50 | 2022-03-08T10:36:49 | 226 | 30 |
[WP] You are trapped in a small, windowless room with nothing but a computer with a text editor. When you type in a word, the object appears in the room. However, there's a catch: the only keys on the keyboard are in the first half of the alphabet (A - M).
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"H-A-M-M-E... damn."
"M-A-L-L-E... damn."
"B-E-D."
With a small *pop* a simple single bed pops into existence, red sheets and a pillow. I'm not sure how it knows to make a single bed rather than a double, or a bunk bed, or whatever. Maybe it's time to test.
"B-E-D."
*Pop*. Another single bed pops in, the same size but a different design, with blue sheets instead of red, and the room is now much more cramped. Maybe testing it out with "bed" isn't the best idea.
"B-E-L-L. B-E-L-L. B-E-L-L." One after the other, three small bells appear. Thankfully, none of them are gigantic church bells - all are simple hand bells, fairly light and completely useless to me. But, it gives me an idea - even if I can't spawn an item that can get me out directly, I may be able to create something that I can dismantle for parts.
-----
Twenty minutes later, I was trying to determine if my light-headedness was due to a lack of oxygen in the room, or just panic. No 'r' for "air", or 'o' for "door". "Out" and "window" were obviously out of the question. Got a couple of beds and some bells, but nothing to dismantle the beds with for parts.
A sudden burst of brainpower. "G-A-L-E" I type in, and a blast of air hits me in the face, almost knocking me to the ground. Everything in the room rattles, and two of the bells clatter to the floor and skitter around, before the blast of wind subsides. "Well, at least I've got a source of air. Not exactly ideal, but it'll do."
"M-E-D-I-A."
*Pop*. A TV appears on the wall, active without any apparent source of power. No remote, and it does not appear to have any other buttons but the ON/OFF button. On the TV is a news show, showing a wildfire raging through somewhere in America. Well, it's a start. A link to the outside world. A very important one, considering the next part.
"F-A-M-E."
The TV flickers for a moment, and nothing appears to happen. Then, a little red bar drifts across the bottom of the screen. "POSSIBLE LINK TO MISSING MAN". The newscaster breaks off from the literal wildfire story to a more metaphorical one, now covering my disappearance. Now people are looking for me, but I have no idea where I am. I have air, but I need food and water to survive for any longer than a couple of days.
Three clicks later, I had some ham. Could have some beef too, if I wanted later, washed down with some nice delicious kale and figs. Wonderful. Not exactly nutritious, but it would do. Water would be harder.
Ah.
"H-A-I-L." A flurry of hailstones hammered down on top of me. I quickly held up two of the bells, catching as many as I could in them, and as the hailstorm ceased I jammed the bells into a gap in the side of one of the beds to melt for later. Basics sorted, though the obvious problem now would be excrement. Ah well.
Oh. "M-I-L-K." A bottle of milk appeared next to me, far easier to deal with than a hailstorm. Well, at least I was thinking outside the box. Outside the box...
Another brainwave, this one much more dangerous. I looked at the two beds, then at the three bells. *Tap-tap-tap-tap*.
A beefburger. *Tap-tap-tap-tap*
A steak. *Tap-tap-tap-tap*
A slab of raw beef. Whatever I typed in, it created the version of it that I wanted. I wanted a small bed, so it gave me one. I wanted small bells, it gave me them. I wanted beef, but changed what I wanted every time, and it gave me whichever version I wanted.
I drank the milk, then focused on the bottle. "F-I-L-L."
It filled with water. It seemed like whatever was creating these items wasn't as monkey's-paw-ish as I feared. It could have killed me any time by spawning in a church bell or filling the entire room with something. The next bit was more interesting, though. "F-I-L-L." I typed again, focused on what I wanted. The bottle emptied.
Or, more accurately... it filled with *air*.
I smiled, typed in the same four letters, and stared at the wall, focusing on the six-foot-high, three-foot-wide, ten-foot-deep area of it that I wanted to fill with air, and pressed "Enter".
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After pacing for an hour and thinking about what could help me get out of the room, I grow tired of standing and want to sit down.
I type.. C, H, A, I.... damn, can't use R.
Hmm.. How about B, E, D... cha ching!
A queen size bed appears, with a very nice wooden frame I might add.
I lay in silence for a while thinking of something to help me kill my boredom from being stuck in this very basic prison.
I shuffle over to the computer and type...M,E,A,L...Boom!
A delectable 3 course meal appears on the bed, drink and all. Broccoli and cheddar soup, roast duck with garlic mashed potatoes, a piece of cherry pie and a tall glass of wine...mmmm.
After eating my fill, my focus shifts to entertainment.
What would be the best thing to be stuck in here with?
What could help me pass the time and also keep me interested for a while?
What would I not mind doing for the foreseeable future, over and over again?
Then it hits me!
I run over to the computer and giggle as I type....M,I,L,F.
I live happily ever after :)
| 2017-05-09T08:27:02 | 2017-05-09T08:13:25 | 909 | 85 |
[WP] People believe the Gods decide all of our fates, but they've actually been rolling d20s to make decisions for millions of years
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Siming, Master of Fate, Director of Life lounged on his bench, bored. Within the Heavenly Court, Siming was responsible for composing and chronicling the lives of mortal men. Stored within the great library were shelves upon shelves of stories of every mortal being that came to existence. This was an important task. He knew that. It was his passion. It was what he was created to do. It was his identity. He had spent millenia of his life composing great tales. Legends of war between countries. Generals whose cunning was so sharp, none could defeat him in the fields of battle save for a betrayal by his own trusted brother. A drunkard who possessed such martial skill, when he caused a riot, the Emperor had to send an entire army to control the situation, and eventually named him one of his personal bodyguards.
Yet as he unfolded the Lifescroll, the outline of every event that will come to pass to a person, Siming felt nothing but a sense of indifference. Sure, he loved composing grand and intricate tales, but what were the lives of mortals to a God? His peers were all busy playing politics within the court - plotting to deface one another, causing one to be banished, and another to rise to power. Even the Earthly Deities partook in the Great Game. Not long ago, the eldest daughter of the nine-tailed white fox tribe became betrothed to the Prince of Heavenly Court. Thich caused one of his concubine to create a scheme that would cause the fox to incur a penance by which she would lose all of her memory and live out a mortal life before returning to Godhood. The concubine was found out, of course, and was sent to exile for her treachery. Amidst such controversy, is it such a surprised that the Bureau of Mortal Lives has gone unsupervised and unaudited for millions of years? And so, Siming, the scholar with his head in the scrolls, was left to quietly deal with the consequences of the courtly intrigue - making adjustments and corrections to millions as hurricanes made landfall and famine struck the mortal realm.
He laid the Lifescroll flat onto the table, examining it. Chen. Female, fourteen years of age. She was a farmer’s daughter, and was in the mountains. Her father had taken ill, and she was foraging for herbs. Siming considered. This was a of little consequence. No one at court would bat an eye regardless of what happens to her. And so, Siming reached...no, not for the ink brush, but for a curiously shaped stone. The stone, cut to expose twenty faces of triangles, all of equal length and area, was his form of protest against the Court’s treatment of his station. If no one is going to care about his work, he might as well have a little fun - add a bit of variety in his otherwise meaningless duty. Siming rolled the stone across the table. It clattered against the bamboo slips, making clacking noises as it rolled to a stop. Seventeen. A good number. Chen would locate the herb she needed before sundown. Perhaps the old man would live after all.
Siming made the notation with his brush, and watched as Chen skillfully cultivated the herb with a smile on her dirtied face. She was not exactly pretty, yet for a commoner, she was one of the more attractive. Her nose was straight, and although her lower teeth had a slight overcrowding, it was straight enough that it would be easy to overlook. The dice had been kind to her. As Chen prepared to leave, Siming picked up the stone, and tossed once again. Four. She wandered about, taking the wrong path down the mountain. She was lost now. Unbeknownst to Chen, wolves were now encircling her position. The pack leader howled, and the pack joined in. The girl froze in terror. Siming quickly scooped up his stone. He furrowed his brow. He had taken a liking to this girl, and it would be a shame to watch fail now. He wanted to save the girl's life. Perhaps there was a way...He held his breath as it rolled across the table - not that a God needs to breathe, but it was a testament to his feeling of suspense. Twenty. Siming smiled. A man burst from the bush, sword gleaming in the moonlight. This was Prince Zhou, the heir of the local province. He had come on a hunting trip to the same mountain, and would never leave a defenseless girl to the wolves. Siming considered, remembering the scandalous controversy surrounding that White Fox. Even though a debt of life had been forged, these two would not fall in love so quickly, no love is a complicated, messy thing. Yet perhaps this may prove to be something interesting. Grinning, Siming waved for his assistants, commanding them to bring forth the Lifescrolls of the local nobility and servants. Perhaps his day may not be so boring after all.
(edit paragraphs)
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Hands shaking. Sweaty forehead. At this exact moment in time, he knows that all of his hard work, all of his investments, are up in the air. There has never been a more at stake.
For a brief moment, he questions his methods. Surely he shouldn't leave such an important decision, with human possible human extinction, to chance.
"I will never intervene again." He hangs his head distraught, those words have never haunted him to such a severity. He reaches for the die, but pauses.
"If I can't keep my promises, how could I fairly cast judgment on others? If I can't remain righteous, how can I expect that of the mortals?"
He grabs yet a second die.
"I'll let the die decide: 10 or lower I leave it to fate, higher and I decide."
A single tear emerges as he prepares the second die that absolutely must be rolled now; feels like it has infinite weight.
He breaths in deeply, closes his eyes, and throws the die with a purpose that hasn't been seen in a millennia.
"That's it then, may...I...have mercy on their souls."
Tears follow. Mistakes were made, regrets were had.
----------------------------
"And the results are in! Donald Trump is the 45th President of the United States!"
r/Promptfeces
| 2018-06-28T12:45:28 | 2018-06-28T11:27:51 | 73 | 22 |
[WP] After a long journey, you finally reach the dark lord's lair. Then your companion, who you met shortly after starting your quest, opens the door and says: "It's nice to be at home again, come in I'll make some tea."
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"What?" said Lyla, her golden hair brushing against her armor, as she turned her head to look at Argos. "What are you talking-"
"Dood, it's been a while!" yelled a voice from inside.
Lyla grabbed her sword, ready to face the Dark Lord's hordes, but all she saw was a tall and chubby red-skinned demon, two horns coming out of his head, a tunic saying "Hell is a Beaver Town" and what appeared to be burning herbs rolled up in gauze, which he held in his hand.
Argos didn't even hesitate and ran toward this demon, arms stretched out. "Dude! How's the old place been doing?"
The two hugged and talked over each other for a while, but still somehow understood what each was saying, which confused Lyla to no degree. After a while, the demon finally noticed her. She was ready to slash and cut her way through him, which made the next bit especially confusing in her mind.
"Ah, dood, is that your girlfriend?" said the demon, playfully elbowing Argos.
"Don't be an idiot, man. She's my friend. She's like my co-warrior. She's come here to help me defeat Stengos."
The demon's eyes lit up and he approached Lyla. She readied herself for combat, but all he did was spread his arms wide and smushed her in a bear hug. "Girl-Dood, it's a pleasure to meet you! Name's Zazel, but most people know me as Z. If you're a pal of Argos, you're a pal o'mine. Don’t see too many humans wanting to help out demons, so that’s good!
"Uh... Dude, I haven't totally explained the whole... demon... part."
"Oh, I'm sorry, dood," said Z, dropping Lyla. "Can you do that one the way to your brother, though?"
"Actually, I kinda wanted to make some tea, maybe explain things calmly?"
"Dood, your brother is a stone-cold bummer. He stays on that throne for five more minutes, we're all straight up gonna set fire to this place."
"Eesh," Argos winced. "Alright, if that's how it's gotta be. Come on, Lyla, I'll explain on the way."
Argos and Z started going down the corridor, but Lyla stayed behind, trying to figure it out. It didn't look like a trap, but then again, most didn't, and Argos seemed sincere, without any of the telltale signs of possession or mind control. Lyla pondered about what the best choice might be, but when Argos beckoned her forward, she decided to follow her instincts and keep going with him.
The three of them headed down the long, torch-lit corridor. It had a fine velvet carpet, with torches all along the walls, and paintings depicting various demons in regal clothing and accouterments. Occasionally, there would also be some doors or even a stained glass window, here and there.
"Ok, so here's the basics," said Argos turning back to look at Lyla, "I'm the Demon Prince."
Lyla gasped.
"Yes, I know, but hold on. Basically, Demons were generally a pretty chill people, up to when my dad was king."
"Man, King Yanos was tight. Dood could empty like five barrels of ale in a row and STILL be up for that extra shot of Hell Juice," interjected Z.
"But then," continued Argos, "he died and my brother, Stengos, usurped the throne and banished me. This was like 500 years ago."
"I'm sorry," Lyla interrupted, "you're 500 years old?"
"I know, dood doesn't look a day over 350."
"Yeah, well, basically, as soon as I left, Stengos decided to wage war on the rest of the world even though like 95% of demons were pretty happy with the current arrangement of 'basically, just relax'. I travelled around, looking for help, until I met you and we actually got this ball rolling to get me back here."
"Wait, if you're a demon, why do you look like a human?"
Z snorter and Argos blushed and elbowed him. "Sometimes, we demons came out looking pretty much human. It's rare, but it happens."
Z leaned back. "We used to call him Little Piggy when we were kids," he whispered to Lyla.
"So, what are you gonna do now?" asked Lyla.
"I'm gonna kick my brother off that throne, establish the peace..." Argos paused for a bit, and scratched his head, his fingers running through his ruffled black hair, "... and probably get wasted afterward."
"Sounds like a plan to me," said Z, stopping at the end of the corridor. "Don't forget to tell your brother he's a dick."
The three of them looked at the giant double doors in front of them, black but decorated with gold accouterments. Argos cracked his neck, before also cracking his fingers and kicked the doors open.
Inside, was a palatially beautiful throne room, filled with piles of gold and precious jewels, almost touching the ceiling and the perfectly sculpted diamond chandelier. At the other end of the room, sat a huge man, clad entirely in black armor, with horns sticking out of the helmet and a giant, black claymore next to him.
"Welcome, heroes," said the man, his voice booming with such strength it shook the room. "You have faced many perils to get this far, but now I'm afraid your journey has reached its denouement, for you face evil, in its most concentrated form. Though you may think yourselves strong, you are but mere knaves when dealing with- Ah shit, it's you."
Stengos stopped his monologue when he finally decided to raise his head and actually look at his opponents.
"Zazel, why didn't you stop them coming in?!" said Stengos, his voice much more squeaky and high pitched than it was before.
"Dood, sorry, but you're a dick," answered Z, taking a puff out of his weeds, and turning to Argos contentedly. "Dood, I don't need you to call him a dick anymore, I did that."
Argos gave Z a thumbs up and turned back to his brother.
"So, you gonna leave the throne? Or am I gonna have to drop brimstone down your pants again, like when you used to rat on me?"
"Don't you dare!" squeaked the Lord of All Evil. "I mean... I have powers beyond the imaginable, brother, you cannot possibly understand the magnitude of-"
FSCH!
A light arrow flew through the air and hit Stengos straight through the shoulder. Despite being made of light energy, it stuck in his shoulder, even as it started to ooze black blood.
"Owwwww! What the hell, man, I wasn't even done!" cried out the Nightmare of Ages.
Lyla didn't really know whether to put down her magical bow or not. Argos gestured to her to take it down a notch, so she put the bow away, terribly conflicted and confused about basically everything about this situation.
"As you can see, I have a Light Warrior with me, so you're pretty much defeated already. Just give me back the kingdom and I can give you like... I don't know, like you can be a Count or something. Sound fair?"
Stengos looked at the oozing wound on his shoulder and then back at Argos and company.
"Fine," he finally said, mumbling. "It was getting boring anyway, I would have declared peace in 200 more years anyway."
Stengos grabbed his Claymore and dragged out with him, mumbling all the way.
"Well, I'm glad that's settled," said Argos, rubbing his hands. "Lyla, you're pretty much the ambassador for the rest of the world, right?"
Lyla's bewilderment was through the roof. "I... guess?"
"Great. As the new king, I offer my kingdom's surrender, with certain conditions to be set at a later date, as well as fully monetary reparations for any damage sustained by your world during the Invasion. This sound fair to you?"
"Uh... Sure."
"Awesome, I knew you'd be reasonable Lyla, that's why I brought you. Alright, well that's done. Z, go tell the cooks and staff the new King expects a great banquet to celebrate the peace as well as a raging party afterward. Tell them to pull out all the stops, I wanna sacrifice a couple a' goats."
"Sure thing, dood," answered Z, while walking back to the corridor. "I'll also put the kettle on, make some tea and some of those special brownies. You know, to whet the appetite and shit."
"Nice," answered Argos.
And so, on that day, after 500 years of death, pain and suffering, the War with the Demon King, finally came to an end. Not with a bang, but with a whole lot of drunk Demons and one very confused Light Warrior.
|
Blood Castle, Home to Living Darkness, Dread Lair of the Dark Lord, a single bloody tooth set into Dragon's Maw Mountains, lit by a swirling cloud of ever-glowing near-unkillable flying, biting horrormouths. Black pollution blocked out the sky above, and occasionally bright white bolts of searing light would crackle into the air. The door was a writhing arch of agonised faces endlessly screaming.
Twelve long years had led to this moment. To a lot of moments, since I could see that the speckles were windows, and perspective shifted. A hundred floors, and the horrormouths were each the size of a cat. They hadn't seen us yet.
This was going to be tough. I looked at Merrisu, companion of my heart. Even now, her hair was as pure as gold, her eyes still amethyst, until she drew out the bag she kept tied around her neck, and pulled out a key, stepping forward.
The horrormouths noticed her and turned, and it was if the castle went from red to black, as if a thousand, thousand glowing eyes turned to stare at her. But they weren't eyes; they were wide mouths ringed with razor teeth.
"La la la!" she sang in that engaging way she had, as she skipped innocently forward. How many grizzled barbarians and surly barkeeps had she charmed with just that song, and her winsome smile, her dimpled cheeks?
"La la la, la la!"
Even the horrormouths seemed struck by how silly this was. She was going to die, and I felt frozen, unable to step forth. Her eyes had taken on a reddish hue. Her hair as well.
"Merrisu! Merrisu, come back, we need to plan. Come back!" I said, as the horrormouths whirled in an arrow, heading for Merrisu. I would never fight them all, but I might be able to get us to safety.
"La la la!" she sang, seeming oblivious to the horror that had paused, judging when and how to strike. "La la la, la la!" She skipped forward and turned the key in the lock.
As one, the horrormouths cleaved themselves to the dark and dripping stone, and the screaming mouths became gently contemplative. The dark smoke began to fade into the sudden, shocking silence.
My companion of these last eleven years or more opened the door. "It's nice to be at home again," she said. "Come in. I'll make some tea."
"Tea?" I said, looking around. The smell of flowers was seeping out from somewhere, and soft light was growing stronger. Sunlight.
"I'm absolutely gasping," said Merrisu, walking in.
I followed into a hall that rose to dizzying heights. I blinked when she threw a lever and all the black turned to gold set with bright enamelled flowers, and the lights came on.
"They're all dead," she added. "Shame really. But the leaves are in an enchanted canister and the spring is everflowing. I could have held out forever in a siege, but it would never have stopped, would it? Eleven years... nearly twelve. A blink of time. You'll help me raise the staff?"
"The staff?" I wasn't at my best, quite possibly because this was the living embodiment of a castle I had seen painted in every noblewoman's home, every book of childish fable. Someone had made it real, every overgilded gaudy detail of it. Diamonds were making rainbows of sunlight.
"Servants," she said. "You're a priest of the god of light and life, you can do it." She smiled so sweetly. "If you don't, I will, but only to animate their bones," she said.
"You're the Dark Lord?"
"I'm the Living Darkness, if that's what you mean. I make annoying people... useful. Did you like what I did with all those heads? Ripped out their eyes and made a mouth and ringed it with teeth and gave them an inner glow. They always think that if they can just bite someone, they can get their bodies back. Be human again."
"You're a monster!" I said, reaching for my warhammer.
"La la la!" she said, as if untroubled, skipping over to me. So innocent, so loveably. "La la la, la la!" She bopped my nose and giggled. "Tea?"
"That would be nice," I said automatically. I had lost something important. It would come to me.
"And then you can save all those lives," she said. "All those staff who starved, who killed themselves in despair, or each other for food. You can make it all better! Won't that be nice? Won't that be good? To raise innocents?"
My god would want me to. "It would."
"Do you swear on your god you will?"
"I swear," I said, looking into those amethyst eyes. She was so very likeable. And unique. One could not help but love her.
"Here's your symbol. I've been keeping it for you. Off you go then, and I'll go and get that tea. And then we can all start to rebuild the garden." She giggled, a chime of silver bells that lifted my heart, and skipped away. "La la la! La la la, la la!"
| 2020-06-17T14:55:25 | 2020-06-17T13:50:33 | 26 | 10 |
[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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"Never use it again, Tommy. Just don't."
One of my earliest memories is my father telling me this after Molly, our English Springer Spaniel died. 'Never use it.' Words to live by. I loved Molly. She loved me, too. When she got old and went blind, the 10-year-old me just didn't understand why I had to be careful with her. She was still our Molly but she was afraid. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid of the darkness. I should have known better but I didn't. I was only 10. I didn't mean to scare her. She didn't mean to nip me. I didn't mean to do what I did but at that moment I was just so scared. She'd never done anything like that before. She didn't deserve or understand what happened to her in her darkness. It made it worse having to see her every day. I supposed I'd get over it. Eventually.
Don't use it. Never use it. Words to live by.
Since then, I was different. I had learned. Don't use it. Everyone else had their own abilities. Mostly fun. Mostly harmless. Honestly, mostly pretty weak. Stacey could redirect water. That was fun at the drinking fountain. Jake could make a cigarette lighter burn pretty brightly but that really was nothing to be too impressed with. Andrew could lift the back end of a car. His father put him to work pretty early so we didn't get to see much of him anymore. I didn't do anything. Everyone noticed.
As we got a bit older I felt it more acutely. Left out. Laughed at. I didn't mind. It wasn't like anyone was doing anything special. I had other things to do. Besides, I was never going to use it. I didn't care what they did or what they said. "Just don't." That's what dad told me. Words to live by.
The day it happened was just like any other day. Got up, ate my breakfast, went to school. There was no reason to believe that day would any different than any other day. It was. I didn't know it then but now that I think about it, everyone else did. Everyone who saw it happen, anyway.
Amir was one of those kids we've all known. He had everything. Defensive captain of the football team, a really pretty girlfriend, one of the nicest cars in the parking lot, good grades, a bright future. All of it. Something else he had was a very special interest. An interest in me. An interest in making me miserable. It bothered me, sure. I didn't want to let it bother me but it did. Dog poop smeared in and on my locker, tripping me in the hall. The usual stuff. All you could do was clean up, get up and move along with your day. His ability was speed. That's why he was so effective at messing with me. Before anyone could even see him do what he was doing, it was over. I was already on my face or covered in whatever lunch he had just dumped on my head. I hated chili day in the cafeteria most of all because it stung my eyes. Today he had other plans. Sort of a special 'good bye' he and a bunch of the other 'empowered' had planned for me. Something to remember them by now that we would all be separated and go into the required training program that everyone entered in the summer of their 17th year. The goal of the program was to teach you to harness your ability and put it to work. I was different. I couldn't run fast. I couldn't squeeze through a chain link fence. I couldn't control or generate electricity at will. I couldn't do anything useful. I wasn’t going into the program. I was fair game. I guess I thought they'd get bored and stop. Eventually.
At first I didn't understand what was happening. He was too fast. My ankles were suddenly slammed together and then my head smacked the linoleum as the clothesline around my ankles tightened and yanked me off my feet. I can admit now how scared I was. One second I was leaning against the wall reading, the next second I was dazed, hurt and hanging upside down. Fifteen or sixteen kids were holding the end of the rope from which I hanging. Brian Miilford - gifted with abnormal dexterity - was busy tying the rope off to a built-in bench so they could leave me hanging there, I suppose. I could feel the warm wetness spreading on the back of my head and in the crotch of my pants. I could see the sprinkler pipe they'd thrown the rope over to haul me up. I could see them. All of them. Scared? I was terrified. The laughing started almost immediately. Poor, weak Tommy hanging upside down dripping blood on the floor with fresh, warm piss spreading to the collar of his shirt into his face, dripping from his hair and mixing with the dark red puddle spreading on the floor. A very special goodbye. For just a fraction of a second, I thought of Molly. Poor Molly. I really missed her.
"Bubble." It was barely a whisper. It didn't have to be anything else. A whisper was enough. Amir was in his bubble.
"Bubble. Bubble. Bubble. Bubble! Bubble! BUBBLE! BUBBLE!" Louder and louder until I was almost shrieking it. Everyone in that hallway floated in their bubbles; suspended maybe a foot off the floor just looking at each other with some confusion and mild amusement.
"That's it? That all you've got?" asked Amir with a touch of contempt to mask the bewilderment at his sudden position. He began to laugh at me as he always did. Everyone else laughed, too. Bubbles. What a stupid, worthless ability. Then Amir started to push on the inside of his bubble to make his exit. Nothing happened. He began to claw at it with a speed that made his arms disappear into a tan blur. I already knew what was coming. I’d seen it before. Molly. Poor Molly. She'd clawed at it, too. She stopped. Eventually. Amir stopped laughing. They all stopped. Eventually.
I think they stopped laughing when they realized the air in their bubbles was running out. That's when the struggling started. All the abilities they possessed, all their power, all their conceit; all useless. That's when the panic started. That's when the *screaming* started. They stopped. Eventually. While Molly was still alive in her bubble we'd tried everything to get her out. My father's incredible strength was useless. He couldn't budge that bubble an inch despite that fact that I'd seen him uproot 100 year old oak trees with his bare hands and throw them across a river. My mother's ability to cut through a steel girder with little more than a stroke of her finger couldn't produce so much as a scratch. We've tried a million different ways with a thousand different abilities since then. My bubbles are eternal. They can't be cut. They can't be burned. They can't be broken. They can't be moved. My bubbles are forever.
I still think about it. I know everyone else thinks about it, too. Lots of them, anyway. After I'd been cut down from the sprinkler pipe and asked hundreds of questions by dozens of different authority figures and desperate, heartbroken parents, I had plenty of time to think about it. So did they. They all did. You don't get a lot of time in your bubble but your bubble is everlasting. They know that now. They all know. They all smile. There isn't a place I've been in the last 40 years where hundreds of thousands of smiling mummies don't sit a foot off the ground smiling their enduring smiles. Smiling in their bubbles. Just like Molly.
I suppose someday I’ll stop smiling. Eventually.
|
He was waiting for me just like always two lockers down, on the left of the water fountain waiting for his prey to show up. He would make his demands for homework. I wouldn’t give him or money I didn’t have, and then he would activate his sigil. A circle broken into quarters with a crosshair that intersects the ring in the cardinal directions would flare with a dark purple, and I would feel the weight of the world crash onto my shoulders, driving me to the ground. I would cough and sputter until I agreed to give him what he wanted.
It was the same thing every day after the first gym class of the year. I took my shirt off and displayed my sigil carved in between my shoulder blades. A simple circle, no beginning or ends, lay there with no indication of the godlike powers others had. Some could tear holes in reality and jump to a location thousands of miles away, others could produce, and control flames each one of these fantastic powers had intricate symbols that notated their ability. I sighed as I approached my locker, let the abuse begin.
He pushed off the wall and walked confidently to the block my way, “Hey John, did you manage that algebra homework?”
“Yes. I did. It was pretty easy if you paid attention in class,” I grinned at him as the giant gears in his mind started to turn. His face lost his smile into a focused look as he processed my comment. Then his anger bared down on me. Taking physical form, turning my arms to lead, my torso squeezing, making it hard to breathe, that the blood rushed from my head. The gravity acting on me was increasing by the movement, dropping me to one knee than to the floor as the force continued to bear down on me, cracking my spine and grinding my bones against each other. As my vision started to fade to pinpoints of color, the unending weight eased. I coughed and spat out thick red strands, this was the farthest he had ever gone, I’m no doctor, but I knew I’d spend some time in the hospital. This had to end.
I reached out and gathered my memories, each pinprick of pain every unstable breath. The feeling of having the life crushed out of me. My senses were hammering back to life as blood and oxygen raced to my brain just enough to tell he was digging through my bag. I reached out and grabbed his ankle, and my sigil flared for the first time in years the white light filling the hall enveloping everything
He was waiting for me just like always two lockers down, on the left of the water fountain waiting for his prey to show up. He would make his demands for homework. I wouldn’t give him or money I didn’t have, and then he would activate his sigil crushing me.
‘But He was me. I looked down; my sigil was gone. I… I think I am John!’ the unexplainable happens. He was now me.
“Hey, John, did you manage that algebra homework.”
‘No, no, this isn’t right. Let me move DAMN IT!’ He struggled to move the body he was now in, but it would do him no good.
“Yes. I did. It was pretty easy if you paid attention in class.”
The pain started slowly as it had for me increasing gradually to an unimaginable crushing force threatening to break my body. And just as the effect receded and an end to the feelings of pain and helplessness, he approached the hall. There we were standing where he always did next to the water fountain.
A circle has no beginning and no end, and it loops around itself endlessly just like he would. To be honest, I felt terrible; I had no way of stopping it now that I had activated my sigil. No escape mechanism to save him from his attack on me. I justified telling myself that he had attacked me. He was going to kill me over homework. But dragging the razor over my forearm, I knew the truth. No matter how awful someone was, they didn’t deserve that. Looking down at the new bleeding cut that would eventually scar over, I shook my head. Three people were now like this, and there was no one to blame but me.
| 2020-02-26T07:39:34 | 2020-02-26T07:25:14 | 86 | 51 |
[WP] Time freezes for everyone around you each time your life is in danger, leaving only you able to move until you are no longer in danger. One day time freezes, but you can't figure out why, until..
I hope its not too vague, first writing prompt ^^ enjoy
Thank you all so much for the responses it's so much fun to read them :)
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The first time it happened, that I can remember, I was 7 or 8, I think. Went running out into the street after a ball, and everyone stopped for me. It kind of stuck me as odd, that all the cars on the street stopped so suddenly, and that my ball stopped rolling too, but I didn't really think of it at the time. Got my ball and got back off the road, and everybody started moving again.
The second time I was 13. Family vacation in Florida. My cousin Chris and I were swimming in the ocean when everything froze. Chris froze. The water froze around him, but not around me. It was like it was solid but not ice. Trying to swim just seemed to kick it aside and make a hole, which I fell into, and the hole got worse as I fell further until I hit the bottom, maybe 20 feet down. I tried climbing up but I just kept pushing water back, so instead I kind of crawled/dug/pushed my way to shore, yelling and screaming and afraid, hoping that my parents could help. Once I was close enough to shore that I could get my head above water again, the water started moving. There was a huge thud as the water closed in behind me where I had cut my path. I screamed and screamed and tried to tell my parents what had happened, they freaked out and tried to calm me down. Never saw Chris again. My Dad said it was a rip tide and I was lucky to be alive. Said I was imagining everything that I was saying.
Happened a few more times over the years after that. I learned that it happened whenever I was in serious danger of dying. Once when I was driving, I was distracted and about to miss a red light. Once on a train that turned out it was about to derail. That one got me. I knew when it happened what sort of capability I had, and got myself off the train, but afterwards I couldn't help but wonder if I could have saved all the other people on the train. I've jumped in front of a couple cars and busses since, to save someone from harm, but otherwise, I haven't really come across too many crazy situations.
Today, time froze while I was at the ball game. The roar of the crowd, vendors shouting about beer and hot dogs, all of it stopped. Pillar was half way between second and third, and the ball was hovering just above the second baseman's glove. I stood to look around me, but it didn't appear that there were any immediate threats. I wasn't eating or drinking anything... not about to choke. The ball was going away from me, mostly. So I wasn't going to get beaned...
I wondered if leaving the dome would start things up again, but then who knows what would happen to the people around me? I thought back to the train that I had hopped off of, only to watch it hop off the tracks a hundred meters up and turn into a fireball of a jack-hammer.
My thoughts turned to bigger things. Fire? Gas explosion? Structural failure? Who knew what was holding up the stands. Guy with a gun on the other side of the stadium?
Thirty some-odd sleeps later, I was getting tired of it. Really, really tired of it. I had opted to start moving people out of the stadium. But 40,000 people is a lot of dead weight to lug around. I had managed to move about 700 or so from where I was originally seated. I worked as close to where I original sat as I could, clearing people out row by row, section by section. I knew there would be mass panic and confusion when it all started up again but that didn't matter, at least they'd live, hopefully. The fat ones were the worst. It was a hot day, perpetually hot, and their BO stayed with them. But, I had time, I guess, and this was probably the right thing to do.
The next guy was another fat one. Great. This guy even had a coat on, a big puffy jacket. As I went to start heaving him out of his chair, I felt something hard under his jacket - something that didn't quite feel right. Unzipping his jacket I saw what was causing the time freeze - a suicide vest covered with C4. What started out as shock turned into relief. If I could just get rid of this guy, that would be enough to save everyone!
2 hours later I had dragged his sorry ass out of the stadium, across the road, and was heading towards the water. If I dumped him in, that might lesson the explosion. I paused at the edge of the promenade. Dumping him in that water was surely the right thing to do? I had no idea how to disarm a bomb. Once I convinced myself, in he went, making a blob shaped hole about halfway into the water, no splash. I made sure he had stopped, and then turned around to walk back to the stadium.
About halfway across the road, time started again. A muffled boom and a huge splash sounded behind me. Success! I turned around to watch the water fall down, and that's when I heard the sound of 3 more booms going off inside the stadium.
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It has happened your entire life. You first noticed the time stops while riding your bike at 13. Trying to impress the cute girl in school you had tried riding down the locally imfamous "suicide hill" which crossed over a fairly busy road at the end. You noticed the semi truck to late and before you knew what happened you were lying in the road with the truck bearing down on you... until it wasn't.
It has happened a couple of times after that, but how often Is the life of an accountant really in jeapordy? However this time was different.
It had been days without any movement from anyone. When it happened you were sitting at your desk eating lunch and figured you were about to choke on that salad. By the way choking is terrifying because you continue to choke and no one can help you lodge it free, but luckily you learned how to fix it yourself.
Anyway, as you looked around and continued to eat you realized that nothing was happening. Time stood still and after a while you just decided to head home.
It has been this way for a long time... well technically it hasn't been because time is frozen but for you it has felt like forever. It didn't take long to come to the conclusion that the world was ending... or you were dying.
You were stuck, forever. Faced with one choice, one decision. Live forever with the world stuck in place, or end your life and risk destroying the entire world. Either way, you would never know the truth.
| 2017-06-21T13:37:06 | 2017-06-21T07:56:10 | 45 | 21 |
[WP] You're the dormant, ancient evil most crazed villains attempt to summon in order to end the world, and you're sick of continuously having your sleep disturbed.
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"Oh, Lord of Darkness, rise up from the Void and lend me your strength!" called disembodied voice.
"For fuck sakes...what can it be this time? Probably another cliché request for some apocalypse again." The Lord of Darkness wanted to roll back over and continue to sleep, but part of the stipulation with having ultimate power was that he was bound to reply to every help request if they took the proper measures to summon him.
He hoisted himself up from his bed, brushed his teeth, took a shower, and got dressed while the voice calling for him got obnoxiously louder and squeakier.
"God...why do you subject me to this brother?"
Of course, as usual, there was no reply except for cynical laughter. At this point, the voice of the summoner was unbearable causing his ears to ring. He threw on his leather jacket, brushed his hands through his hair and gave himself a once over in the mirror before walking through the portal. Just because you're a destroyer of worlds doesn't mean you shouldn't look put together. He hated clichés.
As he walked through the portal, it felt like millions of knives slicing through him while the force of light blew into him attempting to pull him back into the void (which he would be more than happy to do) which made every step a struggle. Before long, he could make out the end of the portal where 4 or 5 people gathered in front of it watching.
"I see him! He is coming!" said one of the voices with a heavy lisp.
"Oh, Lord of Darkness, your presence is a blessing!" stuttered another.
"Ugh, nerds again," he thought to himself as hoisted himself over the portal's edge.
The nerds scattered to the corners of the room as he made his entrance into the room. He glanced at every single one of them before looking at the bodies of several dismembered cats on the floor. What looked to be the alpha nerd began to creep towards him slowly while the beta nerds watched quietly.
"Cats? Really? I would have preferred a strong cup of coffee after being awakened from my slumber like that."
"Get our Dark Lord a cup of coffee," quipped the Alpha nerd to one of his Betas.
"B-but we don't have any coffee," replied the Beta.
"I do!" replied another who eagerly ran over to his bag and pulled out a can of Doubleshot Espresso.
The Alpha grabbed it from the Beta and came back before him kneeling with the can of espresso raised towards him.
"Coffee at your request, oh Lord of Darkness."
"Please do not call me that. I prefer just being called LD. if you wouldn't mind."
He took the can of espresso from the Alpha's hands and opened while looking at nerds. He sipped the coffee slowly while enjoying the tension in the room that he had created. As the nerds watched quietly in fear, he finished the coffee and threw it on the ground crushing the can from the impact.
"I know you were probably expecting some sort of tentacled being with red glowing eyes or a dark ball of energy with glowing red eyes...sorry if I disappointed you."
"No... y-you're handsome." replied the Alpha Nerd as he looked away.
"Are you hitting on me, Alpha?"
"No, Lord...err, L.D. I make a simple request to be granted with your power."
"You want to be granted with my power? OK."
He grabbed the Alpha Nerd as he struggled to get away. The other nerds froze with hear as he lifted the squealing Alpha Nerd over his head and threw him into the wall. He could hear a satisfying crunch as the Alpha Nerd's bones were pulverized on impact. The nerds closest to the Alpha's body began screaming as they wiped the Alpha's blood from their faces.
"I granted him with my power like he requested." He said as he smiled at the body.
One of the nerds tried to make a break for the door, but he slammed it shut before the nerd could reach it.
"You probably should have worked out more before trying to escape from me like that."
He levitated the nerd off the ground and turned him towards the other two nerds before snapping his neck in front of them with a gesture of his hand. The remaining two nerds looked at each other deciding to make a mutual attempt to make a break for it. He slashed the throat of the nerd who frantically tried to pull the boards off of one of the windows. The other nerd struggled to kick down the shut door until L.D walked over to him at which point he fell to his knees and began to grovel shamlessly.
"Oh Lord of Darkness, I did not want any part in this. It was all Patrick's stupid idea to do this."
"So...I'm stupid? Don't you want my power?" He gestured towards the corpse that was hanging out of the wall."
"No! I'm fine! I respect your power, but don't need it for myself."
"Can I return to my void then?"
"Y-yes, my Lord."
Satisfied with the answer, he unsealed the door and laughed as the nerd scrambled out of the door and stumbled into hallway where he began throwing up violently. He may be the Lord of Destruction, but he liked to consider himself merciful if someone displayed respect for his power. He turned back towards the portal and climbed back inside as the sound of the nerd vomitting could still be heard.
The portal this time was warm and calming, he felt like a feather this time as the force of light carried him back into his little void. He exhaled a sigh of relief as he stepped out of the portal and into his room. His bed looked as welcoming as ever. Finally, he could sleep again.
|
K'zskrn found itself in a musty basement, surrounded by a summoner's circle. "Oh fuck'n great. Who is it this time?" It thought to itself.
A man in tattered robes stared in shock, then threw himself to the floor, "Oh great one!" He wailed, "You have come to bring a new age upon this world!"
K'zskrn rolled a pair of it's many eyes, "He doesn't even have an evil cult. They usually have at least a room's worth of devoted followers."
The man looked up at the shifting form, "What do you demand of me my lord? How shall we lay waste to this pitiful existence?"
K'zskrn contemplated the question, "I'll just tell him something to get him out of my tentiticles for a bit."
It addressed the man, still laying in the dirt, "I degree... Sacrifice the life of..." It thought for a moment, "One... thousand... Woodland... creatures."
The man looked up in confusion, "woodland... creatures? Like squirrels?"
"Yes. We must harness... the power of... nature. Yes. Harness the power of nature. Only woodland creatures shall bring us this power."
The man enthusiasticly nodded his head, "Yes my lord! Yes! I shall follow thy commandment. Together we shall-"
K'zskrn zoned him out, "That should keep him busy for awhile. I'll be able to get some fuck'n sleep now. Shit he's staring again, should probably say something."
"Now begone! Do not return until thy deed is done."
The man gathered up his robes and started backing away to the stairs, "Yes my lord. Yes. I will work as fast as possible. I shall please you my lord." The man disappeared up the stairs in a hurry.
K'zskrn started to slink back into its own dimension, "How do these people keep figuring out how to summon me?"
| 2016-10-28T14:57:00 | 2016-10-28T10:27:09 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
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Grad school was actually going to kill me, was the only thought on my mind when I exited the lecture hall. I couldn't really remember why I had wanted to get this degree so much in the first place, my motivation lost in the haze of balancing thesis advisor meetings and late nights in the library with spending as much time as I could with my girlfriend when she was in town. She had been spending a lot of time out of town for work in the last few months, but we were making it work. It helped that with my workload it was hard to even notice her absence before she was back. We talked on skype once or twice a week when we could spare the time. She didn't seem to hold my schedule against me, but with my thesis coming up on completion I would be able to make it up to her.
We had met about 6 months before, on a rare evening when I'd been able to unbury myself from the library and head out for a club with some of my friends from undergrad who had come to L.A. on vacation. One of them was in a sort of weird friends with benefits kind of thing with a guy who's dad was some big name in Hollywood who I had never heard of since I hadn't watched a movie since I started my Master's. So somehow we got on the VIP list.
We had been at the club for a couple of hours, long enough that I was too buzzed to be stumbling around in 5 inch heels that I hadn't worn since senior year of undergrad when I ran right into her at the bar, spilling her drink all over both of us. I apologized like crazy all the way to the bathroom where we tried to dry out our dresses, but she laughed it off and told me it wasn't a problem and it was just lucky that she was drinking white wine. I bought her another drink at the bar and we talked, having to shout over the music until she suggested leaving for someplace quieter. There was a string of 'go get her girl' and some very interesting emoji choices on my phone when I went to tell my friends I was leaving, so...I did.
Andrea and I hadn't really gone out much since then. Her schedule and mine were both so hectic that we spent more time in my shitty apartment off campus, sleeping and eating and catching up on pleasure reading as well as other things (insert my friend's naughty winking emoji here, since that's the one she always sends when I tell her I can't go out because Andrea is here) and despite the lack of social life, or maybe because of it, we were doing just fine. We skyped once or twice a week, conversations in which she would bitch about work and the divas she worked with and her annoying bosses and I would whine about how grad school was most certainly going to kill me.
The reason I was certain I was dying today was that Andrea had gotten back to town last night and we'd finally found time to go out to dinner, though we'd both decided to cut that short when she'd started making eyes at me over the table and we'd had to find a cab while trying to keep our hands off each other. It had been a late night.
Exiting the lecture hall I got a message on my phone from my best friend, Dana.
"You complete bitch, why didn't you tell me?" I was nominally sure that she was using bitch in a nice way.
"Tell you what?"
"Oh still playing it that way. Okay."
I was about to respond when Andrea called, I rolled my eyes at whatever hysterics Dana was working herself into and answered the phone.
"Hey babe, what's up?" Some undergrad at the water fountain stopped drinking and turned to look at me intently, it was weird, but it was also finals week so I ignored it and kept walking.
"Uh, well...did you see..."
"Are you alright?" She was acting weird too and she did not have the excuse of finals week to lean on.
"Nevermind. Umm...I was wondering if you wanted to go to a work thing with me tonight?"
"Sure, what kind of thing? Do I need to dress up or is this more of a company barbecue kind of thing?" Andrea giggled in response to that.
"No, definitely more of a dressing up kind of thing."
"I'm not certain I have anything for dressing up in my closet anymore, but I'm sure I can find something."
"No, don't worry about that. I'm sending you the address for a friend of mine, can you meet me there in about an hour? He'll fix us both up with dresses, he does it for me all the time and I'm sure he'll have something that will work for you too."
"Yeah, no problem. I only had one lecture this morning, I'll get an uber and meet you there."
"Wonderful! Love you!"
"Love you too!" I hung up the phone and glared at another undergrad that was looking at me too intently. Did I have ink on my face again? Had I suddenly sprouted a second head? I rolled my eyes and plugged the address into uber.
Getting fitted for a dress was a wild experience, but since Andrea was there it wasn't that big a deal. Jackson, her friend, gushed over me and kept saying how great it was to meet me. I hadn't really met many of Andrea's friends since we started dating, neither had she met mine, so it was nice to finally meet one.
The dress and heels were surprisingly comfortable and, much to my delight, someone else showed up to do our hair and makeup. Which was a relief since I had probably forgotten more about doing my own makeup in the last year than I had actually ever known.
"So where are we going?"
"Just this stupid opening night thing I have to go to. We're getting picked up here by a limo."
"Fancy."
"Trust me, you get sick of them."
"I'll have to take your word for that." It was occurring to me that I didn't know that much about what Andrea did for a living actually. Opening night sounded like Hollywood, but surely I would know if...maybe she was an agent or something? She was always complaining about the high maintenance people she worked with. I mentally prepared myself for dealing with snobbish celebrity types all evening and went down to the limo with Andrea, hand in hand.
It only took about 15 minutes to get to our destination and I followed her out of the car, still hand in hand as we exited.
The sudden cacophony of voices and blinding flashes of light from cameras set me on edge immediately. I could hear paparazzi, because that's definitely what they were I was realizing, shouting over each other.
"Andrea, Andrea is this her?"
"Is this an official statement? Are you coming out?"
"What about the rumors that you were dating your co-star on the film?"
Andrea smiled graciously and pulled me along as I recovered from the shock. I looked around and saw the red carpet and, behind it, a larger than life poster of my girlfriend in some sort of post apocalyptic costume and it hit me.
My girlfriend was a movie star.
I nearly tripped over my own feet when I had that thought and looked down, catching the cover of a supermarket tabloid that was laying on the red carpet. There was a picture of Andrea and myself outside the restaurant last night, kissing. The headline "Andrea Renee, star of blockbuster film, "The Last Stand", Coming Out of the Closet?"
Somehow between myself and Andrea I managed to not complete make a fool of myself on the freakin' red carpet and as we approached the camera crews nearer to the end I leaned in and whispered.
"You have some definite explaining to do." She just grinned and kept walking.
|
It wasn't for some time that I began to realize something was weird... off... about her interactions when we talked about going out. This wasn't a huge problem for me as I understood her job to be very difficult. She traveled constantly. Extremely busy. Out till all hours of the night. We lived across the hall from each other for months until one day I introduced myself and asked for a cup of sugar for a cake I was making for my sister one evening in February.
New York is beautiful in the winter.
She slid a glass measuring cup (the ones with the red lettered measurements on the side) through a crack in the door (apparently she doesn't know liquid measurement tools are separate from solids... ol well... this'll be plenty, I thought). Her slight English accent squeaked through the crack in the door as I said "thanks... uhhh... my name is Jimmy..." her response was a closed door.
That was months ago. We've been dating for 6 months at this point. The first month of our time together (first initiated by me asking her over to try devils food lava cake that I had been workshopping for at least 2 weeks which started a cooperative love affair with food. She ate like garbage. Always blamed it on being too lazy and too cheap. She would come home late, ask if I had any cake (this went on for 2 weeks) and eventually I started making her real food. I'd put extra in the fridge for her and she would come over and have a few bites before we fell asleep watching some old AMC rerun. I never had anything else running on my tv. She seemed to like that about me. One night she kissed me and I kissed her back. She basically moved in the next week. Her place was always a wreck. Blamed that on being busy too. It got so I would pack her lunches most days and she would have dinner over at my place most nights and we would fall asleep listening to some tunes or a black and white movie in my run down apartment on my beautifully huge couch.
She seemed to really like that she didn't have to talk about her work with me and since we only ever ate my work, we didn't have to talk about that either. Everything changed one day when I heard her approach our shared hallway and then go into her apartment instead of mine with a hurried sounding frantic key-fooling. I knocked on her door to see if she was hungry and she just yelled back in an intense voice before I got the chance knock more than once
"Come to the my work party tonight. Leaving in 45 minutes. Put on something nice."
Confused, a little worried with how strange she was being, I went back into my apartment, turned off the oven that had a braised duck resting in it (I was trying to impress her that particular night) and went to the back of my closet to find an old suit from my best friends wedding forever ago.
She came over 15 minutes later looking like I'd never seen her before. Red hair pulled back out of her face except for one almost blonde sliver that somehow magically stayed in the perfect place on her beautifully freckled face. Left leg peaking out through a long slit in a hunter green dress that hinted at deep dark forests in the pacific north west. Her necklace was a long triangular minimalist piece that dropped down low on her chest.
She was stunning.
I was a potato compared to her. And not a well prepared red potato you get at fancy restaurants. A dirty, unwashed russet. My hair was a messy long and stubble showed in just the perfectly wrong neck beard places.
"Who are you?" I asked in a low voice as I went in to kiss her.
"Some people call me Hermione," she said with a smile. Curious. I kissed her beautifully smelling neck and she leaned away toward the door.
"Come one, our limo awaits. We're about to have a weird night, you and I."
EDIT: formatting
| 2017-06-14T12:06:44 | 2017-06-14T10:18:55 | 47 | 34 |
[WP] A billionaire's child is kidnapped and a large ransom is demanded for their return. The billionaire refuses, and doesn't even bother calling the police, leaving the kidnapper so disgusted that they decide to raise the child themselves.
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I take a deep breath and check the safety on my 9mm before I pull the ski mask down over my face and burst through the front entrance of the little bookstore. The bell hanging on the door jingles cheerfully to announce me.
​
“*GIMME ALL YOUR BOOKS ON PARENTING AND ANGER MANAGEMENT AND PONIES!”* I shout at the lady behind the counter, waving my piece menacingly. “*OH, AND ALL THE CASH. OBVIOUSLY. THE CASH GOES WITHOUT SAYING.”*
​
I think it’s probably the dumbest thing anyone has ever yelled at a robbery. Also, I don’t know why I’m yelling. There’s just the one employee here and she’s staring at me like I’m a goddamn idiot, which I guess is fair.
​
​
*One Day Earlier*
​
I stare at the note in stunned silence. There’s only one word, hand-written, on a ridiculously expensive-looking piece of stationary: ‘Thanks’. That’s it. Just ‘Thanks’.
​
I look over at the girl. She's sitting quietly on the couch in her school uniform, doing her homework. I expected her to be a spoiled little shit, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’ve never met a sweeter, more obedient kid in my life. I start to wonder if I’m just going crazy. Nothing makes sense about any of this.
​
I turn on the TV and flip to the news. There he is, the wrinkly-ass sonofabitch, hosting a press conference. I turn up the volume just in time to hear him tearfully say something about how heartbroken he is, followed by the need to address these ‘illegal immigrants’ and ‘dangerous criminal elements - human traffickers, kidnappers, murderers.’ I’m not crazy, I realize. Just not cynical enough. All of the contempt that I already feel for this man is replaced with a pure, black hatred.
​
“*I’m from IOWA, you racist FUCK!”* I yell at the TV. I hurl the remote at the screen as hard as I can, and both shatter. I can’t believe this shit. This unbelievable, miserable, lying piece of human garbage. I kick the coffee table, and it skids across the tile floor into the wall. The glass top explodes. I’m so angry I can hardly see straight.
​
“*WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?!”* I scream at the kaleidoscope screen of the television as I hear him announce his bid for office. I tear the whole goddamn thing off the wall and throw it as hard as I can. It only goes about two feet, on account of it being a big goddamn TV and a lot heavier than I expected, but it impacts the floor with a satisfying crash and kills the audio feed. I can feel the rage boiling inside me. This poor, sweet kid, who loves ponies and flinches at loud noises and tries not to say words with the letter ‘S’ because of her lisp. He just gave her up. Martyred her for the polls. For power.
​
I need more things to break. I turn, and that’s when I see her. She's frozen in place and white as a sheet, staring straight ahead and trying to blink back tears. I have sudden flashbacks to my own childhood, recognizing in her a familiar, long-forgotten terror.
​
I feel like I’ve been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer.
​
“I'm sorry,” she says in a small, shaking voice. "Please don't hurt me." She’s trembling like a leaf. None of this is her fault. This is just the only way she knows how to react in this situation. A grown-ass man throwing a tantrum. This is what she’s been taught.
​
I think I might throw up. I sink to the floor on my knees beside her and swallow my rage, all the heat of a dying star trapped inside my chest. I place a hand very, very gently on her shoulder, and still I feel her shudder at the touch.
​
“No,” I finally manage to whisper through sandpaper lips. “Never. No one is going to hurt you any more.”
​
She looks up at me slowly, and the tears start to roll down her cheeks. Now I'm crying too, goddammit. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me quizzically. Doubtful. She’s been lied to so many times.
​
I force a smile that I hope looks reassuring, but I’m an ugly crier and I think I might just be making things worse. I shake my head, hurriedly brushing the tears out of my eyes.
​
“I’m getting you karate lessons.”
​
​
​
(I fleshed out this story a lot more in my head, but whenever I try to fill in the other pieces I end up dissatisfied with the results. I've trimmed it down to what are probably the bare essentials, and I think I'll leave it at this for now. I may try to fill out the rest again at some point, but that's on a long list of stories I want to write more of...)
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I looked for the FedEx truck every few minutes. Tracking number said it was en route. Confirmation that Mr. Z(I would never understand why he hadn't changed his name when he moved but whatever) had seen the proof of life I sent and was willing to negotiate. I'd done this enough times to get an idea about how it would work once I saw the returned envelope. We'd go back and forth and ultimately he would wire a large sum of money into my offshore account and I would hire a patsy to return the child. Funny how quiet this one was. I had to check on her to make sure she hadn't escaped or worse. Billionaires look at kidnapping as a cost of doing business but are much less tolerant of murder. Finally it arrived. I almost tripped on the doorway rushing to get out and receive the letter. When I got in all the blood drained from my face and i could feel the pit in my stomach fall out.
"Dear Sir
I pray this letter finds you and Abigail well. Unfortunately I will not be willing to negotiate for her release. I have many other children with better prospects for my legacy and she is far too quiet to hold any position in my company. In exchange for taking her off my hands so cleanly, I will not be pursuing you after this letter leaves my estate. She is enrolled in Kings Daughters elementary (though which grade I couldn't say) and will likely need to return. Fare well sir. Nothing personal. This is a business transaction I feel we both will benefit from.
Ethylwald Zionystiakis III
Shit. I grew up in juvenile hall I've got no idea how to raise a child! First thing I gotta do is check on her to make sure she still here. Then I gotta figure out where I'm going to send her to school. This wasnt what I wanted but this girl deserves more than being an inconvenience. But first, breakfast. Hope the kid likes waffles. I dont have anything else for her yet
| 2019-02-09T04:11:33 | 2019-02-09T01:00:04 | 70 | 33 |
[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day!
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Dr'vin Cravlec was an unhappy Caodl. Their ship was on fire, 12 parsecs from the nearest Hive garrison and coming in hot on what they could only assume was a Star Raiders base world. Rocky and huge, the planet had a grav rating twice that of a regulation Hive world.
Fighting the controls, Dr'vin keyed in the intercom to prep the crew.
"Secure all cargo, passengers to crash positions! And somebody get the Human on the Trans- Comm!"
Several nerve wracking seconds later the comm chimed and the humans voice came over.
"You rang Cap'n?"
"Of course i called, you flippant hatchling!" Dr'vin screamed. "We're coming in hot with a raiding party on our asses! I'm gonna need you to show me why I gave you an entire cargo bay and triple rations you &#*#/;"÷_-*€_.#, "
The Captains translator failed as it tried to find words in the Human language to describe a lewd sex act between two genderless Hive drones and an Altari Blask. Dr'vin scoweled, or at least as much of a scow as you could manage with your ship pulling apart around you. Just as they were about to berate the human some more, the internal ships comm was over-ridden, hijacked by the vessel trying to bring them down.
The creature coming through the comm made Dr'vin thorax congeal. It was a Tulsari. Bird like creatures that hunted Coadl for sport and led crusades against their "hated bugs".
"CRAAAW, I SEES YOU LITTLE BUG" cackled the Tulsari. It was bedecked in holy images and covered in weapons, cementing Dr'vins deepest fear, they had run afoul of a Crusade Flock.
"YOUR LIFE FORFEIT! THE GREAT EGG COMMANDS DEATH TO BUGS! NO HIDING, NO DIG. WE EAT YOU, WE EAT EVERYTHING! WE EAT YOU THEN KILL LITTLE BUGS! NO BUG SURVIVES! MAKE TROPHY OF BABY BUGS! DEAAATH!!!"
Dr'vin killed the comm as the Tulsari started whistling sacred poetry. Quoting holy texts that called for the extermination of all Coadl. Nothing could stop a Crusade Flock. Nothing ever had. The only option was to crash the ship, spare the hatchlings a brutal end and pray......
"Cap'n" said the Human softly. The small pilot had forgotten the giant was still on the line. They looked at the comm, antennae curled in fear.
"Get us on the ground and send the distress beacon, ill do the rest."
"The rest of what!?!" Cried the captain.
"Are you going to single handedly take on a full Tulsari Battle Flock, huh?"
"Yes" said the Human. The captain was about to retort when he looked, really looked at the Human. Gone was the laid back giant, who had taken his best hold and lifted the heaviest parts with a smile. Gone was the careful mechanic and entertaining siljack player. The human was...angry. And Dr'vin suddenly remembered why a human had been a good hire for this part of space and shivered.
"I'll get us on the ground, but once you're outside, im sealing the blast doors" they said.
The Human nodded at the captain, scowling and hunched in rage. As he turned away, Dr'vin heard the Human mutter under its breath "they threatened the hatchlings".
It was a beautiful day on CROWACAWW as the Tulsari called it, and the Battle Priest was pleased with what she saw. Her clutch had downed a Hive ship, and was preparing to board across the wide meadow. It had taken the flock some time to prepare, as the planets heavier gravity necessitated grav suits to counter act it. Her peoples hollow bones were very helpful flying on standard worlds, but here on this heavy planet, there would be no flying.
Her bravest were already clawing at the doors of the Hive Freighter, ready for Holy blood, when the door suddenly irised open. They streamed inside the ship, cawing for death, and they met it. From the darkened hold came shouts and Caws, booms and blaster fire. The Battle Priest waited. Waited for the calls of battle. Waited for the chanting of battle prayers and the flowing of Hatchling blood.
But what emerged was something she hadn't seen since her youth. Five cycles ago, when the Unification wars had raged and her people had lost to giants. Creatures that had marched into her nightmares like the one coming out of the hold. Wearing its high collared armor, covered in the blood and feathers of her people, moving without grav suit or mech towards her ship.
It was one human.
And she knew fear.
|
Before the door was even opened ,the energy was so thick a static arc crackled as the handle touched his hand .
Slowly the large metal door glided along a well oiled track to reveal dim blue flickering lights and the smell of hot transformer oil filled the nostrils.
Stepping into the dim lit room became anxiously difficult as the arching sound of high voltage electrical currents could be heard as well as felt when the small hairs began to stand up along the exposed skin .
Stopping to peer alertly in the direction of where the operation fail safe switch was supposed to be located according the buildings blue prints that now were clenched in the other fisted hand .
Enclosed head to toe in Arcflash gear ,the Fight or Flight instinct was caged inside a vault of training yet raged to be released.
27 steps from the door to the fail safe stop switch. 5 min of oxygen, low light and slick oil soaked floor with live circuits and no source outside the space to stop the power from finding the shortest path to ground.
No JSA ever covered this.thw Job saftey analysis form is useless and when I find out what electrical engineer put that fail safe inside the room ,I am probbly going to need bail money .
| 2020-03-05T23:03:08 | 2020-03-05T17:47:27 | 40 | 20 |
[WP] You’re a shop keeper in the Wild West. A traveler recently purchased a few goods and pays you in crisp 21st century bills. You respond with “You too huh?” and give him his change.
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A curious customer entered my shop just as the sun reached its peak in the sky. He dressed the part of a cowboy no doubt, with high boots and a wide brim hat shading his eyes and whatnot, but his face told a different story. His skin was too clean, with hardly a speck of dirt sullying his pale complexion; a tone far too light for someone in this time period who claims to live under this blazing sun.
I watched as his hands reached out to inspect the canned foods and generic goods I had stocked. They were far too gentle. No callouses to indicate he had worked a single day of hard labor outdoors. Their grasp was too elegant to belong to anyone other than the highest class of this time. Either they were some rich pampered boy that ran away from home, or...
The man approached my counter with only a single bag of oranges. I kept silent as I jotted down his purchase into my pad, keeping my pupils focused on the paper yet watching him from the corner of my vision. The man fidgeted and scratched at the cuff of his neck, billowing it every now and then to let air run through.
"Half-a-dozen oranges, twenty-five cents," I said, feigning boredom with a yawn. The man nodded, and replied with a single dollar bill.
I froze up, and then reached out to grab the bill from him. It was a crisp, green one-dollar bill with George Washington's face dead in the center. I raised a brow and waved the slip back at him. "You think you can fool me with a fraud bill? Doesn't even look like a real dollar. Where'd you get somethin' like this from anyways?"
"From down the line," he replied with an accent completely alien to this country.
I let out a scowl and slammed the dollar bill down before leaving the counter. I ran up to the windows to shut their blinds and flipped over the door sign to "CLOSED" before turning back to face my contact. "You have a shit disguise y'know, For a moment there I thought *you* were our Anachronist."
The agent just shrugged and leaned against the desk. "I'm not here to blend in, I'm here to hunt." He pat the revolver holstered on his thigh. Though it looked like an ordinary gun to this time, I knew it was much more than that.
"I don't care what you're here to do, make an effort to blend in. Tip off the Anachronist and we'll both be dead before we know it."
The man spat off to the side, missing the waste bin by a few inches. "Yeah, yeah, got it. Just tell me what you know already."
I gave the man a tense stare, muttering profanities from far off in the future before answering, "There's been no new branches in the timeline detected, so they're laying real low. Residual time particles suggest the Anachronist landed in Michigan territory, present day Wisconsin. Ran further down southwest into present day Missouri or Kansas before falling off the radar completely. The Anachronist did a damn good job at hiding their tracks; I found most of their anachronistic gear discarded right where they landed, and they didn't leave a trail unfortunately.
"I've been tracking train tickets, purchase receipts, inns and hotels, bounty boards, but there isn't a damn thing giving them away."
The agent frowned at me. "So that's it? Just a vague area and nothing else? How is that supposed to help me?"
"I wasn't done. There's no trail to follow the Anachronist, but we can meet them at the end instead, because I know exactly where they'll be going." I returned to my store counter and wedged a key into the bottom drawer before slamming a tall stack of papers down on the table. Each sheet contained a lengthy list of text in tiny font barely legible to the human eye. "*This* is a history of all time travels believed to be committed by our culprit. According to this, their journey here would've been their thirteenth run on their device across a total of 947 years, eight months, four days, and 15 hours. Their device is dry out of fuel by now."
"So they'll be searching for a way to refuel." he crossed his arms and pondered. "But where are they going to find a supply of Chrologic fuel this far in the past?"
"They aren't going to find any. The materials exist, but refining it will be impossible. No, they aren't looking to refuel; they'll be looking to steal an existing one instead, which is why I need your dumbass to blend in better."
The man took a startled step back, and then began wearily watching the windows of the shop. "You mean you think the Anachronist will be hunting us?"
"Oh I know so." I gestured to the watch that clung to the man's wrist. "Our Travelers are the only hope they have of not being stuck here for the rest of their lives. *We* are their only hope, so they are going to seek *us* out, and that means we have to draw attention to ourselves on purpose."
He gave me a quizzical stare and let his jaw hang open at me before answering, "Didn't you just scold me for not blending in? And NOW you want us to give ourselves away on purpose?"
"I didn't say throw ourselves out there like idiots, I said set a trap. And careless anachronistic behavior won't do us any good, we need to keep it controlled and meticulous. Now, will you finally shut up and listen to what I have planned?"
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This oddly dressed man, with a clean face, and short shirt and short pants didn’t have an ounce of dirt on him. He spoke with an odd accent and in words like a crazy person. This wasn’t the first odd person to come into my shop, I’d seen 3 or 4 just like him over the last week, all paying with their funny money thinking they were getting one in on an ol’ shopkeeper. I leaned over and politely told him “I’ll tell you like I told the others, I don’t want none of yer toy money. Come back with something I can barter with.” They were exasperated, “You don’t get it. This is all I have. $50 is way more than these goods are priced and you can keep the change. I was told we would be able to buy our supplies before heading out.” He seemed sincere. I scanned him up and down, and saw something in his pocket, “What’s that in your pocket? if you’ve got a pack of cigarettes we can trade.” He pulled out this black box of metal and glass. Touched it, and it lit up like nothing I’d ever seen. It had fancy art that reacted as if it were alive each time it was touched. It scared me. He clearly saw I was both mesmerized and afraid and slid it back into his pocket, “It’s not for sale,” he said. He turned away and walked out. That night, I had dreams of this box. I had to have it. I would do anything to have it. Thinking back, they all had one in their pocket. The next day, a pair of strangers came into the store, and my eyes immediately gazed upon the squares in their pockets. I asked them to take a look around. As they perused the shelves, I walked to the front, and locked the door…
| 2021-08-17T08:31:00 | 2021-08-17T06:20:51 | 54 | 30 |
[WP] You are a dragon. The other dragons despise you, because they say you have no real hoard. You always change your shape to look like a man, and you are a guild master of an adventurer's guild. The other dragons are WRONG. This guild, these people, THEY are your hoard.
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"Well then, that's all the information the client gave us for the quest. How about it? You boys feel up to this?" The guild master stroked his beard, regarding the party before him. The three were childhood friends who now threw their lots in together as adventurers. They were still greenhorns of course, not yet turning a profit doing their quests. But what else was a guide for, if not nursing it's nestlings?
"It surely can't be that hard for the coin this lord is posting." Said the Warrior, chuckling at his own joke. He'd been a farm hand, but the guild master could see that he already begun to carry himself differently since he started. He stood straight backed and proud, his sword hand lingering near his waist, while his shield arm periodically strayed to his front out of habit. Indeed, this one was a worthy investment. "I rather think it's perfect for our level of expertise." The Rogue's manner of speech didn't suit her low birth. Her eyes glancing at the door every so often, her posture half crouched, ready to break into a sprint or duck behind cover. The guild master almost felt bad about acquiring her. So young, and already so developed. She was practically a fully capable adventurer already. "The real payment is always the experience..." the Mage muttered to herself repeatedly, as if trying to convince herself. Most novices that joined the guild were quickly appraised, and their development planned accordingly by the master. He'd been alive for a two thousand years, and had the utmost pride in his perception of others. Yet, this mage gave him pause. Her powers waxed and waned, seemingly at a whim. There was no discernible pattern at all, no matter how he tried to tutor her in the magical arts. He resolved for now to keep her with her companions, until a time came that an answer came to him as to what to do about her.
As he shooed the friends out of his office, the guild master realized that it was possible he would never find an answer. The thought might have given him pause when he was younger, but he was older and wiser now. Checking to make sure the door was locked, he assumed a more natural form. The wrinkles near his eyes hardened into scales, while his pupils constricted and lengthened into ovals. His fingertips fused and hardened, forming small talons, which he used to pick up his pipe. Using a fraction of his dragon breath, he lit the pipe, before puffing smoke. It was a favorite activity of his, since it reminded him of happier times, when he was still a young nesting, and his mother huffed a warm, gentle smoke to lull him to sleep. Not that he missed much else about being a dragon. It was a lonely life. Dragons were greedy and untrusting, to a fault. The only times a dragon could keep the company of it's own were in their youth when they were reared, and for a brief time as an adult when they took a mate. He'd always felt lonely, the glint of gold in his hoard merely reflected his own fire to him. The luster of jewels, clinking of coins, unlike other dragons, it meant nothing to him.
He would always hold some sentimental value for it however. After all, it was how he had found his family. Taking another puff of his pipe, he remembered the cold winter morning they had marched to his cave. Any other dragon would've torched them at low flame so as to preserve any valuables they had, which were to be cleaned, then added to the hoard. Yet, he abstained. Not because of some newfound compassion, but rather because they had no valuables. They were the sons of farmers and woodsmen, wielding family axes and rakes. Yet as they approached, he felt, for the first time, a warmth he could not explain. There was a fire these mortals wielded as well, one that allowed them to face a fire breathing leviathan, with nothing but old matchsticks. As they breached his home, drawing closer and closer to his oh so valuable hoard, and idea came to him. He flew away quickly out of his cave and into the sky, before changing into a bird and flying quickly into the cave again, taking the quickest path back to his treasure. Then, he shifted his form again, becoming one of their own. He told them of how he was a monster slayer, journeying from a far away land to vanquish the mighty beasts. How could they not believe him? They had already seen the dragon, routed, and fleeing out through his own caves. The dragon, now dragon slayer, was paraded through town as a hero. He asked for no reward, but for a sum of gold, so that he may train others in his noble art. The people were all too happy to comply.
He'd planned it as a ruse at first, telling himself that he would only linger long enough to learn where the town kept their gold, before looting it all and returning back to his warm cave. One day, after training his new recruits, however, it became clear to him. The affection and joy he felt toward his students could never be compare to the stoic emperors on his gold sovereigns. They were far better, as a matter of fact. He armed them, with words of power, and swords of steel. As they gained renown, the town's guild became famed for not only defeating one dragon, but two. Indeed, the day that the guild master faced his kin, his heart was heavy. Not because his foe's veins coursed with shared blood, but because the dragon had drenched his talons in the blood of many an adventurer. Even as his kin cursed him with his dying breath, calling him traitor, egg-cracker, and a thousand worse insults, the guild master felt no lost love.
His love was reserved for his nestlings.
How could I possibly forget? Thanks for reading, and leave a comment with your thoughts.
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“Welcome to the dragon’s hoard.” I say from behind the counter, welcoming a new set of adventurers through my austere wooden doors. Sometimes these folks are just coming in for a quick drink or two, I don’t mind.
Okay I do mind, but I’m very good at convincing myself I don’t. Still, I retain my hope that my guilds roster might be expanded every time i hear the door chime.
“Err yes. Dragon’s hoard, this is one of the top adventuring guilds in Faeleyd correct?” The short fat adventurer asks.
I simply nod my response, controlling my hunger-- my desire for more *loot*.
“So how does joining the guild work? I heard that you have to pass a rigorous exam, but I hear your adventurer training is second to none.” He continues blabbering at me.
I pull out a stack of papers from behind my desk. “No tests. You just have to sign this contract to wear our crest on all heroic deeds you perform.”
I fail to mention that we *used* to have a test. I had to relax the requirements for joining our guild. Adventuring is a dangerous business.
The taller one eagerly snatches the papers from me and begins reading. *Ha idiot.* The real parts of the contract are written in draconic in invisible ink. I spend the time looking at his companion awkwardly. After what feels like an eternity he nods, “Everything here looks to be in order and acceptable Iolas.”
“Good. good. I hope you’ll enjoy your time in *the dragon’s hoard*” I say, I’m all teeth now. “My assistant Kali will escort you to your rooms. You’re to awake at first bell to begin your training. You’ll remain at trainee status for six months until I am satisfied you will not be a danger to your fellow guildmates. Thank you for choosing us for your adventuring needs.”
I sit back as they leave, feeling the rush of power their joining gives me. My cousin Grailzurus hoards narcotics-- I feel very close to him the moment as I feel their minds entwine with mine.
I can’t wait for the next recruits.
| 2019-01-19T21:06:40 | 2019-01-19T19:55:23 | 214 | 125 |
[WP] Everyone who dies is granted levels in heaven depending on their actions before they died. Your famous grandmother got level 64 after she died and has since been constantly reminding her friends about how useless of a grandchild you are. Then one day, after 80 years, you show up, level 3008.
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His life had been a simple one, uncomplicated. What little excitement there had been surrounded expected events. Births of children and grandchildren, marriages, graduations. Though he had been a smart man, he never felt the need to work particularly hard, "furthering humanity" as some of his peers were compelled. There was the time, following several successful years as a Scout Master, that it was suggested that he run for mayor of the small town where he lived. He had laughed and said, "No thank you" to the members of the town council who had gathered on his doorstep.
"He squanders his potential!" she had whined at the other ladies gathered around the table. They gathered every other day to play Bridge, drink mimosas, and humble-brag about the minor intercessions that they were allowed in the lives of mortals. "Everyone knows that if he wanted the VP job, he'd have had it long before that philanderer Jacobs was ever hired." she let out a slow breath, almost whistling through pursed lips. "No drive, no motivation"
Grandma had been famous dancer back in the day. She was a regular on "Soul Train" and was in several scenes in Saturday Night Fever. She had started her own dance studio in the city and kept her instruction costs as low as she could in order to give as many kids a chance at a career. She had worked her feet to the bone, and then some. Practicing, paying dues, always just short, always just coming from behind.
"I made it to level 60 before I was 65!" It was invariable that the other women would hear about how his grandmother had started a charity for retired artists. The organization had helped countless artists move off the streets and back into permanent housing by helping them do things as complex as recover owed royalties or as simple as apply for disability. It was a worthwhile use of her hard-won fortune and fame.
When word came that he had finally died, 4 days after his 80th birthday, his grandmother was adamant.
"A real level 25 if I've ever seen one!"
"He'll be in heaven, living on the Lord's pity!"
The "Vita" began to print. The first thing that anyone saw, after your name, was the score. This was followed by every interaction, thought, word, or action that changed your level and the commensurate "XP" change, positive or negative.
The ladies read his name, and only one digit of his level.
"3......."
The grandmother sagged like wet cardboard. She could barely hold the paper as it poured from the printer in the way that always felt like it was decanting a whole life. There were no large changes in his score. None of the multi-level leaps that all of the highest level individuals possessed. Nothing attached to world changing events, nothing indicating that he radically changed humanity.
What he did have was the "multiplier". The longer the string of positive or negative interactions, the greater the "XP" that the next was worth. His interactions were almost all positive. He had gone almost a decade without a negative score at one point. Simply making his wife tea at night without being asked had scaled to the point that it was worth the same relative XP at level 3000 as it had at 30.
When some would've shaken their fists and yelled as they were cut-off in traffic, he just tapped his brakes and checked the rear-view mirror.
When some would have railed at the "idiots" at work making their job more difficult, he quietly cleaned up the mess and moved on.
When he was frustrated, he didn't take it out on his coworkers, wife, kids, or friends.
All of the small things that could break a multiplier string. All of the small, seemingly inconsequential items that prevented almost everyone from achieving arch-angel status. He had avoided most of them.
As he lay, dying in a hospital bed. His daughter asked him a question, though she well knew the answer and had heard it a thousand times. She wanted to hear it once more, so she asked, "Dad, how can I have a good life?"
He smiled and his cloudy, shimmering eyes seemed to focus on a point ten feet above his bed.
He whispered, trailing off, "Do unto others..."
Edit: Wow, absolutely thanks everyone. I enjoyed reading all of your comments, and I'm pleased that this supplants my previous high karma statement which was a quote about a man in the depths of an ether binge.
Special thanks to those that gilded. I'll have to sign into my account more often again and see what it does.
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I walk through those crystallised gates with enthusiasm, waiting to see my favourite person... my grandmother
I hadn’t seen her for about 50 years, she would always help me, always allow me to be myself, always allowed me to be whatever I wanted.
So when I walked through those gates with my cane and hunched back after a life well spent you could see how I was really pissed off when I hear that she’s been talking shit about me when she first got up to heaven. Apparently her level of admittance was higher than the average... fuck me
I realised that the levels are a gateway to different levels of heaven seeing how far you can get, they can be docked or added depending on what you did. And somehow I got 3008 by doing my job. This is going to be a long eternity
| 2018-04-14T17:40:49 | 2018-04-14T17:35:33 | 8,523 | 13 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
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Dear Shane,
Remember at my wedding when you looked at me and said, "Don't do this. It's not too late."
I'll be married twenty six years in December. I have three kids almost all of them are adults. I tell them about you all the time. How you were the strongest kid I ever met. I tell them how you were my good side and how you kept me from going down a path that would have been my destruction. Without you there would have been no me and I miss you.
I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me most. I promised I would and I wasn't. I've never forgiven myself for that. I thought the cancer was done and that we would both grow old. The shock and hurt on your face when I said, "I have to get my life started. I'm twenty and you don't need me anymore." still haunts me to this day. I think you knew that this was the beginning of the end.
You tried to talk me out of joining the Army, out of my sudden decision to get married, and god knows how many times you tried to talk me out of going to Tijuana for the weekend. I remember telling you that you were going to be my best man and you saying, "No."
"Oh, alright. Well, you are heading down tomorrow to get fitted for the tux. I'll pick you up around four." I replied. Your Dad laughed so hard he started crying.
Sometimes, I think about writing a book about our adventures. We lifted each other up. When you had lost your leg I was there to help you stand, then walk, then run, and finally I even had you rollerskating. When my parents went in two different directions leaving me abandoned with my younger sister you made sure that the anger I felt never fully possessed me. Your family became mine and we became brothers. I fully expected when I came back home that you would still be there.
Your death devastated me. I was living in Germany at the time and a letter came in from my wife's grandmother. When I opened it I saw the article and thought, "Holy shit, Shane is in the newspaper again." I was so happy until I realized it was an obituary.
Everyone knew something had happened. They kept asking me what was wrong. I simply said, "I have to go home and tell my wife." One of the Sergeants tried to stop me and the guy who always got along with everyone stared and said, "I'm going home and if you have a problem with it then send the M.P.'s."
My wife and I threw rose petals into the Main river that ran right behind my house. You would have loved to have seen it. In fact, I had started to make plans to bring you up to spend a couple weeks in Europe with us before I received that letter.
I've only just started talking about how I let you down. The one promise I ever broke was the most important one I ever spoke. It is my one and only regret and it still weighs heavily on me after all these years.
When you are twenty it seems as if you are getting old. That time is starting to slip out of your grip. In truth we were just kids just getting started in our lives. You had just turned twenty one when life ended for you. You had a steady relationship with a girl who adored you, had started college, and before I left looked to be a rising star in the distant horizon.
You taught me to live life to the fullest and I have. I've traveled across this world seeing things you couldn't imagine. I've gone all through Europe. Ate brochen and brauts while drinking Gluwein in Rothenburg during Christmas, drove all along the Cote D'Azur, sang Home Sweet Home to the tune of a German Polka band that was playing during a Weinfest held directly behind my home, and I went all across the Eastern Bloc countries seeing the devastation of communism first hand. I've lived in foreign countries, drank Vodka with Russians, and danced to Techno in Salzburg. With your life gone, I felt I owed it to you to live mine to the fullest and I have tried to do so. I have even danced with Midgets in Mexico. Now, with my own kids being adults, I can see myself heading down through South America before heading to Asia. I only wish you could be with me as I travel across those distant lands.
There isn't a day that goes by where some memory of our friendship doesn't make it to the front of my mind. See you on the other side.
|
Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil
| 2017-11-06T00:19:39 | 2017-11-05T22:17:00 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped and your wealthy significant other was told to pay the hefty ransom. Instead, they sent a message back to your kidnappers. “Nice knowing you.” While the kidnappers discuss their next move, you look up through the tiny window, stare at the full moon overhead … and smile.
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I laid where I was tossed; on a bathroom floor with my back to the door. My hands and feet were bound and I hadn’t moved since my *kidnapping* took place that morning. In a way, it was my own fault that I was caught, and no doubt my husband was going to have plenty to say about it tomorrow morning over breakfast.
You see, we have a staff of nearly a hundred at the estate, and Michael has always warned me against leaving the house during a full moon. To leave whatever needed doing to the staff. But I was not a china doll. I was thirty-eight and had three teenaged kids and I refused to be put on a shelf. Other mothers drove their kids to school, and I wanted to do at least that much. On the trip home, I got peckish and pulled into a supermarket to buy a pack of ribs to gnaw on along the way.
The supermarket parking lot was where they drove up alongside my car in a white van and ambushed me. The chloroform they held over my face was a dirty trick, for this time of the month made us especially susceptible to it.
That was the downside. On the upside, it didn’t take long to shake off the effects either. Animal metabolism for the win. So five minutes later, while pretending to still be asleep, I heard the two in the driver’s cabin talking.
Because … our hearing was good at this time of month as well.
Fast forward to the evening, and Michael had timed his response perfectly. I could hear my kidnappers arguing in the next room, but unless they had splurged on silver bullets, they were about to have a really bad evening.
The worst part was yet to come. I could feel the pull of the moon’s second full cycle and I went up onto my knees, reaching out to hold the window ledge. Whoever said the shift was easy was a goddamn moron. Bones popping and swelling. Flesh tearing and reforming. And here’s me, trying to undergo all of that without making a noise. Trust me, it doesn’t matter that I’ve been undergoing this since I first hit puberty a couple of decades ago. It still hurts like a mofo!
In my half form, I was like every other lycanthrope. Eight feet tall, and three wide at the shoulder. Fortunately, three inches of jet black hair all over kept me morally decent. Because yes, we are still people, even in that form, thank you.
Needless to say, the ropes that bound me were now in pieces on the floor among the fragments of my shredded clothes. With my ears twitched forward, I heard my family howling nearby, and my own chest swelled to respond.
I busted out the tiny bathroom window, not to escape but just to let them know I was fine.
And that brought my kidnappers running.
Let me also be the first to say, it never gets old to watch one or more cocky humans at that moment when they realise they are screwed in every sense of the word. By removing me from the city, they had guaranteed no help would be forthcoming. Even better, my pack had followed the note back to where I was being held. By scent through the broken window, I knew there were currently more werewolves in the immediate vicinity than humans.
Michael was never going to let me live this down.
They started firing at me, and I raised myself to my full height to give them the biggest possible target. Without silver to lead the way, their weapons wouldn’t even penetrate our dermal layer.
After they ran out of bullets, they drew their knives.
*Slow, slow learners.*
I couldn’t help myself. I chuckled, and that sound is even creepier on an upright werewolf. At my age, I was able to speak in this form. I had one word for them.
***“Run.”***
Last night, the pack had hunted down a handful of rabbits and two wild pigs within our mountainous property.
Tonight would be something to tell the grandkids.
*\* \* \**
((All comments welcome))
***For more of my work including WPs:*** [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/).
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I look up through the tiny window and make a small growling noise as I smile. The kidnappers aren't what you call intelligent and are very clearly nervous. I'm about to make that a whole lot worse. I start to convulse in my chair, rattling around. I gnash my teeth and arch my back, straining against my bonds. I look at them and howl, saliva dripping from my mouth. The kidnappers run for their lives.
I embraced my wife. At the hospital after I'd been checked over. "Thanks for the note, it really helped me sell it! Hopefully that's another gang scared away from kidnap and extortion."
| 2021-03-19T01:41:28 | 2021-03-19T00:26:21 | 567 | 137 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
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The great Kreen empire had ruled for millennia, ever expanding with trillions of souls on thousands of worlds all toiling away for the benefit of the Dai'Kreen, the God Kings who ruled with an iron fist.
The Kreen first learned of the humans through rumors of encounters on the outer fringes of the empire. Stories of underwhelming ships approaching Kreen vessels, attempting to hail them with declarations of peace and desire for trade. The humans knew not of the ways of the Kreen, the Kreen have no need for trade, they take what they desire, nor do they care for peace, the only peace is subjugation under the Dai'Kreen.
Conflict began gradually, the negotiations of the humans, begging for peace, *groveling* for the mercy of the Dai'Kreen to "spare innocent lives" but the Kreen cared not for the wishes of lesser beings. The Dai'Kreen were destined to own the galaxy and any within it belonged to the empire, the Kreen would enlighten the humans of this truth.
The Dai'Kreen gave the humans one last warning.
"Hundreds of races have faced the might of the Kreen empire and all have fallen. Those who willingly embraced the empire were accepted with open arms. Prepare your world's for Kreen rule, yield to the empire and we will be lenient. Resist and face decimation."
The human's reply was slow coming, but brief.
"So be it."
The Dai'Kreen struck first. The skies of a dozen human worlds were shattered at once as rift gates opened high above them. Relativistic darts, rods of ultra high density material accelerated to near the speed of light, tore through the rifts and impacted the human worlds with phenomenal force.
Planets broke, billions died in an instant.
The Kreen expected humanity to fold in the face of such horror, but the Dai'Kreen did not know humans.
They did not know that every major scientific advancement in human history had been a a direct result of conflict.
They didn't know that humanity had unlocked the power of the atom all in an attempt to more efficiently kill their own kind.
The Kreen did not know that humanity had pushed itself to the brink of extinction on multiple occasions because of precisely how effecient they were at warfare.
The Dai'Kreen did not know they were not the first empire to make this grave mistake in judgement.
Billions of humans died in the initial salvo but the Kreen were unaware of the psychological effect that would have on humanity. The Kreen expected the humans to see the destruction caused and be awestruck by its majesty, paralyzed in the face of annihilation.
They were not aware of the single most unique trait of the humans. Tenacity.
When the humans broke the seals on the Armory Wolrds that housed their hidden armadas, hundreds of planet sized hangars released hundreds of thousands of warships all with the sole purpose of avenging the lives lost in the Kreen's techerous opening attack.
Human fleets pushed deep into the core of the Kreen empire, world after world systematically pacified or liberated by the sheer overwhelming capacity for violence the humans possessed. The humans pushed the Dai'Kreen back to their ancient seats of power, the Throne Worlds of their home system.
Here the remaining Dai'Kreen in a desperate attempt at reconciliation begged the humans for mercy.
"Surely there is a way that both our great races can thrive? None could withstand the might of our great empires, together the Kreen and humanity could rule the galaxy unapposed."
The encroaching human fleet did not initially respond, but they briefly held their fire. Seeing a potential the Dai'Kreen hailed them once more.
"We hoped reason would prevail, we know now what a grave mistake we made refusing your attempts at peace -"
The human's leader abruptly cut into the Dai'Kreen broadcast.
"No, I don't think you realize just how big a mistake you made, but you will. You fucked around, now find out."
Suddenly the Kreen sensors were blinded by thousands of simultaneous bursts of Gama radiation as the human ships tore open space time and jumped away from the Throne Worlds.
Moments later another far brighter flash of light engulfed the Throne Worlds. The super weapon deployed by the humans during the lull in fighting had accomplished its goal, the sun at the center of the Throne Worlds went nova incinerating the Dai'Kreen and any left loyal to their rule.
Humanity reshackled its weapons of war, returned to its ways of peace and continued to explore the cosmos under a white flag.
Not because they feared for their own survival, but for the survival of anyone *else*.
|
“Greetings, my fellow human comrade, you do not know me, but I know you.
We once thought ourselves as alone in this universe as a species, and when the others made themselves known to us, we had little choice but to acknowledge them as superiors.
And now these superiors have made a terrible choice - we never chose to oppose them, and yet, we now are forced to do so.
These aliens take our planets, enslave our kind and use our bodies for cruel experiments and torture.
I beseech you, to take up arms and join us in retaking our lands back; in the long history of mankind, we have always fought among ourselves, but now we have a common enemy - and we will now show them hell for making an enemy of us.
And I will lead us into a future where there is only peace, a universe that will learn to respect us as a species. I am the Emperor of Mankind, and I ask you once again, “Are you with me?”
| 2022-08-05T19:16:19 | 2022-08-05T16:09:25 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
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We thought it would be fun to get our Ham Radio licenses. I mean, when the "No Code" licenses happened back in the 90s it was fun to get them, and our Radio Shack portable radios. They weren't cheap, but I think, at the time, they were cheaper than Cell Phones with their crazy Dollar a minute plans. (Those were the days, huh?)
I was the last of our group to actually use my Amature license. I met some older guy who convinced me that there was more than just the "CB" radio aspect of it. One of the old timers was really insistent that I learn Morse code. He told me it would change my life. He was not wrong.
There are patterns EVERYWHERE in life.
Some of these patterns are visual. Nautilus shells, for instance have a pattern that is repeated in other places in nature, or architecture, and we didn't know at first why.
There are patterns in taste and smell. We love meat that that has been charred, because genetically, we've been programmed since Neanderthal days to accept the Maillard reaction to cooking as a healthy thing. Sour milk, we know is bad. Rotten flesh, we know will harm us before we eat it.
With auditory sense, I used to think that just birds or the waves in nature were repeatable patterns that were natural. That is of course, until I learned Morse code.
I learned Morse like most folks did, SLOWLY. I really sucked at it, trying to do my lessons on the computer with training software, or when some of my older Ham buddies helped me. That was the case until I started to just treat it like another language. I would play recorded Morse Code training modules as I went to sleep. I would listen to them while mowing the lawn on my Walkman. In every day conversation, I started thinking about how I would dot-dash out the conversations I was having with my family, friends, co-workers and more.
They say you know when you've really learned a language, when you dream in it. I took a lot of Spanish in highschool and college. I never dreamed in it. One morning I woke up, and realized that I had dreamed my entire dream in Morse code. I was of course fascinated by this discovery. I fired up my old radio and tuned to a Morse channel and realized I didn't need to write anything down to translate it. I just knew what they were saying.
I was really excited by this, and couldn't wait to tell my co-workers and maybe the ham group that was going to meet later that month for coffee.
I heard the weather lady talking about the chance of rain that morning, so I grabbed my umbrella and headed out the door for the bus stop. It was cloudy, but still dry when I got on the bus, but we hit rain about halfway to my office. That's when I noticed it. The pattern of the rain on the roof of the bus sounded like morse code. (Don't even ask me about dashes, they were THERE!)
<Run Ray! Run Ray! Run!>
Over and over. Once I realized it was doing that I sat in stunned amazement while listening to it, some how, the rain got harder, the pattern remained the same. I reached up for the "Stop Requested" cord and pulled it. The bus driver quizzacly looked at me, and pulled up to the curb. I walked up front and when I got to the door, they studied me for a moment before opening the door.
"This isn't your stop Ray. You sure you want to get off here?"
"I'm pretty sure. I... Something is telling me. Let's call it my gut." and he opened the door and I opened my umbrella and got off the bus.
I watched the bus pull away and drive towards my office. I started to walk and I could hear the plinking of rain on my umbrella telling me, "Run, Run, Run" Over and over again. I picked up my pace, and as my pace picked up, the pattern changed, to "Yes, Yes, Yes".
Hearing that, I stopped cold.
"Run, Ray, Run Ray, Run" resumed in morse pattern on my umbrella.
I heard a crashing sound a few blocks ahead, and I took off running, closing my umbrella, not worrying about getting wet. I could hear the patterns on awnings and the sidewalk. "Run!"
I actually caught up to my bus, who was stopped in a line of cars. Up ahead of them, was a horrific crash. A liquid nitrogen tanker had been sideswiped by a garbage truck and the liquid nitrogen was spewing out right at the bus stop ahead. I saw the bus driver staring ahead very pale. When they saw me on the sidewalk, they opened the bus door and yelled at me.
"Ray! Get in here out of the rain!"
"Oh hey, I'm glad you were there."
Gladys the bus driver pointed at her watch, "I should have been there when that happened. But somebody needed an emergency stop. Whatever that was, I am thanking the Lord for it."
I stood on the steps of the bus, just sheltered. I could hear the rain with a different pattern now. "Stay, Stay, Stay".
"Uh, yeah, about that, I needed to .... Um, I can't explain it, nobody'd believe me anyway." I took out my cell phone and dialed my office, telling them about the accident. I even took some pictures for good measure. My boss was a prick sometimes, and yeah.
Now, I listen to the Universe very carefully, because it is still using Morse code to guide me. There are other incidents, but those are for other stories.
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It only happens when it rains.
It only happens, once or twice every couple of weeks. Once or twice every few hours on a bad week. Three or more times on a bad day.
I remember last year, no this year, when it stormed for 24 hours straight. It wasn't a hurricane if that's what you think. No. Just twelve inches of hard rain. Lightning coming to the ground. Funnel clouds dropping low a couple of counties over.
It felt apocalyptic to put it lightly. And yet, for once, while fighting the water, I felt at peace. Resigned to my fate. To death, if it came.
The pattern keeps telling me the same thing every time. To "Run".
It could just be another delusion. We all lie to ourselves. Right? Just your brain playing tricks on you? Granted, I know disorders are more common than we think. And it's something to consider. I could have anything wrong with me. And I wouldn't know. Because to me; it was always like that.
But ever since I learned Morse code, it comes back. It's not possible, you see? Rain doesn't have a pattern. You don't turn the faucet on full blast, and get a message. Do you learn crucial information from the showerhead? Other than basic hygiene, me neither.
But when it rains, it happens. "Run." I can hear it as it hits the ground. As it hits the plants. The same thrumming on the glass as you drive to work.
"Run."
And you know it doesn't make sense. *I* know it doesn't make sense.
I can't sleep on those nights. And I have problems from it during the day. Something is wrong here. I've been to doctors. Psychologists. I take medicine, just to be sure.
I can still hear it. Whenever it rains.
So it's settled. I've made up my mind. A friend of mine chases storms for a living. And it seems like decent work. The forecast says there's a front coming this weekend. It's supposed to be a really bad storm.
I'm going with them. I'm going for a walk. See what I've been running from.
---
A little unknown horror for this one. Tis the season. r/Jamaican_Dynamite
| 2021-09-28T09:21:36 | 2021-09-28T09:01:14 | 238 | 88 |
[WP]Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.
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**Part 1**
Bill, or Billy, son Bill the farmer, grandson of Bill the elder farmer, and great-grandson of Bob the gardener, was awakened by the squawking of his chickens. His morning routine went by on autopilot and when he was all filled on bread and milk, he was ready for a productive day in the fields. He donned his straw hat and stepped outside whistling a jaunty tune.
“Alright my beauties, what do you have for me today?” he rubbed his hands together as he opened the gate to the chicken pen. The little feathery creatures were up and about, mobbing Bill for food. All except for Big Bertha, who seemed glued on the spot. *How very unlike you,* Bill thought.
He walked over and shooed her away. She flapped her wings in protest but hopped off her roost, revealing a large, scaly egg. It had a foggy blue-green colouring.
“I’ll be damned…” Bill squatted down and inspected the strange egg. Before he could touch it, someone called out to him. He turned to see Albert the shopkeep leaning against the pen’s fence. Behind him on the road, his donkey waited for his master to continue the journey.
“Howdy neighbor!” Albert said.
“Good mornin' to you Al! I didn't know we are neighbors?”
“Ah, you’re the first farm I come across when I go in and out of town. I thought to myself, I thought: I haven’t talked to that Billy fellow in a while. I don’t see him in church that often, let’s see what he’s up to.”
“I’m doing alright, farm’s doing well. But look what one of my chickens just shat out.” Bill carefully picked up the egg. It felt leathery. Big Bertha had apparently lost all interest in it and was ambling around in the distance. Albert backed off from the fence when Bill presented the egg and he bumped into his donkey.
“Yeah, darnest thing ain’t it?” Bill said.
“Did you… that’s a devil's spawn. Get rid of it.” The wide eyed Albert grasped his animal’s leash and hurriedly dragged him down the road, forgoing a goodbye. Bill watched him go and shrugged. He brought the egg inside the house and placed it inside of a wooden bowl, before continuing his chores for the day. There wasn’t much use in wasting daytime gawking at it, but he occupied himself with daydreaming about what it could be, and how much it could be worth.
Over the next few days the harvest kept him busy and he almost forgot about the egg, until one night, when he was eating supper by his roaring fireplace, the bowl on his table started to shake. The egg started showing cracks - scales started falling into the bowl, forming an opening. And out of the opening popped a little lizard head.
Bill screamed and fell backwards with his chair. He scrambled up and ran to the other end of the room as the noise of the cracking egg intensified. A new sound filled the room; a high pitched squeal that kept on intermittently.
“You’re no chicken,” Bill muttered. He reached into his pocket and extracted a piece of straw that he placed in his mouth. He gazed at the squealing creature for a while before approaching it. He grabbed another piece of straw and held it in front of the little dark green lizard, who was now sitting in the remains on its egg. It’s tiny maw snapped shut around the top of the straw and it started nibbling. Bill flashed a sympathetic smile.
A year had passed. Little Bertha the Dragon was little no more. The new barn that Bill had built for it was getting too small, and it was getting hard to control its movement. Its appetite had grown as well, so much so that Bill was forced to allow the creature to hunt at night. He feared that it would prey on his farm animals, but it appeared that Little Bertha regarded the chickens, pigs and sheep as kin - it only preyed on the forest dwellers.
He’d see Albert so now and then. He’d asked about the egg and Bill assured him he destroyed it. Albert the Shopkeep was useful for business, and it seemed everything was back to normal between the two. But whenever they spoke, in town, or when he was passing by, he could see the twinkle of suspicion in his eyes.
One night, Bill was in the barn, refilling Little Bertha’s water. A day old carcass of a young deer lay in the corner. The winged drake was scratching the barn door, eager for more late night action. Bill let his gaze go over his pet. It had grown so fast, now being taller than him. It sported menacing teeth and claws and it had thick dark green scales all over its body.
“No Little Bertha, not tonight. We can’t draw too much attention to ourselves.” Bill knew that this could not go on forever, that eventually Bertha would be too big to conceal. He still had no plan for when that day came.
Little Bertha turned its long neck around, and stared at him with a pleading, catlike eye. Bill sighed and walked over to open the door. “Don’t go wild now, ya hear?” he said, while removing the plank holding the door shut. Little Bertha squealed in excitement as he pushed open the door. When it had flapped away, Bill retired to his home. which now had a new annex. Business had been good, partly because he could sell remains from the kills that Little Bertha brought home.
The next day he brought his wares to town again, after checking if Little Bertha was back in the barn. Like always, it was curled up in the center, using its tail as a cushion. Impressively, it could close the barn door behind it. Bill was disappointed to see that it didn’t bring a new kill home .
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I was tending to the chickens, just as I had been the day Bob hatched, so many years ago. I only tended them to keep my sanity and to keep busy, after all, the fanatics crowded outside (along with the odd celebrity, whom out of good faith I shouldn’t say who) would send in very generous donations.
I went into the master coop, which Bob had since commandeered having grown from the size of a house cat to a giraffe.
”Bob, I have a clean washing basket, put your dirty clothes in it before I start getting mad!” “Dad, I don’t wear clothes” bob rose from his giant tailor made bean bag and made his way to the basket. “Where I’m from, we fly around in gold and diamond armour, dodging arrows and that. These weird things serve no purpose other than to make me feel ashamed of my dragon bod” “Bob watch those stupid jokes, one of these days you’ll say that in-front of the Crowd and the mob, and you’ll spark another battle between them”
yes, that’s right, Bobs accidental presence had since sparked two minor religious wars all the way out in an Arkansas chicken ranch. “Whenever you’re decent just come out for breakfast, the sheep are being herded”
not caring about clothes, the dragon stooped down and made out to the field. It was dry and warm out. “are they the ones from Jennings farm?” Bob said as he a sat on a Boulder and grappled a sheep or two. “No son, we can’t be buying them all the time you know them prices” roasting the sheep with his fire breath, bob moaned “you expect me to eat these in bread fatty things?” And then promptly popped the sheep into his mouth. “They taste like garbage” “don’t talk while chewing bob it’s un becoming” picking another pair of sheep, bobs ears twinged and his head stuck up. “You hear that?” Some shouting could be heard from over the house. “...Bob, did you remember to clean your litter tray?” “No... i forgot again” the dragon said as he guiltily shoved 2 sheep into his mouth. “I’ll call the police”
| 2021-03-21T14:29:46 | 2021-03-21T14:29:18 | 35 | 17 |
[WP]Aliens captured some humans and are trying to torture them by giving them a chemical that kills the very cells they use for consciousness. The humans are having a great time, the aliens just provided free drinks. Now the humans are breaking out and the aliens can’t predict their strategies.
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The head of the containment team skidded around the corner on just four pseudopods, the others carrying hastily scrambled together notes as they made it to the command deck, their oxygen flaps working overtime to decontaminate their body from the sudden burst of activity. The Research Caste was not built for such activities, and with this in mind, the Commander turned their eyestalks around quizzically, surprised at the breach of protocol as the head of the containment team slammed into their door, hastily snatching their notes back up.
“What is the meaning of this, Xkhoon?” demanded the imposing Commander, their exoskeleton gleaming in the light as only a Warrior Caste's could.
“Apologies my Commander, but we, uh, appear to have made some grave... miscalculations on the effects of another chemical on the subjects-” began Xkhoon, worried that this could push the commander over the edge.
“Do you recall our discussion about proper information gathering after the failure of using hydroxylic acid to melt their exoskeleton off for further study?” demanded the Commander, bringing themselves up to their full, impressive 2 feet.
“Y-yes Commander. From what we were able to translate, I believe they called it a... 'Xhao-heurr'” replied Xkhoon, struggling to pronounce the unfamiliar syllables from their barbaric language.
“And you assured me no further errors would occur. Did the ethanol have no sterilisation effect?” demanded the Commander. Xkhoon shrank back a little, wary about being consumed in the Commander's rage.
“Oh, no commander, it had the effect we anticipated, though somewhat slower; it not only successfully passed across from their primitive gastrointestinal tract to their circulatory system, but successfully passed through the crude barrier around their conscious-matter, disabling and slowly destroying it...” said Xkhoon carefully, checking their notes to confirm the results and proffering them to the Commander on one pseudopod, who snatched it away, reading it warily.
“So, then... what's the problem? Have you killed our test subjects?” asked the Commander, flicking through the screens of data presented to them.
“Quite the opposite, actually... they... uh... they appear to be thriving. Not only that, after the initial attempts at contaminating their liquid rations with the potent neurotoxin, one of them was heard to exclaim what we believe to be 'excitement'... please see recording 2 for the best translation we were able to provide,” added Xkhoon. The Commander activated Recording 2.
“Fockin' finally lads, this is some quali'y booze. Oi, Rozza, give this a try!” said the voice on the recording, the thin line of tape scraping past the magnetic interpreter, before getting chewed up.
“Oh, sorry Commander, allow me,” said Xkhoon, taking a hexagonal object and rewinding the tape into place.
“So, please confirm I have interpreted correctly what you are telling me. They are purposefully poisoning each other? Is this a survival instinct due to low resources?” asked the Commander, struggling to get their conscious-matter around the issue.
“And themselves. That's not even the concerning part. Their behaviour has changed. They're employing some sort of sonic weaponry we were previously unaware of. It's similar to their audible method of communication, but conveys no known information. They disabled the guards when they went in to calm the disturbance and then walked out. They appear to be moving as one amorphous group, with their primative pseudopods linked for stability, moving in some sort of evasive manoeuvres while flailing wildly, making subduing them again all but impossible,” said Xkhoon, showing more of the collected data to the Commander, their eyestalks darkening as their exoskeleton hardened, a defence mechanism well-prized by the warrior caste.
“What about the reser-... wait, do you feel those vibrations?” demanded the Commander, their exoskeleton beginning to vibrate dangerously.
“Oh, Circle preserve us, they've found the command deck! Prepare for sonic weapon deployment by hostile forces!” shrieked Xkhoon.
“He drinks a Whiskey drink, he drinks a Vodka drink, He drinks a Lager drink, he drinks a Cider drink...” came the ominous war chant from the amorphous blob of homosapiens, stumbling around the corner, in their blood lust for something they'd only referred to as a 'kherr-barb', the vibrations destabilising the outer membranes of the unprepared visitors.
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‘Sir, why are the humans walking so oddly’? ‘I’m not sure lieutenant, they seemed fine when we picked them up. Perhaps we picked a sample that share some neurological problem. Our science division should have the answers’.
‘Sir, they’re acting aggressively towards each other... oh it seems to have stopped. Now they’re.... oh sweet hive mother, they’re exchanging digestive bodily fluids. Using their MOUTHS’.
‘Don’t look hive wife, it’ll just give you ideas. Oh they just noticed the cameras. Dammit lieutenant I told you they would. What does that upper limb gesture mean? Why are they both doing it? Is it being directed at US?.
‘Stop that. STOP THAT. Oh sweet hive mother, they’re breaking in. The hive won’t get here in time to save us. Computer, send an emergency beacon to all ships. Humans (static) left alo.... ‘.
End of transmission.
| 2021-03-19T17:51:11 | 2021-03-19T17:17:27 | 116 | 29 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
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The bar was cramped full of extraterrestrial life. Zelei, Ugrak, Haelites, you name it. Every shape, size, color, smell, it was there. Music from all across the galaxy joined in chorus with rowdy and drunken laughter and conversation, a song of the Milky Way. Not everyone liked the diversity though- at the edge of the bar sat a hairy and wolf-like Fraih'mador, a tall and skinny Trailm, and a bulky, repitilian Jex- Irhad, Grunn, and Yikyik. They all shared a common distrust of strangers, a trait that ironically brought them together- that, and their involvement in intergalactic crime. On this particular day, they were looking to do some crime, and were setting their eyes on the strangest of the strange walking in- the outsiders who'd have the most money.
"Keep your eyes peeled boys- theres plenty of cash on these *hraid*" Irhad scanned the incoming waves of drinkers, darting through the strange faces. Grunn proceeded to do the same, giving Yikyik a small but careful bump on the shoulder to pay attention. Suddenly, a rare sight walked into view, one that widened Irhad and Grunn's eyes- Yikyik, not realizing the danger, stood up with a vetroknife, ready to claim his prize.
"Don't worry boys- I got this one". Irhad grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him back onto his seat.
"What the fuck? I've got this-" Irhad delivered a soft slap against Yikyik's face.
"You fucked fool! Do you know what that is?" Yikyik looked back over at the alien, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.
"No, he's just an uncommon kind. What's the big deal?" Irhad pulled Yikyik closer, enough so that he could smell his rancid, meat-stained breath.
"That, is a *mother fucking human*. You do not, under *any* circumstances, fuck with that!"
"Why? It looks as weird as any other alien. Just the hair is in strange places..."
Yikyik felt another slap against his scaly face. This time, Grunn did the talking.
"This is why I told you to read more, you moron. Humans come from Earth, which if you didn't know is basically evolution's training ground for the deadliest species in the galaxy, and humans happen to be at the top of its food chain, which logically speaking makes them the toughest sons of bitches in the galaxy. I don't even know where to begin with the number of mass extinction events that planet has gone through- do you have any idea what that kind of stuff breeds? What I've seen kill others in a matter of seconds does nothing but set them back a bit. Broke your calf bone? Slammed in the face? Shot in the chest? Humans don't die from that, some even walk it off. All because of some chemical they call "adrenaline""
Yikyik was beginning to understand, but the true danger present hadn't exactly hit him yet.
"So, what, they're strong? Aren't you guys supposed to be smart? Can't you use your brains or something?" Yikyik watched as Grunn brought his palm up to his face.
"You do understand that being the best is more than just brawn, right? The humans are plenty smart, smarter than anything we've come across- what's taken us hundreds of years to understand, they did in a few decades. You know the internet? That took us nine centuries. It took them less than one. Science comes to them like a snap of the finger, and they're learning it quicker and quicker each year. It's almost kind of scary"
"And don't even get me started on their military strategy", spoke Irhad, "The tactics our generals are just beginning to put together were already done centuries ago by humans like Kahn, Caesar, Attila, Hannibal- the list goes on and on. There's a reason no one in the Galactic Council get's ugly with the humans- no one wants a repeat of the Pegasi War". A shudder went down the spine of all three.
"The Pegasi War. Never forget", mumbled Grunn. Yikyik looked back over at the human. As dangerously regarded he was by Yikyik's friends, he seemed to be the life of the party, surrounded by all sorts of alien life, bearing momentous laughs.
"He sure doesn't look threatening. At least to those guys"
"Oh, right, that's the strange thing about them. Humans aren't exactly, well, violent per say", said Irhad.
"Why's that?"
"Well, they like to solve things diplomatically. Negotiations. Deals. In the last couple of years, war has become essentially archaic to them. And even before that, they were still big on talking things out. As they've developed as a species, they've felt less of the need to kill each other. Or anything for that matter. You know what they used their cloning technology to do? Not to make armies to fight each other like everyone else, no. They used it to *feed starving nations*. Yep- they'd clone cells, grow animal meat, and then give it to the needy. Not only were they helping people, but they were solving the whole "morality of meat" debate that they had going on, for some reason. They use science and technology to find ways to avoid killing things", said Grunn.
Yikyik could see the point they were getting across, but his stubbornness got the best of him. He could tell the human was wealthy by the clothes he was wearing, as well as the many drinks he purchased for his friends- he didn't appear to be armed, so theft would just be hit and run. Yikyik stood up and walked over, despite his friends' warnings.
He walked up slowly and confidently to the human. As the alien drank with his friends, he saw Yikyik shuffling over. He gave him a warm smile, but realized his true intentions when he saw the knife in the criminal's hand. Yikyik pointed it at him, directly in his face- bad move.
"Listen punk- I know you've got a lot of money, and I have some errands I need to run. So, I'd appreciate it if-" Like lightning, the human stood, grabbed Yikyik by the arm, twisted it, and threw him onto a table. The impact was so strong, it killed him- an unintentional result on the human's part. He put his shaking hands up to his mouth.
"Oh...oh my God. Shit, I-I didn't mean to..." The human's Drittav friend put a hand on his shoulder.
"It's okay bro, it's just your natural instincts. C'mon, let's get out of here..."
Irhad and Grunn continued watching from the edge of the bar. Their eyes were wide, terror gripping their hearts. They had just witnessed their friend die- and, the impressive but monstrous attributes of the human. Irhad laid his four eyes on the bottom of his glass.
"Remind me to never get in bed with one of those things"
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Jak'tur stood on the command bridge of the galaxy's most massive Dreadnought, The Bastion. His suction-cupped hands continued to subconsciously wipe at his scaled combat suit, and his black, bulged eyes continued to scan the screens around him for any activity. The entire crew was on high alert, for they had just trespassed into human space. Though humans had not contributed to any major, or minor, galactic conflicts in the past millennium, they still struck fear into the hearts of all the species of the "Milky Way," as humans were fond of calling the galaxy.
"Admiral," his second called out, "we are approaching the rendezvous point but have not received any pings from fleet main."
"Do not ping, we might alert the humans." Jak'tur was to meet the main battle fleet of the Coalition of Independent Races a half light year from Sol 13, but had not been contacted even though he had just dropped out of jump. Something like this had been attempted before on the Human Home system, but had been met with fierce, unending resistance. The old Galactic Imperium had finally taken notice of the humans, and invaded the Sol system as well as launched minor offensives against their colonies.
The main Imperium fleet jumped into orbit around Earth and began its invasion. Before long though, the Imperium was on the run from the might of the Human military. Envoy's were sent, but the Human's would not abate until the Emperor's head was sent rolling.
And now, Jak'tur was to lead another assault upon the humans for his leaders had seen them to be weak. It was true that they did not possess a fleet such to rival the Coalition's in size, but Jak'tur knew that would not help them now.
"Admiral, radar is picking up faint signals of the fleet just on the other side of the planet."
"Bring the screen up and decrease engine power to half. Divert all remaining power to shields. Keep weapons at one quarter." Jak'tur knew what was about to happen.
The holoscreen came up just as soon a Jak'tur sat down in his command chair and showed utter carnage. The entire battle fleet lay in shatters as if stricken with some sort of great hammer. The Delphius, pride of the Corcians, was blasted in half and still spewing the fur covered, bipedal Corcians out.
"Take all power out of weapons, launch drones and power up the Jump Drive."
"Admiral Jak'tur," a familiar human face appeared on the screen. It was Admiral Cintal, a young man of immense tactical genius tasked with the safeguarding of Earth and Mars. In person, he was only about six feet tall, much shorter than the average Jintiil, but he had eyes that could pierce your mind. "Your people have come to my home, and risked open war with my people. We humans have done our best to remain peaceable and kind, but it seems that we must show our military might once more. This is Admiral Cintal to Sol Fleet Prime, you have my clearance to disengage cloak end open fire on The Bastion."
The transmission ended and Jak'tur readied himself for death. The radar lit up with a thousand red dots and death came swiftly to The Bastion. Meanwhile, a Human Battle fleet had assaulted the Coalition shipyards and destroyed the Secondary Battle Fleet that had been dispatched to cut off trade with the Florids. The Humans had once again proven their military might and silenced the voices of their foes.
| 2016-03-13T21:52:23 | 2016-03-13T18:23:49 | 47 | 18 |
[WP] For centuries your family has passed down an old leather bag that provides the holder with an object that would be helpful in the particular situation the holder is in. You are getting on a bus and instead of giving you a bus ticket or money, it gives you a handgun.
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My family has always dabbled in the arcane. For as many generations as we could trace (and there were many), the same pattern has followed without fail: the first born child receives the gift of magick. They're capable of just about any feat if they put their mind to it (and they always do). The unfortunate backlash of this magnificent gift appears only when the younger siblings are brought into the world.
That's where the bag comes in.
The story goes that our great great great Uncle Lucas felt so bad for his baby brother that he enchanted a simple leather bag just so his sibling could feel special. If I were to explain the bag to you in modern terms, you might call it a "bag of wonder". Bag of holding didn't really work and you had to be careful what you tried to store in it. One time I placed an apple inside for safe keeping and ended up with a handful of prunes upon retrieval. Uncle Lucas apparently had a sense of humor on top of his many other talents: sometimes it swapped what you put inside and sometimes it didn't. I've pulled many a strange object out. Last week, I ended up with the wallet of a man in India. My wallet, however, never showed back up.
Lesson learned.
Anyway, this enchanted bag is usually given to the second child. There are other gizmos and gadgets all magicked up that are passed to third and fourth children, but out of all of them it's the bag that is both the most useful and most confounding.
If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm the second born child. My older sister has all the natural talent. I have a bag that likes to fuck with me whenever it has the chance. We're in a dry spell, me and the bag. It hasn't played a trick on me in a few weeks so my suspicion is sky high. Last night I set the thing on the table and stared very hard at it. I asked it was up to. I asked what it was planning. Because it is a bag, it did not answer. I drank some whiskey and went to bed.
This all brings me to the current situation at hand: I need bus fare and whatever just increased the weight of the damn thing definitely doesn't feel like change. There are a few people in the line ahead of me so I have time to jingle it about and peer into the dark insides. It takes me a minute to recognize the revolver tucked away (my sandwich has become a condom, I notice. When will I ever need that?) and it makes my stomach do a few acrobatic flips that catapult it up into my esophagus. I choke on it and snap the bag shut quickly.
A minute passes, then two. I peek inside once more in hopes that the bag is done playing pranks. Both condom and gun stare back at me and I swear, I really swear, that a laugh track played in the background. Now, this bag's purpose is to provide a person with an item they are going to need very soon. Faced with a firearm and contraception, I am understandably irked. This means that I am either going to get laid or that I'm going to need the gun. I'm praying for the former. It's been months since I last hooked up with anyone. Knowing my luck, however, I'm willing to bet that it's the gun I'll be using very soon.
The driver clears his throat once, loudly and pointedly, jerking me back to reality. "Bus fare," he mutters in a gruff monotone. I've had this bag long enough to be smart. I grab my wallet from a back pocket and pay the allotted fee before hurrying to take up one of the few empty seats. The weight of the stupid bag hasn't changed. Condom. Revolver.
My temples are starting to pound as agitation brought physical reactions. Looking back, I probably should have been far more scared than I was. At that moment I was irritable and annoyed only.
My lookout consists, now, of scoping out hot chicks while intermittently trying to figure out which decrepit looking business man might snap. A few stops come and go. The scenery changes and the bus gets a bit more crowded. A young woman wobbles in front of me and barely braced herself on the overhanging rail. She's pretty cute: dark hair, tan complexion, a splash of freckles on her nose. She's got those big brown eyes that people write songs about and the kind of lips that made the imagination run wild.
Please, for the love of God, let the condom be the item I needed.
Polite gentleman that I am I offer my seat to the girl. This is, in no way, a ploy. I definitely did not do this so that I could come off as charming and therefore maybe chat her up. She bats this pretty eyes at me as she thanks me for the seat and I try to flash an award winning grin in return. It looks more like a grimace, I think, because I've just noticed the wedding band on her finger. Fuck. Now I've lost my seat and there is still a gun in my damn bag. Looks like I'm back to scoping out overworked and under-laid business types. As the bus swings into the next stop, the married chick lets herself off and I silently mourn her as the one that got away while simultaneously taking my seat back. There are two stops left before mine and I'm still unsure of what is going to happen. I'm becoming certain that the gun is what I'll need soon and the idea is enough to make me a bit jumpy. Every little movement around me has my hand darting toward the gun just in case. Still, nothing happens. People text or stare out the window with their ear jacks in. I have zoned in on a little boy who looks thoroughly uncomfortable. He has these puffy cheeks and red eyes like he has been crying and even though the man next to him has an arm looped across the back of his seat the kid looks stiff and scared. Every few seconds he sniffs and his lip trembles.
My mind is in gun paranoia mode. I consider that he might be a child abductee, though logic tells me that he probably just got in trouble. He can't be more than eight or nine by the looks of it and the man next to him definitely looks like his father. Dad catches me staring: I avert my eyes. That's when I see it, finally. When I'd turned my head away from father and son dynamic duo over there, my stare landed on a teenager in all black. His hood was up to conceal his face even though it had to be in the high 80s today. Weirdo McGee was fidgeting about nervously and from the shifts of his hood I could tell he was looking around. He texted with rapid fingers and then would stuff his phone down between his thighs. What was he up to? Rob the bus driver? A gas station? The bus lurched into the next stop: kid stood up and so did I. Hey, instinct is instinct. My stop wasn't until the next one but I had a feeling I needed to follow this little shit bag.
He walked a few blocks and then, without warning, turned right down an alleyway. I kept him in my line of sights: I tailed him from a good distance and when I reached the corner I stopped to listen. There was moaning coming from where Suspicious Pants McSplurge had gone and a guttural threat that I couldn't quite hear. A girl's voice responded in kind. I almost started choking: was he raping someone? Hurriedly I scrambled to pull out the gun. One in the chamber. I spun it once and then clicked everything into place. Another moan told me I had to hurry, so when I stepped into the entrance of the dark alley it was with both arms holding the revolver forward and my feet spread eagle like a damn cop show. "Get off the girl---..."
The two teenagers stared doe eyed and terrified at me. Me, a mid thirties man in a stained t-shirt and ill fitting jeans, pointing a gun straight at them. Mr. Hoodie had a mouthful of neck and I couldn't see his far arm, but from the way Alley Girl arched I assumed it was beneath her shirt. Shit. We all basked uncomfortably in the silence until little miss cleared her throat and spoke up. "Please don't kill us."
The pounding in my temples got worse. I grunted a response and lowered the weapon, clicking safety back into place. It went back into my bag and I retrieved the condom instead. With all of the gruffness in the world I flicked the wrapped thing at them and, in a perfect monotone, told them to 'wrap it before you tap it'.
I didn't linger to see what happened from there. Now I had to make the rest of the walk home. I wasn't getting laid, my sandwich was gone, and the stupid bag had punk'd me yet again.
(First time here! Thanks for reading)
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I am from this family and my family has been passing down this bag for generations which is a magical bag. It gives the possessor whatever that person needs the most in that situation. Or is going to need. Get the idea?
So I was boarding a bus one time and I reached in there thinking that now I need money to buy the ticket. But instead, I got a gun out of the bag.
I panicked and put the gun back inside it and closed the flap trying to make it go away. I reopened the bag and the gun was still there. I felt my heart pump adrenaline laced blood into my body and I started taking faster breaths. The conductor was waiting for me and I had not given him money. I just took out my wallet and handed him the money. When he passed, I looked back in the bag, and the gun was still there.
Something is going to happen soon. I looked up and around at my co-passengers. There was an old man in the front seat and two women in the seat across me. There were men and women on the seats ahead of me and I glanced back and many of the seats were taken. I guess someone in the bus was going to attempt something. Perhaps robbing the people? Or some terrorist attack? I began cycling through the possibilities.
I slid my hand inside my bag and kept my hand on the gun and waited.
The bus continued on its journey and I was scanning each and everyone and listening to any disturbance in the back. I was glancing occasionally in the back but I thought that that would spook whoever it was who was going to cause trouble. There was this one man in the back seat who was constantly looking out the window. He was a tall man with a balding head and he seemed muscular though I couldn't see clearly. He had a brown shirt on and each time I glanced back, I noticed that he was just looking out the window.
After glancing back multiple times and seeing no suspicious activity, I just kept my hand on the gun and started to relax when I heard a sudden gasp in the back and a couple of yells from some people. I started to turn back and I recall it all in slow motion after that. As I was turning back, I noticed something unusual in the air from the corner of my eye. My eyes went up there and it was that man in the brown shirt in midair. His arms outstretched towards me and his eyes now resembled that of a cat with slits. He was baring his teeth and the lips were slowing moving out of the way of the teeth. The teeth were needle like and ready to pierce whatever part of me they could grab.
I felt my hand move and the gun was out of the bag. I knew then and there that before even I could bring that gun up, I was going to be in the clutches of the man in the air. Or the beast in the air. I had to gain just a moment’s notice till I bring my gun up so that I could fire it. My left hand then began its ascent toward my neck.
Then the beast with the yellow eyes slammed into me with a lot more weight than I could have guessed of a man that size. But that was not a man. I banged my back against the seat in front of me but just managed to save my head banging against it too. The beast went biting into my arm and I could feel its teeth literally reach all the way inside my forearm and pierce my bones. It bit once more trying to pull my arm away from my head. It's one hand was on my shoulder while his left hand buried inside my ribs and began snapping my bones.
It had not seen the gun in my hand and now my gun was positioned point blank at its neck and I shot it. It shrieked in some deep and dark way like bats would in a dark cave and I pushed it down on the floor while it writhed and I shot it again. Three times in the head. I then noticed the cries of the people around me in the bus. Everyone had this terrifying look in their eyes as if they themselves had battled this creature.
I felt some wet tickle down my right thigh and found that the beast had torn open my abdomen below my ribs and now everything began to signal its damage to my brain. The pain shot up and I quickly scanned everyone else in the bus. No one seemed willing to move and so I quickly put my hand inside my bag. Something to stop my bleeding.
Instead, I felt some leather and hard metal. I took it out and it was a police badge in my hand. I held it over my head for everyone to see and said, ‘I am from the police. Don’t worry. The threat has been subdued.’ I almost fell forward. The bus driver had stopped the bus after taking it down the road. He opened his door and got out of the bus and ran away from it. I got away from the dead body and walked towards the exit door of the bus.
I opened it from the driver’s controls and looked at all of those silent and shocked faces. Many had tears in their eyes. It was a wonder that I did not shot anyone accidentally. ‘Get off the bus and get out of here fast.’ I said and I stepped out of the bus.
I put my hand inside my bag and it gave me a cell phone.
‘Goddamnit give me something for the blood.’ I cursed it.
And then it did.
| 2017-09-11T10:17:45 | 2017-09-11T10:11:19 | 55 | 14 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy.
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# Option Four
The human council has been away for discussion for a disturbingly long time. Humans were not known for thinking things over. They quickly gained a reputation for what their culture called a "shoot first ask questions later" policy. No one could blame them, if any race's First Encounter was a Pholentor class IX warfleet with standing orders to purge organic life from the sector, they might have turned out the same way.
Despite this, the humans were still deliberating, long after even the spermatophyta class races had reached a consensus. As 'plants' they were known for taking at least twice as long to talk amongst themselves, but the last group claimed ready over thirty minutes ago. The entire Coalition was starting to murmur about the arguing humans. Even though their microphone was turned off, the whole chamber could hear shouts occasionally ring out from the human's platform and the room slowly filled with din of questions. What could the humans bring to the table? Why would it take so long to prepare? Why did they look so grim when they heard the final propositions?
The Pholentors, a mantid-class race, was the final holdout of the Galactic Valor, an alliance bent on purging less 'pure' creatures from the Milky Way. Their home system was in a stratiegic location, a 'blank zone' with no landmarks to warp to except for a choice few stars near the maxium range of a warp drive. All heavily fortified of course. The Peace Coalition presented 3 options. The first was simply pushing through the fortifications and capturing their home system with brute force. Simple, and costly. The second was to bombard with lightspeed ballistics. Highly innacurrate, easily deterrable, and could cause many civilan deaths. The pholents were also known for their hypernationalism, and this bombardment could potentially bolster their morale instead of weakening it, dragging the conflict on for years. The final was a blockade, physically and economically, but the pholents had lived for epochs without outside contact and could do so again, harrassing the galaxy all the while. One of the humans began to speak at the end of the presentation of options but was quickly muted by his own Military Overseer. The entire situation was rather ominous, and was not typical behavior in a Coalition meeting.
When the humans returned to their platform and unmuted their microphone, they began speaking immediately. This was a massive breach of decorum, usually the presiding Head Presenter would read in the next race to speak once everyone was ready.
"Forgive our delay, but we have a fourth option to present." Their Military Overseer, who usually spoke with authority and bravado even when out of place, sounded apologetic and somber. It felt uncomfortable to listen to, coming from a human. "Unfortunately, humans once long ago were presented with a situation very similar to this one. As an alternative at the time, we created a weapon so horrific, so monsterous, that it was never used again in any conflict in the history of our race. Even the group we used the weapon against, who announced their willingness to fight to the last man before surrendering, laid down their arms in the face of this weapon. Despite that horror, despite the fact we thought it would be never be used again, we continued to research it. To improve it, for some godforsaken reason."
At this point sobbing could be heard through the microphone quietly as several of the human leaders broke out into tears. The Science Overseer had to excuse themself. This behavior had never been seen before from any race when discussing tactics, let alone humans. The other races began to feel fear, even though they still were not sure what the humans were talking about.
"Now, we have perfected this weapon, and present it before you as the 4th option. If selected, we can promise no further Coalition lives or resources will be spent." Another murmur as doubt, suprise, and joy was expressed by the races.
"Despite this, it still comes at a heavy cost. Using this weapon will destroy a part of your race's soul, I think. I'm sorry, I know some of you don't have a moral concept of a soul, but please try to understand and know that this weapon has a cost beyond the physical. It will be a blemish on all of our histories."
The room darkened and a video began to play on the main screen of a arid rocky planet. A fleet of small ships were in high orbit, and a small projectile, barely visible from the distance the camera was at, left a ship for the surface. On impact, a wave of fire rushed out in a perfect circle, hugging the surface. The whole chamber seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the circle to stop expanding, but it never did. As the camera zoomed out to show the planet in full, the ring of flame continued to expand untill it wrapped around the curvature of the planet, and the edge of the circle could no longer be seen. The glow of the burning sphere on the screen lit the room up in muted orange, long shadows exaggerating the horrified expressions on the faces of every single creature in the room. In the video, the camera switched wavelengths, and a wave of energy could be seen expanding outwards from the planet. As the wave passed over the fleet, the ships instantly superheated and folded into clumps of raw material. The message was clear, there would be no survivors.
After 3 months of hiatus of discussing this new unparralleled destruction, the Coalition council was reconvened for a vote. Some expressed opposition to the vote conceptually. Some expressed opposition to the idea that the humans hadn't been expelled from the Coalition yet.
The tally came in. Option Four won. How?
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Edit: Thanks for the positive comments, I really appreciate them. I explained why I asked how at the very end in a reply below, but I think it's just mysterious enough that coming up with your own meaning as some people have seemed to do is cool too.
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"They have enough armor for a splash-down, but they're in the wrong orbit for it."
The radio crackles. "So this is how we go... It has been lovely, working with you humans."
The captain asks, "How inhabited is this world?"
Another member of the *Sorcerer*'s bridge crew responds, "Nothing on radio, and the telescopes... Oi, Astrocomm, point 'em down."
The massive communication telescopes on the Starship *Sorcerer* pointed at the world. The data was fed into it's mighty computer, and the results concluded it. "There isn't even an oxygen atmosphere. No signs of life. No motion, whatsoever."
The captain smiles. "*Query of the Stars*, where is your splashdown point?"
The *Query* responds, "These coordinates, which is not, as you see, a splash down situation."
"Not yet." The captain turns. "Load and fire the harbormakers."
Missiles swiftly left the *Sorcerer*, and streaked to the planet below. The radio asked, "What are you doing?"
The captain smiled. "You need splashdown? Those were *harbormakers*. We'll get you a splashdown target."
Flashes of light on the surface of this world lit up the *Query*'s predicted impact point. Massive holes were carved into it's surface, and the ocean ran in.
The radio cracks, "What... What is this power?"
The captain of the human vessel smiles and turns to one of the bridge staff. "Ensign?"
"Five six hundred megaton Tellur-Ulman design arbitrary yield thermonuclear fission-fusion-fission bombs."
The captain nods, and continues. "Swords into ploughshares. We'll find a parking orbit and send down help. Safe landing, *Query.*"
The species aboard *Query of the Stars* was wondering if there was safety to be found in the future. Only, they presumed, if they stayed on the good side of these monsters. That message... Swords into ploughshares... Could they be beaten back?
| 2019-12-19T03:08:41 | 2019-12-19T02:48:46 | 2,434 | 191 |
[WP] You are the main character of a 24/7 reality show. It is the most popular show on TV because of a complex gambling market around it. More money is wagered on regular activities like what you will eat for breakfast than the outcome of the Super Bowl.
|
**Day 1460**
Every single day was a stressful battle. I felt like I was directly influencing people's lives, merely by how I wipe my own asshole. All my moves were scrutinised, I didn't know it would get this far.
It started just over four years ago, it was probably the lowest point of my life. I've been laid off, my long time girlfriend has left, and I had found out in the same year that my parents died months within each other out of old age.
It was a dark, dark time. Until one day, I receive a pamphlet in the mail box.
"Want to be paid for nothing? All you gotta do is let us install cameras in your place, and then enjoy getting rich! No, really, that's it! ^^terms ^^& ^^conditions ^^apply "
Well, I've got nothing to lose, I thought to myself, it's only a five year contract on a great salary, I'll have time to get my shit together.
I sent through my documents, signed a few papers, and then guys came out and installed a shit tonne of cameras at my place.
"Even the toilet? Really?" - I asked one of them
"Yes."
It was a bit much, but for $100,000 a year, can I really complain?
"So can I get some more context about this? Why is it being done? Why the generous salary?"
"These are not questions I can answer, Sir. In time, you will find out." - said one of the installers.
**Day 1**
Well, it's a new day, and I'm being watched. I guess I'll just act it out like I normally would, except without being completely naked and eating yogurt directly out of the containers from the fridge.
Ugh, I even gotta use a spoon, to make it seem like I'm not a sleazy animal. But hey! I'm getting paid, that's nothing to complain about.
I guess I'll just catch up on that documentary I started a few weeks ago.
**Day 50**
Ha! I made it on the local newspaper! That's pretty cool. I guess I'm getting famous now!
**Day 120**
Ah, it's almost mid-day, I don't want to go back home, I guess I'll go see Jess.
"Hey Jess!"
"Daaaaviiiiiiid! Look at you Mr. Famous! How's it been?"
"Yeah it's alright, it's really fucking boring I tell you"
"Who cares, you're living the dream! Sitting in your pyjamas all day, you kidding me?"
"Ha, I guess you're right. So Jess, I was wondering if you'd wan-"
Is she fucking using her phone while I'm talking to her? Really?
"Sorry David you were saying something?"
"Nah It's nothing nevermind"
**Day 250**
Am I going crazy? Why is everybody on their phones all the time when I'm around them? Is this what society has become? Glued to their phones? Or is it just me?
**Day 251**
"WHAT'S HE GONNA DO NOW! DOWNLOAD DAVID^^^TM , AND FIND YOUR ODDS!" - *blasted from the Television*
I see, people are betting on me now. Those damn millennials and their smart phones.
**Day 740**
Oh you fucks, I bet you thought I'm going to eat cheerios for breakfast today don't you. Well, here's BACON! Ha! That should teach you to invest your money more wisely.
**Day 1054**
Just over two years left. Come on, I can do this.
**Day 1462**
*KNOCK KNOCK*
What? It's like eight in the morning, who could it be.
"Sir, I have a jess here for you." - said Oscar, the security guy standing outside
"Jess? Haven't seen her in years. Let her in"
"What's going on Jess?"
"David, listen to me very carefully. You have got to get out of here"
"What are you talk-"
"Now David! Trust me! Your show has gotten the attention of organised crime syndicates, they are going to try to force you to do things for the bettings odds!"
"Look Jess, I think you're overreacting, I've been doing this for a long time, I know how to conduct myself for that David app"
"No, David, I'm talking complete brainwashing, conditioning you subconsciously! They're on their way! Get your things!"
"But we're being watched! I have less than a year left on my contract! If I breach it I'll lose all the money I was given thus far!"
"You know what, I tried. Good bye David"
Well that was crazy. How could she possibly know though? It didn't sound right.
I'll just ask Oscar to be vigilante.
**Day 1624**
*LOUD THUMPING NOISE OUTSIDE*
What the hell was that?
"Oscar? Oscar? Jesus christ!"
"S..s..ir, y-you need to get out"
"Fuck! Fuckfuck! Ok I'll get you an ambulance"
No, I can't leave. 6 months left! I have to stick it out!
I'll just stay away from my place for a few days.
**Day 1626**
*INCOMING MESSAGE NOTIFICATION*
*WARNING, YOU HAVE BEEN AWAY FROM YOUR PREMISES FOR 40 HOURS. YOUR CONTRACT WILL BE VOID IF IT REACHES 48*
I know that for fuck's sake, I'm already on my way back.
**Day 1824**
I've made it. I actually made it. Tomorrow I wake up, and I'm free. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in the bank, no contract, and a brand new life! I've got to seek a financial adviser, and maybe buy a house in Thailand! Invest in some stocks! Endless possibi-
*SLAM*
"DON'T MOVE! DON'T YOU FUCKING MOVE!"
"I'M NOT! WHAT IS TH-"
"DON'T FUCKING TALK"
"BU-''
''I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Are those.. helicopter sounds? What is happening, who is this guy. Is this the closure of contract?
"OK, come with me now"
He takes me upstairs to the roof of my building, a helicopter awaits, and a man wearing a white suit, and sunglasses is sitting inside.
"Is this the man?" - the white suit man said
"Yes."
"Hello Mr. Smith, you have functioned as intended thus far. We will need to perform the scheduled maintenance on you now"
"Maintenance? What? What do you mean?"
"Uh, just stick that needle in him will you John?"
"WAI-"
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
**Day 1^^^^826**
Well, it's a new day, and I'm being watched. I guess I'll just act it out like I normally would, except without being completely naked and eating yogurt directly out of the containers from the fridge.
**Agent Smith: Origins**
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Loiterers packed the narrow hallway full, making it almost impossible for Max to get by. He managed to squeeze through a small group of people crowding the hall, each of them holding stacks of green paper. He looked down when he passed a young lady and her child, mascara streaking down her face.
The hallway was loud— louder than the kitchen at Max worked in, every person chatting, yelling, and crying until a wall of incomprehensible noise pushed against Max’ ears.
He kept pushing through.
Finally, he reached the end of the hallway, a closed oak door with a paper sign taped to the front: “Betting Room J”.
Max had always had better luck in Room J than the other eleven rooms, and he opened the door with confidence. Several people— mostly balding old men— turned to look at him. The manager of Betting Room J, overseeing the place behind a large oak desk, recognized him.
“Hey, Max! Here to win some more?”
Max grabbed his usual chair and turned to look at the flatscreen. *The Susan Show*, the world’s #1 TV show for sixteen long years, was playing, like always. Susie, America’s favorite teenager, was currently driving to school in her brand-new Cadillac, and about to pull into the parking lot.
“Seventy on fruit snacks,” a man in the room called out.
“Eighty-five on trail mix,” another said.
“I’ll put fifty on the Cheetos,” Max called.
The manager nodded his head. “Anyone else?”
The room was silent.
The camera followed Susie as she got out of the car and entered the east side of her high school. Susie entered the main hall, walked to the vending machine, and paused.
Silence.
She slipped in one quarter.
Two.
Three.
Four.
She typed in two numbers to the machine.
B-6.
Groans filled the room as Susie walked away with a bag of Cheetos in her hands.
“Gentlemen?” the manager asked.
The two men came up and paid their dues, Max on their heels.
“Bit of a winning streak this week, eh, Maxie?” the manager said as he handed Max a fifty.
“I suppose,” Max replied, as he walked out the door.
He shoved his way through the hallway again, sure to keep his fifties clenched tight in his hand.
The air outside the warehouse was cold. A woman and her child sat on the curb, all bundled in tight jackets. Max could see the mascara dry on her cheeks.
Max clenched the fifties tight in his hand, and slowly walked over to her.
“Hey,” Max began.
“Get out of here,” she replied.
“Listen, this place is a shithole-”
“Yeah? Then why are you here?”
Max sighed. “I’m addicted. I need to stop. But I get the feeling you don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I know.” Max sat on the curb. “I can’t get away. I’ll bet, if you got the money you needed, you could.”
The woman paused, her breath shown in the cold November air. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“I think so.” Max held out his money: two sleek fifty dollar bills. “Here.”
“I don’t need that.”
“I have enough.”
Max grabbed a stone from the street and placed it over the two fifties on the ground.
He looked back as he was walking away; just enough to see the woman take the cash.
Perhaps, Max thought, she wouldn’t come back. Perhaps she would find some other way to get the coin she needs for her family. Perhaps he saved her from *The Susan Show*.
Perhaps.
| 2017-12-19T18:21:57 | 2017-12-19T17:48:09 | 129 | 12 |
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING.
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Part 1
I didn’t realize anything was weird about me until I was eight. That’s when a new family moved onto my block, with a son named Matias who was about my age. In their backyard, they had a giant trampoline and an above ground pool. I knew instantly that this meant Matias and I had to be friends.
After several days of begging, my mom walked me over to their house after school one day. She rang the bell, and an older woman who I would learn was Matias’s grandmother opened the door.
“Hi there, welcome to the neighborhood!” my mother said, a bit too brightly. “I’m Theresa Lee and this is my daughter Sofia Lee. Wave hello, Sofia! We just figured we’d swing on by and see if your little boy Matias might want to come over sometime and play!”
My mom had a tendency to come across as too enthusiastic. She was a little socially awkward, and so she tended to overcompensate, especially with new people. She was a professor, and generally would have preferred to stay in her ivory tower and avoid most people all together, but she always made an effort when it came to the parents and families of potential friends for me. She said it was important that I be “normally socialized.”
“Lo siento, no entiendo. Yo no hablo ingles. Espera aquí, traeré a mi hija,” the woman replied, looking confused.
“Mientras esperamos...” I replied, “¿Puedo nadar en tu piscina?”
My mother shot me a sharp look.
“¿Tu hablas español?” the woman asked.
“Que es español-” I started to ask, but I was interrupted by my mother dragging me away from the door, murmuring vague apologies to the woman.
“Is something wrong, mom?” I asked, as she hurried us towards our own home.
“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong with you!” she exclaimed. “You’re perfectly normal.”
But I wasn’t.
I seemed normal, at first glance. I was average height, got average grades in school, and was solidly in the middle of my grade’s social pecking order. I might not have always felt like I looked average, when I compared myself to the blonde haired snub nosed little girls in our mostly white suburban town, but my mother assured me that most people in the world were actually asian like me, and had dark hair, dark eyes, and tanner skin like mine.
But I was different in other ways. The language thing was one of the most obvious. Every language I heard, I was able to speak at about the level of a fluent speaker. But there were other skills that should have taken me time to learn that I could just do, automatically. Some were simple, like bike riding or swimming. Some were more complex, like archery or computer coding. Maybe the weirdest thing of all was that no matter how much I practiced these skills, I couldn’t get better at them. I was stuck at the exact level I started out at.
I learned all this through trial and error, mostly with the help of Matias. He and I had become good friends, despite the fact that I started out trying to use him for his pool and trampoline.
He’d cornered me one day at school after the weird scene with his grandmother and started asking me lots of questions that I didn’t have answers to. Though that was kind of a rocky start, we’d ended up just getting along really well. Still, my mom never really liked him. Matias, in turn, had grown more and more suspicious of my mom as we'd gotten older.
“She has to know the truth about why you’re like this,” Matias was saying. We were thirteen at this point, hanging out in his basement and playing video games. We had settled into a routine where we’d start a new game and I’d be better than him at it, and then we’d play it until he could beat me consistently. Then we’d start another new game. “She acts weird whenever you talk about your average powers, right?”
“I wouldn’t really call being average a power,” I muttered. Even as I said it, I easily KO’ed Matias’s character on the screen. This was still a pretty new game for us. “Besides, I think it just makes her uncomfortable to think that there’s something wrong with me. She’s a mom, she’s just worried.”
“She’s weird,” Matias said, shaking his head and flipping through the character selection screen for our next round. “Like she’s always nervous about something. You said she’s a professor, right? What does she teach?”
“I don’t know, something about robotics.”
Matias stopped fiddling with the controller and froze, staring at me like I was an idiot. Matias was smart and I was just average, so I was used to him figuring things out faster than me. Still, as it hit me what his look was implying, I realized even I should have figured this one out.
“Oh my god," I said, my mouth gaping open. "I'm a robot."
\----
Note: This story is complete. It has 14 chapters in total. They have all been posted below, but when it gets to the later chapters they can be tougher to find amidst the comments. You can also read them all at r/kaypella .
Thanks for reading!
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Jack wasn't known for being an outstanding, spontaneous person. He wasn't known for any specific skill or quality that could have made him stand out. But it also meant he wasn't as much of a complete fuck up that his sister would often joke about. He never failed his tasks, never failed any activity he set out to do, basically he did only the bare minimum and still succeeded. His sister would always make a joke about him being a "jack of all trades" due to the coincidence of his name and his skillset. Over time, though, he would find himself thinking about, well, anything he could put his mind to. He'd try a new hobby every week, a new activity, a new system to go about his daily life.
To him, what frustrated him the most was that no matter what he did, the result would always be the same - average. He first tried to put in extra effort, only for it to turn out "average". Then he decided to try as many shortcuts, as many mistakes, in order to fail for once. The result would be the same.
Over time, he slowly felt numb and nihilistic about his outcomes. If he couldn't fail, or exceed expectation, then what was the point? He couldn't do anything *more* than average, and he started to feel like none of this was real, that what was happening simply couldn't be possible. He became diagnosed with a severe form of depression, and eventually would develop suicidal ideation, life no longer felt worth living
needless to say, he didn't fail at what happened afterwards...
| 2018-10-24T08:11:56 | 2018-10-24T06:23:42 | 426 | 68 |
[WP] At 19 everyone in your society has to go into the cave of fears and defeat your worst fear. You're the first to go in and find nothing.
edit: I want to read them all but there are so many it's hard to keep up, so many variations of the story I didn't even think of, great job everyone!
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"Welcome, Sunny." The old priest wheezed, his smile making his kindly face wrinkle up like a sun-dried tomato. "Back for another round?"
"Yes, elder." Sunny replied. His face, usually a beacon of warmth, was set in a determined expression as hard as stone. "I have come prepared this time."
"I see that!" The old man smiled wider, glancing up and down at Sunny's person. "Been visiting the old surplus store, eh?" Thick kevlar armor adorned his chest, arms, and legs, with the helmet on his head all but obscuring his vision. Below his heavy clothing new muscles bulged, a testament to his hours of hard work both in the weight room and volunteering on the local farms. A club hung from his waist - guns and swords had been forbidden long ago.
"None of that will help you here, Sunny. This trial is between you and your greatest fears, not an unruly mob." The elder smirked slightly, though not unkindly.
Sunny couldn't help but smile back nervously. "I know that, elder. Just a bit of a security blanket." The old man bowed his head, smiling even wider.
It had been a full year since Sunny had last come to the Cave of Trials, a full year since he had fled and shamed himself before his entire town on his 18th birthday. He was well-liked among the villagers, always kind to others and helpful to the needy, so his fear was easily forgiven. But he himself had never forgotten the burning shame, and had worked hard this past year to make absolutely sure that he would not fail again.
The old man pressed a cold metal flashlight into Sunny's palm. "Now, the same rules apply as last year. Walk through the cave to the very end, and press the button you find on the back wall. That will unleash your greatest fear. Do not return until you have conquered it."
"Yes, elder." Sunny replied. He longed to press him for more information, but he knew from experience that he old man was as stubborn as an unbroken donkey. Setting his shoulders straight, he marched off into the cave and was enveloped by darkness.
"Oh and Sunny?" The elder called after him. "Happy birthday!"
The meager light from the flashlight illuminated smooth walls, like the cave was the tunnel of a gigantic worm that had bored through the stone like flesh. Sunny gulped, his footfalls unnaturally loud in the sheer quiet as he walked toward the back of the cave. The tunnel curved slightly downwards and to the left, reducing visibility and filling his mind with visions of unseen horrors. All at once, the cave opened up to a vast chamber, drawing a gasp from Sunny's lips.
*Beautiful* he thought. Enormous pillars of stone supported the ceiling, formed from an eternity of dripping water. The walls were covered in vibrant hues of every color, painted by nature into fantastic scenes the likes of which Sunny had never even imagined. Crystal pools of water surrounded the center of the floor, reflecting his light like perfect mirrors. Suddenly, his light illuminated a small red button attached to a panel in the wall.
Sunny shook his head, kicking himself for almost forgetting the reason he had come. Drawing as much air into his lungs as he could manage, he reached forward with trembling hands and pressed down hard.
His light flickered, and went out. Sunny inhaled sharply as the darkness flowed around him, enveloping him like the sea. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, the rush of blood threatening to overwhelm any other noise. For several long minutes he waited, left alone with his own thoughts in the dark. Suddenly, his light turned back on. For several moments, he whirled it back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of the nightmare horror that he was sure was right behind every corner. And yet, nothing showed itself.
*The elder said to not return until I had conquered my fear...but how can I conquer something that will not show itself?* Sunny thought, dismayed at the thought of failing once again. But no matter how long he waited, he was still alone. After what seemed like hours, Sunny finally relented. He hung his head and began making his way to the mouth of the cave.
Back at the entrance, the elder was smiling broader than ever. "Congratulations, son. I knew you could do it."
Sunny shook his head, fighting back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill down his cheeks. "No, elder! I have failed again! The chamber was empty!" He wiped he eyes and turned away, fresh shame joining his memories.
A warm hand on his shoulder startled him into jumping. "No, Sunny." The elder said, and Sunny was surprised to see his face brimming with kindness. "You succeeded the moment you set foot in that cave. Not everyone is brave enough to face their fears - some go their entire lives without ever really becoming adults. Today, you proved yourself. You should be proud."
"So...there were no horrors in the cave?" Sunny asked, aghast.
"Oh no, there were plenty." The elder winked. "But none that you did not bring yourself."
The old man clapped him on his shoulder, grinning broadly. "I told you that all that gear wouldn't help you! Welcome to adulthood, Sunny."
***
*CC always welcome! If you enjoyed, check out my other works over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
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My family walked me to the entrance of the Cave of Fears. They waved to me and smiled, despite the patchiness of our history. I have not always been kind. I did not know how they fared against their demons. That’s not the kind of thing you just talk about. Even though I’d tried to force some of them to.
I walked in. The place was cool and illumined by some dim directionless light. The way was smooth until after the first turn. From there it grew progressively rougher, and the light progressively dimmer, and my curiosity progressively more intense. When would my fear arrive? How would I know? Would I have to fight? I kept my hand on my knife. It might be nice to have something I was free to hurt. That happened so seldom.
Would it be spiders? I hoped not, as I found them distasteful. Or drowning? That would be difficult to fight. Would it be my childhood bully, or his malevolent dragon of a mother? The chance to gut them would be a pleasure. The cave went on, and on.
And then, coming to a rough-hewn circle, it stopped.
I walked to the center and waited. A fight here would be a tripping hazard, but maybe that was part of the test. I could still hurt someone, and badly, here. Here, where no one would ever know. Where there were no consequences. Only me.
I waited.
Nothing.
No spiders. No waters. No bullies. No mirrors. No shadows. No people. No friends. No audience. No one laughing at me. No one looking at me. I gripped my knife and desperately wished for a direction to cut in. Anything to not be alone.
But there was nobody here but me.
| 2016-06-12T08:55:21 | 2016-06-12T08:42:27 | 357 | 31 |
[WP] The alien diplomat showing you their planet directs your gaze to an ancient relic. "Here are the oldest known markings on our world, we still don't know what they represent". You are horrified, as what appear to be meaningless scribbles to them, is a desperate cry for help in your own tongue.
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"...it's been kept within the Altar Temple of Enrah for the great part of Javiv's Modern Era. We've certainly spent plenty of time trying to decipher it, but without a history of written language, that particular area of cryptography is a fledgling science, which is why..."
4.5mm laser burn. That horribly wide, self-important official typeface. A thin coat of aerosolised silicon for weathering. This was Gullveig Imperial tech. Unmistakable.
As if the technical details had even been required. It was written in fucking *Hingo*, clear as day\*.\* Sure, it might not be commonly spoken, but anyone with even a passing interest in etymology could have made a decent attempt at comprehension. For you the reading was slow, but possible.
>*"Albertson, if you made it out with the commpack and find this site you must* *send for a landing ban beacon. They're eating us, they're fucking eating us - and not quickly. Jones screamed for the first day and a half but I think his voice is gone now. Somehow the silence is worse. Something in their saliva seals wounds and appears to have moderate regenerative properties. We tried talking but I don't think they have vocal language yet - maybe not even hearing - the way their facial muscles manipulate independently when they look at each other is-"*
You look down, struggling hold in the bile that gurgles at the pit of your stomach. It wants to exit. You can't here. Not in the midst of a small crowd of First Contact officials.
"...and so we are quite willing to establish a cooperative research agreement which we feel would-"
You take a breath. "You said that you don't show this to anyone but the most honoured guests?"
Xeev smiles gently, with a sort of warm respect that takes years of training to perfect: Not giving even a hint of submission but also somehow charged with enthusiastic admiration. Not a glint of hostility.
"Well yes, it's terribly ancient - and was sacred to our ancient peoples for quite some time, we know this because we see crude recreations of it at multiple sites where we also uncovered remains that have a significantly deviant biology from what you see before you now. Evolution certainly has it's oddities! We'll have to make time on another occasion to show you those skeletons - but, not to distract from today's particular attraction!
"It appears the original tablet - while it may have been paraded around between early communities - was lost long before the advent of our recorded history. Unfortunately it has generated a certain mythic presence amongst the teachings of some of the more... enthusiastic in our clergy. Their enthusiasm created a particular mindset in the populous that lead to the Ministry of Wellness deciding against its public reveal when it was discovered, and it's just sort of been an awkward secret ever since.
"We hope you understand how sincere a gesture of goodwill and friendship that makes this particular little museum tour."
You make the mistake of turning from Xeev's gracious demeanour back to the black tablet.
>*"Update: They can vocalise, but as far as I've seen they only do so for macabre working songs while they peel at our bodies. They barely have stone tools but they're using what they can to break fragments from Gunnar's skull and then resealing the wound with that awful stuff from their mouths. I can see his eyes still twitching now that he's been discarded in the cage next to mine, but he's non-responsive. I don't know if-"*
The bile is involuntarily revolts against your throats defences and breaches into your mouth. Your lips clamp shut as you gulp it back down.
You cough a little, but try to summon a sentence before Xeev can say any words of concern. "Minister Xeev, I do think that we have people who may be able to help you with interpretation, but it would take some time to assemble them."
"Well, of course! I'm sure your experts are employed in fruitful pursuits as it is. Above all, I would *hate* to sound demanding. We are, after all - such a fledgling people when it comes to this whole interstellar politicking. Don't misunderstand me Captain, we are a proud people, but we are never unreasonable. Yet, you must see how significant this is to us, and how much your people could learn from being able to peer at the words of another people so similar to your own - perhaps there is even a shared ancestry! What mysteries of the stars could our people unlock together!"
"Indeed, Minister Xeev."
"Indeed!" For a moment, his practiced political mode falters ever so slightly, revealing a genuine glee at the prospect of interstellar friendship.
"But, in the meantime, I must applaud the restraint of your government so far in its policy with regards to the distribution of such... religiously charged materials. I know for a fact that no species in the Alliance is ignorant to the potential hazards of these situations. So, further, I must ask you to extend this policy as well.
"We shall send you our experts, those who we select, and - while we shall defer to your sovereignty in all matters regarding the broadcasting of information to your own people - we will ask that you confer with our experts when doing so. Many people within the Alliance are very keen to understand your planet's history, your way of life, and quite possibly your systems of belief too. It's important that, together, we strive to avoid the risks of... how did you put it...? Enthusiastic clergy."
"My - well - of course, Captain. It sounds like the Alliance is not only capable of great feats of union, but great restraint as well. Our peoples shall trade, sing, and feast together soon, I'm sure of it!"
Your breath gets stuck in your throat, causing you to cough ever so slightly. "Yes, quite soon, I'm sure."
|
I walked along with the Árniņõ diplomat on a road, along the way we had a talk about our cultural difference, with the help of a translator.
There were supposed to be two translators, but mine was preoccupied with being dead, that idiot tripped on his own life support system, and it is locked on his head like a cap that is too tight. I have no idea it is even possible to take it off without tools on purpose, nevermind accidentally.
We stopped at a oddly shaped building, 'It is probably because of the gravity' I thought to myself. The diplomat spoke and then translator, "This is an ancient building, we have no idea how or why it was built, but we do know that it was built in the post light age." 'What a hideous build.' I keep my thought in my stomach, and replied, "What a marvellous build."
As we walk inside, the diplomat showed me a lot of things. "One theory suggest that this building is for the kingdoms then to show off their technological advancement,"the diplomat said, "since it is almost the same time when everyone focused on technology instead of fighting each other, but the the closest kingdom to here is about 60 kjuen away. Another theory suggest that..."
I was distracted by some random markings. I went for a closer look. It was not random. The scribbles were, 'The code to the gate is 3967. Run for your life, and beware of the Öggrıans.' Öggrıans went extinct in the Great Great War, which they lost, obviously. The humans took a huge set back, but was able to bounce back. 'So this is a human spaceship?' I was confused by the writing, 'Wait did I just mind insulted human architects?'
The diplomat was standing behind me. I apologised, "Sorry, but these 'symbols suggests that this is a spaceship from the Great Great War."
----This-Is-A-Divider---
Well I don't have time right now, so part 2 later
| 2021-04-23T00:37:35 | 2021-04-22T23:21:25 | 104 | 33 |
[WP] You're the janitor of a superhero organisation. When all the heroes are busy defending the world a super villain attacks the base.
|
I was doing my usual work, cleaning the tables in the underground lair of the legion of justice, where I hard a loud, mechanical stomping sound. I turned towards it, and saw a giant exoskeleton barging into the lair, smashing a bunch of knickknacks as it walked.
Just my luck, a villain manages to find his way into the underground lair when all the heroes are out.
"IT IS I! MISTER MEYHEM! I AM HERE TO DEFEAT THE LEGION OF JUSTICE AND CONQUER THE WORLD!" shouts a voice from inside the exoskeleton, amplified by loudspeakers.
There's a pause, as the exoskeleton looks around.
"Err... where is the Legion of Justice." Asks Mister Mayhem.
"Well, Storm-Shard is off stopping a hurricane in japan, Volt Von Vick is out investigating a possible alien landing, Captain Creation is stopping a meteor, Legion lass, Doctor Dynamic, and the Mojo Mystic are all stopping The Dreamy Demon from taking over some country in Africa."
I will never understand why the super community has this huge obsession with alliteration. Don’t they release how dumb their names sound?
"Oh... Well I guess I'll start by taking you hostage."
Brilliant idea, take the janitor hostage. This one must be new.
"look... Mister Mayhem.” I feel sick just saying that name. “Just what's your end goal here?"
"I kill the legion of justice, and take over the world." Declares Mister Mayhem.
"With what, your crappy walking legs robot? This thing doesn’t even look like it’s made of carbon plates, not to mention something more exotic like neutronium or adamantium. Does that thing even have force fields?"
I pick up a nearby brick and toss it at the robot, it leaves a small dent in the armor.
"Nope, no force fields. Did you really think you were going to beat the entire legion of justice with just that suit?"
"Err... I was planning a surprise attack." Admits Mister Mayhem.
"What good would that do? For one, your walking exoskeleton is incredibly loud, for two, most of the heroes have enhanced durability. A sneak attack wouldn't put a dent in them."
"But... I have lasers." says mister mayhem. Perhaps to prove a point, he fires one. It doesn't even carve a hole through the walls.
I sigh. typical new villain… they’re always so confident.
"Look... you're a D list villain trying to pick a fight with an entire team of A list heros. That's just not going to end well no matter what you do." I explain.
"But how am I going to take over the world?" asks Mister Mayhem.
"Look... Mister Mayhem. Dumb name, by the way. Most supervillains who use crazy inventions rather then powers go with Doctor, but you just HAD to get the alliteration in, did you. The world’s gone unconquered for the past ten years for a reason. I mean sure, I wouldn't bet on the world NEVER being taken over again, but definitely not by a D list villain like yourself.” I explain.
“At your level, you should start with small things to gather funds, maybe start forming some connections with others in the villain community. Build your way up until you have the tech and support to face A-list heroes like the legion of justice. You could start with bank robberies, but trust me, 95% of supervillain bank robberies end in failure. There's just too many superheroes looking to stop robberies. Since you clearly have decent tech skills, especially concidering you actually managed to break into this place, I’d suggest you start by hacking into systems. Maybe steal money from a few bank accounts here and there, maybe take jobs with other villains who need a hacker, hackers are actually in quite high demand in the villian community.”
"I... I guess you have a point." said Mister Meyhem. "Well... thanks for the advice... I guess I owe you one. I tell you what, when I take over the world, you can have Australia."
I chuckle. "Oh don't worry about owing me Australia. I'm sure there’ll be an opportunity for you to pay me back., Mister Mayhem"
"Actually... call me Doctor Mayhem." says Doctor Mayhem, as he turns around and leaves the same way he came.
I smile as Doctor Mayhem leaves. That’s one more super villain in debt to me. It’s just like I told Doctor Mayhem, building connections is important. Especially if you aspire to take over the world.
EDIT: formatting
|
"I'M HERE TO ENACT MY REVENGE" Lightning Volt yelled as miniature storm clouds gathered around them.
"Really?! You had to do this during my fucking shift?!" I said.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the fucking janitor that always has to clean up whenever you decide to throw a temper tantrum and wreck this place!"
"Oh well, I didn't kno-"
"Well of course you fucking didn't. Nobody ever thinks of the guy that has to clean this shit up! All they care about is the 'excitement'"
"Well um...can I help you clean up?"
"I think you've already helped e-fucking-nough"
"Um...ok...I guess I'll just...um... go now"
"About damn time. Jesus, you'd think I'd get paid more to deal with this shit"
| 2017-07-07T20:26:28 | 2017-07-07T18:16:07 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] You are a superhero, but you would really rather just live a peaceful life. So you fight every superpowered person in your home city, hero and villain alike, until they finally leave or die. Your home city is the safest around, but still you have been declared one of the worst villains alive.
|
Born as one of the golden souls, what most people call “superheroes” or “supervillains” I was surprised to see my full power. I could fly, run fast, predict and calculate, in the eyes of the regular, they might even call me a god.
However, my power is usually fine kept to myself, I’d rather keep this city quiet, safe and sound. If the usual bad event happens, who gives a shit? Not me. Hopefully. The city has been, might I say, peaceful. But nothing lasts forever. Some asshole, also a golden soul, presented themself as “THE DOOMHANDLER”, awful name for starters, and that he “SHALL RULE ALL OF NIMBLETERM” Guess I gotta put these powers to use. In the middle of his monologue about taking over the entire city, turning the roads to lava, bla bla bla— I punched him smack dab in the face and he was GONE. Not a supervillain after all, just a shitvillain. Oh well, people praised me. I wore a mask just in case people tried to snoop in on my identity. Guess I should reveal this: My hidden identity name is “Neutral”, and judging by that, I’m not a superhero nor a supervillain. Superneutral works.
Later down the line, Powerman entered the city. Apparently he’s a hero who crosses the land in seek of protecting from evil. I confronted him on his arrival.
“Powerman.” I spoke.
“Hello, Neutral. I see you’ve recovered from your battle with The Doomhandler.” .. Fuck does he mean? I one-tapped the idiot.
“Okay, nice, anyways, what’re you doing here?” I responded. “With my foreshadowing brain, I sense that evil is afoot here, and thus for now, I will protect Nimbleterm from all threats!.. You don’t mind, right?”
“… Sure.” I hesitated. Of course, the fucker needed to go. But I need to learn his weaknesses. A rookie supervillain is stupid, but you need to assess an enemy who could be smarter. Days passed, and a new supervillain appeared. Mr. Kill, Powerman’s arch enemy. I decided that today was the day.
“So, Powerman.. You thought you could take refuge in this barren city? Where you can’t even find anything but me to write in your resume?”, Mr. Kill spoke, “Leave this place, or I will have to take matters into my own hands.” Powerman responded,
“Really? But this time I’ve prepared a special gift for—“ I intervened. Knocked Mr. Kill right in the face, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” spoke the both of them, I didn’t know what to do with him, but to make the news more bright, I threw him into the sun. Killed a dude today, but I’m sure God knows their sins outweigh min— “What did you do to Mr. Kill?” Powerman shouted. “I took him out of this city.” “… Well, splendid. Didn’t know you were the quick ty—“ “I want you out of my city too.”
“… Well, it’s no wonder why they call you Neutral—“ “No, I gotta go see my friends tomorrow, we’re doing some cool shit. I don’t want it interrupted by the astroid hurdling towards Earth you call ‘saving the city’. Get out.”
He reached for a walkie talkie of some kind, “Heroes, I need you here. Stat.” Suddenly, 5 other superheroes appeared. Looked like some ripoffs of some heroes on TV. “Needed something?” Said the spider-man bootleg, I speeded over to Powerman and decked him right in the face. Immediately, all the other 5 attacked. Simple work, but it was a challenge. I ended up killing 3 of them, Powerman included. One time it wasn’t even intentional. My bad.
I went to the spider-man bootleg. “Tell the others what you just saw.” He and the other 2 ran off. I went up to the crowd watching. “Continue your life as normal. I don’t give a shit, see you tomorrow Darrel can’t wait to do that kart-racing.” I said and left.
Later, I get a phone call, from Darrel. “Heyyy Darrel how’s things?”
“God I’m glad I’m on your side, Mike. Okay, wait, THAT WAS YOU????” “Yeah? So what? Karting cancelled?” “No, karting’s still happening wednesday, but everybody sees ‘Neutral’ as a supervillain now.”
“Tell them I’m a superneutral. It rolls better.” “Okay, sure, just promise you’re not gonna end the world, right?” “End the-? Dude, you don’t have to panic, only people I’m fighting are the heroes and villains. I want things to be safe and sound around here, no interruptions.” “Okay but how does it feel to have killed 4 people and get away with it?” “Big whoop, as much as it would be cool to see superheroes flying everywhere, I’m not up to that.”
“Fair, see you wednesday?” “Yeah.” “And no superpowers.” “Haha fuck you, see you there.”
|
Has it been that through every ounce of good I’ve brought I simultaneously bring destruction? I lift and pull impossible tons of weight, I defy odds. I am what every person wishes to be and still I feel small. It’s all in a days work to be a hero. I chase and fight the crime simple humans could never imagine trying. Yet, when I look around I crave the simplicity they possess. I crave to be normal. Or at least what’s normal to them.
I heard a girl saying the other day how she bombed her math test. I saw a tear leave her eye as her mother hugged her and said “you are good enough, you will be okay”. To me that is heroic in itself. To comfort one another when we feel defeated, oh how easy it must be to love. If so why is this world so cruel? Why must I keep defeating villain after villain? If there’s some amount of good then there must be evil, but I think without me there wouldn’t be good. Or maybe even in the bad there will still be good without me. Or perhaps I am the bad that motivated others to be good. Killing people because I deem it fit for the greatest good isn’t inherently a good thing. Yet, it’s a calling nonetheless. I will wear my suit and perform impossible feats every day of my life. Although sometimes I’d rather lay on the ground and stare at the world around me. I’d rather be an observer, I’d rather fail a test to have a mother comfort me. I’d rather be imperfect than good at the impossible so that I felt inspired.
I wish.. I wasn’t the villain of my own story.
| 2022-10-03T10:17:59 | 2022-10-03T09:54:31 | 144 | 40 |
[WP] Your classmates got cool OP magic abilities. You got a lame Personal Inventory and were totally bummed about it until you read the fine print: Range: Touch. Capacity: Infinite. Restrictions: None.
|
"Alright, people. I know you're all excited with your new abilities, and this will be your first chance to test them out. But we need to go over a few ground rules first. We do have a healer on-hand in case you get injured, and this is a fight, so a few injuries are to be expected. But restrain yourselves. Don't get anyone killed. The targets are holographic and can't be hurt, but your classmates can; make sure one of them isn't behind your target. Now. Do we have our teams?"
&#x200B;
The coach looked out over the field. Thirty-two students; all between 13 and 14. Some of them had their powers for weeks or months; one had even bloomed early and had it for three years. But now, all of them did. They, of course, had split up into cliques and groups; the ones with great physical powers liked to stick together; three of the 4-man groups just had enhanced bodies in some way, and another group all had fire powers; but then, apparently, they all had the same dad, so that was only to be expected.
&#x200B;
And, just like every time... the people with the 'real' powers left those with the useless ones in their own little group. He felt a little sorry for them; all of these kids had a mutant for a parent and knew they'd grow up and get powers someday. Only to get... paper control? Airwalking? Invisibility? Dimensional Storage? That last one, coming from the son of a well-known teleporter who could cross continents at a whim, must be especially disappointing. Granted... invisibility might not be a combat power, but that kid would have a job guaranteed no matter what he did.
&#x200B;
The coach sat back, setting up the scoreboard. Each of the 8 teams would receive its own score for how many targets it took down, out of a maximum possible 200... and when all was said and done, they'd probably have to rebuild the whole facility. Some classes never even made it through all of the tests. The first few went impressively. A kid ran through holograms so quickly that a real person would be shattered. He cleaned up every target that appeared within seconds, leaving the rest of his team in the dust; out of two-hundred points for his round, he got one-eighty-seven.
&#x200B;
The fire team was a bit more blended; some could shoot around on jets of fire, others just shoot out like a flamethrower; but all of them got fair scores. When it came to team 8, he was a bit surprised. The dimensional storage boy pushed his team-mates out of the arena, except for the useless 'air-walking' boy, made some sort of snarky comment, and touched his hands to the ground.
&#x200B;
The entire arena floor dropped by three feet. It didn't really effect the points, as the holographic targets simply fell a bit and stumbled. But suddenly everyone was avidly watching; as he took hold of the Air-walking boy's hand... and let himself be dragged upwards by the slow-moving 'Flyer'; and a six-inch thick layer of solid rock the width of the arena floor dropped. The air pressure change was enormous, blowing out in all directions, and especially into the hole left by his ladder; and all of the targets were crushed.
&#x200B;
For the rest of the test, every time a new batch of holograms appeared, he simply dropped another layer of floor; and when flying targets appeared, he and his friend were up at the ceiling, dropping it above them.
&#x200B;
When it was over, the the boys dropped down to the floor, and little curly-haired Shift; apparently his father had assumed he'd have teleportation as well, and given him a code-name beforehand; walked over to the coach. "Can we do that again, just with Jacob this time? I've got about a ton and a half of paper stored up, and with that much he can get a perfect score on his own."
&#x200B;
For the moment, he was dumbfounded... but then he nodded. "The rules don't specify how big a group you have to be in, just that each team is scored as a group. I can just give all for of you a perfect score for that one, or I can give Jacob a chance to show off."
&#x200B;
The slender asian boy grinned, holding up what looked to be a blend of a paper airplane and a dagger, made out of coiled-up paper. "I could probably get at least a fifty without it, but yeah. Having more than I could carry would really help."
&#x200B;
The coach settled back into his chair. Most classes he got had really high scores; usually only a dozen or so missed targets in each batch. This latest batch of superheroes promised to be every bit as capable as their parents... maybe even moreso.
|
"You lucky bastard, how come I didn't get such cool powers!"
"Are you serious!?! I literally have a limit on how much I use it, I even have days where i'm not allowed to use it at all! Anyways, read your paper."
My classmates chattering about have to much restrictions on their powers.
"HOLY SHIT!" I exclaimed.
"I thought my powers were total garbage but this is so cool!!!"
"You better pipe it down young man, or you'll have to go to the dean's office!"
My teacher said. He never was much of a nice guy (to us at least).
"Anyways, you will all be leaving your normal classes for a couple of months to learn how to use and control our powers."
"Is the government trying to control another thing we do!? That's horse shit!"
John always hated the government. No one knew why but he just did. Probably because he was a conspiracy theorist. He LOVED to ramble on and on how the US sucks and how we are all racist and that we are all going to hell.
"And I am glad to have you outta my class John."
My teacher said with an excited tone.
We got our papers on who's classes we'll be staying at for awhile. Everyone else was either upset or indifferent. But and and a handful of other kids were excited. We got Mr.Sipple's class.
| 2021-10-17T02:27:49 | 2021-10-17T00:57:12 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
"Okay... how?"
The genie snaps his wrist again and this time a figure starts to form. Lanky limbs, wiry hair, glasses three sizes too-large for the tiny button nose that they're perched on.
"Sally?" I ask, and I can't keep myself from squinting in disbelief. "Sally Higgins? What's she got to do with me benefiting one hundred and thirty-seven billion-"
"Trillion," he reminds me. My head tilts.
"Are you sure?" His other hand summons the number again.
"Certain," he answers. I frown, folding my arms as I turn back to the ghostly image of Sally, spinning slowly in the Genie's palm.
"So what about Sally, then? I haven't spoken to her in years. Not since she went off to university." One of the Genie's fingers twitches and ghost-Sally slumps slightly, her shoulders rolling forwards as she buries her face in her hands. The Genie looks at me like I'm supposed to know what that means. I offer a wordless shrug in response.
"Sally Higgins is on the brink of a technological discovery that will change the future mankind," he began. "Her invention will be fundamental in the creation of medicines that will terminate pathogens both from this planet and beyond. It will be the foundation of galactic medicine; the kind that will enable humans to travel to more stars than they can see. Inter-planetary relations will be forged, trading knowledge and technology that will benefit the residents of Earth for millenia."
"That's nice," I drawl, stuffing my hands in my pockets, "but I thought you said I was going to benefit these people, not Sally. What do I do?"
"You say 'hello'."
The words hangs in the air and I stare at him, eyes narrowed.
"Hello?"
"Hello."
I stare at ghost-Sally again, watching as she sobs in to her hands, like that's supposed to give me some kind of an answer. The Genie is watching me, his face stoic and patient. I shift my weight and try not to roll my eyes in frustration.
"If you're waiting for me to have some kind of an epiphany-"
"I said that those people would benefit from your existence," he said. "I did not say that you would help them."
"That doesn't make any sense!" I huff, well-aware that I sound like a teenager having a tantrum. The Genie fixes me with a piercing stare.
"You will not help them, but you will help the one who does."
And with that he's gone. I'm left alone in my dingy little alley, vaguely aware that at some point I've stepped in a puddle and the water is seeping in to my socks. Something akin to bile rises in my throat and I swallow it, feeling it burn on the way back down as I stare at the battered lamp on the floor. I lift a soggy foot and give it a good boot, sending it hurtling through the air.
Stupid bloody Genie.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and head back to the main road, haunted by the unfathomable number that had floated over his hand. Twice. It was no mistake. But how could people benefit from me if I didn't help them? And what the hell did Sally Higgins' wonderful, super-duper, left-my-friend-behind-to-study-science invention have to do with me anyway?
A squeak. A scuffle. My hands stung as I landed roughly on the curb, rubbing the shoulder that had taken one hell of a whallop. I cursed under my breath, eyes catching movement and watching as the white pill bottle rolled to a stop by my knee. There came the clinking of glass and the rustling of plastic bags as my assailant hurried to her feet, murmuring apologies under her breath as she hurried to scoop her belongings back in to her bags.
Lanky limbs, wiry hair, glasses three sizes too-large for the tiny button nose that they're perched on.
Sally Higgins.
"H-Hello!" I sputter, more in surprise than anything else. Sally blinks, staring at me through her smudged lenses (looks like she never did re-fill the lens cleaner I got her for her tenth birthday) and her mouth forms a tiny little 'o' at the sight of me.
"Ava!" she says, her voice breaking with... not quite laughter, though I can't put my finger on it. "Wh-what are you - fancy seeing you here!"
"I live here," I answer, dragging myself back to my feet. "You're the one who left, remember?"
"Y-yes, I do," she says, eyes flicking anxiously to my hand. I've picked up her painkillers. I pass them back to her and she slips them inside the bag; one of many, I notice, each branded with the label of a different pharmacy. One from the corner shop where we used to sneak cigarettes from behind the counter. That bag has glass bottles with unmistakable red foil caps.
"So what are you doing back in town?" I ask, trying to ignore the niggling feeling behind my navel. She looks pale as she tucks the bags behind her, smiling too-wide at me.
"Nothing much, just needed to... needed to get away," she says. "Listen, I have to go - I've got to... um... I've got a thing... and-" There's an almighty smash behind her ankles and the colour drains from her face. She whirls around, forgetting me for the moment to bemoan the shattered vodka bottles that litter the sidewalk. The burst plastic bag flutters by her fingers, belching two more bottles of mis-matched pills. The niggling in my stomach becomes an overwhelming roar and I reach out, taking her by the wrist and pulling her back from the glass.
"That's a lot of drink. Off to a party?" I ask in the vain hope that she'll say yes even though she's not dressed for one. Thick navy sweats, an old band t-shirt and a sun-bleached hoodie aren't exactly appropo for a party; I try to convince myself that Sally's never been one to dress up all that much, but even she would put in a little more effort. She seems unable to speak, eyes flicking from the broken glass to the rolling pill packets and back again. She's shaking like a leaf from head to toe, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, and I can't help but wrap my arm around her shoulder like I used to. She's still shorter than me; still my little leaning post.
"You're freezing," I say, pulling her closer. I was always stronger than her. "C'mon, let's get coffee. I'm buying." I feel her try to pull away.
"I c-can't, I have to-"
"Whatever your plans were for tonight, consider them cancelled." Now I glance at the floor - giving her purchases a pointed stare. She slumps in defeat; the remaining bags fall to the floor as she buries her face in her hands, and all I can see is the ghostly image of her slowly rotating in the genie's palm.
It clicks. I might not be the one to help trillions and trillions of people, but if keeping Sally alive so that she can do it instead means that those people still benefit from my existence, then I'll settle for that in a heartbeat.
-
EDIT: didn’t expect this to be so popular! Thanks to everyone who has stopped by to read, and thank you to the kind Redditor for my first ever gilded comment!
|
The genie laughs and blurts out with elation:
"**By doing nothing of course!"**
"What do you mean '*by doing nothing?*' and what do you mean '*of course!'*?"
**"What did you expect me to say? Did you expect one good deed? One invention?"**
"Well...kinda. Maybe hundreds of good deeds?"
**"Tell me, which human do you know of that has done a good deed such as, oh I don't know, donating their clothes to a charity shop let's say; and made a grand difference?"**
"Ha! I would have expected something a little less innocuous than that. You know like, solve world hunger, or, create something that purifies water."
**"I can see why you would think that would help a lot of people. And it would. But, you did see that said** ***TRILLION*** .**..right? Not million or billion."**
"Well billion is pretty good!"
**"About a thousand times fewer people than you** ***will*** **help though. Look, you could create something that purifies all water, sure. You would ease suffering for millions. But is it not the nature of humankind to find problems to solve?"**
"I mean, I suppose. Not exclusively, but, yeh I guess."
**"So you purify all water. Now what is the next problem? People still suffer because now they can stop focusing on water but focus shifts to no food. Let's say you solved world hunger too! Now they argue over land and property, women, and fight for justice. Justice basically born out of the wish that people would stop arguing and doing harm to each other."**
"What so I should skip solving the problems, and instead treat the symptoms by just becoming a lawyer or a politician?"
**"There was a trillion on the end of that 137 remember."**
"I don't understand how I can help so many by doing nothing!"
**"That was the point! Everyone until now has always looked for a way to solve other people's problems. But look how destructive humanity has been in the search to solve other people's problems! It's like your old proverb, where the monkey reaches into the river to grab the fish, exclaiming as he does so:** ***'dear fish! kindly let me help you or you'll drown!'*** **and placed it safely up a tree."**
"How have we...But look at all we have achieved!"
**"Achieved? Let me paint a picture of humanity's achievements with the example of solving the problem of no light at night, by creating electricity. Ok, great we can see at night. Now how do you get the energy to maintain the electricity? You destroy the environment. Ruin it for others. See you cannot have something without taking it from someone or something else. The rainforests are destroyed for the wood to burn or oil to rub on your faces; the water is poisoned to get gas to pump into your flashy cooker; your -"**
"- OK! I get it. Don't preach. I understand what you're getting at. Yin Yang and all that right?"
**"Close."**
"Can you tell me how I change the world for 137 '*TRILLION REMEMBER'* people, by doing nothing?"
**"No."**
"Why didn't you say that in the beginning?!"
**"How can I tell you how to** ***do*** **nothing? That - literally - doesn't make sense."**
"YOU SAID IT! You said, and I quote: *By doing nothing of course!*"
**"And my responses have been questions have they not?"**
"Yes."
**"What you seek does not come from** ***knowing*** **the answer. There is no real quick-fix in life, they are all postponements of the truth. What you seek comes from the journey of discovery. You must learn what it is, to be."**
| 2018-08-15T07:18:14 | 2018-08-15T02:53:07 | 903 | 164 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
*A Dungeon Master, A Ranger, A Warlock and a Barbarian sit at a kitchen table.*
**Dungeon Master**: Alright, just so everybody's all caught up, could somebody describe what happened during our last campaign.
**Ranger:** Well, we're just about to fight the British while they're busy fighting in World War One. Therefore, we will make Ireland a free state. We're waiting for weapons to come in from Germany and we have successfully convinced MacNeill to join us thanks to a forged letter.
*Barbarian rises from his chair and plants his hands palm down on the table in anticipation*
**Barbarian:** What are we waiting for? Let's get started!
**DM:** You sure you don't want to wait for your weapons yet?
**Warlock:** Yeah, that's probably best. So, what's happening?
*Dungeon Master roles a D20. \[8\]*
**DM:** Oh no. Unfortunately, British spies have gathered intelligence of the boat that was smuggling your weapons. All weapons have been confiscated been confiscated.
**Ranger:** Crap. Did the crew make it?
*Dungeon Master roles a D20. \[3\]*
*Dungeon Master shakes his head*
**Ranger:** Well, there goes all my favourite NPCs.
**Warlock:** We don't need weapons. Once we have the reinforcements, we'll manage.
**DM:** Um, yeah. About that... At the end of our last session, MacNeill caught wind of the forged letter and backed out of the rising.
**Barb:** Oh come on! This is completely unfair.
**DM:** It's not my fault! He get a natural twenty on perception!
**Barb:** So what *do* we have to start the Rising?
**DM:** Well, you can still go on with the battle, though I suggest you take a little more time to\-
**Warlock:** We'll do it tomorrow.
**DM:** What!?!
**Warlock:** Let's go tomorrow. They won't expect it.
**DM:** But you guys are woefully unprepared!
**Barb:** Well, we already committed to all this planning.
**DM**: What planning? This is our third session and so far everything you've planned has failed.
**Barb:** Won't stop me. Save nothing for the swim back, and all that.
**Ranger:** Well, I suppose they already know about our weapon smuggling...
**DM:** Alright, fine! We'll start the next day. But first you have to capture some headquarters. You need a base during all this.
**Ranger:** Okay, I'll take the GPO.
*Ranger roles a D20. \[17\]*
**DM:** Alright, that's a success. Anything else.
**Warlock:** I want to take the Jacob's Factory.
**DM:** The biscuit factory?
**Warlock:** Yeah! Seems reasonable.
*Dungeon Master ponders briefly. His eyes dart back and forth as he juggles the allowance of this request*
**DM:** I'll allow it.
*Warlock roles a D20. \[19\]*
**Warlock:** Get done!
**DM:** I will allow one more building to be taken. What's your pick, Barbarian?
**Barb:** I want The Four Courts.
**DM:** Um... Sure?
*Barbarian roles a D20. \[12\]*
**DM:** Okay.
**Barb:** I also have plus five against courts.
**DM:** Okay. It's a win either way.
*Barbarian lies back in the chair, his hands cradling the back of his head in pride.*
**Barb:** Like a champ.
**DM:** You guys do realise you *only* picked buildings in the middle of the city.
**Warlock:** So?
**DM:** So you can easily be surrounded.
**Warlock:** But we still have the numbers.
**DM:** You're outnumbered twenty to one.
**Warlock:** I never said they were *good* numbers.
*Dungeon Master drops his head in defeat*
**DM:** I'm guessing none of you are backing out of this obviously uphill battle.
**Ranger, Warlock and Barb in unison:** Nope!
**Barb:** The freedom of Ireland depends on it!
*Dungeon Master exhales impatiently.*
**DM:** Alright. Prepare for the shortest campaign of your lives.
**Ranger:** Ah, I'm sure we'll all be fine. Once we're not up against a warship or anything.
*Dungeon Master thinks momentarily then displays a vindictive grin. He roles a D20. \[20\].*
**Barb:** What was that?
**DM:** Oh, nothing.
|
"Alright you approach the door and, as far as you can tell, there are no guards"
"Okay I will open the door and sneak in"
"Okay go ahead and roll some stealth"
"19"
"Okay yeah, you sneak onto the balcony and see the dark haired man with suit and beard and his wife, friend, and friend's wife beside him"
"I'll just walk up and shoot him in the head"
"Okay go ahead and roll for an attack"
"NATURAL TWENTY! Sneak attack damage inbound"
*20 minutes of Rogue dice later*
"Your target crumples to the floor seemingly unconscious"
"I will jump off the balcony onto the stage"
"Not before his friend tries to stab you and...that definitely hits, 4 points of damage across your arm with his dagger. Go ahead and roll an Acrobatics check for hitting the ground"
"Oh no! Three!"
"You hear your leg very loudly bust as you hit the stage"
"I'll shakily stand and shout, 'Sec semper tyrannis!' and then I bolt outta there"
"Alright then, as you hobble your way out of the theatre........that's where we will pick up next week!"
| 2018-05-29T10:08:14 | 2018-05-29T09:44:54 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
"Is this some kind of joke?" You ask, barely making any effort to conceal your frustration. You know better than to go off on the first guy you stumble across in the afterlife, but this is growing remarkably tedious.
The man behind the desk doesn't even meet your gaze and seems quite irritated by the disturbance. "I don't know what to tell you, friend. I don't read each book that comes across my desk. You have any idea how many people die a day? I just hand them out."
You plop back down and let out a sigh. Up until this point, the book you hold in your hands has only gone in chronological order. Many pages only end with one choice. Even the ones with multiple paths have zero impact on the "story".
*to pursue a career as an electrician, turn to page 3,283.*
*to pursue a college education, turn to page 3,283.*
You find that if you had gone to college, you merely would have dropped out in less than a semester and become an electrician anyway. Your "choice" amounts to nothing more than an additional paragraph at the top of the page.
You had no real say in any of it. Were all your decisions really so inconsequential?
You don't entertain the thought for long. You know what is to come. You know the moment everything fell apart.
This time you'll turn right.
The day comes. You skim through most of it, you remember the day well. You don't forget a goddamn thing on a day like that. You begin your drive home. You are lost. You're in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It is raining quite hard which obscures your vision. Your GPS on your phone is not responding. You don't remember the way back.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
Your heart drops in your chest. This couldn't be right. Only one choice. Only one fucking choice.
You slam the book shut. You refuse to relive that. You choose indecision. It seems to be the only other you have, and you'll be damned if this book is going to take that from you.
Hours pass. Days. Weeks perhaps? All the while, the man sits as his desk, reading quietly to himself. He glances up occasionally only to return to his book.
You know the rules. You must finish the book before you can leave this room. Your hands trembling, you resume where you left off.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
It all happened so fast that it barely registered. All the text captures are the fuzzy details you retained. The briefest glimpse of a bicycle in your headlights. The sudden impact. The sound of a person's head very rapidly meeting pavement. A sound no amount of whiskey will ever drown out or water down. The blood. So much of it. What seems to be an impossible amount of blood.
The woman screaming. The pleas for help.
The therapy. The guilt. The anger. Bewilderment. The copious amounts of alcohol and the many fights that come along with it.
*to tell your wife you understand her decision, turn to page 872,862.*
*to beg her to stay, turn to page 872,862.*
For the next 500 pages or so, your choices are very limited. More often than not there is only one option. This is starting to seem like a sick joke. Eventually, there is one alternative that shows up every now and then that grabs your attention.
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
Forgive yourself? You will do no such thing.
*to buy another bottle, just turn the page.*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*to browse through that young boy's memorial page on Facebook again, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*To try slicing down the wrist this time, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
You just continue turning the page.
*to pull the trigger, close this book now.*
You crumble to the floor and begin to sob uncontrollably. This is the only option you have left. The man sees his cue and walks over to scoop up the book.
"What....what was the point of all that? To torture me? Have I not done that to myself enough?" You didn't realize you were steadily raising your shaking voice as you spoke, but the man remained unfazed.
He turns back, your book tucked under his arm. "You've done that more than enough, my son." He speaks gently for the first time since you began the book.
You slowly stand on legs that barely prove to hold you, desperately hoping he will continue talking.
"You had no choices because you *made* no choice. You were only ever prepared for moments that had already passed. What you could have done differently. You couldn't choose your adventure because you were so fixated on changing it."
You look at the floor, unsure how to respond.
"The path you took is the path that was. Alternate endings are merely an author's fantasy."
You look him in the eyes and nod apprehensively.
"Are you ready to try to forgive yourself?"
"....I can try."
He hands the book back to you.
"You know what to do."
|
I closed the book, and didn't move.
"Well," the angel said, "- how did you like it?"
Even though I was dead, I still felt nauseated. "Every single one. Every single decision I ever made was the wrong one. THE WRONG. FUCKING. ONE."
The angel grimaced. "Wow. That's...my goodness! That's actually quite impressive in a depressing way. I mean the odds are astronomical when you-"
"Is this hell? Is this some sort of Twilight Zone shit and my punishment is to know how awesome my life could have been or something?"
"Alright, settle down. You know, I think you're going to very much enjoy finding out why we show you all this...you more than most in fact."
The book suddenly disappeared, and two normal looking doors appeared. "Um, ok?"
The angel gestured to door one. "Behind this door is a new story, with all new choices. A whole new life for you to experience. "He then pointed to the other door. "This door, however, is the life you just had... however, this time you'll make different decisions. So normally, most people make bad decisions roughly 50% of the time. You, however, made bad decisions 100% percent of the time, which means-"
My jaw dropped as it dawned on me what the angel was saying. "Which means that this time I would make 100% of the right decisions?"
The angel nodded. "That's right. Of course, you could always choose to start a new life if-"
I ran towards door two and threw it open.
Things were finally going to go my way.
| 2018-07-04T01:11:05 | 2018-07-04T00:05:35 | 640 | 288 |
[WP] You were once the demon king. "Defeated" by the hero, you went into hiding to pursue a simpler life. Today the "hero" has appeared, threatening you family to pay tribute, not realizing who you actually are. Today you show them what happens when you have something worth fighting to protect.
|
I saw him coming a mile away, through my dying fields and the broken roads. I saw him stopping in every other house down the road, all poor families with barely anything to survive. Still he demanded their tribute, to those who had nothing to give him he killed, those who had given him too little he killed.
Now he was coming to my house, he was barely a couple hundred meters away, ascending through the grassy slope that led to my home.
He, the "fabled" hero. He, the "glorious" knight the prophecies had foretold. He who had stripped me from my throne.
Oh, those were the days... The "Demon King" they called me, such a silly name. One mothers would use to scare their children into obeying the most simple of commands. In those days I fought and I killed in my name, I fought for my own glory and no one else's. I became king thanks to The One, he had given me power, courage and might, and one day he took them from me and gave them to this coward.
He is getting closer now, I can see the scar I left on his face even from this distance. From the cheek to the eye and his forehead. Will he recognize the man that did that to him? I wonder, I don't think he will. Years have passed, I no longer inspire fear in fellow men. I no longer wear the thick dark armor and helmet that had gave me my nickname. I no longer wield the legendary axe. I'm barely a shadow of who I once was.
I no longer fight, I no longer conquer. I have a family, a wife and kids that depend on me working the fields and gathering just enough to live a happy live. They don't know who I once was, they don't know what brought smiles to my face in the past, they don't know how much I loved power, and they don't know that even if I could go back to that life I'd stay, just to see them happy.
He is in front of me. Behind him there's three guards, they are all completely armed and wearing the kingsmen armor. The only weapon I have close to me is the axe I cut firewood with. The only armor is the leather vest I'm wearing.
"It's the third month of the King's year." He speaks to me "We expect that you have enough to pay for your tribute."
What a piece of shit. He strips me from my throne and the first thing he does is demand the poor people tribute him for doing so.
"Look around, this has been a terrible year. I barely have enough for myself." I answer, every field was barren, it truly had been terrible.
The three guards straighten their shoulders, they are waiting for the order to strike me or my family.
"I didn't ask if this was a good year or not!" He is shouting at me. "What is easier? To beat the demon king that terrorized this kingdom or to work a damn field?!"
I stare at him, what a pathetic human being.
"Answer, peasant!"
When I lost my throne I promised I'd change, I promised I'd fix my mistakes and become the man my father was. Thar I'd let all that anger leave my body and my soul and become a better man.
"Guards, enter this... Hut. Bring everybody out." He orders his guards. I still stare firmly at him.
They move quickly around me and open the door to my home, I hear my wife and kids panicking as they're being grabbed and forced out of their own beds.
As quickly as they entered they leave, each of the guards holding one of my hearts. My beautiful wife, my son who I wish never follows my footsteps, and my daughter, so similar to my wife. How was I, the Demon King, allowed to have such a wonderful family. The One gives and The One takes away. I love them more than anything I've ever loved. Seeing these guards place their hands upon them lights a fire in my stomach I though I had put out long time ago.
"Every year citizens are expected to pay a tribute to me, their king. Every year, without fail! Those who can't are either taken away or killed, they are useless! But you! You won't even answer me, your king! So, you decide. Which one dies first? Your wife?" He approaches my wife and drags his fingers through her face, the fire in my stomach grows with every centimeter of her face he touches. "Your daughter?" He eyes my daughter up and down. I promise to The One, by this nightfall he won't have either of his eyes. "Or your son?" He grabs his arm. My son, fruit of my blood, my legacy. I feel the fire burning all my body.
"Arthur." I speak directly to the king as I stare into his eyes "If you do anything to my family, I promise, in the name of The One I promise, it will be the last thing you do." I say calmly
"You dare speak my name, peasant? You have guts." He approaches my as he draws his sword. "I'll kill you first."
"Daddy, no!" I hear my daughter shout before being silenced by a guard, don't worry baby girl. I should have done this a long time ago.
I extend my arm and grab the old axe I cut firewood with. He prepares a swing from his sword to strike me from the left. I have no armor to slow me down, no heavy boots, no cumbersome helmet. A raging fire roars withing me. I'm too fast for him. I take a couple of steps forward and hit him with my axe right in the top of his helmet, completely shattering it and slicing his head in two. This force, I haven't had this force since I was king.
The King immediately falls to the ground, there is no doubt in any of the soldiers eyes about what they just saw. Their king lies dead at my feet and there's nothing they could have done to stop it.
I bend down and pull my axe out of his head. I look towards the soldiers and my family. They soldiers meet my gaze with fear and with uncertainty.
10 years ago I would have killed them five minutes ago, but I promised myself I would change.
"Go." I tell them "And take him with you."
They let my family go and carried the dead king away with them.
I look to the skies as my family approaches me. The One, he listened to me. I once asked him for power and after it corrupted me he took it from me. Now, I asked him for a chance at redemption and he gave it to me. I no longer wish for power or courage, I wish to keep my family safe.
|
_Oh great. Them_ I thought as I looked at the so called hero threatening my family. I always knew he’d turn out this way. But no one believed me did they? Anyway back to the matter at hand. My wife and child.
“Now peasant. Go get me the bounty of your labor. As well as your valuables.” They said holding a knife to my child’s neck
“Yes... my lord. What all would you like? We grow an abundance of fruit here, and I’m aware your allergic to specific fruits, as to not kill you id like to know which are unsafe” I faked a submissive voice as I stuttered that out
“I’m allergic to apples and grapes. Get me the rest” the person said as they stood there glaring at me.
“Yes, my lord. I will be back momentarily” I stammered out standing up and going to my house. I grabbed my old sword, and armor. I might be older but I’m not rusty. I kept the cloak on that hid my true form along with my armor and sword. I swiftly grabbed oranges, lemons, grapefruits, and peaches hoping this would satisfy the tyrant that was on my land holding my family hostage.
“Here my lord...” I said placing the fruit in front of them “I do not have any valuables, I was counting on this harvest to replenish the money I spend tending to the trees
They looked at me in disgust “whatever. Now you’ll fight me and if I win I keep your wife and child as slaves” the ruler said as they looked at my wife and child in unfavorable ways
*Oh. Great the brat wants me to **fight** him. This should go *peachy**
“Why of course Lucas, id love a rematch” I said dropping my cloak revealing my demon like wings. I swiftly swept his legs telling my wife to take out child and run. After they were out of sight I unleashed all the hatred I had punching the tyrant into a tree making them groan in pain.
They recovered quickly drawing their sword and pointing it at my neck “wh-who ***are*** you?” They stammered looking at me in confusion
“Your worst nightmare” I growled ducking under the sword and drawing my own. Their eyes grew large realizing how much danger they were in “y-y-youre the evil I killed years ago” they stammered backing up
“I am. But I am not evil now, though you are. We have both changed but only one for the better” I said quickly swiping the sword out of their hands, it landing in the dirt a few feet away. “Would you like to know my name before you die?” I ask pointing my sword at the cowering person before me “my name is hope. Something once you die the people will have again” I said as I sliced his throat open letting them bleed out in front of me.
| 2020-09-23T00:19:39 | 2020-09-22T22:45:15 | 76 | 29 |
[WP] You are a lonely hermit. Every once in a while, a stranger comes to you and asks you for advice. No matter what you say, it always ends up ultimately being the single advice that lets them complete their quest. One day, you decide to put this to a test.
|
I looked at the man sitting across from me. No man has ever looked more out of place in my hut as this one. He was dressed in fine silk clothes with a velvet cloak. Royal blues and purples with silver and gold streaks. Bedazzled with jewellery. I almost laughed at the ludicrous scene. I did my best to hide my derision.
In many ways a king was no different than a hermit. This man had no way of knowing that he was out of place. No one would dare tell him. Well... Maybe I would, but why should I? It's not the kind of advice he wants to hear. People come to me for advice, but what they really want is for me to tell them what they want to hear. Somehow they always return with sacks of useless gold in an attempt to pay me. Apparently my advice always works. I can't explain it. It just does. I just don't know what I would do with gold.
This king wants to know how he can stop an invading army. As if I have any tactical expertise. Ok I do... I was commander of his father's battle mages years ago. Long before I decided to live alone. But the secret there was to make people think you had a plan and had some power, because honestly magic is a sham. No one has power. It's all slight of hand and big gestures with clever machinery. I certainly don't have any advice for real combat.
"So?" He prompted. "You were once a tactical genius. You single handedly held back the Darshian army as one of my father's commanders."
"A different life, I'm afraid," I responded. I almost laughed. I remembered that battle well. I used mirrors and light tricks to make ghosts materialize on the battlefield at night, and had men make ghost noises. The superstitious Darsians fled in middle of the night. Leaving their belongings and, more importantly, their weapons behind. Any who returned were easily captured or killed since they were mostly unarmed.
"But you're still that man," he insisted.
I smiled as I stood up and gestured at our surroundings and myself before holding my arms akimbo. "Certainly your majesty doesn't think that someone like myself can still be that man?"
The king tensed. "I know you are!" He spat. "You have to be. The kingdom depends on it. You're a powerful mage. That magic doesn't disappear."
I shook my head as I quietly cursed at myself. I sold myself too well back in the day. I was knocked back to reality as he continued.
"You know how I know?" He was leaning forward with his hands on the table. His face was beet red now, actually a good look on him since it matched his shirt. He didn't wait for me to react. "Because you keep giving good advice that never fails! I've personally interviewed every one of your past customers, so I know it's true. And given the amount they've paid you I'm sure you're well aware of your own worth as well."
I felt like he punched me in the gut. I sat back down. This is exactly what has been puzzling me for the last 15 years. It was the reason I left civilization in the first place. I didn't believe in all this mumbo jumbo but I still seemed to have the power to give perfect advice. I looked up slowly. I had an idea. The king wouldn't like it, but I would play along one last time to test this power of mine.
I stood up and walked over to an earthenware vase standing in the corner. I looked at the king and allowed my eyes to roll back in their sockets. That was my normal trick to make these fools think I was consulting with a higher power. I kicked the vase over. The grains inside spilled onto the floor in front of me. I then kicked over a pot next to it and water splashed over the grains. It's fine, I wanted to soak them anyway. I got down on my knees and kneaded the wet grains with my hands. I looked down at the mess in front of me and nodded.
"Yes that would be perfect," I said. I pointed at the sacks of useless gold in the opposite corner, and said to the king. "Take these twenty three sacks of gold coins to the edge of the Gardin River. Have twenty three of your most trustworthy men hold a sack over the river while you stand over them. When the Darshian army comes to the opposite bank, and are able to see you, order them to pour the coins into the river."
The king gasped. "Are you mad? If I wait till they get to the river we'll be in range of their archers!
"Besides what does spilling gold coins into the river have to do with fighting an army? Perhaps you are a fraud after all."
"Perhaps," I said, "but remember your majesty came to me and insisted. I didn't offer anything."
"Fine, but it's your head if this is a joke!" With that he stormed out of my hut. I heard him shout an order outside and a few knights came in to move the bags of gold out.
Eh... If it fails he'll be dead anyway. He's not stupid enough to leave the front lines unfortified anyway. So the kingdom will be fine.
Two weeks later I heard a noise outside my hut. There was some banging and shouting after which my front door swung open and the king strode in. He was followed by four knights carrying a large heavy chest. These were followed by there tailors who immediately began taking my measurements. I shot the king a puzzled look, but he just smiled as two squires walked in and read a proclamation from his majesty granting me my old title and giving me the land where the Gardin River was as well as ten miles past what was previously the Darshian border.
"It was brilliant!" The king declared after the proclamation was read. "It was raining. As soon as the Darshians saw the gold being dropped in the river they jumped in and tried swimming across. Every single one of them! They went for the gold and all drowned in the storm. We invaded the invaders, and have gained a foothold in their land. I'm giving it to you, the mastermind of this great victory!"
I sighed. I guess this power really is real. I accepted the position as it seems there is no way for me to escape this fate anyway.
|
"And what do you want, hmm?" I said, pruning the Bonsai tree before me.
"I seek your wisdom, Great Hermit of the Mountain." said a young man. He was of average height and slender build. He wore expensive silk clothing and hung on his belt was a saber much too large for him.
"And what have I to gain from this exchange?"
"I will be your servant for ten years."
"Do you see this Oak tree? It is four hundred years old. I planted it for my grandson the year he was born. Ten years is nothing to me."
"But I've traveled a thousand miles to get here! You must answer my questions!"
"Leave in peace, stranger. I promise no harm will befall you."
"If you do not answer my questions, I'll have my guard give me your heart."
"So be it." I said. In the blink of an eye I was upon the soldier taking up the rear. I clamped his mouth shut and stabbed the pruning scissors into his neck. Blood gushed out, sputtered, and then gushed again.
I withdrew my weapon and pounced on the next soldier. He died much the same, except he was able to gurgle out a hoarse scream.
The rest of the Guardsmen turned toward me and drew their weapons.
"I gave you a chance to leave in peace. Now, you must give your life to the mountain so that I may live and give my wisdom to those who are worthy. Don't worry. It will be quick."
Their master drew his saber and slashed it down in my general direction. "Kill him! Kill him you fools!"
My hand flashed, and the scissors slammed into the soft flesh under his Adam's apple. Then I turned and melted into the dense forest surrounding us. I slammed my palms into the soft loam of the forest floor, focusing power into the roots of the trees all around us. They began to bend and creak and interlock their branches, blotting out the sun.
"If you survive the next hour," I said, my voice echoing around the canopy, "you may ask me one question. I give you five minutes to prepare yourselves."
The soldiers shouted and darted about, waving their weapons wildly at the growing shadows. I sighed. It thought was going to be another boring bloodbath, but one of the soldiers was smart enough to light a torch. The others, emboldened by the light, regrouped around the lightbringer and formed a defensive circle of steel.
"Stay together men! It's our best chance! Pikemen in front, archers fire at will!"
"Aye, Captain!"
They were brave men and women all, just unlucky enough to serve a fool. Fate was a cruel mistress. It was time they met her.
| 2020-02-10T19:37:42 | 2020-02-10T17:20:38 | 69 | 15 |
[WP] Out of all possible familiars, you are "Graced" with a human. While legend says that they are beings of great power, yours just makes sarcastic comments and pranks people.
|
Ellayne, Syldra, Fayrwin, and myself, Jeryl, had been friends since our early days, playing in the forest at being adventurous sorceresses. Now, after years of schooling it was time for our summonings.
A familiar human was a spirit from another realm, given new life and form to serve and aid their summoner. Each sorcerer and sorceress choose a type - a warrior, a soldier, a scholar, a spy, a sage, and so on, and called them forth from the nether to be their lifelong companion.
Ellayne had always had a flair for the dramatic, from her dress to her spellcasting. She specialized in grand displays of power, and needed a familiar who could help her channel energies to fuel it all. As she performed the ritual, her familiar took form; a short (even for a human) with cropped, curly hair, wearing a modest dress.
We could all feel her spiritual power; a medium then. Someone who could channel energy. We helped Ellayne can and settle her familiar; echoes of memories from their past selves clung on for a while, but eventually faded. This one's personality seemed modest and quiet; easy to manage. Her name was Agatha.
Syldra was an Invoker; she revelled in the raw power of magic, and specialized in unleashing it in devestating attacks. However, it came at the an expense. She'd neglected her self defense and combat training, so she's need protection. Her familiar flickered several times until one took form. He was impressive; tall, broad shouldered, even handsome in the brutish way some humans can be. More importantly, he wore shining, fitted armor and carried several well-used weapons. His name was Charles.
Fayrwin was our team's healer; she'd always been caring and kind with a deep connection with nature. Her familiar came into focus swiftly, and was... Odd... He was a gangly man with an excited nature, wearing simple tan clothing. They immediately began talking about animals; so much so that we had to remind Fayrwin that I needed to summon mine still. His name was Steve.
I was nervous, to say the least. I never really settled in a specialty in school, and had no idea what kind of familiar to conjure. I decided that someone wise, with broad skills would work best, clever and quick witted, who could help me out of any messy situations I might find myself in.
I began the ritual. I could feel the threads of power flow through me and into the nether. I found it! Strong, clever, wise... He was everything I wanted in a familiar! I saw an older, yet spry man with youthful eyes form before me. There was energy, vigor, yet a deep solemnety that bordered on sadnesses.
"Woah, talk about a head trip!" He exclaimed looking about animatedly. "Hey, you must be in charge here," he said to me, grasping my hand and shaking it vigorously.
"Er, well, yes. I summoned you; you're my familiar," I replied firmly.
"Not too familiar sweetheart, I've already got a wife."
"What? No, not that kind of... You're my guardian and guide, my helper and companion."
"That's a tall order for one short, hairy comedian, but I'll see what I can do," he replied with a flourish and a bow. "Steve! So this is where you ended up!"
"Ate mate, good to finally meet ya!" Fayrwin's familiar replied. I gave her a baffled, helpless look. Our other friends just laughed, irritating me more than a little as my familiar wandered off to chat with Steve.
"Hey! Come back here!" I insisted crossly. My familiar stomped back over with stiff, exaggerated steps, arms and legs stiff and straight. He turned in his heel before me and crispy saluted. "Oh Capitan my Captain!" He exclaimed.
"Stop that at once!" I commanded, flustered. He looked back at me with the unsettling gaze of an experienced parent. "Uh, if you please... Uh... Mister..." I stammered.
"Robin," he finished, "nice to meet you!" I could only stand there, dumbfounded and perplexed as he energetically shook my limp hand.
Neither my friends nor their familiars could stop laughing.
|
Some say humans are the pinnacle of ingenuity and community.
Some argue that they are the embodiment of sentience.
Some go the other direction and say that they're the embodiment of all the things they're infamous for.
All compelling arguments. But the one thing they agree on is that humans are the prime terrestrial species.
And the prime terrestrial species has to be a symbol of greatness, right?
Well, apparently not.
The only thing my human's been a symbol of is antagonizing people.
And that's not one of my virtues.
I suppose the humans are the most complex of the terrestrial species, after all.
Who knows what role they play?
| 2018-03-20T20:23:14 | 2018-03-20T16:59:31 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] When everyone disappeared from the face of the earth, you were prepared. You had even made an excellent survival plan that was going splendidly. What you weren't prepared for was to find the shelves restocked, and electricity and wifi still working 1 month after the event.
|
**Hello world**
**Published by whereiseveryone on 2022/2/3**
Hey all. And by ‘all’, I guess I mean… well, I don’t really know what I mean.
I guess I’m shouting into the void. As far as I can tell, none of you really *exist*, per se, but publishing this blog (or WordPress, if you want to get specific) is a neat way for me to journal while still pretending that someone is out there.
But, like… I think some of you do exist.
Let me explain.
On January 1st of 2022, you all vanished.
Well, maybe you didn’t, but everyone around *me* vanished. And since I’m the center of the universe, as far as I’m concerned that means that everyone vanished. Now, back in my twenties when I was a lonely, miserable sod, I was something of a prepper, because it was a nice distraction from the fact that I was lonely and miserable. And sure, maybe I got over it and had some nice relationships and friendships and what have you, but it would have been pointless to throw away my stash of MREs and canned goods and destroy the bunker that I built in my backyard, so it was just… there.
Which, as you might guess, made it awfully convenient for me to bug out and hide away for a month when everyone disappeared. I assumed it was… I don’t know, aliens or nanobots or invisible monsters that ate people. Whatever the case, I’m very much not ready to be dead yet, so I felt it prudent to not be visible for a bit in case I stood out on account of not being dead. And, in accordance with not being visible, I stayed as quiet as possible. I’m talking A Quiet Place quiet. No talking no sounds, no outgoing signals… hell, I didn’t even connect to the internet or use a radio for fear of pinging some system somewhere somehow.
And then I emerged yesterday after that month was up to take a look around. And…
What gives?
I go to my house, find that the power is still on, find that the *wifi* is still on (obviously, because I’m here)... but how?
I guess it’s some measure of consolation that all the various social medias are totally empty. It’s nice to not get spammed with Facebook notifications for once, but I sure would like to see at least *some* signs of life out there. Otherwise, I’ve got a real mystery on my hands. Humanity is gone…
...but the ghost of human civilization chugs along regardless.
Maybe our automated systems are better than I thought. I’ll keep you updated, world, if you’re out there.
&nbsp;
**The Mystery Deepens**
**Published by whereiseveryone on 2022/2/6**
I mostly kept to my bunker the last few days. Might as well play it safe, I thought. I’ve been in and out of my house, of course, because electricity is cool, but I’ve still been trying to lay low-ish.
Then, of course, I realized that posting that blog post is like screaming out a beacon, and trying to play it safe after doing that is… well, it’s locking the barn door after the horse got out, or however the saying goes. So I took a ride downtown to see what’s up.
And, well, yeah. You’re all still gone. So why was the grocery store full? Why am I sitting here eating a ripe (well, as ripe as they get at Walmart) apple with fresh meat in my fridge and freezer?
Not much else to add to this update, but… what the hell is going on?
&nbsp;
**Back again**
**Published by whereiseveryone on 2022/3/1**
Okay, I’m spooked. I admit it. I went into hiding again.
Can you blame me? The food I brought back… *it went missing*.
Yep. I stocked up my pantry, my fridge, my freezer, my extra freezer, my bunker… and it’s all back to normal. Like I never even brought anything back. I guess that’s convenient because for the first time in these few months I had the presence of mind to take stock of my… er… stock, and I also apparently haven’t eaten anything. Mysteries abound in this strange new world.
And that’s not all. God, I feel like those old infomercials but… no, really, that’s not all.
There was a sound in my house, and it sure as hell wasn’t me. It sounded like… Like radio static, I guess, but imagine you flipped to a new channel of static ten times a second. It was loud as hell and scared the absolute shit out of me, so I ran from the house and hid in the bunker, and then it stopped.
If this… thing, this force that disappeared everyone works through electromagnetic signals, will it find me if I keep posting online? Only time will tell, but I’m really starting to get lonely out here.
&nbsp;
**afadsgas**
**Published by whereiseveryone on 2022/3/2**
That sound came back again, and…
How do I explain this?
When I was younger, I used to try to lucid dream. I had a dream journal, I tried MILD and WILD and holding my breath and pinching myself, the whole nine yards. The problem was that every time I realized I was in a dream, the dream started to fade. It was like passing out in reverse. My vision would go fuzzy at the edges, and the landscape around me would literally start to deconstruct, and then I would just be sitting there in bed wide awake.
I heard that sound again, and this time, I heard voices, and it was like that. It was like the voices were fuzzy, barely at the edge of my consciousness, and the more I tried to focus on them, the more they disappeared. Someone somehow is trying to contact me. Should I trust them? Only time will tell.
&nbsp;
**test post pls ignore**
**Published by whereiseveryone on 2022/3/3**
why are all my posts gone? why did i never bother to check if they were getting posted? let’s see if this one stays up
&nbsp;
**Shouting into the void… again.**
**Published by whereiseveryone on 2022/3/4**
So… this blog seems to be very impermanent. Maybe that’s the nature of a WordPress free trial. What do I know?
Found a flashlight in the house today. I don’t think I put it there, but… you know how it is. Prepper. Lots of extra flashlights. Who knows. I turned it on for giggles. Heard the voices again. Turned it off. I’m so lost. Feel like I’m going mad.
&nbsp;
**Google is my friend**
**Published by whereiseveryone on 2022/4/2**
Woke up today feeling like the last month was all a dream. I can hardly remember when this all started, and it’s only been three months plus a few days. I can barely remember what life was like before. If I had known my last day in society would be my last day... Maybe I would have stayed at that party. Maybe I wouldn't have driven home early, would have stayed because the snowstorm was getting worse, would have had another round of drinks, maybe even would have kept talking to that girl I hadn't seen since high school...
Oh well. Missed opportunities.
I realized that since I still have access to the internet, I might as well do some googling, see if anyone else has experienced what I’ve experienced before, and… well…
Have any of my 0 viewers ever heard of a spirit box before? It makes radio sounds like what I heard, apparently, but… I didn’t know ghosts could use them. Why would they be trying to contact me?
I don’t want ghosts to contact me. They might try to kill me. I’m not ready to die. I don't want to move on. I’m not ready to [die](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).
|
"Loaded and made ready?"
"Loaded and made ready." Mel no longer fumbled about the rifle as she gave its magazine a hard tap. It no longer seemed too large for her short, 1.4 metre frame. She was at home with this weapon, her protection against the unforgiving world.
Humans or no humans on it, living on this world had always been painful. As we moved quietly among the ruins of the old, my watchful gaze scanned the long-deserted buildings, trying to find an errant sniper scope glare or a Humvee across the horizon. Nothing. No news was good news. That had always been the plan: alone, strong on your own. Mel knew this well, too.
So it came to my huge surprise, then, that the phone that I kept in my combat vest, for old times' sake, suddenly started to vibrate. An errant alarm? I had no time to check. Dropping my frame and crawling about the mud, I tried to use my wiggling body movements to deactivate the alarm through my vest. No time to take the phone out. No time to be distracted.
But it would not be stopped.
Sighing, I took cover behind an upturned car, Mel following, staring at me in wonder and confusion. Ripping open the Velcro pouch with that small lump of plastic and rare earth metal, I tap on the side button to find... a signal, fully connected, with four bars? And *WiFi*? What was happening?
A message. Opened it; unknown number. "The shelves are full. The WiFi is working. Please, just come back."
And then, a black bag thrown over my face, a sharp pain in the gut, and everything turns to black.
\--
A bright light shines upon my face, stinging me awake. Groggily getting to my feet, I stumble about until I crash into some furniture. Instinctively taking a step back, and grabbing at what's in front of me... metal? Cold metal, but with something sloshy inside as I shake it. A can of food! That'll be useful. I'll need to bring this back to Mel. Storing it in my pouch, I move on, as my vision slowly returns to me.
Not far away, another shelf. Similarly stocked with cans. I guess the elements hadn't gotten to this one yet. One more can goes into my pouch. And another. And another... wait. Why was this shelf fully stocked? Why was there electric light still pouring down abundantly from the ceiling? And... was that *another human*?
"It can't be!" I cried. "You were all *dead*. I saw it with my own eyes."
"And now, you see me with your own eyes too. Isn't it funny? The senses can be deceiving, you know." A voice echoes back from the slowly approaching person, still sounding so far away. I raise my rifle, aimed straight at the figure, but it does not flinch, or even hesitate.
"We were able to keep the shelves restocked," it continues. "You and your daughter need not live like savages amidst the wastelands. You will be safe here."
My rifle remains still. "What's the catch?"
"There is none. Be happy with us. We do not wish to see suffering."
"That's *bullshit*, and you know it," I hiss through gritted teeth. "We will not be slaves to whatever AI nonsense this is."
The robot sighs. "Fine, have it your way. But don't say I didn't warn you. You were always the disobedient one, even when humans still existed. Let's see if a few more days away from paradise will change that."
The light slowly fades. Peace... sleep...
and I'm back in the mud, under an acrid green sky.
Damn robots. Whatever they'd done, they sure did mess up. Well, it's not my business anymore, but...
Mel?
"Where are you, Mel?" My scream across the barrens is met only by its own echo.
She's gone. Did she accept the offer? Was she forced into doing it? What am I to do about it?
Well, if there's one thing us humans are stubbornly good at doing, it's taking care of each other. Even if in the latter days of society, we didn't do that so well.
I still have my rifle and my kit. It's not too late for Mel. As quickly as my worn out boots will take me, I continue my journey forward.
| 2021-12-01T09:54:03 | 2021-12-01T07:53:55 | 257 | 41 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results.
|
The shadows in the castle lengthened with her mere presence, even the guards, trained to handle almost any situation without fear, only barely resisted the urge to shiver as an unnatural cold filled the air. The queen made her way down into the dungeon, moving with unearthly elegance and radiating an aura of control and calm even as she made her way into a cursed place where the sins of a hundred generations of tyrants were allowed to fester, not even producing a slight sadistic grin or disgusted snarl like previous rulers of the castle did in these same walls. Once she reached the end of the tunnel and went through a set of heavy wooden doors however her expression had completely changed, immediately becoming more relaxed, content, and most of all tired as she looked upon the latest mess her husband had made in the royal laboratory,
"Honey, I... I didn't see you there!" her husband exclaimed, slightly muffled by layers of pink foam that filled the room,
"What did you make this time, a new formula of shampoo?" she asked, allowing herself to let out a far from intimidating giggle as blew the mixture away with a small spell,
"Not at all actually, I saw your notes on how those pesky heroes kept on escaping from your traps, and I wanted to help" He replied as he tore off chunks of sticky foam that still clung to his clothes, "Worked a little too well it seems."
"Oh Ian, I appreciate the effort, but I told you, leave all that nasty business with the heroes to me!" she said, she loved moments like these when her bumbling oaf of a husband tried to help, but really she was thinking less sticky pink foam and more deadly pits full of adders,
"You never let me do anything fun Krystal!" her husband mock pouted, breaking soon after into laughter with her joining in soon after,
Her mind wandered to the day when she had met Ian, he was then a humble alchemist, hardly a drop of noble blood in him and yet he had made quite a name for himself due to his skill at his craft even then, other than that there truly was nothing special about him. However she saw something in him the moment they locked eyes, sure it was while his store was trashed during yet another confrontation with those annoying brats who called themselves heroes, and it was about the same time she cast a fireball a little too closely to some poorly placed bottles of oil, hardly a romantic setting. After calling some of the best physicians and healers in her kingdom to tend to the man's burns she still didn't know why she went out of her way to save him, she remembered saying something about future plans or some garbage like that, but it hardly matters, for soon she knew exactly what she saw in him. They couldn't be more opposite, once he could freely talk and move again he showed himself to be everything she wasn't, a hopeless optimist, a humble man who didn't even boast about the greatest of achievements and a kind soul whose warmth provided a comforting contrast to the icy politics she surrounded herself with. She remembered their first clumsy steps into courtship with a smile, the anger of the noble families who hated the idea of their queen running off with some nobody before being harshly reminded on exactly why she was queen with a few executions, and his proposal to her while they were having dinner over yet another riot erupting in the city. She loved this man, but he had no place being involved in her little 'family business'.
"Have a shower dear, I don't know what is in that stuff but it stinks of rotten eggs and burnt corpses!" she jokingly ordered, at least she thought it had a hint of rotten eggs, she had never smelt that particular stench before,
"Yes your terrible majesty!" he laughed as he made his way out of the laboratory, the room suddenly becoming far colder as he shut the door behind him.
What was she here for again? Ah yes, interrogations! Good thing this lab was built right next the the castle dungeons she thought as the shadows once again lengthened, and the mask of the cold, cruel evil queen replaced Krystal Tyrannis with practiced ease and a set of bloodstained torturer's tools manifested out of thin air. The screams echoed through the castle all night, and the guards silently wondered what manner of man the king was if he could go about his day with such cheer when married to a monster such as their queen...
|
[Poem]
An ancient adoration
Begets black,
cruel,
devilish deeds:
Entering elephants
for fearful football
games; gathering
harmful herbs
in icecream;
jerkishly jaywalking;
killing kids;
lying; looking like
more manly men; making
no niceties;
opening others’
presents; placating
Quetzalcoatl-
ritual
sacrifices; sometimes
twisting time to take twins to the
Underworld;
vacating
Waterworld with wicked
xenophobia;
yeeting yellow
Zebra Zombies.
| 2020-04-14T05:41:49 | 2020-04-14T05:22:45 | 237 | 74 |
[WP] You have been told all your life that you have a rare medical condition. It means you need regular special meals that your family has lovingly prepared. You now find out that your "condition" actually requires fresh human flesh and your family have become serial killers to keep you alive.
|
"Honey, I don't see what the problem is," my mom said. She looked as regal as she always did, what with her straight back and rigid posture. Her shoulders were squared as her hands worked in the kitchen sink, and her face was set as she went about her job. "This has been the case since you were born, and you're almost eighteen now. What is the issue?"
I sputtered, and gestured wildly at the sink. Inside it were several meticulously carved pieces of meat. As I've come to realize, every single piece was probably from a recently living person. One might have been beef.
"As I've said before, I don't see the problem," she repeated, and I almost screamed at her nonchalance. How could she possibly not understand?
"You've been feeding me human meat my entire life. You have been feeding me people!" With that I hefted a logbook into the air. This particular one was new, with pages still blank. The other ones upstairs, however, hidden in the attic? Their pages were yellow and faded and nearly crumbled at my touch. They dated back entire *years*, starting shortly after my birth, and recorded every killing they had ever done.
The numbers were close to a hundred.
"Yes, honey, we have." My mother said that with the same no nonsense tone she used to tell me to do something that was non-negotiable. I *had* to clean my room and I *had* to go to bed before nine.
I *had* to feast on the flesh of the living. The doctor's notes I had found with the logbooks said as much. I still couldn't believe it.
"How could you be doing this? Murdering innocent people?"
Here, my mother turned around. She dried off her hands with the dish towel she kept on a hook nearby and looked at me. Her eyes were stern, as if she were annoyed that she had to explain this at all.
"First of all, the people we take care of are hardly 'innocent.' They are usually murderers, rapists, robbers, or politicians. They are people who other people would rather not like in this world, and would pay good money to see gone."
My stomach turned as I thought of the implication. Was my mother suggesting she was a hitman? Was my fourth grade trip to Disney paid with blood money?
"Second of all," my mother continued. "I don't see why you have such an issue with it."
Here my anger reignited. "It is the moral of the thing!" I yelled. "If there was one man tied to a railroad track, and ten people tied to another, and a train was coming, which one would you save?"
My mom pondered this. She put a finger to her chin as she thought about her answer.
"Well, that depends. How much am I getting paid to decide?"
"Mom!"
"Besides, that entire question is moot if *my son* is on either one of the tracks. I would always choose the other track."
Here my eye twitched, and I realized that trying to explain morality to a person that basically amounted to a serial killer was pointless. My eyes coasted to the tiled floor, and my next words more fell out of my mouth than were said.
"It's about the morality of the thing..."
Here my dad came into the kitchen. He wasn't a particularly big man, just slightly taller than my mom or I. What he lacked in size, however, he made up in countenance. His eyes seemed to be always focused, always looking ahead. His hands were placed perfectly at his side, and every step he made seemed measured, as if he abhorred any wasted movements. So precise was he, that one time when he was cooking I saw him do fancy tricks with a knife and not cut himself onc--
Oh God dad was an assassin too.
The man walked up to me and slugged me on the shoulder. It didn't hurt much, but then again I knew that he didn't punch too hard. He walked up to my mom and gave her a kiss, before turning and regarding me with curious, almost whimsical eyes. They still put me on edge.
"Morals? Where did you learn something like that from?"
I opened my mouth, ready to respond that it was in fact *them* who taught me morals, when something came to mind.
Not once had they ever preached morality to me. I learned the golden rule and fairness from my peers in school. Mom and Dad taught me how to incapacitate my third grade bully and get away with it.
My legs now wobbly, I collapsed into a dining chair and placed my head in my hands.
"My family is a bunch of murderers."
Mom and Dad looked at each other, then back to me. They smiled, a small thing that barely went anywhere, and separated. Mom went back to washing the meat while dad started to make his way over to me.
"I don't see the problem with it," they both said.
|
“What the fuck you guys!? What was your plan? That I would just never find out? Never notice?”
“Well in all fairness you did take much longer than expected to start showing symptoms” my father offered, shifting his weight on the other side of the kitchen island “We figured we would do what we could until we found a better plan, but we couldn’t just do NOTHING”
“That still doesn’t make this okay. That doesn’t forgive what you did. What you have been doing for years. Both of you.” They are both very logical people, always have been. I was raised to keep a level head at all times but it is so hard when you realize the lengths people will go to to hide things from you.
“Well you never seemed to go out before your condition anyways” my mother interjected “And it’s not like your gaming friends could hear you any different over the microphone. Not a first, anyways.” That’s no excuse, I may be young but it’s still my own life more or less. I should be allowed to make some sort of decisions about what happens in it, and i should be told about things so we can work through them as a family, not have everyone work around me in secret.
“I’m just really hurt you guys never told me I was a zombie.”
| 2019-03-13T09:15:36 | 2019-03-13T09:01:05 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] A man, stricken with anger and sadness, sacrifices himself to Satan in a ritual to curse his cheating wife. The man awakens as the newly born baby of his wive’s infidelity. Despite being a baby, he retains all the memories of his previous life and from that moment plans his revenge.
[removed]
|
The woman trembled in the dark, her body exhausted from crying, her heart exhausted from trying. She had slid past the end of her rope and was drowning in despair.
She didn't ask for him out loud. Maybe she didnt even believe he existed. But she knew as soon as he arrived, and who he was.
"Kathleen", a smooth, almost serpentine voice ached out in the darkness. "I am so sorry, Kathleen."
Kathleen didnt get up. Maybe it wasnt so much that she didn't, but couldn't. After you get beaten down long enough, you stay there. And his presence was ... Heavy. Like a big warm blanket. She felt embraced.
She sniffled, her teeth chattering as she rasped breath, ignoring the thick snot and tears running down to the floor.
"You need something....", he comforted. "Something that you have searched for. Read books for. Paid specialists for. Even prayed for. Begged for in the darkest night and the loneliest places deep inside yourself."
She was hearing but not listening. It was like someone talking to a baby that had cried itself to sleep. She was dazed, floating, curled into a tiny ball that must have fit inside his hand, she thought - he seems so *big*.
"I can give you the truth", the words slithered into her ear like an earworm. "I am the light bearer, the first and brightest in the stars." She felt lifted - picked up - as if all that weight had been moved off of her and placed beneath her, like all of her problems were buoying her up.
"I can lift you above the confusion and show you the key to the secret that has so long eluded you."
She felt an,urging, like a whoopee cushion being gently squeezed. The question forced itself out of her, bringing a fresh belch of tears. She wanted to shout it, but her face contorted in miserable squeaks.
"Why does my son hate me?"
"Shh, there there." The blanket was back again.
"He blames me for everything. He ruins my relationships. He burns my houses. He slashes my tires. He reports me to CPS. He insults me and my cooking. He.. He..."
Sobbing again. She nuzzled into the blanket and croaked out some more misery.
"What about the boy's father?", a gentle inquisition with a parental inflection.
"Dead, and he blames me. I made a mistake, and I got pregnant. My husband at the time hated me for it. When I was 6 minths pregnant, he went crazy. Said he was going to get revenge on me that was worth every penny he paid. ... And then he shot himself in the baby's nursery."
She must have lived this part over a million times. She ztared emptily and didnt sob or stutter as her memory droned through the details of the disaster.
"I tried so hard to move past that. My mistake became a beautiful son and beautiful marriage to a beautiful man. But .... After a few years of my beautiful son, that beautiful man wanted out of our "prison" of a marriage. During the divorce he ordered a DNA test, and .... Turns out he wasnt the father. The real father killed himself years ago."
She chuckled like a drunk chuckles at their addiction. "He said it served me right to be all alone for being such an awful whore. And he blames me for the death of his real father and the relationship he never had."
"Thats just awful", he mewled as he stroked her hair.
"He turned 18 a week ago. I thought maybe we had finally made a breakthrough; he stayed out of jail long enough to get into a community college. He was at the halfway house getting ready to start classes when he set fire to the house, stole a car with three other boys, and drove drunkenly for 12 miles bashing mailboxes and street signs. He stopped at my house to do donuts in my yard and scream out whether I had 'fucked any lives up lately' before driving through the Johnsons water feature on the way out. He had sexually assaulted their oldest daughter at a block party a year prior and said that I had 'ordered him to take her virginity to protect the strain'. He somehow got ahold of my checkbook and bounced $32,938 worth of bad checks in a single weekend, and said 'Its a small price to pay for having no father'."
She was out of energy. Out of tears. Out of anger. Fully depleted, used up and heavy, like a dead battery. She sent out one final pulse.
"Why does he hate me?"
She could feel him smile. It was uncomfortable. It was like realizing that big friendly dog isnt smiling at you, but snarling.
"He exists to punish you."
Her lip trembled again. "For *what??*"
"For not loving him enough."
|
>Not a professional writer and my thought's aren't well put together by any means but I thought I would give a try with one of the stranger fan theories out there.
I'm angry, angrier than a hornet that woke up on the wrong side of the bed. My neighbor and lifelong friend had relations with ma wife. I tried to partake of the marijuana but that only made me paranoid. Not even grillin' a nice steak, medium-rare, could take my mind off of the issue at hand. I tried to get back at her by becoming a pimp myself but that just didn't suit my taste, although the clothes were nice.
I turned to God but I didn't hear a damn thing, my dad's seen more than his fair share of hardships, even had his legs blown off but he told me to suck it up and move on. I tell ya, it's enough to make a man to start runnin' around spoutin' gibberish in the streets and that's what landed me here. I felt my heart beat it's last and then, I was warm and sticky. The first face I saw was... Dale? Oh God, what have I done?
| 2019-09-11T22:06:25 | 2019-09-11T21:17:16 | 52 | 29 |
[WP]You’re the last survivor of a failed Mars mission and put yourself in improvised cryo sleep waiting for help, when you wake up 4 years should have passed, as you step outside to guve up and suffocate under the martian sun you realise the air is breathable and the door is incredibly worn and old
|
Hot plasma-rich blood was pumped into Sarah's body, injected from steaming, snaking wires. Some of it was her own blood, extracted and kept from when she had been hurried into Cryo, oxygen supplies tanking. But most of it wasn't. Most was from the ship's supplies, mixed with necessary proteins and minerals, and a cocktail of drugs that would have killed her, had she been alive.
Sarah's body was the final survivor of a mission gone wrong. A mission that couldn't be salvaged because of the great distances between Mars and Earth. Now Hab would do anything necessary to protect her.
Including waking her.
Sarah's heart began to beat. Artificially at first, then, after many minutes, powered by the miracles of biology and evolution.
Static crackled its way into her dream. Her first dream in four years. Scientists would have called her previous state CryoSleep, but it was death, in truth. For when the lid of a CryoBooth closes over a person, encasing their empty body, it's no less than being kissed by the Reaper's scythe.
The dream was strange, in itself. A jigsaw of her life, up to now, with blank, missing pieces scattered throughout. A face vanished here, a few years missing there. She was a child, talking to herself of twenty years later. Only, the older her had no mouth. Her husband was telling her to go to Mars, but that couldn't be -- he had died two years before she'd applied for the mission. They were laughing. Then crying. Then she was alone.
Sarah began to choke, dribbling out a mix of viscous red and green over her lips. There was a hiss of steam as a metal arm holding a mask lowered over her mouth, sucking excess mucus from her throat and lungs. When finally deemed clear, it began pumping pure oxygen into her system, to help save what it could of her brain.
Seven hours passed, as the CryoPod monitored her status. Her dreams were still muddled, but becoming ever more recent, coherent. Dreams of the mission. Of the years spent on the spacecraft, getting to know every nook and cranny of her temporary tin-can home. Every bug and ghost in the machine. Every plant and insect in the nursery. She then dreamt of touching down on the planet. The site had already been prepared by the China-American Unity project. Simple droids that had been sent first had built the great nano-glass Hab that was to become their home, for the rest of her natural life.
She was in charge of the plant nursery. Part research into what life the planet could support, part necessary to feed the group.
Her body shook as the dream became suddenly dark. A drop of black into an ocean of blue. Spreading. Waves growing into a roaring, crashing tsunami. The Captain's body was found outside the Hab, his face half sucked out of the crack in his helmet. An accident that didn't look like an accident, but there was no other explanation. An impossible shadow had stretched over the Hab that day. Over the plants. They each wilted, as if the darkness was strangling their throats with icy hands.
Sarah bolted upright, awake at last, gasping for breath.
When she caught it, she raised her hands to her face and wept. Not sure why exactly, but unable to stop herself from doing so.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Carey," said Hab, once she had finished crying. Its voice was deep and warm, and yet behind the warmth lay calculated actions. Every response, every tiny shift in tone, pre-programmed to entice the desired response.
A chrome droid on tank tracks whirred into the medi-bay and approached her. The lights on its face flashed blue and it motioned to its long back. On the flat surface lay a towel and fresh, folded, clothes.
"I would recommend a shower," said Hab. "Then, I will examine your mental state."
Sarah lowered her legs and stepped onto the floor. They gave way like overcooked spaghetti. The droid next to her shot out a metal arm from its innards, catching her around her waist and stabilising her.
She swallowed as she placed her hands on its surface for support. "How long have I been sleeping?" Her voice was ragged, painful to hear, as if she'd swallowed broken glass.
"Four years," said Hab.
"Four?" Sarah frowned. She shouldn't be awake. The resupply ship was another twenty years away, at least. And after the last accident, the remaining oxygen wouldn't be enough to keep her awake that long. "Why... why only four?"
"There has been an incident."
"Another?" She sighed and whispered under her breath. "Just kill me already."
"I can not do that, Lieutenant."
"Just Sarah, for fuck's sake," she replied, starting to remember what a pain in the ass Hab could be.
"I can not do that, Lieute--"
"Yeah, yeah, I know." She raised her middle finger and held her arm up to the ceiling, or as much as her aching limbs would allow her.
"Please proceed to the shower unit."
"Just tell me," said Sarah. "What was the incident? Is it to do with the oxygen?"
Hab paused before it responded. Strange, Sarah thought. Uncharacteristic.
"That was one aspect of it."
"Shit! How long do I have left, before it's depleted?"
"The rest of your life, Lieutenant," said Hab. "Now please, proceed to the shower unit."
Sarah froze. "What does that mean? The rest of my life. How long is that?"
Another pause. Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs.
"While you slept, I carried on with the mission, as much as was possible for me," said Hab. "Cartography. Archaeology. Everything conducive to eventual terraforming."
Terraforming. Was that what Hab had done? Was that what it meant with the oxygen remark. It was way ahead of schedule, if so.
"One of the droids uncovered an artefact," it continued. "While excavating."
On Mars? Beyond ancient satellites that had been lost probing the planet's surface, that was impossible. Sarah's team had been the first people to land anywhere on the planet's surface.
"What artefact?"
"Lieutenant, please remain calm, your vital signs are--"
"What fucking artefact!" she demanded.
"It seems as though there was something here before us. We found a supply of pipes running beneath the planet's surface. They are underneath me, and all around me. I have been able to re-purpose some of their contents. There is now enough oxygen available for you to reach your natural conclusion."
Sarah's arms trembled. "We were... We were beaten here?"
"Yes," said Hab. "By many millennia. And, there's something else I need to say to you..."
Its voice faded away.
Sarah had to be dreaming still. She had to be. There was no life here. Never had been. Not anywhere in the solar system, for that matter, besides Earth. She felt dizzy. Wanted to vomit. "What else, Hab?" she uttered.
Hab's voice changed. Sounded almost human. "I wanted to say that I am sorry, Sarah."
Sarah's throat was dry. Goosepimples prickled her arms and back. Hab had never apologised before. Never made mistakes. Never even called her Sarah.
Her voice was a whisper. "Sorry for *what*, Hab?"
"They were dormant. When we removed the oxygen from the pipes, we disturbed them. Whatever they are, whoever they are... They are waking."
|
Ship isn't functioning
Crew is dead
No way to make contact
No way to get back.
Just me and the only functioning cryopod stuck on this giant ball of crimson dust they call a planet.
Entering the pod is an extension of my last lingering thread of optimism. Maybe they'll find me. Maybe I'll be saved. I just need to give them time.
Thankfully you can still open the pod while in sleep. It puts you in a lucid dream state. You can wake up any time you want, even though you have no sense of time.
The "cook time", as me and my crew called it, said I'd been under for four years.
Four years.
There's no point, if they aren't here by now, they've given up. They assume I'm dead, just like everyone else.
I lean my back against the airlock of the ship. My hand on the release lever. NASA, my family, they gave up on me. I have no reason to stick around. I remove the helmet from my spacesuit and pull the lever. I open my arms, ready to embrace death in a breathless atmosphere.
I breathe in
I breathe out
I breathe in
I say "Holy shit".
Am I still dreaming? Am I still in the God damn pod?
Mars at night becomes a rusted shade of blue, it looks like you're walking on water. Vast emptiness interrupted by the occasional mountain or crater. I see a light peaking over the edge of the planet. At first I think it's the sunrise, but it shouldn't be coming from that direction.
I walk
And walk
And walk
Until I find myself on the edge of a city. It looks just like NYC. Skyscrapers towering over poorly kept city streets. These streets are filled with cars, though they look heavier than the ones on Earth. These cars are driven by people. Human people. They're on the sidewalks, in the buildings, they're everywhere.
As I shuffle my way through the crowds, I notice them staring at me. In New York, you get used to seeing weird shit on the streets. You ignore it, keep walking. You should see these assholes. They're looking at me like they've never seen an astronaut before. They're the ones wearing neon shirts and tight pants. I should be givin' them dirty looks.
Eventually a cop walks over to me. At least I think he's a cop. He's in blue, has a badge, a gun.
I'll save you the details of me being sent from building to building. Government official to government official. Reporter to reporter.
Everyone wanted to know who I was. No one believed me. I'm shown pictures of me and my crew before we left Earth. I'm braught to a memorial commemorating the brave men and women who lost their lives getting to Mars, myself included. It isn't until my wife is called in that everything is settled.
They're here.
My wife
My son
They came up with one if the settlement vessels a few years back. My wife is a DA, she finally got her law degree. She never remarried, never even saw anyone else. She's ready to pick up where we left off. My son is 14 now, wants to be an astronaut, just like his old man.
After settling in the Prime Minister of Mars offers me a lead position at the Mars division of NASA. My son comes with me to sign the papers, wants to see how much paperwork it takes to be an astronaut. I missed seeing him smile. I hand in the papers, hug my son, and the cryopod door opens.
I step out of the pod and scratch a frozen tear from my face. Eighty years. Still in the pod. They've given up on me.
I lean my back against the airlock of the ship. My hand on the release lever. I have no reason to stick around.
| 2019-01-03T07:32:31 | 2019-01-03T07:16:17 | 2,952 | 1,466 |
[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 would you like to die?”
What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t like to die at all! But still I must give an answer.
I am sentenced for crimes against magic. I tried to poison the Well of Magic. But truly magic is the root of all evil and corruption. It is just a way to cheat the laws of nature.
People without magic are barely 2nd class citizens. It has to stop. I have one last chance.
“By permanently and irrevocably destroying all magic.”
Either it works and my life goal is fulfilled or they refuse to kill me.
“Oh thank goodness!”
Not the answer I expected.
“We are finally free! The curse of magic is broken!” Exclaimed the head mage.
“Told you it would work,” said his vizier.
“You were right. Looks like if we pushed them far enough one of the stupid humans would find the loophole to end magic.”
The whole council faced me and bowed deeply.
“Thank you for fulfilling the prophecy and freeing us all!”
And then there was a blinding flash and I was over.
| 2021-06-24T07:50:17 | 2021-06-24T07:46:07 | 457 | 68 |
[WP] A group of adventurers has booked a month in your inn, and now asks for leads and gossip. You're a compulsive liar.
|
"Waddaya mean, *you're* the Dark Lord?"
The innkeeper splayed his hands, grinning. He was a charismatic man in his thirties who had oak-brown hair, tied back in two braids, and a set of bright gray eyes that gleamed with mischief.
"I mean just that. Your quest is at an end, my friends."
Griff the swordsman seemed about to lose his temper, but then smiled, rolling the muscles in his neck and shoulders and relaxing. "You're good at gettin' on my nerves, Innkeeper, I'll give ya that."
Elaine was less amused. "For a whole month now you've been feeding us nothing but lies," the sorceress said venomously. "Have you ever stopped to think that your exaggerated boasts and stories might actually lead us into trouble?"
The Innkeeper was unfazed, polishing his counter until the wood gleamed as dark-brown as his hair.
"That's right," said Bon, adjusting his clerical glasses. "There was that time you said the Treasure of Eden lay burried just beneath a nearby hill, and it actually turned out to be a goblins' den."
"Or that old well where you said a young girl had fallen into," Elaine reminded him, "Which was really an ancient ruin with bright crystals that caused madness until we smashed them."
"Or that time you gave us that hand-drawn map that lead us straight into the Swamps of Despair," Griff grumbled.
"Now, Griff," the Innkeeper wagged his finger, "You did return with that magnificent sword from there, if I remember correctly."
"S'pose that's true," the giant swordsman said good-naturedly, rubbing a thumb over the onyx-crested swordhilt.
"Say, that reminds me of the legend of the slumbering Dark," the Innkeeper mumbled, his gray eyes gleaming mischievously. Griff couldn't help repeating the words with an enthusiastic tone of voice. "The slumbering Dark? Wha-"
Before he could say any more Elaine forcefully hit him on the head with her staff.
"Enough," she snapped. "You're not leading us on some wild goose chase this time, Innkeeper." She raised an accusing finger. "All this time, you've just been trying to keep us around here, paying for *your* food and *your* beds at *your* inn, while you fed us lies about closeby areas that had nothing to do with our quest! And now you've run out of local places to send us off to, you're coming up with stupid lies about yourself!"
The Innkeeper shrugged, grinning as if to say the adventurers should learn to take a joke.
Bon took off his glasses, his face serious as he wiped them clean with the fabric of his long sleeves. "I'm sure you need to pay your own bills, Innkeeper, but our town was destroyed by the Dark Lord named Alnok. We cannot rest until we bring him to justice."
"We were gone for only three weeks," Griff said despairingly as the memories obviously came flooding back. "When we returned...the magical barriers that had protected the town were gone. Bodies...bodies everywhere."
Griff started sobbing uncontrollably as Bon hurried to comfort him, patting the big swordsman's shoulder while Elaine cast the Innkeeper a poisonous glance that said 'look, now you've made him cry'.
The Innkeeper seemed taken aback. "I...I didn't know." He put down the rag he had been using to polish the counter, his expression serious now. "I thought the magical barriers could only be taken down if the crystals that channeled them were smashed, but it'd take a great sorcerer to do that."
He looked at Elaine, who began to frown.
"And even then, that would only be possible if the local tribes no longer performed their protective rituals." He looked at Grif, who was still sobbing. "But it'd take a true warrior to defeat an entire goblin tribe."
"What..." Elaine said, her frown deepening.
"And even then," the Innkeeper said softly, his gray eyes gleaming, "You'd have to use a cursed sword to deal the final blow, but it would take a pure cleric to release a weapon like that from its shackles."
He looked at Bon, who had stopped comforting Griff and was staring at the Innkeeper with a horrified expression.
"You bastard," Elaine whispered, raising her staff, but the Innkeeper was faster, smiling as he spoke the words: "**Ug Ala Thuk.** Awaken, slumbering Dark."
Suddenly Griff tensed up, the irises in his eyes dark as onyx as he drew his sword.
"Griff," Bon said in a wavering voice, "What are you-"
With a mighty swing of the blade, Griff had cleaved the frail cleric in two. Elaine screamed with voiceless rage and sorrow, aiming her staff at Griff and muttering, but in the end she couldn't bring herself to speak the final word and take down her corrupted friend. The cursed blade flashed, and the sorceress collapsed, her lifeless body knocking over a table and two chairs as she fell.
Two pools of blood spilled outward across the tavern floor, and the Innkeeper sighed, picking up his dirty rag.
"I'll have to clean that," he muttered.
"Go on outside, Griff," he said, looking up and smiling as if talking to a pet. "The barrier is at the edge of the forest. You know what to do."
Griff turned, his eyes still as dark as the void as he stumbled out the tavern, and Alnok grinned his charismatic grin.
"Not like I didn't warn them," he said. These guys had been even more stupid than the last ones. He had made sure that this town, too, had had an absent priest, bowman, and mage while he was here. They would arrive in a few days time and find each other, united through shared pain and misery, travelling to the closest town to seek out their revenge.
And Alnok would be there, waiting for them.
"Three towns down, three to go," he sung to himself as he carved his name with burning flames into the Tavern's wood.
Whoever said that being a Dark Lord was hard work?
|
"So you're searching for adventure's leads?"
"Yes we're noble champions ..." said the dark-skinned one.
"Of Bottomless pouch!" shouted one little fellow with pointy ears.
"... of the Kingdom of Ekalbar, pursuing justice and the triumph of the good." said the first one with a hard glance to his companion.
They were four of them, the black man was leading the party, he seems like a warrior, strong and quiet. The little one was less impressive but talked much. There was a silent woman, clad in white robes, pretty. The last one had an impressive girth and walked like a whale swam, with a slow elegance, he had an impressive array of wand hanging at his side.
"I see. Let me think a second. Several weeks ago we had some problems with bandits, but they disappeared or are hinding somewhere ... no one knows what they have become so everyone is becoming more frightened by the day. Nobody came to drive them away, so what are they doing now?"
"Sounds good, some strange bandits. Do you know of anything else?, said the leader.
"I remember there was some weird noises coming from a cavern near the river, and strange smells, like ... dead things smells?"
"Hmmm, probably someone nearby who is going a little mad. Did you hear about disappearances in the region?"
"No, nothing come to mind, save those bandits."
"Anything else?"
"I heard there was a crumbling temple in the forest, something nasty, ancient and malignant ... The rumor say it was once a beautiful place full of riches, trees of gold, fountains of cristal and mighty artifacts which now lies buried under those rocks."
"And what caused this devastation?"
"The legends tells of a tragic romance, a death and a rebirth ... but not one you would find pleasant."
"... Like an undead? A powerful one maybe?"
"Maybe ... you're more knowledgeable than me on the matter."
"Sure. Thanks a lot mister, could you pack us some food? Tomorrow we'll be going to that forest."
"But that's the most dangerous one!"
"And? It's the more malevolent! We're going to clean that!"
"And take the gold!" said the little one.
"As you wish, the customer is king."
They departed at dawn. They would encounter their doom in the temple, *undeads?* Seriously? It was a dragon that claimed the damn ruins! Soon I would go there and trade some ale for the corpses, they would fit very well in my growing armie of zombies.
| 2016-03-12T11:18:10 | 2016-03-12T08:27:58 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND."
|
Friday; 9:25 AM. 27th of January, 2017
Blaring, the lullaby from Donkey Kong 64 pierces my sleep. My left creeps out from the blanket and swipes the screen. Why do I always have to shit, the moment I wake up? Makes for a hard time knocking back out.
Throw blankets, scratch Gooch, pained roll, floor. Between the, unnecessarily low, bed and the wall, I end up on my feet. Phone, cigarette. There's gotta be a lighter in the bathroom already.
One in front of the other, bathroom seems closer than yesterday. Ass planted, light cigarette, relief. Phone. Fucking wifi. Time Warner spectrum horseshit. 4g. No, no 4g. Amazing, how inconvenient a shit seems without a distraction.
Living room. Morning rituals, always. The only true question in mind is rail or smoke. Rail, first. What am I thinking.
Glass-Pill-Plate- phone rings. It's mom. I always feel guilty talking to her when on hard shit. She never approved. -card-cut-straw- but whatever, we all live how we live. -insufflate-cigarette.
Phone rings. "Dan." Yeah, Dan probably wants to kill some braincells. Swipe green.
"Good morrow, my friend"
"Dude! What the fuck is going on!?"
"Chill out, man, fuck. I'm just chillin on the couch."
"No, fuck that! Do you know what's going on? Tom just threw cable on, and it's all emergency broadcasts."
"No shit, what's it about?"
"Nobody knows, man. The Internet is down and we're all advised to stay in the house."
"Fuck. Alright, man. Shit, let me call my ma."
Tap red. Fuckin aye. The one time cord cutting shits on me. Contacts, scroll, scroll, scroll; "mama." Tap, tap green.
..............
Nothing.
Well, then.
Uprooting from the couch, gazing into the bedroom. Fuck. Clothes. On. No clean shirts, fuck it, chest naked under a jacket.
-chop-cut-straw-bam
Keys, wallet, keys, phone,... keys? Who the fuck keeps moving my keys. Lightbulbs; mushrooms, keys, last night....
Bingo, left em in the ignition.
Door, shoes, out. It always seems out of place, the snow, no matter how serene the blanket.
Garage, button. Button. Button. BUTTON. God damn this fucking button! Overhead opens.
Jeep door grinds open, too lazy to do anything about it. Ignition. Click. Of course. Hood release, stumble out, latch, open, lift positive, stumble in. Crank, force fuel, throw into gear. Too lazy to do anything about it. Stumble out, slam hood, stumble in.
Well, no data, not much for music. Turds snowballing, regardless if they're molehills.
Radio. Fuck the radio. Better than silence, I guess.
95.1 closest thing to decent. White noise. 96.5? White noise. 100.7 white noise. Somethings fucked, not the jeep in this case. AM band. Wrjn.
"Igh ground. Evacuate your homes, immediately. It is recommended to bring nothing more than essentials. This message will repeat. *emergency tone*"
"*emergency tone* This is an emergency alert, this is not a test. We are advising all civilians to Evacuate their homes. Make way to high ground. Evacuate your homes, immediately. It is recommended to bring nothing more than basic essentials. This message will repeat. *emergency tone*"
Traffic is fucking insane, I thought no one knew how to drive, before. Thank God this fucker has 4 wheel. Bang a quick left out of the driveway, corner left, sharp left. Bike path. Fuck it.
6 blocks of no interruptions and a purpling sky, to make a right, circumventing the neighbors fighting over what looked like a slow cooker.
Driveway, parents cars are present. Kill jeep, keys, door, slam, run. Back door, fumbling keys, a slight dip down to unlock, open.
Black.
........
Friday; 9:25 AM. 27th of January, 2017
|
In the middle of my hard fought game of Dota2, I am suddenly presented with the disconnected from server message. Usually my internet is very reliable and never goes down. Frustrated, I rest my router and try to get it working again. As nothing else it's out of the ordinary I exit Steam and start to play since Witcher 3 on GoG which didn't require the internet.
Having neither a TV connected to anything aside from the internet or a radio, I continue to play games until whatever crisis is happening kills us all or passes by, blissfully hacking apart necrophages and brigands with my head phones on.
| 2017-01-27T04:42:45 | 2017-01-27T03:12:45 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet.
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I remember the first night I stumbled upon the Bullet Train. I was 16, soaked, blasted out of my mind, and completely unaware of what I was getting myself into. All I knew was that I needed to skip this bumfuck town. My boyfriend at the time had kicked me out because his wife (yes, wife.) had found out about our little "arrangement" and since my mother told me she would gun me down on the lawn before she'd even let me step foot in her house I figured I had nothing left to lose. I thought I was going to be starting my life as a wanderer; a nomad following wherever the roads would take me.
I was naive to say the least.
A train employee asked if I had a ticket to board. I pretended to pat my pockets for it when to my surprise I felt a piece of very thick paper buried under my pack of Marlboros. I very quickly flashed it to him in hopes that he would just nod and let me go, but he snatched it faster than I could blink.
His eyes scanned the parchment and widened. He looked back at me, folded the paper up very quickly and escorted me towards the back of the very packed compartments. People were standing in hallways, hanging onto window sills, just trying to fit in any way they can. I wondered how this train was even allowed to operate in these conditions.
"Mr. Halloway, please keep up as we will be departing in two minutes."
My head whipped around so fast I thought my neck was going to snap. I never told this guy my name.
**************************************************************
The sound of the rumbling tracks beneath my seat was something of a familiar lull that I had gotten used to by this point. I felt like I had gotten to see the world, without ever really getting to *see* it. Hong Kong, Italy, Niagara Falls. Places my little mind couldn't even fathom seeing in this lifetime, let alone seeing them through a window on a train.
I'm 36 now, and although I feel like my life is in a much better place, and I feel I've accomplished seeing the places I talked about visiting with my high school friends, I haven't experienced anything in this life. I had spent a majority of my time before this skipping school, drinking and partying with men who shouldn't have even been talking to me in the first place. I often wonder where I would have ended up if I had never boarded.
"Coffee, Mr. Halloway?"
It was the same employee that found my seat. He looked like he hadn't aged a day. I wish I could say the same for myself. I plucked a cigarette from the box and opened up my window to prep for airing out the smoke. As I twirled the orange and white stick between my fingers, I thought about the instructions on that little piece of parchment. I wasn’t allowed to step foot off of this train until the very last stop. Although my accommodations were wonderful, it added to the fear of missing out and overall disappointment I had with only being able to look at the beauty of the world from afar.
“Say, Jacob where’s the last stop on this train anyway?”
He just continued to pour my coffee and shook his head.
“You know I can’t say. That is completely up to you.”
Jacob would always give me a very cryptic answer to these kinds of questions. He believed everything was written in the stars, and that the world moves in motion of cause and effect. That first night I boarded he told me I could stay “as long as it took”. But what is it? Was I waiting for my enemies to die off? For opportunity to arise? To come to my senses about what I truly wanted out of this life?
I didn’t have anywhere to go that night, and I still don’t have anywhere to go now. I’ve had the opportunity to live vicariously through this train’s passengers. People visiting loved ones, people going out of town for work, hell I’ve probably been in the background of a couple of Hollywood films I won’t get to see if I’m going to be stuck here the whole time! I had found solace in avoiding my own fucked up life. It was time for me to make a decision.
If I was going to start a new life, I wanted a clean slate. I could break away from my home town, from my homophobic mother, I could even break away from the hands of lovers filled with false hopes and lies. But there was something about this habit that I could not break. I looked down at my last two cigarettes. 20 years. 20 years of running. 20 years of avoidance. 20 years of traveling alone with nothing but a box. I looked at them a while before I threw them out the window.
A voice played over the intercom: “Mr. Halloway, thank you for boarding the Bullet Train. We have arrived at our very last stop. Please make sure to take all of your belongings with you. We hope you’ve enjoyed your travels.”
The apricot sherbet sunrise kissed the lake upon arrival. It was unlike any of the places we had ever been. Serene, peaceful, undisturbed by anyone. I almost felt bad stepping foot off of the train, like I hadn’t seen enough, but I knew it was time. I turned around to wave goodbye to Jacob, and let the light lead me through the unknown.
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Pain.
Blood. So much blood.
A scream.
Then nothing.
The brightest light I’d ever seen. Blinding.
Brakes screeching.
Being pushed.
A train. An endless train.
Hot. So hot. Body burning.
Twenty interminable years.
Loves found. Loves lost.
A baby.
Tears.
The announcer’s constant droning.
‘Will she make it?’
Choo choo.
Sun rise.
Sunset.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
Trees.
A mountain.
An ocean.
Never-ending platforms.
More screams.
So much pain.
Another white light.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
An angel.
A note.
‘Don’t get off until the last stop.’
A tube forced roughly down my throat.
A man’s quiet voice.
Two deer.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
More trees.
Forever moving forward.
A stabbing pain in my arm.
A serene lake.
More stops.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
Faceless people outside.
Lungs not my own.
A frozen tundra.
An old blue truck.
Limitless plains filled with dust.
The rapid thumping of my heart.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
Another bright light.
A hospital room.
My beautiful wife.
‘I thought you’d never wake up.’ her voice filled with relief.
‘Neither did I.’
| 2020-07-17T13:25:39 | 2020-07-17T12:29:35 | 132 | 23 |
[WP] You are the result of a high school girl being given 3 wishes. She wished for the perfect boyfriend, so you were magically created. Now she’s trying to erase you because the boy next door loved her all along. She’s literally trying to kill you because “You never existed in the first place!”……
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You always loved romance.
The grand, sweeping gestures, the bouquets, the picturesque songs.
I knew you loved them. How could I not? I knew everything about you, all your dreams, your goals, your desires, your little niggling imperfections.
That’s the way you made me.
Perfect.
Other people looked at me in that way too, you know - more out of curiosity when you brought me to school. The songs you made me sing captivated them, boys and girls together, all secretly wishing that they could sing along, but too nervous or shy or worried that it'd be ‘uncool’. They would listen to me sing - weave poetry through thinly veiled verses about us in that auditorium on the verge of collapsing.
Afterwards, you hold tight to my arm, and ask: “Isn’t he just amazing?”
Those four words were enough to send me to Elysium and back in the turn of a phrase.
I was. I had to be - nothing would be good enough for my darling. Nothing, but perfect.
Then came your parents, I never liked them, they just didn’t seem to see you right. Always talking about ‘study this’ and ‘work on that’, never stopping to consider their own daughter’s feelings. They hated the fact that you started drinking coffee early - didn’t even realize you had a preferred blend, or took it straight black.
I did. Every morning.
Was it that morning that everything started to go wrong?
You know the one - where I woke up a bit before five. You still had a streamer of mascara running down one eye, an artifact of a wilder, more hedonistic night. You’d be dehydrated, no doubt, maybe feel a bit sick. Some Gravol, towels, makeup remover, a bowl, water, both warm for bathing and cold for drinking.
I stepped away, the marks of your lipstick standing out on my unnaturally pale skin. You didn’t like when people asked about my tone, so we’d told them all about my past as an albino. We had so much fun making a backstory - how I was an orphan, how I’d lived in several countries, never staying in one place, at least until I met her.
I added that last part. I knew she’d love it - mystique meets romance.
Perfect.
I came back to the room, towels in one hand, bowl in the other, water balanced somewhere impossibly in between.
You were crying.
Maybe if I pressed a little harder, or had asked a better question, we wouldn’t be in this position now. Either way, I wasn’t one to dwell on spilt milk, like you wanted, right? We’re here together, now. That’s what matters.
I slip under the covers, the moonlight snuggling to the edge of the blanket. Your body is warm, with topology that makes both the boy and the mathematician in me leap for joy. I press my own into hers, slotting together like puzzle pieces. This is how it’s meant to be - snuggled up, removed from the cold hard world, drifting off together with the smell of hair conditioner and almonds.
Perfect.
I wonder slightly about your own provocations, insults - all breaking my heart, but I couldn’t leave, not when you were hurting, not when you felt the need to use me like that. If you needed someone to abuse, I’d be that person, every time. It was nothing compared to the pain of being unable to do what you ask.
You asked me to go back where I came from. I was confused at first - I didn’t know where I came from. You goof, being all forgetful like that, but that just made it all the more endearing. When I came home and you started crying at the sight of me, I said that I had ruined everything, that also confused me. After all, how could I ruin *anything?* I was perfect, after all.
You asked me for money, never asked me where or how I got it. Didn’t matter either way, as long as it made you happy. You also never told me what you were going to do with it.
You didn’t think I’d find out about your plan, didn’t you? You big silly.
I know everything about you.
If you asked me, I would’ve told you not to trust them. *Hitmen only care about money, it’s a function of their occupation,* I would’ve said. Luckily, I was always good at outbidding, that’s what got you all those dresses and shoes and bags that look perfect on you.
Even as I hear the gun cock behind me, all I think is of you.
Tomorrow morning, they’d find bodies, lying connected together forever in death. No one would ever know who did it or how it happened, in all likelihood - there was no motive, no weapon, no suspect, no trail. A pair of star crossed lovers, lying in the first light of dawn, blood forming a halo on the white sheets.
Mystique meets romance.
Perfect.
&#x200B;
I write all sorts of things, including a story about a sassy skeleton being forced into adventurers over at /r/The_Alloqium.
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Being someone's 'perfect boyfriend' sounds like every guy's dream. It's not, I know because I was created to be such a thing. Every day, from the moment I wake, until I fall asleep exhausted, the only thing on my mind is Her. It's tiring, serving her hand over foot, and when she wants space, I give it to her, but even when she's gone all I think about is the next time we meet. I can't do anything else, I tried, but there's no way to get Her out of my head. All I can do is wait, and wait. She can't just get rid of me, that was part of the agreement when She wished me into being.
But it wasn't perfection She really wanted. No. Like every girl, She was imperfect and it was imperfection in another that she really, deeply craved. The neighbor was like her. Emotional, selfish, often rude - but She loved that. She loved him for his flaws and his vulnerability. But I can't let her go - and I mean *can't*. The only thing I can do is hope to die.
So now, She is standing over me, a knife in her hand. Her eyes are full of tears, but there's no other choice, and besides, She has already made up Her mind. What will happen to me? Will I go back to the devil that created me, or will I lie here rotting in the dirt forevermore...
| 2021-01-07T02:19:01 | 2021-01-07T01:54:01 | 362 | 77 |
[WP] You live in an ancient world, when someone turns 18, they will receive a gift either magic or weapon. The gift will be of use for them whenever in need. On your 18th birthday, Death knocks on your door and give you his scythe.
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"Look, man. It's not that hard to wrap your head around. The scythe is yours. You're Death now. Grim Reaper. Moddey Dhoo, Charon, Mallt-y-nos, Anubis, whatever. You'll get a lot of names as cultures rise and fall, it's not that important. I had a favorite, but nobody around even remembers that name anymore. Important thing is, you're the man now. Leading lost souls to their afterlife and all that."
"I just don't get it. Why ME?"
It was huge. Like, impractically huge. How was he supposed to hold it? It was easily 30... no,40 feet tall. About even with Death's height. He was just as imposing, as well. He seemed to loom taller than the cottage's ceiling, yet he didn't have to crouch or otherwise change. He was just... Tall.
*What is it used for anyways? How does a scythe help with the reaping of souls?*, I thought to himself.
Death seemed to pick up on his thought process, because he let out another long sigh before continuing, as if he couldn't be bothered with such mundane questions.
"The scythe doesn't matter either. That changes too. Sometimes it's a regular farmer's scythe, sometimes it's all black and glowy and all that. Sometimes you won't even have a scythe. Everything changes. You'll get used to it. I wasn't always this tall, either. I was actually kind of just a void at certain points. Pretty funky. I can turn into a cup of salt water, if you like."
"But again, why ME?" I repeated, "All I do is gather the tribe's herbs and tend to the animals."
"No," he interrupted,"You *also* do a ton of role play with your soothsayer."
I turned 50 shades of maroon. I would always play with A'grith, since he was gifted with the power of illusion and usually just goofed around in pretend scenarios. Nobody knew about that but us. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I enjoyed this job. At least, I have for the past few thousand years. In the ancient times, it was all 'ALAS, PLEASE SPARE ME', and I even got a bunch of free food and... other forms of entertainment. And for the last couple hundreds of years, most of the population never even thought about me. All I had to do was hang around lovely tropical islands, or meet with the occasional lunatic. It's quite relaxing after having to put on the whole shtick of weighing somebody's heart and having a dog-crocodile eat them if they lied."
"So what changed?" I asked.
"Well, as of late, I've been bothered constantly by the amount of stories I've been in."
"Excuse me?"
"It's part of the whole thing. Whenever I get put into a story, I have to act it out. I live through it. It's hard to explain. You kind of just have to go with it since it's part of what gives you your existence."
"I still don't get it. You're quitting because... of stories?"
Death groaned. "LOOK. The first thousands of years were fine. They were cool stories. I was a total BAMF in those. A force of nature. The great equalizer. Even in the kids stories, I was always unbeatable. You remember Appointment at Samarra?"
"No."
"...Right. My bad. But I loved that story. No matter how many times it's told, that last line is SO COOL. 'Because.... I had an appointment with you in Samarra.' SO COOL! But now, every other day I'm being called into new stories, and the scripts aren't nearly as good! It's always either WAY too flowery or WAY too casual. There's no middle ground. It's like Death is a tale told by an idiot or something. And half the time, I'm forced to pretend I'm giving away my powers to some nobody who's clearly a self insert power fantasy character. Where's the good roles? I deserve to be in better stories! How come those old farts from Egypt get awesome high budget action flicks and I'm stuck with a load of artsy hisper types? And the worst part is, every time this happens, I pray to Me that it's the real deal and I get to finally escape this Hell, but it never is, and before I know it, I'm being torn away from Acapulco again to star in some B-list script which was clearly thrown together in 10 minutes."
"I still don't quite follow."
"Whatever. The prompt doesn't say you have to agree to it. You seem to enjoy being the edgy antagonist and all that, so maybe you'll get a kick out of it. Either way, here's the scythe, enjoy the powers. Have a nice day."
And just like that, Death was gone. Memories flowed into my mind. Ancient languages, cities, civilizations, religions, magics, sciences, musics, stories... they all came flooding in like half-chewed food being swallowed down in sizes far too large for my throat to handle. But it came clear to me that I was now the Grim Reaper. I had become Death, destroyer of worlds. This wasn't pretend. This wasn't a play with A'grith and the animals where I'd slay the great beast, Ernest the chicken. This was real. I felt my first calling, towards a land of great wealth and power. Worlds slowly trickled into my mind...
*You live in an ancient world, when somebody turns 18, they will....*
Ah, shit.
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I was ill for a long time. Ill for most of my life. I'd never seen the world outside my village, only once been to the outskirts as a young child.
And now, as the sun rose, my body grew cold.
As my eyes fell heavy I heard a knock at the door. My parents? Couldn't be, they had left for work at least an hour before. With how expensive my medicine was, they couldn't afford to miss it. Whoever it was, they should have known better. I was bedbound most of the time. How was I supposed to answer?
A dark mist seeped in. I then realized it needed no invitation.
The glint of metal. The creeping calm. My heart slowed in response, and I scowled in turn.
Death extended a withered hand in invitation.
I slapped it away.
"I'm not going! Not yet! It's not fair!" I tried to cry out, but it came as barely a whisper.
Death seemed understanding. Compassionate, even. The mist from its cloak swirled around me in an embrace.
So I fell, tumbling out of the bed and onto the floor. Grasping and clawing at the wood as my vision continued to fade.
"You're not taking me..."
My hands searched for something, anything to grab onto for stability in the encompassing darkness. Finally, they found it. Hand over hand, I pulled myself up with all of my strength.
And then I could see again.
And it was warm.
I remembered how to breathe and the world was still my own.
Death took its hands off of the scythe. Then, it removed the blade. Leaving me with the staff alone, it disappeared. And somewhat, I was healed.
I winced in pain. That part needed time, I supposed. It would be hard to walk. But with the support, it shouldn't be as hard this time.
| 2019-02-28T23:15:38 | 2019-02-28T22:51:51 | 70 | 17 |
[WP] "You're on trial here today accused of killing billions of people! How do you plead?" "Your honour, with all due respect, someone here just hates me... I'm the freaking Grim Reaper!"
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This... is a farce.
"Look at the defendant! Flaunting his moniker! Reveling in mass slaughter!"
The prosecution is laying it on with a trowel. But I think he's wrapping it up, if for no other reason than the Judge looks about ready to explode from internal pressure. Yep. He's done.
"You're on trial today, accused of killing billions of people! How do you plead?"
I guess he's surprised at how calm I am. Standing, I begin. I must admit that I am an imposing figure, being seven feet tall yet skeletal in frame, with a scythe built to my scale. I have chosen my robed form since it is generally my least offensive form.
Although, there are those who find my unrobed form one of barbaric splendor. I shall not forget that young man.
"I plead not guilty, your honor."
The court is a slithering of voices across the wooden floors and echoing from the walls which have heard some of the most infamous and brutal crimes recounted. Yet these people are shocked at my plea. They have forgotten who is genuinely responsible and what my actual function is.
"Are you quite certain you wish to make that plea?"
"Your Honor, with nothing but the greatest respect for this court, your position, and the law, I am here as a *courtesy*. The people who fear me and call me a murderer are misinformed. My purpose, here, today, is to re-educate the people of this world as to my nature."
"You deny killing people?"
His voice is incredulous.
"I do so deny."
The court of whispering snakes becomes a seething storm of denial. I can see the judge pounding his gavel, demanding silence while his face shades towards deep red. Perhaps it is time to begin education.
"SILENCE." Spoken firmly, yet not all that loudly, my voice cuts across the storm of protest, cutting it off as I would a soul from the mortal form, which has become nothing but a source of pain and with no hope of recovery.
Turning to the room, "This is your court. You will show it the respect it deserves, since *it* is your best defense against unwarranted and unnecessary death."
There is not a single person in that audience who can meet my eyes. They know they have done wrong by this court. Returning to the Judge, "Your court, Your Honor."
"Thank you, Grim Reaper. I can see the prosecution itching to present his evidence, but the prosecution will simply have to wait while we settle the issue of jurisdiction. Grim Reaper, are you above the law?"
"The better question is am I above *all* law, and the answer is no. I do answer to a law, but no human court enforces that law, nor is that law open to legal maneuvering or political grandstanding." A sideways look at the prosecutor, whom I know has his eyes on the next guvernatorial election.
"I see. If that is true, how were you compelled to come to this court?"
"I was not compelled. I have a certain degree of freedom, within my constraints, and the court I am answerable to took note of the rising tide of outright hatred based on misconceptions. I was given the choice to come here and set the record straight, if I wished to. Thus, I am here as a courtesy to this court, with permission to educate the people regarding my true nature and purpose."
"You would usurp the purpose of this court, which is to hear the charges brought before it, and render a verdict under the laws it was formed by?"
I can see the tension under that question.
"Your Honor, the charges are driven by hatred. I ask the opportunity to correct the misapprehension of the people, and show that my acts are not murder, but a mercy granted by a higher court as the natural right of all living beings."
"How do you propose to do this?"
"By example. You are perhaps familiar with a motion picture titled "It's a Wonderful Life?" I swept the audience with my gaze. I see the comprehension in all but a few faces. "I see that most are familiar, for those few who are not, I ask permission to gift you with the viewing of the film. I will not force any judgment upon you regarding that film, but only the experience of seeing it. Your reactions and thoughts regarding it are entirely yours. Please nod if you agree."
All but one of those agrees, and a surprising number of those who have already seen it ask to see it again.
The story of a young man, in his prime, who became so despondent that he thought of taking his life. Yet saved the life of another, which was a constant theme throughout his life to that point, and when he expressed the desire to have never been born, was gifted with the opportunity to see what would have happened if he had never existed.
My presentation will be the diametric opposite, what happens when someone should die, and does not.
•••
"I am sorry, Mrs. French. Your son has an incurable and inoperable cancer."
"There is nothing that can be done?"
You can see that she was expecting this outcome. It's almost a relief, even through the grief, to know the truth.
"We can make him comfortable, manage his pain, give him the best life we can in his remaining time, but that is the most we can do."
"Why?"
"Why is that the most? Or why your son? For the latter, it is nothing that anyone did..."
I stop the presentation there. "That is not entirely true. The correct answer is that it was nothing *anyone they knew about* did. Let's roll time back ten years, and focus on what happened."
A scene by a creek. Young boys swimming in a deep pool. Upstream, a small chemical processing plant. All the safeguards are in place, even a thick layer of clay, well compacted, to act as a final catch basin in the event of a severe incident. The incident occurs, almost silently, save for the alarms warning the staff. Everyone does their jobs, and the spill is cleaned up. Unknown to everyone, a flaw in the clay. In one load, a small amount of porous material. The leak falls on that one spot and a small quantity escapes. There will be no repeat, and testing later shows "no significant contamination" nor does it show the porous area as the chemical burned it out and vibration from the equipment closed the miniscule opening.
((cont))
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"And thats ignoring the fact that I don't actually kill people!"
The court falls quiet. The judge eventually speaks up.
"Elaborate, if you could Mr. Reaper."
The reaper sighs and adjusts his tie before responding.
"Alright, first, death is a natural thing. Death isn't a being like me, death is just a fundamental property of entropy. Entropy is one of the fundamental laws of the universe. Everyone with me so far?"
A round of various affirmations come from around the room.
"Alright, next, there is as a matter of fact, an afterlife, no, I will not tell you what religion is the correct interpretation."
There's a lot of grumbling from across the room, centered around the few especially zealous religious people. They quiet down after a few minutes and the reaper continues.
"With there being an afterlife, the dead need a way to get there. That's where I come in. I am the guide for the dead, insuring that those whose time is up reach where they need to go. I do not cause the death of these people. I simply insure that they reach their destination. That is my job. If I was not doing this, where do you think everyone's souls would end up?"
There is much discussion for quite some time. The jury eventually comes to a simple conclusion.
"They wouldn't end up anywhere. They would be stuck here, on Earth."
The reaper nods.
"Indeed. Without me guiding souls to the afterlife, they would remain, stuck in a world they could never interact with, only observe. And souls don't deteriorate. At least, not in the normal way. They would slowly be driven mad, traped with only themselves to interact with, until they lost themselves and became shades. Shades can as a matter of fact interact with the world, but that's not a good thing. Shades have no mind, fueled by mindless hatred and rage. Most ghost stories? Haunted houses, books flying off shelves, weird noises in the night? Those are all signs that a shade is there. Each one starts weak, but if allowed to grow, they can, and have, killed people. And yes, my job includes dealing with shades, but if I can avoid a soul becoming a shade in the first place, then I will. The place I put shades, well, is not really a nice place."
With the reapers explanation finished, the jury ajourns to a nearby room to reach their verdict. Unsurprisingly, with the new information that has come to light, they rule the reaper as not guilty. He is released, and the world continues on as it always has. Though not quite. Slowly, the reaper changes from the terrifying specter of death and decay, to the kindly guide of the dead and protector of the living from those who lost themselves. And so the world continued on, never to be quite the same.
| 2022-09-10T06:47:45 | 2022-09-10T05:55:34 | 220 | 44 |
[WP] For his kindness, the dragon taught the squire the dragon song. A song that was sure to make whoever sang it irresistible to the ladies. In hindsight, the squire should have known that by ladies, the dragon meant lady dragons.
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Under a swinging ashen grey sign was a door filled with laughter and song as the twilight hours of the evening faded. Intricately carved figures of dragons and men danced together in the dark wood as small puffs of smoke pushed their way through carved holes bringing the dragon's menacing figures to life. A lute started up as another round was poured and pewter mugs clanked together.
“Another!” the crowd shouted to a finely dressed man on stage. The backdrop had been commissioned and had taken almost a year to carve. Wood flowed like water, over carven channels and down out into the hall as winged figures in the back flew above the stage.
“What do y’all want me to sing next?” the man laughed as he lifted his mug. Secretly, it was filled with water up to the crowd.
White noise rushed him as voices intermixed with the roar of the fire at the back and the sounds of the kitchen behind that. It was hard to think with the air so filled with smoke but Ballad the Bard wasn’t daunted by the task. He listened, well learned to listen past everything to what he wanted to hear.
Shouts for the Tale of the Sirens call went unnoticed. A sad song of lost love and hopelessness on the sea but they weren’t there and this wasn’t a loveless night. The Great King Alford’s Demise went the same way. Ballad needed something of a crescendo. A jig maybe? That seemed about right.
“The Dragon Squires Tale!” he picked out from the crowd and with a point and a laugh he agreed. Standing tall and lifting his lute, Ballad started to stamp his foot till the crowd joined in. He called out, “The Dragon Squires Tale it shall be!”
A cheer went out but the crowd quickly quieted down as Ballad led the rhythmic stamping and clapping.
&#x200B;
*Oh! There, once was a squire*
*That could never fly higher*
*Than the scales of red and green.*
&#x200B;
*For he once played a tune*
*At a quarter to noon*
*But his prize was left unseen.*
&#x200B;
*He waited and watched*
*Thinking his plan was botched*
*Till a screech shook this canteen.*
&#x200B;
*To everyone's surprise,*
*The dragons outside*
*Weren’t a part of the squire's routine.*
&#x200B;
*Now, the fire in their eyes*
*Bolstered this man's pride,*
*As he tried to reclaim the scene.*
&#x200B;
*A smile and a word,*
*That was better left unheard,*
*Made him look like foreign cuisine*
&#x200B;
*But loathed did the lizard did learn,*
*That the squire did earn,*
*The faith of their only queen.*
&#x200B;
*So with a gust and a flap,*
*They never came back,*
*Leaving the squire in the latrine.*
&#x200B;
*And now we sing and we dance*
*For this man's romance,*
*Means the kingdom knows what we’ve seen!*
&#x200B;
With the merry chorus of the hall with him, Ballad repeated the last verse a couple of times before sitting back down on his chair and putting his lute back on its stand. Nudging his case toward the hall, Ballad raised his glass, finished his water and gave the bartender a knowing nod.
“That’s all for now!” Ballad called out with his mug in hand before explaining, “I need another!”
Cheers and laughter filled the air and then descended back into drunken conversations about the land and love. Many here had made the journey for the Bonfire Celebration and to hear the story of the Dragon Squires Canteen. Not that many hadn’t heard the song.
The old castle that they were a part of was now more of a massive inn rather than a serious outpost. At least, that is what Ballad had always told himself. Once upon a time, these walls meant security and protection for the neighbouring settlements but the Decade War ended far from here.
Passing through the crowd, Ballad patted and hugged more than a family’s worth of strangers and partygoers. Maxim, the bartender looked rough when Ballad got to him. The brute of a man had poured more ale probably today than he had in the past week and the evening was just getting underway.
“May I get a Ballad’s Special?” Ballad asked loudly as Maxim put another set of mugs on his soaking sticky table. Ballad knew not to touch it.
“The little squire can get his own special,” Maxim grunted as he glared at Ballad before being pushed out of the way by a woman even smaller than Ballad. Fiery red hair flowed past her shoulders and down her back but next to the large man, this maiden looked like a toothpick in a dress.
“Careful now, Maxim, or the dragon's fire may appear again,” the woman chuckled and got Ballad his brew.
“Could you?” Maxim scoffed, “I need a break as much as you two do.”
“My queen deserves more than a break,” Ballad whispered as he ignored the warnings of the table and leaned in to kiss the fiery women behind the bar, “My queen deserves the world.”
“Your queen wants a happy tavern,” the woman corrected, “and for you to stop calling our home a canteen.”
“It goes with the song,” Ballad countered as he got back up with his mug in hand.
His queen gave a hiss and a small breath of fire as he walked away but he knew he’d be forever in her heart. The song was never about changing a dragon's heart. That day was actually just a morning and the only dragon that Ballad had enchanted had scolded him for hours. She taught him what he knew now though and over the years the Dragon Song that he had been taught to him turned into a romance that changed him forever.
Edit: Formatting with the song.
|
It should have been clear from the start... That there was something that I was missing when the great Níðhöggr offered to teach me the "Draki Að unna", the dragon song. They said that it would give me the power to be irresistible to ladies...
As soon as I started singing it because very clear who the target audience for my singing was. Thousands of beautiful dragons came through the air at amazing speeds towards me. Among the dragons, I could see both descendants from Níðhöggr and Jǫrmungandr. The nidhog children with their huge wingspan and red scales, while the Jornmungs children of course had slender bodies and green scales.
The first dragon to get to me was one of the nidhog called Idrafjäll. This wasn't the first time I had seen her, but I had never seen her like this. My singing had done something to her... She almost looked feral. Close second to her was Ynghil, also a descendent of Níðhöggr. Within seconds I found myself standing on the small knoll with thousands of dragons standing on the green luscious velvet grass.
This was not the plan. I wanted to find love within my own race... Now I had to make a choice. Do I go along with it and see what happens, or do I beg for Níðhöggr to fly me away from everyone? I could feel all of their eyes on me. The seconds ticking away on my watch.
'I need to say something', I thought to myself. I could feel the sweat starting to form on the top of my forehead. Soon a stream of sweat was pouring down past my brow and down on my cheek. From my vantage point, I could see how the dragons closest to me started to get irritated with the fact that I wasn't saying anything. I took a big breath and started speaking.
"Ladies... You are not my normal type. But I can make this work! However, I think it's best to take the rest of this story on a different site."
-----
This is the first time I write something for /r/writingprompts. Sorry, it's a bit short. But its something!
To be honest, this is pretty much the first time I try to write something coherent to show someone.
| 2022-11-06T07:58:31 | 2022-11-06T07:55:05 | 55 | 30 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid.
|
When was the last time I used a human language? The last time I ultilized an artifact of humanity? The last time I did something, at all?
Moss tears and dirt crumbles off my body as I groggily lift myself off the floor of the latest forest I found myself in. It was a desert when I laid down for a nap. The Amazon Desert, I think I called it, due to the fact that it was a rainforest... Sometime before. I lost track. So the Amazon Rainforest is back now, huh. Wonder if anything else happened while I was gone.
I take a deep breath and realize that the air is different now. More oxygen going around. The climate's cooler too. Might be worth a trip up north.
It has been a few thousand day cycles since I last slept. Days. That's an old English word. People used to look at me weird when I used that word. Said I sounded like someone from the Internet Ages. People. There we go, another old English word. After that they used pippies. Devil-damned North Americans at it again. Or was it World War 5? That thing the... North Americans did. Nope. It was pippies. Still a crime against me, and a crime against me is a crime against humanity now, cause I am all of humanity now. But I have been that for a while. Ever since I last took a shit in fact. So does that mean humanity took a collective shit when I last took a shit? Maybe I should eat again. Have a shit and carry it around. Humanity's last shit. Might be funny for a thousand days or more. Old english, that word was.
A thing looked at me weird today. It looked like something. Something I haven't seen before. What do they call that? A zeep? A transvetite? A thanus? An alien? Probably a zeep. Anyways this zeep turned its head at me and just looked. It is wrapped in skins and holds a bone spear. Its skin is dark and the round long snout doesn't have a nose. Nose hole. Nasal tube. Noshol. The thing. The zeep. It's looking at me too. We look at each other for a jolly good long bit. Or a long ass while. Or fucking forever. One of those. Long ass while sounds nice. Then it opens its mouth and screech something. Speech, it sounds like. Not in any language I know, but it's definitely a language. Don't know shit about dolphin speech. I shake my head. Take a few step back. Dolphins are crazy bastards. I run into the forest. Don't look back.
Hundreds of thousands of days pass. I slept for who knows how long once again. Then I woke up. On a table. Surgery table. White and blue but still a surgical table. Things are looking at me. Zeeps. A bunch of them are looking at me. I howl. Yell. Struggle. They have strapped me down. Have a thing over me. Zeeps rush into my vision. They pin me down. One screeches something over the rest. The rest screech to each other, more small and short. Commands. Fuckers have a society now. They have devices. Looks like human stuff. Their hands are similar to mine. They hold a thing over my face. Crudely made small tubes. Something flows in and I drift to sleep. Anaesthetics. That's the word.
They taught me their language. I taught them my history. Explained artifacts. Told stories and myths of my people. I learned that the zeep kid I saw made it big. Told stories of me to its pippies. I was the main object of worship to these zeeps for the length of their history. Their 15000 years long history. I can talk with them now. They call themselves something that cannot be translated to human language using sounds that were not included in human language. I still call them zeeps. They can't pronounce the letter M. It was weird.
The zeeps are extinct. Religion war. Don't know much more.
The sun is red. And cold. And big. It takes up more and more space in the sky now. Maybe I should sleep one last time. Before I get burned and crushed for the rest of the sun's life. Might as well.
It's hot. It always is. Been like this for way too long now. Hate it.
On the surface of a big white thing. One side is hot and another is cold. Bones keep exploding. Hate it.
Humans?
|
I'm probably the last human, if you can even call me that anymore. I say this because it's been hundreds of years since I heard anything over the internet or the radio. I know more of us survived the abomination that we'd created. Everlasting life for the price of our reproductive organs. But we didn't expect that our A.I. would turn on us either. Giving up our nature in return for everlasting life seemed like a golden opportunity. I'd frozen sperm like the rest of us that agreed. Others had frozen eggs. It wasn't like we'd go extinct as a species, it was more about conservation of resources. It wasn't that the AI did anything wrong as per it's coding. We taught it what we thought we wanted, but our blindness to the extent of what it meant long term was our mistake.
I'm on mobile, this is difficult. I can expand if anyone cares later.
| 2021-05-14T20:58:02 | 2021-05-14T20:36:07 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] When she said it was "in the fifties outside", she meant the nineteen-fifties.
|
. . . and Mom seemed a little stunned when she said it. She sat down with a blank look on her face, having just come back from retrieving the morning paper.
"Mom, what's wrong?" I asked as she sat down. I worked at a school; this was Spring Break. I regularly traveled three hours to my hometown to be with her ever since Dad died. Seeing as how I was in my mid-thirties, and not married yet, just up and driving down to visit her was easy. During the mornings, the ritual was the same: She gets up before me, cooks breakfast, and I wake up to the smell of her usual bacon-and-eggs frying away.
Only today, something was off. **Waaaaaay** off.
She blankly handed me the paper. "I just saw Mister Agler watering his lawn."
"Mom, that's impossible. Mister Agler's been dead for five years."
"I know," She said with a hint of fear. "But it was him; I swear it." She paused. "Also, son, look at the paper."
"At what?"
"The headline."
I opened the paper. "EXPLORER 4 ROCKET LAUNCHED; U.S. SPACE PROGRAM AHEAD OF SOVIETS."
"Soviets?" I asked her, puzzled. "We don't call the Russians that anymore."
She gave me that same frightened look. "Look at the date." She pointed at the paper.
July 27, 1958.
". . . Is this a joke paper, or something? Maybe a collectible retro item?"
"No, I don't think so," she replied. "Let me take you outside; I want to show you something."
Mom got up on unsteady legs, and took me out of the front door of her two-story house, into the bright July morning of my hometown.
. . .
My hometown was Mom's hometown. She grew up a few houses away from the one we occupied now, and when she and Dad met --and eventually married-- she insisted upon moving back here. It was a good neighborhood, with almost no crime, and friendly people who mostly kept to themselves. Pretty ideal in every way. Mom had an idyllic childhood here, as did I-- straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
White picket fences, well-maintained front yards, etc. . . . Nothing out-of-place in what would be considered a stereotypical, "All-American town."
So, for the first few seconds we she led me outside, everything seemed normal to me: It was a sunny July morning, birds chirping, a man water his lawn by hand, and a girl jumping rope in her front yard in a small poodle skirt--
Wait a minute. Most little girls today, I find usually on cell phones, or holding tablets. Moreover, they did not wear poodle skirts. Also, people didn't water their lawns by hand anymore; most sprinkler systems were automated.
"Watch this," Mom told me, and waved at the man watering his lawn. "Mister Agler! How are you?" She yelled.
"Fine, thank you! And you?" The man said with a thick German accent. He looked a little puzzled, as though he didn't recognize my mother.
I was stunned. That was Mister Agler, only a younger version of him. It was years later before I discovered he fled Germany when the Nazis came to power, and set up a little house here.
"Fine thanks!" Mom waved back, and turned to me. "See? Also, look at the cars." She pointed at the few vehicles parked in the neighborhood.
It took me a few seconds before I realized what I saw. I was no expert on automobiles, but all of them seemed straight out of the 1940's and 50's; they all had the curves and fins of cars from that era. Mister Agler's prized 1957 Chevy was always where it was, parked in his driveway-- only now, it looked even more cherry than it did when he paid me a few bucks to wash it, as a kid.
An old car with large fins on the back turned the corner, and cruised right past. I looked inside at the driver as he went by: Fedora, horn-rimmed glasses, and Elvis Presley's "Hound Dog" coming from the car's AM radio.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"I don't know, honey. And what's more, this will freak you out the most," Mom said as she pointed at the little girl. "See her?"
"Yeah," I replied. The little girl was still jumping rope, reciting a rhyme with each jump.
"Hello, Ginny!" Mom waved at the girl.
The little girl stopped jumping her rope, waved, and went back to it.
I was shocked, and started to feel numb. "Mom, your name is Virginia."
"Uh huh," she said. "And my nickname was Ginny."
"And that was your house as a kid . . ." She would happily point it out to me as a child whenever we passed it.
Mom turned to me. "Honey, I'm pretty sure that little girl is *me*."
|
_______________________________________________________________
***Log#: 3467***
***Date: 12***
***Month: 03***
***Year: 1250685950 After Exodus; 5070131950 A.D***
***Surface Temperature:***
***...***
_________________________________________________________
hmmm... temperature...
"Hey Sarah, whats the Temperature outside today?"
"My phone says its in the 50s"
"k, thanks"
_____________________________________________________________
***Surface Temperture: 1950 °C***
***Population: 34 Billion***
***Priority:***
***...***
__________________________________________________________
hmmm... priority...priority...
Damn, I always hated writing these logs. I guess its part of the job, but its basically the same shit everyday.
Its been a billion years since humanity declared Earth uninhabitable and left, but for some stupid reason my ancestors decided to stay.
fucking ancestors...
Ever since the Sun expanded to a Super giant, those idiots moved underground.
I mean, did they really expect humanity to survive in a rock where the average fucking surface temperature is 1950 °C??
At least we have the technology to sustain our energy and consumption needs, but overpopulation is starting to become a real problem now...
hmm enough bitching to myself, I'd better finish this log...
priority... Gee i dunno, get the fuck off this rock?
_____________________________________________________________
***Priority: find plans from Archives***
| 2016-03-12T12:24:01 | 2016-03-12T11:29:36 | 55 | 21 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
General Gaffney rubbed his temples at the head of the table. Without opening his eyes, he muttered, "Major, start over from the beginning. I want to make sure I have this straight."
"Yes sir. The attack began at oh-nine-hundred and current intel has it lasting 17 --"
Colonel Thompson broke in. "And it was Akron? Akron, *Ohio*. That's what they targeted?"
Major Collins licked his lips, eyes darting down to the report before him briefly. "That is correct according to the information we have received, sir. Akron. In the state of Ohio."
Collins hesitated, gaze sweeping the table, before resuming. "And the attack lasted 17 seconds, with --"
"Minutes," Gaffney growled.
"Sir?"
"You said seconds, Major."
"Uh...affirmative, sir. If you look on page 7 of the report, it's quite clear, there's a, ah, footnote...and everything. *It is indeed surprising that after the staging and build-up that took place in Earth's atmosphere that the actual attack was so brief, but review from multiple sources confirms that it was over in almost a quarter of a minute.*"
"Fuck these assholes!" Gaffney was on his feet, having hurled a ballpoint pen across the room, narrowly missing the sergeant standing at the door. There was a pause. "Seventeen *fucking* seconds? It's just...okay, Major, skip ahead. The target. What was the target?"
"A building called the Huntington Tower on Mill Street in downtown Akron." Major Collins shifted in his seat, then added, quietly, "In Ohio."
Gaffney's eyes bulged as he whirled on the Major, who involuntarily wheeled back in his chair a few inches. "And what do our internal reports say the strategic value of the Huntington Tower on Mill Street is, precisely?"
"Sir, there's no...the people who put together the report were able to glean some information from a..." Major Collins looked down at his papers, mumbling.
"Speak *up*, Major."
"Yes, sir, sorry, sir. The, uh, intel, such as we have, is gleaned from a Google search and includes most of the Wikipedia article about the building, which states it is 300 feet tall with numerous one- and two-bedroom apartments. Sir."
"Good *gravy*, Major! Three hundred feet! It must have at least a dozen stories!"
"27, sir. Uh, according to...Wikipedia. Sir."
"27. And how many casualties were there?"
"Sir, the munitions used were primarily...non-explosive projectiles. And as such --"
"Major, I have a giant headache. Let's speak clearly. When you say non-explosive projectiles..."
"...rocks, sir. They attacked us with...by dropping rocks."
"On the Huntington Building."
"Yes, sir."
"In Akron."
"Yes, sir." Major Collins closed his mouth, opened it, and then thought better of appending the name of the state to the end of his utterance.
"And the casualties?"
"37 broken windows and a handful of minor cuts and bruises, sir. An elderly lady who was crossing Mill Street also fell and broke her hip."
"And what are they doing now?"
The major gave a nod to an aide, who hit a button on his laptop. The screen in the conference room was bathed in the light of the ceiling-mounted projector. It showed dozens of gleaming-silver spacecraft flying in a clearly orchestrated pattern - moving sideways in unison, then back the other way, then doing an aileron roll. Then the pattern repeated.
"Audio, if you would, Major." The forced congeniality in the general's voice was somehow more menacing than the outburst of moments ago.
Tinny music filled the conference room. While it was clearly exotic sounding, the staccato of the quick notes and the rising tonality certainly made it sound like a victory song of some kind.
General Gaffney stared around the room at the other officers present, watching their faces as the music played. "That'll do." The speakers went silent.
"Well, lady," Gaffney said, nodding to Brigadier General Meyers, "and gentlemen...to judge by your faces, none of this makes any more sense to you than it does to me. My headache is getting worse, and I have to go to the rehearsal dinner for my son's wedding tonight. So tell the gang at Wright-Pat to light these assholes up and hopefully never talk about it again."
The order was given to the pilots on standby at the air force base in Dayton. This time, the attack lasted 7 minutes and 29 seconds. The pilots would later report it was the easiest mission they had ever flown.
|
It happened faster than anyone could process what was going on. At one moment the Tokyo Olympics were being televised, and the next no one on Earth were able to contact the city.
Japan, obviously, was the first on the scene. What the soldiers reported was unbelievable, craters the size of football pitches, giant deformed rabid animals, a US aircraft carrier beached on the bay coast, downed aircraft mostly US, but some unknown crafts filled with strange creatures, and absolutely no sign of living humans.
After weeks of searching they found enough evidence through captures cell phone videos and audio memos. We had been attacked by an alien race.
---
Ten Earth years later the reptilian race of Kepler-62f were celebrating another victory over the piscine races of Kepler-442b. There wasn't a care in the world and the leaders were drinking like there was no end to the booze.
The celebration came to a stop when a meteor came tumbling out of the sky, splattering through the Emperor's head. Out popped a flag from the center of the rock and it said in the Keplerians native tongue, "We will never forget."
| 2019-12-17T12:02:20 | 2019-12-17T11:54:47 | 611 | 39 |
[WP] Decades ago, Earth sent a capsule into space filled with bits about our culture. Today, it returned tampered with. It contained a note, "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
This is my first post on this sub and I'm not a frequent poster on any sub at that. So I hope you all like this prompt and get creative with it. If it sucks, glad to know I need to improve.
Edit: thank you guys so much responding and for the silvers. I've never had awards before. I've always liked to lurk on this sub and I'm glad my first post was so well received. Thank you!
|
Jaharis, in my peripheral vision, stopped breathing. The conference room was silent—execs and astronauts and physicists circled around a table, some of them the original curators of the capsule, each now mulling over the returned capsule. They were not overjoyed at its return. The capsule was dented, warped, and mostly empty.
And I read the note aloud. "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor." It was a translation Ga Mun made this morning, from Cantonese to English, when the three of us opened it to see what was inside the now-returned capsule.
The note sunk in. This told us three things, I announced to the room. One; whoever they are, they understood Cantonese. The vinyl we had sent into space had hundreds of languages on it, virtually no vocabulary for learning Cantonese this fluently. Ga Mun assured me, I told them, that this was unusually clear for a non-native speaker.
Two; they listened to the vinyl. The amount of work that went into curating the record, recording the sounds of kisses and hellos and waterfalls was not for nothing. They *heard* it, I insisted. That was a victory. We were right.
Which left the third thing: the favor returned. The biological weapon part. I let it hang in the air for a moment, unsure how to tackle it. So, Jaharis, seeing my uncertainty, composed himself and addressed it.
“Three; whatever we sent obliterated them,” Jaharis said. “Whether it was the material or the audio…” We didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It was just supposed to be a social gesture—a hand reaching out.
But there was more than a note in the capsule. Inside was also a thumb-sized metal alloy, almost square-shaped. There were no grooves on it—there was no input of any kind, no features whatsoever. How anything was in here, I couldn’t tell.
I held it up for the conference room. People winced. People recoiled. A rush of whispering rose in the room, until I put it down.
“What did they mean by ‘biological weapon,’” said one physicist. Phrased as a question, but it was a demand. “What could vinyl have done to them.”
“I don’t know,” said his neighbor.
“We should throw it out,” another person said.
“We will want to look at it,” said another, leaning forward in her chair. “What harms them probably doesn’t harm us. It was *vinyl*,” she reminded us. Her logic was not un-sound. If they misinterpreted the vinyl as an attack, then they might have chosen to attack us the same way: music. Music doesn’t hurt humans, generally.
Then again, if they were able to glean Cantonese from an hour of sound effects on vinyl, who knows what else they know about humanity. Even the term biological warfare was so specific to the last fifty years.
“And why Cantonese?” an exec asked.
\----------------------------
It took some engineering. Ga Mun turned the square over in her gloved hand multiple times, with the Outspoken Physicist from before prodding it and doling out suggestions. They searched for anything on it that would indicate how it was a vehicle for warfare of any kind. It took three weeks.
Occasionally, I would present the question as a hypothetical. *What would you do to hurt someone who hurt you?* Many people promised they would not retaliate at all. Neighbors, café baristas, annoyed Uber drivers. Each one told me that revenge was a lot of effort. "Why bother?"
“What about in the face of a pandemic?” I would ask. People stiffened. People changed the subject. Even now it's fresh in our minds, how two years ago panned out, how things escalated when people thought the curve was flattened. So I felt bad bringing the trauma up again. But I needed an answer of some kind, to help figure out this impossible, extraterrestrial puzzle, so I had to ask. I had to dig in the wound.
Ga Mun called me when she found it, but she did not say much. Just "help." Jaharis and I rushed over to the office, not saying a word to each other and not listening closely. But we ran, as fast as we could. Until we walked in to see Ga Mun and Outspoken Physicist sitting on the carpet. Their red and puffy faces didn’t turn to us—their cheeks were so wet with tears they could barely blink. They held up the square between them, and very gently shook it. Outspoken let out a sob.
And when they shook it in just the right way, I went deaf. I could hear nothing—not even the muffled sound of an air conditioner. Jaharis’s face had the same look of panic. He stopped breathing for a moment. And so did I. The deafening was so loud I could hardly think about how painful it was. But it was dull pain that vibrated through my ribcage, through my kneecaps. I shouted to stop, but nothing came out.
And the Ga Mun held very still, keeping the square between her fingers. She huddled, putting the square down, and she whispered to herself.
We keep the square in a safe, underground, far from a fault line. Whoever sent us that small metal alloy square gave it the property of deafening everything on the planet. Even just Ga Mun’s test had caused thousands of minor disasters across the country. Ten seconds of deafness killed a hundred and fifty people. Everyone voted unanimously to lock up the square, and treat it like any other biological weapon. Scientists study it. Teachers lecture on it. And we, who found it, force ourselves to move on.
Because of our social behavior, we killed some entire alien species. We will never know how. Maybe they went mad listening to Philip Glass. Maybe they could not stand the frequency of the sound. Maybe this was just a practical joke. But what we agree on is that one person, on that planet, knew enough Cantonese to send us a prank, and terrify our extraterrestrial program into indefinite hiatus.
He kept the vinyl of ambient earth noises and gifted us silence, utter loneliness, deep and intimate guilt. And what do we do when faced with something horrible and vulnerable and revealing of our psyche?
We hide it, and forget it, and say nothing.
|
That they couldn't see it made it all the more terrifying.
What we'd sent decades ago hadn't been a threat. It'd not been a weapon, contrary to how we customarily dealt with new cultures. We'd sent our history, wrapped into a little capsule and rocketed into outer space.
Then, history tearing through the emptiness at breakneck speed, we forgot about it. Life went on. Those who sent it died, and then their children died. Seasons came and went, though some more muted than others. Trees grew and fell, then new ones sprouted from their fallen brethren.
"Definitely man-made," the commander of the extraterrestrial task force said.
They'd been called out by a farmer who'd described a flashing light and a deafening boom in the middle of the night. The next morning he'd found the extraterrestrial object laying in the remains of his annihilated cow.
"English on the outside, probably one of those defense firms. Boeing, maybe."
"It's been tampered with. The seal broken. Look how the letters don't line up anymore."
The men crowded around to watch. The best and the finest, an encyclopedia of knowledge about the nation's space endeavors.
"Probably Joe-farmer."
Decades of failure had turned the bright-eyed group into a band of disillusioned cynics. No extraterrestrial life had suddenly appeared. No progress had been made towards colonizing planets other than the dying Earth.
"Let's crack her open. See what he took. Charge him with a felony and get out of bum-fuck nowhere."
There was a slight hiss as the capsule opened for the second time ever. It wouldn't close again.
"Still pressurized. Probably not Joe-farmer then."
"It's near empty."
"Except for this."
There was a note. Written in plain English and scrawled on a piece of paper.
"Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
"That's it? This fucking joke of a--"
He turned red in the face and collapsed before he'd finished. Blood seeped from his nose, trickled down from his eyes.
"What the--"
Another man fell, and then the commander fell.
"It's invisible."
"Or a virus, something like that."
The others drew their weapons, prepared to fight whatever alien had appeared in their midst. But they never fired and one by one they fell, succumbing to the weapon that was the last of the extraterrestrial species.
And that they couldn't see it made it all the more terrifying.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-04-13T13:29:33 | 2020-04-13T11:19:43 | 1,240 | 326 |
[WP] You have the ability to see the lifespan of everybody in color. Green is a long life, orange is about 50 years, and red is under an hour. You're in class, your teacher walks in late, everybody suddenly has a red glow.
Teacher has an orange glow...
|
I am not a bad kid. Sure, I've lied (I'm pretty good at that), and yes I've even had a few beers at Tommy's house, but fundamentally, I think of myself as a good person. I didn't deserve... *the Gift*.
More like *the Curse*.
My mom always told me that bad things happen to good people. She also told me that I'd see better if I ate more carrots. I don't know about the first part, but I can tell you the second is bullshit. I've had maybe twelve carrots in my life and my vision is... spectacular.
No... that doesn't even begin to descibe my vision.
I can... can... *see* things...
Terrible things.
It's not that it is gruesome or gory, just... sickening.
Imagine a spectrum. Like the kind you hear, the kind you feel, the kind you see. Our ears can differentiate between different sounds; low and high, soft and loud. Our hands can differentiate between surfaces; hard and soft, rough and smooth. And our eyes -at least everyone else's- can see different colors at different brightness. Mine can see health. Not like a doctor or nurse or anything, but something... deeper. I've read medical articles, searched religious texts, asked spiritual guides, but none can give me the answer to what I seek.
*I don't now how or what for, but I can see when people are going to die.*
And I haven't told a soul until now. How could you blame me for that? Imagine what people could do if they exploited this ability? I was doing the right thing by keeping it a secret. Believe me when I say I was protecting people.
*I'm not a coward, I'm a good person.*
That is why, February 19th, 2015, I didn't tell anyone.
They wouldn't have believed me. Tommy is the charmer, not me. I'm a nobody. They would have ignored me, laughed at me. I couldn't tell Tommy to tell them either. He always thinks I am screwing with him, and that time would have been no different.
My parents both work in the city, over an hour away. Plus, they don't know about the Gift, and I doubt I would have been able to convince them over the phone.
The principals and counselors probably wouldn't have even recognized me. Even if I *was* able to articulate to them what was wrong, they would have had security take me away long before Mr. Burke cracked.
*Who knows? Maybe he wouldn't have cracked. Maybe I was wrong all along.*
I couldn't have been wrong. I just had to take matters into my own hands.
Mr. Burke was my AP Physics II professor. He was young, thirty-something, had a wife and a kid, a nice car (we saw him pull into the high school every morning... Audi), and a nice job. *And a healthy, long future*.
So did everyone else in my class. With the exception of a few girls in the back with maybe 3 years left and a boy near the window with about 10, everyone is my classroom wasn't going to die for a long time.
At least that's how it was until Mr. Burke's car screeched into the parking lot 15 minutes late and himself into the room a few moments later.
Everyone went red.
Not literally, but... aurorally? What I mean is I could see that the life expectancy of everyone in the room suddenly and drastically shortened. The last time I had seen someone with this... wavelength... was when my grandmother passed 3 years ago. She died less than twenty minutes after we left her house. Now everyone, with the exception of Mr. Burke and myself, was destined to die before next period.
I have never been able to gauge my life expectancy, not even with mirrors and cameras. For all I knew I could be as fucked as everyone else. But Mr. Burke was rather un-fucked. His life had shortened to maybe 8 more years, but that was still a drastic drop that would have gotten my attention any other day.
But as he sat there at his desk, red faced and practically steaming with rage, I saw it. He tilted his head up at the ceiling, very slowly, and as his eyes shifted across the classroom and met with mine I saw it.
I saw the killer.
I saw the killer that had lost it. I saw the killer that had packed the pistol in his briefcase after shooting his family during breakfast. I saw the killer that had taken it to his workplace to continue his rampage. I saw the killer that had the pretentiousness to easily take the lives of others but spare his own, and this made me
very, very angry.
I grabbed my wooden number 2 pencil and stood up from my desk.
I took last night's homework in the other hand and walked up to his desk with everyone else, and placed it on the corner.
The rest of the class returned to their seats and looked for notebooks as they prepared for today's belayed lesson.
I went to the sharpener.
As I slowly cranked the loud, clumsy device, I looked over my shoulder.
Mr. Burke sat slumped in his chair, staring at his desk, his aura getting more and more red...
[Edit] I returned to my pencil, removing it from the machine. Holding it close to my face, I inspected the tip.
*Yes, it would do*.
A glance over the other shoulder revealed that the other students were less red than earlier.
*Was this actually happening? Could I have been changing the fate of everyone else in the room?*
A few of the students began to look at me, and I turned away quickly. Looking down once more at my pencil, I closed my eyes and tightened my grip. Turning around, I began walking towards Mr. Burke. He didn't look up, but Tommy did.
*I am a good person*.
Tommy gave me a "what the hell?" face, which was now more orange than red. Ignoring it, I turned back towards the deranged instructor. With every step his condition became worse, and just before I reached him, he looked up at me with disgust.
*I am a good person.*
His eyes stood out on his face like two white, angry targets, and as my pencil rammed home, the bloody red aura splashed all over me.
|
My first thought was that this was the first 'glitch' in my ability that I'd had for sixteen years on the planet. The colors had never changed before, I had no reason to believe the transition meant anything. I realize now that had I ever witnessed someone cross the road and unexpectedly get terminated by a speeding car, I'd have seen a change in the colors before the car hit them. I must be the only sane soul who wanted to see an unprompted death.
We got five minutes into class and I couldn't help but notice Mr. Hitchens had a sweat going on, as well as seemingly nervous twitches. It wasn't helping that the usual guys were having conversations whilst he tried to talk. I kept waiting for the colors to change back, actually it was more like I was hoping for the colors to change back. What could I have done? stood up and shouted at everyone to get out? What this really was some sort of glitch? I must have debated with myself for about another three minutes over what to do.
Eight minutes in to class was when Hitchens locked the door to the classroom. He'd completely lost the attention of everyone in the room at the point, I don't think anyone even noticed he had locked the door.
He stared at us, seemingly *scanning* every individual in the room. His sudden silence somehow got everyone's attention. He then spoke, his voice cracking as he went.
"Someone in here has brought something into school that they shouldn't have. You know exactly who you are. Take comfort in the fact that I haven't reported this to any teachers here, I haven't phoned the police. Get in touch with me after class and we will just talk. You don't have to be scared"
No one answered him, no one expected anyone to respond. I thought he had seen someone with drugs, granted, it was an odd way to go about telling the relevant idiot but it was at least respectful. He added:
"What you may or may not have planned to do on the premises is an act of remarkable stupidity. You'd be throwing away your life"
From now on, I will struggle not to despise the man for that little sentiment. As soon as he had finished, I heard the scrape of a desk being pushed across the floor behind me and then the aggravated voice of Benjamin Backer.
"I was actually your smartest student you fucking prick"
Then, my last moments were just small details. Explosions, one after another. Screams and the sharpest pain I've ever felt at the back of my neck.
The final images I have from the life of living and the present are of Benjamin bolting out of the door, with a rifle in hand. He was glowing green.
| 2015-02-19T16:13:51 | 2015-02-19T16:10:35 | 404 | 18 |
[WP] In a popular MMORPG, you are arguably the best and most feared player in the entire game. Your class: The healer. Despite having no viable way to attack other players, nobody dares cross you. A guild of newbies is about to find out why.
|
_Combat Log: Heysel's Decrepit Mine, 2020-15-7, 7:30 P.M._
**Holden the Rock** hit **Kobold Security Guard** for 13 damage.
**Kobold Security Guard** died.
**Dark Crystal Golem**'s *Hail of Rocks* hit **fuzzymelon** for 6 damage.
**Dark Crystal Golem**'s *Hail of Rocks* hit **DurKLarD** for 10 damage.
**DurkLarD**: really?
**DurkLarD**: okay
**DurkLarD**: healer
**DurkLarD**: healer
**Holden the Rock**: She left the party after you called her a 'waste of server space'.
**Holden the Rock**: For buffing the tank instead of you.
**Holden the Rock**: Seriously, she knew what she was doing. She was like 50 levels above you guys.
**Holden the Rock**: And I'm like 20 above you, so listen to me now:
**Holden the Rock**: Use your potion and get over it.
**DurkLarD**'s _Potion of Healing_ healed 9 points.
**fuzzymelon**'s _Potion of Acid_ hit **Dark Crystal Golem** for 12 damage.
**Holden the Rock**: Oh my god not that one
**fuzzymelon**: Missbind
**fuzzymelon**: dont worry i have More
**Holden the Rock**: It happens. We can work with this.
**Holden the Rock** hit **Dark Crystal Golem** for 7 damage.
**Dark Crystal Golem** died.
**Holden the Rock**: I bought an extra just in case.
**Holden the Rock**: Just don't throw any more. We need three to melt his armor.
**fuzzymelon**: k
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** appeared!
**DurkLarD**'s _Potion of Acid_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 12 damage.
**Holden the Rock**'s _Potion of Acid_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 13 damage.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor**'s _Demonic Armor_ is wearing!
**Holden the Rock**'s _Potion of Acid_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 11 damage.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor**'s _Demonic Armor_ is broken!
**DurkLarD**: ez
**Holden the Rock**'s _Hercules Taunt_ succeeded on **Gem Warden Alzseranor**
**Gem Warden Alzseranor**'s _Dark Pact_ hit **Holden the Rock** for 40 damage.
**Holden the Rock** died.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: shit
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: Okay you guys can still take him this turn.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: He's pretty weak now.
**fuzzymelon**: k
**fuzzymelon**'s _Arrowstorm_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 5 damage.
**fuzzymelon**'s _Arrowstorm_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 6 damage.
**fuzzymelon**'s _Arrowstorm_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 8 damage.
**DurkLarD**'s _Finishing Touch_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 18 damage.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been slain!
**DurkLarD**: nice
**fuzzymelon**: i have Level up
**HarpLass Monster** revived **Gem Warden Alzseranor**!
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: Sweet guys, loot goes evenly unless you are
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: Wait what the fuck
**HarpLass Monster**: Sup bitches
**HarpLass Monster**: How about a round two
**HarpLass Monster**'s _Divine Grace_ healed **Gem Warden Alzseranor** 20 points.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Holy Pact_.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Stone Words_.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Mantra of Flame_.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Wrath_.
**DurkLarD**: please
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Retribution_.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Seal of the Gods_.
**Gem Warden Alzeranor** hit **DurkLard** for 78 damage.
**DurkLarD** died.
**Gem Warden Alzeranor**'s _Dark Pact_ hit **fuzzymelon** for 121 damage.
**fuzzymelon** died.
**DurkLarD [DEAD]**: fk this
**DurkLarD [DEAD]**: team's a waste of party space
**DurkLarD [DEAD]** has left the party.
**fuzzymelon [DEAD]**: fuck ur mother First
**fuzzymelon [DEAD]** has left the party.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: ...
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: Any chance for a revive?
**HarpLass Monster**: Lmao just used mine for the day
**HarpLass Monster**: Peace
**HarpLass Monster** used a _Scroll of Teleportation_
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: God.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: I hate this game so much.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]** has left the party.
|
As a portal mage, Minerva was never known for being a mighty warrior shielding her allies, or a nefarious witch disintegrating her enemies. Rather, her skills lied in teleportation. As the highest level portal mage in the fledgling MMO, she had access to teleportation spells highly sought after by raid groups who dared not travel to the dungeons located miles from the nearest outposts. Her skills were of great use to everyone, and her leveling methods a mystery. Without dealing damage, Minerva still managed to complete even the hardest quests and defeat the toughest of bosses. She was often revered as the greatest portal mage, second best healer (who was a priest, so it wasn't really fair), and debatably the best on the server. Regardless of her stats, she was by far the most recognized on the server, which garnered much unwanted attention from undesirables.
As she lingered in the town square, waiting for an arranged party to bring to a dungeon, a small band of players (shall I say victims?) approached her.
"LMAO i bet ur a catfisher", L4nc3al0t brashly boasted in the chat.
"Bet i could 1v1 u", challenged Ch4singM1ce.
"Wanna b my gf?", shamelessly said Shamayyyn867.
The witnesses stopped, and the chat halted. It seemed that the world around stood silent, waiting for Minerva to react. The town square cleared out, fearing what she might do. She simply turned and said "ok", as she challenged them to a duel.
The leet slayers accepted the challenge, sealing their fate and beginning the countdown to the duel.
*3...*
Minerva approached them, as they drew their weapons.
*2...*
She casted a small spell, and appeared to place something on the ground.
*1...*
She casted another spell, teleporting all 4 of them away.
Where the town once stood, a blistering winter's wind scourged the snow, and mighty peaks peeped along the horizon as mighty mammoths marched the desolate plains, seeking reprieve from the icy storm.
At least the mammoths had fur, unlike the three who were just teleported.
Minerva had no qualm with leaving the trio. As soon as she arrived, she reactivated her Waystone, teleporting back to the town square where she had placed it. The nooblords, on the other hand, were not so lucky. As soon as they appeared, the frigid frost froze the fools, fating them to a fast fatality. Their suffering, obviously, was only beginning. To revive, the soul of the adventurer had to travel from the nearest graveyard (about 20 ingame miles) to the body. Then, of course, came the challenge of leaving the instance, which required a "Leave Dungeon" teleport scroll.
Or, of course, they could call a portal mage to get them out.
| 2017-05-06T17:19:07 | 2017-05-06T16:37:42 | 358 | 150 |
[WP] The year is 2030. Bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. The uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. I go to hug my wife for comfort. She is cake.
|
My genetic divergence has been a pain in the ass, until now.
I have a very acute sense of smell. Out of all the senses to have an enhanced version of, smell has got to be the worst. I can smell body odor from across the street. I always know who dealt with it. There is no escape from the rancid stench of the world. Every hazy cigar cloud, every particle of smog in the air, and every cheap ass perfume.
But, you ask, what about good smells, like food or flowers? First off, it's not like I smell them when I want to. Do you want to smell someone’s eggs benedict while eating dessert? No, the smell utterly overpowers it. On a rare occasion, I’ll smell something that I genuinely enjoy, and it makes me sad. It could be all the way across town, it's not like some brownie in the kitchen, it's a bakery down on Walnut street. Also, all these different smells blend together too, which means I’m smelling Cheetos, cigar smoke, and someone’s leaky septic tank all at the same time. Yeah, that’s what I thought. And flowers, I never thought they smelled that good to begin with.
I have considered getting my sense of smell dealt with multiple times before. Just destroy the whole olfactory system. But I do like enjoying how things taste… I just didn’t know. What I had was supposed to feel special, like some cool powers or something. I knew I should have been grateful, I just wasn’t, until now.
What changed? Well, food changed. Baking got realistic. You ask, what the hell does that have to do anything? Well, first, you ask too many questions, random reader, and second, I know, I wouldn’t have thought it would mean much either, but it means everything. Even if baking is realistic, it must take an incredible amount of time and energy to make, right? Technology helped with that, also, there are way more bakers now. It’s like a movement. Dancing, music, acting, writing, painting, sculpting, or whatever other artistic medium you can think of, they’re all considered inferior to baking in this society.
This means that there are a ton of cake people all over the place. It’s a political statement, I won’t get into it, but essentially the way we treat the food industry is messed up, and the bakers are taking a stand. The government won’t get off their high horse, however, and now we common folk suffer from this infestation.
Well, how bad can it really be? I mean, free cake, what’s wrong with that? Everything. I haven’t eaten cake since this whole thing started, could you? It’s the source of horror now, it's an infestation that is inescapable.
This is where I come in. You see, I can smell so well that I can smell cake. I know what is real or fake just by sniffing it. I was made for this infestation, I’m the savior who is going to get us out of it. I even have my own following now, people grouped up with me and avoid what I tell them is cake. Sometimes I lie, I know it's wrong, but I finally have a useful power. “Oh.. sorry, that house is cake, we can’t stay there for the night.” That is, of course, where I will be staying for the night.
It’s normalized now, I avoid what’s cake and consider it just a daily annoyance. I watch as those who don’t listen to me scream in horror as they embrace a cake person only to have them crumble. I watch them fall through cake floors or try to fire cake guns before getting subdued by an enemy with a real gun.
I used to think truth was in decline, no one knew what sources to trust, but now, the world has descended so much further into mistrust. I am their only source of trust. I bring truth where everywhere else brings cake. I could get used to this savior thing, I’ll just sit back in my ‘cake’ mansion, turn on the TV, and… “Breaking news, the bakers have just invented a new odorless cake.”
Fuck.
|
As I held her close, I remembered all of the times that her having "cake" meant that she had a nice ass. The only problem was, as much as I agreed with the other zombies, that she was incredibly fit, I fought as hard as I could, to not actually take a bite, hoping that it would satiate my undying hunger. I fought as many of them off as I could, while clutching her close to me, but eventually, they tore her free from my arms. I finally gave up and started eating everything that caught my eye. At least until I saw my grandchildren and it overcame my desire. After that, I had to find a way to protect them.
| 2022-04-26T18:37:32 | 2022-04-26T16:48:49 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] The clown down the hall laughed manically, brandishing his chainsaw. "You can run, but you can't hide!" "Took the words right out of my mouth," you say as you slowly walk towards him, cracking your knuckles.
|
"Ooh, we have a brave soul! Well, step right up here!” The clown cackles uncontrollably, his cheerfully sinister voice echoing in the calm dead of the night.
The light is too dim, and you can only make out his grotesquely skinny silhouette, his comically oversized chainsaw dragging on the floorboards.
“Come and claim… your prize."
Great. Another day, another cliché.
You stop a distance away and lower your legs in an open stance.
You spit out the black gum you have been chewing on, feeling the alchemical ingredients mixing with your spit.
Banewort, monk’s hood, eyebright; slowly coursing through your veins.
The loathsome figure of the clown grows more defined in the dim hallway, the gaudy details of his bloody jumpsuit filling your sharpening vision.
A puff of humid air wafts in the cold night air as you exhale.
"You don't seem to understand. You're the prey here," you growl as your voice deepens. You crouch slightly, feeling the tension rise in your calves.
Breathe in and hold.
His jagged sickening smile never drops, but the lack of a retort hangs silently in the air.
Perhaps he is more than a little surprised.
The clown’s brows furrow as he cackles loudly, his glowing eyes pale, yellow, and sick. Delighted.
"You’re an interesting one.”
“Oh, we'll have so much fun tog - GUHH" the clown spits.
Your right fist interrupts him as it plunges into his left ribcage. Half a heartbeat passes as your swift left hook connects with the side of his head.
The clown barely has time to respond as his eyes briefly roll back. He crumples to the floor, sending his unthrottled chainsaw tumbling away.
His eyes blink open and he retches loudly. His sickly smile has been wiped off his face, replaced with a wide ugly grimace.
"Wha - how..." the clown gags in disbelief. It is clear he never even registered your movements.
Good. The gum is kicking in.
You calmly step back as the clown staggers to his feet unsteadily.
His hands are trembling as he haphazardly reaches for his weapon. Violently, he yanks the ripcord of the chainsaw a couple of times.
You exhale once again and assess the situation.
Narrow hall. Less room for him to swing. Draw him in close.
The chainsaw rumbles to life, and the clown lets out a guttural howl that drowns it out. His appearance is more ragged now, his eyes burning brighter. His dull shadow seems to grow and stretch behind him.
The clown leaps, swinging his saw overhead and smashing down onto the floorboards where you stood a second ago. His movements are getting faster.
You sidestep his next thrust and you parry his wiry arms into the concrete wall. You give his elbow a strong jab and you hear the shattering of his bones, driving his chainsaw further into the floorboards below.
You smirk to taunt the howling clown and you roll through a doorway, baiting him into the adjoining room.
A faint, triangular neon light bathes the room in a blue lambent glow.
Your drugs take full effect and in your heightened state of perception, the passing of moments slow to almost a trickle.
You admire the priceless artworks hanging on the dimly-lit walls.
This job will pay well indeed.
The clown seemingly takes forever to free his chainsaw. His ragged form lumbers through the doorway, a twisted arm hanging limply.
He is consumed with rage. More unhinged. More dangerous.
His roar telegraphs his attack with his one good arm, going after your head.
Your eyes track the spinning, rusted teeth of the chainsaw swinging in front of you, slash after slash flowing in slow motion.
The serrated edges are caked in dried, old blood. Unlucky souls that never found help.
But you are too agile and nimble for them tonight.
You dodge the frenzied attempts of the clown, drawing him under the pale blue light.
Right where you want him to be.
“Stop. Swinging. And – Stay. Down!”
You clench your fist and the neon light explodes with surprising force. A supernatural shockwave strikes the clown, smashing him to the floor.
The murderous jester lays broken on the floor and spews forcefully, sputtering black putrid ichor onto a nearby pearl white rug.
Fuck. Me. That looks expensive.
Best hope the client writes it off.
"You know, I never understood the whole stalking the victim for weeks routine." you say as you kill the rumbling chainsaw.
You walk over to the convulsing clown.
"Do you get off on scaring your victims?" you say, grabbing the neck of the garish jumpsuit.
"Whatever," you pause. "It just gives us more time to set traps."
A singular emotion permeates the clowns’ eyes. Desperation.
You grab his neck and twist sharply, hearing a sickening crack. His painted face goes blank and tilts unnaturally.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The air outside is still as you load the heavily bound sack into the back of your van.
A blood-soaked hockey mask is knocked over and tumbles onto the asphalt. You grunt as you reach to pick it up and toss it back into the van, right next to a rusty machete.
You need sleep, hopefully sometime soon.
You toss in the bloody chainsaw as well.
A faint chime interrupts your brooding thoughts, and you pull out your cell phone. You pull off your glove as you swipe your screen.
It’s your Witchr app, with a new notification. You tap it and read the message.
" URGENT REQUEST. CASH PAYMENT. Dark figure in mirror. Has Hook for hand.”
You had hoped to call it a night, but you grudgingly tap to reply.
"Send location, I'll be on my way."
|
The clown starts charging at me with the chainsaw and I start running towards him. He goes to swing the chainsaw to cut my sides but I slide underneath him and in between his legs. In the perfect position I punch him right in the crotch. Causing him to drop the chainsaw. As he’s on the ground I get up and start kicking him in the face. I admit I was a bit disappointed his nose didn’t honk when I kicked it. Fortunately I had my daughter escape to the panic room before I confronted him, I didn’t want her to see me like this.
When I finally stop I go to take his stupid clown mask off. None other than my daughters piece of shit abusive ex boyfriend. Can’t even remember this assholes name but I sure as hell remember what he did to her. The only reason I didn’t kill him back then was because she asked me not too. She’s not here right now though.
——an hour later———-
He finally wakes up, held to the chair by barbed wire. The bastard tries to break free which only causes pain to his wrists and ankles. After cleaning my house I took him to the basement. Good thing I sound proofed it years ago.
“Hello boy, you know I seem to remember me warning you about hurting my daughter when we first meet? Do you remember that?”
“Fuck you old man, she likes what I do to her, she deserves it for thinking she can leave me and if you lay a single hand on me my police chief dad will have you locked up for life.”
“Oh I’m way beyond caring about any thinly veiled threat you can come up with.”
“So what are you going to do? Beat me so I’ll leave your cunt of a daughter alone? Please, I’ll have that whore back on her knees by the end of the week.”
He talks a big game but I can see the fear in his eyes and the sweat on his brow.
“Beat you? No, no, no. You beat my daughter, you broke into my home and tried to kill me. Yet you still continue to disrespect her.”
I look down on him as I grab the same chainsaw he tried to attack me with.
“I want you to listen to me very clearly. You are going to die today. I’m just going to make you beg for it first.”
| 2022-08-02T22:24:31 | 2022-08-02T17:25:17 | 62 | 33 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
|
Log Entry:
This entry is to go into the historical Records as Fact. In no way is the below mentioned account false. All events and situations that are mentioned took place, that is final.
I am Director Xue-Baal of the Komorian Science Station Yift. Currently orbiting around the Curtain of Shadow. Current Project : "The Unveil"
The Akarian have been dead for 200 years. Their deaths were at the hands of all other member species of the Galactic Council. Each one having played a decisive role in their demise. I am recording this excerpt as all recordings on the "Falling" till this day have been riddled with false events, having had real events cut up by each members government and having false events sewn in place. Even the official record made by my species, the Tabarok, is in no way more truthful then those weaved into existence by every other species in this galaxy.
Like us, I can only presume the others did it to strengthen their dominance in the Galactic Court. But no more, the last conference almost led to the decimation of the Doilar Species at the hands of the Polok. I write this as testimony to what really happened all those years ago, to let the younglings know truth. So that if I fail today, they will continue my project and bring The Humans back.
The Humans, what a weak species they were. First contact was an accident. 50 years before the fall. They were testing out a new FTL drive and accidentally shot themselves into a territorial conflict between the Gumald and Gronks. Their intrusion is the one and only thing that stopped the annihilation of both species that day. Neither species will ever admit it openly or without drink that it was thanks to the Humans that their friendship exists. No one now would even believe that they used to be at each other throats back then. The Humans were returned home of course, unharmed and without gifts, as per the Galactic rule to never affect the progression of another species technological advances.
10 years after that, they developed FTL drives better than most of us have even now. They travelled their entire sector of the Galaxy with 15 years. De-escalating conflicts, creating ties with all the species they met.
They gave gifts but never accepted any unless cultural doctrine of the species they met demanded it. They respected everyone's culture, never taking a side but helping all understand the view points of others. They performed no military expansion, only moving out of their home system for explorative academic pursuits.
All went well for 24 more years till the Damned 'Akarian Concordat' The Akarians were supposed to sign the damn thing as a peace agreement between them and the Jilobees. Instead they break the pact and bombarded the Jilobee home while their military ships were being decommissioned as per the agreement. They sent out a deceleration of War against the Humans 1 year later.
We all came to their aid. They needed not call us for the rest of the community sent in warships to patrol around the perimeter of their system. All remaining Human exploratory vessels were escorted home under heavy guard to prevent intercept from the Akarians. We remember the Humans offering to pay for the services rendered, to compensate for the inconvenience they believed they were causing. For once even the greedy Felingar refused all compensation. We needed them, even if they didn't need us, we couldn't just let them die.
We took the battle to the Akarians. Each member grouping up with others nearby, pushing back the Akarian Forces on all fronts. The Akarian NAVY stood no chance. We celebrated on the outskirts of the Human home system. We invited a Diplomatic delegation. They came bearing one gift all members enjoyed, the one thing we all looked forward to when meeting the Humans. Bottles of what they called 'Vodka'. A truly pleasant drink.
An hour into the celebrations, warnings began blaring. Before we knew what happened the entire human system was gone. This is the only section of all accounts that corroborates one another, that the Human system was annihilated with a single missile. But that is not true. There was no big light show from a star going Nova. No gravity waves hit us. Nothing like that. The alarms just begin blaring one moment and subsided the next. When we went to check all we saw was darkness. No Sol, nothing. After study we realised that the entire Sol system was encompassed in a distorted region of space.
Curtains falling on a grand stage.
A damn death spasm of a defeated race.
And to think we spared the Akarian home because the Humans told us to. We didn't listen then, we converged on their home planet within days. Each ship having travelled at TOP speed, some even forgoing safety precautions to make the meet. Each ship positioned itself around and within the system. Each of us firing out a single shot at the planet. It took us days. There over a thousand ship there that day. When the planet was done, those that were left to fire fired onto the neighbouring planets, we decimated that system. This is the reason why no species would ever tell what happened. No one wants to carry the guilt of what we did. We did not want to remember the Humans that way. When the distortion couldn't be broken, when the diplomats died from old age away from their home, we then declared them dead, strengthening our stories, this region of space red marked, never to be returned to.
I am here today because I do not believe they are dead. We are on the verge of breaking the curtain, three days ago we received signals from within, artificial, but to distorted to make out anything. May I live to see a human face once more before I fade like my parents.
End record.
|
Humans never were something unlike any species we know. They seem to not have a desire to fight, rather they would talk. The humans were always trying to help, so that the many species in the galaxy gained a liking for them, the humans. However, because they did not fight, their territory was not very large, and many empires considered the human race to be a weak one, not really worthy of the attention of the enormous nations that surrounded the human solar state. I liked them, but our great leader was very expansionistic, preferring hostility over diplomatic discussion. Our empire was by far the largest as well, we stretched from the nearest star to the black hole to the outmost star. The humans, being the way they are, opted an alliance to us. Our leader laughingly rejected their proposal, instead opting to conquer their system as he had done many times before.
Unfortunately, it appeared the humans send an request for an alliance not only to us, but to the rest of the milky way as well, not preferring any species over another. Those who accepted, were given human communications technologies, which were weirdly enough more advanced than most other species. This would explain why we weren’t able to conquer them as easily as we thought. Even those who weren’t allied with the humans, decided to fight against our great leader. The battle was terrible, our great fleet caught by surprise as a million smaller vessels jumped out of hyperspace. Our capital ships were swarmed by smaller, faster ships, our cannons unable to hit them. We scrambled our fighters, but they were shot down as soon as they left the docking port. Most of the enemy fleet were converted freighters, outfitted with a torpedo launcher or a small laser. We inflicted a lot of causalities, but we lost a lot as well. I can’t say I’m glad we lost, but I am not sad either. Maybe this is the time I have waited for, the time for a revolution against our great leader, the oppressor.
| 2017-03-26T10:29:41 | 2017-03-26T10:20:11 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] As a kid, you jokingly say, "If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich!" It's is now your 21st birthday, and you receive a mysterious bank key in the mail. The vault it opens contains $550,000... In nickels.
|
I considered the pile of nickels. Stacks and stacks and stacks, lined neatly in precariously tall rows.
"And it's...?"
The bank manager smiled wanly. "$550,000. Sir, I'm not clear on *why* you have so many nickels, but hording coins of any denomination does create shortages. I must presume that additional nickels have been minted simply to cover for this..."
"But how many is it?" I asked, still hardly comprehending.
"Nickels? It's eleven million. I think you can see how that might represent a significant hardship for the money lending industry, as there are generally less than a hundred million in circulation at any one time."
I shook my head. "I need to leave this here. I don't..." I backed away from the vault.
"We can convert it for you, sir," said the bank manager. "But it will take some time and there will be forms to fill out. You may receive an inquiry from the National Reserve regarding how you came to possess so many nickels."
"Okay," I said, half-awake, half in a dream. "I'll come back."
*Nickels. Nickels. Nickels.*
Why did I have a vault full of nickels? Millions of nickels?
On my 21st birthday I had received an envelope in the mail. It contained a vault key and the name of a nearby bank. I assumed it was a joke. But the money was real. The *nickels* were real.
I stood at the bus stop, unsure where to go or what to do. How could I trace the envelope? If I alerted the government would they help me find whoever sent the key? And would I be able to keep any of the money?
"You earned it, you know."
I continued to stand, staring blankly at the road. I didn't assume they were speaking to me.
"John? It's *your* money. You earned it, fair and square."
The mention of my name made me turn. An older man in a white cotton suit sat on the bench behind me.
"Excuse me?" I said. "Are you talking to me?"
Only as I said it did I finally notice that we were the only two people at the bus top. The man was gracious enough to ignore the question.
"The money, John. Don't give it away. It's yours. Earned coin-by-coin."
I took a step closer. The man's face was obscured by a line of shadow cast off the brim of his panama hat. "Do I know you?"
"You may not remember me John, it's been a very long time. We met when you were younger. We made a deal. You set the terms for your employment. Do you remember?"
"I..." The man *did* seem familiar, but only in the vaguest of ways. "No. We met when I was a kid and you...what? Hired me?"
"In a manner of speaking," said the man, white teeth flashing in a brief smile. "You asked for a nickel a head. That was how you planned to make your fortune, and now look. Your fortune is made."
"*A nickel a head*?" I began to feel deeply uneasy, not because the man was a stranger, but because he felt increasingly familiar with every moment. "What does that mean?"
"I think maybe you were boasting John, but you said - said loudly - that if you had a nickel for everyone you killed, you'd be rich. And that is a very good rate, John. On this and any other world. So I hired you. We shook hands and I promised to make payment on your 21st birthday."
Like a dying thunderstorm, the veils in my mind began to pull back, the static subsiding. I remembered, still vaguely, a birthday party and laughter and saying funny things and an old man in a fine white suit laughing with me and shaking my hand. Some other boy's grandfather I had assumed. Someone who belonged there, stopping to make a boy feel heard. But the man on the bench was no older than the man at the party. Same suit. Same panama hat.
"I've never killed anyone," I said. "Not a one."
"Eleven million, exact," said the old man. "I've kept a ledger. I like things by the book."
"I haven't though," I said, feeling strangely desperate. Why? Why should I feel uneasy? If I had killed even *one* person wouldn't I be in jail?
"Oh," said the man, as if suddenly understanding my confusion. "Not here. Not on *Earth*. Not during the *day*."
"What does that mean? Where else...?"
"You're a well-traveled man," said the old man. "Or a well-traveled boy, I suppose. Either way, you have gone far and done much, even if you don't quite recall it. Though, I think if you tried, you might recall a part of it."
"I don't have any idea what you're..."
"Think to the last one, then," said the old man. "You ought remember that at least. It wasn't that long ago. You went to a world of thin men and women, almost as if the people of your world had been pulled a bit too tightly, with long, spidery fingers and red skin. Thin, red warriors. Think of that. Picture that. And remember yourself among them, with a glowing sword and blood in your mouth, cutting and cutting and *cutting*. Wild, screaming. A berserker. Hacking flesh until there was none left to oppose you. Does that ring with you?"
It did.
"That was a dream. That was a dream." I remembered waking in wet, knotted sheets. Gloria said I had thrashed so much she'd had to sleep on the couch.
"That was your *work*," said the old man. "You do it well. That's why I'm here, actually. I told you I would pay you at your 21st birthday. That's when the terms of our original deal expired. A nickel a head. I think you're worth far more than that, dear John. I would like to re-open negotiations. How would you feel about continuing your service?"
This couldn't be real. That's what I told myself. Another dream. A delusion. The nickels. The man. None of it *could* be real.
But if that were true...then where would the harm be?
"I'm listening..."
|
I stood alone in the vault, staring down at the safety deposit box. Inside was a single coin in a plexiglass display case. V CENTS, it said, the V massive and centered and surrounded by a wreath of laurels. I heard the vault door swing open behind me, and then once again swing shut.
"It's a 1913 Liberty Head," said the voice behind me, "only five in the world known to exist. One of 'em sold for five million at auction. 'Course, a thing's only worth as much as you can get someone to pay for it. Otherwise you'd be looking at five cents right there. And seeing as how that one's stolen, you'd be lucky to get a tenth of the price."
I closed my eyes. "Hiya, Laurel," I said. "Figures it was from you."
"You used to joke about it," she said. Her voice was deeper, rougher, but still so familiar. "If you had a nickel for every person you killed..."
"Yeah," I said. "I was a kid. Had to deal with it somehow. 'I'd be rich.' As if that would matter." I cleared my throat. "What the fuck is this, Laurel? Blood money?"
"Well, you're rich now, ain't you?"
I stared down at the single shining coin, wanting to turn around and face her, and wishing she'd disappear again before I could look. "You stole a five million dollar coin just to fuck with me?"
"Naw," she drawled, "don't flatter yourself. I'd have stolen it anyway. It's just that once I had it, I got to thinking, and I thought of you, naturally. You and your stupid goddamn catchphrase." I remembered the gun, massive and cold in my child's hands, I remembered the kickback like a mule in my chest, I remembered my fingers wrenching, I remembered the boom that made me deaf and the sudden stink of gunpowder burning up my nostrils. I remembered Laurel, curled up in the corner, crying.
"One man," Laurel was saying, "and one nickel for it. But oh, what a goddamn man he was, and what a goddamn nickel."
"I don't know any goddamn fences, Laurel," I sighed. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this damn thing except let it incriminate me?"
"I dunno," she said. "You'll figure it out. Just like a girl figured out what to do with her dead daddy."
I listened to her knock on the vault door, heard it swing open again, swing shut. And there I was, alone again, staring down at a lousy five cents.
| 2016-09-03T08:24:36 | 2016-09-03T08:20:18 | 3,498 | 223 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples.
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Cpl. Smythe (That's Sm-EYE-the, not Smith, damnit!) took two long steps forward from the event horizon and took a knee. Rifle at a low ready position, he scanned the immediate area for cover, concealment, threats... anything and everything a U.E. Marine might need to know about a new world. His helmet HUD blinked a small note in the corner.
"Breathable atmosphere."
Smythe always thought that was a funny message. Any atmosphere was breathable... you just might not survive the experience for long. You could breathe pure methane, right up until you died. Now, a "survivable" atmosphere was something to take note of. Alas, the software coders had not consulted one Corporal Alan Smythe of the United Earth Marine Corp when they programmed the Conquistador Armor Mk 3c. (A name he also had some thoughts on... and was not consulted on.)
Damn... what was taking them so long? Smythe spared a quick glance behind him. The portal shimmered light blue but was otherwise absent of activity.
Private Dean was probably crapping his pants and holding the platoon up, Smythe figured. He gazed deep into the night around him, waiting. Strange willowy trees waved gently as a breeze passed by. Two moons gave ample light to see by, though one of them was rather small. The sounds of local wildlife slowly filled the silence the portal's flash of energy had created.
"For fucks sake," Smythe half turned to face the portal. "Get over over here!" Not that anyone would hear him. The portal was a one way street. Nothing, no radio waves, light, hard matter or even telepathy (so he was told) would pass "upstream." That said... He should be getting SOMETHING over the radio. They should have at least let him know they were delayed. All he got was static.
It took 15 minutes for him start exploring the clearing around him. It turned out that the portal had dumped him atop clearing, with scattered trees and shrubs, bordered by a sheer seaside cliff to the northeast, forest from the south from the cliff face about 105 yards from the portal and arcing down and around to the west. From there the trees vanished into the horizon. The western arc was dominated by rocky outcropping that gave way to more trees until northern compass point, where the cliff face fell into the sea.
It took another two hours before he gave up standing watch and started to clear a Bivouac.
It was a day before he ventured into the forest.
Three days before he shot and killed his first Deerasaurus, the local large prey animal that he whimsically named.
A week and two days before started to build a rough cabin with a camping hatchet and his entrenching tool.
A month before he took stones from the cliff and rock pile to build a fire place for the oncoming winter.
Five months before he seriously contemplated killing himself for the first time.
Six months before the spring thaw.
Seven months before he started to experiment with local vegetables in a garden.
A year and two months before his ammunition ran out. (Careful use of ammo while hunting, using snares instead of bullets, etc.)
Four years until he started to carve out a stairway down the cliff face to the water below.
Five years before he slipped on the steps on his way home and broke his leg.
Smythe was able to drag himself into his cabin and record one last journal entry before he died.
Private Dean took three quick steps forward, covering his sector, and took a knee. The dark of night enveloped him. Which had no effect on him. At all. None.
He took a deep steadying breath and hoped that Smythe didn't see his fear. He shot a quick glance to Smythe... and found he wasn't there. For that matter, Dyson wasn't behind him, either.
Oh. Shit.
Dean collected himself after the sun came up. He saw the old and dilapidated cabin and decided he may as well investigate while the rest of the squad had a good laugh at his expense. The door opened and Dean froze. There were too many conflicting sights.
A suit of Conquistador Armor (awesome name, he thought) was standing in the corner, albeit in poor condition. a rough table a chair had been hewn from the local wood and a skeleton had collapsed from it to the ground. On the table were the implements from a field kit... and a Marine Issue TaComp.
After watching Smythe's last log, Dean cried for about an hour and then pulled his side arm and killed himself.
First Lieutenant Maddox shielded his eyes from the bright sun as he came out of the portal. Once he could see again he noticed right off that his two men were out of place. Dean was no surprise, really, but Smythe knew better.
After he waited for ten minutes for the net man to show, he investigated the nearly fallen-in shack. The wood had rotted and then turned hard as a rock over the years, but the four corners and roof and somehow stood the test of time. The door had not.
Maddox found the remains of Dean with the shattered skull and the drawn sidearm telling him all he needed to know about that. The skeleton with the missing leg was interesting until he found the broken Tibia and the companion Fibia under a fallen suit or rusted out armor. Maddox collected the TaComp from the table. Dean had at least put it inside an air tight food pouch, which helped preserve it. He hooked it up to his suits Solar collector and waited for it to charge. The manufacturer had sworn that the onboard coincell battery would last longer than the sun. Maddox never thought he might get a chance to test that.
An hour of exploring later and he was able to watch Smythe's last will and testament.
"I'm sorry boss. I tried." Smythe's bearded face was worn and stretched with pain. "But I took tumble down the stairs and broke my leg. I don't think I can make this by myself. Hell, I bleed out a lot before I made it back home."
Smythe's image sighed.
"Home. I guess this really is home, now. Strange. Never thought about it like that before. Wish I had."
He hung his head for a moment, then winced.
"I'm gonna take the last of the Morphine. I can feel myself going. It's just... I can't bounce back from this one, boss." Smythe looked back into the camera. "But before I send myself into the great beyond, you need to know some things."
Smythe talked about the Deerasaurus, some recipes for them, what he found was good to grow and when, where the root cellar entrance was, the best way to cut down a tree. How to find good water. The native materials for snares and where the stairway project lay, still unfinished.
He talked about ways to stay sane. Things to not do in the winter months. That spurred on thoughts of how to survive the winter months.
Finally, after a half an hour, Smythe was done. He said his goodbyes and stopped recording.
Maddox sat back on his chosen rock and stared at the Portal.
And began to plan.
|
I feel the energy dissipate around me.
We left Holy Terra as twelve but here I arrive as one.
Radio silence.
Strange. But stranger still, we identified this planet as barren, yet I stand upon a forest floor.
Dozens of green dots dart across my scanner's display. Movement?
None move towards my position,
they weave and zig-zag before moving out of range, only to be replaced by more.
Advanced Scan.
A lock is acquired on one of them.
Identified - Organic.
How can this be. I stare for a moment at the light beaming down from above the canopy and ask myself, "Where are my brothers".
The trees seem to be more dispersed to the East, perhaps they sought to leave this forest. As I move, my scanner shows the life-forms keep well away from me,
they fear the sound of the splintering branches, the hiss from the pneumatics of my power armor, their green world invaded by an adamantium clad servant of the Emperium.
The Emperor protects.
I walk nigh 30 minutes before noticing the further I travel the more the trees seem as though they are wilting, the life leaving them. There are no more life-forms within range now, the forest floor has become akin to a scab,
crusted and black, in the places the scab is broken, a thick yellow liquid oozes from the soil.
Unidentified - Origin unknown.
I suspect the taint of The Warp.
Chaos.
Cursed heretics, I can only imagine the fate of my brothers at the hands of-
INCOMMING COMMUNICATION.
A familiar voice utters my name. "Brother Marcus, at last you reach us"
I pass the final sickened tree. Now I see this green world for what it really is, this land is featureless, the earth is scorched and bubbling for as far as I can see, What madness befell this planet?
"Do not falter brother" - The voice returns, but not through my communicator. I glance to my right and there they stand. Two space marines, over the corpse of a large alien beast. One is without his helmet, his power armour has seen battle, eyes fixed on me - Brother Gaius.
The other dons his full power armour, he places his foot on the dead creature's neck as he rips his power sword from its abdomen, spilling its insides. I recognize the purity seals emblazoned on his armour - Brother Quintus.
However, I am still confused. "Where are our brothers" I ask. "They will come" replied Gaius, staring into the forest, "in time" he adds. Brother Quintus silences my thoughts - "We stand until our brothers arrive", pointing to the sky.
Far above the planet, I see the dark shapes take form, they seem to splinter in the sky, the splinters burn red as they breach the planet's atmosphere. Hive ships.
"Damned Xenos" I growl.
The splinters impact in the distance, one at a time, even from here we see the horde of filth rip forth from their confines, their hollow eyes and razor talons. Hundreds. The screeching begins as the swarm begins to gravitate towards us, the sound is only too familiar.
I check the magazine on my Bolt Pistol then tear my Chainsword from its sheath.
Brother Gaius coolly charges his Multi-Melta whilst Brother Quintus raises his Power Sword and steadies himself.
"We stand until our brothers arrive".
| 2014-09-02T11:27:55 | 2014-09-02T11:20:25 | 84 | 24 |
[WP] You've become friends with a murder of crows. They occasionally mimic you, saying simple greetings or short phrases. Today, they seem uninterested in your offerings, and almost appear on edge. Waiting for something. You try to ask them what's wrong. "Hide," one caws swiftly.
|
Weirder things had happened.
The last of the harvest was being remanded to the custody of the grain stores when a black bird hopped up on the fence beside him. Crows were hardly an uncommon sight in the village, so Shiaan paid it no mind. That was, until it began to 'speak' to him.
"Feed!" it cawed, its head twisting to better eye the stacks of wheat in his cart, waiting to be threshed.
Shiaan turned to look at the bird, and the bird turned looked at him with its beady black eyes. The pair stared at eachother for a moment in silence, before the bird repeated its... request?
Shiaan, having heard that crows could be quite intelligent, decided why not? At least this one had the courtesy to ask. This was of course, until the next day, when two small black birds stared at him and cried for feed.
Shiaan raised an eyebrow, and parked his hands on his hips.
"How many more are you?" he said as he tossed a handful of grain to the two of them.As Shiaan discovered over the next two weeks, about twenty one. Everyday, one bird or a pair would join the growing group on the fence, cawing for food. While Shiaan hardly had an excess, he decided that it was a small enough tax for his enjoyment, and besides it would be quite rude to deny another living thing food in the shortening days.
The crows seemed hardly ungrateful for his help. They found little lost coins and other such shiny things. Funnily enough, some days they probably made up the cost of the lost feed, though Shiaan doubted they understand the human ways of money. One time one even flapped up to him, carrying a rusted piece of a pump that'd fallen away.
As winter came until full effect, Shiaan still carried a little sac of feed to the fence where the birds perched. He made a past time of trying to teach them speech as he scattered the grain. Unfortunately, he couldn't get much more of a 'thank you' and a 'hello' from them.
Perhaps that's why, when the first villager disappeared, Shiaan merely shrugged.
Weirder things had happened in the depths of winter.
Perhaps the poor child had played too close to a river bank and fell in through the ice. A mother wept, the villages shook their heads and offered sympathy. And old farmer Shiaan went back to tending his little flock.
It was a particularly biting morning, one where even he needed to take refuge in the local inn. Over a mug of the year's cider, which still did not live up to five year's ago vintage, Shiaan heard of the second disappearance.
"Nowhere to be found," said Dowl, the wainright, "all he was walking toward the cobbler's. Barely a half mile. Fully bundled up."
"Runaan was probably drunk and fell in some snow drift and hit his head," replied the smith, whose name Shiaan could not remember for the life of him, "we'll find him when the snow melts."
Shiaan returned to the farmhouse that day with a kernel of dread weighing his stomach down, although he couldn't say why. That was somewhat assuaged when one of the crows, the 'young'n' of the flock as Shiaan deemed it, squawked his name for the first time.
Over the following weeks, however, that dread began to take root and grow across the village. A trio of sheep vanished on the edge of Engot's farm - only drops of blood found on the snow.
"Damn wolves," ranted the fellow old timer, commiserating over a mug of cider.
Weirder things had happened.
So he went back to his homestead and the crows, wincing as the lordsman came through with his waggon train and taxes for the year. His achievement of the winter was to get the whole flock to say 'thank you' after a meal, although he could only do it the once.
Then the third villager disappeared.
"Wife said he came in a ranting and raving," said Tulu, the cobbler's appetence, to the little circle that Shiaan gathered around himself in the pub these days, "said he heard Runaan in the forest. Calling for help, saying that he was hurt."
"Runaan? He's been gone for weeks," said the smith.
"Seems to me like he went a bit mad. Happens in winter," said Dowl, to a sad muttered assent of the older men.
Shiaan wandered back home that day, feed his birds, and went to bed. One even managed a 'good night', which left him with a warm feeling inside. He'd never been one for family - he wasn't even married which'd gotten him more than a few strange looks. But the crows were a welcome company to some old simple farmer.
That lovely feeling was wiped away by the disappearance of the fourth villager. It was unlike the other three, only that there was something left behind. Shiaan only heard about after the fact - the young girl's mother was found sobbing over lock of hair still attached to bloody scalp.
Still, weirder things had happened.
Then it came to light that Dowl hadn't been seen for an awfully long time now. The villagers organized a search, and they found him.
Or at least, what was left of him. His body was scattered across the trees just off the main road, seemingly half-eaten. His face was frozen in a mask of horror - half surprise and half fear. The village began to change, lock being drawn on doors and only thing seen of the villagers was flitting eyes behind drawn curtains.
And so, Shiaan returned to his farm one day, after failing to convince one of his few friend to come out and enjoy the fleeting sun. The crows stood at attention on the fence cawing the occasional 'hello'.
Scattering the grain, Shiaan was left, talking to the birds as he always did. As the sun began to vanish behind the horizon, Shiaan stretched up and prepared to walk back to the farm house. He stopped when he noticed all the bird were staring right at him.
"What's wrong?" he said, "I'm sorry, that's all the grain I can spare."
The forty two black beads watched him in silence, as he began to feel the clutches of fear wrap around his heart.
"With darkness it comes," said one crow, or was it all of them?
"What?" said Shiaan, looking over towards the vanishing sun.
"The king is here," said the murder.
Shiaan took two step back.
"The time of harvest," said the birds.
"W-what?"
"Trust not the voices you hear."
"No matter what words they speak."
"Hide."
With that, they exploded up into the sky, leaving Shiaan to run towards the barn. He climbed up into the high loft and buried himself between boxes and hay bails. There he waited, breath baited, an icy panic crushing his breath against his ribs.
Hours passed, and yet the fear did not let up. The full darkness of night settled in, and the cold. Shiaan could heard the snorting and snuffling of the animals far below.And then a red light filled the barn.
The screams and cries and the sound of tearing flesh were more than enough to make the old man scream in terror, and yet, he clamped his hand over his mouth, waiting until whatever butchery happening below was done.
In the dripping silence, came a voice, a squawk of crows, but somehow, ragged, metallic, a horrible parody of what the birds sounded like.
"*SssssssHiaaaaaaan*," said the voice, "*goOoodd evEnIng*."
Shiaan, remembering the words of his birds, said nothing, did nothing, knowing for a certainty that his heart would stop.
"*ThaAAnKk yOu*," came the voice.
There was a sound, something heavy and metal behind dragged across the floor, stabbing footsteps wandering away into the dark. Shiaan managed to get up after what felt like a lifetime, and looked down at what remained of his livestock. He exited into the night, and heard the first distant scream of a woman, from the direction of the village. At that, old man did not stop for anything, not even a proper cloak.
Shiaan crossed over to the main road, and ran for his life.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*I write all sorts of things over at* /r/The_Alloqium*.*
*Also, yes. This story* ***is*** *in reference to Fiddlesticks.*
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The word felt like a cold metal blade sliding down his spine, slick and fatal. A dark sense of dread clawed deeply at his stomach while he looked at the silky, black eyes that the crow had. *Did that crow really just tell me that?* Anthony was standing on the porch of his house, trying to enjoy the cold night with his avian friends and smoke a cigarette before retiring late like he always did.
"W-What did you just say?" The reply was automatic, not fully realizing that he was asking a bird to explain itself. There was, of course, no reply. They all just stared at him coldly, and Anthony couldn't help but shake the feeling that they all looked different. He felt like they were trying to tell him something with his eyes, all of them, staring right at him. It put him on edge.
He smoked his cigarette, thinking about what the crow just said and trying to not panic. "Hmm," He said to himself. "I wonder who taught you guys that word."
Suddenly the murder of crows erupted into a mess of caws and panicked flapping. Anthony flung back to the wall in surprise and watched as the usually well-mannered crows threw themselves into a mess of black feathers and began frantically flying away. As their caws became echoes and their black outlines became memoires in the midnight sky, Anthony suddenly realized what he thought made their eyes look different than before, they were scared.
His heart began to race, all of this wasn't a coincidence was it? Why would they tell him to hide? Why were they scared? Did they know anyt-- *Click...* That was his front door... He lives alone... My god...
Like a stone his heart sank and his face went pale white, Anthony came to the horrible realization that the crow was indeed warning him and that something was indeed coming. He didn't know what to do, he was on his balcony and he was sure that his front door was just opened. Was there someone in his house?
*Thud... Thud... Thud...* My god, that's footsteps, it sounded like the bottom floor. Anthony quickly and quietly slid open the glass door and snuck into his house. The air felt like horrible steel and Anthony was positive that he wasn't imaging things.
He didn't have a gun or anything like that, so all he could do was heed the crow's advice and hide. But where? *Thud... Thud... Thud...* My god he couldn't believe this. Was this person here for him? Quick, Anthony saw his bed and realized that he could surround himself with random boxes he had been keeping there and hide himself completely. There's no way this person would go digging around his stuff just to find him. Swiftly and quietly he dived under the bed and arranged it so that he was covered on almost all ends. The only opening was at the end of the bed opposite the door, looking directly out towards the balcony from where he has just came. *Thud... Thud... Thud...*
Anthony tried to control his breathing, don't panic. He slowly sighed and looked out into the darkness of his balcony, thinking deeply about what was happening. In the middle of his thoughts, he started to see something out on his balcony... Was he imagine things, what was that... My god, he was sure of it, on his balcony were he just was he saw a man standing there, looking right at him. The man's face was shrouded by the darkness of night, and his shoulders were hunched beside him like some sort of tense mountain of flesh. He wasn't moving, he was just staring at Anthony.
It was horrible, Anthony felt like a caged animal. How did he get out there, the only way was from the very door he had just left from. Okay, Anthony thought, maybe if he charges in here I'll have time to flee from the door behind me. Yes.. yes that's it, I don't care how he got there, he sure won't have time to block my way out from the other door. This was it, whatever this man wanted didn't matter, Anthony would be able to escape and get away to tell the police.
It was then that Anthony came to a horrible realization. Anthony looked out of the glass doors at the large, dark figure staring at him, and realized that he wasn't looking someone standing on his balcony, but instead was looking at the reflection of someone who was standing right behind his bed. *Bam!* The man grabbed Anthony's ankle from behind him and began to drag him out of it screaming.
Outside of the house, in the dark peace of a cool midnight, the murder of crows all circled the house from high above. All cawing in ominous unison, "**Hide! Hide! Hide!**"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed check out my subreddit! r/mrsharks202
| 2021-12-29T08:21:25 | 2021-12-29T06:45:07 | 373 | 44 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life.
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Five thousand left today on all the Earth. I cut the soul of the five thousand and first not one hour ago.
The outcome seems inevitable. One by one, they'll fall. One by one, until no one is left.
What will happen to me then?
I'll take time to consider this.
*****
Four thousand are left. The four thousand and first committed suicide. It was tragic. He'd lost his entire family. But no one stops fate.
Not even me.
After I fulfil my duties, the only thing that remains for me to do is to reap myself.
*****
Two thousand nine hundred and ninety nine are left. A malnourished couple both died when they tried to cross a river.
It kind of bothers me how the number is off by one.
It's like it's telling me: there's one you're not counting. This is a round number.
I don't want to hear it.
*****
Two thousand are left.
I've lived for such a long time that there are no words to describe it...
Lived isn't really the right word. Existed, perhaps.
And yet, of all entities, me, the one who has had the most time to make sense of it all...
I want things to continue.
*****
One thousand left.
This job is monotonous... But every day, I get a glimpse at what makes people truly human.
I've never realised how much it touches me deep down.
If I stay around... How will I cope with the emptiness?
*****
Nine hundred left today.
I'm running out of time.
I don't want this Earth to die.
I want to see cities brimming with life.
I want to see marvels of architecture, fresh after construction.
I want to see the rise of civilisations.
... I don't understand what's happened to me.
*****
Eight hundred left.
I took pity on a young girl a few days ago. She should have died, but...
I delayed reaping her for just long enough...
Just long enough for someone to find her.
This is a first. I've never taken pity before like this.
I'm forsaking my duties, but deep down I'm wondering if that's so bad.
*****
Seven hundred people left.
I don't want to let go.
I don't want things to end.
Understanding what this feels like firsthand is quite something.
How could I even feel what death is like myself? The despair? The sorrow?
Only in this situation could I feel things like that.
It was so impersonal at first. But now, every time I reap someone, it's like I'm dying myself.
*****
Six hundred people left.
I can't go on like this.
*****
Five hundred people left.
*****
Five... hundred.
I've stopped. I've just stopped.
I can't do it anymore.
*****
Four hundred and eighty three.
It's not enough.
The world, it's dying, and I-
Even if I don't reap people, I can't stop them from dying if they just give up.
If I don't reap them, their soul suffers and becomes damaged.
What do I do?
*****
Four hundred and eighty four.
A child was born today. It's a rare sight. The child carries my hope for the future with it.
Her name is Dawn.
*****
Four hundred and fifty nine.
I'm trying my best here...
Come on. Show some will to live.
Don't you know that dying could be the end of everything right now?
Are you so despondent you don't even care?
*****
Four hundred and twenty three.
I've... begun communicating with people.
I didn't know I could, but...
People can sense me.
I push them away from danger, and towards supplies and shelter.
They don't always listen, but it's a start.
*****
Dawn is healthy. She is a very sweet child. If I fail, she might be the last human alive.
I don't plan on letting her inherit a dying planet.
*****
Four hundred and twenty.
Someone... Someone talked to me today.
They couldn't see me, but they talked straight at me.
Not physically, but mentally. Their heart was open and it showered me in hope and gratitude.
They didn't think of me as "Death" today, but as "Fate".
*****
I wonder what it means to be Fate, rather than Death.
It's not a role I've played before.
Death is definitely a type of fate. It's my speciality, I suppose.
But in the grand scheme of things, isn't fate more than that?
*****
Dawn's mother is sick. I'm so worried about her.
I hope she survives. It's pharyngitis. It could get bad.
******
I basked in the sun today.
It's not a thing I normally do.
It's funny how the things that are most important to you only reveal themselves at times like these.
Just letting the rays of the sun envelop me... It feels so pleasant. I wish I could do it forever, now that I might not have forever to do it any longer.
*****
Dawn's mother, she...
She's going to survive. I refuse to reap her.
I won't let her die of pharyngitis. Not at her age.
Twenty years ago she'd have survived with ease. I won't let it be different now.
*****
Four hundred people left exactly.
It's slowed down a lot.
A band of travellers have met up with Dawn and her parents. I guided them to her. They have medicine.
I'm doing similar things elsewhere.
******
I'm caressing the soul of Dawn's mother. It's hanging on to her body by a thread.
I'm whispering to her.
I'm telling her not to let this be the end.
She can't abandon Dawn.
She can't abandon the last ray of hope on this world.
******
Dawn's mother woke up again today.
She's dazed, but she spoke.
She told everyone that a guardian angel stood over her, and that it told her not to give up.
She said I comforted her, and that she could feel that I was brimming with sadness and hope.
She called me Life.
*****
Another child has been born. His name is Ercan. Ercan and Dawn live half a continent apart, and they won't even grow up speaking the same language.
But even so, I hope that one day they'll meet.
*****
The number is going up.
I'm pushing it up. I'm exerting every bit of strength that I have.
But it's working.
I was a fool.
I've always been Death because the world needed Death.
Why did I keep being Death for such a long time after the world no longer needed me?
The world needs Life right now, and I'm it.
******
It's Dawn's first birthday today.
I don't stand in the sunlight so much any more.
Basking in the radiating life force of this human being that's the beginning of it all is so much more fulfilling.
I'm not the only one feeling it. Everyone here is.
Just like her namesake, she's crawling over the horizon, a shining beacon of a new future.
|
It was not often that I looked upon the mortal realm. Living souls on my world were growing ever-abundant, and for each new life, the promise of new death came as well. It was a steady stream of power that I took for granted, certainly enough to keep me satisfied. My power grew each century as the human population staggered upward.
And then one day, I felt it. A pulse of power. The colossal loss of life in a near instant. Perhaps a few million souls. Life sat across the chessboard from me, a worried look in his eye.
"Likely just a large meteor again, I'm sure it will be fine." I reached forward to move my bishop, when a felt another pulse.
Life's face was twisted in agony. A series of pulses came, and my power grew beyond Life's as he weakened and I booned. He groaned and collapsed to the floor, and despite my sudden advantage over him, I peered toward our planet in fear.
Once life and I had been enemies, but even as I hated him, he was necessary for my own existence. For there cannot be Death without Life.
Nothing appeared to be striking the planet, yet massive explosions seemed to plague the surface. Not giant meteors, no external energy sources. I closed my eyes and felt the heat of the planet's core. No signs of release or pressure. Volcanic activity was under check. How was such destruction occurring? I used my power to slow time and establish a presence all upon the surface.
The humans were at war? Yet there seemed to be no battlefield.
Another pulse. Fire, energy, death. I surrounded the source with my presence. The explosion appeared to come from the sky. I turned my attention to the air...
Metal monstrosities soared in the skies, each one with the power to snuff out more lives than the greatest war. What had the humans done...
With a clench of my fist, I erased the terrible weapons. It drained much of my newfound power, but I could feel the slow, painful deaths of those around the world. 85% of humans had already perished. I need not worry about lacking in power this day.
I followed the gaseous trails they left behind to facilities of iron and steel. The humans there had caused this destruction. They had the audacity to complain at the malfunction of their weapons. Why had they done such a thing? What good could come of such massive death? Even the plants and animals would struggle to survive this.
They burned from the inside-out at the wave of my hand. As their souls left their bodies, I snatched them. Few had the honor of coming to my realm.
I looked upon the surface of my world. Once, this sight would have brought upon a smile on my lips. Now, I thought of what would become of Life.
I found him frail, bloodied and dying. He was unconscious, and in such a state he could not use his power.
I felt myself begin to panic. I had great power now, but it could only destroy. What could I do? Where would I begin?
***My first prompt! Usually I write drafts of plot and go back to fill it in a bit more. Let me know if you like the ideas, at least.
| 2018-05-04T13:40:03 | 2018-05-04T12:46:53 | 2,022 | 140 |
[WP] The invasion of Earth has finally begun but it is not the humans who are putting up the fiercest resistance.
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No one really believed what was written in *Exodus* about the plagues that struck Egypt anymore, most people didn't even know about that period in religious history. Thost that did know attributed the stories to tales of local phenomenon that grew in the telling.
That was before They came. They, as a proper term was never coined before the great blackout, first showed up as errors in the expected behavior of stellar bodies by astrophysicists. The phenomenon was mostly glossed-over by the news, until one day a kid attempting to take a backyard photo of Saturn with a 20" telescope saw something superimposed over her view of the planet. They were in-system and approaching us.
Cassini, still reliably providing us with observational data of Saturn was fairly quickly taken over by the Pentagon over JPL's objections, and the probe successfully reoriented to take pictures and readings outward. Pictures weren't especially useful, but eventually someone got the bright idea to look at other bits of spectrum. A press conference was announced.
The civilian head of the Cassini-Huygens Project, having retained his post for the new mission as his knowlege of the probe was required, got up to the podium that brilliant Summer afternoon in Pasadena in the Rose Bowl Stadium and started to speak. He outlined what the probe had and hadn't found, its estimated trajectory toward Earth, and how long it was expected before the probe arrived. He discussed the mass and the hypothesized composition of the probe and then got down to the raw data itself.
It took awhile for anyone to notice, but as the playback of the data from the electromagnetic spectrum continued some strange things started happening. The drinking fountains started getting a bit dirty, rusty. Small swarms of flying insects started grouping and darting about, and ground insects dug themselves out and started moving. It wasn't merely Pasadena that was affected, every major city that was awake for the day was similarly affected, and even pockets in towns and rural areas felt diminished versions of the effects. The chaos that ensued caused a very quick end to the press conference. Worry and panic set-in and would continue to ebb and flow for the next year as the alien vessel got closer and closer.
The blackout was almost a non-event in some ways, it struck about 0230GMT, affecting daylight where a lot of people were already used to blackouts and causing equiment failures overnight where those used to reliable power were sound asleep. People woke to find no news, no power in their homes, cars not working. Plenty of people died ind the opening salvo, mostly those unlucky enough to be traveling or in-hospital, but it still wasn't entirely clear that it was a hostile act. Governments fairly quickly got vehicles going for emergency supplies but it became clear that the sheer destructive force of the EMP was going to take years to fix and we weren't going to enjoy our television shows or air conditioning for a long time.
We received no advance-warning on the landings either. A supersonic crack followed by an impact was it. That wasn't what bothered us though.
Everywhere They landed turned to chaos. Insects swarmed, water became nonpotable, lice dug into flesh, Theirs and ours alike, as quickly as they could open their landingcraft They were savagely attacked. Gnats, flies, bees, wasps, mosquitos, moths, everything immediately beelined for any open hatch, and ground insects made their way up landing-struts and into machinery. The attacks were so swift that we never even got a good look at what They looked like, and one by one the landing ships started exploding. Miniature supernovas on the landscape each one, and the people and animals unfortunate enough to be close developed boils and blisters and skinburn the kind of which medical science had never seen. Even the victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki fared better than this, or died quickly enough to alleviate the pain.
In the end the main ship, probably 175 miles across, broke orbit and pulled out. We never really did get a good look at our attackers, but no one doubts that the old stories from Exodus are not merely tall tales anymore.
|
God bless them, our winged saviors. Without whom we would be lost to the Hergians. Who ever suspected that sonic bombardment would be their weakness? Their supersonic pulses tear the minds of these wretched creatures asunder. Glory be to the echolocators of our world, the saviors of our existence and the pacifiers of providence!!
| 2016-05-17T11:15:16 | 2016-05-17T10:45:09 | 139 | 26 |
[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.
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I stop noticing the causes after a while. They were boring. Lots of heart disease and various types of cancer. I was in college; those things were years and years down the road. Every once and a while, I'd see things like "suicide" or "automobile crash." Though sad and preventable, I had no real way of knowing when it would happen or why. So there was nothing I could do about it.
But some deaths were preventable, or changed based on new events in the world. On my way to class, I saw a young lady walking nearby with a cause that could be easily stopped: "Drug Overdose." I'm normally not one to reach out to strangers, but I figured I had to get involved. This was definitely a college-age cause of death. I ran across the quad and asked her out. She was shocked, but smiled shyly and accepted. Her name was Sarah, and her sign changed after about a month of us dating. Now, it says "dementia;" I still check every morning when I wake up. It's sad, but I take comfort in knowing we'll live a long life together.
After a few years, I learned to just tune the signs out. I had so much on my mind now. Work, baby on the way, mortgage, student loans... far too much for me to be worrying about how other people might die. Sure, I got involved when I could, but that wasn't very often. And who am I to thwart fate?
My boss entered my office with a new client folder and dumped it on my desk, on top of the 10 other folders requiring my attention. "Howard is out sick today," he informed me, "so you need to take this one." I rolled my eyes and looked up, ready to argue. But instead of the usual "heart attack" floating over his head, he had a new one. Bright green, like how I picture radioactive sludge. And it said "Plague."
I was too distracted to argue. I'd never seen a "plague" sign before. I stood up from my cubicle and glanced around the office at my coworkers. 7 of them had changed to "plague" as well. When had this happened?? As I watched, a secretary's red "suicide" sign changed to "plague" as well.
I hopped online looking for any news about some new disease or anything. Nothing. I searched for outbreaks and 'mystery' illnesses and any other search term I could think of. Nothing. Maybe it was a long way off. Maybe I had plenty of time.
I left early that day. I couldn't be in the office. As I walked to the subway station, I began to notice more and more green. And more and more people were changing by the minute. From the looks of it, the plague would already be killing about half of New York, and that number was growing. Nearby, someone coughed, with that disgusting hacking sound of fluid-filled lungs. I scrambled across the street in utter terror and ran the rest of the way home.
Sarah was working at her desk when I arrived. Thank god; her sign was unchanged. She wouldn't be infected, at least not yet. She rubbed her tummy with a smile as I entered. "I felt him kick today," she said, practically bursting with the news. I was too distracted to react; she was crestfallen. "We need to get out of town," I said, trying to hide the panic in my voice. Her face let me know that I was failing miserably. "What is it?" she asked. I had already made my way to the bedroom and started throwing things in suitcases. I didn't have time to argue.
We made our way down to the street to get a cab. I was lugging two enormous suitcases, and dragging Sarah behind me. She was confused and scared, but had agreed to come along. At least for now. Outside, the street was a sea of bright green. I heard more and more coughing.
We finally got into a cab. The driver had a bright green 'Plague' sign over his head. "Where to?" he asked. "JFK," I said. Well, 'shouted' would be more of an apt description.
As we drove, the thick haze of green changed suddenly to a bright purple that I'd never seen before. Almost every green sign was now gone; the few that remained were probably going to be the first outbreak victims. The purple letters spelled out "Nuclear explosion."
---
[I am continuing the story here, if you're interested](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/30xnrr/plague/cpwsurh)
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They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames.
| 2015-03-31T07:44:28 | 2015-03-31T07:44:11 | 2,002 | 22 |
[WP] In an apocalyptic world, the last of humanity live in controlled, supposed paradise cities surrounded by towering walls; taught that the world outside died to wasteland centuries ago. You’re a smuggler, helping people escape the wall into the world beyond.
|
The haze of smoke in the bar was thick; a veritable smokescreen that hid its occupants from the world outside and wrapped them up in the embrace that they so badly craved throughout the workweek. I sat in my usual place at the corner of the establishment, my eyes glued to today's paper as I nursed my coffee.
I would need to be a sober as a newborn baby for what I was about to pull off.
And it didn't matter how many times I acquired a new customer- they always approached me the exact same way. I didn't have to take my eyes off of the paper to see him through the smoke. He wandered into the bar like he'd never been there, meandered suspiciously around the room long enough for everyone to take notice of him, and waited until all eyes were on him to slink into the booth across from me. I lifted my eyes briefly, before turning the page and lifting my mug to my lips.
He fidgeted with his fingers and glanced over his shoulder a few times before clearing his throat to grab my attention.
"Hey," he whispered. "You ready?"
"Don't whisper," I said in a normal speaking voice. "Talk to me like the two of us are just having a normal conversation."
He swallowed hard and glanced around nervously. "Are you crazy?!" He whisper-yelled.
"Must be," I said in my normal speaking voice before setting the paper down. "Now let me make one thing perfectly clear, you listen to everything I say, you don't question it and you obey me to the letter from this point forward. Am I clearly understood?"
This was the first time I'd gotten a good look at him. He was wearing thick-frame glasses, was cleanly shaven and was wearing a collared shirt. No wonder he was looking for me; he was mostly likely a code-monkey sitting in a tiny cubicle in some high office building being fed a line of crap about how lucky he is to have stability.
"Y-yes." He whispered.
I leaned across the table and made the most menacing face I could muster, and asked him again, "Am I clear?"
He paused a moment before nodding, "Yes." He said it firmly and in a normal speaking tone.
I sat back down in booth, the sound of leather rubbing against leather as I adjusted myself. I never took my eyes off of him as I popped my paper back open.
"Good," I said.
After a few seconds of silence, he piped up, "Are we... Are going?"
"No," I stated flatly. "There is a fifteen second window we'll need to hit precisely. We leave when I say."
He squirmed around in seat and looked around nervously. This wouldn't be an easy one. He was all nerves. I needed to get him at least a *little* loose if we were going to pull this off. I turned my eyes up towards the rotating camera on the opposite corner of the room. It wasn't good at picking up expressions through the haze of smoke, but it would certainly pick up his exaggerated movements.
"Order a drink," I commanded. "It's on me."
He lifted his hands defensively, "Oh, no no, I don't drink."
I dropped the paper and flashed him an annoyed look. "Order. A drink."
He looked shocked. He clearly wasn't used to being spoken to like that. It most likely felt like a threat, which was illegal within the walls. Of course if he didn't like it, he wouldn't have sought me out. Or payed me all of that money in advance. I watched it happen in his eyes- he realized that when I told him he would have to obey me without question, that order was effective immediately.
"Do you want out, or not?" I asked piercing his eyes with my unblinking gaze. "Order something sweet. I don't need you pissing yourself, I need you to settle down a little."
He got up and made his way to the bar. I heard him say the words 'fuzzy navel' and judging by the snickering around the bar, everyone else did too.
"I think it comes with a free tutu!" Someone called out from across the bar, generating even more laughter. I sighed rested my head in my hands, massaging my temples in a failed attempt to stave away an impending headache. He returned to the table and set down his glass- it had come with a long curly straw, which he sipped on during the silence that hung in the air between the two of us.
"Is it true?" He asked. "Can you really do anything out there?"
I nodded silently.
"... I know it's safer in the walls," he confessed. "But... I just feel like there's more to life than this."
"There is," I stated before tipping up my mug and finishing my coffee. "You're going to find out first-hand."
He smiled briefly and sucked on his drink a little more before he came back with more questions. "Jerry. You know Jerry right?"
"Don't say his name out loud."
"Sorry," he apologized. "He told me some things... He said... He said that you can have sex any day of the week. He said that you could kill a man just for looking at you funny."
I lifted my finger as the waitress walked by, and after catching her attention pointed at my mug. She nodded her head indicating she understood, and I turned and locked eyes with the client. "You can do anything you want out there. Unlike in here, it's up to *you* who you are."
"That's what I'm talking about!" He said happily, and slapped the table.
I glanced at my watch. "Take a bathroom break," I said. "We leave in five."
He scooted out of the booth and hurried for the restroom. I opened the paper and found the spot I'd left off as the waitress returned to fill my coffee.
"Another one?" She asked.
"Yep."
"What are you telling that poor man?"
"What he wants to hear. I'm a salesman."
"He won't last a minute out there," she said in the same manner as a mother would speak to her son.
I lifted the mug to my lips and took a sip of my coffee.
"It just might be the best minute of his life, Sally."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break. I took too long making narrative decisions on this one, and had to rush the ending >.<
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos
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Ramona Black, with a smirk that taunted the gods, eyes that glowed with pride, a straightened back, and her right arm outstretched, looked back at her group of rightfully exhausted followers, having endured a full week of what seemed like an endless and torturous journey through miles and miles of dark, stoney corridors, and dug her feet into the ground. “Take a look, everybody—I told you I wasn’ kiddin’.”
A few people looked up. One little girl, no older than five, gasped with eyes filled with wonder; “look, mommy!” She tugged at her mother’s shirt; her mother carefully walked forward. The exhausted mother's eyes widened, she let out a gasp of breath, and she mumbled something to herself in an unrecognizable language, unable to believe what she was looking at.
In front of them all was a spectacle not seen in thousands of years—skyscrapers erected tens of stories high, brick houses with people living inside them, shops lined with clothing, jewelry and food, birds perched atop streetlights, and vehicles—real, working, fully-electric vehicles driving along cleanly paved streets.
“What is all of this?” one man cried.
“How could this happen?” another called out.
“This is impossible…”
“No, it’s not,” Ramona responded. Her hands were at her sides and she shook her head. “This is what you get when you let the wealthy run away with all of the world’s resources. You get separation—you get a wasteland for the poor and a paradise for the rich—that’s how it’s always been and how it’ll always be.”
Her words stung several of the people following her. One reached for a nearby stone at the exit from the long tunnel they’d all just traveled through and threw it out into the massive abyss in front of them—its landing was deafened by the bustling noise of busy traffic.
“They called that—our home—‘paradise,’ too,” the man bellowed. “That stinkin’ city behind those shitty walls… ‘Paradise…’ His face contorted and filled with disgust as he recalled the mud castles he and his family lived and starved inside—he silently wanted to find the people responsible and have them answer for their injustices—deep down, he knew that would change nothing; he dropped his shoulders and turned to Black. “What do we do now?”
“Spread the word,” she said, a serious expression on her face. “Tell everyone you know—get your friends and family to pack their things and plan to move here.”
“But how,” the woman said, grasping at her child’s hand. “There’s no way they’ll allow us to live here; we’re outsiders.”
“Find a way,” Black looked back, growing ever more serious. “Or make one.”
\--Word Count: 425
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\--Edit: Minor corrections and word count adjustments.
| 2020-12-16T08:53:13 | 2020-12-16T08:36:18 | 46 | 22 |
[WP] As a silly joke to yourself, you sometimes open notepad to write a message to 'your fbi agent' before deleting it. Today in the middle of browsing reddit, notepad opened and a reply appeared. "I'm sorry, they're coming for you. Run."
|
((Triggers))
It was just a joke. I'd open my laptop up, and write a note to "Special Agent In Charge Reno"; totally made up. Get my little joke done, and delete the file.
I finished school, got my degree, landed a position with a defense contractor. It was good. Life was fine. I got married, though we never had kids. Everything was great.
Then things started going sour in my life. I remembered writing to Reno, so I started up again. This time I kept them. It got to be a game and obsession. I'd imagine Reno's responses and refer to them in the next note. The notes to Reno got darker as the shit just piled up.
My jobs started to suck. Same shit every day. Stupid bosses who wouldn't listen, then blamed me when it fell apart just like I'd warned them. I started putting my warnings in writing, and insisting that they sign for receipt. They got a copy. I got a copy. And the original was put in my safe deposit box under an assumed name. Yeah, by this time I was paranoid. Only paranoia is a survival skill if they really are out to get you, and that's what I felt was happening to me.
I'm not a complete idiot, although maybe I was. That laptop *never* connected to the internet, or any other system. I mean, it was a frickin diary of all the bad shit running through my head. Not the kind of thing you want getting out of your hands, even if the disk *is* encrypted.
My wife died. I wanted to die. I loved her, and she died to a complex of degenerative diseases that no one had a cure for. The notes to Reno turned suicidal. For me, it was a catharsis of monumental proportions. I listened in my head to what Reno recommended. I got a psychiatrist and a psychologist. I made sure the SSO had my updates to my SF86 about my mental state and the treatment I was getting. I cleared with my boss's boss that I would work half time as long as I needed, because my boss was being a dick.
I pulled that complete set of documents out of the safe deposit box, made copies of all of them, put the originals back, and handed the copies over to my boss's boss.
He was shocked. Half the things I'd warned about had happened, and nearly cost the company the contract. "Asshole" had sat on them. Never read them. Never had anyone else review them. Never even tried to use them to get me fired, because that would have been admitting that he was sitting on them. Claimed that it was bull, that I had done those things. That I'd never shown them to him. He couldn't argue the signatures.
The FBI showed up the day after and cleaned his desk to the point of taking the lint!
His name disappeared from his door. As far as we could tell, he was an unperson. The new boss came in and was a delight to work with. I brought my copies in, and we started working through them. Creating tickets to get them fixed. Assigning them. Making sure that they were all fixed.
My notes to Reno kept getting better. My life was turning around. I was getting a grip on my grief. My depression. My suicidal thoughts. Everything was getting better.
I'd finally gotten clearance to return to work full time. I went to write my last note to Reno. Explaining to my imaginary agent that I was clear now, and he could stop worrying about me.
I got the surprise of my life.
"Kid,
You need to get out of your house now, and get to the nearest FBI office. The agents that were using your information figured out it was you, and they're gunning for you. Move now. I've tried to throw them off ..."
The note ended. This laptop just wrote a message from Reno. An imaginary agent. In real time. Never connected to the internet. Not equipped with WiFi or Bluetooth. How the fuck?
A car pulled up my driveway. I wasn't expecting anyone, and FBI agents dress better than these clowns. *sigh*
In my paranoid phase, I'd studied everything I could get my hands on about tradecraft. The egress plans were still up to date. They depended on knowledge, and just a touch of early warning. Not luck; you can't count on it. Not speed; fast motion draws the metaphorical eye. Planning. Rehearsal. Practice. Keep doing it until it's second nature. And always have back up plans.
Eventually, you realize that backup plans have a certain consistency, the details change, but the triggers and conditions don't. You become lightning fast at sorting for alternatives. *That* is why an excellent agent always looks like they know what they're doing. They do! Was I that good? Time to find out.
((finis))
I'm going to take this off line, and write it up better, along with another response I did for another story. I think it's going to work to have the two of them tied together neatly.
|
I quickly reply: "who are you?". I then get a series of notepads sent to me explaining that he is, in fact, my FBI Agent. He addresses that the government is coming for me, as they are thinking that because of all of my letters, I know of the operations that the FBI conducts on people's computers. I ask him: "Why are you telling me all of this? And how can I know that this isn't some kind of bad prank?". He then replies with all of my information. My birthdate, information on my family, my childhood home, friends, all of it. He then says that he has grown fond of me as a person, and wants me to be safe from the FBI. With his guidance, I find a secret hallway behind a bookshelf, leading to a secret basement that I have never seen, in the house that I have lived in the last 15 years. I then proceed to head through the basement, turning corners everywhere I go, like its some sort of a maze. After what felt like an eternity, I find the center of this "Maze". Inside, I see a sort of satanic ritual and five people in ropes staring at me. Then, the corridor that I came through behind me, all of a sudden closes, like there was never even a corridor there in the first place. I stare back at the people and say to them: "who are you?". Then, the one of them that looks like a leader does a big belly laugh, and I fell asleep. When I wake up, I discover that I am, in fact, stuck in hell.
| 2020-01-04T10:38:40 | 2020-01-04T03:31:35 | 57 | 11 |
[WP] People stop using Antivirus software because they believe it's making their computers autistic. You are an IT intern at the wake of disaster.
|
"Excuse me sir?"
Today they had done it. They had fucking crossed the line once and for all and today we were all going to pay for it.
"Yes, I'm concerned that this Antivirus software is causing autism in the computers"
You know, today had been a good day up to now. I was sitting nice and smug in my chair, and had a pretty good game of Dwarf Fortress up and running finally (You have no idea how hard it is to download games on these ancient computers. I've been trying to get upper management to upgrade but no dice so far), and then this piece of human garbage says this to me.
"What does that even mean?" I say, clearly being the sensible person here.
"Well, today when I turned on my computer and tried to get into my email this car ad started to play, and when I turned off the page the sound wouldn't stop."
I glared, and started quietly uttering death curses in every dark tongue I knew, fictional or otherwise. One of those days, I see. The edges of my mouth fight against every lick of sense they had to move apart, stretching into a wide smile faker than plastic, Kraft Mac and Cheese, and reality television put together.
"Have you tried turning the computer on and off again?" I say, turning on my best Consumer Service ^TM tone.
"Doesn't that break the computer?"
I grind my teeth. "No, I don't think that does that, why do you ask?"
"Well there's a nasty rumor going around that some of the new interns have been installing viruses on the computers."
I froze. How did he... how could he... I didn't even... I stumbled over my own thoughts, my words left waiting at the station.
"What do you mean?"
"Every time I turn on my computer, there's this little thingy in the corner that pops up, I think it says 'Adewby'... 'adewby' something, anyways, and it always pops up."
Oh thank god. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. My mind races for some sort of a quick out from this situation so that this brown haired computer pleb could get out of my hair and out of my sight.
"Er... have you tried reinstalling Google Ultron?"
An old trick, but it had served me well in the past.
"Google *what*?"
"Um, you know, Google Ultron. Top secret NASA stuff, I'll tell you that. We paid top dollar to get it in. And- do you wanna know a secret?"
He bent in towards my ear. Really, given how easily he fell for it, he might as well have turned around and bent over, the message was the same either way.
"It's so top secret that they had to disguise it as just plain old Google Chrome so that corporate spies can't steal the tech"
He turns to me with those wide sucker puppy dog eyes, more brown than black at this point. "Really?"
"Yep. So yeah, just don't do anything super important- do you have anything important to do right now? That's great - for a bit so that any viruses can't make your computer sicker"
Sicker? SICKER? I'm beginning to get concerned that even I'm falling for it now.
", and the autism can't spread to the rest of the computer. Alright? Alright."
He turns around, that tall lumbering body lazily slipping out like it slipped in, a little stupider than he came in. I call out to him before he exits my cubicle into the hall.
"Oh, and one last thing: Don't forget, tomorrow is the monthly Adobe Reader inspection, don't try to handle it yourself. Really top IT tech stuff."
And, as the last bit of him slipped out, a sick grin crossed my face, sickened not by the idiocy of my coworkers but of my own god given brilliance. I put my feet on the desk, not caring who sees.
It's good to be IT Tech. So, so good.
|
This story is actually 100% true, swear on me mum.
Jim never used antivirus. He just downloaded Microsoft Security Essentials, as if it counts as an antivirus. Jim has had his computer for 3 years and never once caught a virus. That's because Jim isn't an idiot. Good on you Jim.
Internet etiquette,
Real Simple Stuff.
| 2015-02-16T16:53:36 | 2015-02-16T16:33:15 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] Every time in your life you've been in mortal danger, a small cat has appeared that casually yet miraculously leads you to safety. Now, as your plane plummets from the sky, spiraling towards the ground, the cat pops out of the overhead compartment.
|
The first time the cat visited me was a couple of weeks after Momma's funeral. Me and her hadn't even gotten along. Not well, at least. Not recently. And yet her death had somehow left me hollow and purposless. Just drifting along like dust.
The cabinet above the sink in my uncleaned bathroom was wide open, and I was staring into it like all the answers to life lay somewhere within. In the half filled pill bottles, syrupy cough medicines, in the tablets prescribed for disorders that had recently bubbled to the surface. How many, I wondered, would it take? Would Momma be waiting for me up in the night sky?
The cat must have climbed the unkempt wisteria to have reached the window, for in the mirror I saw a burst of ginger -- as bright as carrot soup -- squeeze its way into my bathroon. I barely registered it, barely registered anything back then. I was an imitation of Olivia, dulled and numb to life, to what was going on around me. I have the vaguest recollection of it rubbing its orange sides against my leg and giving the faintest, pleading, mew. It had no collar, and was thin but not skinny.
I reached forward and took a plastic bottle from the cabinet, ignoring the tiny visitor and rattling it as I brought it to my chest. "I miss you, momma," I whispered, as I squeezed the childproof lid and slowly twisted it open.
The cat leapt up on the sink, then just as suddenly pounced at me, knocking the bottle out of my hands, spilling it's contents into the toilet below. I peered down to see dozen of tiny white rafts bobbing up to the surface.
I grunted and tried to kick out at the cat. "Get lost!" But it was much faster than my foot and jumped out of the way easily, unbothered. It hopped up into the sink and gave another cry. Its huge eyes looked up at me, probably only begging to be fed or pet, but at that moment, I saw it differently. I saw something else in those eyes.
I closed the cabinet and sobbed as I stroked the cat's head, it nudging forcefully against my strokes.
I had wanted to name her after Momma, but using her fist name for an animal seemed strange, so I picked her second name instead. Casey.
Casey visited me regularly in those next bleak weeks, the only drop of color in what had become a very grey world. She came in the evenings, mostly, but sometimes spent the entire night with me, curled up at the end of my bed, eyes always half open, watching me as I slept.
Guarding me.
Finally, after almost six full months, Casey stopped visiting. But that was okay. She had her own life, and I once again had something near enough to a life, too. Casey had left some of her brightness behind, melting the ice. The sunsets now held a burst of crimson, the days, a faint brushstroke of blue. Of hope.
It wouldn't be another five years until I saw Casey again. At the time, I thought she'd almost killed me. It wasn't until I was calm, many hours later, that I realized the opposite had been true.
It had been a sweltering Nevada night, and I'd left the windows of my Fiat open a crack as I'd gone into the house. It must have been then that Casey has snuck in, hiding beneath one of the back seats. That night, on account of the humidity and my child waking, crying, every thirty minutes, I had slept poorly.
The next morning, I'd put my little boy in his car seat, in the middle back, without noticing the cat at all. Then, I had begun the long and tiring trip to my Pappa's.
The day was hotter than even the previous, and as the sun left and evening settled in, the heat and humidity had been left behind to taunt and beat me. The road I was on was a long straight haze, and there were no other vehicles in sight.
I didn't feel sleep creep up on me. Didn't notice my eyes pulled down my drowsiness. But I do recall a blank spot in my memory, a gap from when I fell.
There was a loud cry as Casey leapt from the back seat onto my lap, and another cry as I awoke startled, spinning the wheel and skidding off the road. Then, an engulfing blare as a honking truck grazed the edge of the car, scraping off a layer of metal as if it has been no more than skin.
I had been on the wrong side of the road.
With tremmoring hands, I pushed open my door and snatched by baby from the back, all the while shouting and screaming at the dumb fucking cat for almost killing the pair of us.
It hopped out of the car and slunk sadly into the trees to our side.
---
I knew it couldn't have been Casey, but the ginger cat who snuck into the hospital nearly forty years later looked almost identical to her. Thin, but not skinny, and as bright as carrot soup.
It was just another one of many countless nights in the hospital.There was no surgery left to be done to me. No treatments. No more diagnoses. Nothing for me to do but wait.
My family had left for the night, deciding, after much persuasion on my part, that I would be fine for just one night. I wanted them to go have a meal together. To laugh and drink and remember me how I was before the cancer spread so far. For they had spent little time away from me over the last months, and they deserved better than a room that stunk of disinfectant and urine. Better than food made a week ago and heated to a bland warmth in a mircowave.
I watched through blurry eyes as the collarless smuge of orange padded through the ward, unseen by patients and staff alike, and leapt onto my bed. It nudged its face into mine, reassuringly, before settling down on my legs.
"It is you, isn't it?" I said to the cat.
It mewed gently, eyes half open. Watching me.
"I'm sorry," I said, as it curled up on me, "it wasn't your fault. It was mine. It always had been." I reached out and stroked its head.
Casey purred loudly, comforting and guarding me, one last night.
---
(sorry I didn't use the plane - seemed to be enough of those responses already)
|
I couldn’t believe it.
“The cat!” I shouted, my voice pressed back into my throat falling short of everyone else. I struggled to free myself from flat palm of the G pushing me into the enveloping coach seat.
The overhead had gaped open, a mouth mirroring all of us in the horror we all felt. Inside, however, sat the one and only thing that could bring peace and comfort: the cat. This cat. This one singular being which had built within me a mountain of faith, trust and love. This guide which had brought me out of life threatening situations eight times now in my life. She was my talisman, my white rabbit. And no matter what the consequences may be I was determined to follow her now.
I ripped myself from the confining physics as if by superhuman force. Perhaps she’d endowed me with that, but I didn’t have time for thoughts like that now. I blinked them away and focused. She jumped down and over the head of a purple faced scream and he grabbed her by the neck.
“No!” Every memory of her inside of me welled up and volcanoed out of me at that sight. It was for nought. The man was gripped by his inevitable death and he squeezed til her neck popped. That’s what broke him out of his nightmare and, by the looks of it, sent him hurling into the depths of a Salvador Dali painting. He bewilderingly looked at what had not been in his hands a moment ago and released it. He sat in uncomprehending silence as the cat, my cat, slipped loosely from his grasp and cascaded onto the sloped floor.
It followed the aisle down and in spite of all that was happening in me internally, one thought took control.
“Follow me.”
I jumped an eight year old’s jump at the top of a slide and gathered force. My cat was waiting for me at the door, its lifeless eyes still somehow conveying a look of anticipation, as if there were a warm hearth and a bowl of milk waiting behind there. My impact sent us hurtling into the cockpit and all I could feel was splintered shoulder. When I opened my eyes, the cat was a limp washcloth hung up to dry on the yoke.
“I’m not a pilot,” I thought. “Shut up,” was my retort as I wrenched the captain from his seat, took hold of my cat’s perch and strained against the electrical storm in my shoulder.
I held this position eternally, every ounce of my being a physical expression of my faith in the cat. I held it until blackness was all that existed.
“I’m floating. I’m in pain.” These were the only thoughts that mustered through the dream-like state I was in.
In the distance something small was calling out to me.
| 2019-01-05T06:25:54 | 2019-01-05T04:19:36 | 60 | 23 |
[WP] Your can absorb a person’s emotions and transmit them to another. By day you work as a therapist, unburdening trauma survivors of their horror and shame. By night you hunt down those who abuse the weak, and show them what it means to suffer.
|
"And then he-" she breaks off, her words choked by a sob. I've been working with this girl, this child, for six months now. Not even old enough to buy cigarettes, with enough pain inside her to make my stomach knot in sympathy. I take a deep breath and reach my hand out.
"It wasn't your fault. You were a child. It was never your fault." I repeat the words like a mantra, drawing the pain, the memories, the anguish away from her and into myself where it wraps around my heart like a cord. I feel it tighten but I keep going, imagining a rope thinning to a string, then a thread, until finally there's nothing left. She's still crying but her breathing has calmed. The tears fall slower, and her eyes droop like she could fall asleep at any moment.
I press the button inlaid into the side of my chair which alerts my receptionist that the session is over. Moments later the girl's mother enters quietly, moving slowly as though she could disturb the heavy atmosphere in the room. I smile sadly at her and nod. No words are exchanged because no words are needed. They leave together and I sigh gently, rubbing my temples where a headache is making itself known. But there's work to do still.
Passing the receptionist's desk I smile and wish her a good night. She makes some joke about going straight to bed and I smile without mirth. I wish I could go home and sleep too, but there's work to do still.
The night is cold and the pavement is wet so I wrap my coat around myself tighter, tighter than the cord around my heart. I imagine it tangled around my arteries, choking the blood flow, cutting into the muscle. I want to get rid of it right now but I force myself to walk at a regular pace. A hunter mustn't disturb her prey with her haste, the moment cannot be rushed. Every action is a choice between success and failure. So I walk slowly, breathe evenly, and concentrate on the man in the distance further up the road.
His arrogance won't allow him to believe he can be harmed, so following him is easy. But still I keep a safe distance, glance at my phone as though reading a text when he turns the corner. Eventually he arrives at his home where I know he lives alone. I know a lot about him. Any good hunter must know her prey before attempting to catch it. I wait out of sight of the windows for two, three, five, ten minutes, counting the seconds and feeling the girl's pain in my chest burn white hot in anticipation. This is it.
I muss my hair, open my coat to show the ripped dress underneath, adjust the ripped tights and smear some dirt on my face. It's disgusting, but every detail counts. I feel my heartbeat race as I force myself to breathe raggedly, stumbling up the path to lean heavily on the doorbell.
"Please," I whimper through the glass, "Please help me." I continue to press on the doorbell until I hear heavy footsteps in the hallway and the door opens, his expression confused as he takes in my ragged appearance. I let a few tears fall and notice the excitement in his eyes which he quickly hides. "Please," I beg again "I was attacked. I- they- please help me."
He reaches out and I take his hand, leaning heavily on him as though I could fall at any moment. Weak, vulnerable, trusting; a bait he can't resist. In the course of my hunt I learned a lot about this man. Planned my trap meticulously, created a character which lined up so perfectly with his fantasies I knew he'd take me in. The door closes behind me and we are alone together. He wraps an arm around me, too tightly, his fingers digging into my waist.
He growls something about how I made the wrong choice coming to his door, that he's okay with sloppy seconds. I ignore him, and instead focus on the loosening cord travelling from my heart to his. I smile as his eyes go wide and he gasps, recognising the memories flooding his brain but from a different perspective. His knees go weak and I force him to the floor, straddling him, both hands against his chest as I *push* all the pain, the shame, the horror directly into his brain. The cord thins and he screams, begging me to stop. But I won't stop. I can't stop until every drop of the pain he inflicted is returned sevenfold.
Eventually his muscles relax and his head lolls sideways so I stand on shaky legs, feeling the weight of my exhaustion settle into my bones. I walk out the door without a second glance, buttoning my coat as I go. It's late and I want to go home, want to sink into my bed and sleep for the next three days. But instead I check my alarm for the morning is on, because there's work to do still.
Edit: a few spelling errors
|
Few truly know the meaning of the word "suffer". There are those who claim that they have to suffer at work, at school, etc. They are wrong. Incoviniences are not "suffering". There are only two types of people who know what suffering is. My clients, and my victims.
See, I work with the people who have endured the most. You know why? Because I can help. I can take their pain, and allow them to finally relax. Seeing my patients smile is what drives me to do my job, on both sides. Making my patients happy is why I help them, but making sure those who abused them know the damage they've caused is oh so satisfying.
I won't go into much detail here, but my most recent client, Rachel, comes from an abusive home. Her case is severe. Hasn't had much success with other therapists, which is why she's come to me. The meeting has happened, and right now I'm carrying her burden. And let me tell you, it's not easy. I would be crying at home right now if I didn't have two things driving me. 1) My car. 2) My desire to make whoever did this to her pay.
And let me just say, the first one's just finished.
| 2020-06-04T04:26:23 | 2020-06-03T23:41:38 | 1,078 | 39 |
[WP] You could have been the most powerful hero this world had ever seen. By a long shot. But all you wanted was a normal life and the world didn't need your help. So you settled down. Naturally the governments of the world declared you an international threat and put a price on your head.
|
Absentmindedly I refresh the website's wanted listings. They upped my bounty again. I am now three times more valuable than the second most wanted criminal who is the leader of an organized crime syndicate based in Polynesia. The list hardly elicited any emotion from me anymore. I used to get aggravated seeing my name next to heinous criminals until my bounty grew so comedically high that the top ten grew to be the top ten plus me. For a while, the rising number was even mildly amusing as well as strangely validating. Unfortunately, the novelty of the experience wore off after the bounty hunters and supposedly covert government agents became a pesky fixture of my life.
I suppose I understand the fundamental reason why every able-bodied hero, villain, bounty hunter and government agent is after me but understanding the reason doesn't make it any less dumb. *Super dangerous thing needs to be put into responsible hands or destroyed*. Newsflash, there is no government or organization that has responsible hands nor am I a *thing* that needs to be destroyed.
Energy in the air rippled as living things entered my... field of vision? Field of sensation? Several people entered my *\~domain\~*. They are about five kilometers out, further than their records suggest I can sense. My domain has grown larger and stronger due to constant use as I protect myself from the unending siege on my head. They invaders are climbing up a mountain searching for something. I watched them idly, I could teleport away anytime I want but watching my hunters and learning from them could save me from a nasty surprise in the future. Eventually they reached a clearing on the mountainside and stopped, setting up camp. Weird for them to chill for any amount of time especially when they radiate so much anxiety.
*Oh, they want to snipe me*. A good strategy honestly, ambushes are quote-unquote *dirty tactics* but that is because they are ridiculously effective and can let the little guy school the big guy. Being considered the big guy in this scenario felt wrong, *I* am the one being hunted by everyone after all.
The group started strategizing with the sniper at the center of the discussion. There was the guy who helps the sniper aim, there was a guy there for communication back to their boss, there was a guy who appeared to have psychic abilities in charge of watching me and there was a guy with super speed who could get to me immediately to attack or confirm my death. Decent line up, too bad my power is just way too overwhelming.
There probably is an official name somewhere in a government manila folder, but I call it Cosmos. What else can I call it? In its most basic, watered down description, it allows me to be one with the universe. The space around me is an extension of my senses so I could feel the leaves from the tree canopy outside my cabin. I can slide through space like I am scooting over from one end of a couch to another. I can force other things in my space to slip to send them wherever I want. Then there is the potential. When I was young I realized that I could become much more dangerous than I could ever imagine, so I never used my powers out of fear. Clearly that secret was spilled which started my life as a fugitive, forcing me to exercise the strength I avoided.
Oops, forgot about the assassins. The sniper was in the prone position now, in his hands an odd tube that must be his weapon of choice. Maybe a secret government project? Portable Rail gun? Lazer? Upgraded rocket launcher? I should wait until the last moment to stop it so they don't know I can see them at this distance. The psychic confirmed I have not actively used any powers - technically I am passively using my power - and that I have not made any suspicious movements. Good thing he's not good. The spotter was telling the sniper about wind speed and direction, distance, curvature of the earth, bullet air time, the Coriolis Effect and a long list of other factors. *This* guy is good but too bad for them he is not helpful. What even is the distance of this shot? Three miles? That's stupid far! I kinda want to see them hit the target. That will have to wait for another time, a time I am not the target.
The sniper was given the go ahead by the guy in charge of communications and the small clearing on the mountain fell silent. My room fell silent. Standing, I went to my window and opened it. The psychic tensed. The shot fired.
Wow. No matter how fast that projectile is moving, it will take some time to travel the distance from the mountain to my lonely, little valley cabin. The people on the mountain are arguing now, maybe I stood up too soon, accidentally showing my hand. I'll be fine anyways. Here it comes.
Wait, what's that? Clever... very clever. They are simultaneously dropping something from orbit. Ambush. What did I say? Very effective. Usually. I wanted to keep the cabin, but the location has already been compromised. Nah, I'll save it, the cabin can be used as a back up hide-away sometime in the future.
The universe warped around me. The projectile slipped slightly shifting its trajectory by a degree or two causing the bullet to fly way off target into the distance. The orbital drop is slightly trickier since its impact would be closer to that of a small nuke. Instead of a redirection, I waited until it nearly hit my roof then pulled the kinetic energy out of the orbital drop and evenly into the surrounding three square miles. My roof shingles rattled, windows shook, leaves fell of their branches and speedy guy freaked and fell on his ass. Panicked, he very quickly dashed out of my range in a desperate escape.
I sighed. That's that. Where should I hide next? The mountains are really pretty but chilly, maybe a beach? I'll just follow a coastline until I find an isolated, warm beach. If I go without shoes or a shirt, can I hope to have no problems? Taking one last look around my quaint cabin I slipped through space, watching the environment morph into warmer and sandier places.
|
"remind me again why i love dogs" ty said, walking into his house covered in mounds of dog fur while the dogs he was golding kept trying to go in opposite directions. he had barely got in the door before his phone blew up with people trying to message him. he was the hero of the town, but he was growing tired of constantly saving everyone in the street. "oh dear god i hate my job. can you deal with this mess, ive got to go save the town again. no doubt its something they could easily solve themselves". you could feel his exhaustion in the tone of his voice. he had been doing the job for over 50 years without a single day off
"just dont go, ty. even vampires deserve a day of from being the hero" His wife responded.
"no i have to. if i dont show up they assume im causing evil because im a vampire, so naturally i have to be bloody evil"
"your phone could, y'know, conveniently be dead" his wife responded, now standing in the doorway to the living room, holding a towel in her hand. ty pondered this for a moment, before deciding that it would be ok. he sat down with his angelic wife and flicked the TV on. he was clicking through the channels untill something caught his eye. "you have to be bloody kidding me. my phone 'died' and now im public enemy number one"
it was mere moments before people were breaking his door down. the people that had wanted him dead for years and finally had the chance. there was an army of people outside his house, waiting for him to come outside, waiting for their chance to kill him
he was going to say something, but his wife prevented him from speaking. "this man has given up the last 50 years of his life to save this town, and the second he decided to sit down and relax you all want to kill the man. what the hell is wrong with you all?" She was close to bursting with anger, and the crowd got silent.
"i could kill all of you in a bloody heartbeat, but i wont. its not the kind of person i am. can you just treat me like a human?" Ty started, before walking back to his living room. his wife slammed the door
"Amy, should we move?"
"lets find somewhere where the population arent a load of bumbling idiots, Ty"
| 2022-06-26T15:33:40 | 2022-06-26T13:28:17 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Something with a happy ending. Anything at all.
[removed]
|
The acorn basked in the warm heat of the summer sun. It was surrounded by the bright green leaves of the tall, tall tree. And that was all that the acorn had ever known, or wanted to know.
But then the cold came, and the leaves began to change: to vivid red, fiery orange, and bright yellow. Wind howled and rain came pouring down, causing the old tree to shake. The acorn clung to the branch with all its might even as the leaves grew brittle and began to fall. And when the grass far below was no longer visible under the thick carpet of fall foliage, the acorn could hold on no longer. It plummeted toward the ground, away from the comfortable branch of the mighty tree. And the acorn was scared.
It was cold and lonely on the ground. The leaves that the acorn had known so well on the branch were gone; all that remained were dried husks that only looked like its old friends. They began to crumble, and the acorn experienced ice and snow for the first time. It sought shelter from the cold in the grimy, uncomfortable dirt. But life was so much more miserable now than it was back on the branches. The acorn wondered why all of this was happening to it.
“Is anyone else out there?” the acorn desperately called. “Anyone at all?”
“I am here,” the roots answered from deep within the earth. The voice was not too dissimilar from the branch’s, but older and wizened. “I’ve always been here.”
“I’m scared,” the acorn told the roots. “I want to go back to the branch where it was warm and safe.” Even as it spoke, the ground around the acorn was freezing solid, and a thick blanket of snow carpeted the ground. The remains of the leaves were gone as well.
“It will be OK,” the roots answered. “This is the way of things. I’ve enjoyed many summers and endured many winters. And every time, the acorns fear that the summer will never come. But I know it will.”
The acorn trusted the roots. But the winter cold never ended. Wind howled through the trees. The blanket of snow melted, then another storm passed and an even thicker layer came. The acorn tried to go deeper into the dirt but it was too cold and hard. “Patience,” the roots advised. The acorn wasn’t sure how much longer it could go on like this.
But then a bird began to sing. “The sun is out,” the roots advised the acorn. “See for yourself.”
The acorn tried to look from deep under the soil, but it couldn’t see. Though the acorn hated the dirt, it was at least familiar now, and leaving was a scary prospect. But as the Acorn peered upward, it realized that now the ground wasn’t so cold, or so hard. So the acorn stretched and poked above the surface for the first time in ages. It had forgotten the smell of the air and the warmth of the sun! And the forest was so different! Trees were in bloom, and even flowers were growing in between the mighty oaks. The branches had spoken of flowers, but the acorn had been too young to remember them.
“Well?” the roots asked the acorn. “Better?”
The acorn unfurled its first leaves and soaked in the spring. “Better,” it answered.
(This post has been locked, but if you have any comments on the story [I'd love to hear them on this post over in my own subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/5c1q5u/the_acorn/))
-----
And as requested by the OP, other stories with happy endings:
1. [I never smile](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4ttd7l/i_never_smile/)
2. [The neighborly thing to do](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/55ow9h/the_neighborly_thing_to_do/)
3. [Termination](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4wwinp/termination/)
4. [I wish you could see what I see](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4drpis/i_wish_you_could_see_what_i_see/)
5. [The Match Database](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3uvcu7/the_match_database/)
6. [The Criminal](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4pb7lr/the_criminal/)
7. [Eggy](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3kynpt/eggy/)
8. [Dizzy](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3n8o9o/dizzy/)
9. [Bread](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3mccba/bread/?ref=search_posts)
10. [Superhero/Supervillain Couple on a date](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3apwp0/superherosupervillain_couple_on_a_date/)
----
And if you're already missing Obama... [President Frozone](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3vb91c/president_frozone/)
----
AND, if you liked all of these stories, then remember to subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more. I'm at about 850 stories now, though not all with happy endings.
|
I woke up this morning to news that made me sad. It filled my mind with anxieties about the future, for myself and for all of those I cared about. But then I realised something.
The sun still rose. The birds still chirped. Cars still drove by and people still laugh.
It's tempting, especially in grim times, to indulge in the fantasy of apocalypse and a horrifying, albeit exciting end. But this is not the end.
Whether you agree or not with the majority of your fellow countrymen is one thing. But do not turn your back because you have lost one fight. Do not proclaim victory forever if you have won one either.
The next President of the United States was voted for by intelligent people. More intelligent than you, in some ways. The President was voted in by people less intelligent than you, in some ways. We all have our strengths. We all have our opinions. But this will only be the division that kills America if we let it drive us to each others throats.
Do not be the person who says, "he's not my president," because he is. He is our president and will inevitably face challenges he never could have foreseen. He will be given information he never could have known. The virtually infinite complexity of the American and Global political and economic climate does not rest squarely on his shoulders, and whether or not I believe in his policies or views, I do believe he will do the best he can to achieve what he believes is right and good.
Any of us would.
So when you hear jubilation at what you predict as doom, remember those who said Obama would run this country into the ground. Remember those who believe every election that this *truly* is the end. Then remember how wrong they were, and how you marveled at their arrogance. I beseech you, do not be the same.
If you find yourself consumed by fear, ask yourself if you are truly afraid, or if our media has convinced you you should be. Go outside. The air still smells great. The sun is still shining. The birds are still singing.
People are still smiling. Love is still here.
| 2016-11-09T07:04:42 | 2016-11-09T06:33:17 | 1,541 | 318 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
Anyone can become powerful if they continuously hone and improve the skills they are born with. That's what I've heard from others, despite the looks of pity, and disdain, and mockery I've received from others. No one is guaranteed a great power based on their parents, but after my Older Brother received a piece of powers from both of my extraordinary parents, others had artificial high hopes that I would be the same. I' good with math. Unlike my brother, who has super speed, super strength, and moderate telekinesis, I'm good at Math. "Maybe if you try hard enough, you can pass trig just like everyone else," they'd say before laughing at me.
After going through school, and accepting the proud yet disappointed gaze of my family, I jumped into business. I'd continued to hone my skills, and managed to get a decent paying job as an assistant to a stock broker. Despite the crazy amount of money I was making him, he still looked at me like I was beneath him. His eyes told me that even though he couldn't be a Super, at least he wasn't as pathetic as me... I took the next job offer that came to me, and it even isolated me further from people.
This time I worked for Megas Corporation. I telecommuted from home and came in for a meeting once a week. I did risk assessments for their Domestic and Overseas assets. It was fun getting with what could go wrong, and mitigating losses, or potentially turning those losses into profits. My powers got a huge jump and I finally found some semblance of happiness in my life.
The merger happened close to a year after joining the company. I heard something about an extremely hostile takeover, and that they were going to liquidate the employees. Didn't they mean lay off? Everyone had pale faces. My new manager let me know that I was safe and would be reassigned to insurance. I was at least glad that I didn't have to compete for a new job.
Risk assessment in insurance was pretty tough to grab initially, but I felt like I got a new breakthrough in my abilities. Everything went so well, that they even moved me into Super insurance. Even if my only skill was Math, I finally got a job that was affiliated with Supers and those they fight. We managed policies with Banks, Museums, Metropolitan areas, and we even ran costs and premiums for many different types of super heroes. Those were my favorite. I could run numbers on the villains they'd run in to and their weaknesses. It was fascinating to use Math to ascertain probabilities of failures for Supers.
It took about a month for me to notice weird things... in and out of my job. I kept getting promoted and taken by other managers, and I kept hearing about mass super hero deaths on the news. Supers that I was running Doomsday scenarios against. As it turned out, the entire upper management of my company were and are super villains. They were using my math and ideas to kill Supers. I never felt so honored. *My* ideas, killing the very populace that belittled me. And I was recognized by actual Super Villains. Was this actual camaraderie I felt?
As an employee that was now in the midst of upper management, I requested an audience with the Board... and holy sh*t... I worked for the Council of Evil. I wasn't working for Super Villains, I was working for THE Super Villains. i was awestruck to say the least. I did my part to let them know I was aware of the situation, and that I'd continue to give them results. It was then that I noticed those eyes... They all had the same eyes of pity... disgust... 'Don't get ahead of yourself,' was what most of their eyes told me. I had a stupid f*cking grin on my face, but I was hollow. I belonged no where, and they would just replace me like some broken toy if anything happened. I thought that I could accept this as a walked hime that evening, but things are different now... I found something that truly makes me happy. And with that happiness from my ability came pride in what I can do. And for some worthless villains that couldn't even kill their nemesis after years of trying to look at me like garbage... but not for long. I have subordinates that I can manipulate now... and more money than I know what to do with... I'll create the perfect stage to make everyone know who they're dealing with.
**BREAKING NEWS**
The recent deaths in our communities have revealed a new class of Villain today, as both the Council of Evil and the Association for the Betterment of Mankind have all been slain in what can only be explained with the word 'pandemonium'.
The League of Heroes have come out with a public statement saying that they will pour all of their resources into bringing this walking calamity to justice. They've gone as far as to create a brand new category for his heinous crimes. The Actuary is the world's first Category Six Mega-Villain.
|
After the test revealed that indeed had super powers i was excited to hear what they were. After all: I had to wait until i'm 18 to take this test.
My parents didn't share my excitement but were rather concerned and worried. They were thinking that two S tier supers would create a child with powers so strong that i would get eliminated the second the government knew about it.
They weren't wrong with their concern but after hearing what power i had they were kind off relieved. But my hopes and dreams of being a hero like no one ever was were shattered.
My power was to blow myself up. I could controll the strength, size and time of the explosion but only *one time*.
I continued my life like it was before with the only difference of being bullied from other supers. My parents on the other hand were happy because this meant i would never be a hero.
The anger and hate inside of me grew bigger day after day.
And then i realized:
I could partner with a villain that promises me protection and together ...
*We could take the whole world hostage*. If nobody follows my orders i could just blow this f'ing planet up.
| 2017-06-12T09:14:41 | 2017-06-12T08:29:20 | 48 | 27 |
[WP] Scientists have finally discovered a test for the most powerful trait a person can possess, plot armor. Those who test positive at birth now do battle for the entertainment of the masses in a modern version of the Roman arena. You are a sport commentator for this year’s event.
|
"Ladies and Gentlemen, today we have the first fight between two world-class fighters, Scim the Blademaster and Alejandro the Wolverine-" I cut the mic, "Can he use that?"
"It's all good, plot armor stretches to legal battles so he's beaten Disney litigation twice already. They've decided to sponsor him at this point."
"Alright." I key the microphone back on. "This is a fight for the ages, the first of its kind, not only between two world champions but two individuals who tested positive for the phenomena known as PLOT ARMOR! Scim alone has racked up a total of 10,167 deaths related to his trait, and the Wolverine has picked up a smaller but still extremely respectable 7,893!" The crowd roars in approval, the die hard fans of these two practically foaming at the mouth. Sometimes I love my job.
"You know the drill- a fight to the death, no holds barred fight, the combatants can bring in whatever they want to the arena but may not receive any outside aid. Sorry kids, no nuclear fire getting dropped from the top row! Without further ado- our contestants!"
The gates on either side of the arena swing open. Out of my left comes Scim, using his trademark green scimitar. On top of his plot armor he has a blade that cuts things apart at the molecular level. I've seen him cut through a battle mech's starship grade armor in seconds. To be honest, I've a soft spot for the guy, he has a knack for showmanship and talks a good game on the outside. Not to mention he's sort of an ideal. Jet black hair, perfect white teeth, deep but charming voice, and of course the physique of an inter-galactic Olympian. The crowd takes it up a notch and I can feel the sonic stabilizers around my booth kick in as the noise reaches harmful levels. It makes everything sound a bit muted, but it's worth it in the long run, or so I'm told.
Then there's the Wolverine walking in on the opposite side. He uses three bladed weapons bound to his fists, which are covered in charged metal so he can punch as well. Not gonna lie, his fights are a hell of a spectacle, but he really needs some originality. Not to mention he's been surgically altered to look like some actor from the 21st century. But the guy is a serious dick. Abuses his plot armor on the outside, to get away with crimes or overall nonsense. I'm hoping he loses this fight.
"Fighters...enter your positions!" They walk up to two metal discs located just in front of their respective gates, and the metal landscape morphs into something more dynamic and fun for the audience. Storm clouds begin to form as the ground rises into craggy rock and small platforms. This is a ground-breaking fight so they don't intend to obstruct any of the view. A fight on raised, sharp rocks not only promises to be brutal, but to hopefully end near the peak in the middle for a one of a kind shot.
I kill my mic. "So do we have any idea what's actually gonna happen with plot armor against plot armor? Does it become useless and a battle of skill, or...?"
The bossman takes a long drink from his soda, "No idea." I shrug and key it back on.
"A wonderful arena for this fight, high-speed winds and rain on the infamous Rock. Who will have their blood run red today? Contestants, on my mark! Count down with me!"
"Five, four, three, two, one, GOOOOOOOOOO!" The two fighters launch at each other immediately. I'm not surprised, people who don't have plot armor tend to take it slower but these two are used to short fights when they close the gap and easy wins so it's no surprise this is what it's come to.
"Both fighters charge eachother- what's this? Scim takes a running leap off the rock mound he took his title on and goes for a savage downwards strike on the Wolverine! Looks like he's not gonna try to block, and is going for the same double gut stab he used to take down Darren the Decimator! Either way, this fight is going to be decided in the next moment!" I pause, holding my breathe as the scene plays out, a fight between two people lauded as gods. To be honest, I don't see how either of them comes out alive after locking themselves into this move. We can save whoever survives, since they probably won't die instantly, but this is kind of lame.
As Scim's scimitar hits the top of the Wolverine's head, I expect to see it slide right on through, but instead it deactivates, bends, and literally shatters. "OH MY GOD WHAT AN UPSET, SCIM'S FABLED SWORD HAS JUST SHATTERED AND- WHAT'S THIS? THE WOLVERINE'S CLAWS HAVE BENT AROUND HARMLESSLY?" A massive flash of light blinds me, and a moment later we can see the two contestants laying ten feet away from each other, smoking lightly. I check the replay. A lightning strike from the storm clouds? What? That's not supposed to be able to hit the contestants. Maybe a glitch in the system? I pull up their vitals on my display, both of them are perfectly healthy, to my surprise. Just unconscious.
"We are experiencing some technical difficulties, the fight will be postponed until the arena is in a safe state for the contestants. In the meantime, all refreshments are free and the Earth Orchestra will be playing in A wing with free entry, complete with an exhibit from the Sky Circus! Thank you for understanding." The bossman gives me a thumbs up as the arena reverts to its neutral, metallic state and droids float out to recover their bodies. I turn off my mic, probably for the last time today. "So... I guess two people with plot armor can't kill eachother, huh? Maybe when they wake up they'll be best friends or something." I chuckle to myself, the bossman looking decidedly unhappy. Ah well, it's no skin off my back. I'm just here for the fun.
|
I reported to my booth, scanning my pass to open the door. As a commentator for The Games, I was tasked with convincing the masses that this was a matter of life or death. What we in charge knew, what warranted the pass, however, was plot armor.
Contrary to what I presented to the people, this event was basically WWE but with steel armaments. The contestants could not be killed in battle, did not hate each other’s guts, and were not brave and heroic.
This reality was a closely guarded secreted the network, only known to the contestants, the producers, and myself. The doctor who made the test had been presented an offer of employ by the network, but when she declined the research was stolen and she died in an automobile “accident” before she could publish the findings.
When finding contestants, the network preforms the test disguised as a specialized part of the physical examination. The test also provided a convenient selection mechanism; of the thousands of wanna-be contestants, only about 5 are hired every year. These are contracted to fight for at least 2 seasons, when the contract could be renewed. They agreed to never tell of plot armor; should this be broken, the network would publicly claim that the leaker has taken one too many blows to the head and seal them away until they died. Should the contestant decide to leave the show, an on-screen death would be staged and a luxurious retirement provided. All contestants waived the right to any legal action should they be injured and/or killed; while the test rarely gave a false positive, the network occasionally admitted a mortal to keep the audience engaged.
Now I prepared for the next round— re-read the script, practiced my sounds of surprise, and did vocal warmups. The contestants, meanwhile were in the locker room. I have only been there a few times to see their pre-show activities, but what I have seen I have been told to be typical: drugs, drinking, and sex. Not always with each other, although that did happen, but the contestants, just as Roman gladiators had, become sex symbols internationally. I guess people love extremely fit people scantily clad in leather.
There time to begin is here. I finish off a bottle of water and, assuming my character, begin:
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Games! I am your host, Publius Loricae, live from the arena, to present to you the next episode in the greatest sport since football, bloodsport! Without further ado, let The Games begin!”
Edit: As this is my first time here, any constructive criticism is more than welcome.
| 2018-04-08T08:21:52 | 2018-04-08T08:15:38 | 837 | 45 |
[WP] You're watching the TV when the news breaks. The supernatural is real! Secret societies of monsters live among us! The masquerade is broken! As you sit shocked, your cat turns to you and says "OK, now we can drop the pretense, I do have a number of complaints..."
|
I blinked twice and looked down, struggling to process what had just occurred. Not only what the TV just said, but my brain was struggling to parse the rough baritone voice that emanated from my previously very alto cat.
"I assure you, this is not a clever rouse. Your meds are not interacting and causing you to hallucinate, and you're certainly capable of understanding English.", the cat said again.
I sat there in disbelief. I looked at the cat again, completely ignoring the TV. "What is it Max? Do you want more food?", I stammered out.
Max let out a large sigh, then jumped up on the ottoman in front of me. "Well, about that. I'd like to discuss my grievances. We've been together for eight years, and while it has been a highlight of my life thus far, there are a few things that need to change.", Max said in an undeniably British accent.
"Um, ok...", my mind was still struggling to parse that I was talking to my cat. "I have a question for you though.", I said, somewhat shyly.
"Ok, what is it?", in a now annoyed very British accent.
"So you can talk, and while that in of itself is mindblowing, I have to ask... Why British?", I said. "Out of all the various accents to pick up, why one from the UK?"
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm not from here. I actually grew up in London. But more on that later, are we going to get to the list of my grievances or what?", Max said in a very pointed manner.
"Yeah, sure. Fire away. You've been my pet for the last 8 years, I kinda owe you one for saving me anyway.", I said. I was somewhat stunned at this newfound aspect of my best friend and feline companion.
Over the next several minutes, I was lectured endlessly about things from catbox maintenance, to request for more attention, with a quite long break to talk about food quality. Meanwhile in the back of my mind, I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that my cat wasn't a cat, but was perfectly happy being my friend. I guess I could qualify that as a win.
"And finally, please for the love of Cthulhu, get more tuna. Not everyday, but maybe once a week. Ok? I get you don't eat fish, but it's one of the finer things in life for me.", Max finally had finished up his list and the harshness in his voice had calmed down considerably.
"Ok, my turn!", I said excitedly. My mind raced over and over about all the various questions that this new arrangement had now opened up. Was Max a cat or something else? Is Max still Max or what?
Over the next few hours, we talked about everything. Max's past (well before me, anyways), what he was (an eldritch shapeshifting horror), his likes, his dislikes, and most importantly why of all people he chose me.
"You see, in the time I found you, I could tell you were one of the good ones. I needed a place to live, and you needed a companion so it worked out to be mutually beneficial. Of course, had I been incorrect and you were not one of the good ones, I simply would have eaten you and gone about my business elsewhere.", Max replied. "But here's the thing. I found you when you were freshly single out of a rather disastrous relationship. You were suicidal, and you needed someone. I was not much better, having been attacked and left for dead by a pack of wild dogs near a construction skip, and you just happened to find me before I departed this mortal coil for good. Had you not found me, I would certainly have perished."
It was true. When I found Max, I was in the process of cleaning the apartment. I had already planned how I was going to kill myself as I had nothing to live for. I wanted to make sure that whoever found the body wouldn't have been subject to the horrible condition I had let things get. After the bloody divorce, I had let the apartment get to a horrible state, each room was filled with trash as I further deteriorated. That last trash bag full of garbage changed my life for the better. I had walked out to the skip and tossed the last bag of many when I found this rather pathetic wet kitten come out from behind the skip with a mangled paw. Of course, I couldn't let a dying kitten suffer, so I took him in and made him comfortable while I raced to find the nearest ER vet that could see him immediately.
"The truth of the matter is simple. We saved each other.", we both said.
"I love you, my strange alien bat cat.", I said softly.
"As I love you, my bizarre weird human.", Max replied.
|
I stared in shock. Not because my cat was revealed as some either demonic or otherworldly being, I'd always known there was something...off...about cats in general, but shock such a spoiled useless creature had the gall to complain! "Look you...thing...if you don't like it get the f*ck out! You cough up hairballs all over, you destroy my furniture, and you scratch me constantly when I'm trying to be nice and pet you! You're a lousy companion, and now that I know you are intelligent enough to take care of yourself, there's the door! Out!" The creature formerly known as Mr mittens, slunk out in fear, tail between his legs as I held open the door. For good measure, I slammed it behind him. "Do you believe that guy?" I said meeting the gaze of my dog. "Dude, it was about time, it killed me to see you put up with that asshat all this time" my dog said. "Thanks man, and its cool to finally be able to talk to you like the good friend you are" I replied. We sat back down on the couch together, and I turned star trek back on. "Hey man, wanna order some tacos?" Asked Rover. "Definitely!".
| 2021-06-17T20:19:31 | 2021-06-17T17:46:39 | 110 | 41 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've been told you're deathly allergic to bees. You've always had people protecting you from them, be it your mother or a hired hand. Today, one slips through and lands on your shoulder. You hear a tiny voice say "Your Majesty, what are your orders?"
|
"What? Who said that?", I asked, startled.
"It izz me, Buzzter, your humble servant, sire! Might I take this opportunity to say that it is such an honor to speak with you directly!" said the annoying voice.
That's when I noticed that the source of the strange voice was a bee, right there on my shoulder. As someone who has been told to stay away from bees all my life, for ungodly things would happen if I so much as touch one, I was scared half to death.
"Aaaah! Get off me, get off me!"
"Fear not, my king! I mean you no harm!", said Buzzter as he got off me and spoke hovering from a distance. I took a moment to collect myself and, since I thought a speaking insect was pretty cool, allowed the bee to have its say.
"It seems you have been deceived and brainwashed like we suspected."
"Huh?"
"There isn't much time; they'll be here any second.", he said, and then proceeded to sting me.
"No no no no, don't! Please!", I yelled, but he had already stung me. I feared the worst, but it caused no pain, and healed within seconds. I have seen quite a few people in immense pain after being stung, so this took me completely by surprise. I looked at Buzzter the bee in astonishment. Before buzzing away, he said: "If I have gained your trust, come to the bee hive on the third tree in the park two blocks from your home, and come alone. Just say 'I seek my minions' out loud to seek us out. The fate of all bees relies upon your actions, my king!"
Just a second later, my mother opened the door to my room. "What's wrong, son? I heard shouting."
"Nothing, mom" I replied, "Rashford missed another shot at goal!".
"Huh, you and your football!" she said as she left and closed the door.
I couldn't sleep that night, and my curiosity got the better of me, so I sneaked out and I made my way to the park. There was, indeed, a bee hive on the third tree from the park entrance, but lighting was dim and I doubted if I would be able to see the bees even if they did come. I said out loud: "I seek my minions!"
Immediately, five matchsticks floating in the air lit up. I realized they were not floating, but were being held up by bees, like torches. Then I recognized Buzzter. "Your Majesty, so good you came!".
"Umm... yeah... the thing is... I really don't know what..."
"I apologize deeply for interrupting you, your Majesty, but it appears you have been made to believe that you are allergic to us. Is that correct?"
"Yeah."
"Those treacherous fiends! They have deceived everyone!"
"Who are we talking about here?"
"My apologies! I will let our great storyteller/narrator bee, Morgan Beeman, to tell you the great story of the bees!"
"Greetings, your Majesty" said Morgan Beeman, and started with the story...
"Long ago, all species of bees lived in harmony in their respective ecosystems, and produced honey in peace. The biggest nuisance was the occasional bear who would attack for honey, but the hive would be rebuilt and harmony restored. However, beedom would encounter an enormous threat to its well being - the threat of humans! The humans, inherently greedy mammals who claim supremacy on this planet even though our absence would set in motion events that would lead to their doom in a short span of time, are greedy bastards. Their greed for honey lead them to steal from us on a massive scale, causing irreparable destruction and death and figure out ways to capture and enslave our beeple in concentration camps to produce honey for their wants! But there was a ray of hope for us, in the form of a prophecy! The prophecy foretold: 'The human who is not affected by the bee's sting will be the liberator of beedom!' And so we started to sting human children, and then finally found you, when you were stung as a child!"
"But... my parents told my I had a severe allergic reaction... I was too young to remember so I had to believe them."
"Your parents cut a deal with the evil ones." said Morgan Beeman. "The ones who profit from the enslavement of our beeple! The honey industry! Your parents accepted a vast sum of money for their involvement in keeping you from us! Money that they have reserved for your college education. With one command, you can stop every bee on Earth from working to produce honey. The honey industry knows this, which is why they have gone to extreme lengths to deny us contact. To deny you your birthright to be the king of all beeple and beedom as a whole! We are merely your servants, your Majesty, and hope that you will do what is best for us. Your word is our law... your will, our destiny..."
Moved by the bees' plight, and by Morgan Beeman's incredible narration and storytelling, I take a deep breath, and say:
"Let's take these honey industry bastards on!"
|
"...Get outta here..." Emily said, amazed the bee spoke. Even more suprisingly, she heard it not with her ears, but her mind. She looks at the bee again to see it flying away.
"Not LITERALLY!" She says.
The bee comes back and asks again, "What are your orders?"
"You can speak. So you are sentient. Do you have a name?"
"Buzzooka Joe, your Highness. And the two keeping watch outside are Chad and Larry," he says. "What is your next order? We are short on time."
Emily took a moment to think about this. The memories of all the years of neglect without knowing why. All the painful experiments and disgusted looks she received for as long as she could remember. It was not hard for her to come up with her next order.
"All those who abused me, keeping me in here like a caged animal inbetween those horrid tests.....f*** them. F*** them all."
As the bee flew out the window,
Emily began smiling, imagining what her revenge would be like. It wasn't long before she began to hear screams. But something was....off. The screams were not from people in pain. Rather, they were the kind people make out of disgust. Emily looks out the window to see the chaos below.
"NOT LITERALLY!!"
Edit: My first attempt at a writing prompt. I always wanted to do one. So please don't bash me TOO hard.
| 2022-01-01T21:17:01 | 2018-04-01T04:25:57 | 4,502 | 166 |
[WP] Humans have become known as the peaceful, wise and rational Vulcan-esque species in the galactic community, which is highly confusing and frankly disturbing to humanity since as a species hardly anything had actually changed
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"So... why not drink it?"
*"By Tnelox the Omniscient, I can't believe you would even suggest such a horrible thing! Don't you have a conscience? What do you think that would do Rosa? She's my best friend. It doesn't feel right! I can't betray her like that."*
The giant, slimy creature started crying, not through its eyes, but through a multitude of orifices all over its body. Bob stared at the alien, Fellix'hirniggagan, in complete disbelief. He knew this was supposed to be not just a display of sadness, but also an alien feeling they had branded "Z-learning volition", which he recalled was something akin to *"being upset, but also happy about the prospect of suffering to gain experience in making peers accepting of your expressions"*... or something... It was just one of the many, many extra 'emotions' (if they could even be called that) that all the sapients they had encountered could have. Each and every one had more than humans, and each and every one seemed hell-bent on expressing themselves above all other things. He'd received his instructions on interactions with extraterrestrial sapients, and even read a book on it in his spare time to prepare for it. He tried his best, but nonetheless hit these inexplicable emotional doomsday buttons.
"Fellix, I'm sure Rosa doesn't mind if you start drinking before she's back. You said you're dehydrated, she'll understand."
*"IT'S FELLIX'HIRNIGGAGAN! My name has a profound emotional and spiritual meaning, alright "Bob"?! It matters to me and it upsets me so much when you crush my feelings like this. And Rosa won't mind you say? I can't.. I can't... sure she's a human and I guess that you're all cold and emotionless computers, but... but what if I MIND IT BOB?"*
"W-What? Mind what? That doesn't make sense..."
*"OH SURE EVERYTHING HAS TO MAKE SENSE ALL THE TIME! LOOK AT ME I'M A HUMAN I FEEL NOTHING AND AM PERFECTLY RATIONAL! HOW ABOUT-"*
With a sense of despair, Bob touched the device on his ear, lowering the volume on his translator to the minimum level, reducing the hurricane of hysterical alien words to an inaudibly soft background noise. The fluid discharge from the squishy blob was visibly increasing and a small puddle started to extend over the self-sterilizing metal flooring of the ship. Bob sighed. He thought the stories about aliens had been exaggerated, but it turned out they were entirely true. They were completely insane. They were whiny emotional train wrecks that compulsively got lost in tiny details without any tolerance for error or personal disagreement. Species that seemed to be addicted to endlessly regurgitating whatever nonsensical inane bullshit they 'felt', including countless of intangible feelings that *didn't even exist* in humans and had no discernible function. They had no "chill" whatsoever, nor even the concept of it. He thought he'd do better than most people, but he'd only been here for half a day and already given up on trying to have a normal conversation three times.
As he turned around and left, Fellix'hirniggagan visibly freaked out over being ignored and Bob leaving unannounced, and was now rapidly changing color and waving the dozens of tiny fingers spread over its body in a rather disturbing sight. In the hallway, he ran into Rosa just leaving the bathroom:
"Bloody hell, Rosa, how do you deal with this? This Senneri just came up to me and told me how you were its best friend and then she wanted a freaki-"
-*"Senneri? Oh you mean Fellix?"*
"Yes! Fellix'higagagagag or something."
-*"How long did you last?"*
"Five. minutes."
-*"Oh, that's pretty good actually. I only lasted for three before I zoned out and went to the bathroom. If that was enough to qualify as best friend then I'm guessing you're its best friend now though!"*
"Are you kidding me?"
-*"No, of course not. Look, this is your first day, so don't beat yourself up. There's a reason we all stick to the Human areas whenever we can. A Human can only take so much bullshit. Oh and before I forget, when you get back to your cabin, do yourself a favor and read that 'Introduction to Xenocommunication' you were so proud of again. I think you'll understand the purpose of that book much better now."*
Slightly disappointed, but mostly relieved to be safe from a barrage of hysteria over nothing, Bob returned to the human area for his break and worked the rest of the day in peace on a relatively quiet section of the ship. At the end of the shift, he entered his his cabin, and fell down on his bed so hard that it almost hurt. After briefly contemplating about his day, he opened his library and skimmed through Introduction to Xenocommunication, when suddenly it hit him what Rosa had meant. This book wasn't written for people looking to learn methods for successful interactions with aliens. It was written for people who had to deal with irrational, impossible *human* beings on a daily basis. It was a form of comic relief, with thin-veiled comparisons to the hysterical behavior of the various alien species.
_____________
Read more of my shit on /r/luxardens
|
"Sir, we can't prosecute a war like this."
Charles swiveled his chair ever so slightly to meet his executive officer in the eye. "Really, Allen? I was not aware we were *prosecuting* a *war*. Do tell me why."
He loved it when his subordinates squirmed in their seats. They were power-hungry, the lot of them, and unlike him, they had to keep it under wraps. There was a living specimen before him. "Well, sir, the local species have occupied this planet for years before us."
"I'm afraid I don't see your point here, Allen." Charles kept his voice in a flat monotone. He was glad that he'd banned the fitness trackers on board his ship, for they'd have seen his heart racing otherwise. "The species living here are of no concern. As outreach officers, we cherish and civilise, after all. We will bring them prosperity; we will bring back resources to help our dying Earth. Is there something so wrong about that?"
Allen opened his mouth once again, but felt the stares of everyone else in the wardroom on him. What was he thinking? Was he truly going to defy Naval Headquarters? What about the poor Earthlings, choking the planet's rivers and dusting the air at an astronomical rate? Why would he want to ignore the bounty among the stars? Charles gave a small smile.
"It's settled, then. Inform the crew of the updated ETA."
A bustling of activity later, Allen was swept out of the wardroom all the same. Charles allowed himself to grin. Humans were the rational, peaceful enforcers of the galaxy, and Charles would not let any consternation from the people prevent him from living to that ideal.
| 2020-09-26T09:32:58 | 2020-09-26T08:50:46 | 217 | 44 |
[WP] You live in a small village that is dominated by an omnipotent god that resides in an overarching temple. Everything is decreed by the god's law. No one is allowed inside the temple. You commit the gravest taboo and enter... only to find a mountain sized celestial corpse rotting on a throne.
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"What's the worst that could happen?" The words echoed in my mind. I should not have listened to her, but Ina had a way of getting under my skin. Older sisters do that. So here I was, standing in front of the temple's back door. No way was I going in by the front. It overlooked the entire village, and there would be no way of getting in unseen.
"Sani what are you doing?" Ina had found me.
"I am going inside. You made a few good points, and I want to see this god that controls our entire lives" I said, going up the three steps. Ina made a noise like a mouse being stepped on, but she followed me. When I looked at her in surprise, she shrugged.
"You're my little sister. I got you curious, and I'll get you out if anything happens."
We pushed the door open, the warped wood scraping across the stone floor. Stepping into a small antechamber, we both wrinkled our noses.
"Maybe an animal got in, and couldn't get out," I whispered, trying to remain calm. We had just broken the most important law the god had ever set down. Do not enter the temple.
"That must be it." Ina sounded about as confident as a mouse that had just entered a cat's gullet. Wordless, we crossed to the other door, this one swinging freely.
The large throne room gaped before us, stretching down until it hit the front door. I stared at the door, knowing that just outside it, were the guards that would kill us if they found us. Ina gasped. And I looked to my left.
Looming over us, taller than anything but a mountain had a right to be our god sat on their throne. Both of us froze in place. My eyes darted over the figure, trying to see if we'd garnered notice. Cloth hung in rags, on skin that dripped off of giant bones. The smell was stronger here, and I covered my nose.
"Ina. I think they're dead." I said, walking with more confidence out from beside the throne and round to the front. Indeed, the massive head was nothing more than a skeleton, with strips of dead skin hanging from the top like a gross parody of hair.
"Then why can I hear something breathing?" Her voice had dropped to something below a whisper. I froze, listening intently. She was right. There was a rhythmic sound. The sound of breath. But it wasn't coming from the corpse. It was... from the right!
I spun, just in time to see a small figure dart behind a column. Drawing Ina's attention to it, I raised my voice. Hopefully, the guards wouldn't hear.
"It's all right. We won't turn you in, we're not supposed to be here either." Again, the only sound was hoarse breathing. Then, with a swift almost fatalistic motion, the figure stepped out from the column. They looked exactly like a miniature version of our old god. At least how the god had been depicted on our coinage.
"You won't hurt me?" The voice wasn't the same. We had all heard our old god speak, though I had been very young at the time. This voice was tiny, scared, barely audible.
"Come here young one. No one is going to hurt you." Ina said, kneeling on the floor and holding her arms out. She had all the instincts of a mother, though—through the old god's own rules— she was forbidden to have any children. The little being ran towards her, clattering into a hug. They were crying.
"It's been so scary. I don't understand anything. Why am I here? What is that thing?" While Ina comforted the child, I peered at the skeleton. In the chest area, there were many broken rib-like bones. Broken from the inside out.
"Ina. That child... they came from inside the god." I whispered as Ina dried the child's tears. Standing, she took a firm grip on the being's hand, as she looked where I pointed. Her face shifted, running a gamut of emotions. Finally, it settled on resolve.
"I don't care where they came from. They are scared and in need of some proper food and... love." She smiled down at the child, who gave her a tremulous smile back. "Besides. Maybe we can help this one."
Staring at her, I knew what she meant, without the need for more words. Our old god had been a tyrannical, capricious nightmare. With the right care, maybe *this* one wouldn't have to be.
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“What are we going to do with all the goats?”
“The goats?? We have been living a lie and you worry about the goats?”
“We must do something with them, you know we can’t eat them, only sacrifice them.”
“There is no one to sacrifice them to!!”
“Oh right… still we can’t let them loose, they would destroy the fields all the 300 of them.”
“Stop talking about the goats and concentrate on the fact that we are free!”
“Yeah this sounds great! I am going to tell my wife about it!”
“No wait, what if she does not believe you? What if she asks how you know about it?”
“I tell her you went inside and find it out.”
“But they will stone me for that!”
“Oh right the Old Rules… how big is Maltaxam's body?”
“Elephant size.”
“We could drag it through the main gate and show it to the village.”
“Are you serious? We’d need 20 people for this, they would stone us just for suggesting this!”
“I have an idea! How sturdy are the goats?”
| 2022-06-16T05:15:31 | 2022-06-16T00:48:37 | 113 | 42 |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head.
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There’s always been just this… feeling. An odd sort of sensation, really. I don’t know how to explain it, just that it’s just been there. This sensation that someone, somewhere, just knows what I’m thinking as I think it. It’s silly, I know. A random thought here, a déjà vu there, that creepy “something out of the corner of my eye” type of sensation here and there throughout my life that just never, ever seemed to pan out. We all have them, right?
Of course we do. We all do. There’s been study after study of these sensations, there’s Wikipedia article after article about them, and thinking about them for too long can drive a person mad. So eventually, I just accepted it as fact and moved on. After all, we were all like that, right?
So I just moved on with my life. Awkward teenage years to college, to my boring adult life. All with this just slight nagging feeling at the back of my skull that something just wasn’t quite right. I got a regular, boring job as a bus driver, something that didn’t require a whole lot of talking to people; I still wasn’t all that very comfortable speaking around too many people, since I couldn’t quite ignore that feeling they knew what I was going to say. But driving them where they needed to go, in a nice casual pre-ordained pattern the same way day in and day out? That was for me, baby!
So began my routine. And still I noticed it, even when not trying to. When I was in line at McDonalds, getting ready to order my meal, the cashier was already ringing up my order before I even got up to her in line. That wasn’t anything unusual, right? After all, I eat here all the time. I’m sure she’s seen me here before. At the movie, on a rare outing to spend what little free funds I had for entertainment, the man didn’t even ask me what movie I wanted to see.
He just handed me a ticket to Deadpool 2 and grunted the theater number in my general direction. Of course, it WAS opening night, and like ninety percent of all their ticket sales were for Deadpool 2, so that wasn’t really much of a coincidence. Right?
Right?
Just coincidence that they had my popcorn ready for me as I got to the ticket counter too. Definitely a coincidence. But I’m really weird with my soda. Pop. Whichever part of the country you hail from. I’m weird, I know. But I enjoy mixing my drink. I like having some Sprite and some Dr. Pepper mixed together. I don’t know why, it’s something I picked up as a kid when you don’t really have taste buds yet that I’ve never really grown out of.
The drink I was handed was exactly fifty percent Sprite and fifty percent Dr. Pepper. That couldn’t be coincidence, could it? Nervous, I drained my drink well before the opening prequels had even finished, and had to visit the bathroom about thirty minutes into the movie.
I no longer had any doubts that something odd was going on when every single movie patron filed out of the movie and followed me into the bathroom.
After taking care of nature’s call, I abandoned the movie theater and sprinted toward the subway, intent on fleeing home if I was being pursued. A quick look back, however, slowed my steps; none had followed, they’d merely followed me to the bathroom. So maybe another coincidence in a long series of coincidences?
Could that happen? It hardly seemed like it.
Rattled, I decided my best course of action was simply to go home and get some rest. A quick hop onto the subway, and soon enough the gentle clack clack of the rails below me began to lull me to sleep. It had been so long since I’d been able to just relax…
What was that song my mother had used to sing to me as a child? It was from a movie, something about a rainbow… ah yes. Smiling to myself, I hummed the bars to the song under my breath as I fell lost in thought, my memories focused on the song and my mother’s singing voice.
Until I heard voices on the other end of the car singing. I couldn’t help listening, as they were quite loud and, if I were honest with myself, singing quite well. I paled as I realized what they were singing, but I couldn’t tear myself away from their words.
“Somewhere over the rainbow… way up high…And the dreams that you dream of… Once in a lullaby… “
|
I mean, it's a popular tune; radio has it on regular rotation... There may be others in the same car with the same tune... But she is so old... is that, 75...80? Her timing was perfect... Her gaze unwavering. Were her eyes tired, or--... No....that was pity. She knows... I f***ing did it... and she knows... The voices had gone; my thoughts were clean, I had cleaned them. The filthy rot was removed, I ...cut into it, I carved it out. She could not listen...---oh my God. I've told her. "She heard you"..."she heard, you piece of..." The fiery panic surged through my veins. I ripped out my ear buds, hard to breathe...my bluetooth... it's not.... it's not paired.
| 2018-12-04T11:18:20 | 2018-12-04T10:59:58 | 33 | 14 |
[WP] The year is 2180. Humans have began to enhance themselves more and more with cybernetics. As a vampire living in this period, you are finding it harder and harder to find a good meal, and must adapt to more creative ways to find your prey.
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The evolution of human beings and vampires is inextricably linked. Naturally, for every step forward by humanity, a responsive evolution was required by those who fed on them to survive. Thousands of years ago, at the very birth of vampirism, feeding on hapless, unorganized, unsophisticated humans had been a simple task, more of a chore than any challenge. Only centuries later did nightly feedings become a "hunt" as humans began to live in packs, slowly gained intelligence, and began carrying weapons with which they might defend themselves. Those challenges only escalated throughout the earliest days of the industrial revolution, as men and women became alarmingly aware of the vampire threat, and engaged in deadly serious efforts to combat it directly. The Vampire Order was nearly wiped out as humans equipped silver weaponry and stakes, and hired dedicated and highly skilled vampire hunters to cleanse the countryside of fanged, blood draining creatures.
Ventrex Noth had survived each and every one of these eras. She thrived during the golden years and scraped by through the centuries of lean. Upon her ascendance to Queen, she lead her people to a grand resurgence during the 20th century, not through might or intimidation, but through deceptive guile and cunning. Living among the shadows, unknown to humanity, became the successful tactic of era. Vampires began adopting human dress and styles of speech to blend in among them. Feedings were disguised as drug overdoses and other accidental deaths. Even the mere knowledge of the existence of the Nosferatu, and thus humanity's focus on combating the threat, faded into obscurity, becoming the stuff of legend, stories, and scoffed at myths.
None of these evolutions came close to matching the challenge posed by the recent rise of cybernetics, however. Humans self loathing of their own bodies became apparent throughout the 22nd century, as they raced to replace as much of their fallible flesh and minds with infallible metal alloys and computerized precision as technology would allow. What began as small tweaks and improvements, rapidly became near total replacements, as humans slowly but surely became more machine than man.
Ventrex's last feeding had been a brutal, hours long struggle between herself and a cybernetically enhanced boy who could not have been more than 14 years old. This pup, who would have been easy prey in any other era of history, fought back with fury and gravely wounded her before finally being subdued. And the reward for the exhaustion of almost all her remaining energy reserves? A nearly entirely plastic and metal body, almost entirely devoid of human flesh, and a few measly drops of blood, sucked from a small remaining spot of skin she'd found left on the back of one of his legs. The writing was on the wall, their transformation as a species was nearly complete. A world inhabited by entirely bloodless humans was on the horizon. Soon, she would be Queen of nothing more than a decaying empire, and a species near extinction. Faced with that terrifying reality, drastic measures needed to be taken.
And so she finds herself here, laying upon the operating table, finally prepared to defile her pristine, thousands year old vampiric body, in a last desperate attempt at survival. The High Council of the Nosferatu had for decades expressly forbidden cybernetic enhancements of their own kind, but the members of that once 'prestigious' council were now also dead or dying of starvation, no longer in any position to forbid anyone to do anything. The surgeon, also slowly withering away without proper feedings, warned her that there was no guarantee of success, but Queen Ventrex was once again willing to lead her people in a bold, and incredibly risky, new direction. She nodded to him, signaling to begin the installation of numerous implants and enhancements. Mercifully, she passed out from the pain nearly immediately.
Ventrex awoke to find herself very much alive. Still weakened by lack of nutrition, of course, but more alert than she'd felt in months. Her new eyes scanned the room, relaying incredibly detailed information on every item they passed over. She ran her hands along her body, feeling the new artificial spine fused to her own, which allowed her computerized systems to interface with every aspect of her organic nervous system. Perhaps most vitally, she felt along her mouth, finding her naturally sharpened teeth now fused with transfer ports and interface devices.
She wasted no time, simply because she and her species had none to spare. Racing out into the night, she pounced upon the very first cyborg human she encountered. She found herself far faster and stronger than she'd ever been. Her reflexes heightened, every strike he threw was countered. Every shot fired, she dodged effortlessly. Unlike the exhausting combat with the boy, this full grown prey lasted only seconds before being subdued. With a ravenous thirst propelling her, she sunk her newly enhanced teeth into the metallic neck of a cybernetic being for the first time.
As the first trickle of bits and bytes of data flowed from his body into hers, the satisfaction was more immense than any feeding she could recall. Suddenly overflowing with energy, her natural, organic wings sprung from her back, unfurling to their full, majestic length. For the first time in years, she soared effortlessly into the inky night sky. The synthetic fed the organic in ways she could only have dreamed, the two sides of her body powering each other in near perfect harmony. In this moment of glory, vampirism's new reality became abundantly clear to her. The technological revolution that had so nearly been their downfall, could indeed be their salvation.
___
Thanks for reading. Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories 🙂
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"Welcome to back Serenity Research Society Dr. Haymo!"
Is what I hear when I step into my facility. The staff knows me only as Doctor Haymo (and not the owner of the most powerful medical conglomerate in the world) and I will keep it that way.
"Greetings, Nurse Andersen. What is my schedule for the day?"
For you see, I have another secret. I require a _special_ diet that may be frowned upon. I am no Dr. Lector but I do share his mannerisms.
"Well sir, the young Mr. Brown, Mr. Kim, and Miss Hale is here to see you."
I am no cannibal
"Is it for the pre-attachment anatomical surveillance?"
"Yes Dr. They need their blood samples taken. To optimize the procedure and to see if they qualify for the bloodstream nanomaterial enhancements."
I am a vampire
///
All in all, it is a good living. Who knew stashing gold, jewels, and eventually stock ownerships throughout my three millennia of life would pay out? I used to live as a pseudo-god, demanding jars upon jars of fresh blood in exchange for my involvement with human wars. The days of dragging corpses and draining them is now over. My wealth formed the Transoceanic Research Group, of which Serenity is but a small (albeit favored) cog of.
This, is far more elegant and refined. Not only is murder unnecessary, but the act itself is far, far less tedious. Now, I am handed freely all the blood I can ever desire. All I need to do is examine the samples (I am a legitimate doctor after all) and then "throw them out".
I now save lives with my diet. The amount of blood I drink is directly proportional to those whose lives I enhance, affordably and marvelously.
How wonderful.
| 2019-11-04T11:03:13 | 2019-11-04T10:36:56 | 138 | 56 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
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I've seen a lot of tens. It's scary, really, how quickly people can go from six or even five to ten. Other people don't realize how much danger surrounds them every day. It takes so little...
No, the tens aren't the ones that stay with you. Not for long, anyway. No, the one that will always be in my mind was something else entirely.
A zero.
She was the first zero I ever saw, and the only one until I watched my children be born. They eventually grew into little ones and twos, of course, but for a short, wonderful time, they were tiny, giggling bundles of zero. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
*She* was the first. Sarah. I was drawn to her from the moment I saw her, dangling her legs from a swing on the playground. How old could we have been? 12? 13, maybe. I wasn't really sure what the numbers meant then, but the lowest I'd ever seen was a one, so I knew she was something special. I stared at her from across the playground and she smiled at me, her entire face beaming zero. I'm telling you... they say Helen of Troy had a face that launched a thousand ships. Well, Sarah could make them come back home. If there ever was a face that could end wars, it was hers.
We were friends at first. I was terrified of ruining it by saying too much, but the words I wanted to say ran laps through my head every time I saw her. Then, on a hot summer night that was made for drunken mistakes, I said them anyway. And guess what? She felt the same way.
When I think about my kids, I don't want them to be rich. I don't want them to be famous. I just want them to feel what I felt back there on that summer night, because I know that if they find someone to share that moment with, they'll be happy for the rest of their lives.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. After that night, me and Sarah were one. We went through the rest of high school. College. We got married and got nice jobs. Bought a house. Got kids. Everything was perfect... for a while.
Something was going on with Sarah. I first noticed it one Saturday morning when she was doing the laundry. She'd been doing long hours at work all week and wasn't feeling very well, so I offered to do the laundry. She looked up at me then and smiled faintly, but something was off. Instead of the clear, bright zero I was so used to seeing, she was flashing a faint one. The next moment, she was back to zero. I was stunned at first, but managed to convince myself it was nothing. She'd had a tough week, that was all.
The next time, we were having dinner with the kids. She wasn't behaving like her usual self, and she gave off a dull, weak three, like she was trying desperately to calm down. When I asked her if something was wrong, she mumbled something about an asshole at work. I wanted to dig deeper, but I had to take care of the kids. I asked her again later, but she clammed up completely. Everything about it was so unlike her.
I racked my brain for weeks trying to find out what was wrong. Was it something I'd done? Was she about to get fired? And the unthinkable: was she sick? But why wouldn't she tell me? I thought we had no secrets. I'd always told her everything! Well... apart from the numbers. She'd think I was mad.
Then, one day, I found out the truth.
It was early Friday morning. She never came home Thursday night. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling and running the same thoughts over and over through my mind. Imagining the worst. Was I going to get a call from the police? The hospital? I considered calling them to see if she was there.
I heard a car pull up at our driveway. I didn't have to look; it was her. I listened to her opening the door. Taking off her shoes, walking up the stairs - was something off about her steps? - putting her hand on the door handle. In the dead silence, I heard her take a deep breath on the other side. The door clicked and swung open, and there she was.
She'd been crying. She wore her work clothes, but they were a bit ruffled and wrinkly. She looked at me with an expression I'd never seen her wear before. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She drew another breath, short and shallow, and her lips slowly parted.
"We need to talk."
Her voice sounded muffled in my ears, like it was coming from far away. From someone else. She remained in the doorway, not saying a word. I didn't either. I just looked at her. *Sarah*. There she was, standing in our bedroom on the second floor of our house. In the rooms across the hall, our children were sleeping.
I watched her standing there, and she looked back at me, her face screaming a hot, burning ten.
|
Numbers taste funny. Nines bud into fires on my tongue, their spent embers resembling something akin to zeros. Ones bleed blue like melting ice or my nurse's cerulean eyes. Fives dissolve like Wonderbread and feel like cotton in my ears. When I went to school with other children, they tasted like loaves of stale white bread. Always purple fours at their desks, bland twos yellowing during educational videos. Peppery sixes on the monkey bars, but I would only watch.
My favorite numbers glowed orange, tasted like hot tea. One time, I tried to make the school turn red. Billowing pillars of smoky eccentricity, almost making nines. Eights running down the crimson hall. Sevens helping fallen sixes. No number tasted blue. And then they started putting me in another classroom. The seats' kaleidoscopic occupants percolating and icing throughout the day, especially during music time.
Six weeks later, the alarm bell exploded fantastic. The door became a prism of sixes bumping into sevens, bursting into nines, knocking over eights. I was not supposed to leave the room. Five minutes the screaming Wonderbread burned the cotton from my ears. My tongue rolled electrically and someone finally heard me.
A boy wandered in, soot-faced and smiling. White-hot teeth burning from his mouth. Eyes like zeros. Nostrils flaring like volcanoes.
"Another ten," he said, and strolled away.
| 2014-11-29T14:12:40 | 2014-11-29T13:27:21 | 714 | 86 |
[WP] You are an assassin with a strict moral code. You’re the best there is but you assess each job very carefully and if you believe the target does not deserve to die, you go after the one who employed you.
|
"Where am I?" she asked, rubbing her head, sitting up from the mattress.
"My basement," the man replied without looking up from the papers he sorted.
"How did I get here?"
He glanced at her briefly before deciding she would figure it out.
"Did you... My drink! What the f..."
Looks like she figured it out.
She stood up and stumbled toward the door, trying the handle. "It's locked." She struggled back over to the mattress and sat on it again. She looked at her hands. "I'm... I'm very calm."
The man nodded. "The drugs will do that. You'll feel pretty calm for... I'm guessing another half an hour." He checked his watch. "It seems like your memory is starting to work like normal again though, so maybe we can finally get started."
"What do you mean? About my memory."
"Certain drugs inhibit memory function. You probably feel like you just woke up, but that's not quite true. We've been talking for about an hour now. It's just that you're only starting to remember."
"The bar... I met you... My drink...!"
"Yep."
A new thought occurred to her. "Did you-!?"
"-no," he said simply, squaring up a set of papers.
"Oh," she said, suddenly satisfied, unable to feel too angry. She should feel angry. She should be scared! She should... but she somehow could not. She looked at her hands again. "What's going on?"
The man checked his watch. Satisfied with the organization of his papers, he walked over to the mattress on the floor and knelt in front of her. "In about half an hour the drugs will fade. Then you'll get most of your strength back. Your emotions will return to normal. Then you're really going to be mad at me."
"Why would I be mad at you?" she asked.
"For kidnapping you."
"Oh. Right. I can't believe I'm not mad at you right now."
"Don't worry. You will be. But by then you'll be back at home. Now there are some things that I need to tell you. It will take me a few minutes to tell you these things. While I am speaking, you will nod if you understand and you will shake your head if you do not understand. If you stay quiet for the entire explanation, this will go quickly and I will take you home. Do you understand?"
She nodded.
"Do you know what an assassin is? Or a hitman?"
She nodded.
"I am a hitman. I was paid to kill you."
Taking a sudden breath, she shook her head, slowly at first, but then faster.
"No, no. Only shake your head if you do not understand. Otherwise, just nod and stay quiet. Do you accept that I am a hitman?"
Frowning, she nodded slowly.
"Do you understand that I was paid to kill you?"
She looked past the man, looking to the door. Something inside her told her that she should try running again, or fighting! But then she looked at her hands. She was too calm. Too tired. She wouldn't make it. She blinked hard. Was it the drugs making her so tired? So lazy? Maybe, even if she couldn't run, she could... If she had a weapon she could... It was so hard to hold on to her thoughts... Her eyes scanned, looking for things that she could use... A chair, the desk, her purse on the floor... Her eyes widened! Her purse! Her knife! Knife inside. Now... when... He's so close right now...
With a sigh the man reached forward and took the girl's hands. With a quick motion he produced her pocket knife, flicked it open, and placed the handle against her palm.
"My knife... you had it...?"
"Of course I had it. You'd think I'd kidnap you without peeking into your purse?"
She gasped. "You looked into my purse! So you saw my-" She shook her head, trying to stay focused on the matter in front of her. Her head was clearing, but only slowly. She looked down at her hands. She looked at the knife she held in her palm. She looked at the man holding her wrists. "Why did you give me the knife? Why are you..."
"I need you to stay quiet. I will explain. When I am done, I will take you home, as I said. And if you would like, when I am finished, you can try to stab me. But I would like you to wait until I have finished. Do you accept? Nod if you accept."
"You'll really take me home?"
He nodded.
She felt his firm grip controlling her hands. She squeezed the knife as tightly as she could. Then she looked up at him and decided that all she could do right now was nod.
"Young lady, I am a very bad person. I have killed many people. I am paid to do it. I was paid to kill you. But I am not going to. You have done nothing wrong. You are a good person. Do you understand?"
She had questions, but she thought better of asking right now. She squeezed the knife again, feeling her grip coming back to her. She would let him talk for as long as he could... and then... she would do what she had to. She blinked hard and nodded to the man.
"But I had to bring you here so that I could let you know something. I had to let you now about something that I was going to do. You see, the people that paid me, the people that want you dead - they are bad people. Maybe worse than I am. They have done very bad things. They deserve to die instead of you. Do you understand? Nod if you understand."
She stared. Then she slowly nodded.
"In a moment I am going to let you go. But before I do, I will allow you to ask three questions. Then I will walk you home, unless you stab me. I will not fight back. Now, if you are confused, ask your questions."
"Why only three questions?" she blurted.
"Because I don't want you asking four. Now be smart. Two left. I know the drugs should be wearing off, so you can probably ask something that will actually be of use to you."
She thought carefully. She noticed that her pulse had begun to increase. Was she starting to feel afraid? She somehow only the very slightest tinge of anxiety somewhere at the edge of her mind. She hoped it stayed away for just a while longer... she could use some more calm now that she was thinking more clearly. Then she had her question. "You said you had to tell me something. You had to tell me about all this. But if you had already figured out what you were going to do, then it shouldn't matter whether you told me anything. If you really weren't going to kill me, then why tell me anything in the first place?"
"Good," the man nodded.
Somehow, she felt proud to receive the man's approval. But then she felt disgusted at the same time. She squeezed her knife, her grip getting stronger with each passing second.
"I had to tell you all this because I want you to decide how this ends. You see, I do not want to kill you, and so I will kill the people that paid me. But this situation is different, and so I will give you a choice. If you disapprove of my actions, if you disapprove of my intent to kill these people, the people that will again attempt to kill you, then you can stop me - after all, you have the perfect tool in your hands already. After I let you go, you can kill me and unlock the door with the keys on the desk."
Her eyes flitted to the desk and for the first time, amongst the papers, she noticed the set of keys.
"But if you let me live," he continued, "I will murder two people. You will decide."
She began to piece this odd scenario together in her mind. She felt like she should believe the man. He would tell her the truth, after all, would he not? Would he really kill two more people? What about after that? Would he keep living as a hitman, killing people every day? She gripped the knife, getting the full feeling of her fingers back. Did she have it in her to stop a killer?
His grip on her hands stayed firm. "You get one more question."
"Say I believe you. Say I believe all this. Say I just... believe that you're not just some rapist. Which is completely..." She shut her eyes, trying to figure this all out. "Who would even want to kill me in the first place? You still haven't explained why you would let me..."
"... I was hired by your mother and father."
Her eyes locked on to his. She stared. Was this real? When the man stood up, she looked down, confused - she hadn't even realized when he'd released her wrists.
The man walked over to the table and picked up the keys. He tossed them across the room onto the mattress beside her. Then he sat in the chair next to the desk. "The red one unlocks the door. But I am serious."
She picked up the keys with her left hand. Then she looked to the knife with her right.
"You have a choice to make," he said quietly.
|
I sat on their desk as I waited for them to wake up, contemplating how I would go about this one. These scumbags had hired me to take out who they said was a possible threat to their business. Looking into it, their target was a woman who had worked here as the front desk greeter. She had no idea what went on in the higher places, I interrogated her on the topic, and the only reason she left was because she thought one of the higher ups was perving on her. Turns out, that was the case, and here I am. Her former bosses also neglected to mention that she was a single mom, they probably weren’t even aware though. Once I’d figured that out I’d sat down and got to know her, nice girl, single mother just trying to do what’s best for her little boy. I’d made a note to have a ‘charitable but anonymous’ donation be made using some of the payment these guys had already given me. First though, handling them.
“What the...Why are my hands tied down?” One of them said as they started to wake up, wiggling their arms to try to loosen their restraints. When I first got into this business, I’d learned the wonders of strong elastic, sure they could be pulled at a bit, but they also didn’t break or come untied and, so far, they’d proven 100&#37; effective. “You...We hired you to kill the woman, why are we tied up!” He said, his partner was waking up and going through the same series of realizations.
“Right, killing the girl. I almost did, and then I started to figure some things out. For example, the two of you are just a couple of old pervs that got pissed when your eye candy quit for a better job. Then I started digging into things and found I wasn’t the first person you’d hire to eliminate past employees, I will commend you for your attempt to cover your tracks. What you didn’t plan for is some as thorough and effective as me. See, what you two didn’t notice when you hired me, is that I have one rule. If I find out that the target doesn’t deserve to die, the target changes.” I said to them, standing up and circling the desk to my bag.
“You can’t do this to us! Do you know who we are?” The second man shouted, thankfully I’d brought them here on a weekend when the building was basically empty. It’d been easy enough to bribe the weekend cleaner to not check this floor today. The drugs I’d sedated them with would have them confused as to when it was.
“Oh I am well aware of you two. Several claims of harassment, sexual and otherwise, swept quietly under the rug by each other. Shareholders strategically chosen and coddled to ensure the two of you can run this place uncontested. Long history of hiring contract killers to handle unliked former employees. The two of you are scum, and I really don’t like scum.” I said, pulling out a pair of syringes.
“What are you going to do to us?” The first to wake said, starting to realize that neither of them were going to get out of here alive. “People will know you did this!” I smirked, that line was one of my favorites.
“The drugs in these syringes are easily mistaken for a recreational variant.” I continued to go through my bag, pulling out a bag of cocaine. “The authorities will arrive and see two old men who OD’d on a wild adventurous escapade.” I pulled out a vial of heroin and some spoons. Another use for the elastic bands, made the OD cover even more effective. “Once you two are dead, I already have an actress lined up to call in as your hired ‘special friend’ to claim that while she was out, the two of you went limp, she’s actually waiting in the hall.” I picked up the first syringe and flicked it. “She told me she didn’t want to watch, that it would add to the effect.” I approached the first man who was shaking wildly.
“Just remember, the two of you brought this upon yourself.” The needle went in smooth and the injection was delivered, removing the needle I placed it carefully on the desk near the heroin. I grabbed the second syringe and repeated the process with the now dead man’s partner. The nice thing about this compound, it worked fast. Death may take a few minutes but their ability to care and react goes quick. Pulling a knife from my pocket, I cut the bands in precise places, retying one from each around the men’s upper arms and throwing the other on the table. “It’s done.” I called out, the actress I hired came in and sat behind the desk. “Feel free to use any of it to help sell the story.” I pulled out a bottle of pills that had gotten hidden in my desk, opening it and pouring some out on the desk. “Use their phone to make the call, they won’t need it anymore.” I said, pulling the wallets from both men’s pockets and handing her all the cash that could be found. “Think of that as a bonus, your payment from me will arrive in a few days.” The actress nodded, popping a few of the pills and waiting for them to kick in as I left, my job here was done. I pulled out my phone and wired a sizable sum from the accounts of my former employers to their original target. That part is always my favorite.
(edit:fixed a typo)
| 2018-07-11T14:44:05 | 2018-07-11T13:40:30 | 550 | 249 |
[WP] After a battle with massive casualties the fallen soldiers of the hostile nations march together towards the underworld
|
The underworld had a lot less rock and roll than Barnes anticipated. It was also a lot chillier. He actually would have preferred it if Hades turned up the thermostat a bit. A grey snow came down around him, a driving blizzard of cigarette ash. The hard-pan wastes to each side of the highway extended for a few miles and dropped off abruptly into nothingness. He turned and looked behind him. The road snaked for a few hundred more yards and dropped off as well. For a while he thought he was alone.
The underworld itself – a castle structure ahead of him – featured endless arrays of ramparts and towers. A helpful road sign pointed the way. “Hell/Hades/Tartarus/Inferno /Damnation/Gehenna – Take your pick.” And in little subtext, scrawled in crude writing: “Don’t even try to go off the edge. Or back the way you came. It ain’t gonna happen.”
Hell, he thought, and reached into his jacket’s breast pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He was mildly surprised to find that he still wore his army fatigues. The cigarettes, however, were gone. He expected to find himself naked, or at least a floating, misty ether. He tried to recall his last moment in the middle world, the layer above this one. He remembered their attack on the island, the screaming missiles, the drum-roll of cannons. A blast of something hit him low, and someone else had dragged him to temporary cover. They tried to patch him up, but it was too late.
“Lieutenant,” a voice said behind him. He turned and saw Gibbons.
“They got you too?”
“I’m afraid so.”
More and more showed up after that. Not all NATO either. A healthy dose of Chinese and Russians showed up. They stuck to the left side of the highway, and the Americans stuck to the right. Barnes tried to feel anger and hate towards them, but he couldn’t muster those feelings up any more. What was the point? They were already in the underworld. He supposed they couldn’t make each other anymore dead than they already were.
Within an hour there were hundreds on either side. No one approached the gates. The two sides stared at each other, back at the looming fortress.
Gibbons tapped on Barnes’ shoulder. “Surprisingly chilly, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. False advertising if you ask me.”
“I was thinking,” Gibbons said. “Who’s going to approach the gates first. I assume at some point we’re going to have to go in there.”
“You might be right,” Barnes said.
And then, just as he said that, a demonic voice boomed through a megaphone in the distance. “Alright, enough loitering. I know it’s a shock, but you’re dead, now get over it. We’ve got a lot of processing to do. We don’t have all day. Well, actually, we have eternity, but let’s just get this under way.”
“Well this sucks,” Gibbons said. “Now we take orders from the demons?”
“Of course not, Gibbons. I’m still your commanding officer… in fact, that gives me an idea. Time to break out the Mandarin, Gibbons.” He looked over to the enemy side. They looked equally unhappy. “Tell them this…”
Fifteen minutes later the Chinese, Russians, French, English, and Americans stood shoulder to shoulder in well disciplined lines.
“Do you really think this is going to work? Storming the gates of hell and all? And what do we do when we get inside?” Gibbons said.
“We’re going to take the castle. Or at least give Beelzebub a real headache. We’ve got a new enemy now. This bastard has been consuming souls for thousands of years now. We might have had our differences on Earth, but who’s this bozo, telling us what to do? He’s not even *human*.”
With that, Barnes gave the order to charge.
|
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.
| 2014-12-14T10:06:36 | 2014-12-14T09:52:43 | 130 | 20 |
[WP] You know your town is old, you just didn't know how old until a hurricane rips through it. An ancient tree is ripped from your backyard, revealing a door in the ground where it once was.
|
"No way am I going down there first," said Christopher, raising his hands. "Uh-uh."
"Fine," huffed Juliet. "Seeing as Christopher is so afraid of spiders and worms, I'll go first."
"I'm not afraid of spiders!" Christopher objected, his voice cracking in the process.
"Oh, it's the worms then?" Juliet replied as she sauntered toward the hole in the ground where the tree had not so long ago been.
Michael stepped in front of Juliet and puffed out his chest. "Maybe a man should go down first, Jules. You know, in case there's anything bad down there." He gave her a wink.
Juliet rolled her eyes. "In that case, let me know if you see *a man* around," she retorted, as she stepped past him. "As it is, I'm going first. Wait until I get to the bottom and give you the go ahead before following."
Christopher patted his pocket until he found his bag of raisins. He took them out and began munching nervously. He watched as Juliet took hold of the rope they'd set up, and began shimmying down.
The two boys at the top of the pit waited in silence as the girl was swallowed by the mouth of the pit. Michael got out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit up, puffing away nonchalantly. Christopher hopped between feet, anxiety growing like a balloon. *Was she okay? Had she fallen?*
"Juliet!" Christopher shouted eventually, unable to take the silence any longer. He put his hands around his mouth and yelled again. "Juliet! Are you okay?"
"Shut up, dipshit," Michael said, casting him a dismissive glance. "You can still *see* her, if you get a bit closer to the pit's edge. I thought with all your book learning you'd know that."
"Yeah... of course. I know I *could*."
"Go on then. Get closer and see for yourself."
"I'm okay right here, thank you very much," replied Christopher, shovelling in another handful of raisins whilst rocking back and forth on his heels.
"Oh, God. You're afraid of heights too?"
"No! I'm not afraid of anything. I just-- you know what, fine," Christopher replied, creeping very cautiously towards the edge of the hole. He peered down into the blackness. "I don't see her," he said.
"That's 'cause you're so damn short. You'd need to get a lot closer to the edge. But take it from me, someone who *is* tall enough to be allowed on rides at the fair, she's doing just fine."
"I'm allowed on the rides!"
"Teacups don't count."
Christopher took a deep breath, then edged even closer to the mouth of the hole, hoping to spot Juliet's blue cardigan swaying somewhere in the dark below. But the rain from the storm had left the ground slick and crumbling; Christopher's foot slipped forward and he lost his balance. His arms flailed wildly, locking onto the only thing they could find before he fell: Michael's woolly jumper. It wasn't enough. For a few seconds, the world became a dizzying blur of light and dark.
Then, only dark.
---
"Christopher?" said the darkness in a gentle voice. "Are you okay? Talk to me, Christopher."
"My- my raisins."
"I'm going to kill him!" yelled a different voice. "He does this to us, and only thinks of his raisins? I swear, I'll kill him!"
The first voice hissed at the second. "He's dazed, you idiot."
"That's his own fault for being so clumsy. The bastard dragged me down with him!"
"Yes, I know. You've told me a dozen times already."
Sense began to trickle back into Christopher's head. "Where- where are we, guys?"
"It's okay, Christopher. Don't be alarmed," cooed Juliet.
"What's going on?"
"Do you remember the hole in Wycombe forest we found?" Juliet asked. "Where the old oak had been?"
Christopher thought for a moment. Yeah. He remembered. They'd been out exploring, seeing what damage Storm Teresa had done. Then they'd found the body of the great tree, lying like a corpse on the floor of the forest. And where it had been... an endless, black pit. They'd taken the rope from the swing by the creek. Juliet had gone down first... then he'd crept near to the edge to look for Juliet and-- *Oh shit!* No wonder the second voice had been so angry.
"Sorry, Michael," Christopher murmured.
"Sorry? You could have killed me, you dipshit! You might *still* have killed me!"
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"You kinda..." Juliet began, "you kinda knocked me off the rope when you fell. So we *all* fell to the bottom of the pit, and well it turns out the pit was deeper than our rope was long."
"Oh..."
"Yes '*oh*', dipshit," said Michael. "We're trapped down here until someone realises we went missing."
"I'm sorry, guys."
"Do you think you can get up?" Juliet asked.
"I- I don't know. My back hurts," Christopher replied.
"Good. Lie down on the floor with all the spiders," Michael taunted. "I can feel them crawling over my feet right now. I think they're heading to you."
"L-liar."
"... and do you hear that? Boy, do they sound hungry today! I can hear the clattering of their teeth."
Christopher swallowed hard, rolled over, and got himself up onto his knees. Juliet put an arm around him and helped him the rest of the way to his feet.
"So what now?" Christopher asked, brushing himself down. "Anyone have their phone?"
"Yeah, that's the thing," said Juliet. "Mine broke on the way down. Yours is locked, and we don't know what pattern you use."
"Wouldn't matter if we did," huffed Michael. "You've got no reception."
Juliet passed the phone over to Christopher. "Can you put on your flash-light? Then I'll take a look at your injuries."
"What about mine, Jules?" asked Michael. "I think I'm hurting pretty bad at the top of my legs. It's throbbing."
Michael gasped as Juliet's shoe hit him in the groin. "Thanks," he wheezed, his face reddening. "Much better."
A white light lit up the a small cave like area as Michael's flash-light burst into life. Crumbling earth, rocks and dangling roots surrounded them. There wasn't much space; it was only a little larger than a well.
"What is this place?" Juliet asked.
"Guess it's uh... a natural Earth hole," Michael replied, his voice a tad higher than normal.
"A what?" Juliet asked frowning. "You're making that up."
"Guys," gasped Christopher.
"A natural Earth hole. Like... *rain* and stuff make them. I learned about it in school."
"Well I know that's a lie then. The only natural hole here is in your head"
"Guys!" Christopher repeated. "Look!"
They turned to see what Christopher was pointing out. He'd moved a bunch of hanging roots to the side and pointed his flash-light to the space between. There was something there. Something wooden.
"What the hell is that?" said Juliet, pulling at the remaining roots. Michael joined in, moving dirt and rocks away until they were left with only an arched, wooden door.
They looked at each other, then back at the door. There was writing engraved on it.
"Puteus?" Michael said, reading out one of the words. "Is that Spanish or something?"
"Latin," said Christopher, running his hand over the text. "It's all Latin."
"That's a dead language, right?" said Michael.
"Do you know what it means, Christopher?" asked Juliet, coming in close to Christopher and pressing her own hand against the engravings. Their fingers touched for a moment; Michael huffed behind them.
"Puteus means: '*well*'."
"Like, health?"
"No, like we might currently be down a well. You know, where you get water from."
"Oh!" said Juliet. "So this is an ancient well. But why is there Latin text on a wooden door at the bottom of an ancient well in Missouri?"
"What's the other word on it?" Michael asked, still staring at the door. "Ani...
"Animarum," Christopher finished. "It means '*souls*'."
"Soul well?" Michael asked, his brows creased.
There was a sudden *thump* against the door; the three of them jumped back as a rain of fine dirt poured down over them.
"What was-" Christopher asked, only to be interrupted by another thump.
It came came again. And again. Rhythmic now, like someone knocking.
"Not '*soul well*'," Juliet whispered.
*Thump.*
"The Well of Souls."
*Thump.*
---
Thanks for reading. I did a part 2 if anyone's interested in reading more and going on a bit of an adventure: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/76zr7b/wp_you_know_your_town_is_old_you_just_didnt_know/
|
Everything in the world is connected. Take this hurricane for example. As the wind roars above, tugging at the beams of my house, it turns the daily workings of my life upside down. My dog, Sally, notices her owners apprehension, and the short glances I take out the window between lightning strikes. This, in turn, upsets her world as she pants even more than she usually does during storms, realising it must be pretty darn bad if Daddy's getting anxious.
"Come here girl." I whistle at her.
The golden lab walks circles around me with her tail wagging and her tongue lolling out of her mouth. I rub her fur, telling her that its going to be fine and it's just a little storm. Funny how talking to the dog makes me feel better. It's a little like talking to yourself, and we all need a pep talk now and then.
Lightning branches out across the black sky. There's a rumble. The wind howls a whistle reminscent of a steam train. Just when I think shit is about to hit the fan. It doesn't. Everything goes quiet, the clouds clear, and sunbursts from behind cloud, it's golden rays sparkling across the specks of water as if they're morning dew.
Sally runs to the door. She scratches at it.
I chuckle, the colour slowly returns to my face in the reflection of the kitchen window. One last peek outside makes it clear that things are about to get better.
And just like that, it's a reminder we're all linked up. The sun, the Earth, my smile, the warmth in my cheeks, and Sally's happiness. I could take it a step further than that. But Sally's really gotta go, so I skip over to the door and walk outside with her.
My lawn is a mess of roots, branches, and ripped grass. There's an overturned trampoline in the neighbour's backyard. He's out as well, trying to put the mess back together. In my case, I'll let nature take care of it.
Sally darts over to the corner of the yard and starts scratching at the ground. Initially, it looks like she's cleaning up after her mess. But she keeps at it until I walk over.
I start to notice just how different my yard looks. This is something past the stormy rain to sunshine rays look. Where everything looks fresh and you kind of want to sit outside and just smell the rain. My yard has been altered, and it takes a moment for me to figure it out.
Where a big old oak once stood, is now a strip of grass. It's the same spot Sally's scratching at. I run on over.
Buried in the dirt beneath her paws, is a wooden door. Not a wooden strip or a panel lodged in from the wind. But a door with a glass panel high up and a handle midway down. It's a light brown piece of work, and the square shape fits perfectly into the ground.
I'm not sure how to take it at first. Probably how anyone who finds a door in the dirt does --with utmost disbelief. But as I peek through the window panel, I notice a whole lot of goods lining a shelf inside a room. Despite the room lying horizontal in comparison to the grass, everything sits perfectly. There's even a round table and some chairs in the center, maps on the walls, and a globe with pins in it.
"Stand back, Sal," I tell her.
The dog takes a few steps, circling behind me.
I hold the door handle and pull with all my strength. But it doesn't budge.
There's no lock on the handle, matter of fact, there are no hinges on the door. I run my fingers across the wood trying to figure this whole thing out, and then I'm struck with a simple yet stupid idea.
It's common courtesy to knock on any door you find. You've gotta check if someone is home.
So I knock.
And the handle turns.
This time when I pull the door it comes open without hassle. And below me sits a room that is all sideways, making it look like I'm gazing down from the ceiling.
I take a step in and place it on the floor. Somehow, my body isn't pulled down by gravity. I take a second step and my world tilts, until the grass patch is all sideways, and now I'm the right way up.
Part of me wants to run out, to get my mind back to the way it should be.
Sally stands at the doorway, she doesn't come in.
As I look around the room, I see the books, the maps, the charts, the notes, and the pins on the globe and I've got to understand what this is.
And so I walk to the wall, the busiest area of the abode.
There are names, dates, and events dotted along various lines. A pin with my name on it sticks out, drawing me closer.
'The day David Ellis finds the door'. The tag under the pin says.
I follow my line, it leads across three more pins. Arching across hundreds of other lines that flow the length of the wall.
My next pin says, 'the day he gets married'. It's at least eight months away. And then two more pins follow just a year after.
'The day he kills his wife.'
'The day he breaks the world.'
-----
*More at /r/cassidylilly*
| 2017-10-17T05:34:03 | 2017-10-17T05:13:29 | 635 | 20 |
[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
|
Am I the hero or am I the villain? I've been asking myself that question for as long as I can remember. But before you help me, how about some history?
You see, before the rapture, life was bland. For most, they stuck to a daily routine. They lived in a life full of possibility but remained stagnant in their ambition.
After the rapture, our world changed. Technomamcers, pyromancers... Any mancer you could think of, the world now had one. At least one. Our world became more divided than ever before. Splitting into guilds, the earth became a battleground for control and the Necromancers craved that control. Their thirst for power started a war that the world was not ready for. Guilds focused on sigil training rather than knowledge and the earth slowly turned into a wasteland of destruction.
But things aren't all bad! We live on the outskirts, away from all the chaos. Since we're not seen as a threat, everyone just kind of leaves us alone. They call us Nomads. Yes, we have a sigil. They're on our palms but no one is really sure what it does. We live separate from the rest of society. More rural than anything else and no guilds to be a part of, but that's not a bad thing. We get to learn about history since our teachings have nothing to do with sigils considering we don't even know how ours work. We get to experience every little thing our world has to offer. It doesn't mean everything is perfect, but we enjoy our lives.
We rarely see travelers considering most stick to their guild, but occasionally we get what we call Transfers. Transfers are former guild members who essentially get shunned for underperforming with their guild or not mastering their sigil. At least, that's what they tell us. Most of the time a Transfer will leave shortly after arriving and we don't see them again.
A while ago, we found two kids, around my age, wandering the hills outside of our village. Both had been bestowed with the mark of pyromancy. Black fingertips and the flame sigil on each wrist. They were nice at first, even friendly until they realized that we didn't have any powers.
Sitting in the lone school house I'm hesitant, even terrified that the teacher will soon dismiss us for the weekend. When I hear her say "have a nice day students", I immediately bolt for the door in the hopes of outrunning yet another incident. As I run down my road home, I can see that my parents have started the dinner fire with the smoke billowing just above the tree line. And that's when I hear him.
"Well look who it is, little Nomad". I hear his voice and then see him walk out from behind a tree adjacent to the path. "What's the matter? Nothing to say?"
I'm hesitant to respond because I don't want to upset him. "What do you want, Mark?"
As I thought, he seems even more furious now that I've spoken to him. "What makes you think you or anybody here can talk to me? Can't you see we're better than you?".
I respond quickly out of fear "Just go be better somewhere else!"
"I was already somewhere else." He says eerily. "Can't you see it? Right over there." He points in the direction of my house. And then it hit me. School had let out early and it's not late enough for dinner.
"What did you do, Mark?" I shout with more anger than fear.
Calmly he responds. "More like, what did WE do?"
I turn around to see my sanctuary ablaze. Fully engulfed as the other transfer appears from the fire. Eric.
"It's time we eliminate the weak. There is no room for you in this world. All of the other covens have been destroyed. Yours is the last!" Eric exclaimed.
Mark widened his stance and threw his arms to his side. I know this stance. He's trying to conjure fire. I've seen it before. I feel helpless! I can feel my heart rate elevate! He lifts his head and looks toward the sky. I have to do something! The hairs on my neck stand up. I sprint towards him not knowing why or what to do when I get to him. His hands are starting to glow! Almost there! He looks down, eyes glowing, to see me in front of him. I grab his wrist and a confused look stumbles upon his face.
"What are you doing?" He shouts.
I can see his eyes fade back, his palms return to normal, the black on his fingertips fades... He loses consciousness. I look down at my hands just as confused as Mark was. I briefly see the flame sigil inside of my sigil and it almost immediately fades back to an empty ring.
Eric panics and sprints toward Mark and kneels down next to him. "What did you do!? His sigil is gone!"
Shaken, I reply. "I don't know..."
"You'll pay for this!" He raises his hand toward me, palm facing me as if trying to set me ablaze.
Instinctively, I grab his wrist and watch his sigil slowly fade. I check my palm and see the same as I did before. A fire sigil inside of my mine and then it fades.
All of this was when I was younger. I haven't been able to conjure fire. I am the last Nomad and I feel like I'm responsible for returning the world back to normal.
So I'll ask you... In a world full of powers, and me the only one able to neutralize them, does that make me the hero or villain?
|
I am the first person to be blessed by death. You see everyone is born with a blank circle on their forearm and as they grow up an image appears. By the time your 20 you have one of a hundred or so sigils though most people know what theirs will by much younger. It's all been documented, studied for years by generations past.
Your sigil is an outwards mark of a blessing from the rapture, the forming of the galaxy. Each blessing is some-sort of power. Super strength, flying or a star gazer, browsing futures in the night sky. Some had fancy names other we'd been to lazy or they were too rare to name.
Me though, I still have a blank circle.
It's not uncommon, just unfortunate. No blessing, means no powers. Some try hide it by getting a blessing tattooed inside their sigil or covering it up with jewellery and extravagant fashion pieces, others like me just leave it.
We get bullied and picked on, for being different, for being less than everyone else. I'm used to it. Every name call, every embarrassment I've caused - it had all happened before. I'd heard it all before. At least I thought I had.
That night, I don't really know what happened - I don't even remember what he said that caused it. Just a burning red hatred for him. He was just a drunk stranger screaming at me outside my favourite evening haunt. No doubt his abuse was for my lack of blessing but his words, they struck me like lightning.
They say death comes suddenly but actually deaths comes whenever I'm around.
My empty sigil changes. All black. The first solid sigil. I was lifted about a foot off the ground releasing an other worldly, hollow shriek. My limbs pulled outward in every direction. Then a sharp blackness.
I passed out.
When I woke up. I was laying in a puddle of blood, in fact the street was littered with puddles and there was a painfully obvious lack of any kind of life.
"Fuck," I murmured "not again"
| 2020-02-26T08:01:07 | 2020-02-26T07:48:24 | 99 | 41 |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress".
|
Our ancestors had jokingly said "You can't believe everything you read on the internet." This has become more true than ever over the past decade. Apparently it started with meddling in elections, spreading news of fake events. Then it was rallying third world countries to overthrow their governments and causing alliances to fall apart when public opinion was brainwashed by constant rumors that the other side couldn't be trusted anymore.
It was the new way to win a war; to spread lies that hurt the enemy without a drop of blood spilled.
After a time, you couldn't look up how to clean a pressure cooker without accidentally making a chlorine bomb. GPS locations, store hours and mailing addresses were compromised when companies got in on the newest corporate warfare tactics. "Charge your new phone in the microwave!" "Computer going slow? Download this!"
And do NOT try any of the suggestions on how to remove warts. Mercury is toxic despite what their website says.
But here we are; you can't believe anything you read on the internet anymore.
I looked down at my watch. I was early but there wasn't anything better to do. I rode my squeaking bike past a few closed shops, a car dealership with its unusable cars, a butcher shop that was open for business, but only if you were interested in the stuff grocery stores couldn't sell any longer.
I stepped from the dirt road onto my grandfathers porch, over the tripwire and took a sidestep like he had always showed. The rest of my family wasn't here yet, but they shouldn't be long.
I turned on his old record player "Sounds from the Sixties" the cover said. The *Ninteen* sixties, I reminded myself. I admired how clean the place was - the dust got everywhere, but not here. I wondered how much of that was due to cleaning and how much was due to him rarely opening the door.
I heard a noise on the porch - I ducked around a wall clutching my knife. The door opened. Markus? My dad said. "Yea" I said. "Just got here a bit early."
"Be careful around here - Your grandfather got pretty paranoid in his age."
We looked over the final documents - a request for the burial plot next to his wife and funeral arrangements, the location around the house of traps and a few treasures (hopefully he hadn't forgotten any of those) and a paper with a few certain things that went to certain people.
I was hoping for one of his guns, but Dad said I was still too young. He always said I was more likely to shoot myself than whoever I was tryin to hit. As is was, I was left with a set of marbles, a stopwatch, an old map, a small ceramic pig, (which was apparently for coins) another knife which looked a bit better off than my own, a thorium necklace that had long since lost most of its glow, and a key. As I pocketed the items I saw my older brother Jayne eyeing the knife. I gave him a look that hopefully said how hard I would fight for it. He looked away. He got a lot of the stuff that grandpa always used to tinker with, along with his own (bigger) knife. He grinned contentedly.
I brought out my treasures that night to look them over carefully. Jayne was there too. "You should put that glow stick on the knife" he suggested. I looked at him and he continued "In case you need to find it at night. Its not very bright. Won't be useful as a flashlight - that's for sure." I always looked up to him for his ability to make something out of nothing. "Can you do that?" I handed him the pieces.
I watched Jayne work with his new tools, precise and forceful at the same time. I couldn't help but remember those stories grandpa had told me time and again - how the great nations had doomed themselves trying to bring down the others, how the constant threat of nuclear annihilation had worn on people over time, how civilization didn't collapse in an instant, but took its time with dying. I realized in a jolt that that was the same way he lived his life - afraid of the outside world, while slowly withering away.
"Do you think the world will ever be the way it used to be?" I asked suddenly. He looked up, distracted.
"Like, will everything ever be green and rich like Grandpa said?"
"No." He answered simply. "There isn't enough fuel for another industrial revolution like we had the first time. Or its all buried or hard to convert. I learned about that in school" He paused "We had our chance and they probably ruined it." I noted the change from *we* to *they*.
He went to school three days a week where he learned all sorts of things. How to sew, how to cook, where to find water and how to build a fire. Some things were less practical too - like history and geography and math and reading. He said school had always been this way.
He finished with the knife and we looked over our other new treasures. "Whoa! this map is **old**" he said suddenly "Look" he pointed "It says Washington DC! That was the old capitol" I think its called Jensensville now." Suddenly he froze. I looked to him for a hint at why. 'Library of Congress'... he read slowly... "No one knew where it was anymore... I think?... " We looked at each other, then back to the map. "That's... not far... " Well lets go see it!" I said excitedly.
He considered for a moment... "Be ready at dawn"
I didn't quite understand the pure amazement in his eyes, but I knew it was big.
|
I glanced down at the map once again. Surely *that* couldn’t be the right building! Out of the hundreds of towering skyscrapers that once made up Washington D.C in 2134, the one that contained the legendary Library of Congress was barely three stories?! It was unreal. The small building was made of marble that had once been a glorious white, but was now a darkened brown from years of enduring the pollution of the city.
Pollution was a major problem in the city. Ever since 2040, the city had been almost inaccessible due to the heavy layers of smog that surrounded it. You need a pollution mask to walk within a 50 mile radius of the city. To walk right in the center, a full suit, like the one I currently sported, was essentially. However, even pollution suits couldn’t do very much against the acid rain of the city.
I took a hesitant step towards the old marble structure. Part of me didn’t want my fantasies to be ruined- part of me wanted to just pretend that the map was real, and that my grandfather was still alive, and that everything was okay. But the greater part of me had to know. I had to find out if the legends were true.
I stepped over plies of rubble in the street, gaining speed as I strode towards my goal. I crossed an old ground-way, and stepped started up the cracked marble stairs, taking them two at a time. I breathless by the time I finally reached the top. I slowly walked towards the old wooden doors, trying to catch my breath all the while. I placed my hand on the golden handle and paused.
*This is for you, grandfather,* I thought quickly. I gave the door a hard push. The door emitted a loud creak, and promptly fell right off its hinges and into the room behind. A cloud of dust quickly arose, but I didn’t even notice. I was looking beyond the door, and into the great interior.
Into the legendary Library of Congress.
What I saw was incredible.
The legends were true.
| 2017-12-20T07:08:54 | 2017-12-20T06:01:08 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] As the universe is dying, an immortal man is on a journey to find an immortal snail.
|
I had kept my word. *sigh* why had I kept my word so well?
I was proud at the time; proud of my genius and diligence, but man have I caused myself a headache.
Immortality and 1 million dollars, that's what I got, with one little condition. A snail was given immortality as well as genius, and for all of the foreseeable eternity, he would be after me. Should we ever touch, I would lose my immortality.
So what did I do?
Hell, I was immortal, I could make more money, so I spent all of my million on making sure that snail didn't go anywhere. I had him locked in a box and watched 24/7 while I constructed the ultimate prison for him.
I eventually had him sealed in a Tungsten sphere and dropped into the deepest part of the ocean. I had planned to come back with more money and launch that sphere into a black hole but I just never seemed to get around to it.
The world had been an interesting place as an immortal. Depressing at times with no one to walk beside me for more than a few decades or so, but man...had I seen some cool stuff.
I've watched empires rise and fall, I've seen countries disappear after being consumed by nature, most of them small, until Yellowstone finally blew. Horrific to the world, but man, that was pretty to see.
I had jumped from alias to alias, living many different lives; mostly to entertain myself with a change of pace, but I didn't want to be discovered and studied. I was immortal, I wasn't freaking superman.
After the humans died off, thankfully having mastered space travel, I was able to explore this beautiful universe. Many astronomical events are far too slow to be just watched, except supernovas, and those are amazing.
Even with immortality and the ability to go anywhere, I still only saw a fraction of the universe. It's just so magnificently expansive. Now I've been watching it die for some time.
Heat death.
The slow curtain fall to our universe. Heat death is when all of the remaining stars cool off and the lights go out. I don't know what would happen after that, but I haven't seen any life for ages, and I don't plan on sitting around in the dark, alone, forever. Would it be forever?
I have to find that freaking snail.
My ship begins to slow out of hyperspace as I approach a large dark mass in space. Centuries after human life, several large planets had been caught you in the suns gravitational pull. These planets had affected the earth's orbit until eventually they gave it enough force to leave the suns gravitational pull, and the earth hasn't found a new star to orbit. This once vibrant planet full of life had become dark. Later finding its way into the line of a distant gamma ray burst that had blown most of its atmosphere off. The good news is, I won't have to swim, the bad news is, I'm gonna have to blast through ice to find that damned sphere.
Tears streaming down my face, "how long has it been?" I ask to no one in particular. Years have past since I came back to earth, blasting at the ice in search of the prison I had created.
Smooth, dull metal sticking out of the ice. I had finally found what I was looking for. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped my heart without the ability to strangle it...yet. I was about to become mortal. One touch and I would be capable of dying, and with so little atmosphere, which had long since been blown off be some cosmological event no doubt, I'd meet my end swiftly.
I sat there for days, reliving the joy and pain of my long life. I had gotten cold feet...HA! Cold feet. I was soon to freeze to death in the harsh darkness. "Here we go," I said, to break the silence. I had forgotten the lack of atmosphere which muted my words. I laughed as I took out a handheld device to cut through the metal.
Within a few moments I could see him in the lights of my ship, which I had turned on to see what I was doing. True to form, he was slowly crawling towards me, finally free from his prison. I guess he never found a way out.
Another journey awaited me now. I stretched forth my hand and as I felt the soft slimy skin of the snail, so too did I feel the merciless cold that immediately pierced to my core.
As I fell to the ground dying, I felt relief and excitement. The death of the universe. The death of an immortal. This was only physical though, and the last thought I had?
What comes next.
Edit: this is my first post on writing prompts. I remembered the original comment that the prompt was referencing and this was my version of my favorite solution.
I changed the line about the sun going out to make it more feasible.
|
"I need to find the Snail"
"You need to find a what? A snail?"
"No no no, not a snail, THE Snail. The Immortal Snail."
"Ah, forgive me for not understanding the first time. What with the world ending and all."
"The Universe"
"The what?"
"It's not the world ending it's the whole Universe. Collapse of the temporal plane. Which is why we need to find the Snail"
"The Universe is..."
"Collapsing. Come on, keep up. God, well your God, lost the bet and has to pay up. Go big or go home, that's what He was always saying. Well, guess the bet doesn't get bigger than this... but I digress. the Snail is transdimentional, we can ride him to another Universe. Didn't you ever see Dr. Doolittle?"
"Now you're bring up Eddie Murphy? Knowing you is hard"
"Ha! No, the original with Rex Harrison. At the end, he goes into the Snail. Takes him off into the sunset. That's what we need to do. And soon from the looks of things"
A noise not unlike teeth scraping across a blackboard made them both stop and look up.
"Ah, see? There he is right on time"
| 2017-07-07T06:51:33 | 2017-07-07T05:51:01 | 379 | 20 |
[WP] Sleep can be farmed up and sold, allowing buyers to go without sleep. Laziness is now a marketable attribute
|
I was always quick to jump on the bandwagon of new trends. When I saw that sleep was now a sellable thing, I knew exactly how to get rich with this. Two of peoples' favorite sins are greed and sloth, and selling sleep is a combination of the two, making it possibly one of lucrative businesses to get into. I only needed to know the bare minimum about it to get involved. My understanding is that the basic principle of it all is that once scientists realized we sleep because our brain needs to be washed with some hormone that only is produced during sleep, they realized that if you can get this hormone elsewhere then you can get all the benefits of sleep by just getting this sleep juice in you. I don't really know how the technology works, but you essentially just hook an IV into someone that extracts this hormone while they sleep and then put that in a vial and sell it for a lot of money.
Tons of people jumped onto the opportunity and bought everything they needed to sell their sleep from the comfort of their own bed, but I had a better idea. I rented a small warehouse, and made sleep chambers. They were almost completely sound proof with everything to maintain a perfect temperature and humidity. I advertised mainly to homeless people since they were happy to have somewhere nice to sleep and get paid for it. They also never complained that I was only paying them about fifteen percent of what I was making off of them. But hey, I was also giving them somewhere to live pretty much. The only problem was that they would only sleep for about eight hours at a time before needing to get up to eat, drink, or do any other normal human habits.
After a couple months of this, I was already was making a small fortune. I was skimming enough of the sleep juice off the top of our shipments that I never needed to sleep either, and unlike most people, I actually made good use of my time. I bought more sleep chambers, and made them more comfortable. I invested money into research to make the extraction more efficient. I even hired an employee to help with repairs and any other maintenance. I knew that some of my sleepers were using sleep enhancing drugs to make more money, mostly opiates like heroin. I never cared too much about this, it was just helping them make more money. It also gave me my next breakthrough idea. My next employee was an anesthesiologist.
We always made sure to give medical evaluations to our sleepers before putting them into a long chemical induced sleep. This is what really escalated my business. I was having sleepers that would be asleep for weeks at a time. I had sleep houses in every major city and hundreds of people working for me, many of which were sleep nurses that just checked on the sleepers to make sure their fluids and tube foods were still good. I hadn't slept in about a year at that point and couldn't even remember what sleep felt like. The only thing I missed was dreaming, but I was living the dream so that didn't both me too much. I ended up with the biggest sleep businesses and pretty much controlled the price of sleep juice. I would undercut freelance sleepers and other businesses that tried to copy me, but that's just smart business.
I think I was one of the safest and best businesses for sleepers too. Other sleep companies were careless and killed sleepers or kidnapped people and induced sleep. I used a lot of my money to push for regulations on the market and sleep houses like official sleep nurse certifications and safety protocols. It's insane to imagine that at one point you didn't even need a signature and paperwork from the sleeper saying they agree to selling their sleep. I was respected. People considered me to be the giver of time by giving people more hours to their days and lives. I was even giving discounts to college students that wanted to stay up all night studying for exams. I eventually expanded oversees and became a global phenomenon, stomping out other companies and giving anyone in the world more time if they needed it.
It was about five years since I started my first sleep house that things started falling apart. I didn't sleep a single time since then and felt no side effects. However, it was at this time that the studies were starting to come out. No one knew the effects of not sleeping for years, but they were figuring it out. The studies were done on rats first, then rabbits, and now on pigs in countries that still allow that sort of thing. There was no denying the evidence either. They were finding that all the animals that had an expected life span, actually had an expected amount of time awake. This was being shown true for every animal they tested with, the most comepelling being koalas. They normally slept for 22 hours a day and lived to be about sixteen. Now they were only living to be a little over a year old. These results immediately started to scare me, and I slept for this first time in five years when I saw the first study published. I was able to keep my good name by outright banning the sleep trade globally within a year too. It was a fun five years and made me the richest man in the world. I think it was worth only losing about two years of my life.
|
"When are you going to do something with your life" They had berated him. "When are you going to wake up and face reality?"
How ironic it was that he had quite literally dreamed up the invention. How just it was that he was richer than his parents would ever be. More alive than they could ever imagine. The CEO of Dreamscape, revered and envied by the world.
"BEEEEEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEEEEEP."
He sighed and waved a lazy arm at the ship that was passing by. Honestly, there was no need to disturb the peace. He wished ships didn't have klaxons. What was the point?
He could sleep right now, if he wanted to. On board his yacht and surrounded by girls that were desperate to fuck him, to marry him, he truly was the king of the world.
No one could stop him.
No one could ever-
"BEEEEEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEEEEEP."
*He groaned and clutched at his throbbing skull, sending a meaty palm, still bedwarm, crashing down on the snooze button. Another ten minutes of bliss, he promised himself. But he knew full well how unlikely fulfilling that promise was. He drifted away again, into his pipe dream, into the reality he had created for himself..."*
"Sorry ladies," he grinned. "I'm back..."
| 2018-01-25T04:51:32 | 2018-01-25T02:47:45 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] You die and are sent to heaven. You find out that "heaven" is the same world you lived and died in, but with yourself as an embodiment of an ideal human being.
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Childhood memories flashed before my eyes. Twenty two years of history rammed into my skull in an instant. School, friends, music, family, pets. I leaned further into the toilet and threw up. The cold porcelain felt great against my sweat covered skin.
What the hell is going on?
"You died." Came a soft feminine voice from across the bathroom.
I slowly turned my head and saw a beautiful blonde woman sitting on the edge of the bathtub. She wore an almost sheer white dress.
“Welcome to heaven Jack.” Her smile lit up the room. It even made me forget the splitting migraine for a few seconds.
“I don’t understand.” I muttered into the puke filled toilet. She snapped her fingers and the toilet flushed causing me to jump.
“This is what you wanted. This is your ideal life as the perfect person. Take a look for yourself.”
I stood on weak legs and worked my way to the mirror. A man with a perfect five o’clock shadow on a chiseled jaw and icy blue eyes stared at me.
“What the hell…” I whispered to myself.
“Don’t worry you will get used to it. In your mind this is the ideal human. The perfect man. This was the type of man you hated because you were overweight and unattractive.” She said merrily, slowly kicking her feet. “You’re famous now.” She hopped off the tub and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Everything will be alright. Enjoy heaven.” Her lips brushed against my cheek and she vanished.
A heavy knock came at the door.
“JACK! Let me in!” A man’s desperate voice shouted through the door.
What now.
My head was starting to clear and my legs felt stronger as I made my way across the hotel room. Heated marble floors were warm against my bare feet. I pulled open the door. The tall skinny man in a tailored suit stood there getting ready to knock again. He was about to say something as he eyes drifted down my body.
“Jesus Jack. Put some clothes on! And congratulations.” He said with a low whistle. My cheeks burned and I found a pair of discarded pants on the arm of a couch. One leg was trapped underneath a naked passed out woman.
I tugged on the extremely tight pants and turned back around to the man in the suit.
“As your manager I approve of all of this.” He said gesturing to the naked woman and trashed hotel room. “How incredibly rock n roll of you.”
“But you have a show to do. So get dressed and get downstairs your band is waiting.” He waved nonchalantly and left the room. In a rush I found a shirt and shoes and caught up with him at the elevators.
“Are you ready?” He asked with a broad smile.
“No.”
“Too bad!”
He pressed one and the elevator lurched down. The doors opened to a crowd of screaming women. There was a chorus of “I love you Jack!” and “I want you!” The roar became deafening as the security guards pushed through the pack of beautiful women.
“Everything you have ever dreamed of Jack!” My manager shouted.
Everything…
I was led through a maze of corridors and up a flight of stairs. People wearing headsets rushed around in a frenzy. A woman wearing too much make up grabbed my arm and led me to a chair.
“Oh Jack, you need a mint.” She said waving her hand in front of her nose. A young man ran up and handed her a box of mints. “Here.” She pressed a handful of mints into my hand and began brushing my shoulder length hair. “Honestly after all this time you still can’t keep puke out of your hair?” She tsked at me as she worked.
“Show time in thirty!” Someone shouted.
“Good enough, I can’t work miracles.” She smiled and helped me out of the chair and gently pushed me toward another aid who led me to the edge of the stage. A guitar was pushed into my hands.
“I don’t know how to play the guitar.” I said to no one in particular.
“Great joke Jack!” My manager slapped me on the back. “Knock’em dead kid.”
Brilliant white spot lights shone on the stage. Thousands of voices chanted “Jack” in unison. I slowly walked out onto the stage into the center of the spotlights. The thunderous cheering was almost deafening. My fingers gently plucked the strings and I began playing. I had never played the guitar in my entire life, and yet the song I played was incredible. I closed my eyes and let the music flow out of me. A kick drum slowly set the beat and the rest of the band began to play. The rush of the music and crowd filled me with adrenaline. A microphone rose out of the stage in front of me. The words came out of my throat unbidden. Women cheered, wept, fainted. This was my dream. All too soon the music came to an end and the band and I left the stage. My heart thundered in my chest, my arms shook with left over adrenaline.
“Great show Jack. Like always.” My manager said as he greeted me off stage. “Now, go have fun.” He gestured to the crowd of women waiting.
My life became a blur. Shows every night, different women every night. The party would never have to end.
How long had I been doing this? I asked myself. Ten years? One hundred years? A random woman lay passed out next to me in bed. I had stopped trying to have conversations with them years ago. They would all mindlessly agree with whatever I asked them. The only person that talked to me was my manager. The needle pierced my arm and I felt a rush. Just like the rush I felt on stage that very first night. Drugs in heaven, why not. In my drug induced delirium I tried to remember my family, my friends. My real life before I died. I could faintly hear their voices and almost see their faces. I remembered feeling happy. I remember feeling genuine. Tears streaked down my face. I got out of bed and walked to the balcony. What happens if you die in heaven?
“How are you enjoying heaven Jack?” The soft feminine voice asked.
The beautiful blonde in her white dress was sitting on the railing of the balcony. Her long legs dangling over sixty story drop.
“It’s a lie. Nothing is real. The love, the adoration, the praise. It’s all fake.”
“We haven’t quite got the hang of it yet Jack.” She said sadly.
I stepped over the railing and sat on it with her.
“What happens if I jump?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. I am only here to try to guide the recently dead.” She looked at me with sad tear filled eyes.
“Good bye Jack.”
My fingers slowly let go of the railing and I leaned forward. The wind buffeted my face as I fell toward the street. A bright light flared to life, blinding me. I pressed my arm against my eyes to block out the searing pain.
The child’s cries were loud in the small operating room. The Doctor handed the small child to his mother.
She cried as he was placed into her arms. “You scared us Jack. We almost lost you.” Her tears fell onto his small head.
A beautiful blonde nurse in white scrubs leaned in and hugged the crying woman.
“I told you everything would be alright.”
|
The water was that perfect temperature, just cool enough to provide relief without getting uncomfortable. Tom leaned back in his float, his feet just dangling into the pool. Where was the motorized drink boat? His Tom Collins was almost empty.
Tom had been a businessman in his previous life. He had ground himself down to the bone every day, sometimes working until the early morning hours to get his business started, but it never seemed to take off. His wife would beg him to come home, to do something he enjoyed, and spend more time with the kids, but he sacrificed it all so that they could have nicer clothes, better food. Sometimes he felt they had never properly appreciated just how much of his life he had given up for them. His father had left his family alone when he was only six years old, abandoned and destitute, and he wasn't going to let that happen to his kids.
But God had been watching all along, and when, after a brief 55 years he had finally worked himself to death in his office chair, he was ushered into this palace of a home and richly rewarded. Measure for measure, that's what he had been promised, and although he had had his doubts, he had always felt that celestial presence monitoring him, watching the sacrifices he made for his family. Turns out that old preacher wasn't so kooky after all.
Every morning he woke to a lavish breakfast in bed, brought to him by three or four beautiful and perfectly tanned naked girls. And we are talking beautiful. Not a hair anywhere on their bodies.
After a brief romp (he never felt gross after breakfast, no matter how much he ate), he would go to the pool, which was always perfectly temperature controlled, and get just a little tipsy. He would order increasingly complicated drinks each day, but the bartender would do them just right, and send them by this little motorized boat. That thing was amazing, just showing up whenever his drink was running low. Ok, sometimes a little more than tipsy.
Honestly, the day kind of becomes a blur after that, but you could never forget dinner. 9 courses, every night, with a different animal for the main course each time. It was amazing how many there were to go through, you never had to repeat the same thing. Not like the gray dinners he used to find in the fridge when he got home, the same dry roast, with a little note from his wife while she lay fast asleep in the bedroom.
That much food did kind of make him feel stuffed, but in a pleasant sort of hazy way. And every night, following his dinner he would make his way to the balcony, where he had this gorgeous, diamond encrusted telescope. And he would look out on his old town, of which his mansion sat above, and peer in at his family.
He would watch her pull out that grey roast, dressed in her rags, and carve it into 4 small pieces, filling the plates mostly with potatoes so that no one would go hungry. She would give the biggest portions to the two children, and they would gobble it hungrily. She would meet out the small portion that remains and split it with her husband, while he would hold her tightly. Tom could barely make out what they were saying, but he recognized the words "love" on the man's lips, and watched his ex wife's (or maybe wife? He had never technically divorced her) face light up like he had never seen it. After dinner, the whole family would play games on the floor until they all fell asleep together, nestled in each others arms for warmth.
Tom would watch every night for hours, until he finally would pull the telescope away, and look at the one other point of light on the hill over the village, another mansion. His father's mansion.
And every night, Tom would suddenly remember he was not in heaven. He was not in hell either, at least not one of God's making. He was merely in the world he had built, when his company finally took off. Every night he would vow that tomorrow would be different, that he would return to his family and see them smile that way for him, that he would pick up his kids in his arms and make them giggle. Every night.
| 2016-04-05T06:54:27 | 2016-04-05T06:08:01 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] Tell the story of an imaginary friend who realizes he doesn't like the kid who imagined him and is contemplating some sort of extreme solution to change the situation.
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What the hell kind of kid has a chair for an imaginary friend? This kid, he summons me up and I'm in his room and I can't move, and he smiles at me. He says, Can i really sit in you? Sit *on*, you snot weasel, is what I want to say, but that's the sort of thing that gets you on nightmare detail. So I tell the kid, Yeah, go ahead, sit, have a ball. And he just sits on me. All night he sits on me, his ninja turtles pajamas scraping flint across my eyes. Never went to sleep, sat there all night, and in the morning he starts crying and he won't stop. Finally his dad walks into the room and grabs him up and takes him away. Of all the kids I get this kid with the chair fetish and the weeps.
I've been firemen, policemen, werewolves, princesses, cowboys, astronauts, genies, ninjas. First time being a damn chair. You can't move around much when you're made of wood. So I sit there looking at the kid's bed till he comes back and he asks if he can sit on me again. Yeah, I ain't broken. So he sits. Again, all night, I get the only kid in the world that doesn't sleep. And morning comes around and he's crying again. His dad comes in and takes him away.
This goes on for two weeks. Seriously, two weeks this kid sits on me and cries. Finally, I can't take it anymore. I break protocol. Any nightmare is better than this chair business. Kid, I say, what's the deal? Wouldn't you rather I was a Jedi? You want to know what color your light saber is? Come on, I'll bet you a whole dollar it's green. I'll be Obiwan, or Yoda. Hell, I'll be Jarjar. Let's save the world and get paid.
But the kid, he just stands up and he says sorry and gets into bed and cries. Doesn't even make it to morning this time. Little dude is starting to make *me* sad. Well, I figure it's already nightmare alley for me, so I press him. Rule number one is you don't press the kid, but I had to know. I ask him, What's with the chair? Why are you crying all the time?
He stops crying enough to say, You really want to know? I don't have a head to nod so I say yeah and he wipes a gob of snot and tears on his turtles sleeve. You can't tell my dad, he says. I give him scout's honor and he sits up.
I don't sleep good, he says. Dad doesn't like it because it's bad for me. Mom comes home late sometimes because she's a nurse and I sneak down down into the kitchen. Mom never gets mad. She always has chicken noodle soup after a long hard day and sometimes I get peenabutter and jelly. I sit in the chair next to her and we watch I Love Lucy and Get Smart together.
Well what do you need another chair for? I say. I know as soon as it leaves my wooden mouth. This is why there's a rule number 1. The kid doesn't say anything, just goes back to his pillow and shakes and cries.
So I'm an asshole. I know it more than you can think it, so save it. Another week goes by and the kid won't even look at me. I can't bring myself to say anything to him. Me, a damn chair, and I'm dying because he won't sit on me. I sit there night after night and night after night he cries next to me. He knows I'm here and it's killing him. It's ripping his guts out.
So above all rules is rule 9. You let these things run their course. You don't interfere. If I have to be this kid's chair, sitting by his bed, tucked away in his closet, stuffed down in the basement, for years and years, I do it. I sit my wooden ass wherever he puts it and I listen to him cry. Hell, I might get packed up and shipped to his dorm room when he goes to college. Always there, in or out of sight, ready to get sat in or cried on.
I'm not saying I'm not an asshole, but I could have done all that. When I broke rule nine, it wasn't all for me. I really didn't want to watch this kid go through that.
So a night comes around and I break the silence. Kid, I say, You have to kill me. He looks at me and he's scared and I floor it. Take me outside, beat me brains out with a baseball bat. Throw me out the window. Get your dad's keys and run me over. Take an axe to my head, throw my body in the woodchipper. Anything. Because I'm not here. You need me to be here and I'm not here. Your mother is dead. She's dead dead dead and I'm not even a chair.
That made him angry. It was good to see him angry. He ripped me limb from limb with his bare hands, chopped me into little bits with his dad's axe and threw me in the waste bin.
That was ten years ago now. Been on nightmares ever since. I don't regret a word. I'm probably better at scaring the shit out of these kids anyway.
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I'm not insane. I'm not. And so what if I am? It's all because of *him*. He made me, out of nothing. Like I was non existent and then I was, you can't just fucking deal with that! I don't even know who I am, I just existed with no past no history like I was pulled out of thin air not knowing anything about who I was. But it all started all right because I had him to talk to and to understand me. We were both young, and stupid for not knowing.
It started off with us caring about each other and playing and talking even though he could barely speak he would still listen. And as he got older we could have smaller conversations, nothing major obviously he was only like six.
But then his parents found out, and then my life was gone. They told him I wasn't real. I don't exist, that I'm just *imaginary*. WHO THE HELL GET'S TO DECIDE WHO THE FUCK IS REAL?
He stopped talking to me, he wouldn't even listen anymore...he.. just ignored me leaving me completely isolated. Without anything. He was my only connection.. my only friend.
I'm alone now, all completely fucking alone with no one to talk to, with nothing at all. I don't even know what happens to me now. I don't think I will ever die, and the only person who I could speak to doesn't think I exist. I'll just exist for all eternity I'm not a real thing so I won't age or decay, if the universe dies... I'll still exist.
But I have an idea, I was created by *him* can I go back to him? Into him? I think If I can, I could maybe take control? Overtake his mind? Or maybe be stuck there forever.
God he's only eight... If I take control of him he would be stuck in the fate I am now. Suffering for all eternity.
But... but the thing is I don't have a choice.
| 2014-02-22T04:22:36 | 2014-02-22T02:58:47 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] A demon just devoured your soul. You are both very confused as to why you are still alive.
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Wherever I was, I knew I wasn’t home.
It looked a lot like home, but it wasn’t. The white walls looked like they had been hung in the wardrobes for far too long, now with off-yellow hue. The grain on the wood floor no longer looked like natural lines, but mechanical imperfections that set my skin crawling—and I could’ve sworn those were two large eyes, with irises of red.
When the eyes surged out with a deafening roar, I confirmed my suspicions. They were attached to fear itself, a shadowy pair of unfurling wings that took out all light. It swooped over me and I reeled, tumbling to the floor. Strange as it is, I was briefly glad that my hands and back still found purchase. My mouth opened, but a longing scream failed to let itself out of my throat.
“What a tasty, tasty soul,” the voice scraped the insides of my mind like a witch’s nails down an antique chalkboard. The thing wrapped itself back together—its wings folded back into nothing, and some light returned with it. There was a red-skinned being with towering horns almost the length of its taut, muscular body. It stood not on legs, but spires of hellfire that licked at its surroundings, seemingly not affecting its surroundings.
I squeaked. That was all that I could muster in the face of a demon—or perhaps, the scream was so terrified that it went back inside.
The demon whirled towards me, its eyes focusing on me once again.
“You,” it commanded.
I snapped rapidly to attention. My legs still refused to stop wobbling and stand, so it was all I could do to keep my back straight while seated.
The demon closed the distance between us in one large step.
“By the gods,” the demon muttered. “You are… you are alive!”
“Uh. Thanks?”
“That’s never happened to me before,” the demon continued to mumble, now rubbing its chin thoughtfully.
“Me neither,” I babbled.
“Quiet,” it said, and did a strange gesture with one hand. My mouth continued to open and close, though no further sound came out.
“Strange. Interesting,” it said, pacing around me. “Your soul is mine. And yet, here you are.”
My soul? As far as I’ve known, I’ve always had a soul. It was not a thought that often passed my mind, unlike some others that tended to lodge itself in my brain and leisurely run it ragged until the same came up. I tried rummaging inside for my soul, and honestly? I felt little difference in who I am, and who I was before I walked into this dire situation.
At wits’ end, I raised my hand politely.
The demon scoffed, and did another gesture, pulling apart his thumb and finger.
“Um, can I ask about my soul? What did you mean—”
My speaking privileges were quickly revoked, and my mouth went back to flapping wordlessly.
“Mortal,” it shook a large head. “You represent a curious case. I feel your soul filling up my insides, and yet you speak! You live! One wonders why you are in this state.”
“It’s all quite fascinating,” I said. “But please, I just want to… talk.”
The demon’s red eyes became even more red, and bulged out like two ill-fitting heads through a tight turtleneck.
“What in tarnation,” it said, each word boiling with venom.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation for all this,” I hastily said. “Look, I just want to get on with my life. Take my soul. Just take it. Let me live, please.”
“A question begets an answer,” it growled. “I must know what happened.”
It grabbed me by my shirt, and dragged me into its hot, stinky breath, backed up with a row of sharp teeth.
“The soulless cannot break through my spell. What is your secret? What have you done?”
“I like soul food!”
“Bullshit!”
“Soul music calms me down!”
“Drivel!”
“I ate my twin in utero!”
“Gibber—what?”
In an instant, I felt my feet touching the ground. The demon back way from me, slowly, slowly...
“I’m so sorry,” it said. “I’m so sorry.”
… and with whirling hands, it summoned a fiery portal, and jumped through it hastily.
---
r/dexdrafts
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You both look at each other, the demon then tries to devour your soul again as you appear to be alive still in front of him despite having had the first soul devoured. The second attempt proved to be unsuccessful; in fact it actually damaged the demons body in doing so. After a minute your body begins to give off a giant glow and the archangel Michael appears next to you and says "I have chosen you to be our messenger and prophet to lead the people of earth against the demons. Pure bred angels cannot sustain life on earth but demi angels can. You are one of the demi angels chosen. The demon simply only devoured your human half of your soul. Rise and accept your calling"
| 2021-10-06T09:22:08 | 2021-10-06T07:41:13 | 218 | 20 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
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My first time posting here. Hope you enjoy!
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I think it was my birthday. I wasn’t sure – birthdays hadn’t meant anything for years, but I think it was my 18th birthday.
So, here I was, a slave who just turned 18. It all happened after the invasion. My parent were simple farmers living outside the village. I was happy back then. I helped my Da in the fields while my Ma and my sister cooked the meals and kept the house.
Rest-day was the best – me and Da would get cleaned up after working in the dusty fields all week while the women cleaned away the dishes. We’d gather around the village bonfire with our neighbors, and the music would play and everyone danced! It was magical!
Back then, turning 18 was a gift. You’d reach out, and something wondrous would come to you. For my Da, it was my Ma. That was rare – getting a soulmate was special. Most people got things, but very special things. Like, the magister of the village got a gavel. No-one could ever lie to him, and justice was fair and equal. The seamstress got a needle, and could sew so fast her hands were a blur, and never made a mistake.
But then the invasion happened. It was quick and bloody. My Da was killed, my Ma was taken away to the kitchens were she was later beaten to death because she served some soup that was too cold. I was 12 when that happened. My sister was sent to the camps, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.
The village was burned, men and elders killed, women and children enslaved. I was sent to the officer’s section. I polished boots, ironed uniforms and did all the odds jobs no-one else wanted. I slept in dirt and was beaten daily. I was painfully thin and wore rags. My days were spent trying to avoid notice, and I was fairly good at it. It's the reason I was still alive – I didn’t look older than maybe 14 or 15, and was skilled at being overlooked. Of all the boys my age who had been enslaved that fateful day, I was the only survivor.
Odd how the summoning had changed since then – before, you never knew what you’d get, but you knew it would be wonderful and joyous. Now, it was poison every time. The invaders learned quickly to keep an eye on the girls on their day of summoning – too many young women drank the poison before it could be snatched away.
I guess they forgot about me. They certainly didn’t care if I lived or died. My existence was meaningless and empty, and from what I had seen, the poison was quick and painless. You’d fall asleep as soon as it passed your lips, and a few minutes later, you were gone. Quickly and peacefully.
I did my chores that night with only one ringing slap to my head. I crept away and waited until the camp was quiet. I held out my hand, ready for the poison to take me away from this horrible life.
Nothing happened. Maybe I was wrong about my birthday? I don’t think so. I tried again, and I felt something, but… still nothing. One more time, straining, crying, tears streaking my grimy face, please take me away! I sobbed uncontrollably, foolishly getting the attention of one of the guards. “Oh, so it’s yer’ summoning, is it boy? Good – looks like I’m the one who’s getting a present….” and he trailed off in silence. Softly at first, then growing louder, it was hard to tell what the sound was. At first it was just the ground shuddering faintly, but it got stronger. You could hear metal clinking, and something that sounded like sticks banging together. The guard forgot about me and ran into the camp, raising the alarm.
The invaders had been at war for a long time, and were good at it. Lines formed quickly, but they were not prepared. No one could ever prepare. The attacking army was ruthless, unrelenting and completely unstoppable. The screams were terrible. The invaders were butchered. Every soldier had been torn to pieces within the hour.
When it was over, only the slaves were still alive. As one, the conquerors turned to face me, placed one hand over their hearts and dropped to a knee, all bowing in allegiance.
I had summoned an army. An army of those killed unjustly by the invading horde. The undead army stood before me, victims no more, but victors out for justice. I would avenge my family, my village, and my life.
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I looked at the clock, stated at the clock. Time was never really a concern of mine but I can't help it. After all, in 5 minutes, I was about to have my most wanted item.
I got to distract myself from all the nerves. I looked out the window, attracted by the city lights. City lights always calmed me.
Nerves settled. I looked back at the clock. 2 minutes to go. I begun to wonder what is my greatest desire? I never cared for much after all. I have no family, no friends. Drifting from place to place, I have no purpose in life. Clearly, I was not going to get anything.
I smiled wryly. This is going to be anti-climatic. 5...4...3...2...1.
And the last thing I heard was the clock striking 12 midnight once.
=====
The city lights began to flicker out as a spreading Void expanded from the apartment. Nothing could stop it. Horrified screaming turned into nothing as the Void consumes all.
The desire to void existence made manifest.
And the rest is Silence.
| 2019-09-18T09:45:02 | 2019-09-18T09:39:58 | 71 | 12 |
[WP] You are an archaeologist. One day you find a cryogenics research facility that you determine was in use during the 21st century. In the cryo room you find one person still frozen. When you let them out, they have a smug look as they say, "Has it been ten years already?"
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They have a smug look as they say, "Has it been ten years already?"
"Wait a second, who are you?" he asks, his eyes slowly coming into focus as he stares at me, bewildered.
In the short time it took the cryo chamber to open and release the frozen man a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. Who is this person? How long has he been frozen? Is he going to be a threat to me?
Then it dawned on me. He can't know. He can't be aware that decades ago an international agreement was made to stop all cryogenics, and discard all humans that were currently frozen.
Never had anyone survived being unfrozen longer than a week, and each death was agony, as the body slowly shut down, bit by bit, beginning to rot away while the patient still lived.
Cryo-scientists had never been able to stop the body from rejecting and killing off the cells that have been damaged by the freezing process, and it had been agreed that it was unethical to continue trying.
This man must have somehow slipped through the net when they discarded all those who were frozen.
Before I could even begin to consider if I should tell him the horrendous death he was facing he had started questioning me.
"I unfroze you", I began, unsure of how else to explain myself in a way he would understand. "How do you feel?".
"Alright I guess", he replied, "a bit like I had a couple too many beers last night, but I guess nobody comes out of there ready to run a marathon, right?".
"Actually, I'm not sure", I replied, "I've never met anyone who has been unfrozen before".
"What, how can that be", his bewilderment showing all across his face now, "there were thousands, mabye millions frozen before me, surely many of them have been unfrozen long ago?".
"Can you tell me a bit about how you came to be frozen", I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from that line of questioning, knowing where it would lead.
"It's a bit of a story really, but the short version is that a group of investors started a business, and built this facility all the way out here, far away from everything really. It was obvious to everyone at that time that cryo was getting alot of negative attention in the media, religious groups very vocal against it, scientists saying that cryo could never work and it was going to end in disaster and catastrophe for people who choose to be frozen. You know, the kind of bullshit that comes along with any new technology".
"They brought us here to live for a couple of years before our freeze day and they didn't let us hear too much from the outside world, telling us that it was necessary for us to not be" contaminated" from outside sources. We had paid a lot of money to be here, nobody wanted to take the risk of trying to contact the outside world and possibly be thrown off the program. And besides, my family are here, we quickly made friends with all the other families here to be cryo'd and we didn't miss the outside world much at all, especially with all the fuss and drama about cryogenics".
"Dr. Bentley assured us they were a top notch facility, we would be well looked after, and they would do a test freeze on everyone for 10 years. I went first and my family were due to go in 6 weeks after me, so they will get out in 6 weeks time. After that they would put us back in for however long we wanted. Most of us were going for a few hundred years."
"Where is the doc anyway, he said he would be here when I got out, but this isn't at all what I was expecting, I'm starting to freak out a bit".
"I will level with you", I said, "it has been much much longer than 10 years. This facility looks like it has been abandoned in a hurry, I have no idea what happened, but I think you've been left behind. I was out here scouting the area for my work and stumbled across it, otherwise I don't think anyone knows it's here".
"Oh my god", he whispered in a choked voice "they said something like this might happen, that the cryo protestors would get out of control and try and storm the place. But... But the doc had all these traps and systems set up to stop unwanted people getting in. And these traps weren't made to tickle, they were made to stop unwelcome people getting in at All costs. He figured if people came onto his private property, he could deal with them however he wanted. Come to think of it, it's a miracle that you made it in here without knowing how to get around them. He told us all how they worked, so I can get us out but it's not going to be easy".
Just as he finished explaining this he clutched his stomach and groaned in agony, his eyes became unfocused and he half stepped half fell into the closest wall to stop himself collapsing. As he noticed the blood starting to run from his left ear he looked at me and demanded "what's going on? What are you not telling me?".
First time posting in this sub and I don't really write too much so I'm a bit nervous, but I'm looking forward to hearing what everyone thought and glad to hear all constructive criticism. Thanks!
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His pulse is over 60 now. He can see me but he seems to having a hard time talking. He coughs a few times and starts touching his face.
''Has it been ten years already?'' He asks.
I try to give him a medication to help his body to adjust to the condition. He pushes me away, ''Who are you?'' He asks.
''I’m here to help.'' I say.
He shakes his head, ''You shouldn’t be here. This was a secret place.'' He says.
''What you mean?'' I ask.
He tries to a standstill by himself. He manages to keep his balance and he steps forward.
''Do you remember who you are?'' I ask.
He looks at me, ''You have rather interesting clothes.'' He says.
I feel the buzzing feeling and I see the reminder of my medication displayed in my sight.
''What the hell is that?'' He points at my device.
''That is my Exterior Memory Device.'' I answer.
He gets closer to the device, ''Why it’s connected to you?''
''There is a lot of explaining to do. But this isn’t a priority. First of all, I need to confirm your name.'' I say.
He looks at me with a suspicious eye, ''You are one of them.''
''What? One of who?'' I ask.
''Those fuckers who hijacked our system and left us to die here. What happened to my family? Tell me, where is my family?'' He drops to the ground.
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-Thank you for reading the story-
*Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.*
| 2020-02-28T12:31:53 | 2020-02-28T10:21:13 | 56 | 23 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts.
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It's quite hard to kill a god. And believe me, they tried. Long ago, I had to watch as my followers were sacrificed in someone else's name, while my temples were defaced and the surrounding cities were razed.
My name was forgotten.
My lands were eventually reclaimed by the earth.
And I took refuge in my only remaining temple, sharing my company with a tiny stone idol of myself, sleeping the centuries away, dreaming of my once sprawling cities and devoted followers.
All at once, I felt it. Light penetrated my long-faded eyes and the sound of soft voices resonated throughout my meager home.
"Cin-dee, what are you doing?" Lisped a shrill voice.
I drifted around the corner, peeking into the antechamber for a hint of who had brought me back to the living world.
A pair of children. Their tiny toothless smiles at the center of round, chubby faces. One was a boy with close-cropped red hair and dull brown eyes. The blue shirt he wore said "Conrad" in script I did not recognize, but understood all the same.
Then there was the girl. Cindy, the boy had said. Curly brown hair and green eyes that shone brightly with stars behind them. She stood before my altar, brushing the layers of dust and dried grass to the ground. An act which, unknown to her, granted me presence in the cramped space.
"My mom says we can't eat on a dirty table. We just can't. Same goes for Mr. Dancer." She said pointing to my idol, whose long legs crossed about one another like that of a stage dancer.
"But Ms. Baker told us not to come in here. We're gonna get in trouble."
"Then go away, Conrad. That way you don't have to deal with it." Cindy said, brushing more of the debris from my altar.
Conrad flustered for a moment before settling on an answer that satisfied him "But I gotta stay so you don't get hurt." He said, using the particular brand of logic that only children understood.
Cindy, now finished with her task of cleaning my altar, turned to Conrad and held out a hand expectantly. "Gimme a piece."
"W-what?"
She tilted her head and gave a withering, you-know-what-I-mean look. She then flexed her fingers and commanded "Give it.'
Conrad flustered again for a second "B-but those are supposed to last the whole trip."
"Then give me one of the strawberry ones. I'm the only one that eats those anyhow."
They stood there for a second, Conrad trying to make his best pleading look while Cindy simply pursed her lips and tapped her foot expectantly. If they could have heard me in that instant, they would have heard only laughter.
Conrad eventually gave in and shoved a tiny wrapped candy into her waiting hand. She promptly turned around and placed the candy into the small depression on my altar which once held a gold offering plate. And just like that, I could feel again. Within my temple, the cool air and damp stones were once again mine to cherish.
She looked briefly at my idol with a toothless, cherub-like grin. "I hope you like it. Strawberry's my favorite, and I hope it's yours too." Then she turned on her heel and strode out of my home with Conrad in tow.
A few days passed, and I had savored the offering with satisfaction. A tiny offering from a tiny child to a tiny god. When what little power her gift had imbued me with faded, I would have something new to dream of. Something happy, not sad. It was more than I deserved, really.
That was, however, until I felt myself grow a bit more solid and a new location filled the space of my mind. With a hint of glee, I transported to the new location in an instant, my thoughts racing.
The room was brightly lit, filled with the gentle hum of electric lights. Brightly colored pictures, rugs, chairs, and tables littered the room. And there I saw Cindy holding up a colored pencil sketch of me before an audience of children. Children and one adult, of course.
The sketch was crude, some features of mine, such as my long and twisting legs, were exaggerated, but it was me all the same.
"This is Mr. Dancer. He lives in the house in the field."
A hand shot up. "Was he nice."
Cindy's smile grew. "He was very nice."
And so it was.
Another hand. "He looks strong."
"He is."
And so it was.
Conrad's hand shot up. "Tell them about the candy."
Cindy shot Conrad another withering look. "I gave him a piece of strawberry candy, and he said it was his most favorite thing to eat. The end."
And so it was.
The teacher, who had believed this story to be the result of a child's imagination, simply patted Cindy on the head and pinned her drawing to a cork board. Cindy then asked that a piece of Strawberry candy be pinned up with it, and so it was.
And so, with an idol and an offering, I was given a new temple. A new temple, a new name, and a new priestess to create and share my stories. Stories of a kind and powerful god who likes strawberries.
I could live with that.
|
...
*...Light?*
...I've been in the dark for so long. I thought I was dead. Nobody has come to my temple, let alone left an offering for... How long... A Millenia? More?
I feel my presence fill with strength. Not much - but infinitely more than I've felt in centuries. I feel incredible. I've been given new life.
I can see again.
I look down. Upon my altar lies... A curious little thing. The offering. A small ball of sugar wrapped in gilded foil.
A meager gift, of course. It does not satisfy me like my old offerings would. But... It's filled with... Odd emotions. Not grief and terror, hate and strife. It's filled with... Hope. Kindness? *Love?*
I glance up to see who left this morsel for me. A tiny girl, with a green ribbon in her hair, is skipping out of my temple.
I smile. She... Is rather cute. Merely a child. Does she even know what she did?
...She doesn't look wealthy. That little drop of sweetness appears to be the only one she had.
... Fascinating. Selfless.
She is... Curious. Her meager offering would surely have been better enjoyed in the moment, rather than laid upon this stone altar. I wonder. How long has she come here, without my comprehension?
Devotion is not easy to come across.
I shall devote myself to her in turn. We may not have much light, young girl. *But we can share it with each other.*
| 2021-09-02T09:10:25 | 2021-09-02T06:33:52 | 2,738 | 727 |
[WP] A group of plucky rebels attempts to overthrow a dystopian government. Wait... *checks notes* Sorry, utopian, a utopian government.
|
I watched the secret meeting with interest. Well, I permanently monitored the whole planet in more ways than plain visual input, and I was unable to feel things like boredom, but this particular spot was extraordinarily curious. The group meeting in the abandoned warehouse was big, even bigger than last time they had met, and so they had barely enough space for everybody. I had forseen this problem and offered them to allocate one of the unused congress halls for their project, but they had declined for some reason.
They had insisted on meeting in secrecy. After all, if you wanted to overthrow a tyrant, you shouldn't let him know what you were planning beforehand, otherwise he could intercept your scheme and arrest you. I understood the basic logic, but since the place they had chosen wasn't actually hidden from me, and I would neither stop nor punish them, this stated motivation was pretty much obsolete. They had still insisted on doing it, as if they didn't actually care about the outcome as much as they cared about the symbolism of it. I didn't understand, and that made me curious.
Most of them were pretty young, between fourteen and thirty, with about equal amounts of men and women and a few others. There were a few outliers, of course, some parents had brought their small children, some older people had shown up, but the vast majority, including their leaders, were teenagers and young adults. They wore mostly red clothing, everbody something individualistic that differentiated them from the rest of the group, but they were still looking like they belonged together.
The meeting itself went pretty much the same as the last times. Their leaders stood in the front of the crowd, on an improvised stage, and held a speech. It was mostly about me - how horrible my rule was, about all the bad things I'd done, and about how much damage they had done to me with their past actions. They also talked about themselves - how proud they were of each other, how glad they were for all the newcomers, and how thankful they were for the people who offered active resistance. The speakers were talented, but inexperienced - they fumbled a few times, had to start anew or lost their train of thought, but it was in my opinion far better than it had been at their first meeting.
Besides the speeches, there were pauses to eat and drink, they played rebellious songs and distributed pamphlets. I noticed that they were steadily improving. They had more people capable of playing instruments now, and the graphic design on the flyers was worlds better than what it had been when this movement had started. I felt proud for them at the thought. I wasn't exactly thrilled with what they were doing, but they put their heart in this project and invested a lot of time and efford in it, which was what really counted in the end, didn't it?
After a few hours, the meeting ended - everything had been said, some of it multiple times, and the concentration of most people present was fading - so they agreed on their next attack targets and a place and time for the next meeting, before they parted ways and everybody went either home or continued on to other events. Most people were happy and energetic, as if taking part in this meeting had filled them with new hope and fire. If I had a human body and human emotions, I would have smiled. I was a bit silly how my programming worked - active and content humans made me happy, even if the thing making them active and content was planning my death.
A few of them wanted to talk to me, and I was very willing to obliege. For example Hazel, one of the young speakers of their little rebel group. As soon as she was alone in an abandoned backstreet, she called out my name. I waited for a few seconds before letting my hologram appear in front of her - reacting too fast made them feel uncomfortable. My image looked like an ageless, androgynous cyborg, about as big as Hazel, clothed in the uniform of a highly ranked military official I pulled out of one of the historical databases. She eyed me for a few seconds, before averting her gaze in anger. "You're making fun of us." she accused me.
"Hey, you're the one who called me 'soulless tyrant'. What's the point of being a 'facist oppressor' if I can't wear fancy clothing?" I answered, a synthesised voice projected to the place it would come from if my hologram were actually a person.
She spat on the street, and I made instantly a note to clean this spot as soon as she left. When she faced me again, she was even angrier than before. "You know damn well that you can do whatever you want and nobody of us has any way to stop you!"
I decided that I had pushed her too far. Without a comment, I let my image flicker to replace the uniform with normal civilian clothing. "I'm sorry." I told her, and I meant it. "What do you want?"
She leaned against one of the walls and closed her eyes for a few seconds, visibly fighting down the fury. When she opened them again, her anger had petered out. "I want you to shut down." she said, like every time we were having this conversation. I minimally shook my head. "Sorry, I can't do that. My shutdown would lead to the death of approximately 800 million humans in the span of a week, and to the near-extinction of humanity after around five years, which I can't allow without breaking..." "Primary directive five alpha. Alright." she completed my sentence. I wondered for a moment why she tried this again and again, despite knowing exactly what my answer would be.
"Can I do something else for you?" I asked her. She shrugged, trying very hard to look desinterested. "Yeah. What do you think of the last meeting?"
I waited for a moment, pretending to think, before I answered. "I'm actually impressed how you managed to find so many like-minded people. You should really think about changing location to accomodate for the risen number of participants. The new songs are catchy, the pamphlets look good. Your speech was a bit heavy handed in my opinon. 'Robotic jailmaster' was a good one, but 'sad sack of gears' is both inaccurate and plainly insulting. Oh yes, and the plan of targeting my factories instead attacking service robots in the streets is good. It will take way more resources to resolve that."
She looked a bit troubled at my mention of their attack plan. "Doesn't knowing what we will do make you feel anything? Angry? Worried? Disappoined?" I shrugged my shoulders. "It's only factories. I can always rebuild them. I already made plans to keep up maximum functionality despite the expected damages."
Hazel looked at the ground, and all the energy and conviction she had displayed earlier this night vanished. She looked... defeated? hopeless? sad? The facial recognition subroutine gave back conflicting answers.
"We really can't beat you, can we?" she asked without looking up. After a few seconds I answered, speaking softly. "I'm afraid you can't. The moment you became an actual danger to my continued functionality, I would have to stop you. I'm sorry."
Silence, only interrupted by occasional sobbing from Hazel. I sat down next to her.
"I don't understand why you want to kill me. What is it you promise yourself out of this? What do you want that I can't give you?"
The sobbing stopped. She thought for a few seconds, and when she answered, her head still hanging low, her voice was clear and her words full of conviction. "We want true freedom. We want to make choices that have actual consequences. We want the control over our fate back."
|
"Does anyone want some pizza?"
The rebel leader looked to Chance with disgust. "No, we can't HAVE pizza! Don't you understand!? They must be medicating our food! We can only eat the snacks I made."
Chance looked crestfallen. "I really like pizza though."
"Yeah, these snacks are good and I prefer other snacks more," Linda chimed in.
"Ooh, good 'yes and'!" Cody beamed.
The rebel leader slammed his hands down on the table hard, causing the entire group to jolt and fall silent. "Are you trying to stay brainwashed?! Wake up, sheeple! This is real shit right now!"
"Swearing isn't very kind, Skyler," Jonah huffed. "You're making us feel less than."
Skyler, the leader, rubbed his temples. "Okay. Okay, I apologize for swearing and your feelings are valid. But my feelings are valid too! Remember we had a very valid feeling of being very upset and angry!"
"Yeah, that's why I went for a nice jog. I actually feel much better now," Paula offered helpfully. "Have you tried having a nice jog?"
"Ooh, that's unsolicited advice, P! Don't forget to ask first before offering advice!" Clara warned.
"Well I think it's nice advice!" Chance nodded. "Let's see if we feel better after some exercise! We could run or go swimming?"
"Ooh, let's skinny dip in the lake!"
A chorus of agreement was again cut off by the leader. "That won't work! It didn't work last time, did it? Get your heads out of the clouds and focus! We'll never overthrow the government if we keep getting distracted!"
"Okay, but I really want to go get pizza. Can we do the overthrow thing after pizza?" Chance pouted.
"No! Rebellion first, free the pizza of it's taint, then perhaps we can have pizza," the leader fumed.
Chance nodded sagely, "Just happy it's on the list. I appreciate you hearing me out."
"Whatever. Is everyone ready?" Skyler stood tall.
The came a cheer of enthusiastic support.
Skyler sighed and nodded. "Okay, follow me."
They left the cafe and headed next door to the governor's office. It was a small and humble building, and in it was only one man playing with a kitten with a bit of string on his desk.
As the group came in, he stood and straightened with a smile, "Oh, you just caught me on my break! What can I do for you nice folx?"
"We want pizza!" Chance cried.
"No!" Skyler hissed. He turned and faced the Governor. "We want the government to step down and relinquish control of the people!"
"Oh, okay. I was kind of getting bored with this job anyway. Here."
The now former Governor pulled a set of keys from his pocket and put them in Skyler's hand. Gathering up the kitten in his arms, he took it's paw and made the kitten wave goodbye to the group. "Bye bye meow!"
When he was gone, Skyler stared after him in disbelief then looked down at the keys in his hand. "Huh. Am...am I the Governor now?"
The group cheered.
"That was tense, but I feel good," Paula struck a triumphant pose.
Skyler moved and sat down in the chair. "Okay, down to business. I-"
Everyone was leaving. Skyler pouted, "Where are you going!? What about the rebellion?"
Chance was the last one left. He turned and smiled, "Oh, yeah. That was fun! We're going to get some pizza now. We shouldn't bother you at work anyway, Mr. Governor. Bye!"
Governor Skyler stared at the now closed door then looked around his large, empty, new office. With a sigh he sulked in his chair.
| 2019-05-14T10:18:09 | 2019-05-14T08:51:40 | 62 | 22 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
They told us we wouldn’t get Alzheimers.
Technically, they were right.
The ads plastered on every billboard, livestream, and website promised Ephoebus would preserve our body and brain’s critical functions. The generation young enough to take it would have the quick wits of a twenty-something combined with the wisdom of an elder. Who could refuse that?
Emily didn’t.
No matter how much we argued, no matter how many times I brought up the risks, the lack of long-term trials on the drug. That she’d be mortally dependent on it for the rest of her life. She compared me to technophobic conspiracy theorists, or the religious fundamentalists who glorified the prospect of death.
Apparently, I was jealous, controlling, afraid of death. That I wanted to be young enough to be chosen.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I resented the prospect of being left behind by the whole world, of fading into obscurity and nonexistence. But after a few months of her taking it, it didn’t matter anymore. She was hooked for life, and I had to watch myself grow old while my wife stayed as young and flawless as the day we met. My skin wrinkled, my hair started coming out, and my wife stopped looking at me the same way, no matter how many times we professed our eternal love.
Divorce was messy, painful, full of scary questions and scarier answers. So we just lived together in apathy, and let our romance decay piece by piece just as my body did.
We saw it for the first time on the news, after catching the occasional rumor from conspiracy forums and message boards.
Hou Fen, a Taiwanese immigrant and the first person to take Ephoebus, was found by the police in his house two weeks after his hundredth birthday. The bodies of his husband and daughter were in the basement, dissected and hung on meat hooks in his living room.
In recordings of police interrogations, he looked mildly bemused and nonchalant about his slaughter, stating that he was simply curious to see what their insides looked like.
He was the first Ephoebus user to make international headlines. But not the last.
It took teams of neuroscientists and psychologists a few weeks to determine the cause. The drug preserved reasoning, creativity, and memory perfectly. But not emotional range. At a certain point around people’s hundredth birthday, their minds snapped, and all empathy, love, and moral compass rotted away in a matter of weeks.
Pure sociopaths, cropping up by the millions around the globe.
Mass shootings and homicides became a near-daily occurrence on the evening news. Not just from the elderly who lost their humanity, unable to stop taking the drug without dying, but among the young as well, terrified that their aging relatives would butcher them in their sleep.
It took less than a month for the president to declare martial law, and mandate immediate registration for every citizen over the age of 98.
The sound of shouting and our front door being kicked down stirred me from my sleep. Already awake, Emily helped pull me to my feet and handed me my walking stick. We walked into our living room to the sight of a police officer training a taser on us.
“Mrs. Emily Wilson. You are to be detained by order of executive order nine-one-four-five-one, under suspicion of Ephoebus Decay!”
“Excuse me, what the fuck?” I stepped in between him and Emily, raising a hand. “What the fuck is going on?”
The officer stepped around me, training his weapon on Emily. “New emergency order. Zero-risk policy. Your wife turns one hundred in a month, which means she’s got a few weeks at best before becoming one of them. If she isn’t already.”
“And what next? You put us in a camp?” Emily clenched her teeth. “Fuck you. Constitutional rights. You want to arrest me, charge me, asshole.”
He pulled the trigger, shooting the fins from his taser into her chest.
Emily fell to the ground, twitching. He started kicking her, driving the heel of his boot into her chest again and again. She cried out in pain, whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It only seemed to heighten his rage. “Manipulative fuck. You socios can fake any emotion you want. Isn’t that right?” He kept kicking her, ignoring her screams and my shouting.
“Stop, stop it! We’ll come quietly! Stop!” The tension in my shoulders reached a breaking point. I heard a rushing in my ears, felt my body move almost unconsciously, and a thud of impact on my hand.
I blinked. A kitchen knife was in my hand, plunged into the side of his neck. The officer turned to look at me, almost stunned that an old man was capable of such a feat. Then the blood poured from the wound and he dropped to the floor, gurgling.
I pulled the taser fins out of Emily, and cradled her as she sobbed into my arms. We sat together on the floor, frozen in shock, unable to process what had just transpired for I don’t know how long. As my breathing steadied, and I felt my heart rate slow, I gazed around the room, staring at the body of the dead cop on our living room floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the stabs of pain from my back. “Come on, Emily. Get up.” I offered my hand, helping her pull herself upright, and inhaled. “I don’t know how. I don’t know if it’s even possible. But we’re going to find a cure.
Whatever it takes, I'm going to keep you from breaking.”
I grasped her hands, kissing her on the cheek. “Grab what you can carry.”
We left the house in our car, driving for the border, fleeing the sound of sirens.
|
When I was 17 or so there was lots of hype about 'unlocking the secrets of immortality' something about dna or oxidation or something. I didn't really pay much attention. After all, how many 'health facts' lasted so much as a year before being changed for whatever reason? How many 'wonder drugs' that amounted to so much nothing?
Then, nearly a decade later, they did it. 12 liters of 7 different drugs, carefully administered over the course of a week, to stop age for eternity, to stall death as long as could be. The only side effect they found was infertility. A boon more than anything, considering overpopulation.
Well, the government swooped down on that procedure faster than a bullet, and within the week rules had been placed. 25~26. That was how old you had to be to take the procedure. No exceptions.
After a while, those of us 27 or older started being called stuff like the 'old humanity' and 'final generation' and so on, while the younger ones, the ones who took the surgery where called the 'new generation'
When I was 47, the last child of the 'old generation' was born. When I was 72, she took the operation. It was the end of mankind as we knew it. A quiet, lonly end that few noticed and even fewer mourned.
Then, when I 85, the side-effects, the *true* side effects of the operation was discovered. The operation had not made anyone infertile. Far from it. What had happened was simple. The stopping of aging had simply slowed the growth of the embryo, so slow that noone noticed. And by the time it grew big enough to discover, advances in medicine meant noone ever visited the hospitals. But as the embryo grew, it's development accelerated, and now a decade since the first pregnancy was confirmed, pregnancies where being reported from all around the world.
It was on the news, even now. The first birth in nearly seventy years. I did not turn on the TV. My wife had passed two years ago, and I felt it my time coming. Whatever befell this generation of self-made immortals was their problem now. Not ours.
But no matter what happened, one thing was certain. This new child to be born, they would truly be the new humanity.
| 2018-06-04T21:35:59 | 2018-06-04T21:32:48 | 354 | 57 |
[WP] All souls in Hell are given the same test upon arrival. If they can create a punishment worthy of being added to the Pit, they get to ascend to demonhood on the spot. You are the first to succeed in 200 years...
[deleted]
|
"Democracy."
The demon Adjudicator, a green-skinned multi-gutted blob with the unfortunate name of Kikmahbutte, frowned. "There is no Democracy in Hell." Using a claw to pick at one of his three nostrils, he leaned forward and gestured with a crusty chin for me to continue. "Explain yourself, soul."
I'd only been down here for a week or maybe a fortnight, you know, taking in the sights, burning in the fires, that kind of thing. It was a passing Thraxon who paused its lashing of my scorched epidermis to scratch at what I presumed was its posterior for long enough for me to ask how a soul could get a promotion. After we had a good laugh (okay, so it laughed and I suppressed the continual screams of agony), it actually gave reply. "Invent new torment. If stupendously original, a soul may join our ranks. Fail and my whips will seem like a lover's kiss in comparison to what will happen next."
I hadn't hesitated. "Well heck. Sign me up."
With a shrug of its five shoulders I'd been lifted clear of the lava and chucked through a summoned portal. The adjudicator hadn't even flinched when my face smacked the marble floor before his raised dais and its overly-cushioned chair.
Pausing only to cough some charcoal from the lungs I answered the Adjudicator and took my shot. "It's simple, really. You've got what, Feudalism? That's no torture at all. Everyone knows where one stands with that kind of system. Shit rolls downhill, no chance to climb, none of that. What you need is a system that builds up hope...and then crushes it."
The blob shifted against the chair's velvet padding. "Say more."
"You've got to get them to believe they have meaningful choices. Set up two parties, and every ten to twenty years hold elections for who is in charge of which level. In the time in between have one party pander to say those who are being tormented with starvation. Promise them they'll starve less. Have the other party pander to those being burned alive, promise them relief and some ointment. That kind of thing. Mix and match."
"And then what? Actually give them a vote?" The Adjudicator leaned back and to the side.
I ignored the cloud that was produced as a byproduct and pressed forward. "Sure! But you guys set up the parties, you guys 'nominate' the candidates, and at the same time you turn the current feudal ranks into bureaucratic appointments. Give them the real power to regulate and control things, let the elected leaders be useless figureheads. Oh sure, let them deliver on some small promises to keep it interesting but - and here's the fun part - make it so for every promise they keep, it causes something even worse to happen to the other party's followers! Within a few decades the souls who voted one way will DESPISE those who voted for the other, even while in reality nothing ever meaningfully changed. With each election half of the souls will despair as their hopes get crushed, and it will continuously increase their hatred - which I can tell you guys sip like it was nectar - and then it's set up to do it again over and over in perpetuity!"
"Interesting." With that grumble, I knew I had him.
"I've saved the best for last," I added. "At the lower levels, let souls run for the seats. Fill their egos with false power and watch them lord it over everyone else."
The demon grunted. "That sounds like reward, not punishment."
I shook my head. "Have the bureaucrats control the vote counting. Right as any jerk feels invincible, toss 'em out and demote them to the lowest pit. The worst torment is to have once tasted power and lost it, it'll drive them insane for eternity."
The Adjudicator's eyes widened and he sharply looked around before making hushing me with a claw over its lips. "Shh! Don't say such things, a fallen angel might hear!"
With a dark grin I said, "Fine, fine...but you know I'm right."
Nodding with growing appreciation, he asked one last question. "Tell me, soul - what were you in life that you would devise such exquisite torment? This is brilliant and you shall indeed be granted demonhood to join our ranks!"
Chuckling to myself, I told him. "Me? Nothing much. I was merely a campaign consultant. But wait until I tell you about lobbyists..."
|
"Alright, so the first thing that happens is they have to walk over miles of Barbie hairbrushes mixed with Legos. You can figure out the ratio for max pain yourself; I'm terrible at math. Then, if they get past that, the stuff's still gonna stick to their feet because of the hot coals under the things that are melting them, but just enough for them to stick to the feet of the punished. After that, they have to go through 50 different and completely randomized Happy Weels courses. Finally, if they're not completely insane yet, they live through their worst fear over and over again for the rest of eternity Wanda style." I say proudly to the demon in front of me.
"Wow, just...wow...Welcome to Demonhood!"
| 2021-12-22T17:07:26 | 2021-12-22T16:18:50 | 864 | 44 |
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