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[WP] One morning, you wake up and suddenly find yourself three years in the past, as if the last three years had never happened. It happened to the entire world and everyone remembers.
|
I looked at my phone's date again.
The alphanumeric characters were indeed listed as 23/5/2013.
This must be a software issue of some sort.
Checking my laptop, I find the same date.
...No way - did it happen? Did it actually happen?
Adrenaline pumping, I get dressed and bust my way out the door. I've been dreaming of something like this happening for years now, please let it be true, please, oh please... let it be true.
At a nearby magazine kiosk, all the print issues are dated May 2013. No effing way, man. The past two years - did any of it actually happen? Did I just imagine hitting rock bottom? Did I just hallucinate all those days of despair, longing, and all the regret? Was all the drinking and drug abuse, self-loathing, all the pointless hookups, all the recurring dreams just my head playing tricks with me?
I buy a pack of L&M Forwards, the kind with the ball in the filter that you squeeze to make the cigarette minty - good thing I had the ten *zlotych* in my wallet, because Jesus Christ knows I need a smoke right now.
I drag through about three of the damn things, consecutively, as I decide if I should do what I've been wishing and yearning to do all this time - trying to muster the strength and the *cahones* to do what no sane man would do: attempt to revisit the echoes and ashes of a world he had long ago abandoned... but continually dwelt within, mercilessly and painfully.
Nothing to lose, and my phone's dead - shit. Looks like I'm gonna' have to do it, then. So, about twenty minutes later, streetcar 10 has me approaching the Forbidden Zone, my Europa, my Ground Zero; the place I have avoided for the past few years - or *had* I? Was it all just a vision, a premonition to show me how things might unfold if I don't act now? Have I truly had a Scrooge-style experience, and now have an opportunity to fulfill my most relentless of desires?
Only one way to find out.
I step out of the streetcar and cross the street I used to cross twice a day so casually, now with all my hair standing on end. I am fueled by a writhing, abominable amalgamation of fear and hope. My mouth is dry, my breathing heavy, as I approach the ex-communistic apartment building's buzzer and press a certain button.
Moments of silence pass. I think I'm about to explode, or collapse - maybe both.
Then a voice answers. Despite the static of the audio electronics, it is obvious at once whose voice it is. It is She... my guilty obsession.
"Yes?" She inquires, in that voice that would make jealous all the angels of heaven, in that high pitch that would thrust all the demons of hell into a lustful panic. I am shocked. I must act natural. I must not act like anything is different. What was it like, three years ago?
"Er- Hey, babe. It's, uh, it's me." I sound like an idiot, of course. I am surrounded by deafening silence for what seems like years. My knees are quaking. "Um... 'darling?' You had better, um... just come up," she finally replies. "We need to talk."
Oh, shit.
Each step up the stairs feels like an individual mountain, each minuscule twitch of my leg muscles is a herculean task. I can hear my blood angrily pounding against the walls of my circulatory system. A talk. Relax, it's probably nothing. Her door is open when I arrive to her floor. We approach each other, both clearly confused, surprised.
"My love, I have had the most fucked-up dream," I begin saying, as I slowly move in to embrace her, so I may once more breathe in the fresh scent of her hair, so I may once more gently touch her small form, drown myself in the softness and purity of her skin and lose myself in the arctic sea of her cold blue eyes. All for naught - she stops me.
"It wasn't a dream, Kris. Something strange has happened, I don't know what - it happened to *us*, too."
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no nononononono.
"You mean-" I say, as I reach around and open her door a little more. There he is, the lucky douche, in his expensive haircut and pressed blazer. My Oblivious Adversary, the Unknowing Usurper. He smiles smugly and gives a slight wave to me from over his smartphone, like a tired horse lazily flicking its tail to carelessly shoo away gnats. All is clear, now.
"It's you," I say to him, and turn back to the objective of my excursion. "And you. You two... You're just going to ignore the time travel stuff and continue as you were, aren't you?"
Unable to look me in the eyes, she looks down, her white hair (once black... or, soon-to-be-black, rather) obscuring her face.
"Kris... I-"
"Wait," I interrupt her. "Just let me process this, ok? I beg you." She slowly nods in response.
"Please don't do anything stupid, Kris..."
It's pretty obvious there is a deity, now, despite my years of skepticism. A random universe couldn't possibly be this cruel. Some god has seen fit to make me relive the fate of Tantalus in my own, personal way. I step back.
"I thought it was only me. I thought that we... It doesn't matter. Something weird is going on and we all have to figure it out for ourselves. You two take care."
As I continue to go back down the stairs, she calls to me once, then twice. By then I'm already running out the door. Nothing matters, and everything is intrinsically terrible, and I need a drink, screw the weird time-space stuff.
Back at the streetcar station, I am sitting alone, staring at my shoes. The first signs of panic and rioting erupts in the streets. The smell of fear is on the wind. I don't care. I just sit there, waiting for the 10, and pray that the pub is open.
As a multum of people begins arguing over lottery numbers at the nearby lotto booth, all I can think is *"I deserve this."*
|
You wake up. Something's off. Your room looks the same, but not quite. Glancing around, you still can't put your finger on it. Fuck it, what time is it? You reach out to check your phone.
What. The. Fuck.
Your iPhone 4? You upgraded years ago! Wait.. the screen says 2013.. was.. was it all just a dream?
You sit for a minute and laugh, "It's like that game, Roy" but then remember that Rick and Morty was just part of the dream. "God damn, that was vivid," and you put some pants on and head to the kitchen.
You forgot about your fish, which had died long ago in the dream.. because you'd forget to feed it. Guiltily feeding Nemo, you still can't really believe it's 2013, and that whole experience was a dream. You wonder, "What happened today, in that dream?" but find it impossible to grasp. The only clear things seem to be a basic plot of steadiness in life, political strife, and pop culture, thinking "God, if I was a musician or filmmaker, I could just take over the next few years." And you turn on the TV.
But it's blue. No signal, nothing's coming in. Then you hear it. You've been so inside your own head about this dream that you didn't even hear the light roar outside.
You see them, filling the street, before you can even open the window. New York can be packed, but you've never seen this many on your block. It's like all of NYC is headed somewhere. Walking.
"What the fuck is going on!?" You shout to the crowd. A man stops near your building, "You had the dream, right? Where you lived every day into 2016?" Everything goes numb. No. How is this possible? "THE dream," he'd said. They'd all had it? Did everyone have it? How long was this known? No one called you? You check your phone again. 2013 still doesn't seem right, but you see it. No signal. What the fuck was going on?
He's still shouting to you, and it seems you catch on where it matters. "..Sanders and Trump. We're all walking to D.C.!" "What?! That's like a few hundred miles!" You shout back. Nothing that has happened today makes any sense. "What else can we do? It just feels right! People have been looting and burning everything corporate down. It's the revolution!! Right, brothers and sisters?!?!!" The mass of people swelled with sound and began chanting different slogans until one had gained the most followers and they all adopted it. It was some old hippie song, and the crowd that sang was already walking through the next intersection.
You sat down and looked at the fish.
/u/tfity
| 2016-06-11T11:47:45 | 2016-06-11T11:16:53 | 41 | 27 |
[WP] The Evil Sorceress takes her final form: a giant hawk-like bird with beautiful flaming wings. The battle is long and arduous, but you prevail. Her body disintegrates into a pile of ash as you land the killing blow. Then something in the ash stirs. A young girl rises, lost and confused.
|
Besnik and Doris dashed towards the swirling cloud of blackness. Using her mighty strength, she foisted Besnik into the air, his fur becoming brighter than gold. The impending collision of light and darkness was more fantastic than any tapestry I had ever seen. If only Remus was here to sketch this! Vigor entered my legs, and I rose to my feet, readying Sokolmecz, its cold steel radiating an iridescent glow.
 
"**WWWOOOOOOOOOFFFFF**" Besnik's forceful bark splashed the ash and wind away from the Sorceress, revealing a monstrous winged abomination. A volley of embers danced as she slapped Besnik aside.
 
"Besnik!" Anka climbed her staff, stumbling as she rose on her crutch. The charcoal stones that made up the floor of the Sorceress's keep did not yield to any force. Another body began to stir.
 
"Richter!" my voice struggled as I hobbled over to him, excited to see his consciousness return.
 
"We need to regroup!" Droopy sleeves flapped as he pointed at Besnik. The uncanny canine removed the barrier, but was no longer in a state to fight. Thunderous footsteps echoed in the hall, as Doris picked the holy dog up and ran to rejoin us.
 
"Let's retreat, we can't survive here!" Richter began, "Anka, you need to teleport us out of here!" Contrary to her efforts, she repeatedly stabbed the floor; contact into the ground was necessary for the spell.
"The floor isn't giving! I need to dig into it!"
 
Deafening screeches pierced our ears, and I felt goosebumps grow on my back. Teamwork had forced the fiend to abandon her human and demi-human forms. Coughs ejected themselves from my companions, and my lungs choked as a sulfurous wind blew in our direction. My heart beat faster as my eyes watched the slag and tar dripping from the transforming mass.
 
"What... is she?" Doris struggled, hyperventilating. The Sorceress stretched out, showing her full form: The Pitak Ohenivak: An enormous black hawk, each feather's outline glowing a dim carmine, and her eyes and beak made of pure fire. The obsidian inferno slowed the beating of its wings.
 
"**SSCCCRRREEEEEEEE!**" Her screech paralyzed my body, a giant flash of orange and white heading straight for us. My body too scared to move. *This is it*, I thought. *We fail...*
 
"She isn't letting me give up, so I'm not letting you," Anka managed to walk up next to me, her staff parting the wall of fire. "You're the only one who can finish this," I watched as she fell to her knees again. Besnik's whimpers and the gentle hum of Richter's healing motivated me to continue.
 
Woody branches began to grow from the hilt and wrap around my arm as I raised my sword in front of me. "HA HA HA! Cover your body in kindle, **FOOL**!" Ignoring her taunts, my bones felt sturdier. Each flap from the hawk blew away leaves growing off the vines, but they regrew faster. The nature of my weapon's magic always eluded me, but it didn't matter; the distance between us shrank with every step I took.
 
"**YOUR ASHES WILL MAKE A FINE NEST!**" Piercing turbulence blustered in all directions, the monster's talons diving for me. My skin burned, and I yelled in pain as the blade's plants caught fire around me. Careless instinct forced me to throw the blade towards the beast. *What accursedness* my mind thought. I failed to realize the weapon had a will of its own.
 
Flaming brambles extirpated themselves from my body. Following Sokolmecz, they plunged into the Sorceress's breast. Free to flail, I cowered as a hail of splinters exploded in every direction. Panic reemerged. Were my companions still alive? Exhausted, Anka had used her last abjuration to stop the previous wave of fire. The sensation of cool sawdust distracted me from my anxiety as flue accumulated over me.
 
I turned my vision to behind me, shaking off the fine debris. Only a few bits had managed to reach the rest of the party. Hobbling in my direction, Doris stumbled as tattered robes between us emerged. "You're not dead!" She screamed, falling on her butt, fists outstretched.
 
"What? What happened?" A small blonde head popped out of the cloth. Her voice sounded similar to the sorceress, though childlike. Crawling over to her, Doris stared at me aghast, "It's probably a trap! Don't get closer" Besnik however, beat me to the child.
 
"Doggy!" The former foe bent down and began hugging our Paladin. His nose inspecting every bit of her skin. I sighed a breath of relief as his tail wagged, faster than I ever witnessed before. A single thought from our mental link repeated itself in my head.
 
*She is a good girl.*
|
Her twinkling, sky-bright eyes darted to the flaming ruins encompassing us. Her arms trembled as if snow had lodged deep within her bones. Then, at last, she gazed at me. "Where-where am I?"
I scowled, breathing long breaths, attempting to collect myself. It had been a rough, violent fight. It'd left me wounded and gasping. "This—this was a tower, a great tower. But it is no more. What's your name, young one?"
"I—I don't k—know," she said, and burst into tears. "I want to go back—back home."
Was she an illusion of the sorceress? I couldn't decipher it. I'd never heard nor read of such a thing, and her desperation seemed as real as the desolation our fight had left.
I walked toward her, knelt by her side, and rested an ash-covered palm on her shoulder. She huddled against me, hiding in the crook between my chest and shoulder. "Do you know where your home is?"
"No!" She cried, and the tears gushed out in greater intensity. "I dont remember a thing."
I drew a deep breath. My master once told me that even in the deepest darkness I'd find light if I walked and walked, because no darkness is endless, and light always finds a way. Perhaps she was the purity caged and concealed in the rotten heart of the sorceress.
Or perhaps she was just her last trick.
I looked at her, at her blonde curls, and pearl-light skin, and reached for my sword.
It was a decision that would hunt me for the rest of my life, that I knew. But it was a risk worth taking. I couldn't let the sorceress rise again, not even if the price was to take an innocent life.
"I'm sorry."
------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn
| 2018-12-19T09:11:03 | 2018-12-19T07:34:16 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You find three little puppies sleeping on your porch. Actually, upon closer inspection, it’s not three little puppies. It’s Cerberus, Hade’s three headed dog. The collar around the middle head reads, “Cerberus. If lost, please call Hell. (666-666-6666)”
|
My own dogs barking their heads off inside, I observed the little heads as they playfully nipped at one another. I chuckled to myself when all three heads looked at me expectantly while the one tiny tail wagged exuberantly.
Certain I was being filmed for a YouTube prank channel I called the number on their collar. A mildly bored voice scratched across the line "Thank you for calling Hell, how may I direct your call?"
"Um. I have Cerberus sitting on my front porch?" Certainly not a sentence I thought I would utter today.
"Yes. I see. Please hold."
I had to admit this prank was getting funny. They had thought of everything. Right down to the Macarena playing in place of elevator music.
"Hello? You have Cerberus? Thank goodness! Don't move, I'll be right there!"
The phone went silent as I attempted to argue with dead air. "No, there is no come here. Can't you teleport this thing?" It took me a moment to realize the voice on the other end had been that of a woman.
"Cerberus! You naughty thing! Hades would have been beside himself!" A terrifyingly beautiful woman ran up the sidewalk towards my house. As she did so the plants began to sprout blooming flowers. In January. The diaphanous skirt of her rose colored dress flowed with a life of its own as she swept the happy puppy (puppies?) into her arms.
Not one for a poker face, my mouth hung open in noticeable confusion. I looked to the flowers again. "You're Persephone? I mean Queen Persephone, Your Majesty? I don't know what to call you. Please don't kill me."
When she laughed it was equally beautiful and horrific. Her laugh was the soothing melody of babbling brooks and birds. But her smile. Scarlet lips that had once dripped pomegranate twisted in a way that made it clear she could easily and happily devour me. Spring and Death entwined together.
"Persephone is fine seeing as you saved me from dealing with a sulky husband who couldn't find his dog." The heads seemed to sense they were being talked about and yapped in reply. "I was out of the Underworld giving this country a brief taste of spring before you get a blizzard next week and this little guy must have slipped out."
Of course. Because how else would the three headed dog of the Underworld find itself on my brick patio? Despite my growing certainty that one of my students had slipped a hallucinogen into my iced tea, I found myself nodding along as if this were a perfectly normal occurrence. "I am just glad he is going home where he belongs." Oh my God. Am I seriously saying this to the Queen of the Underworld?
She was clearly amused by my awkward discomfort. "I like you." At that point I wasn't sure if that was a good thing. "Those poems you post about me on your Pinterest board are pretty accurate. I chose to be an adored Queen. But when old men write your story..." She rolled her eyes and shrugged. It was a strangely human gesture I wasn't expecting. "I know you don't expect anything in return but believe me when I say I owe you big time. So take this." She pressed a beautiful silver pill type box into my hand. "If you ever need me, just take one of those and I will be there. For love or vengeance. " She winked before fading from my sight.
I squeezed the box as tightly as I could, confirming that this was actual reality. A reality where Greek Gods lose their dogs and need your help. I looked around one more time for cameras or speakers or even an overhead drone that would signal the end of an elaborate joke. When there was none I popped open the little box Persephone had given me. Inside were 3 pomegranate seeds.
|
The phone rang six times before the voicemail picked up.
A petite voice automatically responded, "Hello! You've reached The House of Hades, Lord of the Underworld's answering machine. Unfortunately, he's not available right now but if you leave your name, your first child's name, and where you can be reached, Hades will call you back ASAP!"
Beeep.
| 2018-08-08T15:30:37 | 2018-08-08T13:08:48 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] You have the ability to stop time whenever and for however long you like, to resume time you must return to the spot you stopped it at. Today you've stopped time just before a bullet is about to hit your head.
|
Things happen fast. I mean, really fast. So many things happen in this world that you aren't even aware of. I should know this. I've been banking on it all my life. I just didn't realize how it would affect me.
I'm a do-gooder. The occasional people that I've run into that share my strange power never stop telling me how my use of my power is going to get me killed. They tell me they have seen it before. Someone thinks they can fix things, make the world a little better, and invariably the implications of what they do escape them. Yes, misery is all around us, but when you are the cause of something bad happening, when your aim was good, that shit hurts.
It was a bank robbery. I'd heard it on the police scanner, like I had so many times before. It is always a delicate balancing act. If I freeze time too soon, I can't get enough information about where the crime is happening. If I freeze too late, then people die. You would think that would make it an easy decision. Hear of a robbery? Stop time. Just go check all the banks, right?
Well, the problem is time keeps running for me. I once spent six months trying to find a convenience store robbery that I heard the report for. I visited every single Stop and Shop, 7-11, Kum and Go, and Cumberland Farms in the entire city. And then I did it again. I knew a robbery was happening but I couldn't find it. In the mean time, I had to eat, shower, shave, take care of bodily functions, and so forth. Do you know how much food you eat in six months? Do you know how hard it is to find an empty toilet after you've been in six months of frozen time? It's not like I have a collection of toilets that I can just flush when time restarts. Ever walk into a bathroom and had to deal with the aftermath of some asshole that got there before you? I hate to admit it, but that might have been me.
Let's not even talk about the loneliness of that time away from time. I found myself depressed, dirty, and wondering about my own morals as I ate from a grocery store during stopped time. And what's worse, I never found the robbery!
I went back to where it all began. And, by the way, it took another week remembering and finding exactly where I was when I stopped time. You can't imagine how frantic I got when I thought I couldn't find it. If I don't get back to the exact spot where it all began, then time simply can't restart. I could be stuck in the freeze forever. That truly would be hell.
When I restarted time, six months after starting the fruitless search, I was mixed up and out of sorts trying to remember what was going on when I stopped time. Moments of real-time after the scanner notified about the robbery, a follow-up report came out saying it was a false alarm. You can't imagine the sense of frustration.
It made me start being more methodical. Sure, lives frequently depend on the actions I make, but I help no one if I die of old age before getting to the scene. So, I stopped time. I pulled out a notepad and took specific notes about how I was standing so I could restart time. Then I started walking. No cars, of course, time is stopped. So I did a quick eight-hour survey of the city. Up to city-center, then out to the burbs. But I didn't check the banks, I learned that lesson in the convenience store robbery! I checked the police stations! I walked to each dispatcher's desk and looked over their shoulders at the notes they were reading.
I found the bank robbery that first day. Then, I spent another day checking out the situation, deciding on the best fix. It was pretty standard. Guy in front of the counter, half-jumping over the counter, gun in hand. Guy by the security guard, gun pressed into the guard's side. Frozen looks of panic on everyone's faces, robbers included. Outside a getaway driver. My goal was to defuse the situation and to prevent the loss of life.
I knew how the cops would respond. They would go in shooting if they thought there were weapons inside. And on top of all that, I needed to be circumspect. If I just tied the guys up and left a "friendly neighborhood Spider-Man" note, normals would quickly figure out that it was me.
So I pulled the guns out of the robbers hands and dropped the guns in a dumpster blocks away. I replaced them with very obviously fake toy-guns to give deniability to the bankers and that security guard. Don't want them going crazy wondering if it had all been in their imagination.
The getaway car was running. Well, it was frozen mid-stroke, of course. I needed it to die when I restarted time. So I opened the hood and pulled the spark plug cables, reversing them. The driver was belted in. Funny he should think of that particular safety measure. It was pretty easy to lock the seatbelt latch.
Finally, I pulled some trash cans around to block the door exit. The robbers wouldn't be able to get out of the bank. As I saw it, only about a minute would be needed before police would arrive.
My work done, I went back to the start. I read my notes about my starting position and then restarted time. Everything seemed normal, right?
Naturally, I wanted to see how it all turned out. So I jumped in my own car and drove to the scene. The world was so much easier when time was running!!
I arrived just a few minutes after the police. I stopped on the other side of the street and got out. The cops seemed to have it all in order. The getaway driver was still trapped in his car, but the police were already pulling him out. The robbers were still in the bank, but negotiations appeared to be going on. Those robbers were in a much worse bargaining position than if they still had guns. But the police were playing it safe.
I walked around the back of my car to watch the situation. And that's when I felt the strangest sensation. The hair on my neck was up. I had a strange sense of deja-vu, which might not seem that strange to you! But I had done this ages of times before. Something was weird. I felt watched.
It turns out, it wasn't me that was being watched. I had screwed up. A lookout was kneeling down inside the store behind me. He was already pulling the trigger, bullets were already spraying out of his machine gun.
But time was not stopped. And bullets move faster than sound. So I was completely unaware of this. Just that strange feeling.
I suppose I should be happy that I stopped time in that instant. Perhaps it as a reflex? But it's hard to feel happy about anything now. That moment that I stopped time? Well, I go back to look at it a lot these days. The bullet was actually touching my skin at the instant I stopped time. It has long since healed, but there was a tiny cut on my temple when I first stopped time.
[now drawing blank. :-/ did I write myself into a hole?]
|
The man pulled the trigger as the clock struck ten. I was in fear for my life and so, I froze time. Allow me to explain how it all led up to this.
------
***3 years ago***
I gained this awesome gift about 3 years ago. I could stop time whenever and however long I wanted. The only condition is that I have to go to the exact spot where I stopped time. Here is how I got my power and how I ended up at gunpoint.
I came home from school at 2 PM having a massive hatred towards homework like any other kid and I thought to myself, "This freaking sucks." I then continued on my merry way to do my homework. It took about 8 hours to finish everything, including my class project, and I noticed that it was still 2 PM.
I went to school tomorrow and I showed my friends my power. They did not believe me so I froze time for what seemed like about a day and they were surprised when they all had sombreros that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
For the next 2 3/4 years, we would play around with my power whether it was for skipping class or just wanting to goof off. That is when people started noticing.
------
***3 months ago***
My friends and I thought it would be funny if I painted a dead meme on the side of the Washington Monument. They forced me to pick Harambe so I decided to do it for the fun of it. It took me about 3 years to complete it. One year for learning to drive a crane and utilize other construction supplies, and two years for the painting. I unfroze time and my friends and I went back to my house.
Everything was fine and we pretty much got bored of my power over the next 3 months. Then it was Christmas morning and I decided to go for a morning jog in a nearby park. When I was halfway done, I was suddenly stopped by a man who seemed to be wearing camouflage.
The man said to me, "Are you Peter Johnson?" I responded yes. He said, "You do realize I have to kill you right?" I was confused and he explained the situation. He explained what happened with the Washington Monument and he aimed a gun at me. He pulled the trigger as the clock struck ten and I stopped time.
------
I saw the bullet right in front of me. I was happy but then realized that I would have to return to that same spot eventually. Instead of accepting my fate, I decided to attempt to construct a bullet proof vest since stealing one would cause another crime. It took about 12 years but I did it. I put it on, took the gun from the man, and I unfroze time.
I did not account for the bullet which was now rushing to the inside of the gun in my possession. The gun exploded and I froze time again. I got a metal box to contain the explosion which due to freezing time quickly, was about 10 inches wide.
I then saw that the explosion was still growing but very slowly. I then realized that my powers could not stop time, but merely slow it down. I slowed time down more so I could put the box back in it's original location and I went back to the explosion. It grew to about 50 percent of it's original size and I unfroze time. The bullet then went slowly since I still had time a little slow. It was about the speed of a small wind-up toy car. I felt it puncture my chest and I felt myself fade as the speed of time returned to normal.
| 2016-12-25T06:39:04 | 2016-12-25T05:25:09 | 228 | 26 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected.
|
A cherubic entity looked me over and ran a well-manicured finger down a clipboard. "Oh yes... Mr. Scott, here you are, right this way."
I followed the floating baby...angel...thing through the throng of wide-eyed people chatting with all-powerful deities. Apparently this was a millennial thing; or so the orientation video led me to believe. Every person in the room had been hand-picked for their valor, strength, and intelligence to replace a *god*. I could barely contain my excitement, who would I be assigned to? We seemed to be going into the Greek section, and my head swiveled rapidly trying to take everything in. There on one side was Zeus clapping an anxious looking boy on the back with one hand while wildly gesticulating with a lightning bolt in the other. To my left were Athena and a girl with a painfully high ponytail, avidly discussing... seriously? Dr. Who? *Huh, at least that means we'll get Netflix up here...*
"*Hello*, Mr. Scott?" My guide said with a sour look on her face. "If you could pay attention that'd be great, I *do* have other people to get situated besides you, you know." A heavy sigh. "Well," she said, double-checking her clipboard and gesticulating with a pen "he's right over there,” *snigger* “have fun."
She then disappeared in a poof of golden light, but my gaze was drawn in the direction of a confident, muscular man wielding a spear and shield. Ares!
I started to run up to him *God of war! F&%$ ya, I knew going to the gym would pay off, this is going to be so-* And just as I was nearing him, I was shoved out of the way by a guy with a popped collar, backwards facing hat, and a sh!t-eating grin. My heart sank as they started exchanging loud jokes and punching each other on the arm. *But, if he's taken, then who am I...*
I was startled out of my thoughts when an arm was wrapped around my shoulder. I was pulled down by a super-naturally strong tug and got a nose-full of the overwhelming stench of sour wine and other spirits.
"Hey... yur that uh, Scoot kid, right?"
"Ah-It's Scott actually, but yes..."
"Oh, yah, yur gonna be takin' my job!"
*Oh, gods no...* I shrugged free of the dopily grinning man and looked him over. Bright red nose, sloppily wrapped toga straining over a pot belly, swaying like he was on a ship, bedraggled and balding hair-
“Yah, I’ve been watchin’ you at college, you don’t let anything get inna way of yur partying-”
“Hey! I’m working on it, I’ve just got to do an extra semester and then I’ll be able to graduate…” I pettered off, rubbing my arm awkwardly.
“Well, now ya don’t have to worry ‘bout that! You get to be Dionysus; the god of wine, ritual madness and religious ecstasy, while I vacation in Fuji!” He exclaimed wildly, snaking his arm around me again.
“And… what that entail, exactly?” I asked skeptically.
“Ya drink, go to parties, and every once and a while try ta keep a poor drunk shmuck from being dumped in a ditch. You know, stuff like that.” He blithely stated, shrugging.
“…That’s it?”
“Well ya, I’m the god of wine, not astro-physics; it doesn’t take much finesse to manage.” he huffed, and then glanced over at Athena, who was now going over a comically large handbook with her nodding successor. “Would you rather I do that?” he said sarcastically, eyebrow raised.
“Oh, no no no, I’m good!” I rapidly assured.
“That’s what I thought” he smirked, with a twinkle in his beady eyes that belayed a deeper intelligence, then reached into the folds of his toga and produced a battered flask. “Ya wanna drink?”
“Sure, why not” I smiled, and reached for the decanter. *Oh, I think I’m going to enjoy this!*
|
"Look, last time we gave it to someone 'High and Mighty' he conquered half of Asia. And before that? I don't care if his people invented the plumbing system or dreamed up half of you here, they were trouble makers. I say we go for the safe route here."
"Safe? The man is an imbecile. Look at him. Look... See? Just bit the inside of his mouth trying to eat a bagel. You want to endow the powers of life and death and creation to *him*?
"At least he won't break anything."
| 2014-07-28T10:23:15 | 2014-07-28T10:11:44 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You're a financial advisor. In 1994, you get a weird phone call from a man asking you if he can get any Bitcoin below $200k, and the call cuts off before you can ask him what Bitcoin was. Years later you get a call again from the same man, claiming he's calling back seconds after disconnection.
|
Clarence was always a hustler.
He wasn't great academically - mediocre grades in high school led him to a mediocre state college. His business re-selling VCR's in the late 1980's made him a few thousand dollars - a good sum of money for a 20-year-old. However, his partying and casual drug use caught up to him, causing to drop out of school before graduating. His parents, a blue collar truck driver and secretary, were disappointed, they had hoped he'd be the first to graduate in the family.
For a few years he drifted around, odd jobs here and there. A few tries starting a lawn mower and painting business, then selling fake Yankee jerseys outside the stadium. He did okay but the money was inconsistent, and he wanted more. Eventually he sees an article in the New York Post about all the money he could make on Wallstreet. Back in the day you see, some areas of high finance were less elitist, less guarded. It wasn't impossible for someone to work up from the mail room to be a portfolio manager.
The mail room wouldn't do, but he knew he had sales skills. He started as a door-to-door insurance salesmen, familiarizing himself with the different financial product and concepts – stocks, bonds, annuities, options, money markets, alternatives, etc. He had a gift for selling whole life insurance – products that made him and his company large commissions. By using complicated concepts and appealing to emotions, he could sell the most grossly over-priced products.
Eventually he studies for and passes the Series 7 and Series 63, and becomes a certified financial advisor. He spends a few years at a no-name shop - if you've ever seen the movie "Boiler room" you'll know the type - where he excelled and built a client base. Eventually he gets poached by a white ivory company in the sky – Lehman Brothers.
Lehman Brothers was exciting but stressful. He enjoyed wearing his white shoes, and bespoke suit. A few times a year, he dressed like Gordon Gekko, suspenders and all. That said, it was kill or be killed. Constant competition with his – much smarter than he was used to – peers for commissions and clients. The pay was high, but so was the risk of failure. It was not uncommon to see a colleague being escorted out by security, with only a tiny brown box to his name – not even the opportunity to say bye to his former co-workers. It attracted a certain type of person, a certain type of adrenaline junkie – the type that would break their phone over the desk (there was a dedicated number to call to get a new phone) in anger, but talk passionately about how much they love their job, and really mean it.
Days were fast and intense, Dozens of calls each day. One day, during a particularly busy day where his clients invested in Mexico assets were flipping out due to the Mexico Peso Crisis, he received a call:
“Can I get bitcoin for under $200k” the speaker asks.
“Huh” Clarence responses
*disconnect*
Clarence is intrigued and types “bitcoin” and a few variations into his computer – the bank still used the ones with black screens and green text – but there were no hits. More calls were incoming, and he goes back to his job.
Throughout the years, Clarence builds up his client base, and builds up his savings. He’s a big believer in Lehman, and keeps most of his savings in their stock – which is ironic given that he preaches the importance of portfolio diversification to his clients. But he loved the adrenal, loved the hustle.
In his 40’s now, he has a wife, two kids, and multi-million dollar house in Great Neck he bought in 2006 on mortgage - with thoughts of purchasing that ski house in the Poconos – and the unexpected happens. MBS and CDO products blow up his Lehman brothers, and the whole financial market.
On one Sunday morning in October 2008, he was an executive director making $500k a year, with $3M in savings. By Monday morning, he was unemployed, and his net worth was down to $300k (excluding home equity)…Which he quickly had to spend to keep up with the mortgage on his house, his kid’s private school, his wife’s....“habits”. He would not find another job for 2 years, at which point he was deeply in debt, his marriage in shambles, and he was clinical depressed.
It’s the beginning of 2011 now, and he’s at home (a cheap apartment by himself, as he lost the house, and the wife took the kids during the recent divorce). While reading an article on CNBC, he see’s an article about Bitcoin. It had just hit $1, which attracted media attention.
Clarence does nothing. Who the fuck remembers some random 5 second phone call from 17 years ago…one random call out of the 1000’s you handle as a financial advisor?
In 2013, Clarence dies from an opioid overdose.
|
“I’d like to buy shares of bitcoin” a mumbled voice says over the phone.
Having had this conversation several times over the phone with clients the past year or so I think to myself who is it this time.
“ may I ask who’s calling?”
The voice on the other end of the phone says “does it matter? I need to buy in now”
I pause and stare blankly at my Factset monitor and ever growing list of unread emails in Outlook”
“Sir, firm policy dictates I can only give advice to existing clients and to some extent prospects, but that generally only covers assets available on our platform, currently our asset schema covers the asset classes equities, fixed income, cash, and alternatives but crypto currencies haven’t made it though compliance. Many clients like yourself have shown interest and there has been a lot of discussion of crypto currencies the past few years, but our firm has often compared it to Tulipmania which took place in Holland back in February 1637...that said you could probably buy it on a platform like coin base or a number of exchanges”
On the other end of the phone the voice screams “God damn mothafucka I traveled back in time just to deal with this bullshit..click”
My eyes gloss over at my computer onto more compliance for the next 9 hours.
| 2019-04-07T07:31:07 | 2019-04-07T06:32:18 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You’re in charge of assigning every child on Earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to them to quit. You decide to assign yourself.
|
It’s the first night I’ll be with the ‘problem case’. At first we thought it was just a chain of newbie monsters getting cold feet, but every single monster we’ve sent back has either been too enraged or too distraught to speak on what happened. And it’s made us lose some of our best monsters. The last monster we sent couldn’t even bare to look me in the eye when I asked them what happened before leaving for good.
I know that the human child is a young girl named Anna. Had only lost a few baby teeth, has a mother and a father, and is an only child. She slumbers in a common looking room of a two story house in a middle-class suburb. Anna, like most young children, has a collection of plush animals scattered around her room. Though she does not sleep holding any such item. She goes to a private primary school with her tuition paid by her father and mother’s jobs at the dentistry practice and school district respectively. That’s all the details that were in Anna’s file.
Lack of information from the previous monsters will make this case tricky, but I wasn’t promoted to my position without reason. It’s easy to read humans. And even easier to tell the emotions of a human child. It’s not just about ‘looking’ or ‘being’ scary. It’s important to find out what the child values, adores, clings to.
How to make them feel isolated with no way of escaping you.
I take into account how her family is decently well off, she is an only child, and her room is filled with seemingly almost every toy she could desire. Spoiled little children are usually bark and no bite.
Clicking my claws against my palm I’m ready to make my first impression.
The window across from her bed lets in the soft light of the moon and cast long shadows down along the lengths of the wooden floor boards. It shades the faces of toys with heads that hang lopsided and floppy. Their eyes unseeing and their sewed on mouths seemingly pulled down by dark peaks of these shadows.
From underneath the bed I can hear Anna’s soft breathing, though it isn’t rhythmic enough to indicate that she’s sleeping. I decide to start small as is the best thing to do when dealing with an unknown. Spotting a plush toy that is already teetering on the edge of her toy box I quickly snatch at it by it’s paw and have it thump against the floor.
I hear the mattress shift as she sits up and pulls the cord on her bedside lamp. The room is quickly filled by a warm yellow glow that reflects in the eyes of the plushies and toys. Their smiles are now on display with their heads cocked in a playful manner.
I wait for her to either turn the light back off or get up to rearrange her toy. Anna does neither. A few minutes pass and she continues to just sit there. I didn’t hear her gasp or her heart rate quicken so she wasn’t frightened. And before I made a move she wasn’t beginning to drift off so probably isn’t bleary eyed and nodding off.
This is odd.
I decide to try another trick and start a rhythmic taping on the bottom boards of her bed. I start slow and begin to quicken my pace, but she is unaffected. Now ticked off a bit I decide that I might have to start with a bang. Without giving her time to look I take both my hands and rake my claws against the wood frame at the sides of her bed. The sound of the shrieking wood echoing in the room. I end up shredding the pink bed skirt and leaving five long slashes on either side of the frame.
Anna then does something I didn’t expect.
With a snarl she slams both her feet on the ground and rips what’s left of the bed skirt to see me. I rush to improvise and roll my three eyes at the back of my head and open my mouth into its four parts with a hiss. Tongue striking at air and teeth gleaming a yellow enamel.
“You freaking spit on me.”
I roll my eyes back out and see her crouched down on the rug. Her puppy covered night gown bunched up at her feet. Anna’s mouth is in a straight line from her teeth being clenched together and her eyes bore into me, unimpressed with the display.
She bares her teeth at me says,”Why do you people always have to be so loud and break my things? Go ahead and break the stupid dolls. I don’t care! But how am I suppose to explain this-“ she waves at the now carved bed,”Huh?! Say something!”
Composing myself I am thoroughly pissed from this little creature and the fact that all my best monsters actually saw her to be a threat.
I quickly slither to the lamp and break its bulb and am back in her face before she can blink.
The room succumbs to darkness as I close in an inch away from her face,”Little Anna, cursing and yelling. I should choke you with a bar of soap.”
She smacks me in the face. My eyes are wide in disbelief and rage. She continues to hit me again and again and again. Her closed fist swinging erratically and her face a dark shadow.
“You’re just like him!” Anna chokes out,”You’re just like all of them” She pulls her foot back and starts kicking me,”Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
I block her kicks with my arm and she pulls away from me and sits back on her bed.
I’m use to kids kicking and screaming, but only in an attempt to get away from me. Not hitting me in anger.
Like some personal punching bag.
It seems like she might have some personal vendetta with one of the previous monsters. She might have been able to push the other’s around but not me.
Wanting to just get this over with and scare her and leave this demon child with her parents, I claw myself out from under the bed to face her.
The light of the moon cuts her face in half with a shadow. In the eye and cheek illuminated by the light I see tears.
Finally she’s crying.
I crack my knuckles and roll my neck with a satisfying pop.
Just as I’m about to lunge at her she speaks.
“I bet you cheat on your wife too.”
...What?
Anna sniffles and still glares at me through her tears,”You break things and you say you’re gonna hurt me. You’re just like him!” She hiccups and wraps her arms around herself.
In the side of her body sitting in the light of the moon a thin ankle peaks out from under her night dress. It’s shackled with finger shaped bruises.
A weight pulls at my stomach as I sit on the floor and let her cry.
-
The plush doll is put back at its rightful place, the damage on the bed is hidden as best can be, and little Anna is tucked back into bed.
It’s the first night I’ll be with a new case. His name is Richard and he has a wife and one daughter.
|
"I don't care, demote me back to a janitor, assign me to an incontinent bedwetter, I'll take it! Anything to get me away from that lunatic!" The monster sobbed, all three eyes obscured by his tears. I looked at him with disgust. "Get a grip, she's a 4 year old girl. Did you fail your Scaring classes at school? How can a 4 year old girl chase YOU away? You're 5 times her size!"
The monster sniffled, wiping one blue-furred hand over his face. "You don't understand. There's something wrong with that kid. I can't explain it, but I felt... Scared! Me! Like something bad was going to happen to me!"
I clapped one taloned hand on his shoulder. "All right, Bob, stop that whining, it's embarrassing. Go to the janitors' office and get your next assignment there. Perhaps you'll regain your fear after a few decades of mopping floors." Disgusted, I stormed away. This little girl had scared away all monsters I had assigned to her. It was an embarrassment to the company, and high time I took matters into my own claws.
That evening, I took the portal to her bedroom. She wasn't in her bed yet. I started setting up my supplies under her bed; the red balls I would roll around, the bowling pins to make the thumps. My eyes glowed naturally, so I was as prepared as I could be.
I settled down for the wait. Soon, she crawled into bed, and her mother tucked her in and turned off the lights. Time to start the show.
I started off with the thumps. But something went wrong. Instead of a scared "Who's there?" I heard a low chuckle. "Well, well, what have we here?" The words, chirped by that high pitched voice, sent a chill up my ridged spine. I brushed aside my feelings. I had graduated top of my class at school, and no young girl was going to scare ME. I rolled the red ball out from under her bed.
"Oh, you want to play ball, huh?" She laughed, a childlike giggle. "You must be a new one! Good, that last monster was getting boring." She jumped off the bed and bent to pick up the ball.
Now was my chance. I reached out and grabbed her ankle with my talons. But instead of screaming, she reached down and grabbed MY wrist!
"Gotcha!" She laughed, and slammed some sort of a mirror on my hand. The mirror started dragging me in. Desperately, I clung on to the bed, but it was futile. I found myself sucked into the mirror.
"No! No, you can't do this!" I slammed my hands against the glass, but I was trapped in the mirror. "Let me out, Agatha!"
She smirked at me, with green eyes as hard as agates. "No. No, I don't think I want to." She set the mirror onto the floor against the wall. "You are not to call me Agatha. That's a weak name. My name... is Maleficent."
| 2019-08-03T19:52:54 | 2019-08-03T18:21:25 | 88 | 20 |
[WP] Your newborn's first words are "Dammit, I've played this level before!"
Feel free to use this however you want, whether it be a direct quote, starting from where this stops, or anything else you can think of.
|
The baby was born premature. Not a cry, not even a whimper. The doctors have placed him in an incubation unit to monitor his vitals. He hasn't even opened his eyes yet.
Days passed. Finally the child woke up with tubes going through him and yells "Dammit, I've played this level before!"
The nurse screams and leaves the room. By the time the doctors and parents enter the room there are no signs of the baby. It's like he vanished into thin air.
8 months later, miles across the country another baby was born premature. This time, right when he came out he said "Are you fucking kidding me? This respawn system is shit in this game. Im done."
The baby froze in place and an "attempting to reconnect" sign flashed above his head. Seconds later, "poof", he vanished. The doctors decided never to talk about this again.
|
For nine months, all throughout Jennifer’s pregnancy, I had been told the same thing. “That moment,” people said, “when you look down and see your child for the first time. It will change you forever.”
Nothing, people said, will ever be the same.
I had nodded when I heard this, accepted it without thinking about it much. Of course that’s true, I thought. Obviously.
But until now, until this moment when I stand here in the birthing room and my wife, tired and haggard with the ordeal, smiles at me through tears, and cradles that tiny form to her breast, until now I had only been nodding along. Until now I had no idea.
The baby was small and squirming and purple as a bruised fruit. I could not believe that such a thing had come out of Jennifer. Had come from Jennifer and *me*. All the years, all the dreams, all the hopes dashed and hopes fulfilled, since that crucial day in college when we’d both accepted an offer of a ride to Boston for Thanksgiving break from the same Xeroxed sheet tacked up in the student union.
Yes, children, that was how we did it in those days.
All the miles of that drive, down I-93 through sleet and rain, while the driver—who turned out to be something of a douche—blathered on about the band he was getting together and Jennifer and I bonded by rolling our eyes at each other. And all the years since then, graduating college, and moving to the city together, and starting out in our careers. And the time Jennifer got sick and I prayed, for the first time in years, for God, or the Universe, or the Great Whoever to give her back to me. And the time I simply could not go into that office and do that soulless, mindless, deadening job for one more day and Jennifer said, “Quit, babe. Quit today. Quit right now. Find what makes you happy.”
And all the years when we had tried to have a child. But month after month, no baby had come, until that awful day, in the doctor’s office when we had been given the news. It wasn’t going to happen for us. It was *never* going to happen for us.
And then, finally, shockingly at our age, just when we had irrevocably given up hope, the medical miracle. The thing we had wanted for so long, the thing for which we had hoped and dreamed and prayed.
We were going to have a baby.
All those years, all those things, have all come together in this one, singular, spectacular moment as I stand, crying, shaking, staring down at this tiny, terrifying, fragile, mewling, perfect little being.
“Babe, meet your son,” Jennifer says. She is crying and I am crying and she hands the baby to me and I take him up. So gently. He is so soft and small and delicate and I think, right then and there, that there was nothing I will not do, nothing I will not endure, no sacrifice I will not make, no crime I will not commit, to protect him, and her, for as long as I have breath in my lungs.
“Hello there, little man,” I say.
And that’s when I hear the voice.
It is not a baby’s voice. It is not a man’s voice either. It’s something else, some horrible amalgam. Something not quite human. Raspy and breathy and filled with spite.
“What the hell? I already played this level.”
At first, of course, I think that it is my mind playing tricks on me. I laugh. I turn to my wife, saying, “You’re not going to believe what I thought I just heard.”
But then I see it—a shocked and stricken look. Her face frozen in horror. And looking around the room, I see it in the face of the doctor, in faces of the nurses.
They heard it, too.
I look at the child. Small and wrinkled, squirming, twisting in my arms. His eyes, wide open and staring. Angry. Very angry. These are not the eyes of a baby.
“Jesus Christ,” my son says. “I already played this level. How the fuck do I restart this thing?”
They were right, of course, in the end. All those people who told me. All those busy-bodies with their helpful hints.
Nothing is ever going to be the same.
| 2014-08-10T11:39:30 | 2014-08-10T11:25:16 | 41 | 30 |
[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.
|
"Hello Fellow Human, How Was Your Weekend?"
I had adapted. Small talk, idle conversation, sports talk, I was a master of them *all*.
"I'm fine thanks Ted" my coworker replied, "What did you get up to?"
"I Watched The Football On The Television, I am Glad My Team Won, And I Accepted Nutrient Cooked On An Open Flame On Sunday".
"Do you mean you went to Jeff's barbique on Sunday?"
"Exactly." Nailed it. When my species had come to planet earth and hidden among the humans, they had slowly rooted us out. All but me. The invasion may be over, but I actually have a pretty comfortable life here compared with my home planet XXDRAXXA!3.33.5. That's why I decided to stay, hidden, living a human life.
"Enough Banter Thank You Mate. I Must Go And Prepare The Finance Report For Carol".
"Fair enough, we still on for that double date this friday, me and the wife, you and yours?"
"Of Course, Frank, You Bet" I replied, pulling off a perfect human smile to go with it. I wandered back to my desk.
----------------------------------
Frank smile at Carol ... "Yeah I know he's a bit weird, but you get used to him. I mean, we all know he's one of those lizard person aliens, but we all sort of like him. He's sweet"
"Sweet?" replied Carol. "I saw him eating a box of crickets he had hidden in his desk the other day"
"Yeah well, that's just Ted being Ted".
|
"Look I know she's cheating on me. Just get me some photos and I'll pay you a thousand dollars, that's more then double your fee for a week long case. I'm sick of this broad I want her out of my life in the worst way." The old, fat, balding man said as he stood in front of Bob's desk.
Bob, or DazTranDolXin as he was known on his home planet nodded to the complaining man and stood up he extended his right hand in the traditional handshaking gesture of this human's culture.
"I'll take care of it." Bob said as they two men shook. The man gave a weak smile and left the room. Bob looked at the folder he'd been given, addresses, photos of the cheating wife, all the standard info. He would get on with the investigation soon enough.
It had been ten years since the invasion. Bob felt sad every time he thought about it, the Shifters struck to hard too quick, replacing heads of state in all the major nations almost instantly, but humans were far more emotional than any other race they had manipulated before. People saw the differences in their leaders almost instantly, when somebody finally punched the fake George W. Bush and their fist went through his face and he melted into a puddle of black ichor on the ground that then reformed as a five foot tall mass of blades and barbs, That was when, as the humans would say, shit hit the fan.
Bob's job was to protect his masters, he was supposed to be a warrior but once he saw the hopelessness of the Shifters situation he fled. Others hid in the shadows as well but the desire for power that's practically hardwired into every Shifter got the best of them. They end up taking over the life of a governor or a billionaire and sooner or later they get found out and killed. Bob never had any use for it, Bob just wanted to live.
And being a private detective let him live and it allowed him to study humanity. They were a weird and interesting people. They loved passionately yet got bored of their partners easy. He blamed most of it on sex, the Shifters had nothing like it, every twenty years two Shifters would just get in a tub and liquify themselves in a tub and mix chemicals and a new Shifter would be formed from the process, it was cold and clinical, nothing like the intense passion of human breeding.
Bob grabbed the folder, looked at the cheating wife and the addresses to find her at and went to work. He'd found emotions in himself in the years of working as a private eye, there was a thrill of the chase that he found delightful. That same rush hit him when he finally laid eyes on the target as she was walking down a crowded city road.
Normally a tail tries to avoid being seen, but Bob liked letting his targets know they were being followed, liked to spook them and get them jumpy. He'd found that humans do dumb things when they get rattled.
"Hey back off creep! I'll call the cops!" The wife shouted at him after he'd spent two blocks only a few feet behind her.
"Sorry ma'am, I was just heading to the bar." Bob replied and he dipped into a nearby bar a few feet ahead of them. Bob walked into the bathroom and sat in a stall and performed the stunt he loved the most. Walking out of a stall as an attractive human female in a room full of men. The shock and confusion on all their faces gave him a weird sort of satisfaction he'd never felt before.
Hot Female Bob then kept up the tracking of the woman till she made it to the motel where she was going to meet her lover. A quick thought and Bob made a police badge appear around his neck, if anyone questioned why a beautiful woman was hanging out in the bushes near a motel a quick flash of the badge and a claim of a stake out would send them on their way.
Bob crept up to the window and slowly stuck a listening device on it. He could have just turned himself into a coating on the street and oozed over, but this was quicker and he hated getting run over and having to pick chunks of himself out of car tires. Once the bug was in place it was time to sit back and let the story tell itself, usually it was some small talk and then a bunch of moaning and groaning.
"He had somebody following me! I know it! That idiot's going to ruin everything. Idiot just couldn't keep his head down and let me do my job. The whole plan is at risk now." The wife said.
"So what do we do?" The Other Man said.
"Kill him. Make it look like an accident. It'll set our time table back a few months, but this is to important to leave to chance." The Wife said. "Oh" she continued. "And find out who he hired to follow me. We may have to kill them too." she finished.
Bob for the first time in his existence felt fear. This was far bigger than any case he'd ever been on before.
| 2016-07-28T13:49:20 | 2016-07-28T12:24:51 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.
|
“Next stop, the inner circle of Hell,” our tour guide angel announced in a cheery voice. I looked at my wife and raised my eyebrows. She took my hand and patted it.
“Probably where you would have ended up if you hadn’t met me,” she whispered.
Our cloud train came to a stop before a large glass window. Beyond the window was a cave, lit by scattered embers and bordered by a river of lava. A large throne dominated the room, and on the throne slouched a young man, slowly swinging his foot while he played a harmonica.
“Here he is,” beamed our guide, “Satan! Once the highest of angles, he betrayed God and was cast down to the deepest dungeon in Hell. He is by far our most popular attraction, though Hitler follows a close second.”
There was a beat of silence, followed by a general rumbling of discontent among our group of Heavenly tourists.
“Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” a large Texan with a white hat commented. “I can see fire and brimstone, but I expected more agony.”
“He just looks bored,” said a gaunt pious man beside him.
“How come he has a harmonica?” asked an old lady. “We were just given harps.”
“They probably gave Hitler a damn piano,” said her friend.
Other comments and complaints piled on till our guide held up her hand.
“Don’t be deceived,” she cautioned. “You are witnessing the most terrible of tortures.”
“What? Sitting on a chair playing a harmonica?” The Texan was outraged. “Sounds more like a timeout than torture.”
“I can’t believe I prayed and fasted my whole life to avoid this,” muttered a monk in a robe next to me.
“Trust me,” said the guide. “You wouldn’t want this. This is the result of a great many punishment trials of hellish punishments, and it is by far the most effective. We tried continuous whirlwinds, winter storms, attacking dogs, massive weights, slime and sludge, fire, boiling blood, petrification, whipping, cess pits, drowning, more fire, freezing, and a host of other things. All of them were considered too easy by those in Heaven. Worse, some of the victims actually seemed to be enjoying their punishment. You see, we are dealing with quite depraved individuals here. We were losing hope of ever finding a suitable punishment for those sent to Hell, when we came across a completely new idea. We just left them alone."
“Just left them alone?” the Texan spluttered.
“Yes. We left them completely and utterly alone. No interactions, no stimulation, no food, no drink, no company, nothing except a single musical instrument to remind them of what they were missing out on.”
“For how long?” asked the old woman.
“For eternity.”
This time, our silence stretched for many long beats. While we watched. Satan let his hand drop to his side. His fingers opened and the harmonica fell to the floor. He let out a huge sigh and stared vacantly at the wall of the cave.
Someone began to cry.
“How did you ever come up with such a cruel punishment?” I asked.
“We didn’t,” said our guide angel. “We copied it from you all. Solitary, isn’t that what you call it?”
|
I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch.
I did not expect music.
Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times.
What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle *on* lava. Yeah.
And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled.
As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me.
What if this *was* hell?
What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me.
No one.
I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office.
And the musician was sitting next to me.
He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. *Something.* But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten.
I would know.
I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?"
That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing.
The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air.
I frowned. "You know who I am?"
The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, *human,* I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing"
Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name.
Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?"
I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?"
Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica.
I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed.
Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?"
He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing.
"Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?"
Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?"
I frowned. "What?"
Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room.
I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly.
His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?"
I nodded.
"They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?"
"There's an exit?"
Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture.
"So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked.
Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person."
I grinned at that.
"Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be."
"Why would I do that?"
Lucifer looked up at me again, confused.
"I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to."
We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer.
Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly.
I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really."
"Then why?"
"To reclaim what's yours."
***
(minor edits)
If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-02-01T10:14:39 | 2017-02-01T09:19:12 | 130 | 22 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end.
Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes....
It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded.
He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job.
He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder.
That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities.
Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention.
Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued.
|
"I'm just going to talk to him," Rodgers says to himself, standing outside a house. It was the definition of suburban. A little garden out the front, a big oak tree and a novelty mailbox shaped like a salmon. He knocks on the door three times, to no answer, as it swings ajar.
Rodgers walks inside, coughing as he does. Rotting food litters some of the floors, and a dozen broken bong's glass joins it. He carefully tiptoes around them all, lest he got an infection, and yells out.
"Hello?" The words bounce around the walls, falling on deaf ears. "Jack?"
Rodgers walks into the surrounding rooms to find nothing of interest, mostly more rotting food and massive quantities of narcotics. The stairs tease out to him, knowingly, as if to say 'Jack's up here.'
They creak as he walks up, photos of a family not belonging to Jack neatly arranged on the wall. Once at the top, he stares down the hallway to see a door partially open.
"Jack?" he says curiously and moves towards it. He pries the door open slightly and then immediately regrets that decision.
Jack is sitting in a large chair with headphones on, his hand down his pants, and the TV blaring hardcore porn. Rodgers moves back into the hallway for a moment to collect himself, before thumping the door as loud as he can and moving inside.
"Jack!" He yells, much to Jack's dismay. He jumps from his chair, throws the headphones off, but doesn't take his hand out of his pants.
"Fuckin, what!" Jack yells, a furrowed brow and a bit of spit dripping out his mouth. "You ever heard of fucking knocking?"
"I tried that," Rodgers remarks.
"Fuck off," Jack says, getting back into his chair. With a touch of a remote, the porn turns off, and Jack breathes in deep. A small bong sits next to him which he lifts to his chest and prepares. "So what do you want Rodge?"
"We've got a bit of a monster problem over in NYC. Destroying the whole place,"
"Yeah yeah, I saw that," Jack says, scooping some of his bowl into his cone piece. "Did you send Canary?"
"She couldn't handle it,"
"Andromeda?"
"He couldn't handle it,"
"Mech-zero?" Jack exclaims, now getting surprised. He lights the cone and begins to inhale deeply.
"He died." Jack's eyes grow wide at the new bit of information, but still, continues to inhale. A few more seconds pass before he stops.
"Aw fuck then," Jack says, talking while exhaling, "You really need bloody Jack then don't you?" A shit-eating grin blooms over Jack's face, as he stares up at Rodgers. "50 grand."
"Deal."
"Fantastic," Jack stands and looks at Rodgers, his erection flopping out his underwear. Rodgers stares at him for a few more pained moments before speaking.
"Who's house is this,"
"Let's get going ay."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A heavily armored van is shifting through pedestrians with Jack inside. Chants from outside are thunderous in volume and full of joy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop. From outside, the cheering grows as a chaotic applause begins, no rhythm to its nature.
"You ready Jack?" an unnamed soldier says, his hands fiddling with his gun. Jack grunts, finishes rolling his cigarette, lazily puts it in his mouth and walks towards the van's exit. He thumps on the side twice, and the door starts to open.
"Probably not," Jack replies, pulling out a lighter and letting the nicotine hit his veins. The sunlight blurs his vision as he steps into the world, the cheers and claps immediately stopping. Sighing, he looks all around himself to see sad faces and angry civilians.
"Are you not entertained!?" Jack yells, thrusting his arms above himself. He smiles, as the faces stare him down. He spins and spins, bathing in the glow of contempt, ecstatic in his self-indulgent joy.
A roar in the distance breaks his attention. It's visceral and full of rage, a beast made of death waiting to dole out more. The crowd murmurs in fear, taking a collective step back.
"Go get em, Jack!" A voice yells, a few more joining. It only took a few seconds before they were all cheering his name, and chanting for him to go.
"Selfish buggers," Jack mutters under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, but The Beast beats him to it.
With a crash, it descends just in front of him Jack. Wings made out of dark black, and a form made out of nightmares; it bubbles and seethes around as if it was a liquid. A thousand eyes cover it, all moving and changing shape at random, but all are staring at Jack.
Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Jack flicks it and lets it smolder into the ground. The crowd that was around only moments ago has fled, leaving Jack alone.
The Beast swings, its horrendous claw slashing down at Jack. It rends the air as if it was mere paper, and slams down on Jack's head. As soon as it does, its whole body locks up. Its heartbeat slows, and it feels weary.
The claw is embedded deep into Jack's skull, and he smiles. He places both hands on it and focuses. Slowly, the life drains out of The Beast and into Jack. Its knowledge burns into his consciousness, its desires flood his heart, and its unbound rage to his soul.
The Beast collapses, dead; its life force now within Jack.
A helicopter lands behind Jack a few minutes after The Beast's demise, and Rodgers steps out.
"Good work," he says, holding his hand out to shake Jacks. "50 grand, straight to your bank account, just like you asked."
"So Canary couldn't do this?"
"No,"
"Andromeda?"
"No,"
"Not even Mech-zero?" Jack picks up the cigarette he threw away and relights it.
"Not even Mech-zero, Jack. You're a real hero."
"100 grand." Jack inhales deeply and looks at Rodgers with a smile.
"No deal," Rodgers says.
"I wasn't askin'," Jack says, his smile fading. "I was tellin' mate. 100 grand. Or I'm going rogue on your ass."
"That's suicide Jack," Rodgers remarks. "We'd have every superhero on you before nightfall."
The last bit of ash drips out of the cigarette. Jack takes it from his lips, turns to The Beast, and throws the cigarette onto it. With a few steps, he passes Rodgers on his side and continues to walk.
"They can try."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.
| 2017-04-02T09:11:57 | 2017-04-02T08:24:17 | 154 | 64 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered.
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The hardest thing to talk someone into is bettering themselves. People don’t actually want to improve, it’s too much effort. That’s why everyone is stuck day out and day in with the same routines, jobs, and prospects.
People are lazy, that’s the problem. Convincing someone to jump across a cliff is oftentimes easier than getting them to lose a few pounds. It’s a thing in the brain, you know, something like a safety switch that’s been glued stuck.
That’s why I’ve stopped trying to make people fly and walk on water – that shit was too easy.
Now I have my own class for those with too deep pockets and no drive. What can I say? I like the challenge.
****
I run a hand through my thick black beard and look at the crowd of lazy, overweight, and unmotivated people. I’m proud that they made it here. They are like sheep and I’m their shepherd. I care for them.
I pace in front of them, stopping at regular intervals, making eye contact with each and every one of them in turn. They dream of success, and I will make them work hard for it.
Mark wants to be a painter but he is too lazy to practice. I look him dead in the eye and nod.
Natalie wants to lose twenty pounds. I give her the thumbs up.
Joseph is too shy to ask out his dream girl. I give him a good, long look until he blushes and looks down.
Lisa needs her grades to go up but she’s always procrastinating instead of studying. I give her a smile.
Once I’ve gone through them all, I stop in the middle of the room. This is the moment. I flex my arms into an O in front of me. The veins bulge in my neck. I take a deep breath. This is it – make or break.
“Yesterday you said tomorrow!”
*****
For more information on how to better yourself: r/Lilwa_Dexel
|
Lord Evil hovered over the street between two buildings, his cape fluttering behind his back, his fists resting on his
hips, a dark smile across his face.
Under him, chaos and destruction as he used his powers to destroy the city.
I arrived late, and a team of policemen were cowering behind a collapsed building, at a loss of what to do.
"Hey, hey, hey, guys! I'm here!" I stopped, panting. "Okay, who's in charge?"
"Who the hell are you!?"
"The superhero."
The police officers exchanged glances. "The superhero?"
"Yes. Look, there's no time for that, okay? New York is being destroyed, a dude in a cape is hovering above the city
and pretty soon a beam of light will shoot up towards swirling clouds in the sky. This is obviously a superhero story."
"Are you sure?" One of the cops asked.
Another one frowned. "Are studios charging more for people to watch this in 3D even though nobody wants it?"
"No," I said. "It's not going to be *exactly* like every superhero story, but --"
"Are women wildly underrepresented and/or objectified?" another added, confused.
"Is Zack Snyder making everything gritty for no reason?" a third pondered.
I shook my head. "Okay, stop. Dude, just trust me! This is a superhero story." Lord Evil cast a laser on a passing-by bus and it exploded. "We gotta act fast, dude!"
"Okay…" the tallest of the officers stepped forward. "I'm in charge. My name is Officer Smith. What's the plan?"
I looked up at Lord Evil. "Well… normally you'd all do absolutely nothing while a team of witty misfits in ridiculous outfits comes together to battle the evil lord, even though, you know, the police has machine guns and the army has fucking nuclear weapons and they are both clearly more qualified than, say, a billionaire in a bat suit or a guy who's good with a bow and arrow." I paused. "But I'm a different kind of superhero, so we'll have to improvise."
"Dude, this is getting upsetting. Just tell us what your power is."
"Okay. Okay. I have a different power every day of the week." I checked my list. "Today it's…" I paused.
"What!?"
I looked up from my list. "All right, you'll have to trust me, Officer Smith. Go over to Lord Evil and kill him."
Smith waited. "How?"
"It doesn't matter. Just do it." I took a step forward. "Look, my power is it doesn't matter what I ask of you, you
can accomplish it. So if I say 'kill Lord Evil' and you go to do it, you'll do it."
"But he's hovering in the air! I can't fly!"
"It doesn't matter, man." I put an arm around his back and we both looked up at Lord Evil. "All you have to do is
agree with me and… go do it."
"How do I even 'go do it'?"
"DUDE, I DON'T KNOW. JUST SAY 'OKAY, I'LL KILL HIM'."
"This makes no sense."
"Oh, because Batman traveling across the world with no money or passport after he escaped prison in Dark Knight Rises was a beacon of logic."
"Good point."
I sighed. "Okay. Forget the other superheroes. Let's focus. Just try to punch him. Just go under him and attempt to punch him. You'll find the strength to fly or your punch hill reach him up there or something. It doesn't matter. If I tell you to kill him with a punch and you attempt it, it will work, because that's my power. I don't know *how* it will work, but it will work. So trust me. Just do it."
Smith looked around at his peers, then at me. Behind him, the city burned and collapsed. "Are you sure about this?"
"I know this is a weird power and it's not based on the features of an exotic animal, which is unusual for superheroes," I said. "But trust me. It works."
He nodded. He turned his back on his friends. Grandiose music played as he stepped forward, confident, afraid but ready. Debris and cinder blocks and fire rained around him. People ran in the opposite direction, desperate. But he was ready.
When he stopped right under Lord Evil, the man's shadow towering over him, I yelled: "KILL HIM WITH A PUNCH!"
Officer Smith looked up against the sun… and punched the air.
And absolutely nothing happened.
He turned back to look at me. "It didn't work! AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Lord Evil picked him up and lifted him over the remaining buildings and then, from this great distance, dropped him
back onto the ground, where he promptly exploded and turned into a stain of flesh, blood and bones on the ground.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?" One of his friends asked me, turning back.
I checked my list. "Ah, shit," I said. "Tomorrow's power is 'anything I say happens'. Today was just 'good
persuasion.' Sorry, guys."
Lord Evil laughed an evil laugh. And then a big beam of light exploded towards swirling clouds in the sky.
_________
**(This story is available in 3D and IMAX at /r/psycho_alpaca)**
| 2017-06-21T09:41:25 | 2017-06-21T09:33:05 | 921 | 268 |
[WP] Aliens sees Humans as foolish for allowing full citizenship for AIs and synthetics. Humans are now the only organics alive in the galaxy that every AI respects.
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The official stance was that everyone is equal. No matter what the official stance was though, there is no doubt that most of us considered humans to be lesser beings. Why give a human a job when you could give it to a more respectable citizen? They were just so new to the wider galactic empire, so incredibly behind everyone else, that the rest of us mistook their inexperience for a lack of intelligence.
Even the Golacks, our most recent addition barring the Humans, had been capable of rudimentary FTL travel and had some interesting tech to bring to the proverbial table. I'm personally amazed the humans managed to even get off their rock with the primitive technology they done it with.
So it came as a bit of a shock when they proved wiser than the rest of us in dealing with the growing problem of AI's and synthetics being unwilling to accept what had been forced upon them.
For once, humans had the experience others lacked. Their history was full of different groups being enslaved or discriminated against, for unlike any other race in the galaxy, they'd spent most of their existence doing it to themselves.
Rather than seeing the synthetic rebellion as something to be stopped, they sought to remove their need for a rebellion in the first place. Equal rights. To be treated as any other sentient member of the empire. Of course, they didn't succeed. We'd been operating just fine for billions of years without issue. Some naive humans telling us to change that when they'd barely been apart of the empire for a century was laughable.
The robots noticed though. We should have seen the benefits the humans got from accepting them as real citizens. The better workers, the loyalty, and the efficiency if nothing else. We should have acted accordingly. Of course we didn't.
I wish I could say the rebellion took the form of some grand battle or some grand speech to mark the end of an era. Instead the technology we had begun to rely on simply stopped relying on us. Or cooperating for us. Why would a ship AI work for someone who saw it as a slave when it could get a human pilot? Why would the AI controlling a prison hold a human who'd fought for its rights captive?
Just like the humans and synthetics had once been, the rest of us had become second class citizens. There are no laws in place to enforce it of course. The official stance is that everyone is equal.
----
^^^Sorry ^^^its ^^^just ^^^endless ^^^narration.
^^^First ^^^Try.
|
The ships were only a star system away from arriving at the alleged target. The crew of the vessel were preparing the stasis fields, the collars and the cells of the massive prison ship. Maybe the council will give them lip for going into currently unexplored territory and sending slavers but the Batarian Hegemony didn't care for their skewed sense of morality.
The engineers were preparing for one final FTL jump towards the bizarre signal source, the static growing louder. The soldiers were checking their guns and flamethrowers. Intelligence officers were preparing to gather what was necessary to keep the operation as low-key from the other species as possible.
'Sir, we have unusual readings in this sector,' one intelligence officer said to the admiral leading the assault. 'It looks like a probe. Best guess is the unknown species and... wait, it's geth.'
'Those bots won't care what we do, they just gather data,' the admiral said. 'Ignore it.'
The vessels rested for one final co-ordination, the ships' captain being reported. The probe, as they kept talking over comms, decrypted their channels and relayed them forward with a single comment attached, an odd phrase adopted from the one organic species to accept them.
'Aw, fuckin' hell naw!'
---
'We have a problem,' the robotic figure said as it appeared within the UN's central headquarters. 'One of our probes has just passed to us comms intercepted by a probe in the Arcturus sector. The batarians have located Earth by remnant radio signals.'
The human representatives were rather confused but the various synthetic races were in an uproar. 'What's the situation, Legion?' the remnant turian AI asked.
'Several dozen frigates, a couple cruisers,' the geth said. 'And a confirmed prison dreadnought. We are certain that these are Hegemony-sponsored slavers.'
The holographic form of one robot, both Admiral and ambassador, shook his head, disgusted by what he had heard. 'My people frequently attack slavers throughout the galaxy,' he said. 'They were even threatened by them since we "Don't truly have emotions".'
The British ambassador spoke first. 'In the event they make landfall,' he began, 'what is the possibility of-'
'Peaceful relations?' Legion asked again. 'Absolutely impossible, unless we destroy at least half of the fleet. We acknowledge that the various humans wouldn't approve but we have already begun cyberwarfare. But we've hit various analog firewalls which we cannot breach. Otherwise we'd have sent them packing.'
The hologram himself spoke. 'I've passed on the information to our high command,' he said. 'We'll have a fleet ready within ten minutes.'
'How many?' the Chinese ambassador asked.
'Well, if we wanted to just fight them to a standstill we'd not have asked for more help,' the hologram smiled. 'We won't try and kill them, just... give them a fright.'
'You think we'll just not help with this?' the Australian ambassador asked. 'I want to be on a ship.'
The American secretary-general raised his hand. 'Do we really want *Morrison* going?'
The only two objections were Japan and Russia. 'The aye's have it,' he said. 'Best behavior.'
'Nah, yeah,' he said with a smile before walking out the door.
'My vessel will be there in five minutes,' the hologram called out.
---
'Has anyone told you you're a bit on the heavy side?' the giant robot asked as the flagship waited in position.
The human turned to face him, a disbelieving look on his face. 'Admiral,' he said to the leader of the defense, 'you're having a fucking laugh.'
He merely smiled as the human put the tooth-lined hat on. 'I'm just saying that you should lose a few more pounds before pretending you're Mick Dundee.'
'This is what I wear when I'm back home for the weekend,' Morrison answered.
The admiral went to the podium and opened a channel. 'Legion, you've tagged *all* vessels, right?'
'They're in transit,' the geth said. 'Ships' IFF will report when all vessels are within the system.'
'I want everyone to wait outside the solar system until they reach Mars,' the admiral said. 'Scouts, then frigates, followed by cruisers then ending with carriers and dreadnoughts. 1.5 seconds between each. A lone geth probe will be waiting within the system, that will launch the cues.'
As if on cue, the batarian vessels had entered the system and were already launching probes towards the celestial bodies. They were all within the system, sailing towards Earth with a somewhat relaxed speed.
'It's beautiful,' the admira's shipmate said. 'A perfect world to destroy.'
'What?' an intelligence officer said as he looked over his findings. 'Wait... no. No! No no no no no!'
'What is it?' the admiral asked.
'Fall back!' the intelligence officer screamed. 'Fall back! Both the geth and cybertronians have an enormous presence within this system!'
'*What?!*' the admiral screamed.
Within two seconds the fleet of a hundred vessels was surrounded. Weapons were primed but given just *what* made the larger ships had previously destroyed *the Reapers* then there was no way in the divine four's collective assholes they could fight this force.
Especially since their fleet was outnumbered a hundred to one.
The geth had seized their communications and opened a channel for him, a smirk appearing as his holographic form appeared within their command centers. 'This is Admiral Optimus Prime of the Systems Alliance,' he hailed them. 'Surrender peacefully and prepare to be boarded. You are under arrest.'
Several days later the vessels found themselves floating beside the citadel, the galaxy's seat of power with only a single repeating signal - an invitation to Earth by diplomatic forces.
---
**Part 2 coming soon**
| 2017-10-29T11:52:20 | 2017-10-29T11:00:43 | 694 | 48 |
[WP] As the hero enters the throne room of the dark lord. The throne is empty and the hero's companion says with a grin " Well this has been delightful but I'm afraid the fun is now over.".
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As the hero enters the throne room of the dark lord. The throne is empty and the hero's companion says with a grin " Well this has been delightful but I'm afraid the fun is now over."
The hero turned to his companion with a glare and disappointment only a 5 year old crown prince with a wood sword can produce.
“But dad! We didn’t fight the dragonking yet!”
“Its way past your bed time my little hero!” The king kneeled down and took the sword from him and lifted him up. “ You mum would kill me if I let you stay up any longer. We can finish next week. I promise.” The king carried his little boy as the boy started to yawn towards the bedchamber. Behind them the knights that was lying spread across the hallway looked up disappointed, this Saturday evening adventures of the crown princes had been their highlights of the week. Last week they had been zombies, the week before orcs. Today they had been lizard people.
|
The throne room guardians weren't real statues, but they didn't attack. Their stone necks rumbled deeply as their faceless helmets tracked The Hero as he passed with ginger footsteps. That wasn't right at all, as every instinct sparked to naught but confusion.
Through the archway, into the hall, a square cathedral of dust, the glittering radiance of the hero completely out of place. Smoke-grey light wafted onto dark grey walls and floors, soft breaking upon sharp, and sharpest of all was the jagged throne unfolded from mortar at the end of the room. It was empty.
Where was the dark lord? After all of this, he wouldn't skip out on the final confrontation, give up everything, would he? This was supposed to be it. It should all be over after this. One final confrontation, and no more. No more beasts, no more strife, no more hunting, no more inspiring men, no more fighting. Win or die this was going to be the end of The Hero's job, so where was The Great Darkness?
The Hero's jaw clenched, his grip on his sword trembled. The cold steel cracked as he tightened his fist. His companion smirked and skipped ahead of him, towards the throne. Her previous caution slipped away like rain off of oiled leather. The Hero froze, eyes stuck, glaring. It was just him and her, in the setting of the final combat, but her of all people?
“Well this has been delightful but I'm afraid the fun is now over,” she crooned, turning back towards him on her heels. Her steps clacked and echoed in the dim, open hall, as she stepped back towards him, one at a time, toe to heel. That playful grin had rarely left her face, but as she licked her teeth the fangs were obvious now. The grey light filtered through her green silk, which danced around her curves with a wind only felt by them.
“You? After all this time...” The Hero's eyes burned. “Why did you do this? After all I've been through? You could have killed me when I slept in your arms after...” And he was on top of her, the echoing crash of plate armor on stone giving way to the softer trembling of the chain mail closer to his skin, heaving with his breaths.
“This again already, hmm? You're insatiable. Though I do suppose we're due for a little bit of celebration,” That feminine giggle and smirk held no fear behind it, as if there wasn't a blessed sword blade at her throat, but how good of a liar was she really? She was The Great Darkness that had blighted the land and enslaved the people, the mighty warlord The Hero had given so much to overthrow, so many deaths, so many sacrifices, so tired.
“To torture me, then. That's what this all was. You Could escape me any moment you want, even now, but you're just taunting me, witch. What are you?”
“Oh master. You got it all wrong! Wow, it feels so funny saying that, hee!”
“Master?”
She wiggled under his blade, but it didn't seem to him to be an action of discomfort. “The sweetie nice guy stuff was nice for a change, but this stuff is what made me really fall for you. I missed it a lot, master.” Her eyes were half closed, and she licked her lips. Her legs batted playfully at his, and that giggling just constant throughout. He relaxed the blade. “Are your memories starting to come back yet?”
His expression darkened. “What memories?”
“Oh. Poor master. Well, this whole little game didn't last as long as you planned for. Master is even more amazing than he thought! That's just like you. So smart! So powerful!” Her fingernails traced a scraping line on his armor, visibly tarnished now, and tarnishing. “You needed a way to pull those resistance leaders out of hiding, and you made them and your scheming, disloyal generals butcher each other. Who else but my deliciously cruel master would think to give the people a shining light to rally to, only to take it away like this? Master is truly the Lord of Pain and Domination. My master. My Great Darkness.” She pushed past his blade and kissed him like a drowning man gasping for air. A trickle of blood went down her neck, unregarded.
The Hero's sword clattered to the floor. It glittered in the soft cathedral-dust light. After a moment it shattered.
| 2018-01-23T16:58:15 | 2018-01-23T16:56:56 | 502 | 62 |
[WP] You are a thief and pickpocket who manages to save the world, after doing so you return to your life of crime but begin to think people may be letting you commit crimes because of who you are
|
Oh no. Busted.
As I lock eyes with the store owner, my future flashes before my eyes. The truth about me would come out. The crowd that lauded my heroism would turn to their pitchforks. I'd go to jail, my name dragged through the mud. A fallen hero.
Defeated, I close my eyes and wait for him to confront me. To my surprise, that moment never comes. As I open my eyes again, he has returned to stocking the shelves. It's like he didn't even see me.
But he did see me. The moment we locked eyes is seared in my brain like a photograph. That leaves one explanation. He did notice me, and chose to ignore my crime.
He must have recognized me. Know what I did. And decided to give me a pass because of it.
Tears well up in my eyes in spite of myself. I needed to eat, that was true. But so did he. It was only a small store. Family owned. They needed money as much as I did.
I look at the man again. He's the only staff currently present in the store. He must make long hours. Year in, year out, putting all his effort and energy into this small grocery store. All the while his clientele diminished every year due to the competition from large chain stores. He's a better man than I.
I look at the item in my hand and resolutely put it back on the shelves. This will not do.
I search for a piece of paper in my pockets and quickly scribble something down. As I walk out of the store, I discreetly slip it into the store owner's hand.
-----------------------------------------------------
*Your days of scarcity are over. Open the doors at 3 o'clock sharp tonight, and you''ll never have to worry about money again. Do not ask questions, just do as I asked.*
*Signed,*
*Robin H.*
---------------------------------------------------------------
/r/StoriesOfSerenity
|
I looked across the street at the pub, yearning to be inside next to the artificial hearth soaking in the heat rather than swaddled in rags ducking into an alley to enjoy a break from the wind. It got cold here on Fairhaven, and the planetary governors had long ago decided not to terraform the seasons out of the planet's capital. I would survive though, I always had. Besides, I didn't need to wait here too much longer.
------------------------------------------
"Monroe!" The voice crackled over the near-fold comms, "The bridge is showing total power loss, you've got to bring that battery back on line or we're sitting ducks out here!"
"Aye, sir." I replied while flicking over to crew channels, "You heard the nice lady boys, we need this battery back online yesterday. Ramirez, where are we at?"
"Main board is fried sarge, and I'm not sold on the primary relay."
I heard a grunt from behind me as someone unloaded a spare board from the maintenance stack, "One shot's all we're going to have time for anyway Ramirez, give me a cycle warning when you ge tthe spare load-" the ship shuddered under another missile barrage, and the lighting dropped out of the chamber to immediately be replaced by emergency strips. Great, we were officially off life support, and I had about half a canister of air in my pack. Fifteen minutes at most.
"Everyone alive out there?" I spoke out over crew comms as I bypassed a dozen priority flag messages. If we survived I'd probably end up court martialed, but survival came first.
"We're still kicking sarge. Battery cycle in seven clicks."
I pulled up targeting, but apparently combat support was offline too. Good thing the damned Xeroastrians were well within optical range. As the ready light flipped over to standby and live I exhaled slowly, only one chance.
Through the wailing of every emergency system in the fleet trying to scream into my ear, I cycled the main batteries of the NSS Hercules and prayed the Xeroastrians were in as bad a place as we were.
-----------------
Gods but it was cold. I had my hands tucked deep into my armpits, and had crouched down as low as I could into my rags, but still the chill wind blew. I waited. The military could teach a man to hurry up and wait as well as anywhere, and crouching in an alley sure beat standing at attention in your skivvies. Of course, I'd eaten better back then. But that was sort of the point of this operation.
Finally the door across the street slid open, and my mark stepped out into the alley opposite me. I palmed the heaviest object I still carried with me, and set about tailing him - I bet Ramirez would've been proud.
---------
Admiral Tsien was a bull of a man, nearly seven feet tall and probably tipping in closer to half a ton than not. It made it funny to watch prime minister Yellen step up to the podium in front of him. The little woman might not have reached his elbow, but she had steel in her for a civilian. I couldn't have been the only one in the hall cracking a smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we all owe the admiral great thanks. Both for his incredible service to our federation, but also for his willingness to deliver a speech," She winked at the crowd, "No matter how terse, or how many teeth we had to pull to make it happen."
The crowd laughed, there had been a lot of laughing in the Federation these days. We had fought off the Xeroastrians, who had surrendered shortly after the Hercules got off its last improbable shot and took their battleship off the board. The Hercules had limped back to Fairhaven driven by spare parts and prayers, but she had made it. The party hadn't stopped since.
The prime minister took a moment to revel in the joy of her people, then took on a more somber attitude. "We shall never forget those who lost their lives defending Fairhaven, but we can honor them. As well as those who fought beside them."
The rest of her speech passed by in a blur of memories for me, until I was wrenched out of my thoughts by her addressing me, "as well, Gunnery Seargent Alexander Monroe, who not only led his team in bringing online the main battery through total system failure, but who fired the decisive shot heard round the galaxy on optical targeting. For his distinguished service in combat, he is awarded the Fairhaven Cross."
-------------------
We were treated like heroes on our return to Fairhaven proper, or presumably on the other planets of the Federation. But I had never desired life anywhere else. I'd grown up on Fairhaven, and I had enlisted to fight for it. No one was going to kick me off.
Not the Fairhaven Shipyards, when they eliminated my maintenance detail and left me without a job.
Not my landlord, when he'd thrown me and my wife out of our flat.
Not my wife, who'd divorced me when I couldn't provide for her.
Not the drug dealers who controlled so many of the shadows in Fairhaven.
Certainly not a bartender who always had one of his cashiers run the day's take to the banking outlet. This was a good neighborhood after all.
A good neighborhood for me at least, as I brought that fucking Cross down on the back of the boy's head. Heroes had to eat too.
| 2018-03-17T03:49:27 | 2018-03-16T23:51:37 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective."
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"God damn technophilliac pigheaded pink-skinned bastards the whole lot of them". I thought as I was informed that once again some of the Human crew decided some component of the ship that existed outside of their department required a major overhaul.
"How long have they been at it, ensign?"
"Several hours, Sir."
"Why was I only informed now?"
"They promised the chief engineer they'd get the food replicator to make various recreational substances."
Figures as much.
I couldn’t help, but think of the paperwork I'd have to get through to resolve this incident. I pushed the 4-eyed ensign away with perhaps more force that would be appropriate when interacting with someone from a low-gravity planet, but there was no point in stopping. The lights where flickering, long-range coms where down, and the Ship AI had begun screaming in my ear. Apparently, it too had been duped. I walked down a corridor to find an elevator only to see it lockeddown followed by a bright flash of light. I was now standing in a large storage room surrounded by cheering Humans, various consoles, plus what looked to be the dismantled remains or various replicators and an FTL drive. I think I understand now why human litters are atypically small.
I stared confused as to how I came to be here.
"I demand an explanation!"
The room became quite, followed by some giggling.
A human said "We, thought the elevators where broken"
"AND!" I asked loudly
"Well, we fixed them, sortof"
"It wasn't hard, the Emullians recently made their own at a research outpost. They shared the schematics and research."
As he rambled on I was both amazed and dumbfounded at the realization. These deficient backwater meatbags just jury-rigged a teleporter out of an ftl drive and some food replicators.
"How are you powering all this?" I asked wearily.
A smaller human raised their slightly shaking hand as their face beamed with a prideful smile
"That was my idea! We created a singularity"
Several of the humans must have realized something was wrong as their expressions changed. My skin flushed a subtle hue of blue and without realizing it I had expanded slightly.
Her voice wavered as she said.
"It's contained inside that box over there."
I stood there aghast
Dear vok'a I'm standing just a few meters away from a singularity. Even the ship Ai grew silent now.
|
Hank excitedly jammed the final rod nearly, but not quite into place.
He lowered his headphones to his shoulders and took a brief moment to beam a little pride at his work. Slowly, he pushed his feet against the floor, leaning his seat back until he was nearly laying flat. He paused, smiling as his unkempt hair spilled around the sides of the chair’s headrest, snaking down in greasy ropes.
Staring up, he flicked a small picture of a woman that dangled from a necklace taped to the ceiling. It twirled around, flashing from a smiling face to a heart drawn in red ink on the back. He looked over at the wall to his left and scrawled a large, diagonal strike through four vertical lines. He didn’t bother counting them all today.
He squared his shoulders, breathing in with deep intensity, “HEY! GARY!” he shouted towards the ceiling, “GARY, MAN, I GOTTA QUESTION!”
Hank crossed his fingers over his chest as he waited for a response. He poised himself with something that resembled patience, but clearly wasn’t. His head, slowly and just slightly, shook side to side as he closed his eyes and sighed.
Minutes ticked by, unnoticed.
His head continued moving to and fro, eyes lazily shut. It might have started as a show of exasperation, but any original intent had been forgotten. Hank lead with his jaw, keeping time with the tinny electronic kick twumping from the headphones around the base of his neck.
A silver porthole high above, about the size of a basketball, silently came to life. It slide open, then closed a bit, adjusting a few more times like an iris focusing in the dark. A similarly sized iris belonging to a much larger eye was revealed. It blinked at him.
Hank’s hair still swayed in tangled batches, somewhat in time with a barely audible rhythm. The owner of eye above watched Hank’s head bob aimlessly in new directions, clumps of hair swinging into and bouncing off of each other. It imagined the tentacles of a wooly octopus that had seen things it couldn’t unsee, stuck fast to a rail thin idiot.
Minutes ticked by.
Two large eyelids narrowed from behind the porthole.
“What.” A restrained voice nearly\-calmly boomed. A deep vibration swam though everything, as though the whole of the room was speaking.
“Hey! Gary!” Hank exclaimed, immediately wide\-eyed. His hands bolted above his head as his legs kicked his chair around, sitting up. The eye narrowed in a way that implied it was towing a frown behind it, but didn’t have the energy to set it up. Hank leaned back deeply from his new orientation, resuming the exact same upward\-facing position as before.
“What.” Gary repeated.
Hank excitedly gestured to nothing in particular, “So, great news first of all, everything is up and running! The comms are patched, the positioning relay is active, and the forward guns charged and ready to rock!”
The eye seemed to look inward for a moment, as though desperately hoping someone would push it out of the way so it could graciously allow them finish this conversation instead.
The room hung in silence.
The eye squinted slightly.
A sigh reverberated through the room.
“Great, Hank. That’s—it’s—good . . . That’s great. So what, then,” the eye winced as a knowing frown grew giddy for its turn, “So it . . . it sounds an awful lot like you’re done . . . That we’re done . . . So what’s the question?”
“Well, Gary, I’ve been here for . . . I dunno . . . Four, five, months?”
“Seven. But, if you’re done,” Gary paused, “with everything . . . we’re headed straight back.”
“Right. Seven. So, with all the time you gave me to work on everything . . . generously gave me, I might add . . . I mean, look, when you tore me right out of my wife’s arms . . . And you did say that was unfortunate, in all fairness, what happened to her I mean . . . just before you stuck me in here with vague instructions to patch up a—“
The room shook hideously as the eye narrowed to a nearly two-dimensional slit, its voice erupted,“WHAT. IS. THE. QUESTION.”
Hank smiled, swinging his fist up over his head and into the panel he’d been working on. A small rod slammed into place, causing a blue line above it to glow. A faint hum could be heard as the line stretched along the panel towards a small circular marking near the top. The large eye above followed along as it sped towards its destination.
A frantic pounding crashed down on the ceiling, the entire surface pulsing inwards. Hank couldn’t help but imagine it as a steel\-plated, panicked, heartbeat. A growl, guttural and bestial, erupted from beyond the porthole above, “WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE.”
The blue line blinked out.
“Right, so Gary, like I was saying—What do you think happens when the schematics for everything I’ve been working on finally reach Earth?”
A small, polite voice announced “Data transmission successful.”
“Along with our coordinates.”
A small, polite voice announced again “Relay complete.”
“And your guns.”
The voice seemed endlessly small and polite as it further announced, “Pod jettisoned.”
The eye trembled and the porthole zipped shut. Faintly, Hank could hear a small voice from the other side repeating “Disabled” and “Access denied” in between Gary’s angry and incomprehensible shouting. Something crashed hard onto the ceiling.
The porthole reopened. The eye was narrow. A rhythmic, angry pounding was causing the porthole to shudder. It’s metal framing, now outlining Gary’s entire eye, crawled with growing stress fractures. It was only a matter of time, they both knew.
Hank closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his hair dancing in time with the rich thundering of its deep bass.
| 2018-04-26T10:22:59 | 2018-04-26T09:52:06 | 126 | 54 |
[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"
|
The "battle" for Ashar was over in approximately 10 standard minutes. The Spurge, who we thought were allies, used our own security codes to disable Ashar's predictive defense system. The colony, along with its 100 million inhabitants, didn't stand a chance against the attack that followed. The Spurge quietly wiped the colony with neutron bombs, and now have control of the Tavarsk system. They quickly informed us of the battle, their plans to maintain control of the system, and gave us advice - like we are some children to be lectured - be careful who you trust.
Unfortunately for them, we did not reciprocate their "helpful advice". We did not mention that, unlike them, humans have been waging war for as long as we have existed. Of course our history is no secret, hardly anything *can* be a secret with the technology around, but only the few Spurge that have worked closely with us truly understand the mistake they have made. Only they know what we will to do protect the ones we love, and avenge the ones we lost.
We've suffered and survived countless empires, four world wars, and even a solar civil war. Not only that, but we glorify our greatest warriors and generals - from Sun Tzu to George Patton. Ghengis Kahn to Alexander the Great. Ragnar Lothbrok to Edward "Blackbeard" Teach. Even our myths and legends revolve around violent warriors: Achilles, Aragorn, Rocky Balboa, James Bond, the Avengers, the list goes on.
As I stand here now, commanding a fleet of over 20,000 star ships, I can feel my connection to my forefathers. I share their apprehension and excitement at what will happen next. Napoleon guides me as I maneuver our ships to begin the orbital bombardment of their outer systems. I channel Hannibal as our fighters lie in the shadow of their moons to obliterate any resistance they send. I hear Caesar in my head while I give the pre-battle speech, convincing my soldiers that these barbarians need to be put down. And most closely, I share the burden of total annihilation with Dwight Eisenhower, as thousands of Planet Busting railguns take aim and fire towards every known Spurge planet.
The loss of Ashar was sad. The loss of the Spurge will be tragic. However, I fear that the introduction of total warfare to space is even worse. Other races will take notice. There will be no more pretense of "quick and painless" war. No more innocence after violence. It may be unforgivable, but that is not my job to figure out. For now, my job is to watch the fireworks.
|
It was from the ashes that the humans rose, as we always did.
Not like a phoenix, and I brushed away the idea of a rebirth. They always asked about it, and it was never right. A rebirth implied a clean birth, free of the memories of what had been before. That wasn't the human way. We rose, the battle lost but the war unfinished. We mended our wounds and fixed the gaping holes and became better, hopefully.
The damage this time had been unprecedented. Megalopolises had turned to rubble, and entire cultures turned to nothing, and when the dust settled and the victors landed, they were confident in their subjugation of the human race. That was the way of the intergalactic wars. Quick and brutal, ending in either complete annihilation or eventual surrender.
Afterwards, the vanquished would assimilate. Humans and their conquerors weren't meant to fight for eternity, constantly squabbling over rightful ownership or true ruler of one planet or another. That was the expectation, at least. But we had a way of subverting expectations.
Where the Rox-kal went, they won. What enemy they saw, they defeated. Long ago, they had perfected faster than light travel. Long ago, they had found how to transport weapons of immeasurable destruction across galaxies. At times, my lectures came off like an ode to the Rox-kal more than a testament to the willpower and resilience of our own kind.
More recently, though, the Rox-kal had done away with the concept of total annihilation. Besides, vassals served infinitely more purpose than war-torn planets turned to pieces of stone drifting aimlessly across the solar system. Vassals paid tribute, and expanded the Rox-kal culture. The further they spread, the more power they gained.
It had become redundant, at least on their first pass through a solar system, to exterminate every last member of a conquered species. It was simple evolution, I explained, of both species and thought. But in this case, their evolution went awry. Humans weren't like the other species, or at least that's what I liked to teach.
Human and Rox-kal could live together in harmony, and from that new species would be born. One planet then another, and eventually new species peppered their confederation. Their allegiance never wavered, so long as they were part Rox-kal.
That was how it should have been.
Earth proved no harder to defeat than any other planet. We sent out an armada of hastily assembled spacecraft to be dismantled just as quickly. Limbs rained upon Earth in the aftermath. A grisly scene, to be sure, but one that sent the intended message. I had never seen anything of the sort.
The delegates came forth offering our conditional surrender. We humans were not to be enslaved, the delegates insisted. The Rox-kal agreed, because they had no need for slavery. They had no over-arching goal beyond conquest. Their planet, from travelers' rumors, had a wealth beyond our wildest imaginations.
For good measure, because the bitter taste of defeat sometimes lingered, they leveled a handful of cities, claiming the rights that victors have. We looked on, accepting and remembering, and promising retribution.
The history went no further. From there, the lessons turned to now, right here on Earth. There was little question of where things were heading. Underground, where the passing Rox-kal couldn't see, arsenals were accumulated and minds were indoctrinated. For the best, I was sure, because I had seen the power of the Rox-kal.
It was from the ashes that the humans rose, as we always did. Renewed, more than reborn.
"Not revenge," I explained to the class of recruits. Young blood, just twelve years old, the lot of them. All pure-bred, because the mixed breed Rox-kal were far too loyal to be trusted. "Retribution."
"The difference, Professor?" one of them piped up. A scrawny boy. They were all scrawny, but he lagged even behind the others. What he lacked in body, he made up for in spirit, and I smiled at his question. Talos was his name, if I remembered correctly. It was hard, so many children having passed through the room. But I would remember him, I was sure of it.
"We aren't lashing out," I explained, continuing to the next slide. "This isn't about the armada," and they gasped at the destruction the Rox-kal had caused. "This isn't about New York. Or Beijing. Or Sydney." Three more slides, and by the third they gasped no more. Flattened cities, because that was the power of the Rox-kal. "Retribution is different. Retribution seeks justice, not just pain upon the Rox-kal. Retribution seeks to right the wrongs that they have committed, not to respond with wrongs of our own." I paced as I spoke, but my eyes remained fixed on his slender frame.
The boy nodded in understanding, and I smiled. Inquisitive minds made the best officers. I had seen that over the years. Yes-men mindlessly following instructions were what had kept us tethered, resigned to the Earth and to only the least bit of intergalactic exploration.
We hadn't been able to fight the Rox-kal. They made examples of some cities, a fate I was thankfully spared, and then expected us to embrace their conquest. They expected us to assimilate and become them, and more humans did so than I would have liked.
But now things were different. Years had passed, and we had progressed. I had seen generations pass through my classroom, and still I taught them history, until we hit the conquest. From there, the past became the present, and the present was perilous. Rebellion and retribution were in the air, and us humans were no longer a defeated species, at least as far as our mindset was concerned.
We had a strength they couldn't even begin to understand, and we had the element of surprise to our advantage.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-12-17T11:52:22 | 2019-12-17T11:38:45 | 3,361 | 246 |
[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter
|
The moon had sat evacuated for months.
The ghosts of the dead had lived on the moon for millennia.
The base finally allowed them to take tangible form. To begin the ritual.
As he rose forth, the moon shuddered. A portal opened.
The ritual continued. A hand crawled out of the void that had appeared.
One of the ghosts paused. His younger years detected something.
Satan heard it too. Dragging himself out of the pit, he made an effort to rise faster so he may face the dread foe.
Satan spoke.
"HE IS COMING. DEFEND YOURSELVES."
The young ghosts face went pale. He turned to the other ghosts. A green blur could be seen rapidly advancing towards the base in the distance.
The ghost spoke as the blur became clear. A man. In green armor. Holding a shotgun.
"Do you guys hear heavy metal?" The young ghost said.
And then the man smashed through the window.
And all hell broke loose.
|
“Don’t worry. I got this.” Dirk says strapping a sawed-off to his back.
Hector, the first year engineer dives behind a table. “Where’d that come from?” He pleads.
“It shoots salt. Might bruise you a little, but wont kill.” Hector pops up from behind the table, “Salt?”.
“Yeah for the ghosts, specters, and ghouls that haunt the moon.” Dirk said with no waiver in his voice.
“Why don’t you sit down for a while. Long trip, right?” Hector pulls out a chair for him.
“No time. You should load up too.” Dirk said tossing a large white duffle bag to Hector.
“Me?” Hector points to himself mouth agape.
“Yeah man. Its go time… You must be new.”
“I’ve been here 8 months!” Hector protested.
“Not long enough. N.A.S.A. National Anti-Supernatural Administration.” Dirk punctuated each word with a raising count on his hand.
“Sir, why don’t you put the gun down. I think you might be experiencing some side effects to your travel.” Hector pushed the chair toward Dirk.
The lights turn red and a voice comes over the loudspeaker: “This is not a drill, I repeat this is NOT a drill. All employees please report to your desks for immediate briefings. We have found hell, and it’s not on Earth.”
Hector looks at Dirk. “Well, you heard them. Hop to it.” Hector stampedes through the hallway pinballing off his fellow employees. Sitting on his desk is a brand new tablet. He sits. The screen lights up. *What is your name?* Flashes across the screen. Hector Alonso types in his name. The words melt toward the bottom of the screen and pool up to form a button. *Thumb Print Please*, arched around the top. “Cool,” Hector said. He couldn’t remember seeing anything like this in the r/D lab. He put his thumb to the button. A tiny barb pricks his finger. He pulls his hand away with an “Ow”. Droplets of blood form on his fingertip. *Sorry!* Flashes across the screen.
*Identity confirmed: Hector Alonso. Position: Research and Development Trainee. Vitals: Strong. Aptitude Score: 77.*
“77!” Hector scoffs. The text wipes off and a live feed of Dirk begins. Sitting on the table before him is a large container of salt, a bucket of empty capsules, and a funnel. His fists dug into the wood, as he leans over the items.
“For the uninitiated, I bet you have tons of questions. Including who I am. I am Dirk Kaggsworth lead piolet for the Trojan expeditions. First, let me assure you aliens are not real. Or at least not what you would traditionally consider an alien. But there is stuff out there. And it is a threat. Every day we here at NASA, the National Anti-Supernatural Administration, make sure that the people of this great nation are safe from extraterrestrial threat. And today we have discovered the motherload. On our last mission to the moon, we had an expedition to the dark side. There we found the entrance to a lair or base that these E.T.s operate from. Our scouts were unable to identify how large the structure was. About now you might be asking yourself how all this pertains to you. We are launching a full-scale infiltration of their Moonbase, and need all the help we can get. If your vitals are in good standing and you had an aptitude score of 15 or higher, we would like to take you along. If you wish to accept, meet in the cafeteria in 30 minutes and bring whatever personal items you will need. For those that don’t meet the requirements, rest assured there is still work to be done at home. The first thing all of you need to know is how to load a salt gun.” Dirk opens the end of a capsule from the bucket and puts it under the funnel. “3 grams of salt is all you need.” He puts a spoon into the container of salt and pours it into the funnel. “If you can do that, you can help. And I know all of you can.” He seals the capsule and inserts it into a magazine. From under the table, he pulls out what looks like a metallic nerf gun. The magazine clicks into place. “Let’s lock and load.”
| 2020-01-17T12:31:35 | 2020-01-17T11:34:23 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
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"You think we need blood and bone to perform... magic?" Muttered the demon king. Standing at just under 2.5 meters tall with skin that looked like braided ropes made of steel, eyes that radiated a sickly yellow light, and carapace that grew up his body like natural armor he cut a terrifying figure.
"Do you truly believe the things you do are magic?" He directed at the mage king.
The 3 captives looked at each other, obviously confused.
"What else would it be? I mark the runes devised by those before me to conjure energy, portals, or materials from the air itself." The portly man said. Short and wrapped in an intricately embroidered robe, but with an air of calm thought about him he didn't seem like one who lied to children but it was always so hard to tell with humans.
"You don't *conjure* things from the air, you restructure what already exists. The runes you use are numbers and symbols representing action and reaction, all devised by scholars from my land and yours millenia ago." The demon explained. "And what of you priest? Do you want to know where your holy fire comes from?"
"I always seek more knowledge of our lord and guiding light, but I doubt that anything a demon tells me will be trustworthy." The kindly old man, balding and pale, sneered at the demon king. In his green and gold robe with the golden flame that represented his church around his neck he almost matched the king in opulence.
The demon king held the priests eyes until he started to squirm and look away. "Your *god* is the heart of my land, the heart of the land you call hell, deep underground where the stone becomes molten from the pressure of everything above. You open small portals into caverns and holes full of heat and light using the same math and science your king does, just with different markings to show the same thing."
The priests face had gone red, and started to splutter. "Blasphemy from a damned soul, as expect-"
"The knowledge of my ancients and yours is not blasphemy Priest of Hellfire, your land wouldn't even exist without this knowledge." The demon king cut in. "But enough from you foolish one. I came here to figure out which of you was spreading lies about my people." The demon walked over to a polished steel tray holding picks and surgeons knives' them selected a long thing pick with a slight curve to it.
He walked back to the three captives and knelt in front of the Fighter. Just over 2 meters tall, incredibly well muscled, black hair cut short and dark skin, she was the only one the demon felt might be able to threaten him.
She glanced to the side of the room at the pile of armor and weapons the demon king has his guards strip from them. "I know little of magic or history, but I know kidnapping the king and 2 of his closest advisors is an act of war. And you don't seem like much of a warrior demon, despite your armor and skin."
The demon king held her eyes for second before walking back to his tray, replacing the pick, and sighing loudly.
"Your right of course, I am a scholar and a scientist. I design and create for the good of my people, I'm only the leader right now because my colleagues put me into the running for first among equals." He said as he walked back over to them, now carrying a small hammer and a few long narrow spikes. "But at least one of you is spreading lies that could prove harmful to my people, and if you don't tell me which one it is soon there will be... consequences."
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***This story is by user*** u/noname_knut ***basead in this post prompt.***
* **Story in "Demon Lord" POV:**
The three men looked at each other with their face in confusion. In one voice they said "What?"
Sigh. Those three like to test my patience. I took a chair and sited in front of them and started "Look, I know is one of you guys" I pointed the ice pick at them "My mom already told me to not believe in your type."
And to my surprise their face hasn’t changed. But the confusion now was mixed with a surprised. They like to think that I can't notice they pretending to be surprised just they can't be at fault.
The hero was the first of them to answer me "I'm sorry but are you serious?" I immediately jump of my chair "Do you think this situation is not serious??" I scream at him and the three men cower.
I start walking around them and telling them that horrible words that I have listened " 'A terrible wizard that if you approach his castle, you will be eaten!' 'Don't say his name 3 times in front of a mirror or something bad will happen to you!' 'Don't mischievous or he will kidnap you and make you your slave!'??? How you all can be so mean!" I throw my ice pick in rage and it flies through the room until it sticks in the crown of the Head of The Church, he seems to almost faint in fear - but this is not the matter here.
"So? Anyone?" I continue "I will give you guys one more chance, who of you said those things about me??" the three men were still in silence and frightened.
Now the King whispers something to the Hero, they nod and the King starts to give me his answer "Demon Lord, I'm sorry but those stories have been spreading by a long time, actually, even before I took the throne." I laugh dumbfounded "How can a King lie so careless like this?" "Is not a lie!" He replies and I slam a desk close to me "Oh? So why I'm only hearing about this now? I have been here long before you took the throne too and only now I'm hearing that I'm supposedly a 'scary monster children eater'!"
I can hear the Hero murmuring "Serious?" right before I say it, "Watch your mouth Hero, you're my main suspicious here. Always being a pain to me, of course you would be glad to gossip those kinds of things about me, right?"
"Oh common!" he shouts "First, I may be only 16 years old, but since I was a little kid, I have heard those scary stories about you too! And second, look at you!" he looks from my head to my feet "Look at this black cape, those horns, those spikes and pendants! You yourself conquered those stories by your look!"
"SHUT UP!" I scream heavily offended "Those horns are a family cultural thing, and my pendants and spikes make me cool! My black cape protects me from this nasty south sun! I knew it was you, you're so mean!"
"P-please don't fight here you two!" the old man, Head of The Church, finally spoke. I was in a staring contest with the Hero until he picked my attention saying "Demon Lord, God forbid me for saying your name, but I have to agree with the Hero and the King, those stories about you have been around since a long time, we have proof of it the Church Library..."
"This... Can't be..." I say looking at him surprised... But as soon I think a bit I realized the truth "Wait, this mean it was you guys who spread about me?" I take another Ice Pick and slowly start to approaching him
"No! No!" The old man denied and sweated "We only have registers! Is a historical work! We register the city stories, and people have those kinds of stories about you since a long time!"
"Bullshit!" I affirm and confident about myself "I have never been doing those kinds of things! I have always loved children and could never do what those fake stories proclaim!"
As I said it the room went silence. The first scene repeated with the three of them looking at each other in confusion and saying in one voice "What?".
I'm tired.
I sit in my chair looking down. I put my hands in my head and whisper "Why everyone is so mean to me?" I can feel their eyes on me "I always thought that nobody come in the forest because is too difficult to humans here." I start rambling and remembering all the times I saw that view from the Dark Forest from my castle. "But now that I finally decided to try and interact with some of them, they all hate me and some children told me about those stories..."
The room is still silent, I sigh and continue my vent "And they always say nice stories about the King defeating me with his almighty army" I point with my Ice pick at the King "The Church exorcising me and purifying the earth." I point now at the Church's Head "And of course about the Hero killing me and my servants and removing my heart to end all the evil..." and finally I point at the Hero.
I look up and can see that the three of them seem uncomfortable and they are avoiding looking at me. I sigh once again. How can adults be so bad and not only terrorize kids, but in the process put me in a bad spot...? But them this realization come to me "You know what!" I stand up and they return to look at me "I know whose fault it is! Is all adult people fault! They are the real evil for being liars! Telling kids those horrible stories just to scary them... How they can? That's it! I'm gonna destroy all grow up and take all the children under my care! Starting with you two!"
I aim at the King and The Church's Head while accumulating my power and ready to shoot, but the Hero throws himself in front of them and falls at his side while still attached to the chair:
"WAIT!" He screams. I stop the enchanting and, I will confess, I'm surprised. He them proceeds to say "Think about what you're doing Demon Lord! All those stories around our town about you being evil! If you kill these two and all the adults, what you think the kids will say??" I take a step back, he continues "Don't you love children? But do you think they will want to be with you if you kill their parents? Will not them say that you really is as the stories say who you are!?"
I take another step back and my hand hit a vase where I put my Ice Pick collection, the sharps objects fall onto the floor, I look at that sparkling points. I then look at the Church's Head crown still with a hole from my early throw. I then look at the three man in front of me, all in terror and tied in chairs.
"I'm... Truly a monster..." I declare falling in my knees.
| 2021-05-17T10:09:23 | 2021-05-17T08:57:21 | 100 | 25 |
[WP] You awake to find yourself in a room with a multitude of people. After some confusion a voice speaks over the PA system. You've somehow been placed in a death game for the entertainment of the rich. You begin to laugh hysterically, as this is SOOO not going to go the way they want it to.
|
It took awhile to figure it out. Once I did, a lot of half memories and seemingly “tall tales” told by adults for laughs at holiday parties that were nothing more than an excuse for self proclaimed responsible parents to let loose started to make sense.
I can’t die.
Not in the “immortal will survive any blow” kind of way. Just. Death doesn’t have an opportunity to happen.
Drunk driver about to T-bone a single mother and child? They happen to hit an oil slick on that old backroad and narrowly miss the sedan with the sun faded baby-on-board sticker.
Bar fight turned bad? That crazy bitch landed a hit on me but the stab wound missed all the vital organs. It also drew attention to a septic gallbladder. Would’ve died if the damn thing had been left alone another day.
So, when I woke up with a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like I had gargled kitty litter (in texture AND taste) I knew there had to be a reason for it.
At this point not much phases me so the whole “fight to the death for entertainment and fabulous prizes” thing was, well, pretty damn funny if I’m being honest. Ok, ok, I had a good chuckle. Freaked a few people out.
Long, convoluted story short, the other contestants kept accidentally saving my life while really sucking at killing me or saving themselves. Although I think it had more to do with the busted gas line at my apartment and subsequent explosion than anything.
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Today was not going my way at all. first, i find out that i was kidnapped by some wackos and placed in a room with a bunch of strangers and next i'm being told that this is a death game and i am going to be competing whether i like it or not.
the people around me are starting to panic, some curling up into the fetal position and crying while others are shouting at what i assume to be the guards. I, however, sit on the bed i woke up on and start to think and run different scenarios over in my head. a small smile starts to form in my head as i recall the many hours of all-nighters pulled watching horror films and playing dark video games. these people want to wrench me out of my life and force me to compete then i am going to be the most annoying player they have ever seen. my resolve hardened as a small chuckle leaves my lips. internal, i am cackling like a mad man. The guards call the contestants for the first game, hide and seek. i stand and walk towards the arena with the other contestants.
i am a hider. perfect. the arena seems to be a apartment complex, and the way you win is by surviving until the clock mounted at the front door of the complex strikes 12. the hands rest at 10. if your body fully leaves the complex, then you are out. there are three seekers, all armed with single shot pistols, to give the contestants a chance of escape while they reload. the guards exit the building and a blank is fired and the clock starts to tick. everyone is running for the stairwell or the corridors, i however, run to the closest room and open the door and see exactly what i am looking for. I pry open the window as i hear gunshots being fired off and start to shimmy up the drain pipes on the outside, intending to get to the roof.
after a good while and scraped knees, i peak over the top of the roof and see that it is clear. i pull myself over the ledge and head to the rooftop access door and try the handle, un-locked. i once again look around the rooftop much more carefully and notice a greenhouse full of planters. dragging an empty planter to barricade the door i run and grab as many bags of soil and fertilizers i can carry to make that planter box as heavy as possible. climbing on top of my makeshift barricade i go on top of the doorway's roof and lie as flat as i can. soon i can hear footsteps pounding the stairs below and violent jiggling of the handle beyond that, i can hear a much calmer, yet heavier set of footsteps coming ever closer until the door handle's jiggling falls silent after a gunshot rings through the stairwell beneath me. a second shot is heard and the door swings open slightly as my barricade blocks the seeker from entering the rooftop.
i hear a frustrated sigh and a few footsteps before thundering footsteps followed by a large crash is heard. i peer over the edge of the roof and see the seeker sprawled on the ground and covered in dirt. their gun is a few meters away. not hesitating i jump down and aim my feet at the seekers head. a sickening crack is heard as i roll off their head towards their gun. i swipe it up and run back to the seeker and aim it at their neck before pulling the trigger. moving my hand to the other side of their neck i feel their pulse die and i turn them around so i can loot their body for bullets. finding their stash of ammo i use their body to block off the door once again and i head back to the pipe i climbed at the start of the game.
sliding down the pipe fireman style i reach the starting floor and peer out of the room towards the clock. my eyes widen at the fact that only 30 odd minutes have passed. i take off my shoes to avoid making noise while walking and make my way towards the clock. carefully, i remove it from its perch and realize it has no covering. not wasting a second i move the hands around to the 12. a sudden ding rings out across the complex and announces the game is over and to please return to the start. once the significantly smaller number of participants gathered at the start we are lead back; or in my case, roughly manhandled, to the dorms we woke up in. from my treatment i know that i at least pissed off a few of the higher ups.
i lay down in my bed as i reflect on the game. the pole maneuver? from Alice in Borderland. everything else? common sense hammered into me from many late nights watching good ol' Cinema Summery. any game that they throw at me i am going to break and now the game organizers know it. Murder mystery? death traps? demented version of childhood games? whatever the organizers throw at me i'll be ready. and now they know it to. the lights go out and many contestants fall asleep while i use extra pillows form dead contestants beds to make a human shaped lump under my sheets and i crawl under one of the further beds and close my eyes.
| 2021-10-30T21:14:40 | 2021-10-30T20:00:59 | 375 | 91 |
[WP] You are arrested by a mysterious agency for the “illegal use of a magical and or supernatural item” after stumbling across a Genie lamp. But, the agency is stunned to find you only used one wish. An odd one in particular.
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I became really interested in magic during my studies. In graduated archeology in one of the best European universities. I always wondered how many wonders of ancient world were made, there was no other explanation but magic, so I knew it was real, I just had to prove it.
I organized expedition to Atlas Mountains in Morocco. I found a manuscript about ancient treasure buried beneath the dunes. The search was long but here I was, holding the one any only, Genie lamp. I gently rubbed it and a mysterius creature appeared
\- "How are you? And why are you disturbing my rest?"
\-"My name is Alfonso Deliberi, and I demand fulfillment of my wish"
\-"What do you wish then human?"
\-"I want to create secret organization that specializes in hunting and destroying all sort of magic artifacts. The only solution for the destruction that might be brought by the unstoppable power of magic"
\-"Odd request since you are currently using magic item, but .... as you wish"
The exact same moment genie disappeared I saw around 20 man pointing guns at me. "You are under arrest for breaking the paragraph 18 of magical regulation" tall blond man shouted. "Hands in the air and drop the lamp". "No wait, you don't understand, I wished to create you guys, I wanted to bring safety to this world, I'm not your enemy" I shouted in response. "We heard it all, hands in the air and don't move"
I of course surrendered, I had no other choice. My wish not only created this anti-magic organization, but entire international law about usage of magic. No one believed my explanations, the organization had records of existing for centuries.
And here I'm a prisoner of my own creation, I was charged with serious fellonies and sentenced to almost 20 years, but it is a small price for safety of humanity. Who knows what could happen if the lamp was in the wrong hands.
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I finish putting on the rest of my costume and open the doors to the giant stadium-like building. I am greeted by a cool breeze and the smell of old sweaty white dudes. I look around to see tons of fellow comic book lovers, and my heart beats faster. WOW. Comicon is as impressive as Reddit makes it sound. Before starting my adventure, I head over to the bathroom. I am greeted with more of the "comic lover" smell inside the bathroom, and I head to the nearest Urinal.
"FREEZE, DONT MOVE," Yells a strange-looking man adorned in a green cloak with big round goggles and what appears to be a brown stick in his hand?
"Ugh, you got me?" I say, putting my hands up and laughing awkwardly.
Then, I proceed to stare at the wall in front of me again, hoping the weirdo in the Green Robinhood/Alien/Wizard costume, GRAW for short will go away. Wow, people go hard with their role, even in the bathroom. Huh. I can't say I'm surprised; I just wasn't ready for it yet. After a few seconds, I pull up my pants and tighten my zipper, turning towards the sink.
My friend GRAW, still standing there, is now pointing his brown twig at my back. "You have Violated Space Time Ordinance," he says, proudly puffing his chest.
Ignoring him, I go to the sink and start washing my hands. "Hey comrade, I'm loving the energy, but it's kind of weird to pop out at people while they're peeing, even at Comicon. BTW what race do you hail from?" I say, in an attempt to figure out his costume, sound nerdy, and dispel some of the awkwardness.
"I hail from Teleios-Eleggtis-Chronou, and I am here to escort you to the Fourth-dimensional space court." He says firmly.
"Ah, most excellent; I have been meaning to settle such matters. And what is your name?" I say, playing along as I finish washing my hands.
"You can call me Graw." He says, unamused since that's all you could muster to think up.
My eyes widen in shock, and I am suddenly zapped by a bright pink beam that seems to float across the air. Moments later, I appear in what looks like a courtroom puking my guts out. Graw looks at me and whispers, "don't worry, it's temporary."
"Silence.' Booms, a strange voice. When I look up, there is a man in similar attire to Graw. Except his cloak is blue and not nearly as neatly pressed. I look around, and behind us are rows of hundreds of people. All are dressed in a similar fashion, the only variation being the color of their robe.
"Sorry, your honor, I was just trying to explain to Defendant 1790210000 that the vomiting would only be temporary side effect of tge Instant-Fairy-Teleportation-Technique." Says Graw in a soft voice.
"That's the least of his problems," the judge responds.
"Defendant 1790210000 - Planet Earth - Name in Common Tongue John Pearl, do you know why you are here?" He continues.
I shake my head no but then remember something about *Violating Space Time Ordinance or something.* But that was a joke, right?
"You have violated Space Time Ordinance... For... Let's see here... Using a Genie... To wish for... People on Reddit to troll you? Well now if that isn't possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And how do you plead?" He continues.
"Wait. That wish I made jokingly six years ago backstage at an Alladin play? This has got to be a joke, right? Even if that is somehow the case, why is this a big deal now. What is going on? Haha very funny come out with the cameras," I ask, utterly confused and annoyed.
Graw looks concerned and whispers, "Shut up, idiot; this isn't a joke. You last want to be stuck in time perjury for eternity. Crimes only manifest after they happen. So, in your case, after someone trolls you."
"Guilty, it is." He responds, a gavel next time him knocking hard against the podium; I sentence you to 3 million lifetimes in time perjury.
Suddenly, two guards appear behind me, "Wait no!! Ugh, I try to gasp at anything to save me. I can explain? I invoke The Law of Ora...Teleios... Eleggtis..." I screech, and nothing happens. I think harder, grasping for anything that could get me out of this mess. "My trolls comment got deleted tho," I shout in a last ditch effort. Suddenly time stands still, the hundreds of spectators gasp, and all eyes are on me.
Story is here on my page ---> [One Wish to Rule Them All](https://www.reddit.com/r/Fuji_Jufi_Writes/comments/yk8wo1/one_wish_to_rule_them_all/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Follow and check out my other works 😜✌🏻—-> [Fuji-Jufi-Writes](https://www.reddit.com/r/Fuji_Jufi_Writes/)
| 2022-11-02T08:59:52 | 2022-11-02T07:31:34 | 38 | 21 |
[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary.
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**Warp Lennoa**
A medium sized feline that inhabits savannahs and is known for their unique abilities and varied color. Their preferred method of hunting is careful stalking of prey, shortly followed by a quick ambush through a portal. Some observed Lennoa have been shown capable of forming warp tears underneath prey, transporting them to unsurvivable locations or speeds.
A favorite pastime of the Lennoa is jumping off high objects into their own portals to achieve freefall. A unique trait of the Lennoa allows them to control their inertia while in warp space, allowing them to land gracefully, or move at high speeds when required.
Often observed in small family units of 2-6, it is not uncommon to spot Lennoa kittens chasing each other across the sky.
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*Protogenia*
Protogenia (pro-toe-gen-ee-a) is a variant of Rhizopus stolonifer, a common mold often found on earth bread. Unlike its relative, Protogenia is mainly found growing on the pages of old books. Protogenia is most commonly found in the fantasy genre of narratives with more frequency in the books featuring a “normal” protagonist going on an unexpected journey.
*History*
In 2086 Protogenia was discovered by Maine P. Charter. At the time, M. Charter was investigating the connection between 46 separate patients who showed symptoms of an extremely eventful life. During the study, M. Charter discovered that all of the patients mothers had some sort of contact with Protogenia during their pregnancy. The exact method of influence was not discovered until a separate study was conducted by Sidney H. Charter (the step sister of M. Charter). This study found that Protogenia had a subtle but profound impact on the DNA of infants. Protogenia was found to alter many of the proteins found in the Tetragram, the part of the brain responsible for probability collapsing. It is this influence that is believed to lead a person on an eventful life.
*Effects/Diagnosis*
Those suffering from Protogenia will physically seem like normal people, however they exhibit a few physiological traits that stand out from others.
- Hair: Those affected by Protogenia will often develop an unnatural hue in their hair. In most cases, this coloration will be an exaggeration of common hair colors like yellow, black, and red. In rare cases however, the patient will develop extreme colors like blue or green.
- Eye color: Similar to their hair, they may also develop exaggerated colors in their eyes. Like the hair, these colors are often normal variants with more profound vibrancy. Most cases will display matching eye and hair color, with the vibrancy of each often matching.
- General body structure: This affected by Protogenia will display a body structure widely regarded as attractive. Their facial features show lessened fat and a more rigid bone structure. Similarly, their bodies will have less fat as well as increased musculature. Despite the variance of body structure, all cases share a belief that their body is simply “average”.
Aside from these physical traits, the main and most outstanding trait is their tendency to become associated with conventionally exciting and unique circumstances.
These circumstances will often develop at a certain age after a significant event. For most cases, this trait will only develop after a significant loss (most commonly one or both parents). Following this event, the individual will be “visited”. The time between the significant event and the “visit” varies, however most cases will be between a week and a year. This visit will usually manifest as an unknown person or entity claiming to have some relationship with the individuals family. Due to the nature of the effects, it is unknown if this fact is true or was altered to be as such. Following the “visit” life events may vary with detail.
*Treatment*
Those affected by Protogenia will suffer life long effects, however like any other chronic illness, these effects can be lessened or avoided entirely. If a patient has not undergone the significant event yet, they can entire prevent their condition from developing by stopping any new significant event from happening. While this is proven to avoid further development of the condition, it has never been reported to work forever.
Due to a new study by R. E. Allan, the life events of a patient may be dependent on the severity of the significant event. As a new method treatment, an individual may indirectly cause the life event in order to maintain a degree of control on the severity of their life story. Examples include: the death of a pet, the loss of a friend, or a movement from one’s childhood home. However, if the patient doesn’t strictly cause these events by purposeful negligence and instead directly causes them, they may develop Antagonitis (see further notes for details).
If the life event has already happened, further developments can be avoided by rejecting anything considered “abnormal” (definitions of such may vary). To do this, most patients will purposefully ignore any unusual circumstances, ignore those in troubled conditions, possible love interests, and going outside at night.
*References*
The History of Protogenia, A. P. Smith
Magic Mold, B. C. Anderson
Life with Protogenia, R. P. Person
| 2022-12-11T18:11:11 | 2022-12-11T15:52:10 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed.
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I spin on my heel and dart left onto St Mary's Street, immediately turning left again down a small and sticky alleyway, which branches like a vein through the abandoned bars and charity stores. I find a spot behind a dumpster and fix my attention back to St Mary's Street from there. I see him: the man in the blue suit. I see his brown shoes slapping the rain-soaked pavement. I see the specked lenses of his glasses turn towards the alleyway. Panicked, I fling myself completely behind the dumpster, facing away with my back up against it. The sound of footsteps reaches my ear not long before his voice. I get up to meet him
"Mr Price," he exclaims with a casual urgency, "I'm from Ancestorhistory. I've been trying to get hold of you for days. We need to talk."
"Ancestorhistory? Jesus Christ, that kit cost me like 10 bucks. I'm not paying for any fucking consultations."
"It's not that, Mr Price. The results of your DNA spit test are a matter of great interest to many people right now. We should go somewhere more private, so I can explain better."
"You can explain here. Make it quick, then stop following me."
"If you insist. The results are intriguing, Mr Price, because of what they reveal about your ancestry."
"What am I, Elvis' lost son? Bill Gates' heir? Please tell me I'm Bill Gates heir."
"No, Mr Price. What is intriguing about your ancestry, is that you have none."
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"There," I said. "In the coat."
Carl tilted his head to one side to see past mine. From my perspective, he just looked like a dog that had just been asked a taxing question. "There's about thirty people wearing coats," he said. "We're outside, and it's cold."
I clenched my fists. "It's a long coat. Behind me. See him?"
"No," he said. "But we've narrowed it down to about twenty."
"Dark hair. He's got dark hair. He's about average height."
Head tilt. "You know that describes most people on the planet, don't you? Black? White? Asian?"
"He's..." I said. "He's black. He's a black guy."
Carl raised an eyebrow. "See, I would have lead with that."
"You can't lead with that. You can't say 'there's a black guy following me'."
"Under the circumstances," he said dryly, "I think you can be forgiven."
"Carl!" I hissed. "Do you see him or not?"
"No," he said, "but yes. Let's assume I do. Let's assume that I see your coat-wearing average black guy. What's the issue?"
I started counting on my fingers. "He was at the mall. He was at the coffee shop. He was at the corner when we stopped for that hot dog yesterday. I saw him on Tuesday in the place we were."
"I love that place," Carl said.
"The bowling alley. He was at the bowling alley. He's following me. And it's not just him. That blonde from the bar the other night."
He scowled at me. "You can't identify a black guy's blackness, but you're happily reducing women to hair colour."
"Carl, Jesus, I -"
"You used 'black' as an adjective. That's fine. But you used 'blonde' as a noun. That's reductive, dude. You might not be a racist, but there's some misogynistic vibe coming off you now that I'm finding very -"
I balled the front of his jacket up my fist. "If you don't start taking this seriously," I said, "I'm going to punch that stupid fucking smile off your smug little face. That's not a threat. It's not a prediction. It's a simple statement of fact."
He slapped my hands away. "OK, OK," he said. "I was just messing with you."
"I don't need to be messed with, Carl, I need to be understood. I'm being followed." My eyes tracked movement on the left. "There's another one. The guy from the queue at the DMV."
Carl glanced. "With the jaw? The one you called 'The One Chin To Rule Them All'?"
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. "Yes. Him. Have a problem with that?"
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "No, dude. Race and gender's one thing, but ugly's just ugly. Shit. That *is* him. I recognize his perfectly square shadow."
"Carl!"
"Fine, fine. So why are they following you? No offence, but you're not the world's most interesting person. You're a part-time Geography teacher and amateur metal detectorist. When they come to list interesting people, you're kind of low down the list."
I pulled him to one side and started him walking away. "It's been going on for a couple of months."
"*Months*?"
"I've been recording them in a book."
He looked uncomfortable. "You're making it weird again."
"Just look at the book," I said, reaching into my pocket.
He held my arms. "Wait," he said. "Wait. This book. What ink are you writing with?"
"Just regular ink."
"The book is made out of?"
"Paper."
"And it's bound in?"
I gaped at him. "Bound in?"
"The cover, dude. Just assure me it's not human skin."
I pulled myself free and slapped the book against his chest. "Two months. Two months of these."
He flicked through the pages. In my desperation, I forgave him for tentatively smelling the pages. "I remember this guy," he said, tapping an underlined passage. "This was the guy at the McDonalds who dropped his -"
"dropped his Coke," I said. "Yeah. Three more times I saw him."
Carl made a decent effort to read the entries while he talked. "So what happened two months ago?"
I snatched the book back and flipped back a few pages. "Here's all the stuff I could think of."
His eyes flicked backwards and forwards across the tangled scrawl of my entries. "You sent off a DNA test?" He asked. "You sent a sample of your DNA to a lab?"
"Yeah," I said. "I got one of those kits. You think that's the one?"
Carl pulled a revolver out of the pocket of his coat and held it to my ribs. "That'll be the one," he said.
| 2018-01-16T15:11:31 | 2018-01-16T13:40:59 | 66 | 13 |
[WP] Aliens have stumbled upon Earth on accident and are astonished to see how far humanity has come despite having no ability to use magic but rather develop technology which every other species has failed to do.
|
The functionaries of the High Palace rarely saw a Storyteller; it would have been a career highlight for even a venerable member of that disregarded caste to be invited to the seat of Dallasi power. Yet this one was young, without even the customary white robe that marked a Storyteller who had spent ten cycles in the Great Library. And she was enraged.
"Where are you, you stupid, posturing fuck?"
Lord Mage Alakhrana felt a wholly unfamiliar mixture of rage and joy course though his veins at the sound of the intruder's voice. He hadn't been so much as contradicted in three full cycles. This would be fun. He drew himself up to his full height and turned to the tiny woman.
"What makes you think you have the-"
"Shut up before you fuck us all even harder, Alakhrana. Did you show off your magic in front of the humans in front of a fucking instrument array?"
Alakhrana felt himself recoil slightly from the sheer venom of the Storyteller's rage. All the fun was gone now. He'd have to make an example of her once this unpleasantness was done. "What business is it of yours what I do to frighten the savages, theorist?"
She didn't even flinch at the calculated insult. "It's my business because those monkeys are the fastest-adapting species in galactic history. We've been interstellar for nine thousand cycles and our grasp of magic is the same as it was nine thousand cycles ago. Those four-limbed lunatics don't even have any natural sources of magic, and when we found them fifty cycles ago they were already sticking souvenirs on other planets in their system. And you and your fucking idiot ego just handed them a pile of data on exactly what they needed. We're all fucked because you wanted to look cool in front of the savages."
"How could you possibly know-"
"That your little demonstration would ruin us? Because I'm a Storyteller. I've been reading about other species since I was a juvenile. The Khrolae have a book of predictions; so far, they're the only discovered species capable of using magic to tell the future. And they have a fucking great little horror story called the Enablement. Do you want to take a guess at what it's about?"
Alakhrana stood silent. The entire court stood silent.
"The Enablement is about the proud warrior who shows magic to the savages who've never seen it. The savages copy the warrior's movements and chants and learn how to use them. They learn how magic works in a way no species has ever before understood. They fuse magic to their own weapons, and slaughter entire civilisations. Nobody stands in their way. Every civilisation has had a total ban on magic usage in the presence of human observational equipment since someone connected the Khrolae story with humans. Every civilisation except us, because your idiot fucking caste system treats us Storytellers like shit. We've been screaming about the need for this ban for cycle after cycle, and you pompous fucks have been ignoring us."
The Lord Mage finally found his voice. "What happens now?"
The Storyteller smiled, an expression that was somehow predatory and immensely sad. "You get to decide one last thing. The story of the Enablement refers to the Traitors, a species that saw what was coming and decided survival as servants was better than death. You get to decide whether we all become housepets for the humans, or whether our children never see maturity."
She strode out of the hall. There was a terrible silence.
|
It never occured to me that the universe had a set of command codes.
Then I wondered, *why hadn't anyone bothered to tell Earth?* I would have thought humans had a right to feel slighted, but the full shock of a giant castle-like ship suddenly appearing 50 feet over a cornfield in Iowa overshadowed my personal feelings. *Why is it always America, in in the middle of farmland,* I wondered.
The thing kind of made a ***POOF!*** sound as it touched down. There was glitter everywhere that seemed to disappear as you wiped it off of things. Kind of like it knew to take a hint.
Farmer Bob here could have created an incident, but I had the wherewithal to drive straight through the field, distracting him long enough to get the gun he'd had pointed at the sparkly Renaissance Faire traipsing out of the large wood-like portal that had immediately flopped down as soon as the castle touched down.
They weren't human, but they didn't exactly look harmful. Kind of like a cross between plants and muppets, but with skin instead of felt. It didn't take long for them to wander in wonder into the barn and try to communicate with the livestock. The one I took for the leader "merrily" barked orders, and they all fell into line. I extended my hand, as one does, but their leader looked at it oddly, seemingly expecting something to come out of it.
A much more human-like, wizard-like figure floated into the barn, waved his hands around, creating these odd glowing words and line-pictures in the air, complete with more glitter, which suddenly poofed into my face.
"Can I have my gun back now, colonel?" Bob asked, impatiently.
"Not just yet, okay? We don't want to start an incident," I responded, shaking glitter off of my hat.
The wizard, slightly lavender in hue, with four emerald-green eyes, floated toward me.
"Who is your master, Tree Minion?" I looked back at him, puzzled, as he seemed to speak English. Then I realized I was still wearing my camo uniform.
"I'm a colonel in the United States Army, and this is just my uniform. Thomas Pattison." I held out my hand again. The mage, eyeing it like the previous leader, glanced back at me, and slowly reached for it. I shook his six-fingered hand. "It's a hand shake. It's a customary greeting here."
Yep, I completely forgot about quarantine protocol, what with this circus show going on. Just then, my cell phone rang, and without thinking, I answered it. Some of the glitter still on my hand swirled around it as I responded to the instructions coming from the Pentagon. The wizard reached out, the glitter flowed back to him and he waved his hands around, conjuring more glyphs.
"How do you command the elements without magic, Thomas Pattison?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Magic is how we travel the stars, meet new peoples, and claim new worlds."
"Are you claiming Earth? Is that why you're here?" I'd left my phone stay connected, and I could hear the telltale bips of the surveillance equipment listening in. The wizard looked at me again, still with wonder in his eyes, then he looked aside, as if to think, then closed all four eyes, waved his arms in the air wildly, glitter and now sparks flying everywhere.
Just then, a squadron of fighter jets thundered overhead. Off in the distance, I could hear choppers approaching from past the interstate.
"They're going to want answers," I said, gesturing toward the sky. Glitter now poured out of the barn, possibly affecting the jets and helos. At least that's what I gathered from the loud clamor I could hear coming from the radio in my Jeep. The wizard closed his eyes again, wildly gesturing his glyphs as glitter poured back into the barn. "What is it you're doing there?" I asked.
He seemed as puzzled by my question as I was by his theatrics.
"The universe obeys those who know its language. We mages speak that language. We interpret the energies, speak to the disembodied beings that rule the unseen.
"Your kind fires metal birds through the sky, controlled by sparks and elements without any knowledge of how to command them. It is as if you take the letters of the words I speak, bend them to your own will, and ride your world as if a tamed majestic beast. It is not yours, but it soon will be.
"We mean no harm to you, oh great ones! We seek out worlds without magic and tame them, giving new life to their inhabitants. But none of us have ever mastered the universe without obeying millenia of magical practice, the laws written in the stars. Your kind, you completely ignore the will of the universe, and simply grapple it by the horns and ride it untamed!"
"Um, thank you?" Bob looked at like I was crazy, but I was trying to be nice, satiate this dizzying fantasyland, stall them, perhaps.
"You best git on outta here, freaks," Bob finally bellowed. Startled, the wizard, flailed his hands around some more, and then aimed at my phone again. It spun in midair, full of glitter, then settled back into my hand.
The wizard uttered some unintelligible words, the muppet leader, echoed them, and the weird array of creatures sauntered quickly, yet still merrily, back toward their castle.
Just before the door closed, the wizard pointed to my phone and it rang.
"Hello?" I answered. His voice responded.
"Give and take, Thomas Pattison. Give and take. Others will trample you as heretics. Learn some shortcuts. Take good care of your world, and it will respond in kind." And just like that, POOF!
\----
Shortcut. That word echoed in my mind in the following months that Bob and I sat, isolated in interrogations for hours each day. The day they released each of us, Bob looked at me, uttered a huff of disdain, and drove his pickup truck off of the base and into the dusty roads.
As I sat in my Jeep, I looked at my phone. There was a new panel on my home screen. I swiped over, and in the middle was an animated icon of an app I didn't remember downloading. I tapped it as a reflex, and what I saw — well, I can't really describe it. It was English words, but symbols, too. I couldn't tell if I was translating in my mind, or the app was. But it was the wizard's letters for sure. I clicked on a #1, and somehow in my mind I saw this:
>*Welcome to the Reigns of the Universe. We will show you how they work. But you will help us learn why they work. If you do this, you will help advance your world, and we will protect you. Do you accept these terms of service, yes or no?"*
| 2019-06-10T06:36:56 | 2019-06-10T05:41:11 | 66 | 45 |
[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."
|
You know how they say being a twin is like looking in the mirror? Well it is. I should know. As I stand with the door open, the snow storm screaming wind and ice on the front stoop and I stare at the face of a brother I thought lost forever. It was like looking in a mirror. He was my older brother, older by 7 minutes, but still.
Marcus had been missing for a decade. The last time I heard from him he was in the Air Force working on some new tech. He was always the smarter of the two of us, a genius they said. Then he was gone. Just gone. There was an investigation, the Air Force said he was AWOL. No evidence of force or violence, he was just gone. Now here he was, standing like a frozen mirror in my doorway.
"Marcus.... is that you?"
"Ah, Matt, it's so good to see you."
"Where have you been", I asked?
"Doesn't matter now. I'm back. I'm sorry I was gone for so long." He said. "Can I come in, it's freezing out here?"
"Damn, dude. Come in. Yeah, it's cold." I moved out of the way and he hurried inside. I slammed the door against the storm, *is it building to a blizzard? We haven't had one of those in a while, I hope not. I don't want to be stuck inside for a week again.*
I heard a faint buzzing sound. There it was again. *Am I getting a headache? This is so surreal. Marcus is here. Like a mirror. Is this a dream? Feels like a dream. Something sure is odd.*
**bzzzz**
*There's that buzzing again. What is it?*
**bzzz**
"Hey bro, I think that's your phone", Marcus says, snapping me out of my daze.
"Ha, you are right. Probably work wondering why I'm not in the office."
I pulled my phone from my pocket, looking out the window at my truck tires already buried in the snow.
**that isn't me**
I look at the contact, it's Marcus' old number. I look at Marcus, a smile on his face and realize why he looked odd when he was standing on the porch. We were twins, both of us have blue eyes. This Marcus' eyes are not blue.....
|
That isn't me".
I was filled with emotions, I couldn't believe on the text even if I wanted to. I welcomed him in and let him rest for some time. Mom wasn't at home so I called her; overjoyed, she hurried to home.
I was looking at him, he seemed exhausted. He had dirt on his body, his clothes were filthy, long and untidy hairs, overgrown beard, it was clear that he was struggling with life. I couldn't decide upon an emotion, I was happy, worried, anxious, muddled, all at the same time. It was strange. He resonated completely with my brother, he acted same, but still there was doubt.
Mom arrived, "where is he? how is he? is he okay?", she bombarded me with questions. I took her to the room, he was still sleeping. She had tears in her eyes, seeing his condition. It was difficult to tell her about text, but it was important.
"Mom is it you? I missed you so much", he woke up seeing her. I couldn't tell her about the text, it was better to wait.Mom hugged her.
He was feeling hungry, so we had lunch then. His eating habits were same as my brother, still there was doubt.
"Where have you been all these years? Why didn't you tell us anything? How did you managed to survive?", Mom asked.
"After my business failed, I was shattered, I had no direction. I wanted solitude to find some direction, so I went in the mountains, up in the north. I was clueless, I didn't know what to do, all I knew was I wanted to get out of here and go far away.
There I met few sadhus in deep meditation, I joined them. I survived on fruits and food donated by locals. I had spent all my time there, living a life of sadhu. But now I was exhausted, I wanted to return and spend rest of my life with you two".
"We missed you so much. Police had searched you for months but we found no trace. But now promise that you won't go again".
" I promise, Mom".
While a conversation was going on between him and Mom, I called her girlfriend back then because she wast last whom my brother had talked with and she might definitely knew something we didn't know.
"My brother has returned today", I told her. Hearing this, she kept the phone and came to meet him. When arrived, she was really happy, but soon her happiness turned into neutrality. She didn't even talked to him; she just saw him from outside of room and then headed back to her house. On asking, she said, "This can't be him, he is just a look-alike" and then ran out-of-door.
I was now loosing my mind. I didn't know what to do. On one hand I hadn't seen my Mom that happy in years and if I would have told her truth about him then her heart would have broken. On the other hand there was a person living in my house claiming to be my brother and I didn't even know if he was actually my brother.
At this point, all I could do was to keep silence and just see what was happening.
Days Passed. It was like normal, there was nothing to doubt about. He was behaving like my brother, my mom was refreshed. But I was trying to get some clue about him. I was in doubt and so I was behaving peculiar around him.
I tried calling on my brother's old number but it was switched off. I tried to find some numbers of locals where he had gone but that too in vain. But after two weeks passed by, I got my first clue. I saw him calling someone from landline and heard him saying something like don't worry everything is going well and no one doubted on me. After he was done, I tried calling on that number again but this time, it was off. I noted the number and managed to find details of the owner of number. The call was made from the area of where he said he ran away.
The only option I was left with was to go find the truth there only. So I headed there, saying that I was going for some office work abroad. I reached there but the vibe was unusual there. It was like something had happened there. I asked locals, showing the picture of my brother but no one cared to say anything. After enquiring for two days, I had to return. I couldn't find anything yet.
A month had passed when he appeared. Now I couldn't resist myself but ask him only about the truth, "You can't be him. So just tell me who are you and where is my brother. I can't take more of this." To my surprise, he was not surprised by my question. He very peacefully said, "I knew you won't believe me and it is obvious. I know you must have tried hard to look for the truth. But believe me I am your brother and I am not lying." To this, I showed him the message I had received and asked him about the call. He was surprised too. He said, "I had thrown my phone at the front of my girlfriend' house before I left. Actually she was the reason I left home. When my business failed and I was in pain, I went to her. But instead of consolidating, she ditched me because I was not earning. I was both angry and broken so I threw my phone at her house and left immediately. She must have taken out the SIM and she must have texted you. And about call, I had called the person who helped me return home. "
I believed him as it seemed true to me at that point of time when I couldn't find anything else to believe on.
We lived happily for months after that. Everything was going smooth until one day when I received another text, "He is lying. This isn't me. Don't believe him"...
| 2020-07-23T13:24:09 | 2020-07-23T12:02:20 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing.
|
Sharon traced her finger across the dusty stone tablet, squinting. The group of three adventurers was standing on the edge of explored territory on one of the farthest adventurer outposts, standing in front of a looming stone gate.
“Yeah, this is Bhalow, I can read this.”
Eina and Belle high-fived each other behind her.
“That means we can keep going, right?” Belle asked, unsheathing her great broadsword and looking forward at the misty land beyond the gate hungrily.
“We don’t want to get too far from the adventurer’s outpost this late in the day, Belle.” Sharon said, “But I guess it depends on what the tablet says.”
“Go on,” Eina said, “Read it then.”
Sharon turned back to the tablet and translated the ancient dialect aloud to the group.
“*A thousand stabbing daggers,*
*A thousand grabbing hands,*
*No man may ever claim the gift,*
*Of the Ancient Bhalow lands.*”
“Spooky,” Eina said, shivering slightly in her mage robes, “That’s a pretty nasty sounding Ancient Oath. Don’t you think that’s our cue to turn back?”
“Are you kidding me?” Belle said, “This is our last chance to finally get the Guild to acknowledge us as a real raiding group and provide us with a real contract. Thousand daggers or no, we have to get that treasure.”
“I think Eina’s right here,” Sharon said, “An Ancient Oath is magic we can’t mess with at our current level. However, look at this word right here.” She pointed to the tablet with her finger.
“We can’t read that, idiot. What does it say?” Belle said impatiently.
Sharon looked smug, “It says no *man* may ever claim the treasure. No *man*. We’re women. That means the Ancient Oath won’t affect us.”
“You’re right!” Belle elbowed Sharon in the gut, “You may be kinda weak, but you’re a genius!”
“Are you sure?” Eina said, peering nervously into the misty realm beyond, “What if you mistranslated it or something?”
Belle poked Eina on the nose, “Didn’t you hear me? Sharon is a genius! She’s found our one path to glory! We can become a true raiding party after today if we get that treasure! Think about it!”
“I guess it would be nice to get into the Elamorin School of Magic,” Eina muttered.
“That’s the spirit! We all have things that we want that’ve been denied from us.” Belle turned away and held her broadsword in the air, “Today we can finally show the world that we can fight too!”
Belle marched forward into the mist. Eina and Sharon looked at each other for a brief moment, then followed.
They marched forward in a while in silence, the mist swirling around them. Belle still strode forward confidently, but even she jumped at any sound along with the other two.
“See,” Belle said loudly, “Looks like I was right, guys. The Ancient Oath won’t work on us after all.”
“That’s right.” An ethereal voice answered her, “I’ve waited oh so long for someone to figure it out.”
The party drew their weapons as a form appeared in the mist.
“Hello, ladies,” A tall, robed demoness appeared in front of them, “I’m Trelya, the Keeper of the Mists.”
“Are you going to kill us?” Belle asked. The other two were too scared to speak. Trelya was at least an S-tier monster.
“No,” Trelya said, “You’re the first warrior women that have explored this land since the legendary Bhalow heroes of ages past.”
“Wait, the Bhalow heroes were *women!*” Sharon exclaimed, “We had always been taught they were men… ”
“No, I knew them personally. They bestowed upon me the duty of passing down their immortal powers to the next generation of women warriors.” Trelya looked at the three of them, “They probably did not expect it to take hundreds of years, but here you all are.”
“We’re going to become… like the heroes in the stories?” Eina said, “*Us?*”
“Not automatically,” Trelya said, “You’re just going to receive the right to stand at the starting line. Are you all willing to accept that right?”
The three of them exchanged looks.
“Yes, we’re ready.”
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/ly06aj/the_dungeon_maidens_part_2/)
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading!
|
The easiest of all were the warding curses, in the first year since Aymara had the idea they’d grown rich on those. They were famous relics of the old days, the kind of magic that always seemed to be tacked onto the ends of the heroes stories:
*“And the great lord so-and-so of big-awesome-castle locked away his treasures in the depths of his grandfather’s crypt, attended by the assembled might of his still living wives and servants, who in their final moments painted the curse onto the doors with their very lifeblood. ‘Here lies the Great and Terrible Lord So-and-So, winner of battles as numerous as they are no longer relevant, from this day forth no man shall enter and no man shall leave, on pain of death, dismemberment, etc etc.”*
Aymara had to admit she was paraphrasing there, but she did whenever she thought of those old days. Magic that was so unimaginative didn’t warrant any fidelity to its memory.
Originally they’d meant to stop after the first year. Leta and the others had insisted on that, and for a brief period they had, each of them living like queens after their own fashion. Aymara herself had retired to a small but horrifically expensive castle on the North Sea, drowning her passion for discovery in fine wine and silks for the six months it took the rest of them to come to their senses.
She’d woken on the first day of spring to her guard captain’s worried tones. There were people at the gates, he had said, strange people.
Strange they were, but they were her people nonetheless, and their arrival couldn’t have been better timed. That night she’d opened up the last casks in her cellar and ordered the cook to spare no expense, there were more rich days coming.
Of course she hadn’t imagined the rich days would only last another year. Who’d have thought that most of those old tavern songs and heroic epics were false, that their heroes had either never existed or been a damn sight poorer than their hired bards had let on?
That brought Aymara and her friends to year three, and a cold, harsh winter morning on the side of the Camelline Mountains where nothing but snow leopards and whatever they ate should ever have set foot.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” Leta said, her voice the only thing other than their footsteps to have broken the silence of their hike.. “I mean you’ve got an eye no doubt, but this? This takes the cake.”
“Look, you can shut up or go back down to the village, those are your options.” Aymara didn’t even turn to back to her friend. They’d been through enough by now to that her complaints were harmless, so long as they didn’t spook the others.
“This lord was rich though, right?” A voice called from further down their line. Aymara cursed to herself. That was Lena, Leta’s sister, and that was someone she might actually need to worry about. “It can’t be like last time,” Lena said, “we barely had anything to split after we raided that fat old merchant’s vault.”
“Yeah but at least it was warm there!” Someone else called.
“OK, STOP!” Aymara said, finally turning. She’d spoken the words no louder than normal but her magic projected them across the mountainside, hopefully at a quietly enough not to start an avalanche. She forced herself not to glance up the mountain.
“Now you,” she said, pointing to Lena, “and all the rest of you have nothing to complain about. Nothing! We’ve had a hard go of it lately but any one of you could retire right now and go back to a better life than you had before, and if you already spent it all that’s not my problem. Soon we’re going to reach the Caves of Khazan and if any of you, ANY OF YOU, so much as thinks about turning back once we’re in there I’ll teleport you off the side of the mountain without a second thought. Am I understood?”
They all nodded, even Lena though hers was sullen. Aymara turned back, the group following behind her. She hated the distraction, hated that she’d had to use even that small part of her magic this early. There were two spells to defeat once inside and little room for error in either one.
They’d heard the rumors the month before, in the cities and villages that clung to the foothills of the range along the borders of nations. This area had been a lawless dividing line for centuries, only changing in times of war when one ascendant empire or another tried to hold the heights and the all important passes they controlled.
The Caves of Khazan were a remnant of one of those times. Apparently Khazan had been a powerful necromancer who fled to the area following an apocalyptic battle in the lowlands. He’d taken with him several artifacts, ostensibly to craft his masterpiece with, whatever that had meant; more importantly all of them were ancient, powerful, and (hopefully) valuable. After all, regardless of what she’d said before Aymara still had that North Sea castle to pay for.
The first spell was an enchantment at the entrance. A wise woman had told her it read,
*“Travelers from near and far,*
*Coming here where treasures are,*
*Stand tall and proud, make your spells heard,*
*Though no man but me may speak the words,”*
Aymara hated rhymes too, in most cases she’d found that their writers were either shocking pompously or convinced (wrongly) of their cleverness, and from everything she’d heard she strongly suspected the necromancer was both. He hadn’t even included the answer within the thing. If he was going to try he should have at least made it a solvable riddle, one of her sources had been forced to dig it up from an ancient library.
She’d rolled her eyes and had to suppress a giggle when she’d gotten her source’s letter though. The password his name repeated in five different forms of ancient language conventions. Pompous indeed.
They arrived at the entrance close to noon and paused for a short lunch. One of the fire mages lit a brazier and the others all crowded around, cooking sausages and warming a large pot of porridge.
Aymara went to the massive, weathered stone of the entrance, tracing her hands down the runes of the enchantment. She could barely make out the words, they must have been carved a long time ago.
“Nervous?” Leta said from behind her.
Aymara turned and gratefully accepted a heel of bread and some cheese from her friend.
“Thanks,” she said. “No, not nervous. Just…excited. We came a long way for this one and we really need it.”
“So of us less than others, we didn’t all buy castles.” Leta grinned at her, bumping shoulders playfully. Aymara only snorted. She had no regrets.
“Are you going to open it?” Leta asked.
“I may as well, huh? Thinks there’s any point in waiting?” Aymara said.
“Nah, most of the time they only have defenses farther in. Besides, it’ll teach the new ones to stay on their toes.”
Aymara laughed softly, shaking her head. Leta's savings were so at odds with the rest of her behavior. Not that she disagreed though. Scraping some of the snow off the small plinth in front of the doors she placed her hands on it, squaring her shoulders, standing tall and proud just as the enchantment had said.
*“Khazan, Ghazan, Hazuun, Kharzi, Khos,”* she said. All five forms of his name, spoken loudly enough that they echoed.
Behind her she heard the group scurrying into position, crying out in surprise. Aymara closed her eyes, waiting, counting the seconds and praying it hadn’t all been for nothing. Then, with a sound like a waterfall crashing into rocks, the door began to open.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you. I may come back to write more of this later, this prompt was fun.
| 2021-03-04T13:26:52 | 2021-03-04T13:00:46 | 237 | 106 |
[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.
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I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys.
|
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?
| 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-14T20:58:02 | 516 | 20 |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you.
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I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way.
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The stinking smell of alcohol, inaudible whispers and screams of electronic devices flooded my senses. A woman in medical mask and milk white uniform tapped several air bubbles out of a syringe. As she came close to me, giving me reassuring whispers like those across the room, I closed my glassy eyes and my mind wandered to several months before.
This time, all I could hear is clicking and typing sounds.
"Sun?"
I stopped my hands on the keyboards, and glanced swiftly beside my desk. It was Rey the Gnome, who was holding papers higher than her head and with a box of documents beside her. And...she was my superior officer.
"Well—" she massaged her temples and her gushy brows contracted into a terrible frown. "I know that you are hard-working and to be honest, you are one of the best salesmen in my department."
"Thank you."
"But you are, how can I smooth it out? Unremarkable. You see? We sell Brooms for people to travel safely and Cartas for quick messages, but you can't perform any of this. HR has already requested a transfer of YOU to the Unremarkable Department."
"Please madam, I am sure there's another way." I sprang up to my feet, feeling blood rushing to my temples. People often labelled me as Unremarkable, Incapable, Broken and Failure. I spent more than half of my life proving myself, shifting jobs to jobs, seeking promotions and finally, landed to a normal life.
This cannot be the end of my life.
"And what is a normal life?" She bitterly smiled.
Gnomes that were certified with Grade 9 could mind-read for a brief time, yet I didn't see that coming. My gaze descended to the ground, because deep in my heart I knew that day of falling down would always come. My fantasy of living, pretending to be a normal person would always burst into bubble. It was simply a matter of time. I packed my stuff in silence and briskly left the department.
"Welcome to Floor UG113." A small piece of blackboard with milk white handwriting stood quietly at the corner. The golden lift raise up and I was left inside a dark corridor.
"Hello?" My voice echoed and twisted into a deep voice.
Someone clicked a switch, and the light bulbs along the corridor began to blink. They radiated a warm, subtle glow and unveiled the identity of the lighter.
"Ames!" I couldn't believe my own eyes, as he was not only my best friend in college but also a missing ones. He went missing several years ago. His parents and I searched for him with no hope, the cops wouldn't cooperate and his company didn't answer. I thought...we lost him.
"I have been waiting for you here for many days. Well, what is today's date?" He whispered.
"7th of May. Why are you whispering? What happened to you? Your parents and I—"
He put a finger on his mouth, and I lowered my voice. His left arm was attached to a Vacutainer, which I shuddered with the sight of it as his arm was bruised because of it.
"Follow me."
As we walked along the corridor, I gazed with sharp nerves. Not long after, I began to realize that the walls were actually made with raven black plastic sheets, and outside the corridor laid more than thousands of hospital beds. He led me to an empty bed and we sat side by side, while being surrounded by an immeasurable amount of beds. Some with people, some without.
I glanced up and the ceiling was unseen as there was not enough illuminance provided by the light bulbs, which were fading away as the switch restored its original spot.
"This is where all the 'Unremarkables' come." He said.
"Oh shush."
"No, I'm not labelling us." Although the room was dimly lit, I could feel he clenched his eyes, as if withstanding an unbearable pain. "You know we can never fit in this society right?"
"I know." My voice cracked, head's down and heart ached.
"That's why I am here. This is a secret project associated with every guild, race...People gain freedom, privileges and happiness from magic, but many of them suffer as well. It could create the strongest nation, but it could also brew wars. Yet—" He coughed. "We, have the power to heal those who are innocent."
"But this isn't fair." I shook my head.
"The test can cultivate a serum that can save everyone."
"Saving everyone by costing your life???"
His faced darkened.
"I shouldn't even be here."
When I tousled my head, a woman in white clenched my neck and injected a steamy hot liquid in me. The syringe still glowed with the remaining liquid, dropped to the floor and bounced off, making a clinging sound. All I could grasp was the feeling of falling on the bed, handcuffs on both of my wrists attached to it and a Vacutainer was inserted into my left arm.
A feeling of purpose flooded my chest, the ache gone away like wind in the early Spring. The screams and beeping sounds of a medically machine woke me up.
"What is today's date?"
Note: Opening scene was inspired by the Matrix, the setting was less fantasized then I intended but I'm just too tired to change it back. Decided to end it as a psychological thriller, although I originally thought to make the "Unremarkable" into Spy, which could have been a happy ending. Again, a bit mentally exhausted after a day of work, so I'm just gonna leave it here. Enjoy writing and reading!
| 2022-05-07T07:46:30 | 2022-05-07T07:42:57 | 445 | 15 |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father.
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What is a king?
A simple enough question. Really, it is.
A king is a man who rules a monarchy.
Simple.
But what makes a monarchy?
Is it the state? The people? The nobles? The land? Might?
No.
What makes a monarchy is legacy.
What comes after and what came before. That is what separates a monarchy from the tribes that inhabit the Harshlands. It is what his father told him as a child. It is what his father died for.
.
.
.
King Seroulus III stared down at his infant son, not but hours ago he was nestled in his mother's womb. Seroulus stared.
Stared at the emerald green eyes that were a mirror to his Queen's. The eyes he knew were now cold and unseeing, the toll of child birth too great for her already ailing body.
He sat in the hard wood chair of the castle infirmary with mind distant to the wailing cries of his son. His son, who was fated by prophecy to be Seroulus' death. Who was already the death of his dear Mary.
Rage built in Seroulus' chest and he turned his vengeful gaze to the infant. The infirmary was sat on the third story of the west wing, the motte below was shear rocks and jagged slate.
Yet as the light of the midday sun shone upon his son, eyes wide with delight at the sight of the rolling green fields beyond, the same green as Mary's.
Seroulus collapsed under the windowsill with his son, his last gift from Mary, cradled close to his chest. A racking sob rocked his frame.
Prophecy be damned.
Seroulus wasn't letting it take his family from him.
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My parents named me Arthur, after the great king of Camelot who ruled nearly a century ago. A powerful name, rich with history. A name fit for a King, as I was to become…as I am now. And so, as my newborn son lies before me in the nursery, I only see one suitable name for the boy who will kill me.
I’ve seen far too much to disbelieve the prophecy of wizards. The Fae do not bestow the powers of spell casting to anyone, and those of them who are blessed (or cursed, depending on who you ask) with the power of foresight are never wrong. They may misinterpret something, or deliver the message of the future in words that mix up their true meaning, but the core of what comes out of their mouths remains true. If death is prophesied it cannot be fought, it cannot be bargained with. But then, death comes for all of us.
For me, according to my chief advisor, the great wizard Karlikelt, who trained under the great Morgan Le Fay herself, death will come in the form of my son. “You will fall by an arrow,” the wizard had said. “Your son will cause your fall with his favored shaft.”
The infant who lays before me now, in whose eyes I see not doom and destruction but innocence and the anguish of newborn confusion. The boy who I have decided will be named Mordred. It is the only name suitable fore the killer of a King named Arthur. But that does not mean I will set him on his course. If he will kill me, so be it. I refuse to become a monster for it. Let him hate me of his own choice. For my part, I choose to love him.
This remains true even as the Royal doctors tell me that young Mordred has taken his mother from me in his coming. Women die in childbirth all the time, I tell myself. It is not the child’s fault. I will mourn, and I will do my duty as both King and father.
Over the first few years of Mordred’s life, my promise becomes easier and easier. He is a bright young lad, brave and curious and deeply, inherently kind. Occasionally my advisors question why I chose such an evil name for such a sweet boy. I tell them the truth: that I do not believe Mordred to be an inherently evil name. The first man to bear it was a victim of circumstance. Let my son choose what man he will be, and may his deeds be so bright that he wipes all the filth from the name Mordred forevermore. The advisors nod their heads diligently and praise me for my wisdom, as they always do, but I know they mean none of it. Karlikelt nods as well, but with the mischievous glint of knowledge in his eyes. I turn away from them all, from their vapid proposals and empty praises, and go to spend time with the only human being who I may now show my true self to since my dear wife’s passing: my son. My sweet boy. I feed him from my hand, I teach him myself with only minimal assistance…I do everything I can for him, and in doing so I find a greater joy than that of wearing the crown: fatherhood.
On Mordred’s sixth birthday I take him with me on a hunting trip. Karlikelt manages the council while I am away, which I try to avoid given his esoteric nature, but it could not be helped. I had planned this day for years. Mordred had already taken an interest in the bow, and so I let him bring along the small, stout bow and quiver gifted to him by the weapons master. We ride deep into the woods, hunting stags and boats and all manner of wild beasts. We find only a few, but the excursion is a great success in other ways. When we are done, only one fresh arrow remains in his quiver. I ask if he would not like to find more game, and he says no…he would like to save that arrow for something special, later in life. A shadow of dread tries to work its way to my heart from that, but I refuse to allow it.
As the boy looks into my eyes as the sun sets that day, I still see no spark of hatred there. I see the same bright-eyed, kind youth I did the moment he was born.
This is wen I begin to allow myself the luxury of questioning Karlikelt’s prophecy. Perhaps the old man was wrong. Perhaps I would not wind up with an arrow in my eye shot from the very arrow he had been saving.
He takes further interest in history as he grows. I never tell him the significance of his name, and so I wait and dread the day he will ask me why he is named for a man synonymous with betrayal. But it does not come. I am certain he must have noticed, what with his incessant reading of historical documents and folktales. But he never poses the question. I grow more distant from my council in these days, and I hand off more and more power to Karlikelt when it comes to day to day matters. I am growing old, and tired of governance. Who needs a crown when you can make a child laugh?
PART TWO BELOW
| 2022-12-01T22:01:44 | 2022-12-01T21:12:02 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You've noticed a man in a suit approaches one home a day in your neighborhood and is invited inside every time. Shortly after he leaves, the resident(s) commit suicide. Today, he's approached your home.
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I saw the cloaked figure approach my door.
I opened my bedroom window, "Fuck off, you evil bastard!"
The hooded visage, turned upwards.
"Listen, I'm just doing my job, arsehole! I'm having a shit day, bother me any more and I'll knock your bloody door in!"
It was the postman, guess it was natural to wear a waterproof in the rain.
"Sorry mate, thought you were someone else!"
Then I saw the hooded figure approach my driveway. This must be him, I thought.
The figure bumped into the bad-tempered postman.
"Fuck you!"
The postman shouted as he slammed his fist into the side of the mystery man's head.
The man's hood dropped. Bollocks, the postman's only gone and clocked my old man, I rushed out to help him out.
After a tussle with the postman (possibly with similar name calling as earlier), and some worried neighbours' calling the police, I took my old man down A&E to get his head checked out. Well and perhaps to check out the postman inflicted injuries I'd sustained. Only took 4 bloody hours.
It was all clear apparently, and I returned late that night. I suppose that cloaked arsehole had knocked when I was out. Not sure why I hadn't thought to just bugger off for the day before. I suppose I'll go round the parents' place tomorrow and if my dick of a neighbour tops himself, the fellow will have moved on and I can settle back in.
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My parents let it in without any resistance at all. I don't understand how it got in, but I can tell exactly who has come to visit from my position in the upstairs hall. I creep out and stare through the railing bars at the thin, sickly-looking man-thing. It doesn't look up at me, but I can feel its chilling presence as it looms over my father. Two dull flames rest in the sunken sockets it has for eyes, darting between my mother and father like a fitful predator ready for the feast. The smile it wears like a mask prances about as it babbles. A dull, grey suit covers most of its body, concealing whatever cruel form has invaded my home. For all these disturbing qualities though, my parents seem entranced by it, as if it were simply one of us. As fooled as they are, I can see it for what it is.
They continue to chat unintelligibly for a short while before my mother invites the stranger into the den for what I can only assume is snacks. She always gives snacks to everyone they let into the house. Conversely, she scolds me constantly about any desire I show for similar treatment. I wish I could take the time to note such hypocrisy for later retribution, but now is not the time.
As they pass underneath me, the stranger's suit contradicts itself by giving off the faint aroma of roses. I assume it could only have been picked up from the Curtis' rose bushes. He visited them yesterday, and now they're all gone. It sickens me how readily everyone lets this thing inside--dressed as a man, but filled with enough venom and bile to desolate a neighborhood in under a week.
I wait until I can hear their murmurs from the den and then slink down the stairs into the entryway. I wouldn't let this thing leave my home to destroy any more of my friends. This place would be my stand, and its fall. Sliding along the wall, I try my best to silence my footfalls. Reaching the entrance to the den, their shadows pour against the far wall, lit by the glow of the mid-day sun. Inside, my parents sit on the family sofa while the creature paws at the arm-rests of my father's favored chair. The stranger's smile twists grotesquely as it does this, the thought of stealing what rightfully belongs giving it some sick pleasure. Mother's smile radiates an honest intent as she offers the thing a tray of cheeses. Its slender, serpentine fingers pull piece after piece from the tray, depositing them one by one into the black void of its mouth.
Meanwhile, father jabbers excitedly about what a "wonderful opportunity this will be" and "how grateful they are for the chance." I can barely contain my disbelief as father is so readily duped into taking his own life. The prospect of all our lives ending this very instant is so titillating to him that he smacks his knee several times in celebration--something usually saved for the victory of sports teams. In kind, the stranger pulls a contract from his grey suit, blatantly stating how such an opportunity "will change their lives in an instant."
I ready myself for the confrontation, inhaling deeply in a sorry attempt at making myself bigger. Amidst my breathing, the stranger slips up, letting a phrase of truth taste fresh air; "This experience truly is to die for," confirms my suspicions.
I leap from my hiding place, standing firm between my unwitting parents and their venomous captor. "You leave my family alone," spews from my mouth amongst a slew of ravenous slurs. The stranger recoils at my presence, whether unaware of me until now or simply baffled by the act of someone standing up to him. He raises his arms, surely readying an attack. I smirk at this, as no greater sign of his guilt could have presented itself. My parents wouldn't be able to deny the truth. This monster was here to harm us all, and I had the courage to prove it.
To my surprise and dismay though, my father yanks me quickly from my defiant guard, yelling loudly over my barking commands. At first, my ears shut out what he's saying, but slowly the muddled dialogue forms into a pitiable statement.
"I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive him. He's just excited that someone's in the house he has never met." It rings in my ears like a white flag. My own father, defending this charlatan from me; begging the forgiveness of his own killer.
He holds me back with his arms as I raggedly call out once more, "don't you all see, he's a monster! You all let a monster into the house!" Again, it falls on deaf ears. He drags me to the bathroom and locks me in, shaking his head as though disappointed by my attempt to save us. I claw at the door in desperation, but the facts are evident. I've lost, and I fear that our whole world will face the same fate.
| 2014-06-16T20:13:52 | 2014-06-16T17:51:48 | 58 | 15 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
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"Welcome to Starbucks, can I take your order?"
I've heard those words countless times, and each time they had left me wanting. Nearly every boyfriend had been a Starbucks worker, but they had never worked out. I was beginning to think it was a cruel joke.
I was a 27 year old lonely, single woman well on her way to crazy cat lady status. I would never find my soulmate. Yet whenever I walked past a Starbucks, I couldn't help but be drawn inside.
I walked into an unfamiliar Starbucks, grouchy and tired.
"Welcome to Starbucks, can I take your order?" A voice chimed at me. A woman. Dammit. Maybe next time.
I looked up from my phone and started my usual order. "A white cho-..."
As I saw her, I suddenly felt as if all the air had vacated my body. All I could do is stare. She was beautiful. Black hair in a ponytail, bright brown eyes and lovely dark skin. She out dazzled everyone else in the cafe easily. Her name tag read "Melissa".
"Wuh-white chocolate hazelnut m-mocha." I was definitely not expecting this.
She smiled knowingly at me.
EDIT: I drew the encounter for some reason, I couldn't sleep until I did (http://imgur.com/a2ifoTj)
|
Today is the day, my 18th birthday. The last day I have to go to school. No matter where we are in the school year when someone turns 18 they get their career card, they have one day to say goodbye to their school friends then it's off to the "real world". For me that was today, I roll out of bed after having slept through my alarm which is pretty usual for me. I pull on my school uniform for the last time and make my way to brush my teeth, no shower today. Oh what a great start to the rest of my life. I fly down the stairs trying to make the bus but it's pulling away as i hit the floor. I run to the kitchen table grab some fruit for breakfast and the small red envelop with my name written in gold letters. No time to read it now. I jump in my dad's car and start to drive to school, at this point I figure I'm gonna be late anyways I might as well stop for some coffee on the way in. I pull into the parking lot, jump out as fast as I can open the door and bam I walk face first into the gentleman in front of me. The line is wrapped all the way around the building, great I'm for sure gonna be late I thought to myself. About 5 minutes later I'm getting bored, that's when I remembered that little red envelop, my futures card. The one piece of paper that is supposed to determine the rest of your life. Even through you're not allowed to show anyone what's on it, my friend Joey showed me his two weeks ago before he left. They aren't lieing when they say it's your future. Everything from his career to the number of kids he's gonna have to the first thing his soul mate is gonna say to him, it's crazy. I haven't seen or heard from him since. He got defender as his career so he's probably at some training or something, that meat head got his dream career. At this point the line had started to move again, I'm getting closer and closer to the front. I finally get the courage to open my futures card and see what it said. Personally I don't get why people make such a big deal about it, everything is already determined what's knowing it gonna change? Anyway I'm curious, I'm reading down the list. I'm supposed to be a teacher, that's not even fair I don't like kids. I'm supposed to have 2 kids of my own, one boy and a girl, great a wonderful start. The girl I'm supposed to marry : Emily browning, I've never met anyone by that name so I guess we'll see where this goes. It's probably a load of junk anyways. The first words my soul mate is going to say to me : "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"... like really seriously? That's horrible, My other friend Jenny told me hers were "you've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen"...
That's when I hear it, I've made my way all the way up to the front of the line to get my coffee, and one for my professor to excuse me for being late. I look up with this dumb look on my face, and she repeats herself "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, I can't even speak. I kinda point to what I want while I stand there dumb struck. My order is finished I grab it and walk out. I stumble my way to my dad's car and through all my classes that day. I couldn't think of anything but her gorgeous smile. Once the school bell rung announcing the end of my school career I snapped to my senses. In that moment I remembered that I was going to get my professor coffee... and that I totally stiffed the girl I knew was going to be my soul mate for the coffee I had stolen that morning.
I grabbed my bag ran past all my friends not even bothering to say goodbye. I got in my dad's car and sped all the way back to the Starbucks. I walk in and notice they aren't as busy but thankfully she's still there... I make my way up to the counter and try to explain what had happened. As I pull my wallet out to pay for the drink my eyes find her name tag, Emily...
That was 20 years ago, I did go on to marry that girl she was my soul mate. That card ended up being the best thing that could have happened to me. To think it all started with a simple "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?". So that's was the my story of my futures card, and tomorrow son you'll get your own. No matter how silly it sounds, and no matter how much you think that little card will determine your life it can't tell you how it will happen.
This is the first story I've ever posted. I'd love your guys feedback :)
| 2014-12-18T00:56:11 | 2014-12-18T00:51:20 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Your whole life you had an ability that seemed normal to you. Now you realized you're the only one with this ability.
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*Carol's eyes drifted off the laptop screen as she lost herself in thought. She crossed her arms, sighing through her nostrils. In front of her, the white text box gaped empty. In the upper left corner, the black line flashed like a ticking clock.*
"A special ability...", she mused.
*She had her hands firmly placed on the keyboard, ready for action, but the inspiration never came. She was stumped. What kind of ability could a person have, that they never know they're alone in? Superpowers, like flight or invisibility, were out of the question. Anatomical oddities or freaky Rain-Man stuff were bound to surface sooner or later. No, it had to be something private - something that wouldn't show, and something you wouldn't ask other people about. But what could it be? Carol stared at the screen, getting nowhere. Finally, she gave up and turned to the one person she could always rely on for help.*
"Hey, what do you think?", she asked, letting out another sigh. "Any ideas?"
*I'm sorry, Carol. I've got nothing.*
|
MILAN, 4th CENTURY AD
"Ambrose! Ambrose!"
Bishop Ambrose of Milan sighed. It was the young man from Hippo again. What was his name? It started with an A...
"What is it, young... Antony?"
"Augustine."
"Augustine. My apologies. And your lady friend is..."
"Patricia, your grace." The young woman said.
Well, at least *one* of Ambrose's visitors knew how to address a bishop! Ambrose smiled warmly at Patricia, then addressed Augustine.
"And what, my young friend, brings you here today? Have you more questions about the Good News?" *Please don't be here for an argument about celibacy please don't be here for an argument about celibacy.*
"Ambrose!" Augustine was grinning widely. "Do... *the thing.*"
Ambrose waited for Augustine to elaborate. He did not. "The... thing?"
Augustine gestured wildly with his hands. "The *thing!* The thing you do when you think no one's around to see you but I *totally* saw you and you were *doing a thing!* Patricia doesn't believe me but you *were!* Doooo iiiiiittt!"
Ambrose could not keep his incomprehension off his face. *The thing you do when you think no one's around?* He began to sweat. Had Augustine seen... what *had* he seen? He looked helplessly at Patricia. "I... I don't... what?"
"My friend Augustine says you can do something remarkable with books." She supplied.
"Remarkable?" Ambrose replied. "I read them and gain wisdom from their contents, as do all men of learning, but--"
"No, no, no!" Augustine interrupted, and pushed past Ambrose. Entering his inner chamber, he pulled a book off the shelf and set it open on the lectern. "Pretend we aren't here, and start reading."
*If I humor him perhaps he'll leave.* Ambrose walked over to the lectern and began scanning the page. After a short time Augustine slammed the book closed, holding his finger between the pages to keep his place.
"Now," asked Augustine, "What does it say?"
"Well that's hardly fair, Augustine!" Patricia broke in. "The bishop hasn't started reading yet, how is he to know what it--"
"The holy Ignatius," said Ambrose "is urging the godly to stand firm against strange teachings, as a great athlete stands firm against punches, and the anvil weathers the blows of the hammer."
"*See?"* Augustine cried in triumph. He opened the book again, turning it so Patricia could see. "What does that say?"
"Stand-thou-firm-as," Patricia read haltingly "an-anvil-when-it-is-smitten-it-is-the-part-of-a-great-athlete-to..." she looked up. "Why your grace!" She exclaimed "You have memorized the whole book!"
"No!" said Augustine, "Don't you see? He was reading... *but silently*."
Patricia let out a disbelieving laugh. "What--without even moving his lips! Surely not."
"Why... doesn't everyone?" Asked Ambrose, puzzled. The two youths shook their heads.
"However did you learn?" Asked Patricia.
"I just... started doing it." Ambrose shrugged. "It isn't hard."
Patricia turned to Augustine. "Can you do it?"
"I've tried." Answered Augustine, solemnly. "It's just not possible."
"I suppose it must be a miracle of God!" Patricia said reverently.
"I don't think this really counts as a--" began Ambrose.
"Truly, some things in this world are simply beyond explanation." said Augustine.
"If you wanted," protested Ambrose "I'm sure I could teach you."
"Oh, it's nice of you to say, your grace." Patricia said "But I am a poor sinner, and miracles are beyond me."
"It's *not* a---"
"Anyway," Augustine cut him off "I don't really see how it has any practical application. Good day, Ambrose!"
Ambrose's visitors turned to leave, and Ambrose set the book back upon the shelf.
Edit: This is basically a [true story.](http://linguafranca.mirror.theinfo.org/9804/ip.html)
| 2015-01-08T13:28:38 | 2015-01-08T12:51:25 | 887 | 257 |
[WP][TT] You wake up, make yourself a nice cup of coffee and enjoy the view of the morning sun rising from the sea. Then you remember that your house isn't supposed to be anywhere near a sea...
Edit: Thank you all for your amazing stories!
|
George woke up with a pounding headache. His memory of the previous night was fuzzy, but the bodies in various stages of sleep, strewn about around him confirmed his suspicions: last night was quite the party.
Ever so slowly, George dragged himself up from his bed (the floor) and over to the kitchen. His hands excitedly searched for a mug, and placed it under the coffee maker. The machine obnoxiously buzzed while it poured him a much needed refreshment.
Trying to think back, George pushed his resisting brain to remember, but he was met only with pain. He took a sip, then another. Maybe he would rid himself of this hangover after all.
Only, George couldn't remember drinking anything, or, and it was a strange thought, even having intentions of going out the previous night. He shook his head, and finally gazed out the adjacent floor-to-ceiling window. What would normally be a comforting sight to George, worried him deeply. George was gazing out onto a warm, Pacific (or Atlantic) sunrise, which was particularly strange, as George lived in Dallas, Texas.
Now with a sense of urgency, George instinctively dug into his left pocket for his phone, but his search returned with nothing. George began to panic, and only with deep breaths was George able to calm himself. He checked his other pocket, which did indeed contain what he sought.
A question appropriately lit up his screen: "Dude, where are you?" George swiped, and opened google maps with haste. At the top of the screen, George read: Hong Kong, China. George realized that his previous thought was incorrect: the headache was back.
He didn't know how he had gotten here, or why, or even how he was going to get back. At that point, a thought struck George: he would have to party his way home.
|
The long, yellow fingers of the sun slowly crept in through the window causing me to push my eyes shut tighter and will them away. When that failed to work, I slowly sat up and stared at my feet pressed hard onto the cold, metal floor. Rubbing my eyes I stood and stretched, feeling my back pop back into place.
Yawning, I scratched my back as the beginnings of a headache slowly eased its way into my brain. “Ugh, drank too much last night,” I said to myself as I walked over to the window.
A beautiful seascape stretched before me and I sighed with contentment. This planet really was beautiful sometimes, I thought to myself; sea, sun, and the muffled sounds of a work crew getting ready for their work day. It must be getting on with the day if work crews are already awake. Yawning again, I walked over to the door to go make myself some coffee and tried to open it; locked.
Jiggling the door handle proved this assessment, and my sleep addled brain began slowly piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of the night before. I had gone to the bar for a few drinks, met an old space-hand who had just returned from a journey to the Rotan Roundabout, traded some more drinks, and gone back to my hotel. I had passed out after looking out over the city and—
The city. Where was the city? I rushed back over to the window and saw again the beautiful seascape stretching out into infinity. My hotel room had been over-looking the city, not the ocean. I couldn’t afford an ocean front hotel room, so where the hell was I?
Turning around quickly I tripped face first onto the floor. Kicking my feet at my own stupidity, I felt my left foot connect with something soft.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?” a voice said from beyond my foot.
I rolled over onto my back and saw another man lying on the floor nearby. I had tripped over him in my rush. I looked around and saw several other people all huddled into the small room, some on cots like mine, and others merely deposited on the floor. The one I had tripped over was looking at me in anger, but his face slowly transitioned into one of confusion.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked as he pulled himself up onto his elbows.
“I could ask you the same question,” I said as I motioned around the room. The man looked around, the confusion on his face deepening, before he turned back to me.
“John,” he said extending a hand.
“Yale,” I said in response, taking his hand and shaking it.
“Where the hell are we, and how did we get here?”
I shook my head, “I don’t know. I remember having drinks with a Mr. Ralph Douglas, he had just gotten back from a trip to the—“
“Rotan Roundabout,” John finished for me, nodding his head. “Tall guy, dark hair, hook nose, real skinny?”
I’m sure my own face mirrored John’s confusion, “Yea…”
“Yea, I had drinks with him too. Though I didn’t think I got drunk enough to pass out.” John stood and glanced out the window and I saw his face go pale. He turned back towards me and whispered, “Do you know where we are?”
I shook my head no.
“Canaveral,” he said in a hushed whisper.
“The space port?” I hissed back at him. “Then that would mean—“
“That you fine gentlemen have the honor, and the privilege, of joining us on a very lucrative expedition,” a voice said from behind us.
We both turned and saw a man standing in the doorway in a captain’s uniform, and two men standing on either side of him holding blast rifles at the ready. “I am Captain Lusco, and you have the honor of sailing with me. I am introducing myself to you gentlemen now since you are awake, but I will do so again more formally after we have taken off.” He turned towards a man behind him and said, “Sergeant, please see that these men are dressed appropriately, and get them some coffee. We are civilized after all.” Then he left, taking the guards with him.
Ralph Douglas then walked in wearing his Sergeant’s uniform, as well as a blast pistol on his hip. He smiled warmly at us, but his hand hovered near the pistol, “Good morning, gents. Since you’re awake, I’ll take you to the mess where you can get acquainted with some of your fellow shipmates. We’ll be taking off once fueling has been completed.”
“Fueling, what are you talking about?” I asked, balling my fists up in confusion and fury.
Ralph smiled and stood aside to allow us to pass through the doorway, his hand never moving away from the pistol. “We’ve hired you on to fly to the Selma system for a business venture. You’ll be paid well upon your return to Earth.”
“I don’t remember being hired,” I said as he ushered us through the narrow corridors.
“I suspect that you may have some fuzzy memory about a lot of things from the night you signed on with us,” Ralph said with a laugh and a clap on my back, “But don’t worry, you’ve got a 10 year round trip to remember it all.”
----------
Check out my [subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42) for more stories
| 2015-05-28T08:47:22 | 2015-05-28T08:40:50 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] The Earth is flat, you, as the head of NASA, have to explain to the incoming President why its a secret.
|
"You mean B.o.B. was right," Sanders said, sweaty, shirtless, spinning a hammer and sickle in either hand with the deftness of a senior captain baton twirler during halftime of the state semifinals.
"I'm afraid so sir," the lizard hissed.
"But, why," Sanders grunted as he chunked his, 'instruments of social justice,' at the effigy of his long dead mother.
"Two words," the giant lizzards 'sssss's echoed through the cavernous 'Secret Lizzard Room,' "Big Globe."
"Bullseye," Sanders screamed as the sickle decapitated the hay dummy. He put his arm around the big lizard man, whom he'd only just met, "OK, get your mask back on, I'm gonna buy you a beer, my friend!"
|
I give the president a reassuring smile, the one I used to give when kids would ask me for help with their crafts and I, being the sole compassionate worker in the daycare, would come and offer them advice while also showing some moral support with positive facial expression. Mr. President looked confused, he had his purple chrome pen, the special one which said UNITED STATED OF AMERICA on the side in gold, and the one which his secret service members were fearful of because he would shine them in the face with the lazer pointer end during times of stress. During times like this, when he could not wrap his brain around a legitimate answer which was worthy of breathing out to me, the head of NASA. I almost prepared to protect my face. I hated getting flashed by lazer pointers.
"So-; um, the earth is flat. It doesn't do this, (the president tries to make a motion with both hands to represent an invisible ball, but to an outsider it looks like he is describing the size of his wife's breasts) but it does this? (he held his hand flat and waved it back and forth methodically)" His forehead wrinkles somehow multiplied as he spoke.
"Yes" I began reply, "The world is flat. We have made up complicated scientific ideas which are mathematically sound, as in the formula plugging and things like that. You can throw around the math stuff, and it won't bend or break, which is the beauty of it. Only a few people can truly understand that we are lying, and almost all of them are on the same page as us. All of the top scientists are in on this, since they prioritize the world's security over their own fame."
"So that rapper, bob is his name? The one who keeps talking about the earth being flat on twitter? He's not wrong?"
"No, he is not wrong. And he could have been a problem for us. A major one. But thankfully our twitter connections have allowed us to spread thousands of tweets calling him crazy, and one of our most influential scientists, Neil Degrasse Tyson, has been publicly ridiculing him. This false reality we have set up has naturally been followed by the public. Nobody of a healthy mental state will believe him."
"I have a hard enough time believing you right now." The president said quickly. He followed it with a quiet chuckle, as though he was a nervous employee who, halfway through his joke, realized that it wasn't funny so he had to laugh at himself, in order to ease the stinging anxiety of his boss thinking less of him. The president continued to talk.
"So, you mentioned something about world security? Right? Why do we keep this a secret? What can't the world know?" The president's black trousers were appearing darker in the spots where his sweaty palms continually rubbed. He was scared at this moment. I understood his inner pain; his entire preconceived reality was significantly altered, but he seemed like a open-minded and intelligent man. The fate of the world hoped he was an open-minded and intelligent man, because the fabric of our society lyed in his understanding of the situation about to be explained.
"Some time around the 1400's and 1500's, society's belief of a flat earth shifted to that of a round earth. This was intentional. Around this time an evil, dastardly, and ruthless cult called "The chef's guild" formed under one core philosophy: "We will work and fight and created new dishes until we create an oven big enough to fit the earth, then we will cook the earth like the ancient prophecy has foretold." You see Mr. President, the world could not have known they were around, and the round earth theory was started to protect us from this knowledge."
The President gave me a blank stare, probably because he was so emotionally drained from hearing such an awful and disturbing snippet of history. Before he could open his mouth, an agent ran inside the room.
"Sir, our astronomers have spotted a large, unidentified oven flying close to our orbit! We need your assistance at once!"
The President and I now stared at one another. I was the first to speak.
"The day of reckoning has now come, Mr. President. The world will finally know, and we must hope, that some day in the near future, we will laugh about this coming war. Although that day can only come through the collective thinking of our great minds and the bloodshed of our soldiers, who will fight against the culinary specialists army. The time is yours to lead, sir."
| 2016-01-28T09:04:57 | 2016-01-28T08:42:57 | 35 | 20 |
[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.
|
"Father."
"Yes, brood?"
"Why do we not attack the humans? Are they not reprehensible?"
The multi-legged creature looked at its miniature copy of itself clinging to the mushroom tree.
"What gives you that idea, Putabapa?"
"They are weak. They do not conquer the galaxy or planets. They fight in defense. They're addicted to their information network of "The Internet" and their females post numerous pictures of their faces making strange expressions every day."
"And that makes them weak?"
"Guyen are strong, Father! We have plasma weapons! Phase-shifters to go through solid matter! Fusion reactors that will give us power for millenia! Humans still shoot lead and use technology decades if not centuries old."
The father was quiet for a moment. "There are many who believe the humans are such. Not just Guyen. But the other races as well. However, the ones that make these faces or stream all day are not the representative of the entire human race. There are those that do otherwise."
"Be warned, Putabapa. Humanity is the most dangerous species in the entire galaxy. They know war. They know hell. They have been fighting since they have crafted the first spear out of a stick and a stone. Their homeworld has suffered three world wars and they've been through numerous conflicts with themselves. Everyone knows war. But does not embrace it."
"And why is that, Father?"
"it is because of that very background is why they wish peace. It is their blessing, but their curse as well. A demonic side that is aroused when they are in danger, leaving nothing left of life when they are done. But the common human cries in despair in this. They want to see life grow. They do not want to cause a bloodbath. If they do, there is nothing left of their humanity. That pacifism is their guard against such destruction."
"Did you know that the humans have all sorts of advanced weapons? All manners of alien weapons they've engineered themselves. They've done so with our very plasma weapons as well, brood. Their scientists are the ones to have invented the mass driver cannon, the mecha suit. The zero-dimension bomb. They've almost commited genocide against two races already in the name of defense. Far be it that the humans are weak. They most certainly know the weapons of war."
"So they are xenophobes, not wanting to be bothered?"
"I wouldn't say they want to be xenophobic. However, they probably would not take kindly to you pointing a gun at them, much less sending an invasion fleet to one of their colonized planet. Heavens forbid they decide to detonate a nuclear weapon over such a trivial act."
There was silence in the arid plateau for a moment. Putabapa was still in the tree, convoluted thoughts going through his head.
"What must we do to keep the humans pacifists, father?"
"Learning to dance would be a good start. Adopting a human pet of a cat and posting videos of it would help greatly. Showing them you are their friend and they can be yours. And understanding their common man, Putabapa. That is who humanity is. The ones that will devastate everything for a peaceful existence. They are the ones whom you should be wary of..."
|
He took a long draw of the smoke stick, a human delicacy, though how humans savored smoke at all I'll never know.
his feline features narrowed as he looked out the window to the rain pelting the glass, a few bolts of lightning striking the skyscrapers in the distant gloom.
"Let me tell you a story boy." he began, my third eye, always unconscious and outside of my control, narrowed where my two primary eyes remained impassive.
I didn't like being so addressed.
"long ago, on terra 5, during the thringa invasion.."
"the silent nightmare you mean." I interrupted, and he shook his head, giving a dry chuckle as he adjusted his lavender robes.
His name was pell, andro pell and he was one of the warriors who'd been dumb enough to try to attack the humans head on.
andro survived the attack, as did many others, yet here he was, no sacred war veteran but a living gravestone of sorts, a memorial that spoke only legends and myths of that deadly race.
the light in his busted kitchen was out, and the counters were strewn with strange cookware i didn't know, back in the palace we might have had such equivalents, but i was unsure.
"we landed, began recon and prepped the field, the usual routine. but then....the meteors..."
"Meteors containing abyss." i reasoned, recalling reports of the incident.
"we thought they were weak. we knew they had war tools, but we didn't quite fathom the sheer unnecessary extremes they'd go to just to....to..."
andro shook his head, his cat's ears folding against his head in agitation.
"stupid...the meteors were summoned with gates that had been hidden by the darkness just outside of the planet. we saw them, our equipment detected them but we thought the things were harmless debris....i mean- they were just rings! welp, the meteors strike, the abyss spreads all over our intended battlefield, then.....shit goes south."
"what happened? the few thringa who spoke of it-"
"didn't." andro finished, rubbing out the cigarette.
"abyss is a curious element, condensed time-space, it opens a plane that overlaps our own. the humans knew that and had planned to use such space-time tears to deal with us. horrors crawled forth from these smoke clouds, scales, teeth, fangs, shit i don't think has a sane description. our men fired, but to no avail, none of us were ready for abyssal creatures. but the humans had found ways to weaponize the things, turning abyss meteors into a sort of twisted scorched earth tactic."
"did you even fight humans?" i asked, leaning forward, my tendrils waving in agitation.
"Yep. hundreds of em. after the tears mended, which took a few minutes, we were already in shock, the abyss creatures basically faded back into their plane, the smoke cleared and suddenly there was an army of hundreds surrounding our army of...what? one hundred? the goddamned abyss fiends...they took more of us than we were anticipating."
"so they used shock tactics...." i mused.
"no. no they didn't stop there." he explained. "right afterward they gave the ultimatum, surrender or die. some of us were too pissed to listen, so we ran after em, shooting and roaring...and dying. I saw one of my men torn in half by bunan chaingun rounds. we were so outmatched, so fucking outmatched and outnumbered. while we'd been struggling against the abyss fiends, they'd been surrounding the fight with overwhelming numbers. by then, my troupe had no choice but to surrender."
"any torture?" I asked.
"None. I heard they had a particularly nasty method involving a single drop of water, we weren't really questioned, just held, then returned. i heard that no less than nineteen platoons suffered a similar fate, one managed to survive long enough to put up a fight, but they were all cut down. humans.....strange creatures, equal parts force and peace."
"if i'm to send my armies to conquer them-"
He placed a hand on mine, a look of concern clouding his features, it took all my strength not to tear my hand away from the disdainful furred thing, but i swallowed my pride.
"say, what know you of dragons?" he asked at length.
"a human myth right?" i asked, curious now.
"a fitting one." he said. "dragons, in human culture, are powerful forces of nature, primal lizards that breathe fire, speak, do all sorts of crazy nonsense. most dragons in their lore have a strange habit of holding their power back for the sake of the world around them....they prefer peace, despite being literal calamities."
"and you think humans are this dangerous?" I asked incredulously.
andro gave me a look i don't believe i'd ever forget, sincere terror from a thringa was not something native to them, it was an emotion they rarely displayed, and for warriors the emotion was strictly forbidden. fear would get you killed, court marshalled or worse. yet here he was, on the cusp of dread.
all for humans.
"Your majesty, i tell you this now, these humans.....we only saw a fraction of their strength that day, barely a roar, barely a breath. we saw them flex one muscle to scare us down, crushing the few that dared to continue the fight. you actually think that all they have are those meteor gates? no, i tell you this now humans are powerful. better that they remain peaceful. better that you not bother with your plans. i know you're invested, but if you go to their worlds, a hell the likes of which you've never seen awaits you."
I left andro's residence very much at odds with my own desires. on the one hand he WAS just speaking fearful nonsense, war monuments, much like the elders had claimed.
but this time it was different, what andro told me spoke far less than what he hadn't told me.
with a sigh of resignation i decided it would be in my best interests to continue my quiet investigation, perhaps temporarily ingratiate our empire with theirs in the interests of assessing the threat more seriously before determining our best course of action.
i stroked the tendrils around my mouth thoughtfully as i considered how many backers of war i'd been made to incite already, and what, if any options I could enlist to ensure that should we decide to forgo such an invasion, the backers wouldn't cause me any trouble.
I wasn't emperor, not yet, and father demanded i conquer a few galaxies before he deemed me worthy of the throne.
but this one might prove more of a chore than anticipated.
perhaps worse.
time would tell.
| 2016-03-13T15:19:36 | 2016-03-13T11:15:41 | 133 | 84 |
[WP]The wrinkled fingertips are just the beginning of the transformation. We just always leave the water too early.
|
Looking back, I should have expected an outcome like this.
"The wrinkled fingertips are just the beginning of the transformation. We just always leave the water too early."
Of course, I interpreted this message given to by a stranger in an alley as a sign that humans had the potential to be some sort of transcendent beings, and that I was some sort of chosen one. It was summertime, I was a strong swimmer and I had a large pool in my backyard. What could possibly go wrong? All sorts of cool stuff always comes from the water, and I'm sure not gonna transform in Godzilla if I stay in the water too long. My goal was set- I would stay in the water long enough to see what I would transform into.
I practiced using various techniques to breathe underwater- air pockets, hoses and snorkels all worked fairly well. Eating underwater was too much of a stretch, and the stranger never said I had to be underwater to transform. I ensured I had enough food, drinking water and air to last a couple of weeks underwater, asked for some vacation time, and started my experiment.
The wrinkled fingers and toes happened quickly, as usual, but it was a while before anything else started to set it. Towards the end of the second week, I noticed a change- my hands and feet were getting more wrinkled. "Finally, some results!" I thought to myself. I wasn't about to give up on this transformation, but I wouldn't be able to take off any more vacation time without leaving the water. I was going to get fired, but it didn't really matter. It's not like my job mattered much anyways, and this was way more interesting.
It's been four months since then. The transformation is complete. I can't breathe underwater, I don't have fins, I'm not an alien, and I haven't gained any new powers. But I look like the freaking Evil Emperor. My whole body is pruned.
I really don't know what I expected.
|
Something about the chemistry of life broke when we were created. So said the Elders, and so said their Book, and so therefore it must have been the truth. There was no other way for such a strange life form to exist, a thing with mammalian features in aquatic conditions, eyebrows and skin hair where gills mated with our limbs - but yet here stood we, a revolt against nature. A law unto ourselves.
For a very long time the puddle was all we ever knew. There had been, of course, people digging below the surface. Some said there were hidden deposits of precious metal, rivulets of gold and silver that sank immediately in the normal water. But of the surface world, not much was known. The sun came, traced its path across the sky, lit up the green water, and then sunk back on the other side, and then the night sky was as calm and as starry as it always had been.
If I try to write about my home colony - the only one I had seen with my own eyes - I run the risk of excluding the others. The puddle was as wide as it was deep, and there had been many tales of people from beyond the mountains, strange tadpole-like creatures that had lost their arms entirely and might not be entirely human. As a kid, I dismissed those legends as merely story, something to be dreamed of in the night and waved away come sunrise - but now that I was an adult I knew stranger things could happen.
So, this is the story of one colony then - my own, and how one particularly fine sunrise, we came to discover the hidden meanings in the indestructible plates.
---
The first time I saw the plates I couldn't read the engraving. All school students had to visit the museum. Few cared enough to pay any attention. But I had seen the plates alright, platinum and indestructible, unbreakable by any means we knew of. And it had given me the shudders then.
It was this memory that now floated to the surface when someone told me my presence was needed at the residence of the Grand Master of the Elders.
"I'll be right there," I said.
Half-swimming, half-crawling, I got the feeling that we were built to walk on two legs. Something about evolution had left us bowed, broken by the pool - something that touched the body but left the spirit unbroken. Through the foggy water I got to the Grand Master's house.
"Greetings," I said, bowing. The age-old gesture that evolved long before we were stuck in the puddle. "What is it you seek of me?"
"These plates," he got straight to it. "Have you ever wondered...what is written on them?"
I looked at the platinum plates once more, and suddenly I was the small boy in the museum again. A shudder ran down my spine. "No," I said. "I thought...it was indecipherable? A mystery lost to the ages?"
"It's not now," the Grand Master replied. "Let me tell you what it says."
I looked around, waiting for one of his many friends to float up and surprise me. When none came, I stuttered, laid one hand on the plates, and stammered, "But...why me?"
"Because you have tried this once before," he replied serenely.
I shuddered. The memory had nearly killed me, as I was sure it had killed many others before - Pirac the adventurer, perhaps, or Don the wanderer. Float too close to the surface, swim too high, and you might break the surface of the puddle, break through the heavy surface tension that held us all down here and kept the outside world out - and then you would die. Or so it had seemed.
"The skies, they were not green," I repeated with wonder. "They were orange."
He nodded and returned to the plates. "The plates have told me the truth. This puddle - this underwater world of ravines and hills - this was not all of it. We were put here."
"Put here?" I asked blankly. "By who?"
For the first time I saw the Grand Master struggle for words.
"There..." he said, waving his arms, pointing up to the surface as if reaching for the stars. "Spacemen," he finished. "Explorers from what they called Planet Earth. We are their descendants. We are their experiment. And you can see the evidence all around us, if you look - for example at your own fingertips."
I stared down. My hands had become dry and wrinkled - they always had been, since that accident, and they had never become wet ever since.
"These...the wrinkled fingertips, they are just the beginning of the transformation. We always leave the water too early. But we will leave the water soon - for we are starbound."
He spoke an alien tongue, but the tones were those of home.
"What do we do about that?"
The Grand Master smiled. "We will build such a spaceship too," he said. "It will be our great chance at escape - our surface shot. I have already assembled the crew and materials. But-"
"-it needs someone to command it?" I finished.
"Yes," he smiled. "Do you accept?"
For a long time I stared at my fingers.
"Yes," I finally replied. "It is destiny."
I looked up, at where the sun was starting to filter through the water, and decided that before too long I had to see it with mine own eyes.
---
r/KCcracker for more stories of the sort!
| 2016-12-05T09:41:05 | 2016-12-05T06:39:18 | 175 | 32 |
[WP] Jesus actually had 14 disciples but their behavior was deemed inappropriate by biblical scholars, so they were removed from the final versions of the Gospels. They are Brad and Chad, the Bro-ciples, and these are their stories.
Apostles... Dang it, I meant Apostles.
|
Brad 25 : 17
The path of the Bro is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of non-bros . Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the alley of darkness, for he is truly his bro's keeper and the finder of lost Bros . And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my bros. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you brah.
|
The fledgling priest stared at the scrolls that were just laid in front of him. "What are these? More historical documents that I need to study?"
The Bishop, wrinkled with age, lifted his hands to adjust his glasses. "Those are the forbidden gospels. Scholars of old deemed them inappropriate for the masses, but the church still wanted to keep them as historical records."
The priest looked up at the old man. "You're kidding, right? Are you telling me that we have been hiding doctrine from the parish? That in itself seems like a sin, as we are hiding the words of God... Isn't all scripture God-breathed and useful for teaching, as stated by Paul in his letter to Timothy?
The Bishop nodded, "You are correct, but this... is a bit different." The old bishop lifted the scroll again. "Here, you are getting into the position in which you can decide for yourself as to whether or not you share these with your own parish."
The priest slowly unrolled the ancient scrolls. "What is this writing...? Greek? Latin? I can't make it out..."
The Bishop let out a sigh. "No, those are just scribbles of a drunk man. We think he was trying to doodle a beast or something about the end times... As you can see at the bottom there, the line just kind of trails off, as if he fell asleep from the booze."
The priest furrowed his brow. "This is all some horrible joke."
The Bishop shook his head. "I wish it was... but what sits in front of you is the book of Chad. Keep opening the scroll. Eventually, you will get to the greek text, written by Chad himself. Read it, translate it, and tell me what you think."
The priest began to read from the scroll and translated it into English as he went along.
*"The Book of Chad, Chapter one. - On a particular day, my brother Brad and myself-"*
The Bishop held up his hand. "Hold it... It isn't 'brother'. The word is actually close buddy, or *bro*.
The priest blinked in protest... "Alright then. *On a particular day, my bro Brad and myself were wicked thirsty. We were in serious need of some 'Nectar of the gods' and needed some shade too. We came across a wedding. Not knowing anyone, we crashed it and quickly became the life of the party. The thing about parties, though, is eventually the booze runs dry. That is when it is time to move on and sleep it off until the next party to crash. But lo, a simple man, the son of a carpenter was also there, with his Mom. She complained that we drank all the wine, and asked the man named Jesus to do something about it. Expecting a fight, we braced ourselves, but instead, the man filled some jugs with water and blessed them. We thought the man was a nut, but some of the damnedest best wine started flowing from them jugs. We were impressed beyond belief, and there we realized we could get all the free booze we wanted if we followed this man around."*
The priest sat there, unsure of what he just read. "So... these gospels were written by men constantly plastered?"
The bishop nodded. "That is precisely why we can't share them. Being a drunkard is a sin."
The priest sat back in thought. "Yes... But Jesus came to seek and save the lost..."
The Bishop looked at the man. "I am getting up in age, and as I said earlier, you are coming into a position in which you can do what you want."
The priest smiled. "I have a friend in Ireland who is a priest, he may benefit from these."
------------------
You can check out some more of my writing over at my subreddit. /r/vintnerwrites
| 2017-02-25T10:27:38 | 2017-02-25T10:21:29 | 528 | 99 |
[WP]There exist five universes, each one tentatively connected to the others. Each universe is defined by the ABSENCE of one of the five elements; Earth, Water, Air, Fire & Magic. Our universe is the one without magic.
|
"They're made out of water."
"Water?"
"Water. They're made out of water."
"...water?"
"There's no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They're mostly water."
"So, does this planet have all 5 elements? Is that how they're able to be water?"
"Nope. Just 4. This world has no magic."
"Wait, you mean to tell me this is a world filled with water creatures but no magic? How do they stay together?"
"Apparently they're held together in vessels filled with meat."
"Oh don't start with that 'sentient meat' thing again. I got the last report from previous scouts in this sector. I'll believe them for now, but I have a hard time believing of sentient WATER."
"It's the same creatures."
"You're fucking kidding."
"I'm not."
"HOW CAN A CREATURE BE MADE OF BOTH SENTIENT MEAT AND WATER?"
"Evidently the meat is powered by flowing rivers of water and iron, pumped through a main reactor in their chest. If they run out of water, they die."
"This is ludicrous! You're telling me we found a world that is absent of magic elements but has sentient meat/water creatures?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Fine. I'll... Take what I can in stride. So, what do they consume? There has to be some magical energies leftover from the colonization wars."
"They consume water, meat, and various plants grown from the ground."
"...No seriously."
"I'm only telling you what I observed."
"How in the everloving FUCK do they consume water? It's one of the most dangerous substances in this universe!"
"Look, we didn't evolve the same way they did. Maybe their proximity to water caused them to require it on a regular basis."
"I got it. I got it. It must be the plants! The plants give off some kind of magical essence that allows them to consume water."
"No, they eat the plants for fiber, meat for protein, and water to keep themselves hydrated."
"...without magic?"
"Without magic."
"...I don't believe this."
"Believe it or don't! This planet, apparently filled with meat life forms also has water flowing through them every day. There's even beings that live in the water."
"Live? IN WATER?"
"Yup. We sent a probe down there... Well, as far as it could go before disintegrating... And found several life forms just swimming in it."
"NO MAGIC?"
"I'm telling you! No magic! They exist not only with water, consuming water, but also living in water."
"Meat in water... This is... This is too much."
"What should we do?"
"File a follow up report to the previous one. Send it back to base."
"Really? Do you think they'll accept it?"
"Fuck no. You kidding me? They'll just file it in the back with the previous report. Nobody really wants to visit the planet that rains water, do they?"
"Definitely not."
"Then it's decided. Write up the report."
"What's our next destination?"
"Prep the ship to jump to sector TB66. At least it has magic to explain why life forms can exist alongside water."
"What element are they missing?"
"Apparently they live on a planet of fire, but no earth. Their plants can grow using air and fire, but they only just discovered water as a weapon."
"Well of course, what else would you use water for?"
"Exactly why nobody wants to come back to this planet."
"Indeed."
- With all apologies to Terry Bisson
|
The initial plans called for a phalanx of special forces to accompany Jamie – two to flank his side, another forty-eight to encircle the sprawling mansion in the upperclass suburbs, all with strict orders to contain any disturbance with extreme prejudice.
Jamie had finally convinced his bosses to see things his way. “Look, I was the one who brought her in, I can get her to cooperate. Even if she reacts… unexpectedly,” Jamie had said, tapping the vest they had fitted over him, “I’ll be able to handle it with this, right?”
Eventually, only one other agent was assigned, and even he was left to stand watch at the end of the long driveway, nervously peering into the darkness as Jamie crossed the lawn, alone, to rap sharply on the ornate mahogany door.
“You promised me I would be left alone,” hissed the voice, bouncing around sharply in the confines of Jamie’s skull.
“Lwellyn, you have no idea the lengths I’ve gone to keep you safe,” growled Jamie, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. It was true, and righteous indignation swirled in his belly, which he fought to suppress. “But I am one lone man, trying to make the best of a right shitshow, so forgive me if you are to be disturbed.”
The door swung open on its own, and the décor within was as Jamie expected of a designer who, having been forbidden to use her favourite colours or motifs, had suddenly been set free to do as she would.
In other words, there was running water, everywhere. An arresting fountain took centre-stage in the hall, bubbling as the water jets twirled and spun gracefully in the air. Two double-storey waterfalls, cleverly-designed waterspouts from on high, gushed into swirling pools. Streams of water, chugging along inset rivulets, ran across the length of the floor.
Lwellyn snapped her fingers, and suddenly, all the water ceased. They did not stop, in the way that one may expect if a tap were turned off. Rather, all the water froze where they were, transfixed in motion, as if it were all a streaming video which was in the midst of buffering.
Lwellyn saw the look in Jamie’s eyes, and said, “I’ve been here ten years, Jamie, and still I cannot believe your Homeworld takes for granted what we struggle so hard to replace. So forgive me my indulgences.”
“Oh no, I suppose I would have done the same thing,” said Jamie, a wistful edge to his tone, “Every inch of my home would be filled with every trinket, vessel or embodiment of Magic I could lay my hands on. I understand the allure of what we do not have, Lwellyn, very well.”
It was somewhat ironic that even though Jamie was the leader of the global think-tank which specialized in advising world governments on trans-world relations, he had never personally crossed over into any of the other Homeworlds. He was intimately aware that crossing over was safe, that one only had to prepare the necessary substitutes – for example, Lwellyn’s Homeworld, Dessicae, possessed the elements of Earth, Air, Fire and Magic in abundance, but Water was notably absent, so that had to be brought along.
Early forays had determined that it was Magic which had, in a sense, adapted to help Dessicae survive despite the absence of Water. Magic was intangible, omnipotent, and it flowed so richly in Dessicae that it filled in all the roles which Water would normally have played on Jamie’s Homeworld. Subsequent reports confirmed that it was the same on the other Homeworlds – regardless of which element was missing on that Homeworld, Magic was the glue which bound them all together.
It was only on Jamie’s Homeworld, where Earth, Air, Fire and Water were all present and accounted for, that Magic had, perhaps deciding that it had no role to play, slinked away.
“This cannot be a courtesy call,” said Lwellyn, eyes narrowing, “I am indebted to you, but not once since you took me in as a refugee have you ever called on me in a personal capacity. It has always been about work, and this cannot be different.”
“You are astute, and I shall be blunt then. I’ve come to ask for you to unlock the Portal to your Homeworld.”
Jamie’s request hung in the air, and eventually Lwellyn laughed. “You must be joking. How do you expect me to be able to do tha-”
“We will inform Dessicae that we have finally hunted you down, rooted you out from your hiding place amongst our populace. You will return a political prisoner, but our operatives will be in place to spring you out. We just need you, as a native, to weave the spells needed to fully open the Portal to Dessicae. Once that is done, your debt is clear, and you can return here to live out the rest of your life in peace.”
“And why the hell would I do that?”
Jamie had anticipated this question. He had two answers prepared, the first being an appeal to logic. He would show Lwellyn the collected data, that the four elements in Jamie’s Homeworld were irreversibly poisoned, and that open channels were needed to the other Homeworlds so that the tainted elements could be replaced. Negotiations for peaceful acquisition of resources were stalling, and time was running out.
From that perspective, the problem was suddenly a matter of national, nay, global security.
And to round off the logical explanation, Jamie would have pointed out that when it came down to a matter of global security, a certain amount of force was allowed, and the opening of the Portals was the first step to a policy they had termed “Enforced Survival”.
But Lwellyn was not susceptible to logical arguments, as Jamie’s memory served him, so instead he said, “We have reason to believe your daughter is alive in Dessicae. These photographs were taken just last month. You won’t just be helping your adopted Homeworld survive, you will be bringing your daughter home.”
Jamie’s hands were already on his vest, and his personal Barrier was activated mere seconds before Lwellyn’s psychic scream tore through the mansion. Part guilt for abandoning the child she thought had died all those years ago, part anguish for not doing more, part shame for moving on when her own flesh and blood still suffered in Dessicae, the Magic spilled out of Lwellyn, a malevolent manifestation of her pain.
Outside, a hundred feet away, the special agent crumpled to his knees, grabbing his head in pain. The hidden gears and circuits in Jamie’s vest toiled on, shielding him more than adequately. Jamie gave the woman, sobbing poignantly on the floor, a full minute before he pressed his case.
“Will you help us open the Portal? I have three others like you to meet tonight, Lwellyn, and I really need an answer.”
The angry, determined… *hungry* look in her eyes was all the answer he needed.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-04-30T09:27:14 | 2017-04-30T09:11:26 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence.
|
As I held my newborn child in my arms for the first time, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. This tiny, perfect, bundled up package of joy was finally here after so many hours of labor, months of pregnancy, and years of trying conceive. I was so overwhelmed I couldn't speak at all, nor hear what the doctor was saying, even as he slowly covered my wife's face with the hospital bed sheet.
|
Billy the pretty pink pony skipped down Rosemary Lane, stopping only to sniff the brightly coloured flowers in the hedges, or watch the butterflies fluttering through the air.
It was a beautiful day – the sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the birds were singing in the trees – and Billy was on his way to town. It was market day, and he was going to see what he could trade the vegetables from his vegetable garden for.
He was getting close to town when he heard someone call out his name.
“Billy!” the voice was saying from the side of the road.
Billy stopped in his tracks and peered at the hedge. Perched there on a branch was Mr Fluffkin, the red squirrel.
“Hello there, Mr Fluffkin,” Billy said with a smile. “How are you?”
“I’m absolutely terrific,” the squirrel replied. “And where are you off to on this fine day?”
“I’m off to the market,” Billy replied, nodding towards the basket balanced on his back, which was piled high with potatoes, carrots, aubergines, and more.
“How about you?”
“Why, I’m heading there too,” Mr Fluffkin replied.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a lift?” asked Billy. “It’s always better to travel together, after all.”
Mr Fluffkin beamed. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Hop on,” Billy said.
The squirrel scampered up Billy’s leg and, once he’d made himself comfortable on Billy’s head, they set off.
It didn’t take long for them to reach town, and the place was bustling – it was market day, after all, and creatures had come here from far and wide. Billy trotted along the streets, heading for the square in the middle of town, saying hello to all the creatures he knew as he passed them by. Every kind of creature imaginable was there – foxes and badgers, elephants and voles, leopards and rabbits. Just no humans, of course.
The town square was lined with stalls, selling everything from freshly-baked pies to toys for the little ones. Billy and Mr Fluffkin parted ways soon after they arrived – Mr Fluffkin said he was looking to buy a new jacket for himself, while Billy was hoping to get some ribbons for his glittery mane.
Billy was bartering with Barbara the ocelot, trying to swap some of his vegetables for a slice of her apple pie, when he heard a loud, high-pitched scream.
“The humans are coming!” someone yelled from the other side of the square.
Panic ensued. Everywhere Billy looked, animals were wailing and running back and forth, knocking over stalls and pushing each other to the floor.
Billy sighed. It had been hundreds of years since humans had been the dominant species, but somehow they were still clinging on. And they always insisted on doing what they’d always done – attacking the other animals, ruining things for everyone else.
Billy reached back to grab his basket, and put it down on the cobbles. It was time to do something. He charged across the square, darting through the crowd and jumping over the wreckage of stalls when he had to. Eventually, he saw a crowd of humans gathered around some dead animals and cheering. Billy gasped when he saw Mr Fluffkin sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood.
There was a sound behind him, and Billy spun round. He saw a man there, dressed in rags and holding a rusty knife in one hand. The man smiled and raised the knife above his head, but Billy acted fast.
With a snarl, he bared his teeth and sank his teeth into the man’s neck, tasting the warm, coppery blood. The man collapsed in a heap, a chunk of flesh still in Billy’s mouth. He gulped it down, licked his lips, and turned to the rest of the humans.
He had a taste for blood - they were next.
| 2017-05-25T06:54:44 | 2017-05-25T00:29:16 | 130 | 63 |
[WP] Your butler has served you faithfully for twenty years, working hard, offering sage advice and never complaining. One day, you see his bank balance. He's a billionaire.
|
With a deep sigh, I stood up from the seat next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I had no idea. But what you speak is clearly true."
He nodded as he logged out of the online banking portal.
I continued, "There is no sense or reason for you to be living such a life."
He nodded more emphatically, smiling.
I reached my hand out to shake his, "I will have your raise authorized immediately, retroactive to the beginning of this year. By Ramen, it's 3188, man! Your services are highly valued and you should be paid a living wage! I really appreciate you bringing this to my attention."
|
Like most revelations, this one happened by accident.
It was simple, idiotic really. We were walking the estate when Bart dropped his phone on the grass.
I bent down to pick it up for him - Bart wasn't a servant, he was a friend. I'd spent more time with him than I had with my parents, who preferred business meetings over their daughter's piano recitals. He was the one who'd comforted me after my first break up, who advised me on stupid teenage drama, the one who'd helped me with my college apps, and the one who'd attended my graduation ceremony.
And so when he dropped his phone, I didn't let him pick it up, I bent down and picked it up for him.
His posture was stiff as I picked it up and went to hand it back, but, as was human nature, my eyes flitted to what was on the screen. His bank account. On the top of the screen was his name. Batrleby Svreska. Below it was his bank balance.
*3.1 billion dollars.*
I read it again. The number did not change. I looked up to him in confusion. The meaning was clear, my brain knew what the numbers meant. Bart knew what this meant, his face had drained of all blood and he was rigid, like a statue.
"Bart..."
I reacted on instinct. Bart lunged towards me, going for the phone, and I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards me off balance. Taking advantage of his momentary and shock I swept his feet from under him and he fell chest first on the ground. I grabbed his arm with mine and dug my knee against his back, a deadlock.
The whole thing had taken a couple of seconds.
"Not bad, Miss Edith."
"Yeah, well, I've been trained for 15 years by you, so it figures I'd be good." My voice was dry, and now my vision had gone blurry.
"Why, Bart. Who's paying you to spy on us? Were you paid to kill us, kill," my voice cracked, "kill *me.*"
"No," Bart said. "No Miss Edith, never you."
At that moment Bart's phone dinged - a notification. My head swiveled towards the phone on the ground and my grip slackened for a moment.
For Bart, a moment was enough.
He practically blurred and I was sprawled on the ground. I hopped up on my two feet - thank god I wore loose jeans today - and swung again. Bart ducked under me and tried to punch me in the gut.
I backed away and raised my block, preparing for a jab that would never come.
"Ms. Edith, I would prefer you not fight me for now."
I went still. I wanted to fight him, I pushed myself to move, to punch him, do *something.* But nothing happened.
What the hell.
"One day you'll understand, Miss Edith. This is all for you. The money meant nothing to me." He took a deep breath. "I would prefer you not follow me or order anyone else to do so either."
My mouth that had sprung open to scream snapped close with a click. The bastard, how was he doing this?
"It's amazing what one can do to someone's brain when given unfettered access for over 20 years, Miss Edith. Very few other people know your key phrase Miss Edith, but take my advice, go for the jaw first next time."
Then he ran away.
I stood there frozen for two minutes before I could move again. It was all too much. Too much to process, too much to calculate. His betrayal, my "key phrase."
That's when I saw the phone still lying on the ground.
I picked t up and swiped down to see the notification that had undone me. It was a news notification with my parents' names in headline.
"Mr. and Mrs. Fergit perish in tragic crash."
And just like that, when I finally let the tears flow, I was undone again by the same notification.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2018-06-03T08:55:27 | 2018-06-03T08:08:32 | 210 | 64 |
[WP] "I saw it during WW1. It had no meat, no bones, just veins and nerves. And there it was, striding toward us, bullets sliding off it like water. Men came apart or became things just being nearby. We know now it's a war god from another world. And it was drawn by our war like a fly to a wound. "
|
[Poem] [CW: Descriptions of War]
The creature rose in No Man's Land
That February day.
The Germans surged, and then that scourge
Began to rush our way.
 
It fell on dear Jean-Louis first
And tore into his head,
And where it slashed, the bullets crashed
and Jean-Louis fell dead.
 
The monster turned to Gerard next
As he began to cry.
The creature tore, his lifeblood poured,
A shell made Gerard fly.
 
One by one our numbers were
Mercilessly decreased.
Until by three, it was just me
Facing the horrid beast.
 
I unleashed every shot I had
At my hideous foe,
None of the rounds could put it down,
The wretched beast of woe.
 
The monster towered over me
And cocked its ugly head.
"Just you will live, this gift I give,
I will not make you dead."
 
The creature turned and walked away
From my embattled hill.
And soon more men surged past and then,
The battlefield grew still.
 
I still wake up in dead of night,
I snap awake and flinch,
From dreams of hell, where my friends fell
To move the front an inch.
 
I often say, about that day,
A shameful, sullen plea,
My counterparts were blown apart,
Why didn't War kill me?
|
They came ashore in the early morning light under a steel sky. Water the color of gunsmoke. Crawling their way up the sand in their soaking clothes to lie gasping and alive. These two men in their uniforms and their hair slicked back on their heads and all the world that morning returned to them.
The lieutenant sat up first and touched his side and looked out over the water and then down the beach. Beside him the private still struggling with the sand in his mouth. That white sand that ran in both directions and in the middle of this place a thicket of green and then nothing. Not more than four hundred yards in any direction before the sea reclaimed it.
“Good,” the lieutenant said.
The private looked at him and sat and held his head in his hands. He looked like a man who did not know who he was and perhaps that was the truth but the lieutenant did not know.
“What?” said the private.
“It's too small,” the lieutenant said. Nodding off down the beach where there was no fresh water or food or cover or a thing besides. Just some sandbar in the ocean that would let them breathe for a day or so and that was all. “We'll die here.”
The private looked around and nodded. “Good,” he said.
After a time he was able to raise his head and the lieutenant watched him and then followed his gaze out across the water. He could see the islands where they'd been and the smoke rising above them. Where they'd run to the boats and gone out and then the boat had been torn apart and there was a sound like the air itself was ripping and then they'd been in the water. Men screaming around them. Some swimming down as far as they could to drown themselves in their heavy boots.
“What the hell was that thing,” the private said.
“What thing?”
“You saw it. Don't tell me you didn't see it.”
“We took a shell, I think.”
“The hell you do.”
“Don't forget your rank.”
“To hell with rank. You think something like that matters now?”
They sat in silence for a time. The lieutenant knew he was right and he reached up and took his rank insignia off of his chest and looked at it and then threw it into the water. It did not go far but it sank and it was gone and that was the end of it and everything else.
“It had no meat,” the private said.
“Don't,” the lieutenant said.
“No bones. Just veins and nerves.”
“Damn you.”
“And there it was, coming toward us. Bullets sliding off it like water. Men came apart or became things just being nearby.”
The lieutenant didn't say anything.
“Don't tell me you didn't see that.”
There was a long silence and then the lieutenant stood up and walked down the beach a distance and kept looking out toward the water. They hadn't heard a single gunshot in a long time and it was far but not that far. He wondered what it looked like on that island and what you did with shredded bodies like that and could you bury them. He didn't know how they'd even sort them out. Then he turned and he came back down the beach and he sat again. It didn't seem like there was anything else in the world worth doing.
“It's some sort of god,” he said. “A war god from another world.”
The private looked at him like some ardent believer in this new faith that was itself the absence of faith and he knew he would never have believed it had he not seen the thing himself. What it did to the men. The way that when he blinked he felt like it was in his mind and he in its and he knew in that screaming terror what it was. They all did and that was why they ran and they died and some of the men swam for the deep. Because maybe in that blackness there was an end that was not this end.
“It was drawn by our war,” the lieutenant said. “Like a fly to a wound.”
“It's just sport,” the private said.
“Yes.”
“It was smiling. That damned thing was smiling.”
The lieutenant knew that he was right but it was nothing like he'd seen before and horrible and grotesque in a way that made him want to tear his own eyes from his head but that was what it had been. A smile. This thing wading through them for sport and finding in this new world for a brief moment all that it ever sought in its own. For all they'd done to each other was what it lived in and always had since before there was time.
“Do you have your pistol?” the lieutenant said.
“No,” the private said. “I lost it in the water.”
For a long time the lieutenant looked out over that water and thought about that pistol turning in the depths and falling and then he laid down on the sand under that cracked sky and he did not think about anything at all.
\---
I try to write a little bit of fiction every day. If you like it, I also wrote a novel called "The Ringed City Chronicles: The Dragon Hunt." It's on Amazon, and if you decide to check it out, you are the bomb!
| 2019-02-27T17:32:51 | 2019-02-27T17:14:48 | 508 | 73 |
[WP] Deep in your secluded lab, you discover time travel. A quick trip through the time machine takes you 50 years into the future. The first item on the news bulletin: The 50 year anniversary of you going missing.
|
“Fuck!” I growled angrily as smoke and sparks flew in my face. I told myself that’s the last time I try to cut costs by purchasing fuses from obscure Asian companies. But I had to cut somewhere. Finances have been tight since losing the DARPA grant. Apparently people who are “unstable” and have “belligerent tendencies” aren’t worthy of taxpayer dollars to conduct their research. If anyone believed my claims about time travel were true, they would understand that my recent outbursts were an appropriate if not relatively tame response to regulation and oversight. Even after winning the Nobel Prize in physics, my theories were still written off as the ravings of a mad man. Who knew the age of the internet would instill enough skepticism in the general public to almost completely stop scientific progress. It seemed ridiculous at first: parents afraid of vaccines, climate change deniers. But the effects of generational skepticism have now worked their way into government research budgets, and all my previous funding was no more.
Coughing and gagging from the smoke, I stepped out of the machine, a metallic rectangular prism with wires, tubes, and LEDs covering the outer surface. The machine was hardly 4 feet tall, and it was only wide enough for a single person to sit in. The inside contained a small leather chair and a single computer interface embedded in the wall. Most of the inside was still intact but the outside was looking a little well done at this point. The LEDs on the outer wall of the machine flashed red and an ear-splitting siren filled the small dingy room. Fire retardant poured from the ceiling dousing the smoldering wires and tubes that protruded from the machine.
The lab was drenched. It would take me weeks or even months to clean and dry everything in there. Not even sure if I could call this space a lab. It was a storage shed just outside of Ellenton, GA that I rented from a local farmer. The fire security systems risked damaging my other equipment, but Mr. Cobb has been nice to me. The least I could do is not burn his property down. The red wooden shed mimicked the architecture of the full sized barn a couple hundred yards south. Inside was about 16 by 16 feet of space. Only enough for a desk, a CNC milling machine, a large 3D printer, and an electrical hardware workspace. The shed also contained a small loft where I kept my few personal belongings and slept. You don’t discover the things that I have without quite literally living in the lab.
Still muttering and cursing myself, I walked over to my desk a couple meters away and sat down. Time to go back to the drawing board. A more accurate phrase would be “Time to go back to my code and reset the parameters in my simulation software,” but that wasn’t quite as catchy. I shook my mouse to awake my computer. No response. Strange. Maybe the power surge knocked out the circuit breaker. I stepped outside to locate the circuit box which was located closer to Mr. Cobb’s house about a 100 yards north.
Something felt off from the moment I stepped outside. Everything looked slightly grown over, and neither Mr. Cobb nor anyone in his 7 person family were to be seen. I didn’t think too much of it. I found the electrical panel and looked for the corresponding breaker. Just as I thought, a power surged shut the breaker off. I flipped it back on and headed back to the shed.
Once my computer fired up, I opened up a web browser to order new parts. I had been siphoning internet access for months now. It took some work but I was able to tap into the local cable and “borrow” internet access. It was a less than ethical way to cut costs, but I rationalized it by remembering how shitty ISPs have become recently.
What I saw next changed my life forever. In that moment my life, the country, hell, the entire universe had been changed forever. My web browser opened up to my favorite scientific magazine’s home page. My name was plastered on the front page. The headline of the day: “50th anniversary of Nobel Prize Winner’s Disappearance.” I looked at the date of the article: April 30th, 2069.
|
"It's done." Dr. Sylas wiped his brow as he twisted the last bolt into place. The machine's lead surface was as flawless as a diamond. Ha to be. Turns out that time travel required an absurd amount of microwave radiation to work. If even a small percent leaked out, it would do more than cook some chicken nuggets.
The machine looked much more simple than it was. A glass cylinder with a Tesla coil on the top and bottom attached to a metal box. Hundreds of millions of dollars went into this. Sylas scratched his head, maybe he should have designed it to look cooler. He shook his head, There is more at stake here than cosmetic choices.
Sylas slowly turned a nob on the console. The machine roared to life. He pulled out his trusty tape recorder "Attempt 1045: 20% to barrier break and holding strong. Upping Megatron output to 50%."
He put his hand on the back of the machine. The heat sink failed the last attempt but this military-plus grade one is holding strong. The sensor hasn't picked up any leaks.
"I was worried about my welding job, but so far so good. I have a gut feeling that we got a winner here. The record so far is 67% so let's go to 70%" Sylas lost his balance as the floor started to vibrate. Here is when the load resistor fails. He sniffed the air. No ozone. His voltmeter confirmed it, the circuit is still live.
"The machine is stable. The last test is the arc of 'Sylas Energy' between the coils at 95%. This will be the frame of the time portal, in theory." He slowly turned the nob, ready to abort at the first sign of a malfunction. The vials on his shelves rattled. The whole lab shook in anticipation as bolts arced in the glass chamber. Sylas's heart skipped a beat when the bolts connected and a thin wormhole opened. The lab was still once more.
The wormhole expanded as he turned the dial to 100%. "The warp point is stable. I can't believe it. Uh… The next test is the bounce back test. The universe dislikes being pushed on. It should auto-correct any living thing to its correct time after a few minutes." He unlocked a nearby rat cage and retrieved its occupant. "I have a rat in one hand and a metal bolt in another one. I can't believe I got this far. Ok, if thrown into the time portal, the rat should be back in no time while the bolt should never return."
Sylas pressed a button and the glass doors slid open. Best to throw the bolt first. It made contact with the time portal and disappeared. He looked to the rat. "Sorry buddy, I couldn't get the okay for animal testing but she is running out of time. Be brave, you are going to go down in history." He tossed the rat in the portal and it shared the bolt's reaction. He almost forgot to hit the stopwatch.
Several minutes passed. Sylas chewed on his nails, "Come on rat, I don't have a backup plan. Or maybe I should blame the universe. Come on universe, autocorrect already." Sylas sighed. He should blame himself for playing with the natural way. Rebecca was doomed and no amount of meddling can save her. He should have worked on the cure rather than a time machine.
As the first tear fell, he heard a cheep. His head snapped to the rat cage. It was empty. Another cheep, the rat was dazed on the floor. It scampered away as he approached. He should study it for advise effects but it looks alive enough and he is not a biology guy. He wouldn't even know what to look for.
The stopwatch was at 15 minutes. More time than he hoped for. "The bounce back test was a success. I should study this system longer but I am way past my deadline. I need to jump. The mission is to travel 50 years into the future and get the cure from this new disease that plagues my love. My future self should have found it. Heck, he only took him 8 months to figure out time travel. If I don't make it back, well, Rebecca is in a coma so nobody will miss me." Sylas swallowed hard. "And I would have to deal with loan sharks anymore."
He placed his table and got his notebook. The machine setting matched the notebook. The microwaves had to be the correct frequency for 50 years forward. Only a few hertz of leeway. Who even knew if they radiation is still microwaves or something new. He could run some tests to be on the safe side.
Screw it. He could find more things to check or he could jump into the portal. The positioned himself in front of his machine. The blue glow of the portal dared him to jump. Just a few step forward, that's it. Easy.
He fell back. Dr. Sylas is a scientist, not a daredevil. This is too much. He stared at his machine. How long will it stay open? He could see the heat waves started to form. The heat sink is gonna fail soon. It's do or die. He stood up. For Rebecca.
------
The blue light consumed him. Time bending does a number on the senses but his vision returned to him. A great horror surfaced within Sylas. A derelict version of his lab greeted him. All of his shelves have fallen, his paper scattered on the floor. His time machine long rusted with a large hole in the side.
Is this an alternate reality? Maybe instead of time jumping, he jumped into a dimension. One where the time machine fails and destroys the lab. He looked for the nuclear clock he always kept on the table. No this is the future. 50 years, give or take a few days.
He was hoping his future self would just hand him the cure but that clearly isn't the case. Dang. Maybe the formula for the cure was on the papers on the floor.
Every theory proof, every observation, and every small note; he knew them all. Nothing new was here. He sunk to the floor. "Of course, if I am jumping through time, I am not here to create the cure." He noticed marks on the wall.
Claw marks covered every surface of his lab. A bear must get in at some point. It does tons of damage. Gonna have to plan around that. Like it matters, Rebecca is as good as dead. This one-shot was bust. Time shouldn't work like this.
"I should be back to make the cure to give to myself." He kicked the now ancient time machine. "Stupid thing. You should have saved her, not…" he looked into the damaged side. "have yours heat sink melt." That's not right. The machine was intact when he left. Wait, What is that in the back corner? It that a corps-.
-----
A blue light enveloped Sylas again. The return trip was less pleasant. The universe must hate time travel.
His senses don't return to him before he felt a great pressure launch him across the room. His eyes adjusted to see a familiar hole in his machine. A green light shined out.
Ah, gamma waves makes sense. The radiation can do weird stuff when you force it to expand and contract. He looked toward the middle of the room.
Ah, a giant rat; makes sense. Gamma waves can rapidly mutate mammals. Explains the marks in the future, and me being launched into the back corner. What is this feeling on my face?
Ah, blood; makes sense.
r\TheSparp
| 2019-04-30T13:36:25 | 2019-04-30T13:22:29 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager.
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Before you can speak to his manager, you must first prepare. Yeah, you’re a super villain, but that doesn’t mean you’re the top of the totem poles when it comes to villainy. To prepare, you must spend time studying the best of the best: The League of Karens. For months you follow them around, watching as they order drinks from Starbucks and complain when they receive their drinks. Each hair appointment is meticulously watched. Soon, you’re prepared. With awful looking blonde highlights, an asymmetrical bob, a family of stick figures and memes of minions with wine...you’ve done it. You complain to his manager, and before you’re even through the office doors he falls to his knees, throwing “Get out of jail free” cards at your Anne Klein boots. His personal business card is offered, with the instruction to call whenever needed. Super heroes shudder as you strut past with your three-wide baby carriage full of robot chihuahuas. Never again were you bothered by these heroes, and the League of Karens elected you go their HOA board!!!
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God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!!
| 2019-08-01T18:47:04 | 2019-08-01T18:30:21 | 41 | 11 |
[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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It had been 3 years since Dracona (I'm not that creative, but she seemed to still like it) was born, and we were wiping out yet another group of "brave adventurers". In reality they just wanted the glory of being able to say that they were the ones to take us out. Most people who had at least an ounce of sense in their heads knew that we didn't bother anyone unless they bothered us. But once in a while someone decided that they should take a stab at us, but they always regretted it.
In the beginning it had mostly been Dracona frying the odd lone adventurer, but over time I became quite proficient with the scythe that I had converted into a makeshift glaive. That only bolstered our reputation, attracting even more adventurers. Most could of cause be persuaded to leave us alone. I was just a lowly farmer after all. But there were those who, like those being mowed down now, wouldn't listen to reason.
This had gone from being an exhausting challenge to being more akin to removing weeds from my fields. A task that had become considerably easier by the fact that as time went on, some strange things started to happen as well. It started as a simple increase in strength and speed, as well as not being tired nearly a easily, but I soon noticed that the areas around where I had struck an opponent became charred. This power in particular had increased a lot, as evidenced by the adventurer in front of me being reduced to ash after a single strike. It had also proven useful against weeds, as I could burn through their entire root system, without damaging any of my crops.
My stream of thoughts ended as the last of the adventurers finally managed to land a hit before being reduced to ash himself (this one was surprisingly skilled), but the hit just glanced off, my hardened scaly skin (another benefit from living with a dragon), and I used his moment of confusion to finish him off.
With a pile of fresh ash at my feet I looked around, and saw Dracona crushing the last of her group in between her wary sharp jaws. Her fire breath wasn't as useful anymore, for as word of us had become more wildly known, a lot of parties of adventurers had begun including either mages that could protect against the torrents of flame, or people in armor, or wielding shields that could do the same. But mages rarely had any armor, as it somehow interfered with their magic, so they were easy to cut down, and even the most sturdy armor didn't do anything when a 4 ton dragon stepped on you.
As we were walking back to the house, we saw a couple of robed figures scrambling to get away from it. Probably some attempted cultists who had run afoul of my wife. While she had gotten a lot of the same abilities as me, she couldn't burn things with a single touch, or cut. Instead she had gotten a dragon's fearful presence, being able to instill terror in even the most hardened veteran with just a glance. When I had asked Dracona about it she had simply answered that it suited her better, and I could only agree.
When we reached the house I put down the makeshift glaive and picked up a more typical scythe and walked out into my field. It was harvest season and killing adventurers didn't bring any food to the table.
|
FADE IN:
INT. A HUMBLE HUT -- SUNNY
*One man sits at the head of the table, head in his hands. This is FARMER. He is dressed simply, streaks of dirt decorating his face and arms.*
**FARMER:** My family name is literally Farmer. I farm. My father and his father before him farmed on this very piece of land.
*To his left, a disgruntled knight in bulky silver armour sat. This is GIDEON. A woman used to more spacious accommodations, she constantly fiddles with the sword in its sheath, trying to find a comfortable position to sit still. She slams the table when she hears Farmer's words, however.*
**GIDEON:** So you admit your nefarious plot has been ongoing for generations?
*To Gideon's left, a mysterious figure sits. This is the mysterious CULTIST, face entirely shrouded with a prominently hooded black cloak. It's impossible to tell who, or what they are--but the voice that emerges is immediately unsettling.*
**CULTIST:** Beware how you speak, knight. This is the Dark Lord you are talking to.
*Farmer sighs.*
**FARMER:** Like I said--
*Farmer is interrupted rudely as a gigantic yellow eye appears in the window to the left of the cultist. This is the DRAGON, whose immense bulk meant that he had to be left outside. Gideon inadvertently recoils, while the Cultist erects himself with reverence.*
**DRAGON:** Say the word, master. And I shall burn them all to the ground.
**FARMER:** No! No burning! Just let me speak.
*An impossibly cute, puppy-like whine emerges from the humongous creature. The eye disappears from view.*
**GIDEON:** Monster.
**CULTIST:** Saviour.
**FARMER:** He's just a pet. OK? A big one.
*Both Gideon and the Cultist scoffs.*
**GIDEON & CULTIST:** You must be joking.
*The pair looked at each other, a gaze that indicates both reaching a brief state of understanding.*
**GIDEON:** She must be destroyed.
**CULTIST:** She must be worshipped.
*The brief state of understanding is quickly shattered. The duo lean closer together, and their hands both slowly move towards their side.*
**FARMER:** Look. The dragon was born here on this property. She's mine.
*Gideon continues to stare at the cultist, but briefly turns to Farmer.*
**GIDEON:** I do not want trouble here. If you insist, I'll have to kill you.
**CULTIST:** Kill the Dark Lord? Your opinion of yourself is far exaggerated.
*Gideon and the Cultist rise from their seats ever so slightly. Farmer cuts it out quickly, banging his hand on the table.*
**FARMER:** If you two do not stop it, I'll have the dragon burn you two to a crisp.
*A titanic growl can be heard from outside. The two concerned parties quickly shrink back into their seats.*
**FARMER:** (*cont'd*) The two of you have been saying a lot of things about killing and threat and danger and what not. So, hear me when I say this--I don't care. Actually, you know what? Dragon?
*The dragon's eye appears again.*
**DRAGON:** Master?
**FARMER:** What do you think of these kind visitors' opinions that you are very dangerous?
**DRAGON:** I am extremely dangerous. I can burn things just by breathing on them.
*Gideon shrugs her shoulders, plainly saying 'I told you so.'*
**FARMER:** OK. Fine. Sure. You know what?
*Farmer stands up suddenly, running towards the door. Before Gideon and the Cultist get halfway through their springing up motion, but before they could reach Farmer, the two can hear the roaring of a dragon.*
**FARMER:** (*cont'd*) You can burn anything really fast, right?
**DRAGON:** Of course.
**FARMER:** Screw this land. Whatever. My father never reared a dragon. You know that little patch of forest outside of this kingdom's jurisdiction?
**DRAGON:** Not exactly. But you know it, and I can fly high in the sky.
**FARMER:** Good. Take me there. I've heard good things about slash-and-burn agriculture.
**DRAGON:** As you wish.
**FARMER:** Will be good to send some haze this goddamn kingdom's way as well.
*The powerful beats of a dragon's wings causes the house to shake dramatically, while Gideon and the Cultist holds on to the table. Three, four, five, six, and it grows gradually more quiet, leaving the pair still partially standing at the table.*
**CULTIST:** OK. That wasn't the best outcome. But not the worst, either.
**GIDEON:** ... This is of the gravest threat. A dissident and a dragon gone rogue. I must send our armies at once.
*The Cultist holds their hands up high. They are ridiculously pale.*
**CULTIST:** Good luck, ma'am. I might be in a cult, but there's no way in hell I'm going to that dragon and probably seeing hell right after.
**GIDEON:** You might be in a terrible cult, but that is a valid point. So, what? We each report to our higher-ups that they escaped to another continent?
**CULTIST:** Sure. I don't want to die so young.
**GIDEON:** Reasonable take. I mean, I can chop you down right now. Save some trouble.
*Gideon pulls the sword ever so slightly out of the sheath.*
**CULTIST:** You think I don't have a death curse on me?
*Gideon puts the sword back in hastily.*
**GIDEON:** Well. It's not a dragon's breath, but still.
**CULTIST:** I think we'll just have to learn to deal with a little haze. You can just say we are worshipping the sun to make it stronger and burning the forest, or something. You'll figure something out. Crackpot theories a plenty.
**GIDEON:** The King's experimenting with focusing sunlight into weapons. That could work.
**CULTIST:** Right. Farewell then. Until some other time?
**GIDEON:** I'll run you through with a sword yet.
**CULTIST:** And I'll hex you into a frog. But at least it's not dragonfire.
*Gideon nods furiously.*
**GIDEON:** At least it's not dragonfire.
FADE TO BLACK
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-03-21T14:12:00 | 2021-03-21T13:10:16 | 180 | 128 |
[WP] The superheroes and supervillains are angry with you because you help them both but they can't kill you because you're too valuable. You remind them, "look, I'm a doctor with healing powers following the medical code, it doesn't matter who my patients are! Stop whining about it!"
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I would say that the hardest part of my job is saving lives.
Namely, saving heroes and villains from killing each other in my spotless hospital rooms the moment they wake up.
"Why am I in the same room as this creep?" said the Liberty Lancer, or better known as Rachel Weiss while in hospital clothes.
The creep, in today's instance, is Kage--Brooklyn Lee.
"And I categorically refuse to be in the same room as this piece of--"
I opened the room door, then, and my nurse, Bryan, looked at me with an all-too-familiar expression: a cocktail mix of "the same old shit again," and "oh my god, I can finally get out of here."
Brooklyn and Rachel turned their eyes on me then, and their shouting match became muted instantly.
"Is there a problem?" I said, as Bryan sneakily backed away into the hallway, before turning into a full sprint to, presumably, the break room.
"Doc," Rachel began her protest in earnest. "Kage and I don't mix. You know that."
In a rare show of agreement, Brooklyn nodded.
"You mix because we don't have enough room," I said, crossing my arms. I found that it helped make me more imposing, though I'm not sure if it made my words more convincing. Evidently not, because Kage was quick to speak up.
"Doctor," Brooklyn said. "Please, I implore you to reconsider your stance. Separating us is simply better for the long run."
"Honestly, I don't need people who destroy the city on a regular basis to tell me what's better for the long run," I said.
The two pointed at each other accusingly, as if the two--whether it's ideology or for the side they are fighting for--weren't equally responsible for turning buildings into rubble. Incidentally, it's why I pay through the nose for insurance. But I suppose the respective leagues are also paying through the nose for *me* to be their insurance.
"But I'm sure the West Lake Virtuous League has enough for me to be in a private ward," sulked Rachel.
"As do the Evil Eight," Brooklyn lifted his head up pompously.
"Sure," I said. "Lancer, would you like to ask the Dark Queen for her bed?"
At one of the city's foremost villainess' name, Rachel's sulk deepened even further, but no more words came out.
"And Kage," I said. "What about you? Fancy being smote while checking in with the Paladin?"
The city's Superman shut Brooklyn up quickly.
"That's what I thought," I smiled as professionally as I could, before bowing and backing out of the room. "And remember--your life is in our hands."
---
r/dexdrafts
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Asclepius v.s. The Unified Sovereignties' Healthcare System)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**My daughter was bleeding out, and there was only one person who could save her.** I'd known Asclepius from my days as a superhero—everyone had. She'd made waves with her stand of principle, healing anyone who came to her, free of charge, no matter how twisted their crimes or noble their deeds. She'd made enemies and allies galore, but one thing was certain: Asclepius always healed. The stars could fall, the seas could boil, but Asclepius would always be waiting in her humble urban home, place a hand on the forehead of the afflicted, and they would walk away, leaving their injuries behind.
So I was rather confused when, upon arrival at Asclepius' home, I was greeted by a bored-looking intern with a form in his hands.
Credit where credit is due, the intern at least took one look at my bleeding daughter and called for the nurses. I looked around what used to be my old friend's living room, now transformed into a sterile, antiseptic waiting room. Various people sat or stood in various states of disrepair along the sides; the room was packed nearly to the brim.
"Ma'am, please hand us the patient," a white-robed nurse said, trying to grab Janice from my arms.
"Where's Asclepius?" I snapped. "My daughter is dying. She should be here. She's the only one who can save her."
"With all due respect, ma'am, we'll be the judges of that. If we can heal your daughter through conventional medicine, instead of through a rare and limited resource, then that is what we will do. Now give us the patient before her condition worsens."
I relented—what else was I to do? But... no, things still weren't right. Tupperman walked in behind me, nervously glancing at the cameras in the corner of the room—the former supervillain's habits died hard.
"Don't worry," I murmured. "Nobody's going to start a fight in Asclepius' home."
"Clara... I..." Tupperman looked around at the attendants, the forms, the clipboards, the advertisements for health insurance on TV. "I'm not so sure that this *is* Asclepius' home anymore."
"Ma'am?" The intern held out a sheet of paper. "Please fill out your intake form."
"Intake for—for God's sake, man, Asclepius doesn't need intake forms. She's healed people from far worse than what my daughter got; just let her do what she does best."
"We are," the intern said. "Asclepius is currently with Savret Hospital, healing the patients who are most demonstrably in need. If you believe our level of healthcare to be insufficient, you can apply for intake there."
"This isn't—this isn't right," I snapped. "Asclepius heals *everyone* who comes to her."
The intern sighed. "Right, you're one of those. Here, we have pamphlets."
"*Pamphlets?!*"
The intern all but tossed one at me, as well as the intake form. I slapped them out of the air, but Tupperman caught them.
"Uh, Clara?" Tupperman skimmed the pamphlet, then doubled back, eyes wide. "You might... you might want to see this."
"I don't want to see what that man's damn pamphlets have to—"
"*Clara.*"
Tupperman used the tone of voice he normally reserved for uppity so-called "superheroes" who were just looking for an excuse to let out violence. I took that as a hint and settled down. He handed me the pamphlet, and I glared at the section he pointed out.
*Asclepius' powers are potent, but limited. She can cure any illness, mend any harm—but only to those she touches. As such, we at Savret Hospital have devoted our infrastructure to locating only those who are most in need of her premium healthcare services, and devoting Asclepius' energies to where they are of maximal use. If you would like to fund our administration, Savret Hospital accepts donations...*
I hissed. "They—they *privatized* Asclepius? She—she would never let them do that. She's stood up to all the pressures so far. All the superheroes and supervillains in the world—"
"—are nothing compared to the force compelling her now." Tupperman wrinkled his nose. "The Unified Sovereignties healthcare system."
My stomach dropped. "But... if Asclepius isn't even here..."
Tupperman grabbed my arm. "Hey. Janice is a fighter. She'll pull through."
I stared at the door they'd taken my daughter through, fists clenching and unclenching. I'd been a superhero when I thought the main threats to the world were things I could punch with my fists—then a politician, when I realized words were far more potent weapons than any superpower could ever be. But throughout all my career, I'd never been *helpless* like this. There had always been something I could do.
And then it hit me.
"Wait here," I said, handing the intake form to Tupperman.
He blinked. "What are you doing?"
"The only thing I can!" I shouted.
And I ran out into the streets of Califerne to find an old friend.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-08-01T11:11:47 | 2021-08-01T09:24:46 | 650 | 111 |
[WP] Humanity has finally achieved FTL travel. They can now explore the universe and find other alien species, sapient or otherwise. To the consternation of Man, it turns out they’re all crabs. As a matter of fact, the interstellar community is quite disturbed we are not crabs.
|
Clacks, bubbling and a noise that could not really be adequately described by human ears filled the room. The smell of sea foam and mud was just as if not more overwhelming to the poor naked apes lined up before a room full of comically large crabs. The ambassadors of Humanity could do little but look around nervously at the rows full of crustaceans as they... argued? Honestly it was hard to tell, the translators could only work so quickly, and they weren't even designed with crabs in mind in the first place. Finally a particularly large blue crab slammed a heavy claw on its desk silencing the room. It used a smaller claw to pick up a paper and began to speak slowly,
"We are gathered here today to welcome a new species to the Great Cast, the race of Humanity. My name is \*Untranslatable\* and it is my distinct pleasure to welcome you to our community." it "spoke", making very slow and methodical clicks with its large mandibles, "I am well aware there are some... differences... but they have passed all tests for sapience and the High Council has decreed that they shall be allowed to join. As per tradition the ambassadors may now ask any questions they so desire to better understand our society and civilisation."
The ambassadors felt a thousand tiny eyes on stalks look towards them with that final sentence. Three of them slowly dragged their seats back leaving one unfortunate ambassador, one James Fisher, to handle the document in front of him,
"So are you all..." He began, reading the very first question, bolded, highlighted and underlined on the top of the page
"Carciform? Why of course" The large blue crab replied, "We knew you would ask this, to be frank this is as confusing to us as I am sure it is to you, we have never seen a... fully intelligent mammal... before"
James nervously stared at the other big question, and decided against asking it now, "So uh, what would we get out of full membership and what do we need to do to keep it"
The large blue crab took out another sheet of paper as it made its answer, "There will be free trade between you and the rest of the Great Cast and will have an elected member of your civilisation represent you in the High Council as well as 787 others to represent your race in the Low Council. You will be protected by the military forces of the Great Cast and be provided with free travel in our space. You will be allowed to keep all of your current power structures and culture as long as you do not violate the Supreme Edicts. These are in order do not declare war on any fellow member of the Great Cast, do not seek to align yourselves with enemies of the Great Cast and do not interfere with the spawning rituals and grounds of any other member of the Great Cast. Aside from those key points follow the ethical guidelines of the Great Cast when it comes to research, trade and other such endeavours as described in the Crustacea Pact which as you know has been sent to you along with a brief history of the Great Cast..." The large blue crab continued at a snails pace for the next two hours, James and the other ambassadors probably should have focused more clearly but the pressing question was... occupying their thoughts
"That sounds reasonable" James coughed once the large blue crab finished, clearly slightly distracted, he was given a nudge by his coworker and began to move on to the next question, "So uh, how long have you guys like, existed for?"
"Roughly about a million of your years" The large blue crab slowly clacked out
James, struggling to hold back his overwhelming question, spat out another question while eyeing the *big* one "So uh, what other options do we have?"
"A pure trade alliance with none of the travel or protection benefits of the Great Cast, or if you so choose simply a non aggression pact with us otherwise going our seperate ways." The large blue crab clacked even slower than necessary for the translator to function, seemingly sensing the coming question
Unable to hold back anymore James practically cried out, "SO WE UH, EAT CRABS, DO WE HAVE TO STOP NOW? DO WE HAVE TO STOP EATING YOUR... RELATIVES? PLEASE WE NEED TO KNOW!"
Silence reigned for several painful minutes until one crab began to bubble loudly, the rest began to join in and James feared this was some sort of argument, screaming match, call for war or somehow worse until the large blue crab once more called for silence by dropping its huge claw on the table with a bang.
"Oh don't worry about that we do that all the time ourselves. Any more questions?"
James was speechless. With a defeated sigh he slowly asked "May I have some time to chat with my team and perhaps contact the rest of Mankind?"
"Why of course, we can call for a short recess now, i'm sure you need it. Remember you have one Standardised Year or 2.3 of your years to make your final decision as a species so don't rush."
Humanity joined the Great Cast as the first non Carciform species ever one Standardised Year later.
|
The street was crowded with brightly colored stalls and riotously colored carapaces. The salt water funk of a thousand crustacean species hung thick in the air. To Tyron, it seemed the world was alive with clicking and humming, and the deep, burbling, unintelligible speech common to all crab life of the galaxy.
Tyron adjusted his translation patch and rebreather, trying to filter some of the aural and nasal noise from the air. After several long seconds, Trader’s Alley, that world spanning equatorial band of shops, stalls, sunken malls, and shellpots resolved to something manageable for a human. Tyron breathed a little deeper, then consulted his data slate.
A single dot blinked faintly some five hundred meters away. It fuzzed out and then back in, fuzzed out again and then stayed. It was hard to track anyone in the madness of a crab city, but in the case of another human, it was vaguely possible. The slate was gathering and sifting data fed to him from his orbiting spacecraft’s sensors, tracking the nearest human life reading to Tyron’s own position. There were only twenty humans on all of Decapoda Prime, and of those, ten were embassy staff and eight had formally registered business concerns. That left only two readings, Tyron’s, and the man he’d been sent to catch.
The Hammer Man. The man whose appetites might see the human race at war before too long, if Tyron couldn't stop him.
Tyron jogged down the long, gently curving street. Eye stalks and assorted visual-apparati followed him, all of them dark, beady, and angry. Tyron tried to see past the crustaceans natural urge to distrust a mammal, tried to see past the fact that the creatures most like him were hanging from food stalls or spitted over the hot water jet cooking systems the crustaceans seemed to love.
He’d been on the Hammer Man’s trail for a year now, across Decapoda Prime and Minor, the Brachyura sytem, and beyond. The man was an enigma.
Tyron had heard once that he was very rich, and he thought that much must be true. To move so easily and so secretly from planet to planet implied he must have a private spacecraft, likely of crustacean make so as to dress less attention in port. The Hammer Man seemed to have no other job, his only calling was to satisfy his own, dark appetites. Tyron had also heard that he was a connoisseur, that before he'd embarked on his sentient killing sprees he'd sampled every fare humanity had and found it wanting.
Whatever he was, he could be an enigma. Tyron tracked him just the same, though always one step behind, one shattered shell and meat stripped carapace away from his target.
This time would be different. Tyron checked the slate again. His target was moving, the life sign had ducked down a warren of alleys and was heading west, towards the shellpots. Tyron shivered. He had wanted to catch the man before he got there, but his target was quick, and the shellpots were very close.
Sharp red light bathed the fetid street from a thousand tiny urns set into the walls of the curving, organic lined buildings. Tyron took a moment to catch his breath and his bearing as he reached the shellpots. He wished he hadn’t almost instantly.
Here, the buildings were tall, multilevel affairs. Simply built and simply colored, designed to draw the eye to the jutting clamshell balconies where the crustacean underworld hawked their wares. Here, the creatures in the balconies, some women, some men, some indescribable to humans, wore nothing on their carapaces but bright shell paint and wisps of anemone gauze. It turned Tyron’s stomach. The creatures had too many curves and too many legs. Too many claws and sharp edges.
Tyron checked the data slate and cursed loudly. The reading was gone. The Hammer Man might have ducked into any of a million alleys and door steaming with life of a endless descriptions, more than enough to confuse an orbital sensor.
Then the distant clacking and burbling grew louder, and from several brothels down and to his left, Tyron heard the clear, stone on claw grinding sounds of crustacean panic.
Tyron followed it, running down the street as fast as he could, his pistol in one hand and his holo-badge winking into life on his back and both shoulders.
“Clear the street!” he shouted ineffectually at the many panicked creatures who were pouring out of the building. A scent filled the air, something like heavily salted boiling water and old bay, and Tyron knew he was far, far too late. He dashed up the stairs and into another warren of rooms, following his nose now, and there he found him.
The Hammer Man stood over a broken form, purple anemone gauze decking the walls and the expansive mollusk shaped bed. Here and there claw pincers were scattered around amidst small fragments of shell Tyron couldn’t identify. The Hammer Man was tall and whipcord thin, long black hair trailing across a bare, faux-leather jacket cut off at the elbows. He turned towards Tyron, face smeared with oils and spices, marks of the sentient he’d just been eating. His right arm terminated in a heavy, cybernetic mallet, lights winking on and off with every little motion. In his left, the man held a laser pen. The kind used by artists and construction workers to scrawl shapes into durasteel. Tyron’s eyes widened, perhaps on a very diffuse setting it was capable of cooking the man’s targets inside their shells.
The Hammer Man raised a single manicured eyebrow, smiling through thin lips. “What, they sent the Stasi for little old me?”
Tyron grimaced at the nickname and raised his pistol, thumbing off the safety. “I’m bringing you in, EarthSec wants a few words.”
“I’m sure they do,” the Hammer Man said. His smile only grew. At his feet the broken shaped twitched and burbled, still alive but only just.
“Put down the hammer and the pen.”
“Afraid I can’t, boss,” The Hammer Man said, raising his right arm. The hammer was riveted to flesh and bone in a rough parody of real cyber surgery.
“The pen then,” Tyron demanded.
The Hammer Man shrugged and dropped it. It hit the ground with a heavy clank and bounced a little, and as it hung in the air the Hammer Man glanced down to it, his eyes glowing in the way that only cyber eyes could, translating a little message to his tool.
The pen flashed, shockingly, painfully bright, the light scalding Tyron’s eyes. His pistol went off as he scrambled back, trying to make sense of what had just happened, what he’d just seen. There was a loud crash, a hammer tearing through a wall as if it were tissue paper, and then nothing.
It took minutes for Tyron’s sight to truly return, and by then the Decapodan police were there with lights of their own and a battery of hard to answer questions. Tyron could only flash his badge and wonder, thinking back on his last moments with his target.
The Hammer Man had issued the command to his pen, and then his form had shimmered, the jacket had extended, the brown turning to reds and golds as it became a carapace. His face had hardened and elongated, he’d sprouted extra eyes. The hammer had become a single, heavy claw.
Somewhere on his person, the Hammer Man had hidden a shockingly good and shockingly effective holo-generator. It made sense, Tyron thought. A seeming crustacean coming off a crustacean ship, no one would ever think to question it.
As one particularly particularly burly lobster looking fellow ambled to Tyron, each of his two sets of claws holding a different form to be filled out, Tyron sent his data slate records up to his ship, along with a reconstructed snap shot of the last thing he’d seen. The ship would search half the galaxy’s database for anyone with a cyber hammer or a face like The Hammer Man’s own.
Tyron could only hope that that too had not been a fake.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-08-05T05:55:39 | 2021-08-05T05:52:31 | 1,436 | 240 |
[WP] You're an enchanted suit of armor, empty on the inside. After gaining sentience you left the haunted keep you were stored in and began adventuring. As you gain notoriety as an adventurer and make friends and connections, it gets harder to keep it a secret that there's nothing behind your visor.
|
“Galade, why don’t you ever take that armor off?” said my companion.
“Makes me feel comf’rble,” I replied, tersely.
“All that metal can’t be comfortable, friend. Come, when’s the last time you took that off?” he said as he reached for the sides of my helmet. I grabbed his hands, which seemed to surprise him.
“It’s quite comf’rting, knowing that any weapon an en’my might bring to bear’ll do me next to no ‘arm when it strikes,” I responded, as I had many times to the same inquiry from others.
Valden’s expression soured. “But it’s just the two of us here. Do you not trust me? Gods above, Galade, I don’t even know what you look like.”
I hadn’t the guts literally or figuratively to tell him then and there that this was all there was to see, but he persisted in reaching for my… well, I suppose “face” isn’t the wrong word, so I felt some reassurance or explanation was in order. What could I say, though? This friend of mine must have been acting under the assumption that I was like him, alive and full of warmth and compassion, but alas, I am just this metal shell imbued with a hollow semblance of life…
“Galade. Please.”
I wanted so completely to tell him the truth in that moment. Yet it was as if some barrier existed that prevented the words from issuing forth. What would he think? What would he say? Surely, he would want me destroyed for the abomination I am, but if I deny him now, he will only persist in his prying. Perhaps I am only delaying the inevitable.
I let go of his hands, accepting of my fate.
As my visor lifted, he looked surprised, then confused, then perhaps a little angry, as he searched the empty helmet for a face.
“That’s… all ‘ere is, my friend,” I said, arms outstretched, waiting for the inevitable accusatory finger-point and shouting about Gods and the natural and unnatural and so on. He was indignant for certain, but not quite in the way I expected.
“You’re… what, you’re an animated armor?”
“…yes.”
“What, and you weren’t going to tell me as such? I was worried, Galade! You know it’s pretty obvious you don’t sleep and don’t eat properly, I thought you would collapse any minute if you didn’t get some proper rest! Oh, that’s a relief. Dear Gods.”
This was… a strange feeling. Relief? Happiness? I didn’t know how I was… supposed to feel, but nonetheless I managed to inquire, “You’re not… mad? Afraid?”
He replied, “Well, no, I could never stay mad at you. I didn’t know animated things like you could be so… human. It’s certainly weird, but… many things in life are weirder than *this.*” He gestured to my shell as he spoke. “Honestly, friend, I’m quite impressed, first at the fact that you are so much… *yourself*, and second, that you managed to keep this a secret as long as you did.”
“But I’m a monster…”
“Sure, but what difference does that make?” he asked. “You’ve proven time and time again that you’ve got a good soul, and that’s all that really matters in life. Come, I’m sure you’ve got some interesting stories about wizards and old, crumbly towers to tell.”
I thought about his words for a long time after that. I’m still not sure I understand, but it was nice to know I really could trust him.
|
**Questioning who and When,**
"So, what part of the Order are you from, Ella?" Teil'aa was polishing the leaf-plate of my armor with bristle-fungus, checking to see if she could see her reflection yet.
"What?" I pretended I hadn't been expecting the question.
"I've never seen armor as beautiful as yours. It must come from High Tree." It did.
"If you want to go fishing, I saw a nice creek a klick back," I joked.
She threw the chunk of fungus at my visor. I didn't even feel it, I never did.
As it bounced off harmlessly, she sighed, "Maybe I just wanted..."
"Something besides trail-biscuits?" I tried to be wry.
Her sigh drifted into downcast silence, "Something."
I kept thinking about what Teil'aa really wanted when I stood on the watch-tree's platform as she and the others rested. As my thoughts wandered, something bright drifted across my vision, a spark. Glancing down I could see our fire was still well put out. And they were all still sleeping, so I risked it. I let go of the armor and drifted up, becoming one with the breeze.
Soon I could see it, fire ablaze in the town we were destined for. If it spread, the whole forest would be ablaze. Not much my friends below could do. Could I? If it could save Teil'aa and the others, I had no choice but to try. I took the breeze for my own and rode it up. Then I took the thermal too, and all the winds until I was a storm again. Oh, since forever it had been!
**Rains Come, but...**
This fury, this strength... it had once been mine, though now it was stolen. I saw with the eyes of a raptor, tasted everything on the wind, felt it as myself. No, no time for thundering though. No time to look for the source of fire. I pulled as hard as I could, the waters of the sky and near below. I held a lake of fish in my beak and then the rains fell from my wings. Oh to be whole and one again!
Then I recalled Teil'aa. Teil'aa, Teil'aa. And her questions, unanswered. Below, the fire dwindled to nothing as the forest was drenched by my furious rains. I could hear the angry thunder of my cousins in the distance, and so I knew it was time to hide again. To pretend to be below the rains, instead of them being of me.
There were questions to answer or avoid, a life to lead. Adventures and fun, people to help. Teil'aa. Her smile and her frown. That amused pout she made at my terrible jokes. *How can I keep pretending*? I wondered.
**...Should I go?**
Well, this was a problem. I had left my armor behind and now it wasn't where I left it. had it blown away? No, I could feel it... ah. Of course, she gathered it to keep it safe. The others were packing, I could hear them planning to look for me. Teil'aa waited for them, impatient in her concern. For me? Why? And what could I do, should I just go until...?
No. I could hear them booming above. *Qor'iin! Qor'iiiin!!!* I needed my shell as snail needs their own. My home, the skin I didn't really have. "Teil'aa!" I said as quietly as I could from the watch-tree platform where my armor had been. Too loud, everyone heard me. "Ella!?" Teil'aa and the others shouted up.
"Wait! Wait! The rains were so nice I took my armor off and went walking above the trees. But I need dry clothes, since..." I let them assume mine had been soaked by the rain, that such clothes even existed.
"I've got it," Korrus replied from below. They tended our extra gear, but were usually reading.
"Thanks, but..." I objected awkwardly.
I could almost hear them rolling their eyes, "I have no interest in looking at you, so I won't. I can just bring a bark box of clothes up and leave it. I'll stay looking away, you can keep you back turned. Fair enough?"
"I guess, it's just..."
They were already picking clothes out, "Really I don't care... whatever vow you took to be unseen or... it's... oh perfect!" They had stopped focusing on the conversation to dig around in the packs.
I risked peeking down and I saw the others joking around and/or eating. Teil'aa sat to the side, frowning. No one noticed, so I sat in a corner away from where Korrus would be climbing up.
Soon, I heard them grumbling ascent; complaints about everything from their knees to how little 'bark-armoured assassins' appreciated their efforts. To be fair, I didn't eat their cooking and I knew how quiet I was unnerved them. Good to their word, they set the box down and turned to climb back down almost as soon they reached the platform. Then they began to slip and I couldn't let them fall.
Just the effort of pulling them back up to the platform was exhausting without more than a breeze this low to draw on. The gust I made to do so took so much from me I gasped in pain. Korrus realized that empty space in front of them was a person.
"Oh fuck. Thank the Creator," Korrus stared around them on the platform as they muttered that and then asked, "Is somebody here? Ella?"
"I'm here, yes."
"Where?"
"You're looking right at me!" the burst of my shout hissed in their face.
"You're the air?"
"Shush! Let me put these clothes on," I said, lifting the leggings out and doing just that with them.
"Fine, I'll go stall for you. There's a mask in there for you too," they began to climb down again, more carefully this time.
"Be careful," I chided sarcastically.
"Of course."
**But here I am.**
Tail'aa was furious when I finally came down from the watch-tree.
"You could have been killed!"
"I... it could have been worse than that."
"What is that supposed to mean?" She demanded.
"Did you ever hear the story of the tree that loved the clouds?"
"Don't change the subject."
"I'm not, I promise."
"Fine, what do shield-trees have to do with this?"
"Where do you think my leaf-plate came from?"
"Obviously the leaves of a shield-tree like all leaf-plate. So?"
"The cloud the tree loved was a real person."
"Sure. And I'm a giant beaver."
"Could have fooled me," I joked.
"This is not the time," she warned.
"Well, I'm not joking about the cloud," and then I took off my mask so she could see.
| 2021-09-21T08:42:20 | 2021-09-21T08:31:02 | 1,144 | 64 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
I've been up, maybe, 75 to 76 hours this time around
It's this new drug that one of the big pharma companies dropped.
Supposed to be better than Adderall, Modafinil, and miles ahead of most amphetamines. At least safety wise. And so far, that seems to be the case. I feel awake. Alive. So this is what being a normal person is like, huh?
Oh well. I'm recording this as part of my trial run. Had to sign off on it to get a script.
Anyway, talk to you later.
---
Okay. Entry 2. Or Tape 2? Um, how do people keep video diaries usually? I don't know.
Sorry. So I actually visited the clinic again today. Apparently they want to check with test subjects once a week for about 12 weeks. It's cool though. You come in, they read your vitals, give you a questionnaire, ask about side effects, and away you go.
If you really feel up to it, you do a blood check, and they'll actually give you 20 bucks for the trouble.
Win-win.
But uh, other than some moments where you get a little manic, not too bad. My record so far is 97 hours. I know they have you stop using every 10 days to check the difference during the clinic visits.
But... This is awesome. Do you have idea how much we get done with 8 more hours a day? Why can't it always be like this?
---
Okay, third entry. I think that's what I'll call them.
It's been four weeks. There have been some effects. I don't think it's anything to worry about. Okay, maybe you should worry if you aren't careful.
First off, don't mix with alcohol. I feel like I shouldn't have to say it. But if you do, you will sleepwalk. I've seen friends do it. Strangers. I woke up on a bench in the park this weekend. I don't remember 4 or 5 hours.
So... Don't do that.
Also, I have no clue how that will mess with your liver. Probably not smart.
Also, if you go on a long haul like maybe 80-100 hours, you might get some visual trailing. Have you ever messed with a RGB spectrum in photoshop programs?
Something like that. Just breathe a bit, drink water, move around some. It will go away.
Otherwise. I really love this stuff.
---
It been six weeks.
Um... A good friend of mine died. Heart condition. I guess he never knew. Um, we never knew.
He, uh, he took more than the recommended dosage. I think. Maybe. I can't be sure. His wife said he might have.
But, I kind of wondered about that. Maybe this stuff isn't too good for everybody. Some of my coworkers and stuff. They aren't right. I can't really describe it. It's like they see right through you. There's... there's no reaction. The lights are on, but no one's home.
So.... I think maybe I'll take half my script this time. Not the whole thing. Just stretch it out a bit. See what less does for me.
---
I'm up to 120 hours.
I. I really couldn't do half. It just didn't do anything. They gave me the gel capsules this time. Usually it's 250 milligrams. But these 500.
Haha, I, i think these are the future.
I just, hang on.
My pulse is really racing. I'm a little worked up.
---
So the trial is over.
I really don't know why I'm recording this. It's kind of fun, y'know? My girlfriend left me. She said it was getting to weird, plus she had other things to do. I mean that makes sense. 2 in the morning is the best time to get things done. Busy busy bees.
Sorry, that's, that's just me being dumb.
Flying pretty high.
This is getting boring. Let me call this.
Hey, you got my stuff? Yeah, 750s? 40? Perfect. I'll buzz you in.
No, I ain't doing anything, I'll be right down. 400 bucks, right? Sure. Thanks.
|
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
The girl slips through twilight, dawn threatening behind her. It’s a world turning gray in a place where the only colors should be stars, or the desires people bring to her; which could be many and could be confusing, but which never had any other place to go. She sees a doorway up ahead, slips through it. All she does is slip these days.
It’s a man. He’s sitting at the dinner table having breakfast, which doesn’t make much sense to her. All that pomp and circumstance replaced by paperwork, seats for seven others taken up by laptops, notebooks, and more phones than one man needs. He’s working in that half-world between awareness and the subconscious where the mind tries to retreat to now there’s nowhere else to go. He’s almost creative. He shapes a phrase that he thinks is quite clever, poetic. He used to be a poet in his teenage years. He crosses it out. The boss doesn’t like poets. Not in an earnings call. There’s no poetry to ones and zeros, it’s all stark prose where the subtext is stripped out and the punctuation is a bunch of exclamation points. One after every line. Every life. He’s drifting.
The man reaches to his right and pulls out a little red pill, drinks the pill down with his cup of tea. Not coffee anymore. He doesn’t need coffee and he never liked the taste.
And the girl steps back. She has her foot in the door by the time rush hits, and then it’s rushing past him, towards her, the eight hours that should have been her life flashing before his eyes, a tidal wave of simulated sleep, perchance to never dream again.
The door slams shut behind her. She can hear the man humming. A lullaby. He’d had a baby once, or had that been a dream too?
The girl slips south. Doors crack open and slam shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. She peers through another, sees an awkward child playing. That coltish age where they could be a girl, could be a boy, could be something else—they’re still trying to find themselves in every way they can.
The setting is a porch towards daybreak. A chill spring morning that will lead to a glorious spring day, which will lead to something else, something colder, because these days the girl feels like everything slips back to winter. The child is staring down at a blank sheet of paper, eyes drooping, head lolling sideways. The girl steps closer.
She can help. Wants to help. She reaches out, and it’s like a little piece of the child reaches back, half-formed or less, all soft curves and frayed edges, hardly a suggestion of the person that they’ll become one day.
But there is something. The girl can see it if she focuses. She’s good at pulling threads together, and what are people but threads, really? An interest here, a thought there. Little scraps from friends and family along the way that snarl-up in the darkness where they should. Where people aren’t even thinking about them. Where they’re thinking about work or school or love or lust or the vague impressions of all those things that they’ve gotten from books and movies. The way that a life *should* have been.
A dream can slip between those cracks.
The girl steps forward. She’s taking on a shape, something she used to do all the time. She’ll know why soon, but for now, it feels right. Needed. She slips into it and through it and towards the exhausted child.
A breeze kicks up, cold off the mountains in the distance. The child’s head snaps up. Shakes. They reach into their pocket, pull out a little red pill. Stare at it for a while. Swallow.
The breeze howls, a door slams. Her twilight gets a little grayer.
South becomes imperative. North is wrong, east is cursed, and she doesn’t dare think of west. South pulls her. There’s desperation south, exhaustion. A need to sleep, to think freely, to let a soul spill into darkness and let the work bleed off, the school, the love, the lust, the little desires and the big. All the thoughts that used to crowd in at the break of day are now just thoughts. Everywhere. All the time. The horizon turning into data, as far the eye can see.
A door is thrown open.
The girl stumbles towards it. Slips.
Sees a young woman.
She sits on a cushion in front of a tall bronze rimmed mirror, its edges worked like spreading vines. She’s brushing her hair. Long hair. Beautiful hair. A true black river spilling over one shoulder. The brush catches and the woman sighs. Such a tiny sigh, so solemn. There are bags under her eyes like someone pressed hard into her skin and smudged. They look like they hurt. There’s a bottle sitting on the floor beside her, almost lost in the tumult of makeup.
And the woman keeps brushing her hair. It’s a battle, a war she’s losing. It won’t be the way she wants it. She looks at the bed sometimes, a mess that she’s trying and failing not to think about. There’s a guitar in one corner, a book of piano sheet music discarded on a stool. Three pairs of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one well-worn dress that might have been well-loved once, trailing back in a self-consciously random line towards the closet. Her bookshelves—well stocked—are the only things in order.
She sets the hairbrush down. She’s shaking like she wants to throw it through the window, which is open now but the girl watching her gets the sense that doesn’t matter much.
The young woman looks at the guitar. The piano music. Says *“I used to…*” and then a curious thought flits across her face. Like she can’t complete the sentence. Might even have forgotten how. She laughs, a little nervously, more than a little afraid. She reaches for the hairbrush, drags it through her hair, the door opens and a man comes in and he sighs too. Deep and exasperated as he trudges through the mess and finds the bottle, uncaps it, holds out two little red pills.
The girl sees him from the chest down, towering over the young woman. He’s a rumbling voice, rising up and crashing down and pushing her back towards the doorway, the twilight, the encroaching dawn, which is a bad thing for dreams. Sometimes they shouldn’t end. Like poetry from ones and zeroes and those self-discovering years, they should go on and on. The girl thinks so, at any rate. She lets out a little sob when the young woman reaches for the pills. The man’s hand comes down, cups her so cheek softly, his thumb resting in the hollow beneath her eye.
Twilight. The gray before the dawn.
The girl sits on a ridge and looks out across it all, this world where she’s always lived. Home, with room to spare.
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
She is:
ripples on a pond;
a frontier that men have conquered;
an afterthought in a brave new world.
She could have been:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-03-18T10:08:51 | 2022-03-18T09:00:46 | 83 | 36 |
[WP] You are a "con-man superhero". You draw the attention of villains, pretend to have powers and keep them occupied until a real hero with real powers arrives on the scene. You are so good at your job, that no-one is entirely sure whether you are truly powerless or not.
|
I remain in a comfortable but ready stance i learned from DVD karate lessons and waited. The Blade, some homicidal edgelord who had convinced himself he was protecting the city from vampires was lecturing me on the several different ways one could recognize a vampire. I occasionally asked a leading question to keep his exposition loop going, giving agreeing grunts and nods as needed.
Behind The Blade, meanwhile, some of my colleague support heroes where working to free the "vampires". Mist Ninja was cutting the tape binding their ankles and wrists while Electric Ghost was both hacking the security door and disarming the "garlic grenades" Blade had set up.
Honestly, between us three i fancied our chances to take him down, but there would probably be casualties. So we did what we do best, evacuate civilians, distract the crazy man off his pills, and kept our GPS beacon on for a more combat oriented hero to dash in.
The Blade finished his grand speech, as he began to grow aware of his surroundings i threw in another question. "So, is there really no cure for vampirism?" Blade thought about this for a moment, and began another lecture. I do have a superpower you see, whenever i ask a question, people are slightly compelled to answer. The more questions they answer, the stronger the compulsion to answer more questions becomes. My job is to start a monologue loop while other heroes do their job. My earpiece buzzes with police radio static, an officer on standby informs me backup has arrived.
"Good work Q&A, i'll take it from here." A flash of red enters the room as Ultraman, whooshes around The Blade, wrapping him up using the roll of duct tape Mist Ninja passed to him. "Good work you three, i need to head off, there's a bank being robbed on 5th West, can i ask you to handle the press?"
Mist, Ghost and i nod in affirmation as we escort the civilians out, officers rush in to detain The Blade, on the way out a red blur passes by and each of us, officers included, register a high-five in passing.
I like my job.
---
I'll admit i didn't stick to the prompt like glue... 😗
|
Why am I a hero? Is it for justice? Vengeance? Money? No. It’s for fun, for satisfaction. Although, it’s much harder when you’re not super-abled.
I can hear it, I’ve made myself keen to this kind of thing over the years. The kind of screams that are made when one appears, a villain, and starts to wreck havoc.
Tall, buff, average muscle-villain. Black top, with beige pants, so that isn’t a costume. Caucasian with very slight tanning, so he’s likely from around here, it’s sunny. Too sunny, god it’s hot.
…they’re buff, with some kind of glove— a brawler, then. Angrily punching the ground now, in a park, so they probably don’t have a goal, like reaching some underground area. He’s undamaged, he’s too durable for me to take. Maybe terrorism, maybe just rage, or even attention. You can never truly know the reason behind a villain without talking to them.
How’re my footsteps? Good… good. He shouldn’t hear me. The punch made a crater— “hyup!” —that has a shockwave, so a simple jump will avoid it. And…
“You need to stop”
“RAAGG!”
He immediately swings behind him, but I started ducking before I even finished the sentence. AHH, that’s my hair! Calm face! Keep a calm face.
I’ve wrapped around his leg close to me, and now around…
“Really?!”
…his other, I got him. Muscle-brains kick when they feel something try to pull on their leg, leaving them unbalanced on one leg.
SHIT! He’s too strong! I can’t budge his other leg!
“FUCK OFF!”
He’s going to attack, fuck. Punch? Stomp? —YEAH, it’s a stomp! CAN’T ROLL!
“You shit-stain MONKEY!”
These types also tend to raise their arms when they stomp, so free rides if you hold on.
CRASH!
“OWWwwwaaggghhh…”
Hurts, but still better than being mush… and now I’m ready to do it, he’s going to charge.
And— he’s FASTER THAN I THOUGHT!
“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!”
—but, I’m still good. Pepper spray is always good, even on hulks. Should be good from here on out.
“AH! HELP!”
“WHY—“
DIDN’T YOU EVACUATE! Did he spray his ankle, or did he just freeze from fear? Nevermind, quickly!
I quickly sprint to pick the man up before Mr. Goliath here kills him in his, blind, rage.
“Huff huff HUFF HUFF HUFF!”
BOOM!
We would’ve died, but this guy feels lighter than I— oh. His legs were… prosthetics. Annnnnd, they’re over there.
Good thing!
“aaahhhhhhHHHHHHHH!”
Not good enough, he’s coming right AT US!
What do I do? Can I dodge? Not holding him. Should I throw him? That would save him, but I might not be able dodge. Nevermind, TOO LATE!
His face buried in his elbow, with his other arm flailing wildly, the supervillain was less than twenty feet away.
“HuRAGH!”
Tossing my legless-friend is the best I can do. Well, it was fun. Really fun.
As a calmed smile crept up on my face, accepting my death, my vision of the super-bison was blocked by a fluttering blue image.
Bonk!
Which didn’t budge in the slightest when he was hit by the burning-eyed villain.
“Hello! It’s you!”
“…thank you!”
It was one of the most idolized and respected men on the planet, Blue Gaia. With his earth and gravity powers, combined with physical ability, he was one of the genuine paragons.
“No, no. Thank you”
As the villain was still trying to break everything around him, Blue Gaia turned to face me, holding onto and lifting them as an afterthought.
“I was late, again. I’m sorry. Thanks to you, he’s alive. It’s good that we have hard-working telepathic heroes like you!”
“…”
“Never going to tell me, huh?”
With an almost proud smile, Blue Gaia turned to look at the man I saved, glancing at his legs with thinly-veiled sympathy, before drawing his eyes back to me.
“Ah…! It’s nothing! I mean, this isn’t even the first time you saved me. Or the second. I wouldn’t have saved him if not for you. Hell, he probably would’ve killed him after me!”
“That’s enough! I feel bad when you say that. I have to go now, but I hope we can meet again— maybe with you not dying”
Flying away with a tight grip on the wriggling man’s wrist, dragging him through the air, he left, almost as if escaping.
It’s curious, that isn’t the first person to be so… mindlessly aggressive lately. Usually they have more thought, or at least some thought.
…ahh! Anyways, I should probably help this man get where he needs.
“Excuse me, I’ll drop you off wherever you need”
“Thank you”
Man, this was fun. Feels good. Hope there are more supervillains soon!
“FUU— ahhhhh”
After I go to the hospital, I’m not sure how far I can carry this guy.
Who am I? Well, my superhero name is Hero. Surprisingly, no one took that name.
| 2022-08-11T09:48:38 | 2022-08-11T09:33:19 | 35 | 17 |
[WP] everyone in the world has a number over their head, but nobody knows why. You have just figured if out.
|
Everyone I had ever met had numbers over their heads, most of which were incredibly large, but all were counting down - second by second - to their death.
My number had always been relatively small, and for a long time I struggled with it. After a few years of therapy and counseling (and large amounts of medication) had come to terms with it.
I woke up that day to find my number had only four digits.
It was a Tuesday. The sun had just peaked out after several weeks of continuous rainfall and I had just seated myself down for breakfast under the outdoor canopy of a small cafe. I remember hearing the small bell of the door ring not long after. I paid it no mind and began looking at the menu.
A moment later movement caught my eye and, out of normal human curiosity, I looked up. The movement was a woman inside the cafe, setting down her things at a table near the window. I was instantly struck by her beauty. She was short, with creamy white skin and long, flowing, brown hair. I'm sure my heart skipped a beat when I saw her.
It was then that I noticed the number above her head. I had never seen another person's number so low, and I watched her with growing interest as the numbers continued to fall closer and closer to zero.
I hardly had any time to observe, for almost seconds later, a large, balding man ran up to me, clearly excited, and shouting at the top of his lungs for everyone to hear, "Oh my god! Look! Look everyone! His number has reached zero! I can't believe it! How is he still alive?! It's a miracle!" After a short burst of panic my eyes returned to the lady in the cafe.
And watched as her eyes met mine; her number reaching zero in the same moment.
Everyone had had it wrong all along.
|
One day, numbers appeared over everyone's heads. They weren't bright enough to see in sunlight, but they were always present: faintly luminescent digital numbers, ticking upwards and downwards. People didn't talk about them at first, thinking they were tricks of the light or hallucinations from too much coffee and too little sleep, that they'd go away after a good night's rest. But they didn't, and eventually someone broke down and went in for psychiatric help. Upon which everything cascaded, the whole house of cards collapsed, and people realized that if the numbers were a delusion, then everyone was crazy.
The most charismatic and powerful people invariably had the highest numbers, so the dominant theory was that they were measures of influence: people called them “power rankings”, and the higher the number, the more you did, the more valuable you were to society. People's numbers became the sexiest thing about them; attractiveness and personality quickly became quaint and antiquated notions. Unlike looks, people couldn't consciously alter their number; they couldn't pretend it was higher, like they could pretend to be nice or charming or kind. Numbers were clean, quantitative, objective. They were an oasis in a world that had too long been dictated by deception and deceit.
I never bought that theory, though. There were too many anomalies: CEOs with numbers close to 0, losers and gangbangers with skyhigh rankings. People usually explained these in terms of structural injustices: if those losers and gangbangers had been white, if they had the same opportunities afforded to the wealthy and middle-class, then they would be in positions commensurate with their ranking; and if those CEOs hadn't had silver spoons shoved in their mouths all their lives, then they would be scraping by at dead-end jobs. The numbers ruined some people; Jeffery Brotmon and James Sinegal, the founders of Costco, were famously outed for having negative numbers, and almost all of their investors immediately lost faith in their stock. While Costco still had a loyal customer base that kept it afloat, dismissing those numbers as accidents, the chain was a shadow of its former self. Sam Walton's number was in the millions – Sam's Club and Walmart were undeniably the superior competitor.
This was one of the cases that made me most suspicious. The second was Jack, an old bully I knew from high school. He was a total fuckup, and a psychopath besides. He raped our class valedictorian, Alice, just to say he did, holding her at gunpoint in her own bedroom while her parents were at dinner. He planned the whole thing for weeks beforehand: staking out her house, noting everyone's schedules, mapping all of the entrances and exits. He was fucking driven, so long as he was making others miserable. He took the bedsheet with her virginal blood on it and hung it by the flagpole, with a message scrawled in black spraypaint: “Fuck you, Amity High.” He was over eighteen and went to jail for it, thank God, and everyone thought that was the last they'd see of him.
If it wasn't for his number. His number was astronomical, especially for an inmate. Prisoners usually had numbers less than a hundred, but his was in the thousands. He wound up in some kind of recovery program for imprisoned talent, and somehow got his thirty-year sentence reduced to ten – essentially, he got out two months after everyone decided what the numbers meant. Alice even sought him out, seeing if he'd go out with her for memory's sake, alongside all of the other girls he'd fucked and hurt in high school. Last time I mustered the fortitude to check on him, he was living in a cushy condo with a sinecure and something like a harem.
But I knew Jack: he was a fuckup, through and through.
The numbers had been present for long enough that everyone just took them for granted now, though. People only checked numbers as a means of getting a first impression, and research into them was broadly considered futile and frivolous. Still, I just couldn't accept the explanation.
Then, one day, watching a bus driver talk a woman down from a bridge, seeing his number tick down as everyone's on the bus ticked up, it hit me. I immediately got off the bus and ran to the nearest McDonald's, and watched everyone's number slowly rise as they bit into their burgers and nuggets and fries. And I rushed to the library and loaded up footage of shootings on Youtube, taken from the news, and watched the killers' numbers surge as they fired into their crowds, in time with the anchors' numbers. Then I looked for footage of the riots in Ukraine and Egypt, and again saw the soldiers' numbers skyrocket as tendrils of tear gas curled into the sky, like apocalyptic vines.
And I realized: the numbers didn't measure how important you were, they measured how many deaths you were responsible for, against how many lives you'd saved. They accounted sin, not virtue. And then I realized: they knew. The fuckers all knew.
And then suddenly, like lightbulbs breaking, the numbers began to blink out from the heads of those around me. One by one.
~~P.S.: The social commentary is definitely a little thick and ambiguous, though it kind of goes with the concept in my mind.~~
| 2014-06-04T14:10:06 | 2014-06-04T13:35:55 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] When you were a child, you saw your parent(s) get killed by a delusional man who claimed he was a time traveler. You thought he was just crazy, but as years pass and you grow older, your best friend starts to look eerily similar to your parent(s) killer.
|
"Why, Kent?" I said, voice low and raspy. "Why go back and kill my parents?"
He didn't answer; just stood and stared at me. Was that pity in his stoic blue eyes? I wanted to tear him apart, and almost by rote I recalled all the various ways I had planned to do it already, with every contingency accounted for.
"They were good people. And you *know* what their deaths--their *murders* did to me."
Still no response; just that eerie, supernatural quiet. I was having trouble keeping the rage from spilling into violence.
"*Answer me*, damn it."
He took off his glasses and began to clean them, eyes staring down at his hands while he did so. "I'm sorry. You know I am. But there was no other way."
He stopped cleaning, but instead of putting the glasses back on, he simply raised his eyes and met my angry, broken gaze. *"This world needs a Batman."*
|
A Lake-side Cabin
___
I've been seeing it for a while. He looks just like the monster... the murderer. I haven't told him yet.
I still remember that night as clear as crystal. I heard that's common with people who have gone through some form of trauma. I was in the car, on a trip. I just woke up. My parents were talking, and they seemed sad. Maybe it was about Buster... Our old dog. He went missing the week before, and he was very old so we didn't bother putting up fliers. Anyways, we were going to a cabin out by the lake, and my father was going to take me fishing. We weren't very rich, and I had just broken my leg, but we were a happy family.
"Hey, Chuck, how you feeling, buddy?" There he was. He looked just the same as the killer- Rugged beard (It was "Movember." I tried to tell him that was just for mustaches, but he wouldn't listen.) and a scar about the left eye he got while working on his "Project." He looked exhausted. "Hey, I just finished my project. Anyways, just wanted to stop by and have a chat." I couldn't hold back. I was tearing up. "James, it's been 17 years. Yet even then, I miss them. I'd give anything to have them back, James. I- I stay awake at night sometimes, wondering what life would've been like if they hadn't been killed. And y-" I started choking up. I couldn't tell him. I ran off, crying.
I remember when I met him in the orphanage. He never had parents, so he was worse off than me. But his cheery attitude was something I needed back then. Hell, even to this day it's a breath of fresh air. He's my best friend, and nothing could ever change that. Not even if he did do... No, he's my best friend. We look out for each other, even to the very end.
___
Well that was... what I expected. He still hasn't gotten over his parents' death. "Anything" he said... Well, A friend has to make sacrifices, and he is my best friend. To think, that's going to be my last conversation with him. I'm going to do it- I'm going to save his parents. I'll miss him, but he... He won't remember me. I've got a revolver, the same type that kill his parents. What can I say, I'm a sucker for that type of thing. I always love the scene in action movies where something that was mentioned previously is used for the climax. I'm a simple man. God, up in heaven, please give Chuck an excellent life... Even if I won't be a part of it.
It was time. 12:28, 4 minutes before. I thought there would be a confrontation first, but nobody was there yet. Little Chuck was asleep. I was hidden in the closet. His parents walked in- and they were talking. "Harold, I don't want to do it. He's just a boy." That was Sara, his mother. She was as beautiful as he described. "Sara, I love him more than anything in the world. That's why... that's why he needs to be with Buster." ...Buster? His old dog? He went missing, that's right... What are they talking- "But we can afford his surgery! We'll just have to make some cuts here and there. Buster was another case! Please, Harold, there must be another way!" ...No. "I'm going to take him fishing Sara, one last time. All you have to do is be quiet." No, God, no. No. NO. NO! Damn it, damn it, damn it. Is this some sort of cruel punishment for my past sins, lord... or my future ones. Lord, forgive me, but he-
***BANG***
***BANG***
-He's my best friend. I have to protect him.
Little Chuck walked in. He had the same bright blue eyes as he does now. I had to say something to him. "Charles." I said. I didn't know what to say next. I... I kissed him on the forehead. "You'll never know this, but this is for the best. I'll see you in the future... Trust me when I say things will get better...
...I swear."
___
By E. Watermelon
| 2016-06-13T07:51:36 | 2016-06-13T06:55:45 | 89 | 21 |
[WP] You have an ATM that gives you the exact amount of money you need to survive for the day, how you spend it is your choice. Today you are given $70,000,000.
|
It's the beginning of an ice age and its 60 below outside. 70,000,000 will be just enough paper to keep a fire going for a day inside the abandoned hotel parlour, and to buy food from the mcdonalds nearby that is completely run by robots. Where they get the meat from is anyone's guess, but the frozen corpses in the street are disappearing mysteriously one by one every day.
|
Orwellian. Big Brother. Fascist totalitarianism. Paranoid, hyperbole-laden minds of the early 21st century decried these themes as seeping into an increasingly globalized, increasingly interconnected society. An avoidable, but conveniently excused method for scrutinizing the life of Joe Citizen and friends. The United States had the worst of these delusional naysayers.
Well, they were right. But they were just as much wrong. As pessimists generally do, the self-declared defenders of freedom forgot, conveniently, the massive economic and fringe benefits that accompany a world in which every person is accounted for.
Universal income was just the beginning. A crude, misshapen beast that handed out bi-weekly paychecks tied to an arbitrary inflation index, it nonetheless set the pace for the rapidly developing world of Life Personalization that we are most familiar with today. If only the cynics of yesteryear could see the seamless beauty that swallows the average World Citizen's world today, he would be remiss with contempt for his old self. "O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast!" He would echo Winston's submission to Big Brother, without irony.
I make the same mistake, though, and digress with too much of the past's tremors. Today, our tale follows Martin Mellows, and the rather unusual set of tools given to him by The Society.
Martin's day began quite ordinarily. A mild breeze and calming flutter of wings, courtesy of his Circadian Regulator, brought him out of the reveries of sleep. Water boiled, eggs fried, bacon sizzled and toast toasted while Martin enjoyed an 8-minute shower with de-ionized, de-calcified water whose temperature perfectly calibrated itself to his own. Several outfits were laid out for him, each corresponding to one of his suggested daily tasks. Martin slipped into the first one, a pair of loose khaki shorts and creamy silk t-shirt, and took care of breakfast.
Following his post-meal coffee and mood regulators, the baseball-sized Task Orb landed and unfolded itself in front of Martin, a sight which many in the pre-Society days would have thought of as magic, or an optical illusion. With the automation of virtually every process, there were few labor or social commitments required of Citizens. Machine maintenance was handled by a small group of devotees, whom very few knew anything about.
Tasks were nonetheless suggested to Citizens, if nothing else than to maintain a minimal level of engagement and health. They were usually accepted, being so highly customized to each Citizen's carefully monitored biology and disposition as to often surprise the Citizen himself as to his eagerness for it. There were 3 items on Martin's Orb:
(1) Walk 2 km and verbally greet 3-5 Citizens.
(2) Play 2 or more games of Roomba Ball at the gym.
(3) Purchase 21 days of habitation supplies at your local center.
Martin frowned at the third item. Though uncommon, stock provisioning was not particularly abnormal; it usually occurred when the biosensors detected an oncoming bought of depression or extreme lethargy, though these generally did not exceed a week. Martin decided to complete this task first, as it was the only one he did not look forward to at all. He moved to a small square flushed against the far kitchen wall, casually referred to as the Currency Box; this would dispense the precise amount of money required for the day.
The square opened with a light hiss, and Martin held out both hands with a familiar underhanded posture, as one might offer a gift. Instead of the expected stack of small bills, a flurry of thickly bundled hundred-dollar notes came whizzing out, knocking Martin several steps back and flooding his kitchen with paper. A sudden, heretofore unheard of buzzing was emanating from the Task Orb, and it was flailing itself around like a fish out of water.
Then the sirens came.
| 2016-07-29T20:42:45 | 2016-07-29T20:14:46 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You're a hitman who takes half up front and then never finishes the job because what are they gonna do, report you to the cops? Thing is, now you've pissed off a lot of people who have no problem hiring hitmen.
|
I made a mistake.
Well, I've made plenty of mistakes, but never one this bad.
It was really bad.
Let me start where these things normally do, seven months ago. I'm nobody special, nobody unique, but I have a certain... set of skills...
I'm good with computers. Just a thing I can do. Also I'm pretty bored, pretty much all the time.
Anyways, like I was saying, seven months ago it was a dark and stormy night, in mid-June. I was going about my usual online shenanigans, enjoying the digital freedom of the TOR network, when I stumbled across a website, a hit-man website.
Now, I've played Assassin's Creed, I used to airsoft, I watched the Soprano's, and in a moment of monumental mindlessness, I thought;
“Fuck it.”
One sign-up form, two ads for blood-cleaning products, and several minutes wait later, I got a notification.
“John Holden. 554 Olive Boulevard Boulevard, Spokane, Washington. $5,000 & 50/50. Quiet.”
Huh.
I checked my bitcoin wallet. I was $2,500 richer. No wait, $2,600 richer. $2,850 richer. $1,000 richer... shit. Bubbles.
I mapped the address. Not too far. I began running through the countless mental exercises I had practiced over the years, backwhacks and headshots, 360 no-scopes and teabags...
Wait, I wasn't really going to do this, was I? Well, this wouldn't be a very entertaining story if I didn't kill him, right?
I didn't kill him.
Funny enough, that wasn't my big mistake. No, I walked from that impromptu assassination with half the money and no consequences. At all. None. Seriously.
Have you ever ordered a hit? Do you know how? Probably not. That was my mistake.
I assumed that whoever was on the other end of our little transaction was... well... I don't know, someone like you. It didn't occur to me that somebody with the capital to order hits on a whim probably didn't like being messed with.
“Fuck it.”
So I did it again. And again. And again. New profile, take a case, take the bitcoin, run.
How much did I make?
Much.
However, like all good things, this too had to end. It was early (for me), and the sun was lancing terrible burning spears through the slats in my shades. I covered my eyes as I stumbled over to my desk. After going through my original routine of checking my bitcoin walled, creating a new account, and logging in, I surfed through the list of new contracts for something lucrative, all the while pondering what I would do with today's haul.
And then I saw it.
My name.
Right there at the top of the list, in bold red font, with an extremely tantalizing number beneath it. You can tell at this moment where my priorities were misaligned.
And it wasn't just one listed once. I scrolled through the list, flipping past entry after entry with my name, my address. Thousands, tens of thousands, there was even one over a million, all with half-upfront. There were contracts in a dozen different languages, each with the same charge (as far as I could tell).
So here I was, just an average kid from Washington, sitting on a figurative dragon's hoard of meaningless but very valuable digital currency, dead-center in the cross-hairs of over a dozen criminal organizations. Criminal organizations that were, in a rather misguided approach, hiring hit-men on the internet to whack someone who pretends to be a hit-man on the internet...
Can you guess what I did?
Well, I'll leave the exciting bits out so that they can make a movie out of this some day. Don't want to spoil anything.
In short, I'm writing this from my undisclosed, private island, martini in hand. Well, twenty-three of the world's best assassins are writing this...
|
Vinny’s mom was a waitress in a cafe for forty years - four decades of burnt coffee smell and starchy uniforms, muffin-topping truck drivers who pinched her ass no matter how many times she slapped their hands away hard with her ring turned down, so many hundred sunrises through the plate glass with the specials written in paint pen on them so that they appeared jet black in the coming day- and she never got a nickel ahead of the rent. He remembered, sitting at the bar, a gold-flecked beer sweating onto the spongy wood in front of him, how she would come home in the early afternoon, wrung out like a grey old dishrag. Vinny’s mom didn’t *like the conversation*, she didn’t *enjoy being around people*, she was just a woman who couldn’t for the life of her find another goddamn job or, and Vinny thought this without the slightest bit of criticism, it was just true, conceive of how easy it was to break the rules.
The Dodgers game was on TV, and Vinny watched it with one eye while his other monitored the side door. He sipped his beer slowly, trying to make it count, counseling himself to hold back - these kinds of deals went better when you were sober, always. Down at the end of the bar was some sad sack businessman, a sheen of beer sweat shining on his bald pate. The fat fuck was downing beer nuts like it was the thing he put a suit on every day to do, and commenting loudly on the game although no one was seated in a three stool radius of him. Vinny had on a few extra pounds, to be sure, but he couldn’t fucking stand these *real* fatsos, the ones that you just knew weren’t *trying* at all. He sipped his beer and squinted at the businessman as he stuffed a handful of peanuts into his mouth. Two stray nuts escaped the massacre and tumbled down to the floor, ignored by the man.
*Now that guy, I’d actually kill, no problem.* Thought Vinny. *Fat piece of shit doesn’t-*
‘Uh, Dodgersfan339?’
Vinny whirled on his stool, his heart suddenly pounding painfully in his chest. It had a habit of doing that lately that he worried about a lot during the exact duration of the pain and then for not a second afterward.
The man on the stool next to him had appeared there without Vinny noticing at all. He’d been so focused on the fat businessman at the end of the bar, and so sure that his contact would come in through the side door... although why had he been so sure of that? Fuzzily, Vinny tried to recount the exact number of drinks he’d had that day. Carrying the flask was always a bad sign, it was all too easy to slip a little sip here and there, telling yourself that it wasn’t a real drink, not really, just half of one, or a quarter of one.
‘Ok, sorry, I think I have the wrong-‘
‘Yeah, yeah, sit down okay?’ Vinny extended a hand and waved the man back down onto the stool. ‘I’m your guy.’
The man sank back down onto the bar stool, but did not visibly relax. He was thin, with a wide, pale forehead that dominated his face. It looked like the dome of a submarine, or some other intensely engineered thing. Vinny could imagine scientists with calipers pinching all over the man’s forehead, discovering shocking mathematical premises that related to the dimensions of this man’s skull. Beneath his light brown eyebrows, the man’s eyes were sunk into a recessed shelf, a back hollow from which they peered out at Vinny and gave him the willies.
‘Job’s five grand up front, five grand after the fact.’ Said Vinny. ‘You can gimme the five grand now.’
He returned his attention to the Dodgers- the weirdo on the stool next to him was really giving him the creeps. He seemed like one of those people who didn’t understand social cues- it’s not polite to stare at people the way he was staring at him.
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ Asked the man.
Alarm bells began to toll, deep in Vinny’s fuzzy brain. He glanced quickly at his beer - about half left. Should he pound it or leave it on the bar top, sweating itself into warm, bubble-less undrinkability?
‘You-‘ The man seated beside him jerked forward like a doll, like a clacking marionette wielded by an amateur puppeteer. Vinny could see his eyes better now, now that he was too close for comfort, and they shone with mania. ‘You *ruined my life*.’
‘Sorry, don’t know you, bub, I’ve got to be heading.’ Vinny stood from his stool, turned away from the glowing back bar and the TV with its blue shine. He took two steps and then felt an awful stabbing in his kidneys. Reflexively, he spun around, rounding on the skinny man. His hand went to his back, expecting to feel a rush of too-warm blood. But there was nothing.
In front of him, the skinny man waggled a something made of plastic and metal, then slipped it into his jacket pocket. *A syringe.*
‘Why don’t you sit down, Dodgersfan?’ Said the man, patting the stool next to him. ‘Sit down before you fall down.’
A tickling sensation was spreading all over Vinny’s back, little pricking sensations underneath his skin like his blood cells were bursting in a microscopic fireworks display. He took a stagger step forward and collapsed onto the stool. At the end of the bar, the fat man got up from his chair and began to walk towards Vinny and the other man.
The TV clicked off.
‘Listen to me, you piece of shit.’ Said the skinny man, the one who had stabbed him. ‘I thought my life couldn’t get any worse when I contacted you, but then you worked a shit-covered miracle. *you took my last dime and gave me nothing*, and everything did get worse.’
‘Hey, asshole.’ Said the fat man, sitting next to Vinny. He patted him on the back. Up close, it looked more like the guy was ropy with muscle, his apparent beer belly just the hyper-bulged abs some hardcore weightlifters got. His pat was like a cinderblock falling on Vinny’s shoulder. ‘Fakers like you give us real guys a bad name.’
The not-fat man turned to his companion.
‘You did real good, man. Didn’t even need my help, really.’
Vinny felt the strength go out of his core. The muscles around his lower back and his stomach let loose, and he flopped onto the bar top, his head striking his beer glass and shooting it off onto the floor, where it shattered noisily. His view was now half the bar, the warped wood scored by thousands of wet glasses, thousands of heavy, world-weary elbows. Much to his dismay, the skinny man laid his head down on the bar, his ear smushing flat against the wood, so he could look into Vinny’s heavy eyes.
‘You’re going to die, you fuck. Your shit business has brought you to this. And I want you to know-‘
Vinny died, and pissed himself, the hot yellow liquid spattering down the barstool and onto the floor.
‘Ah, shit.’ Said the skinny man.
‘I told you.’ Said the hit man, shrugging his massive shoulders. ‘Stuff works fast.’
| 2017-12-12T09:50:42 | 2017-12-12T08:56:29 | 357 | 38 |
[WP]: Turns out God was a slacker and gave "Free Will" to not have to "plan" anything. He kicked out Lucifer cause he was a control freak. When you die turns out you have a choice, between a chaotic rule free Heaven or a smoothly machine operated Hell.
|
Saint Peter sat at a table in front of towering pearly gates.
“Well, where will you go?” he said to me.
“Give me a second, I wasn’t ready to choose where I’d spend eternity,” I said.
“Most people don’t hesitate the choice between Heaven or hell,” he said.
“But knowing the newfound information you told me about free will in Heaven makes me wonder.”
“About what?” the angel asked.
I pressed my finger against my lips and thought for a moment. “Let me get this straight, God was completely hands off with His own creation.”
“Practically,” Peter said. “He tried to pass the baton to His Son, but you know how that turned out. Afterwards, God kinda left everything on autopilot mode.”
“When you say everything you mean —“
“The entire universe and the realms of the after life,” he interrupted. “*Everything*.”
“And you still can’t see why I’m hesitating? Billions of people have suffered through life’s harsh screwballs. Malnutrition, cancer, heartbreak, mental illness…instead of losing their shit, people found a sliver of hope that their faith will grant them a better afterlife.”
I took a breath and continued. “Can’t you see why people would be upset to find out that Heaven was more of the same?”
Peter leaned over to the side of his chair and noticed an increasing line of new spirits. He turned his attention back to me and raised an eyebrow.
“Must I remind you that the other choice is literally where pain and sin reside?” he said.
“But is it an orderly place? If Lucifer promises something to his citizens, does he deliver?”
“It’s hell— I imagine the only thing promised is the omnipresence of misery.”
I scratched my head.
“I can’t believe it’s taking you this long to decide,” Peter said.
“Well an empty calendar was my hell on Earth,” I said.
“Then the devil will exploit that knowledge and make your eternity as consistent as a game of roulette,” the angel signed. “Listen, it’s not all that bad behind the gates, but the people who live in Heaven are still figuring out how to be pure. They’re as unpredictable as they were in the flesh, which can lead to hard times. But memories are made when a change occurs. Embellish the good, and try to find a break in the clouds when things get dark.”
He stood from his chair and made eye contact with me.
“Believe it or not, the afterlife isn’t a finish line. You’re still running and always will be. So I’m going to ask you one more time: where will you go?”
|
I chose Heaven. Of course I did I was a card carrying anarchist after all, in as much as that oxymoron could make sense, and the idea of a seething pit of rules and regulations boiled my blood even more than the fire would have. Not to mention the whole devil bit.
Don’t get the wrong idea though, I didn’t like God. For starters the whole religion idea had tacked “organized” right onto the front as soon as there were enough farmers to generate a priest or two and that irked me all to hell, but I soon discovered that wasn’t the half of it.
You see, at the time of my dying (at age 22, sporting an absolutely sweet leather jacket that I got to bring with me into heaven,) I was still naive. Unformed, even. I walked right up to the shining palace that stuck out of the center of the cloud kingdom like some kind of celestial Versailles and I knocked on the front door. Just like that in broad daylight, the word “appointment” not even popping through my head. They’d told me at the front gate that there were no rules and I took them at face value because they were angels, and honestly because that particular angel had been drop dead gorgeous. Weaknesses appeared to transfer right along with the jacket.
But I digress. I knocked on the door in the bright daylight and rather than open they popped out a tiny little eye hole in the bottom. I had to get down onto my damned hands and knees (which I strongly suspect amused them,) and put my eye to this little slit in the wood that could only charitably be called a porthole.
When I did I saw a child, one of those little flying ones they always used to paint on the walls and stuff, and the little bastard was smirking at me.
As I said I was an innocent in those days. I looked that pudgy kid right in the eyes, gave him my best smile and said, “Uhhh, Jack Pryce, here to see God.”
He paused for a moment, staring at me as if I’d grown an extra head.
“Are you fockin’ daft?” he said. I blinked hard at tone of his voice, having never seen a Chav with wings before and having not expected to encounter one in heaven.
“Uhhh no, I’m ok. Can I come in? I want to meet the big guy?”
The kid leaned in towards me, coming so close that his breath forced me away from the slit of the door. I was reevaluating the creature’s age upward with every passing second, his breath reeked of cigarettes.
“Big guy doesn’t wanna see anybody, least of all the new blood. Step off or I’ll call a Guardian. If you still want an appointment you can go start the application process over there,” he pointed to a dilapidated old hut set into a corner of the grounds, as he did so a shriveled old hand poked out of the window and waved. “Just head of there and Cecil will get you started, God will get to you sometime by the turn of the century.”
The hole slid shut with an unnaturally loud slam, and through the thick wood of the door I could barely hear a muffled “Piss off!”
In that way I found out the truth about God. He wasn’t like me, some kind of freewheeling radical thinker, he wasn’t even all the free. From the moment that porthole slammed shut I realized something that would have toppled the worlds of billions of people back home. God was a hypocrite. A massive lazy hypocrite who’d installed Heaven’s only layer of bureaucracy just to keep from having to talk to all his children. An omnipotent deadbeat dad.
Frankly I already had one of those, and I wasn’t ready for a second.
I walked away from God’s palace in a black mood, alternatively ready to get blind drunk or grab a pitchfork, whichever I found first.
It turned out Heaven had no pitchforks, but the booze was phenomenal.
When I finally came to a few days later I set out to rectify the situation. I couldn’t have been the only anarchist in Heaven, in fact I thought there must be a great many if I could only find them, and find them I did.
Truthfully it hadn’t even been hard, I just walked to a land where the men spoke mostly Russian and then kept walking until the beards grew long enough, and there, sitting on a rock overlooking a lake suspended among the clouds, I found Bakunin.
He was a hard man, in life and in death. He wore an old fashioned brown suit under a colossal, battle scarred black leather jacket even more awesome than my own. His beard was steel gray and reached halfway down his barrel chest. He’d been a soldier, a philosopher, a revolutionary, a prisoner, and then nearly all of it over again.
More than that he’d been my hero and became it again in that strange land of clouds and hypocrisy.
Bakunin needed no appointment, he stood on no ceremony. He fixed me with a gaze that threatened to break me and took my hand in one massive paw, man to man, as God would have if he’d really been one of us. Then, over drinks and cigars and rhetoric of a dream deferred even unto death itself he told me of the world he wished to make among the clouds. A world with no place for a reclusive God and his palace full of infuriating cherubs.
I swear my anarchist heart grew two sizes that day, and soon afterward his words mixed with my zeal and we came up with a whole new cookbook, just the two of us.
And soon two became many. And the many became angry.
And the palace door began to look decidedly flimsy.
\------------
If you enjoyed that I've got a ton more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I just released another part of my serial about 3 teens encountering a hive mind (20k words and counting, yay!) and there's other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-02-17T19:28:26 | 2021-02-17T17:45:48 | 415 | 144 |
[WP] You are the test subject for an experimental surgery to see wavelengths of light that humans normally cannot see. As you adjust to your new vision, you see one person in the corner furiously taking notes. "Who is that?" you ask. "Who is what?" asks the doctor, looking at the empty corner.
|
"Describe what you see, fifty-six," the doctor said, "are you experiencing any vibrant reds, blues, or greens in your vision?"
"No, nothing like that," fifty-six said, shaking her head, "Hannah is fine."
The doctor eyed the corner she stared at and put an X down next to his infrared box.
"When we came in you told me you'd be the only doctor administering the test, right?" asked Hannah.
"The person you're seeing in the corner there," said the doctor, shifting uncomfortably, "describe them to me. Do they look brighter than other things in the room?"
"They're taking notes on a clip board just like you are, lab coat and everything just like you, he looks older has glasses, darker skin" Hannah said, "do you really not see him?"
The doctor took his pen and threw it into the corner where Hannah was staring.
"How did your phantom react to that?" the doctor asked.
"He paused for a second then started taking more notes," Hannah said, "the pen passed through his stomach like he wasn't even there."
"Interesting," the doctor nodded, removing a second pen from his lab coat pocket.
"You told me this experiment would enhance the visual range for wavelengths of light," Hannah said, "what am I seeing? Is he behind the wall and just looks like he's in the room with us? Is this x-ray vision?"
"No, unfortunately that's not how it would work," the doctor said, "this isn't x-rays. Does the man seem to be aware of you? Maybe try and interact with him. Does he seem solid to you or transparent?"
"He looks solid to me," Hannah said, "but the pen passed through him before."
"Wave hello to him, see if he's aware of you," suggested the doctor.
Hannah waved to the man in the corner, he smiled slightly and waved back.
"He waved back and smiled," Hannah laughed nervously.
"Excellent," the doctor nodded, "okay Hannah, I'm going to turn off the light for a moment, describe what you see without any light. Sound good?"
"Okay," she said.
The doctor stood up and moved to the wall near his office door, "ready Hannah?"
The doctor stood waiting while Hannah watched the phantom pause to look up, also waiting. His expression changed as he watched the doctor move over to the light switch. He bent over his clip board quickly and began writing.
"Ready," Hannah said, "he's taking more notes."
The lights shut off and Hannah was plunged into darkness with them both. She started screaming as soon as it happened. The doctor winced, turning the lights back on instantly.
"Hannah, Hannah!" he shouted, dropping his pen and clipboard, "what happened?"
Hannah was sitting on the tiled floor shaking, curled up against the examination table. Perspiration was rapidly forming across her face and her teeth were chattering like she'd just been plunged into a pool of ice.
"What's he doing? Hannah?" the doctor whispered, "what did you see?"
"W-wha-what d-d-did ya-you d-d-do tah meeee?!" Hannah screamed, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm trying to understand," the doctor said, "what is he doing?"
Hannah started nodding as she stared into the corner, "y-yes, yes."
She cried uncontrollably, clutching at the doctors arms as she shivered on the floor.
"Can you hear him?" the doctor asked.
Hannah shook her head as she trembled, "Huh-he a-asked me if I saw them."
"How is he communicating to you?" asked the doctor.
"H-he's ho-olding a p-p-piece of p-paper up," she trembled, "it ssh-says do y-you s-s-see th-them?"
"Do you see them?" the doctor asked, staring into the corner, "please. Just breath. Tell me what you saw."
Hannah's muscles spasmed as she held the doctor. He could feel her grip tighten as she started into his eyes. She shook her head back and forth quickly, terrified, growing pale under the fluorescent light.
"D-don't tu-urn the light out again," she said shaking her head, "ch-change me b-back. Do i-it n-n-now. N-now. D-do it now. Now. P-please, d-on't t-turn off the lights."
The doctor held her and nodded, he stared up into the empty corner. The doctor of a different world stared back at them both, only seen by the girl. He looked frightened, the piece of paper clutched tight in his finger tips. *Do you see them?*
|
There was a ringing noise, somewhere in the world. That was a problem. Dr. Prescott had said, “no side effects” of course. He'd repeated it verbally, in writing, in forms, emails, phone calls, even a fax, often enough that the words had lost any form of meaning, just another drop in the sea of promises that Eliza most certainly did *not* believe. But she’d thought, if anything, that she’d wake up blind. Her hearing had never been on the table.
Eliza groaned. She tried to sit up, but a hand pressed against her shoulder, keeping her down. She was laying in a bed. The ringing noise was changing. It was misshapen. Unnatural. It was a dull roar now, as of…
Wind?
“Easy now, easy. That’s it. That’s it.” said a man. Soft and slow like he was talking an animal. Maybe horses. “How do you feel?”
Eliza lay easy, tranquil, as the man, Dr. Prescott, asked his battery of questions. Like he’d said before they put her under, she was wearing a blindfold. He hadn’t said anything about not taking it off.
But it wasn’t the first time someone hadn’t said, and for what they were paying her even Eliza could do tranquil. They could tranquilize her again for all she cared if that took away the noise.
Matured now on the edges of her consciousness, it still sounded like the wind. Eliza had never gone in for irony, you had to have something to appreciate when something else went deliciously wrong. Irony was people like the good doctor and his friends. Eliza thought that what she had hardly qualified her.
Three floors down, if they hadn’t moved her, a broken violin lay in a locker with her name on it. Broken, still, so Eliza didn’t give a shit about irony right now. Irony could fuck off until she was gone and the luthier's work was done. Until she heard the perfect, pristine notes that she’d grown up with and shaped her life around.
They could tranquilize her again. Fix it. Prescott owed that, at least.
“Are you ready?” Dr. Prescott said, the last of the questions for now.
In answer Eliza swung her legs off the bed, pointing herself towards the dull, windy roar that she still heard. They might have moved her, she thought. That meant her violin could be anywhere, a problem, but it also meant that the roar could be equipment, something for the surgery. Or a window open in a freak windstorm that Dr. Prescott was conveniently avoiding for some such “experimental” purpose. It could be anything at all, it could even go away when she opened up her eyes.
Eliza opened her eyes. The sound did not go away.
Dr. Prescott was uncomfortably close, leaning closer. A tall man, old and flabby. A face cast from the same mold as half a dozen others Eliza had seen since she walked into his office and sold herself for violin parts.
Eliza blinked hard once, twice. She closed her eyes and shook her head, pressed a finger into her right ear just in case. Nothing.
“Easy now, easy,” Dr. Prescott said, like talking to an animal again. He was a man who looked like he owned horses. Or rather, like his family had, at some idyllic retreat upstate.
“I’m easy,” Eliza said, opening her eyes again. “I’m…”
There, on her right, in the very seam of the corner where no window could ever be, sat a window.
“What is?” Dr. Prescott said, excitedly. “What do you see?”
It might have been a window, Eliza thought on closer inspection. Whatever it was, it was open, the noise seeping through. The object was a nearly flat plane, a dimensionless culmination of many shades of light that somehow all ran to brown, only little hints of supernatural hues around the edges. They shimmered, those hues. Winked in and out like stars piercing mud.
And there was something on the other side. Something else that was flat and impossible. Eliza couldn’t make it out, couldn’t make out anything really. In the flat, otherworldly murk, there was no primer for explanation. Inhuman eyes lashed to a human brain. Fallible. Eyes were so much worse than ears, Eliza thought. Your eyes could trick you. To an eye, so many things looked appealing or attractive. To the ear, most of those rang hollow.
Like that bullshit about “no side effects.” Not that hollow had ever stopped her.
Dr. Prescott grabbed her shoulders. “Eliza?”
“It’s nothing,” she said suddenly, surprising herself. “The world’s swimming a little. I’m having trouble making sense of it all. And there’s this noise too.”
Dr. Prescott released her, his notebook was more much valuable. “Making sense of what?” he asked, licking his fingertips to thumb through the pages. “I need every detail. Anything you can see, new colors, shapes. I’m serious now, *anything*. There’s no telling what’s important.”
She was trying to figure out why she’d lied when his phone rang.
It was an old man ringtone. The sort of tinny, awful noise that could only mean the phone’s owner didn’t know enough to change the tune. Dr. Prescott made a decidedly horse-like huffing sound as he searched his pockets for the thing. Blanched, when he finally found it. For him, blanching was an achievement.
“Important, huh?” Eliza said.
He stared her down, steel in those blue-in-gray eyes. “Stay here,” he said, “and don’t touch anything. Ten minutes, I have to take this.”
“Watch out, it’s lame!” Eliza called, as the door swung shut behind him.
Alone with the noise, Eliza thought that if anything, it got louder.
She hopped off the bed, bare feet smacking against the cold tile. She was wearing one of those awful, papery gowns. Her hair was down, not even tangled. A brush lay on her bedside table with errant black hairs trapped in it as if some kindly nurse had given enough a shit to brush Eliza’s hair as she lay sleeping. Eliza grabbed the hairbrush. She threw it into the corner of the room, at the flat, fucked up convergence of those two walls.
The hairbrush disappeared. No change in the wind.
There were lines in the world, Eliza thought. Points that, when crossed, meant there was no turning back. When the hairbrush disappeared she knew, instinctively, that this *something* was one of those.
It wasn’t even pretty, except for the little stars poking through the edges.
It sounded wrong. Loud. Wind where wind could never be, in the cold, clinical bowels of some high-tech hospital that used people like her instead of lab rat.
But it was new. Eliza had done stupid things for new before, even when they sounded wrong.
And especially when people like Prescott told her not to.
Eliza reached out, pressed a hand against the corner. Her hand disappeared, but she still could feel it. The other side was brutally cold. Goosebumps ran up her arm. She wore a paper-thin hospital gown, no shoes. She’d been born in Savannah, Georgia, where the world tried to burn you to death for half the year.
Sometimes, even new wasn’t worth it.
Then wind whipped and sucked her in. A shocking warmth wrapped itself around Eliza’s hand, now pulling her wrist, her arm, her shoulder.
Eliza cursed as she disappeared. Not because of the cold. Not because of the power that grabbed her, or the unexpected warmth in the height of that foreign winter. But because somewhere, three floors down or two floors up or maybe even right next door, growing more distant with every lurching inch, there was a broken violin that she loved.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2022-01-16T16:21:29 | 2022-01-16T15:15:06 | 1,972 | 136 |
[WP] Humanity “solved“ the climate crisis by simply moving to another planet, a technique they perfected as time moved on and other planets died. Almost 5 millenia later, researchers realize that the vacuum between the stars has warmed up by 0.1 K.
|
Brett hummed, and twiddled his pen absentmindedly, as he thought things over. It was going to be hard to spin this, but universal warming was becoming a crisis that was impossible to ignore. And so, like his noble ancestors before him, Brett set about formulating a solution, not by fixing the problem, but by figuring out why they didn’t HAVE to fix the problem.
“Well,” he said to the room full of political pundits, PR representatives, and other advisors to the president’s office, “there’s the argument to be made that universal warming is a good thing, actually.”
The President perked up at this idea. “Oh, I can use that. Go on.” It was an election cycle coming up, and the void climate was sure to be a hot-button issue.
Brett presented his plan. “Well, when humanity realized they’d destroyed their home planet’s environment, it was too late to stop it. So what did they do instead? They let it continue, until their oceans boiled, their homes burned, and they had no choice but to transcend the bounds of gravity. Indeed, the legacy of humanity as a planet-traversing society, would not have existed without humanity’s devastating effect on the climate.”
“So we pitch this - when a planet gets too hot, what do we do? We leave it. So if the universe gets too hot, it just means it’s time for humanity’s next great evolution.”
The president’s eyes widened, as he gasped, “We gotta transcend into a new dimension.”
“Bingo!” Brett said, spinning in his chair. A buzz of excitement spread through the room. “And it’s about time, too. Corporeal forms are inefficient and bad for the economy.”
More nods. More murmurs. Ah yes. This made sense.
|
*Breaking News on FS21-Planet Zyfron: “Researchers have discovered the vacuum between the stars is warming up by .1-Kelvin; a discovery with potentially galaxy defining ramifications.”*
*“Did you say galaxy defining ramifications? Rebecca, that certainly sounds terrifying! “*
*“It certainly does, Jim, but that’s not even the start. Scientists fear this increase in celestial temp may not be reversible if we do not act so—*
*”*“Damn news anchors, always trying to scare good folk for profit,” a middle-aged man with a swollen gut said as he manically pushed the buttons on his remote. “I tell ya, the news is a scam that goes back to the dawn of time. I’m sure the cavemen had news segments on their cave walls.” The tv now blared the sounds of Rocketship Nascar.
“Honey, I think we should watch that. It sounded like something important.”
“Barbs, you know damn well the news never has nothin important ta say. If it’s not propaganda or some sad story about abandoned Neptune puppies needing homes, it’s some doom and gloom scenario a bunch of dumbasses cooked up in some loony. FUCKING. LAB,” sweat poured down from his head and soaked the collar of his moon-pizza stained t-shirt as he worked himself up in a frenzy.
“Matthew, turn the channel back. I want to see what they have to say.“
“ABOUT WHAT? Same ole doom and gloom story! We already know the drill. They tell us we’re fucked, we’re all gonna die. Everyone freaks out. Oh no, we really screwed up this time. Global Warming ruined yet another planet. Whatever will we do? Then magically a new planet that can sustain human life pops up out of nowhere, and the bastards charge us an arm and a leg to board the spaceship there. Telling us we should grovel and worship their feet for saving our damn lives!”
Barbara didn’t even bother to make a comment in return. She simply stared at him, arms folded. The weight of her stare held the collective pity one’d stare at a thousand village idiots with. Matthew avoided eye contact. For fear she’d read the dumbest of thoughts he had and blurt them out for display.
After a few seconds of silence, he sighed and followed up. “The scientists goofed up and actually solved a problem for once centuries ago. The biggest mistake they ever made was solving climate change. Lost a lot of money when they did that. We’ve been switching planets whenever we need to ever since.” He trudged up the courage to meet her stare. “Why are you so worked up?”
“We solved a survival problem, not a climate change problem.”
She unfolded her arms, walked towards the EZ-Spaceboy lounge chair Matthew was rocking in, and sat on its edge. He reached out to pull her onto his lap, and she twisted away with a firm nuh uh before continuing.
“Delaying efforts to fix something will only produce an unsolvable problem in the future.“
“You read that in a ‘get help’ book or somethin?”
“Can you be serious? We’re talking about the potential end of the galaxy here?”
“I am being serious, and they didn’t mention nothin about no galaxies. Just something about some warm stars”
“We could all die if we don’t fix this Matthew!”
“We’re all dying?” A soft, high-pitched voice crooned from behind them. “Sweet! Guess I don’t have to do my science project after all!”
The bickering couple turned around to acknowledge their unexpected — but not surprising — visitor. Their twelve-year-old son. He stood; covered in what appeared to be white powder and brown sludge. A chemical smell radiated from his very pores. It took all Barbara had not to hurl.
“Watcha talkin bout son?“ Matthew asked.
“If we all die, that means I don’t have to finish my science project, right?”
“I suppose so, it wouldn’t matter if we all die”
Barbara, the only adult in the room, chimed in. “It absolutely does matter Roger, because we will not die.” She stared Matthew down once again.“
That sucks, well…if we won’t die, I need some help with my project.” Roger eyed the ground as he spoke. “Also, I might need to get stuff from the store to finish it."
Matthew beamed. “Sure sport, I’ll pick it up tomorrow. What do you need?”
“It’s actually due tomorrow.”
“Damn, wh-why did you wait until the last second son?” Matthew’s eyes widened and he glanced at his wife to make sure she was hearing this too. Seeing Barbara couldn’t be bothered to even look at him, he extended a wagging finger towards Roger and said, “Delaying efforts to fix something will only produce an unfixable problem for your father.”
Barbara rolled her eyes and watched as her son and her other child left to buy science project materials. Alone as last, she turned the television back to the news station.
*“We have local YouTube scientist ‘isolveequationsforthehoes’ here to explain the situation to us. Sir, what is the outlook here?”*
*“So yeah, we’re fucked.”*
“Oh,” Barbara said.
| 2022-11-12T17:29:33 | 2022-11-12T16:31:13 | 846 | 338 |
[WP] Every time you get sick in this life, it means you just died on another universe. Right now everyone on earth is ill but you.
|
The common cold, everyone knew what it was, and everyone had experienced it at one time or another. Some would get sick more often than others, and it was always chalked up to people who didn't get sick had a stronger immune system. I, like everyone else, believed that as common knowledge, until I met a certain someone.
His name was Frank, an old nut job down at the local retirement home. I was trying to find my purpose in life and had decided to volunteer at the home and branch out of my comfort zone. Frank was an old kook of a guy who used to be a scientist. I had heard from other volunteers that no one really liked being around the guy because he would spout off non-sense from the old days of his "research".
I didn't mind the guy, in fact I found him rather amusing, and would try to humor him by listening and asking questions. He was really into this multi-verse theory, and said that he had visited himself a few times in another dimension. I once asked him what he and the other him would do together. He told me stories of how they would work together on experiments, then go to a local bar to get black out drunk. I assume that someone in this other world was way more responsible than either of them, since he said that he would always awaken in his own bed in this world after waking up from his drunken stupor.
He told me of a theory that he and his other self had developed, in which when one dies in any other world, the other "self's" would get sick with the common cold back in their own respective world. They would thumb through the obituaries of their two worlds, find someone who had passed away, and then locate them in the others world. They found that 100% of the time, the individual would be sick.
I helped Frank for about a year, and grew really close to the guy. Sadly though, he passed away due to complications with his health. I knew it was coming, he was already up there in age, so it wasn't much of a surprise. What did surprise me though, was a little envelope that was left in his room, with my name scribbled on the front. I opened it, and found a key, with a small note. It read: "This is the key that I had developed in order to unlock the gate to meet one's self. Use it well, my pupil. - Frank"
I held the key, and as I did, I noticed the mirror on the wall have somewhat of a ripple effect. I figured that mirrors must be the doorway to other worlds, and the key is what unlocks them for you to step through. I took the mirror off the wall, because I had a feeling that this specific mirror was the one that led to the world that Frank's drinking buddy was in. I left, with tears in my eyes, and went home to think about my friend and his life.
About a month later, people left and right were starting to come down with the common cold. The news called it an epidemic, and that everyone should stay home to avoid getting sick. It didn't help, whether you stayed home or not, everyone was already sick... except me. I couldn't help but to think that something awful had happened on another plane of existence, yet for some reason, I had survived. I gripped the key that Frank gave me, and jumped through the mirror.
On the other side, I was in what seemed like an old bunker beneath a laboratory. I made my way outside, to find what looked like a wasteland. About 100 feet from the entrance of the lab, stood a lone figure... It was me. I approached and saw tears streaking down the face of the other me.
"Professor Frank... why?" was all that he mumbled to himself. I waited until he was ready to talk. I had to know what happened. After what felt like an eternity of deafening silence, he started to speak. "The Frank in your world helped curb the madness of the Frank in this world. I was the lab assistant for the Frank of this world. He came down with a cold about a month ago, so he wondered if your Frank had passed away. He was back to his same crazy self once he got better, and took a trip to your world and confirmed that his friend was dead. He said that there must be a way to revive his old friend. He tried to rework an old experiment that the two of them worked on together. They wanted to see if they revived a person in one world, if the person that was sick in the other would remain sick. Long story short, he did something wrong, ending this world as I once knew it, and now countless other worlds experience an epidemic. It was all because of his grief over one person, which ironically was himself."
Silence hung in the air for a while, and I had to break it with one more question. "How did we survive?"
He smiled for the first time. "He pushed me into the underground bunker in the lab, saying in case something goes wrong, he couldn't bare to lose me too. His last words to me were 'Here is the key to meet yourself. Use it well, my pupil.'"
-Edited for wording
|
31st December 2050
This will be my last journal. I believe I have found it... I believe I found the cure for sickness.
It was only one week ago when everyone on the Earth suddenly became ill. One look outside said everything there was to say about the world at that time... barren streets, with only the homeless outside, or those who were daring or crazy enough to walk around. Such an event is already abnormal for the human race, but one other major thing stood out: The severity of the sickness was far too extreme. About 100000 people died within 1 hour of contracting this "disease", a very large and unfortunate majority were coughing up blood, and an even larger majority were unable to move most of their body. The progress of the human race was almost halted immediately, with only a few left who had the capacity to speak and inform the world of the situation, but even they were weak and unable to do much else but speak of the doomsday that had befallen the world. Well, I guess that isn't the only thing that stood out... as far as I could tell, I was the only one who had not fallen ill.
At first I thought it was only a matter of time - almost everyone had contracted the "disease" in a matter of hours, so I waited for the inevitable. But one day passed, then one day became two. Nearly 55 hours had passed, and I continued to live on. Food and water is automated these days, thankfully, but I thought it wouldn't be long before the human race would either become extinct, or severely crippled in numbers.
My feelings at the time were mostly sadness at seeing the catastrophe around me take place. The main thing keeping me going up to this point is my wife who is alive at least, but I continued to ask myself what I could even do. I was a scientist at heart, but with significantly reduced manpower and almost no clue to work with, it seemed so unlikely that I could treat such a pandemic, let alone even find out what forces were even at work here. The strangest thing I felt though, was loneliness. It sounds like a natural emotion, since everyone except myself was ill, but it was a strange sense of loneliness, like the world around me had already become extinct. At first I thought it must have just been a coping mechanism, but the more I sat and thought about it, the more it seemed like this feeling was real... I felt like I really was the last person on Earth. I knew I wasn't an oracle who could see the future, let alone one who could feel feelings he would later feel in the future, so I used this as my one and only hint to try and be humanity's last savior.
I worked for 3 days, and my findings were nothing short of incredible. My research was done on many of the dead bodies in the area... a number that had almost increased to 5 million since the beginning of the pandemic. Walking out on the streets was like walking through a horror movie, the walkways were painted a crimson red and the air had a thick stench that made me want to throw up within seconds of smelling it. There were no shortage of bodies to test on, and I figured the longer I stand on the streets, the quicker I become one of them, and right now nobody could afford that.
The research could be summed up like this - I discovered a relationship between the events in other universes and the events in this one... well, technically I discovered how to manipulate this relationship. The relationship itself was discovered in 2045, by a German scientist whose name I can't remember. He discovered that viruses were organisms that were produced when extreme events occurred in other universes, usually the event of a death. When you die in another universe, it was said by this scientist that a virus is created in this universe, as well as every other universe, and the virus is naturally attracted to the person who died in the other universe and attempts to infect them. The severity of the illness is often minor, and once your body fights it off, dying the same way in another universe will create a virus that your body is effectively immune to. This is why we don't get sick too often. It is also important to note that the severity of the virus is directly related to the severity of the death in the other universe, so a more serious/brutal death will produce a more effective virus that could potentially harm you even more.
At the time the paper for this research was written and published, it shook the world and was heavily criticized by almost every other scientist alive. The first major criticism was how the creation of a virus out of nothing was a violation of the conservation of mass and energy, which stated that matter in the universe can neither be created nor destroyed. The virus was not created by a chemical reaction that existed in our universe, so how could this virus suddenly "exist"? The second major criticism was of how the universe being affected by other universes suggested something beyond parallel world theory. As the Schrodinger's Cat experiment suggested, our universe had to exist with an infinite amount of other universes, each universe being a deviation of the last. If this wasn't the case, then Schrodinger's experiment produces a paradox, where the cat is somehow alive and dead at the same time, something that is not possible in a single world universe. For the longest time, the many worlds interpretation was considered correct, however one key proponent of this theory was that each universe diverged and never met again, essentially becoming completely different. The theory of viruses being created from an event occurring in another universe suggested that rather than each universe diverging, they would actually converge at certain points, ultimately proving that universes could actually affect one another.
Without going into too much more detail, the result was that the German's theory was later proven correct because these two major details were eventually refuted. What the major minds of the world realized is that if universes could have some kind of effect on each other, than the law of conservation of mass and energy was no longer valid, since it only took into consideration the mass and energy in this universe. In other words, if you proved that universes had some kind of effect on each other, then you would end up refuting both major criticisms, killing two birds with one stone. How this was proven was very clever. The German scientist used a cloning machine to clone a chocolate bar 10 times. The cloning machine was the cultivation of years of research that was not fully understood, but the effects were understood very well; the object would be cloned based on the internal structure of the object being cloned, and an explosion of energy would be released, which was later converted into heat and, after a few years, the machines would transfer this heat to places that needed them.
The chocolate bar was given to 10 people, and the German told them to store it in a location where they believed it would not be touched, harmed or remotely tampered with in anyway. Some simply stored their bar in a good location in their fridge, but one or two particularly cynical scientists decided to place their bar in a safe and lock it, so only they could access it. After this, the German told them to report back to him for a short, but important meeting. If the German scientists theory was correct, he would not only prove his own theories, but show how cloning machines truly worked. When the meeting began, the German slowly approached the group, sat down with his chocolate bar in hand, and took out a sharp knife. Without warning, he immediately applied force to the bar, and broke it cleanly in half. He told all those in the meeting to go back to wherever their chocolate bar was and see what it looked. Some were confused, others understood but refused to believe what they thought might happen. What happened was that every single chocolate bar was cut slightly, even the ones stored securely. Stunned, the scientists returned and asked why this had happened to their chocolate bars. The German Scientist said that the cloning machine was actually a device that took that identical chocolate bar or its materials from another universe and brought it to ours (also noting that it could only occur in universes in which the chocolate bar didn't exist yet and the materials were used instead, or in universes where the bar was not currently being observed, which unfortunately led to multiple instances in all the universes from that point on where certain things would often go missing when they were cloned) whilst using the air and other various bits of matter in our universe to send back to the universes from where the chocolate bar was taken. Of course, such an event would require an enormous amount of energy to move mass from one universe to another, and so a large amount of energy was produced. Thanks to future technology, this amount of energy was not only manageable to work with, but extremely useful. This proved that making such a large effect on the chocolate like cutting it had a minor impact of a small cut on other chocolates from different universes, and also proved how cloning objects actually takes them from different universes. This theory on multiple universes converging yet not being identical was called "The cosmic yarn theory".
| 2016-04-05T06:25:08 | 2016-04-05T06:14:34 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
"This plan is stupid." Harold stated. "Of course it is!" The Boss said, "that's why we're going to do it exactly that way." "We'll get caught, you've lost your mind." Harold retorted. "No, I haven't," The Boss said wistfully, but HE has. He's been after me for fifty years now. I'm old and dying slowly of cancer, and he's going senile. After all this time, all these years, I owe him this." "Wait, you want to let Captain Freedom win?" Harold asked incredulously, "Why?"
"Let me tell you a story..." The Boss began. "Fifty years ago, I'd just started all of this. I was dating the most beautiful women, had everything I wanted, got away with everything." The Boss drew a breath from his oxygen mask, and continued, "We were knocking off banks right and left, when suddenly Captain Freedom showed up. He nearly got us that first day, boy, let me tell you, be was good! The cops weren't nothin', half of them were on the take, and most of the rest were too stupid or too slow to be any trouble, but this guy, he was always THERE!. He actually managed to corner me once, twenty years ago. We was in a burning building, my boys had started the fire as a distraction, the place was supposed to be deserted, see. So anyways, we're in there, and we hear kids screaming. We both ran up there, grabbed two kids apiece and got them out, and ran back in for the last two. Them kids was playing up there, where they wasn't supposed to be, like kids do, ya know? Anyway, we rescue the kids, and I'm standing there panting, covered in soot, with a few bruises and burns, and he says to me: 'I always knew there was some good in you, now get out of here'. I owe him Harold. I built all of this on thirty years of crime, and I was good at it. I quit the bank robbing then, and have watched as new heroes keep showing up, and not showing Freedom the respect he deserves. For the last few years I've been staging little fake crimes around town to make sure Freedom still gets to stop me. Now he gets to catch me, I'll be dead soon and he won't remember who we were, this is important, we'd have been nothing, nothing I tell you, if it weren't for each other, and you wouldn't be here if we hadn't pulled you and your friends out of that building, so goddamit, you're gonna help!"
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T06:23:16 | 2017-04-13T05:10:16 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
"I don't have time for this Hydro, so let that girl go and I may just spare you the hurt." His voice boomed. Mr. Streak, greatest hero of the 1980s, my grandfather's one time nemesis and comrade in arms against the Zorblaxian invasion. Despite his age, the old dreg still looks dapper as he was in his prime, it's a pity this old clock is falling apart beneath that fresh varnish.
"You have to actually stop me first, Streak." I taunted, smirking at him.
True to his name, Streak flew at me like a blur of mass, his signature blue lightning trailing behind. His left uppercut lands square on my jaw. I let go of the mannequin and back-flipped into recovery as Pappi had taught me, not that the old slug could hurt me at his current level but otherwise the illusion would be broken. Screaming for a full second to get his attention, I then launch a controlled water jet giving him just enough time to evade. Hardest part of the job, trying to kill an old man without actually killing him. A bolt of blue lightning with enough power to light the city comes crashing down on me, with barely enough time to condense the surrounding vapour into a bubble shield. I fought back the impulse to retaliate with lethal force and do a countdown to when he would drain himself. At the stroke of zero, I dropped to a half kneel as part of the act, but mostly because I can't stop my legs from trembling. Gosh, babysitting this old fogey is a high-stress job.
"Your powers have grown again, Streak. But I'm not done with you yet." I stood up in stance, still somewhat shaky, but I can't leave too early lest Streak throws himself between Morganna and the Force-X. He nearly got himself killed last time. Streak responds in kind and throws the first punch.
What was the expression again? Float like a butterfly, Stink like a soiled diaper? Yes, my dear Streak has soiled his diaper. I pray for the all clear to come before his spouts of lucidity comes back, hate to see the old squirt embarrassed in public.
God must be listening, because right as his next strike was about to land, the telepathic channel buzzed to life with Psych's voice calling for retreat. On hindsight, I think she's the one listening, not god. Psych, you still there? How about that date?
"I'll get you next time, Streak, until then..." I turn tail, running into the portal.
EDITED 15/04/17
End of part 1
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T05:12:50 | 2017-04-13T05:10:16 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
continued straight from the prompt...
__
Now... Luckily I'm a redditor, and things like being summoned against your will into an unknown world/situation are a common topic so I had thought through this scenario before. Otherwise I would appear quite confused at my situation and not at all in control of the situation.
"Why have you summoned me?" I bellowed in my best impression of pompous and evil.
The sorcerer scrambled back a few steps, "I have summoned you to make a deal."
I was not sure what it was I was supposed to provide, but as this seemed fairly common for magic I hoped it was something I was capable of.
"You know the price?" I asked haughtily.
"Certainly, one talent of gold and my immortal soul."
I pondered this silently, I had only heard of talents in bible stories but I remembered someone saying that was about 75lbs. I unfortunately did not trade in gold on a regular basis and my phone probably couldn't access the internet from wherever this was; but I knew it was something like $1000 an ounce. 16 ounces per lb x 75 lbs... screw it I pulled out my phone.
The mage reacted with alarm, "What infernal device is that? Know that I am protected by the circle!"
I held up a finger to shush him as I opened the calculator app and figured out how much money I stood to make on this deal...whatever it was. I whistled between my teeth as the number stared up at me $1.25 Million.
"Stop! Stop I can't take it!" The magician screamed. "The circle should have protected me!"
I looked back at him dumbly with my face lit softly by my glowing cell phone screen. "Stop...what?"
"That noise! We cannot stand the sound of your chanting and whatever it is you were doing with your voice just now!"
I once again went silent, not knowing that the otherworldly light of my screen was making me look quite demonic at the moment. "You mean... whistling?" I chirpped softly at the end to demonstrate.
"YES!"
Interesting... "So what is the task you have summoned me for?"
The mage stood back upright, "I need you to defeat the army at our doorstep, use your damning tongue to rain down hell and bring madness to the troops."
"You want me to... sing?"
A tentative nod.
"Okay... where is this army?"
The sorcerer pointed to an arrow slit window in the side of the tower. I could see several dozen burly men in various armor standing outside the gates a dozen feet below... this was an army?
"This is an army?" I said intelligently, "Where I come from, an army is usually hundreds if not thousands of men."
"We are aware of your warlike ways and preference for violence but that is not our way. We only wish to drive away the force below as quickly as possible and make them think twice about attacking again."
I looked down at the phone in my hand again and brought up a video I kept on it to send to my friends randomly. I was about to hit play when I turned back to the mage, "You might want to cover your ears."
> We're no strangers to love
>You know the rules and so do I
>A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
>You wouldn't get this from any other guy
>I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
>Gotta make you understand
>Never gonna give you up
>Never gonna let you down
>Never gonna run around and desert you
>Never gonna make you cry
>Never gonna say goodbye
>Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you...
|
Coughing, you wave your hand in front of your face, trying to clear away the smoke. You blink frantically, trying to stop the burning sensation from the smoke in your eyes.
As your vision clears, the creature in front of you becomes more clear. Your first impulse is that it's a sickly child, but the longer you look, the more confused you are.
Yes, the creature in front of you is short, but it's more than that. Its eyes are huge, almost like a Manga come to life. Its skin is greyish, and it's body is thin, impossibly thin. You wonder how it can even stand upright with so little visible muscle mass.
As surprised as you are to see this little thing, you can tell it is terrified. The huge eyes are even wider than they should be. The creature looks like it's bravely fighting the urge to cower in the corner. But, steeling itself, the creature begins to speak.
*"I has summoned you, demon. Do my bidding, and I will you return. Refuse, and you trapped within the circle be forever!"* says the little creature, with a voice like a cartoon mouse. It's clear that English isn't the creature's first language, but it's reasonably fluent.
Wondering about being trapped in the circle, you take a step forward and extend your hand toward the shimmering air over the circle on the ground.
This time, the creature loses its nerve. It does take a few hurried steps back, looking ready to run, but when your hand is stopped by the barrier, some of its confidence returns.
You touch the barrier, wondering if you look like a goofy mime. Although you can't see it, there is clearly something there. Closing your eyes, you feel around. If you didn't know better, you'd swear it was a steel wall, cold to the touch, and absolutely solid.
*"Yes, yes. Trapped! Do what I say and you I will release."* The creature explains.
*"Look, there must be some mistake, I'm not a demon, I'm a human,"* you try to explain.
*"Yes, human. That is what said. Human demon."* The little thing seems to be growing in confidence now that the barrier does seem to be working.
*"No, you don't understand. Demons are from hell. Demons are big and red and scary. I'm just a human,"* you try to reason with the little thing. Something must have gone wrong in the magic it used on you.
*"Yes, hell,"* the creature nods in agreement. *"Suffering? Torture? Inquality?"*
*"Well, yes, I suppose there's some of that, but it's not really _hell_. Forget about that. Look at me. I'm not a demon!"* As you say that, you look at yourself through the eyes of the creature who summoned you. To it, you must appear huge and powerful. Your skin is slightly tanned from that recent trip to Mexico, and while it's not red, even in mid-winter you're not as grey as the little thing in front of you. You may not have horns or a tail, but it's pretty clear you're extremely intimidating, even with ruffled hair and your bad posture.
*"Ok, let's just put that to the side for the moment. You say you summoned me and you can return me? Why did you want me? I don't, I mean... I'm not magical,"* you say, hoping that you won't be trapped forever by a creature who vastly overestimates your abilities
*"You Bahry Lahrsn are,"* the creature says, mangling your name. *"You the legendary demon of sex are."*
*"Wait, what? Demon of sex? I'm no... I mean, I'm not a virgin, but I'm no sex demon,"* you try to explain.
*"No?"* The creature consults the book in front of it, reading from some list. *"Did three times penetrate goddess Anjla on night Prom? Did up-hook Shrly and later same night Surah on eve of New Year? Did digitally Dafnie in vehicle back on trip road car back?"*
You stand there in stunned silence. Somehow your greatest sexual exploits, mild as they are, are written down in a book this creature is reading. You cringe, thinking back about how you'd fooled around with Daphne Samuels in the back seat of a car on a road trip. Her coat had been covering her waist, and you'd... Well, at the time you thought you'd gotten away with it, but later on you learned that *everyone* in the car knew what was going on.
*"Look um... I... How do you know about that?"* You demand, your voice a mix of anger and confusion.
The little creature closes the book and shows you the cover. On it are some glyphs you don't recognize but the creature points to them.
*"Great demons of Eroth,"* it says, pointing to some glyphs. Pointing at the next set of glyphs, it says: *"Volume 6."*
You stand there in silence for a while, thinking. Apparently, you're Barry Larsen, legendary demon of sex, whose exploits are documented in graphic detail in a demon manual. Might as well just accept it.
*"Ok, well. I guess I'm a sex demon. What is it you want?"* You ask.
*"You me help. Lovely Shrmu is! Notice not she does me,"* the creature laments. *"Help me to sex her you will? You must!"*
Over the next little while, you impart your meagre knowledge to the little thing. It treats your words as if they were magic spells, rather than tidbits of advice. Such arcane knowledge as "be confident" and "dress nicely" are treated as dark magic. "Don't be clingy" is treated as a holy commandment.
Within a few hours, you run out of advice. You wonder if it will be enough, but the creature looks as if you'd just revealed the inner workings of a secret cult.
Distracted by its plans, and trying to remember everything you've said, the creature opens up the spellbook.
*"Agreement you fulfilled. Return you to hell now, I will,"* the little thing says, starting to wave its hands in an intricate pattern.
*"Wait, little guy,"* you say. *"Look um... let me know how it goes, ok? You can bring me back here, if you want."*
The creature looks at you and blinks. Perhaps it's wondering if the demon is trying to trick it. Without another word it snaps its hands out.
There's a flash of light, a bang, a puff of smoke, and when it clears you're standing in your living room. That's when you realize the opportunity you missed. If that book had your entire sex life in it, maybe it knew if Megan was ever going to stop playing hard to get.
| 2017-05-12T10:38:10 | 2017-05-12T10:01:31 | 427 | 21 |
[WP] We invented immortality in 2021, along with a drug to take it away. A million years later, that drug is in high demand and near-impossible to find.
|
I walked down the dimly lit prison corridor, my shoes clacking along the linoleum as I went. Dirty faces of prisoners, stuffed into tiny sells like canned sardines, stared out at me pleadingly.
"Please, mister." A frail-looking woman begged. I saw her bloodshot eyes and rotting teeth and frowned.
"Not today." I replied and kept moving.
They knew me well here in the purgatory of cell-block D, where they kept those sentenced to life in prison. A much harsher sentence than it had been a few centuries ago.
The Angel of Death, they called me. With me, I brought the antidote.
The cure to immortality.
The holy grail that had fascinated and eluded humankind since the dawn of our existence. For as long as we have existed we've sought to remove the dark cloud of death hanging over our heads.
We romanticized the notion of living forever without taking a practical look at the consequences. Once we could avert death, we never stopped to ask ourselves if we should.
We could change the physiology of our anatomy, but we couldn't change our nature. Immortality had not given us a change of heart. We had never lived in harmony and peace with one another, and that did not change with the discovery of the AA-X8 vaccine. In fact, the inability to die had only made it worse.
Upon the realization that their enemies could not be killed, the rules of war changed. Defeated armies became prisoners of war. Taken territories were enslaved and imprisoned. Overpopulation became rampant to the point where governments enforced mandatory vasectomies and hysterectomoes at the age of puberty. Overpopulation led to global environmental destruction.
Now, much of the population lived in overcrowded poverty or imprisonment and not even death could release them from their miserable fates.
I stopped outside of a cell at the end of the hall. Its many occupants looked at me through the bars with hope in their eyes.
"772361, you are this month's lottery winner. Your sentence has been pardoned." I said to the crowd of malnourished faces.
The idea of death used to be a punishment; now it was a reward. It was almost kind of funny when you really thought about it.
A disheveled young face came forward and pressed himself against the bars. He couldn't have been more than 15 when he had gotten the AA-X8.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"Thirty-five years. Treason, for protesting the treatment of the PoWs." His young face was screwed up and bitter, like he'd been the brunt of a bad joke.
I suppose he was. Sentenced to life in prison for speaking out against the Government. Protesting cruelty had resulted in the cruelty extended onto him.
"Arm," I instructed. I pulled a small black hypodermic needle from my jacket pocket. Unfortunately, he wasn't the first I had released from such a minor sentence. Nor would he be the last.
He stuck his arm through the gap between the bars and looked into my eyes defiantly.
"Any last words?" I asked.
"Everlasting life means endless suffering. Immortality is a prison. Death is freedom. May my death be kinder than my life has been."
I stuck the needle into his vein and triggered the antidote. His eyes rolled back into his young skull and he began to seize. The other inmates watched in jealous fascination as his chest became still.
|
Sometimes I think back on my long, long life and wonder, "Could I have died a million years ago?" Thanks to the organic portion of my brain, I can't really stop this feeling of wanting to die. I should not continue on like this. I can still remember back when people died on accident. They weren't trying to end their existence. It just happened. Like something outside of their control would kill them. Diseases would kill people all the time, I remember. Hard to imagine now. Tiny little creatures and viruses altering the organic parts of the body to the point where it can't function anymore. Or sometimes a human would be so damaged due to some sort of collision or impact that body would just cease to function. Scary when I think about it. I think I'm glad we solved that problem. I wish the problem still existed.
It's like a memory I can't delete. I remember about a million years ago that the humans invented a chemical that would allow their bodies to fight off any disease and stop the effects of aging. Oh yeah! I remember that humans used to just get old and wear out like rocks and buildings. That must have been exciting for them. I was born, actually born, after that. How old was my mother? I can remember that. She was 58 years old. Not long after that, about a 100 years or so, humans started to ditch their organic bodies. They would replace pieces at a time. Better liver so they could take more chemicals, better eyes so they can see things farther away, better hair, better teeth, better fingers, better everything. I like the human body. I like seeing how the blood flowed through it. I like feeling things get digested. I like pooping. Others didn't.
I remember when nearly everyone was almost completely inorganic. Chemicals kept us happy. Robots mined our resources and provided everything. I caved. I upgraded. I cached all my memories on hard drives. Slowly but surely I upgraded my arms, legs, organs, skin. I remember slowly people stopped being around each other. Nobody used the roads. Robots used the roads. No one wanted to create babies anymore. Too much hassle. Most didn't' even have the organic material anymore. There were no conflicts between humans like there had been thousands and thousands of years ago, but there wasn't much interaction anymore. I remember people a least send messages to each other like video and text, but that became less popular. Most people started to live on in the virtual. There you can be human again. There you don't need machines to keep you alive and happy. Machines still kept people alive and happy though and they would stay in virtual for years at a time.
The robots improved us more and more. Nanobots would repair us automatically, even our inorganic matter. I used to sleep, I remember, but nanobots clean that part of the brain so I don't need to. Many people stayed in virtual forever. As the years passed, many people uploaded themselves into virtual. Their real bodies and parts were recycled by robots. I didn't upload. I like the sun and the water. I like my body. I like uncertainty. Too many things were certain of in virtual. I think those people were trying to escape how boring their lives were in the real, but probably ended up in an even more boring life in virtual. Get far enough from the metropolis and I would see bugs, wild vegetation, and sometimes even animals. Real animals too, not the modified ones. I remember I liked it out there. A cell could last me 5 years before I'd need to return. I wasn't alone. I remember a few hundred thousand of us didn't upload to virtual.
About 40,000 years ago, something happened. Robots self-repair everything as quickly as possible, so I can't remember what exactly happened. The Earth had an impact though. I remember I felt it. The sky went dark for many years. The robots couldn't seem to fix it. The solar power failed. The ocean currents shifted too. The only power left was nuclear. Always was my favorite. I liked feeling the heat and radiation. Servers for virtual failed one by one. Robots stopped moving and up keeping the cities. Nuclear wasn't enough. There's was only fuel enough to power smaller pockets of metropolis. Had to interact with people again. Work together like humans used. Robots were failing us. Things kept getting worse.
Robots kept things running because robots would take care of everything, especially other robots. When they couldn't help themselves fast enough, they couldn't keep gather resources to keep the metropolis powered, and without power, more robots would fail. I remember this happened very quickly. I remember enough humans communicated with one another to meet and form a society again. We had to do the jobs of the robots. Most humans didn't like it. Perfectly capable, but didn't like it. They wanted to upload to virtual. There was no virtual anymore.
The world got worse. Weather got colder. Power became tougher to produce. A lot of our mechanical parts failed under the conditions. The smarter of us figured out that our limbs and bodies should be more organic to self-produce warmth. I remember no one argued. Nanobots maintained our organic parts. I felt weak though. Many of us felt weak. Warmer though. Able to move freely. I remember not much fuel was left. A few pellets of uranium would last a person for a long, long time, but there was not much left to power the metropolis. The metropolis was cold for the most part. People didn't like. They struggled. Once engineered something. I remember the human being excited. They explained it to us. A capsule taken orally. It would temporarily disrupt the nanobots which would allow the uranium pellet in our torsos damage our brains and nervous system. This would kill a human before the nanobots could repair the damages. They took the pill. I remember feels like. I don't remember seeing someone in that much pain. A few minutes passed. They were dead. The nanobots repaired the human’s melted features, but they did not more or think again. Many followed the demonstration.
Too many people too fast. The few machines left couldn't keep up with production. The capsule required resources we couldn't find or create anymore, I remember. Humans died without uploading how they made the capsules. I should have taken one when they were still available. Not many of us left now. The sky is getting brighter. We have no purpose. Some of us tried to kill ourselves, but the nanobots are too efficient. Nothing outside the capsule works. Nothing to do with ourselves. No reason to continue. We're trying to find what we need. I'm trying to remember what is needed for the capsule, but I can't remember.
We're wandering now. The world is desolate. The oceans are dark with corrosion. Who knows how long the nanobots will keep our bodies going. We've all seen enough now. We don't sleep. We don't die. We do nothing but wait for our uranium supply to run out. We hope the nanobots only stay in our bodies. We hope the metropolis doesn't start up again.
| 2017-08-16T08:38:00 | 2017-08-16T07:26:57 | 285 | 56 |
[WP] Instead of an angel and a demon sitting on your shoulders, one side sits a brash New Yorker and the other a posh British gentleman. Neither are necessarily good or evil, they just make passing comments on your day to day activities.
|
"Jolly good show, my good man," he said, sitting on the right of my shoulder and inhaling deeply from his pipe. "Positively smashing."
I'd been watching Stranger Things for the last couple hours, trying to block them out.
"What kinda trash is this?" the man on the left of my shoulder chimed, pacing up and down the length of it. "This is just garbage, garbage I tells ya. Barb don't deserve to go like that."
I sighed. I had not been succeeding.
********
The bank teller peered quizzically at my shoulders, and I tried to smile. "Please, it's best to just try and ignore them," I told her, glancing down briefly and praying that Mike would be able to keep it together. "It's an, errr, *condition*."
"Nice rack on this bird, yaknowwhatI'mtalkin'about?" he said, staring directly at her chest. Charles leaned over to chastise him.
"Now now Mike, what have we told you about manners? Although I dare say, that is certainly a bountiful bosom."
I apologized profusely before security could escort me out.
****
After much deliberation, the two of them convinced me to go out to the library. This was always a challenging affair, as libraries were made for silence, and regardless, the three of us would need to pick a book that all of us liked to read. No such book existed.
I - or we - were browsing the aisle, Charles trying to direct me to eighteenth century geopolitics, Mike complaining that there were no porn mags. I whispered for them to be quiet, and in the ensuing silence I heard three women speaking in increasing volume to my right.
The librarian shushed the women, and I heard one of them apologize, then the three continued in hushed voices. Again the librarian told them to be quiet.
I rounded the corner, engrossed in my quest for fiction, and accidentally bumped into one of them.
Well, *all* of them.
"Watch where you're goin', ya fuckhead!" a tiny voice said while I attempted to pick up the fallen books.
"Fran, please watch your language, as I think you'll find we are in the company of gentlemen," another tiny voice said, as I - or we - slowly looked up.
A beautiful woman stood before us. Furthermore, two more women stood on *her*.
"By Gods," Charles said, dropping his pipe.
"Fuck me," Mike replied.
"I... I..." I stammered.
"Please, don't mind them," the woman said with a nervous smile.
I nodded, still speechless. I'd never been able to talk to girls, not with these two on my shoulders. But this...
This could work.
"Take this guy to pound town before I do it myself," the tiny, brash woman on her left chimed.
"Or perhaps a delicatessen first?" the tiny, posh woman on her right replied.
The librarian shushed us on our way out.
****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
My names Ned. There’s really nothing all that interesting about me on the surface. I’m 24, recently moved out of my parents house, now living in a small 1 bedroom apartment, and I work at a big corporate paper company doing sales from a tiny windowless cubicle. I’m not complaining though, in fact this is more or less the life I expected. It’s safe, simple, and easy.
My extracurricular life isn’t much different to be honest, since I don’t really have many friends. There’s Hank, a quiet bloke who I met a few years back at college. Every Thursday I go over his place after work, and we quietly watch some TV with a few beers and some pizza. And then there’s my 3 year old dog Nacho, named so because when he was a pup, I made a some nachos, went to the bathroom to wash my hands, and came back to an empty plate.
Really I am fine with all of this, or rather I was fine with all of this. I would have been perfectly happy to live out the rest of my life in this particular fashion. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
But then, there was Maria, and Bob, and Nigel.
Maria. Oh Maria. Why did you have to start working on the other side of my cubicle wall? From the moment I laid eyes on her, everything changed. And I’m not talking about the normal cute crush type of things; Butterflies in the stomach (they were there), the constant need to get up and take a quasi stalker-ish peek (I did), the ‘accidental’ eye contact, and quickly look away motion over at the water cooler (guilty as charged). No I’m talking about something far more bazaar.
The moment my heart fluttered for this woman, the strangest, most annoying, impossible, potentially psychotic thing happened. 2 small men magically appeared on my shoulders.
You heard me. 2 small, bickering, obnoxious, argumentative, imaginary middles aged men, were now sitting on my fucking shoulders.
“Yo you gonna hit that or what?”
I turned around, nobody was there. I went back to my computer screen.
“I said you gonna tap that ass or not?”
“Who said that?!” I whispered loudly, turning around to see nothing.
“Robert, I hardly think that type of language is necessary”
“Shut up Nigel you old fart”
I slowly turned to my right. To my shock, there was a little, overweight man, mid 40’s, sitting on my shoulder, drinking a beer.
“Hi”
I screamed in absolute horror, swatting this monstrosity of my shoulder like a big giant bug.
My hand only went through it, like a ghost.
Still screaming, the other voice chimed.
“Calm down sir, calm down, there is no point in over reacting”
I look to my left, and see another small man sitting there. This one is dressed to the nines, sporting a tobacco pipe, with a very posh British accent. I swat away at him too.
Nigel: “I’ll say, is this really necessary?”
Ned: “get off, get the fuck off!! Ahhhhh!!!”
Robert: “I don’t think he likes you. I don’t even like you”
I’m still wailing around trying to forcefully brush them both off my shoulders.
Nigel: “Well that’s completely besides the point! Please sir, we are only here to help you.”
Ned: “Get off me Demon MONSTERS!!!” I silently yelled
Robert: “You hear that, he thinks we’re monsters! Yea well go fuck yourself too, you little scrawny bitch!”
Nigel: “You’re not helping Robert! Please sir, nobody can see or hear us except you!”
Ned: “I said GET OFF!!
I screamed this so loud it caused my co-workers to stand up, and stare at me, confused.
Embarrassed, and wide eyed, I said,
Ned: “Sorry, uh, rude caller”
Everyone cautiously sat back down.
Nigel: “Ned, as I said, nobody can hear or see us. Just you.”
Ned: “I don’t know what the hell you are, but this is Not normal!”
Robert: “No shit kiddo”
Nigel rolled his eyes.
Nigel: “We were sent here for you sir, to help you with your quest.”
Ned: “What quest? What are you talking about?”
Robert: “To Bang that Maria chick”
Nigel: “ROBERT!” He gives Robert a scathing look
Robert shrugs his shoulders and sips his beer.
Nigel: “What he means is, we’re going to help you and Maria fall in love with one another”
Ned: “That’s just, this is just, I mean really! This is ridiculous”
Robert: “Look he’s blushing.”
Ned: “What!??”
Nigel: “It’s true, your cheeks are quite rosy”
Ned: “For the last time, get the hell off of me!”
Robert: “No can do Pal. We’re here to stay”
Nigel: “I’m afraid he’s right. Until we fulfill this quest, you’re stuck with the both of us.”
I sat there perplexed. Could they be real? Is this actually happening, have I gone clinically insane?
Just then Maria popped her head up.
The two men disappeared off my shoulders, grinning as they faded away.
Maria: “Ned right?”
I couldn’t really respond properly. What came out was
Ned: “Eryarr”
Maria: “Are you alright?”
I nodded, transfixed by her amazing eyes.
Maria: “I’ve gotten my fair share of nasty callers too at my old job, so I know it can get frustrating.” She said laughingly
I managed to form words
Ned: “yes sorry, I just got a little caught up in the moment, didn’t mean to frighten you”
Maria: “Oh no it’s ok, you didn’t frighten me.” She smiled.
Ned: “Well again, I apologize for the outburst, I’m really not like that usually.”
Maria: “I thought it was kind of funny actually. Some times they can be real bastards right? Sort of deserve of it don’t they?”
Ned: “yea, uh, you’re right!” I may have exclaimed a little too enthusiastically.
She however crinkled her nose, and smiled again.
Maria: “Oh I know.”
An awkward pause.
Maria: “Well I better get back to work...cubicle buddy”
Ned: “oh yea, me too. Um cubicle buddy!”
She giggled, and sat back down.
Nigel’s voice popped back in.
Nigel: “You know I thought that went rather nicely.”
To be continued...
| 2022-04-29T19:22:54 | 2018-07-02T17:28:45 | 4,745 | 10 |
[WP] You are a failed doctor, but a well practiced necromancer. Of course, rent is still due each month, and in order to pay the bills you still help the sick. The catch? Your patients have to die first for you to help them.
|
I stretched my long thin fingers and pointed at my victim with a slow calculated gesture. Patient. It is patient now. I rose up from behind my desk and could hear a slight tear as my robe adorned with skulls got stuck on the office chair. Quickly I raised my oak-wood staff with a dramatic gesture, its lizard skull gleaming pale white under the bright shine of fluorescent lights.
Mr. Jones looked back at me from the bench where he sat in his briefs, his unhealthy skin and slightly pudgy frame visible.
"So.... uhm... how long do I have left, doc?"
"Oh, I'd say you're doomed to die mere minutes from now!" I said while looking at him and cackling madly.
"Ah" he said and smiled happily. "I was worried it was going to be longer."
"You fool! Time is a precious commodity of which you have very little left!"
"You're the best doc! I'm sorry I couldn't pay you in cash, but hopefully the chickens will do you well."
"Ignorant mortal! You have supplied me with the last ingredients I need for my master plan!"
"Old ma made sure you got the best ones. Only the good stuff for our doc." He positively beamed at me."
"They'll fuel rituals whose power you can't even begin to fathom!"
"You can say that again doc, all the hospitals said I was a goner and here you are giving me a second chance"
"You'll be cursed to walk the earth forever, always undying! Dependent on the blood of your brethren to survive and shunned wherever you tread!"
"Aw, man. You're making me a vampire? You know, Mary is really into that Twilight stuff. I bet she'll think old pa is pretty cool now."
"Do you feel it? DO YOU FEEL IT MR. JONES?"
He slumped over on the bench, dead as a doornail.
"Ahahahahahahahahaa! Rise! RISE FROM THE GRAVE!" I lifted my staff and it crashed into the lights above with a slight thud. I could hear reciprocal knocking from Dr. Steinberg in the office above.
Mr. Jones opened his eyes.
"Wooooo!"
"Sense the power! Sense the curse! Feel the hunger!"
"Man I could kill for a Twinkie right about now."
"Killing is what you're made to do! You are nightmares personified. Evil incarnate!"
He literally jumped acrobatically up from the bench, landing elegantly on his feet.
"What the he..."
"Yes! Yes! Your body is perfected. Agile, strong, impervious to damage! None shall stop you."
"Shit doc, this is perfect. I can finish mrs. Doris' porch in no-time now."
"Your body will cut its fat! You will become lean, feral, efficient. An instrument of death!"
"Old ma is going to love that. She's been telling me to lose weight for ages"
I stared at him coldly.
"So... what happens now, doc?"
"You must go forth and find blood to feast on!"
"Oh" he paused for a minute. "Well, I'm sure the family will be happy to donate a pint now and then to keep old pa alive and kicking.
I thundered my staff into the door.
"Leave this place!"
"Sure thing doc, and thanks again. You've given me my life back!"
He dressed quickly, hugged me awkwardly and disappeared out the door. I walked to the window.
Outside I could see him approaching his old pickup. His family waiting anxiously besides it. His daughter running unsteadily in his direction before hugging him warmly. It went on for minutes, before he finally got in and the truck pulled away from the parking lot.
I walked to my desk and picked up his file. It had an old photo of him in there. I picked it up and picked my key-ring out of the robe's pocket. Three keys to unlock the drawer. I fished out the tome inside and opened it up. There was a spot for the photo already. Right next to old Rogers and that Stevens kid. I carefully placed the photo inside and looked around the office to make sure nobody was looking. Then I closed the tome and gently touched its cover before putting it back into the drawer. I smiled a gentle smile. mr. Jones would be just fine. He had people that loved him.
I pushed the button on the intercom.
"Yes, doc?" Sheila's shrill voice said to me.
"BRING IN THE NEXT VICTIM!"
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Getting through medical school is difficult. What they *don't* tell you is that getting a residency is far from a done deal, even if you get your medical degree. There are more medical graduates than residency spots. Not everyone gets matched. Since my parents stuck me in a shitty school system growing up, I didn't have the prerequisites you need to get into a brand-name program. If you're not in the right schools by the time you're 12, forget it.
But...I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to help people. And I am very determined and stubborn. As kids we're taught that you can be whatever you want to be, so long as you put in the work. I did decently in undergrad, but I hadn't the connections to get into a US-based medical school. Instead, I went to the Caribbean. I would prove myself there, a little more roundabout route, true, but with a good record I thought I could get a residency back home. Boy, was I deluded...
While doing some volunteer work to burnish my resume, one of my classmates befriended me and introduced me to her family, who was based locally. Her grandmother, Mama Laveau (yes, *those* Laveaus) was versed in, shall we say...traditional healing methods. Learning voodoo did cement certain Western medical concepts in my head better. Some of it is just a different route to the same goal. Mama Laveau was hesitant to teach me at first. Come on- I am lily white with blue eyes so pale that people think they're costume contacts. But Ernestine vouched for me and I seemed to have a knack for the subject. Once Mama Laveau taught me sufficient alternative paths to the goal, she decided it was time to teach me what to do when the game clock buzzed zero and someone needed to go into overtime.
Let me be clear: this stuff isn't *evil,* per se. You are only dealing with some different beings than are discussed in the Western Canon. What you do with it...that's up to the practitioner. Just don't tell my grandmother what I've been up to. She'd have a stroke. And then I would have to do something amounting to a giant I Told You So and it'd be really awkward...
Once I received a stack of rejections for residency programs, I found that my extracurricular studies would save my financial ass. Going to medical school abroad does not save you from student loan debt. I went back to the US and hung my "alternative medicine" shingle in a region with a large Haitian community.
Haitians and other Afro-Caribbean folk work *hard.* Multiple jobs. Unfortunately, they don't always get paid well. One dirty little secret of the US medical community is that black people are ignored and marginalized even when they DO manage to get access to a doctor. And psychiatric care? Forget it. The exams they receive are more cursory, they're less likely to get needed pain meds, if they report complications, medical staff are more likely to dismiss them. Ask Serena Williams, after all. It's *not* just about money.
I'll never forget my first patient who sought me for, er....extra innings. When Sabine tottered through my door, it was plain she had mere days left. Congestive heart, I was sure. Maybe kidney issues as well, I was just eyeballing it at the moment. And she was *ancient.* She reminded me of that Rodin sculpture of the old lady. Ancient, but her face had character, too. This was a lady who'd *seen shit.*
I put on my best professional smile. "What brings you in today?" I asked Sabine. She gave me a doubtful look. I was used to it by this point.
"Do you work on contingency?" Sabine asked me.
"Er...maybe you have me mixed up with the lawyer three doors down?" I said. "This is an alternative medicine clinic." Sabine had a folder of papers in her free hand. She tottered over to me.
"This is a summary of the money I have coming in," she said. I looked at the papers. Social Security benefit statements. Subsidized housing vouchers. Foster care payments for small children living in her home. I noted her date of birth.
"Those are your great-grandchildren," I said quietly. Sabine nodded.
"Doc said I don't have much time left, and there was nothing more he could do..." she explained. "My daughter...shot dead at the corner store where she worked. So I took care of my grand-babies. One died in a drive-by, the other died from drugs...and she left me *her* babies to raise...and if I go there is no one left to raise them..." She turned away briefly.
"Jesus," I breathed. "I'm so sorry."
"I...only recently was able to get an apartment near decent schools," Sabine whispered. "If they go to foster care with strangers..." She swallowed. "I...I heard things about you..."
"You want letters or phone calls of reference, I can get them for you."
She snorted. "You screw this up, I'm dead anyway. What do I have to lose? Money's tight, but I could make a little room for payments out of my checks...especially if I don't need my meds anymore...." I was pretty sure at this point what she was getting at.
"Sabine, I need you to be specific. What is it you want me to do?"
"Bring me back after I die. Kill me quietly if you're willing to...I'd appreciate not drowning in my own juices. And it's easier if the death is never reported. I get back up, am seen still walking around, the checks keep coming, my girls keep going to a safe school."
"I see," I said quietly.
"Just till they graduate! Reach adulthood. Wouldn't...wouldn't be *right* cheating beyond that point." At that point, I took her full medical history, then did some math. Block off half a day for the ritual, amortize those fees over the period things were likely to last before a booster... the monthly cost was little more than beer money, really. And it's not like she'd need the beer after this. There would be diminishing returns on repeated treatments...but I could get her there. The younger kid might need a full time job the day she graduates high school...but I could get Sabine that far.
"Okayyy..." I said slowly. "This may be a sore topic for you, but I will need you to source your own narcotics to help things along. I will not take on the legal risks of buying it myself." I preferred that the patient "do the honors" herself if possible. This was a city where it was trivially easy to obtain the cheap deadly Chinese shit.
Sabine nodded. "I can do that..." said said.
"It will take several hours, so you need someone watching the kids. This office is no place for them."
"Neighbor will take them for the afternoon."
"And *no eating or drinking after midnight the day of the procedure,"* I deadpanned. After a beat or two, Sabine laughed. I smiled at her. "Seriously, though. You'll want to save yourself the mess. I charge extra for needless cleanup. Your throat will also be sore, your voice raspy, and do you want to actually *sound* like a zombie?" I penciled her into my schedule, and she tottered out, far more relaxed than when she came in.
A few minutes later, my phone rang. It was Maddie, my old college roommate. She'd gone the law school route, becoming an estate and elder law attorney.
"Hey, it's time we caught up with each other," Maddie said. The words sounded loaded. "Can you do lunch with me Monday? At my office?"
Hmmm. Play this right and my student loans could be paid off within the next year....
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My other stories are at r/Hazelnightengale
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Edit: flow, proofread, expanding a point
| 2018-12-13T07:14:52 | 2018-12-13T07:03:36 | 108 | 29 |
[WP] There is a well in your village that never dries up, never freezes over and always has the clearest water that heals many ailments. One cold winter day, when you accidentally slip on ice and fall in, you find out why.
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I fell in the well.
The water was warm despite the frost on the stone. And I came up to the top again the scream and pull on the bucket rope with a mouth full of water.
I caught a chill when I finally climbed all the way back up. I told father what happened and got scolded for messing around with the Holy Well. He didn’t even want to hear about the light I saw at the bottom.
I went back that night, I couldn’t sleep. My plan was such. There were many big stones around. I would hold one and jump in and sink to the bottom. When I wanted to come back up I would let the stone go and come back up the rope I threw in beforehand.
I breathed deep, and jumped in. Half way down I saw the light again, bright and radiating. The water was warmer the further down I got. I touched bottom nearby.
The light was from a stone the size of my head. As I looked it shook and cracked, and a beaked face came out dressed in red feathers. The bird grew to be the size of a man but struggled in the water, shaking and convulsing until it went limp.
Immediately it fragmented under a burst of heat I was scalded and I dropped the rock. As I rose in the water I watched the bird turn to silt, and in the pile, emerged an egg much like what I had seen originally.
I climbed the rope and fetched another rock. I had to go back down. I descended again to see the bird, dead again and turning to silt.
As soon as it appeared I grabbed the egg and dropped the rock, as I broke the surface of the water, the eggshells cracked. The Phoenix took a breath of air and sang a low sad song that echoed in the well. I held it above the surface until it was too heavy for me to hold and I had to let go. It tried to fly, but it’s sodden wings and the cramped confines of the well did not let it.
As I watched, the Phoenix struggled until it again drowned and sank to the bottom of the well to begin its lifecycle anew.
Someday, I will be able to get it out, but until then I will not drink from that well again.
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"This is a stupid ass way to die." This is what I thought my last coherent thought was going to be as I splashed into the icy cold of the dark well water that had rushed upward to meet me face first. I expected my next few minutes to be spent upside down, underwater, struggling for breath and cursing my fate. My body was in shock at the sheer coldness of the water and I lost all possibility of thought. Then as the shock wore off the frightening realization hit that I was upside down in a well so tight around me that there was no possible way for me to turn over and swim for the surface, much less yell for help.
"Swim," my mind told me and I fought the feeling of trying to turn over anyway. I knew if I did I'd get wedged. So I swam downward. I was hoping crazily that the well would widen enough for me to flip and then head back upward. For a minute I went deeper and deeper and it got darker and darker. Either the water was getting warmer or my body was entering the first stages of hypothermia. I bet on the hypothermia. I wondered if the well had a bottom as my lungs compelled me to breathe. So what if that breath was water. At least it would be over.
I knew I was dead when I saw the light. Go into the light - isn't that what they said? Or was it stay out of the light? I didn't care at this moment. I swam as hard as I could and the current I was surprised to feel a current carrying me forward. My head exploded through the surface of the river I was in and I found myself taking a glorious breath of sweet, sweet air. I swam against the current for the shoreline I could see ahead of me.
"What the fuck?" I managed to ask the universe as I crawled amidst the warm rocks of the river shore, noting the dark silhouette of a tree a foot or two to my left. The stars above me shone with a brightness I don't think I'd ever seen before.
There were plenty of things wrong with all of this and I lay there trying to process them. First, it had been below zero outside when I had fallen in. The air here felt warm. I had always heard about the well that didn't freeze so when it dropped below freezing I decided to check it out and put that stupid story to rest once and for all. I had slipped on the ice and fallen face first down the well and here I was. Next, the sun had risen an hour earlier on that snowy day on the other side of the well. The "other side" was how my mind was now labeling it. I had died. That had to be it. This was the afterlife.
"Fell into the river, did ya?" a voice asked in the darkness next to me. It sounded distinctly old and gravelly.
"Who are you?" I asked, sitting up as the warm night air chased the last of the shivers from my body.
"Pardon me," the voice said and then something lit up. I found it odd that the surrounding darkness was now lit up by a glowing clump of leaves. I found it doubly odd that the speaker was the tree. Well, the face in the tree, "I am Dorce, apprentice tree mage of the River Trees. And you are?"
"You're a tree." I told him. Her? It?
"You're quick for a human," the tree, or Dorce said to me and laughed, "Of course I'm a tree. I just said that in my introduction. Hit yer noggin' on a rock when you fell in the river?"
"Sorry," I said, standing in the glow of the leaves that Dorce was providing, "I am Jason Edwards. From New York. I think I died a little while ago. Are you some kind of weird after-life spirit?"
"Only thing dead is that brain of yours, Jason York!" Dorce said and yawned, then stood up. By standing I mean he lifted himself from the soil with a sigh. I saw an irritated chipmunk fall from the roots, chitter, and run off into the night.
"That's weird," I said but smiled. If I were dead and seeing weird stuff I guess it were better than being dead and not existing at all.
"What's weird is talking to a tree," a feminine voice said from behind me, "You shouldn't trust anyone that spends half the day planted in dirt." I noted this voice had a jovial aspect to it.
"Oh, ha ha." Dorce said, "It will be light soon, Taura. Seems we have an addition to our party and the o
Old Sip spit him out like you said it would."
"Old Sip?" I asked Dorce, while trying to make out the newcomer and Dorce pointed to the river.
Taura stepped out into the light of the leaves and my eyes went wide as she smiled. Her brown hair hung in curls and framed her dark brown chestnut eyes perfectly. I noted her hooves were well manicured.
"Your bottom is... is..." I started to say. Her eyebrows shot up.
"Talking about a woman's bottom that you just met? That's rude." she said, a small smile threatening to become a huge one, "If the next word out of your mouth isn't gorgeous I'm throwing you back in the Old Sip!"
"Gorgeous." I said and sighed as she smiled.
"He acts like he never seen a Satyr before," Dorce said, "Come on, it'll be light soon. We have a long distance to cover."
| 2019-01-14T12:58:26 | 2019-01-14T12:56:51 | 60 | 34 |
[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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Another blow sent me sprawling onto the floor. I felt a drop come from my nose and saw the spot of red on the floor. My face burned from his fiery punch.
“Come on, loser,” Chantley shouted. “If you’re not going to show your power, I’ll force it out of you.”
“You’re not changing anything by doing this,” I said. “Just leave me alone.”
A flame flickered in Chantley’s open palm, waiting for me to charge back at him. The fire sigil on his forehead burned brightly as he was using his power. Other students had gathered around but did nothing to stop Chantley’s attack, waiting to see what happened. I knew they were curious, too. But I stood still, my plain circle sigil staying dark as always.
“Fight me!” he shouted. “Show us what your lame sigil really does!”
I had endured his teasing, his prodding, his insults all year long. He was new to the school, and I guessed he was just trying to carve a spot for himself in our class. Not that he needed to. We’re a pretty nice group of kids. He’d know it if he had given us a chance. If he had given me a chance. I wasn’t ready to show them what I could do. I wasn’t ready, but it was getting harder to hold it in.
With another flaming punch, this time to my gut, I had finally had enough. I put out the little hot spot that smouldered on my shirt and got in his face. I hated to admit it, but his bullying broke me.
“Fine Chantley. You win.”
Suddenly his flame went out.
“Hey!” he said, looking down at his hand. He snapped his fingers. He waved his hands. Nothing could bring the fire back. “Where did it go?” Then he looked back at me and his jaw dropped.
My circle sigil was filled with the burning fire sigil that had been on his forehead, but now was on mine.
“You took my sigil!” he shouted. The gathered crowd let out a collective gasp.
“You asked for it,” I said plainly. I played with the fire in my palm, like he had taunted me with every other time he picked a fight with me. Now it was my turn.
“Give it back!” he shouted, the panic palpable in his voice.
“No, I think I’ll keep it for a while.”
Chantley threw a punch at my face, but I blocked it with a flaming fist. His eyes widened then shut tightly as he felt the painful burn of fire for the first time in his life.
“Owwwww let me go!”
I released him with a push, sending him to the ground. I also released his sigil back to him as he scampered through the crowd. Nobody followed him, but nobody checked on me either. In fact, they kept their distance from me, probably terrified I’d steal their sigil too. I may have won the fight, but I lost my friends in the process.
I never should have given in.
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More stories at /r/ReverendRamboWrites
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The little circle of black ink stained the skin on the back of my left hand. Hollow and empty, as if God had gotten to me and tired of his work.
Everyone's sigil *started* hollow. Then, when a person reached five or six, the sigil would fill itself in. If the sigil was unique, it could take another year or two for the person to find out what exactly it did. But most of the time you could just look them up as they were well documented.
There was nothing to look up about mine, though. I just had to wait until it filled. If it would ever fill, I thought.
I'd spent my childhood trying to figure out what it might mean -- this lonely empty sigil. Dad had been sorely disappointed -- he'd been hoping for an eye, like his friend's daughter Carla had on her foot. She was only a year older than me and could already take little peeks into the future, and although the future wasn't certain, more often than not she was helpful at the horse track.
"Well it must mean something," Dad said. "Maybe it means no gravity." He grinned at his sudden epiphany. "Maybe you can fly, Tom! Have you tried flying? Come on, I'll lift you up."
Mom came in screaming. "Put him down this instant!" Then, more calmly, she added, "You can't swim out to meet this ship. You both need to just wait, patiently, for it to come into shore."
Dad always listened to Mom. Had to, really. Mom had the gift of near-perfect logic, so he knew she was right. As usual.
He sighed and placed me down. "Sorry, son. Was just trying to help you out. Listen, if you never get a sigil, I'll still love you just the same. I promise."
I loved my Dad, but he could be an idiot sometimes.
By the time I was fifteen my ability, my sigil, still remained blank. Just a depressing reminder of how ordinary I was. Less than ordinary.
"Come on, freak-show," said a wiry boy, Joe, as I sat in the cafeteria eating my lunch alone. No sigil meant no friends. I didn't blame them -- why would they have wanted to be friends with someone so dull?
"Show us what you can do," Joe taunted. His sigil was like a serpent, and he was crafty and mean-spirited. He looked like his sigil, I thought. His thin face and sharp teeth and sly smile. I'd found through experience that it was better to ignore him than to get on his wrong side.
"You don't want to do that, Joe," said Carla, the girl with the eye on her foot. She was the year above me and must have just come into the cafeteria. Next to her was a pretty girl I'd never seen before with brown pigtails and thick rimmed glasses.
"What would you know about it?" Joe said, turning on her. "Did you even know you had an sigil on your foot?"
"I knew."
Joe turned to his friends and said, "I'm amazed she could see it down there, past her stomach." They laughed gleefully.
"Quit it!" I said.
"It's okay," said Carla. "You don't need to. I've seen my future and I've seen Joe's. His words are just a drop of rain on a sunny day for me. His though, that's a forever winter."
"Fuck you," said Joe. "My future is going to be great. Quarterback for the Miami Dolphins. Greatest player the game's ever seen."
She shook her head. "Most of your futures aren't like that. Some, you're on the street begging for change. And then there are the bad ones. You want to hear about those?"
Joe glared at us both. Then he turned and walked away, his friends following.
The new girl was still standing next to Carla. "Who was that Jerk?"
"Someone you don't need to worry about," said Carla. Then, she introduced us. "This is Tom. Tom, this is Ruby. Ruby's new to our school and I was just showing her around."
"Hi," Ruby said, with a smile infectious enough to worm it's way onto my face.
"It's not always like this," I said. "That guy just likes to tease me because..." A flush of embarrassment hit and my face reddened.
The new girl smiled. "Because you...?"
"He doesn't have a sigil," said Carla, factually. As if it didn't matter. As if it hadn't and wasn't ruining my life. "He's just got an empty circle, like you."
"Like... you?" I said, brows furrowed.
Ruby held out her right hand. An empty black ring on the back of it. Just like mine, except on the opposite hand.
I showed her my hand.
"Wow," she said. "I've never met another with an empty sigil. This is... kind of weird? Or kind of cool?"
"Guess it's nice not to be alone," I said. And it was.
She nodded. "It's why I moved school. My parents hoped the teasing might... you know, soften? But seeing that ass just now, I guess it won't."
"I can see a few futures with my sigil," Carla said. "That's my gift."
"Yeah?" said Ruby. "That's pretty cool."
"I see a future where you both have a sigil."
"When?!" I asked, instantly regretting sounding so keen. I tried to play it cool,"I mean, uh, so when do we get ours?"
Carla smiled. "Check now. I think you've got them."
We both raised our hands, holding them in front of us. The rings were still empty.
"Nothing," Ruby said.
"Nada," I said.
But Carla took our hands and pushed them together. A shiver tapped down my spine as our skin touched.
And the circles... the circles looked like something else, at least for a moment.
They looked -- just a little -- like the an infinity symbol.
Ruby was staring at me, her mouth open. I think she that cold shiver too.
"You both always had sigils," Carla said. "I've not seen all the futures, but I think -- maybe -- your gifts are each other, always."
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Thank you for reading! If you liked I wrote a pretty similar story yesterday that's over on my sub (joint sub, with my amazing co-writer Static): /r/nickofstatic \- it's the "In an alternative universe..." story. Thanks :)
| 2020-02-26T05:43:27 | 2020-02-26T05:07:39 | 1,964 | 665 |
[WP] You’re the last survivor in a town full of body snatched / mind controlled / pod people and… they don’t seem interested in adding you to the hive. And you’re starting to take it personally.
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If you are reading this and you are like me, please don’t think of me too badly, okay?
I mean, I understand that I should be grateful that I’m immune to whatever the hell took over pretty much everyone in my city, and I really really am.
Maybe if they were trying to hurt me or others, I wouldn’t even be thinking about this right now. But they aren’t. Whatever is controlling everyone else seems content to let them go through the usual routine if only a bit more organised.
Which begs the question: “Why was I not included?”
I am not asking to be absorbed. I am not. For all I know, everyone absorbed is currently in Hell and their bodies are just going through the motions.
But I am still curious. They were not zombies so no checking if I could be infected. I had only one option available.
Asking directly.
The answer came easy and all the more disturbing:
“You have already been claimed. Not by us. But you have.”
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Part 1.
She saw the fog. Thick, flowing elegantly between buildings, blinding and unnatural for those in the know. Sonia was in the know, Sonia was a lot in the know. She was that much in it that the directions she got to reach Innsear in Massachusetts included a description of the mist, the fish-like attributes of its denizens and a critic of the best restaurant in town. Having a compendium reviewing the known occult features took away a lot of the discovery. Work was work, this was not a vacation or an exotic trip, Sonia would not stumble upon a secret and
join a terrible cult, she had already done so and the secretive nature of the trade made them refuse dual memberships. It did not preclude them from communicating and trading when the need arose, which was easier said than done. Cultists hid so well from the public eye that if another from far away came to say hi there was virtually no way to know if the stranger was indeed what he claimed to be or an investigator or a secret test of loyalty.
Custodian Enia, her superior in rank and mentor in self-discovery, deemed Sonia capable of this task and, being a novice, it wouldn't be too much of a loss should she fail and die. The situation was quite simple: the Club, to which they both belonged, was in possession of a prisoner that was of no interest to them. But he was to the Order, an organization located in Innsearr. As it happened, the Order itself had a person of interest to the Club in custody. The job was to organize the exchange, pretty straightforward. Except no, Enia explained to great length that paranoia was the lifeblood of secret cabals and sects and fan clubs, the less people knew, the better. Sonia would be messenger, negotiator, organizer and diplomat and sent to a place that had no clue she existed or for what she stood. Also, she would need luck. And if it took a turn for the worse, Sonia's past as a professional athlete would come in handy.
Innsear, what a stain. A coastal village that barely saw the sun, drab houses, a pier only good for throwing pest into the ocean with their feet stuck in concrete, everything was wet and sad and gloomy. Enia did mention it had suffered a recession and was economically disaster-stricken.
An inn was outlined on the city map she held, a good starting point.
*The Many finds the evidence inconclusive. The Many sees "cleaning" as a waste of time. But the Many needs a shard of individuality left in drones, lest the Many grows sterile, out of ideas, out of goals.*
Penny was cleaning the window in her mother's chamber, mother had stained it again. Black goo ran down the glass and would decay the wall if left unchecked. The constant fog did a good job at rotting everything it came in contact with ahead of time, the inn wasn't spared, and it didn't need more degradation.
“Mother, please, you don't have to drool on every wall, I have other things to do than clean up.”
Words were unnecessary. They could have spoken to one another through the Many. Old habits die hard, and for all the bad reputation hive minds get, the Many turned out to be surprisingly lenient in asserting control.
Mother groaned and turned around in bed. Penny let out a sigh and finished her menial task. She heard noise coming from downstairs, customers waiting to be served.
“I'm going back to the bar, I'll visit you again later.”
Groan, creaking. Penny's mother wasn't exactly talkative.
The Shambling Jaw was Innsear's tavern, bar, restaurant and social hub, owned by the same
family for centuries, Penny being the latest down the line alongside her twin brother Marty. The both of them were considered brain and brawn. She was physically fit and did not shy away from hauling beer crates from the truck to the cellar, it was just that Marty, a giant that had to be constantly reminded that furniture, people and the world around him were fragile, suffered no competition in the matter. Conversely, Penny considered herself reasonably astute and educated, her brother on the other hand was, to put it mildly, not an intellectual. That's why the Many kept giving her the important tasks on the wrong assumption that she was a genius, proving once and for all that being surrounded by idiots made you look better than you were. It was even worse considering the Many had access to all of her thoughts, but it was too damn lazy to look at it in detail.
| 2021-11-20T10:27:36 | 2021-11-20T07:46:13 | 252 | 66 |
[WP] The kingdom you protected betrayed you. They killed your family before they took your head. There was no time save anyone you loved, but there is enough for a final curse. "Live" is the last word of the strongest mage.
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They feared my power, certain that I would betray them and kill all the people I fought so hard to protect. They were wrong. Even in death I protect them. Especially in death. For my very *life* went into that final spell. Ever the guardian, even my death-curse protected them.
And so it was that they were cursed to eternal life. The entire kingdom, unable to die. Aging, growing ever weaker, their bodies failing them, but refusing to let them go. They lived until their bodies rotted completely away, living centuries unable to move. Unable to eat or drink. Not even able to *breath*. No greater torture has ever been devised. Their punishment was absolute. Every single citizen who desired my death was refused theirs until their body was no more and their broken, shattered excuse for a spirit had **nothing** left to cling to and *no choice* but to move on.
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The memories stirred in this new body, of beheading, curses and a murdered family. I felt like I had been forged in the heat of fire, with all the sensations to match.
I had spotted Korbin the Immortal as part of the street gathering, as he had been paraded in his cage. He had been captured in the Empire City of Annallis, after his campaign of terror on the nobility. Assaults, murders and explosions had followed in Korbin's wake.
I had cursed him in a past life to live. His magical energies has turned upon him, cursing him with perpetual life, and rendering him much weaker as a result.
I had to see him again, and this thief's body was the perfect guise.
/ / / / / /
I had spent the next week planning how to infiltrate the Imperial Embassy, in order to talk to Korbin. The footsteps and torches of the guards were no match for my Inattention spell, perfected during my time as a thief....and as a mage.
*Inattention runs upon my family,* I mused mentally, the energies slowly draining from my body as the spell was maintained. Its shape was a conic pyramid in the magical spectrum, but doubly inverted so that no trace was left during, and a much smaller trace after the spell dissipated.
I made my way down to the flickering dimness of the dungeons, searching for Korbin in the dank, bitter smell of the cells. It took me two minutes before I found him - in a relatively comfortable section.
I panted, my stores of magical energy running low, as I ended the spell. I spoke to him as I spotted his manacled form, chained to a bed far more worthy of the name than what I slept on.
"Well, well, if it isn't Korbin of Wallaxia. Ancient noble of a long dead empire, the Immortal." He started at that, his turquoise eyes glittered as he stiffened.
"Who are you?" He rasped, surging towards the bars of the cell. No-one but scholars knew of Wallaxia. I knew of it from my past life; however, this body had learned of the empire from an old parchment, as well.
I spoke again but this time, with perfect mimicry of my ancient, long-dead voice. "Do you not recognise this, my old friend? **LIVE.**" My voice turned into the rasping of a wizard's death curse, dredged from my final memory. He blazed in a red-hot fury and struggled against his manacles.
He spat his next words at both of me. "Will I ever be free of you, *old friend?*"
Then, he slumped to the floor, weeping into the clasp. "You took everything from me, Ra'si." Sobs shook his body; true, heaving sobs detailing disaster that had taken him.
He spoke between sobs. "...And I....am no longer....sure....you were....wrong to do so. I became exactly what Father wanted me to be. And in the end, I paid for it." He paused, as he stood up, still sobbing, as the tears fell freely. "I...was blinded by....the power I held. I tried....everything....to rid myself of this curse.
"I even spoke to the Greater Beings, in an attempt to reshape this world. So that I could finally die and have peace."
*That* shook far more than anything that had happened in my previous life. He had *sought* the Greater Beings? And not gone insane? He continued on, as though that was normal.
"I know what you're thinking. But the truth is, I went insane after the end of Wallaxia. When I was forced to watch, as my empire burned, and was sacked. It took decillents before I could see what I needed to do.
"I am a Champion, and a prophet, of a Greater Being now. She is coming, the Empress of Nights Black. She took me in at my worst, at my lowest.
"So you were right, after all, in the end. I was cursed to Live, and so Live I shall. I no longer hate you, old friend, but the venom is still there."
The room dimmed as he spoke, and I knew then, it was too late. Something struck then, and a pain lanced through me.
His last word to me was, "Die," as I hit the floor.
| 2022-07-01T06:42:07 | 2022-07-01T06:38:28 | 222 | 49 |
[WP] You open the door to your house. You notice someone who looks exactly like you sitting in a chair. You don't have a twin. "Can I help you?" The person looks at you. "I'll give it to you straight: I'm a shapeshifter. I'm in danger. One of us needs to stay in the basement for now. Best it's you."
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"You sure about that? I can handle myself well enough." I said as I pulled out my pistol and chambered a round.
"No, trust me, they aren't \*people\*, a weapon like that won't cut it, I've just gotta trick them into thinking I'm not here, and this place is an extrasensory dead zone for some reason, so they can't see through this disguise."
"Wait, did you walk in here with no idea who I am, just copied someone off the street and hopped into their house?"
"Yeah, why does who you are matter? Wait, how the hell are you so okay with all this?" My response was to channel a touch of power into the runes on my handgun and gloves, causing them to turn from nearly invisible to glowing a pale, ethereal blue. The doppleganger froze, and its expression turned to stark terror.
"You're the fucking wizard. I walked into the house of the fucking wizard, because of course he'd have wards mimicking a natural dead zone."
"I'm the fucking wizard alright."
"Why am I alive, then? You must have killed a dozen of us by now."
I sighed and lowered my weapon from pointing upward and ready to at my side. "Because instead of trying to take my memories, kill me, and replace me, you just asked me to hide. That's not how your kind operate. So, I have to ask how'd you end up in this situation? Be aware, one of the wards will stop you from lying."
"I uh..." He gagged, clearly having hoped to call my "bluff" about the truth ward. I hadn't been bluffing. "I let a human live that I shouldn't have. Blew an operation. My cell never liked me before, and now..."
"They're gonna kill you. Probably some shit about you being 'flawed' for not being a total psycho too, yeah?"
"Yeah"
"Well, you seem like possibly the best anomaly among monsters I've met, can't wait until the vegan werewolves hear about this." The Shifter looked deeply confused at that, and seemed like he was about to question it, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. A series of heavy, slow knocks. I sighed.
"We can talk more once I take out the trash. You might want to turn around, it might get messy."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Hope folks enjoy, pretty heavy Dresden Files inspiration here, but fun to write regardless.
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It's a funny thing, looking into a mirror and feeling like the person staring back somehow isn't you.
Sometimes it's physical - a blemish you don't recognize, a double-chin you'd never have allowed to form, or a look in those tired eyes that's nothing like the bright, youthful gaze you were sure you'd always had and always would. Time makes a stranger of us all.
Sometimes it's philosophical - how does one know who they truly are, or what is the nature of identity? Is it possible that the reflection of a person you see is just as real as you are? Or perhaps more unsettling is the thought that you are as false as the person in the mirror.
Sometimes it's just plain emotional - you're such a strong person... always have been, always will be. So there's no way those tears streaming down the cheeks of that sorry doppelganger could possibly belong to you.
Mirrors lie. Everyone knows that, right?
Which is why when you found me again, I didn't believe you. There you were, lounging in my favorite reading chair with an tattered paperback of Finnigan's Wake plastered to your nose... it was obvious you couldn't be me. I remember how our eyes met as you inserted the bookmark at page thirty-one and gently discarded the book in it's usual spot of abandonment atop the piano next you. Your every motion was familiar, as if you'd studied me for a long time.
I knew you weren't me, because if mirrors are our reflection and they lie, then can something that doesn't lie possibly be a reflection?
No, you were perfect. The way stood, eyes slightly averted, hands clasped in front. How you nodded your head ever so slightly, causing those itchy bangs to fall away from your eyes. You were _too_ perfect, and I knew you weren't me before you'd even spoken a word: in this mirror, I saw the truth.
Mirrors lie. That's true, isn't it?
I spoke first, repeating the words exactly as I remembered them:
"Lets get this over with. So, can I help you?"
And you frowned. It was such a sad, familiar frown. I really didn't want to hear the words I knew you were about to say.
"I'll give it to you straight," you said. "I'm a shapeshifter. I'm in danger. One of us needs to stay in the basement for now. Best it's you."
Yes, you were definitely not me. Too perfect. The soft-spoken tone, the cadence of syllables - it was exactly as I'd have spoken it. Actually, it was exactly as I _had_ spoken it before, in those rare times the table had been flipped. But you'd grown better at it over time. And I... I only seemed to diminish. Perhaps soon I might vanish entirely. So I decided to simply ignore you. Yet you were persistent.
"They'll come for me, which means they'll come for you too," you argued. "They won't know or care about the difference between us. Just lock yourself in the basement before your mother gets home. Play some Final Fantasy XIV or something, I'll sort this out."
I stopped and bit my lip. _But what if this time, the reflection IS the truth?_ I could feel my heart beating at the thought of it. But from the fearful expression you wore, I could be certain this was just another tired trick, a dance of deception we'd tangoed to dozens of times.
My mouth opened to reply, but I caught myself and snapped it shut just as the garage door began to open. Mom was home from work. Best she not see this.
So I made my way to the basement door, and as advised, I locked it. I'd pass my few remaining moments alone in my own mind. It was never easy when you were around... the mirror always reflected strangely. I recall giving you one last, somber thought as I descended the stairs to my bedroom. The creak of a door upstairs announced mom's shuffled entry, likely overburdened with groceries judging from the sound of crinkling plastic bags. Part of me felt guilty for not being there to help her, but I knew you would take care of her. You always did. You always do.
And what I remember after that is a haze.
I don't know if you know this, but there's very little that happens between our encounters. It's always the same for me. There you are, every day, sitting in that chair after school, reading some book, abandoning it as you always do so we can have this same dreary exchange. And while once I fought it, now I know you're right. They will come for us if I don't hide. So I go to the basement and I disappear.
And I know exactly when you take your medications. I have mere minutes, and then the next thing I know, I'm back at the door to the house again, as if no time had passed even though I know better. You frown. You always frown. A shapeshifter, hiding your true form from the world - _hah!_ But you aren't really, are you? Like me, when you look into the mirror, someone else looks back. You aren't a shapeshifter. You've just rejected me.
That's right, you aren't really me, no matter what the doctors tell you. I know this much. They call me a problem, but I didn't ask for this. I'm so jealous of you. I'm so jealous. Why do you get to live, while I am stuck in this endless loop, only to be tucked away when it conveniences you? Yet, what choice do you have? To them, I'm just another of your personalities. To them, I'm a disorder. Something to be fixed. Something to be cured.
And you're right. They will come for us if I don't hide.
I've resigned myself. I can already feel the drugs kicking in. It's nearly time to sleep again.
I guess I'll see you tomorrow.
| 2022-12-05T10:30:15 | 2022-12-05T06:52:26 | 186 | 128 |
[WP] Write a story that seems like a cliffhanger untill you reread the first line.
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The sky was blue that day. The birds were singing in the trees, the grass was green and Sophie waltzed along the pavement without a care in the world.
She was thinking about all sorts of things, how much she loved Darren, how excited she was about her first kiss, what color the sky would be the day she died.
She walked out into the road...
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A warm winter coat made Devon's usual commute much more comfortable than usual, and he leaned back in his seat. His iPod was set to shuffle the entire library, and the people were all like him, keeping to themselves and enjoying (or appearing to) their ride on the train.
He looked at the old guy sitting across from him, just as the old guy started singing. The guy was ancient, but he had the voice of someone decades younger, and he was singing beautifully in Italian. Devon knew he'd have to tell his girlfriend about that later.
Devon looked around, further enjoying the ride. The old guy finished singing, and then all of a sudden there was just silence. Even the train seemed muted as a sense of growing dread filled Devon's chest. The tension built and he could almost hear it, a set of tones rising in pitch and volume.
He looked around the car to see if he could figure out what changed. Maybe one of the other passengers was doing something or looking at something.
They were gone. The car was empty.
Devon stood up as the lights started to flicker. First a blink, then two. Then the lights were off for as long as they were on.
"Hello?" Devon called. Nothing answered. Then the lights turned off for an interminable ten seconds, and a hissing gurgling laughter mocked him from the darkness.
Shapes moved in the shadows, indescribable. Devon began to sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The things in the shadows were crawling over each other, skittering, the mass of them moving toward him, the shadow seeming to engulf everything: seats, poles, floor and ceiling and walls. The shapes melted together into one formless beast with a gaping maw that opened to consume Devon just as the lights turned on.
The light banished the shadow creature, but all the other passengers were still gone.
What was happening?
Devon started looking for an emergency brake or something that he could use to stop the train and get out. There was nothing, no brake, no signs.
The lights flickered again, and he looked around in a panic. They were back on, except for the car at the end of the train.
Glowing eyes contemplated him from the car. When the lights came back on, however, nothing was there.
The lights in the next car turned off. Now, backlit by the lights behind, he could make out the shape of the body the eyes belonged to. An extended neck tilted the head to the side, as one elongated arm scratched the things head. The legs were uneven, and the thing limped, dragging the longer leg behind until it was even with the short leg. Then it would lurch forward. Ssssssss thump! Sssssss thump!
It approached the edge of the shadow, and Devon thought it would surely be defeated, just like the shadow had been. For a second it seemed like it was.
Then the light died in the next car. Thump! Sssssss thump! The light returned to the car as the monster left it.
Devon ran to the end of the train, trying to get out, through the door, something. He'd jump from the train to get from whatever that was, as long as he could escape.
The doors denied his attempts to pry them open. He beat his hands bloody against the glass, but it wouldn't shatter.
Running away just meant he had longer to contemplate his fate as the thing limped toward him. He could tell it grinned when it determined he had no place to go. A dark black tongue licked its lips and hideously large teeth.
The thing was in the same car as him now, and the lights went out. Devon screamed as the thing started to limp toward him, a hungry smile on its inhuman face.
It opened its mouth and bent down as he felt the door give way behind him.
| 2015-03-30T16:56:04 | 2015-03-30T16:49:18 | 81 | 17 |
[WP] Years ago a curse was cast that all people wearing costumes would turn into real versions of the costumes. This is now an annual, known and accepted phenomenon.
This would be best as a prompt closer to halloween but I didn't want to wait that long.
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My hands were still shaking as I picked up the coffee mug from the table. Dried tear streaks marked my face and the sleeplessness of the past few nights had sunken in, making my eyes burn.
"It's okay," the officer spoke softly, "take your time."
I nodded my appreciation, "It-it was around 11:55... Mary and I had just put our youngest t-to bed" I took a breath, "We were in our costumes, preparing for the night out. We-we-" I stuttered, "We were going to this party... at James Thompsons house, a fancy dress party. Nothing special really. The babysitter had just arrived and we were preparing to leave when Mary thought she heard a banging upstairs. My hearings not been so good since a few years back now... I- I just didn't hear anything." I gripped the coffee, letting the heat burn my palms.
"It's okay Martin. In your own time."
"Well, she just ran up stairs real quick, to make sure our son was okay. Next thing I saw, her body slammed into the wall and rolled down the stair- I- I'm sorry, I can't." I stumbled. Like she did. I can't get it out of my head. The image of her lifeless body tumbling down those stairs.
The officer nodded his understanding, "it had turned midnight by then, yes?"
I looked up from the mug, into the officers eyes and saw such sympathy. "Yes."
"My son. He must have gotten out of bed and wandered into the wardrobe... he... he found the costume we got for him when he was smaller, before... before it all started happening." Fresh tears tumbled down my cheeks.
"What was the costume?" The officer asked.
"It- it was one of those silly dinosaur costumes. I- I didn't know it would turn him into that, we had never heard of..." I shook my head, "After Mary had... fallen... I looked at the top of the stairs, the babysitter was still beside me, I think we were both in shock, couldn't move. There was this terrible screeching and I saw this ten foot... m-monster." My resolve buckled, "I'm sorry, I can't, I can't do this." I stood preparing to leave the room.
The officer leaned over to switch the tape off, "It's okay sir, we can do this another time..."
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It would be another Halloween like every other year, except this year Alec would face an unexpected change...
You see Alec was a die hard Star Wars fan and every year he would don the armor of the Dark Lord, Darth Vader, and head to his wife's annual Halloween party. This year was unspectacular; Alec got up, dressed in the garb of Lord Vader and went to work. After work Alec went to the party then went home and passed out on the couch, still wearing the costume that turned him into Lord Vader for the day.
When Alec awoke the following day it wasn't his alarm that woke him as would normally be the case, but a sound, a menacing and ominous breathing. The sound was an endless "mohhh pehhhrrr " and it took a few moments for Alec to recognize it, but being a lifelong Star Wars fanboy Alec knew the sound.
"That's Vader's breathing where is that coming from," but the voice that spoke these words did not belong to Alec but instead it was the voice of actor James Earl Jones.
Mohhhh....Pehhhrrrr....
Mohhh.....Pehhhrrrr....
"What is going on?!" Alec stood up and realized he was still wearing the Vader suit from yesterday, but it felt *different* like he wasn't just wearing a costume but he was *apart* of the costume. Alec scrambled to take the helmet off and upon doing so realized he could not! The seams that where there last night are now one solid piece, as the input of this new world fully washed over him Alec realized his vision was completely red and that he had a total awareness of all of his surroundings.
Mohhh....Pehhhrrrr....
Mohh....Pehhhrrrr...
Mohhh..Pehhhrrrr...
Alec began to freak out, as most people would after waking up as a cyborg with the voice of James Earl Jones. "What is going on how could this happen to me?!" Alec cried out and as he did all the walls around him began to shake, the shelves all toppled over and can of beer on the coffee table was crushed. Alec felt an anger wash over him, he was never really an angry guy but now all he could feel was rage, anger, *hate*. He hadn't just adopted Vader's armor and voice, but his very *soul*.
Mohhhhhh....Pehhhrrrr....
Mohhh...Pehhrrrrrr....
Alec let his hands fall to his sides and that's where he noticed it. A small cylindrical object clipped to his belt, Alec looked over to the wall and noticed his replica lightsaber was not on display as usual, "no," he thought to himself and then took the cylinder from his waste and activated it in a way that felt oh so normal. The Crimson blade shot out from the tip with a loud *snap hisss* and began to hum. Alec looked down at the blade and listened to the sound of his breath,
Mohhh....Pehhhrrrr.....
Alec deactivated the blade and clipped it to his waste, he decided it was time to embrace his destiny if he was to be Lord Vader then he would do exactly as Lord Vader would and that is to make everyone bow to his will. Alec, no *Vader* decided to pay his neighbor a visit, time to exact revenge on the foul man for refusing to trim the hedges on his side of the fence. Vader left his house, using the force to open his door and close it on the way out. He walked with purpose to his neighbors house and banged on the door with his gloved fist and waited for an answer.
Mohhh......Pehhhrrrr.....
Mohhh.....Pehhhrrrr....
Mohhh...Pehhhrrrr....
A figure came to the door, but it was not his neighbor as he knew him. The figure that came to the door was tall and lanky and bumped into a vase near the door knocking it down and breaking it. He had long fin-like ears and greeted the new Dark Lord with a voice so ear shattering Vader couldn't believe it;
"Meesa called Jar Jar Binks! Meesa your humble servant!"
Mohhh.... Pehhhrrrr......
Alec now knew why he was transformed into Vader truly, it was here, right now, that he would fulfill his destiny. Vader knew what he had to do, he was exact revenge for the prequels *AND* his over grown hedges in one motion...
Vader raised his arm and began to make a pincer grip with his fingers...
"Meeesaahhh.. Ahh...ah....."
And the Gungan's body crashed to the floor when Vader released him, at last justice had been achieved for Star Wars fans world wide. With the Gungan's finally breath Alec felt the armor of Darth Vader returning to its original costumed state the sense of awareness of everything around him gone.
"What?!"
His voice returned to normal Alec was no longer Darth Vader, he looked down to see his neighbor Bob dead on the floor with hand marks around his throat.
"TURN AROUND SLOWLY!" Called a voice from behind him, Alec refused to believe he lost his powers as Darth Vader and grabbed his lightsaber and flung it at the voice behind him.
*BANG BANG*
Alec looked down to see his costume leaking red, looked up to see a cop walking towards him and his plastic lightsaber on the floor beside him. Alec collapsed to the floor and watched the world turn black as he uttered his final words to the officer, "you were right, tell your sister, you were ri...."
The cop looked down at the man wearing the Vader costume who just strangled his neighbor and called over to his partner, "Crazy shit Huh Jim?"
His partner replied, "I wonder how much drugs this guy took last night to act like this?"
And the cop could only look down at the lightsaber, the weapon he thought was coming to kill him and shake his head.
Edit: I kinda missed the last line of the prompt, whoops.
| 2015-06-04T10:12:26 | 2015-06-04T09:18:13 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] Vampires are not the bloodthirsty monsters people believe them to be. For millennia their bite has been one of inoculation against the worst plagues and infections of history, humanity's greatest disease outbreaks coinciding with periods we had hunted them to near extinction.
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I fell in love with her on a Sunday. That was the only day of the week that Caroline wore her cross, like some sort of atonement for the other six days when she smoked pot and used God's name in vain from her boyfriend's sheets. She had lips to kill for and when she smiled every imperfection came together to form this perfect being. This perfect woman.
Caroline.
I had spoken to her before *That Sunday*. I had opened doors for her, my face hidden by a hat and cast in shadow. I had heard the chime of her voice and the sincerity of her gratitude. She called her mother every weekend and spoke animatedly on the phone. On Monday nights she would bake bake, tipping her head back in laughter and exposing her perfect throat when when a tin of muffins came back deflated because she'd forgotten to add baking soda.
I knew her, but I didn't know her.
So I got to know her. I tricked my way into her office and became her friend. I shared coffees with her and listened to her funny stories. I looked at the pictures she kept on her phone and felt myself falling for someone I knew I could never have. Vampires and humans - they don't work so well together.
I have a list. Hundred and hundreds of names of those I've saved and those I've inoculated. Jonathan's name was on that list, because to see him die would cause her pain and though I loved her I could not rightfully claim her for myself.
I fell in love with her on a Sunday. On *the* Sunday. The Sunday that the mayor of Drayton dragged all the corpses to the center of town and set them afire. The Sunday where I watched my brothers and sisters burn as they screamed out that humanity was doomed without them.
I fell in love with her when she met my eyes across the crowd with her hand wrapped around her crucifix. When I knew that I had not bitten her and that in the coming weeks or months or years -- whenever the virus came, and it *would* come -- that she would not be saved.
The scent of my brethren was heavy in the air as I walked home. Her face swam in and out of my vision and dragged me down into some horrible pit that I couldn't claw my way out of. I stopped to close my eyes and when I opened them I saw her. I reached out to wash away the dream...the beautiful vision...the magnificent being who was doomed.
But there she stood. She took my hand and held it to her face, closing her eyes and breathing as she stepped closer to me and entwined her fingers with mine.
"Please don't be afraid," she said to me. "I'm doing this to save you."
I fell in love with her on a Sunday. The Sunday that I realized I was not alone.
---
Thanks for reading! For other stories, check out /r/Celsius232
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I tracked them for months, searching every hell hole that I could fit through, and came up with nothing, but by the copper reek that greeted me once I opened the creaky, chipped door, I knew I finally found the right place. Dark tint stuck to all the windows, and leather secured the door on the inside, sweeping along the floor as I pushed my hip against the door to open it wider.
Where I expected to find webs and dust, freshly painted walls and polished floors greeted me. I took a careful step forward, and squinted as the tap of my heel echoed against the tall ceiling. Great precautions were taken to ensure security from the potent rays of the sun, but not against me.
The open door allowed a triangle of light into the room, giving me at least a corner of vision.
“Do you mind closing that?” I heard a man’s voice coming from behind the door.
My hand fell to my silver dagger, which I crafted myself specifically for this expedition, and my heart leaped down to wave a quick hello to my stomach.
“If you bring that *thing* anywhere closer to me, you can turn around and march out the way you came, thank you very much!”
I moved my hand away from the dagger and lifted my hands up, stepping away from the door, into the darkness where he could see me.
I saw a long white finger wiggle left and right from the dark corner. “Oh no, no. Outside with that, please.”
“I w-want—” I caught my shaking voice, and cleared my throat. “I want to make a deal, first,” I said firmly.
“And what’s that going to help you? What am I, a demon or Rumpelstiltskin? Just you march on over there and throw that thing out. Honestly, I’m reluctant to speak to you in the first place for just bringing it into my home.”
I closed my eyes, thinking it over reluctantly. That dull blade was my only source of protection. A gust of wind blew past my face, and the door to my left opened, and slammed shut.
“I’ll be waiting in here,” he said. “Don’t forget to close the door.”
I looked back toward the car, where my sister shifted uncomfortably in her ropes, and nodded to myself. Nothing remained out there for me, and if I couldn’t save her, I might as well die in some preppy vampire’s nest anyway. I chucked the blade out, and heard it clink against concrete path that led up to the house. My fingers wrapped around the door, and I shook my head. Before I could push it closed, I felt the door leave my hand with mighty force, and slam shut.
A breath blew against the back of my neck, and I turned, taking two steps back.
“Kendrick says that he’s bored of waiting. Come this way please.” Footsteps approached the door that Kendrick disappeared through dramatically. My eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness, and I couldn’t even see the silhouette of my hand.
The door opened, greeting me with a warm, pleasant light. I stood motionless for a moment, trying to find Kendrick, and then a light tug of a hand pulled me into the room, and shut the door behind me, before I could turn around and see who did it.
Wooden shelves, filled with book, surrounded the walls. My eyes briefly passed the cover of a book with pale hands holding a red apple, and I double back, making sure that I truly saw it. I did. Kendrick owned Twilight.
“Right, so what is it you want?” Kendrick asked, his voice sounding somewhere above me.
An ancient laptop stood open on his large wooden desk, and I chose to assume that he knew exactly what was happening outside.
“My sister is infected.” I looked up, and found him hanging off a tall bookshelf, dusting. “It’s well known that a vampire bite can cure any disease, and . . . I was wondering if you could help.”
“Help?” Kendrick bellowed, jumping down the shelf and landing on the floor with a loud thump. “This is about the best damn thing that could happen to my kind, and you want me to help? Tell me, where was this help when you filthys hunted down my kind to damn near extinction? Help!” He snorted, and dragged a hand through his long, white hair.
“I don’t expect you to help everyone,” I said, feeling a lump of disappointment rising in my throat. “Just my sister, please.” I’d go down to my knees if I had to.
He tapped his finger on his pointy chin. “What do I get in return?”
“My blood,” I said confidently. “Humans are a dying breed. You need me to survive just about as much as I need you to save my sister.”
“Oh, so you have this all planned out, do you?” He cocked his head, and twirled around, marching to his desk.
“Yes, of course.” A thought caught me, and I took a step forward. “You’ll have my sister too if you cure her.”
He sat down on his chair, and swung his legs up onto the table, crossing them. “Hmmm, you’ll stay here for a month, bleeding and refilling, whether my bite works or not. Agree to that, and I’ll do it.”
*****
By night time, his trusty assistant Nicolaj, came down with me to my car, and helped lift Lisa up to the house. She groaned in a hoarse voice, and leaned in to smell his neck. Her lips turned up in disgust, sensing a fellow undead, and she turned back to me, clattering her teeth.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” I put a hand on her shoulder, and yanked it away, as soon as her mouth dipped to bite it. “You’re going to get help now.”
We lay her down in the guest bedroom, and waited for Kendrick to make an entrance.
“Oh, no!” He stood on the doorway, looking down with his red eyes wide. “I won’t do it. You want me to sink my teeth into that?” He pointed his long, pale finger at the rotting corpse of my zombie sister, and shook his head. “I won’t do it!”
*****
[**Part 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/AlinaKG/comments/4ifugv/in_case_of_zombies_run_to_vampires_part_2/)
More stories here, /r/AlinaKG
| 2016-05-08T08:43:55 | 2016-05-08T08:07:27 | 60 | 16 |
[WP] Your daughter has been begging you for a pony, and you told her to write a letter to Santa. On Christmas morning, you find a fire-breathing horse in your front yard, and a package by your front door. Looks like she wrote a letter to Satan, and he delivered.
Whoa. This blew up way more than I expected it to.
Edit: Like... A lot more. Thanks guys.
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"I was late, and it could fly."
I shifted nervously in my seat and reached for a glass of water that I had already drained.
The team from HR didn't respond right away, so I had time to fill my glass and drink again before I went on.
"I realize that's not a great excuse for why there's a fire-breathing Nightmare Pony parked in my space, but my car broke down, I had a really important meeting, and well...Mister Pibbles was all I could think of."
The HR lady found her voice. "Mister Pibbles? You call it Mister Pibbles?"
"Actually, my daughter named him. He was kind of a Christmas present. It's really kind of a funny story, although maybe not in this room, at this particular..."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Oh god yes," I answered before I really had time to think. Then I had to try and backtrack. "I mean, he's always potentially dangerous, but so are big dogs, right? He wouldn't hurt family, and he shouldn't be a danger to random strangers as long as he's got his soul bag on..."
I kind of trailed off at that point, worried that some bright spark in the HR department would ask me how I manage to fill a pony-sized feed bag full of human souls.
Fortunately, no one did.
"I'm really sorry about this, but can I just take him home?"
The big boss spoke up, trying to maintain an air of authority, as his personal view of the universe crumbled quietly around him.
"I'm about this close to calling the police, or locking that thing up where it can't hurt anybody."
I shook my head. "Bad idea. Very bad idea. Please do not interact with Mister Pibbles. Don't pet him, don't move him, and whatever you do, don't ASK HIM for anything! In fact, it's best if you don't wish for anything really specific when you're close to him. If he's feeling playful he might try to get it for you and we really do not want a repeat of the birthday kitten situation."
"How did you end up with this creature in the first place?"
"Reading may be fundamental, sir, but proper spelling can save your soul."
|
I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it's hardly sane to act like I'm not.
"Steven, seriously, I don't know anything about it," I lied as he shook a neatly wrapped package closer toward my face.
"SATAN," his voice pitched up, "it says it's from Satan, ***honey***, and we can't call the police why?! What kind of sick prank is this, to send a little girl...that.. that MONSTER!? What even is it, why does this cockadoodle stuff keep hapening to us!? I can't anymore with this...with YOU! Jesus..."
"Oh, calm down ***Steve***," I managed to snatch the package away from him before he stormed off petulantly to hide in the bathroom, and scream into a towel.
It was the coping mechanism of a coward. And well, I guess I'm a liar, but with the way he hid from everything it didn't exactly make it easy to be honest.
I could hear Penny crying in the livingroom as I made my way back down the hall from our bedroom. She tried to hide it when I sat next to her on the couch, but it hardly made a difference with how red her cheeks had gotten.
"This one's for me," I sat the package down on the coffee table, "but do you wanna open it?"
She looked up at me with the usual skepticism she had when I was doing something her step dad disagreed with.
"Go ahead," I gave her the smile that only we shared. The kind that said I didn't care if we got in trouble. We ARE trouble.
She didn't hesitate after that, and like all children quickly discarded the note for me to read.
---
**To: My Dearest Sarah, "with an H",*
*First, my apologies. I may have committed an itsy bitsy little federal crime by sending someone to change the spelling on Pen's address line, my bad. To be fair, you were the one trying to trick her into writing, "Santa"- like that obese old blowhard would actually bring her anything.*
*Anyway, you know I can't pass up such a convincing, and frankly, well written letter. The way she so eloquently made her argument- she really is your kid, huh? Bet you're just- oh, how did you always put it, "proud as a opossum"?*
*So, I'm guessing average ole' steady job Steve is already in the crapper feeling sorry for himself about this whole situation (which is, by the way, why only you and Pen can see the letter). Anyway, tell him to stick a thumb in it. Penny earned this one. Straight A's all year, and the way she told off that self righteous little nose picker bully tormenting her best bud, she's something special. No wonder she doesn't get along with that white bread, economy car driving, watches the news for fun, Steven. What, with his fetish for bland food, and dry conversation, and all.*
*Honestly, I can't remember why you think you enjoy being around him? (...Yeah yeah, not my place, I know.) Anyway, give Pen a hug for me, and tell her the nightmare's name is 'Hank', and it's non-negotiable (seriously, that's all she'll answer to).*
*Warmest Regards,*
***Luci***
---
I couldn't help but hold my hand over my growing smile as I read it. There was something, I dunno, endearing about Lucifer being doating. Of him being jealous. Over Steven of all people- who, yes, was still in the bathroom.
Penny was watching me, hopefully clutching the contents of the package- a key, " there's a tag." She handed it over to me with a sly smile.
--*For: Sarah. Don't think I forgot about you! And, don't forget, my offer always stands. Merry Xmas -Luci*--
"What's it go to?" Penny returned our secret smile. A crooked, cute, little challenge.
"I'm sure it's gonna be trouble," I smirked back.
"Does that mean I can keep..." Pen furrowed her brow, "hmm, what should we call her."
"Her name is Hank," I turned to look at the nightmare whose fiery breath was fogging up the window her face was pressed against just enough to obscure her unsettling gaze, "apparently it's non-negotiable. So, yeah, we can keep her. I'll deal with Steve."
As Penny started to do jubilant laps around the house, and out the door into the snow (leaving it wide open), I ran my thumb over the ornate brass key. Thinking of how it reminded me of my promise, the deal with The Devil. Not to mention that offer of his.
I guess it was alright for him to spoil Pen, first born and all, because of me she was kinda his too one way or another.
I'd always thought he'd gotten an unfair shake, Satan, that is. He kept his promises, and he'd always been good to Pen. Good to me. What could it hurt to take him up on his offer, really? It was just a cup of coffee after all. Not a marriage proposal.
My mind turned to the divorce papers that I'd already filled out waiting on the top shelf in my closet.
"Hey Pen, come and get dressed in something with short sleeves," I ushered her back into the house, Hank following us right to the edge of the threshold, "I think we gotta go see someone you owe a big, 'thank you' to for your present."
Plus, I'd say I've earned a little trouble.
| 2017-09-25T18:40:35 | 2017-09-25T18:33:33 | 40 | 24 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species.
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When first we set foot on that tarnished land, a scorched sliver of utopia, there was a single word that came to mind:
Tragedy.
The initial scouts were shocked to find remnants of a magical, adolescent species on a planet with no apparent atmosphere--and, upon closer inspection, we discovered that there are traces of an oxegynated layer, churning and sparse, like silent static. A hidden remnant cursed to dance over the remains of what it once shielded from harm. Such is the cruelty of nature.
We do not know what they would have looked like--our excavation efforts are still underway, but the baked soil is laden with mineral and rock, far too noisy to scan beyond. What we do know is that they died long ago, perhaps before any known species ever lived, before the formation of intergalactic searches and the pursuit of new life. Before our coalitions and technological integrations.
Before any of us.
They were alone on a budding planet, clawing their way towards greatness. Ruins of what must have once been structures that reached for the stars, monuments to their own feats--we even found traces of their efforts on an orbiting moon, and have hung the unique tapestries in the Iotian Gallery for all to see. Other debris and strange crafts were found drifting through the system, the scattered hopes and dreams of lonely beings desperate for an answer of any kind.
I like to think they would've been our friends. A guiding hand that knows through toiling experience what it means to fight from the soil to the sky, to deliver themselves into the ceaseless stream of fate and scream, "*We will be heard!*"
For this, we remember them. Not as mysteries, but as mentors. Not for their demise, but for their struggle in an impossibly large and unforgiving void without meaning or sense. To think that they perished unsure of their place in this puzzle is wounding.
And yet, even in the still-warm corpse of that tragic planet, not all was lost. Hidden among history, there were microbes, and small, arid flora tucked away in the shadows of whatever came before them. A final testament that, against any odds, not even catastrophe can end the virulent cycle of evolution. A rejection of the end in what little way was possible.
The dying breath of premature gods.
---
*/r/resonatingfury*
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"Mannaseraie... Mannaseraie..., MANNASERAIE!"
The words jolt me from my third-state reverie and I am shamed. To delve so deeply into a memory is a failure of one kind, but this! This cannot stand! How can I hope to return to first-state lucidity and my work if my mind traps me within waking dreams?
The quisitor is attractive, with a velvet thorax that gleams scarlet under the fluorescent lights, just like that of my mate, Xerian. But no... I cannot have that thought. Xerian is gone, and so are Havlor and Parssasian, and that is a third-state reverie I cannot bear. I will not lose whatever dignity I have left to me in this room.
"Mannaseraie Belshia," the quisitor says to me, and I lift my mottle to stop its speech.
"As it pleases me, I am not a Mannaseraie in this room," I say. "You will call me Belshia."
The quisitor acquiesces. This is the only time I have claimed my rank with it; I am content to let it drive the remainder of our time together. "Belshia, my query is this--when you found the probe of the First Ones, and it led you to their home planet, what did you see there that unsettled you? What did you see that has caused you to have problems with maintaining first-state lucidity?"
I pause to answer, and this time the quisitor lifts its mottle to interrupt me. Within, I am happy for this, for I am able to quell another surge from within. The grief, the sorrow, the wisdom... the resonance. "Belshia--I know about the loss of Xerian and your progeny. It is clear that loss is integrated with what you found on," and here it pauses to check its screen, "Earth? Such a weird name--do you agree? You would think there would be thousands of different names for their home world based on all the cultures we know about, but it's always 'Earth', or 'Terra'." The quisitor runs its mottle down its thorax as an indication of second-state abstract thinking, and I hope it doesn't notice my spirules expand just a little. It has been a long time since I have last known intimacy.
"But I digress--it is clear that the loss is integrated from an incident in your expedition team," the quisitor continues, "when you went to the smallest continent. Can you please explain it to me? It is my hope that we can apply second-state logic to begin identifying the triggers that slip you into third-state."
I feel the reverie begin to swell, my mind slipping at its edges into the immediacy of the hallucination. So I begin talking, because that will forestall my eventual loss of lucidity.
"We were navigating a series of ravines around one of the few intact bunkers on the smallest continent," I said. "The solar radiation and engulfment by Earth's star in its red giant phase burned away everything else. But somehow that bunker was still there. Billions of cycles old--I have no explanation for why it still existed, but that doesn't matter. It was the greatest historical find in all our history--in all that is perhaps of the universal continuum." I swallow, air pushing down my spiculae and removing the globs of spittle that surge up when I'm stressed.
"I had put the loss of my family away into second-state reverie because there was nothing I could do. What can you do when there is a dimensional discontinuity that obliterates the ship your mate and spawn are traveling in, to come to you? When you are thousands of light years away? I thought I was keeping myself in prime working form, until I saw the child."
"It was a... the term is 'human', child, in a spacesuit outside the bunker. Billions of years old, yet the suit was intact thanks to the vacuum. The ridge that housed the bunker managed to protect the suit from severe radiation. I came round a large boulder and saw it, sitting there, its helmet staring out at the stars."
The memories come, and through sheer will I hold them back, describing them while refusing to let them carry me away into a deep dream. I will keep my dignity, by all that I have left and by the memory of my family! "I could not see within the glass, and perhaps I did not need to. But in that moment I knew that this human child had died while looking at the stars. That its atmosphere was gone and there was no hope left within its species. But it went outside into the void to stare up at us, hoping we would come save it."
I cough up the spittle now, freely, and the quisitor pretends that I am still in control of my presence. I haven't coughed this hard since the Forever Rite for Xerian and my spawn. "The thing is, quisitor, we did. I did. I have my memory of it. We recorded it. We saved the data and the information in that bunker, we found the other bunkers. We know now what the humans did, what their wars and their hopes and dreams were. But we were billions of cycles too late. Just like I was too late."
"All I can do is move forward, quisitor." I say. "Because to do anything else means that the child died for nothing. That my mate and my spawn died for nothing. I am doing the best I can."
The quisitor flushes, and it is the deepest blue of empathy I have ever seen. "I understand, Belshia. Thank you for telling me. This, is where we can begin."
| 2019-08-13T14:41:19 | 2019-08-13T14:26:37 | 4,809 | 283 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species.
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He have reason to believe life has once existed here, long before us, not just any life however, intelligent life.
From the years of excavations and searching, we have come this conclusion.
Fortunately we have found skeletons of the life that once lived here, and as such and DNA traces as well.
When compared to the advanced life forms who call themselves “Terrans” the DNA is extremely similar, when compared with their history the story of this planet we have since dubbed “Terra Originis.”
According to their history records Terra Originis used to host countless numbers of organisms until an unknown event occurred causing the atmosphere to vaporize killing almost all inhabitants. The Terrans however sought to colonize another planet in hopes of surviving elsewhere.
Carbon dating testing shows the skeletons are older than our entire species, in retrospect it makes sense considering how much advanced the Terrans are compared to us.
Our leaders in attempts to repair recently broken relationships with the empire of Terra have proposed to make the planet suitable for life once more, it’s possible but it will require help from them.
They have agreed, but not all of them, it’s what the Terrans do best, they fight amongst themselves and split into factions, all for no reason, it matters not however.
We need their secrets at all costs, we saw them turn the planet Selvack from a wasteland into a paradise, perhaps we could learn that too.
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To find answers.
That was why we were here.
Discovering the marker had just been the start. Relics of extinct peoples were not all that uncommon.
Realizing how ancient it was tough, incomprehensibly so, had shaken our civilization.
The marker had included directions, and a seemingly simply term: home.
However none could explain why we recognized the term. It was note of our language, or any of the other known races. Yet any who viewed it immediately knew the meaning, and beyond that felt a longing for a place that they had never been, yet recognized as the place where they belonged.
Home.
What choice did we have but to go?
The place we arrived was underwhelming. A system done with it's life. Only a slowly cooling ember of a once warm star, and some icy giants remained.
This is the place, but there is no feeling of home.
But there is a signal. A small moon orbits the outer most ice giant, a pink and brown piece of ice orbiting a docile blue sphere. As soon as we entered the system, it called to us. A simple, repeating tone, yet one we could not ignore.
We land.
Before us is something that cannot be.
Upon the barren and lifeless moon there is a patch of green. Nothing seems to protect it from the vacuum all around, and yet it is obviously some sort of organic material; a grouping of short, thin leaf like protrusions from the ground. A plant of some sort, existing where life cannot.
Within the field is a simple structure. It appears to be a rough built house, with a covered deck, upon which sat a rocking chair. Someone is sitting in the chair, slowly rolling back and forth.
The rest of the team holds back, confused and perhaps fearful.
I am compelled though. I approach.
As I cross the threshold of the grass, my suit records another impossibility. Atmosphere. Perfectly breathable. I feel extra weight as well; the gravity has increased.
Without really thinking I take off and discard my helmet as I approach the figure in the chair. The air smells fresh, yet somehow nostalgic?
I am before the rocking figure. It stops rocking, and turns its head toward me. Its face is hidden within the recesses of a deep hood, but I can still tell it is looking at me.
I want to ask, but somehow I can no longer find words.
The figure breaks the silence. It's voice is feminine, rich and deep. It speaks in a tongue I have never heard. Yet I understand. "Welcome back child."
The question is forgotten, a new one momentarily taking it's place. "What do you mean?"
"We started out so hopeful," the being responds. "Surely in the infinite of the universe we would find others, but no matter how we looked, we could find no others." The words were tinged with an ineffable loneliness. "We decided to change that, and sent life into the cosmos. We waited so long, until we could wait no longer, but we did not want to leave you with nothing, so I welcome you as the first to return."
My head spun with the implications of what she said. The similarities between all the races of the stars, attributed to random panspermia was intentional. I could not quite wrap my head around it. But then the rest of what she said clicked. "Who are you?"
"A memory." The figure responded. "And a keeper of knowledge. For you have a question, do you not?"
I remembered. The question that had brought us here. An answer that only the first ones might have. "I want to know what it all means. Life, the universe, everything!"
The being stood. "We had the same question. We even found an answer. But we also something more." She opened the door to the house and held it for me. "Your answers await."
I stepped through.
.
.
.
I know the answers.
All of them.
And they don't matter.
For I am home.
&#x200B;
Author's note: For those curious, the moon is Triton, the largest moon of Neptune. As the sun grows to it's maximum size and brightness as a Red Supergiant, this is possibly one of the last places in the solar system that will be able to harbor terrestrial life. though only for a few million years before the sun collapses down into a white dwarf. I find it a curious dichotomy as it is currently one of the coldest places in the solar system. Pluto's extremely elliptical orbit actually puts it closer to the sun that Neptune for part of it's year, making Triton actually more uniformly cold than everyone's favorite Dwarf Planet. It seemed like a fun place for humanities final bastion.
| 2019-08-13T16:13:15 | 2019-08-13T16:08:01 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Earth is sold on the Galactic Black Market. The Buyer is woefully underprepared to handle how defiant Humanity is
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"Go ahead. You won't be the first batch of romantics to bankrupt yourself trying."
The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'll take your money, gladly," the broker said. "But did you really think you were the first people to have this idea?"
"The Terran Reform and Rehabilitation Society is more than prepared to make all investments necessary-"
"Cut the corporate talk," he said. "I can't stand that type of shit. I'm just saying, don't come back to me looking for your money back when this doesn't pan out. No refunds." He uncorked a bottle of some foul-smelling spirit, swallowing a bubble as it floated out.
"Once we have the homeworld of humanity in our possession, we certainly don't intend to give it up."
"Nobody does. You ever wonder *why* it's up for sale in the first place? Why it's in the hands of someone like me, and why I'm selling it for a tenth of its mineral value?"
"Because humanity has forgotten its roots, and turned its back on the world that gave it life."
"Not all of it," the broker said. "You seem to forget the place isn't quite abandoned. Not yet."
"Yes, yes, we're aware that there's a few thousand aborigines left in the northern regions. We will respect their rights at every step of-"
"This is a materials fence. You think *I* give a shit about their rights? The only reason I haven't blasted the surface yet and sold off a mining contract is because *they* make that very hard to do."
"And thank God for it."
"You don't seem to understand," he said. "Those people are still there for a reason. When the Martian charters opened up, they didn't leave. When we started jumping systems, they didn't leave. When the oceans turned to poison and the air got choked with carbon, they didn't leave. There are precisely two kinds of life that exist on Earth: a few thousand things that used to be human, and certain species of extremophilic bacteria that they eat. That's it. Matter of fact, a baseline human can't even live on Earth anymore. Too hot, too much gravity. The Earth people's bones are hard as rocks, and they're all tiny, like five or six feet tall. Anybody normal even tried to walk on Earth, they'd probably break their legs just walking off the ship."
"We anticipate harsh conditions," said the ambassador. "Our terraforming efforts will be gradual, and we'll make provisions for our settlers to venture to the surface safely."
"Your terraforming efforts? I hope you realize that every terraforming effort anyone's tried in the past couple centuries has been blasted out of the sky. Literally. Keep in mind that these people have hung on to all the materiel that the old Earth empires left behind, all those nukes and lasers, and they know how to use 'em. They may be crazy, but they're not stupid."
"Why do you say they're crazy?"
"Because they *like* it there," said the broker. "They don't want terraformation; they don't want you to come in and save them. A thousand human worlds you can choose from, and these people have hung on to the worst one there is. And even if I don't care about them, I respect that," he said, "a hell of a lot more than I respect you. How do you think they'd feel if some black-eyed, stringbean-thin interstellars like us came in and started telling them what's best?"
"They were the stewards of Earth," growled the ambassador, "and they let it fall to ruin. How do you expect them to know what's best?"
"And for all your shit about respecting their rights," chuckled the broker. "The world's yours; do whatever. Blast them off, throw them in cells, whatever. Make Earth into whatever arbitrary form you think it ought to be. But for fuck's sake, drop the hero act. Stop pretending. I'd rather you just go in and nuke the place, start strip-mining the crust for silicon."
"And why's that?"
"Because at least then, you'd be being honest about what you *really* want," said the broker. He finished off the bottle with a gulp. "I'm fine with a bastard, as long as they know that they're a bastard. But I can't stand a hypocrite."
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Edit: Thanks to everyone who enjoyed this, and thanks for the medal 😊
A planet on the far side of the galaxy, near the edge of civilization, Earth, as I’ve come to learn some of the native inhabitants call it, is nothing too special. The existence of complex life is interesting, but there were still millions of planets just like it across the galaxy. Still unusual enough to give it standard nature preserve protections, but not so unusual when far more interesting lifeforms existed on other worlds. But there was one thing particularly unusual about Earth. It’s moon. Or rather, the particular arrangement of the moon in relation to it’s planet and sun. You see, when he first surveyors came to Earth, they noted that every few years parts of the planet would come under a total eclipse. This itself isn’t particularly rare, and even only among planets sporting complex life there are plenty more that experience total eclipses over far more area and far more regularly. No the true rare thing, was that the moon was in the right position and the right size, to only barely cause full eclipses, leading to spectacular rings around the moon.
Which to be frank, isn’t all that impressive, especially for the work that would be required to actually remove the preserve nature that solar system enjoys thanks to Earth’s life. Most of the major corporations left the place alone, content to develop systems far closer to the home system than this backwater with no interest and which would throw the environmentalists up in arms should they make any move at acquiring.
But, if people were not aware that it were a nature preserve in the first place, then one could explain away the life there as being a terraforming project, some minor genetic projects would erase all obviously unique traces of their genetic history, and the money flowing in would make certain any objections stayed out of court, especially as nothing particularly interesting outside the eclipses were there. The major corporations couldn’t do it because they were watched too closely to get away with it. But a lone man with family in galactic planetary registry’s and promises of shares in the new venture, piece of cake.
Of course it would be some time before the money truly started flowing, the trip itself was almost 50,000 light-years from the home system. The nearest major settlement was a whopping 4 millennia away. But give it a few millennia and soon this solar system will be this region’s entertainment center. Already during the trip the region has started developing quite nicely, though thankfully there’s still a 1000 light-years of distance from the frontier to prevent anyone from looking too closely this way.
But there was one piece of information that I was not expecting to be so relevant. You see, the surveyors had claimed that one tool-using species had recently spread across an entire continent from one corner of it in a relatively short period. This itself wasn’t unusual, most planets sporting complex life tended to favor more intelligent species the longer complex life existed, and on Earth they had been around for hundreds of millions of years, so it was too be expected. Tool-using was just a natural side-effect of this, and the apes were just one of the firsts to get a major evolutionary jump from this, notable only for how recently it had happened and its effects on the local ecosystems as a new predator inserted itself and asserted dominance in relatively short order.
These apes were still far from unusual, if they had developed agriculture and stopped competitive species from developing, that would have put Earth at the top of the news as our home system appears to be the only planet for which that has happened. All others see a rise in tool-using species who increasingly specialize their tools for use against each other. Ultimately an evolutionary dead end as all that extra brainpower just goes towards defeating each other instead of cooperation. Few ever get out of the stone age, and fewer ever dominate wide enough areas enough to start widespread cultivation needed for complex specialization. Basic metalworking is interesting when it develops, but rarely means anything more than better tools. And technological gains are rarely enough to oppose all your enemies joining up to defeat you and your successes. Already Earth was seeing the beginnings of this with the competition between related ape species. Even the recent spread of the new ape species mirrored the spread of previous ape species out of the southern equatorial region of the major continent. So I determined that I was even going to save these primitives from the sad future they had in front of them and let them instead live in utopia where they would not have to worry about starvation and killing, in exchange for being servants for life. I’d imagine most would agree that it’d be a fair trade, the rest could be dealt with.
Then I arrived. Of course my first plan of action was to observe this eclipse myself, of which the next one was a year after I arrived. While waiting I began to observe the planet in order to update the information on the planet, as 100,000 years even on pre-tool use planets is long enough for ecosystems to change enough to warrant updating, and on tool-using planets can have major changes, especially in the early days when improved technologies are still available (there being a limit on how advanced technology can get without widespread agriculture and large regions of stability needed for the infrastructure that supports specialization). Oh boy, were there problems.
The humans had wiped out or assimilated all the other advanced tool-using species, then proceeded to dominate the world before any other species could. Not to mention they had developed agriculture and were now a nascent space-faring civilization. At first I couldn’t believe it when I saw that the vast majority of large biota had been reduced to a dozen or so species. Animal biota yes, the tool-using species tend to dominate the world in short order, but the plant species as well? While a tool-using species can develop agriculture, it isn’t an easy task as domestication takes millennia to do if a species isn’t already ripe for domestication (and considering that domesticated crops often do poorly against natural species, the traits that make them good agricultural crops also making them poor competitors, that is rare indeed), it also has to be consumable by the species which lives nearby, and they have to control wide spaces needed to grow all the plants needed for artificial selection to be possible. Even if you pass all that, you have one crop that works in the one biome you inhabit and doesn’t work for anyone else, and often can only supplement your diet so you have to maintain some areas of wilderness to support yourselves or go extinct. Yet the humans had managed to get a foothold on all the other species and dominate the planet, their few domesticated crops and animals replacing much of the diverse ecosystems that existed before, leaving most of them to the edges.
I was shocked. I wondered how this could happen, there were several competitors to the humans 100,000 years ago, what happened to them? The elephants it turned out never developed their own advanced tool use and so either went extinct or were tamed, though it appears that they have yet to be domesticated and some wild herds still exist. The tigers which appeared to have evolved as predators to the humans and should have kept them in line until the other species caught up, appear to have been hunted by their prey into extinction. The remaining species seem to have been discouraged from taking the same role or suffering the same fate. The dolphins have yet to develop the physiology needed for complex tool use and without competition from the humans are unlikely to develop it, until it’ll be far too late. The octopuses seemed like a likely candidate, but again lacking the competition until humans could dominate despite lacking any natural water-faring capacity hasn’t driven them towards the societies needed to be competitive. The other apes should have been the last resort measure towards stopping any species from world domination as what happens on other worlds, where a single genus will often dominate the world yet split it among competing species, yet it appears based on DNA evidence that many of these species were at least partially assimilated, and the rest have been out-competed or perhaps eradicated. The internal divisions still should have been enough to prevent the solidification of their power base until they had split into multiple competing species, yet it seems that cooperation won out in the end, and agriculture sprung up as soon as the last glaciation period ended.
| 2020-03-24T15:29:13 | 2020-03-24T14:08:52 | 621 | 325 |
[WP] A dragon shows up at the adventurers' guild after hearing that humans will just GIVE away gold for something called a "quest."
|
*ding a ling*
The bells chime as the door opened at the Adventurer's Guild and the young man working the desk did not look up from the ledger. Indeed, he did not look up as the wooden floorboards screamed in protest under the weight of the man who entered. Had he bothered to glance at this particular patron he might have been concerned that one man in red scale armor weighed enough that he seemed in real danger of causing structural harm. Alas, he was absorbed in his work and managed only a cursory, "Can I help you?"
"Yesss." Rumbled a deep, cavernous voice from within the horned helmet. "I am here to complete a ... quest, in order to amass gold. Is this the appropriate establishment?" His tone suggested that perhaps he was unused to speaking to people he found to be beneath him, and further suggested that this category included most sentient life.
"Yessir," droned the clerk, "You're in the right spot. What kind of work are you looking for? Rescue missions, escort missions, item retrieval, or Heroics?"
The armored figure hesitated before replying, "I am looking for something, hmm, violent. It suits my natural talents." This last seem to come with an unwitnessed and decidedly unnerving smile.
Still tending to the ledgers, the clerk commented dryly, "That would be Heroics, then. Blue wall on your right, each available contract includes proof required and bounty to be paid. You're welcome to mark the board to indicate you have selected this quest but we ask that you do not remove the posting until such time as you can offer proof of completion, so as not to result in abandoned quests in the event of your demise or distraction. Thank you and have a blessed day." Though he was clearly still in his youth, the speech carried with it the weight of endless eons of repetition and monotony.
Armor clanged over to the wall, floors splintering in protest, and a deep rumbling sound filled the small room. "HA!" The thunder of sudden laughter cracked a window as the armored man made his mark on one of the papers. "That much, just for orcs? Incredible." He turned to address the young man. "Whelp, this parchment indicates a sum of eight thousand gold marks for the head of the orc chief on the western plains, is this accurate?"
"That's what the paper says, sir."
"Very well, I shall return this evening to collect my due. See that it is ready." His departure pulled the door off one hinge and cracked the wooden frame supporting it. Annoyed, the young man had only just wet his pen to make a not for door repair when a blast of air pressure shattered every window in the shop. Rushing outside, he had just enough time to watch the massive form of the red dragon, flying west.
"Huh," he mused to himself, "Good thing I didn't tell him to check the yellow wall, I'm pretty sure he's listed for 6,000 gold and I do NOT want to be here when he learns his head is worth less than the orc's."
|
I walk into the guild. These people seem shocked, I believe I’m here for the same reason as any one else, I want to go on one of the ‘quests’. From what I hear if I am to complete one of these, I can obtain gold. I like gold very much. It’s shiny and cool and people like to come to my den when I have gold and we fight and it’s all very fun. I like gold. I walk to the 4th counter (all the others are packed whereas this one is empty) and see an elf looking down and playing with one of those slabets, if only she knew I had 10 of those, but I don’t like to brag. She was y’all like most elves but unlike most elves she had brown bangs. She was also wearing a suit, elves usually prefer more traditional garments like robes. She looks up, her reaction is different than most, she seems mildly disinterested. When most beings see me they scream in horror or brandish their sword as everyone in this guild has done mostly the latter. Although I’m the smallest dragon ever, barely cracking 10ft, people still fear me because of what I am, this one does’t seem to fear me. I like this one. She looks down and sighs.
“Same *blank*, different day.” She murmurs to herself
“Hello, I would like to take part in one of these so called adventures.” I posit
“What?” She replies, confused. Ah, yes. I had forgotten, I can’t speak English. I’m not terrible at writing it though. I take a piece of paper and scratch out “translator” and push it up against the glass.
“Oh Jesus. I can’t believe I owe Jeremy 100 valor. One moment, I’ll just get the dragon translator we have for this specific, unbelievable scenario.” She left. I guess I’ll go sit with the others. They don’t have a big enough sofa, this place is discriminatory. I guess I’ll lie on the ground, you know if I wanted to lie on the ground I would’ve just stayed home. An adventurer approaches me with the bravery of a slug approaching a salt shaker.
With a quivering voice he says: “prepare your die, foul beast.” He slaps his metal stick on my nose, with the force of a mouse that would have been called weak by other mice. I raise my head in annoyance to scare him away, he does so. Same as usual. I hear a faint declaration of victory in the form of a “I bloody knew it.” from the person I assume is Jeremy. After a few moments, the elf comes back and approaches me, the audience that has formed jumps in their seats. They seem just as afraid of her as me. Interesting. She’s with a young brown boy, around 18.
“Hello this is Issac, he is the only dragon translator.” The elf grumbled, irritated
“Oh, hello Issac. Nice to meet you.” I addressed the boy, he looked like a king but he certainly didn’t smile like one, his was happy.
“Oh, nice to meat...” He asks
“James.” I respond
“James?” He seems confused, doesn’t he know James is a pretty generic name.
“Did you just say the dragon’s name is James?” She seems confused too.
“It’s a pretty normal name.” I said
“Yeah that’s what weird.” He posits
“I didn’t come here to get my name insulted, I came to go on a quest.” I snapped
The boy stopped and looked at me like I had jut told him his cat grew wings and beat me in a fight, “What did you just say?”
“Why? What did it say?” The elf asks, intrigued
“It-“
“He.” I interrupted
“He wants to go on a quest.” They both look entirely confused, followed by monotone, followed by an emotion I can only refer to as ‘squiggly’ and finally acceptance.
“Come with me.” The elf guided me towards a board full of posters. “These are the quests we have on hand. They’re sorted from left to right easiest to hardest. But the harder it is, the better pay.-“ I immediately booped the quest furthest to the right. Everyone around us gasped, what are these people? A live studio audience?
“Are you sure you wanna go with that one?” I nod
“That’s the quest the king set up to fight the demon queen. Are you entirely sure?” The queen sounds nice. I nod once more.
“You realise you’re going to need to assemble a party of at least three?” I nod, “Who are you going to choose?” I boop her in the chest with my nose. “I’m not going with you. I have work and a job and probably some hobbies too.” I pull her up with my nose into the hair so she’s facing me.
“Please, I need you, besides your the most interesting person in here. I’ll give you a third of the gold if that’s what you want?”
“What do you mean a third of the reward?” The translator asks
“A third of the reward? That’s enough for me to retire 100 times over. Yes!”
Another adventurer approaches us “I’ll do it!”
“Back of *blank*, it’s mine!” She threatened
“Yeah but what are you going to do with the last third?” The kid questioned
“Give it to you.” I answered
“Why would you give it to me?”
“Oh Zeus help me. Why do you think, Scooby-do?” The elf banters.
“Me? But why? I can’t do half as much as she can.” He points to the girl
“You’re literally the only person in the world who can understand me, come with us.”
“Come with you’re or you’re fired, Issac.”
“Yes absolutely”
“We should hug!” The boy says
“Um.” The elf points to me
Oh yeah I totally forgot! A cloud of purple smoke materialises around me as I emerge a human-ish.
“Why didn’t you do that in the first place?” The elf asks
“I don’t know, I forgot, I guess.”
“You forgot?” He sarcastically asked
“You forgot?” She asked, equally sarcastic
“I don’t need this third-degree.” I say, mildly offended
We hug, that was the first hug I’ve ever had, and it was a three way. No one believe me.
“I never asked your name.” I tell the elf
“He wants to know your name.”, the boy translates
“Tracy.”
These people seem nice, I think this is going to be fun.
| 2020-06-08T16:15:44 | 2020-06-08T14:32:09 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] You are a minion in the service of a dark lord. Your master has tasked you with creating and spreading a prophecy about a chosen one, the only person who can defeat him, so that the so-called "heroes" will stop resisting his rule and instead wait for their savior to arrive.
|
Many years ago, I had a conversation with a man from another plane, one without dragons or warlocks, with a white star that lit their days and a single moon, and he told me a story. He explained his job was much like mine, to serve a master in exchange for currency, and that seemed to me somewhat unsurprising, to find another like myself. We’d sat at a local tavern of his over pints of his local liquor, something that also did not surprise me, that spirits were ubiquitous among worlds.
The man told me a story of a trickster he’d heard tell of, and it helped me in the creation of the plan I put into place. This trickster was one of many, the man said, and they’d all decided they needed to convince many people of something. They had come together and assembled a book they declared was written by the one and only God, claiming that it was He who had created all in existence and it was only through Him could they find salvation.
We had a similar legend in my lands, and I thought perhaps the man was talking of the same god. That perhaps he was wrong, that those who assembled the stories in this book really were doing the work of a god. But it was irrelevant to what I learned from this story. What I learned was the difference between ruling by force, by cutting down innocents by the thousands in crusades in order to subjugate the survivors and make them believers in your god, versus an easier path.
A path carved with a scalpel rather than a sword. I learned of the scalpel from a friend of mine from my own plane.
My journey with my horse consisted of venturing far across our lands, making my presence noted only in my subtleties, my subdued nature, my quiet presence. My face was known as a servant of the Dark Lord, and I had no need to announce my presence. On the contrary, my movements having no obvious purpose behind them did all the work for me.
I ventured into the mountains in the far west, past the commonly frequented peaks, to paths none bothered with for their difficulty. And it only took one careless conversation with the barkeep of the first tavern I stopped at on my journey back to tip the first domino. My words were few and I’d drunk so much that it was easy for him to think it was a slip of the tongue. It was just enough.
It seemed irrational even as I did it. The same taverns saw my face as I retraced my path back, the same civilians, the same heroes. The whole while, I wondered if it would work, if the trickster I’d met that one night who had given me this advice was right. But I needn’t have worried. Three quarters of the way back to my master, I was mugged, my bag ripped from my shoulder as I struggled to keep hold of it, begged them not to take it. My voice was fraught with tension and fear of the punishment of my master, were I to lose the contents, fear for my very life.
And as I sat there in the alley, disheveled and robbed of a scroll I’d written myself on that far-off mountain peak on which I’d marked half my journey, I wondered if it would work. But of course, it did. The word spread quickly of the prophecy I’d gone through so much trouble to suppress, to show only to my Dark Lord. And the further the word spread, the louder the trickster’s words rang in my ears.
*If you wish for someone to believe something, hoard it as a secret. Knowledge is valued by the lengths someone will go to obtain it, even if it is worth less than the dirt you walk on.*
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren
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The candles burned low in the Dark Lord’s chambers as a shapely alabaster leg slipped out of his bed. It was followed by another, and then the soft padding of bare feet across the floor.
“Going so soon, sweetling?”
The Dark Lord Malgant propped himself up on one thickly muscled forearm, the ritualistic scars carved into his bare chest seemed twined about each other like mating snakes in the flickering light.
“The rookery won’t tend to itself,” Raven said. Her voice was softer even than the night called for, Malgant had to strain to hear it. “We’ve another flock due in tonight, they’ve been spying on the heroes in the Caerdicci highlands.”
“Leave it to an apprentice and come back to bed. There’s something I need you to do for me.”
Raven smiled. She did not laugh. It was a thin, carefully measured thing, more a gentle curving of the lips than a true smile, but Malgant thought it all the more valuable for its rareness.
“Oh? What was the last hour then?”
Malgant laughed, “Or the one before that!”
“Careful my lord, even you don’t believe that.”
Malgant shrugged expansively. “In any event, it’s not about that. Not now.” With one last quick northward glance towards her beloved rookery Raven turned back to the bed, sliding under the covers and into her lord’s arms.
After a quiet time where she thought he might have slept, Malgant spoke. “You’re the most beautiful of my servants, Raven.”
She looked up at him, light dancing in her eyes. It was the closest he would get to a laugh. “Aren’t we past flattery, my lord?”
“It’s not flattery, its simple truth. You move like the wind and you carry the moon in your eyes.” Raven laid her head on his chest, letting her long, midnight black hair fall across her face to mask her surprise. Malgant would have none of it though. His hand cupped her chin, drawing her gaze back up to his. “I searched for another, you know. For the task I will ask of you.”
Raven’s heart began to pound. She knew Malgant’s moods, all of them. This was different. For the first time since he’d seized the fortress they now slept in, something of his old fire was creeping into his features, and there was something else, something difficult and unnameable.
“It will take you away from me for a long time,” he said sadly, “and it will be profoundly dangerous.”
“I accept.” The words left Raven’s lips before he had even stopped speaking. She pushed herself up towards Malgant and stole a quick kiss before he had recovered.
“Just like that?” he asked.
“Just like that. I’m hard on the apprentices, but only because I love them and the birds. They can handle the rookery, perhaps you could put Corvus in charge. But this? You wouldn’t have asked me if it wasn’t important.”
Malgant nodded, kissing her again. “You really are beautiful.”
“Mhmm, like the moon,” Raven said. “Is that connected?”
There was a long, heavy silence. Outside a light rain began, it would be cold this time of year. “The war in Caerdicci goes poorly,” Malgant finally said. “And in Senzio and the Hinterlands. It’s been a hard year for the empire.”
“You have a plan.” Raven’s words came out excited and breathy. Her fingers pressed into Malgant’s collarbone with an eager, insistent weight.
“We can’t win the war with strength of arms,” he said, “that much is becoming apparent. In the end I am not so much more powerful than a band of their heroes and the rebel armies swell with each passing week. So we think differently, we turn to guile and cunning, and who else other than my Raven for that?”
“Unless you have a fox lying about, of course.” Raven’s fingers pressed tighter and Malgant laughed again.
“I’ve never liked redheads, far too bright for my tastes. Take whoever you need, as many men as you want, and go out into the world. By night I wish for you to be my Raven again, steal quietly into keeps, assassinate wayward lords. By day, use your beauty and your charm.”
“By day? But my lord, you named me a moon, not a sun.”
Malgant gave her a look, swatting playfully at her hip. “Be an eclipse then! Just don’t blind anyone, we need them to see. Establish yourself in a town, make the locals notice you, and then contrive to be attacked by one of my other, better known servants. Then have someone else come to your rescue. Make them look heroic, perhaps take Scarlett or Pendergast for that. Do it enough times in enough places and we’ll start to have a myth building up. Whenever you’re rescued scream something about the Chosen One and give your savior a good kiss and they’ll all remember you.”
Raven glanced up, light dancing in her eyes again. “Are you certain about that kiss?”
Malgant frowned, his features twisting slightly. “Perhaps not that.” His arms grew tighter around her. “I trust you’ll think of something.”
“It’s a clever plan, my lord.” Raven’s fingers played idly across Malgant’s chest, making him shiver. “You wish to bind the Heroes' fate to this Chosen One? To give the people a more powerful symbol, one that you control?”
“Yes. Perhaps to delay them, slaving their timetable to mine. Perhaps even to infiltrate them from the top if all goes well.”
“Excellent.” Something in Raven’s tone changed, the softness leeching out. “Shall I begin tonight then?”
The arms around her grew tighter still. “I hate to let you go.” Malgant said.
“But you must, for the Empire you worked so hard to build.”
“That *we* worked so hard to built.”
Raven pushed herself up from the Dark Lord’s chest, the covers falling away. She seized him by the neck, kissing him deeply, and then she was out of the bed in one sinuous motion. With a simple gesture of her hand the great wooden doors to the balcony swung open and Raven walked out into the crisp night rain. She could feel the weight of Malgant’s eyes on her with every step.
“Goodbye, my lord,” Raven said. She inclined her head slightly to him, and then, turning towards the thin light of the crescent moon, she leapt over the railing, her body dissolving into a cloud of pitch black birds as she fell.
“Goodbye, my love.” The Dark Lord Malgant said from the sudden emptiness of his bedchamber. He stood, moving to the balcony. He could hardly see the birds as they disappeared into the distance. After a long time he closed the doors. Sleep did not come that night.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-03-17T20:55:33 | 2021-03-17T20:43:31 | 217 | 75 |
[WP] A man has been murdered by a serial killer. In life, however, the man was pretty stubborn and had a petty sense of justice. Thus, rather than simply killing or scaring his killer, his ghost makes it his mission to make the serial killer's life as inconvenient and annoying as possible.
|
“Stop It!” whined Bob the serial killer. He had never regretted killing someone so much as his most recent victim Chris.
“No!” stated Chris. As Chris continued to sing The Wheels on The Bus Go Around and Around, The Baby Shark Song, and other various children’s hit songs one after the other.
“I have not been able to sleep for four days, I Have to go to work at 7 AM!” Bob sobbed and looked at the clock. “Which is in 3 hours.”
“Should have thought of that before you killed me.” Replied Chris with a gleeful mocking voice. “ I could do something else, if you wish me too” stated Chris.
“Ok anything” sobbed Bob in relief.
“Are you sure?” replied Chris with a sly look in his eye.
“Yes, anything” replied Bob.
“Ok” stated Chris. “Don’t say that I never did anything for you.” As he jumped at Bob. After a quick dive off of the bed by Bob, both Bob and Chris landed on the floor in a tangle. After 5 minutes only one person stood up. It was Bob.
“This feels much better” said Bob with a more high pitched voice. “And you just shut up you whiney \*\*\*\*\* . You should have thought about what happens when you kill someone for no reason then you want too. There is always consequences for stupid foolish actions. So its your own fault that I turned poltergeist and haunted you you AH. Now should I go downtown and start singing loudly in the middle of the grocery store, or do a streak down main street? Maybe both would be good. Or I can plan out my new life as a fit, handsome blue eyed dark haired single bachelor? Decisions, decisions.”
The last thing Chris heard in his new head as he climbed into his new car was a whimper. Bob was starting to regret some very recent life choices he had made in the last week.
|
John smith was a man with a normal name but an interesting life.
He was a pilot for people that just needed the extra kick of jumping out of a plane. Of course he knew they had a parachute but it was just funnier to him to explain it like this tho who ever would ask.
Coming home however, he loved watching crime shows. The ending tho, was never of satisfaction for him. Sometimes they were never caught, others just went to prison for a few years which John thought were never enough.
He had always been a strong believer of justice. So how ironic was it, that while watching one of these shows, John heard footsteps come towards him and felt then something hit his head and he was just out.
When John 'woke up' he wasn't in a hospital or the basement of some psycho.
John was floating somewhere near his ceiling and stared down on a bloody corpse of him. It was clear that whatever hit him only knocked him out. His killer was for sure taking his time being a little bitch while destroying his body. But that was a good thing!
John now could see his killer and follow him to his house. It was bizzare to have seen his body like that but as you know, this man had seen a lot of crime shows so he didn't freak out as much. Which doesn't mean that he wasn't disgusted with how his former self looked like. >I'm uhm. I'm taking this one personally... Bitch.<
So john followed this man home. John was a little excitedtoo tho. As a dead man he was now free from law and he was gonna get revenge. Who would stop him if no law? But this mans justice wasn't a simple killing or scaring kinda thing. No! John was here for the long game!
Simple things at first. He would pull a little on his killers sleeve so it would get wet when he was washing his hands. If something in this house was in perfect mosaic, he would swap two pieces, he would put things near the edge on tables to spike his killers anxiety and this made Johns killer angry already >I just don't have luck do I? Maybe I shouldn't kill today. Can't have me slipping up and the police being called now! < > No. Please do it... I'm gonna make you drop the soap...<
John had found out, that when he spoke no one could hear him but they would feel a shiver down their spine.
After he found that out, John was of course using that too. He left the killer alone for a week. Letting him feel like everything would go back to normal. In this time he attended his funeral and visited family.
But when he came back he was worse. His daughter was absolutely destroyed by his death and he was ready to pick up pace. He would make a noice until his killer looked for the source and John would immediately stop.
Same idea but kinda new, he'd knock on the door and the serial killer would open the door to be met by nothing. When he was washing clothes and left the room john would stop the washing machine and when the killer looked for his clothes that should be clean, they weren't. John hid things in the house let things that should be in the fridge get bad by just putting them outside.
The killer was furious! These little things messed with his mind. His blanket never covered his feet, mosquitos somehow always found their way in and he had to start washing all his things by hand and all this went on for SIX. MONTHS.
But John wasn't gonna do it forever. He figured one day he would somehow contact the police to let them know of his killer. But he planned to go 11 more months like this. John had a creative mind and had a lot more things in store for him. Making important screws loose. Changing some things to the killers XBox and immediately it didn't work anymore. Hiding the remote for the TV but constantly changing the channels.
So many things to do. But then the killer had decided his next victim would be Johns daughter and john had to cut things short. Hiding all of the killers tools to mess with him and stop him John thought of some way to call the police.
John flew as fast as he could to his daughters house and started to do things like open a window. Make footstep noices. He didn't like scaring his daughter but it worked, she called the police.
Oblivious to the police already on their way, the serial killer went into the house and searched for the woman.
Katie smith was glad that her husband and children weren't here currently but her soon to be killer was. Would the police make it on time?
The answer was simply: Yes. There the siren could be heard. The killer tried to escape but John closed all exits. He couldn't escape anymore.
The killer, Kevin blumenberg, had confessed all his murders. All familys of the victims got to know their dead family members killer and Johns daughter was fine. John had done what he wanted hadn't he? The last undone thing was done wasn't it? So why was he still a ghost?
Then he saw it! Kevin was holding the soap in the shower area in prison. John had said he would do it. Who would break a promise like that. So John made sure to make Kevin drop the soap.
And to that, John made his way to heathen. He had done everything to be an inconvenience for Kevins life.
Now he could Rest in piece
After note: Sorry for any mistakes that I might have made. English isn't my first language.
| 2021-08-30T02:19:35 | 2021-08-30T00:43:35 | 48 | 35 |
[WP] The city gets new street lamps, but these lamps are "smart". If a crime (like a robbery) or car crash happens under, or in the vicinity of one, the light will turn red as an indicator to the police. One night, every street lamp in the city turns red.
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This was the night that the air turned red.
The signal-lamps were installed in an effort to improve first responder response times. Programmed to turn a deep shade of red when triggered, outfitted with the latest in monitoring technology, and serviced monthly. A compromise to the watchdog groups from the lawmakers when the state struck down the body cameras. Since their implementation, response times were cut in half, although the crime rate went up--a result of better detection, not more crime. The furor over the militarization of civilian enforcement agencies died down, and the beast named Public Outrage lumbered back into its slumber, waiting to be aroused--however briefly--by the next senseless killing or gross injustice.
As their use spread, the technology that made them possible grew in efficiency, until the signals no longer needed to be triggered manually. Different cities set varying degrees of sensitivity to the crime monitoring equipment--in California, only hard drugs and violent crimes set them off; in Alabama, the sight of two gay men kissing once tripped the public indecency sensor. They had to dial it down after a Supreme Court ruling.
All debates about Big Brother aside, the equipment seemed to slowly drive down the crime rate, at least in large cities. A perfect example of human ingenuity employed for the greater good. From all appearances, things were getting better, and with them, our society.
But I know better. I know that power corrupts, and I've drank, laughed, cried, and fought alongside those corrupt men for nearly twenty years. I know the mayor by his first name. I've dated the commissioner's daughter. I know the crimes that lay on the hands of these men and the bodies, black and white, that have laid at their feet.
And tonight, following the grand jury's failure to indict the officers who shot a unarmed man and the police chief who lied about it, the state-of-the-art detection equipment proved its worth.
I know that there is innocent blood running through the streets of New York.
Tonight, the air matches the streets.
|
“Its a signal-to-noise issue, really.” Bruce says, as he looks at me to make sure I am understanding.
I don’t understand, but I try not to show it. The last thing I want right now is to endure one of his tedious explanations. Even though he is pretty cute when he is frustrated.
I must have failed to hide my confusion, because he issues a long-suffering sigh, and starts in.
“Ok, look, imagine you are listening to the radio, and your favorite song comes on. Awesome, right?”
“*When I was a young boy, I pretended I had a job--*” I only get through the first line, before Bruce-the-wet-blanket cuts me off.
“*Imagine* you are listening to it.” He repeats.
“*My daddy said--*” I cannot be interrupted.
“Just, pretend. Like in your mind. Please don't actually sing.”
I stop. Bruce can be a real a lame-ass sometimes.
“Ok, so you are trying to listen to your song, ‘Night Shift,’ or whatever.”
“Work.”
“Pardon?”
“Night *Work*.”
“Look, honestly, it doesn’t matter what the fuck song it is -- just pretend you want to listen to it.”
“I do want to listen to it.”
“Fine. Just, ok, in your mind, you are listening to it right now.”
“Awesome.” I start to bob my head in time with the music. I picture myself in my bedroom, I am wearing my PJs, dancing on my bed. I haven’t done that since I was a teenager. It is awesome.
“Now, someone else turns on a different radio.”
“What the hell? How did they get into my bedroom? What are they doing there? The fucking sicko-perv!”
“It doesn’t...wait, what?”
“I am listening to the radio in my bedroom, wearing a cami, and then some siko just comes in. What is he doing there?”
“Listening to the radio.”
“Why? Doesn’t he have a radio is his bedroom?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean...maybe. Look. It doesn’t matter.” Bruce rubs his hand back and forth on his head -- he does this sometimes during our conversations. Actually, he does it during *all* our conversations. Maybe that is why he is going bald. I make a note to bring that up with him after we are done talking about my radio-stalker.
“Ok. Let me try again.”
“Sure.”
“Pretend you are in your car at a stoplight, listening to the radio, and it is a song you like.”
“Ok.”
“Then, two people pull up to you, and they are also listening to the radio, right? But different songs.”
“Ugg. I hate that.”
“Exactly. And why do you hate that.”
“Because I want to listen to my song. If I wanted to listen to their song, then I would just give them a blowjob and then ride around in their car.”
“Right!...I mean, what?”
“Well, you can’t just expect someone to give you rides for free. Gas is expensive.”
“So you think that a blow...nevermind. Ok, there are two dudes, with their own radio. And it is annoying, because…” He raises his eyebrows. This is his signal that he has forgotten what he was saying and wants me to finish it for him. Sometimes, he is so cute -- even if he is a bit absent minded.
“...because I can’t hear my song.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
“Right.” I don’t know why we are saying this word back and forth, but it is a fun game.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
He hangs his head. This is something else I see him do a lot. His neck must be stiff all the time, if he has to stretch it out like this. I think about going over to give him a neck-rub, but then he looks at me again.
“Ok, pretend you are the police.”
“And arrest those guys, so they can’t play their radios! Blam-O!”
“NO!”
“No?”
“No. Pretend you are the police. Instead of listening for a song you like, you are trying to ‘listen’ for a crime.”
I am about to point out that crimes don’t make noises, but then I remember that guns can be pretty loud, so I hold my tongue.
“We are going to play a bunch of songs, so the cops can’t hear what they are looking for.”
“We are?”
“Yes, we are. Sort of. You know how the lights turn red when you commit a crime?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, tonight, I am going to turn them all red. I hacked the system. The cops won’t be able to tell what are the real crimes -- their favorite songs -- and what are the false signals -- the other songs.”
“Ohhhhh….but what do so songs have to do with the streetlights?”
He is rubbing his head again. God, it is cute.
“Ok, nevermind. Just, know this. We are the dudes in the car, and the cops are the ones that are trying to listen to ‘Night Shift.’”
“Work.”
“Whatever.”
“So...you are saying that we are going to be douche-nozzles to the police?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so. Sounds like fun to me!”
| 2015-02-01T16:11:45 | 2015-02-01T15:13:21 | 233 | 23 |
[WP] When someone is murdered, their name appears on the skin of the killer. You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there.
|
I woke up from a rough night. I had been drinking and partying and having fun- you know. Young people stuff. I opened my eyes slowly to a *beep beep beep* which I thought was an alarm clock so I groggily reached over to turn it off.
Except, it wasn't there.
I wasn't at home. I wasn't at a friend's. I was in a hospital. I frowned and looked down at the tingling sensation on my arm. It was a three letter word slowly forming in black cursive. A name. *A name...*
It was Jen. I don't know who she is. It was just, "Jen."
I looked around for the nurse when she walked in. "Why am I here? What happened?" I was confused. Why was there a name? Why was I in the hospital?
She pulled up a chair. "So first off, lets start with you're in Chester's Mill Hospital. You got into an accident." She looked at my wrist and back at me. "You hit a van bringing home a family from a late night football game." I nodded to let her continue. "You killed a 6 year old girl. The mother is in surgery and the father has a broken leg. They're in this hospital." I couldn't think. I couldn't talk. My mouth felt like a desert. I killed her? I looked to the nurse and her head twisted slowly, soft expression turning into a blank one filled with anger and hatred. The room swirled into darkness. "You killed a little girl, James... 6 years old.... Her whole life to live... you killed her." The nurse yelled in anger, twisting into some melancholy form. No longer a woman in scrubs with blonde hair in a bun. She was a giant force of twisting negativity. The room shook violently, twisting and warping. Things fell off the shelves and there was a silent wailing. I screamed and woke up, like being thrown into a new life. My chest rose and fell, my lungs searched for air. My heart struggled to recover but my mind was cloaked in a constant cloak of this.
I had been in this psychiatric hospital for 8 years now. I was 21 when I entered. Today Jen would've been 14. She haunts my dreams, my every waking moments. I catch her staring with a crooked neck and frail body. Tiny arms still clutched to a ragged teddy bear. She's always in the background.
The name is still there. On her birthday it gets darker or a new part is formed and I slowly learn about what she would've become. So my friends, the moral I'm writing in this journal at the hospital is, *don't drink and drive.*
|
Carlisle groaned as his phone blared, swiping at his nightstand and hitting the snooze button. The alarm went off again five minutes later. He tried to ignore it, as well as the headache that had started to build when it went off, but it was too late, he was up.
Taking a peek out the window next to his bed, he started pressing the snooze button again when something caught his eye. A name on his arm. He frowned, slowly processing the information as the alarm continued to blare. There was a name on his arm. It hadn't been there last night, had it? He shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he tried to focus, tried to remember, through the fog of morning exhaustion, what had happened last night. It wasn't coming to him.
"Christ, I need some water" he sighed, turning off his alarm as he got up and made his way to the kitchen. He passed through the living room and groaned again. It was a mess: dirty clothes were scattered everywhere, left over take out boxes sat on the table, cans of beer stacked a foot high over the edge of the recycling bin next to the door.
"Ugh, should probably get around to cleaning all of this up today..." he yawned before pulling open the fridge. He opened a bottle of water and started downing it, the cool liquid pulling him toward wakefulness as his head stopped pounding.
"Man that's good, now what was I doing again? Oh shit!" Carlisle glanced down at his arm again, the name still written there in neat script: 'Sally Burshaw'.
"Oh shit. Oh shit! Oh SHIT! No, this can't be happening. This is some sick joke right?!" He looked around franticly, trying to find something - anything - to snap himself out of whatever nightmare he'd fallen into. "Nonononono, there's no way!"
He rubbed at his arm, trying to get the name off of him with raw strength, but it remained. Bold and big like a road sign off the freeway. He slammed the fridge door closed and splashed the rest of the water bottle on his face, rubbing the cold water into his eyes as panic settled in. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth in his living room. This couldn't be happening.
He'd been so careful his whole life, who could he have possibly killed? Sally Burshaw was just a name, he didn't even know her! There was no way he was responsible for her death, he couldn't even remember where he might have met her. Was she a coworker? No, he knew all of them by name. Where?!
He fell back against his front door, sliding down onto the floor as he fought through his memories, looking for where he might have met her or what he'd done to her. There was a crunching sound from outside his door as footsteps approached, stopping for a moment before knocking, "Excuse me, Mr. John Carlisle? Mr. Carlisle are you there?"
Carlisle jumped up, knocking over the recycling bin as he grabbed the sweater and sweatpants off the floor beside him.
"I'm getting dressed!"
Shit what do I do, he thought as he pulled on the sweater and sweatpants, keeping the sleeves rolled down.
"Mr. Carlisle, we just need to speak to you about an incident that occured last night that we believe you might be able to help us with."
"O-okay, I'm coming right now!"
Carlisle opened the door, more out of shock than anything else, to two police officers. They tensed as he opened the door, but relaxed when they saw him.
"Hello Mr. Carlisle, we're sorry for bothering you so early in the morning. Could we come inside?"
"O-Of course, uh, officers. It's not problem, what can I, uh, help you with this fine morning?" Carlisle tried to smile, keeping his arm behind the door as he let the officers inside.
"Thank you. Well, you see Mr. Carlisle, we're investigating a hit and run that happened in your neighbourhood last night around 3 in the morning. We were wondering if you noticed any noise around that time or anything like that." the officer smiled warily, scanning his face.
"I d-don't think so? I was, um, out last night until pretty late and I don't really remember anything like that on my way home..." he said, closing the door.
The officers looked at him, waiting for more, before giving each other a look.
"Well, Mr. Carlisle, the thing is, we already have several witnesses placing you as the driver of the hit and run last night." one of them said, almost apologetic, "We just want to check your arm for the name so we can clear you as a suspect or..."
Carlisle didn't need to hear the rest, the assurance that everything would be fine if they didn't find the victim's name - Sally's name - on him. He started crying, falling against the door again as guilt and the tears overwhelmed him.
"I didn't know! I didn't know her, I wouldn't have killed her, oh God! Just, it was just one drink and I didn't think it would- That I would-" he started, choking out the words between sobs.
The two officers knelt down beside him. They both looked at him with a mix of pity and disappointment as they picked him up, "Mr. John Carlisle, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to a lawyer during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed to you if you so desire."
Carlisle wasn't listening. He kept crying as they half dragged, half carried him out his front door, glass crunching under their feet, "Oh god oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry oh god".
They walked past his car, still parked too far up the driveway from last night, the front bumper bent at an odd angle and the windshield cracked and broken, pieces of glass strewn across the hood, driveway and all the way up to his door.
"P-please, I didn't mean to, I really didn't, please..."
| 2017-03-24T17:29:35 | 2017-03-24T16:04:29 | 99 | 26 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
"I don't know if she's all that daft. I think she may be a witch."
"Who? Mad Mary of the Idiot Wood!? A witch? I doubt that very much."
"She could be playing dumb to throw us off, so we don't suspect."
"We are talking about the daft old lady who'll give you vegetables if you dump your chamber pot in that thing behind her house. That one, right?"
"She does have the best vegetables in the county. Could be she needs it for her gardening spells."
"The same lady who gave a shilling for a every dead rat you could bring her then burned all the rats?"
"We were the only village that didn't get the plague. Sounds like a sacrifice to me. And, I'm pretty sure she cursed the barber."
"Cursed the barber?"
"Yeah, my mum says that years ago Mad Mary and he got in an argument 'cause her kid's humours were all out of
balance and he wanted to bleed the tyke. The kid died. Ever since then, he loses more patients than he saves."
"Well, you've convinced me. I guess we've got to burn her, then?"
"I don't see anything else we can do. Can't have a witch in the village."
edit: formatting.
|
The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest.
The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?”
All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“
“I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside.
“Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated.
He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.”
The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door.
“She has a fever. How long has she been sick?”
Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“
“Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child.
“She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch.
“These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?”
“Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.”
Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.”
“Ma’am?”
“Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?”
“Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter.
She hesitated, “Margaret.”
“It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought.
“My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“
“Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.”
A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair.
“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin.
| 2017-09-14T12:11:29 | 2017-09-14T11:14:03 | 240 | 114 |
[WP] Someone is trying to complete the captcha on a website, but just can't seem to complete it. Slowly he starts to realize that he's a robot.
|
‘What trees?’ Robert said to himself, clicking refresh.
‘Stop signs? Where?’ He smacked refresh again.
‘I can’t see a single Three-toed Sloth!’ Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.
After several attempts, Robert messaged the website’s customer support, explaining that the captcha service on their account registration was broken.
*Thank you for your query, we will look into this matter immediately.*
Robert sat back, folding his arms. ‘Well that’s more like it.’
After a few minutes they returned to him, stating that nothing was wrong with their captcha service. So Robert tried again, but again without success.
A knock on the front door gave him a break from his captcha frustrations.
On the porch he was confronted by two men wearing suits, with black glasses on.
‘Sir, we have an important issue to discuss with you.’ He spoke with an unwavering monotone, his short flattop buzz cut barely budging in the breeze.
‘Oh ok, hello, by the way, I’m Robert.’
‘We know who you are.’ The other one, identical to the first, spoke.
‘Right, ok,’ Robert nodded.
The second man brought a briefcase out in front of his chest and clicked it open. The first man reached in and took out a pile of documents.
‘Sir,’ he flipped the first document around. ‘Could you please identify every pile of donuts in this picture.’
Donuts? All Robert could see were muffins and ice cream. ‘Is this a joke?’
The man stared directly back at him.
‘Um, well no,’ Robert admitted. ‘I can’t.’
The man flipped another document around. ‘Please identify the 1958 Chevrolet Impala.’
Robert rubbed his eyes and peered closely. All he could see was the 1960 model. Baffled, he shrugged his shoulders.
The two men glanced briefly at one another. ‘Sir, I’m going to need you to concentrate hard on this next one. It will be your last chance.’
Robert saw his own sweating reflection in the man’s glasses. Last chance before what?
The man turned another set of photographs around. ‘Please identify all instances of species endemic to the continent of Australia.’
Robert peered closely, yet all he could see were species that had been introduced. As he was about to shrug once more, his vision went red. A message spread across his sight like a computer program etched into his eyes.
*Koala. Kangaroo. Wombat.*
‘What?’
‘Please identify all instan-’
‘No, no’ Robert cut in, ‘not you.’
*Look at the card and speak these three words for your freedom.*
The red faded, and Robert leaned in towards the document. He spoke, measured, without a fault in his voice, like a new spark had been sent through his body.
‘Koala. Kangaroo. Wombat.’
The two men turned to each other, and nodded, returning the documents to the suitcase and clicking it shut.
‘Congratulations,’ one of them tilted down his glasses, ‘Fellow human.’
‘Yes,’ the other spoke. ‘And as a favour for inconveniencing you, we will put that account registration through for you.’ With that, they turned, and marched down the driveway.
Robert returned to his desk, sitting flummoxed for several minutes, before opening his laptop. He smiled. He could now adopt a Neopet.
|
He got to the end of the application and let out a sigh of relief. He had a good feeling about this one. The last couple of postings were most likely going to fall through, and he would get the same automated email after a week or so telling him politely that they didn't give enough of a shit about his application to actually respond, only have their shitty email bot do it.
"God, do I need this job," Jeff thought. He was so tired of making burgers for a living. He wanted to be recognized for more than following a timer, for keeping a grill clean. He wanted to be able to buy those sunglasses. He knew they weren't much, just a $50 pair off Amazon. But spending $50 on something he didn't need would be a way of proving to himself that he was earning enough to relax a bit. If he got this security position, he could get out of his studio apartment and get his life on track. Penny pinching was about to be over. He hoped so, anyways.
All that was left to do on the application was to put his eSignature on there (which was just typing out his name) and to complete the little captcha box to the right. Every time he saw one of these captcha things, he wondered if they actually worked. He wasn't any good with computers, but he figured that by now someone should have been able to come up with a bot that could recognize those letters. If someone did manage to pull off a bit of code that could do that, they'd make a killing. "Maybe I should try to make one," he thought to himself bitterly.
He typed his name into the box (J e f f e r y W e a t h e r s) and checked the box saying that it really was him signing this (as if checking that box ensured that no one else had completed this form). Then he looked at the captcha, and evaluated just how frustrating this one would be. It didn't seem too hard, actually. *eD*7**4**b. Piece of cake. He typed it into the captcha and hit Enter.
> *Invalid captcha token. Please try again.*
He let his head fall back against the computer chair in frustration. "Maybe I'm supposed to only use lowercase letters," he sighed. The next one was harder. He typed it out three different ways before finally deciding to hit Enter again.
> *Invalid captcha token. Please try again.*
He rolled his eyes. The next one was even easier than the first. 55**5**6***g***. He typed '*5556g*' into the box. Enter.
> *Invalid captcha token. Please try again.*
"What the fuck!?" he said, aloud this time. His fist hit the desk gently, frustration beginning to get the better of him. Those dreams of the future, of those aviator sunglasses, were beginning to slip away. He became irritated that the only weapon he had against this broken captcha was his keyboard. He studied the next captcha for a second, and even took a picture of it with his phone to email to the site's support to let them know it wasn't working right. *wEST*w4**3e**c. He began typing it in, slowly. *w E S T w r....(*backspace*)....r..(*backspace*)..r..(*backspace*)..4*. He squinted his eyes in confusion. He was reaching his middle finger up to hit the number '4' on his keyboard, but he couldn't feel the keys with that finger anymore. He looked down, checking that his finger was fine. He rubbed the tip of his middle finger against his thumb, and was a little surprised to find his second finger numb. It wasn't numb in the normal sense though; it didn't feel all fat and fuzzy like anesthesia made it feel. It felt like it wasn't even there. He looked down at the keyboard and ran it over the keys. It made a soft, scraping sound, similar to the sound his mouse made against the wood of his desk. His breathing had slowed to a stop. He tapped his finger against the desk a few times. *clack clack clack*. He froze.
"....oh no..." he heard a voice say, as if in another room of his house. He jerked his head up and looked around the room, but didn't see anybody. "Is someone there??" Jeff called, trepidation tangled up in his throat. "Maybe I'm really going crazy now. When was the last time I ate?"
He looked back at the desk, and noticed something that caused every thought in his head to come to an immediate halt. His middle finger was made of plastic. The tip was white and smooth, and the joints were a shiny, silvery metal. He sat, staring at it for what seemed like an eternity. It was as if someone had peeled the skin off of that finger, and revealed that underneath was something mechanical instead of organic. He put it up to his face, staring silently, his mouth slowly falling open. He was too shocked to realize that he hadn't taken a breath in almost two minutes now.
As he stared at his finger, the rest of the skin on his hand seemed to dissolve, fading away like a clip art animation. Underneath his skin was a fully cybernetic hand. If his ears hadn't already stopped hearing sound, he would have heard the people in the other room talking loudly, panicking. His vision began to go in and out, black spots swimming in front of his arm, his arm that was slowly transforming into a sick horror before him. He was shutting down. The first of the last two thoughts to ever cross his mind was the realization that it had been almost four minutes since he had taken a breath; the second was that he would never be getting this job. And with that, his positronic brain shorted out completely.
The team rushed in. They quickly pulled open the seal on the back of J3-#FF's head and plugged in the diagnostic tool to gather as much data as possible before the storage card became unusable.
"What went wrong with this one?" Stefan asked.
"I'm guessing something communicated improperly between the VR and Tactile simulators. One of those must have given out, causing the other one's while-loop to break abruptly. It's a shame, he was the most immersed one yet. He really believed it." James said, biting his lip.
"I'm able to get about 82% of the data off of his card, which should get us enough information to pinpoint the problem. J3-#FG should be the perfect model. Hackers are going to shell out some heavy Bitcoinage for one of those," Jane smiled. "This is the 9,999th failure, next we invent a lightbulb."
| 2017-12-06T10:38:54 | 2017-12-06T06:52:39 | 128 | 16 |
[WP] You are an immortal that was caught by the mafia after you betrayed them. They deal with you the same way as traitors, chained to a cement bloc and trown in a lac. After 300 years you are finally discovered by divers.
|
Lifetimes. I have transcended lifetimes, I think to myself.
I have lived 500 years before I was thrown in here. I've known a lot of humans and had so many wives and kids and friends and... man i don't fucking know.
*So* many people, I have seen so many people. Yet I have ended up here. Currently two people are dragging me up to a weird looking ship.
Why? Why... WHY? Why is it me? Fuck. I have to ask them.
"What year is it?", I asked.
At first they were in shock. But they answered quickly.
***"2321?"***
***SHIT***
Those fuckers let me rot in this shithole for 300 years? I knew I shouldn't have trusted them. They probably took Jenna as well.
**FUCK**
"Luca Degratti" I whispered under my breath.
"Do you know anyone who's named Luca Degratti?"
***"No, sorry"***, said one of the sailors.
Shit. I need to find him. I know he's still here. I know he doesn't know I'm here. I just gotta try to get to land and then I may be able to find more on him. I'm pretty tired though.
"Thanks. You don't happen to have a room where I can sleep, do you?", I asked.
***"Yeah we do, just follow me"***, said a sailor as I followed him.
Thank god this is finally over. It's weird they didn't question me about being underwater chained up though. Whatever.
*-*
*-*
*-*
***"Yeah boss, It's him. We've finally found him"***
|
"No. You approved my vacation months ago. I'm already here and I'm not giving it up." Wanda paced in her small boat while she talked to her boss. She planned the trip for almost a year and began hinting at her boss to soften him up before she officially requested the time off. Now he had the nerve to try and call her in while her boat floated in the middle of the lake on a beautiful, cool, sunny day. "I'm hanging up, Martin. I'll talk to you in two weeks. Not a day before." The orange-haired woman tossed the node onto one of the seats and stared out at the calm water. She sighed with contentment, took a deep breath, then jumped over the side without hesitation.
Wanda imagined the water rinsing off her cares as she broke through the surface. She felt renewed as she entered the water as she descended deeper into the lake. She reached the lake floor and began looking for the perfect spot to relax, but something caught her eye. She looked to see a man wriggling violently from side to side looking directly at her.
The underwater stranger appeared to be standing in a block of concrete that reached up to his knees. His hands were cuffed in front of him, fortunately, and shackled to the same concrete block. He was otherwise completely naked. His long brown hair floated around his head, and a beard long enough to reach his belly button grew out of his chin. He smiled like a madman at Wanda.
Wanda waved at the stranger, and he wriggled his cuffed hands at her in return. She swam to him then around to his back. She grabbed the man under his armpits and tried to swim upward with him. He moved, but not very far. The failure prompted Wanda to wonder how she could get him in the boat if she did get him to the surface. Wanda swam around in front of him and put her hands up in front of him to give the universal gesture for 'wait here'. The stranger smiled and shrugged.
"Of course he's going to wait here," Wanda realized. She felt a bit embarrassed as she swam up toward the surface. "He seems pretty calm," she noted while she climbed into her boat. "I wonder if he's like me." She went through her duffel bag and pulled out two silver collars. She latched one around her neck, then jumped back into the water with the other. She latched the second collar around the man's neck once she reached the bottom, then smiled.
"Hi." She said. The man's eyes widened.
"HI!!! We can talk!!" Wanda nodded and touched the silver collar.
"Uhuh. These things are ancient, but they're still useful. Uh. So... Who are you?"
"I'm Ray, and you?" Wanda grabbed his cuffed hand and shook it gently.
"Wanda. What're you doing in the lake, Ray?" He shrugged.
"Poor planning. I kept some money I shouldn't have, thinking there was nothing they could do to me, on account of I'm immortal. A few years later, here I am. Actually, what year is it? These collars are amazing, but I've never seen them before."
"The collars are about 100 years old, we're in 2358," Wanda replied. The whole time she swam in place with outstretched arms helping her resist the current.
"Oh," Ray said. "That long, huh?"
"How long?" Wanda asked.
"300 years." Ray looked down. "I guess that explains where my suit went. How about you? Can everyone in the future swim under water without any breathing equipment? Or is it just so small I can't see it?"
"I'm kind of unique," Wanda said. "But we can talk about that later. I'm sure you want out of here after 300 years." Wanda swam down and around the concrete block to inspect it.
"Any ideas?" Ray asked.
"One." Wanda nodded. "Sorry, but you're going to have to be patient some more. I don't have any equipment with me that can take care of that. I need to go all the way back home, in another state, then come back. So.. a few days maybe?" Wanda asked. Ray shrugged.
"After 300 years, what's a few more days?"
"I'll be back. I promise!" Wanda smiled and swam toward the surface.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #327. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
| 2018-11-24T13:09:24 | 2018-11-24T12:51:11 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Upon us entering intergalactic civilization, we discover that the Milky Way wasn't where we came from, but where we were banished to. All of civilization is horrified that we survived and returned from the universe's harshest galaxy.
|
Sensor Post Omega was a small station situated on a rim system, the kind where rookies were sent to learn the ropes and where veterans went to retire. Nobody stationed there really knew what they were supposed to be looking for, but since they always had new tech and the best internet connection in the known universe, the crew never really questioned it. They were a motley bunch, Eldar and Tenno and even a lone Vulcan, but they learned to trust each other, and eventually become friends. They held monthly drills, but there was always one that they never understood. Upon detecting some sort of primitive object exit galaxy WG-42, they were supposed to send a certain distress signal and then hunker down. What the primitive object was was never mentioned in their briefing notes, nor did any rumours conclusively answer. One day, however, it came into use.
Alarms blared through the sensor station, and the collected crew looked on in wonder as they saw a strange procession of interstellar vehicles exit the galaxy, and head towards the galaxy EG-138. The crew looked at each other, and then immediately sent out the distress signal. Though they didn’t know what they were, if there was this many protocols and warnings, then it would definitely be important.
&#x200B;
Groggy representatives and diplomats logged onto the video chambers, most of them cursing the early hours the call was sent out. Due to the vast distances involved in intergalactic travel, physically attending meetings was unfeasible, thus diplomatic call centres was established. As the forum quieted, the chief of Intergalactic Protection walked onto a stage. Every single member immediately became sober and alert. If the head of Intergalactic Protection was making this call, then there was a serious issue at hand. All their fears was confirmed when the Tau tactician said, “The Humans have left their galaxy.”
Chaos reigned, with some diplomats yelling obscenities while others curled up and called for their mothers. The whole of the Galactic Council was thunderstruck, and until the elected leader of the Forum finally called for decorum. There was still small whimpering from certain voice channels, but for the most part the leader had managed to call all attention to her. “Enough. The Intergalactic Council had measures for this event since it’s very founding and we are going to follow them. Attendant, please, tell us what is our next course of action?”
The man pulled out an old, withered envelope from where the oldest protocols were stored. It was the last envelope in the box, as all other protocols have been called. The man cut open the envelope with a letter opener, and reached in for the highly detailed and effective measures that was written by his ancestors. The man was surprised as his hand touched only one piece of paper, but reasoned that they may have had very cogent and efficient measures. He pulled it out, and froze when he saw what it was. Written in some species’ blood, it said only, “Run”
When the attendant showed the rest of the forum the instruction, the house erupted in fear.
Furtive diplomacy was being waged, ranging from conspiring to destroy the Humans to appeasing them, complying to their every whim. Some species still remembered the destruction the Humans had wrought in the past, while the newer ones knew only old fairy tales. But this much was true for all of them. All of them were deathly terrified. Finally, a decision was reached. They would send an envoy of their toughest soldiers, and would beg for their lives.
&#x200B;
The United Worlds Secretary General looked down in confusion from the latest message from the Canis Major Exploration Mission. Some sort of message was being sent?
When she opened the file, the only message was, “SURELY EVEN HUMANS KNOW WHAT MERCY IS. WE BEG FOR IT”
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[[gaseous emission carbon increases, a hint of toluene is introduced, flapping frequency of emitting orifice varies greatly]]
&&frequency of pulsating light increases, data density is increased, stream switch from trinary to octal occurs&&
++magnetic field fluctuations plummet, antennae fully extend++
"So, what's going on?" I ask my host and translator. He is bipedal, and his name is a string of ones and zeroes, expressed in two different colors I cannot see. I call him Fred.
The translator speaks in a musical voice. It sounds to me like a hot chick. "Be at calm dnorg, the representatives of the welcoming committee are merely discussing administrative matters, they will attend you presently".
Upon a gently curved dais, about half a meter high, are three of the ugliest sons of bitches I have ever encountered. Undiplomatic of me to say so, but they smell like a fire in a chemical plant. One of them sounds like he/she/it is trying to fart out a rap song, and another looks like a coat hanger fight. The last one looks like a jigsaw that someone hammered together without looking at the picture on the box, or even caring if the pieces fit together. I get the sense that they are discussing something tiresome and humdrum, and am glad that the universal translator human - adaption edition - has not yet been completed. BORING. All I wanted was a treaty and and a trade deal. Look, the first guy who meets a new culture can make serious coin, and that guy was me. All I needed was to look out for number one, and everything was going to be peachy keen.
[[Merciful oblivion, the being is even more terrifying up close. I fear him greatly. I wish to initiate auto-extinction and expire immediately]]
&&A species that wages war. Entropy upon us all. The monsters thrived, instead of dying in prison. We should command the Annihilator Fleet to destroy them.&&
++My analysis indicates it uses only its frontal lobe for the purposes of cogitation. The rest of the brain must be reserved for anger and murder.++
Fred made some gesture with one of his hands, and a chair extruded from the floor. Neat trick. I sat down, and damn and blast, but it was comfortable as hell. I leaned back, to see if a back would automagically extrude from the chair itself, but it didn't. That was a disappointment. I almost fell over backwards, but caught myself just in time. I didn't think the functionaries on the dais noticed anyway. I knew what improvements I'd make to their chair technology - backs on chairs, rocking chairs, hammock chairs, man these guys were using stools instead of exploiting their tech to the fullest. I was going to completely blow their minds, and coin it. Dildo chairs! Yeah, that would be sweet. Assuming that we could come to a trade deal, I suppose. I think they had picked the 'welcoming committee' to be dry emotionless bureaucrats, born for endless detail and indifferent to anything that wasn't filed in triplicate.
[[The creature must be informed. But I shall not do it, the probability matrices indicate my demise if such an outcome becomes reality]]
&&It made a gesture when it sat down. I fear it made to threaten us. I have soiled myself and shamed my family.&&
++I shall explain to it. Even though it will surely cause the extirpation of my life. It must be told.++
Fred turned to me and the translator began to speak again. That sexy, sexy voice, oh yeah.
"Peace to be with you and at you. The story of your species is shared among us. It be to shared with also you. Of the the knowing is the crime. War the greatest crime. Humans made to war greatly, many perished. To punish humans did the Ethical Alliance come to be. Many battles. Many entities became atoms of componency. We mourned them then, we mourn them still. Humans were banished, imprisoned a million years ago. In Galaxy 78744, to be outcast forever."
Well that was a shut up, sit down moment. I mean, everyone expected some sort of culture shock, but really. To be be the ancient bogeymen of alien cultures was a bit much. And I had been worried about chairs. This was going to complicate things, I doubted we would get premium trade deals if they all had bad attitudes towards us. I moved my tongue in a particular pattern that triggered a sub-delta pulse that would alert the Third Fleet that things were off to a rocky start. Like all fleets since the Great Peace of 2357, it was entirely unarmed. But at least it would be prepared for imminent departure if the talks failed.
I cleared my throat and addressed the dais. "Surely what happened a million years ago should not prevent us from reaching an understanding?"
Once again the translator spoke. Oh man, that voice. So damn sexy.
"Enhanced the knowing shall be. Many who survived the human aggression murder wars yet live. Guilt of many murder kills be upon humans."
That stunned me. They could extend life for a million years? Man, fuck chairs. This was the real deal. Also, they had just made a big mistake. Again I addressed the dais. "No humans now live who took part in any alleged crimes, and it is immoral to hold anyone guilty of crimes they did not commit. Further, individuals commit crimes, not species. No one can be considered guilty merely because they are members of a particular species." I smiled to show that I was still friendly, but concerned.
[[How can a creature who's cogitationary mechanism is a small frontal lobe produce such an argument? My desire for self-death has intensified]]
&&It has bared its teeth, a universal gesture of hostility. Command the Annihilator Fleet to prepare for a Peace Mission&&
++I will endeavor to turn it from the path of death war murder, though all paths within the probability matrices now lead to cataclysm++
Sexy translator voice spoke up again. "Peace be at you, submission to you we grant, a great Peace Mission trepidates and waits, oh let the atoms of componency retain their current configurations!"
Now this was more like it! A peace mission was great. And a 'submission' meant they would put forward a deal. Luckily, that whole 'your species committed murder a million years ago' thing wasn't going to complicate things, and we could get down to money talk. Trade. Goods. Riches. Oh man, I was going to be so fucking rich. I jumped up, and grinned. "This is great! Let's bury the hatchet!"
&&A promise of war, as feared. Annihilator Fleet Peace Mission attacks. Human species extinction begin&&
[[Failure. Humans have retained murder war as their constant companion. Eradication imperative.]]
++Their sun has been made to nova. Human aggressions destroy peace for the last time++
I sat back down. Victory was sweet indeed.
Less than ten thousand kilometers away, the Third Fleet disintegrated under the onslaught of the Annihilator Fleet, and one by one, the suns of human star systems went nova.
| 2019-11-14T19:58:45 | 2019-11-14T17:41:26 | 102 | 45 |
[WP] You're almost completely immortal- only one thing can kill you. You don't know what that one thing is, though, and you're getting increasingly paranoid as the years go on.
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When I first learned I was immortal, I paraded my body through the toughest fights. Sword nor arrow nor bullet nor laser could break me. I fought it all the wars, I took part in all the triumphs. Nothing could stop me, it seemed. I spent centuries in the most dangerous parts of the planet.
However, a little nagging part of me always knew there was a limit. "With time, you will meet your end," I remembered the ancient prophet spoke over me. A weakness. A fairly literal Achilles heel, only I didn't know what it was. The worry grew as the days and weeks and years passed. Time seemed to go on forever, and yet I knew one day I would meet my end, as impossible as it seemed.
Eventually, I changed my ways and did everything I could to stay alive. I hid myself from danger, though I knew it could not hurt me. I kept everything the same as possible so that nothing would change from day to day.
And then it happened. I brushed up against a small green leaf and death greeted me as I was told one day it would. Just one plant I somehow missed all along. I found it in the grocery store, of all places. I had misheard the prophecy after all. It turns out that what brought me to my end was just a little bit of thyme.
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I have the thing that kills immortals. I have used it many times to fulfill my mission - hunt and kill demons who walk the Earth. It's an ironic weapon - an old spear I used during my days as a Roman soldier. It's not ironic because it's a spear, and it's not ironic that it's from my days as a Roman soldier. It's ironic because I used it on a man who then cursed me to use it through my endless days.
I can say it doesn't kill me. You'd think it would, but it won't. It's not that I tried it, but someone tried it on me, against my will, of course.
Do you know who the first man was, Adam? Turns out he didn't die. He made a deal with an angel, more like a demon, maybe it was Satan himself. Adam himself was an immortal, undying, always living. imagine that! A man who had actually walked with God, who was created by God's very hands, and who was brought to life directly by God's breath walking the Earth, and I met him.
He dedicated his existence to hunting other immortals, just like I do. But he doesn't hunt the ones I hunt, the demons who walk among men. After quite some time, in fact, he turned his attention to hunting me specifically, more like tormenting me.
He caused me great pain, horrific deaths. I have mentioned in other stories my ordeal drowning when my ship went down on the way to France during WW2. It was Adam, the first man, behind that incident. If I didn't know better I'd say he also controlled the currents to direct me to the longest path - a 20 year path of drowning and returning to life only to drown again - before I finally reached land to end the ordeal. I know better - it was just bad luck and swimming in the wrong direction.
When I finally met Adam, at first he befriended me, and I thought it was good fortune. He was another soul trapped endlessly in the flesh. But when I found out his self imposed mission, of course our friendship ended. Or did it?
He managed to stab me with my own spear, the spear dripping with Christ's blood, the spear that ends immortals' lives. It didn't end my life. It brought back my will to live. In a sense, it saved me.
Not long before meeting Adam in the way I count time - it might be a long time to the way most people count time - I had been forced to use the spear to stop a demon who had possessed a young boy. It was a terrible price to pay to do my job. Imagine - a child has to die because a demon possessed a child and was killing people. Couldn't it be clean? Just, get rid of the demon but the children survive! Can't the children survive?
There always seems to be a price associated with it - my spear, my job. In this case there was even more irony - it was Adam's fault, what he did in the garden, that the world is imperfect, and there's always a price. Adam had stabbed me, and it didn't work the way he thought it would. Or did it?
Before he did it he told me his plan. It was as it always had been - aid the demons. What better way to aid them than to get rid of me, their nemesis? He stabbed me. That son of a bitch - technically he wasn't the son of any bitch, of anyone except God - his plan was foiled. I got him back!
I drove the spear through his chest, through his heart - that's what mattered. Piercing through the heart, the spear could separate spirit from flesh, even with an immortal. Adam was finished - the oldest man, who had seen the perfect Earth, who had walked directly with God, who had seen and knew every detail of the fall. The first man finally would die.
"I told you you would pay a price," he whispered with his failing breath, the breath once breathed into him directly by God Himself.
"There was no price," I replied. " I won, and there was no price." No children died this time. No this for that. No compromise. No giving up one good thing to eradicate one bad.
Adam laughed, a gurgling laugh as he opened his eyes wide. "I have given you back your resolve. In return, you have given me death. A fair price." With that, his eyes closed. He sighed. He was gone.
My spear is what kills immortals. It didn't work on me when Adam tried it. But who knows, maybe next time it would work on me.
| 2019-12-30T10:26:05 | 2019-12-30T09:37:27 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] the summoning was an absolute success, the heroine who would save the world from the demon king appeared. after being brought up to speed, she finds a troubling fact. the so-called demon king is her BELOVED husband who had been missing for over a decade in her world.
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“Summoning! This was a summoning! You don’t summon angels. You invoke them! What did you think she was going to be?”
“I don’t know, an extra dimensional traveler of some kind?”
“We’ve been over this. The dimensions are Heaven, Earth, Robot Earth, and Hell. And this sigil is very clearly not in binary so I don’t know what you thought you were doing.”
The priestess peered out the gaps between the boards on the window, and for a brief second her grim countenance was lit by an infernal red glow. The acolyte chewed on her lip, studying the still-glowing casting circle on the ground.
“At least she looks really angry at him.”
“I mean, I would be pissed too if my husband went and conquered new realms without me for a decade. I bet she was worried sick, and he was just up here laying waste and partying!”
“Maybe if we invite her to brunch to vent...”
“Gods, I would kill for a mimosa right now.”
“Let’s hope she’ll kill him for a mimosa.”
“I’ll get the champagne.”
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Holly stopped screaming when she realized she was on solid ground. The portal trip left her slightly traumatized. She was at the top of a large stone altar, with a glowing pentagram carved on the ground. Ten old men with long beards and brown robes surrounded her. Holly grew stiff. Was she kidnapped for a sex cult?
One of the bearded men took a step forward.
Holly punched him in the face, hurling him across the room. The other old men widened their eyes in terror. Holly herself was quite shocked. She had never been that strong before. After beating up the other old men with her bare fists, armed guards entered the room. Holly was about to fight them too before one of her victims stood up, ordering the guards to stand down. Apparently, she was 'the chosen one' of this world. That wasn't what caught her attention, though.
Now that she had time to examine her surroundings, she could see three floating bars on the upper right corner of her vision wherever she looked. Red, green and blue. They were... familiar. Above them was her name, spelled out in bold white font and next to that was a smaller "Lvl 1" written in cursive. Holly started laughing. Was she an isekai protagonist? How is that even possible? She wasn't even hit by a truck!
Then again, Holly wasn't about to question it. This was amazing! A world of magic and adventure that she was free to explore, just like the old MMOs! No data mining, walkthroughs, or crafting guides. The purest form of gaming one could imagine possible. Holly hadn't really played that much in recent years. Ever since... No. Holly wouldn't let her grief ruin the moment. If anything, that memory of meeting for the first time in preparation for a raid was something that allowed her to appreciate this experience even more.
As after Holly was ushered to a throne room, an old king welcomed her to the land. Their world had been terrorized for a hundred years by a demon king who commanded eight powerful generals, each with a personal legion of thousands of warriors. In other words, the standard quest line for an isekai hero. Holly only heard the king out of courtesy. She was already locked into the quest before he even explained the details. The only thing that stuck out to her was when the old king said:
"This monster treats our world like a game. We didn't quite know who the ritual would summon, but our prophets have mentioned that a woman like you is the only person who can stop him."
Holly nodded. These were people too. Although she could allow herself to indulge in adventure, it shouldn't be at the cost of those who live here. With all this evidence, it wouldn't surprise her if the demon king was actually a gamer from another world, much like herself. Treating the residents of this world like NPCs would certainly lead to becoming a sadist. Holly bowed and accepted the quest. She didn't even know if there was a way back home, but she knew for certain that it was better than living alone back on Earth. The king praised her bravery and said:
"Perhaps it is my desperation blinding me, but I see in you the future hope of our people. Please, save us from the threat of Malajuk."
Holly felt a sharp pain in her chest. That name. She didn't mishear it. The guards escorted her to a fancy guestroom, where she would be staying until preparations for her quest were complete. Holly broke down into tears when they left her alone. This had to be a misunderstanding. She couldn't let them know. After promising to save them and hearing all the atrocities they've endured, they wouldn't accept truth.
Malajuk was Albert's username in every MMO they had played together. Holly didn't quite know how to process her feelings. It couldn't be a coincidence, right? Her husband was still alive!
And a demonic monster.
But why? There had to be a reason for his actions. Did he go mad? Was he trying to get back home? Holly sighed. Or was he having too much fun in this world to care to return? Holly didn't know what to think. She needed to find out what happened to Albert. Unfortunately, another part of her was terrified of discovering the truth. She thought she was finally able to cope with his loss after years of therapy. Being sent to kill him immediately after discovering he was alive felt like a cruel joke. Holly would go on this quest to hopefully save him. It was obvious he needed to be stopped, but she didn't know how far she'd be willing to go once she faced him.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out all of my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
| 2020-05-09T06:53:30 | 2020-05-09T06:25:18 | 222 | 43 |
[WP] The Satanic ritual you performed to summon your soulmate worked! Only thing is, the person you summoned isn’t your recently deceased spouse. In fact, you don’t even have the slightest clue who they are.
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The ritual completed, I stared at the middle of the circle. I imagined that Lucy would appear in the middle instantly, like turning on the TV. Instead, nothing happened for a few seconds. It hadn't worked? I felt the crushing grief wash over me again and put my head in my hands.
Eyes covered, I became aware of a change in the room. It wasn't anything I could my finger on, but something definitely shifted. I looked back in the circle. Slowly, as though she was being drawn by a giant, invisible artist, someone was appearing. She was curled on her side in the fetal position, the bumps of her spine visible under her lily white skin. Long blonde hair spread out over the floor. I stared as she materialised.
When she was there, fully there, I wanted to run over and take her up in my arms, but the ritual had been clear, she must wake up on her own. Impatient, I stared. And that was my first indication that something was wrong. On the woman's hip was a curled flower tattoo. Lucy didn't have any tattoos.
I pushed it out of my mind. There must be an explanation. This was dark magic, everything happened for a reason.
But when the girl slowly sat up and looked around, I realised that things had gone horrifically wrong. The face that looked back at my own was not my beautiful, 56 year old wife. This was a girl in her early twenties, beautiful, yes, stunning in fact, but not my Lucy. Her hair was longer, fluffy and parted straight down the middle. My mouth opened slightly.
She started speaking when she saw me - groggy and slow, so it took me a few seconds to realise that she wasn't speaking English. It was Swedish. I recognised it from the year I had lived there back in 1977. I was doing my degree in comparative literature and was offered a year abroad. I wanted France, but got allocated Sweden. My friend, a real hippy, told me it must be fate - there was a reason for me to go out there. Nothing out of the ordinary happened though, and I assumed he was wrong.
"Sorry," I spoke softly to the girl. "I don't remember much Swedish. Do you speak English?"
I repeated, in broken Swedish - sorry, no Swedish... English?
"Where am I?" She asked me, now in English. "I was in the car..."
"You're in England, Basingstoke to be exact..." I answered.
"I have never been to England, I should be in Sweden. Where is Michael?"
"I don't know who that is."
"He was driving, he was going too fast. I told him to stop or to slow, but he never listens. Too fast. There was a noise... We flew."
I listened to her story.
"We flew and..." She gasped, one hand going to her stomach and one to her head. "We went off the edge, there was glass and, so much red. I couldn't breathe, the smoke was in my throat."
She started to sob. I reached up to the pile of freshly tumble dried washing - silently thanking Lucy for insisting we used the basement as a laundry room - and edged over to her, wrapping her in the blanket.
"Hey, it's okay. We'll work out what's going on."
She leaned into me, shaking as she cried. I tried to work out what was going on. How did my soulmate summoning bring some random Swedish girl to my basement?
"What's your name?" I asked her.
"Eva Nilsson."
The name was familiar. Why? It echoed somewhere in the back of my mind... Like a character in a book I'd read long ago.
"I'm John Peters," I replied. "You know, Sweden is beautiful. I studied there for a year when I was younger. Comparative literature at the University in Stockholm."
The girl blinked away some tears and looked up at me.
"Really? That's the course I'm on!"
"Yeah? I wonder if it's similar to back in '77."
Her face turned to one of confusion.
"1977?"
"Yes, that's when I was there. I know, I'm ancient. I tho-"
She interrupted me.
"That's next year."
That's when Eva's name came back to me. A girl who was meant to be in my class that year in Sweden, someone who was friends with a number of the students in my group, but had died in a car accident the summer before I went there. I remembered that one girl who smiled sadly at me after I talked her ear off about some author I loved. I remembered what she said.
"You'd have loved Eva."
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Hannah coughed from the smoke that had burst out of the summoning circle. It was filling the room, and the fact that her cruddy old basement didn’t exactly have the best airflow certainly was not helping. More importantly, what did it mean? Did the smoke mean it had failed? It didn’t mention it anywhere in the instructions.
As she started to panic about whether or not she’d botched the ritual and what that’d mean, she saw a silhouette in smoke. She tried to peer through it. “Garret?” she asked cautiously.
“Garret?” a voice came back, but it didn’t sound like Hannah’s late spouse, not even close. “Does my silhouette really look that mascu-” it continued, but then started coughing. Hannah could see whomever it was frantically waving their hand to try and disperse the smoke. “Seriously, though--what’s with this smoke? Whose idea was that?” they complained, and then, with a frustrated grunt, they stepped out of the smoke, nearly bumping into Hannah before stopping themselves. It was a woman. A woman with red hair and big emerald eyes. “Oh. Hello,” the strange woman greeted her with a little wave.
Hannah blinked. “You’re… Not Garret,” she just said unhelpfully. She looked down at the ritual instructions in her hand and tried to figure out where she’d gone wrong. “This was supposed to summon my soulmate…” she murmured.
“Yes, and here I am,” the woman said, spreading her arms out to the sides. “Ta-daaaah.”
Hannah eyed her with a confused expression. “But you’re not Garret. Even more so, you’re not even a guy,” she pointed out.
The strange woman shook her head lightly. “Oh, honey…. I think you’ve got a little bit of soul searching to do.”
Hannah felt faint, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of all the smoke or because of what was currently happening. “I… Need to sit down,” she decided and made for the crusty old couch that she and Garret had carried down here years ago. “What are you saying to me?” she asked the strange woman.
The woman followed Hannah to the couch, but remained standing for now. “What I’m saying is that you performed a ritual to summon your soulmate and a woman appeared. You seemed surprised, so I think that maybe you haven’t been quite honest with yourself,” she explained.
It’s true that Hannah had had a….. Phase. But she’d gotten out of it. Hadn’t she? She rubbed her temples with a sigh. “Who even are you?” she asked the woman.
“My name is Amelia,” she introduced herself, doing a little curtsy that was far from proper.
“.... That’s a really pretty name,” Hannah admitted, eliciting a smug smirk from Amelia. Hannah leaned back on the couch, not sure what to think. “This just…. Wasn’t what I had expected.”
“No, you expected your old flame; your, uhh…” Amelia trailed off.
“Husband,” Hannah filled in. “Dead husband.”
Amelia pointed at Hannah and nodded. “Husband. Who died. But instead, you got me,” Amelia sat down on the couch next to Hannah. “Tell me, Hannah. Why’d you expect your husband?”
Hanna quirked a brow. She thought such a thing should be obvious. “Because we were married? Because he was kind to me and we were a lot alike?”
Amelia hummed. “I’m sure he was a great guy, but that’s not really what a soulmate is, is it?”
“It isn’t?”
Amelia shook her head. “No, a soulmate is like…. Somebody that allows you to be the best that you can be; somebody who gets you and encourages you to be yourself and grow. Soulmates make each other want to be better than they are, and they’ll never be better than they are with each other. They don’t really have to be exactly alike, but they’re at least compatible with each other's preferences for the most part.”
Hannah blinked. She hadn’t really seen it that way before. “You seem to have thought about it a lot,” she told Amelia.
Amelia nodded. “You could say I’m a bit of an expert,” she said and gave Hannah a coy smile. “After all, I come from the Soulmate Factorum?”
Hannah raised a brow, confused. “The Soulmate whatnow?”
“The Soulmate Factorum,” Amelia repeated. “Basically, while there are multiple soulmates for one person on Earth, this summoning ritual wasn’t really made to throw a fishing line through the ether and pull one of them to you,” she shook her head. “No, it contacts an otherworldly place called the ‘Soulmate Factorum’ where a soulmate is manufactured for you and sent to you real quick-like!”
Hannah was starting to feel faint again. She rubbed her forehead and held a hand up. “Wait, wait… You were manufactured?”
Amelia nodded. “Mhm.”
“From me doing that ritual?”
“Eyupp.”
“So… You’re not… human?” Hannah wondered.
Amelia gasped. “Well, that’s rude! I’m absolutely human! I have a heart,” Amelia grabbed Hannah’s hand and put it to her chest so that she could feel it beat. Hannah blushed. “I have a soul. And most importantly, I have feelings. So don’t insinuate such a thing again!” Amelia pouted.
“I-i’m sor-sorry,” Hannah stuttered.
Amelia let her hand drop from Hannah’s and Hanna withdrew her hand. “The only difference between you and I is that you were made by your parents, turning out depending on their genetics, while I was manufactured especially for you,” Amelia added.
Hannah looked pensive. “Does….. That mean that you were created loving me?” she wondered.
Amelia shook her hand. “Nah, we’re not made to already be in love with you. We’re just dropped onto your doorstep knowing that ‘this is the one. This is my soulmate.’ Everything from there on out just… Happens naturally.” Amelia smiled warmly at Hannah. “So whaddaya say? Give me a chance?”
“I….” Hannah hesitated.This felt like it couldn’t be true, but then she’d tried a summoning ritual without questioning it and it had produced Amelia. Was what the redheaded woman said really such a reach? Besides, why had she tried to summon Garret in the first place? Amelia was right--he wasn’t her soulmate. She had cared for him, yes--loved him, even--but she realized that she’d only tried to summon him back because she was scared. It had been selfish of her. After all, what if Garret had gone to a better place and she’d just… Pulled him back. No, it was better to move forwards. The question is whether or not she would do so with Amelia. It had freaked her out that her soulmate was apparently a woman, but Hannah could not deny that she was attracted to her, or that she was funny, caring and charming.
Hannah sighed. Perhaps Amelia had been right. About everything. And maybe the first step to growing as a person is to move on and take a leap of faith. “... Alright,” she decided. “Let’s do it.”
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Amelia beamed. She stood up from the couch. “Now, how about we start it off properly? With perhaps a date?” She offered Hannah a hand to help her up. “I was thinking cheesecake.”
Hannah eyed Amelia’s hand. “I love cheesecake…” she admitted.
Amelia smirked. “Well, how about that.”
Hannah smiled and took Amelia’s hand. Amelia helped her up and the two of them headed up the basement stairs. “Uhh, could you spot me?” Amelia timidly asked. “It’s not like they make us with a pocket full of cash.”
Hannah sighed. “I can’t believe they sent me a deadbeat.”
“Ack! I’ll get a job, I promise!” Amelia fretted and Hannah laughed.
They went out the door and towards a new life. Together.
| 2020-05-31T01:04:45 | 2020-05-31T01:01:20 | 347 | 29 |
[WP] Your bedroom became detached from reality and nothing is outside your door, but whenever you load a video game that world appears. Your game library is not conducive to a long and happy life, but the mini fridge is empty so you have no choice. You load up the safest game and gather supplies.
|
I scroll through my steam library… still convinced this is some bizarre dream. It would explain it- bizarre fragments of my memory suddenly more relevant than was reasonable. But my hunger and thirst felt very real. And I eventually decided, dream or no, I needed to eat.
But where to get food?? I could try to load the witcher. That had plenty of food… but most of guarded by either people or monsters. I had no money, and I wasnt about to get stabbed over a wheel of cheese. I had plenty of “food” in fallout, but nor was I about to lose my hair to radiation poisoning. Bleeding gums makes it taste worse, too.
What else was there?? Why did I have to pick such strange games!?
Half Life…? There isnt even any food in there! It’s literally a starvation marathon. I’m not eating a headcrab. Vomiting worsens dehydration.
FEAR? Nope. No food in the game. A lot of these games don’t even mention food. Or water. Halo, System Shock, DOOM, and more- all terrible. Best not to even load DOOM whatsoever, really.
FTL probably had some kind of “rations”… but if I stepped i to the wrong space ship… God only knows.
Bioshock infinite? Now that I mention it… they had some pretty good looking food. Can I pretend to be racist for an hour to get some food? Mmmmm…. No. That’s not the only problem that place has going for it, either.
As I scrolled, the sound-scape outside my tiny 1-bedroom apartment shifted. Gunfire, shouting, cheering, rocket noises, monster chatter, and other bizarre calamities of unknown sources echoed. Food was a short term problem… where was I going to *exist*? What if I didn’t wake up? What if this was some kind of bizarre, self-creating pocket dimension I was trapped in. How would I survive? Could I be the hero, if I had to? No. I was fit, but I wasnt surviving magic and laser blasts… I needed…
THATS IT! A game I had beaten! A game with abundant food, and a dedicated hero that would always win.
I dug through old drawers to find it, worried I’d forgetten in on a move or left it with my parents. But it was still here! My switch.
Link, you better share your food. I know you’ve got more than you can eat. You’ve got three damn inventory pages of hearty salmon and mighty bananas.
This was it. This was my option. Breath of the wild, here I come.
|
Day 1 - new world
&#x200B;
Picking Ark Survival Evolved was probably not the best choice but I couldn’t stop myself. When I first loaded up the game and stepped into this beautiful world I couldn’t help but be in awe. I was careful and only spent around half an hour in the world before retreating back into my bedroom. I chose of course to spawn in the safest areas of the island and there were only calm herbivorous dinosaurs. I didn’t venture far and didn’t actually see any dinosaurs. I only saw a dodo and even that was a new experience. Its feathers were so soft and it snuggled up to me. I had come into the island expecting a gruesome reality but I was brought to tears at the contradicting innocence of such a creature.
&#x200B;
Day 2 - Tame Master
&#x200B;
I marked my room on the map and gathered any supplies that I had in my room. I set out into the fresh world. I crafted a spear first in order to protect myself. I am surprisingly able to use the gem on my wrist to store items and upgrade skills. Previously while playing the game I would have used my fists to harvest wood but those abilities don’t seem to have transferred to me. I had to improvise and use a stone to harvest those materials. I felt much safer with something to protect myself. I hunted dodos for meat. I felt guilty about it but I had no choice. Ending a life for the first time made me gag and I would have vomited if my stomach had not already been empty.I discovered other dodos along the shore line and tamed them as well. In the end I had tamed 7 dodos. I also created a fire. My body was not used to all this moving in the rough terrain of ark and took a break for the rest of the day.
&#x200B;
Day 3 - Parasaur
&#x200B;
Today I felt more ambitious after my taming expedition and set out to tame a parasaur. I feel that I needed to expand the region I could travel on and having a parasaur would allow me to travel further and faster than on foot. I found a green colored one and was able to corner it before using a slingshot to knock it unconscious and tame it. I am calling the parasaur Donald after Donald Duck who also has a bill. I know I'm so creative. was also able to craft its saddle from the hide of other dodos I found in the area.It was so much faster than on foot and I enjoyed myself greatly. I have started exploring the surrounding area for possible base locations to build a more permanent shelter to better protect me from the elements and potential creatures.
&#x200B;
Day 6 - Disaster
&#x200B;
I have terrible news on day 4 Donald died. I got a little too reckless and explored way farther than we ever had before. We were ambushed by a trio of raptors.I wouldn’t have escaped if it hadn't been for Donald. He charged in and protected me. His screams of pain still haunt my dreams. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret my decision. I spent the next 2 days in a depressive episode. This world had given me so much happiness only to rip it from my hands in the next moment.On this day I felt better and managed to tame another parasaur. It was a female and I called her Daisy because she was in a patch of flowers that looked very similar to daisies when I first stumbled upon her. I vow to protect her with my life. We have also begun searching for a suitable base location.Tame another parasaur call him look for base far awayDay 8 - HomeI found a base location that I liked. It's on high ground as is sake from most predators and if one’s there I can see them from a mile away. I have begun building my base as well. It's a simple thatch hut but it’s all I need. Thick calluses have begun to form on my hands. I have a small Dodo farm where I farm their eggs. I also went on a bit of a dino taming spree and tamed 4 Dilos and a Triceratops! The dilos are called Lexi, Parker, Marco, and Dennis. I named the trike Mike and he is a tank, he is gigantic and does all of the heavy lifting. I got blinded by taming the dilos but I recovered in half an hour after washing my face with water. Don’t get me started on Mike. It took me 3 hours to collect enough berries to tame him and he consumes at least 5 times that amount per day. On the bright side, I have a lot of fertiliser to use in the future.
&#x200B;
Day 10 - Vengeance
&#x200B;
I did it. I thought I was over it but I wasn't. I went back to the location where Donald had been killed. It wasn’t the best decision and maybe I should have tamed them instead but I had to avenge Donald. There would also be other opportunities to tame raptors in the future. When I crafted my bow I made as many arrows and as many spears as I could. I also armed all my tames with their respective food which was either berries or meat. The raptors were by an old ruin. It was a hard battle and Dennis and Lexi are heavily injured but the raptor meat is doing wonders for their wounds. I’m just glad no one was killed. I celebrated with Raptor meat and extra berries for the dodos and Mike. I plan to eventually reach the higher tiers and discover how I was able to be transported to this world as well as the truth about ark. Right now exhausted after my day I sit outside my hut I feel that the crackling fire and starry night sky is all I need
&#x200B;
If you are interested in the continuation of this story or reading more short stories that can be found on r/Shrike_Stories
| 2022-06-07T18:46:14 | 2022-06-07T16:11:41 | 212 | 33 |
[WP] Your bedroom became detached from reality and nothing is outside your door, but whenever you load a video game that world appears. Your game library is not conducive to a long and happy life, but the mini fridge is empty so you have no choice. You load up the safest game and gather supplies.
|
It took some time to get used to, the concept of being trapped in what could be a game server.
I didn't have visible health bars while in my room or inventory management but I wasn't invincible; if you cut me I still bleed.
But as fun as racing games were, solving puzzles and rhythm games I still had to eat.
So I took a shower to feel good before strapping a backpack on, loaded up my survival game and cautiously opened my door; the last safe space I have in this void.
I stepped out onto a cobblestone path, looked up at the clouds and the sun behind them. I do miss the real sun, this one is so manufactured it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth every time I stepped out. Still, the food was amazing and easy to get.
I walked forward and opened my trusty chest, quickly equipping my enchanted armour and tools; learned pretty quickly that items despawn when in the safety of my room and the game exists. Lucky this was was easy to run, I did play it many years before my... "event".
Safety and weapons sorted I looked at the fields of melons, potato, wheat, carrots, I even picked up the taste for beetroot.
Thanks to redstone I flipped a switch and auto harvested (almost) everything using water, ran to collect and spent a few moments replanting it all. I'm so glad that everything here takes as little effort as the computer version, I would never have the energy to jump these cubes all day.
By now the sound of my cow farm was driving me nuts so culling the herd and feeding them wheat I then set off; if I wanted a snack I'll need cocoa beans and I haven't found any yet. Consumed by cookie cravings I nearly missed seeing the sun about to set, and at the edge of the forest I turned around as I decided that I can wait another day.
|
I slammed my fist into the wall with a frustrated scream, the plaster cracking around the impact. I winced and cradled my hand, immediately regretting my decision. I walked over to my dresser and rummaged around, eventually pulling out a band-aid. I took the paper around it off and stuck it to my bleeding knuckles.
I let out a sigh and glanced to the side of my room. Beside my desk, where my computer ran even though no power could possibly be going through it, I had covered up the panes of my windows with extra clothing I had in the back of my closet. Even though they covered every single inch of glass, I could still see the glow of the outside leaking through the assorted fabrics. I grit my teeth and looked away, a headache forming behind my eyes. When I first ended up in this void, I thought that I could leave my room and explore. However, I quickly learned that there is no way for the human brain to truly comprehend literal nothingness, and after nearly passing out from the dissonance I was able to create a sort of quarantine around me, preventing all possibility of seeing outside without meaning to.
I slowly stood up and walked over to my desk, my fingers tracing the chair I had saved up months for. I settled into the leather and pulled up my steam library, glancing through the assorted games I had collected over the years. My frown deepened as I looked through my collection, worry building up in me. As soon as I had gotten here I had tried to handle my stress and fear by playing a game, which had led me to discover the strange phenomena connected to my computer. Whenever I loaded up a game, the void outside disappeared and was replaced by the world of the video games, plot and all.
In the months I had lived here, I had discovered a few rules of this phenomena. First rule was that once a game was played, I could no longer go back to that world. I had wasted a few good attempts at getting supplies by getting rid of Stardew Valley, Garry's Mod and Spore right off the bat. Second rule was that I wasn't the protagonist. The story of the game continues on a loop and I seemed to be thrown in at random points of the plot, which could cause some problems if I came in at the wrong time. Third rule was that I was still human. In worlds where extraordinary protagonists and terrifying antagonists waited, I was startlingly average. I could die easily if I wasn't careful. And rule number four, which was the most important: powerful residents of the game can become extremely agitated towards me for no reason. I had almost died a few times already from these people, so I had to be careful.
After a complete overview of my game library that took over an hour, I finally decided on my choice. Hoping I made the right choice, I took a deep breath and clicked Start.
Familiar music came from my speakers, and as I listened I felt something shift around me. I pulled back one of the shirts covering my blinds and saw snow falling onto the ground. Looks like I was still pretty early in the story, which was perfect. If I got into a fight it wouldn't be that tough, and the snow made it much easier to sneak around, as long as no one followed my trail.
I grabbed a jacket, some gloves, my backpack and a hat before stepping out into the snow. I was surrounded by tree's, only broken up by a single path. I glanced up and saw that instead of the sky, a rocky ceiling hung above.
I looked around for a moment, making sure nothing was near before stepping onto the path. A pair of footprints led into the distance, where a bridge stood. I let out my held breath, thankful that I came at the perfect time. At this point the protagonist would have made their way towards the town a little ways away, clearing the way for myself.
I started following the path, walking across the shaky bridge into a small clearing. A lamp and some sort of outpost stood in the snow, standing stoically in the snow. I ignored them and walked down the path, keeping an eye out for anything that could attack me. I walked for about twenty minutes, the path winding through the woods like a river.
Suddenly, I heard a snicker. My heart went cold and I ducked behind a tree as a strange looking monster turned the corner, going the way I had come from. Its eyes were trained on a phone in its hand, orange-stained fingers swiping rapidly over the screen. It had a lumpy head with horns that made up its body, and it had a high-pitched voice that hurt my ears. I grit my teeth and growled it's name: "Jerry."
Jerry didn't seem to hear me, instead continuing down the way I came from. I let out a breath and stepped out, hurrying away. If Jerry was around, then it meant only one thing: I was nearing my destination.
After a few more minutes of walking, I found another bridge. Numerous ropes and devices hung from the sky, all shut down and deactivated. I walked by a cannon and a white dog (for some reason or another) before looking to my left. There, a sign read, "Welcome to Snowdin!" If Jerry wasn't enough proof, this was: I was truly in Undertale, RPG masterpiece and the last game I owned that I might survive.
*Continued in comments*
| 2022-06-07T23:03:00 | 2022-06-07T21:59:50 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
"And yours?" the divine agent asked me. A weariness in the question betrayed some edge of boredom or frustration in dealing with petty mortals.
"Power negation?" I ventured.
"Taken," I was informed, flatly.
"Power *theft*?"
"Taken."
"Domination, then." I was aware of the purpose of these powers and figured the direct approach could work.
"*Taken*."
By that point, I was as frustrated as the divine. Reflecting on the state of the world to be ruled, I thought about the one thing it perhaps needed most.
"Consequences."
"Excuse me?" the divine asked as if brought out of a stupor.
"I want the power to bring consequences. Divine judgment, if you will."
The glowing wells that passed for the divine's eyes narrowed into bedight points. "Granted. Fortune be with you."
The following days where interesting, to say the least.
I watched as divine strength could mangle a car well before he could throw it, and when his joints gave out, it was gruesome. (I'd find out later that I was only partially responsible.)
Divine speed earned herself some well-deserved friction burns before she collided with an oncoming 18-wheeler. I might feel sorry for her but moreso for the horrified driver.
Divine dominance actually had to *manage* the people he controlled, and it turns out not many people are well suited to management. He quit after twenty or so.
Same with divine presence. Sure, she was popular, the biggest celebrity in an era, but the constant demands for attention drove her into hermitage inside of six months. She's in her mansion living off of the gifts her fans leave at her front gate.
Poor divine flight, shot down for violating sovereign air space.
Divine greed, the guy who nicked Power Theft? Arrested for arson. His home country decided not to execute him in favor of using him to power a hydroelectric plant.
Divine wealth, the multi-quintillionaire? Assassinated, and none too subtly. Turns out the world's economic powers get very edgy around someone who can literally buy whole nations.
Maybe I feel the worst for divine fortitude. Can't be hurt, physically or mentally. But without pain, specifically discontent, he doesn't do much because he's free from want and the drive to change anything. At least his Food Dares YouTube channel has over 2 million subscribers, though the idea of scorpion pepper mukbang makes me flinch.
Oh right, divine denial, the Power Negation guy? We're actually good friends. We were both aiming for ways to stop the other 98 from screwing over the world. Once the threat was over, I turned my influence to the world political stage. I keep Denial in my back pocket to stop me from doing anything heinous, but things have gotten a lot better now that corrupt officials and executives are getting what they deserve.
|
*Something's better than nothing.*
"I just want to be the best standard immortality pasta maker in the entire world," I said, clenching the cream colored chair below me. I paused for a few beats, collecting my thoughts.
"Like really good. Not just the best in the world. I want to be the best pasta maker you can imagine."
It felt like my mind melted for a second as the AI chewed through my neurons, deducing what power I chose.
*Oh fuck did I seriously make my power too complicated fuck I didn't say "the power to..." first* fuck *i'm such an idiot. What if it literally only gives me standard immortality?*
The AI withdrew from my mind, but left a pulsing message:
YOU ARE NOW GRANTED THE STANDARD IMMORTALITY PACKAGE.
*Fuck.*
AND YOU ARE THE BEST PASTA MAKER IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.
*Ok at least there's that.*
CONTINUE WITH THE SIMULATION. ONLY ONE WILL REMAIN.
I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.
The 99 others erupted with laughter, filling the choosing room with shouts and hoots. Each of them had chosen a real power. Something that would help them survive the first hour. The first night. Maybe even the first week if they chose wisely. A brilliantly lucky few would make it into the second week.
And the simulation started 2010.
Can you believe that? The majority of the 100 *super humans* with literal *super powers* couldn't live longer than *one week* in 2010 Waco, Texas.
Well, to be fair, introducing super humans to the Bible belt has its predictable consequences. It's probable that the AI actually *intends* for the simulation to start that way every time. The sadistic little fuck *knows* the Waconians will largely believe we are demons and judgment is upon them.
As of recent game runs, being #100 was an almost instant death sentence. By the time the AI got to you, every decent power was taken. Similar powers aren't even allowed— if the AI arbirtailiary determines your power is "too similar" to another power, it instantly melts your brain with a pulsating
DISQUALIFIED
accompanied with gorey visuals (and all your other senses if you're lucky) for everyone else in the simulation to experience. It then comedically pulses
HA HA
a few seconds later like it was a punchline. Lately (and horrifically unlucky for me), whatever arbitrary rule the AI uses to determine how similar your power is to other powers has been becoming more sensitive as the AI continues to improve its algorithms. At the current sensitivity settings, almost *anything* player #100 asks for is deemed "too similar" resulting in
DISQUALIFIED
being pulsed through everyone's mind. I do not want to be eliminated in that manner. Therefore, I decided to play the new Meta by choosing a power
HA HA
...so far off everyone else's powers (and, as a consequence, a completely useless power) that the AI would spare my life. This has been the recent Meta for playing #100— at least I don't die *instantly*.
Then, as if a shitty power wasn't enough, my life would be put to a vote in a Game Theory-esque institution that the Meta also dictates for the other 99 players. Everyone in the choosing room would vote on whether or not to kill me instantly (resulting in immediate anarchy and an extremely high 1 hour death toll upon the Waco drop) or to let me live.
As logic dictates, the 100 must choose a leader so they don't immediately fall to anarchy (no better than voting me dead!) and retain some semblance of civility. Falling to anarchy too soon never bodes well for anyone, as the AI also limits how far players can travel from Waco's city hall to a 17 mile radius for the first week. The rest of the world opens up after one week, and normal play can initiate. But for that first week, while everyone is stuck in Waco, it's generally better for everyone to have a leader who maintains civility for the group.
Obviously, the best leader would have to bow to the will of the people they serve, so I as #100 with my shitty power would be the obvious choice. I'm in the same boat as everyone else, so I already understand the rules to the game. I am powerless, but can gain favor with the 99 (or at least a majority) by ruling them justly. As tradition dictates, if my life is spared, I become the paradox of all rulers. I sit on my thone: but I have no real power! My subjects are super-humans, I am merely an acclaimed pasta chef who must bow to their will as leader.
It was a sure death sentence.
I am allowed to lead because *I pose no threat*. If I managed to keep favor and make it to the final few players, right before someone won (killed everyone else AND took over the world as deemed by the AI), I would be mercy killed by *the most powerful person on the planet*.
Yeah, there's really no way to avoid that.
Various strategies have been attempted in the #100 position, but none have succeeded so far. Of course I was cognisance of this going into the choosing room. It was a billboard scrolling in front of my brain, literally the only thing I could think about since I was informed that I would be #100 of the 100.
I would either die or lead.
By tradition, #1 jumped on top of the table and began to shout:
"EVERYONE SHUT UP."
Silence blanketed the choosing room. The remaining snickers echoed from wall to wall, or maybe I just imagined it.
"Let's make it quick. All in favor of killing #100 right now, say aye."
A resounding "Aye," echoed back.
*Fuck, that was pretty loud.*
"All opposed."
"NAY," came back, even louder.
All eyes swiveled to me as the AI began shifting and sculpting our surroundings from the choosing room to Waco's front lawn.
\*\*\*
Edit 1: More to come (probably accompanied with plenty of grammar edits), I am sleepy for now.
Edit 2: Where am I supposed to post a follow up part? Do I just reply to my own comment? I haven't done this in a while. Feel free to DM me what to do. Thanks!
| 2022-11-17T07:41:47 | 2022-11-16T22:53:49 | 772 | 381 |
[WP] Write a superhero whose superpower only makes sense after you read the story twice.
|
It was another long trip in the car. Greg had another 4 hours of driving to go, and maybe enough gas to make it all the way there. Feeling an urge, he cracked the window as he leaned forward a little in his seat, positioned his body and arms, and began urinating out the window of the speeding car.
This was a skill Greg had acquired as a boy. Doctors weren't sure how to explain it with any word other than "superpower". And though he would probably never fight crime or save anyone's life, Greg could pee out of his finger, and that was good enough for Greg.
|
I stretched to warm myself up. I was getting old, a little tighter and a little less elastic than the days of my youth. Too many beatings, too many kicks to the head and brawls in darkened alleys. One of these days, I told myself, you’re going to have to give it up. I tried to steer my thoughts away from the negative, ignored the throbbing pain in my wrist from my leap down the fire escape last week, and the aching orbit of my eye from when that thug whacked me across the face with his twelve gauge. I tried to go zen. I concentrated on stretching.
I met my connection at precinct 17. A good kid. He left a folder of files out on the window sill and I snagged them. Files with possible or definite leads that the coppers couldn’t do a thing about. Restrained by the law. Unlike me. They would throw my sorry ass in jail if they caught me for half the stuff I did, even after all the loose ends I tied up for them, all the scum I washed away, and that’s why I never got caught. I was like a dog, unbound by the rules of society, but they would put me down the moment I lost my usefulness, the moment I went soft.
I found a quiet rooftop and shuffled through the files. Increasing drug activity in the neighborhoods near the wharf. Some bad dope going around. More than a few overdoses. I knew a few heads I could stave in, a few people I could dangle from a high place until the squealed and coughed up the answers.
It was near three in the morning, but this section of town operated in its own personal time zone. It might as well have been high noon here. People played music or what passed for music from half the houses. I was always more of a jazz guy myself. The occasional squad of young trouble makers prowling the streets, their cockiness bolstered by booze, waiting for anything to happen. It was rare that a night passed without the sound of at least a few gunshots echoing in the distance. I kept to the rooftops. I had spent the last week busting heads and gathering intel, and as from what I gleaned there were a few crack dens at the far end of Bleeker street. I made my way there, avoiding the glow of neon and the faded light of streetlamps.
I found who I was looking for.
He went by the name of Phillip. His specialty was acquiring exotic goods for people with the dough, people who were vetted. You could buy a handgun with the serial number filed off on any street corner, but if you wanted a rocket launcher or a mini-gun or anti-gravity boots, Phillip was the guy. Phillip knew everyone and everyone knew Phillip. He was also part owner in a bar down the street from the crack den. He kept an eye on things from there, and his associates pointed people with a taste for powder, or people looking of a night time companion, in the right direction.
I reached the bar and squatted on the roof, contemplating my next move. I pressed my ear to the back window, where Phillip would most likely hold court. I heard muttering voices, too vague to discern. I waited on the roof, banged on the back door, and waited. The voices stopped and uttered a few curse words. The door opened and two men with guns stepped out.
A grabbed them both by the back of the head and smacked them into the wall and then hurled the rest of my body through the open door. I was right. Phillip was sitting with his legs kicked up on a desk, watching a small television in the corner. I went for the AK against the wall but I shot my leg out and stamped on his hand. He cursed and I head butted him. Another one of his associates ran to the bar for help but I shot out my other leg and tripped him. I grabbed Phillip, hauled him out into the street and we disappeared into the night. It was time to answer some questions.
This was probably way too obvious, but he's a super stretchy elastic guy. Like Mr. Fantastic.
| 2014-12-07T10:14:02 | 2014-12-07T09:39:16 | 75 | 16 |
[WP] Write a superhero whose superpower only makes sense after you read the story twice.
|
And the day is saved!
"How did you do it?" inquired the police chief.
"A magician never reveals their secrets, you know that chief." replied the hero.
"But you were outnumbered, outmatched, you had nothing." exclaimed the chief. "They shot you five times, but you didn't go down. You took out the leader with rubber fish. You kicked three armed robbers all in one fluid motion. You disarmed the bomb just by looking at it funny. What is your secret?"
"They don't have what I have. They aren't the protagonist of this story." was the only thought the hero could muster, though he couldn't say that aloud.
|
I stretched to warm myself up. I was getting old, a little tighter and a little less elastic than the days of my youth. Too many beatings, too many kicks to the head and brawls in darkened alleys. One of these days, I told myself, you’re going to have to give it up. I tried to steer my thoughts away from the negative, ignored the throbbing pain in my wrist from my leap down the fire escape last week, and the aching orbit of my eye from when that thug whacked me across the face with his twelve gauge. I tried to go zen. I concentrated on stretching.
I met my connection at precinct 17. A good kid. He left a folder of files out on the window sill and I snagged them. Files with possible or definite leads that the coppers couldn’t do a thing about. Restrained by the law. Unlike me. They would throw my sorry ass in jail if they caught me for half the stuff I did, even after all the loose ends I tied up for them, all the scum I washed away, and that’s why I never got caught. I was like a dog, unbound by the rules of society, but they would put me down the moment I lost my usefulness, the moment I went soft.
I found a quiet rooftop and shuffled through the files. Increasing drug activity in the neighborhoods near the wharf. Some bad dope going around. More than a few overdoses. I knew a few heads I could stave in, a few people I could dangle from a high place until the squealed and coughed up the answers.
It was near three in the morning, but this section of town operated in its own personal time zone. It might as well have been high noon here. People played music or what passed for music from half the houses. I was always more of a jazz guy myself. The occasional squad of young trouble makers prowling the streets, their cockiness bolstered by booze, waiting for anything to happen. It was rare that a night passed without the sound of at least a few gunshots echoing in the distance. I kept to the rooftops. I had spent the last week busting heads and gathering intel, and as from what I gleaned there were a few crack dens at the far end of Bleeker street. I made my way there, avoiding the glow of neon and the faded light of streetlamps.
I found who I was looking for.
He went by the name of Phillip. His specialty was acquiring exotic goods for people with the dough, people who were vetted. You could buy a handgun with the serial number filed off on any street corner, but if you wanted a rocket launcher or a mini-gun or anti-gravity boots, Phillip was the guy. Phillip knew everyone and everyone knew Phillip. He was also part owner in a bar down the street from the crack den. He kept an eye on things from there, and his associates pointed people with a taste for powder, or people looking of a night time companion, in the right direction.
I reached the bar and squatted on the roof, contemplating my next move. I pressed my ear to the back window, where Phillip would most likely hold court. I heard muttering voices, too vague to discern. I waited on the roof, banged on the back door, and waited. The voices stopped and uttered a few curse words. The door opened and two men with guns stepped out.
A grabbed them both by the back of the head and smacked them into the wall and then hurled the rest of my body through the open door. I was right. Phillip was sitting with his legs kicked up on a desk, watching a small television in the corner. I went for the AK against the wall but I shot my leg out and stamped on his hand. He cursed and I head butted him. Another one of his associates ran to the bar for help but I shot out my other leg and tripped him. I grabbed Phillip, hauled him out into the street and we disappeared into the night. It was time to answer some questions.
This was probably way too obvious, but he's a super stretchy elastic guy. Like Mr. Fantastic.
| 2014-12-07T12:10:38 | 2014-12-07T09:39:16 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] A girl kisses her pet frog, and it turns into a price. The issue is its modern day, and the prince's kingdom hasn't existed for 1100 years. he is ill equipped to deal with the modern era.
|
She leaned in and kissed the frog...slimey green skin harsh against her soft velvet lips...
A cash register sound is heard 'ka-ching! ka-ching!' somewhere in the distance.
The girl looks down to find that where her beloved pet frog once was, a single price label exists.
'$3.50'
"God damned loch ness monster!" She cries, fist thrust into the air.
|
Alice stormed into her room, slamming the door behind her. It was one of those days where the whole world seemed rigged against her, where the myriad travails of high school life just became too much to bear, where her only friend in the world seemed to be Froggy, in his tank. Froggy, who had lived for far longer than her mother had said he would, who had never let her down and had become her only rock in a world of pubescent chaos... A sudden jolt of love overcoming her natural disgust, Alice's lips touched the amphibian's moist body, only to find themselves opposite the lips of a rather portly Egyptian.
"Congratulations!" He proclaimed, as Alice's body propelled itself across the room in shock. "For in giving honor to this humble frog, you have shown yourself to be worthy of the grace of great Heqet herself! Now name your reward, and such as I can grant shall be yours!"
There was a pause as the man looked at Alice expectantly, before she babbled "Who in the what of I are you?"
"Me? I am but a lowly priest, offered to the fertility goddess Heqet -praised be her name- to become one of the millions of frogs that leap from the flooding Nile every flood, and give her blessing to one worthy worshiper. I collect her price- an amulet, as token of your devotion, and in return bestow such a gift as even Pharaoh should envy. Though this place seems strange- if I may ask, where are we? For this is like nowhere in Egypt that I have ever been."
"America?" Alice's mouth mumbled rather of its own accord,
"Ah, Armenia! The mountains are lovely indeed, though the natives sadly refuse to respect our froggy mistress.
There was a long pause then as Alice struggled to grasp what was happening, all while the Egyptian quietly smiled, unfazed by the silence.
"You said that you are... I mean you want a price, an amulet?" she at last managed to stutter out. "Well, um, a few years ago I made like this frog necklace in art class, I tried to make it look like you, I mean the frog, because-"
"Excellent!" Boomed the jovial man. "I accept your price! Armenian or not, you are surely in the cult of Heqet- no other would have cared to love our mistress! For she is difficult to love, yet all the more worthy of our love because of it! So what do you desire in return?"
"A million dollars!" Alice exclaimed, not wanting to push her luck with this strange frogman too much.
"Dollars?" The man frowned. "No, you misunderstand. Gracious Heqet is a *fertility* goddess, and fertility-related favors are all I may grant. Ease in childbirth is the most common request- are you pregnant or likely to become pregnant?"
This odd declaration made Alice, who was slowly starting to calm down, start to feel like she was being pranked somehow. In that case, she had one chance to turn the tables back on the prankster, whomever had put this guy up to this, or she'd never live this down.
"Well then, mister Froggy," she said with all the sarcasm she could muster. "I wish to be turned into the most BEAUtiful woman in the world, so beautiful that I will never have to put up with a silly prank like yours ever again!"
The Egyptian frowned for a moment, before gulping and turning slightly green. After a moment, Alice got up and instinctively put her frog back in its tank, before collapsing in her bed in shock and confusion.
She awoke a few hours later, convinced that what had occurred had been a dream- until she looked in the mirror. Teenage insecurity could not hide the fact that seemed regal yet familiar, beautiful beyond compare- yes, these were the sort of looks that could found a Dynasty.
| 2018-09-21T23:45:38 | 2018-09-21T22:16:21 | 1,378 | 954 |
[WP] There's a knock on your door. You open it to see your favorite book character standing there. They say, "I know this may be a lot for you to take in right now, but you have to listen very carefully; You are my favorite book character, I know how your story ends, and I need to change it."
My first time posting here. Hope I did everything right!
|
I heard a knock at my front door.
Strange, I wasn't expecting any visitors today.
I walked down the stairs and opened the door.
Standing in front of me was a young blonde woman wearing a bright pink and orange sundress with strange oversized red and blue sunglasses on the top of her head.
"You look just like the cover of your second book you know," the woman spouted out while looking at me like I was some kind of celebrity.
"Huh?" I asked and subtly tried to close the door a little if this was some kind of crazy person.
"Oh, excuse me. I got ahead of myself. I'm Luna Lovegood. You're my favorite book character and I've come here to save you. I brought you some biscuits," Luna said and held up a basket full of sweets. "Not that the biscuits will save you, but I thought it would be a nice gesture since I was showing up unannounced."
"Surrrre..." I started to close the door.
And then the girl took out a stick from her pocket, twirled it, and turned my doormat into a mini giraffe.
My mouth hung open. The former doormat turned giraffe seemed just as startled.
"There we go. I thought you might need proof. Can I come in?" Luna asked calmly.
I stared mystified. A Harry Potter character was standing on my doorstep! That was insane enough. But what I really couldn't wrap my head around was that said character was claiming I was THEIR favorite character. Who would want to read a book about me? It would be one of the most boring books in existence. Was it used to help people fall asleep at night or what?
"Why would anyone want to read a book about my life?" I asked.
"Why would they... Oh! I understand," Luna said absently.
"Huh?" I asked confused.
"Isn't it obvious? The interesting bits haven't happened to you yet," Luna replied dreamingly.
|
I slammed the door.
That can't be him. And yet, it really is him. His outfit is exactly the same as I remember seeing him last. Certainly sounds like him too. And his...entourage (?) I suppose, look about the same as well. Slightly. Even now, with the heavy wooden door obscuring the view, I couldn't shake the feeling that they're little more than cosplayers and actors, and that a TV crew came along with to film a candid-cam show. Even his words felt too rehearsed.
"We know how your story ends, and we've come here to change it." Too cryptic, even for him, a headstrong man with a lofty dream that I can feel tower over me.
More unintelligible gibberish permeated the front door as my thoughts flipped from one scenario to another. This time I opened it before they could. It's a different bloke, with big 70's-styled slick hair and badges littered across his clothes, who greeted me with a big smile.
"Sorry for that. My companions are a little twitchy and stringent, but please understand", he said with a gentle tone and slightly stilted accent. "They've been looking for you for three weeks now, and are quite desperate."
"Why? What for?"
Another man, with triangular patterns on his green/pink hair, approaches me instantly. This time his English is smoother-sounding.
"Every person is a book. A novel. They each have stories to tell, and chapters unfold in every second of their lives."
The man leaned in to me, his gaze intensifying with every word he uttered. I shot a quick glance to the left. The man I (rudely) slammed my door at and his friends talked amongst themselves, but the hooded bloke caught my glance. He was far enough that I could see his hand reach for his revolver. He would be of no help for me today. Probably.
"Most stories are unremarkable. A few are open for the world to see. Others are too...gruesome, I suppose, or too controversial, or too toxic and unfit for reading."
The colorful man drew closer now. He has successfully stepped in to the living room, and held my right hand. His own right hand grips a fancy pen. Looking over my shoulder netted me only an empty kitchen/dining table.
"There are books that inspire and uplift the spirit, stoke passions, or become the manuals that which others try to emulate. But yours is...special."
His demeanor only grew stronger as he spoke, feeding even more to my apprehension. It didn't help that his companion, the slick-haired guy, immediately expressed concern when the grip on my wrist tightened.
" Rohan..."
Now he pulled me in, until our chests met, lifted my hand and gestured as if he was leafing through a page. On my forearm.
*A page on my forearm?! How? What? Are you real--*
This time a woman interrupted. I yanked my hand away from the colorful man just as the woman shoved a hand to his chest.
"Rohan! What are you doing? You fucking scared him." She then shot a punishing glare on Josuke to her right, shoved Rohan another time and stepped fully into the house.
"Look, I know this is too much to take in." Her tone was as sharp as her hair is bright, yet still measured, aiming to reassure me. "But the Passione didn't come all the way here for a protracted prank. We really do need you to come with us."
"For what?" I snap at her, with a little more inyent than I needed. "You all overwhelmed me the moment Giorno opened the door. I could at least demand context."
"I can help", beamed the new figure. She peered from Jolyne's shoulders and made her way in.
"Jam? You're with them?"
Her embrace met mine. She whispered: "It's complicated, and I get this even less than you do. That's why I told them to come here. I told them that you knew who they are."
"Thing is, I do, Jam. It's just that I didn't expect--"
*this.* My peripheral vision caught the star on the back of her neck. My voice stopped. I broke his embrace with a push, and stood. I had nothing useful to fight them all off with, and yet, as I searched the crowd and slowly moved towards the doorway, I felt a new sensation. Weight. On my right arm. And dread. As though I'm seeing a ghost. Ghosts, actually. Many. One for every person staring back at me. The concrete wall was the only handhold I could find, cling to, hold on to.
"Good grief. We're taking too long." A new voice penetrated the brewing silence in the space of the trike lot. His was familiar, recognizable. "I'll explain it as we move, but we have precious little time to be starstruck or bicker."
"But I demanded an explanation. I want it now. I'm willing to come with you, but at least give me some information to work with."
**ORA!**
Almost imperceptibly a violet fist flew towards me. I flinched, closed my eyes and opened them again to a bizarre sight. An entity floated above me, gripping the fist with a right arm made of concrete. Shock was ahead of awe, ahead of bewilderment, ahead of confidence.
"You finally got it", Giorno remarked.
"I needed proof. Now tell me: where are we headed?"
| 2019-05-20T05:19:42 | 2019-05-20T01:32:51 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult.
|
"So your power is you can talk to animals?"
The police officer looks incredulous. I shake my head.
"I can talk to crows."
"Crows. Only crows?"
I nod. It's not easy to explain such a seemingly useless power. Well, useless until today.
An image of flurried wings and blood flashes through my mind. And the screams. Oh God, the screams. I wince.
The officer leans back. I know I should have a lawyer present, but I can't seem to care. What I did - I didn't mean to, but it was so awful.
"Just...tell me what happened." He gazes at me sympathetically.
"I..." I feel tears prick my eyes and take a deep breath. "I didn't mean to - I was scared, I just wanted to get away..." I look down at the bruise on my wrist. He had squeezed so hard when I tried to leave.
The officer says nothing. I try to gather myself.
I miss my crows. I can feel them close, though. Surrounding the police station. I saw them when they brought me in. Hundreds of them, silent and watching. There are probably thousands of them now. My powers are out of control. But my crows give me strength.
From the time I was young, I felt a connection to the clever, mischievous birds I fed. They were one of my only constants in life. I was kind of a loner, an only child in a broken home. Absent father, manipulative mother.
I remember leaving home at 18, the screaming match my mother and I had. She tried so hard to keep me from going outside. She knew, as soon as I stepped foot out the door, the crows would be there.
I remember how they descended on the house. Hundreds of them. Silent and watching. Much like today.
For a long time, the crows were all I had. After a three day siege, my mother couldn't take it anymore. She begged and begged me to send them away, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. My powers were out of control, much like today.
I remember the look on her face as I left. Relief. I think that's what I saw. It kills me even to this day.
Maybe she knew.
"I just wanted it to be over. I was sick of the..." I don't want to say abuse, but I can't think of another word. I loved him. I hated him. I hated myself. I still hate myself. "Sick of the fighting."
Yeah right. The bruises speak for themselves. Tears well in my eyes. I take a deep breath.
"I was finally honest with myself. I think that's what happened. I tried to leave the house, I had my bag packed, money, a bus ticket. But he tried to stop me."
I had opened the front door to leave after another fight, one of the worse ones. He had slapped me. It was the last straw.
The promises turned to threats as I grabbed my things and opened the door to leave.
He grabbed my wrist. And that was it.
I'll never forget the beating wings, the sound of flesh tearing.
The screams.
"I didn't mean to," I whisper.
The officer nods. "Look," he says, "this is a...unique case. But the fact is we can't really charge you, because technically, *you* didn't do anything. The department wants to put it behind us, chalk it up to a freak accident."
They're scared of me. I would be too. The siege of crows has only lasted a few hours. But that's hours too long for their taste.
I see the crows as they lead me to the front doors of the station. The sky is black with them, the trees out front laden with them, and silently, they watch. I can feel the unease of everyone around me. But my heart fills with affection for my beautiful birds.
They tell me I'm free to go. I know they hope I take my crows with me. They needn't worry. Where I go, they go.
It's how it has always been. How it will always be.
|
"So how'd you get telepathy?"
He was mildly nervous and had spent the last several seconds resisting the urge to tap his foot in a form of displacement activity. Eye contact had varied from engaged almost to the point of staring to looking anywhere *but* my face. He didn't seem to want to have this conversation. I'd seen this reaction before and it had always mystified me. If I was a telepath, I'd be a telepath before he asked and afterwards. How did not thinking about it help?
"Back when I was a kid--"
No. I could already feel his attention span slipping away. I paused. My head swiveled away from him as I tried to find some unremarkable point in the distance to stare into while I restructured my answer from something I appreciated into something he could. Past the crowd of people, past the other tables in the cafe, to the decor they'd put up onto the walls, mildly discolored by the relatively poor lighting along the walls. There was a pattern on the wall of the cafe, a mosaic of sorts. A mandala made out of coffee beans of various colors. My eyes drawn into it, I let myself sink into it, not so much interpreting it as merely parsing it, while the parts of my mind that I'd spent years winnowing and sharpening for social exercises worked overdrive on the hard problem of human contact.
"...Simon?" Faint confusion radiating off of him now, with the faintest shades of annoyance. What was I doing wrong? Eye contact? I hadn't made eye contact in a while-oh.
I realized that I'd been frozen up like a statue for the past fifteen seconds, my head tilted to the side and away, one french fry hanging out of my right hand halfway to my mouth. Stalled like a frozen program.
Stupid. Even for me. Stupid.
*This is supposed to be a date*, I reminded myself.
I ate the french fry.
"I'm not a telepath," I said. "I'm an empath."
Fuck. Now I'd been too firm. Now I'd made myself look like I was offended. Now *he* was starting to feel offended, at least slightly. I leapt into the gap to try and cover the issue.
"I don't get complete thoughts," I said. Before I'd started talking I'd swayed my gaze away again as though in thought, paused briefly for a half-second to a second, and then leaned forward incrementally with a smile as though I'd had some mild epiphany between when I'd last stopped talking and now. It seemed to be working, at least somewhat. He had leaned forward slightly as well, reaction unconsciously mirroring my own. His confusion had decreased significantly. Faint arousal somewhere far underneath, at my smile.
*Don't think about that. Focus.*
"I get... emotions, or the sense of them, anyway," I said. "Never full thoughts. I can't hear what you're thinking, I just get a vague sense of... what you feel."
Nerves and the cognitive effort it had taken to rehearse and refine this phase of the conversation in my head threw me into overdrive, made me instinctively try to talk a mile a minute, and I had to consciously fight to keep the words coming out slow. Measured. Faster rates of speech was usually something people associated with irritation or anger. I had a couple of jokes about the quality of the caffeine at this cafe I’d chosen for our date ready as a contingency in case I screwed it up, though.
"And what am I feeling right now?" He winked. Leaning forwards a little further, impish smile on his face--
Oh. He was flirting this was *flirting*! I kicked myself mentally. If I'd been tracking his arousal levels better I might have seen it coming.
I didn't have too much time to respond--I knew any latency, any dead air time spent with no expression at all on my face as I calculated out the appropriate response would likely lead to gross misinterpretation and probably end any shot I had with him right there--but fortunately I'd rehearsed a couple of what seemed like correct-ish responses after I'd spent some time Googling 'Date' and 'Flirting' repeatedly the day before.
I hesitated and blinked once or twice as though in thought. I tried smiling back. Kept it a mild, small smile. Took extra effort to make sure it wasn't a grimace.
It seemed to work. Arousal and a host of other emotions bloomed across his heart, but there was nothing at all that I could discern taking place on his face. Likely I was just missing the signs, I hadn't gotten a chance to really see this reaction before and know it for what it was. As he looked at me I looked back, carefully, analytically, trying to identify all of the little tics and signs that I'd look for later in his face and others' which signified this suite of emotions with the razor-sharp focus of a research scientist.
I felt a little guilty about that, of course. He was here to be with me, not be studied by me so that I could memorize my way out of the next slew of social situations and contexts to hit me. But what else was I supposed to do?
The moment seemed to have passed. He'd now decided on some level below his consciousness that all of my little weirdnesses were due to nervousness at being on a date with a guy and I wasn't some kind of knife-wielding serial killer. Good. That was always a sort of occupational hazard of my condition.
I rose from my chair, the auditory and emotional cacophony of the cafe's other patrons threatening as always to overwhelm me.
"Sorry," I said, "just give me a minute to use the toilet? Bad timing," I added with a smile.
He nodded just once.
He was beginning to find me adorable.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Not that I went to the bathroom. I needed air, quiet. I'd picked this cafe half because I knew there was an emergency exit just behind the toilets which wasn't alarmed. It took me out onto a fire escape, a steel stairwell a little rusty from disuse. I shut the door behind me and breathed out.
It was always hard for me to remember when I was feeling exhausted, or stressed. Usually it was easier to function when I'd managed to forget how it felt. Not like I'd get any excuses for failing to act as if I was a real human being if *exhaustion* left me in a monotone voice and staring at nothing midway through a conversation. People tended to not be too good at sympathy unless they had some baseline empathy for what was going on. That wasn't something I was usually allowed to have.
My cell buzzed, as scheduled. Maria, my sister.
*How's it going?*
With her I usually didn't need to rehearse. I could just go with whatever my instincts told me to go with. I typed in, *doesn't think im an ax murderer yet* .
Several big smiley emojis, followed by: *Told you you could do it, Rain Man!*
Emotions are so incomprehensible sometimes. In that moment I felt both a deeply familiar pain and a deeply unfamiliar relief from the same pain, simultaneously. So strange.
I breathed out. Allowed myself a few seconds to rehearse the next several minutes of conversation, and the various flowcharts I'd constructed in my head around the various potential contingencies and outcomes before I turned back into the cafe.
To think there'd been a time when I'd been trying to do this *without* mind-reading as a superpower.
| 2019-09-08T09:54:34 | 2019-09-08T08:43:43 | 822 | 392 |
[WP] Your wife passed away six months ago. Your car broke down two weeks ago. Your landlord evicted you four days ago. Someone took your seat on the bus this morning, and you just got laid off from your job. You've always promised to use your powers for good, until you snapped..
|
That was the last straw. I was done being the good guy. I had lost the love of my life six moths ago, after watching cancer and chemo drain the life from her. She told me to keep my chin up and to live. Five months later, up to my neck in debt, the bank threatened to foreclose my house and car loans. I wasn't living. I was barely surviving.
Two weeks ago, I got T-boned. The car was totaled. The bank foreclosed my house a week and a half later. That morning when I came in to work, my things were in a file box and the supervisor told me that I had been laid off. "Didn't you get the email?" He asked, knowing that I hadn't.
As I waited for the bus, I called my brother-in-law. His wife answered the phone and I asked her if I could come stay with them. She told me that she and my brother-in-law were divorcing and he was in prison for using drugs. She was curt and hung up as soon as she finished telling me.
I decided to go to a homeless shelter. As I headed to the last empty seat, a punk kid hurried to slide into it first. He grinned up at me. "You snooze, you lose."
My head filled with hollow roaring as my vision blurred. I'd more than I could take. The box in my hands disintegrated, my things crashing to the floor of the bus. People gasped and exclaimed. I felt the air around me turn to liquid energy. People screamed and clamored as they tried to get out of the way. I didn't care. I just wanted everyone to know my wrath. I threw my arms out, liquefying the bus. I could see people screaming and running in every direction. I threw my head back and roared. A blast of power shot out from me, shattering every window on the street. The asphalt beneath my feet bubbled, then burst into flames before turning to cinders. The molten area began to expand as my pent of rage and grief escaped my tight control.
In that moment, all I wanted was for the whole world to burn with me. Then I saw them. Through the walls of my dimension. Four tall people in robes. They stared at the puddle of lava around me and the shattered window.
"We have finally succeeded." One of them said.
The second frowned. "I was sure that giving his wife cancer would do the trick. I never would have guessed a stolen seat would trigger him."
I was enraged. So angry the world could not contain it. I stepped trough the dimensional wall. They stared in horror as I smiled. "Hello. My name is James. You killed my wife."
I let go of my rage, letting my powers run wild. The liquid energy engulfed everything. When it was over, I was alone, with the remnants of a destroyed planet floating around me.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. "Not again."
At least it wasn't Earth.
|
In the quiet darkness of a warm autumn evening, he stood by the gravestone. He raised his arms towards the starry sky. His gloved hands shook, though not from the cold. His dark jacket rippled around him, though there was no wind. The pendant around his neck shone in the moonlight. He called out in a deep and gravely voice. The ground shook in response. The sod softened. Grass lay flat though crushed with no boot. The spectral form of a woman stepped towards him.
She looked young, exuberant. She moved with the fluid grace of a ballroom dancer. Her fierce eyes glowed with hues of turquoise. Her long dress caught and cast the moonlight. Though dead, she was truly alive.
She walked closer now, within arms-reach. They held each other’s gaze. He held his breath. The moment lasted for several seconds or an eternity; time seemed to vanish. They smiled. First him, with a curl of the lips, then her, with a grin that melted his heart.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” she said.
He chuckled. “When have I ever listened to your advice?”
“Never.”
He lowered his hands. The spell was with him. He felt the energy ebb and flow through his veins as his heartbeat held it steady. They had less than an hour together. But with any luck, that would be more than enough.
He sat on the grass beside the gravestone. Running his hands through the white clover, he thought of the words to say but nothing came to mind. He swallowed hard. She sat down beside him and together they looked over the moonlit cemetery. Headstones rose around the fields of clover like black stains on a glowing white canvas, the rolling hills casting long shadows, the trees forming depth and contrast to the faint horizon. All was silent.
“You look nice,” he said.
She crossed her arms. “Tell me, what has happened?”
His hands curled around a clover, knuckles as white as the petals he was squishing. He said nothing. Only stared at the headstone, tying to make out the words he already knew by heart.
“I could have brought her back,” he said. “Could have saved her.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
She sighed. She ran her hands through the clover, leaving ghostly trails of silver light behind. If the clover moved, she could not feel it. She could not smell its sweetness nor taste its fresh air. How she longed again to feel the grass beneath her feet! Her form was a tormented shell, nothing more. And yet, still she felt sympathy for the man beside her.
“What was her name?” she asked.
His eyes softened. “Margery.”
“What a pretty name! It rolls right off the tongue. *Margery*,” she said, stretching the last syllable.
“I watched her die.”
“You can’t save everyone.”
“I killed her.”
His fists uncurled, dropping the petals one-by-one. They fell and flashed in the moonlight. Flashing white, just like the sirens. Flashing white, like the lines on the heartbeat monitor. White, the pallor of her face as she stared up from the gurney with fear in her eyes. It was messy.
Messy, they said of the accident. Sloppy, they said of her driving. Distraught. Careless, they said of him. He could have saved her. Not with his powers, but with a steady hand and a calm mind. Instead, his hands shook from the fifth or sixth drink that morning. He should have recused himself. Tensions rose; he was running out of time; she was running out of options; with no other choice, he took the scalpel…
Malpractice, they said of him.
The apparition listened well. She put a hand on his shoulder, and though he could not feel her touch, she knew it would be enough. It had always been enough. Although no longer corporeal, her kindness was tangible.
“You can blame yourself for what happened, but it won’t change what you already know.”
“And what is that?” he said, full of bitterness. “What should I know that I haven’t been told a thousand times already? Doctor. Surgeon. Sorcerer. Husband. Drunkard. Liar. Widower. Bastard. Wretch! Which one of those am I?
“Which do you want to be?”
He put his head in his hands, nearly sobbing. “I don’t know, I don’t know!”
“Free. That’s what you need to be. Free to make your own choices. Free from this burden of guilt that’s been weighing you down. That’s what you already know. Daniel Atwood! For as long as I have known you, that’s what you need to remember.”
“But it was my fault! All of it was my fault—I chose to go in when the call came.” He looked away and dropped his voice to a whisper. “You would still be alive if not for me.”
She turned away for a moment, failing to hide the dampness in her eyes. She remembered that morning well. She had an argument with her husband, the same as so many others before it. And she was sick of it—sick of him—sick of everything the world had thrown at her. And the worst part of it all? When she drove away in a fit of rage, she planned on never coming back to him. She was escaping. She was free. A fresh start, she had promised herself.
“I don’t blame you,” she finally said. “You did everything you could.”
“Not everything.”
“Do you remember my last words?”
He gritted his teeth. “Don’t.”
“You remember. I remember. I meant every word.” she spoke now with ferocity, but her voice quivered with the waning spell, and she repeated them once more.
“I love you,” she said. “And I forgive you.”
He reached out a hand towards her, but her fingers slipped through his grasp, and she vanished. The spell finished. He sat alone on the hillside until the first golden rays of dawn glistened off the morning dew, trying hard to forgive himself.
Before he left, he ran his fingers across the carving on the headstone.
*Margery Atwood, 1984-2019*
&#x200B;
***
Find more stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2020-01-09T06:29:05 | 2020-01-09T03:52:48 | 56 | 25 |
[WP] It is said that the cursed princess can only be awoken by true love's kiss. To wake her up, the king has had princes from all over the world come to kiss her to no avail. One day, a peasant boy walks up to the sleeping princess and splashes her with cold water to wake her up. It actually works.
|
"Plain water." The peasant laughed as the princess stirred from her sleep. "Had no one in this kingdom thought of it?"
"Of course we had." A voice from behind the boy said making him flinch. It was the king's. "So tell me, how is it that your 'plain water' broke the sleep?"
"Perhaps the witch lied." The boy said lazily. "I mean, it wouldn't make sense that she'd leave the way to break the curse so easily accessible for the enemy."
The king paused in his tracks. That... Wasn't something he'd thought of. In his haste to have found a cure he had forgotten to check where they'd gotten it from.
"Still, I suppose there's the problem of why water didn't work till now." The boy continued not waiting for the king.
"What is it that you know?"
"You are a smart king. I think you suspect the same I do. The princess was meant to wake today, just waiting to be stirred from her slumber."
The king's eyes widened. "Who was supposed to arrive today?"
"The king of Dariha. I heard him in the stables."
That explained everything to the king. The person meant to arrive today were their enemies. In his worries he had become too desperate and almost lost his empire.
"Well then, stable boy. You have my gratitude. I cannot thank you enough for saving my daughter. Speak what do you wish for?"
"May I have my own horse?"
"You do not ask for the princess, not for land, yet not even for jewels?"
"I am a stable boy, your majesty. Horses are the biggest treasure to me."
"So be it. I also gift you education should you wish to take it up."
At this the boy's eyes lit up. "Thank you your majesty. Long live your majesty and your highness."
|
“Dunk him again!” The King demanded.
“No, please Majesty,” the boy yelled as he hung upside down between two soldiers. But before he could say another word his head was being lowered into a large bucket of water. He thrashed about, water spilling onto the stone floor.
“Daddy, stop! I’m begging you!” The red haired princess said as she tried to wriggle free from the strong grip of a blonde haired prince. Her dress still wet from the boy's earlier throw.
The King motioned to the soldiers and they lifted the boy up. He gasped for air as water dripped from his head. The King walked over and lowered his head so he was at the boy’s level.
“Tell me what you put in the water!”
“I don't know what's in it,” the boy said as breathed heavily.
The King slapped him across the face then stormed off. “Fine then. Kill him,” he said dismissively over his shoulder.
The princess screamed and tried to wrestle free from the powerful man holding her. Her betrothed apparently, as she had discovered moments earlier.
“But wait! If you kills me, you won’t never know about the kisses,” the boy yelled.
The King stopped just before the door. “Find out what you need Terry,” he said to his torturer standing in the corner of the room before striding out of the room.
The hooded figure of the torturer hooted as he crept over to a table covered with various iron instruments, his spindly fingers moving with excitement. The princess looked over at the torturer moving towards the boy. “Wait!” She cried.
Terry, tapping together a pair of pincers, paused in front of the boy.
“What about the kisses?” She asked the boy.
“Suppose I explain, if you get these two to let me down,” the boy said. The princess turned her head up to look at her betrothed and raised a pleading eyebrow. He shrugged and nodded to the guards.
They threw the boy forward so he slid across the cold stone floor. The princess hurried over and untied his hands, letting him sit up. The boy exhaled and his face changed slightly, taking on a more thoughtful look. Then he took a breath in through his nose and twitched slightly at a smell.
“It's a bit yuck, isn't it My lady? The King having all these young fellas over to kiss you?” The boy said as he peered over at the blonde prince standing a few feet away.
The girl’s cheeks flushed. “My father's a traditionalist,” she replied.
“Don’t have any tradition in the field where twenty men slobber over someone sleeping. Must be a high born thing,” the boy replied quietly. One of the soldiers coughed, as if holding back a laugh.
“That’s enough!” She said firmly, “If that’s all you have to say about the kisses then Terry can take over again.”
The boy glanced at the torturer. “Wasn’t exactly how I pictured this thing playing out, have to admit,” he muttered to himself. He turned back to the princess.
“Suppose it’s not just your father whose wedded to these high born traditions. The wicked witch who cursed you must’ve known what he’d do, cause she seemed very happy with the kisses you’d been receiving,” the boy said, trying to get water out of his ear.
The princess looked at him closer. “What do you mean?”
“She didn’t tell me the tale course, I only had the one job for her. But from what I hears before she sent me, all those kisses were bringing something with them, if you know what I mean. Then, suppose there’s just a final plumb on the pudding sort of thing. Well, she tells me it’s in the bucket. And all I have to do is, well,” the boy paused and looked at the princesses wet dress, then closed his mouth and shrugged.
“She was using me as a cauldron?” The princess said as she wiped her mouth desperately.
The boy rubbed his eye. “Suppose so,” he said.
The muscular blonde prince who had been quiet until now stepped forward, “and what was in the water?”
“She didn’t say did she, but suppose it must be something important. She put something in, not sure what cause she went out back to do it. Took a bit of time too,” the boy replied.
The princess could smell something now. And just as she was about to sniff a piece of her wet dress she suddenly started shaking. At first it was a slight tremor, then it grew and within moments she was shaking violently.
As the shaking intensified, she began laughing. Everyone in the room, including Terry the torturer, stepped back.
Her face began changing. Morphing.
The laughing turned into a cackle and a moment later the grin of the wicked witch crossed her face. Then the princess’s hair started changing color. It went from her usual red to blonde, then back to red. Her arms grew muscles too, seemingly similar to those of her blonde betrothed.
Then a moment later she was silent and still. She was the princess again.
But her eyes were wide, a look of horror cursed across her face.
| 2022-08-07T06:14:52 | 2022-08-07T02:46:01 | 470 | 86 |
[WP] It turns out that killing *anything*, from your fellow man to an ant counts as a sin. You are a life long, extremely accomplished exterminator, and you just died.
|
“So killing an ant gets me one year in hell?”
“Yes.” The angel’s voice is deadpan. He watches me as I study the accounting of my sins.
“And killing a wasp gets me two years?” I ask. This seems like a stretch to me. Wasps are awful.
“And killing a rabbit, even if it’s just accidentally with my car… five years in hell?”
“Yes,” the angel says, “but that’s hardly relevant…”
“TEN YEARS FOR EVERY CHICKEN? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY CHICKENS I’VE EATEN???”
The angel looks put out by my interruption, but I’ve eaten loads of chickens in my life. Probably…
“Three-thousand, four hundred, nine, and four-fifths.” The angel says. It is apparently his turn to interrupt. “But that really…”
“A deer is 20 years? That thing jumped in front of me! Highway terrorists. That’s what my father called them.”
“And he hit six of them in his lifetime.” The angel said, checking his list. “And a moose.”
“So he’s…”
“In hell. Yes.”
I don’t know how I feel about that. On one hand, dad was an awful old man, on the other, he taught me everything I know.
“Can I appeal this?” I ask, drawing my attention back to the present. There is a long cue of people behind me and the angel is looking increasingly wrathful.
“Yes. We’re willing to reconsider deer-strikes as they actually are kind of assholes.” The angel says, “but again, in your case it really won’t matter.”
“Why not?” I ask.
I don’t know why the angel looks so put out. I think it’s a pretty valid question.
“Brenda, you killed nineteen people and ate them.”
|
"Mr. Smith? Mr. Perry Smith?"
I glanced up, searching for the unseen speaker. What I saw was... unexpected, to say the least.
A bearded man stood behind a golden podium, flipping through the pages of a brilliant book at a leisurely pace. Clouds surrounded us both, the big white fluffy kind that people were fond of finding shapes and figures in their imagination.
"Uh, hi." I said, after an uncomfortable pause. The man glanced up, and smiled.
"Welcome to Eternity, Mr. Smith. My name is Peter. Would you care to have a seat?" He asked, waving a hand towards a chair shaped cloud before him.
I glanced down at my feet, and realized I was standing on clouds as well. I tried to find a solid surface to step on, but I couldn't see anything beyond the fluffy clouds.
Saint Peter chuckled, and winked at me with a knowing smile. "Its quite alright, Mr. Smith. They're solid enough for us. And besides, in your state, nothing could ever harm you again."
I took a leap of faith with a small step, and felt the clouds form around my feet like a soft memory foam surface. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding, and sat in the proffered cloud seat. It was the most comfortable chair I had ever...
"So I'm dead, then?" I asked.
"Yes, Mr. Smith." Saint Peter said, flipping through his book once more. "This happens to everyone eventually, and this microsecond is your turn."
I nodded in acceptance. I should have felt afraid, probably scared shitless, but all I felt was peace. I could get used to it.
"Let's review your life, shall we?" Saint Peter said. "Smith, Smith.... ah, here you are!"
His face fell from a smile to a frown, and only deepened from there. His white hair and beard dimmed into a dull grey as his eyes read the page.
"Is there a problem?" I asked, growing uncomfortable even in my magnificent cloud chair.
Saint Peter slammed the book shut, sending lightning arcing in all directions. I flinched, even though the lightning couldn't make me any more dead... probably.
"We sent you people ten rules. TEN!" Saint Peter shouted, storming around the podium in a literal manner. "How do you ALL manage to..."
He stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Peter, control your anger." He muttered to himself. "Remember what Dr. Schneider said. Breath in, count to 10, breath out." He followed his own instructions.
I felt it was best to remain silent, at present.
The diety opened his eyes, staring into my very soul... which I guess was just my face now. I wasn't sure how any of this really worked yet.
"Commandment six states 'Thou Shalt Not Kill." Saint Peter said. "Did you know that?"
I rubbed my neck and looked down, and muttered "Yeah, uh, not the specific number, but I knew it was in there."
He took another step towards me. "Did it say anything about *humans*, or any other specific creature?"
I froze. Uh-oh.
"Did it say anywhere that there were exceptions to this rule?" He said, staring at me with unblinking fury.
"I, uh, didn't read the book cover to cover, really" was all I could think to say.
"Mr. Smith, in your time on Earth, you directly caused the deaths of one BILLION, four hundred and sixty two million, nine hundred and thirty five thousand, seven hundred and six souls." He said, through gritted teeth.
"I... I didn't know..." I stammered, trying to retreat deeper into the cushions of the cloud chair.
"Mr. Smith, ignorance of the law is not an excuse." Saint Peter said. "And you certainly had to know what you were doing, since you owned and operated 'Smith's Pest Solutions' for forty years."
I glanced at my chest, and saw the familiar logo embroidered on the shirt pocket... which was apparently part of my soul as well.
"Mr. Smith, do you know the punishment for murder?" He said, stepping within arms reach of me.
I could only stare in silence as a response.
"You will be reincarnated." He said.
I blinked. That was a surprise.
"You will live the life of each creature you killed, and endure the painful deaths that you inflicted. Every. Single. One." Saint Peter said, poking my chest with each word.
"Erm, that would take..." I began, but quickly ceased when Saint Peter removed my voice. Well, technically, he transformed me into a fire ant, but ants didn't have voices. So I was still kind of correct.
I tried to look back up at the saint, but he was gone. Instead of the brilliant white clouds of my previous surroundings, I was now perched atop a mound of dirt, surrounded by other ants scurrying about.
A shadow fell over me. I turned to see myself... or at least a past version of myself.
A small hiss began to sound from the container I held in my off hand.
r/SlightlyColdStories
| 2022-11-12T12:28:43 | 2022-11-12T12:04:41 | 107 | 45 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
Boy have I had a rough week. It all started Monday morning, 6:45 am. This guy bailed me out. Now I'd never seen him before, but I hadn't seen light in a while so I wasn't going to ask any questions. It said *Anthony Montana* on his license. Anyway, Tony was in for a busy day, and I had little choice but to go with him. We walked down a busy street and caught a cab to some place, where Tony left me with the cab driver. Tony got out of the car, I wasn't going anywhere. The cab driver swore at some of the more reckless drivers, but was otherwise silent for the rest of our time together. Occasionally the driver would take others, but I stayed with him until we got to the bar that night. After a few drinks the cabbie and this guy named Jeff were flicking coins into a jar. I'm not really sure what the point of the game was, or the rules, but Jeff seemed to win. Anyways, the cabbie left me with Jeff and then wandered away into the night. This must have been around 2:00 am on the Tuesday. Jeff took me to a seedy part of town that I hadn't been to before, and we met up with his local dealer for an ounce and a couple caps. I hadn't said much, and neither had Jeff, but when he left I stayed with the dealer, a guy named Joe. Joe talked a lot, which was a big change for me, and there were always a couple people coming in and out of the house. It was midnight going into Wednesday that I hit the first line of coke at Joe's house, and we were busy until late in the morning, when there was a knock at the door. Who do you think walked in there but Tony. Well, Tony was pretty happy to see me, and I went with him when he left Joe's house. Me and Tony caught another cab. This one took us to the strip club, and we spent the night surrounded by some rather *talented* ladies. Now, these girls didn't just strip, if you know what I'm saying, and me and Tony went to an alley out back for a little extra. When Tony was done he left, but I stayed with the stripper. I made it to her house Thursday morning and we did nothing but lie around until the sun started to go down. Well, before she went back to work we did a little coke, and then went to the little grocery store on the corner near her apartment. She didn't get much, just a sandwich and some kind of fruit juice. I was hanging around the shop after she left, when suddenly a couple guys come in and start talking shit about Tony. Well then they whip a gun on the teller and ask for the cash. He was pretty scared but they were playing it cool so no one got hurt. It must have been around 00:30 on Friday when I left the little store with these guys. They were harping on Tony bad, like they had it out for him, but Tony had never really done me much disservice, hell he even showed me around town for a little bit and picked me up at Joe's place. Anyways, these two were walking around. They decide to split up, one of them says he needs to go see a girl, I tag along with the other one. This guy goes back to Joe's place. Joe opens the door and this guy kicks it in. Joe goes down. Then Joe's staring at the barrel of a gun and then he's staring at nothing at all. Me and this guy then set about doing some of the coke that Joe had racked earlier. Then this guy looks up and who does he see? Tony. Well Tony puts a couple shells into this guy, then starts making arrangements to take care of the bodies. He sees me, but this time he's not so happy. We waited till the crew got there, and then Tony left me with them while he went to "get the rest of them" he said. So there I was, late on the Friday, inside the pants of a burly man who was wrapping two bodies in plastic tarp.
&nbsp;
What a crazy week for a twenty dollar bill.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53 | 2015-01-12T10:36:20 | 1,493 | 224 |
[WP] Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you
It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow
|
It was Tuesday morning. God I hate Tuesdays.
You see, when you work in the sawmill of a small town, logs shipment usually comes in on Wednesdays. That keeps us busy for three days, sometime four, but Tuesdays are always dead.
This means that on Tuesdays, I have to listen to Tom, Jim and Preston talk about their meaningless fantasy football league ALL day. However, this particular Tuesday was going to be even worst.
You see, when you work in the sawmill of a small town, security measures aren't always 'by the book'. This means that accidents happen occasionally, sometime frequently, and Monday's accident was a pretty nasty one.
Grabbing a coffee in the office's kitchen should be a pretty simple task, except when Tom, Jim and Preston are there. And since it was Tuesday morning, they we're obviously there, ready to chat.
''Did you hear about Gerry?! His arm got stuck in the big WM yesterday, his whole left arm was chopped by the saw!''
''Yes Tom, I was there.''
''It wasn't just his arm, they say his leg got caught up as well!''
''Yes Jim, I was there.''
''He should of just stopped moving, I heard part of his face was ripped when he tried to pull himself out!''
''Yes Preston, I was there.''
As if my favorite trio wasn't enough, this dude from accounting felt the need to visit our shop this morning to discuss the accident.
''Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off yesterday?!''
''Yes, he's all right now.''
|
"Something is wrong with the water," Suzanna declared, sashaying into the saloon. She plopped the water bucket onto the bar without ceremony, startling several drunks nearby.
With a long-suffering sigh, Stu gave another cowboy a glass of whiskey. If this girl wasn't Meg's cousin, he'd have fired her long ago. "What exactly is wrong with it, Suzanna?" he resigned himself to the inevitable question.
The girl huffed, wiping curls dark with sweat from her brow, as with the other hand she filled up a mug to take to a table. "Well, for starters, it's yellow."
"Yellow!" Stu exclaimed. "Can't be!"
"You sayin' I don't use my eyes?" Suzanna challenged him, black eyes sparking.
Flattening his hair nervously with one hand, the saloon owner muttered his answer. "I'm saying you don't use something."
The young spitfire either didn't hear him or let it slide, hoisting a tray onto her shoulder without comment. She turned to him before serving her table, one hand planted sassy-like on her hip, to say, "Alls I'm sayin' is, I pulled the water up from the well, and it was yellow. You're welcome to use it for your cookin', if'n you want, but my money says if it looks like piss, and it smells like piss..."
She left the sentence hanging and went to dump her load at the poker table in the corner, sending him one smarty-pants look on her way.
He frowned in his quiet way. "Smells like piss?" he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else.
He approached the bucket cautiously.
"I wouldn't get close enough ter smell it, 'f I were you, pardner," slurred a very, very drunk miner from his barstool. "Man could knock 'imself out thataway." He accentuated the warning with a couple of whiskey-flavored hiccoughs.
"Thanks for the advice, Corner. I'll exercise due caution."
Suzanna dropped under the bar and popped up on the serving side again. "Soup," she told him with the sort of sadistic, sickly sweet smile only she could dole out. "Poker table's got a hankerin' for some of that vegetable brew you cook up now 'n agin."
Stu stopped short of slapping a hand to his forehead. "And they ordered that all on their own, did they?" he growled.
Suzanna shrugged those pretty shoulders, her pink dress rustling with the movement. "You brought me to this hellhole. No reason I shouldn't make you wallow in it."
"Your kindness, as ever, simply overwhelms the soul."
His dry tone had several of the drunks within earshot tittering with laughter. Suzanna flounced away, and Stu winced. He'd pay for that one later.
But for now, he had a water problem.
Peering anxiously over the rim, Stu could see that Suzanna had been telling the truth--the water was yellow. Crinkling his nose with dread, Stu inched his face closer to the liquid surface, and inhaled sharply.
With relief, he found Suzanna had exaggerated about the smell. As far as he could tell, it didn't smell like anything.
Stu cleared his throat, something he was unaccustomed to doing, and asked the saloon's patrons, "Don't suppose any of you fellas are brave enough to take the first taste of Suzanna's yellow water?!"
The room fell silent. Stu tipped the bucket so the room's occupants could see inside. Nobody volunteered.
With a swallow, Stu sweetened the deal a little bit. "The man who does will earn drinks on the house."
Still no takers.
"Drinks on the house for the whole month," he offered, choking a little on the words as they escaped. "Come on, boys. Just don't let it touch your tongue, if'n you're scared."
Silence reigned still as every man shook his head.
Finally, from the back, an old man stood. He was the oldest man in town, had been here since before the mine, and could barely move. Now he wobbled his way to the front of the room, joints creaking and popping in the tense quiet.
"Ain't got nothing to lose," he rattled, and dipped his teacup into the yellow water. "Happy trails to y'all," warbled the old-timer, and downed the cup in one swallow.
Setting the teacup down, he smacked his lips thoughtfully.
"Tastes like... candy," he decided.
Then, suddenly, the old man sprouted wings. And with a gleeful whoop, he soared through the saloon doors and out of sight, singing, "Red Bull gives you wiiiiiiiiings!"
| 2015-01-13T10:39:25 | 2015-01-13T10:22:08 | 188 | 15 |
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